Story 4—Chapter 6.We worked on, making our zigzag approaches, night after night getting nearer to the city. Often during the time I used to go and visit poor Marshall’s grave, and I own that I dropped many a tear over it, as I thought of his worth, and the grief the news of his death would cause to poor Kathleen’s heart. That would not be dried up so soon as my sorrow. His fate might be mine any day, and I had plenty of things to think about. The poor girl would mourn alone. One day I was thus standing near the grave, when I heard a boy’s voice say, “Sure that’s yourself, Mr Armstrong.”I looked up, and before me I saw a young drummer-boy, in the uniform of the 57th regiment.“Yes, my lad; and who are you?” I asked, not recollecting the features.“Pat Nolan; sure and it’s many a day I’ve been looking for you,” answered the lad. “I’ve come out to see the war, and it’s enough I’ve seen of it any how.”I was glad to see poor little Pat. The world had gone ill with him and his family, and an elder brother having enlisted, he also had done so as a drummer-boy. His brother had been killed, and he was, as it were, left alone in the world. I promised to befriend him as far as I could, poor boy. I had no doubt that the men of his regiment would look after him and treat him kindly.A few nights after this I was in the trenches, when I saw a shell coming directly towards our position. I cried out at the very top of my voice, “Close cover,” that the men might get close under the embankment of the trench. Some followed my advice, but others stood still, when the shell exploded in the midst of us, wounding twelve of our number, some very severely, and, in addition, a captain of my regiment. I saw him fall, and thought that he was killed. I ran to him and found that he breathed, so I went and brought a stretcher from the end of another trench, and placed him on it. He begged to be allowed to die in peace, as he was mortally wounded, but another man and myself undertook to carry him to the hospital, at the Twenty-one Gun Battery. The shortest way was across the open space between the trenches. As there were fully a hundred shells and rockets in the air at once, there was plenty of light for us to see our way. We agreed to run the risk of being shot, and to carry him across, as it was important to have him looked to at once. We reached the battery without being hit, but our poor captain died within a quarter of an hour of entering the hospital. We afterwards carried his body to his quarters, where his brother officers, when they heard of what had happened, soon came to take a last look at one they all loved so well.The day was coming on, as we well knew by the advance in our trenches, when another attack on the fortress was to be made. The Russians had kept us fully employed, and during July and August several times came out from behind their lines to attack us, and were as often driven back. There is one matter I forgot to talk of. All this time it was pleasant to know that we were thought of by the people at home. Comforts of every sort were sent out to the soldiers—food, and clothes, and books; and missionaries and other ministers of religion came out and preached to those in health, and comforted the sick and dying; but besides this, hospitals were established in the more healthy parts of the country belonging to our allies, the Turks, to which our sick and wounded were sent. What also won the hearts of our wounded men was the gentle care with which they were tended, not by hired nurses, but by many ladies who came out from England on purpose to assist them. Those who had been cured, and came back to the Crimea, told how they had been treated; and I do not believe that there is a soldier of that army but who blesses the ladies of England for the sake of those who acted as nurses in the military hospitals in the East.On the 5th of September the whole of our batteries again opened on the town, and went on firing night and day, till, on the 8th at noon, the French, who were to attack the Malakoff, made the signal to advance. They rushed on, as they always do, very quickly; and before the Russians, who were at dinner, had time to defend the place, they were in it, and their flag was flying on the ramparts. Now came the turn of the British, who had to attack the Redan. On they went; but the Russians were ready for them, and they were met by a hot fire of musketry and artillery. Major Welsford, of the 97th, who led the storming party, was killed, and Colonel Handcock was mortally wounded. There was not a hotter fight during the whole war. We had officers and 356 non-commissioned officers and men killed, and not far from 2000 wounded; and, after all, our men were compelled to retire. It was known that the Highland brigade, under Sir Colin Campbell were to renew the attack the next morning. We made up our minds that it would be a day of bloodshed, but we hoped also of victory, and we were prepared for it.In the night, however, an officer, with some men, went out to look for a friend who had fallen in the works of the Redan. Not seeing him, he went on and found no sign of an enemy. This being told to the engineer officer conducting the works, he sent a corporal of sappers, who also found all still within. Sir Colin, on hearing of the matter, called for ten volunteers from each of the Scotch regiments to learn the truth. They, advancing at a run, crossed the ditch, and a man of the 93rd was the first to scale the rampart. The place was deserted. The Russians, on a bridge of boats and rafts, had crossed over to the other side of the harbour during the night, having set the town on fire in all parts. We took possession of a city of blazing houses and exploding mines. It was some time before we could move about, for fear of being blown up or crushed by falling houses. The whole city was a ruin, and the Russians had also sunk or burnt all the ships in the harbour, so that it seemed that they had left us little worth having.Then came the sad work of burying those who had fallen in the assault on the Redan, as also those who had defended it. The Russians were placed by themselves, at one end of the ditch, and our men at the other, and then we shovelled the earth from the slope over them both. There they lie; the rampart of the fortress the one had fought to defend, the other to gain, their monument. The most terrible sight, however, was in a building which we did not enter for two days, I think, on account of the houses burning round it and the mines exploding. It was a hospital; and in it were two thousand human bodies, and out of the whole scarcely five hundred were alive. The rest had died. For forty-eight hours no one had been near them to give them a drop of water, or dress their aching wounds. I’ve often thought what those poor fellows must have gone through. Then we had to carry them out, and bury them. It was sickening, terrible work. Those at home little know what a soldier has to go through. It is not all gold and glitter, let me tell them, marching here and there on a fine day, with the sun shining, and band playing, and colours flying.I am not one of those who would tell a young fellow not to go for a soldier. Very far from that; but I wish to let him know that he will have a great deal of hard, trying work to go through, and he will have to face death in all sorts of ways. Still the man who has a fancy for soldiering, and is steady, is sure to get on, and will find it a good profession on the whole.After we entered Sebastopol, the war was over, but it was some time before peace was proclaimed. We were heartily glad when that time came; for we were getting very sick of the place where we had lost so many of our comrades and friends. We sailed back as we had come, in a number of large transports; and thankful we were to see the shores of Old England again.I went out soon afterwards with our regiment to India. That is a large country, a long way off, on the other side of the world nearly; the greater part is very hot, and the natives are of a dark-brown colour. They are mostly heathens, and worship all sorts of ugly idols of wood and stone, but some are of the same religion as the Turks, and believe in the false prophet, Mahomet. The East India Company had a large army of these men, with English officers, but native non-commissioned officers. These native officers, with some of their chiefs, thought that they could take the country from the English. They pretended therefore that the English government were going to make them turn Christians by force, and persuaded the men to revolt. They kept this secret, and on a sudden the greater number of the native regiments rose against their English officers, murdered many of them, as well as many civilians, with their wives and children, and took possession of several fortified places. The most important were Delhi and Lucknow. In one place, Cawnpore, a chief, called Nana Sahib, got General Wheeler and all the English in the garrison into his power, and murdered nearly the whole of them, soldiers and civilians, women and children; the bodies of the latter he threw into a deep well. Three persons alone out of one thousand escaped that dreadful massacre. The accounts of these things made the hearts of British soldiers burn within them. We had a number of native troops from other parts of the country who remained faithful to the British, but still the rebel regiments far outnumbered the English troops. We found ourselves once more under the command of our old general, Sir Colin Campbell. We marched from Calcutta to Cawnpore, from which the wretch, Nana Sahib, had taken flight, and then on to Lucknow, which the rebels still held in great force. We lost a great many men by cholera, and had frequent skirmishes and one or two pitched battles with the enemy—till early in March, 1858, we were before Lucknow. Here we had some severe fighting. We had to storm one large building after another, but at length the rebels were driven out, and numbers cut to pieces. On one occasion I had to climb a tree to see what the enemy were about on the other side of a wall; though hundreds of bullets whistled by me I descended unhurt, but was soon afterwards hit on the breast with a bullet which knocked me over; I was up again, and refusing to go to the rear, assisted to capture a fort, and spiked a gun with my bayonet. While doing this, my kilt was riddled with bullets, though I escaped unhurt. I was not so fortunate a day or two afterwards, when attacking a large block of palaces full of Sepoys, for I received a shot in my neck which laid me low. I was carried out of the fight by my comrades, and mywound was so severe that I had to be invalided home. The fight before Lucknow was my last battle.The English beat the Sepoys wherever they were met, and at length the British rule was once more firmly established in India.It was not till I got home again that I was able to go and see poor Kathleen, and to give her the few things belonging to Marshall. She was still single; and I have good reason to think that for his sake she would remain so. Such as I have described them, are some of the common events of a soldier’s life.
We worked on, making our zigzag approaches, night after night getting nearer to the city. Often during the time I used to go and visit poor Marshall’s grave, and I own that I dropped many a tear over it, as I thought of his worth, and the grief the news of his death would cause to poor Kathleen’s heart. That would not be dried up so soon as my sorrow. His fate might be mine any day, and I had plenty of things to think about. The poor girl would mourn alone. One day I was thus standing near the grave, when I heard a boy’s voice say, “Sure that’s yourself, Mr Armstrong.”
I looked up, and before me I saw a young drummer-boy, in the uniform of the 57th regiment.
“Yes, my lad; and who are you?” I asked, not recollecting the features.
“Pat Nolan; sure and it’s many a day I’ve been looking for you,” answered the lad. “I’ve come out to see the war, and it’s enough I’ve seen of it any how.”
I was glad to see poor little Pat. The world had gone ill with him and his family, and an elder brother having enlisted, he also had done so as a drummer-boy. His brother had been killed, and he was, as it were, left alone in the world. I promised to befriend him as far as I could, poor boy. I had no doubt that the men of his regiment would look after him and treat him kindly.
A few nights after this I was in the trenches, when I saw a shell coming directly towards our position. I cried out at the very top of my voice, “Close cover,” that the men might get close under the embankment of the trench. Some followed my advice, but others stood still, when the shell exploded in the midst of us, wounding twelve of our number, some very severely, and, in addition, a captain of my regiment. I saw him fall, and thought that he was killed. I ran to him and found that he breathed, so I went and brought a stretcher from the end of another trench, and placed him on it. He begged to be allowed to die in peace, as he was mortally wounded, but another man and myself undertook to carry him to the hospital, at the Twenty-one Gun Battery. The shortest way was across the open space between the trenches. As there were fully a hundred shells and rockets in the air at once, there was plenty of light for us to see our way. We agreed to run the risk of being shot, and to carry him across, as it was important to have him looked to at once. We reached the battery without being hit, but our poor captain died within a quarter of an hour of entering the hospital. We afterwards carried his body to his quarters, where his brother officers, when they heard of what had happened, soon came to take a last look at one they all loved so well.
The day was coming on, as we well knew by the advance in our trenches, when another attack on the fortress was to be made. The Russians had kept us fully employed, and during July and August several times came out from behind their lines to attack us, and were as often driven back. There is one matter I forgot to talk of. All this time it was pleasant to know that we were thought of by the people at home. Comforts of every sort were sent out to the soldiers—food, and clothes, and books; and missionaries and other ministers of religion came out and preached to those in health, and comforted the sick and dying; but besides this, hospitals were established in the more healthy parts of the country belonging to our allies, the Turks, to which our sick and wounded were sent. What also won the hearts of our wounded men was the gentle care with which they were tended, not by hired nurses, but by many ladies who came out from England on purpose to assist them. Those who had been cured, and came back to the Crimea, told how they had been treated; and I do not believe that there is a soldier of that army but who blesses the ladies of England for the sake of those who acted as nurses in the military hospitals in the East.
On the 5th of September the whole of our batteries again opened on the town, and went on firing night and day, till, on the 8th at noon, the French, who were to attack the Malakoff, made the signal to advance. They rushed on, as they always do, very quickly; and before the Russians, who were at dinner, had time to defend the place, they were in it, and their flag was flying on the ramparts. Now came the turn of the British, who had to attack the Redan. On they went; but the Russians were ready for them, and they were met by a hot fire of musketry and artillery. Major Welsford, of the 97th, who led the storming party, was killed, and Colonel Handcock was mortally wounded. There was not a hotter fight during the whole war. We had officers and 356 non-commissioned officers and men killed, and not far from 2000 wounded; and, after all, our men were compelled to retire. It was known that the Highland brigade, under Sir Colin Campbell were to renew the attack the next morning. We made up our minds that it would be a day of bloodshed, but we hoped also of victory, and we were prepared for it.
In the night, however, an officer, with some men, went out to look for a friend who had fallen in the works of the Redan. Not seeing him, he went on and found no sign of an enemy. This being told to the engineer officer conducting the works, he sent a corporal of sappers, who also found all still within. Sir Colin, on hearing of the matter, called for ten volunteers from each of the Scotch regiments to learn the truth. They, advancing at a run, crossed the ditch, and a man of the 93rd was the first to scale the rampart. The place was deserted. The Russians, on a bridge of boats and rafts, had crossed over to the other side of the harbour during the night, having set the town on fire in all parts. We took possession of a city of blazing houses and exploding mines. It was some time before we could move about, for fear of being blown up or crushed by falling houses. The whole city was a ruin, and the Russians had also sunk or burnt all the ships in the harbour, so that it seemed that they had left us little worth having.
Then came the sad work of burying those who had fallen in the assault on the Redan, as also those who had defended it. The Russians were placed by themselves, at one end of the ditch, and our men at the other, and then we shovelled the earth from the slope over them both. There they lie; the rampart of the fortress the one had fought to defend, the other to gain, their monument. The most terrible sight, however, was in a building which we did not enter for two days, I think, on account of the houses burning round it and the mines exploding. It was a hospital; and in it were two thousand human bodies, and out of the whole scarcely five hundred were alive. The rest had died. For forty-eight hours no one had been near them to give them a drop of water, or dress their aching wounds. I’ve often thought what those poor fellows must have gone through. Then we had to carry them out, and bury them. It was sickening, terrible work. Those at home little know what a soldier has to go through. It is not all gold and glitter, let me tell them, marching here and there on a fine day, with the sun shining, and band playing, and colours flying.
I am not one of those who would tell a young fellow not to go for a soldier. Very far from that; but I wish to let him know that he will have a great deal of hard, trying work to go through, and he will have to face death in all sorts of ways. Still the man who has a fancy for soldiering, and is steady, is sure to get on, and will find it a good profession on the whole.
After we entered Sebastopol, the war was over, but it was some time before peace was proclaimed. We were heartily glad when that time came; for we were getting very sick of the place where we had lost so many of our comrades and friends. We sailed back as we had come, in a number of large transports; and thankful we were to see the shores of Old England again.
I went out soon afterwards with our regiment to India. That is a large country, a long way off, on the other side of the world nearly; the greater part is very hot, and the natives are of a dark-brown colour. They are mostly heathens, and worship all sorts of ugly idols of wood and stone, but some are of the same religion as the Turks, and believe in the false prophet, Mahomet. The East India Company had a large army of these men, with English officers, but native non-commissioned officers. These native officers, with some of their chiefs, thought that they could take the country from the English. They pretended therefore that the English government were going to make them turn Christians by force, and persuaded the men to revolt. They kept this secret, and on a sudden the greater number of the native regiments rose against their English officers, murdered many of them, as well as many civilians, with their wives and children, and took possession of several fortified places. The most important were Delhi and Lucknow. In one place, Cawnpore, a chief, called Nana Sahib, got General Wheeler and all the English in the garrison into his power, and murdered nearly the whole of them, soldiers and civilians, women and children; the bodies of the latter he threw into a deep well. Three persons alone out of one thousand escaped that dreadful massacre. The accounts of these things made the hearts of British soldiers burn within them. We had a number of native troops from other parts of the country who remained faithful to the British, but still the rebel regiments far outnumbered the English troops. We found ourselves once more under the command of our old general, Sir Colin Campbell. We marched from Calcutta to Cawnpore, from which the wretch, Nana Sahib, had taken flight, and then on to Lucknow, which the rebels still held in great force. We lost a great many men by cholera, and had frequent skirmishes and one or two pitched battles with the enemy—till early in March, 1858, we were before Lucknow. Here we had some severe fighting. We had to storm one large building after another, but at length the rebels were driven out, and numbers cut to pieces. On one occasion I had to climb a tree to see what the enemy were about on the other side of a wall; though hundreds of bullets whistled by me I descended unhurt, but was soon afterwards hit on the breast with a bullet which knocked me over; I was up again, and refusing to go to the rear, assisted to capture a fort, and spiked a gun with my bayonet. While doing this, my kilt was riddled with bullets, though I escaped unhurt. I was not so fortunate a day or two afterwards, when attacking a large block of palaces full of Sepoys, for I received a shot in my neck which laid me low. I was carried out of the fight by my comrades, and mywound was so severe that I had to be invalided home. The fight before Lucknow was my last battle.
The English beat the Sepoys wherever they were met, and at length the British rule was once more firmly established in India.
It was not till I got home again that I was able to go and see poor Kathleen, and to give her the few things belonging to Marshall. She was still single; and I have good reason to think that for his sake she would remain so. Such as I have described them, are some of the common events of a soldier’s life.
Story 5—Chapter 1.Joseph Rudge, the Australian Shepherd.When God formed the round world we live on, He made some parts very unlike other parts. The climate, the trees and plants, and the animals of some countries altogether differ from those of other countries. If we could go right through the globe just as a darning needle is run through a ball of worsted, we should come out close to a country ten times as large as England, which belongs to our Queen, and is called Australia. To get to it, however, we have really to sail round about over the sea, and the voyage takes about three months. When it is winter in England, it is summer there. The trees do not shed their leaves, and many of the animals carry their young about in bags before them, and like the kangaroo, have long hind legs with which they spring over the ground. It is a fine country for cattle and horses, and still more so for sheep, the wool of which is very fine.About three hundred miles from the sea, up the country, and towards the end of December, a few years back, a busy scene was to be witnessed.The country was not hilly nor flat, but swelling with ups and downs. On one side was a forest, but the trees were wide enough apart to let horsemengallop between them. Other trees of odd twisted shapes, but large, with the bark often torn off from the stems, were scattered about here and there. Still most of the country was open and covered with grass, long leaved and scanty, very unlike that of meadow land in England, but still affording good feed for sheep. A creek ran out from the forest with a stream of water, which filled a small lake or water-hole. On the higher ground stood a house of one floor, with a verandah round it, a large wool-shed, a stable, three or four smaller cottages, or rather huts, and other outhouses. There was a small garden enclosed, but no other signs of cultivation. There were numerous sheepfolds and two cattle pens, but the rest of the country round was quite open. It was the head sheep station of Moneroo, owned by Mr Ramsay, who managed it himself.It was well managed, too, for the watchful eye of a master who understood the work to be done was everywhere. The sheep-pens were full, and there were a number of men moving about. Some were down at the creek up to their knees in water, busy washing the sheep, which were driven down to them. A still larger number were near the wool-shed, with long shears in their hands taking the soft snowy fleeces off the creatures’ backs. One flock was seen coming in from a distant out-station, following the careful shepherd, who, like those we read of in the Holy Land, had taught his flock to know his voice. Another flock, having been shorn, was moving off to its usual run.Towards evening, a dray laden with stores was seen, its wheels and bullocks’ hoofs as it drew near the station stirring up the dry earth into clouds of dust. It brought casks of flour, and pork, and hogsheads of sugar, and boxes of tea, and cheeses, and all sorts of cooking and mess things, and saddles, and harness, and ropes, and tobacco, and cattle medicines; indeed, it would be hard to say what it did not bring. By the side of it, besides the usual driver and his mate, strode a sturdy, fresh-looking Englishman, whose cheeks had not yet been burnt by the hot sun of Australia, and two young boys; while on the top of the dray sat his wife—a comely looking woman—a girl of thirteen, and three smaller children. Dick Boyce, the bullock driver, pointed out the master to the new chum he had brought up from the chief port of the colony. The latter stepped forward at once, with one of his boys, while the other stayed with his mother, whom Boyce and his mate, Tom Wells, helped to dismount. The new comer gave a letter to Mr Ramsay, and he and his sons stood watching his face while the master read it.“Very good,” said Mr Ramsay, as he folded up the letter, “your name I see is Joseph Rudge, and you have brought your wife and children.”“Yes, sir; that is my good woman out there by the dray, and this is our eldest boy, Sam,” answered Joseph, touching the arm of one of the stout, fine-looking lads by his side with a look of honest pride.Mr Ramsay smiled, and asked, “Where do you come from?”“Wiltshire, sir,” answered Joseph.“You understand sheep?” said Mr Ramsay.“Been accustomed to them all my life,” said Joseph.“How many do you think you could shear in a day?” asked the master.“May be three score,” answered Rudge, looking with an eye somewhat of contempt at the small breed of sheep he saw before him. “At a pinch, I’d say fourscore, sir; but I don’t think a man could do more than that properly, from what I know, and from what I’ve heard.”“You’ll do, my man,” said Mr Ramsay, looking well pleased, “make my interest yours, and yours shall be mine. Mr Thompson, my agent at Melbourne, tells me that he has engaged you and your family for fifty pounds a year, and all found. Your eldest lads will soon learn how to make themselves useful, and so will that lassie there, while your wife will keep your hut when you are out with the sheep. You will stay here for a few weeks to learn our ways, and then I will send you up in charge of an out-station. To-morrow you will begin work, for we have plenty for you to do.”“Thank ye, sir; I’ll do my best to serve you, and so will my wife and children,” answered Joseph, in a hearty voice which showed that he purposed to do what he said.Joseph and his family were at once placed in possession of a vacant hut. It was a rough-looking place, but served well for that fine climate. The frame was of wood, with slab walls, and was roofed with sheets of bark from a tree called the “stringy-bark tree.” It was divided into two parts. The bedsteads were rough frames with hides stretched on them, but there were good beds and pillows stuffed with short wool, of which no one could complain. A table, and some stools and benches, with a cupboard and plenty of shelves and hooks was all the furniture they found in the hut. Joseph and Sam went off to the storekeeper, to get their rations, and came back with a fine supply of everything they wanted.That evening, as Joseph Rudge and his family sat round the table at supper, he thanked God heartily for having brought them into a good country, and placed them in the hands of a kind and just master. This was the character Dick Boyce and his mate had given of Mr Ramsay, as they travelled up with the dray from Melbourne.The next day, Joseph set to work with his shears, with Sam to help him. He did not shear so many sheep as the contract shearers, but he sheared well, leaving none of the bottom wool, and his employer was perfectly satisfied. He got through two score the first day; two and a half the next; and three the next. He observed one man who sheared no less than six score in one day, but Joseph on his way home to dinner observed that much of the bottom wool—the most valuable in a fleece—remained on the sheeps’ backs. He told Tom Wells what he had seen, and Tom told Boyce, and soon afterwards Mr Ramsay went to the pens in which the sheep were placed, and sent for the fast shearer, John Butt. John was very angry, but Mr Ramsay was firm, and refused to fulfil his part of the contract unless he sheared the sheep properly.“I’ll pay the fellow off who brought the matter before the master’s eyes,” growled John Butt. “It’s that new chum; I saw him looking at the sheep. What business has he to come and interfere with our ways?”Joseph Rudge had thus made an enemy though he did not know it. Even had he known what would happen, he would have done the same, for he was one of those who follow the golden rule, “Do right, whatever you think may come of it, and leave that to be settled by God.”The first thing done with the fleece, when off the sheep’s back, was to clean it on the folding table, which was a framework through which the dirt fell. After that it was put into the press and packed tightly into large bales fit for sending on board the ship which was to carry it to England. As soon as all the wool was done up into bales, it was packed on the drays to be sent off to the port to be shipped. Each dray carried about twenty bales, and was drawn by ten stout oxen. The drays were low, like those of brewers, had no sides, but upright pins to keep in the bales, those at the corners being of iron. The bales were secured by ropes, with a tarpaulin to be thrown over them in case of wet. Dick Boyce and Tom Wells had to set off again at once. Sam wanted very much to go with them. He had a fancy for the life they led, as many a boy would have, but his father could not spare him. They travelled about fifteen miles each day, and carried everything they wanted on the road. At night, tarpaulins were let down at the sides and ends of the dray. This formed as much shelter as they required when sleeping. The bullocks were turned loose to pick up their food; and while Boyce went to bring them in, Wells lighted the fire, cooked their breakfast, and made the dray ready for starting. From stations far up the country, drays are two months and more on the journey to the sea. The chief drawback to this life is, that people long accustomed to it do not take readily to any other, and this made Joseph not wish that Sam should follow it.
When God formed the round world we live on, He made some parts very unlike other parts. The climate, the trees and plants, and the animals of some countries altogether differ from those of other countries. If we could go right through the globe just as a darning needle is run through a ball of worsted, we should come out close to a country ten times as large as England, which belongs to our Queen, and is called Australia. To get to it, however, we have really to sail round about over the sea, and the voyage takes about three months. When it is winter in England, it is summer there. The trees do not shed their leaves, and many of the animals carry their young about in bags before them, and like the kangaroo, have long hind legs with which they spring over the ground. It is a fine country for cattle and horses, and still more so for sheep, the wool of which is very fine.
About three hundred miles from the sea, up the country, and towards the end of December, a few years back, a busy scene was to be witnessed.
The country was not hilly nor flat, but swelling with ups and downs. On one side was a forest, but the trees were wide enough apart to let horsemengallop between them. Other trees of odd twisted shapes, but large, with the bark often torn off from the stems, were scattered about here and there. Still most of the country was open and covered with grass, long leaved and scanty, very unlike that of meadow land in England, but still affording good feed for sheep. A creek ran out from the forest with a stream of water, which filled a small lake or water-hole. On the higher ground stood a house of one floor, with a verandah round it, a large wool-shed, a stable, three or four smaller cottages, or rather huts, and other outhouses. There was a small garden enclosed, but no other signs of cultivation. There were numerous sheepfolds and two cattle pens, but the rest of the country round was quite open. It was the head sheep station of Moneroo, owned by Mr Ramsay, who managed it himself.
It was well managed, too, for the watchful eye of a master who understood the work to be done was everywhere. The sheep-pens were full, and there were a number of men moving about. Some were down at the creek up to their knees in water, busy washing the sheep, which were driven down to them. A still larger number were near the wool-shed, with long shears in their hands taking the soft snowy fleeces off the creatures’ backs. One flock was seen coming in from a distant out-station, following the careful shepherd, who, like those we read of in the Holy Land, had taught his flock to know his voice. Another flock, having been shorn, was moving off to its usual run.
Towards evening, a dray laden with stores was seen, its wheels and bullocks’ hoofs as it drew near the station stirring up the dry earth into clouds of dust. It brought casks of flour, and pork, and hogsheads of sugar, and boxes of tea, and cheeses, and all sorts of cooking and mess things, and saddles, and harness, and ropes, and tobacco, and cattle medicines; indeed, it would be hard to say what it did not bring. By the side of it, besides the usual driver and his mate, strode a sturdy, fresh-looking Englishman, whose cheeks had not yet been burnt by the hot sun of Australia, and two young boys; while on the top of the dray sat his wife—a comely looking woman—a girl of thirteen, and three smaller children. Dick Boyce, the bullock driver, pointed out the master to the new chum he had brought up from the chief port of the colony. The latter stepped forward at once, with one of his boys, while the other stayed with his mother, whom Boyce and his mate, Tom Wells, helped to dismount. The new comer gave a letter to Mr Ramsay, and he and his sons stood watching his face while the master read it.
“Very good,” said Mr Ramsay, as he folded up the letter, “your name I see is Joseph Rudge, and you have brought your wife and children.”
“Yes, sir; that is my good woman out there by the dray, and this is our eldest boy, Sam,” answered Joseph, touching the arm of one of the stout, fine-looking lads by his side with a look of honest pride.
Mr Ramsay smiled, and asked, “Where do you come from?”
“Wiltshire, sir,” answered Joseph.
“You understand sheep?” said Mr Ramsay.
“Been accustomed to them all my life,” said Joseph.
“How many do you think you could shear in a day?” asked the master.
“May be three score,” answered Rudge, looking with an eye somewhat of contempt at the small breed of sheep he saw before him. “At a pinch, I’d say fourscore, sir; but I don’t think a man could do more than that properly, from what I know, and from what I’ve heard.”
“You’ll do, my man,” said Mr Ramsay, looking well pleased, “make my interest yours, and yours shall be mine. Mr Thompson, my agent at Melbourne, tells me that he has engaged you and your family for fifty pounds a year, and all found. Your eldest lads will soon learn how to make themselves useful, and so will that lassie there, while your wife will keep your hut when you are out with the sheep. You will stay here for a few weeks to learn our ways, and then I will send you up in charge of an out-station. To-morrow you will begin work, for we have plenty for you to do.”
“Thank ye, sir; I’ll do my best to serve you, and so will my wife and children,” answered Joseph, in a hearty voice which showed that he purposed to do what he said.
Joseph and his family were at once placed in possession of a vacant hut. It was a rough-looking place, but served well for that fine climate. The frame was of wood, with slab walls, and was roofed with sheets of bark from a tree called the “stringy-bark tree.” It was divided into two parts. The bedsteads were rough frames with hides stretched on them, but there were good beds and pillows stuffed with short wool, of which no one could complain. A table, and some stools and benches, with a cupboard and plenty of shelves and hooks was all the furniture they found in the hut. Joseph and Sam went off to the storekeeper, to get their rations, and came back with a fine supply of everything they wanted.
That evening, as Joseph Rudge and his family sat round the table at supper, he thanked God heartily for having brought them into a good country, and placed them in the hands of a kind and just master. This was the character Dick Boyce and his mate had given of Mr Ramsay, as they travelled up with the dray from Melbourne.
The next day, Joseph set to work with his shears, with Sam to help him. He did not shear so many sheep as the contract shearers, but he sheared well, leaving none of the bottom wool, and his employer was perfectly satisfied. He got through two score the first day; two and a half the next; and three the next. He observed one man who sheared no less than six score in one day, but Joseph on his way home to dinner observed that much of the bottom wool—the most valuable in a fleece—remained on the sheeps’ backs. He told Tom Wells what he had seen, and Tom told Boyce, and soon afterwards Mr Ramsay went to the pens in which the sheep were placed, and sent for the fast shearer, John Butt. John was very angry, but Mr Ramsay was firm, and refused to fulfil his part of the contract unless he sheared the sheep properly.
“I’ll pay the fellow off who brought the matter before the master’s eyes,” growled John Butt. “It’s that new chum; I saw him looking at the sheep. What business has he to come and interfere with our ways?”
Joseph Rudge had thus made an enemy though he did not know it. Even had he known what would happen, he would have done the same, for he was one of those who follow the golden rule, “Do right, whatever you think may come of it, and leave that to be settled by God.”
The first thing done with the fleece, when off the sheep’s back, was to clean it on the folding table, which was a framework through which the dirt fell. After that it was put into the press and packed tightly into large bales fit for sending on board the ship which was to carry it to England. As soon as all the wool was done up into bales, it was packed on the drays to be sent off to the port to be shipped. Each dray carried about twenty bales, and was drawn by ten stout oxen. The drays were low, like those of brewers, had no sides, but upright pins to keep in the bales, those at the corners being of iron. The bales were secured by ropes, with a tarpaulin to be thrown over them in case of wet. Dick Boyce and Tom Wells had to set off again at once. Sam wanted very much to go with them. He had a fancy for the life they led, as many a boy would have, but his father could not spare him. They travelled about fifteen miles each day, and carried everything they wanted on the road. At night, tarpaulins were let down at the sides and ends of the dray. This formed as much shelter as they required when sleeping. The bullocks were turned loose to pick up their food; and while Boyce went to bring them in, Wells lighted the fire, cooked their breakfast, and made the dray ready for starting. From stations far up the country, drays are two months and more on the journey to the sea. The chief drawback to this life is, that people long accustomed to it do not take readily to any other, and this made Joseph not wish that Sam should follow it.
Story 5—Chapter 2.Joseph Rudge and his family had for some time been living in the new hut, about twenty miles from the head station. He had plenty of hard work too; for Mr Ramsay owned cattle as well as sheep, and he had agreed to take charge of a herd, as well as his flock, with the help of his sons and a mate who had been sent with him. Labour was very scarce just then; indeed, it often is in Australia, and a few hands were obliged to do the work of many. News had just before come to the station that gold had been found in several places, and that a pocket full could be had by digging a little, and oftentimes by looking for it among the rocks. Many people going off to the gold diggings had asked him to go with them.“No,” he answered, “I came out here to look after sheep and oxen, and I understand that work, I have a good master and fair wages, and I’ll not desert my master, or change my work.”“Right, Jos,” said Mat Clark, his mate; “I never knew any good come to any one by doing wrong, and we should be doing wrong if we were to leave Mr Ramsay to take care of his sheep and cattle all by himself. It’s not the way we should like to be served.”Mat had come out to the colony very many years before; how he never said. He was now an old man. Some people called him Silly Mat. He used to answer, “May be I’m silly enough to try and do what is right, and to be sorry for having done what was wrong. I hope to be silly in this wise to the end of my days.”Joseph and his family lived a somewhat solitary life, but as they had plenty to do, they did not mind that for themselves, only they knew it was bad for the children to get no education, and they could never visit any place of worship. For weeks together they saw no one except Mat and the keeper of another station about seven miles off, known as Tony Peach. Tony was not a man they liked at all, though they could not exactly tell why. He would put on very soft manners though, and seemed to have taken a great fancy to Joseph and his family. He had lost an arm as a soldier, he said, and he could not manage a spade or pick, or he owned that he would have been off to the diggings. He grumbled much indeed, at not being able to go, for if there was one thing he loved on earth, it was money, and he thought that it would be very pleasant to dig up gold as people do potatoes. He thought, however, that he had found out a way of growing rich without much trouble.Joseph had just come in one afternoon with his flock and folded them, it was then Sam’s duty to watch them for the night. For this he had a sort of box on legs, with a hole in the side, into which he could creep and sleep comfortably. The dogs were fastened up at different points round the fold, that should a dingo, or native dog, a sort of fox, come near, their barking might at once arouse him. Joseph was just sitting down to his supper of a dish of stewed mutton and damper, that is wheaten unleavened bread, baked under the ashes, washed down by a few cups of good tea, when Tony Peach rode up. A fresh damper and a bowl of tea was placed before him. He talked on general matters for some time, and he then spoke of what he called the rights of servants. After a little time he began to speak about a plan by which, if Joseph would join him, they should make a good thing, and no one be the worse or the wiser. Tony proposed forming a herd of cattle of their own in a back run. They were to put a brand on the animals of J.B., and John Butt was to stand as the owner.“That is to say, you wantmeto join you in robbing our good master,” said Joseph, fixing his eyes on Tony.“Call it what you like,” answered Tony, “a few beasts out of the herd won’t be missed every now and then, and we shall get them.”“No, I’ll have nothing to do with the matter,” said Joseph stoutly, “it’s robbery, call it what you will; and what is more, Peach, if I thought that you were about such a thing, I’d let Mr Ramsay know, as it would be my duty to do. I warn you.”Peach was very angry, for he had already begun the business, and wanted a mate to help him. He tried to hide his anger, though he made up his mind to be revenged.“Well, mate, don’t say anything about it. If you don’t think it should be, we’ll let it alone, and no harm will have been done.”Joseph was not satisfied. He made up his mind to keep a good look-out on the cattle under his charge.After Peach was gone, he went in to ask old Mat what he thought about the man.“What has he been saying to you?” asked Mat, looking up from his bed, for he had already turned in. “No good, I’ll warrant.”Joseph told him.“That’s just what he said to me some time back; but he found that he would gain nothing, so he’s let me alone since.”Joseph said that he hoped he would gain nothing from him either.“Never let him gain an inch, mate, or he’ll soon gain an ell,” said old Mat. “He is doing Satan’s work, and that’s what Satan is always trying to do—trying to make us do a little wrong—just to get in the sharp edge of the wedge; he knows that he shall soon be able to drive it home.”This talk with old Mat, made Joseph still more determined to have nothing to do with Peach, however friendly he might seem. Joseph was glad to think that Mr Ramsay had settled to muster his stock in a few days, because he should know then better how many he had under his charge, and put a stop to Peach’s tricks.Mr Ramsay and several companions arrived at the station the night before, all well mounted, for the work they had to do required good horses. Among them was a Mr Harlow, who owned the next run, and lived about fifteen miles off. He was unmarried, and had two sisters and an old lady, their aunt, living with them. They were very kind people, Joseph heard. Sam, and even Bobby, his second boy had now become very good horsemen, and would gallop after and bring back stray cattle as well as many men. Still their mother had not yet quite got over the fear she had of seeing them, especially Bobby, gallop off into the wild country, on the backs of high horses, all by themselves.At break of day, a dozen or more horsemen started off, dividing, so as to get round the pasture. Each had a stock-whip in his hand: the handle is but a foot long, but the lash is about fifteen. A loud cracking sound can be made with it, and its lash strikes through the thickest skin. The cattle, when roused, as is usual, made for the low ground, where Joseph and his sons, with one or two other men, were ready to collect them. They, however, were very wild, as they will soon get when there are not enough men to look after them. Now a dozen cows would start away, and had to be headed and driven back; now an active young bull would make a rush, and caused no little trouble before he was made to turn. The animals seemed to know that something was to be done with them, and made up their minds to escape it.At last a large part of the herd were brought together, and Mr Ramsay ordered them to be headed off towards the stock-yard, but no sooner did they begin to move than away a dozen or more would go at a time. It was hard work to bring even part of them back. At last, by hard riding and use of the whip, about two-thirds were collected in the yard. But so active were some of the young beasts that even the high fences could not keep them in, and several sprang over them in a way not many horses would have done. It took some time to brand the young beasts, and to count and sort the whole herd. As soon as this was done, Mr Ramsay and his friends and servants started off, on a fine moonlight night, in the hopes of driving in the remainder of the herd; for this purpose they took with them a few tame cattle that the wild ones might join company, and the whole be induced to go back together. Before long the lowing of the decoy-herd was answered from the distant forest, and as they proceeded on, numbers joined them, their large bodies seen amid the trees, and their huge horns glancing in the moonbeams. Orders had been given that not a whip should be cracked, not a word spoken. They had got on some way very well, and many wild animals had joined their ranks, when Joseph observed Tony Peach riding near him. Soon afterwards there was heard the crack of a whip, and a number of animals started off. Mr Ramsay, Mr Harlow, and others did their best to stop them, riding here and there and turning them quickly. Joseph kept his eye on Peach, and observed that whenever he could, without being, as he thought, noticed, he let the beasts gallop off. A good many had escaped in this way, when Joseph determined to try and stop the next that should make the attempt. A large bull was turning off, when Joseph rode to head the animal. Suddenly the beast turned on him. At that moment his horse, putting his fore feet into a hole, fell and rolled over with him. The bull came on. Peach, instead of coming to help him, with a loud laugh rode off, pretending to go after other cattle. Joseph, as he well might, shouted at the top of his voice. Just as the bull was close to him Mr Ramsay, in chase of another beast, passed by. Seeing what had happened, he placed himself before the bull and twined the lash of his whip round its horns. The horse stood stock still, with its fore legs out ready to spring aside, should it be necessary to avoid the bull or to stop the latter in its course. The bull, finding a sudden pull at its head, of course turned towards Mr Ramsay, who, untwisting his lash, galloped round and gave it such a cut on the flank as made it turn back once more towards the herd. This gave Joseph time to remount his horse, and he was soon lashing away at the animals as before. He was much disposed to tell Mr Ramsay what he had observed; but then he thought it was not easy to prove. “It may be thought that I want to curry favour. Still, if I find out more things certain against this man, it will be my duty to inform the master.”Mr Ramsay was very much vexed at not getting more of the cattle in. He did not blame Joseph, for he knew that it was not his fault, that Peach had long been in charge of them and ought to have kept them in better order. Of course Peach excused himself, and said that the cattle were always wild, and that it was no fault of his. Joseph began to wish that he had had nothing to do with cattle, but had stuck to his sheep. He had certainly much hard work, for he had to be in the saddle early in the morning and to keep in it most of the day. Sam, though, liked it very much. Bob had now taken Sam’s place and helped Mat in taking care of the sheep.One day old Mat came to Joseph and begged him to look at the sheep. He was afraid something was the matter with some of them. Joseph examined narrowly all those which Mat thought were sick. There was no doubt that they had the distemper. It had not spread far yet. A stop must be put to it. He at once sent off Ben on horseback to acquaint Mr Ramsay, and to bring back tobacco and other stuff for making washes. Meantime he separated the diseased animals from the rest, which he told Mat to drive to a fresh part of the run where they had not been for some time. He warned him on no account to go near any other flock. Meantime he rode round to the nearest hut to advise the shepherds to look to their sheep, to see if the distemper had showed itself among them, that they might take steps to stop it. At one of the stations he met Peach. It was one like his own, with three men, one of them having charge of a back run with cattle. Peach was not very friendly. “I should think Ned Marks here would know as soon as a fresh hand whether or not his sheep had the distemper,” he remarked with a sneer. “Some people, however, are fond of busying themselves about what doesn’t concern them; but I’ve just to say that they may go too far some day and find that others won’t stand it.”Joseph made no answer, he was resolved to do his duty, whatever came of it.“Never mind him; I’m not offended,” said Marks, giving a wink to Peach, which he fancied Joseph did not observe. “Here, Rudge, to show that there is no ill-will between us, do you take a glass of this good rum. I got a few bottles the last time I was down at the store. There are not many left.”“No thank you, mate,” answered Joseph. “I made up my mind when I came out to this country never to touch liquor, and I find not only that I can get on without it, but that I am much the better without it. I used to take it in England, and I am ashamed to say how much of my wages went in drink. I wish to be friendly with you, Marks, but I shouldn’t show my good feeling by drinking your rum.”“As you like,” said Marks. “It isn’t often you have such a chance in the bush. However, it’s liberty hall, and no man is forced to do what he doesn’t like.”Peach now seemed to take a hint from Marks, and pretended once more to be friendly with Joseph. “I don’t bear malice, Rudge,” he said, holding out his hand. “May be one of these days you’ll see things in a different way, and understand that I wanted only to do you a good turn.”“I hope not,” answered Joseph, going towards the door. “I think I understand you pretty clearly; and I pray that I may never be brought to call black white.”“A canting hypocrite!” exclaimed Peach, as Joseph rode off.Joseph offered up a silent prayer, “Lead us not into temptation.”As the stockman rode on he saw by the look of the sky that one of those fierce storms which occasionally visit parts of Australia, was threatening. He had reached his farthest point from home. The country was wild. There was no regular road, only a track which it required sharp eyes to find out in some places. He pushed on, hoping to get home before the storm broke. Presently, however, loud peals of thunder burst from the sky; the lightning darted along the ground and among the trees with a crackling noise, which made his horse start from side to side. Down came the rain like a water-spout, and the wind sprung up and blew in fierce gusts, tearing off huge branches of the trees, and now and then uprooting the trees themselves. Joseph saw that it would be dangerous to take shelter under any of the trees, so he kept as much as he could in the open ground.He had not gone far when he heard a cry. It was from some fellow-creature, he was certain of that. He looked about on every side, and at last saw that a falling tree had struck down a black man, who lay beneath it unable to move.Joseph fastening his horse to a stump, ran towards the poor fellow. He was alive, and his body seemed uninjured, but his foot had been caught by the trunk and held him fast. Had he been alone he must have died a horrible death, for it was clear that he could not have released himself. The black fellow saw Joseph coming, and made signs to show his gratitude, uttering a few words of broken English. When, however, Joseph came to look at the tree, he found that it would be no easy matter to get the poor black from under it. He had an axe in his belt, and with it he cut down a young sapling for a handspike, but when he tried it he found that he could not lift the heavy trunk. Then he set to work to dig under the foot, but the ground was as hard as a rock.The black then made signs that he might drive something under it, and so lift the tree.“He means wedges,” thought Joseph, and at once lopping off a thick branch, shaped out several; the black, in spite of the pain he was suffering, watching him with evident satisfaction. With a thick club, which served as a hammer, Joseph drove in the wedges, and in time got the tree lifted enough to draw out the black’s leg. He then carried the poor fellow to a bank and examined his foot. It had been caught in a slight hollow, and was not as much hurt as might have been expected. As well as he could with the handkerchief off his neck, he bound up the injured limb, and then placed him on his horse.“I shall be late at home, but I cannot let this poor black lie out here in the woods by himself,” he thought; “it is my duty to take him to my hut and tend him till he is well. The black must have been suffering a great deal of pain, but he bore it bravely.”“What is your name?” he asked, as he walked by his side.“Troloo, good white man,” answered the black, “Troloo lub white man.”It was pleasant to Joseph to think that the young black was grateful. For some time the storm continued, but Joseph with his injured companion, pushed on through it. On his way out he had crossed a small creek with the water not much above his horse’s fetlocks. As he drew near the spot he saw that instead of the quiet blue pool, where there had been no current, there was now a foaming and roaring torrent, its muddy waters carrying down numerous roots and branches of trees. Still he thought that there could be no difficulty in crossing at that spot, and was leading the horse in, when Troloo made signs that there was much danger in so doing, and pointed higher up the creek, trying to show that they might there cross with greater safety. Joseph, like a wise man, therefore turned back. On calculating the depth of the water by the height of the bank, he judged that it was up to his arm pits, and that had he stepped into any hole, he might have sunk with his head under also.“Ah, if it had not been for the black, I might have tried to cross, and have lost my life,” he thought.After going up the creek some way, the black pointed to a spot where the ground was very smooth and hard on either side.“Dere, dere, cross now,” he said, and made signs to Joseph to get up on the horse.“No, friend, a wetting won’t do me any harm, and if the horse was to stumble, with two on his back, it might be a bad job for you.”Joseph walked into the stream boldly, leading the horse. The water rose up to his knees, then to his thighs. He kept his eyes up the stream on the watch for any branches or trunks of trees which might be floating down. Now by stopping, now by pushing on fast, he was able to avoid several, others he turned aside. For some time the water was up to his middle. The black pointed across the creek, and made signs that there was nothing to fear. At last he reached the opposite bank. Scarcely had he got out of the torrent, than the rain came down still harder than before; the wind blew furiously, tearing off branches from the brittle wood trees and sending them flying along before it. The thunder roared and rattled with long continued peals from the sky, and the lightning flashed more brightly than ever, darting, it seemed, from cloud to cloud, and then went hissing along the ground like a number of fiery serpents. The horse started and trembled, now sprang to one side, now to the other, so that Joseph could scarcely keep the black man from falling off. Still, like a true Briton, he pushed on. There was no use looking for shelter, none was to be found nearer than his own hut. Suddenly a flash darted from a cloud just overhead, and seemed to strike the ground directly in front of Joseph. A moment before he had seen clearly. He made a few steps forward expecting again to see his way, but the bright light alone was in his eyes; nothing could he see. He rubbed his hand over his face.“Oh, I am blind,” he cried out in his grief.It was some time before the black could understand what had happened. He uttered some expressions showing his sorrow, in his own tongue. “Come, no fear, black fellow show way,” he said at last, taking Joseph’s hand. Thus they journeyed on, Joseph holding on to the horse, and Troloo guiding it.The storm seemed to have spent its fury. After this the rain ceased, the thunder no longer rattled in the sky, nor did the lightning flash, and the clouds passed away. Joseph had no difficulty in knowing this. He was, however, not at all certain that Troloo was leading him towards his hut. This made him anxious, because, though he could not be very far wrong, it would delay his arrival at home. He tried to talk with the black man, but they could not make out what each other said, so they became silent. On and on they went.In the morning he had galloped quickly over the ground; now, he was creeping along, each moment expecting to fall. Suddenly his dog Trusty started off and gave a cheerful bark, which was answered by Toby, Sam’s dog, and by old Mat’s dogs, all of which came running out, and he felt them licking his hands. He cried out, “Any one at home?” Presently he heard his wife’s voice, and Bobby’s and the rest of the children.“Why, Joseph, what is the matter?” exclaimed poor Sarah, running up to her husband.“Why wife, I’ve a cross to bear, I fancy,” answered Joseph, taking Sarah’s hand which she put out; “God knows what’s best. If I am to remain blind, He has some reason for it. But here is this poor black fellow, his foot is terribly hurt, and he is in great pain; look after him, I can wait, or I’ll bathe my eyes in warm water, I can do nothing else.”With an aching heart, Sarah placed her husband in a chair, and then helped the black off the horse, and with the aid of Bobby and Mat, who came up, carried him into the hut, and placed him on Sam’s bed. She then bathed his foot and bound it up in a wet cloth, and then gave him some food. Troloo was evidently grateful, and took every means to show it. Night came, but Joseph still remained totally blind.
Joseph Rudge and his family had for some time been living in the new hut, about twenty miles from the head station. He had plenty of hard work too; for Mr Ramsay owned cattle as well as sheep, and he had agreed to take charge of a herd, as well as his flock, with the help of his sons and a mate who had been sent with him. Labour was very scarce just then; indeed, it often is in Australia, and a few hands were obliged to do the work of many. News had just before come to the station that gold had been found in several places, and that a pocket full could be had by digging a little, and oftentimes by looking for it among the rocks. Many people going off to the gold diggings had asked him to go with them.
“No,” he answered, “I came out here to look after sheep and oxen, and I understand that work, I have a good master and fair wages, and I’ll not desert my master, or change my work.”
“Right, Jos,” said Mat Clark, his mate; “I never knew any good come to any one by doing wrong, and we should be doing wrong if we were to leave Mr Ramsay to take care of his sheep and cattle all by himself. It’s not the way we should like to be served.”
Mat had come out to the colony very many years before; how he never said. He was now an old man. Some people called him Silly Mat. He used to answer, “May be I’m silly enough to try and do what is right, and to be sorry for having done what was wrong. I hope to be silly in this wise to the end of my days.”
Joseph and his family lived a somewhat solitary life, but as they had plenty to do, they did not mind that for themselves, only they knew it was bad for the children to get no education, and they could never visit any place of worship. For weeks together they saw no one except Mat and the keeper of another station about seven miles off, known as Tony Peach. Tony was not a man they liked at all, though they could not exactly tell why. He would put on very soft manners though, and seemed to have taken a great fancy to Joseph and his family. He had lost an arm as a soldier, he said, and he could not manage a spade or pick, or he owned that he would have been off to the diggings. He grumbled much indeed, at not being able to go, for if there was one thing he loved on earth, it was money, and he thought that it would be very pleasant to dig up gold as people do potatoes. He thought, however, that he had found out a way of growing rich without much trouble.
Joseph had just come in one afternoon with his flock and folded them, it was then Sam’s duty to watch them for the night. For this he had a sort of box on legs, with a hole in the side, into which he could creep and sleep comfortably. The dogs were fastened up at different points round the fold, that should a dingo, or native dog, a sort of fox, come near, their barking might at once arouse him. Joseph was just sitting down to his supper of a dish of stewed mutton and damper, that is wheaten unleavened bread, baked under the ashes, washed down by a few cups of good tea, when Tony Peach rode up. A fresh damper and a bowl of tea was placed before him. He talked on general matters for some time, and he then spoke of what he called the rights of servants. After a little time he began to speak about a plan by which, if Joseph would join him, they should make a good thing, and no one be the worse or the wiser. Tony proposed forming a herd of cattle of their own in a back run. They were to put a brand on the animals of J.B., and John Butt was to stand as the owner.
“That is to say, you wantmeto join you in robbing our good master,” said Joseph, fixing his eyes on Tony.
“Call it what you like,” answered Tony, “a few beasts out of the herd won’t be missed every now and then, and we shall get them.”
“No, I’ll have nothing to do with the matter,” said Joseph stoutly, “it’s robbery, call it what you will; and what is more, Peach, if I thought that you were about such a thing, I’d let Mr Ramsay know, as it would be my duty to do. I warn you.”
Peach was very angry, for he had already begun the business, and wanted a mate to help him. He tried to hide his anger, though he made up his mind to be revenged.
“Well, mate, don’t say anything about it. If you don’t think it should be, we’ll let it alone, and no harm will have been done.”
Joseph was not satisfied. He made up his mind to keep a good look-out on the cattle under his charge.
After Peach was gone, he went in to ask old Mat what he thought about the man.
“What has he been saying to you?” asked Mat, looking up from his bed, for he had already turned in. “No good, I’ll warrant.”
Joseph told him.
“That’s just what he said to me some time back; but he found that he would gain nothing, so he’s let me alone since.”
Joseph said that he hoped he would gain nothing from him either.
“Never let him gain an inch, mate, or he’ll soon gain an ell,” said old Mat. “He is doing Satan’s work, and that’s what Satan is always trying to do—trying to make us do a little wrong—just to get in the sharp edge of the wedge; he knows that he shall soon be able to drive it home.”
This talk with old Mat, made Joseph still more determined to have nothing to do with Peach, however friendly he might seem. Joseph was glad to think that Mr Ramsay had settled to muster his stock in a few days, because he should know then better how many he had under his charge, and put a stop to Peach’s tricks.
Mr Ramsay and several companions arrived at the station the night before, all well mounted, for the work they had to do required good horses. Among them was a Mr Harlow, who owned the next run, and lived about fifteen miles off. He was unmarried, and had two sisters and an old lady, their aunt, living with them. They were very kind people, Joseph heard. Sam, and even Bobby, his second boy had now become very good horsemen, and would gallop after and bring back stray cattle as well as many men. Still their mother had not yet quite got over the fear she had of seeing them, especially Bobby, gallop off into the wild country, on the backs of high horses, all by themselves.
At break of day, a dozen or more horsemen started off, dividing, so as to get round the pasture. Each had a stock-whip in his hand: the handle is but a foot long, but the lash is about fifteen. A loud cracking sound can be made with it, and its lash strikes through the thickest skin. The cattle, when roused, as is usual, made for the low ground, where Joseph and his sons, with one or two other men, were ready to collect them. They, however, were very wild, as they will soon get when there are not enough men to look after them. Now a dozen cows would start away, and had to be headed and driven back; now an active young bull would make a rush, and caused no little trouble before he was made to turn. The animals seemed to know that something was to be done with them, and made up their minds to escape it.
At last a large part of the herd were brought together, and Mr Ramsay ordered them to be headed off towards the stock-yard, but no sooner did they begin to move than away a dozen or more would go at a time. It was hard work to bring even part of them back. At last, by hard riding and use of the whip, about two-thirds were collected in the yard. But so active were some of the young beasts that even the high fences could not keep them in, and several sprang over them in a way not many horses would have done. It took some time to brand the young beasts, and to count and sort the whole herd. As soon as this was done, Mr Ramsay and his friends and servants started off, on a fine moonlight night, in the hopes of driving in the remainder of the herd; for this purpose they took with them a few tame cattle that the wild ones might join company, and the whole be induced to go back together. Before long the lowing of the decoy-herd was answered from the distant forest, and as they proceeded on, numbers joined them, their large bodies seen amid the trees, and their huge horns glancing in the moonbeams. Orders had been given that not a whip should be cracked, not a word spoken. They had got on some way very well, and many wild animals had joined their ranks, when Joseph observed Tony Peach riding near him. Soon afterwards there was heard the crack of a whip, and a number of animals started off. Mr Ramsay, Mr Harlow, and others did their best to stop them, riding here and there and turning them quickly. Joseph kept his eye on Peach, and observed that whenever he could, without being, as he thought, noticed, he let the beasts gallop off. A good many had escaped in this way, when Joseph determined to try and stop the next that should make the attempt. A large bull was turning off, when Joseph rode to head the animal. Suddenly the beast turned on him. At that moment his horse, putting his fore feet into a hole, fell and rolled over with him. The bull came on. Peach, instead of coming to help him, with a loud laugh rode off, pretending to go after other cattle. Joseph, as he well might, shouted at the top of his voice. Just as the bull was close to him Mr Ramsay, in chase of another beast, passed by. Seeing what had happened, he placed himself before the bull and twined the lash of his whip round its horns. The horse stood stock still, with its fore legs out ready to spring aside, should it be necessary to avoid the bull or to stop the latter in its course. The bull, finding a sudden pull at its head, of course turned towards Mr Ramsay, who, untwisting his lash, galloped round and gave it such a cut on the flank as made it turn back once more towards the herd. This gave Joseph time to remount his horse, and he was soon lashing away at the animals as before. He was much disposed to tell Mr Ramsay what he had observed; but then he thought it was not easy to prove. “It may be thought that I want to curry favour. Still, if I find out more things certain against this man, it will be my duty to inform the master.”
Mr Ramsay was very much vexed at not getting more of the cattle in. He did not blame Joseph, for he knew that it was not his fault, that Peach had long been in charge of them and ought to have kept them in better order. Of course Peach excused himself, and said that the cattle were always wild, and that it was no fault of his. Joseph began to wish that he had had nothing to do with cattle, but had stuck to his sheep. He had certainly much hard work, for he had to be in the saddle early in the morning and to keep in it most of the day. Sam, though, liked it very much. Bob had now taken Sam’s place and helped Mat in taking care of the sheep.
One day old Mat came to Joseph and begged him to look at the sheep. He was afraid something was the matter with some of them. Joseph examined narrowly all those which Mat thought were sick. There was no doubt that they had the distemper. It had not spread far yet. A stop must be put to it. He at once sent off Ben on horseback to acquaint Mr Ramsay, and to bring back tobacco and other stuff for making washes. Meantime he separated the diseased animals from the rest, which he told Mat to drive to a fresh part of the run where they had not been for some time. He warned him on no account to go near any other flock. Meantime he rode round to the nearest hut to advise the shepherds to look to their sheep, to see if the distemper had showed itself among them, that they might take steps to stop it. At one of the stations he met Peach. It was one like his own, with three men, one of them having charge of a back run with cattle. Peach was not very friendly. “I should think Ned Marks here would know as soon as a fresh hand whether or not his sheep had the distemper,” he remarked with a sneer. “Some people, however, are fond of busying themselves about what doesn’t concern them; but I’ve just to say that they may go too far some day and find that others won’t stand it.”
Joseph made no answer, he was resolved to do his duty, whatever came of it.
“Never mind him; I’m not offended,” said Marks, giving a wink to Peach, which he fancied Joseph did not observe. “Here, Rudge, to show that there is no ill-will between us, do you take a glass of this good rum. I got a few bottles the last time I was down at the store. There are not many left.”
“No thank you, mate,” answered Joseph. “I made up my mind when I came out to this country never to touch liquor, and I find not only that I can get on without it, but that I am much the better without it. I used to take it in England, and I am ashamed to say how much of my wages went in drink. I wish to be friendly with you, Marks, but I shouldn’t show my good feeling by drinking your rum.”
“As you like,” said Marks. “It isn’t often you have such a chance in the bush. However, it’s liberty hall, and no man is forced to do what he doesn’t like.”
Peach now seemed to take a hint from Marks, and pretended once more to be friendly with Joseph. “I don’t bear malice, Rudge,” he said, holding out his hand. “May be one of these days you’ll see things in a different way, and understand that I wanted only to do you a good turn.”
“I hope not,” answered Joseph, going towards the door. “I think I understand you pretty clearly; and I pray that I may never be brought to call black white.”
“A canting hypocrite!” exclaimed Peach, as Joseph rode off.
Joseph offered up a silent prayer, “Lead us not into temptation.”
As the stockman rode on he saw by the look of the sky that one of those fierce storms which occasionally visit parts of Australia, was threatening. He had reached his farthest point from home. The country was wild. There was no regular road, only a track which it required sharp eyes to find out in some places. He pushed on, hoping to get home before the storm broke. Presently, however, loud peals of thunder burst from the sky; the lightning darted along the ground and among the trees with a crackling noise, which made his horse start from side to side. Down came the rain like a water-spout, and the wind sprung up and blew in fierce gusts, tearing off huge branches of the trees, and now and then uprooting the trees themselves. Joseph saw that it would be dangerous to take shelter under any of the trees, so he kept as much as he could in the open ground.
He had not gone far when he heard a cry. It was from some fellow-creature, he was certain of that. He looked about on every side, and at last saw that a falling tree had struck down a black man, who lay beneath it unable to move.
Joseph fastening his horse to a stump, ran towards the poor fellow. He was alive, and his body seemed uninjured, but his foot had been caught by the trunk and held him fast. Had he been alone he must have died a horrible death, for it was clear that he could not have released himself. The black fellow saw Joseph coming, and made signs to show his gratitude, uttering a few words of broken English. When, however, Joseph came to look at the tree, he found that it would be no easy matter to get the poor black from under it. He had an axe in his belt, and with it he cut down a young sapling for a handspike, but when he tried it he found that he could not lift the heavy trunk. Then he set to work to dig under the foot, but the ground was as hard as a rock.
The black then made signs that he might drive something under it, and so lift the tree.
“He means wedges,” thought Joseph, and at once lopping off a thick branch, shaped out several; the black, in spite of the pain he was suffering, watching him with evident satisfaction. With a thick club, which served as a hammer, Joseph drove in the wedges, and in time got the tree lifted enough to draw out the black’s leg. He then carried the poor fellow to a bank and examined his foot. It had been caught in a slight hollow, and was not as much hurt as might have been expected. As well as he could with the handkerchief off his neck, he bound up the injured limb, and then placed him on his horse.
“I shall be late at home, but I cannot let this poor black lie out here in the woods by himself,” he thought; “it is my duty to take him to my hut and tend him till he is well. The black must have been suffering a great deal of pain, but he bore it bravely.”
“What is your name?” he asked, as he walked by his side.
“Troloo, good white man,” answered the black, “Troloo lub white man.”
It was pleasant to Joseph to think that the young black was grateful. For some time the storm continued, but Joseph with his injured companion, pushed on through it. On his way out he had crossed a small creek with the water not much above his horse’s fetlocks. As he drew near the spot he saw that instead of the quiet blue pool, where there had been no current, there was now a foaming and roaring torrent, its muddy waters carrying down numerous roots and branches of trees. Still he thought that there could be no difficulty in crossing at that spot, and was leading the horse in, when Troloo made signs that there was much danger in so doing, and pointed higher up the creek, trying to show that they might there cross with greater safety. Joseph, like a wise man, therefore turned back. On calculating the depth of the water by the height of the bank, he judged that it was up to his arm pits, and that had he stepped into any hole, he might have sunk with his head under also.
“Ah, if it had not been for the black, I might have tried to cross, and have lost my life,” he thought.
After going up the creek some way, the black pointed to a spot where the ground was very smooth and hard on either side.
“Dere, dere, cross now,” he said, and made signs to Joseph to get up on the horse.
“No, friend, a wetting won’t do me any harm, and if the horse was to stumble, with two on his back, it might be a bad job for you.”
Joseph walked into the stream boldly, leading the horse. The water rose up to his knees, then to his thighs. He kept his eyes up the stream on the watch for any branches or trunks of trees which might be floating down. Now by stopping, now by pushing on fast, he was able to avoid several, others he turned aside. For some time the water was up to his middle. The black pointed across the creek, and made signs that there was nothing to fear. At last he reached the opposite bank. Scarcely had he got out of the torrent, than the rain came down still harder than before; the wind blew furiously, tearing off branches from the brittle wood trees and sending them flying along before it. The thunder roared and rattled with long continued peals from the sky, and the lightning flashed more brightly than ever, darting, it seemed, from cloud to cloud, and then went hissing along the ground like a number of fiery serpents. The horse started and trembled, now sprang to one side, now to the other, so that Joseph could scarcely keep the black man from falling off. Still, like a true Briton, he pushed on. There was no use looking for shelter, none was to be found nearer than his own hut. Suddenly a flash darted from a cloud just overhead, and seemed to strike the ground directly in front of Joseph. A moment before he had seen clearly. He made a few steps forward expecting again to see his way, but the bright light alone was in his eyes; nothing could he see. He rubbed his hand over his face.
“Oh, I am blind,” he cried out in his grief.
It was some time before the black could understand what had happened. He uttered some expressions showing his sorrow, in his own tongue. “Come, no fear, black fellow show way,” he said at last, taking Joseph’s hand. Thus they journeyed on, Joseph holding on to the horse, and Troloo guiding it.
The storm seemed to have spent its fury. After this the rain ceased, the thunder no longer rattled in the sky, nor did the lightning flash, and the clouds passed away. Joseph had no difficulty in knowing this. He was, however, not at all certain that Troloo was leading him towards his hut. This made him anxious, because, though he could not be very far wrong, it would delay his arrival at home. He tried to talk with the black man, but they could not make out what each other said, so they became silent. On and on they went.
In the morning he had galloped quickly over the ground; now, he was creeping along, each moment expecting to fall. Suddenly his dog Trusty started off and gave a cheerful bark, which was answered by Toby, Sam’s dog, and by old Mat’s dogs, all of which came running out, and he felt them licking his hands. He cried out, “Any one at home?” Presently he heard his wife’s voice, and Bobby’s and the rest of the children.
“Why, Joseph, what is the matter?” exclaimed poor Sarah, running up to her husband.
“Why wife, I’ve a cross to bear, I fancy,” answered Joseph, taking Sarah’s hand which she put out; “God knows what’s best. If I am to remain blind, He has some reason for it. But here is this poor black fellow, his foot is terribly hurt, and he is in great pain; look after him, I can wait, or I’ll bathe my eyes in warm water, I can do nothing else.”
With an aching heart, Sarah placed her husband in a chair, and then helped the black off the horse, and with the aid of Bobby and Mat, who came up, carried him into the hut, and placed him on Sam’s bed. She then bathed his foot and bound it up in a wet cloth, and then gave him some food. Troloo was evidently grateful, and took every means to show it. Night came, but Joseph still remained totally blind.
Story 5—Chapter 3.When the next morning broke, Joseph found himself as blind as before. It was a sad trial to him. “So many things to be done, and I not able to work,” sighed Joseph.“The boys and I and Sally will do our best, and may be, in a day or two you will be able to see,” answered Sarah. “You’ve often said, ‘God’s will be done;’ we must say it now, husband.”“Yes, Sarah, yes, I do say it. And how is the poor black fellow?” asked Joseph.“His foot seems terribly bad. I wish there was a doctor to look to it, or I am afraid that he will never walk again; I’ve kept on bathing it, and he bears the pain wonderfully.”Early in the day, Sam returned with the tobacco and other stuff for washes, and he and old Mat set to work to mix them, and to wash the diseased sheep. While they were at work, a horseman was seen drawing near to the station, but not from the direction the master would come. It proved to be young Mr Harlow. He had heard of the distemper having broken out among his neighbour’s sheep, and wished to know what was to be done to prevent its spreading.On learning of the accident which had happened to Rudge, he went in to see him. “I have studied as a surgeon, and may, I hope, be of use to you,” he said. “From what I see, I have great hopes that you will soon recover with the help of remedies I will apply.”Joseph thanked him, and begged that he would look at Troloo’s foot.“This is a more difficult case, but the natives’ hurts heal so rapidly, that I have little doubt that he also will soon be well,” he observed.It is not necessary to describe the means he employed. He rode over every day, though his time was of great value, and in the course of a few days, Joseph declared that he could once more see light and people moving about. Troloo’s foot was also nearly well. “A white man’s would have taken twice the time,” Mr Harlow observed.Troloo, however, showed no desire to go away; “Black fellow lub Jo, work for Jo,” he said.Of course Rudge was very glad to get his assistance, though he knew that he could not depend long on him, and that any moment he might set off again by himself. He could help with the sheep, but cattle have such a dislike to black men that they will not let one come near them.When Mr Ramsay arrived, he highly approved of all Rudge had done, and was much concerned to hear of his blindness, though Mr Harlow assured him that he would soon recover his sight, as he shortly did. Joseph and his wife were very grateful to Mr Harlow.“Do not thank me, I am but making a right use of the talents God has given me,” he answered.He brought with him a number of small books and tracts, and told Joseph that he should be glad to have them lent to all the neighbouring shepherds and stockmen. “We will also meet together for prayer and reading God’s word, when next I come over,” he said.This was done; and not only old Mat but several other shepherds and hut-keepers came to Joseph’s hut which he had prepared for them. This was the beginning of a Church in the wilderness, for after this, Mr Harlow often came to the station, and the Miss Harlows rode over and brought books and pictures for the children and work for Sally, and stopped to show her how to do it, and also to teach the children to read.Joseph and Sarah were very grateful. They had long felt that though they were getting good wages and saving money, it was a sad thing not to have their children taught nor be able to go to a place of worship. “Sam is not so bad a scholar, and Bobby and Sally read pretty well, but Nancy and Bill and Mary will have little chance of getting any learning,” said Joseph to Mr Harlow. “If we could have a master sometimes, it would help us; and then when there is less work to be done, the elder children can help the younger; but generally they come home so tired that all they can do is to take their suppers and go to bed.”Mr Harlow promised that he would talk the matter over with Mr Ramsay, and see what could be done for the children on his and the neighbouring runs. In the meantime, he left some small books and tracts, which could be carried in the pocket and read at spare moments.It was a joyful day to Joseph Rudge and to his wife and children when he was able to say that he could see as well as ever. They did not forget to thank God who had been thus kind to them.“It would have been terrible if you had been struck blind all alone in the forest,” said Sarah, “I have often thought of that, and what a mercy it was that you found the black.”“Yes indeed, wife,” answered Joseph, “I might have been drowned, too, if I had tried to cross the creek by myself. One thing I know, and I often thought of it while I was without sight, that God orders all things for our good, though we do not always see the why and the wherefore things are done.”It took a long time before the sheep were quite cured of the distemper and the flocks were allowed to mingle as before.Sam and Bob and old Mat had worked very hard, but they could not have got on alone, if Tom Wells had not been sent to help them. Tom was a first-rate rider, and a fair stockman, so he was sent to look after the cattle. He was lodged in old Mat’s house. He had been thus employed only a day or two, when Peach managed to meet him.“Stock keeping better than bullock driving, lad, eh?” were the first words Peach uttered.“I should think so, mate,” said Tom.“More profit to be made of it,” observed Peach.“Wages is wages,” observed Tom. “If I agree for so much, I take it, and must be content; if I take more than that, it’s robbery to my mind, and with that I’ve no business.”“Oh those are Rudge’s notions, he’s been putting you up to that sort of stuff,” remarked Peach, with a look of contempt; and then he muttered, “But I’ll be even with him and you too.”“They are the notions of all decently honest men,” said Wells, turning away from the tempter.Peach was not a man to give up a plan he had once formed. As he could not get the help of Rudge and Wells, he tried other means to get possession of his master’s cattle. He had always made friends, as far as he could, with the blacks, a tribe of whom often pitched their tents near his hut. He was a sober man, and did not mind parting with his rum. All sober men are not good men, though drunkenness rarely fails to lead to crime and punishment. He had looked out for the blacks, and had told them that they must help him to get the cattle. They had managed from time to time to drive off a few calves.As has been said, cattle have a fear of blacks, and, scenting them at a long distance, scamper off as soon as they draw near.Thus Peach could not get much help from his friends. He now set off again on horseback to pay them a visit; for they were camped some miles away. He took care to go provided with presents, a few coloured handkerchiefs and knives, and a few other things.On his way, his horse put his foot into a hole, and fell. Peach was thrown over his head. He was not much hurt, so he got up, and catching his horse, mounted again.“Now I am on you I will pay you off, you brute,” he exclaimed, thrashing the poor animal with his heavy whip. The horse dashed on for some way, then stopped short. He was dead lame. In vain Peach tried to make him move. To return would have taken longer than to go on; so dismounting, he led on the animal, hoping to reach the blacks’ camp before night-fall. He went on and on, and it grew darker and darker, till he thought that he should have to camp out. He had no fancy to do that by himself. There were no wild beasts in the country to fear, and he would have told any one who asked him, that he did not believe in ghosts and spirits and such-like gentry; still there was something he did not like when he was all alone in the dark woods at night. His conscience was not at ease. There were strange sounds and sights he could not make out. He had no almighty Friend to whom he could offer up a prayer for protection; no wonder that he was a coward. He still went on, though he could hardly find the way; when on a sudden he stopped, and as he leaned forward, staring with wide open eyes and hair on end, he saw a blazing fire in the midst of an open glade, and on the farther side a hideous band of skeleton forms dancing and twisting and turning in all sorts of ways. Now, after leaping about furiously for a moment, they would on a sudden disappear, and not one was to be seen.For a minute or more all was quiet, and Peach hoped that he had seen the last of them; when like a flash they all came back and jumped about as before. He stood trembling with fear, he would have run away if he could, but where was he to run to?This fearful show went on for some time, when the most fearful shrieks and yells were heard.“Why I do believe it’s the black fellows dancing a corroborree,” he muttered to himself. “What a fool I was! Now they yell! I make out their voices.”Leading his horse, which was more frightened at the shrieks than he had been by the sight of the skeletons, he walked into the middle of a group of blacks. He now saw by the light of the fire, which was made to blaze up brightly, that on the front of each of the men a skeleton was painted with white chalk. These were seen when the light of the fire fell on them, but when they turned round and only their black backs were towards the fire, they seemed to have gone away altogether. He knew that it would not do to show the anger he felt at the fright they had given him. He stood quiet, therefore, with some of the old men looking on till the dance was over. He was known to most of the natives, who welcomed him in the odd jargon in which the white settlers and blacks talk to each other.“He would tell them by-and-by what he had come to see them about, and in the meantime he had some presents to make,” he said.The delight of the savages at getting the handkerchiefs and knives was very great. He told them that there were more for them if they would do what he wished. He then called some of the elders round him, and told them what he advised them to do. He told them that he was the black fellows’ friend, as they had proof, but that the other white men in those parts were their enemies, and that they should drive them away if they could, or kill them, and that then, they might have all their sheep and cattle for themselves. The poor savages seemed to understand this sort of reasoning, and promised to do as he advised. He sat up till a late hour talking with them. The whole party then lay down in the “gunyio,” or camp, with a few boughs or sheets of bark over their heads as their only covering, though most of them had bright fires burning at their feet outside. It was some time before Peach’s busy brain would let him go to sleep. At last he went off, and began to snore. Not long after, a black might have been seen passing close to him. “Oh you one white villain!” he exclaimed, shaking his head at him, “you call black man savage, you ten times worse; but black fellow teach you that you no more clever than he.”Saying this, the black disappeared among the trees around.
When the next morning broke, Joseph found himself as blind as before. It was a sad trial to him. “So many things to be done, and I not able to work,” sighed Joseph.
“The boys and I and Sally will do our best, and may be, in a day or two you will be able to see,” answered Sarah. “You’ve often said, ‘God’s will be done;’ we must say it now, husband.”
“Yes, Sarah, yes, I do say it. And how is the poor black fellow?” asked Joseph.
“His foot seems terribly bad. I wish there was a doctor to look to it, or I am afraid that he will never walk again; I’ve kept on bathing it, and he bears the pain wonderfully.”
Early in the day, Sam returned with the tobacco and other stuff for washes, and he and old Mat set to work to mix them, and to wash the diseased sheep. While they were at work, a horseman was seen drawing near to the station, but not from the direction the master would come. It proved to be young Mr Harlow. He had heard of the distemper having broken out among his neighbour’s sheep, and wished to know what was to be done to prevent its spreading.
On learning of the accident which had happened to Rudge, he went in to see him. “I have studied as a surgeon, and may, I hope, be of use to you,” he said. “From what I see, I have great hopes that you will soon recover with the help of remedies I will apply.”
Joseph thanked him, and begged that he would look at Troloo’s foot.
“This is a more difficult case, but the natives’ hurts heal so rapidly, that I have little doubt that he also will soon be well,” he observed.
It is not necessary to describe the means he employed. He rode over every day, though his time was of great value, and in the course of a few days, Joseph declared that he could once more see light and people moving about. Troloo’s foot was also nearly well. “A white man’s would have taken twice the time,” Mr Harlow observed.
Troloo, however, showed no desire to go away; “Black fellow lub Jo, work for Jo,” he said.
Of course Rudge was very glad to get his assistance, though he knew that he could not depend long on him, and that any moment he might set off again by himself. He could help with the sheep, but cattle have such a dislike to black men that they will not let one come near them.
When Mr Ramsay arrived, he highly approved of all Rudge had done, and was much concerned to hear of his blindness, though Mr Harlow assured him that he would soon recover his sight, as he shortly did. Joseph and his wife were very grateful to Mr Harlow.
“Do not thank me, I am but making a right use of the talents God has given me,” he answered.
He brought with him a number of small books and tracts, and told Joseph that he should be glad to have them lent to all the neighbouring shepherds and stockmen. “We will also meet together for prayer and reading God’s word, when next I come over,” he said.
This was done; and not only old Mat but several other shepherds and hut-keepers came to Joseph’s hut which he had prepared for them. This was the beginning of a Church in the wilderness, for after this, Mr Harlow often came to the station, and the Miss Harlows rode over and brought books and pictures for the children and work for Sally, and stopped to show her how to do it, and also to teach the children to read.
Joseph and Sarah were very grateful. They had long felt that though they were getting good wages and saving money, it was a sad thing not to have their children taught nor be able to go to a place of worship. “Sam is not so bad a scholar, and Bobby and Sally read pretty well, but Nancy and Bill and Mary will have little chance of getting any learning,” said Joseph to Mr Harlow. “If we could have a master sometimes, it would help us; and then when there is less work to be done, the elder children can help the younger; but generally they come home so tired that all they can do is to take their suppers and go to bed.”
Mr Harlow promised that he would talk the matter over with Mr Ramsay, and see what could be done for the children on his and the neighbouring runs. In the meantime, he left some small books and tracts, which could be carried in the pocket and read at spare moments.
It was a joyful day to Joseph Rudge and to his wife and children when he was able to say that he could see as well as ever. They did not forget to thank God who had been thus kind to them.
“It would have been terrible if you had been struck blind all alone in the forest,” said Sarah, “I have often thought of that, and what a mercy it was that you found the black.”
“Yes indeed, wife,” answered Joseph, “I might have been drowned, too, if I had tried to cross the creek by myself. One thing I know, and I often thought of it while I was without sight, that God orders all things for our good, though we do not always see the why and the wherefore things are done.”
It took a long time before the sheep were quite cured of the distemper and the flocks were allowed to mingle as before.
Sam and Bob and old Mat had worked very hard, but they could not have got on alone, if Tom Wells had not been sent to help them. Tom was a first-rate rider, and a fair stockman, so he was sent to look after the cattle. He was lodged in old Mat’s house. He had been thus employed only a day or two, when Peach managed to meet him.
“Stock keeping better than bullock driving, lad, eh?” were the first words Peach uttered.
“I should think so, mate,” said Tom.
“More profit to be made of it,” observed Peach.
“Wages is wages,” observed Tom. “If I agree for so much, I take it, and must be content; if I take more than that, it’s robbery to my mind, and with that I’ve no business.”
“Oh those are Rudge’s notions, he’s been putting you up to that sort of stuff,” remarked Peach, with a look of contempt; and then he muttered, “But I’ll be even with him and you too.”
“They are the notions of all decently honest men,” said Wells, turning away from the tempter.
Peach was not a man to give up a plan he had once formed. As he could not get the help of Rudge and Wells, he tried other means to get possession of his master’s cattle. He had always made friends, as far as he could, with the blacks, a tribe of whom often pitched their tents near his hut. He was a sober man, and did not mind parting with his rum. All sober men are not good men, though drunkenness rarely fails to lead to crime and punishment. He had looked out for the blacks, and had told them that they must help him to get the cattle. They had managed from time to time to drive off a few calves.
As has been said, cattle have a fear of blacks, and, scenting them at a long distance, scamper off as soon as they draw near.
Thus Peach could not get much help from his friends. He now set off again on horseback to pay them a visit; for they were camped some miles away. He took care to go provided with presents, a few coloured handkerchiefs and knives, and a few other things.
On his way, his horse put his foot into a hole, and fell. Peach was thrown over his head. He was not much hurt, so he got up, and catching his horse, mounted again.
“Now I am on you I will pay you off, you brute,” he exclaimed, thrashing the poor animal with his heavy whip. The horse dashed on for some way, then stopped short. He was dead lame. In vain Peach tried to make him move. To return would have taken longer than to go on; so dismounting, he led on the animal, hoping to reach the blacks’ camp before night-fall. He went on and on, and it grew darker and darker, till he thought that he should have to camp out. He had no fancy to do that by himself. There were no wild beasts in the country to fear, and he would have told any one who asked him, that he did not believe in ghosts and spirits and such-like gentry; still there was something he did not like when he was all alone in the dark woods at night. His conscience was not at ease. There were strange sounds and sights he could not make out. He had no almighty Friend to whom he could offer up a prayer for protection; no wonder that he was a coward. He still went on, though he could hardly find the way; when on a sudden he stopped, and as he leaned forward, staring with wide open eyes and hair on end, he saw a blazing fire in the midst of an open glade, and on the farther side a hideous band of skeleton forms dancing and twisting and turning in all sorts of ways. Now, after leaping about furiously for a moment, they would on a sudden disappear, and not one was to be seen.
For a minute or more all was quiet, and Peach hoped that he had seen the last of them; when like a flash they all came back and jumped about as before. He stood trembling with fear, he would have run away if he could, but where was he to run to?
This fearful show went on for some time, when the most fearful shrieks and yells were heard.
“Why I do believe it’s the black fellows dancing a corroborree,” he muttered to himself. “What a fool I was! Now they yell! I make out their voices.”
Leading his horse, which was more frightened at the shrieks than he had been by the sight of the skeletons, he walked into the middle of a group of blacks. He now saw by the light of the fire, which was made to blaze up brightly, that on the front of each of the men a skeleton was painted with white chalk. These were seen when the light of the fire fell on them, but when they turned round and only their black backs were towards the fire, they seemed to have gone away altogether. He knew that it would not do to show the anger he felt at the fright they had given him. He stood quiet, therefore, with some of the old men looking on till the dance was over. He was known to most of the natives, who welcomed him in the odd jargon in which the white settlers and blacks talk to each other.
“He would tell them by-and-by what he had come to see them about, and in the meantime he had some presents to make,” he said.
The delight of the savages at getting the handkerchiefs and knives was very great. He told them that there were more for them if they would do what he wished. He then called some of the elders round him, and told them what he advised them to do. He told them that he was the black fellows’ friend, as they had proof, but that the other white men in those parts were their enemies, and that they should drive them away if they could, or kill them, and that then, they might have all their sheep and cattle for themselves. The poor savages seemed to understand this sort of reasoning, and promised to do as he advised. He sat up till a late hour talking with them. The whole party then lay down in the “gunyio,” or camp, with a few boughs or sheets of bark over their heads as their only covering, though most of them had bright fires burning at their feet outside. It was some time before Peach’s busy brain would let him go to sleep. At last he went off, and began to snore. Not long after, a black might have been seen passing close to him. “Oh you one white villain!” he exclaimed, shaking his head at him, “you call black man savage, you ten times worse; but black fellow teach you that you no more clever than he.”
Saying this, the black disappeared among the trees around.