Itwould be a difficult task to picture the excitement at the time of the gold discovery. Most people seemed to have gone mad with the gold fever. My brother (who was living in Bathurst at the time), in the midst of it all, was one of the first to go to Ophir or Sofala, I forget which.
The first discovery was made by a man who had been in California, and on seeing the geological formation of the Bathurst district, he at once set to work to seek the precious metal. I have heard my brother say, “That with few exceptions there were only old men, women, and children left in Bathurst when the fever set in. Men of all ranks, professional or otherwise, flocked to the ‘Diggings.’ Stores were set up rapidly, and every week fresh finds and fields were discovered and rushed to.” In Sydney the fever for gold was nearly as bad. I have often gone to the Parramatta Road, standing on the high banks on either side, and watched the different parties wending their way to the new El Dorado. Some in comfortable vehicles and well-laden drays, others—more humble diggers—in carts, and parties of men on foot carrying their “swags” or leading a pack-horse. All were full of life, hope, and energy. How few reaped the golden harvest, and to how many who had broken up their homes, giving up their comforts and family ties, did this bring misery and ruin, almost, as Tom Hood wrote, “To the very verge of the churchyard mould.” The greed for gold leads poor humanity to almost every extreme. From my own experience in this instance it certainly did, for in going about amongst the working classes as I did, the accounts related to me were of the most painful character. The tradesmen leaving their business, taking with them the earnings of years to sink in outfit and expenses; the mechanics their trades, leaving their poor wives to earn a living for themselves and children anyway they could. Little homes sold or mortgaged, all for the mere chance of making “a pile.” All female labour became cheaper, and laundresses in Sydney were plentiful; female servants could be had for very low wages. Occasionally men would send for their wives and children “to join them on the ‘Diggings’;” and after the first rush the wife could make more money by washing than the man could by digging, and many other ways than actual digging cropped up to lead to fortune.
The news soon reached England, and steamers came out crowded with passengers who were going to “make a fortune.” Such people too! Men who had never been used to hard work, and had never handled spade or pick, exceptperhaps in the soft prepared ground of a little villa garden, men who had never soiled their white hands with any kind of work, men delicate in health and used only to refined society. Here is one instance which came to my notice. A young man with a pretty wife left a most comfortable home and large circle of friends to go out to the “Diggings.” He took a cottage for his wife close to us. Then he joined a party, and took with him tents, tools—in fact, everything requisite for a “gentleman digger;” promising his wife “that when the summer set in she should join him.” I used to listen sadly to this pretty creature’s anticipations of how soon her husband would make his fortune and return with her to her father. In what part of England they would purchase an estate. Every letter she expected to learn “that her husband and party had ‘struck gold,’ and were getting it by the pound at least.” Then a week passed without a letter from her husband, and she became almost frantic. We took every means to find out the cause, and at last the news arrived. “He was ill,” so the pretty brave wife decided at once to go to her husband. My father saw her safely into the wretched vehicle called “the mail coach,” and we watched her leave, taking charge of her house during her absence. On her arrival at the “Diggings” she found her husband recovering from a severe attack of inflammation of the lungs. She remained with him until he was convalescent, then returned home, having obtained his consent to let part of their cottage furnished. We were aware that their funds were getting low, so, though we thought it a greatrisk for her to take strangers into her house, we did not like to dissuade her. I used to go in to see her every day, and about a week after her return as usual called after dinner, when she met me beaming with smiles, saying: “Miss L——, I have let my rooms to such nice people,—a young married couple just from home. The gentleman called this morning and arranged everything. Such a very distinguished and aristocratic-looking man! He offered such high terms; and I am to engage a nurse-girl for their baby.” “I am exceedingly glad,” I said; “but, Dora, have you had good references?” Her face clouded, “He never offered any.” “Did you ask for them?” “Yes; but he continued talking, and made me quite forget all about it; still, Miss L——, I am sure it is all right.” I looked at her innocent face and thought, “You are indeed a Dora after Dickens’s model.” However the mischief, if any, was done, and it would not avail to say more about it. I was very glad at the idea that they might become useful and intimate friends to her, as we were soon to leave for my brother’s at Wellington, two hundred miles from Sydney, and her only friends in the colony were made through our introduction. Well, the next day her lodgers came, and certainly they were both handsome, the man aristocratic-looking. Everything appeared favourable enough; Dora was charmed, though a week passed without her having said more than “Good-morning” to Mrs. Fyling, who she thought was fretting. “But I never saw greater devotion than his to his wife; she is very fond of thebaby; but whenever he is at home, she sends it away at once. I think, dear, he must be of a very jealous disposition, and does not care to see even his own child caressed.” “Perhaps so.” “I am sure, dear, they are good people,” went on Dora; “they inquired about the nearest church, and have a Bible and Prayer-book on their dressing-table.” “Yes,” I answered vaguely; somehow I did not feel at ease about these people, my father having remarked, “He did not think all was right with them.”
The next morning I was leaving our gate when a gentleman stopped me and asked “If I knew which was Mr. ——’s cottage.” I pointed it out to him. “Do you know whether he is at home?” “No; he is at Ophir, but his wife is there.” “Alone?” “No; she has a gentleman and lady living there.” “Thank you,” and raising his hat passed me. He did not go towards the house, but towards the town. How long that morning appeared, and when I started on my daily walk back from Redfern to the Glebe, it seemed twice its usual distance. I ran into my own home and said, “I will take lunch with Mrs. ——,” which I did. We had just finished, and were waiting until the maid had removed the things from the next room, when a knock and ring at the hall door startled us. I looked out, and standing there was the man I had seen that morning and another gentleman with him. The girl opened the door. On his asking for my friend, she went towards him. At that moment Mrs. Fyling crossed the hall. I shall never forget the yell of the other man or thescream from Mrs. Fyling. He rushed to her and drew her into her room, asking, “Where is my child and that man?” Shall I ever forget this scene of agony, reproach, and violence? The cause of all this had just arrived from town and entered the cottage by the French window of their sitting-room. The husband left his wretched wife and rushed at him; but fortunately his friend prevented further violence, and begged him “to consider the terrified owner of the house,” at the same time reminding him that his faithless wife was not worth his passion or regrets. “You can have your child, and you promised me you would let those miserable creatures go, as their sin will soon bring about its own punishment.” “Hers will,” said her husband, looking down on her as she was lying on the floor. “Only two years since you married me, your father’s trusted friend. Did I ever refuse you anything or pain you by an angry word? Did I not leave you with every luxury while I was toiling for your comfort? Oh, God! it is such frail creatures make men brutes.” “Forgive me,” she cried. “Never!” was the stern reply. We left the room and went into my friend’s apartment, as the nurse had not yet returned from her walk with the child. When he saw his child, he snatched it from the nurse’s arms and wept over it in bitter tears.
His friend told Mrs. S——, “He had only returned from England a few days before,” to find his wife and child gone, and a letter from Mr. Fyling awaiting him, stating“they had started for Tasmania,” but he did not believe this, as from his servants he heard that they were still in Sydney. “I had heard where they were, and fearing that if he should meet them together unexpectedly something very serious might be the result, I determined to bring him here. I need not say, Mrs. S——, how sorry I am: this was inevitable.” “Never mind,” sobbed my friend; “it cannot be helped; but how could she be so wicked, and with a child of her own to love and tend?” After a little while poor Captain —— and his friend, with the child in his arms, left the house. During the afternoon the noise of packing in the lodgers’ rooms made me aware they were preparing for departure, and about five o’clock the nurse-girl brought Mrs. S—— a note to state “they were leaving,” enclosing a quarter’s rent for the rooms. A carriage was driven up soon afterwards, Mr. Fyling carrying his unfortunate companion to it, and thus they passed out of our lives. After this my poor young friend let her house furnished, and went to live with her husband on the Ophir diggings.
Mystay in Sydney was to end for a time, as my brother had gone to Wellington, a small township in the western district, and wished us to join him. My sisters and I left on a fine February morning in the mail coach for Bathurst; this coach, not unlike a large baker’s cart, holding eight inside and two on the box seat. The joltings and creakings must have been most trying to the elderly passengers. We were young, and merely felt the heat, which was compensated for by the novelty and the idea of seeing the country. We went as far as Penrith the first day, arriving late in the evening, and leaving again at four o’clock the next morning. It was lovely and fresh crossing the Nepean River in the ferry, thence through Emu Plains and the valley of the Grose; and looking back from Lapstone Hill the view was very charming. Then came into view the scenery of the Blue Mountains, which we had plenty of time to admire. As the weary horses had to be considered on the steep inclines, male passengers would get out and walk, and sometimes the females preferred to do so, becoming much cramped by sitting in the shaky vehicle. At that timethere were not any fences on the roads, so at times we appeared on the verge of being precipitated over the rocks into the valley below, the bottom of which we could not see. When the horses had been changed at some wayside inn and were somewhat fresh, we held our breath with the fear of going over the precipices. We had glimpses of deep ravines and gullies, a mass of foliage, the sides and hollows green with ferns of various kinds. At times the clouds seemed beneath us. Having had some heavy rains, there were grave doubts as to whether we should be able to cross the river lying between us and Bathurst. On arriving at the river, and while fording it, we experienced a decidedly creepy feeling, expecting every second that the water would reach us in the coach; however on this journey such a misadventure, we were thankful, was averted. Soon after crossing the river the Bathurst Plains were in view, and then we had the curious sensation of travelling on a sea-like stretch of land, not a tree to be seen for miles,—nothing save grass, land, and sky, with an occasional flock of sheep in the distance. At last we arrived at the yard of the principal hotel in Bathurst, where we were to remain till my brother should meet us, and our escort gave us over to the care of the landlady. We were not to remain there long, as an old friend of ours, learning of our visit, came the next day and took us over to his pretty cottage on the outskirt of the town. We were glad to rest, as only half our journey was accomplished. In a week we were again on our way to our new home, passing through Orange and Molong, busy little places,owing to the gold-fields surrounding them. We were constantly meeting parties of diggers on the road, sometimes a few, returning cityward, looking already depressed; they had evidently found gold was hard to get. Our first landmark of nearing home was Wellington Valley, and it was certainly a cheery one, with its mountainous background, its few farms, and peaceful aspect. The township of Montefiores is on the farther side of the River Macquarie, and the driver stated “that he had heard the river was ‘a banker.’”“If so,” my brother remarked, “we shall have to wait until it lowers;” but we managed to get over safely with only a little water in the bottom of the coach, and soon drove up to my first Bush home, a comfortable brick cottage, with a nice garden at the back, and my brother’s place of business at the side. We were all very tired, so after a refreshing bath and some tea we retired to beds made on the floor, as our furniture was on the road. It being a bachelor’s home, there was very little furniture on our arrival, and it was nearly a month before our belongings reached us by the lumbering drays. Harry had an excellent cook there, and a young woman in the township came to help. Shortly after a great misfortune befell us. My brother’s cook—an old man—died, and then indeed my troubles began. No servants could be got except Chinamen, and these at fearful wages; for being so near the gold-fields, men would not undertake domestic work, and if women were hired in Sydney they might come, remain a month or two, and then leave for the nearest diggings.As there were three of us, I determined to try and do without them except for laundry and rough work. But what trials and mistakes attended us in starting! Bread-making was a terrible experience, and certainly after the utter failures and waste of flour for days, who could blame my brother for saying, “When I marry, it shall be a country girl,”—which of course he did not, as his chosen wife had never been beyond Parramatta. We had at last to fall back on “damper” until I learned the art of bread-making. The yeast gave the most trouble; it was either flat, or else so lively as to cause a cannonade by the bottles bursting. However at last we succeeded, and were famous bread-makers; though we always had to knead each loaf separately, as neither of us were of the muscular type of female. All our water had to be drawn from a deep well by a windlass. This work I could never accomplish; but my youngest sister (a girl of fourteen) became very expert, though I was constantly expecting to hear that she had gone in search of Truth. Fortunately we had an excellent American cooking stove, as well as an immense open fireplace, in which three of us could stand, and a baker’s oven large enough to bake for a dozen families. We soon became very good managers, and were able to attend church every Sunday morning and have an excellent hot dinner as well. It was a very happy home, three girls and the head of the house not thirty years of age. All our friends were young: the manager of the largest station near, with a young wife; the clerk of petty sessions, hisyoung wife and her sister—in fact, except the doctor, an old bachelor, and clergyman and his wife, all were under thirty.
I undertook the education of my youngest sister, and many an afternoon we would walk a mile or two, choose a shady spot, and hear her lessons, or prepare others for the following day, while we worked. Life for a time was like one long summer day. Pianos were scarce in the district, only one in Montefiores, until we had one from Bathurst. I managed, without the aid of a master, to play the flutina for accompaniments and dance music. The manager of the station could play the guitar, and one of his superintendents the flute. What pleasant days and evenings we spent there, dining at seven, dressing for dinner of course, and waited on by the Chinese butler and his assistants in costume! All the indoor servants at the station were Chinese, the outdoor aboriginals. I shall never forget a terrible night we spent there. It was at the election time; Mr. Dunlop and all the gentlemen were at the election dinner in Montefiores, Mrs. Dunlop, ourselves, and two other ladies were in the house alone. It was a long low house with small rooms opening one into the other; most of the windows were French windows, opening on to verandahs. We were chatting in the drawing-room when we heard fearful shrieks proceeding from the barn and wool-shed about three hundred feet from the back of the house. “What’s that?” I inquired. Mrs. Dunlop listened for a while, and answered, “Some of the blacks beating their ‘gins’—wives, I mean.” But soon we heard men’s voices in the verandah,and my young friend jumped up and ran to see if the shutters were fastened, and then said, “We will go into my room, where the windows are higher from the ground and the shutters are closer than these.” Putting out all the lights here, the five of us went quietly into her room, and sat there listening. The noise increased, coming nearer and nearer, when Mrs. Dunlop said, “I am afraid the Chinese and the blacks are fighting; if so, they will kill one another. I know Yang-See and Ah-Sing were in the township all day; I am afraid they have brought drink home.” Imagine our horror at hearing this; we might all be killed before the gentlemen returned. At that moment a violent knocking at the door of the room made us all think “What next?” when a woman’s voice said, “Let me in, Missy; they will kill me. Missy Dunlop, let me in.” “I will call your master,” was the answer; “you go to Mr. Brinsley’s room.” The woman ran across the verandah to an outer room; at the end we heard her rush in and lock the door. More voices were heard in the verandah, so Mrs. Dunlop said very loudly, “David, have you your revolver loaded?” “Here it is,” turning the handle of the door. In an instant we heard the pat, pat of naked feet running past the windows, and knew her ruse had succeeded. The men thought their master had come home, and knowing from experience that he would not hesitate to use his revolver, went back to their huts and camp. How thankful we were when about two hours after the sound of horses’ feet told us our friends had returned! They were astonished to seeus all up; but at our urgent request did not go down to the camp or shed. The next morning when I opened my window I saw Jenny, the “gin,” cleaning the verandah with her head bound up; but otherwise she appeared nothing the worse for her husband’s little corrections of the previous night. When I asked her what it was all about, “Too much rum, Missy, ba’al budgery drink.” “Did he hurt you very much?” She showed me a terrible gash in her head. “Nullah, nullah, ba’al budgery, Missy,” said poor Jenny. “They were all drunk, Missy, like gentlemen; but my Missy did wise.” “Did they go to Mr. Brinsley’s room?” “No, no; me yabber, yabber to him,” and then she laughed like a child, showing her white teeth. “Stupids tink him in there; me know him in Montefiores.” “Did you go to the camp when he came home?” “No, no; master put me in stable. Chinamen no good, Missy,” she said with conviction. I thought, better than your people. The two races never did agree, and were always quarrelling; but they had to be borne with, as near the gold-fields a white man could not be kept for any time. Mr. Dunlop liked the celestials; they were steady, methodical workers, never forgot an order, cost little to keep, and only occasionally became troublesome, when they managed to get opium and have a smoking feast. Our cook nearly died after one of these opium feasts. He asked my brother if he might go to Nanima one Sunday. Of course he was allowed to do so. Monday morning came, but Boney did not put in an appearance; Tuesday he was still absent, so my brother rode over to Nanima to see if hewas there. Mr. Dunlop said, “No; I sent him off the place this morning. He will be useless for a week; my men are in a terrible state, like so many logs; look at them.” The Chinamen were lying about in a large tent looking like corpses. Mr. Dunlop turned one over with his foot, and a shocking countenance was disclosed. “What will you do with them?” “Let them sleep some of it off, see that they have not hidden any, and then have some good strong soup made for them.” My brother came home and found Boney lying on the floor of his room, outside the house. He was a very difficult patient; he “no wantee livee,”—he wanted to be left alone—“no chin chin master; Joss wants Boney; me die.” But he was far too valuable to be allowed to die without an effort to save him. My brother insisted on his taking food, threatening him with all manner of punishment, and standing by to see him take sufficient nourishment; but it was several days before he could attend to any duties. He was an excellent cook, exceedingly clean, and afforded us much amusement watching his ways. Before he did any cooking he would wash his hands and arms; this was done very often, a dozen times in a day. He did not consider himself bound to obey any one but “the master;” “Missee no good.” When I told him that “I was the mistress of the house,” he said, “No, Missee not master’s wife.” He was also very much surprised to see us engaged in any household work. “Ladies no work in my country.” Boney was an invaluable servant, most economical and quiet; then as a gardener he was mostuseful. Until his advent I had taken the flowers under my care; but it was hard work, as there was nearly a quarter of an acre to attend to. We had brought many of our old favourites from Violet Cottage at The Glebe, and soon obtained some plants from our friends. We were the first to introduce violets into the district, where they grew luxuriantly; most of the dear old English flowers flourish there. At the present time my brother has many to remind him of the old country, but at the time I write of I only remember the violets. The climate, though perhaps better than Sydney, is drier, and frosts in winter and spring severe. Geraniums, heliotrope, and all tropical plants have to be housed. Peaches, nectarines, apricots, figs, and the vine flourish. Nearly every fruit will grow there; but owing to the frosts oranges only in a few sheltered spots. Acacias, cedars, mimosa, and many other trees grow very freely. At the entrance gate of Gobolion there were two magnificent almond trees, and when in blossom were very lovely. In travelling it was not uncommon to come across a peach tree flowering in mountain gorges or gullies, sprung up from peach stones thrown down by travellers.
We found our Sundays terribly long when we first went to Montefiores; the river being up, the Rev. Mr. Watson was unable to cross, and we were without service for nearly two months. That river, or rather the two rivers, as Montefiores was at the junction of the Bell and Macquarie rivers, were mybête noir; no one could cross except by swimming their horses. The Rev. Mr. Watson had beenone of the early missionary clergymen sent out to the Blacks, and had settled on the Wellington side of the river, where he lived surrounded by a small colony of them. He and his wife were now growing old, and all their interest was centred in the poor natives, whom they taught to read, write, and sing. They had sweet voices, and they were the only singers in the choir. The church was a most primitive building of wooden slabs, the imperfect joints in places admitting the daylight, wind, and dust. The seats or forms were rough, the unpolished pulpit and chancel low, constructed for Mr. Watson, who was a little man. The only music was human voices, and the church bell was hung in a tree at the side; but what mattered it when a temple not made by hands could be seen from the open door and windows. Such a beautiful view of Mount Arthur, and above such a dome of glorious blue, to make us feel how near we were to Him who fashioned it all. How well I remember our first going to church for morning service! We had been informed “that half-past ten was the time for service to commence;” but as Mr. Watson’s time and that of Montefiores differed very considerably, the warning bell continued its ringing till he made his appearance. Those who rode or drove to church left their horses in the open ground outside, as there was no enclosing fence. This morning Mr. Watson was early, so we were really in church by a little after ten; service commenced at once, and was finished before twelve. It was a delicious morning in April, so we decided to take along walk before returning home, and started off by the river. We walked for some distance without meeting any one, everything fresh and delightful. After a time we sat down by the river, and I heard my youngest sister her Collect and Catechism, then talked over the great desire I had to establish a Sunday School as soon as Mr. Watson could be consulted as to the best means of doing so; when Louisa reminded me that Mrs. Richard had said, “He will not consent, as he does not care about the white children when he has the black ones round him.” “I will try at any rate,” concluded our conversation. “Now we had better go home.” We started to return, but it was not so easy to accomplish, as we had unthinkingly wandered from the river, and found ourselves surrounded by hills, nothing except sheep tracks to guide us. We tried first one, then the other, without success; all seemed to lead to the hills. Tired, faint, and frightened we sat down to rest. “We had better go towards the sun,” suggested Bell quietly. She was so delicate I began to dread the effect of this terrible time on her; but she was the quietest and calmest of the three. At last I began to get so bewildered, nervously anticipating the horrors of being “lost in the Bush,” I could go no farther, but sat down and wept bitterly. I was again aroused by my sister’s gentle faith; “Harry will know we have lost our way, and he will soon find us.” I did not tell her I knew my brother would not be home until the evening. Vainly we proceeded, only to get nearer the hills, when Susan said, “Look, there are some broken branches; let ustake that track, and follow it up.” We did so, and in about an hour came in sight of a shepherd’s hut we had passed when we had first left the river; and saw in the distance Mount Arthur, at the foot of which nestled the township, and in a short time we could see the smoke rising from the houses, and we were not long in reaching home. My brother said we had been walking in a circle for hours.
Gobolion, a homestead near us, was almost a ruin; it adjoined the doctor’s property on the bank of the river. His house was a small weatherboard building, but quite commodious enough for the bachelor medico, a tall gentlemanly old man, whose garden and pets were his “Lares and Penates.” On my first visit there I could not understand his reason for allowing several large mounds to remain in the front of his house; they were not very sightly, though an attempt had been made at ornamentation by planting flowering runners on them—one was nearly covered with the small scarlet verbena. He told me the reason afterwards why he had not had the mounds levelled. When he purchased the land some years before, this spot was the burying-place of one of the principal tribes, whose custom it was to inter their dead in an upright position, and the mounds were heaped up over the bodies. He had ordered several of the mounds to be removed, when he was told “That he would bring down terrible vengeance on himself, as the aboriginals were tenacious on the subject of the last resting-place of their people, and had been known to travel hundreds of miles to bury their dead.” So the doctor at once prevented more being done, and for several years allowed them to bring any of their tribe to the old ground. I have since thought, when looking at the neglected state of the cemetery in Elizabeth Street, Sydney, the poor despised blacks had more feeling in this respect than their white brethren. I felt pity for them then, and more still now, for they have nearly all disappeared before the white race’s rule. The Australian blacks have not found many advocates, I am aware, but they could have been taught to be useful. I know this from experience to be the case. A friend of mine had a woman, Emma, an excellent laundress; her husband, Harry, was groom and handy man, and Fanny was nurse to my friend’s first child; these came from the Mission, and could all read and write. One great drawback was that they never would rest contentedly in a house; so my friends allowed them a tent in the paddock. There was a very clever black called Darby who was frequently in the township, and while we were there was twice converted, first by the Roman Catholic bishop and then by our bishop. Darby told some one, “He would be converted every week to get money.” He could read, write, and play cards—in fact, he was quick in learning. Once at a sale he was making a noise, when the auctioneer threatened him with a spade. “Oh, Mr., do you want to make me the knave of spades?” was Darby’s comment. Drink was the ruin of the natives; they could never refuse it, and it not only debased them, but caused them to die young from pulmonary complaints.
I was horrified on hearing them quote Scripture and hymns glibly. One man, Raymond, when intoxicated would go up and down the road shouting out the most sacred words from our service, and only ceased when placed in the lock-up. This poor creature died in his gunyah of rapid consumption. The blacks were like children, having no forethought, little if any reason, but affectionate, and easily pleased. They certainly believe in a future state, hence the idea of burying their dead in a standing position—“To jump up quick.” They are also afraid of an evil spirit doing harm to them. We had one black as outdoor help, who was exceptionally wild and excitable; but my youngest sister could manage him splendidly, not having the slightest fear of him; but he too was fond of rum, and she often teased him about this weakness. He always called my sister by her name, refusing to add Miss. One great objection to him as a servant was his dislike to clothing; but this was insisted on, so shirt and trousers were at last his everyday costume. At Christmas we gave him a full suit, with hat, boots, and large white collar, sending him down with a note to Mrs. Richard. He was very pleased at first, but the next day he returned minus all excepting his shirt and trousers, having bartered them away for drinks and tobacco. Soon after this he informed us he must go back to his tribe. “Too hot for houses now, Louisa; come back winter.” And he did so, taking up his work as though he had never left it. He remained on until summer returned and then disappeared again. Hewas a simple creature; the only thing that roused the savage in him was to inquire, “Have you ever been to Sydney, Franky?” Louisa had been told to do this without knowing why. The result, Franky glared at her, saying, “No, Louisa; Franky will go away and never come back.” Louisa made him understand “she meant no harm” by the inquiry. We were told afterwards he had been to Sydney, sent to gaol there for killing another black, and when let out started for Wellington, travelling night and day, with scarcely any food or rest, till he had completed two hundred miles. He arrived nearly dead from exhaustion, and then took to the “Bush.” While in prison he had forgotten all the English he had ever learned. Poor creature! it is easy to realise how this child of nature suffered, caged up in stone walls, under prison discipline; and no wonder to us now that he disliked staying in the kitchen to take his meals, and would merely come to the door for them.
Livingin this Bush township afforded me an excellent opportunity of seeing the manner of life led by the people in the far-away districts. The houses were nearly all built of weatherboard or slabs, roofs of thatch or shingle, our own house and the two inns alone being built of brick. They were whitewashed outside and inside, and generally consisted of two front rooms and two skillion rooms at the back; halls were unknown, except in brick houses. The Crown commissioner’s cottage, with the doctor’s and clerk of petty sessions were all of the “Bush” type of architecture, not possessing any special beauty, though tolerably comfortable within. When the wife of our clerk of petty sessions made up her mind “to give a dance,” her husband demurred, “No room large enough.” “Oh, but, John, you and the black servant can soon put one up; and most likely some of our friends in the neighbourhood will assist; now the shearing is over, they have very little to do.” She was right; everybody was ready to assist. Thus a large room was soon added to the cottage,and many dances were held therein. In those days colonial girls were not particular about having waxed floors as they now are. Cinderella dances would have been scoffed at, as in the “Bush” people gladly ride thirty or forty miles for a dance, which always lasted until daylight. Then dresses changed for riding habits, breakfast, and a lovely ride home. Montefiores being surrounded by gold-fields, the sterner sex preponderated. The gold commissioners, in their uniforms, formed a lively contrast to the general civilian dress. In many instances costumes were worn that could not be considered quiteen règle, as travellers did not always carry dress suits in their valise. Gloves too often were not the best fitting; but these drawbacks mattered little when youth and health led the way. Ladies were better off, as white muslin and ribbons could always be purchased at the stores. We were rather troubled about shoes and gloves, having small hands and feet. I am almost afraid to state how many times our satin shoes were re-covered and our gloves cleaned. We could always fall back on mittens, being the two youngest ladies out in the district. It goes without saying such dances were very delightful, and we received numbers of bouquets. My brother did not look forward to these dissipations with the same anticipation of delight as we did. “Oh, those merry days when we were young!” How fresh they come back to my memory as I am writing this, with a white world of snow outside our windows! Where are those many dancers? So many, so many are “at rest.” A few only left, with children andgrandchildren around them. Strange to say, though the oldest amongst us was under thirty, not half a dozen are living; most of them died in the prime of life. This will appear singular to people in England, where, judging from the obituary notices in the daily papers, greater average of life is attained. We sometimes saw the gold escort pass through the township, with the mounted troopers guarding the precious freight. Bushranging was not uncommon then, therefore we were ready to anticipate the escort being “stuck up.” What accounts of hairbreadth escapes from capture were related! On one occasion, after the capture of a gang of bushrangers, the owner of some stores was told by one of the gang how nearly his stores were to being “stuck up” and robbed by them. He asked the storekeeper, “Do you remember one evening, just as your store was closing, three men coming in to look at some saddles? Several were brought for us to choose from, and as you came in from the back store it was arranged that one of us should ask you to show us some straps that were hanging above your head. When you reached up to do so we were to pinion your arms, knowing when you were overpowered we should have little trouble with the others. While you were free we knew it would not be a safe game. Well, you did not do as we expected, but just passed through and entered the house; so our little game was put a stop to, as we suspected you had recognised us, and we made a hasty move, leaving the store, mounted, and rode off. It washard lines, as we knew you had been buying gold heavily that week. We consoled ourselves, as we might be able to stick up the escort, and have your gold with the rest.” Accounts of bushrangers “sticking up” stations, travellers, and banks were very frequent, and it was very difficult to follow them to their haunts and hiding-places amongst the gullies and mountain gorges only known to themselves, as they were wonderful bushmen, and only by the aid of black trackers could they be followed. There was the greatest difficulty in cutting off their retreat. The Australian women in many instances displayed great courage and coolness when brought in contact with bushrangers. Mrs. K—— near Bathurst was much praised; she was a young and beautiful woman, and when their place was “stuck up” rode into town to obtain the money the bushrangers insisted upon receiving before they would release her husband and others. On another occasion, when they “stuck up” a station and secured all the men, they made the ladies of the family provide dinner, then play the piano, and dance with them; however, they did not maltreat the women, and behaved themselves tolerably well, considering the character of their visit.
A young man (who was a terrible boaster) was placed in a very ludicrous position. He had been boasting in public of his courage, often saying what he would do if those fellows the bushrangers dared to attack him. “I always carry arms and my revolver handy when travelling, always remembering that at any moment I may be called upon to‘stand’ and throw up my arms.” “Would you fire at them?” “Of course I would, if there were a dozen of them.” This occurred in the billiard-room of an hotel in one of the towns in the western district. A few weeks after this boastful young Englishman was riding along a lonely bush road at about 10A.M.when suddenly the word “Stand” electrified him, and in an instant a man seized his bridle; but, curious to relate, the revolver was not brought into requisition, and it is questionable whether he had presence of mind to think of it. He was mounted on a valuable horse lately purchased; this, with his watch, revolver, and a few pounds, were worth taking. His captor told him to “get off the horse, as he wanted it,” then led him away from the road, covering him with his own revolver; then said, “Give me your coat and hat; you can have mine instead.” When he had got all that was worth having, the bushranger coolly said, “I am old enough to be your father, so take my advice. Never boast what you will do until you’ve tried it. You see that one man is more than a match for you, no need for a dozen. Now sit upon that stump while I ‘bail you up’”(which he very quickly did, with some rope he took from the “swag” he carried). “Mind you sit here quietly until sunset; then you can make as much noise as you like. I have some one to let me know if you move. Now remember, if you play any tricks,” and then placed his revolver too close to the young man’s ear to be pleasant. The poor fellow remained there all day long, becoming more and more enraged at hisignominious position, thinking of the cool, impudent rascal, and determining to get away to give an alarm if possible. While trying to free himself he heard a rustle near, and a piece of wood thrown at him, to warn him that he was being watched. At last he fell asleep, and was awakened by a voice calling out, “Why, mate, what’s up?” and saw two rough-looking men by his side. They soon released him when he told them his story, and found they were two station hands returning home from the town. They had left the road to light a fire for their tea, which was soon made, and the hungry, weary young fellow declared that “quart pot tea” and damper were enjoyed by him with greater relish than the best meal he had ever sat down to. He said as little as possible about his captor, and described him very incorrectly, as he was not without some misgivings that it might be a trap of the bushranger. He sat with them till the sun set, and then started for the town, thanking them for releasing him, and the tea. It was a lesson not to be forgotten, and he always in after years told the story whenever he heard “new chums” saying what they would do if this or that were to happen to them.
It is to be regretted that too many young men, when they go out from England, have an idea their mission is to teach colonials, and to show feelings of contempt for them; but this mistake has been lessened considerably of late years, since communication with the mother country has become more frequent and rapid, and the false ideas orimpressions of colonial people are being dispelled. For all this, only a few weeks since I read an article in a daily paper teeming with false notions and very unfair remarks upon the colonies and colonials. Even at this present time young men leave England thinking “they can teach the Australians a thing or two,” and when they find how mistaken they have been, return disgusted with their want of success, besides lacking the moral courage to acknowledge they have met their equals, and in many instances their superiors; so in the worst spirit possible set about to malign them. This class of traveller is well known, and their accounts are certainly unreliable. Such men are unfitted for the life of a new colony, or perhaps for any country. There is great want of good taste and common sense, which has been instrumental in producing a far from friendly feeling in the Australian youths; and is it to be wondered at when such unfounded remarks are made on all that is dear to them? Is there not very much that the Australian may well be proud of, and may we not commend them for a spice of “blow”? It should be borne in mind that these colonies have reached their present position in a century only, and the majority of colonists would not disgrace any society in England.
I hadbeen a long time at Montefiores before I succeeded in establishing a Sunday School, but being without any service there for over two months, determined on another effort. At this time a newly appointed Crown commissioner and his wife came to reside here; the lady was a very delightful person, who had travelled a great deal in India and elsewhere. It struck me that it would be a great advantage to the cause to gain her influence. I mentioned the subject to her, when she very kindly undertook to call the clergyman’s attention to the advantage of establishing a Sunday School for the welfare of the young people of the district. She explained to him that permission was desired to hold the school in the church, and to have charge of the key on those Sundays when service was not held there; also that I did not expect or desire any assistance from him, which was the real cause of his not acceding to my request in the first instance; in fact he did not wish to devote any of his time to it. Thus, through the kindly aid of this lady, the object was gained, after vainly trying for it so long. He told her “that he was sure I should notbe able to get half a dozen children together,” as there were so many Roman Catholics; however, he was mistaken, as I commenced with eleven, and often had thirty. It was a source of much comfort to have our Sundays spent in doing some good work, and with a proper feeling that it was not kept as any other day. We divided our children into three classes. When the clergyman held service in the morning, I had the school in the afternoon, andvice versa; or when the rivers were up, swollen by rains, always in the afternoon, and often devoted two or three hours to the classes. After the usual church lessons were finished, I would read them an interesting child’s book, sometimes telling an Australian country story; and so the time passed quickly by.
There were times when we found country life a little monotonous, as there was not any girls’ society in the immediate neighbourhood, and the intercourse with Sydney so difficult. Mails only twice a week, no telegrams, little news, and not very many new books. Nanima was our “oasis”; there we always found something to amuse, either the family music, or a reading by one of the gentlemen. We spent many a hot afternoon or evening atBlack House, listening to Esther Summerson’s unselfish life, poor Ricks beginning to save, Mr. Jarndyce’s east wind, and Lady Dedlock’s punishment.David Copperfield,Vanity Fair, andPendennisI first heard of there. As our friends were intellectual people, the conversation after on the works that had been read brought the characters to our minds as realities.
This station was equal in extent to some German duchies, covering many thousand acres. It was the place of the district at that time. The manager was the brother-in-law of the owner. I have met there several members of very old English families; young men who had drifted to the colony, younger sons and ne’er-do-wells, were sent out to “gain colonial experience,” or in too many cases to die in the “Bush” while holding some very subordinate position. One, the Hon. Mr. T——, was a storekeeper on a station; another, a countess’s brother, was a hut-keeper on our friend’s station; and Sir F. P—— was a trooper in the gold escort; but all were received and treated as gentlemen, which they still were, however poor. Mrs. Dunlop was the daughter of a retired naval officer, and her husband, the manager, came of a good old Scotch family. One of his superintendents was an admiral’s son, and relative of one of our great wits and authors. This made our visits there very agreeable, and this is not a single instance; there were many such homes in the Australian colonies thirty-six years ago, and no doubt long before.
The first break in our little circle was the removal of Mr. Richard and family to a town near Sydney, where he had a much better appointment, and was also near some relatives. Two ladies leaving the district was a terrible loss, especially as their cottage was only a few minutes’ walk from us. We had a dull time too, as several gentlemen were away from the two nearest stations “overlanding,” i.e. taking sheep, cattle, and flour to Melbourne; but wehad plenty of resources in our household duties, needlework, music, and reading. Still it was good news to learn that “all were back again, and Bishop Barker was to pay his first pastoral visit, and hold a confirmation.” We had heard our new bishop was a very tall man, so doubts arose as to his being able to stand upright in either pulpit or church. One of the tallest of our congregation found he could not, so the flooring of the pulpit was removed, but the altar could not be lowered, so the poor bishop had to stand with his head bent downward all the time he was there. He was accompanied by his wife, who by her graceful, kindly manner won all hearts, as did also the bishop. A picnic, of course, was organised to visit the Wellington caves, when all the gentlefolks of the surrounding country met. We had been to the caves before with a private party, but this visit was quite a public affair, and the caves were lighted up by numbers of torches, making the masses of stalactites and stalagmites glisten like jewels, embedded in snow as white as the country now lying before me. The caves are difficult of access, but once within them they are very beautiful and repay the trouble; however, they will not bear comparison with the caves at Jenolan, much nearer to Sydney.
In the largest of the Wellington caves, which is of great height, and named the cathedral, there is no difficulty in imagining a pulpit, and at the side an opening leading to vestry, which it was necessary to creep into. The bishop suggested, “You may explore that, being small. I should neverget out again.” I did go in, and was well repaid by the lovely sight. Before leaving we all assembled in the centre cave and sang the Old Hundredth Psalm. I never witnessed a more impressive scene, or heard the grand old hymn to greater advantage than in this strange place, some hundreds of feet under the earth’s crust, where pre-Adamite creation once sported, as gigantic bones of animals have been found there. This, the first visit of the bishop, afforded me special pleasure. Our commissioner’s wife told him of my Sunday School, for which he gave me earnest words of commendation and encouragement. I replied, “It is the outcome of the early influence of my beloved pastor.”
On the bishop’s return to Sydney, at a public breakfast, he mentioned amongst other matters connected with his country visits, his gratification at witnessing of so much being done in the lonely “Bush” by the energy and kindness of private ladies, not only teaching but establishing Sunday Schools. Mrs. Barker accompanied the bishop for many years on all his journeys, which extended over many thousands of miles, when travelling was attended by much hard work and discomfort. At this time Mrs. Barker travelled in a buggy driven by their servant, while the bishop, a good horseman, preferred riding.
At that time the diocese consisted of the whole of New South Wales; since it has been divided into five bishoprics—Sydney, Newcastle, Goulburn, Armidale, and Bathurst. We have also a Synod, composed of clerical and lay members;but I do not think it has improved the working of Church affairs, the clergymen being dependent for their stipends on voluntary aid and assistance from the Church Society, an arrangement which often placed them in a false position.
In the far-away, sparsely populated districts, in bad seasons, the poor clergy have great difficulty in paying their way. But the time I am now writing about, away from townships, if they saw a clergyman twice or thrice a year, it was as much as they could expect. On these occasions numbers came in from down the river, bringing children to be christened, confirmed, and others to be married. Montefiores was quite gay for a few days, in fact it was some weeks before we were restored to our usual quiet, for after the bishop’s departure there was plenty to talk over. Our blacksmith’s forge was a great meeting-place for the men folks, and the blacksmith was a character with the bad habit of swearing terribly. He had seen and talked to the bishop, whom he admired as being a good horseman more than anything else, and in repeating his conversation with him, used his usual strong language, and gave the bishop credit for doing likewise. My brother said, “Now, Jack, you know his lordship never said that.” “By —— he did, and you are a —— —— to doubt me.”—“What! do you mean to tell us, Jack,” drawled a haw-haw gentleman, “that the head of the Church swore as you do.” “Oh, well, Mr. ——, you know what I mean.” Returning one afternoon from our usual walk, we saw several people standing about surrounded by groups of children. “What is the matter,I wonder?” queried Louisa, when a well-known sound reached my ear. Could it possibly be! Yes, it was the well-remembered voices of Punch and Judy. Our brother met us at the door, laughing heartily. “Such an excitement, girls! A show from the ‘Diggings’ to hold an indefinite number of performances in the old shed there,” pointing to one close to our garden fence. “May we go, Harry?” “I think not; the place will be crowded; no seats; you would not like it.” But he took Louisa in to witness the first performance of the well-known drama so familiar to London children, and children of larger growth. We were much amused, watching great bearded men going in and out all the evening, and the shouts of laughter were infectious. One very old man told me next day, “It made me feel a boy again, Miss, though I held my grandson in my arms.” The next excitement was the news of the charge of the Gallant Six Hundred at Balaklava, then the fall of Sevastopol. Everything that would bear the explosion of powder was put into requisition, and a perfect cannonade from guns, revolvers, and ancient pistols was kept up until the store of ammunition was exhausted, while the smoke from bonfires covered the township.
From what I have written my readers can only form an idea of the scenery around Montefiores, which is really beautiful. Mountains, river, cleared lands, forests of native apple, eucalypti, shee baks, kurragong, cedar, and wattle trees of great height; acacias too were very plentiful.Wild flowers were numerous, a cream clematis when in seed hanging with threads like silver; several species of orchid, violets, purple and white with purple spots, like their English sisters in form, but scentless. The fringed violet peculiar to Australia, with ferns of many kinds, made the “Bush” “a thing of beauty.” I have forgotten to mention the quandong, a shrub bearing a fruit the size and colour of cherries. The fruit is not unpleasant in flavour, but there is scarcely any of it, the stone being very large in proportion and merely thinly covered with fruit. The stones are valued, as they make up into pretty ornaments, such as bracelets, necklets, chains, or the heads of scarf-pins.
I knew an Englishman who said one of the pleasures of life is to be in a country where there is “plenty to kill,” so may quote him as an authority that Australia is very satisfying in this respect. And he certainly ought to have lived where I did thirty-five years ago, as in a couple of hours’ ride he could have shot kangaroo, wallabi, opossum, native dogs, and bagged wood and black duck, wild turkeys, pigeons, and rabbits. The doctor had quantities of the latter on his ground, only ten minutes’ walk from our house, so when fresh meat was not to be had—which was very often the case in the summer—Harry would take his gun, and in about an hour would bring back three or four. Then the river gave sport the angler loved, as there were plenty of fish, especially the fresh-water cod, some nearly three feet in length. Shrimps and small crayfish could be caught with nets. The men had plenty to kill, and forexercise and excitement, what could compare with a kangaroo drive or mustering and branding of cattle?
Drafting sheep was very wearisome; the poor timid things were so tiresome; only the shepherds and their dogs had any patience with them. I have watched flocks of them crossing the river when it was quite low, and yet in their fright many would be in danger of drowning. Cattle were more easily managed; but, oh! the language of the bullock-drivers. I heard a story of a clergyman reproving them for using such fearful language. “They won’t go without, your reverence.” “Try them in as loud a tone without oaths.” But no, they would not move. “You see, sir, they understand that I mean them to go when I say —— ——” And at the familiar words the creatures did go. I liked to watch the bullock teams, both in Sydney and the country, going slowly along with their immense loads of wool bales, taking the golden fleece to the port; but until I went to Montefiores had no idea of the labour, hardship, and risk often run to life and limb ere they reached their destination. I have in summer crossed the Macquarie River on stepping-stones without wetting my feet, and in a few weeks it would be “a banker,” and no one could cross it; then teams had to camp until it was down again.
I determined to pay Sydney a visit whenever a suitable escort presented itself. Hearing of one soon, I left my brother’s house, to return to it only as a visitor for the future, as he married in six months after, so that I became awanderer once more. This journey to Sydney was a most disagreeable one, for I made it in the hottest season in one of the dreadful coaches, full of passengers of all grades. Two Chinamen from Wellington, one with his “Joss” carried carefully in his arms, which, as the wretched vehicle gave a lurch, struck my shoulder. My escort remonstrated, but the “Heathen Chinee,” “No savee.” We congratulated ourselves when the celestial left us at Bathurst, but it was premature, as a constable taking a prisoner to Sydney occupied the seats vacated by the Chinamen. Travellers certainly did in those early days prove the old adage, for when we drove up to the miserable inn, we found only one apartment to shelter us during a terrible storm. So two ladies, a member of Parliament, constable, prisoner, and others had to keep company in it. As soon as the rough meal was over I returned to a verandah room, to take a few hours’ rest on my rug. Again, on our way before daylight, watching the sun rise on those mountain roads compensated somewhat for the discomfort. The mountains emerged from a golden mist, infinitely grand. The sun seemed to hang for a few minutes over some distant peak, and the valleys to remain full of night’s veil of purple and gray, the birds welcoming the advent of another day, and above all, the deep blue of an Australian cloudless sky made one feel, “It is good to be here.”
Thoughonly away from Sydney three years, on my journey down I saw many improvements, and in Sydney felt, like “Rip Van Winkle,” surely I had been at least twenty years asleep. Such numbers of new buildings, streets formed, the shores of the harbour cultivated, new wharves, and numerous houses and stores in course of construction; the harbour alive with steamers, and ships coming and going. Numbers of shops in the main streets, where formerly there were only a few. Surrey Hills, where I first stayed, had become an extensive suburb, and the South Head Road, now Oxford Street, was full of shops. Service for that parish was held in Darlinghurst court-house. The barracks at Paddington were finished, and Wooloomooloo much altered. It was evident that Sydney was becoming the most important city in the Southern hemisphere, though now she must share the laurels with Melbourne, the latter being laid out with system, and wide thoroughfares with a view to the future. When Sydney was laid out no one could have anticipated her present position, and the consequence was a total disregard of anythinglike good main thoroughfares or proper alignment of the buildings. A hundred years ago such matters were not so much looked after as they are now. Nature, however, has been lavish in her bounty, and the early colonists were wise enough to make choice of the best site possible for the first Australian city. One who has travelled much says, “It ought to be one of the healthiest, cleanest, and best drained cities of the world, and the harbour will always give it the pre-eminence and proud title of the ‘Queen City of the South.’”
Spending nearly four idle months in Sydney gave me many opportunities of marking the great progress made in and around it. The Museum, Grammar School, and St. Mary’s Cathedral were being enlarged or rebuilt; churches and schools rising in the suburbs, Balmain and Pyrmont were becoming populous places; the Botanic Gardens were enlarged.
I went to a garden party with my future sister at Graycliff, a pretty place near Watson’s Bay, where there is a beautiful view of the harbour; but it was very difficult to get at by land. It was a lovely day, and the hostess being an intimate friend of Soph’s, I was able to ramble aboutcon amore, walking to Vaucluse and taking mental sketches of its many beauties.
After my brother’s marriage I went to Penrith for a few weeks’ stay at “Sara Cottage” situated in the one street of that very quiet town, like an English village with its general store, an inn or two, a church, a doctor’s house,and several cottages. No Bank or School of Arts then, the bridge not finished, and very few well-to-do residents in the town, Mr. Richard’s property being one of the best, and comparing favourably in every respect with his wife’s first home at Montefiores. It gave me great pleasure to share her delight in its beauty and comfort. While there I had an invitation to spend a few days at Dunheved, a real old-fashioned Australian cottage, with its verandahs kept from falling by a wisteria with branches as thick as my arm. It was a mass of blossoms in every shade of lavender, and the sweet perfume pervaded the atmosphere. What a picture it all was, as we drove up, the mistress of the house and her two fair daughters standing under the graceful canopy to welcome me! She was an admiral’s daughter, and her husband, a naval man, had settled some years before in this district; I think their eldest son still owns the property. It was through his visiting Montefiores just before I left that I had now the pleasure of meeting his family. Afterwards his mother wrote to me occasionally, but gradually the correspondence ceased, and place as well as people are now only a memory.
I then went again to Sydney to stay with an old friend at Surrey Hills, a native of the colony, well educated, refined and intellectual. Her father was in the commissariat department, and during the Peninsular War married a Spanish lady. Kate inherited some of her mother’s national character, being proud and passionate; but she was a devoted daughter, and sacrificed her prospects in life to her onebrother. She was another of the Rev. Horatio’s children who blessed his teaching, and bore her cross willingly. At this time she had just lost her widowed mother. I was glad to be free to visit her, and remained until Mr. Horatio found another home for me at The Glebe, strange to say, only a few minutes’ walk from my father’s old home. Hereford House was a very different abode, being quite a mansion. The grounds surrounding it were extensive, and kept in exquisite order by a scientific gardener and assistants. The rosary was perfect, with walls and arches of climbers, beds of standard roses of every hue, a shrubbery of camellias, datura, durante, dentzia, stephanotis, gardenia, tecoma, more the size of trees than shrubs; oleanders, pepper trees, and other tropical plants. Then the conservatory, with tea, coffee, and spices in flower, as well as a magnificent specimen of the pitcher plant. I had never seen such a garden in Australia; thirty-two years ago there were few to equal it. There was a fine garden at Toxteth Park full of flowers, but being larger, was not so well kept or so varied. The Glebe was famous for its floral treasures; being well sheltered from the sea air, they flourished better than in many other situations near Sydney.
All the arrangements of Hereford House were in good taste; the owner, an Englishman, and his pretty gentle wife, an Australian, treated their children’s governess as a trusted friend. We had a pretty ante-room, with French windows opening on to the garden, for study,—not with bare walls and uncarpeted floor, too often considered goodenough for a schoolroom, but pictures, bookcase, and covered desks. As my eldest pupil was nearly sixteen, teaching under such auspices was delightful indeed. Amongst many visitors there, I met two young people with whom I formed a friendship, to end only by the “Great Reaper’s scythe.” They had been in the colony a year or two, when they met our mutual friends travelling in the interior. James was an engineer of no mean ability, having been appointed before he had reached his twenty-first birthday to superintend some important engineering work in Spain. And at the time the gold fever was at its height, he resigned an excellent appointment in London to accompany a friend to Sydney in one of the large steamers so frequently leaving for the New El Dorado, where he met a young Irish lady travelling with some friends, hoping to meet a brother in Melbourne, if not, to return to her family by the same steamer; but “Don Cupid” stepped in, and there was no going back for Maria, as before they arrived in Sydney she was James’s promised wife. Like two foolish young people, they married at once, and might have realised the proverb “Marry in haste” had not James’s very excellent testimonials and letters of introduction soon procured him a Government appointment. His first work was the superintendence of the construction of engineers’ workshops and a dry dock at an island in Sydney Harbour, where they were residing in a pretty cottage when I met them at Hereford House. When I used to complain of the miserable accommodation of Bushinns, Maria would remind me it was through that they met Mr. and Mrs. Woolley, who, travelling with an invalid child, arrived at the best inn at Mittagong, to find the only private sitting-room occupied by James and Maria, he having been inspecting some iron-mines in the district. Of course they offered the room, and from that time had become their intimate friends, always welcome at Hereford House as long as his duties would permit them to stay. They were an acquisition to our circle, he a fine handsome fellow, who had seen a good deal of the world, and she as fascinating and bright as young Irishwomen generally are.
How sorry we were when our friends left for a long sojourn in England, the beautiful home broken up, the house and lovely garden left to strangers! I felt more lonely than ever, after being nearly a year with such a family, the mother like an elder sister, the children so companionable. James and Maria made me pay them a visit at their island home, which brightened me considerably. It was impossible to be low-spirited there, for he was full of fun, and her housekeeping was a constant source of amusement to us all. When anything was lost, she would say, “Have you looked on the floor?” On one occasion, when some friend sent them a basket of small aloes for the garden, she thought they were Australian artichokes, and told their convict servant to prepare them for dinner. She was a great favourite with every one, kind-hearted and generous. James used to say “inconvenientlygenerous sometimes.” I remember an occasion when this was the case. A lady she knew, who had seen better days, called on her in great distress; she had been promised an appointment, and had been given several articles of clothing, requisite to make her presentable to her employer in a respectable manner, but, sad to say, her boots were terribly worn. “Why, Mrs. ——, mine will fit you, so you need not cry about that.” At once a pair was sent for, and that little difficulty arranged, forgetting she was going out that afternoon with James and me. What a walk we had! He kept asking, “Why she allowed her dress to sweep the roads? Look at Miss L——, she holds hers up, why don’t you?” “You know, James, it tires me.” “Well, I will hold it up for you.” “How absurd that will look!” “Well, I shall go on first, for the dust is covering all of us.” I whispered, “Tell him.” “I dare not; he will be so vexed; he has not forgotten about the coat.” The coat meant that he had, at her urgent request, consented to his wife’s giving away some worn clothes of his to one of her numerous pensioners, and she in her impulsive way had given away a nearly new coat. We arrived at our destination without discovery, but unfortunately when leaving, one of our friend’s daughters remarked, “You have forgotten to change your shoes, Mrs. ——” He looked, and we were no sooner outside the house than I told him. He was such a kind-hearted man, so did not say much, but suggested that “she should always keep a pair in reserve,” and telling me “he would never besurprised to find his wardrobe consisted only of the clothes he had on.”
One evening James and I were sitting in the verandah enjoying the cool sea breeze after a fearful hot wind all day. Maria was playing and singing in the drawing-room, when between one of her songs we heard the sound of screaming from the opposite shore; we listened, but it ceased, so Maria continued her music. As it was growing late and the moon setting, we thought of retiring, when the sound of a boat approaching the island—a very unusual and dangerous proceeding at that hour—roused James, and seeing only a woman in the boat, he left us and went down to the wharf near his cottage. The constable had seen the boat, and was speaking to the occupant, warning her not to come nearer. “What do you want at this hour of the night?” asked my friend. “Oh, sir,” answered a girlish voice, “do, for God’s sake, come with me to the other side, or murder will be done.” Here sobs stopped her utterance. Addressing the girl, my friend asked, “Was it you I heard screaming some time ago?” “Yes.” Turning to the constable, “Blake, it’s all right; I will go.” “Thank you, sir,” said the girl. He ran back and told us he would not be back for an hour or two, that Maria and I need not be uneasy. The girl was evidently well accustomed to the use of the sculls, and made rapid way to the opposite shore. By the time they landed the moon had set, and heavy clouds rising from the south rendered the night dark and gloomy. Hefollowed the girl through the scrub, her light frock being the only guide. At last they came to a small slab building, and a young man met the girl. “Where have you been, Sarah?” “To Cockatoo Island for assistance.” “No need for that; what a fool!” “But you told me to go.” “Did I?” James here advanced, asking, “What does all this mean? what dark work has been going on here?” “No dark work, sir, only a man in a fit.” “That’s all nonsense; girls don’t risk a shot for that. Well, I am here, and intend going into the house and seeing for myself, so lead the way at once.” After a few whispered words with the girl, the young fellow said, “Go in, Sarah, and see how he is now.” In a few minutes she returned, saying, “I think he is asleep.” James followed his young guide into a room, where, lying on a rough bush bedstead, was a man half dressed. He stood looking down on the recumbent figure, and heard some whispering in another room. Touching the man, he inquired, “Are you awake?” “Who are you? You have come too late,” and a pair of keen gray eyes were raised to his face. “Oh! I am a doctor.” “Are you? what do you want here?” “I heard that some one was ill.” “Did you?” with a frown, and looking towards the girl. “That’s what you say, is it? then I am well now and out of danger.” The girl and young man stood like sentinels, watching. “Can I help you in any way?” asked my friend abruptly. “I suppose I have been brought out at this hour for a purpose.” “Yes, we three agreed it would be better to have a witness, but it is all settledwithout. They have got all they wanted, so will let me rest in peace,” with a heavy sigh, turning round, as if to intimate all was over. As the man evidently did not wish him to remain, James followed the girl and young man out of the room, and when outside said, “I am not at all satisfied with your conduct; who are the others in the hut?” “There is no one.” “That is false; I heard voices. Have you been bought since your sister left? Is that man your father?” “No, brother.” “Why, he is years older than either of you.” Here the girl, who James saw was much cowed and frightened, said, “He is our stepbrother.” James stood considering for a minute, then said, “Well, take me back to the island.” He was about to utter a warning as to the steps he intended to take, but decided it would be imprudent and put them on their guard. The young man said, “I will row you over, sir; Sarah is too done up.” “I am quite agreeable, as long as I get back to Cockatoo Island quickly.” He tried in vain to get the young man into conversation on the way, but a laconic “Yes” or “No” was the extent of his answers. The mystery of that night was never cleared up. My friend tried to find the slab building, but it seemed to have disappeared. The night had been so dark, and the bush so dense, as to preclude any certainty as to the direction taken after leaving the boat. Even if he had succeeded in finding the place, an investigation thirty years ago, with such evidence, would have been difficult to carry through, when the principal in the affair had evidently given in.
Sir William Denison was Governor of New South Wales at this time, and taking great interest in my friend’s work at the island, often visited it. The officers of Her Majesty’s ships found the cottage very pleasant to spend the evenings at, for Maria, like many of her countrywomen, was fascinating, full of life, and fond of society. She could sing and play with expression, and was never put out if half a dozen came in when three were only prepared for; she somehow so managed that you would suppose her resources were inexhaustible. I really think this is a peculiarity of the Irish, as I have known many with the same gift of making the best of everything. It was a strange life for Maria on this island, as there was only one other family to visit there.