The Gilpins and their Fortunes Part 6

he said to himself, again urging on his horse towards the tree under which the seeming figure stood. As he did so, the threatening gestures became more vehement, and, as he continued to advance, a loud, unearthly shriek rang through the forest, and the unhappy maniac, for such without doubt he was, fled away into its depths, his cries echoing amidst the trees till they grew faint in the distance. This incident did not contribute to make the prospect of camping out in that wild spot pleasant. Still, James Gilpin had no choice, and his mind was too well trained to allow him to be made anxious by unnecessary apprehensions.

The only thing he dreaded was the possibility of the maniac returning, and, perhaps, should he drop asleep, committing some violence on him.

Both rain and lightning had ceased, and having tethered his horse in a gra.s.sy spot, where the animal might find food, he bethought him of the possibility of lighting a fire. Under the trees there was no lack of fuel, and with the last remnant of daylight he collected enough to serve him till the morning. Under the lee side of the trees, also, he sc.r.a.ped together enough dry leaves and small twigs and bark to raise a blaze and dry the wet wood. He looked up very frequently, as was natural, to ascertain that the maniac was not near him. With flint, steel, and gunpowder he quickly raised a blaze; his kettle was boiling, his meat toasting, and his damper warming up, while his blanket and clothes were drying; and had it not been for the spectre he had seen, he would have been well content with his lot,--not that he much feared what the poor creature could do to him, but it was the feeling that at any moment he might rush out on him which was so painful. By the look of the sky he saw that the weather was still unsettled, and the state of the atmosphere, judging by his sensations, told him that there might still be more thunder and lightning. He consequently considered it imprudent to seek for greater shelter under the trees. His clothes and blankets were now tolerably dry, and having s.h.i.+fted the tether of his horse, that the animal might have fresh food, he wrapped himself up, with his feet to the fire and his head on his saddle-bags to seek that rest of which he stood so much in need.

He, of course, intended to keep his eyes open, and turned in the direction where the poor maniac had disappeared. As might, however, have been expected, he closed them and fell fast asleep. Weariness made him sleep, but anxiety prevented him from sleeping soundly. He was dreaming, it seemed, all the time; and his dreams were painful and confused in the extreme. The strange figure of the maniac was constantly before him, while his unearthly cries resounded in his ears.

His chief idea was that he was engaged in a desperate struggle to get out of some fearful difficulty--now swimming in a roaring torrent, now climbing a precipice with savage animals raging below, now flying for his life across a boundless plain; the maniac was mocking him on the banks of the stream, or present among the wild beasts, or following him with a troop of savages across the plain. A loud noise sounded in his ear. It was a peal of thunder. The storm was again raging with redoubled fury. He started up to secure his horse, lest the frightened animal should break loose and escape into the depths of the forest. He must have slept long, for a few glowing ashes only remained of his fire, which the rain would soon quench, unless a supply of fresh wood were added. He felt for some he had placed in readiness, and threw it on the ashes. As he did so, a vivid flash of lightning lit up the forest opening, and by its light he saw, with a gleaming axe uplifted in his hand, the wretched maniac stealthily approaching him. He sprang to his feet, seizing his rifle, when again all was darkness.

"Stand back, whoever you are, or I must fire!" he shouted, at the same time leaping on one side, away from the spot where he had been lying.

There was the sound of feet, as if a person was springing over the ground, a shriek, and the crash of a weapon descending. Yes, he was certain it had struck his saddle-bags. The next instant, the wood igniting on the fire, a flame burst forth, revealing the figure of the maniac retreating across the glade in the direction of the old tree, where he had at first appeared. He must have just reached it when another flash of lightning came down in a zigzag course from the very clouds overhead. It struck the huge tree, which was riven into several portions, and its knotted limbs scattered around. The thunder at the same moment crashed and rattled with almost terrific sound. He seized the tether rope of his horse, as the animal, having torn the pin from the ground, was about to dash off through the forest. The poor creature stood as his hand stroked its head, but trembled violently. He brought it up to the fire, looking round as he did so for his late a.s.sailant, but the maniac was nowhere to be seen. He had the greatest difficulty in keeping his horse quiet; for the storm continued raging as before, the rain came down in torrents, the wind howled and whistled, and the lightning flashed; the thunder roared and rattled, and the rending of boughs, and the cras.h.i.+ng of falling trees was heard on every side, warning him of the danger of attempting to pa.s.s among them. As may be supposed, he did not again lie down: having saddled his horse and thrown his blanket over his shoulders, he employed the time in quieting the animal, throwing wood on his fire, and keeping a vigilant watch for the approach of the maniac. The most weary night must have an end. The storm ceased completely; the dawn came at last. He looked around. The sight which most attracted his attention was the blackened stump of that huge tree which had stood there the previous evening--the monarch of the forest glade. He approached it. Under one of the limbs lay a human form--it was the maniac's body; life was extinct. He examined the features. There could be no mistake; though haggard by starvation and exposure, and distorted by his violent death, he recognised them as those of the former overseer of Warragong, the outlaw Basham. A small black mark on one side of his head showed that he had been struck by the electric fluid, and that his death must have been instantaneous, and must have immediately followed the attempt on his life. To bury the body of the wretched man was impossible. All he could do was to drag the heavier boughs of the trees torn off by the storm over it and leave it thus entombed, and then to escape from the scene. The rising sun showed him the direction he should pursue, and in half an hour he was out of the wood, and had regained the track with which he was acquainted. He reached a station in time for breakfast, when he narrated to the occupant what had occurred, and learned from him that Basham had more than once been there asking for food.

A rest of a few hours restored James's strength; but instead of camping out as he had intended, he was glad to take shelter that night in another squatter's hut. It was thus that the traveller in those days was able to traverse the province from one end to the other, with the certainty of finding food and shelter, and a welcome at any hut where he might call. He was most cordially received at Prentiss Town, where he arrived late in the evening; but he went to a house of mourning. Old Mr Prentiss, under the belief that his losses were far greater than was the case, and that the whole country was about to be ruined, had sunk broken-hearted into the grave. He had trusted in riches, and they had failed him. An apathetic indifference to everything around him had seized his eldest son, who had the same belief in the ruin impending over the colony.

Notwithstanding this, there was sunlight in the dwelling: there could not fail to be so, James thought, where f.a.n.n.y and Emily Prentiss were to be found. They received him as an old and valued friend, and expressed their sorrow that his brother could not have accompanied him. He naturally expected that they would complain of the dulness of the life they must now lead in the country, and regret all the gaieties and amus.e.m.e.nts they had left behind in Sydney; but, on the contrary, they seemed much pleased at having escaped from its unsatisfactory frivolities. Everything in the country delighted them, and they had no fear of no having ample occupation. They proposed to study the natural history of the district--the trees and flowers, the birds and insects, and the wild animals, of which there were not a few; then the farm would of itself afford ample occupation, along with the improvements in the house, into which they were about to move, on another part of the estate, where a garden was also to be formed. And there were also several settlers with wives and grown-up daughters, who lived somewhat far off, to be sure; but the young ladies were good horse-women, and thought little of a ride of thirty miles or so. There were likewise numerous families of the lower orders, who had no means of obtaining religious or secular instruction. Among these they circulated books and tracts, and would often stop and read the Word of G.o.d to those who were unable to read themselves. Thus every moment of each day was fully occupied. James Gilpin could not fail to admire the manner in which his young hostesses spent their time, or to discover how many objects of interest they had in common. Even under ordinary circ.u.mstances he would have been interested in them. As it was, the interest he felt increased the longer he remained in their society. He was of much use to Mr Henry Prentiss in arranging the affairs connected with the property; and at length, with new hopes and aspirations, he returned to Warragong.

The arrangements for the purchase of the cattle and sheep were soon complete. The brothers did not even now lay out all their capital, but allowed a portion to remain in the bank to meet any unexpected demands.

They had from the first been allowed a percentage on the increase of the stock under their charge; but this, owing to the mismanagement of the persons employed, and the depredations of Basham and his a.s.sociates, had hitherto been small. The boiling-down process at length being no longer necessary, and the management in every department being greatly improved, the increase was so much more rapid than at first, that they found themselves, a few years after landing in Australia, the owners of very considerable flocks and herds, while no men in the district were more respected. Their visits to Prentiss Town became more and more frequent; sometimes one brother went, sometimes the other--as they were unwilling to leave the station together--and they both met with a reception which made them wish to return. The Prentiss Town property was now divided, and the house inhabited by Mr Henry Prentiss was considerably nearer to them than that of his elder brother. They also had secured some runs lower down the Warragong river; and having fixed on a site for a house in that direction, somewhat similar, but far more picturesque than the spot where the old hut stood, they built a hut which they could inhabit till their new residence could be erected, leaving Craven in charge of that up the stream. This change enabled them to leave their own abode early in the morning, and to reach that of Mr Prentiss before sunset. There was the house of a new settler about half-way, and several huts where refreshment could be obtained, so that their visits became still more frequent and expected. Even in the bush gossip is not impossible, and it became pretty generally reported that the two Mr Gilpins were about to marry the two daughters of Mr Henry Prentiss.

CHAPTER SIX.

The Gilpins had not attained to the prosperous condition they enjoyed without persevering toil and constant exertion both of mind and body.

Some stirring incidents had occurred; but, at the same time months pa.s.sed by in a comparatively monotonous manner. Every day they were in the saddle, sometimes from morning till night; but however delightful that style of life may be--and that it has its attractions to most men there can be no doubt--men of educated minds must at times feel an almost insupportable weariness, and earnestly long for a change. There can be but little social intercourse; some suffer materially from the want of public wors.h.i.+p and religious instruction, and all must feel its absence. Still, those who are fitted for a life in the bush, and have led it for any length of time, quit it generally with regret, and return to it with satisfaction.

Never had the Gilpins been more busy. Their house was nearly finished.

It was rather large for two bachelors, to be sure; but their ideas must have expanded of late. They had much more a.s.sistance than formerly rendered by Craven, their most efficient and active overseer, and his a.s.sistant, Larry. No one would have recognised the dispirited, almost broken-hearted hut-keeper in the fine, active, intelligent man he had now become. Gentlemanly even in his poverty, he had always been. He now looked more fit to set a squadron in order, and lead them against the foe, than to keep sheep; yet to superintend the keeping of sheep he was well content. He had greatly enlarged and improved the old hut, having converted it indeed into a comfortable house, with a flower-garden in front and one for vegetables in the rear.

One of the greatest matters of interest to the bushman, who has loved relations in the old country, is the arrival of the post. Often with trembling, always with eager, hands the packets are opened; sometimes they give satisfaction, and afford subjects for pleasant conversation for many a day; but at others, and too often, they bring news to grieve the hearts of their readers. Such had been the case with the Gilpins, some time back, when a letter with a broad black border arrived, and told them of the death of a father they had so much reason to reverence and love. Several changes had taken place in their family circle.

Their eldest brother had married; and their two sisters seemed doubtful, when they last heard from home, whether or not they should continue to reside with him.

The two brothers were sitting together in their nicely furnished dining-room. The dark wainscoting and the proportions of the apartment reminded them of the one they had loved so well in their far-off home in the old country. A dray had just arrived from the west, and Green made his appearance with the letter-bag in hand. Eagerly the contents were glanced over.

"Arthur, they are coming--both the dear girls, Jane and Susan--and Willie as an escort!" exclaimed James, in a tone of great satisfaction.

"Oh! it will be delightful. How pleased f.a.n.n.y and Emily will be!" cried Arthur.

Indeed, no event could by possibility have caused the brothers more true pleasure; and, as may be supposed, it formed the subject for conversation for the remainder of the evening and for many evenings afterwards. Of course it was necessary for James to ride over to Prentiss Town to announce the event.

"As soon after they arrive as it can be arranged," was the reply made by f.a.n.n.y to a question put to her during his visit. It seemed highly satisfactory, and was received with strong marks of grat.i.tude.

When James returned home, Arthur was not happy till he could set off to Prentiss Town. He must have put a question to Emily, not unlike that which James put to f.a.n.n.y.

"Perhaps the same day that my sister is," was her reply.

Not long after, James set off for Sydney. Arthur would gladly have gone also, but what with their own flocks and herds, and the numerous ones over which they had charge, it was, they thought, scarcely fair to Craven to leave him so long alone. Of late, too, there had been reports of wonderful discoveries of gold--nuggets to rival those of California; and some of the shepherds and stockmen had already gone off to the region where the gold was reported to have been found, and it was feared that others might follow. James had not been in Sydney since his first arrival in the country. The whole city was in a ferment. There was no doubt of the truth of the reports of the discovery of gold, not only in one, but in several directions. Nuggets of all sizes and heaps of gold-dust had already been brought in. The gold fever had commenced, and men of all ages, ranks, and professions were fitting themselves out with knapsacks, spades, washers, and other apparatus for the gold-fields. People were surprised that James took matters so calmly.

"I prefer that others should dig for me--an occupation for which I never had a fancy, except for an hour or two in my garden in a morning," he answered. "If people rush out of the colony, as it is expected they will, the price of stock will rise very greatly, and I shall have ample fortune for all my wishes." It did rise, far higher than he expected, and he was not disappointed. His heart throbbed with anxiety as he went down to the harbour to visit the s.h.i.+p on board which his sisters had taken their pa.s.sage. He singled them out among a large number of pa.s.sengers, though they did not recognise the strongly built, bearded, and well-browned man as their brother, who had left them a fair, slight youth a few years before. News of the gold discoveries had reached England some time before the s.h.i.+p sailed, and a great number of her pa.s.sengers were intended gold-diggers--a mixed and ill-matched a.s.semblage, all inspired, however, with the one ruling pa.s.sion, an eager to grow rich suddenly. There were young men--still mere lads--who had time before them to make themselves independent by steady industry; and old men who, it might be supposed, had little else to do than to prepare for another world. There were nominal representatives of all religious faiths, but drawn together to wors.h.i.+p one G.o.d--Mammon, yet not as brethren, for each seemed eager to supplant the other. The Miss Gilpins told their brother that the universal subject of conversation during the voyage was gold, gold-digging, gold-was.h.i.+ng, gold-sc.r.a.ping.

"Like the old man in the `Pilgrim's Progress' with his muck-rake, always sc.r.a.ping with downcast looks, never gazing upwards," remarked James.

"Ah! it is sad work; and yet, when a person gets down in the world, and feels the want of the wealth he once possessed, it must be a severe trial to him to prevent his mind from continually dwelling on the means by which he may regain it."

The greater number of the pa.s.sengers were eager to set off immediately for the diggings; and every vehicle to be found was secured at a high price, many giving promises of breaking down before half the journey was performed. Many talked of trudging it on foot; and of these, several of them never reached their destination, having either lost their way and died from fatigue and starvation in the bush, or being drowned when crossing some river, by being carried down by the current. The lions of Sydney were soon visited; and James, with his two sisters and young brother, set off in high spirits for Warragong. He had a lightly-built covered waggon, with strong springs--the best style of vehicle for travelling in the bush. The journey was performed, if not rapidly, yet with great ease and comfort; and there were so many objects of interest, all new to the strangers--the birds, beasts, reptiles, and scenery, the very look of the people, and the characters they met--that no one was weary. As may be supposed, they called at Prentiss Town on their way, and, of course, spent a few days there; and, naturally, Arthur arrived to escort them home. The daughters of the English farmer had been more practically brought up than the Australian young ladies, educated in a school in Sydney. They could teach them much connected with the dairy and numerous household duties, of which they had never heard. Not that the Miss Gilpins were, in the slightest degree, less refined or less educated than their new friends. Of course, the visit was to be returned; there was some joking, however, on that subject, which a stranger might not very clearly have understood. On the road, the party were met by Craven, well mounted, and dressed in the most approved fas.h.i.+on. He came, as in duty bound, to escort his friends' sisters to their new abode.

"And is this the hut you spoke of, dear brothers?" exclaimed the sisters, in the same voice. "What a delightful house! And this room, the very model of the dear old parlour. We are sure you intended it."

And Jane and Susan kissed their brothers, who were more than amply repaid by the happiness they felt for the years of toil they had endured, and all the exertions they had made to get the house ready.

They had an idea that those sisters would not remain long under their roof, sorry though they would be to lose them; that is to say, not if their bachelor neighbours had a particle of good taste or judgment.

Willie was delighted with everything. His great ambition was to become a first-rate stockman. He was rather young to begin active life; but he had made good use of his time at school, and he promised, when he left England, that he would not give up reading and study. The Gilpins had found the time pa.s.s quickly before the arrival of their sisters, they now found it pa.s.s still more quickly; and it was only by managing it with the greatest care that they could accomplish what they had to do.

The Miss Gilpins entered warmly into all f.a.n.n.y's and Emily's plans-- which had, indeed, now become their brothers'--for giving religious instruction to the surrounding population, which had of late years considerably increased. Though many of the men went off to the diggings, the women remained, hoping to see them return, loaded with wealth. Not a hut nor a residence of any sort remained unvisited by these six active young missionaries, who left tracts or books wherever they went. They procured some Bibles from Sydney, and many a cottage, where the Word of G.o.d had never been heard, was supplied by them. They had great reason to believe that a blessing attended their efforts.

They had often made application in Sydney for an appointed minister of the Gospel. One at length came, but he had a wide circuit, so that he could not come to any spot within the Sunday morning's journey more than six or eight times in the year. He went his rounds, preaching on weekdays, from station to station, and holding a service every evening where he rested. Such is the only human agency by which spiritual life can be maintained in the wide-scattered sheep and stock stations in Australia, and it behoves all those connected with that magnificent land, who love the Lord Jesus Christ, to aid in sending missionaries of the Gospel through its length and breadth. There are many who have scarcely ever heard the glad tidings of salvation; many have pa.s.sed away, sunk almost in heathen darkness. At length, a regular place of wors.h.i.+p was built, to the satisfaction of many, which satisfaction was by no means decreased by an interesting event which took place there shortly afterwards, namely, the marriages of Jane and Arthur Gilpin. It would be difficult to find a more united, contented, and happy family than that now dwelling at Warragong, and certainly, if steady, persevering, industry and uprightness of conduct should be rewarded, the Gilpins richly deserved their success. Sam Green, too, had followed his young master's example, and had taken to himself as a wife the eldest daughter of his old acquaintance, Sykes, the former coachman of Mr Henry Prentiss, who had followed his master into the country, and settled near him. Larry Killock won the heart of another daughter; but, although Mr Sykes had himself come out at the Government expense, he objected to the alliance, because Larry was not yet entirely a free man.

Larry was, however, able to prove that his crime was having joined some popular outbreak; and being at length freed completely from bondage, his wishes were no longer opposed, and he settled down near the friends to whom he had, with good reason, become so warmly attached.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Some time had pa.s.sed since the events just mentioned. It was winter, not Christmas, however, but the period which in England is considered the warmest and sunniest in the year. Frost and snow are not looked for, but the wind blows from the cold south, and rain comes down in plentiful showers, filling the water-holes, and turning the sluggish streams into roaring torrents.

One evening, as Arthur and Willie were riding homewards from a distant station, their course not far from the Warragong river, a cry reached their ears.

"It is some one shouting for help!" exclaimed Arthur. "From what direction does it come? Listen!"

"From up the stream!" cried Willie, spurring on his horse.

"Stay! there's a man in the river," said Arthur; "he is floating down.

We may pa.s.s him if we don't take care."

They rode directly down to the bank of the now rapid river. Every stockman rides with a rope attached to his saddle. They looked out anxiously as they now rode up the stream. Again the cry was heard, but fainter though near; and through the thickening gloom of evening a man was seen clinging to a log, which was borne swiftly down the current.

He had lost all power of guiding it, and from the way his head hung down, it was evident that his strength was exhausted, and that he must soon drop off and sink. To leap from their horses and to secure them to a tree was the work of a moment.

"Here, hold one end, Willie! I think I can reach him!" cried Arthur, binding the two ropes together, and fastening one end round his own waist.

Throwing off his coat, and without waiting for any expostulation from Willie, he plunged into the stream, and swam boldly out towards the drowning man. The whirling eddies of the torrent bore the log along, now carrying it towards one side of the river, now towards the other.

This much increased the difficulty of reaching it. The man clinging to it had still sufficient consciousness to be aware of the effort made to save him, but had no strength to help himself. Arthur had swum out very nearly to the extent of which the rope would allow, and yet he feared that he should not reach the man. He doubted whether he should be strong enough to return to the sh.o.r.e without the aid of the rope.

"Stretch out your arms, Willie; give me all the rope you can, but don't fall in. In mercy take care!" he shouted.

Willie stood on the very edge of the bank uncoiling the whole of the rope, and keeping only the end in his hands. He dreaded lest, his feet slipping, he should be dragged in himself; and though he did not fear for himself, he knew that, if he was dragged in, Arthur would in all probability be lost. He found that he could not stand still either, but had to move down the stream, as his brother was swept on by the current.

"If it is difficult to hold him now, what will it be when he grasps the drowning man?" he thought. He would have shouted for help had he believed that any one was near to afford it. Arthur, meantime, saw the drowning man approaching. An eddy seemed to be carrying him off towards the opposite bank. Should he venture to swim across without the rope?

Had he a right to run so great a risk of losing his life, and bring grief and sorrow to the heart of his young wife? He prayed for strength and aid. He was about to loose himself from the rope, when again the log was whirled near him. The moment for the greatest exertion had arrived. He sprang forward. His right hand grasped the drowning man, but the log on which he floated escaped from his hold, and was borne onwards by the current. As he caught the man, the spring he made and the additional weight almost overbalanced Willie, who was on the point of falling into the water, when he found himself close to a young tree, of the willow tribe, bending over the stream. He grasped it with his left hand, hauling with all his might till he drew in a sufficient length of the rope to pa.s.s it round the stem. His dread was lest his brother should sink before he could reach the sh.o.r.e. He then feared that the man for whom Arthur had risked so much might be torn from his grasp before he could get him in. The fact of the willow growing there showed that there was a permanent water-hole at the spot, and that, therefore, the depth must be considerable. He dragged in the rope slowly, for Arthur seemed scarcely able to support his burden. "Keep-- keep up, brother!" he cried out, considering whether he should not make the rope fast and jump in to help him. Just then he discovered that the current itself was doing what he wished; scarcely had he secured the rope than Arthur was swept close up to the bank. He sprang on to help him. The bank, happily, shelved, and together they dragged the nearly drowned man to the sh.o.r.e. He was dressed as a labourer, and his rough hands showed that he was accustomed to hard work. It was too dark to distinguish his features. After they had rubbed him for some time, he gave signs of life; and on his further recovering they placed him on Willie's horse, and, supporting him on either side, led him up to the house, which was about half a mile distant. The stranger scarcely spoke all the way; indeed, he was but partially recovered from the effects of his immersion. The ladies of the family, who had been expecting them at an earlier hour, ran out as they reached the house. Emily hurried off her husband to change his wet clothes; while Willie, briefly describing how bravely his brother had behaved, conducted the stranger to his room, that he might go to bed, while dry garments were got for him and some hot potation was prepared. Had he been of the highest instead, apparently, of the lowest rank, he could not have been more kindly treated. Willie was delighted to be of use, and having collected some clothes from his brother's wardrobe, brought them to the stranger, who, having taken the remedies prescribed for him, insisted on getting up.

"Why, whose house am I in?" exclaimed the stranger, his eye falling on the mark of some of the linen brought for him.

His young attendant told him.

"Then you surely must be little Willie Gilpin!" cried the stranger; "and that fine fellow who jumped into the river and pulled me out is Arthur, and those are your sisters. I thought I knew their faces."

"And who are you?" asked Willie.

"An old friend, though I think it likely a forgotten one," answered the stranger. "Do not say that I know your people. If they recollect me, well and good; if not, it matters little: I am not worth recollecting."