Chapter Four.The Gilpins found that the superintendence of a large station did not afford a bed of roses. All day long they were in the saddle, overlooking twenty stockmen and shepherds, examining the herds and flocks, and often themselves doctoring any which were found diseased or injured. This they were obliged to do, in consequence of the ignorance or carelessness of the people in charge of them. These, with few exceptions, had been convicts. Of those who had been convicts, some were still working out their sentences with tickets-of-leave, while others, who were free to go where they liked, were too old and destitute of energy to venture on a change of occupation, and remained as before, hut-keepers or shepherds. At each inferior station there was a hut with a hut-keeper, whose duty was to look after the hut, to cook the provisions, and to tend the sheep or cattle brought for any special purpose into the fold or pen. The office was usually held by some old convict or other person unfit for hard labour. Though occasionally there is enough to do, it is considered an idle, lazy life.The brothers often rode together to the stations, to assist each other; but they had lately, for the sake of covering more ground in the course of the day, taken separate districts, that the stockmen might be kept constantly on the alert, not knowing any moment when the active young managers might pay them a visit. Notwithstanding this, cattle and sheep continued to disappear as before, and they came to the resolution of making every man responsible who lost an animal, and stopping his wages till it was replaced. One day, after a hard morning’s work, Arthur Gilpin found himself approaching the rear of a hut, on an out station, at the extreme end of the territory over which the cattle ranged—the whole being considerably larger than many a German principality. The ground was soft, and his horse’s hoofs making no noise, it was not till he got in front of the hut that the dog, ever found as its guardian (either well-bred deer-hound or cur of low degree), came bounding up towards him, barking loudly. In this case the animal was a remarkably handsome deer-hound, of a size and strength sufficient to drag him from his horse. The hut-keeper was seated in a rough sort of easy-chair, and was apparently fast asleep.“Hillo, my man, call off your dog, or he and I may do each other an injury,” shouted Arthur; “he is a noble brute, and I should not like to hurt him, if I could help it!”The man started up, a book dropping from his hand. “Come back, good Brian; come back, sir!” he cried out. “I must apologise, Mr Gilpin, for not hearing you; but I was overcome, I believe, by the heat,” he added, as he took the horse from which Arthur had just dismounted.As the stock-keeper unsaddled the animal, Arthur’s eye fell on the open page of the book from which he had been reading. It was a superior edition of Horace, well used.Roughly clad and unshorn and haggard in his looks as the man was, Arthur could not but conclude that he had once moved among the educated classes of society. The ever-ready damper and pot of tea were produced; and Arthur, having satisfied his appetite, made the usual inquiries about the station. Everything seemed to be satisfactory.“You appear to be fond of reading,” said Arthur, glancing at the Horace, which had been placed on a shelf among a few other books.“Ah! a friend of my early days. He serves to beguile many a weary hour,” answered the hut-keeper, with a sigh.Arthur did not like to ask questions. “We brought a few books with us into the bush; I shall be glad to lend them to you,” he said.“They will be most acceptable, sir,” said the hut-keeper, his countenance brightening; “my own stock is small, and I have read each volume over and over again till I know them by heart. I believe that if a chest of new books were to reach me, like the half-starved wretch who suddenly finds himself in the midst of plenty, I could sit down and read till my eyesight or my wits had left me.”“I can enter into your feelings,” said Arthur kindly. “The life you lead must indeed be dull.”“Ah! it might be far worse, though,” answered the hut-keeper; “poverty out here can scarcely be said to pinch. I often ask myself what might it have been, or what certainly would it have been, had I remained in London till my last shilling was gone. To rot in a poorhouse or to sweep a crossing would have been my lot, or there might have been a worse alternative. I had enough left to pay my passage out here. It was a wise move—the only wise thing I ever did in my life. My expectations on landing were foolish, and before I could realise them I had the chance of going to gaol or becoming a hut-keeper.” The last remarks were made as he stood holding the rein of Arthur’s horse.Arthur rode round the run, inspected the flock, and had to pass near the hut again on his return homeward. The hut-keeper, Charles Craven he called himself, was on the watch for him.“I must have a word with you, Mr Gilpin,” he said. “You are the first man I have met since I landed on these shores who has sympathised with me. I would do something to serve you. First, I must warn you never to be unarmed, either in your hut or out of it; and especially advise you and your brother, when you ride out, always to keep together. Many of the hands on the station are exasperated with you for your style of proceeding, and they think that if they could get rid of you they would have things their own way.”Thanking Craven for his advice, Arthur pushed on towards home as rapidly as his grey would carry him. He was relieved on finding that James had just before arrived. He told his brother of the warning Craven had given him.James was at first inclined to laugh at it. “The scoundrels dare not injure us!” he exclaimed. Then he remembered Basham’s revengeful looks, and the surly manner of several of the hands, and finally agreed with his brother that it would be wiser to go armed, and keep together.They had removed the hut-keeper to another post, and placed Green in charge of their abode. This would have been necessary, if for no other reason, for the purpose of having it kept clean and habitable, which the dirty habits of the former occupant rendered impracticable. The exact situation of the hut has not been described. It stood on a hillside, the ground immediately round it cleared, but with bush both above it and on either side, extending to a considerable distance. In some places the trees were fine and lofty, in others only stringy-bark or low bushes. A river passed in front at the distance of less than a quarter of a mile, full and flowing in winter, but after the heats of summer consisting of a succession of water-holes connected by a trickling rill. During the shearing season the river was a scene of the greatest animation, as all the flocks from far and near were driven up to it, that the sheep might be washed before being deprived of their fleeces. After a sudden downfall of rain, the quiet stream became a roaring, boiling torrent, sweeping onward with terrific force, now forming a wide lake, and, once more confined by high and narrow banks, whirling along with rapid eddies; and at spots, where a few hours before a person could pass on foot, the current would test the strength of the strongest swimmer or most powerful horse to cross; at other times it relapsed into a state of silence, not without much picturesque beauty of a tranquil character. The hut commanded a view of the river, but it, as well as the sheds, sheep-folds, and stock-yards, were placed far too high above it to be reached by the widest inundation it could cause.Arthur did not forget his promise to Craven, and, as soon as he was able, he rode toward his hut with several books in his pockets. The hut-keeper was very grateful, and expressed himself in a way which showed that he was really a gentleman and a man of feeling. The brothers, as they rode away, agreed that it would be but an act of common kindness to ask him to visit them, and that they might send another man to take his place.Craven considered a moment. “No; I had better not,” he answered; “the men about here look upon me as one of themselves, and if I were seen with you, I should no longer be trusted by them. They are mischievously inclined; and if I can turn them from their purposes, or give you warning of their intentions, and help, if needs be, it will afford me the satisfaction of believing that I have been of some little use in the world.”They could not but agree with him, and expressed a hope that an employment more suited to a person of his education might be found for him.Craven gave a sickly smile. “You are young, and think change is easy,” he said. “The sapling is quickly bent, but when an old tree has long grown in the same direction, it cannot be straightened again. Supply me with books and tobacco, and, a few years hence, perhaps, a pair of spectacles, and I shall have no desire to quit these wilds.”“Perhaps you will change your mind,” said James, putting out his hand, which the broken-down gentleman shook warmly.Many years had passed since his palm had pressed that of an equal in intellect and education. It seemed to raise him out of the state of hopeless apathy into which he had fallen.The hut at headquarters had greatly improved in appearance since it had become the residence of the Gilpins. There were three glazed windows, and it was partitioned off into a bedroom, a sitting-room—where books and papers could be arranged on shelves and kept clean—and a kitchen, which served as dining-room and hall. A good-sized storeroom had been built at the back, with a door opening into the kitchen. They and Sam Green were the only inmates of the building.It was late at night, the Bible had been read, and family prayers had been offered up—when two or three were gathered together that custom was never departed from in that rude hut in the wilds of Australia—thanksgivings for past, petitions for future protection. Sam had thrown himself on his bed in a corner of the hall, and his loud snoring told that he was fast asleep. The brothers had been reading in their sitting-room, and were on the point of retiring to bed, when a slight tap was heard at the window. They thought it was some night bird attracted by the light, and took no notice. A louder tap was heard; Arthur opened the window.“Wisht! mister, dear; just let me in, for I’ve something to say to ye,” said a voice, which he recognised to be Larry Killock’s.“I will let you in by the door, Larry, unless you like to jump through the window,” said Arthur.“The quickest way’s the best,” was the answer, as Larry leaped through the opening, adding, “shut the shutters, lest any one’s eyes should be looking this way.” Larry was out of breath, and looked faint and weary, as if he had come a long distance.“What brings you here, Larry?” said Arthur, in a tone of anxiety, which it was natural he should feel.“It’s bad news I’ve to tell yer honours; but if I’d had to lose my life, I’d have come to tell it,” he answered. “No matter how I found it out, but I did find it out, that the people on the station, just because you have put a stop to their robberies and rogueries, have determined to do away with you. As villains is mostly cowards, there’s none of them dares to bell the cat themselves, and so they’ve engaged some of them black fellows—the thieves of the world—to do the job for them. It was to be done quickly, and I came along, ignorant entirely if I’d be in time or not to save yer honours’ lives; but they’ve not killed you yet, and we’ll see if we can’t be a match for them.” The Irishman went on to say that the plan proposed was to set fire to the surrounding bush, and that while they ran out, as they naturally would, to stop the flames from approaching their dwelling, by cutting down the surrounding grass and bushes, they were to be knocked down with boomerangs by the blacks, and their bodies dragged into the fire.The brothers immediately decided what to do. Waking up Sam and telling him what they had heard, they bade Larry take care of the house and make a good supper; and, reaping-hooks and axes in hand, they sailed out to clear the ground of all fuel capable of bringing the flames up to the hut. Beginning at the back of the building, they worked away energetically, gradually extending their circle till they had cut down and raked away all fuel, almost up to the woods, when they heard Sam’s voice calling them—“Come back, come back! the black fellows are close upon us! I wasn’t comfortable in my mind, and went out to listen. I heard them calling to each other, and their dogs barking.”Although they believed that the bullock-driver’s anxiety or fears might somewhat exaggerate the danger, they felt that it was, at all events, prudent to retreat to their hut. All remained quiet: they were beginning to hope that the alarm might be a false one. Arthur again went out, and as, rifle in hand, he was pacing as sentry round the hut, he saw a bright light burst forth above the trees, half a mile or so off to the south-west. He watched it for some minutes; it increased, extending on either hand, the forked points of the flames appearing high above the intervening trees. There could be no doubt that the wood was on fire. Thus far the information obtained by the bullock-driver was correct. There was too much reason, therefore, to fear that their destruction would be attempted by the savages. He hurried into the hut to consult what was best to be done. Their horses were at hand; they might mount them and ride away from the danger; but such a proceeding was not to be thought of. If, however, they were not secured, they would be carried off by the blacks. Arthur and Sam accordingly went out and brought them up to the hut; there was just room for them to stand in the kitchen by removing the table; the door was then closed and barred. None of the party, however, felt inclined to wait inactive till the conflagration reached their neighbourhood without knowing what progress it was making. There was no window at the back of the hut.“We will make holes in the roof,” said Arthur; “we shall be able to see through them what is going on, and if we are besieged in our fortress by the savages, we shall be the better able to defend ourselves and annoy them.”A stool, placed on the top of the table, enabled them to reach the roof, and by stringing some boards to the rafters, they found convenient standing places. The square holes cut in the shingles forming the roof gave them a look-out. There was enough in the spectacle they beheld to try the courage of the stoutest hearted. In front of them, that is to say, at the back of the hut, was a narrow neck of forest, which was as yet intact, but above the branches—between the stems which stood out in bold relief—the flames were seen raging furiously, devouring, as they advanced, everything in their course, both to the right and to the left. Strange sounds, too, were heard: there was the roaring, hissing, and crackling of the fire, and ever and anon a report like that of heavy guns, as some tall tree was riven in two by the intense heat which surrounded it; the air also came like a blast from a furnace, laden with smoke, ashes, and often sparks, which threatened to ignite the dry roof of the building. The danger was increasing, for the flames were advancing towards the confines of the wood nearest them. Now the fire, snake-like, would be seen creeping along the grass, then catching hold of some bush, which would speedily be wrapped in its deadly embrace; next the lower boughs of the trees would catch, or the dry wood and twigs round the stumps, and upward it would mount triumphant, roaring and crackling—the slighter trees falling prostrate before it; the older and thicker still withstanding its fierce assault, though left branchless and blackened, with all vitality destroyed.As yet the hut remained uninjured, though a semicircle of fire raged furiously close to it, and here and there, where a bush still stood, or some tufts of grass had not been closely cropped, the flames made advances, and, winding along the ground, rose up, flickered, and died. From the first outbreak of the conflagration various animals had been seen crossing the open ground, as they escaped from the burning forest. Birds innumerable, of varied plumage, aroused from their roosting places, flew by, some uttering discordant screams of terror, many, with scorched wings, falling dead before they reached the hut. As yet no human beings had been seen.“I trust that the savages will not venture to attack us,” said James; “only in the last extremity could I feel justified in firing at them.”“Arrah! it’s but little of that sort of treatment they have received since the white man first put his foot on their shores,” observed Larry. “I’ve heard tell of their being shot down by scores at a time, like vermin. Many and many’s the black fellow I’ve seen killed, and no notice taken of it, and no thought by the man who did the deed, any more than if he had fired at a wild beast.”Arthur interrupted Larry’s remarks by exclaiming, “There they are, though, and in no small numbers too, just coming round the edge of the burning wood to the south-east!”The rest of the party looked in the direction indicated, and there, seen clearly by the light of the flames thrown on their dark bodies, armed with spears, clubs, and boomerangs, was a numerous body of savages. They appeared to be looking cautiously about, as if expecting to find their intended victims engaged in extinguishing the flames round the hut.“The black chaps are no cowards, Mr Gilpin. We shall have a fierce fight of it, and our three firearms won’t do much against all them, I’m thinking,” observed Larry.“There are still more of them coming!” exclaimed Arthur; “and see! there’s a fellow has just joined them who looks like a chief. They are pointing this way. We may look out to be attacked in a few minutes. We may fire surely, James, if they come on? A few shots will probably send them scampering off. They have no firearms among them.”“Not so sure of that, yer honour,” said Larry. “Look, the fellow you called the chief has a gun of some sort, and he is showing it to the rest to encourage them. He handles it like a man who knows the use of it, too.”In spite of the overwhelming numbers of the enemy, the little garrison resolved to maintain their position. Little could be gained by flight, and all their property would inevitably be destroyed should they desert the hut. The risk they ran in either case was very great. They might pick off some of the savages, but there were so many that they might easily surround the hut and burn it to the ground.“If we had two or three more fellows with us, we might bid defiance to the whole mob,” said Arthur.“To my mind, if we was to shoot down that chap with the gun in his hand, the rest would show us their heels,” observed Sam Green, who had not before spoken since the appearance of the savages; “they none on ’em shows much stomach for the fight.”Sam’s remark was correct. The savages were evidently aware that the defenders of the hut possessed firearms, and even the chief showed no inclination to expose himself. From their movements, however, it appeared that they were about to make a rush towards the hut. At that instant the tramp of horses’ hoofs was heard approaching, and a voice cried out—“Open the door! Be quick! Let us in!”James and his brother, who had been watching the savages from the roof, jumped down at the moment that a rifle-ball whistled by.“That bullet was never fired by a black chap,” said Larry to Sam, as they also descended from their perches to receive the new-comers. The Gilpins, without hesitation, opened the door, and Craven with a stranger appeared, just dismounting from their horses, whose foam-covered bits and reeking backs showed that they had ridden at no slow rate.“No time for words. If you have room for our poor brutes, take them in; if not, they must run their chance outside,” he said. “Here, we have brought arms and ammunition. We knew that you would be hard pressed, and have come to share your fate.”“Come in, come in,” said James, leading in the horses, who, trembling with fatigue, were quiet enough.The new-comers had brought a rifle, a musket, and two fowling-pieces, with powder-flasks and bullets. This reinforcement raised the confidence of the little party in the hut. The blacks, discovering Craven and his companion, made a rush to intercept them. They sprang in after the horses; but before the door was closed, a shower of darts and boomerangs rattled against it, and again a shot was heard, and a bullet flew by among them. Those inside hurriedly closed the door; but, almost before the bar could be replaced, the blacks were thundering with their clubs against it. James had been strongly averse to shed blood, even the blood of savages endeavouring to destroy him and his companions, yet there was no longer any other alternative; the blacks must be driven off, or they would burn down the hut. It became James’s duty to take the command, and to give the word. Loop-holes were speedily cut in the walls.“Be ready, friends; pick off the leaders, each of us those more immediately in front as we stand. Do not throw a shot away. Fire!”Three of the blacks were seen to fall to the ground, the rest ran back in disorder, two of them wounded. This gave the defenders of the hut time to reload and to make some fresh loop-holes. The blacks were again met by the chief, who was seen urging them to return, though he showed no inclination to place himself in danger. Craven, seeing the look-out places in the roof, proposed getting up there.“I think that I might bring down that fellow if I could get a steady shot at him,” he said, taking up his rifle. “The fellow has disappeared!” he exclaimed. “I cannot make it out, yet the rest obey him, for they are coming on again, and with fire-brands, too. We must beat them, or they will roast us.”The spectacle was indeed appalling. There were from fifty to sixty blacks, each with a burning brand in his left hand and a spear or club in the other, all leaping and shrieking in concert, as they sprang on towards the hut. The defenders waited till they got within thirty paces, and then all together fired. The result was the same as before. Several fell, others ran howling back wounded, the rest, throwing down their brands, followed. Another volley was sent after them, in the hope that it might induce them to abandon the attack. Craven reloaded, and sat watching at his post. The crack of his rifle was again heard.“I have hit the scoundrel!” he exclaimed. “He is no black man; he is ordering them to lift him up; they are carrying him off. I have not the heart to send another bullet through him, but he deserves it.”“We may capture him, though,” cried Arthur. “Let us jump on our horses; we shall soon overtake them.”The proposal was instantly adopted; no one was more eager and full of animation than Craven. The horses were led out, and, Larry remaining with the spare firearms in the hut, the party urged on the animals in the direction the blacks had gone. The flames of the burning forest lighted up the country, and enabled them to ride at full speed, though it was with difficulty they could make the horses keep near the fire, edging along which the blacks had gone, hoping probably, if they could get round the furthest end, to place it between themselves and those they had so ruthlessly attacked. Mounting to the top of a ridge, the horsemen caught sight of a party of natives on a hill before them, with a valley intervening. The blacks got to the top, on some open ground, when it was seen that they were carrying a burden among them. The white men dashed down into the valley, and, making their way across it, urged their horses up the opposite height. The blacks saw them coming; in vain the man they were carrying ordered them to remain by him. Oaths, entreaties, promises were of no avail. Putting him down, they ran off as fast as their legs would carry them.The last exclamations he uttered showed his pursuers that he was no native. They were in English, and too horrible to be repeated. The Gilpins reached him. He glared fiercely at them as they dismounted, and seemed to be feeling for a pistol in his belt. They grasped his hands to prevent his using it. The oath he uttered betrayed him. Though his face and arms and the upper part of his body was blackened, they at once recognised him as Basham, the late overseer. The wretched blacks had already suffered so severely that the settlers had no desire to overtake them. Dismounting, therefore, one of the party led the horses, and the rest, lifting up the wounded man, bore him back towards the hut. They frequently looked behind to ascertain if the blacks were following for the purpose of recovering him, but no attempt of the sort was made. It was hard work carrying him, for he was a heavy man. Some deep groans which burst from him showed that he was suffering much pain. From a feeling of mercy they stopped, and found that the bullet had entered his leg, and had probably grazed, if it had not broken, the bone. Craven had a knowledge of surgery, especially valuable to a bushman; and while all were stooping down round the injured man, he probed the wound, and extracted some of the black cloth which had been carried into it. Had Basham been a friend who had been fighting for them, he could not have been treated more tenderly. He, however, scarcely spoke, and displayed no sign of gratitude. At length they reached the hut in safety. The horses were tethered outside, ready for instant service. The wounded man was placed on Sam’s bed, and such restoratives as the brothers possessed administered to him. These arrangements concluded, the whole party thankfully sat down to a meal, which was rather breakfast than supper. The Gilpins now learned from Craven that he had heard a rumour of the proposed attack of the savages, instigated by the stockmen, though he did not understand that Basham was the prime mover; that there was only one man whom he could trust, and that, having invited him, they had both set forward to their assistance. His companion was evidently, like himself, a man of superior education and fallen fortunes. In Craven the necessity for unusual exertion had worked a marked change, and he no longer appeared the spirit-broken man he had seemed when Arthur first met him.The fire continued raging, but made no further progress, and, in spite of its dangerous neighbourhood, all the party except James, who insisted on remaining on watch, were fast asleep. The hours of darkness passed by slowly and anxiously. He kept his ears ever ready to catch any sound outside, and he occasionally looked forth, thinking it possible that the blacks might return, or that some of the white companions of their prisoner might come to look for him. The nearest police-station was about thirty miles off. It was necessary to convey their prisoner there; but then it was very possible that they might be attacked on the road, and that he might be rescued. Knowing the bad feeling of the people around them, it would be imprudent to weaken the strength of their party at the hut. James therefore resolved, if Larry was sufficiently rested, to send him off, as soon as it was daylight, for a sufficient force to escort the late overseer to prison. Scarcely had he formed this plan when Larry jumped up, and exclaimed—“Now, yer honour, you have had watching enough, and I’ll just take my spell. I’m as fresh as a daisy with the dew on the grass.”James declined doing this, and told him of his proposed plan.“Nothing like taking time by the forelock!” exclaimed the Irishman. “I’ve my raisons, and I’ll be off—as soon as I can stow some food in my inside and catch the horse—before it is daylight, so that it will be a hard job for any of them fellows to find me, even if they have a fancy for that same.”As there was no time to be lost, James went out and brought in Larry’s horse, to which he gave a sop of damper and spirits and water, while Larry was refreshing himself.“It’s good luck I’ll have on a good errand, I hope,” he exclaimed, as he leaped into the saddle; “for though the police and I weren’t over friendly once on a time, I can now face them like an honest man, thanks to yer honour.”Larry was soon lost to sight in the gloom which prevailed at a distance from the yet burning wood. Daylight came. All hands were on foot. The wounded man appeared to be no worse. A sad change had taken place in the once picturesque appearance of the surrounding scenery. In the place of the green wood, with many noble trees, a few blackened stems, gaunt and branchless, with still smouldering ashes at their base, were the only objects to be seen on the hillside. The Gilpins scarcely liked to keep Craven and his companion from their posts, though at the same time they felt the importance of having a sufficient guard over their prisoner. They were surprised that none of the stockmen or hut-keepers from the neighbourhood had made their appearance. It proved but too plainly that all were disaffected; and it made them resolve not to quit the vicinity of the hut till the arrival of the police. They could not, however, come for some hours. Breakfast was just over, when Green, who had gone down to fetch some water from the river, came hurrying back, and reported that he had seen several men collecting, with arms in their hands, on the opposite side. “Who could they be? What could be their object?” was the question.It was decided that while every precaution should be taken to prevent surprise, they should be treated as if they could only have come on a friendly errand, and that every attempt should be made to conciliate them before resorting to force. Scarcely five minutes had passed before several men were seen approaching, from the direction of the river, in single file. They were all disguised, either with blackened faces or masks, while they wore either kangaroo or sheep skins over their shoulders, or were covered with the thick-leaved branches of shrubs, so as completely to conceal their figures. It was evident that they intended mischief. They halted at about twenty paces from the hut, seemingly surprised at finding the windows barricaded and the door closed, with the muzzles of firearms protruding from the walls. Seeing their hesitation, James instantly went out, and, with his rifle in his hand, confronted them—“Men, you have amused yourselves seemingly with what might be a harmless mummery, were it not for the weapons in your hands,” he began, in a firm tone; “put them down, and let me hear what you have got to say.”The leading man, after consulting with his companions, replied, “You have got shut up there a friend of ours, and you must give him up to us, or take the consequences.”“I am not at all likely to yield to demands made by strangers in the tone you make them, or to tell you whether or not we have any one shut up inside this hut,” said James; “you will risk your own lives, and gain nothing by persisting in such folly.”“Yours is the folly, master, in refusing our demands!” exclaimed the man. “You can gain no good by keeping the man a prisoner, but will do him and us harm!”While the man was speaking, he and his companions advanced still closer to the hut.“Stand back!” cried James, endeavouring to bring his piece to his shoulder; but before he had done so, the men, stooping low, sprang forward, keeping him between themselves and the hut. Those inside opened the door to admit him, but instead of retreating he stood fast, till the leader of the ruffians had struck up his rifle, and, grasping him by the throat, bore him backwards. Arthur, rushing out to his rescue, was seized likewise, and the whole party dashed together into the hut, overthrowing Green, who came out to help his young masters. Fortunately their eyes first fell on the wounded man as he lay on a bed in the outer room. The stretcher of boughs, on which he had been brought to the hut, still remained outside. A few words passed between them. They lifted him on the litter, neither the Gilpins nor Green being able to prevent them, and, with a shout of triumph, they carried him off towards the river. The Gilpins and Green were quickly on their feet. For an instant they stood irresolute whether to follow.“Do not attempt it,” cried a voice from within; “the villains will not scruple to fire if you do.”It was Craven who spoke. James was inclined to accuse him of cowardice till he reflected at what risk he had come voluntarily to their assistance. Craven himself, too, explained that being assured the outlaws would murder him and his companion had they seen them, they had retreated into the storeroom, where they lay hid among casks and cases. It was provoking to have lost their prisoner, but at the same time they had reason to be thankful that no life had been sacrificed.“If they find out from Basham that we are here, they will to a certainty return,” observed Craven; “and we must be prepared.”“The police will be here by that time,” was Arthur’s remark. “If they come, we may follow, and we should have our horses ready.”“None of them said a word about the police,” observed James; “I don’t think that they were aware that we expected them.”“Then, depend on it, when they find out that Richards and I are away from our posts, they will return to punish us. Basham will not say anything, however, till he thinks that they have placed him in safety, and then, of course, he will tell them of our being here.”In consequence of Craven’s very just apprehensions, the party set to work to fortify the hut more completely, by putting stronger bars to the windows and doors, and by placing a stockade outside at the weaker parts, so as to make it more difficult for any assailants to reach the roof.These preparations were scarcely completed, when Green, who happened to be on the roof, cried out—“There come the chaps again, and twice as many as before!”This was serious news; for it was not likely that the ruffian band would have returned, unless with the intention of destroying those who had offended them. It is very probable that they hoped to make it appear that the blacks, having set the wood on fire, had afterwards killed them. The whole party in the hut felt, therefore, that they must fight to the last extremity. A line was drawn round the building, and it was agreed that if an enemy passed it they would fire; but they would refrain as long as possible from shedding blood. They had scarcely time to barricade the door and windows before the outlaws appeared, mounting the hill from the river, not as before, in single file, but scattered over the ground, so as to take advantage of the shelter any inequalities might afford. Some were disguised, but there were several blacks who were in their usual unclothed state, and were evidently not masqueraders. It might have been difficult to identify even those, as their faces and bodies were bedaubed with pigments in strange and hideous devices.This time James took care not to show himself. “Stand back, men!” he shouted in a loud voice. “If any one advances across the line we have marked out, we must fire. We do not wish to shed blood, but the consequence be on your own heads. Back, black men! you get killed.”The outlaws hesitated, and even the natives seemed to understand what was said. Whereabouts the magic line was drawn, at which some of them would be certain to lose their lives, they could not tell. Soldiers in battle will dare any danger, but villains engaged in a criminal act are always cowards, unless driven to desperation. Such was not the case at present. A white handkerchief was shown on a stick, and a voice cried out—“We don’t want to hurt you, Mr Gilpin, or your brother, or man, but there are two fellows there, and we must have them; give them up to us, and we will go away.”“I ask you, would you give up people who had put confidence in you?” said James.“We have nothing to say to that; give up the men, or we will burn down the hut and you in it,” was the answer.“Remember the warning I have given you,” said James; “however, we will just talk the matter over, and let you know what we decide.”“Be sharp about it, then,” said the first speaker; “we did not come here to shilly-shally, and we shall advance directly the time is up. We give you five minutes to settle the matter.”“We must take ten; and recollect that our rifles will be kept ready for use,” added James, firmly.“I am afraid the fellows will put their threat into execution,” said Craven. “Now, you see, our lives are of no use to any one, and so, when the ten minutes are up, tell them that we will go with them, if they will take their departure quietly, and not injure you.”“On no account would we do so!” exclaimed the brothers in the same breath. “I would not trust them, even if we should be base enough to give you up.”“Noa, sur; I’d sooner cut out my tongue than give ye up to them arrant knaves!” exclaimed Green, doubling his fist, and shaking it in the direction he supposed that the outlaws were collected.The minutes passed slowly by. They were doubtful whether the outlaws would begin the attack at the end of the five minutes, or wait till the termination of the ten. The dread of the fatal line, however, seemed to keep them back. The muzzles of the firearms were kept protruding from the walls, and, as there were several pistols as well as rifles, they made a good display of force, rather damping the courage of those who came expecting, probably, an easy victory.The ten minutes came to an end, and fully another five had passed by, and the outlaws did not advance. It was very clear, therefore, that they had not intercepted Larry, nor were aware that he had gone for the police. How long it might be before they could arrive it was impossible to say; perhaps when Larry reached their quarters the larger number had been sent in an opposite direction, and considerable time might be lost. However, the importance of gaining as much time as possible was very great; for though the little garrison did not despair of beating off the enemy, they earnestly desired to avoid the bloodshed which must ensue if fighting once began.James therefore waited with a sad and beating heart to give the fatal order, should the outlaws overstep the prescribed boundary.“Well, what are you going to do?” shouted one of the men; “are you going to give up those fellows?”“Who is it you are looking for?” asked James, glad of any means to spin out the time.“Gentleman Jim and Sulking Sam,” was the answer. “Come, turn them out; you’ve got them.”“I know no men by those names,” said James.“The rogues are right enough, though. I have the honour of being designated as ‘Gentleman Jim,’” said Craven, with a smile.“I say, what are the right names of the chaps?” asked one of the outlaws of a comrade.“I never knowed ’em by any other,” was the answer.“Come, come, master, you hand them out, and be done with it!” cried several of the men together.“Supposing they were with us, and that we were to deliver them into your hands, what would you do with them?” asked James.“Hang them up on the nearest tree, as we will you also, if you don’t come to terms pretty quickly!” shouted the first ruffian who had spoken.“I won’t help you to be guilty of so great a crime,” said James; “think better of it, and go away.”“No more of this; time’s up!” cried a loud voice. “Charge, lads!”The whole body sprang forward towards the hut. The whites instantly began firing their muskets or fowling-pieces, the blacks at the same moment casting their spears.“Hurra! Here come the police! Look out for yourselves!” cried Sam Green, who had been keeping watch at a hole near the roof, looking eastward.The words, uttered before any one had time to reload, had a magic effect. One of the outlaws, springing on one side to ascertain whether the announcement was true, shouted out the fact to his comrades. Down the hill they rushed, as fast as their legs could carry them. Their bullets had either passed over the hut or had lodged in the thick planking which formed the sides, without injuring any of those within. The sound of the shots, however, made the police put spurs to their horses’ sides, and they came galloping up as the last of the outlaws disappeared across the river. Their steeds were pretty well knocked up with their long and rapid journey, but Lieutenant Graham, the officer in command, was most anxious to catch some of the men. “We will join you!” cried Craven, running out. Their horses were found in a grassy nook to the left. Craven, with his friend Richards, and Arthur Gilpin, and ten of the police, led by their officer, joined in the pursuit. Before long they came in sight of the outlaws, scattered far and wide over the country, each man endeavouring to make his escape by himself. Most of them had thrown away the boughs and the skins with which they had been covered. Three men kept closer together than did the rest. Craven, who thought he recognised them by their figures as stockmen belonging to the station, recommended that they should be followed. The men soon discovered that they especially were pursued. When they saw that all chance of escape was gone, they turned round and stood at bay; but as the troopers advanced with drawn sabres, they threw down their arms and cried out for quarter. Their lives were of course spared, but their hands being lashed behind them, they were conducted back to the hut. Another man was caught, but the rest were allowed to escape. “We can always get any we require,” observed one of the police. The prisoners were the men Craven supposed. He himself was the chief cause of their being taken. Except that his dress was rough, as usual, his whole manner was changed as he galloped across the field. Graham looked at him more than once with astonishment.They were all once more collected in the hut, doing justice to the fare Sam and Larry had provided.“I am nearly certain that I know you!” said the police officer, addressing Craven. “My name is Graham, and yours is—”“All right, old fellow!” cried Craven, jumping up and grasping his hand; “it is pleasant, indeed, to meet a near relation out here. I never heard of your coming.”“Nor did I know of your being here. However, we will not lose sight of each other again,” said the lieutenant.As scarcely any of the stockmen or hut-keepers could be trusted, the Gilpins begged that some of the police might remain, while they went round to drive in and concentrate the herds of cattle and the flocks of sheep, now probably without keepers, and subject to the depredations of the outlaws. It was very hard work; but, with the help of Craven, a few of the better-disposed men, who were found at their huts (having probably returned there after the ill-success of their expedition), were selected, and the task was accomplished. Fresh hands were sent for. Craven was appointed overseer, with his friend under him. Graham set off with his prisoners for headquarters, Norfolk Island being, without doubt, their ultimate destination. No tidings could be gained of Basham. He was probably hid away in the mountains, but it was not likely that he would make any further attempts on the station. The disorderly servants were dismissed, fresh ones arrived, and for some time the affairs entrusted to the young settlers went on quietly and prosperously.
The Gilpins found that the superintendence of a large station did not afford a bed of roses. All day long they were in the saddle, overlooking twenty stockmen and shepherds, examining the herds and flocks, and often themselves doctoring any which were found diseased or injured. This they were obliged to do, in consequence of the ignorance or carelessness of the people in charge of them. These, with few exceptions, had been convicts. Of those who had been convicts, some were still working out their sentences with tickets-of-leave, while others, who were free to go where they liked, were too old and destitute of energy to venture on a change of occupation, and remained as before, hut-keepers or shepherds. At each inferior station there was a hut with a hut-keeper, whose duty was to look after the hut, to cook the provisions, and to tend the sheep or cattle brought for any special purpose into the fold or pen. The office was usually held by some old convict or other person unfit for hard labour. Though occasionally there is enough to do, it is considered an idle, lazy life.
The brothers often rode together to the stations, to assist each other; but they had lately, for the sake of covering more ground in the course of the day, taken separate districts, that the stockmen might be kept constantly on the alert, not knowing any moment when the active young managers might pay them a visit. Notwithstanding this, cattle and sheep continued to disappear as before, and they came to the resolution of making every man responsible who lost an animal, and stopping his wages till it was replaced. One day, after a hard morning’s work, Arthur Gilpin found himself approaching the rear of a hut, on an out station, at the extreme end of the territory over which the cattle ranged—the whole being considerably larger than many a German principality. The ground was soft, and his horse’s hoofs making no noise, it was not till he got in front of the hut that the dog, ever found as its guardian (either well-bred deer-hound or cur of low degree), came bounding up towards him, barking loudly. In this case the animal was a remarkably handsome deer-hound, of a size and strength sufficient to drag him from his horse. The hut-keeper was seated in a rough sort of easy-chair, and was apparently fast asleep.
“Hillo, my man, call off your dog, or he and I may do each other an injury,” shouted Arthur; “he is a noble brute, and I should not like to hurt him, if I could help it!”
The man started up, a book dropping from his hand. “Come back, good Brian; come back, sir!” he cried out. “I must apologise, Mr Gilpin, for not hearing you; but I was overcome, I believe, by the heat,” he added, as he took the horse from which Arthur had just dismounted.
As the stock-keeper unsaddled the animal, Arthur’s eye fell on the open page of the book from which he had been reading. It was a superior edition of Horace, well used.
Roughly clad and unshorn and haggard in his looks as the man was, Arthur could not but conclude that he had once moved among the educated classes of society. The ever-ready damper and pot of tea were produced; and Arthur, having satisfied his appetite, made the usual inquiries about the station. Everything seemed to be satisfactory.
“You appear to be fond of reading,” said Arthur, glancing at the Horace, which had been placed on a shelf among a few other books.
“Ah! a friend of my early days. He serves to beguile many a weary hour,” answered the hut-keeper, with a sigh.
Arthur did not like to ask questions. “We brought a few books with us into the bush; I shall be glad to lend them to you,” he said.
“They will be most acceptable, sir,” said the hut-keeper, his countenance brightening; “my own stock is small, and I have read each volume over and over again till I know them by heart. I believe that if a chest of new books were to reach me, like the half-starved wretch who suddenly finds himself in the midst of plenty, I could sit down and read till my eyesight or my wits had left me.”
“I can enter into your feelings,” said Arthur kindly. “The life you lead must indeed be dull.”
“Ah! it might be far worse, though,” answered the hut-keeper; “poverty out here can scarcely be said to pinch. I often ask myself what might it have been, or what certainly would it have been, had I remained in London till my last shilling was gone. To rot in a poorhouse or to sweep a crossing would have been my lot, or there might have been a worse alternative. I had enough left to pay my passage out here. It was a wise move—the only wise thing I ever did in my life. My expectations on landing were foolish, and before I could realise them I had the chance of going to gaol or becoming a hut-keeper.” The last remarks were made as he stood holding the rein of Arthur’s horse.
Arthur rode round the run, inspected the flock, and had to pass near the hut again on his return homeward. The hut-keeper, Charles Craven he called himself, was on the watch for him.
“I must have a word with you, Mr Gilpin,” he said. “You are the first man I have met since I landed on these shores who has sympathised with me. I would do something to serve you. First, I must warn you never to be unarmed, either in your hut or out of it; and especially advise you and your brother, when you ride out, always to keep together. Many of the hands on the station are exasperated with you for your style of proceeding, and they think that if they could get rid of you they would have things their own way.”
Thanking Craven for his advice, Arthur pushed on towards home as rapidly as his grey would carry him. He was relieved on finding that James had just before arrived. He told his brother of the warning Craven had given him.
James was at first inclined to laugh at it. “The scoundrels dare not injure us!” he exclaimed. Then he remembered Basham’s revengeful looks, and the surly manner of several of the hands, and finally agreed with his brother that it would be wiser to go armed, and keep together.
They had removed the hut-keeper to another post, and placed Green in charge of their abode. This would have been necessary, if for no other reason, for the purpose of having it kept clean and habitable, which the dirty habits of the former occupant rendered impracticable. The exact situation of the hut has not been described. It stood on a hillside, the ground immediately round it cleared, but with bush both above it and on either side, extending to a considerable distance. In some places the trees were fine and lofty, in others only stringy-bark or low bushes. A river passed in front at the distance of less than a quarter of a mile, full and flowing in winter, but after the heats of summer consisting of a succession of water-holes connected by a trickling rill. During the shearing season the river was a scene of the greatest animation, as all the flocks from far and near were driven up to it, that the sheep might be washed before being deprived of their fleeces. After a sudden downfall of rain, the quiet stream became a roaring, boiling torrent, sweeping onward with terrific force, now forming a wide lake, and, once more confined by high and narrow banks, whirling along with rapid eddies; and at spots, where a few hours before a person could pass on foot, the current would test the strength of the strongest swimmer or most powerful horse to cross; at other times it relapsed into a state of silence, not without much picturesque beauty of a tranquil character. The hut commanded a view of the river, but it, as well as the sheds, sheep-folds, and stock-yards, were placed far too high above it to be reached by the widest inundation it could cause.
Arthur did not forget his promise to Craven, and, as soon as he was able, he rode toward his hut with several books in his pockets. The hut-keeper was very grateful, and expressed himself in a way which showed that he was really a gentleman and a man of feeling. The brothers, as they rode away, agreed that it would be but an act of common kindness to ask him to visit them, and that they might send another man to take his place.
Craven considered a moment. “No; I had better not,” he answered; “the men about here look upon me as one of themselves, and if I were seen with you, I should no longer be trusted by them. They are mischievously inclined; and if I can turn them from their purposes, or give you warning of their intentions, and help, if needs be, it will afford me the satisfaction of believing that I have been of some little use in the world.”
They could not but agree with him, and expressed a hope that an employment more suited to a person of his education might be found for him.
Craven gave a sickly smile. “You are young, and think change is easy,” he said. “The sapling is quickly bent, but when an old tree has long grown in the same direction, it cannot be straightened again. Supply me with books and tobacco, and, a few years hence, perhaps, a pair of spectacles, and I shall have no desire to quit these wilds.”
“Perhaps you will change your mind,” said James, putting out his hand, which the broken-down gentleman shook warmly.
Many years had passed since his palm had pressed that of an equal in intellect and education. It seemed to raise him out of the state of hopeless apathy into which he had fallen.
The hut at headquarters had greatly improved in appearance since it had become the residence of the Gilpins. There were three glazed windows, and it was partitioned off into a bedroom, a sitting-room—where books and papers could be arranged on shelves and kept clean—and a kitchen, which served as dining-room and hall. A good-sized storeroom had been built at the back, with a door opening into the kitchen. They and Sam Green were the only inmates of the building.
It was late at night, the Bible had been read, and family prayers had been offered up—when two or three were gathered together that custom was never departed from in that rude hut in the wilds of Australia—thanksgivings for past, petitions for future protection. Sam had thrown himself on his bed in a corner of the hall, and his loud snoring told that he was fast asleep. The brothers had been reading in their sitting-room, and were on the point of retiring to bed, when a slight tap was heard at the window. They thought it was some night bird attracted by the light, and took no notice. A louder tap was heard; Arthur opened the window.
“Wisht! mister, dear; just let me in, for I’ve something to say to ye,” said a voice, which he recognised to be Larry Killock’s.
“I will let you in by the door, Larry, unless you like to jump through the window,” said Arthur.
“The quickest way’s the best,” was the answer, as Larry leaped through the opening, adding, “shut the shutters, lest any one’s eyes should be looking this way.” Larry was out of breath, and looked faint and weary, as if he had come a long distance.
“What brings you here, Larry?” said Arthur, in a tone of anxiety, which it was natural he should feel.
“It’s bad news I’ve to tell yer honours; but if I’d had to lose my life, I’d have come to tell it,” he answered. “No matter how I found it out, but I did find it out, that the people on the station, just because you have put a stop to their robberies and rogueries, have determined to do away with you. As villains is mostly cowards, there’s none of them dares to bell the cat themselves, and so they’ve engaged some of them black fellows—the thieves of the world—to do the job for them. It was to be done quickly, and I came along, ignorant entirely if I’d be in time or not to save yer honours’ lives; but they’ve not killed you yet, and we’ll see if we can’t be a match for them.” The Irishman went on to say that the plan proposed was to set fire to the surrounding bush, and that while they ran out, as they naturally would, to stop the flames from approaching their dwelling, by cutting down the surrounding grass and bushes, they were to be knocked down with boomerangs by the blacks, and their bodies dragged into the fire.
The brothers immediately decided what to do. Waking up Sam and telling him what they had heard, they bade Larry take care of the house and make a good supper; and, reaping-hooks and axes in hand, they sailed out to clear the ground of all fuel capable of bringing the flames up to the hut. Beginning at the back of the building, they worked away energetically, gradually extending their circle till they had cut down and raked away all fuel, almost up to the woods, when they heard Sam’s voice calling them—
“Come back, come back! the black fellows are close upon us! I wasn’t comfortable in my mind, and went out to listen. I heard them calling to each other, and their dogs barking.”
Although they believed that the bullock-driver’s anxiety or fears might somewhat exaggerate the danger, they felt that it was, at all events, prudent to retreat to their hut. All remained quiet: they were beginning to hope that the alarm might be a false one. Arthur again went out, and as, rifle in hand, he was pacing as sentry round the hut, he saw a bright light burst forth above the trees, half a mile or so off to the south-west. He watched it for some minutes; it increased, extending on either hand, the forked points of the flames appearing high above the intervening trees. There could be no doubt that the wood was on fire. Thus far the information obtained by the bullock-driver was correct. There was too much reason, therefore, to fear that their destruction would be attempted by the savages. He hurried into the hut to consult what was best to be done. Their horses were at hand; they might mount them and ride away from the danger; but such a proceeding was not to be thought of. If, however, they were not secured, they would be carried off by the blacks. Arthur and Sam accordingly went out and brought them up to the hut; there was just room for them to stand in the kitchen by removing the table; the door was then closed and barred. None of the party, however, felt inclined to wait inactive till the conflagration reached their neighbourhood without knowing what progress it was making. There was no window at the back of the hut.
“We will make holes in the roof,” said Arthur; “we shall be able to see through them what is going on, and if we are besieged in our fortress by the savages, we shall be the better able to defend ourselves and annoy them.”
A stool, placed on the top of the table, enabled them to reach the roof, and by stringing some boards to the rafters, they found convenient standing places. The square holes cut in the shingles forming the roof gave them a look-out. There was enough in the spectacle they beheld to try the courage of the stoutest hearted. In front of them, that is to say, at the back of the hut, was a narrow neck of forest, which was as yet intact, but above the branches—between the stems which stood out in bold relief—the flames were seen raging furiously, devouring, as they advanced, everything in their course, both to the right and to the left. Strange sounds, too, were heard: there was the roaring, hissing, and crackling of the fire, and ever and anon a report like that of heavy guns, as some tall tree was riven in two by the intense heat which surrounded it; the air also came like a blast from a furnace, laden with smoke, ashes, and often sparks, which threatened to ignite the dry roof of the building. The danger was increasing, for the flames were advancing towards the confines of the wood nearest them. Now the fire, snake-like, would be seen creeping along the grass, then catching hold of some bush, which would speedily be wrapped in its deadly embrace; next the lower boughs of the trees would catch, or the dry wood and twigs round the stumps, and upward it would mount triumphant, roaring and crackling—the slighter trees falling prostrate before it; the older and thicker still withstanding its fierce assault, though left branchless and blackened, with all vitality destroyed.
As yet the hut remained uninjured, though a semicircle of fire raged furiously close to it, and here and there, where a bush still stood, or some tufts of grass had not been closely cropped, the flames made advances, and, winding along the ground, rose up, flickered, and died. From the first outbreak of the conflagration various animals had been seen crossing the open ground, as they escaped from the burning forest. Birds innumerable, of varied plumage, aroused from their roosting places, flew by, some uttering discordant screams of terror, many, with scorched wings, falling dead before they reached the hut. As yet no human beings had been seen.
“I trust that the savages will not venture to attack us,” said James; “only in the last extremity could I feel justified in firing at them.”
“Arrah! it’s but little of that sort of treatment they have received since the white man first put his foot on their shores,” observed Larry. “I’ve heard tell of their being shot down by scores at a time, like vermin. Many and many’s the black fellow I’ve seen killed, and no notice taken of it, and no thought by the man who did the deed, any more than if he had fired at a wild beast.”
Arthur interrupted Larry’s remarks by exclaiming, “There they are, though, and in no small numbers too, just coming round the edge of the burning wood to the south-east!”
The rest of the party looked in the direction indicated, and there, seen clearly by the light of the flames thrown on their dark bodies, armed with spears, clubs, and boomerangs, was a numerous body of savages. They appeared to be looking cautiously about, as if expecting to find their intended victims engaged in extinguishing the flames round the hut.
“The black chaps are no cowards, Mr Gilpin. We shall have a fierce fight of it, and our three firearms won’t do much against all them, I’m thinking,” observed Larry.
“There are still more of them coming!” exclaimed Arthur; “and see! there’s a fellow has just joined them who looks like a chief. They are pointing this way. We may look out to be attacked in a few minutes. We may fire surely, James, if they come on? A few shots will probably send them scampering off. They have no firearms among them.”
“Not so sure of that, yer honour,” said Larry. “Look, the fellow you called the chief has a gun of some sort, and he is showing it to the rest to encourage them. He handles it like a man who knows the use of it, too.”
In spite of the overwhelming numbers of the enemy, the little garrison resolved to maintain their position. Little could be gained by flight, and all their property would inevitably be destroyed should they desert the hut. The risk they ran in either case was very great. They might pick off some of the savages, but there were so many that they might easily surround the hut and burn it to the ground.
“If we had two or three more fellows with us, we might bid defiance to the whole mob,” said Arthur.
“To my mind, if we was to shoot down that chap with the gun in his hand, the rest would show us their heels,” observed Sam Green, who had not before spoken since the appearance of the savages; “they none on ’em shows much stomach for the fight.”
Sam’s remark was correct. The savages were evidently aware that the defenders of the hut possessed firearms, and even the chief showed no inclination to expose himself. From their movements, however, it appeared that they were about to make a rush towards the hut. At that instant the tramp of horses’ hoofs was heard approaching, and a voice cried out—
“Open the door! Be quick! Let us in!”
James and his brother, who had been watching the savages from the roof, jumped down at the moment that a rifle-ball whistled by.
“That bullet was never fired by a black chap,” said Larry to Sam, as they also descended from their perches to receive the new-comers. The Gilpins, without hesitation, opened the door, and Craven with a stranger appeared, just dismounting from their horses, whose foam-covered bits and reeking backs showed that they had ridden at no slow rate.
“No time for words. If you have room for our poor brutes, take them in; if not, they must run their chance outside,” he said. “Here, we have brought arms and ammunition. We knew that you would be hard pressed, and have come to share your fate.”
“Come in, come in,” said James, leading in the horses, who, trembling with fatigue, were quiet enough.
The new-comers had brought a rifle, a musket, and two fowling-pieces, with powder-flasks and bullets. This reinforcement raised the confidence of the little party in the hut. The blacks, discovering Craven and his companion, made a rush to intercept them. They sprang in after the horses; but before the door was closed, a shower of darts and boomerangs rattled against it, and again a shot was heard, and a bullet flew by among them. Those inside hurriedly closed the door; but, almost before the bar could be replaced, the blacks were thundering with their clubs against it. James had been strongly averse to shed blood, even the blood of savages endeavouring to destroy him and his companions, yet there was no longer any other alternative; the blacks must be driven off, or they would burn down the hut. It became James’s duty to take the command, and to give the word. Loop-holes were speedily cut in the walls.
“Be ready, friends; pick off the leaders, each of us those more immediately in front as we stand. Do not throw a shot away. Fire!”
Three of the blacks were seen to fall to the ground, the rest ran back in disorder, two of them wounded. This gave the defenders of the hut time to reload and to make some fresh loop-holes. The blacks were again met by the chief, who was seen urging them to return, though he showed no inclination to place himself in danger. Craven, seeing the look-out places in the roof, proposed getting up there.
“I think that I might bring down that fellow if I could get a steady shot at him,” he said, taking up his rifle. “The fellow has disappeared!” he exclaimed. “I cannot make it out, yet the rest obey him, for they are coming on again, and with fire-brands, too. We must beat them, or they will roast us.”
The spectacle was indeed appalling. There were from fifty to sixty blacks, each with a burning brand in his left hand and a spear or club in the other, all leaping and shrieking in concert, as they sprang on towards the hut. The defenders waited till they got within thirty paces, and then all together fired. The result was the same as before. Several fell, others ran howling back wounded, the rest, throwing down their brands, followed. Another volley was sent after them, in the hope that it might induce them to abandon the attack. Craven reloaded, and sat watching at his post. The crack of his rifle was again heard.
“I have hit the scoundrel!” he exclaimed. “He is no black man; he is ordering them to lift him up; they are carrying him off. I have not the heart to send another bullet through him, but he deserves it.”
“We may capture him, though,” cried Arthur. “Let us jump on our horses; we shall soon overtake them.”
The proposal was instantly adopted; no one was more eager and full of animation than Craven. The horses were led out, and, Larry remaining with the spare firearms in the hut, the party urged on the animals in the direction the blacks had gone. The flames of the burning forest lighted up the country, and enabled them to ride at full speed, though it was with difficulty they could make the horses keep near the fire, edging along which the blacks had gone, hoping probably, if they could get round the furthest end, to place it between themselves and those they had so ruthlessly attacked. Mounting to the top of a ridge, the horsemen caught sight of a party of natives on a hill before them, with a valley intervening. The blacks got to the top, on some open ground, when it was seen that they were carrying a burden among them. The white men dashed down into the valley, and, making their way across it, urged their horses up the opposite height. The blacks saw them coming; in vain the man they were carrying ordered them to remain by him. Oaths, entreaties, promises were of no avail. Putting him down, they ran off as fast as their legs would carry them.
The last exclamations he uttered showed his pursuers that he was no native. They were in English, and too horrible to be repeated. The Gilpins reached him. He glared fiercely at them as they dismounted, and seemed to be feeling for a pistol in his belt. They grasped his hands to prevent his using it. The oath he uttered betrayed him. Though his face and arms and the upper part of his body was blackened, they at once recognised him as Basham, the late overseer. The wretched blacks had already suffered so severely that the settlers had no desire to overtake them. Dismounting, therefore, one of the party led the horses, and the rest, lifting up the wounded man, bore him back towards the hut. They frequently looked behind to ascertain if the blacks were following for the purpose of recovering him, but no attempt of the sort was made. It was hard work carrying him, for he was a heavy man. Some deep groans which burst from him showed that he was suffering much pain. From a feeling of mercy they stopped, and found that the bullet had entered his leg, and had probably grazed, if it had not broken, the bone. Craven had a knowledge of surgery, especially valuable to a bushman; and while all were stooping down round the injured man, he probed the wound, and extracted some of the black cloth which had been carried into it. Had Basham been a friend who had been fighting for them, he could not have been treated more tenderly. He, however, scarcely spoke, and displayed no sign of gratitude. At length they reached the hut in safety. The horses were tethered outside, ready for instant service. The wounded man was placed on Sam’s bed, and such restoratives as the brothers possessed administered to him. These arrangements concluded, the whole party thankfully sat down to a meal, which was rather breakfast than supper. The Gilpins now learned from Craven that he had heard a rumour of the proposed attack of the savages, instigated by the stockmen, though he did not understand that Basham was the prime mover; that there was only one man whom he could trust, and that, having invited him, they had both set forward to their assistance. His companion was evidently, like himself, a man of superior education and fallen fortunes. In Craven the necessity for unusual exertion had worked a marked change, and he no longer appeared the spirit-broken man he had seemed when Arthur first met him.
The fire continued raging, but made no further progress, and, in spite of its dangerous neighbourhood, all the party except James, who insisted on remaining on watch, were fast asleep. The hours of darkness passed by slowly and anxiously. He kept his ears ever ready to catch any sound outside, and he occasionally looked forth, thinking it possible that the blacks might return, or that some of the white companions of their prisoner might come to look for him. The nearest police-station was about thirty miles off. It was necessary to convey their prisoner there; but then it was very possible that they might be attacked on the road, and that he might be rescued. Knowing the bad feeling of the people around them, it would be imprudent to weaken the strength of their party at the hut. James therefore resolved, if Larry was sufficiently rested, to send him off, as soon as it was daylight, for a sufficient force to escort the late overseer to prison. Scarcely had he formed this plan when Larry jumped up, and exclaimed—
“Now, yer honour, you have had watching enough, and I’ll just take my spell. I’m as fresh as a daisy with the dew on the grass.”
James declined doing this, and told him of his proposed plan.
“Nothing like taking time by the forelock!” exclaimed the Irishman. “I’ve my raisons, and I’ll be off—as soon as I can stow some food in my inside and catch the horse—before it is daylight, so that it will be a hard job for any of them fellows to find me, even if they have a fancy for that same.”
As there was no time to be lost, James went out and brought in Larry’s horse, to which he gave a sop of damper and spirits and water, while Larry was refreshing himself.
“It’s good luck I’ll have on a good errand, I hope,” he exclaimed, as he leaped into the saddle; “for though the police and I weren’t over friendly once on a time, I can now face them like an honest man, thanks to yer honour.”
Larry was soon lost to sight in the gloom which prevailed at a distance from the yet burning wood. Daylight came. All hands were on foot. The wounded man appeared to be no worse. A sad change had taken place in the once picturesque appearance of the surrounding scenery. In the place of the green wood, with many noble trees, a few blackened stems, gaunt and branchless, with still smouldering ashes at their base, were the only objects to be seen on the hillside. The Gilpins scarcely liked to keep Craven and his companion from their posts, though at the same time they felt the importance of having a sufficient guard over their prisoner. They were surprised that none of the stockmen or hut-keepers from the neighbourhood had made their appearance. It proved but too plainly that all were disaffected; and it made them resolve not to quit the vicinity of the hut till the arrival of the police. They could not, however, come for some hours. Breakfast was just over, when Green, who had gone down to fetch some water from the river, came hurrying back, and reported that he had seen several men collecting, with arms in their hands, on the opposite side. “Who could they be? What could be their object?” was the question.
It was decided that while every precaution should be taken to prevent surprise, they should be treated as if they could only have come on a friendly errand, and that every attempt should be made to conciliate them before resorting to force. Scarcely five minutes had passed before several men were seen approaching, from the direction of the river, in single file. They were all disguised, either with blackened faces or masks, while they wore either kangaroo or sheep skins over their shoulders, or were covered with the thick-leaved branches of shrubs, so as completely to conceal their figures. It was evident that they intended mischief. They halted at about twenty paces from the hut, seemingly surprised at finding the windows barricaded and the door closed, with the muzzles of firearms protruding from the walls. Seeing their hesitation, James instantly went out, and, with his rifle in his hand, confronted them—
“Men, you have amused yourselves seemingly with what might be a harmless mummery, were it not for the weapons in your hands,” he began, in a firm tone; “put them down, and let me hear what you have got to say.”
The leading man, after consulting with his companions, replied, “You have got shut up there a friend of ours, and you must give him up to us, or take the consequences.”
“I am not at all likely to yield to demands made by strangers in the tone you make them, or to tell you whether or not we have any one shut up inside this hut,” said James; “you will risk your own lives, and gain nothing by persisting in such folly.”
“Yours is the folly, master, in refusing our demands!” exclaimed the man. “You can gain no good by keeping the man a prisoner, but will do him and us harm!”
While the man was speaking, he and his companions advanced still closer to the hut.
“Stand back!” cried James, endeavouring to bring his piece to his shoulder; but before he had done so, the men, stooping low, sprang forward, keeping him between themselves and the hut. Those inside opened the door to admit him, but instead of retreating he stood fast, till the leader of the ruffians had struck up his rifle, and, grasping him by the throat, bore him backwards. Arthur, rushing out to his rescue, was seized likewise, and the whole party dashed together into the hut, overthrowing Green, who came out to help his young masters. Fortunately their eyes first fell on the wounded man as he lay on a bed in the outer room. The stretcher of boughs, on which he had been brought to the hut, still remained outside. A few words passed between them. They lifted him on the litter, neither the Gilpins nor Green being able to prevent them, and, with a shout of triumph, they carried him off towards the river. The Gilpins and Green were quickly on their feet. For an instant they stood irresolute whether to follow.
“Do not attempt it,” cried a voice from within; “the villains will not scruple to fire if you do.”
It was Craven who spoke. James was inclined to accuse him of cowardice till he reflected at what risk he had come voluntarily to their assistance. Craven himself, too, explained that being assured the outlaws would murder him and his companion had they seen them, they had retreated into the storeroom, where they lay hid among casks and cases. It was provoking to have lost their prisoner, but at the same time they had reason to be thankful that no life had been sacrificed.
“If they find out from Basham that we are here, they will to a certainty return,” observed Craven; “and we must be prepared.”
“The police will be here by that time,” was Arthur’s remark. “If they come, we may follow, and we should have our horses ready.”
“None of them said a word about the police,” observed James; “I don’t think that they were aware that we expected them.”
“Then, depend on it, when they find out that Richards and I are away from our posts, they will return to punish us. Basham will not say anything, however, till he thinks that they have placed him in safety, and then, of course, he will tell them of our being here.”
In consequence of Craven’s very just apprehensions, the party set to work to fortify the hut more completely, by putting stronger bars to the windows and doors, and by placing a stockade outside at the weaker parts, so as to make it more difficult for any assailants to reach the roof.
These preparations were scarcely completed, when Green, who happened to be on the roof, cried out—
“There come the chaps again, and twice as many as before!”
This was serious news; for it was not likely that the ruffian band would have returned, unless with the intention of destroying those who had offended them. It is very probable that they hoped to make it appear that the blacks, having set the wood on fire, had afterwards killed them. The whole party in the hut felt, therefore, that they must fight to the last extremity. A line was drawn round the building, and it was agreed that if an enemy passed it they would fire; but they would refrain as long as possible from shedding blood. They had scarcely time to barricade the door and windows before the outlaws appeared, mounting the hill from the river, not as before, in single file, but scattered over the ground, so as to take advantage of the shelter any inequalities might afford. Some were disguised, but there were several blacks who were in their usual unclothed state, and were evidently not masqueraders. It might have been difficult to identify even those, as their faces and bodies were bedaubed with pigments in strange and hideous devices.
This time James took care not to show himself. “Stand back, men!” he shouted in a loud voice. “If any one advances across the line we have marked out, we must fire. We do not wish to shed blood, but the consequence be on your own heads. Back, black men! you get killed.”
The outlaws hesitated, and even the natives seemed to understand what was said. Whereabouts the magic line was drawn, at which some of them would be certain to lose their lives, they could not tell. Soldiers in battle will dare any danger, but villains engaged in a criminal act are always cowards, unless driven to desperation. Such was not the case at present. A white handkerchief was shown on a stick, and a voice cried out—
“We don’t want to hurt you, Mr Gilpin, or your brother, or man, but there are two fellows there, and we must have them; give them up to us, and we will go away.”
“I ask you, would you give up people who had put confidence in you?” said James.
“We have nothing to say to that; give up the men, or we will burn down the hut and you in it,” was the answer.
“Remember the warning I have given you,” said James; “however, we will just talk the matter over, and let you know what we decide.”
“Be sharp about it, then,” said the first speaker; “we did not come here to shilly-shally, and we shall advance directly the time is up. We give you five minutes to settle the matter.”
“We must take ten; and recollect that our rifles will be kept ready for use,” added James, firmly.
“I am afraid the fellows will put their threat into execution,” said Craven. “Now, you see, our lives are of no use to any one, and so, when the ten minutes are up, tell them that we will go with them, if they will take their departure quietly, and not injure you.”
“On no account would we do so!” exclaimed the brothers in the same breath. “I would not trust them, even if we should be base enough to give you up.”
“Noa, sur; I’d sooner cut out my tongue than give ye up to them arrant knaves!” exclaimed Green, doubling his fist, and shaking it in the direction he supposed that the outlaws were collected.
The minutes passed slowly by. They were doubtful whether the outlaws would begin the attack at the end of the five minutes, or wait till the termination of the ten. The dread of the fatal line, however, seemed to keep them back. The muzzles of the firearms were kept protruding from the walls, and, as there were several pistols as well as rifles, they made a good display of force, rather damping the courage of those who came expecting, probably, an easy victory.
The ten minutes came to an end, and fully another five had passed by, and the outlaws did not advance. It was very clear, therefore, that they had not intercepted Larry, nor were aware that he had gone for the police. How long it might be before they could arrive it was impossible to say; perhaps when Larry reached their quarters the larger number had been sent in an opposite direction, and considerable time might be lost. However, the importance of gaining as much time as possible was very great; for though the little garrison did not despair of beating off the enemy, they earnestly desired to avoid the bloodshed which must ensue if fighting once began.
James therefore waited with a sad and beating heart to give the fatal order, should the outlaws overstep the prescribed boundary.
“Well, what are you going to do?” shouted one of the men; “are you going to give up those fellows?”
“Who is it you are looking for?” asked James, glad of any means to spin out the time.
“Gentleman Jim and Sulking Sam,” was the answer. “Come, turn them out; you’ve got them.”
“I know no men by those names,” said James.
“The rogues are right enough, though. I have the honour of being designated as ‘Gentleman Jim,’” said Craven, with a smile.
“I say, what are the right names of the chaps?” asked one of the outlaws of a comrade.
“I never knowed ’em by any other,” was the answer.
“Come, come, master, you hand them out, and be done with it!” cried several of the men together.
“Supposing they were with us, and that we were to deliver them into your hands, what would you do with them?” asked James.
“Hang them up on the nearest tree, as we will you also, if you don’t come to terms pretty quickly!” shouted the first ruffian who had spoken.
“I won’t help you to be guilty of so great a crime,” said James; “think better of it, and go away.”
“No more of this; time’s up!” cried a loud voice. “Charge, lads!”
The whole body sprang forward towards the hut. The whites instantly began firing their muskets or fowling-pieces, the blacks at the same moment casting their spears.
“Hurra! Here come the police! Look out for yourselves!” cried Sam Green, who had been keeping watch at a hole near the roof, looking eastward.
The words, uttered before any one had time to reload, had a magic effect. One of the outlaws, springing on one side to ascertain whether the announcement was true, shouted out the fact to his comrades. Down the hill they rushed, as fast as their legs could carry them. Their bullets had either passed over the hut or had lodged in the thick planking which formed the sides, without injuring any of those within. The sound of the shots, however, made the police put spurs to their horses’ sides, and they came galloping up as the last of the outlaws disappeared across the river. Their steeds were pretty well knocked up with their long and rapid journey, but Lieutenant Graham, the officer in command, was most anxious to catch some of the men. “We will join you!” cried Craven, running out. Their horses were found in a grassy nook to the left. Craven, with his friend Richards, and Arthur Gilpin, and ten of the police, led by their officer, joined in the pursuit. Before long they came in sight of the outlaws, scattered far and wide over the country, each man endeavouring to make his escape by himself. Most of them had thrown away the boughs and the skins with which they had been covered. Three men kept closer together than did the rest. Craven, who thought he recognised them by their figures as stockmen belonging to the station, recommended that they should be followed. The men soon discovered that they especially were pursued. When they saw that all chance of escape was gone, they turned round and stood at bay; but as the troopers advanced with drawn sabres, they threw down their arms and cried out for quarter. Their lives were of course spared, but their hands being lashed behind them, they were conducted back to the hut. Another man was caught, but the rest were allowed to escape. “We can always get any we require,” observed one of the police. The prisoners were the men Craven supposed. He himself was the chief cause of their being taken. Except that his dress was rough, as usual, his whole manner was changed as he galloped across the field. Graham looked at him more than once with astonishment.
They were all once more collected in the hut, doing justice to the fare Sam and Larry had provided.
“I am nearly certain that I know you!” said the police officer, addressing Craven. “My name is Graham, and yours is—”
“All right, old fellow!” cried Craven, jumping up and grasping his hand; “it is pleasant, indeed, to meet a near relation out here. I never heard of your coming.”
“Nor did I know of your being here. However, we will not lose sight of each other again,” said the lieutenant.
As scarcely any of the stockmen or hut-keepers could be trusted, the Gilpins begged that some of the police might remain, while they went round to drive in and concentrate the herds of cattle and the flocks of sheep, now probably without keepers, and subject to the depredations of the outlaws. It was very hard work; but, with the help of Craven, a few of the better-disposed men, who were found at their huts (having probably returned there after the ill-success of their expedition), were selected, and the task was accomplished. Fresh hands were sent for. Craven was appointed overseer, with his friend under him. Graham set off with his prisoners for headquarters, Norfolk Island being, without doubt, their ultimate destination. No tidings could be gained of Basham. He was probably hid away in the mountains, but it was not likely that he would make any further attempts on the station. The disorderly servants were dismissed, fresh ones arrived, and for some time the affairs entrusted to the young settlers went on quietly and prosperously.
Chapter Five.The Gilpins found Craven a great addition to their social circle in their remote station. They, more than ever, required support and assistance, for depressing news began to reach them from Sydney. The financial affairs of the colony had for some time past been in an unsatisfactory state. Money for paying the men was often considerably in arrear; and stores and provisions were sent up only in small quantities and of an inferior quality. At length, a letter arrived from the agent, directing them to send produce to Sydney, to meet certain heavy liabilities. As wool was not forthcoming, they were to boil down both cattle and sheep, to dismiss a large number of the men, and to practise the most rigid economy. The requisite boilers and casks for the tallow soon afterwards arrived. It was most disagreeable and painful work. Flock after flock of sheep were driven in and slaughtered; the carcases were put into the cauldrons, the fat was packed in the casks, and the hides roughly dried; while the meat, which might have fed thousands of the starving poor in the old country, was allowed, of necessity, to rot uselessly on the ground. Theirs was no solitary instance of the consequence of want of capital to carry on business, for such was the condition to which the greater number of squatters throughout the colony were reduced. Fortunately, tallow and hides were in demand, and realised high prices, and thus many of the settlers were soon able to get out of their difficulties, though left with sadly diminished flocks and herds. The Gilpins and their overseer, Craven, spared no exertion to save, as far as possible, the loss of property. One day Arthur had gone in search of some cattle, which had strayed among the range of mountains to the west. After looking for them in vain, he was returning, annoyed and out of spirits, when he observed a stream issuing from the side of a hill, with the banks on either side encrusted with a glittering white substance. He tasted it, and found it perfectly salt. Collecting a pocketful, he returned home with his spirits completely revived. All the party were of opinion that it was a salt spring; that others would be found in the neighbourhood; and that salt could be manufactured with which the meat, which was now lost, might be preserved either for sale or for future consumption. The next morning they eagerly set out for the spot. They were not disappointed. Other springs were found. By evaporation alone, a small supply could be procured; and with some simple apparatus they hoped to produce as much as they would require. A cauldron and some pans were sent up, and after a few experiments they succeeded to their satisfaction; and they were able to send into Sydney, with the next dray-load of tallow, a cask of salted hams and tongues.About this time, they received a letter from their first friend in the colony, Mr Prentiss, saying that the losses of his family had been so great, and that his father had so taken it to heart, that he was completely prostrate, and not likely to survive. He had, therefore, himself come up to take the management of affairs, accompanied by his children. He requested James to come and pay him a visit without delay. Leaving Arthur and Craven in charge, he at once set off. He rode alone, though he would probably have to camp out one or two nights. There were stations on the road, but they were at inconvenient distances; and unless compelled by bad weather, he did not purpose stopping at them. He had a gun as a protection; but he had no fear of bushrangers. They were now seldom heard of in the colony. From wild beasts to be dreaded by a traveller, Australia is, happily, free. He was not likely to meet any blacks inclined to be unfriendly. Occasionally the natives murdered hut-keepers and stockmen, but in most instances they had been provoked to do so by ill-treatment. With saddle-bags and holsters well filled, a blanket, a tin kettle and pot, strapped to the saddle before him, he set forth on his journey. There is an elasticity in the atmosphere and a freedom from restraint which makes travelling on horseback in Australia most delightful. James Gilpin enjoyed it to the full. He also found it good to be alone occasionally, to commune with his heart; and this journey gave him ample opportunity of being so. The first day passed over pleasantly. He had arranged to spend the evening with an acquaintance on the road. As his own shadow and that of his steed were lengthened out on the grass, the smoke of his friend’s hut, curling up among the gum trees, appeared before him. He called out as he rode up to the door, but no voice answered; the distant sound, however, of tinkling sheep bells told him that the flock of the station was being driven into a pen for the night, where the new-born lambs could be better protected from the dingoes and hawks, their chief enemies, than if left on the open. Unsaddling and turning his horse into a paddock near at hand, he entered the hut. The kettle was hissing on the fire, and the damper was baking under it. There were signs that the hut was the residence of a gentleman (though all was in the rough), and evidently that of a bachelor. Every spot on the walls was covered with shooting and fishing gear, sporting prints, and some of a better description; and there was a book-case, with thoroughly used volumes, and coats and hats hung up, and shelves loaded with all sorts of articles, and chests below, and casks, one with flour ready open; the corners also were crowded. There was a bed-chamber boarded off for the owner, a refinement not very often indulged in, and a bunk at one end of the general room, for the hut-keeper. The cheery voice of the proprietor addressing his dogs announced his return. He warmly greeted his neighbour (their abodes were only forty miles apart); and tea, damper, cold beef, and pork were speedily on the table.The two settlers were merry and contented, in spite of misfortunes. Johnstone had also been compelled to boil down.“Now is the time for a fellow with five or six hundred pounds to lay the foundation of a fortune,” he observed; “both cattle and sheep can be bought at a mere nominal price. I must sell or boil down still more of mine; but I see my way clearly out of my difficulties, and keep up my spirits.”The hint was not lost upon James. He had been unwilling to take any of his employers’ cattle, lest it might throw him open to suspicion; but he now resolved to offer to purchase some, and, at all events, to take all that Mr Johnstone might wish to sell. Local subjects were of course discussed.“By-the-by,” observed Mr Johnstone, “we were surprised some days ago at seeing a white man lurking about here, dressed in skins and rags. The people thought he must be mad; for whenever they approached him, he ran off howling into the bush. I ordered some food to be placed for him at a spot where we could watch him. He saw us, and would not approach; but after watching for some time we went away, and he then must have darted out from his concealment and carried off the food, for when we returned it was gone. From that day he disappeared, and whether he has been drowned in some river or water-hole, or has been starved in the bush, I cannot say.”James Gilpin started at an early hour the next morning, intending to make a long day’s journey, and to camp out, as he must in that case do. His horse, a peculiarly fine and strong one, bore him well through the early part of the day. In the afternoon he entered a forest, extending on either side to a considerable distance. The track through it was less defined than usual, still, by constant reference to his compass, when he had any doubts, he had no fear about making a mistake.He had ridden on for some distance, when he observed that the sky was overcast, and the wind began to moan among the trees. Suddenly, with a spring which would have thrown a worse rider, his horse started at a vivid flash of lightning which darted from the sky, struck a huge tree near him, tearing off a large limb, and then ran hissing along the ground. A crash of thunder, such as he had really heard, followed, and he found it impossible to prevent his affrighted steed from setting off at full gallop among the trees. It was with the greatest difficulty that he could guide the animal, so as to save his legs from being dashed against the trunks and his head against the branches. Crash succeeded crash in rapid succession, and at times so vivid was the lightning that the forest seemed one blaze of fire. In vain he searched for an open space where he might, at all events, be free from the danger of being crushed by falling branches. Now he thought he saw an opening on one side, now on the other; but each time he was disappointed. He discovered, however, that he had got out of the track, and when he began to consider in which direction he should go, he was under the somewhat painful feeling that he had lost his way. He put his hand in his pocket to examine his compass; it was not there. Again and again he searched for it; nowhere was it to be found. It had undoubtedly been jerked out of his pocket during some of the violent springs his steed had made when frightened by the lightning. He had not the remotest hope of finding it on the ground, and would therefore not waste time in looking for it. Just as he had made this disagreeable discovery, the fury of the storm abated, and he was in hopes that it was about to cease altogether. He rode forward, he believed, towards the east. If he could get out of the wood he might still reach a station before dark, considerably short of the distance he hoped to have made good that day. On he went, his horse starting and trembling, not having yet recovered from its fright. The rain was falling in torrents, and he was already wet through—no uncommon occurrence, however, for a squatter, who is in the saddle many hours every day of the year. Down it came, harder than ever. Another vivid flash, followed by a terrific clap of thunder, made his horse again start forward. He galloped on till an open space was reached; here, at all events, he might be secure from falling branches, though not from the lightning, which was darting in every direction.He had almost lost hope of getting out of the wood that night. Wet as he was, he must camp out on the bare ground. He was searching for a spot where he might dismount and tether his horse, when again the animal started; this time, however, it was not at a flash of lightning. James looked round, when, about a dozen yards from him, he saw, as if endeavouring to conceal himself behind the gnarled stem of an aged gum tree of gigantic proportions, the very figure Johnstone had described to him the previous evening. At first he thought that his imagination must have deceived him; the light was uncertain, and his eyes had been dazzled by the lightning. Still, he could not be mistaken: there was the human face, the glaring eyeballs, the matted hair and beard, and the dress of skins and rags. The figure moved its arms and made threatening gestures at him. “I must know whether this is reality or imagination,” he said to himself, again urging on his horse towards the tree under which the seeming figure stood. As he did so, the threatening gestures became more vehement, and, as he continued to advance, a loud, unearthly shriek rang through the forest, and the unhappy maniac, for such without doubt he was, fled away into its depths, his cries echoing amidst the trees till they grew faint in the distance. This incident did not contribute to make the prospect of camping out in that wild spot pleasant. Still, James Gilpin had no choice, and his mind was too well trained to allow him to be made anxious by unnecessary apprehensions. The only thing he dreaded was the possibility of the maniac returning, and, perhaps, should he drop asleep, committing some violence on him. Both rain and lightning had ceased, and having tethered his horse in a grassy spot, where the animal might find food, he bethought him of the possibility of lighting a fire. Under the trees there was no lack of fuel, and with the last remnant of daylight he collected enough to serve him till the morning. Under the lee side of the trees, also, he scraped together enough dry leaves and small twigs and bark to raise a blaze and dry the wet wood. He looked up very frequently, as was natural, to ascertain that the maniac was not near him. With flint, steel, and gunpowder he quickly raised a blaze; his kettle was boiling, his meat toasting, and his damper warming up, while his blanket and clothes were drying; and had it not been for the spectre he had seen, he would have been well content with his lot,—not that he much feared what the poor creature could do to him, but it was the feeling that at any moment he might rush out on him which was so painful. By the look of the sky he saw that the weather was still unsettled, and the state of the atmosphere, judging by his sensations, told him that there might still be more thunder and lightning. He consequently considered it imprudent to seek for greater shelter under the trees. His clothes and blankets were now tolerably dry, and having shifted the tether of his horse, that the animal might have fresh food, he wrapped himself up, with his feet to the fire and his head on his saddle-bags to seek that rest of which he stood so much in need.He, of course, intended to keep his eyes open, and turned in the direction where the poor maniac had disappeared. As might, however, have been expected, he closed them and fell fast asleep. Weariness made him sleep, but anxiety prevented him from sleeping soundly. He was dreaming, it seemed, all the time; and his dreams were painful and confused in the extreme. The strange figure of the maniac was constantly before him, while his unearthly cries resounded in his ears. His chief idea was that he was engaged in a desperate struggle to get out of some fearful difficulty—now swimming in a roaring torrent, now climbing a precipice with savage animals raging below, now flying for his life across a boundless plain; the maniac was mocking him on the banks of the stream, or present among the wild beasts, or following him with a troop of savages across the plain. A loud noise sounded in his ear. It was a peal of thunder. The storm was again raging with redoubled fury. He started up to secure his horse, lest the frightened animal should break loose and escape into the depths of the forest. He must have slept long, for a few glowing ashes only remained of his fire, which the rain would soon quench, unless a supply of fresh wood were added. He felt for some he had placed in readiness, and threw it on the ashes. As he did so, a vivid flash of lightning lit up the forest opening, and by its light he saw, with a gleaming axe uplifted in his hand, the wretched maniac stealthily approaching him. He sprang to his feet, seizing his rifle, when again all was darkness.“Stand back, whoever you are, or I must fire!” he shouted, at the same time leaping on one side, away from the spot where he had been lying.There was the sound of feet, as if a person was springing over the ground, a shriek, and the crash of a weapon descending. Yes, he was certain it had struck his saddle-bags. The next instant, the wood igniting on the fire, a flame burst forth, revealing the figure of the maniac retreating across the glade in the direction of the old tree, where he had at first appeared. He must have just reached it when another flash of lightning came down in a zigzag course from the very clouds overhead.It struck the huge tree, which was riven into several portions, and its knotted limbs scattered around. The thunder at the same moment crashed and rattled with almost terrific sound. He seized the tether rope of his horse, as the animal, having torn the pin from the ground, was about to dash off through the forest. The poor creature stood as his hand stroked its head, but trembled violently. He brought it up to the fire, looking round as he did so for his late assailant, but the maniac was nowhere to be seen. He had the greatest difficulty in keeping his horse quiet; for the storm continued raging as before, the rain came down in torrents, the wind howled and whistled, and the lightning flashed; the thunder roared and rattled, and the rending of boughs, and the crashing of falling trees was heard on every side, warning him of the danger of attempting to pass among them. As may be supposed, he did not again lie down: having saddled his horse and thrown his blanket over his shoulders, he employed the time in quieting the animal, throwing wood on his fire, and keeping a vigilant watch for the approach of the maniac. The most weary night must have an end. The storm ceased completely; the dawn came at last. He looked around. The sight which most attracted his attention was the blackened stump of that huge tree which had stood there the previous evening—the monarch of the forest glade. He approached it. Under one of the limbs lay a human form—it was the maniac’s body; life was extinct. He examined the features. There could be no mistake; though haggard by starvation and exposure, and distorted by his violent death, he recognised them as those of the former overseer of Warragong, the outlaw Basham. A small black mark on one side of his head showed that he had been struck by the electric fluid, and that his death must have been instantaneous, and must have immediately followed the attempt on his life. To bury the body of the wretched man was impossible. All he could do was to drag the heavier boughs of the trees torn off by the storm over it and leave it thus entombed, and then to escape from the scene. The rising sun showed him the direction he should pursue, and in half an hour he was out of the wood, and had regained the track with which he was acquainted. He reached a station in time for breakfast, when he narrated to the occupant what had occurred, and learned from him that Basham had more than once been there asking for food.A rest of a few hours restored James’s strength; but instead of camping out as he had intended, he was glad to take shelter that night in another squatter’s hut. It was thus that the traveller in those days was able to traverse the province from one end to the other, with the certainty of finding food and shelter, and a welcome at any hut where he might call. He was most cordially received at Prentiss Town, where he arrived late in the evening; but he went to a house of mourning. Old Mr Prentiss, under the belief that his losses were far greater than was the case, and that the whole country was about to be ruined, had sunk broken-hearted into the grave. He had trusted in riches, and they had failed him. An apathetic indifference to everything around him had seized his eldest son, who had the same belief in the ruin impending over the colony.Notwithstanding this, there was sunlight in the dwelling: there could not fail to be so, James thought, where Fanny and Emily Prentiss were to be found. They received him as an old and valued friend, and expressed their sorrow that his brother could not have accompanied him. He naturally expected that they would complain of the dulness of the life they must now lead in the country, and regret all the gaieties and amusements they had left behind in Sydney; but, on the contrary, they seemed much pleased at having escaped from its unsatisfactory frivolities. Everything in the country delighted them, and they had no fear of no having ample occupation. They proposed to study the natural history of the district—the trees and flowers, the birds and insects, and the wild animals, of which there were not a few; then the farm would of itself afford ample occupation, along with the improvements in the house, into which they were about to move, on another part of the estate, where a garden was also to be formed. And there were also several settlers with wives and grown-up daughters, who lived somewhat far off, to be sure; but the young ladies were good horse-women, and thought little of a ride of thirty miles or so. There were likewise numerous families of the lower orders, who had no means of obtaining religious or secular instruction. Among these they circulated books and tracts, and would often stop and read the Word of God to those who were unable to read themselves. Thus every moment of each day was fully occupied. James Gilpin could not fail to admire the manner in which his young hostesses spent their time, or to discover how many objects of interest they had in common. Even under ordinary circumstances he would have been interested in them. As it was, the interest he felt increased the longer he remained in their society. He was of much use to Mr Henry Prentiss in arranging the affairs connected with the property; and at length, with new hopes and aspirations, he returned to Warragong. The arrangements for the purchase of the cattle and sheep were soon complete. The brothers did not even now lay out all their capital, but allowed a portion to remain in the bank to meet any unexpected demands. They had from the first been allowed a percentage on the increase of the stock under their charge; but this, owing to the mismanagement of the persons employed, and the depredations of Basham and his associates, had hitherto been small. The boiling-down process at length being no longer necessary, and the management in every department being greatly improved, the increase was so much more rapid than at first, that they found themselves, a few years after landing in Australia, the owners of very considerable flocks and herds, while no men in the district were more respected. Their visits to Prentiss Town became more and more frequent; sometimes one brother went, sometimes the other—as they were unwilling to leave the station together—and they both met with a reception which made them wish to return. The Prentiss Town property was now divided, and the house inhabited by Mr Henry Prentiss was considerably nearer to them than that of his elder brother. They also had secured some runs lower down the Warragong river; and having fixed on a site for a house in that direction, somewhat similar, but far more picturesque than the spot where the old hut stood, they built a hut which they could inhabit till their new residence could be erected, leaving Craven in charge of that up the stream. This change enabled them to leave their own abode early in the morning, and to reach that of Mr Prentiss before sunset. There was the house of a new settler about half-way, and several huts where refreshment could be obtained, so that their visits became still more frequent and expected. Even in the bush gossip is not impossible, and it became pretty generally reported that the two Mr Gilpins were about to marry the two daughters of Mr Henry Prentiss.
The Gilpins found Craven a great addition to their social circle in their remote station. They, more than ever, required support and assistance, for depressing news began to reach them from Sydney. The financial affairs of the colony had for some time past been in an unsatisfactory state. Money for paying the men was often considerably in arrear; and stores and provisions were sent up only in small quantities and of an inferior quality. At length, a letter arrived from the agent, directing them to send produce to Sydney, to meet certain heavy liabilities. As wool was not forthcoming, they were to boil down both cattle and sheep, to dismiss a large number of the men, and to practise the most rigid economy. The requisite boilers and casks for the tallow soon afterwards arrived. It was most disagreeable and painful work. Flock after flock of sheep were driven in and slaughtered; the carcases were put into the cauldrons, the fat was packed in the casks, and the hides roughly dried; while the meat, which might have fed thousands of the starving poor in the old country, was allowed, of necessity, to rot uselessly on the ground. Theirs was no solitary instance of the consequence of want of capital to carry on business, for such was the condition to which the greater number of squatters throughout the colony were reduced. Fortunately, tallow and hides were in demand, and realised high prices, and thus many of the settlers were soon able to get out of their difficulties, though left with sadly diminished flocks and herds. The Gilpins and their overseer, Craven, spared no exertion to save, as far as possible, the loss of property. One day Arthur had gone in search of some cattle, which had strayed among the range of mountains to the west. After looking for them in vain, he was returning, annoyed and out of spirits, when he observed a stream issuing from the side of a hill, with the banks on either side encrusted with a glittering white substance. He tasted it, and found it perfectly salt. Collecting a pocketful, he returned home with his spirits completely revived. All the party were of opinion that it was a salt spring; that others would be found in the neighbourhood; and that salt could be manufactured with which the meat, which was now lost, might be preserved either for sale or for future consumption. The next morning they eagerly set out for the spot. They were not disappointed. Other springs were found. By evaporation alone, a small supply could be procured; and with some simple apparatus they hoped to produce as much as they would require. A cauldron and some pans were sent up, and after a few experiments they succeeded to their satisfaction; and they were able to send into Sydney, with the next dray-load of tallow, a cask of salted hams and tongues.
About this time, they received a letter from their first friend in the colony, Mr Prentiss, saying that the losses of his family had been so great, and that his father had so taken it to heart, that he was completely prostrate, and not likely to survive. He had, therefore, himself come up to take the management of affairs, accompanied by his children. He requested James to come and pay him a visit without delay. Leaving Arthur and Craven in charge, he at once set off. He rode alone, though he would probably have to camp out one or two nights. There were stations on the road, but they were at inconvenient distances; and unless compelled by bad weather, he did not purpose stopping at them. He had a gun as a protection; but he had no fear of bushrangers. They were now seldom heard of in the colony. From wild beasts to be dreaded by a traveller, Australia is, happily, free. He was not likely to meet any blacks inclined to be unfriendly. Occasionally the natives murdered hut-keepers and stockmen, but in most instances they had been provoked to do so by ill-treatment. With saddle-bags and holsters well filled, a blanket, a tin kettle and pot, strapped to the saddle before him, he set forth on his journey. There is an elasticity in the atmosphere and a freedom from restraint which makes travelling on horseback in Australia most delightful. James Gilpin enjoyed it to the full. He also found it good to be alone occasionally, to commune with his heart; and this journey gave him ample opportunity of being so. The first day passed over pleasantly. He had arranged to spend the evening with an acquaintance on the road. As his own shadow and that of his steed were lengthened out on the grass, the smoke of his friend’s hut, curling up among the gum trees, appeared before him. He called out as he rode up to the door, but no voice answered; the distant sound, however, of tinkling sheep bells told him that the flock of the station was being driven into a pen for the night, where the new-born lambs could be better protected from the dingoes and hawks, their chief enemies, than if left on the open. Unsaddling and turning his horse into a paddock near at hand, he entered the hut. The kettle was hissing on the fire, and the damper was baking under it. There were signs that the hut was the residence of a gentleman (though all was in the rough), and evidently that of a bachelor. Every spot on the walls was covered with shooting and fishing gear, sporting prints, and some of a better description; and there was a book-case, with thoroughly used volumes, and coats and hats hung up, and shelves loaded with all sorts of articles, and chests below, and casks, one with flour ready open; the corners also were crowded. There was a bed-chamber boarded off for the owner, a refinement not very often indulged in, and a bunk at one end of the general room, for the hut-keeper. The cheery voice of the proprietor addressing his dogs announced his return. He warmly greeted his neighbour (their abodes were only forty miles apart); and tea, damper, cold beef, and pork were speedily on the table.
The two settlers were merry and contented, in spite of misfortunes. Johnstone had also been compelled to boil down.
“Now is the time for a fellow with five or six hundred pounds to lay the foundation of a fortune,” he observed; “both cattle and sheep can be bought at a mere nominal price. I must sell or boil down still more of mine; but I see my way clearly out of my difficulties, and keep up my spirits.”
The hint was not lost upon James. He had been unwilling to take any of his employers’ cattle, lest it might throw him open to suspicion; but he now resolved to offer to purchase some, and, at all events, to take all that Mr Johnstone might wish to sell. Local subjects were of course discussed.
“By-the-by,” observed Mr Johnstone, “we were surprised some days ago at seeing a white man lurking about here, dressed in skins and rags. The people thought he must be mad; for whenever they approached him, he ran off howling into the bush. I ordered some food to be placed for him at a spot where we could watch him. He saw us, and would not approach; but after watching for some time we went away, and he then must have darted out from his concealment and carried off the food, for when we returned it was gone. From that day he disappeared, and whether he has been drowned in some river or water-hole, or has been starved in the bush, I cannot say.”
James Gilpin started at an early hour the next morning, intending to make a long day’s journey, and to camp out, as he must in that case do. His horse, a peculiarly fine and strong one, bore him well through the early part of the day. In the afternoon he entered a forest, extending on either side to a considerable distance. The track through it was less defined than usual, still, by constant reference to his compass, when he had any doubts, he had no fear about making a mistake.
He had ridden on for some distance, when he observed that the sky was overcast, and the wind began to moan among the trees. Suddenly, with a spring which would have thrown a worse rider, his horse started at a vivid flash of lightning which darted from the sky, struck a huge tree near him, tearing off a large limb, and then ran hissing along the ground. A crash of thunder, such as he had really heard, followed, and he found it impossible to prevent his affrighted steed from setting off at full gallop among the trees. It was with the greatest difficulty that he could guide the animal, so as to save his legs from being dashed against the trunks and his head against the branches. Crash succeeded crash in rapid succession, and at times so vivid was the lightning that the forest seemed one blaze of fire. In vain he searched for an open space where he might, at all events, be free from the danger of being crushed by falling branches. Now he thought he saw an opening on one side, now on the other; but each time he was disappointed. He discovered, however, that he had got out of the track, and when he began to consider in which direction he should go, he was under the somewhat painful feeling that he had lost his way. He put his hand in his pocket to examine his compass; it was not there. Again and again he searched for it; nowhere was it to be found. It had undoubtedly been jerked out of his pocket during some of the violent springs his steed had made when frightened by the lightning. He had not the remotest hope of finding it on the ground, and would therefore not waste time in looking for it. Just as he had made this disagreeable discovery, the fury of the storm abated, and he was in hopes that it was about to cease altogether. He rode forward, he believed, towards the east. If he could get out of the wood he might still reach a station before dark, considerably short of the distance he hoped to have made good that day. On he went, his horse starting and trembling, not having yet recovered from its fright. The rain was falling in torrents, and he was already wet through—no uncommon occurrence, however, for a squatter, who is in the saddle many hours every day of the year. Down it came, harder than ever. Another vivid flash, followed by a terrific clap of thunder, made his horse again start forward. He galloped on till an open space was reached; here, at all events, he might be secure from falling branches, though not from the lightning, which was darting in every direction.
He had almost lost hope of getting out of the wood that night. Wet as he was, he must camp out on the bare ground. He was searching for a spot where he might dismount and tether his horse, when again the animal started; this time, however, it was not at a flash of lightning. James looked round, when, about a dozen yards from him, he saw, as if endeavouring to conceal himself behind the gnarled stem of an aged gum tree of gigantic proportions, the very figure Johnstone had described to him the previous evening. At first he thought that his imagination must have deceived him; the light was uncertain, and his eyes had been dazzled by the lightning. Still, he could not be mistaken: there was the human face, the glaring eyeballs, the matted hair and beard, and the dress of skins and rags. The figure moved its arms and made threatening gestures at him. “I must know whether this is reality or imagination,” he said to himself, again urging on his horse towards the tree under which the seeming figure stood. As he did so, the threatening gestures became more vehement, and, as he continued to advance, a loud, unearthly shriek rang through the forest, and the unhappy maniac, for such without doubt he was, fled away into its depths, his cries echoing amidst the trees till they grew faint in the distance. This incident did not contribute to make the prospect of camping out in that wild spot pleasant. Still, James Gilpin had no choice, and his mind was too well trained to allow him to be made anxious by unnecessary apprehensions. The only thing he dreaded was the possibility of the maniac returning, and, perhaps, should he drop asleep, committing some violence on him. Both rain and lightning had ceased, and having tethered his horse in a grassy spot, where the animal might find food, he bethought him of the possibility of lighting a fire. Under the trees there was no lack of fuel, and with the last remnant of daylight he collected enough to serve him till the morning. Under the lee side of the trees, also, he scraped together enough dry leaves and small twigs and bark to raise a blaze and dry the wet wood. He looked up very frequently, as was natural, to ascertain that the maniac was not near him. With flint, steel, and gunpowder he quickly raised a blaze; his kettle was boiling, his meat toasting, and his damper warming up, while his blanket and clothes were drying; and had it not been for the spectre he had seen, he would have been well content with his lot,—not that he much feared what the poor creature could do to him, but it was the feeling that at any moment he might rush out on him which was so painful. By the look of the sky he saw that the weather was still unsettled, and the state of the atmosphere, judging by his sensations, told him that there might still be more thunder and lightning. He consequently considered it imprudent to seek for greater shelter under the trees. His clothes and blankets were now tolerably dry, and having shifted the tether of his horse, that the animal might have fresh food, he wrapped himself up, with his feet to the fire and his head on his saddle-bags to seek that rest of which he stood so much in need.
He, of course, intended to keep his eyes open, and turned in the direction where the poor maniac had disappeared. As might, however, have been expected, he closed them and fell fast asleep. Weariness made him sleep, but anxiety prevented him from sleeping soundly. He was dreaming, it seemed, all the time; and his dreams were painful and confused in the extreme. The strange figure of the maniac was constantly before him, while his unearthly cries resounded in his ears. His chief idea was that he was engaged in a desperate struggle to get out of some fearful difficulty—now swimming in a roaring torrent, now climbing a precipice with savage animals raging below, now flying for his life across a boundless plain; the maniac was mocking him on the banks of the stream, or present among the wild beasts, or following him with a troop of savages across the plain. A loud noise sounded in his ear. It was a peal of thunder. The storm was again raging with redoubled fury. He started up to secure his horse, lest the frightened animal should break loose and escape into the depths of the forest. He must have slept long, for a few glowing ashes only remained of his fire, which the rain would soon quench, unless a supply of fresh wood were added. He felt for some he had placed in readiness, and threw it on the ashes. As he did so, a vivid flash of lightning lit up the forest opening, and by its light he saw, with a gleaming axe uplifted in his hand, the wretched maniac stealthily approaching him. He sprang to his feet, seizing his rifle, when again all was darkness.
“Stand back, whoever you are, or I must fire!” he shouted, at the same time leaping on one side, away from the spot where he had been lying.
There was the sound of feet, as if a person was springing over the ground, a shriek, and the crash of a weapon descending. Yes, he was certain it had struck his saddle-bags. The next instant, the wood igniting on the fire, a flame burst forth, revealing the figure of the maniac retreating across the glade in the direction of the old tree, where he had at first appeared. He must have just reached it when another flash of lightning came down in a zigzag course from the very clouds overhead.It struck the huge tree, which was riven into several portions, and its knotted limbs scattered around. The thunder at the same moment crashed and rattled with almost terrific sound. He seized the tether rope of his horse, as the animal, having torn the pin from the ground, was about to dash off through the forest. The poor creature stood as his hand stroked its head, but trembled violently. He brought it up to the fire, looking round as he did so for his late assailant, but the maniac was nowhere to be seen. He had the greatest difficulty in keeping his horse quiet; for the storm continued raging as before, the rain came down in torrents, the wind howled and whistled, and the lightning flashed; the thunder roared and rattled, and the rending of boughs, and the crashing of falling trees was heard on every side, warning him of the danger of attempting to pass among them. As may be supposed, he did not again lie down: having saddled his horse and thrown his blanket over his shoulders, he employed the time in quieting the animal, throwing wood on his fire, and keeping a vigilant watch for the approach of the maniac. The most weary night must have an end. The storm ceased completely; the dawn came at last. He looked around. The sight which most attracted his attention was the blackened stump of that huge tree which had stood there the previous evening—the monarch of the forest glade. He approached it. Under one of the limbs lay a human form—it was the maniac’s body; life was extinct. He examined the features. There could be no mistake; though haggard by starvation and exposure, and distorted by his violent death, he recognised them as those of the former overseer of Warragong, the outlaw Basham. A small black mark on one side of his head showed that he had been struck by the electric fluid, and that his death must have been instantaneous, and must have immediately followed the attempt on his life. To bury the body of the wretched man was impossible. All he could do was to drag the heavier boughs of the trees torn off by the storm over it and leave it thus entombed, and then to escape from the scene. The rising sun showed him the direction he should pursue, and in half an hour he was out of the wood, and had regained the track with which he was acquainted. He reached a station in time for breakfast, when he narrated to the occupant what had occurred, and learned from him that Basham had more than once been there asking for food.
A rest of a few hours restored James’s strength; but instead of camping out as he had intended, he was glad to take shelter that night in another squatter’s hut. It was thus that the traveller in those days was able to traverse the province from one end to the other, with the certainty of finding food and shelter, and a welcome at any hut where he might call. He was most cordially received at Prentiss Town, where he arrived late in the evening; but he went to a house of mourning. Old Mr Prentiss, under the belief that his losses were far greater than was the case, and that the whole country was about to be ruined, had sunk broken-hearted into the grave. He had trusted in riches, and they had failed him. An apathetic indifference to everything around him had seized his eldest son, who had the same belief in the ruin impending over the colony.
Notwithstanding this, there was sunlight in the dwelling: there could not fail to be so, James thought, where Fanny and Emily Prentiss were to be found. They received him as an old and valued friend, and expressed their sorrow that his brother could not have accompanied him. He naturally expected that they would complain of the dulness of the life they must now lead in the country, and regret all the gaieties and amusements they had left behind in Sydney; but, on the contrary, they seemed much pleased at having escaped from its unsatisfactory frivolities. Everything in the country delighted them, and they had no fear of no having ample occupation. They proposed to study the natural history of the district—the trees and flowers, the birds and insects, and the wild animals, of which there were not a few; then the farm would of itself afford ample occupation, along with the improvements in the house, into which they were about to move, on another part of the estate, where a garden was also to be formed. And there were also several settlers with wives and grown-up daughters, who lived somewhat far off, to be sure; but the young ladies were good horse-women, and thought little of a ride of thirty miles or so. There were likewise numerous families of the lower orders, who had no means of obtaining religious or secular instruction. Among these they circulated books and tracts, and would often stop and read the Word of God to those who were unable to read themselves. Thus every moment of each day was fully occupied. James Gilpin could not fail to admire the manner in which his young hostesses spent their time, or to discover how many objects of interest they had in common. Even under ordinary circumstances he would have been interested in them. As it was, the interest he felt increased the longer he remained in their society. He was of much use to Mr Henry Prentiss in arranging the affairs connected with the property; and at length, with new hopes and aspirations, he returned to Warragong. The arrangements for the purchase of the cattle and sheep were soon complete. The brothers did not even now lay out all their capital, but allowed a portion to remain in the bank to meet any unexpected demands. They had from the first been allowed a percentage on the increase of the stock under their charge; but this, owing to the mismanagement of the persons employed, and the depredations of Basham and his associates, had hitherto been small. The boiling-down process at length being no longer necessary, and the management in every department being greatly improved, the increase was so much more rapid than at first, that they found themselves, a few years after landing in Australia, the owners of very considerable flocks and herds, while no men in the district were more respected. Their visits to Prentiss Town became more and more frequent; sometimes one brother went, sometimes the other—as they were unwilling to leave the station together—and they both met with a reception which made them wish to return. The Prentiss Town property was now divided, and the house inhabited by Mr Henry Prentiss was considerably nearer to them than that of his elder brother. They also had secured some runs lower down the Warragong river; and having fixed on a site for a house in that direction, somewhat similar, but far more picturesque than the spot where the old hut stood, they built a hut which they could inhabit till their new residence could be erected, leaving Craven in charge of that up the stream. This change enabled them to leave their own abode early in the morning, and to reach that of Mr Prentiss before sunset. There was the house of a new settler about half-way, and several huts where refreshment could be obtained, so that their visits became still more frequent and expected. Even in the bush gossip is not impossible, and it became pretty generally reported that the two Mr Gilpins were about to marry the two daughters of Mr Henry Prentiss.