Kitabı oku: «From Squire to Squatter: A Tale of the Old Land and the New», sayfa 16
It was finally arranged that Branson and one of the newcomers should form the escort; and so Archie, Harry, and Craig bade the girls a hurried adieu, and speedily rode away after the men.
Chapter Twenty Nine
On The War Trail
Twelve men all told to march against a tribe consisting probably of over a hundred and fifty warriors, armed for the fight, and intoxicated with their recent success! It was a rash, an almost mad, venture; but they did not for one moment dream of drawing back. They would trust to their own superior skill to beat the enemy; trust to that fortune that so often favours the brave; trusting – many of them I hope – to that merciful Providence who protects the weak, and who, in our greatest hour of need, does not refuse to listen to our pleadings.
They had ridden some little way in silence, when suddenly Archie drew rein.
“Halt, men!” he cried. “Halt for a moment and deliberate. Who is to be the commander of this little force?”
“Yourself,” said Gentleman Craig, lifting his hat. “You are boss of Burley Farm, and Mr Cooper’s dearest friend.”
“Hear, hear!” cried several of the others.
“Perhaps it is best,” said Archie, after a moment’s thoughtful pause, “that I should take the leadership under the circumstances. But, Craig, I choose you as my second in command, and one whose counsel I will respect and be guided by.”
“Thank you,” said Craig; “and to begin with, I move we go straight back to Findlayson’s farm. We are not too well armed, nor too well provisioned.”
The proposal was at once adopted, and towards sundown they had once more reached the outlying pastures.
They were dismounting to enter, when the half-naked figure of a black suddenly appeared from behind the storehouse.
A gun or two was levelled at him at once.
“Stay,” cried Craig. “Do not fire. That is Jacoby, the black stockman, and one of poor Mr Findlayson’s chief men. Ha, Jacoby, advance my lad, and tell us all you know.”
Jacoby’s answer was couched in such unintelligible jargon – a mixture of Bush-English and broad Scotch – that I will not try the reader’s patience by giving it verbatim. He was terribly excited, and looked heartbroken with grief. He had but recently come home, having passed “plenty black fellows” on the road. They had attempted to kill him, but here he was.
“Could he track them?”
“Yes, easily. They had gone away there.” He pointed north and east as he spoke.
“This is strange,” said Craig. “Men, if what Jacoby tells us be correct, instead of retreating to their homes in the wilderness, the blacks are doubling round; and if so, it must be their intention to commit more of their diabolical deeds, so there is no time to be lost.”
It was determined first to bury their dear friends; and very soon a grave was dug – a huge rough hole, that was all – and in it the murdered whites were laid side by side.
Rupert repeated the burial-service, or as much of it as he could remember; then the rude grave was filled, and as the earth fell over the chest of poor old-fashioned Findlayson, and Archie thought of all his droll and innocent ways, tears trickled over his face that he made no attempt to hide.
The men hauled the gates of a paddock off its hinges, and piled wood upon that, so that the wandering dingoes, with their friends the rooks, should be baulked in their attempts to gorge upon the dead.
The blacks had evidently commenced to ransack the stores; but for some reason or another had gone and left them mostly untouched.
Here were gunpowder and cartridges in abundance, and many dainty, easily-carried foods, such as tinned meats and fish, that the unhappy owner had evidently laid in for his friends. So enough of everything was packed away in the men’s pockets or bags, and they were soon ready once more for the road.
The horses must rest, however; for these formed the mainstay of the little expedition. The men too could not keep on all night without a pause; so Archie and Craig consulted, and it was agreed to bivouac for a few hours, then resume the journey when the moon should rise.
Meanwhile the sun went down behind the dark and distant wooded hills, that in their strange shapes almost resembled the horizon seen at sea when the waves are high and stormy. Between the place where Archie and his brother stood and the light, all was rugged plain and forest land, but soon the whole assumed a shade of almost blackness, and the nearest trees stood up weird and spectre-like against the sky’s strange hue. Towards the horizon to-night there was a deep saffron or orange fading above into a kind of pure grey or opal hue, with over it all a light blush of red, and hurrying away to the south, impelled by some air-current not felt below, was a mighty host of little cloudlets of every colour, from darkest purple to golden-red and crimson.
There was now and then the bleating of sheep – sheep without a shepherd – and a slight tinkle-tinkle, as of a bell. It was in reality the voice of a strange bird, often to be found in the neighbourhood of creeks and pools.
Hardly any other sound at present fell on the ear. By-and-bye the hurrying clouds got paler, and the orange left the horizon, and stars began to twinkle in the east.
“Come out here a little way with me,” said Rupert, taking Archie by the hand.
When they had gone some little distance, quite out of hearing of the camp, Rupert spoke:
“Do you mind kneeling down here,” he said, “to pray, Archie?”
“You good old Rupert, no,” was the reply.
Perhaps no more simple, earnest, or heart-felt prayer was ever breathed under such circumstances, or in such a place. And not only was Rupert earnest, but he was confident. He spoke to the great Father as to a friend whom he had long, long known, and One whom he could trust to do all for the best. He prayed for protection, he prayed for help for the speedy restoration of the stolen child, and he even prayed for the tribe they soon hoped to meet in conflict – prayed that the God who moves in so mysterious a way to perform His wonders would bless the present affliction to the white man, and even to the misguided black.
Oh, what a beautiful religion is ours – the religion of love – the religion taught by the lips of the mild and gentle Jesus!
When they rose from their knees they once more looked skywards at the stars, for they were brightly shining now; then hand-in-hand, as they had come, the brothers returned to the camp.
No log fire was lit to-night. The men just lay down to sleep rolled in their blankets, with their arms close by their saddle pillows, two being told off to walk sentry in case of a sudden surprise.
Even the horses were put in an enclosure, lest they might roam too far away.
About twelve o’clock Archie awoke from an uneasy dreamful slumber, and looked about him. His attention was speedily attracted to what seemed a huge fire blazing luridly behind the hills, and lighting up the haze above with its gleams. Was the forest on fire again? No; it was only moonrise over the woods. He awakened Craig, and soon the little camp was all astir, and ready for the road. Jacoby was to act as guide. No Indian from the Wild West of America could be a better tracker.
But even before he started he told Craig the task would be an easy one, for the black fellows had drunk plenty, and had taken plenty rum with them. They would not go far, he thought, and there was a probability that they would meet some of the band returning. Even in the moonlight Jacoby followed the trail easily and rapidly.
It took them first straight for the forest that had been burned recently – a thoughtless deed on the part of the whites, that probably led to all this sad trouble.
There was evidence here that the blacks had gone into camp on the very night of the massacre, and had held a corroboree, which could only have been a day or two ago. There were the remains of the camp fires and the trampled ground and broken branches, with no attempt at concealment. There was a chance that even now they might not be far away, and that the little band might come up with them ere they had started for the day. But if they ventured to hope so, they were doomed to disappointment.
Morning broke at last lazily over the woods, and with but a brief interval they followed up the trail, and so on and on all that day, till far into the afternoon, when for a brief moment only Jacoby found himself puzzled, having fallen in with another trail leading south and west from the main track. He soon, however, discovered that the new trail must be that of some band who had joined the Findlayson farm raiders.
It became painfully evident soon after that this was the correct solution, for, going backwards some little way, Archie found a child’s shoe – one of a crimson pair that Bob had bought in Brisbane for his little Diana.
“God help her, poor darling!” said Archie reverently, as he placed the little shoe in his breast pocket. When he returned he held it up for a moment before the men, and the scowl of anger that crossed their faces, and the firmer clutch they took of their weapons, showed it would indeed be bad for the blacks when they met these rough pioneers face to face.
At sunset supper was partaken of, and camp once more formed, though no fire was lit, cold though it might be before morning.
The men were tired, and were sound asleep almost as soon as they lay down; but Craig, with the brothers, climbed the ridge of the hill to look about them soon after it grew dark.
The camp rested at the entrance of a wild gully, a view of which could be had, darkling away towards the east, from the hill on which the three friends now found themselves.
Presently Rupert spoke.
“Archie,” he said, “in this land of contrarieties does the moon sometimes rise in the south?”
“Not quite,” replied Archie.
“Look, then. What is that reflection over yonder?” Craig and Archie both caught sight of it at the same time.
“By Saint George and merry England!” Craig cried exultingly, “that is the camp of the blacks. Now to find Diana’s other shoe, and the dear child herself wearing it. Now for revenge!”
“Nay,” said Rupert, “call it justice, Craig.”
“What you will; but let us hurry down.”
They stayed but for a moment more to take their bearings. The fire gleams pointed to a spot to the south-east, on high ground, and right above the gully, and they had a background of trees, not the sky. It was evident then that the enemy was encamped in a little clearing on a forest tableland; and if they meant to save the child’s life – if indeed she was not already dead – the greatest caution would be necessary.
They speedily descended, and a consultation being held, it was resolved to commence operations as soon as the moon should rise; but meanwhile to creep in the darkness as near to the camp as possible.
But first Jacoby was sent out to reconnoitre. No cat, no flying squirrel could glide more noiselessly through an Australian forest than this faithful fellow. Still he seemed an unconsciously long time gone. Just as Craig and Archie were getting seriously uneasy the tinkle, tinkle of the bell-bird was heard. This was the signal agreed upon, and presently after, Jacoby himself came silently into their midst.
“The child?” was Archie’s first question.
“Baâl mumhill piccaninny, belong a you. Pidney you.”
“The child is safe,” said Craig, after asking a few more questions of this Scotch Myell black.
“Safe? and they are holding a corroboree and drinking. There is little time to lose. They may sacrifice the infant at any time.”
Craig struck a light as he spoke, and every man examined his arms.
“The moon will rise in an hour. Let us go on. Silent as death, men! Do not overturn a stone or break a twig, or the poor baby’s life will be sacrificed in a moment.”
They now advanced slowly and cautiously, guided by Jacoby, and at length lay down almost within pistol-shot of the place where the horrid corroboree was going on.
Considering the noise – the shrieking, the clashing of arms, the rude chanting of songs, and awful din, of the dancers and actors in this ugly drama – to maintain silence might have seemed unnecessary; but these blacks have ears like wolves, and, in a lull of even half a second, would be sharp to hear the faintest unusual noise.
Craig and Archie, however, crept on till they came within sight of the ceremonies.
At another time it might have been interesting to watch the hideous grotesqueness of that awful war-dance, but other thoughts were in their minds at present – they were looking everywhere for Diana. Presently the wild, naked, dancing blacks surged backwards, and, asleep in the arms of a horrid gin, they discovered Bob’s darling child. It was well Bob himself was not here or all would quickly have been lost. All was nearly lost as it was; for suddenly Archie inadvertently snapped a twig. In a moment there was silence, except for the barking of a dog.
Craig raised his voice, and gave vent to a scream so wild and unearthly that even Archie was startled.
At once all was confusion among the blacks. Whether they had taken it for the yell of Bunyip or not may never be known, but they prepared to fly. The gin carrying Diana threw down the frightened child. A black raised his arm to brain the little toddler. He fell dead instead.
Craig’s aim had been a steady one. Almost immediately after a volley or two completed the rout, and the blacks fled yelling into the forest.
Diana was saved! This was better than revenge; for not a hair of her bonnie wee head had been injured, so to speak, and she still wore the one little red-morocco shoe.
There was not a man there who did not catch that child up in his arms and kiss her, some giving vent to their feelings in wild words of thankfulness to God in heaven, while the tears came dripping over their hardy, sun-browned cheeks.
Chapter Thirty
Chest to Chest with Savages – How it all Ended
No one thought of sleeping again that night. They went back for their horses, and, as the moon had now risen, commenced the journey in a bee line, as far as that was possible, towards Burley New Farm.
They travelled on all night, still under the guidance of Jacoby, who needed no blazed trees to show in which direction to go. But when morning came rest became imperative, for the men were beginning to nod in their saddles, and the horses too seemed to be falling asleep on their feet, for several had stumbled and thrown their half-senseless riders. So camp was now formed and breakfast discussed, and almost immediately all save a sentry went off into sound and dreamless slumber, Diana lying close to Craig, whom she was very fond of, with her head on his great shoulder and her fingers firmly entwined in his beard.
It was hard upon the one poor fellow who had to act as sentry. Do what he might he could scarcely keep awake, and he was far too tired to continue walking about. He went and leant his body against a tree, and in this position, what with the heat of the day, and the drowsy hum of insects, with the monotonous song of the grasshopper, again and again he felt himself merging into the land of dreams. Then he would start and shake himself, and take a turn or two in the sunshine, then go back to the tree and nod as before.
The day wore on, the sun got higher and higher, and about noon, just when the sentry was thinking or rather dreaming of waking the sleepers, there was a wild shout from a neighbouring thicket, a spear flew past him and stuck in the tree. Next moment there was a terrible melée– a hand-to-hand fight with savages that lasted for long minutes, but finally resulted in victory for the squatters.
But, alas! it was a dearly-bought victory. Three out of the twelve were dead, and three more, including Gentleman Craig, grievously wounded.
The rest followed up the blacks for some little way, and more than one of them bit the dust. Then they returned to help their fellows.
Craig’s was a spear wound through the side, none the less dangerous in that hardly a drop of blood was lost externally.
They drew the killed in under a tree, and having bound up the wounds of the others, and partly carrying them or helping them along, they resumed the march.
All that day they dragged themselves along, and it was far into the early hours of morning ere they reached the boundaries of Burley New Farm.
The moon was shining, though not very brightly, light fleecy clouds were driving rapidly across the sky, so they could see the lights in both the old house and in the lower windows of Archie’s own dwelling. They fired guns and coo-ee-ed, and presently Bob and Winslow rushed out to bid them welcome.
Diana went bounding away to meet him.
“Oh, daddy, daddy!” she exclaimed, “what a time we’ve been having! but mind, daddy, it wasn’t all fun.”
Bob could not speak for the life of him. He just staggered in with the child in his arms and handed her over to Sarah; but I leave the reader to imagine the state of Sarah’s feelings now.
Poor Craig was borne in and put to bed in Archie’s guest room, and there he lay for weeks.
Bob himself had gone to Brisbane to import a surgeon, regardless of expense; but it was probably more owing to the tender nursing of Elsie than anything else that Craig was able at length to crawl out and breathe the balmy, flower-scented air in the verandah.
One afternoon, many weeks after this, Craig was lying on a bank, under the shade of a tree, in a beautiful part of the forest, all in whitest bloom, and Elsie was seated near him.
There had been silence for some time, and the girl was quietly reading.
“I wonder,” said Craig at last; “if my life is really worth the care that you and all the good people here have lavished on me?”
“How can you speak thus?” said Elsie, letting her book drop in her lap, and looking into his face with those clear, blue eyes of hers.
“If you only knew all my sad, sinful story, you would not wonder that I speak thus.”
“Tell me your story: may I not hear it?”
“It is so long and, pardon me, so melancholy.”
“Never mind, I will listen attentively.”
Then Craig commenced. He told her all the strange history of his early demon-haunted life, about his recklessness, about his struggles and his final victory over self. He told her he verily did believe that his mother’s spirit was near him that night in the forest when he made the vow which Providence in His mercy had enabled him to keep.
Yes, it was a long story. The sun had gone down ere he had finished, a crescent moon had appeared in the southern sky, and stars had come out. There was sweetness and beauty everywhere. There was calm in Craig’s soul now. For he had told Elsie something besides. He had told her that he had loved her from the first moment he had seen her, and he had asked her in simple language to become his wife – to be his guardian angel.
That same evening, when Archie came out into the garden, he found Elsie still sitting by Craig’s couch, but her hand was clasped in his.
Then Archie knew all, and a great, big sigh of relief escaped him, for until this very moment he had been of opinion that Craig loved Etheldene.
In course of a few months Squire Broadbent was as good as his word. He came out to the new land to give the Australians the benefit of his genius in the farming way; to teach Young Australia a thing or two it had not known before; so at least he thought.
With him came Mrs Broadbent, and even Uncle Ramsay, and the day of their arrival at Brisbane was surely a red-letter day in the annals of that thriving and prosperous place.
Strange to say, however, none of the squatters from the Bush, none of the speculating men, nor anybody else apparently, were very much inclined to be lectured about their own country, and the right and wrong way of doing things, by a Squire from the old country, who had never been here before. Some of them were even rude enough to laugh in his face, but the Squire was not offended a bit. He was on far too good terms with himself for that, and too sure that he was in the right in all he said. He told some of these Bush farmers that if they did not choose to learn a wrinkle or two from him he was not the loser, with much more to the same purpose, all of which had about the same effect on his hearers that rain has on a duck’s back.
To use a rather hackneyed phrase, Squire Broadbent had the courage of his convictions.
He settled quietly down at Burley New Farm, and commenced to study Bush-life in all its bearings. It soon began to dawn upon him that Australia was getting to be a great country, that she had a great future before her, and that he – Squire Broadbent – would be connected with it. He was in no great hurry to invest, though eventually he would. It would be better to wait and watch. There was room enough and to spare for all at Archie’s house, and that all included honest Uncle Ramsay of course. He and Winslow resumed acquaintance, and in the blunt, straightforward ways of the man even Squire Broadbent found a deal to admire and even to marvel at.
“He is a clever man,” said the Squire to his brother; “a clever man and a far-seeing. He gets a wonderful grasp of financial matters in a moment. Depend upon it, brother, he is the right metal, and it is upon solid stones like him that the future greatness of a nation should be founded.”
Uncle Ramsay said he himself did not know much about it. He knew more about ships, and was quite content to settle down at Brisbane, and keep a morsel of a 20-tonner. That was his ambition.
What a delight it was for Archie to have them all round his breakfast-table in the green parlour at Burley New Form, or seated out in the verandah all so homelike and happy.
His dear old mummy too, with her innocent womanly ways, delighted with all she saw, yet half afraid of almost everything – half afraid the monster gum trees would fall upon her when out in the forest; half afraid to put her feet firmly to the ground when walking, but gathering up her skirts gingerly, and thinking every withered branch was a snake; half afraid the howling dingoes would come down in force at night, as wild wolves do on Russian wastes, and kill and eat everybody; half afraid of the most ordinary good-natured-looking black fellow; half afraid of even the pet kangaroo when he hopped round and held up his chin to have his old-fashioned neck stroked; half afraid – but happy, so happy nevertheless, because she had all she loved around her.
Gentleman Craig was most deferential and attentive to Mrs Broadbent, and she could not help admiring him – indeed, no one could – and quite approved of Elsie’s choice; though, mother-like, she thought the girl far too young to marry yet, as the song says.
However, they were not to be married yet quite. There was a year to elapse, and a busy one it was. First and foremost, Craig took the unfortunate Findlayson’s farm. But the old steading was allowed to go to decay, and some one told me the other day that there is now a genuine ghost, said to be seen on moonlight nights, wandering round the ruined pile. Anyhow, its associations were of far too terrible a character for Craig to think of building near it.
He chose the site for his house and outbuildings near the creek and the spot where they had bivouacked before the murder was discovered. It was near here too that Craig had made his firm resolve to be a free man – made it and kept it. The spot was charmingly beautiful too; and as his district included a large portion of the forest, he commenced clearing that, but in so scientific and tasteful a manner that it looked, when finished, like a noble park.
During this year Squire Broadbent also became a squatter. From Squire to Squatter may sound to some like a come-down in life; but really Broadbent did not think so.
He managed to buy out a station immediately adjoining Archie’s, and when he had got fairly established thereon he told his brother Ramsay that fifteen years had tumbled off his shoulders all in a lump – fifteen years of care and trouble, fifteen years of struggle to keep his head above water, and live up to his squiredom.
“I’m more contented now by far and away,” he told his wife, “than I was in the busy, boastful days before the fire at Burley Old Farm; so, you see, it doesn’t take much in this world to make a man happy.”
Rupert did not turn squatter, but missionary. It was a great treat for him to have Etheldene to ride with him away out into the bush whenever he heard a tribe had settled down anywhere for a time. Etheldene knew all their ways, and between the two of them they no doubt did much good.
It is owing to such earnest men as Rupert that so great a change has come over the black population, and that so many of them, even as I write, sit humbly at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in their right mind. To quote the words of a recent writer: “The war-paints and weapons for fights are seen no more, the awful heathen corroborees have ceased, the females are treated with kindness, and the lamentable cries, accompanied by bodily injuries, when death occurred, have given place to Christian sorrow and quiet tears for their departed friends.”
It came to pass one day that Etheldene and Archie, towards the end of the year, found themselves riding alone, through scrub and over plain, just as they were that day they were lost. The conversation turned round to Rupert’s mission.
“What a dear, good, young man your brother is, Archie!” said the girl.
“Do you really love him?”
“As a brother, yes.”
“Etheldene, have him for a brother, will you?”
The rich blood mounted to her cheeks and brow. She cast one half-shy, half-joyful look at Archie, and simply murmured, “Yes.”
It was all over in a moment then. Etheldene struck her horse lightly across the crest with the handle of her stock whip, and next minute both horses were galloping as if for dear life.
When Archie told Rupert how things had turned out, he only smiled in his quiet manner.
“It is a queer way of wooing,” he said; “but then you were always a queer fellow, Archie, and Etheldene is a regular Bush baby, as Craig calls her. Oh, I knew long ago she loved you!”
At the year’s end then both Elsie and Etheldene were married, and married, too, at the same church in Sydney from which Bob led Sarah, his blushing bride. It might not have been quite so wild and daft a wedding, but it was a very happy one nevertheless.
No one was more free in blessing the wedded couples than old Kate. Yes, old as she was, she had determined not to be left alone in England.
We know how Bob spent his honeymoon. How were the new young folks to spend theirs? Oh, it was all arranged beforehand! And on the very morning of the double marriage they embarked – Harry and Bob going with them for a holiday – on board Captain Vesey’s pretty yacht, and sailed away for England. Etheldene’s dream of romance was about to become a reality; she was not only to visit the land of chivalry, but with Archie her husband and hero by her side.
The yacht hung off and on the shore all day, as if reluctant to leave the land; but towards evening a breeze sprang up from the west, the sails filled, and away she went, dancing and curtseying over the water like a thing of life.
The sunset was bewitchingly beautiful; the green of the land was changed to a purple haze, that softened and beautified its every outline; the cloudless sky was clear and deep; that is, it gave you the idea you could see so far into and through it. There was a flush of saffron along the horizon; above it was of an opal tint, with here and there a tender shade of crimson – only a suspicion of this colour, no more; and apparently close at hand, in the east, were long-drawn cloudlets of richest red and gold.
Etheldene looked up in her husband’s face.
“Shall we have such a sky as that to greet our arrival on English shores?” she said.
Archie drew her closer to his side.
“I’m not quite sure about the sky,” he replied, shaking his head and smiling, “but we’ll have a hearty English welcome.”
And so they had.
