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The writer's aim in this work has been a realistic and truthful description of station life in New Zealand, together with a faithful depiction of the historical incidents woven into the story; and in this he has already been creditably informed that he has achieved success. It is true that, for the convenience of his narrative, he has taken some little liberties, which, however, in no way interfere with the aim recorded, and these he freely confesses.
It may be asserted that the country church, the cattle station, or the race meeting are not, and never were situated in the exact locality wherein he has placed them; but what of that? It suited him to place them there, and that should suffice. With regard to the church, he would go further and state that if it was not there it ought to be.
In one instance only he has thought fit to record a rise in the market price of the shares in a certain mine, which did not actually take place, still as considerably more extensive advances in prices occurred in neighbouring mines, he may surely be pardoned this slight inaccuracy.
With these, perhaps unnecessary, admissions he makes his bow to the public, and leaves his work to speak for itself.
Where I was born, or how I occupied my first few years of life, would, I am led to think, interest the reader as little as such narratives of early experiences and precocious sayings and doings have interested me, when I have had the misfortune to meet with them in books which I have perused. I will, therefore, introduce myself to the reader as a youth of seventeen, Frank Melton by name. I had just finished my scholastic career, having pretty well tired out the energies of my preceptors without any very brilliant results; for, although I was universally allowed to be the cock of the walk in the playground, yet in school I had to exert all my powers to keep my usual place in the middle of the class. Nearer the top I could not get, though I cannot, by any means, say I was never nearer the bottom. Under these circumstances I had a distaste for any of the learned professions, and I formed an intense desire to emigrate somewhere, I cared little where; but having an uncle in New Zealand, my thoughts—now that I began to think seriously on the subject—naturally turned thitherwards, and to the wild free life in the bush of which I had heard and read so much. On expressing these sentiments to my father, a country clergyman, he was much put out, as his forefathers for several generations had been in the church, and his dearest hope was that his only son would follow the recognised family profession. My defalcation therefore literally made his hair stand on end, and on my pleading want of ability he delivered himself as follows:—
‘Yes, my boy, you have, unfortunately, made it very clear to me that you are the fool of the family. A few years since that gentleman was put into the church, but the examinations are so stiff now that it's impossible to get him in, so there's nothing for it but to send him to the colonies.’ ‘Rough for the colonies, but lucky for the church, dad,’ I replied, but I added in as innocent a tone as I could assume, ‘Was that how you got in?’
His answer matters not. After a prolonged discussion I prevailed on him to stick to his text and send me to New Zealand. He wrote at once to my uncle Jim, and the short but characteristic reply which
Dear Brother.—So Frank is coming out, eh? Shows his sense. Let him. I'll lick him into shape. He'll make his pile. Better than preaching. Don't let him bring many traps. Cash is easiest carried. Get what he wants here. Glad you're all well.—Yours as ever, James Melton.
While awaiting the arrival of this note I spent my time in picking up all the information I could about farming from our neighbours, and drove our village carpenter half wild with the way I spoilt his tools and timber in striving to qualify myself for a bushman. I also wrote to an old schoolmate, Harry Baker by name, who was employed in an avaricious uncle's office. He was an orphan, and the old gentleman rewarded himself for his avuncular charity in taking charge of his sister's lad by making him work like a nigger for about half the wages of an ordinary clerk, and ill-treating him to boot. By a curious coincidence Master Harry, the day after receiving my note, had been able to render essential service to a gentleman from New Zealand, Mr Robinson by name, by exposing an error in the accounts of some transaction which he had with the old gentleman, thereby, to his uncle's great disgust and mortification, preventing Robinson from being robbed—a milder expression is unnecessary—to the tune of several hundred pounds. Of course the young clerk had to quit, he was too honest for the place. Robinson took him to his hotel, and persuaded him to accept, in return for what he had done, the loan of a sufficient sum to procure him an outfit and passage to New Zealand. Harry, who had a little more pride than is generally convenient, would not accept the money in any other way than as a loan, to be repaid as soon as he could manage it.
My father accompanied me up to London, and, according to promise, we met Harry and his friend, Mr Robinson, at an hotel there. He was an elderly gentleman, with a bluff, genial manner. After keenly scrutinising me he observed:—‘Humph, you're the sort of fellow we want in New Zealand; some bone and sinew there, eh?’ Then turning to my father: ‘Glad to make your acquaintance, sir; sending your son to the colony, I hear. Plenty of room there. No good keeping young fellows like these full of life and spirits sitting on an office stool, scarcely earning their tucker.’
‘Do you think, sir,’ replied my father, ‘there is a fair chance for my boy, not to put too fine a point on it, to make a decent living out there, without lowering himself to menial occupations?’
‘Menial occupations, sir? Bosh! we know of no such words in the colonies. In our wild free life we do what we like, and have no time for your nonsensical English ideas, such as, “This, that, or the other would be lowering me.” “What would So-and-so say if they saw me doing this,” etc., etc. As long as a man earns what he wants on the square, and pays his way, we don't care a rap whether he is a member of Parliament, or So-and-so's bullock-driver [Mr Robinson exaggerated here doubtless, even considering that he spoke of the customs of between twenty and thirty years ago]. In fact, a young fellow who has roughed it amongst station hands, and had his turn at all rough work, when he comes to own a run best knows how to manage his men. They respect the boss who can take a tool out of their hands and show them how to use it.
‘I am delighted with what you say about the colonies, Mr Robinson,’ observed my father, though I don't believe he was. He looked rather blue at the idea of his son having to drive bullocks. ‘I start on my return journey to-morrow, and am glad to have these boys as fellow passengers. I could not live in England now. “New Zealand is a free country; if you haven't any boots you may go barefoot,” as my shepherd often philosophically remarks, not that that is exactly my case, however.’ The next day we stepped on board one of Shaw and Savill's sailing vessels, bound for Auckland, in good time, and amused ourselves by watching the various arrivals. The leave-takings, though in many cases giving rise to other feelings than mirth, yet in some were decidedly amusing:
‘Och, thin, Patsey, me boy! take care thim niggers dinna ate ye, for I could na bear to think I'd rared ye so plump to be mate for a savage,’ exclaimed one old dame, as she bade adieu to her son. Another, with a little contempt for her friend's ignorant fears, said to her lad: ‘I ain't feared they'll ate ye, Johnny, me boy; but whativer ye do, dinna go and marry one of thim black wenches, which God knows is not meant for Christian men. They do say they be forward young hussies, and no better than they shud be, and yer children wud be like the circus hosses we seed last night — part black and part white.’
We noticed that the great majority were steerage and second-class passengers.
‘By Jove!’ cried Harry to me, suddenly, ‘here comes our friend, Mr Robinson, accompanied by three ladies.’
We had not been aware until he introduced them to us as Mrs and Miss Robinson and Miss Grave, her companion, that he was a married man. We at once made ourselves useful by assisting the ladies with their paraphernalia, or swags, as Miss Julia playfully designated them; then I had time to have a good look at them. I will strive to represent them to the reader as they appeared to me. My sisters were accustomed to state that I could describe a dog or a horse to perfection, but that my description of anything feminine of my own species was simply excruciating; therefore I must crave
Mrs Robinson was a lady whom I can best describe as a collection of uncertainties. She was of an uncertain age, and might be taken for anything between forty and sixty. She once remarked that she believed she was forty-one. I should have fancied she might have more truthfully made that assertion ten or fifteen years ago, but I did not care to tell her so. Her temper was another uncertainty, for while it was most uncertain when she would lose it, it was even more so when she would find it again. Her beauty was the most uncertain thing about her; in my mind the uncertainty lay in the question whether it existed at all, but I had heard her husband dilate on it. It was rather a weak point of his when in her presence. I should rather perhaps have said he made a strong point of it. The lady herself alluded frequently to it, so I must confess that I am not a judge of what constitutes female loveliness at that age, and put it down as also uncertain. As there is no rule without an exception, there was in this good lady one point about which there could be no uncertainty. This was the point of her nose, or snout, as Harry irreverently termed it. It had an upward tendency; there could be no doubt about it, but as Dame Nature rejoices in equilibrium, she had restored it in the case of Mrs Robinson's face by causing the angles of her mouth to turn most decidedly down.
Now for Miss Julia. Through the lapse of years, I can recall most vividly my sensations at first sight of her. I felt even at the moment I met her glance that I could do anything, however heroic or daring, to win her love. I now understood the meaning of the words I had read in a novel describing a similar meeting, and affirming that the hero felt that to call her his he would pawn his soul. This affirmation, by the bye, is a very empty and futile one—a fraud, in fact, for if nothing else would prevent the gentleman we wot of from keeping a pawnshop, his insurmountable objection to deal in redeemable property most assuredly would. Whatever he once grips he sticks to. However, these moralisings will never do, especially when they lead us from a lovely young lady to the devil. Some ladies certainly get the credit of leading us there, but let us hope Miss Julia was not of the number. To proceed with my description. This divinity of mine was a little under medium height, about sixteen years of age, but had a particularly well-developed figure for her age, dark hair reaching to her waist, which was not too slender, and eyes—to what can I liken those dark, lustrous orbs with their ever-varying expressions; eyes full of fun and mischief; eyes which must be perfect in fascinating her too willing victims with the intensity of their full, deep expression? Still there was something about them which had I been less infatuated with her, I might have almost called cruel—something which reminded one of the glance of a cat when playing with a mouse. Her complexion was
Miss Grave, her companion, was a quiet lady-like English girl, a year or so older than her charge. I heard afterwards that Mr Robinson had been a great friend of her father's, who was dead, and wishing to do something for the orphan who was left almost destitute, had persuaded her to accompany them to their New Zealand home in the capacity of companion, hoping that her more staid demeanour would have a good effect on his daughter, who he rightly imagined would be improved by a little more refinement. She was fair, and did not strike me as being beautiful by any means, but at a glance one would pronounce her to be the sort of girl whose qualities would make her beloved in any home circle.
‘Well, old man,’ I remarked to Harry after the ladies had retired to the cabin, ‘what do you think of the femininities?’
‘Old un's a Tartar.’
‘What about the young ones, eh?’
‘Against my better judgment I'm gone on the dark one. She fascinates me, but I flatter myself I can read faces fairly well, and I should say the fair one would make the best wife, out and out.’
‘Well, Harry, back your judgment. Don't go on fascination but make up to the fair one, for I'm free to confess I have already, made up my mind to “do my darndest” to make the dark one mine.’
‘We'll see all about that, my boy. Anyhow she's as free to me as to you.’
Boylike, for in feelings we were but boys, though Harry was about two years my senior, we vowed that whatever happened, or which-ever won the prize we both desired, our bond of friendship should not be broken; that the one who was vanquished should consider that his loss was his friend's gain, and take his defeat calmly.
How we carried out this determination time will show. Had we been less enthusiastic about our prospects in the new country, we might have considered that at our ages it was madness to think of falling in love at first sight and trying to win the affections of a young lady like our fair fellow-passenger.
But it is time to describe as briefly as possible a few of the other characters with whom we were thrown in contact. To begin with the officers of the ship, the captain was a short, thickset elderly man with a very red face, caused, we soon found, by an extreme
On one occasion the mate, on meeting him, inquired what he was going to do with a denuded molly-hawk he was carrying carefully trussed in his hand.
‘Cook it and eat it, to be sure,’ he replied.
‘Why, man, you'll be eating the devil's hind leg next,’ was the retort.
‘I believe I would if I could catch him,’ said this very quiet young man; ‘and I think you would make excellent bait, for he could not miss but snap at you.’
He then hastily sought solitude, having exhausted his limited powers of repartee, while he shrewdly guessed his adversary had still a supply on hand. Brown was rather a shy youth, decidedly averse to ladies' society.
The third was a young man named Joseph Gracie. He was a ‘shingle short,’ without doubt, had a red face and redder hair, and a most unprepossessing appearance. Nothing, however, would persuade him to believe but that he was a most engaging youth, and to be a lady's man appeared the one aim of his existence. His friends, in their joy at effectually disposing of him, had bestowed on him a very liberal outfit, clothes enough apparently to last him for years. He had labelled all his cases, ‘Wanted on the Voyage,’ and made his appearance in a different suit almost every day.
The first part of the voyage was uneventful. Miss Julia soon displayed a remarkable aptitude for flirtation. The fact that the gentlemen exceeded the ladies in number gave her a splendid chance of trying the effect of her youthful fascinations. Grosvenor being a baronet's son was installed first favourite, much to the disgust of myself and my friend, to say nothing of the rest of the party. As he
Matters went on in this way for some time, and I must say I did not enjoy this part of the voyage. Harry, who had been my old and trusty school chum in all my previous troubles, when I sought consolation from him—thinking we might surely sympathise with one another, as we were in the same fix—proved most morose and irritable, and only made matters worse
‘I'll have no more to do with her,’ he exclaimed one day. ‘I'll go for the other one. That will bring her to her bearings if she really does care for me, which I firmly believe is the case. She said the other day that she much preferred my company to that of the fairhaired Adonis, as she called him—curse him!—but that her parents had to be considered, and they would be very angry if she gave me too much of her society; so she flirted with him to please them, but I might be sure she loved some one else better.’
‘Why,’ I replied with a sneer, ‘those are almost the exact words she used to me the day before yesterday, and I am certain she has a greater affection for some one else.’
‘And that some one is you, I suppose you think, you conceited ass?’
‘No, it's not, nor you either, though you have admitted that you imagined so; but, of course, you are not a conceited ass! Oh, no, you are a very owl of wisdom, ain't you? It's herself, my boy, that she loves better than any of us, and she will play with all of us as long as we are fools enough to let her.’
‘Why, then, be such a tool, Master Socrates, with the knowledge you have of the state of the case? Anyhow when I chaffed her about
‘Oh, as far as that goes I don't expect you to believe me, but she whispered to me yesterday when you were present that she detested you, and that if you were the only marriagable man in the world she'd die an old maid; it's nevertheless true.’
‘I should not think you did expect me to believe any infernal lies you choose to make up when I've heaid the contrary from her own lips,’ replied Harry, hotly.
‘Well, Harry,’ I answered, keeping down my wrath at his accusation, ‘it's no good us quarrelling. Grosvenor is the favourite now, that's very evident, and we can both abuse him, but let us try and avoid the subject of the amount of affection Miss Julia has for us. There isn't enough of it to be worth talking about, let alone causing a pair of such old friends as we are to fall out.’
We little knew at this time how soon Master Grosvenor was to fall off the pedestal on which Miss Julia worshipped him, nor yet how his rmoval would add to our troubles, and more completely sever our friendly relations to one another.
Harry certainly carried out his intentions of ‘going for’ the other one, but not being accustomed to be ‘gone for’ in his impetuous style, she quietly repelled him; in fact, she completely took the wind out of his sails by the cold but perfectly ladylike style of making him keep his distance. To do her justice, she often tried to instil into her charge a little of the dignity and bearing she exhibited in her converse with the other sex, which was, nevertheless, perfectly pleasant and natural. But her admonitions were totally disregarded. Miss Julia could not resist the grand opportunities she had of encouraging admiration from her various victims, the more especially as her mother was laid up in her cabin the greater part of the voyage. It can be imagined that the companion under such circumstances would have but little influence over a girl of Miss Robinson's nature, a born flirt. Her only reply generally was that her friend was a fool not to have some fun on her own account, or a rude taunt that she needn't talk, for hadn't she brought poor Mr Gracie on to his knees before she had been on board a week, and wasn't she (Miss G.) trying her hardest to get Harry Baker now? The former accusation was, indeed, partly true, but it had been more her misfortune than fault, for poor Gracie utterly ignored her efforts at discouragement. The latter, it is needless to remark, was false. She, of course, saw the state of affairs, and had too much spirit to appreciate or respond to attentions which were obviously so easily transferred. Harry, who possessed a considerable amount more self-conceit than tact or knowledge of the other sex, had imagined that his devotion would be gladly accepted by the young lady, and was consequently greatly annoyed at his want of success. I could not resist giving him a piece of friendly advice, so I pointed out that he was too impetuous, that it was the manner of his love-making, not the man, that she objected to. He only swore at me, and declared he would have nothing to do with either of them—that they weren't worth it—he wasn't such a love-sick fool as I was, etc., etc.
Anyone who has never undertaken a long sea voyage in a sailing vessel with a small complement of saloon passengers in the old days will be astonished that we succumbed to such a state of spooneydom—
Harry began to turn his attention to the editing of a newspaper, which he christened the Ocean News, and spent a good deal of time in writing sarcastic, but not over-brilliant articles, and collecting local items, as well as persuading others to send in contributions. The few first numbers perhaps were above the average of such productions. I will give sundry specimens of local items:
‘Mr Brown, our zoological and gastromical professor, had an exciting (?) day's sport after eight hours’ angling. He caught a fine male specimen of the albatross, and having dressed it in his usual récherché style, regaled a chosen few of his scientific friends with atoms of it.
‘Mr Grosvenor gave a reading from one of Tennyson's poems in his usual prosy manner to a very limited audience. We noticed the elegant Miss Robinson present. The press and general public were excluded for reasons best known to the reader—the prosy one we mean.
‘Mr Robinson's lessons in boxing were but meagrely attended. The gloves not being of kid, do not suit the aristocratic tastes of some of our youths.
‘The man at the wheel reports having seen an enormous, extinct fish-like monster, the description of which led the erudite Professor Brown to observe that it was “very like a whale.”’
The columns headed ‘Hatch, Match, and Dispatch’ contained the following:—
Hatch.—At 12.30 p.m. yesterday, the Steward's cat, of triplets. Doing as well as could be expected.
Match.—We regret to have nothing definite to report in this line, but hope soon to be able to do so. We note our Joseph with coats of many colours has been cast into the pit of love by a fair young damsel, who has been engaged for some time getting up his linen.
Dispatch.—At 5 p.m., of a painful disease, known in these latitudes as scientific inquiry, the beloved son of an elderly albatross. Deeply regretted by those who attended the funeral feast and assisted to entomb his remains.
This sort of thing soon got monotonous, and I now come to an incident of our voyage which put the paper and other trivial matters out of our heads. I must first, however, shortly describe a few of the principal actors in the mutiny, for it amounted to that. Our crew was composed of good, bad, and indifferent, as is always the case, but I must say the bad largely predominated, and amongst these two gigantic fellows, who were commonly known as Big Bill and Blustering Bob, stood pre-eminent. Two more surly and disreputable characters it would have been hard to find. It was a temperance ship as far as the crew were concerned, although, as has been previously related, the officers occasionally imbibed—very occaaionally, indeed, in fact. Only once, although we had some excessively rough weather, and the poor fellows had a very hard time of it, do I remember having seen grog served out to the men. On that occasion, after many hours of arduons toil in the teeth of one of the most awful storms we had ever witnessed, the men were called aft and a very limited supply of spirits was given to each of them—so limited, indeed, that Big Bill yelled out in an insolent manner to the captain, who happened to be passing, ‘Is this all I've to have, capt'en?’
The captain vouchsafed no answer.
‘Then,’ with a string of oaths, ‘I ain't going to tantalise my throat with that drop,’ and he flung pannikin and all overboard. In doing so it almost grazed the captain's ear. The latter positively trembled with fear, for he imagined that this was but a preliminary move, and a preconcerted signal for a general assault. When he got down into the safety of his cabin, which he was not long in doing, he swore he would hang the fellow, and intensified his anger with a nobbler containing at least five times as much fire-water as he had deemed sufficient for his men.
The next morning, however, his cowardly fear returned, and he would not have the fellow punished, and the men, emboldened by this, made no secret of their discontent with things in general and their hatred of the captain. Their food, they said, wasn't fit for pigs, and that after exposure to such a storm a mere thimble-full of rum was an insult.
The second mate, I may here state, was a favourite with them, and his orders were always obeyed with pleasure and alacrity, but those of the captain and first mate invariably called forth muttered oaths and curses. Big Bill had on one occasion given the second mate some insolence, but, to his intense surprise, a right-hander placed in the vicinity of his left ear felled him to the deck like an ox. He told his mates afterwards that he had never met a man for his size who could deliver so smart and powerful a blow, ‘and, d— him,’ he concluded, ‘I love him for it, for I 'low I deserved it.’ After
One day as we lay becalmed, not a breath of wind stirring, the sea a lovely dark blue, the intense heat making everyone as lazy and indolent as possible, we were lounging about the poop under the awning just after dinner. The sailors and steerage passengers seemed noisier than usual, there were sounds of revelry by day, and we were just wishing the forecastle was not so near that we might enjoy our afternoon pipes or naps, as the case might be, without being disturbed by this unpleasant discord. However, beyond this we did not trouble to think any more of the matter, when the steward came up hastily and uttered a few words in a serious tone to the captain. Now, this worthy invariably made a calm a pretext for an extra glass, to comfort him, he said, and enable him to support the vexation of the thing. As a rule, it appeared to have a contrary effect, for he invariably exhibited a considerable amount more impatience and annoyance after his extra dose than before it. In the present case he answered the steward with a volume of oaths, and went towards the main deck followed by the first mate and the man who had summoned him.
We were so disgusted with his language and general appearance, especially as the ladies were present, that we did not trouble to inquire what was the matter. The noise from the forepart of the vessel had almost subsided, when suddenly mad yells and curses fell on our ears, accompanied by the rushing of many feet. I flung down the Ocean News, which I happened to be perusing, shouted to Grosvenor to take the ladies down below, then rushed towards the main deck with Mr Robinson, Harry, Gracie, and Brown. We soon beheld the cause of the shrieks and clatter. The captain, first mate and steward were flying for their lives towards the poop, closely pursued by a lot of infuriated fiends from the starboard watch, whose shouts of ‘Chuck the d—d tyrants overboard!’ ‘Knife them!’ etc., were deafening, and fully proved that the lives of the pursued were not worth a moment's purchase. Could we reach them in time? No, it seemed impossible, for the two ringleaders, Big Bill and Blustering Bob, on whose herculean frames the liquor which they had very evidently been imbibing had less effect than on the others, at this moment jammed them up against the bulwarks, and Big Bill had hoisted the mate on his shoulder as if he had been an infant, and, regardless of his screams for mercy, was on the point of hurling him overboard, when Harry, who was the smartest runner amongst us, with a spring like a kangaroo managed to get the tail of the poor fellow's jacket, just as he would have disappeared over the side, and held on like a bulldog, though his hands were dreadfully bruised, and Blustering Bob gave him a blow in the eye which would have knocked many a man senseless. The rest of us were now up and doing. My first blow prevented Bob from giving Harry number too, and also made him let go his hold of the captain, whom he had just collared with his left hand. Mr Robinson rushed at Big Bill who was still trying his utmost to thrust the mate over, and laid that worthy low; then, with a strength and activity that was surprising
After a short spell to recover breath, we began to make inquiries of the steward as to the cause of the scrimmage. He said he had noticed on going forward that there was a good deal more noise than usual among the crew and steerage passengers, and on closer examination he saw they had some bottles of liquor which they were freely distributing. He therefore immediately reported to the captain that they had broached cargo. That worthy, having a good supply of Dutch courage about him at the time, ordered the mate and steward to accompany him, and proceeded to investigate matters. This brought things to a climax. The men were planning how to gain possession of the ship, place the second mate in charge as soon as he recovered sufficiently, and toss the captain and first mate overboard. The two ringleaders were in the middle of a savage dispute as to which of them should be allowed by the other to pay his attentions to Miss Robinson—God help the poor girl had their programme been carried out!—when their hated superiors appeared in sight. The result is already known to the reader.
The ladies had, with great pluck, refused to go below, and now clustered round us. Julia, tearing a dainty little handkerchief in half, bandaged up my bleeding knuckles, which had been badly cut against some of their weather-beaten physiognomies. Miss Grave attended to Harry, and bathed his black eye. Harry did not, however, seem to feel the satisfaction that I did at having my wounds dressed by fair hands. Mrs Robinson, who, having enjoyed better health the last few days, was on deck, after examining her husband and finding him comparatively unhurt, said, ‘Well, old boy, I'm proud of you. You are just as good with your fists as you were twenty years ago, when you hammered your rival so unmercifully and gained my love.’
‘Twenty years ago! Nearer thirty, my love, I should say,’ he replied; ‘but I have had some practice since then,’ and unmindful of her indignant ‘Thirty, what nonsense!’ he continued: ‘When these boys have had to use their knuckles as much as I have they won't
‘Grade has gone to attire himself in another suit before presenting himself to the ladies, and Brown has caught sight of a strange sea bird, and rushed off for hook and line, regardless of his wounds and aught else,’ said his daughter.
‘But where is Grosvenor all this time? I have not seen him since the ruction began. Is he mingled with the slain, or has some one pitched him overboard?’
We all turned to Miss Julia, as he had been last seen in her company.
‘How should I know where he is, papa?’ she remarked in an annoyed tone. ‘He said the noise the men had been making all the morning had given him a headache, and if we would not go below he would retire to his cabin and lie down and try and relieve it. Mingled with the slain! no, I don't think there is much fear of that.’ Her voice had a ring of unmistakable sarcasm in it which pleased me mightily. ‘I told him,’ she continued, ‘that he should stay with us and help defend us. He replied that he would do so, even with his head splitting as it was, if there was any danger, but he was certain there was not, as the young clodhoppers would certainly never allow a few drunken sailors to get on the poop; then he slunk away to his cabin.’
‘Do you mean to say he was frightened, Julia?’
‘I should rather think he was, papa. He looked just like my pup does when he thinks I am going to thrash him. I've done with him, anyhow. Give me a fellow with some pluck in him,’ and as she said these words she gave Harry and me a glance alternately, which, only seeing the one directed to himself, made each of us believe that he was the favoured one.
‘Clodhoppers, indeed!’ she began again; ‘it's like his insolence to call them so. It's a counterjumper I believe he is, and I'll tell him so next time I see him. A baronet's son would have shown more pluck, I'm certain.’
‘Pluck does not always go by birth, Julia, so don't be too rough on him,’ observed the old gentleman, although I gave a shrewd guess he would not spare the cowardly sneak when he met him, which he would shortly do at the tea table.
Miss Julia, to hide her real feelings of mortification at the fall of her hero, began to tease her companion and turn our attention off from herself, for she could not help feeling that we were all delighted, save perhaps her mother, that she should receive such convincing proof that our previously-formed opinion of him was the correct one.
‘What a funk you were in, Miss Grave,’ she laughingly observed,
‘Julia, pray do not joke about it; it is not right,’ answered the young lady addressed, with a rosy blush on her pale face. ‘When that cruel giant's fist crashed into Mr Baker's face I thought the blow must have knocked him overboard, hanging as he was on the bulwarks. Then it seemed as if the weight of the poor mate would have dragged him over.’
‘Well,’ said Harry, ‘of course I could have guarded the blow, but if I had, the mate would have gone to sea for a certainty. He can't swim, and a man's life is of more consequence than a crack in the face.’
‘So you risked a black eye and grabbed him. Good of you, my boy. I saw it all as I rushed up. The bound you gave to catch him I never saw equalled; you are certainly the hero of the fight. We could not possibly have reached him in time. He owes his life to you,’ said Mr Robinson.
I was anxious to hear how Miss Julia behaved during the struggle.
‘Cannot you return the compliment, Miss Grave, and let us know a little about Miss Robinson's behaviour? Did she preserve her composure all through the trying ordeal?’ I queried.
‘I was too frightened myself to notice her, replied the young lady.
‘Oh, Julia behaved as my daughter should,’ said her mother, stiffly. ‘I only heard her scream once, when a brute of a fellow was striking at her father from behind with a big stick. Then some one, I don't know who, jumped into the crowd and took the blow on his arm, but felled the cowardly wretch with the other hand. You burst into tears then, Julia, and no wonder, when your papa was so nearly killed.’
‘Oh, that was my noble Mr Melton. He saved your life, papa,’ she exclaimed with emotion, and I felt that even that one sentence from her lips was sufficient reward for the very painful contusion I had received.
‘Saved me a nasty knock perhaps, for which many thanks, my boy; but my life isn't so easily disposed of.’
‘Allow me to contradict your statement, Miss Robinson, and award you the credit of saving your father's life (for whatever you may think, sir, I much doubt if that heavy handspike had left much life in you). I heard you scream, Miss Robinson, and turning sharply round, observed, and knocked the fellow down, so it was your scream which saved your father's skull.’
‘No, no, Mr Melton, that won't do. I might have screamed till I was black in the face, and it would have done no good had you not been there to avert the blow. But isn't your arm dreadfully hurt?”
I protested that it was a mere trifle, but the fair lady would examine it, and apply some liniment to it.
Great powers! what a delicious thrill every touch of her soft hand sent through me! and she was by no means sparing of them. I felt that I would enjoy a mutiny every day if this was the result.
Mr Robinson's shout of, Now, boys, it's time we went below and got the war-paint off, for tea must be nearly ready,’ made us take a look at our attire, and we immediately saw the necessity. The sailors were perfectly quiet. and I may here remark that they
At tea Grosvenor appeared, and was taking his usual place next to Miss Julia as if nothing had happened.
‘Excuse me sir,’ she remarked, with a certain amount of stiffness, ‘will you allow Mr Melton to occupy that seat? I wish to converse with him on a matter of which you are totally ignorant.’
‘I do not understand you, Miss Robinson. I believe my conversational powers are at least equal to Mr Melton's. No one ever yet informed me that I was ignorant on any subject.’
‘Well, I tell you so now. You are ignorant of the subject ot the behaviour of a gentleman. I always understood that it was ungentlemanly to force yourself on a lady's society when she had requested you to leave her.’
He complied to her request with a very bad grace, the more especially as some one else having taken my usual seat, he had to go to the bottom of the table, amid much laughter and chaff at his expense. If looks went for anything, the one he gave me meant murder. I need hardly say that I was raised to the seventh heaven of happiness as I took my seat next Miss Julia, and we laughed and chatted about the battle in a manner which made Grosvenor pale with fury.
It did not improve matters when Mr Robinson, in his bluff manner, shouted down the table, ‘Hallo, Grosvenor, got to take a back seat, eh? None but the brave deserve the fair. Joking apart, though, have you recovered yet? I heard you were ill.
‘Yes, thank you, my headaches, fortunately, go off as suddenly as they come on.’
‘So I should imagine. They must be very severe, too, for surely no young man of your age would desert ladies in danger for a paltry headache.
Our friend began to feel even more uncomfortable, but he strove to make a fair show. ‘Well, sir, even if I had not been ill, I would not have risked my life in a struggle with a lot of drunken sailors, brought on by the mismanagement of a cowardly captain. It's all very well for young fellows like Melton and the rest of them,’ and he gave me another savage look. ‘It doesn't matter if they are knocked over, but gentlemen who have an old family name and title to keep up should avoid such unseemly brawls.’ Then suddenly remembering himself he added, ‘I saw you going, sir, but doubtless you went to show them what to do that is a different thing.
‘Yea, I did go to show them what to do, and they did it nobly, too.’
‘Well, sir, I can't agree with you that there is any nobleness in knocking about a lot of besotted wretches like them. I own, as I said before, that no one can think the worse of fellows like our friends here, but there's a difference between them and the like of you or me, sir.’
We saw it coming, though he did not, and it came in a tone expressive of the most profound contempt for the subject of it. We all felt our case was in good hands, and held our peace.
‘Yes, there is a difference between them and you, and, thank Heaven, a great one. It is this: they are fine noble fellows, who would not see their fellow creatures thrown overboard, or their lady friends at the mercy of a lot of drunken savages, without
I never saw Mr Robinson so much heated before, and poor Grosvenor positively quailed before the torrent of his invective, although he made a weak attempt at a response—‘Sir, you shall answer for this. I have witnesses.’
‘Witnesses! yes, you certainly have witnesses to your infernal cowardice, but that's to your shame, and nothing to do with me.’
Had not Mrs Robinson, who had been ineffectually signalling to him for some time, requested him to take her to her cabin, as she felt very unwell, he would not have stopped here.
Harry and I occupied the next cabin to the Robinsons, and we inferred from what we overheard through the partition, owing to the gentleman's voice being raised in the warmth of the dispute, that he was getting a curtain lecture on his folly in giving Grosvenor a bit of his mind; yet it would seem from the tenor of his answers that he did not come off second best. A dog like that a desirable son-in-law! Well, you women have taste! Pshaw, his very name sickens me. Go to sleep, do!’
However, it would appear her admonitions had some slight effect, for on Grosvenor—sneaking cur that he was—addressing him the next day as if nothing had happened, to my surprise, he took the trouble to answer him, though as curtly as possible. Julia followed her father's example, and made her conversation with him as brief as was consistent with the barest politeness.
The captain and mate were but little the worse for this rough handling, but did not appear in the saloon that evening. The next day the men turned up to work, but they performed their duties in a very insolent, surly way, save when the second mate recovered sufficiently to take his watch again. The lesson we had given them fortunately prevented any further mutinous action on their part, for that was the only punishment they received. The captain, in his irresolute way, talked largely about what he should do to them when he arrived in Auckland, but on arriving there he was only too glad when they all bolted and left him, although they had been, as usual, engaged for the return voyage.
The week after Grosvenor's downfall was the happiest I had yet spent on board. My divinity, I believe, positively adored me for that space of time; then, capricious divinity that she was, she must needs swing round, and endeavour to get poor Harry under her sway again. He had been apparently making great headway in Miss Grave's estimation during the week; still, with the quick eye of jealousy, I had noted him often casting far more amorous glances at Miss Julia than those with which he favoured her companion. This, indeed, was the fact, for he came at once to her nod, and I believe I suffered more during the next few days than I had done when Grosvenor was the favoured one. I thought it very hard that my friend could not have been content with Miss Grave, who I believed really did care for him. This continued till nearly the end of the voyage, first one being the recipient of the lady's favours, then the other, and we were alternately either in the heaven of bliss or the other place of torment. I had a little more reason in my
Some young ladies would have carried on the two flirtations, for that is of course what they amounted to, as far as she was concerned, at the same time. This, however, was not my lady's style. She made a point of teasing the dethroned one to the utmost of his endurance for the joint amusement of herself and her chosen companion. On one occasion, while in the former capacity, I gave her as good as I got. She had been baiting me most unmercifully for Harry's delectation, when on my making some stupid mistake in a more stupid game of cards, to carry on some previous joke she scornfully exclaimed, referring to me, ‘When will the old man learn wisdom?’ ‘Not out of the mouths of babes and sucklings,’ was my apt retort. As nothing annoyed her more than being considered a child, this reply had the effect of making her desperately angry, and she was a little more careful what she said to me for some time after.
Harry, of course, remained master of the field till we arrived at our destination, and I believe they were secretly engaged. He crowed over me so absurdly that I positively hated the fellow. Grosvenor had regained a small portion of her favour, but not enough to interfere with Harry. Mrs Robinson had been again compelled through ill-health to keep her cabin. Her husband could not but have noticed our little love affairs, but had considered it all boy and girl nonsense that we should, no doubt, forget on landing. He was therefore intensely astonished when, just before leaving the ship, Harry asked for a short interview, and informed him of his intentions. He was boisterous, to say the least.
‘What business have you to talk of love or marriage with my daughter?’ he queried. ‘You have no means to keep a wife, and you may both of you change your minds fifty times before you have. It's ridiculous!’
‘I know I have no means now, sir, but I'll soon make my fortune in the colonies.’
‘Then will be the time to come and ask for her, Harry, my boy, if you are still of the same mind. I had thought of taking you as a cadet on my run, but it's useless if you are in such a hurry to make your pile.’
Harry was highly indignant, as he always was at any opposition to his plans, and even refused to take letters of introduction, which the kind old gentleman offered him, to friends who might be useful to him.
‘I'll show the old beggar that I can be independent of him, said to me, ‘barring the hundred pounds he lent me, which he shall have back with interest the moment I can pay it. I don't want his dirty money as a friendly loan, and that I'll show him.’
I tried to explain to Harry that Robinson was right, and that we were both in a position which made it an insult to ask a man for his daughter, but he could not see it.
On describing to Miss Julia the interview with her father, Harry managed—mad-headed young fool that he was—to give her great offence by some of his remarks on the cruel parent's behaviour, and they had a regular quarrel, which brought this short-lived secret engagement to an end.
As we approached Auckland our sensations were those of intense relief, for the voyage had been by no means enjoyable enough to wish for its prolongation. Our steerage and second-class passengers, who were principally of the small tradesman and artisan class, were longing to see their land. They had forty-acre free grants, and were about to form a special settlement somewhere.
Knowing nothing whatever about farming, it did not surprise me years afterwards to hear that the scheme proved a dead failure, as without such knowledge no man need expect to succeed in pastoral or agricultural pursuits, notwithstanding the assertions of the Emigration Handbooks to the contrary. But to return to ourselves. The excitement was intense when, in the early morning of a glorious day, the cry of ‘Land oh!’ was raised. Not a soul lay long in bed. Everyone was on deck, their raiment showing decided signs of hasty adjustment. Every eye and every glass were directed to the minute spec on the horizon, which was declared to be the land of our adoption. And now we had it in sight, what was our dismay when we beheld the wind drop and the sails lazily hanging from the yards. We had often enough been becalmed on our outward voyage, but never before had we so ardently wished for a rattling breeze. To see that dot in the distance with a world of blue water to traverse before we could reach it—apparently growing no larger—getting no nearer, was tantalising in the extreme, and required one to be almost more than mortal to bear it with equanimity. We felt our littleness, the meanness of our boasted resources in that without the aid of a heaven-sent breeze we could not move this inert mass along. There were among us some perhaps who could survey this state of affairs with a calm indifference, but they formed a very small minority. The rest exhibited every phase of excited restlessness. After having our patience thus sorely tested for a few hours, we again felt the effects of a favouring ‘breeze o' wind,’ as our old boatswain invariably termed it. The sails gradually filled out, a ripple formed over the glassy surface of the sea, and we were again going to New Zealand. The wind freshened, the spec increased, and we were shortly sailing between the islands which add to the beauty of the entrance to the Auckland Harbour—the Great and Little Barriers and the Tiri Tiri. We soon dropped anchor off Rangitoto, with its extinct craters and sloping scrub-covered sides. Here we had to wait for the health officers to board us. They did not keep us long waiting, as, of course, we had been signalled. What was our horror and dismay when, at the conclusion of their interview with
It was in September when we landed, the month of budding spring in the colony, instead of being associated with the fading leaf as it was in the land we had left. Those who have never experienced it can little imagine the sensations of rapturous delight which one feels on first setting foot on terra firma after a voyage of three months, for such had been the duration of ours. The first sight of land has been made the subject of paintings and verse, but grand as it is, it is as nothing compared to the feeling of it under your feet.
We strolled down the wharf, and found the principal street running up a valley between two hills. Having left the ladies, by their desire, at an hotel where Mr Robinson intended to put up, and hearing that tea would not be ready for some time, that gentleman, accompanied by Harry and I, went for a walk up Queen-street. Our friend amused us by stories of the earlier days, as for instance:
‘You see, boys, where this fine street now is. When I first saw it it was an almost impassable swamp. There were crossings made of manuka fascines, but if you stepped off them you might look out, but to get out was a very different thing. Crossing one of these in the dusk of a stormy evening, I caught sight of a man's hat lying in the mud to the left of me. I gave it a kick to see what like it was, when to my astonishment a gruff and inebriated voice under the hat yelled out in a savage tone, “What th' deuce d'ye mean by hitting me under th' ear. Help me out of this cussed mud, an' if it's fight yer want I'm yer man!” As I could not see for the mud how big the fellow was, I thought it best to make peace, so I replied, “What the deuce do you hide that old turnip of a head of yours under a hat in the mud for? Just for a fellow to break his toes against, I suppose. I believe you have lamed me for life, bad luck to you! And now you want me to help you out, so that you can damage me more. No thank you.” “Oh, hang it, show a little Christ'n spirit an' help a man out, can't you? then we'll go an' have
After a few similar anecdotes I asked Mr Robinson where he would recommend us to put up during our stay in town. He mentioned a quiet boarding-house in Wyndham-street, which he thought inexpensive and very comfortable, and a place where we should meet decent fellows. ‘Although,’ he said, ‘I am myself staying at an hotel on account of being close to the wharf, for it suits me, as I am off very likely to-morrow to Hawke's Bay, yet it is a mistake for young fellows like you to stay at hotels. It leads to a lot of liquoring up, and you get enough of that in a colonial town without sticking yourself in the centre of it. The infernal habit of “shouting,” as it is called, has got such a hold, that an easy-going fellow, who does not like to refuse when asked to drink, if knocking about town with nothing to do he happens to meet first one and then the other of his old acquaintances, and drink with each, he stands a good chance of being knocked over before he knows it. Now, boys, I don't often preach, but I have seen so many fine young fellows come to grief through this detestable practice, that I must strongly recommend you to follow a plan of my own. It is to make a point of saying no to anyone who asks you to drink when you are not really thirsty. I will drink to please no one, but to quench my thirst I will occasionally take a glass. Ah, you scamp, Frank! I know what that look you gave Harry means. It is, “the old gent doesn't often require to refuse, his thirst is of pretty frequent occurrence.” And you are right, I'll admit, but if I had adopted my plan at your age I should not have required to moisten my throat half so often now. Still, I defy either friend or enemy to say that they ever see me any the worse for it. Afraid of offending a man indeed! What need to mind offending the fellow who would wish you to drink what you don't require just to please him? The sooner you offend him the better, I should say. Would you over-eat yourself to please your best friend? Then, why drink to excess for the fear of offending a mere acquaintance? And now, my boys, to show you are right about my thirst, and also because I can quite believe my lecture has made you thirsty if the walk has not, we'll try a glass of old Seccombe's ale; they sell it here.
‘I think you told me, Frank,’ said Mr Robinson, as we were discussing it, ‘that you were going to your uncle at Wanganui, so you are all right; but Harry, my boy, I wish I saw you in a billet before I leave Auckland, for to turn a fellow like you loose in a new country without a friend near to turn to is risky.’
He meant it well, but Harry couldn't see it.
‘Thank you, sir,’ he replied, stiftly, ‘I am quite old enough to look after myself.’
‘Well, well, we shall see. You're old enough, I know, but whether you have the sense is another question.’
Harry was about to answer this wrathfully, for his experience with his uncle in the old country had rendered his nature bitter and
‘Now, my boy, look here. I can see you are getting riled, and don't take advice kindly, but I am not goin to let a fellow I like mistake my reasons for taking an interest in him, and jump down my throat if I can help it. I wish to Heaven I had found someone to advise me when I first came out; it would have saved me much that I have now to regret. I ask you again to be guided by an old hand, and take from me a letter of introduction to an old friend at the Bay of Islands, and I'll engage he will be delighted to see you, and give you a billet on his run, and what's more, will remunerate you when you are worth it.’
Harry softened considerably at the commencement of this speech, but, unfortunately, the inference at the end of it, that it would be some time before he was worth any wages, again hurt his dignity and aroused his suspicions. The idea struck him that the old gentleman wished to get him as far away from his daughter as possible.
‘Thank you, sir, for your kind offer, but I prefer remaining in Auckland, so it would be no good my taking it,’ he replied.
‘Well, have your own way. I must tell you that if I hadn't taken such a fancy to you for your behaviour in the scrimmage, I would not have again offered you advice and introductions, which you so indignantly refused on a previous occasion. But notwithstanding your rudeness, my lad, I hope to see more of you, for there is a deal of the right stuff in you, although you foolishly allow a haughty, hasty temper to damage it. I shall expect you both to come in and take tea to-night, as we may not meet again for some time.’
I at once accepted, but Harry said he hoped to be excused as he had several other matters to attend to. We had been strolling up and down, and were again opposite the hotel, where we found Miss Julia and her friend waiting to let us know tea was ready.
‘Come along in then, Frank,’ observed Mr Robinson, shaking hands and saying good-bye to Harry.
‘Papa, have you forgotten to ask Mr Baker in?’
‘No, my dear. He says he cannot honour us with his company to-night.
‘Ah, but I have not asked him yet. He surely can't refuse me, papa,’ said she, gaily, and with a glance which should have made a man do far more than accept an invitation to tea.
Harry, however, was firm so far, although I believe he would have given his ears to have overcome his obstinacy, yet he seemed unable to do so. ‘No, Miss Julia, really I cannot stay to-night,’ he answered.
What a world of trouble often hangs on one little sentence, nay oftener on one little word. Even as he spoke Harry's mood wavered, and he was sorry he had not given a different answer. Now his fate for the next few years hung on Miss Julia's next words. One more repetition of the invitation from her, and he would accept it gladly, and in all human probability he would have apologized to the old gentleman for his rudeness, and agreed to follow his advice, which would have at once given him a comfortable home and trusty friends. On the other hand, if her reply was such as he could not but expect, and, indeed, deserved, there would in all probability ensue years of hardship and friendlessness, taking into consideration his peculiar temperament and inability to resist temptation.
Harry glanced at her eagerly. Would she give him this chance of altering his decision? Had her pride not been touched, she doubtlessly would have seen his wavering mood; but alas for him! it was touched, and not gently either.
‘Well, if you won't stay when I ask you, I have no more to say except good-bye.’ This was said in a tone of pique which destroyed all hope.
Poor Harry! I pitied him when I saw how his countenance fell. I would have put in a word, but knew it would be worse than useless. He shook hands with them, and was darting off as we entered the hotel. We did not notice at the time that Miss Grave remained behind as we ascended the staircase to the Robinsons' room. It appeared that she called Harry back, and entered a small room with him and closed the door. I did not hear the substance of their conversation till years afterwards, but I may as well give it here. ‘Mr Baker, we will not part thus. I believe from what I have noticed that you have quarrelled with your friends, and will not take advice or assistance from one so able to give it as Mr Robinson. Now, do not mistake my motives when I say you shall not quarrel with me. We are both orphans, and far away from home and kindred, and though I believe you do not know it, your mother was a very dear friend of mine. It was while you were away at school I met her. I am certain I am doing nothing wrong in asking you to promise to write to me sometimes as a brother would to a sister, especially if you should be in any trouble, and we will aid and strengthen one another to the best of our ability. We little know what troubles and trials may assail us in a new country. By the memory of your dead mother I beg you to grant my request.’
The effect these words of sisterly kindness had on Harry's heart, embittered as it was with his own feelings, and what he considered the unkindness of others, was to make him see at once what his better judgment had told him long ago, though he would not listen to it—that this girl was worth a thousand Miss Julias, and that if he could only win her love his happiness would be complete.
‘No, my darling,’ he answered in an impassioned voice, ‘I will not write as a brother, nor look on you as a sister. I could not. But if you will only forgive my past trifling with you, and try if you can love me, I will do everything that is possible for a man to do to reward you. I love you, my darling, with a love, the depth of which even I do not understand. My infatuation for your friend was as different as light from dark. I know I do not deserve the bliss of being loved by you. Oh, God! what a blind fool I have been! little encouragement.’
‘No, Mr Baker, I cannot, I cannot,’ she replied, though sorely tempted to throw herself into his arms, for I can venture to say, from information received subsequently, that this quiet young lady,
‘I can say no, too, Miss Grave, and what is more, I do. You cannot be my sister. Accept me as your lover, I implore you, and save me from I know not what.’
‘No, Mr Baker, it is not fair—it is not honest of you to force your love on me now when so short a time since it was given to another, and expect me to accept it at once. I asked you in all kindness to allow me a sister's interest in you, and am deeply hurt that you should refuse. Good-bye, I must be going.’
He grasped her hand, pressed it to his lips, and kissed it passionately.
At this moment Julia came quietly in to seek Miss Grave, just in time to see this parting scene. Her anger can be easily imagined when she saw Harry, who had just refused her invitation, engaged in this manner with her friend.
‘Oh, oh, my lady!’ she cried. ‘Is this the way you practice what you preach? Don't lecture me on flirting again, you sly thing! I think it is very mean of you stealing my lover away in this manner. You're welcome to him, though. I've done with him,’ she concluded, thinking she had shown her true feeling for Harry a little too plainly.
In vain Miss Grave tried to explain matters, for Julia was far too angry and excited to listen, and rushed off upstairs. Miss Grave followed her up quietly to the room in which we were already busy with our tea. As she entered, Miss Julia sarcastically remarked that she had found Miss Grave in a small room downstairs taking a very loving farewell of Mr Baker.
‘Oh, oh! Miss Grave, this was a very nicely-arranged little meeting,’ began Mr Robinson, in a bantering tone, ‘but you should have waited till after tea; then we should not have thought of sending after you and interrupting your little game.’
‘Little game, indeed!’ put in his indignant spouse. ‘I think after the way Mr Baker treated your kind offers, and, indeed, us all, it was very bad taste in Miss Grave to run after him that way, and to be closeted alone with him for at least half an hour in that clandestine manner. I beg for the future you will be more particular, my lady, and not set my daughter such a bad example.’
‘You need not fret about that, mamma. I would not do such a thing.’
‘I know you would not, my love,’ returned the irate old lady.
I knew she would if she got the chance, but did not think it polite to say so.
‘I cannot help it if you all misunderstand me, remarked the persecuted young lady, calmly, ‘although it grieves me to think such constructions
‘Do not make matters worse by prevaricating. I could see by your face that he had been talking love nonsense to you, had he not, now?’
Poor Miss Grave was getting into the mire, for she could not deny this, nor did she care to own to it. However, she got out of the difficulty. ‘I am not accustomed to be accused of falsehood, madam, and as you do not believe what I say, I certainly shall not answer any more questions.’
‘Whether you answer or not, I shall ask you if you think it your duty to set me at defiance before strangers? And what's more, I can tell you I won't have it, my lady.’
Miss Grave very sensibly left the room. I cannot say how I pitied her, for I saw what she would have to suffer in a family where the ladies had neither the refinement nor the delicacy of feeling which she had. Mr Robinson, I felt certain, would shield her as much as he could, though, as will appear, the fact of his trying to protect her might get her into more trouble.
‘Come now, old girl,’ he said, ‘don't be too hard on her. You know at her age nothing pleased you better than a spoon.’
‘Oh, yes, of course, you take her part and run down your wife. I was a fool to let you choose a girl like that for Julia's companion. I might have known how it would be. You're in love with her yourself.
Having delivered herself of this stinging retort, she retired from the room without waiting for an answer, which she probably knew from experience would not be of a very soothing nature. She just popped her head in again to say, ‘That minx's behaviour had made her head ache so that she must go and lie down.’
I do not think we any of us regretted her departure. The old gentleman and I had a long chat, and I gathered many hints from him which I afterwards found useful. Julia tried hard to engage me in conversation, but I was too vexed with her for her treatment of her friend, and directed my attention to her father principally. Not having quite recovered her serenity, she also soon had a headache and retired.
Mr Robinson observed on my rising to leave, that a stroll would do him good, and descended to the street with me. As we turned up Shortland-Street on the way to my lodgings, we met Master Harry in a state of hilarity which could have but one cause, with a party of sailors, whose rations of spirits had undoubtedly been poured out with a much more liberal hand than that of the steward on board. They were carrying on amorous conversations with some very gaudily-dressed females. I fervently hoped that Robinson had not recognised Harry, and suggested that we should turn back, but I was too late, Harry had seen us, and in an inebriate voice saluted my companion.
‘Well, old buffer, so you would not give me your daughter, eh? Never mind! plenty of girls as good as her here, and a dashed sight better too.
‘I don't doubt it, Harry, and I hope you'll get the best of them. Shake hands and come along with Frank and me.
On this Harry, who was really a good-hearted fellow, felt ashamed of himself, and begged our friend's pardon a matter of fifty times, and walked peacefully to the Wyndham House where we had arranged to stay. I tried to excuse his conduct as much as possible to the old gentlemen when we had him safely in bed, saying it was his first day ashore.
‘Yes, yes, I know all that, but though I saw the only way to get him quietly home was to humour him as I did, yet I am very vexed with him. I can see he is the last fellow to be left to knock about the colonies without a true friend near him. His excitable nature, and the ease with which he takes offence, will lead him to make enemies where he should make friends, and then when he imagines everyone against him he will probably take to the whiskey in earnest. The young fool! through his thundering stupidity he has lost two chances already. If he had not made himself such an ass about Julia, I would have taken him as a cadet on my own run, but, of course, that is now out of the question. Then because he imagined my notion was to get him as far away as possible, he refused to go to the Bay of Islands with my introduction to my old friend there. The most important rule for getting on in the colonies or elsewhere is “never throw away a good chance unless you have a better one.” Remember that, Frank. I will now say good-bye, for I must be off to Napier by the boat which leaves to-morrow morning. My agent will see after the heavy luggage and send it after me. If you can possibly persuade Harry to take this letter, do. I will leave it with you, and remember, if either of you are down my way, there will always be a knife and fork, eh, and something to use them on, and a bed at your service.’
With this the old gentleman departed, and I need not say that in him I felt I had a true friend, and I determined to use my utmost endeavour to persuade Harry to take the course which he had pointed out. I had a long talk with him next day. He was in a most crossgrained temper; still at last he said, ‘Give me the letter, then.’ I thought I had gained my object, and handed it to him.
‘This is how I'll present it, he said, and immediately tossed it into the fire, stamping it down with his heel. His old animosity against his would-be benefactor had returned with full force. The reconciliations and profuse expressions of regret for his ungrateful conduct, uttered the previous evening, were evidently forgotten. I tried to persuade him to accompany me to Wanganui, but anything I happened to propose always proved to be most distasteful to him. He persisted in believing that I was in league with Mr Robinson to get him out of the way. He wished to remain in Auckland, and do it he would. I stayed at the boarding-house for a week or so, but only saw him at the breakfast table. The remainder of the day he spent with new and far from desirable acquaintances. Handsome-looking bar-maids and the flashily-dressed females we met him with on the first night of our arrival found the mad young fool an easy and willing victim. He always had something in view, the very thing to suit him, he'd make no end of money at it, etc., yet by some means it never eventuated. The kind (?) friends who were always ‘laying him on’ to these good things were of a class who not only amuse themselves, but make a living by ‘catching new chums,’
In this unsatisfactory position I had to leave my old schoolmate, as I found the s.s. Stormbird was starting from Onehunga for Wanganui on the following day. He promised to write regularly and let me know what he was doing, but did not keep his word, so that I heard no more of him for a very considerable time.
I Left Auckland by bus for Onehunga, a port on the opposite side of the island, a distance of about eight miles from Auckland, so narrow is the strip of land at this point. The country through which we passed was wildly beautiful, and evidently volcanic. Mount Eden, the monarch of the many other sugar-loaf-shaped hills scattered here and there, containing extinct craters, stood out in imposing grandeur as we drove down Kyber Pass. Our driver was not far out when in his peculiar phraseology he remarked: ‘This must have been a hot old shop at some time or the other, sir.’ Dire, indeed, must have been the devastation worked, and hellish the discord, when those huge blocks of scoria, strewn in rugged piles round its base, were torn and disrupted from the bowels of the earth, and hurled with resistless force into their present admired disorder. I was always a lover of nature, even in her rudest and most terrific aspects. They have ever possessed an irresistible charm for me. When others quaked with fear I experienced intense enjoyment, and I could not help longing that I had been present to witness, at a safe distance, those now peaceful hills belching forth clouds of smoke, streams of lava, and storms of stone. Round the foot of Mount Eden now nestle, among beautifully-planted grounds, numerous suburban residences, the most lovely retreats possible for the tired business man.
After a good night's rest at the hotel by the wharf, the porter woke me at an early hour to ensure my being on board in time. As I walked down the wharf I noticed some lady passengers, but they were enveloped in wraps, as the air was cold, and in the misty morning light I could not see what they were like.
We pushed off from the wharf just as the rays of the rising sun made their first appearance on the horizon. The Manukau Harbour is a large inland sheet of water, into which flow numerous rivers and creeks. The bar at the Heads had been about three years previously the scene of the disastrous wreck of H.M.S. Orpheus. Owing to taking a wrong channel, she struck on the rocks, and sank almost immediately, with a loss of somewhere about one hundred
‘Is there really any danger, captain?’ she inquired with a look of terror, which in a moment changed to a shrewd, businesslike one, as she added, ‘because if there is I won't go this trip, and then if you do go down I'll purchase a good stock of crape and mourning stuffs, which will sell well in Taranaki next week. I've only got summer goods here.’
‘Well, my dear,’ retorted our amiable captain, ‘I hardly think we shall oblige you this time by letting you turn an honest penny that way. On some future occasion perhaps I may send my wife instead of myself, if you'll promise me the crape cheap for my sleeve and hat, and also agree to console the poor widower with the half of your business and the whole of yourself.’
‘Fie on you, captain!’ she exclaimed. ‘Why, you would be for drowning me in a week.’
‘Well, it's certainly quite possible.’ Here he made a pause, to the great amusement of the passengers; then went on, ‘We'll drown you as it is if you try to land at Taranaki this trip, so it's a pity you didn't bring the crape along, for I'm sure such a smart girl would be deeply regretted.’
‘You're talking nonsense just to frighten me, I know you are.’
‘Indeed, then, I'm not. It will be mighty rough there for the surf boats, I can see.’
‘Well, I must land if possible, for I've promised a lot of dresses by the end of the week, and not a stitch in the stuff yet, for it's here.’
This little dialogue would not have been worth recalling did it not lead up to an incident to be related further on.
We were now fast approaching the bar, and as the sun was now fairly up, the scene was one of most magnificent splendour. As far as the eye could reach was a mass of enormous rollers, crested with foam and tiped with a golden hue. The rugged Heads, gilded with a similar glittering colouring, rose abruptly to a great height on either side from the angry waters; the mighty waves dashing at their feet with a force of relentless fury, which made one wonder that even rocks could withstand such fierce onslaughts. The stern decree, Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther,’ was never better exemplified here, and, I may say, never more madly, though impotently, resisted.
The Northern Heads were partly clothed in bush, especially about their skirts, and were particularly broken and mountainous. The southern side is less precipitious, and the country is open on the seaward slope. The pilot station and lighthouse now stand on this
But to return to the Stormbird. While feasting my eyes on the scenery I have been trying to describe, an animated and melodious voice behind me exclaimed, ‘Oh, Alice, we are just in time! I would not miss this sight for worlds! How awfully lovely!’ This word was here used in its true sense as expressing a sensation of awe as well as beauty—for the concomitant of danger was most certainly present in the furiously rolling breakers—not as it is used by so many young ladies of the present day, to hide the paucity of their adjectives.
I immediately looked round, and beheld two of the ladies I had noticed coming down the wharf enveloped in wraps. They had now discarded them as the day had become warmer, and appeared on deck in neat-fitting travelling dresses, which showed the outlines of their graceful and well-developed figures to perfection. They were evidently sisters.
‘Yes, Fanny, it is lovely, but the sea is very rough. It must be rather dangerous.’
‘That is the beauty of it. I do love to overcome danger.’
The flush of colour which suffused her almost dusky brow, the rise and fall of her shapely bosom, the flash of undaunted courage from an eye which made me quail as I met its bright glance, and the manner in which her whole form appeared to dilate with the idea of danger, all showed that in her was blended the blood of a once savage race with that of our own. I at once perceived that these young ladies were half-castes, the elder sister, Fanny, showing even more of the attributes of her dark-skinned parent than the younger, although she undoubtedly was by far the most lovely girl. What amazed me most was that I noticed a quaint but pronounced likeness to my father in both the young ladies. Failing, of course, to see the least reason for it, I dismissed the idea from my mind, and stood spellbound watching with much pleasure the intense enjoyment Miss Fanny appeared
The captain's face paled, as he feared another such shock would entirely annihilate us. The other such shock, however, was spared us, and by strictly adhering to the rules, and being guided by the painted beacons on the hill-sides, we at last safely negotiated the bar, and arrived in what, after our recent experience, we considered smooth water, although, under other circumstances, it would have been a great stretch of imagination to so term it.
The beacons before mentioned are placed so that by keeping those on one cliff in a line for a certain distance, then turning and adhering to the course indicated by others on another hill, the mariner can steer a course of comparative safety. If these rules are not strictly followed it is a case of smash, not everlasting, but of a very limited duration.
Breakfast was now announced. The bar, however, had economically obviated the necessity of both breakfast and dinner as far as the greater portion of our passengers was concerned. One young fellow said, with a ghastly smile, that he considered it a sacrilege to eat when his soul had been satisfied with such ‘heavingly scenery.’ The suffering the poor fellow had undergone must have wrung this atrocious play of words out of him, so we forebore to punish him. The two young ladies, who proved splendid sailors, myself, and the officers of the ship were all that sat down to the abundant meal spread before us. The keen sea air and the excitement we had experienced enabled us to do full justice to the tempting viands.
I am aware that, according to all preconceived notions, it was by no means correct of me to be capable of despatching a hearty breakfast, for I had undoubtedly fallen violently in love that morning, and this proceeding is popularly supposed to destroy the appetite. On me, however, it never had that effect. I could always manage a good substantial meal. This peculiarity, I doubt not, enabled me to bear its vicissitudes with greater composure. Be this as it may, I was rendered supremely happy, first by securing a seat next my divinity, and secondly by a sudden roll of the vessel causing her to spill a portion of her coffee over my unmentionables. To hear her apologies, to feel the soft touch of her hand, as with her delicate handkerchief she in vain endeavoured to remove the stains, was almost too much bliss. I remember the instance as vividly as if it occurred yesterday, the more especially as on looking over a lot of old curiosities in the secret drawer of an old desk, amongst withered flowers, faded ribbons, and the usual contents of such a receptacle, I discovered—I blush to mention it, fair reader—a small remnant of coffee-coloured tweed. The remainder of the garment aforesaid, which had not been invested with a charm by the touch of that fair hand, was subsequently presented by me to my uncle's stockman, who, after replacing the abstracted portion with a piece of sheepskin, made them do good
I much fear I shall suffer in the estimation of my readers by the facility with which I succumbed to feminine charms, and the length of time, by my own confession, that I retained possession of my love tokens, not to mention the peculiarity of one of them. However, I cannot help it. I must plead guilty, if guilt there be, to having been a most impressionable youth. My first proposal was uttered, as we emerged from the bath in the simplicity of attire which Adam and Eve affected before they made themselves aprons, to a fair cousin. Our combined ages at the time would perhaps have totalled eight years, but certainly not more.
After the felicitous introduction at the breakfast table I improved my opportunities. It is true I was a bashful youth, yet when circumstances placed me in the society and good graces of ladies the disagreeable sensation soon wore off. In the present instance it took longer than usual to do so, and I am painfully aware that my conversation was at first remarkably disjointed and ridiculous. The time, however, passed most delightfully until we arrived in sight of New Plymouth, a quaint little township nestling under the majestic Mount Egmont, with its bush-clad slopes and cloud-capped summit. ‘Veritably.’ I thought, ‘my lines are cast in pleasant places,’ as my eyes turned from the brief contemplation of this characteristic sample of the scenery of my adopted country back to the entrancing loveliness of my fair companion. I noticed, as we approached the town, the absence of anything like a wharf, and inquired how passengers managed to land.
‘By surf boats, to be sure. You'll see one put out directly.’
‘Is it possible that a boat could live in such a sea?’
‘Well, it certainly is very rough to-day from the effects of the late gale, but I heard the ancient milliner say she must land, and look, here comes the boat.’
And sure enough, through the heaving surf the boat appeared, now plainly visible on the summit of a gigantic roller, then lost to sight in the trough of the angry sea, propelled by the strong arms of four powerfully-built young fellows with a weather-beaten old tar in the stern.
As the milliner appeared on deck—she had hitherto kept her cabin—the captain strongly recommended her not to venture to land.
‘You had far better come on to Wanganui, and I will land you on our return journey; it will be much calmer then. As it is I wouldn't land myself.’
‘Oh, but I must, captain! If I don't Miss Jones will get all my custom. I positively must, though I am certainly in a great fright.’
‘Well, if you must, you must. No good arguing with ladies when they've made up their minds, but if you're drowned don't blame me.’
‘How could I if I was drowned, captain? But really do you consider it very dangerous?’
‘Haven't I told you that I wouldn't land myself. Mind, Miss Jones will get all the custom if you are drowned.’
‘But I shouldn't mind if I wasn't there to see it. I hardly know what to say.’
Her courage was fast waning, and when she saw the sort of sling in which it would be necessary for her to sit, she would have given in, when some one mischievously remarked, with no intention, however, of causing her to change her mind, ‘What a fine business Miss Jones has. She'll be delighted if my lady here does not turn up to fulfil her engagements.’
The mention of her adversary renewed her courage, and she seated herself as gracefully as possible in the sling—the possibilities in that direction were extremely limited, it is true—and was hoisted in the air. The man who held the rope was instructed to lower rapidly at a given signal, which would be the exact moment when the boat was brought up under the lady by the rolling waves. The order was given in time, but not instantaneously obeyed. The consequences were disastrous. The boat had been dashed away by the receding wave, and the poor milliner was dipped into the briny ocean. She was again hoisted, and this time made a happier descent, barring that she almost smothered the old man in the stern by dropping fairly on the top of him.
‘Is it an angel from Hiven ye are?’ he muttered, gruffly, as he disengaged himself. ‘They might 'ave dried yer garmints afore they sint ye down, any way.’
After safely landing this unfortunate female and her goods, as well as the mail bags, we proceeded on our journey to Wanganui, and in due time arrived at the entrance to the river, which bears the same name as the town built on its banks. Being high tide at the time, we steamed in without any delay. Directly the gangway was put out the young ladies stepped ashore. I was about to offer my services as their escort, when some friends joined them and they walked off. It now struck me that I had been a fool not to have ascertained who they were, and whereabouts they resided. Strange to say, I had not even heard their surname, for the captain always addressed them at table as Miss Fanny and Miss Alice, being on particularly friendly terms with them after the manner of genial skippers with young lady passengers. Thinking to rectify my mistake, I at once approached him and put the question.
‘Oh, they are daughters of old What's-his name. Hang it all, though it's on the tip of my tongue, I can't hit the name this moment. The old boy married the finest-looking Maori gal in Wanganui,’ and he hurried off to attend to some business, leaving me no wiser than before. I was about to make further inquiries, when I considered my uncle would know all about them, so I troubled no more on the subject than to hope they would prove near neighbours.
Wanganui is a remarkably picturesque little town. The only objection to it as a place of residence was at that time the presence of several sand-hills within the city boundaries. These were made the sport of the strong winds, which often prevailed, and proved very unpleasant to any of the unlucky citizens who were abroad.
‘Jimmy Melton? rather!’ exclaimed mine host. ‘He has a run eight or ten miles from here. A fine old fellow he is, too. I thought he would have been down to-day, but he hasn't turned up.
‘Well, he is my uncle, and I have to get to his place somehow. Any coaches running up that way?’
‘Your uncle, you say? I am delighted to make your acquaintance, sir. No, sir, no coaches, but I'll find you a saddle horse in ten minutes if you wish it.
‘Very well, do so by all means, and a good one, mind.’
‘Never fear, sir. I don't doubt, like your uncle, you know a good horse when you see one, and what's more, can ride ‘em, too. Bless your life, I would as soon think of flying as of giving Jimmy Melton's nephew a quiet old screw to ride.’
He went out to order the horse, and shortly appeared with a groom leading a remarkably handsome black cob, a regular picture, round as a barrel, clean, supple limbs, head well set on and neat, short ears, which he constantly pricked alternately backward and forward, and flashing eyes—a horse evidently of a nervous, excitable temperament, but one who, with a cool, quiet rider, would carry one from day-light to dark without whip or spur.
‘There's a lively bit of stuff, sir. Your uncle bred him, and he'll carry you to the very door. I bought him for my own riding, and never let him out except to your uncle and one or two particular friends who can ride.’
‘Does he buck?’ I asked, for although a good English cross country rider, I had never experienced the sensation of buck-jumping, which in its true significance is peculiar to colonial horses. Those of Australian breed are most proficient in the art. You meet a few really good ones in New Zealand, but not many. One constantly hears young fellows affirm that their horses are terrors at bucking, but in nine cases out of ten the true designation of this performance would be pig-jumping. I shall describe in a future page my first acquaintance with the real article.
‘Lor, no sir! he don't buck,’ replied the groom. ‘He's only a bit gay and hard to hold.’
I mounted, and certainly my first experience of a New Zealand saddle horse was a very pleasant one. He took me along at a gallop the best part of the way, and seemed insulted if I pulled him into a walk, for he was soon off again of his own accord. His paces were delightfully easy, his stride long and swinging. I had received directions, and before I dreamt that I had achieved half the distance the cob voluntarily came to a standstill at a gate, which I knew must be the entrance to my uncle's property I rode through, and passing over a fine piece of pasture land, came to a stock-yard. A rough-looking old fellow, who was evidently doing something with the cattle, looked round as I approached. He was attired in a blue serge shirt stuffed into a pair of moleskin pants, which in their turn were tucked into the tops of a pair of dirty-looking riding boots. A billy-cock hat and a pair of rusty spurs completed his outfit.
Mutiny on the Ship—‘Blustering Bob Hurling the Mate Overboard.’
‘Is the boss at home?’ I shouted to him, to try and appear colonial.
‘Yes, the boss is at home. Who are you?’
‘That is not your business. Where is your master?’
‘I haven't met him yet,’ returned he. This was incomprehensible to me.
‘Come, my good man,’ I said, ‘here's a bob to drink my health. Tell me where the boss is.’
He took the coin I offered, and pocketed it with a broad grin, then said rather stiffly, ‘Well, if you really want to know I guess I'm boss here. What do you want with me, eh?’
Conceive my surprise. I had expected to find a fairly well-dressed and refined-looking old gentleman instead of the sort of man I saw before me. However, I quietly recovered myself. ‘Oh, you are my uncle Jim, are you, sir?’ I remarked calmly.
‘That depends whether you are worth recognizing. An unmitigated young blackguard, I expect, like I was when I came out. However, we'll chance it. Here goes,’ and he grasped me warmly by the hand. ‘We didn't expect you yet awhile, Frank. Why didn't you write and let us know? We'd have met you then.’
‘Father did write and told you when I sailed,’ I answered.
‘Never got the letter, then. Thought it rum I didn't hear.’
‘Well, I'm certain he wrote.’
Long afterwards it was discovered that the letter was never posted. The careless boy to whom it was entrusted lost it, and was too frightened to admit it.
After mutual inquiries the old gentleman remarked: ‘Oh, you'll do. I'll soon knock you into shape. We're mustering and branding, so you're right in it, my boy. We'll see how you can ride to-morrow.’
‘I shan't be much amiss at that, uncle. I've followed the hounds for four seasons.’
‘Heading wild cattle is different to following the hounds, my boy,’ he replied.
I now handed him some letters which the postmaster, hearing at the hotel I was bound for my uncle's, had asked me to deliver. He opened one immediately, and after perusing it exclaimed: ‘What steamer did you come by? The Stormbird, wasn't it?’
‘Yes, uncle.’
‘Why, here's this letter. I ought to have received it a week ago. My daughters say they'll be down to-day. Were there any ladies on board?’
‘No white ones,’ I replied, and at the thought of one of my travelling companions I was by no means white either, for I found, to my disgust, I was blushing like a school-girl.
‘What then?’ he queried, sharply.
‘Why, there were two Maori, or rather half-caste, girls on board. Rather nice-looking, too.’ Rather nice-looking! This was a very mild version of my real opinion.
‘Rather nice-looking girls, eh?’
‘Well, yes, they were very decent-looking, and they seemed to have some idea of civilized life, too. I talked to them a little. They must have had a good-looking father, for the Maori women I saw in Auckland were hideous. I can't think how any white man could marry them, but I suppose it's only the lower class who do.’
I rambled on like this to hide my confusion at the thought of the girl who had made such an impression on me, but I was far more confounded at my uncle's next remark.
‘Quite right, my boy,’ in his most sarcastic tone. ‘Only the lower classes do such a thing. I guess, though, those young ladies are your cousins. I am glad you consider them decent-looking. So they have some idea of civilized life! And you think their father must be good-looking! It's grand to have the approval of a puppy like you.’
‘Oh, uncle, forgive me. We never heard you were married, and how could I guess they were your daughters?’
‘Well, I'll forgive you this time. Take my advice, boy. Don't talk about the habits of life in a country you know nothing about. I never bothered to tell them at home I was married. You couldn't know.’
‘Where is my aunt, Mrs Melton, then? in the house, I presume.’
‘No, nor in her grave neither, though she's dead.’
‘Good heavens! what can he mean?’ I thought. ‘I suppose she's only just dead, and isn't buried yet. Oh, uncle, I am so sorry for your loss. When does the funeral take place?’ I replied, not knowing what to say.
‘Funeral take place—never!’ said the stern old man, and I noticed a tear in his eye, which I doubt was very rarely moistened that way. ‘I tell you she's dead. Dead! yes, and her bones scraped. She begged ‘em not to. I did my best to stop it, but it was no good. The chief of the tribe wouldn't let her off. But,’ he continued, with a heavy sigh, ‘I'm forgetting the girls. I must be off to meet them. They'll be expecting me. Oh, here's your bob, Frank,’ handing it back. ‘It rather hurt my dignity to be offered money to drink your health.’ The old gentleman's countenance relapsed into a sardonic grin. ‘Halloo, Rewi, old boy. You want to be taken notice of, do you?’ he exclaimed, as the cob would be restrained no longer, but started rubbing his nose against his old master's coat. ‘That's the way we breed ‘em here, Frank. Grand cob, isn't he? Worth a hundred and fifty any day in the English market.’
As I was rather tired, I did not offer to go with my uncle to Wanganui, although I was very anxious to meet my fair shipmates in this new character as cousins. I happened to mention to uncle that I had not heard their names on board, and I did not think they had heard mine.
‘I'll have some fun with ‘em then,’ he said. ‘Tell 'em you came a week or so ago. Won't they stare when they see you're the cousin?’
I followed him up to the house, a comfortable, roomy, single-storied one, with a verandah on three sides, on to which most of the rooms opened with French windows. It was built on a gentle rise, and afforded an extended view of the surrounding country. My uncle shouted for Charlie, who turned out to be another cousin, a nice-looking boy of fourteen, but of darker complexion than his sisters.
‘Here's your new-chum cousin, Charlie. Show him where to put the cob, then tell Tim to put the two chestnuts in the waggon. Your sisters are come. I must be off for them. Take care of Frank.’
Charlie took my horse, and exchanged greetings with him as an old friend. I then watched them catch and harness the chestnuts. They were evidently well bred, but grooming appeared a luxury to
Uncle Jim appeared ready for the road. He had thrown off his stockyard attire, and I now noticed in him a strong likeness to my father. There was, of course, the natural difference of appearance between the bronzed and heavily-bearded stock-owner, who was out in all weathers, under sometimes an almost tropical sun, and the English clergyman, who, except when he happened to take his gun (for he was fond of shooting), always carried an umbrella to shield him from the rain, or excessive rays of the sun on hot summer days. I could now plainly understand the resemblance which had so puzzled me between the two sisters and my father. My uncle jumped into the conveyance, seized the reins, and shouting to Tim to let go the horses' heads, they were off like a shot, with a rear and a plunge which threatened the traces. We then returned to the house and had tea, Charlie entertaining me with stories of his own and his friend's adventures and prowess, such as feats of horsemanship, cattle-mustering, pig-hunting, and purchases, sales, and exchanges of horses and dogs. This conversation, much as I longed to partake of these amusements, became at length very monotonous, and I wished it was bed-time, so that I could quietly think over my extraordinary good fortune in finding myself possessed of a cousin (for I confess my thoughts confined themselves to one) of such desirable charms. Charlie had remarked that they were sure to be at a friend's, who would keep them till late, so that they could not return till near midnight. I therefore made up my mind to retire, and see them to more advantage in the morning. They would be very tired, and it would be more considerate on my part to defer the pleasure of renewing my acquaintance.
On awaking I found the glorious sunshine of a New Zealand spring morning pouring into my window, and I at first began to wonder where I was, when the subdued tones of some sweet female voices brought me to my bearings. The voices were, of course, those of my cousins. Now, although I, as a general rule, am above listening to conversations not meant for my ear, yet I think the reader will allow that in the present case the temptation was too great to be resisted, so I lay as still as a mouse. The partitions in some of these old wooden houses are very thin, and unless the tones are particularly low the voice can be easily heard in the next room. As will hereafter appear, my cousins had not the remotest idea that anyone was sleeping
‘I wonder what the new-chum cousin will be like?’
‘Oh, a regular duffer, I expect. All new-chums are.’
‘How about that tall young fellow on the Stormbird that you spilt your coffee over, eh? He was a new-chum, wasn't he?’
‘Ah! he was a plum. He's the exception to the rule, and Mr Grosvenor is another. They are the only two new-chums I ever met that were any good.’
‘Well, I didn't think much of the tall gentleman,’ returned Alice, mischievously.
‘Didn't you? I fell in love with him at first sight. He was a darling.’
‘Fell in love with him, did you? What about the baronet's son in Auckland? Is he forgotten already? It is well to be off with the old love before you are on with the new.’
‘Forgotten? no. It does not do to forget a baronet's son travelling for pleasure for a young fellow who has to work hard for a living.’
‘Ah, but Fanny, love in a cottage with him might be better than travelling for “pleashaw” with Mr Grosvenor.’
‘I don't know. It would be grand to be Lady Grosvenor some day, and go and see the old country with all its wonders, and live in a castle. Still, I am not certain that you are not right. He just was a darling.’
My feelings here got the better of me, and I could not help giving a sort of ecstatic grunt to save exploding altogether.
‘What was that noise? Surely old Jane never put Frank in that room. She must have known that he was to have the little room the other end of the house when he did come. It must have been a mouse.’
‘Well, even if he was there, which he can't be, he would not have heard anything about himself except that you called him a duffer?’
‘Hasn't he, though,’ thought I. ‘That's all you know about it; quite enough to satisfy him, any way.’
Feeling convinced it was a mouse they had heard, they continued their conversation.
‘Ah, well! I wish he had come down with us in the Stormbird instead of last week, as papa said. I should have had someone to amuse me while you were engrossed with your tall friend,’ said Alice.
‘Yes, I wish he had. You would have been quite welcome to him for me. I do wish I had found out where my last victim was going. I didn't even hear his name. He didn't volunteer the information, and I didn't like to ask him. I don't as much know whether he was going to remain at Wanganui.’
‘Oh, I expect he will, but it doesn't matter. You'll have Mr Grosvenor down shortly. I heard him tell you he should follow you down. Do you know, Fanny, I cannot bear him. I was only joking when I said I did not like the tall young fellow. I think him far preferable to the baronet's son. You remember our friends, the Grahams, in Auckland, where we met him, said they did not quite know what to make of him; that he was introduced to them by an acquaintance, who admitted he had known him very slightly, having just met him a few days before, when he landed, for he had only been in Auckland a very short time. I don't like you making such a friend of a gentleman you have only met two or three times.’
‘Oh, I know all about that, but I am certain he is what he says. You are far too suspicious of strangers, Alice. But come along, we must hurry down and lay the breakfast table.’
With this they left the room, having evidently finished their toilettes. My sensations, as I thought over what I had heard, were varied. I was very vexed to think my cousins had met Grosvenor. Was he coming in my way again with his specious tongue, and what the ladies appeared to consider his fascinating manner? If so, should I be able to get the better of him as I had done on board ship? If there were any mutinies about I might, but without some similar chance of showing our respective mettles I might find a difficulty. If I related the scene there would be only my word against his, for he would doubtless swear that he worked wonders. I really could not prove that he is not what he pretends, although I have grave suspicions. Even simple little Alice seems to have doubts about him. There must be something wrong about the cur. However, I determined to trust to luck. It was a great advantage her being a cousin, and I should see far more of her than he would, being always in the same house. I was a fool to be fearful of the result, but I had a very humble opinion of my qualifications for gaining the affections, or even esteem, of the other sex. I felt I was not a ladies' man. I had not the self-confident manner and outward address which appear to go so far in securing the favour of the desired object.
I could now hear Fanny's lovely voice, as she flitted about her household duties singing an old song, always a great favourite of mine. As I entered the breakfast-room she was trilling the words, ‘Her bright smile haunts me still,’ in her rich melodious tones.
‘Yes, my dear Miss Fanny, you are right, it does haunt me still,’ I exclaimed, and to my great surprise—for am I not naturally a bashful man?—I positively gave her such a shower of cousinly salutes that her song was instantly checked. Nor was this the only consequence of my rash act, for with a wild fierce look in her sparkling dark eyes, which only appeared when she considered herself insulted, she returned my fire by a storm of most uncousinly blows on my devoted ears with her delicate hands.
‘How dare you take such a liberty, sir? I'll teach you manners,’ she exclaimed, when she could find words.
‘I always thought that sort of thing was correct when cousins met, is it not?’
Her look of surprise was grand—which of her looks was not?
‘What, are you our cousin Frank? I had not the remotest idea, and you never told me, although we travelled all the way from Auckland together.’
‘But, my dear cousin,’ I answered, ‘how could I tell you when I didn't even know that my uncle had been married, or that I had any cousins in New Zealand, till he told me himself lase night? Then I never happened to hear your name on board.’
‘We did not know yours either. However, “all's well that ends well;” but I must say you have a nice way of introducing yourself to a new cousin.’
‘Well,’ I replied, colouring even more than she did, ‘I thought it very nice, at least part of it, and I am glad you enjoyed it, too.’
‘Now, Master Frank you are a cool one. You know very well that is not what I meant.’
‘I may appear cool to you, Fanny, but in reality I am awfully hot,
‘What could I do when a gentleman I considered but a three days’ acquaintance insulted me in such a manner? I can't quite forgive you yet, though you are my cousin.’
Then suddenly remembering that I had not spoken a word to Alice, I turned to her to pursue my method of saluting cousins, but whether it was that my effort lacked energy in this case, or that the young lady was prepared, I only succeeded in brushing my lips against her back hair, as she slipped from my grasp and left the room—to call them to breakfast, she said. In this case I was not disappointed at my ill-success. Alice shortly returned and whispered some words to Fanny, causing her to colour deeply and cast a glance at me, lowering her eyes again instantly.
‘How did you sleep, Frank?’ was her next remark. ‘I fear not well. By some mistake you were put in the wrong room. Did we disturb you when we came home?’
‘No, not in the least. I slept splendidly, only waking up as I heard you singing in the breakfast room. I then jumped up and dressed in a great hurry.’
I hope this wilful preversion of the truth will be forgiven me. It effected its object, and put the young ladies at their ease at once.
‘Oh, did you? I'm glad of that,’ looking with a glance of relief at Alice. ‘It's so very unpleasant to pass a wakeful night.’
Charlie and his father now came in desperately hungry. They had been out making arrangements for the day's mustering. In a very few minutes a sumptuous breakfast was on the table, and we all did it full justice.
‘Now, girls, get on your habits. I suppose you want to see the fun. Going to muster the cattle ont he black ranges. A pretty wild lot. Frank says he can ride. He will know better to-night. I brought up your traps, Frank. Don't bother to open them this morning.’
‘I'll just get out my saddle and bridle; it won't take a minute.’
‘Charlie, go and help Tim run in the horses. I'll be ready by the time they're saddled.’
We all left the room. I went to get my saddle unpacked. While so engaged Charlie came rushing up convulsed with laughter.
‘I have just been catching it,’ he said; ‘it's such a lark. The girls had fixed that when you did come, though we didn't expect you for a month or two, you were to have another room, but knowing they'd be chattering about you in the morning, and thinking you'd like to heat what they had got to say, I told old Jane to put you in there. Just now they asked her where she put you, and when she told them they were in such a funk. That's why they asked how you slept. They said when you went out they were so glad you slept so well, you could not have overheard them. But as they hammered me for my little joke, I told them you were cramming them, and that you had overheard all they said.’
‘You young scamp, you! I'll hammer you for telling such lies as that.’
‘You've got to catch me first, though,’ said he, darting out of the room, and with a bound he sprang on the back of a horse which was standing by the verandah, and was off like a dart down the paddock for the other horses.
I Had by this time unpacked my saddle and bridle. I was very proud of my turnout, and while the horses are being run in I will give the history of it. It had been presented to me by an old friend of my father's, and, I may say, of mine also. It consisted of an English hunting saddle with plain flaps, a bit and bridoon, and a breastplate with martingale attached. The donor was an ardent follower of the chase, and a man whose opinion on all matters connected with sport was law. His appointments were all made to order from patterns supplied by himself of the very beat material that could be obtained, and were well calculated for the work for which they were required. I need hardly remark that, boy like, I regarded my friend as a little god. He certainly was my godfather, but it was not his strenuous efforts to fulfil his duties in that line that caused me to form such a divine opinion of him; it was his prowess in the field, and his painstaking endeavours to school me, from the time I made my first appearance on an old pony, into as cool and collected a follower of the noble sport as he was. Although by no means considered a hard riding man, yet he was always ‘there or thereabouts,’ to use his own term. He rode with a temperate judgment, which generally enabled him to see out the most severe run, even if his second horse did not happen to be available, when the hard riding lot, who had jumped their nags at the first burst were altogether ‘out of the hunt.’ What wonder that the friends of such a man should be astounded to hear of his determination to give up hunting! The reason, however, was not long a secret. He had, at the ripe age of forty-five, yielded himself up to the fascinations of a charming widow of thirty or thereabouts. Her former husband had been killed by a fall in the field, curiously enough owing to neglecting the advice of the man who eventually became his successor, and riding a weedy brute at a jump, which was entirely beyond his powers. The good lady never uttered a word about wishing him to give up hunting before marriage, yet directly after she bored him so unbearably with commands to be careful for her sake, and implored him so repeatedly to sell his two best hunters—Harkaway and Defiance—for she was certain they were vicious, that at last he determined to give up the sport for the sake of peace and quietness. He informed his friends that he was getting tired of hunting, and settled down into a tame married man, only occasionally appearing at the meets in the pony carriage with his wife. When his former comrades recovered from their astonishment, and became acquainted with his good lady, they broadly asserted that she wore the unmentionables, and as the poor fellow could not ride without them, he had to accept the friendly cover of the pony phaeton. I being young, and extremely verdant at the time, had never heard the expression before, and caused immense amusement by indignantly remarking that ‘I thought it a great shame and very unladylike of her to wear the buckskins on purpose to prevent him
To return, however, to my story. The ladies now made their appearance, ready equipped, and we strolled out to see the horses driven up. Instead of the groom going out with a halter and sieve of corn, as is the custom at home, there was Master Charlie on a bare-backed horse tearing after the others at full gallop with a most formidable stock-whip, which, in my futile attempts to crack, I found long enough to curl round my neck an indefinite number of times and take a bit out of my cheek to boot. I remember Fanny's cool remark on that occasion: ‘That's the sort, Frank. It won't hurt you to lose a little of your cheek.’
How the cunning old stock horse, which Charlie bestrode, seemed to delight in circumventing the attempts of his mates to escape, evidently thinking to himself: ‘I'm in for a day's work, and I'll take all sorts of care that you don't get off.’ As they were at last safely run in, and the stock-yard gate closed, Fanny inquired of Charlie what horse I was to ride.
‘Oh, old Playboy, I suppose.’
‘But you know he occasionally bucks since Tim gave him that sore back.’
‘That's nothing. Father says Frank can ride.’
I was thinking I would ask for a quieter mount for my first attempt at stock riding until I should have discovered what this wonderful buck jumping would be like.
‘Let me ride him, Charlie,’ exclaimed Fanny. ‘He really is not fit for Frank. He can have my mare.’
I could not stand this, that a lady should imagine she could ride a horse which was not docile enough for me; nor could I bear the idea of my adored cousin risking her life on such a brute, so I put in my vote for Playboy, and ran across for my saddle and bridle. Charlie and the stockman had the ill manners to burst out laughing when they saw them, and I fear that Fanny joined in, much to my astonishment and disgust.
‘Don't put on that useless stuff,’ remarked Charlie. ‘Ride him in this,’ producing an old rusty snaffle bridle, the leather work of which was substantial enough. ‘That will only torment him, and get his monkey up.’
‘But how could I stop him and turn him with that when we had headed the cattle? I much prefer a curb.’
They gave way to more mirth at my expense, and informed me that I had better wear the curb myself, as I should require more stopping than the horse, and so the event proved. Fanny requested me to be guided by her, and ride the animal in the bridle to which he was accustomed, and to dispense with the martingale, as he did not require it, but that I might stick to my saddle if I liked. I thought it best to obey my fair instructress, merely stating that I meant to do my utmost to stick to it, and that if I left it it would be more my misfortune than fault. It was, however, with great reluctance I put on the old snaffle, as it entirely spoilt the effect, and I almost wished I had taken one of the old stock saddles as well; it would have been more in accord with the bridle. Later on, when I had tried them, I entirely discarded my hunting saddle in favour of one of these colonial stock saddles. The large knee pads save one many a
Two handsome fillies had been saddled for the ladies, and I had the sublime felicity of assisting Miss Fanny to her saddle, while Charlie put up his other sister, then mounted his own wiry-looking black pony. My uncle was on a powerful-looking bay. I got on Playboy with considerable caution while Tim hold his head. He then jumped on a very ragged-looking, nondescript nag, which, as far as appearance went, matched his master wonderfully well, but when there was work to be accomplished the pair proved very hard to beat. Playboy looked very mild till I was fairly seated, for I believe he scorned to take an unfair advantage of a new-chum. When, however, I wished him to move he suddenly appeared possessed with an insane wish to nibble at his tail by stretching his head between his forelegs, and his tail in like manner between his hind ones, giving at the same time spasmodic bounds in the air, which made me imagine I was on a conglomeration of whalebone and india-rubber instead of a horse. I held on to my reins like grim death. Fortunately, my boast that I could ride was not unfounded, for although I shot at each bound a considerable distance in the air, yet I always dropped into the saddle again with a bang that threatened the tree, or the seat of my new riding pants. Luckily, also, Mr Playboy was supposed only to be actuated with a spirit of fun, and when thus influenced he always bucked straight forward, and not in all directions promiscuously, or, as I was going straight on, we should have parted. As it was, after every bound I felt less certain about the length of my endurance, and had he kept it up a very few moments longer I should have disgraced myself by a fall. I gained great applause from the girls, more, I suppose, for the way I regained my seat after every bound than from my prowess in keeping it, but uncle did not applaud. ‘Hold tighter with your knees next time, you duffer, or you'll come to grief.’
‘How could I when he wasn't always there to hold?’ I panted, devoutly hoping the next time would not arrive.
‘Hold him there, then. What's a saddle for but to stick to?’
This advice was doubtless valuable, but remarkably hard to follow. After this little game, as they called it, Playboy settled down to his work, and I cantered alongside of my adorable cousin, whose lively conversation increased if possible my intense adoration for her.
A lady who can ride shows off nowhere to more perfection than on a neat and spirited mount, and these cousins of mine could ride. I use the word as expressing far more than simply sitting a horse. Anyone with pluck enough and a little experience can do that, but these girls sat their horses as if, indeed, they were part of the animal themselves, and handled their mouths with a light touch, as if they were aware that horses have feelings which should be respected. Although only quite recently broken, they managed them splendidly.
We chatted away on various subjects, and taking advantage of Alice being out of earshot, I presume I must have, with my usual bluntness and impetuosity, too suddenly approached the tender theme of love, for Fanny showed an unmistakeable desire to change the
‘Are not those clouds lovely?’
‘Yes, I replied, ‘but where are they?’
‘I do not know,’ she answered, for on looking round the azure skies not even a fleecy mass as big as a man's hand could be descried. Never at a loss, she added playfully, ‘I must have meant the hills.’
‘They, too, are superb; in fact, everything appears to have assumed, its noblest aspect to-day,’ I exclaimed, gazing rapturously at my companion.
‘Do you read Longfellow? He is my favourite poet, for we do read poetry in the bush, though you may not believe it. To-day is one of those days he has immortalized in his poem, “A Day of Sunshine.” I always think of the second verse, which exactly describes my sensations, especially when enjoying a good gallop on a spring morning.’
‘So it does mine,’ I stupidly rejoined, ‘but I forget how it goes just now. Do you remember?’
‘I should just think I did.’
‘Ah, yes, that's it; it's exactly how I feel. Curious coincidence isn't it, that it should affect us both in the same way?’
Before she had time to answer this exceedingly bold remark of mine we suddenly, in turning round the bend of a hill, came in sight of the rest of our party waiting for us. It is true we had considerably dawdled.
‘Come, Frank,’ shouted uncle, ‘this won't do. All behind when there's work to be done. The girls can keep along this range. You and I, Frank, will ride up that valley. Charlie and Tim can look over yonder flat. We'll all meet at the camping-ground by Deep Creek.’
‘Oh, papa,’ exclaimed Fanny, ‘Frank had better accompany us, as he can't be of much use to you. We can show him all about the run, and the likely places to find cattle from the top of the range.’
I glanced thankfully at my cousin for her thoughtfulness.
‘Nonsense, Fanny. It's work to-day, not flirting and fun for Master Frank.’
We therefore parted for the present. The country was covered with high fern on both sides of us as we rode along, but away to the right lay a large extent of dense bush. The young shoots of the fern are considered by the cattle a great delicacy, and they come out of the bush in the spring to enjoy this desirable change of provender, although judging from their remarkably sleek and fat appearance, when compared with paddock fed cattle, they have certainly no cause to grumble at their winter fare and shelter. The former consists of the leaves and small branches of trees, which they show great dexety in breaking down by twisting them in their horns. The karaka, a tree with very brittle branches, and broad dark green leaves, is a special favourite with them, and when it is plentiful it is astonishing how they thrive, even in the depth of winter, camping in the warm bush gullies.
Uncle having a large extent of bush on his run, made a practice
As we rode up the valley we espied a mob of cattle near the bush. Our object was to get quietly up before we should attract their attention, and intercept their certain endeavours to make for cover on being startled by our appearance. We therefore struck off to the right, instead of riding straight up to them, and, gaining the bush, akirted it without making a sound until we had the advantage of the required position. The wind was fortunately in our favour. When they at last caught sight of us, having been roused by the noise made by my horse stepping on a dead branch and cracking it, the fun began. With heads and tails erect they made for the friendly shelter with a mighty rush at a pace which I feared would leave us no chance of heading them. Uncle, however, was off at full gallop to turn the leaders, cracking his formidable stockwhip, and shouting to me to follow up and prevent the stragglers from breaking in behind him.
I was intending to take it easy, thinking that swiftness would not be required for my part of the performance, but Playboy evidently knew better, for he went off at his utmost speed, regardless of his rider's wishes. By tearing along some distance behind uncle, we managed to achieve our object, of keeping the cattle going parallel to the bush without allowing them to enter. Still, the danger was not over, and if they once beat us the chance of securing them was lost for that time, as horses cannot penetrate the tangled under-scrub, though cattle crash through it at a great rate. If uncle could but turn the leaders out more on to the open, there might be some hope, but his utmost efforts could not achieve more than he was now effecting. His gallant bay would have headed the smartest amongst these wild bush cattle, but his rider had to restrain him, as he noted an inclination amongst some headstrong brutes a little behind him in the fiercely rushing straggling mob, to break off and take a lead of their own. A moment's slackening of his speed prevented this, then on again for dear life. While watching for a moment his splendid horsemanship and clever tactics, and thereby relaxing my own vigilance, a big calf rushed by my horse's nose and made for solitude. The old stock horse, without a motion from me, swerved round and started after it, again swinging round, though at full gallop, as he headed it, and this time so very abruptly that, not being aware of his intentions, I had not time to swing with him, but shot straight over his head, and found myself seated on the ground unhurt. I jumped up. Playboy very obligingly, and
‘Where is old Rough? I left him with you,’ asked uncle, as I rode up to him.
The old dog answered the question himself by scampering out of the bush in full pursuit of the lost calf, catching hold of him by the heels now and then with no gentle nip, and making him roar for mercy, or his mother. The old lady rushed back from the mob go defend her offspring, and Playboy galloped after her against my will, but had to retire just as swiftly, as she lowered her horns and rushed at him, the pursuer thus becoming the pursued. I was in a great fright. I fancied the old horse could not escape the infuriated beast who, rendered mad by the danger which threatened her calf, and evidently considering him the cause of it, followed with head down only a few feet behind his tail. If he fell what would be my fate? My uncle I could hear convulsed with laughter, which I thought most cruel. The pace continued hot, but we did not gain on our ruthless adversary. I tried ineffectually to make it hotter by kicking my horse and giving him the whip. I had no spurs. ‘Could he be done up? If so, I am lost,’ I thought to myself. We had been going in a circle, and were now approaching the spot where my uncle was standing, when suddenly he made a noise like a calf in distress. The effect was electrical. The old cow stopped short and gazed round to see where the noise came from, when old Rough had time to get hold of her heels, and made her rush back to the mob which her son had long since regained. I rode up and thanked uncle for his well-timed interference, as I said the horse could not have held out much longer, and the furious beast would have almost certainly gored me to death.
‘Saved your life—rot!’ replied he. ‘Horse was no more knocked up than I am. No beast alive could catch Playboy. He was caught once half asleep. Look at that old scar along his ribs; that's a lesson he never forgets. He doesn't trouble much as long as he knows they can't reach him. Likes to play with them.’
So all my terrors were needless. In the moment of danger I had thought of the sweet sympathy I should obtain from my cousin if I escaped with life, but this anticipation proved also a fraud.
‘Ah, Frank,’ she exclaimed, with a ringing laugh, ‘so you had to turn tail to an old cow, had you? We saw you as we cantered down the range.’
‘Had to turn tail? why, what else could I do?’
‘Why, Charlie would have given her a crack or two with his whip and beaten her off. She's very easily frightened, for I see it's old Polly, one that I used to milk a few years ago, though certainly she has got pretty wild since that.’
Here was sweet sympathy with a vengeance, to be laughed at for running away from an old milking cow. However, I bore it as well as I could.
Charlie and Tim soon joined us with another mob they had found, and we started off for the stockyard with the lot. The scene was one of wild excitement. About one hundred head of cattle of various colours rushing madly about, wild as hares, for it must be remembered that, save at mustering time, they rarely set eyes on a human
Chased By a Cow.
This job had not as yet fallen to my turn, but just as I was congratulating myself on only obtaining one spill, of which the others, fortunately, knew nothing, a shout from uncle arrested my thoughts, and called my attention to a beast which had just shot out of the mob. Playboy saw him as soon as I did, and was off in pursuit, going through the high fern with a succession of bounds to prevent its entangling his legs, a most difficult gait to sit. However, as they were all watching, I determined to stick to my pigskin at all hazards when the horse should ‘turn on a threepenny bit,’ the term employed to denote the movement of a good stock horse on heading a beast. I succeeded only very moderately, for I lost both my stirrups, and only saved a fall by vigorously embracing the animal's neck. ‘Would that it were Fanny's. What a different sensation it would cause,’ was my thought as I scrambled back into my saddle, only to be slung clean out of it by another sharp turn which the horse took to counteract a similar one on the part of the steer. I found the ground hard enough to irretrievably damage my new pants, to say nothing of my devoted self, and my uncle, galloping past in pursuit of the beast, added insult to injury by giving me a sounding crack with his stockwhip for being such a muff as to fall off.
‘I told you how it would be, you young fool, if you didn't hold well with your kness!’ was all the satisfaction I could get out of him for the ill-usage I had received.
After this mishap I managed to concentrate all my energies in going with my horse, as he seemed to know most about the business, and we soon had the cattle all safely yarded. Then those fit for the butcher were draughted out, and any calves which were judged old enough were taken from their mothers, branded with a hot iron, and put into the weaning paddock, the remainder of the mob being turned out again on the run.
At tea that evening my riding became the subject of conversation, and I must say of some very adverse and unkind criticism. I had, of course, to own to the last cropper, and also to having been frightened half out of my life by an old cow, which I did meekly, but as a savinng clause I affirmed that I had at least learnt to sit a buck-jumper.
‘No, Frank,’ said Miss Fanny, ‘you mustn't lay that flattering unction to your soul till you can ride Bucking Billy. Playboy's mild attempts were but childplay to his when his monkey's up, which it certainly would be when you mounted.’
They all seemed to see some stupid joke in this, and were highly a used, till Fanny explained that she meant nothing rude, only that
‘Billy certainly is the most inveterate buck-jumper. Never saw his equal when he begins,’ said uncle. ‘The day Charlie mounted him I saw directly it was a case. Bucked saddle and rider clean over his head without even smashing the girth.’
‘But I stuck to the saddle, dad. No man could do more.’
‘Yes, boy, you did, and I was proud of you. I hadn't to hide you as I did Frank to-day.’
‘Yes, uncle, you did, and not lightly either, and I thought it remarkably unkind of you.’
‘Couldn't stand seeing a nephew of mine chucked off by a horse spinning round.’
I went to bed that night considerably mortified by the various humiliations of the day. To be thrown twice, chased and mortally frightened by an old cow, stockwhipped, and, worse than all, well laughed at by my friends, including the lady on whom I had hoped to make an impression by my brilliant achievements—this was too trying. But I slept.
The next morning was the Sabbath, and I was not sorry, for to tell the truth I felt that the rest would be very pleasant to my limbs, which were stiffened by my falls and the severe exercise to which I had of late been little accustomed. Sunday is, I may say, a day well kept in those parts of the country where churches are accessible, and even where they are not a clergyman, should he visit a station, will get an attentive congregation, which will be none the less so because the woolshed or parlour may have to do duty for the sacred edifice of more civilized districts. Where neither clergymen or lay readers are heard among the back country stations, bushmen's huts, or prospectors' camps, Sunday is the general washing day. You see the roughly clad, bearded men washing and mending their clothes, and doing extra baking and cooking for the week to come, and such of their neighbours as are near enough visit them and exchange news. My uncle, although rough, and to a great extent unpolished, yet never let a Sunday pass without giving his hands a chance of hearing the word of God. If there was no service by a clergyman near enough for them to attend, he would himself hold a short but impressive one in the parlour, so that although I missed the chimes of the old country Sabbath bells, yet there was no need of missing divine worship.
The next week or so we continued the mustering. We were generally not nearly so successful as on the first day. Sometimes, indeed, we returned without a single head after a hard day's hunt.
The young ladies only occasionally accompanied us. I several times tried to make excuses to stay at home with them, but uncle would not hear of it.
‘Work while you're young, boy,’ he said. ‘You're beginning to learn to ride now; it would be a pity to miss a lesson.’
I was rather huffed at the idea that I was only just beginning to learn to ride, yet it must be confessed that from one reason or another I certainly rarely missed a day without having a spill for the first week. The style of riding was so totally different to that to which I had been accustomed.
An event now happened which was hailed with general satisfaction. It was the arrival in our midst of a lively young widow. Her husband had departed this life in the old country. Why he had done so and left such a pleasant partner, history telleth not, so we'll presume it was because he could not help it. Her brother, an old bachelor, Mr Bowden by name, and our nearest neighbour, had, on hearing the sad news, at once written and asked her to come out to keep house for him. Having no other ties in the old country, she answered his invitation in person. Although I said that this gentleman was our nearest neighbour, yet our residences were at least five miles apart. Still, my uncle and he being very great chums, often passed social evenings at one another's houses, and on the arrival of Mrs Fortescue—for that was the name this lady had exchanged for her former one—the visits certainly did not grow less. Fanny and Alice were naturally delighted at the idea of securing a lady friend at such an easy distance, and were very anxious to call on the stranger and see what she was like as soon as they heard she had arrived. This they did after allowing her a few days to get things straight after her journey, and I had the pleasure of escorting them.
We found Mrs Fortescne a lady of lively and engaging manners, and also of very charming appearance. She inquired kindly after uncle. This we thought rather strange, as he had never mentioned having met her, and we were not aware that he had been down at Mr. Bowden's since her arrival.
‘Oh yes, he has,’ she exclaimed when I mentioned this. ‘I don;t think a day has passed without his calling in as he rode by. He seems to be very much attached to my brother, for although he talked of having business with him, I never heard him converse about it. What a very pleasant old gentleman he is,’ she continued.
‘He is generally considered so,’ I replied, ‘but whatever you do, do not fall off your horse when he is about, or you may alter your opinion about him’ I then related the little incident of his treatment of his nephew on a certain occasion.
‘I hope it did you good,’ she laughingly replied. ‘Boys are always the better for a moderate application of the whip now and then.’
I resolved to keep quiet about that performance for the future, as the relation of it appeared always to bring me more ridicule than sympathy. Having demolished me, Mrs Fortescue turned to my cousins.
‘Oh, by the bye, a gentleman of rather aristocratic appearance, who came down in the same steamer from Auckland with me, asked if I knew the Misses Melton. He thought I was an old resident here. He is going to make a short stay near Wanganui, and see as much of the country as possible.’
Fanny could not conceal a look of pleased surprise, which I admit I beheld with a feeling very near akin to wrath.
‘Did not the gentleman show you a photo of his father with the name, Sir Charles Grosvenor, at the foot of it?’ I inquired in a voice which turned all their glances towards me.
‘Yes, he did, Mr Melton. You knew him, then?’
‘He came out in the same ship with me, and was thought very little of by the time we got to the end of the voyage,’ I replied, thinking that by this simple sentence, delivered with the emphasis I had placed on it, would effectually put a spoke in his wheel.
‘How strange he never told us, Alice, that Frank had come out with him.’
‘Oh, I don't know, Fanny. We never informed him that we expected a cousin from England, so he would never think of Frank being a relation. The name is not uncommon.’
‘What bad tastes your fellow-passengers must have had not to appreciate Mr Grosvenor. He seemed to me to be a very gentlemanly, pleasant companion. Possessed of a good deal of conceit, certainly, but that made him all the more amusing. He told me that the voyage had been a most unpleasant one, as the passengers were such a queer lot he did not care to associate with them. A lot of unlicked cubs I think he called the young men on board,’ said Mrs Fortescue, looking at me with a merry twinkle in her eye, while my cousins indulged in a hearty laugh.
‘You see, Frank, he did not like you any more than you did him,’ said Fanny.
I saw it was no use trying to make them understand the sort of fellow he was, so I did not reply, though I thought to myself I should be very sorry if he did care for me.
‘Where is he going to stay, Mrs Fortescue?’ inquired Fanny.
‘I heard that young Sylvester, who has been up to Auckland, met him there, and invited him to pay a visit to his parents domicile, wherever that is.’
‘Oh, I know, about fifteen miles from here. They are old friends of ours. I do hope they will give a party while he is with them, don't you, Alice? It will be so nice to take Frank and show him what a New Zealand “free and easy” is like.’
Will it be credited that I fervently hoped this party would not come off, but did not say so? Then followed some lively chafl between Fanny and the widow.
‘Ah, Miss Melton, though you had the advantage of a short previous acquaintance, you had better look out. I greatly admire the young man, and may be tempted to try and cut you out.’
‘Yes, Mrs Fortescue, I know that we poor, inexperienced girls have quite as much need of old Mr Weller's advice to “beware of widders” as ever his dutiful son Samuel had, for you can always give us points and beat us, in gaining the affections of eligible young men. Have pity on me please, for I couldn't bear to lose him.’
This was said in a light, playful tone, but it gave me a remarkably heavy, unpleasant sensation.
‘Pity, my dear, is utterly unknown either in love or war, so look out. I have given you fair warning.’
Mr Bowden now entered the room, and prevailed on us to stay and take tea.
‘I met young Sylvester at Wanganui this afternoon with that counter-jumper-looking new-chum friend of his. They entrusted me with a billet doux for you, Miss Fanny. I hope it was from Sylvester,
‘Counter-jumper, Fred!’ exclaimed his sister. ‘He's no more a counter-jumper than you are. He's a baronet's son travelling for pleasure. He showed me his father's (old Sir Charles') likeness, and what's more, Miss Melton and I were quarrelling when you came in who should have him.’
‘Baronet's son, is he? Well, there's no judging by appearances. Notwithstanding his get-up I could have sworn he was a draper's assistant, or a bagman out for a holiday. I am certainly surprised at your tastes, young ladies, to trouble your heads about a fop like him while there are so many fine, manly young fellows about.’
I always thought a lot of Mr Bowden's ideas of things in general.
‘Oh, Mr Bowden, you know we were only joking, but he really is a baronet's son, and has property at home,’ remarked Fanny, with more than her usual colour. ‘Alice,’ she continued, ‘here is a note from Mrs Sylvester. They are to have their usual party on Christmas Day, and we are asked. She says we must take Frank and father, if we can persuade him.’
‘Christmas Day? Why that's two months off yet.’
‘Yes, but wait a bit. I see on looking it over here is “turn over” at the bottom of the page. Ah, ah! I will read it out. “But as I fear you young ladies will think Christmas long in coming, we hope I fear you young ladies will think Christmas long in coming, we hope to see you all here this day fortnight to a little dance.” There, what do you think of that? I shall have one more chance of making the do you think of that? I shall have one more chance of making the running before you cut me out, Mrs Fortescue.’
‘Not so fast, young lady,’ put in Mr Bowden. ‘I have also a note here, which in all probability will be an answer to one of mine inquiring the price of some pigs, but there is just an atom of a chance that it may contain an invitation too. No, it looks more like the price of pigs. Yes, by Jove, it is.’ “Dear Bowden,—Re the pigs you wrote me about last week—”’
‘Bless the pigs,’ interposed his sister.
‘Don't interrupt me, my dear. “Re the pigs you wrote me about last week. I have not yet sold them, and as you don't see such beauties every day in the week, much less get a chance of buying them, come and look at them. We're sure to make a deal. Yours as ever, Julius Sylvester.” Just like our luck, no invitation,’ said he, closing the letter and putting it in his pocket.
‘Now, Mr Bowden, I am certain there's more than you have read in that letter. You're humbugging us. I am convinced of it by the twinkle of your eye. You don't know his little tricks as well as I do, Mrs Fortescue. Make him give it up, so that we can see for ourselves.’
On this they all set on him in such a manner that I wished I was the assaulted party, although if his expressions were any criterion he did not seem to like it a bit.
‘That's just the way of the world. The one that wants anything particularly generally has to go without it, but the fellow who would rather be without it gets it easily,’ thought I morosely.
These thoughts had barely crossed my mind when Bowden, finding himself overpowered, and in danger of having to give up the note, threw it over his head to me.
‘Stick to it, Frank, my boy,’ he shouted. ‘Don't let them have it. Won't have my business letters looked over by young ladies.’
This turned the tide of battle on to me, and I was nothing loath that it should be so. Mrs Fortescue assisted them to secure me, then stood aloof, but Fanny and Alice acted their part so well that they at last secured the coveted bit of paper almost torn to rags. The invitation was there. It ran in the following unorthodox fashion:— ‘Wife says you'd better come and see the pigs this day fortnight. We'll have a ham cut from one of their deceased brethren on the table, so that with the help of a drop of good whiskey you'll be able both to taste and see, and form a good idea what you are purchasing. There will be some young people here dancing. Bring your sister if she has arrived. They won't interrupt us much.’
‘No, we shan't interrupt you much, for you and Mr Sylvester can and will dance the young fellows to a standstill. They are both passionately fond of it,’ added she, turning to Mrs Fortescue. ‘I think I see either of them talking of pigs when a waltz or galop is struck up.
‘How jolly! Then it seems we are all going,’ remarked Mr Bowden, ‘and mind, Miss Fanny, for your sins towards me in making me out to be so frivolous as to care for hopping round with a lot of—little better than children, I must have the first galop, and if I don't make the pace a hot one my name's not Bowden.’
I had been rather quiet during this dialogue, as I did not like the idea of Grosvenor being one of the party, but Mrs Fortescue now turned to me, and we were soon engaged in a very animated discugsion, in the middle of which, to our surprise, uncle entered the room.
‘Why, papa,’ said Alice, ‘You need not have come for us. Frank would have seen us home all right.’
‘Oh, I forgot to tell Frank to ask you, Bowden, when you could come for a pig hunt, so I thought I'd just look in. I was down this end of the run. I see a lot of fresh rooting about. The beggars are getting too numerous altogether.’
He spoke constrainedly, and I noticed that for some reason or other my matter-of-fact uncle was evidently ill at ease.
‘We have just received an invitation to a dance at Mrs Sylvester's for this day fortnight, papa, and we are to take Frank. Mr Bowden and his sister are also asked.’
‘I don't see how you can accept. I shall have to go to Wanganui on business that day.’
‘Oh, we must go, but you can get to Wanganui just the same. Frank can drive us. You never care about dances, so won't be sorry to get out of going,’ said Fanny.
‘We'll see about it. Wouldn't trust Frank to drive. Something like his riding, I expect. Boasted about it, then fell off because the horse turned round.’
‘Ah, but perhaps you could improve his driving, as I hear you did his riding, Mr Melton. A very striking improvement you effected, I understand,’ remarked the widow, smiling and turning from me to him.
‘Heaven forbid!’ exclaimed I, ‘that I should receive another such.’
‘What, has the young fool told you all about that, Mrs Fortescue?’
‘Yes, and I thought it very cruel of you to use such forcible means of punishment, Mr Melton. I had thought of asking you to give me some lessons, as I hear that you are such an excellent horseman, but I am really afraid I shall have to get them second-hand from your nephew.’
Uncle here certainly cast quite a savage glance at me as he replied to her last remark, ‘a man who can't ride himself is no good to teach others, Mrs Fortescue.’
‘But he has been telling me of some of his exploits with hounds at home, and it is hardly fair of you to say he can't ride because he has not quite mastered the mysteries of stock-riding yet. As I do not require my equestrian education to be carried into that branch of the art, I believe he will be quite efficient enough to instruet me.’
‘Very well, Mrs Fortescue, everyone to his or her taste,’ he replied, shortly, and turning away, engaged his old friend in conversation.
Fanny proposed that the widow should commence her proposed series of lessons as soon as possible. They could then ride over to the Sylvesters together. The horses would be handy if there were any riding parties or picnics.
‘But shan't we return the morning after the dance?’ asked Mrs Fortescue.
‘Oh, I hope not. We never do from there. We always have riding parties and fun of one sort or other. We shall be lucky if we get back within a week.’
‘That will be charming. If I can only learn enough about riding to pass fairly well in the crowd. I cannot bear to exhibit myself as a beginner. I must do a thing well or not at all.’
‘We will ride down to-morrow and give you your first lessons if you like. If papa can spare Frank he shall come too, but I doubt if he will.’
After the tea was cleared away we retired to the drawing-room, a charming little apartment which the widow had, with a woman's tact, contrived to fix up out of what had been her brother's bachelor lumber-room. Fanny at once caught sight of a piano, and immediately exclaimed:
‘Oh, what a love of a piano! You brought it out with you, Mrs Fortescue, I presume. May I try it?’
‘Certainly, my dear.’
Fanny commenced playing a lively galop, and Mr Bowden seized Alice and whirled her round the room, while my uncle asked Mrs Fortescue if he might have the pleasure, and receiving a favourable answer, flew round with her in so graceful a manner that I could not help smiling at the contrast between his appearance at the present moment and that of the individual I had encountered at the stockyard gate on my first arrival.
The fun grew fast and furious. I was, indeed, the only sedate individual in the room, as my education in this particular had been neglected. I could not dance.
‘Not dance?’ exclaimed the ladies in a bieath, when I acknowledged my incapability. ‘We'll soon teach you. You must have
After a very pleasant evening we rode home in the moonlight. Alice accompanied her father and left Fanny to me. I enjoyed that ride. What can compare to a ride home after a party with the girl who you love best of all the world, for it had come to this with me;—not a breath of wind stirring; the glorious moonlight pouring down, and with its softened colouring giving an almost unearthly beauty to everything it touches, especially to the form on which you love to gaze; the only sound to be heard besides your subdued voices being the melodious notes of the morepork in the distant bush, or the gurgling of a splashing stream. These bright moonlight nights in New Zealand require only to be seen to be enjoyed, and it is needless to state that much more enjoyment may be obtained from their contemplation by two congenial spirits of divers sexes, than by one alone.
Fanny was in high spirits at the idea of the coming dance, to say nothing about the prospect of meeting Grosvenor again. Still, I reaped the benefit of her animation for that evening. She chatted away merrily to me about my forthcoming dancing lessons and other subjects, till I was bold enough to ask her for the first dance, always supposing I had by that time sufficiently profited by her instructions to be capable of performing it. She replied that the first was really promised to Mr Bowden, who would not let her off, but that I should certainly have the second. I was rendered happy by securing this promise, for should I not be forcing Grosvenor to take a back seat. He was certain to ask in vain for what I had already obtained. We reached home all too soon to please me, and having turned out our horses, turned into bed ourselves.
The next morning uncle ordered Charlie and I to ride out and repair a certain piece of fencing at the far side of the run. This would in all probability occupy us the best part of the day. I endeavoured to persuade him that there was no immediate necessity for this particular job for a few days, as I much wished to be present at Mrs Fortescue's first appearance in the saddle, the more especially as I had promised to instruct her, and did not wish to break my word to a lady. But uncle was obdurate, and said she would get on just as well without my instructions, and that work must be attended to. I must confess that I was in the worst of tempers as we cantered off with our luncheons in our pockets. Charlie rattled away in his usual boyish manner till, noticing how completely out of humour I was by my monosyllabic replies to his nonsense, he remarked it was too bad of his governor to send me away when I wanted a day with the girls.
‘It's never any good trying to make dad change his orders when he's once given them, though. He was always awfully obstinate that way, but he's worse now.’
‘Why, I wonder?’
‘Can't you see?’ he replied, with a discernment I did not give him credit for. ‘Dad is sweet on the widow, and he's jealous of you, so sends you out of the way.’
‘Jealous of me! nonsense.’
‘I don't know so much about that, and what's more, I'll bet you a new hat he goes down there this very afternoon, though he said he had a lot of writing to do at home. I'll tell you what we'll do for a lark. We'll work like niggers and get the job done early, then canter
Charlie's dislike to the idea of a stepmother had made him very cute and watchful of his father's actions. I was delighted at the prospect of still obtaining the afternoon's enjoyment. The desire to be riding by Fanny's side, I need hardly say, far exceeded any wish to assist Mrs Fortescue in her first attempts at equestrian exercise.
We quickly arrived at our destination, and went to work with a will. Fortunately, the fence did not require so much repair as uncle bad expected, and we had it completed shortly after two o'clock. We then thought it advisable to demolish our luncheons. We had been too busy before, and, as Charlie said, it would save the trouble of carrying them any further. Untying and mounting our nags, we were soon at the homestead, when the old housekeeper informed us that uncle had gone for a ride with the young ladies.
‘Well, we must find him, Frank. Which way did they go, Jane?’
‘Down to'ards Mr Bowden's place, sir.’
‘I told you so,’ said Charlie, ‘we'll go after them then,’ so off we went at a gallop.
On approaching Mr Bowden's residence we noticed through the belt of trees my fair cousins on their steeds, and uncle holding a well-bred mare for Mrs Fortescue, and at the same time instructing her in the correct method of mounting. She was evidently taking her lessons very gratefully, for as we rode up on the soft soundless turf we could hear their conversation.
‘Thank you very much, Mr Melton. How nice of you to come all this way to give me riding lessons because Mr Frank could not possibly come. I cannot thank you enough.’
‘Oh, don't mention it. I'd ride a deal farther for that pretty speech. I hope I'll have the luck to get many such.’
‘Well, Mr Melton, if you value my pretty speeches, as you call them, so highly, I'll see what I can do in a small way to repay you for your trouble.’
‘Pretty good for dad. He's getting on,’ whispered Charlie to me.
‘Oh, I do value them more than I can say! And the speaker of them—Well, I can't tell you just now what I think of her. Tell you though some day shortly, I hope.’
‘Yes, I hope it will be soon, Mr Melton, for I should like to know what you think of me.’
‘It shall be as you wish, my dear. You'll allow me to call you so, won't you? I won't keep you long in suspense. Let's see they are not within hearing.’
‘But you are keeping me in suspense, sir, between my horse and the ground,’ answered she, for she had obeyed his instructions and stepped lightly into his hand, and in his confusion he had forgotten to give the necessary lift to place her in her saddle.
‘Well, dear,’ said he, not understanding her fully, ‘you see I am trying to explain myself. If you'll allow me I'll do it another time.’
‘I'll allow anything if you will only throw me up. I'm sure Mr Frank wouldn't have made such a mess of it.’
With this he placed her deftly in her saddle, muttering as he did so: ‘Confound it! we old shavers ought to be able to mount a lady or
‘I should think she is, dad,’ shouted Charlie through the trees. ‘I could have popped her up or popped the question in half the time.
‘Where did you come from, you young reprobate? Didn't send you to mend that fence with Frank?’ returned the old gentleman. livid with passion at being overheard.
‘Yes, dad, but we have finished it. We went home to look for you, to ask what to do next. We were told you were down here, so we came on down. You know you said we weren't to commence the other job without asking you about it.’
‘Frank is there, too, then, is he? How long have you been sneaking behind the shrubberies?’
‘Only a quarter of an hour, dad,’ exclaimed the mendacious youth, aware that he was in for a hiding, and determined, if possible, to deserve it. ‘We couldn't make you hear; besides, we thought it rude to interrupt you when talking to a lady.’
‘It's a deal ruder to stop and listen to what you ain't meant to hear, and that I'll teach you, my boy.’
‘I wouldn't have listened if you'd been talking business, dad, but I didn't think you could have any secrets to talk to Mrs Fortescue about.’
‘Don't answer me, you young dev—dog, I mean. Clear out and look round the cattle in the Ninety Acre paddock. Frank, be off with him. I thought you knew better, if the boy didn't. I'll talk to you by and by.’
‘We din't sneak behind the trees any quarter of an hour, uncle. Charlie is only in fun. We had only just that moment ridden up. As the wind was in our direction I'll confess we heard part of your conversation, but not much.’
I could not forbear a broad smile as I admitted this.
The old gentleman was furious, the more so that in a lady's presence he could not give his anger full scope. Had she not been present, he would have done his best to make it hot for us both. As it was she acted as our mediator, not only saving us from the present effects of his wrath, but induced him, much against his will, to allow us to remain and accompany the riding party’
‘Oh, Mr Frank, is that you? Come after all, are you, though rather late? No, Mr Melton, I will not have you send them away again. Just show me how to hold my reins, will you?’
Although it was not quite clear to my mind to whom she addressed this last request, uncle rushed up, and was soon busily engaged placing the respective reins between her taper fingers in the right positions, and minutely explaining the difference between the curb and the snaffle. It evidently required some little time to impress these facts on her mind, and it had the effect of restoring the old gentleman's equanimity. The touch even of a gloved feminine hand and the glance of a merrily twinkling eye have truly a marvellous effect. They will cause in a moment transformations, which without them would be simply impossible. The girls had been in another part of the grounds with Mr Bowden, examining some of his latest improvements. They now returned, and chaffed Mrs Fortescue on the time she had taken in getting settled in her saddle.
‘Oh, I have been ready some time, and am anxious to be off,’ she replied; then added, ‘Does this mare jump, Fred?’
‘Yes, she'll jump anything you dare put her at.’
‘Dare! what don't I dare, I should like to know!’ and to our utter astonishment and dread she gave her a light tap with her whip, and after waking her up with a smart canter, sent her at a four-rail fence dividing the lawn from the paddock in a manner which showed that she was mistress of the art. The noble animal appeared to feel her
‘Why. We all Thought You Couldn't Ride!’
‘Pretty fair that for a beginner, Mr Melton, eh! especially after only one lesson; but then you are such an excellent instructor. You need hardly have been jealous of Mr Frank teaching me instead of yourself, as I could see you were.’
‘Why, we all thought you couldn't ride, Mrs Fortescue, exclaimed Fanny.
‘I never said I couldn't, but as you all volunteered to teach poor me, I thought I would let you, and then show you what I could do. Fred was sold as well, for he did not know I was a horsewoman. My late husband taught me since my brother left the old country.’
We had a good laugh at the mistake into which we had all fallen. Uncle's dignity, however, appeared hurt in that the lady had played such a trick on him after so short an acquaintance, for he sharply reprimanded his daughters for some playful sallies at his expense.
As we rode off after the events recorded in the last chapter, Mrs Fortescue, noticing uncle's discomposure—for he had evidently placed a deeper significance on her treatment of him than perhaps was intended—drew back and rode by his side, allowing the others to pass on.
‘Never mind their nonsense, Mr Melton,’ she remarked, gently. ‘I can assure you I enjoyed the lesson, and I hope you'll forgive me if I have had the misfortune to have offended you.’
‘Did you really enjoy the lesson, Mrs Fortescue?’ asked uncle, in a far more serious manner than the occasion seemed to warrant, ‘or are you still deceiving me?’
‘Deceiving you, Mr Melton! Why should you think I would deceive you over a trifling thing like that? I did really enjoy it. It was the greatest possible fun watching how painstaking and earnest you were in your endeavours to teach me. I was afraid you would see through my pretended stupidity and simplicity.’
‘You purposely misunderstand me. What I wish to—’
‘Oh, I must have another leap. Now, Charlie, come back and give me a lead over that fence,’ she called out, guessing that uncle's horse was not quite capable of taking him over a stiff post and rail, though Charlie's nag was only a little less pleased than his master with a bit of exercise of that description. So they hopped about over the fences while we soberly stuck to the road. Fanny and Alice never cared to put their horses over such high timber unless there was a necessity for doing so, and I was on a young one which had not yet been taught leaping.
Uncle rode moodily along, wishing he were at home again, till at last, tired of the cross-country work, the fair lady again called him to her side, and quickly caused his countenance to brighten by her brilliant and clever conversation. After a canter of about eight or nine miles, we turned back to our own home, where we all had tea, and spent much such an evening as the previous one. Mr Bowden came up after tea to escort his sister home, and was persuaded to stop and have a bit of a hop on the carpet. They gave me my first lessons in dancing, and I was pronounced to be an apt pupil. I was very glad I had not learnt the art previously, for it was worth years of
The evening and, indeed, the next fortnight passed away all too quickly to please me, as I dreaded the thought of seeing Fanny in Grosvenor's company. The young ladies, however, were always affirming that it would never go, it seemed an age. Be this as it may, however, the evening before the eventful day arrived, and with it the fair widow. She had been invited to spend the night with us. We had another merry evening, and the finishing touches were put on my saltatory training. I noticed Mrs Fortescue appeared rather shy of uncle. His manner, when he addressed her, was so ardent and impulsive, and his glances, which were seldom directed elsewhere, were so eager and longing—I can think of no better word—that no wonder she felt rather uncomfortable, and preferred conversing with anyone else.
Master Charlie, regardless of previous forcible warnings, slipped in remarks referring to the age of his parent whenever he saw an opportunity, as, for instance, when his father happened to lead the widow to her seat after a dance before the music had ceased. ‘It's no good, dad, you can't keep up the pace. You're too stiff. You want blistering and turning out. Besides, you are a bit touched in your wind.’
The old gentleman certainly was ‘out of puff.’ As soon, however, as he could recover breath enough, he ordered the rash youth off to his room in a voice which he dared not disobey, and followed him shortly himself. We did not hear any screams, but Charlie informed me afterwards that ‘he did lay it on. I'd have kicked his legs only I knew I'd been too rough on him, and he isn't half a bad sort, isn't dad. I am awfully fond of him, you know. Besides, it wasn't only what you heard me say, he hammered me for. I had been at him two or three times before. I saw he was jealous of you, as I told you before, so I worked on him properly. Didn't it rile him when I said aside to him, “My word, doesn't Mrs Fortescue look sweet at Frank,” or “Didn't she squeeze his hand that time!”’
The young rascal did not think of doing me any harm. He only wanted to plague his father for making such an ass of himself.
‘If dad was to marry again, I'd sooner he had her than anybody I know though, for I could often take her out for a ride, and she can ride over any fence that I can. She's a “oner,” that's a fact,’ he informed me confidentially.
The boy certainly was devoted to his father, and only occasionally
There had been rain in the night, but the morning of the day so wished for by the young ladies was bright and clear. Alice remarked at breakfast time that they were out of fresh meat, and inquired when her father intended to have another bullock killed. He replied that it would be inconvenient for a few days, but that we would take the dogs and get a little wild pork for a change. Charlie and I were delighted at this decision. The ladies said that pig-hunting was too much like butchery to please them, so remained at home, more especially as they had a long ride before them that evening. Bowden had sent word that he could not join us, so uncle, Charlie, and I started with a pack horse to carry home the game. This animal was so accustomed to his work, that he would follow our horses without being led. Uncle was armed with a favourite spear of his, which had been formed by fastening a wooden handle into an old bayonet. I was provided with another spear which had once done duty as a small chisel, but having been ground sharp at the point, and a sufficiently light and tough stick put in to form a shaft, it made an excellent weapon. Charlie had a rifle, a birthday present from his father. We had also a tomahawk and sharp sheath knives, which, indeed, we were seldom without, as we found constant use for them in our daily occupations. I must not forget our canine assistants. These comprised two cattle dogs—our old friend Rough, and a brother of his named Rover—noted for possessing splendid noses for hunting either cattle or pigs, and it was their duty to lay us on to the game. There was also a grim-looking brindle-coloured old veteran appropriately named Tiger, a cross between a cattle dog and an English mastiff. His natural ugliness was increased by scars and seams, which spoke of many a hard-fought battle. His eyes looked as if they never had been a pair, or had fallen out—not literally—and made up their minds never to look in the same direction again. We rode a considerable distance before Rough and Rover made any sign of picking up a warm scent. At last, suddenly putting their noses to the ground, they went off at great speed towards a fern-clad gully. The venerable Tiger remained at our heels, with an expression of the most utter indifference and unconcern on his stolid physiognomy, feeling perfectly satisfied that the other dogs would round up the game for him; then perhaps he would step in, and woe betide the poor pig that came in his way. We followed the dogs at a smart gallop down the side of the hill, and, guided by their barks, soon saw a grizzly old boar rush out of a patch of fern, the succulent roots of which he had been ploughing up for his morning meal. He darted into a deep gully before the dogs could get near him. Not being overburdened with flesh, these gaunt, muscular animals can get over the ground with amazing swiftness. The dogs bailed him up nearly half a mile further down the gully, where he had joined two plump young sows, probably the latest additions to his harem, whom he had hurried down to defend. The position was an awkward one for the attacking party, as the sides of the gully were precipitous, and the gravelly bottom, with occasional waterholes, was very narrow, and left little room to get out of the way if the animal charged. We jumped off our horses, and Charlie thought he could manage to insert a bullet
‘Give me your spear, dad,’ he cried, ‘and I'll go for him with that. The dogs are too close to risk shooting at him,’ so taking it, and giving Tiger orders to follow, he slid down into the depths below. The old dog's stern features displayed a grin of unmistakable delight as he followed his young master. I was for going after Charlie, but uncle exclaimed:
‘Get down a chain further along, Frank. He'll try to break down the gully. Mind what you are at, for he's a warrior.’
We thus had the game between us, although engaged as they were, and owing to the thick fern, they could not see us. They stood in a splendid position, backed up under an overhanging rock in the side of the steep gully, in a row, the boar in the centre, presenting a determined front to their enemies, and emitting a succession of sharp angry grunts, which, with the barking of the dogs, caused a hideous uproar. Every now and then, if the later ventured too near, the old patriarch would charge at them, always retuning, however, to his rocky castle. Tiger now received the long-looked-for orders to seize him, and it was a grand sight to see him suddenly assume the attitude of defiance, and attack the foeman most worthy of his steel, utterly regardless of the snaps the sows made at him. The boar answered the challenge, nothing loth, and rushed to the fray, champing his immense jaws, armed with gleaming, cruel tusks, sharp as razors, and dangerously curved, his bristles erect on his brawny head and shoulder, his fierce little eyes gleaming savagely, and denoting death and defiance.
With what precision the clever old dog judged his distance, as, with a bound aside, he avoided the fearful rip intended for him, and seized his adversary's ear with a grip which meant no surrender. Then followed a scene most difficult to describe. Greek had met Greek with a vengeance, and the frantic efforts of the boar to shake off his assailant were only surpassed by the grim and dogged determination of the latter to hold on, regardless of the danger of being impaled on those fearful tusks. Charlie watched his chance, and rushed in with his spear, but had not strength to drive it fairly into him. I was hurrying up also through the thick scrub, when one of the sows, in her efforts to escape, got between my legs and bowled me over. Before I could regain my legs the boar and his assailant, ripping and tearing, mad with rage, and covered with blood, were on me. I certainly thought my last hour had come. Uncle dared not fire for fear of hitting me instead of the pig, but jumping down the gully, and seizing his favourite weapon from Charlie's hand, with his superior strength he drove it home, and the hero of a hundred fights had to succumb to his fate. I lost no time in jumping up, much to the surprise of my companions, who, I believe, thought I should never rise again. I was certainly well bespattered with gore, but this had, fortunately, most of it flowed from the pig, for on examination a few seratches and bruises from his feet were all I had to show. How I escaped worse treatment was only to be accounted for by the fact, that the old grizzly was too much occupied by his efforts to annihilate Tiger to notice me at all. The old dog was still holding on to his foe's ear, or what was left of it, for it was torn to ribbons, but on Charlie saying ‘Dead sir, dead,’ he reluctantly let go, and retreated
The dogs being now fresher, we started in pursuit of the young sows, and bailing them up a few hundred yards lower down, they fell victims, the one to a shot between the eyes from Charlie's rifle, and the other to my spear. They proved a very serviceable addition to our larder, and we were hailed with general acclamation on our return home to dinner.
My uncle had arranged that Mrs. Fortescue, Fanny, Mr Bowden, and he should ride to the Sylvesters, while Charlie, Alice, and I were to drive in the waggon. Charlie was to take the ribbons. I rebelled at first against this arrangement, as I would naturally have preferred riding with Fanny; in fact, I tried to get out of going altogether, pleading my wounds from the morning's encounter, but this excuse would not pass muster, so I submitted to my fate. It was well that I did, for my bruises were now beginning to show me the superiority of a soft cushion over a hard saddle. We had a pleasant drive, notwithstanding my anticipations to the contrary. Alice amused me by her descriptions of previous dances and picnics, and her simple wonder at the grandeur and ceremonial stiffness of a ball which she attended in Auckland during her visit there.
‘I much prefer,’ said she, ‘our free and easy little gatherings, where we all know one another, and are not strictly bound by rules of etiquette. I dare say you will find us rough and countrified, Frank, and altogether different to what you expected, but you must make allowances, and think of the way we have been brought up, having no mother since we can remember, and our neighbours, though very hearty, kind people, are not what you would call refined, by any means.’
‘My dear girl, from what I have already seen, I must say I infinitely prefer good-hearted, simple people like our friends to the stiff and stuck-up sort of superior beings—as they consider themselves–that one meets in the old country, who won't speak to this one because his grandfather was So-and-so, and won't visit another because his
Fortunately for Alice, my moralizing was arrested by our arrival at the Sylvesters' gate, where we caught up the rest of our party. We assisted to unharness the horses, and having turned them into a luxuriant grass paddock, entered the house. Mr and Mrs Sylvester, a robust, genial-looking couple, came to the door to meet us. Their daughters had already taken charge of of our lady friends. We followed Mr Sylvester into his den, as he called it, at his request, where he immediately regaled us with a glass each of old Irish whiskey, as he termed it, with a peculiar twinkle of his left eye while he elosed his right. On his inquiry how I liked it, I replied ‘that I was not much of a judge, but should have considered, if he had not called it otherwise, that it was rather too new.’
His right eye now twinkled while his left took a spell. ‘Right you are, my boy,’ he remarked. ‘I never can give it time to get old. It is manufactured not one hundred miles from here, and never paid duty. I would not say so much to everyone, but you are the wrong breed to blab. They are very decent fellows that own the still, and I for one do not believe in Government getting hold of everything, and making us pay the piper, so I get my liquor from them. My son,’ he continued, after a slight pause, ‘is out after a wild bush bull that has been seen with our cattle. Grosvenor, his Auckland friend, is with him, I expect them home directly. I hope they'll have got a shot at the beggar. Charlie, my boy, as you won't have any whiskey, and Frank has done his, take him into the drawing-room and introduce him to the girls, for I know they will be more to his taste than the conversation of old buffers like us.’
I followed Charlie in, and was introduced to a score or so of young people of both sexes, who had already arrived. About as many again dropped in later on. Grosvenor and young Sylvester returned from their hunt, which had been an unsuccessful one, for they had not seen the bull. Grosvenor was evidently much taken aback at meeting me suddenly face to face. Although he knew my name was Melton, I had never informed him that I was going to an uncle at Wanganui, and he had not supposed for one moment that I was related to the young ladies he met in Auckland, nor, indeed, was he aware of the relationship now. He therefore had never dreamt of seeing me in this part of the country. However, on reflecting for a moment, he appeared to think that his position was not so had as he had at first feared; that his word was as good as mine, and as likely to be credited. Therefore he came forward and shook hands heartily with me, and declared he was delighted to meet an old shipmate, and a lot more to the same effect. I certainly did not reciprocate his sentiments, but judged it best to treat him as an ordinary acquaintance, and not make a scene, so I answered him as shortly as I could in consistency with politeness. On Fanny entering the room with Mrs Fortescue and Alice, he left me and went up to them with a most impressive and, as it appeared to me, impertinent familiarity. I had fancied that I had expended my powers of aversion to him on board ship, but I now found the feeling intensified a hundred-fold if possible.
We were soon summoned to tea. Where the guests had to come
‘Frank, what's the matter with you? You look so ill.’
‘Oh, nothing,’ I replied, but I felt it was something, and something pretty considerable.
‘Ah, I can see what it is! You're jealous of Fanny flirting with Grosvenor. You should show more pluck. Everybody is watching you.’
Pluck! no, I had not pluck enough to see the girl, for whom I felt the deepest and truest love that a man can feel, gaze up into the eyes of the individual I most detested on earth, and who I knew was totally unworthy of her, with a glance more tender than any she had ever given me. My jealousy of Grosvenor, when Julia Robinson was the object of our attentions was hard enough to bear, but in that case my feeling for her was what is generally designated as calf love. In the present case I had learnt what love really is, and I had now to learn that the intensity of the torture of jealousy, is in exact proportion to the strength of the love which is the cause of it. I was just wondering in a dazed sort of way how I could manage to go through my dance with Fanny, and keep up a conversation as if
‘Come for a short stroll in the garden with me, Miss Melton; it is lovely outside. Never mind the next dance.’
‘But, Mr Grosvenor, I am engaged to Frank for it.’
‘Frank! who on earth has the happiness to be called by his Christian name by you?’
‘Frank is my cousin, Mr Melton. You must know him. He was a fellow passenger of yours. Why didn't you tell me in Auckland that there was a Mr Melton on board? We never knew he had arrived till we returned home and found him there, and he positively travelled down from Auckland in the same steamer with us.’
‘Oh! ah! yes! I did know him. We were great friends, but I never dreamt he was your cousin, or I should have told you about him. You know we had other subjects of conversation much more interesting to me. It's lucky it is this cousin you are engaged to for the next dance. Of course, he won't mind your doing him out of it. If it had been anyone else it would be different.’
‘I daresay he won't mind. I can easily get into his good graces again if he does, but, remember, we must not go out of sight of the others.’
‘No, of course not.’
They then sauntered off out of hearing and sight too. They had not noticed me sitting behind them as they halted in the doorway and conversed in this strain. When they returned to the room, which was not till the music was striking up for the third or fourth dance, I approached Fanny and calmly reproached her for her conduct in not fulfilling her engagement, and asked for the next she had to spare.
‘Oh, I knew you wouldn't mind, Frank. My head ached, so I had to go out. Let's see, my programme is almost filled up, but I think I can spare you one at the end.’
‘I shall be quite too tired by that time, Fanny,’ I replied, stiffly. I was stung and mortified beyond endurance, for I had, unknown to her, noticed Grosvenor's initials many times repeated down her programme.
‘You silly boy, what's the matter with you?’ she queried, noticing my tone and manner.
I did not trouble to answer, but walked out of the room, and pouring out half a tumblerful of neat whiskey, tossed it off at a draught. This had the effect of making me reckless. I returned to the dancing-room, and finding Mrs Fortescue sitting, took her programme and put my name down for several dances. Being a stranger, the gentlemen had rather neglected her. I chatted and laughed with her in a manner which anyone might see was forced and unnatural, but it appeared there was one who did not so see it. This was uncle, who now made his first appearance with Mr Sylvester. His jovial look as he entered the room was converted suddenly into one of displeasure as he noticed how I was employed. He immediately came across to us, and asked to have the pleasure of the next dance with my companion. He had, it appears, forgotten to engage himself beforehand, and the lady was naturally slightly put out at his neglecting her till the first three or four dances were over. However,
be this as it may, my name was down for not only the next, but for all those which were not filled in by other gentlemen. Uncle was greatly incensed when he found this to be the case, though, as in duty bound, he tried to avoid showing it.
‘You should have been here earlier, Mr Melton, then you would have had a chance with the rest. I meant to have kept one or two for you, but I see this naughty boy has filled up all the blanks.’
‘But I could not get away earlier from the den. Important business with Sylvester. Business before pleasure, you know. Easy enough for boys to be in time. Got nothing else to do. But Frank must give up the dance to me.’
Whether it was the glass of Old Irish, a liquor to which I was not accustomed, especially in its pristine strength, or a determination to make another suffer as I had done, and was still doing, I knew not, but a fit of ungovernable obstinacy possessed me. ‘That I most certainly shall not, uncle! I am engaged to the lady, and no man shall take my place! Not even to you, sir, would I yield her up!’ I exclaimed with heat.
‘Oh, you won't, eh, my boy? Never mind, we'll talk of this another time,' and looking very hard and curiously at me he walked away.
‘You have offended your uncle, Mr Frank. I am so sorry. You should have given way to him.’
‘Give way to him!' I replied, rudely. ‘Not likely. I am not going to allow everybody to sit on me, Mrs Fortescue. But they are commencing; let us join them.’
I performed my part in this dance so badly, that my partner after a turn or two asked to be led to her seat, as she felt unwell. I obeyed her, fully expecting to see her get up again and resume the dance with uncle. This, however, did not happen, owing, I believe, to the fact that he did not come and ask her.
I will not further describe the dance in detail. Those who resided near at hand left at its conclusion, but the larger proportion had to be provided with sleeping accommodation. The upstairs portion of the house was carpeted with beds for the ladies, while the gentlemen covered the ballroom floor with their recumbent forms, stretched on mattresses provided for them.
The morning after the dance described in the last chapter did not find us up with the lark, but in due time we collected together in the breakfast-room. There appeared to be different opinions about the evening's enjoyment, although, with the exception of perhaps uncle's and mine, they were all especially favorable. Fanny remarked that it was without exception the most enjoyable dance she had ever attended. Didn't I agree with her?
‘I don't care much for dances as a rule,’ I replied, ‘and this being the first at which I have been present in the colonies, I cannot judge whether it was more enjoyable than usual.’
‘I am ashamed of you, Melton,’ put in Grosvenor. ‘For my part I think they do these things to perfection in New Zealand. I shall write home, Miss Melton,’ turning to Fanny, ‘and describe this one to my mother, and she will be delighted to copy it, and introduce something after this jolly, free and easy style amongst the aristocracy. Their balls are not a patch on yours. They bore one dreadfully, so stiff and coldly formal.’
‘I think all balls are unbearable,’ grumbled uncle, in an undertone to Alice.
‘Oh, papa, I can't think how you can say so. I enjoyed myself immensely.’
‘I don't doubt it, my dear. I was watching you. Young Sylvester is a nice boy, isn't he?’
A deep blush was Alice's only answer, but it appeared to give her father much satisfaction, for he quite cheered up after witnessing it, and was heard afterwards to admit that ‘parties of this sort were grand for boys and girls. Bring young people together, you know.’
Our host and hostess gave out at the conclusion of the morning meal that, unless any of their guests could prove that they had business elsewhere requiring strict attention, not a soul was on any account to leave on that day on pain of their dire displeasure.
Uncle and Mr Bowden were the only two who could show cause why their presence at their respective homes was imperative. The former endeavoured to explain that he could not do without my assistance, and I was about to leave with him; but our good friends would not hear of it, and laughed at his protestations that I could not be spared.
‘You're too rough on the young one altogether, Melton. He's not going to leave here to-day, so it is no good you saying another word about it.’
We spent the morning sauntering about the garden and grounds. To my astonishment Fanny favoured me with a short těte-a-těte.
‘Oh, Frank, I hope you weren't very vexed with me for not having that dance with you! But I am afraid you were, or you would not have refused the one I offered you, or were you really too tired?’
‘You need hardly ask, I should think, whether I was annoyed. Who wouldn't be, when you gave a comparative stranger so many dances, that you had only one at the end of your programme for your cousin and pupil.’
‘But I did not dance them all with Mr Grosvenor, as you seem to think,’ she replied, with vexation. ‘I had two with young Sylvester, and some with Mr Bowden and several others.’
‘Yes, my dear, I'll admit that, but it was not your dancing with them that put me out. It was your giving so much of your time to Grosvenor, a fellow of whom no one knows anything for certain; and who behaved in such a cowardly manner on the voyage that hardly one of the passengers would speak to him afterwards.’
The words were barely out of my mouth before I saw the mistake I had made. To run a favoured rival down to the lady who loves him is the last thing one should do if one wishes to retain her good-will. I had meant it in all kindness, and hoped to be able to prove my own love for her by my solicitude, but I erred grievously.
‘Frank, are you not ashamed of yourself!’ she replied, with flashing
‘Passing fancy!’ I exclaimed, overlooking her vehemence, ‘believe me, it is no passing fancy, my dearest. I love you as I shall never love another with the deep, true love of, at all events, an honest heart.’
This unlucky word again touched her to the quick.
‘And do you mean to insinuate that Mr Grosvenor's is not an honest heart?’
‘No, I did not mean to say that. But I very much doubt if there's anything honest about him.’
‘Frank, how dare you, of all men, talk like that? He, fortunately, told me of your shameful flirtations with that poor Miss Robinson, whom you never mentioned, and no wonder. Go back to her, and never talk of love to me again, for I am as good as engaged to Mr Grosvenor, and even if I wasn't I should not dream of allowing a weathercock like you to make love to me.’
‘Did not Mr Grosvenor tell you of his own flirtations with the same lady, and how she wouldn't look at him when she found out what a miserable cur he was?’ I asked, indignantly.
‘I will listen to no more of your base falsehoods and insinuations,’ she answered, hotly. ‘Unhand me, sir!’ (in my efforts to detain her and make her hear what I had to say I had grasped her hand). ‘The man you asperse at all events behaves like a gentleman, and doesn't tell lies.’ With this parting shot she turned sharply away. Her magnificent air of offended dignity, her heightened colour, her flashing eyes and swelling bosom, made me if possible more madly in love with her than ever. I watched her stately step down the garden path, and saw her join my detested rival, and from the way they looked in my direction I could guess the subject of their conversation. I felt with bitter annoyance that I had made things ten times worse by my efforts at amelioration. Why should I always blunder so abominably? How was it that I could not attain the happy address and consummate pleasing manner which a scoundrel like Grosvenor appeared to possess, judging from his success with the ladies? Why would Fanny persist in believing everything he told her, and yet imagine all I said false? It is needless to ask, for have not the eyes of love, or even temporary infatuation, a microscopic power of beholding virtue in the object of their adoration, and the reverse in anyone who is antagonistic to it.
Fanny had termed my feeling for her a passing fancy. ‘Would to God it had been a passing fancy, that I could have cast it aside,’ I thought in my misery. These fits of deepest despondency, however, never continued very long with me. I had a tendency to try and make the best of things, and on a riding party being proposed in the afternoon to see a bit of noted bush scenery comprising a noble waterfall, I was as eager to go as anyone. We were soon busy running the horses in, and hunting up the right saddles and bridles, and after animated discussions as to which animals we should ride—as several of the gentlemen were anxious for their respective lady friends to try some wonderful new hack they had lately purchased, or broken in, and which carried a side saddle to perfection—we were mounted and off. Grosvenor, of course, rode at Fanny's side. He had made a lamentable exhibition of himself when he attempted to put her on her horse. He gave some ridiculous excuse for his failure,
I noticed Charlie and young Sylvester laughing immoderately over some joke, as we cantered down the paddock from the house, and on passing, the former whispered, ‘Look out for my noble Grosvenor when we come to the water-jump.’
It was a glorious afternoon, and Mrs Fortesene's brilliant conversation and the bounding stride of my horse had made me almost forget my troubles. Fanny and her adored were cantering down a fernclad slope some distance in front of us. She was, of course, an accomplished horsewoman, and thoroughly enjoyed a good water-jump. Her horse was an adept at it, and much preferred it to hurdles or timber.
‘Don't let us cross at the ford. Follow me, and we'll get out of the crowd,’ she cried gaily to her cavalier. ‘You're not frightened at a few feet of water, are you?’
‘Never fear, Miss Melton. I'll follow where you lead, or die in the attempt.’
She turned her horse found to the left, and started him at a fair pace for a place where the banks of, what had been higher up, a broad, black, swampy stream, narrowed sufficiently to make it practicable for a good horse to negotiate it. At a hint from Charlie that there might be some fun going, we followed them smartly. Grosvenor made some demur when he saw the dimensions, and the ugly look of the obstacle he was called on to tackle.
‘Now, show us how you can ride!’ shouted Charlie. ‘You talk enough about it.’
This jeer and the laughter which accompanied it decided him. He must attempt it, though sorely against his will.
Fanny's horse took it beautifully in his stride with several feet to apare. She then halted, and naturally turned to see how her admirer's steed would negotiate it. He came at it whipping and spurring furiously, and the horse would undoubtedly have cleared it, for though very frightened of water as a rule, he had a far greater fear of the punishment he was receiving, and was ready to go at anything, but just as he approached the bank Grosvenor's heart failed him, a deadly fear came over him, and he gave the curb a sharp pull, which caused the horse to throw himself back on his haunches, throwing the rider on his neck in a most undignified position. Finding he could not regain his seat, he had to swing himself off, just saving a fall by frantically embracing the animal's neck. We all screamed with laughter, Charlie loudest of all.
‘Is that the way you followed your father's hounds?’ shouted the mischievous young scamp. ‘Why, I could ride better than that at six years old!’
Grosvenor was in a fury, and began to punish the horse, saying it was his fault.
Cries of ‘For shame!’ ‘You checked him yourself!’ ‘Put him at it again and don't use the curb!’ ‘Don't be beaten, old man!’ etc., etc., made him forget his fear, or rather made the greater fear of ridicule overcome the lesser one, and he remounted the frightened animal with considerable difficulty, and rode him at it again, thrashing the poor brute more savagely this time. The animal had his temper thoroughly up now, and no wonder, and expecting the sharp pull of the curb, forestalled it by propping short a few feet from the brink.
After wriggling about like an immense eel in the muddy bottom of the turbid stream, his head appeared again on the surface of the water, and his most devoted lady admirers would not have recognised their curled and scented darling in the half-drowned, draggled individual we now saw before us, spitting volumes of mud and water from his mouth, which in his terror he had neglected to close, and vainly endeavouring to find his handkerchief in his drenched tail pockets. His feet, in his efforts to get out, sank deeper into the treacherous mud; his curls, of which he had been so proud, were straightened and limp; the scent he had purchased at the hairdresser's was hopelessly overpowered by that which he had obtained gratis from the decomposed vegetable slime still adhering to him. None of us hurried to assist him out. The gentlemen were all convulsed with laughter, in which many of the ladies joined, excepting only, of course, those who worshipped the dear boy. At last young Sylvester and Charlie dismounted, and grasping his hands, with a long pull and a strong pull managed to land him safely. I have no hesitation in affirming that his first words on landing, notwithstanding the presence of ladies, sounded extremely like oaths, and they were directed principally at his horse, who was coolly availing himself of the opportunity he had acquired by enjoying a bite of the luxuriant herbage around. Going up to him, the drenched man vented his temper on the unoffending animal by again administering some smart blows.
‘It's no good abusing the horse. It was the way you bullied and checked him the first time that made him baulk,’ I cried.
‘For shame, Mr Grosvenor! Frank was right. It was your bad riding, not the horse, that was to blame. I will not have him thrashed!’ exclaimed Fanny, indignantly. ‘You'd better return at once and get a change of clothes, or you'll catch cold,’ she continued more calmly, as Grosvenor, awed by her peremptory tones and flashing eyes, desisted.
‘Oh, that won't be necessary, Miss Melton. The sun will soon dry them. I would not lose a day's ride with you for such a paltry consideration.’
‘But consider the unpleasantness, Mr Grosvenor.’
‘I don't think anything of that, I assure you, Miss Melton.’
‘Ah, but I do,' she returned.
‘I should think you did, Fanny,’ put in the irrepressible Charlie, purposely misunderstanding her, and making a great show of holding his nose as the gentle breeze wafted the swampy perfume from Grosvenor's miry garments. ‘Not a pleasant companion, by any means. A pole-cat would be a treat to him.’
‘Charlie, I am ashamed of you!’ exclaimed Fanny. ‘Never mind him, Mr Grosvenor. He doesn't know any better. Go home at once and get changed. Charlie shall accompany you, and guide you to us afterwards. Frank will take care of me.’
Indignantly declining the proffered company, and scowling unpleasantly at the rest of the party, who were vainly endeavouring to restrain their intense amusement, he galloped off, and we saw him no more till our return.
We rode on to the gully which had been selected as our destination, and found it truly a wondrously beautiful spot. The hills on either side were very precipitious, and clothed in bush, the variegated nature of the foliage showing every shade of green and every conceivable shape, from the gracefully drooping tree fern to the stately pine. Young Sylvester led us to a spot where grew the highest tree fern he had ever seen. It stood at the bottom of the gully, and owing to the trees up the steep sides mingling their branches overhead, had, in its aspiring efforts to obtain the full benefit of sunlight, sent its stalk up to a height of at the lowest computation ninety feet. They very rarely grow to anything like this altitude, but are content with getting the few rays of light let in amongst the other trees. He also called our attention to an enormous rata tree with magnificent crimson blossoms, but a remarkably rugged stem. This tree is a parasite of the meanest class. In its youth it is a slight vine. After fixing on a tree which it deems suitable for its purpose, and about the height which it wishes to attain, it climbs up, at first tenderly embracing the object which lends it assistance, and without which it never could rise from its ropey entanglements on the Mother Earth; then, as it gathers strength, its endearments become less gentle and more grasping, until at last it crushes the life out of the victim of its early attachment, and takes its place as a tree in its own right, growing often to a great size, and presenting a majestic appearance. The timber is of a very hard nature, but the grain is gnarled and twisted.
To return to our party. After inspecting these curiosities of nature we advanced on foot up the winding gully, as the denseness of the underscrub, and the tantalizing interlacements of the supplejacks and bush-lawyers made the track impassable for horses. The notes of the melodious bell-bird, and the tui or parson-bird, with its white choker, and the twittering of the tui or parson-bird, with its white choker, and the twittering of the lively little fantail and bush robin, blended in perfect harmony with the faintly-heard distant rumbling of the stream, as it dashed over the bar of rock which impeded its course higher up. We could as yet only hear it in the distance. As we approached nearer it became a dull roar, and the birds were unheard, and bits of scenery before admired were forgotten in the entrancement of the scene before us. A wall of rock stretched across the gully to the height of nearly a hundred feet, and over this fell the foaming water, first in one solid steam till a jutting rock broke it up and divided it into several differnt falls, which in their turn were again, by a second projecting ledge, divided into thousands, nay, millions of atoms of spray, which glistened like silver in the gleaming sunlight. The rocky wall, where it was not water-worn, was draped in a fantastic manner with multitudes of delicate ferns and mosses. We vied with one another in reckless feats of climbing to secure the most desirable collections of these welcome gifts of nature for our lady friends, who were also themselves prospecting for
After a very pleasant afternoon we returned to our friend's hospitable establishment, and having refreshed ourselves with a substantial tea, we again assembled in the room which had been the scene of such varied sensations on the previous evening, and amused ourselves in a similar manner. I was already beginning to recover from the shock of discovering that my love was not returned. Yes, beginning, for it was long ere I completely recovered, but I was so far on the road to recovery that I began to consider if there could not be some means of alleviating, if not entirely removing my discomposure. It is something when one comes to consider his case not so entirely hopeless as he had at first supposed. This comfort, however, does not entirely allay the pain, for there are seasons of despondency when the affair assumes a blacker hue than before. However, I began to reason with myself that it was quite within the bounds of probability that Fanny would find out in time the true character of her admirer. These thoughts enabled me to get through the second evening much more pleasantly than the previous one, and, indeed, almost to enjoy it. I danced several times with Mrs Fortescue and dear little Alice, who could well see what was the matter with me now. Her kind womanly heart prompted her to administer comfort to me in many unobtrusive ways. I also danced with several of the other young ladies, and found that Fanny's success in captivating the elegant Mr Grosvenor was the prevailing topic of conversation. They naturally imagined that I should be a good authority on the subject, and questioned me in a manner which I found extremely distasteful.
‘Ah, ah! Mr Melton,’ remarked one young damsel, ‘we hear something about you, too. What a shame of you to try and cut out your uncle! When there are so many girls of your own age about, you surely needn't pay so much attention to one old enough to be your mother.’
‘Oh, do you think so,’ I replied. ‘The fact of the matter is, I always did take a fancy to ladies older than myself. When they are younger, there always seems to me to be an odour of pinafores and porridge about them.’
‘Please take me back to my mother, Mr Melton. I do not care to finish this dance,’ replied the deeply-offended débutante.
‘With pleasure, Miss White. I really think it would be a suitable place for you.’
I have, I believe, previously given the reader to undertand that my manner of conversation with ladies was not considered happy; and I was afterwards confidentially informed that this particular young girl considered me ‘positively the very rudest man she had ever met.’ But I must say, in extenuation, that it was not intentional rudeness. It was merely a disinclination to allow a girl of her tender years to sit on me. Metaphorically speaking it is not a pleasant sensation. In its literal sense, at times, and under some circumstances, it may be considered positively delightful, and in that case the tenderness of years, up to a certain point, could not be termed an objection.
Mr Grosvenor had indulged in a warm bath since his morning's misfortune, and it had improved his appearance wonderfully. He devoted himself most assiduously to Fanny. On the next morning we received a message from uncle that he particularly wished us all to return, so the horses were caught. Fanny asked Alice to give up her seat in the waggon and take her horse. I was delighted at this until I heard that Grosvenor had arranged to drive back with us under the excuse of desiring to see Mr Melton on some particular business. There were great lamentations when this peremptory order of uncle's became known, for our friends were most convivial people, and, when they succeeded in getting a party together in their house, they liked to keep them for a week or so. However, they all knew that uncle's commands had to be carried out, so after pressing invitations to come again soon we left their roof.
When we reached home we found uncle in a very grumpy humour. Work was behindhand, cattle had strayed, and a hundred other real and fancied annoyances had occurred. As Mrs Fortescue was present he could not hold the promised conversation with me (for I felt certain that I was the cause of the bulk of his displeasure). He therefore confined himself to a few rather more sarcastic remarks than usual on things in general, and dances in particular. Mrs Fortescne endeavoured to mend matters with her usual tact.
‘Oh, Mr Melton, we missed you so last night. Why did you return home before us?’
He brightened up wonderfully. ‘Business must be attended to, Mrs Fortescue. Can't all be away together. Things have got into a middle as it is. Always do when any of us are absent.’
‘Ah, well, what if they do? You can soon get them straight again. It's a poor heart that never rejoices. You worry yourself too much, Mr Melton. But I forgot, I have a crow to pluck with you. I thought to have the pleasure of several dances with you, but you never came to ask me, even when I was sitting out, and you knew I was disengaged.’
‘Your programme was full of Frank's initials. He ought to have kept his engagements.’
‘But if you hadn't been so hasty I would have made him erase some of them, for he could no more dance than he could fly.’
Uncle's good humour was speedily restored, for the simple-minded old gentleman was easily led by a little ingenious flattery, especially from the lips of a lady, though hard to turn by other means.
Grosvenor, with a cuteness of observation natural to him, soon noticed this point in uncle's character, and by means of it wound himself quickly into his good graces, for before the evening was over he was asked to send for his things and remain a week or so with us. This invitation was, of course, gladly accepted, though hesitatingly at first, to avoid showing too much anxiety. To let us know he was held in considerable request, he pleaded that he had several other engagements, which must, however, stand over for the present.
I had said little to uncle about Grosvenor's conduct on board, and my firm conviction that he was not what he pretended to be, for I knew very well it would not have altered his already formed opinion of him. He would have considered the facts misrepresented, for, like his daughter and many more of us, he would hear no evil of
After he had been with us a few days, our visitor informed the old gentleman that he had a large property at home which his aunt had left him, showing a copy of her will, and also that his father was very infirm, and at his death the estate and title would fall into his possession, but that this was all as nothing to him, unless he could secure the one thing he wished of all others—the hand of Miss Fanny. This, of course, did not excite much surprise on the part of uncle, and after several questions and answers he at length consented. The ardent lover wished the marriage to be solemnized at a very early date, but here uncle showed his sense, for he was most obdurate in his condition that at least a year should first elapse in order that they might become better acquainted. This delay I believe he insisted on principally on account of remembering Mr Bowden's often-expressed, unfavourable opinion of the young man, for although uncle had very little respect for the opinions of his fellow-men in general, yet those of his most intimate friend often caused him to pause and deliberate over the matter in dispute, though his own pre-formed convictions generally carried the day. This delay was some comfort to me, for many things might happen in a year. Meanwhile, Grosvenor continued to strengthen his position in the favour of Fanny and her father. Alice said very little either way, but was not nearly so prepossessed on his account. Charlie, of course, joined me in cordially detesting him, and got many rebukes from his father and sister for his rude remarks on the new chum's riding, for he rarely went out for an ordinary ride without something happening.
‘We shan't be troubled with him long,’ remarked Charlie to me one day, ‘for I'll bet he breaks his neck before he has been here a month. If I could only get him on Bucking Billy there would be an inquest at once, but he's too cute.’
I had to remonstrate with the thoughtless youth, and tell him not to lay himself open to a charge of manslaughter. That, much as I hated the gentleman in question, I did not wish a cousin of mine to plan his decease in that cool way.
‘Don't you, now,’ he said simply. ‘I thought you'd be only too glad to get quit of him. You'll never get Fanny while he is alive.’
‘How do you know I want Fanny, you scamp?’
‘Oh, I ain't as big a fool as I look! I can see you moping round like a blooming morepork when he is about, and I know what it means,’ he answered, scampering off to avoid just retribution.
Nothing else of importance occurred during Grosvenor's stay, and at the end of a fortnight he said he really must return to Auckland to see a lawyer on some important business.
Uncle appeared to be progressing favourably in the esteem of the
Uncle was quite as urgent as Grosvenor had been for an early date to be fixed for the consummation of his bliss, but he met a decided refusal to his request, as the good lady bargained successfully for twelve months more freedom before she again entered the bonds of matrimony.
Christmas soon arrived. But what a contrast to the hoary old gentleman to whom I had been accustomed in the old country, is the bright genial individual who periodically visits us in this new land of our adoption on the memorable twenty-fifth of December. Instead of the elderly patriarch with holly-crowned brow, and the sleet and snow of centuries on his beard and robe, his gray hairs have vanished, his youth returned, and he appears crowned with the gayest flowers, bearing ripe, fuscious fruits, and glowing with the bright sunshine of summer. Will it be considered much out of place if I remind my readers that the first occasion on which the gospel of the religion, which looks on this day as one to be kept throughout all ages, was first preached to a few of the native inhabitants of these islands on December the twenty-fifth of the year 1814 by the Rev. Samuel Marsden. It is a matter of little consideration to most of us, truly, but I regard it as a happy coincidene, and worthy of mention in describing a New Zealand Christmas.
We had received invitations confirming those previously received, and requesting us to make an appearance at the Sylvester's in time for dinner. Uncle had much wished to have the party at his own house on this occasion. Since the death of his wife, however, his friends had always made a point of the family partaking of their Christmas cheer at their domicile, and Mrs Sylvester would take no refusal this time, but promised next year to give up her party, and come and see how the then Mrs Melton would grace the festive board as hostess, for it was generally understood that by that time she would have acquired the right to fill such a position. Uncle had therefore given in, and we met, with few exceptions, exactly the same party as on the previous occasion. One of these exceptions happened to be, that Grosvenor, to the utter astonishment of every one, had not arrived, though he had particularly promised to be present. My first Christmas dinner in New Zealand remains vividly impressed on my
The conversation befitted the occasion. I had the happiness of a seat by Fanny's side, and the fact that she had been commiserated by her lady friends on account of Grosvenor's absence, made her determined to show them that she could enjoy herself just as well without his presence. This, and a feeling of anger that he had not heeded her strict injunctions not to miss spending Christmas with her, caused her to be particularly pleasant to me. I gave way to the happiness thus occasioned, even managing for a time to forget the very existence of my detested rival. For a time, I say, because he was most abruptly brought back to my remembrance by an elderly lady, to whom I had not been introduced, on the occasion of my leading Fanny back to the seat after my fifth dance with her.
‘Mr Grosvenor, I'm certain! You need not introduce him, Fanny. Nay, spare your blushes; I have eyes. Allow me to congratulate you, sir. You have certainly plucked the rose of our district. And I think you are in luck, my dear. I do, indeed,’ she continued, turning to Fanny.
‘But, Mrs Buller, you are labouring under a wrong impression. This is my cousin, Mr Melton,’ exclaimed the fair one, interrupting with difficulty the garrulous old lady, on which her apologies were, if anything, more embarrassing than her error.
Uncle surpassed himself in assisting his host to make every one happy. He danced a goodly proportion of dances with Mrs Fortescue, but also found time to have a few with the most neglected of the young girls, or the plainest of the elderly ones. I should rather perhaps say with those possessed of only a limited amount of youth or beauty. Although his exterior was rough, and he had little of the manners of a polished English gentleman, yet his heart was in the right place, and I found that my opinion formed on witnessing his behaviour at the first dance was an entirely erroneous one; that his behaviour on that occasion had been not only exceptional, but I deemed it excusable under the circumstances. This time the fun was fast and furious in his vicinity.
Of course, the mistletoe had not been forgotten, and it was uncle
‘It is not English mistletoe,’ explained the staid one. ‘It's as near it as we poor colonials can get though.’
‘Indeed! then I'll take good care I do not get near it again, Mr Melton, especially when any of you poor colonials are about. I wonder you are not ashamed of yourself taking in a poor new chum like that.’
‘Ashamed! Don't see where the shame comes in. It's only giving a lesson in botany. Teaching a lady about New Zealand plants and trees.’
‘I must say, if I must study botany, that it is pleasantest to learn it from your lips, sir. You seem to understand it so thoroughly, or, perhaps I should say, stand under it.’
This, it must be understood was said sotto voce; in fact, they were neither of them aware that anyone either overheard their conversation or beheld their encounter. They were certainly an engaged couple, but at their age surely they should have known better. It was excusable if some of the rest of us misbehaved ourselves in a similar manner, for we were young, and could not be expected to behave with the decorum which cometh of years and experience. I am willing to admit that not the least pleasant memory, connected with that evening in my mind, was the short space of time when I held my lovely cousin in my embrace under the mystic bough, and pressed on her ripe, dewy lips, not unwillingly presented, a rapturous salute.
‘There, Frank,’ she exclaimed, ‘let that be the friendly kiss of peace between us! I know I have been rather hard on you of late.’
She might call it friendly, or what she liked, I cared not. I had tasted the sweet nectar, and the divine draught coursed through my veins with a thrill which I shall never forget. It is true I had kissed her on my arrival, but how different is the effect of a kiss taken by force or in fun, to one which is welcomed and returned with fervour by the fair recipient. To further describe this dance might prove wearisome; it will suffice to remark that, without a dissentient voice, it was proclaimed the most enjoyable affair of the sort ever held in the district. We danced till daylight, then had a few hours' sleep, followed by breakfast, after which we were compelled to catch our horses for the return journey; for notwithstanding our friends earnestly entreating us to remain a few days, we had to refuse. A paddock of hay, which had been cut several days, was waiting to be carried and stacked. Delay would prove its ruin, so bidding farewell to our host and hostess, we cantered off in the bright sunshine of that pleasant morning, turned our horses out, and exchanging our holiday clothes for the flannel shirts and white ducks, which formed our working costume, set to work with a will at the hay.
Shortly after our return Fanny received a note from Grosvenor apologizing for his absence on Christmas day, stating that nothing but the most important business engagements would have kept him from her side on that festive occasion. He wrote that he had been
fiancée, but I noticed a look of worry and anxiety on his face, which should hardly have been there supposing his own account of the state of his finances was correct. And if he really idolized Fanny as much as he professed, what could he then have to trouble him? His inquiries about the value of my uncle's property, whether he had made a will, etc., were too pointed and frequent, and argued ill for for a man of his pretensions. Although I noted all this, I kept my observations to myself, as I was aware that my motives would be again misconstrued, if I threw any doubts on his integrity. He often observed that he would like to purchase a property in our neighbourhood if a suitable one could be procured, and uncle informed him of two really good farms near us. He went to look at them with Fanny and her father. She was extremely vexed when, for some frivolous reason, he refused to have anything to do with either of them, for she was delighted with the prospect of her new home being so near her old one. But Grosvenor took little heed of her wishes, or uncle's opinion that he would not meet with such bargains again in a hurry. The owners had been frightened by the threatening attitude of the Maoris just then, and had made up their minds to sell at a sacrifice, and move to the South Island. Uncle impressed on his future son-in-law the necessity of making a home for his bride, but he always had a ready excuse, and expressed his intention of travelling for a time before finally settling down. He represented to Fanny and her father that a trip to the old country would form a delightful bridal tour, and they agreed with him. After their return he would purchase a farm. This idea completely appeased Fanny, and removed her vexation. These sudden changes of plans did not increase uncle's favourable opinion of Grosvenor, but influenced it less than I should have expected. The visit soon drew to a close, and the lover departed for Wellington.
The next few months passed quickly by. Work was the order of the day, sometimes of one nature, sometimes of another. The larger proportion was accomplished in the saddle. This I found more preferable to the manual department, but took my share at anything that was going. Uncle bred cattle and horses to the exclusion of sheep, the country being better suited for the former. The run was not all fenced, and we had constantly to be riding round and turning back cattle that were straying too near the boundaries; mobs had occasionally to be mustered, drafted, and driven to the port for shipment to some of the large centres of population; besides which, we often bought and sold amongst our neighbours, and those purchased had to be driven home, so that we were rarely a day without spending some hours in the saddle. There were also young horses to be broken, and nothing pleased me better, after I became proficient enough in the saddle to gain uncle's good opinion, than schooling these young ones. The usual colonial style of horse-breaking we did not believe in. When the young horses are driven into the yard, the one required is caught by a noosed rope flung round his neck with a roping pole, and hauled up trembling, snorting, and half-choked to a post, a saddle and bridle forced on to him, and then generally the most reckless and brutal stock-rider jumps on his back, and by dint of whip and spur, and a cruel use of the bit, after a few spasmodic efforts to unseat his rider, the poor brute is literally fought
Having shortly described our occupations in the last chapter, a few words devoted to our sports may not be out of place. I have already portrayed a pig hunt. Occasionally we took excursions to shoot down some of the wild bulls, which were a great nuisance amongst our comparatively tame cattle, for although our run cattle were all as wild as hares, yet what were technically termed wild cattle, were those without any owners or brands. They had escaped at different times from various runs, and bred in the bush until there became quite a number of them. The heifers, when we got a chance, we ran in with our own cattle and slaughtered for home consumption, but the bulls were shot down wherever they could be got at. The excitement of approaching these animals in the high fern and titree or bush, which almost conceals them, is intense. On the open you can rarely get within shot. You perhaps see one from the distance enter the dense scrub, and although you guess his whereabouts, you can never be certain. On one occasion Charlie and I were out with the hopes of meeting an old patriarch who had been reported to bear a charmed life, and also to be excessively dangerous. He had been
At other times in the right season wo enjoyed a day's pigeonshooting. These hirds were very plentiful, and being so devoid of fear that one will often remain on a tree after his mate is shot, fall very easy victims to the amateur sportsman. The parrot is not considered quite such a delicacy as the pigeon, but is by no means to be despised in a pie. He also has a habit which makes him a desirable bird when pot-filling is the object of your sport. On wounding one of a flock his grating shrieks attract his friends, who, either from curiosity or sympathy, flutter around him, and are easily shot in numbers. The
We had no lack of sport when our various occupations would allow us to take a day's spell. This gave a zest to life, and pleasant variations to our daily fare. Thus, as I have before remarked, the months passed quickly by, and the time approached when the two weddings were to take place; for Mrs Fortescue had determined that she and Fanny should be married on the same day. The house was in great commotion. Improvements were going on—painting, papering, and varnishing. Added to this our old acquaintance, the mermaid milliner from Taranaki (as uncle persisted in calling her after hearing of her submersion) had been called in, and was, with an assistant, busily at work at the two trousseau. The widow and Fanny were constantly wanting to exchange opinions, so they agreed that the work should be done at our house. The general conversation of the ladies during this time was profoundly unintelligible to the average male mind.
Grosvenor had not written for some time. In his last letter he had stated that his betrothed must excuse the long intervals between his visits, as he had much important business to transact in the South Island, but that he would arrive in Wanganui in ample time for the event which was to make him the happiest of men, viz., by the steamer which would reach there rather more than a week before the day fixed.
Uncle and the two girls drove down to meet him on that occasion, but, to their astonishment, he was not on board. They wrote at once to his last address, ‘P.O., Wellington,’ but received no reply. Still they excused him, thinking he had missed the boat, and would come by the next, which would yet be in time. Fanny was certain he would not fail to keep his promise, and, indeed, I was of the same opinion; for he surely was not the man to miss a chance of securing a lady, who he was aware would be wealthy, even if he did not entertain much affection for her.
Uncle began to be very cross and impatient whenever his name was mentioned, but his own approaching happiness gave him little time to think of his future son-in-law. The steamer, by which he must now travel, should arrive on the day before the wedding, and again they went down to meet it, but another disappointment awaited them. The boat had not arrived, and nothing had been heard of her. Charlie got another young fellow to join him, and pulled down the river in the vain hope that the signals might be wrong, but they came back with no good news. The bar, they said, was rough, and no vessel could enter by that night's tide, so that there would be little chance of his arrival till nearly noon the next day. However, this was better than if the steamer had arrived without him, and Fanny, although it was easy to see she felt the delay very much, still asserted that he would be in time whatever happened.
Charlie was sent off in the morning with a led horse, as it was considered that they would get up quicker on horseback than with the waggon. The weddings were put off till a later hour. It had been arranged that they should take place in the house, and the clergyman was in waiting. Everyone wore a look of anxiety and annoyance instead of the jovial appearance which would have better befitted the occasion.
The hours glided by. I was posted on a small hill overlooking the road from Wanganui, and after straining my eyes, and wishing the gentleman who was causing all this trouble at the bottom of the sea, I suddenly caught sight of a dark speck on the road. Was it a horseman? Yes, it draws nearer, and from the speed must be. Were there two of them? I could not tell at this distance. If so, they must be riding side by side. I was not to signal until I was certain whether Charlie was alone or not. If so I was to hold up one arm, if not two. Nearer and nearer it came. Evidently horseflesh was not spared. Were there two? My selfishness completely mastered me here, and I cried, ‘Oh, my God, I hope not!’ What had I done that I should be compelled to watch for my rival's coming and announce it? What had I done? I had simply done the same as I should, had the request come from the same person, and the favour asked been fiftytimes as hard. Yes, when Fanny came to me with those glorious eyes pleading and tear-stained to ask me to watch for their coming, and give her a signal as early as possible, I simply agreed, without a word to let her know what a painful task it would be, for I little knew myself. I soon got a closer view, and oh, joy! felt convinced there was only one, and was on the point of giving the preconcerted signal, when the road, taking a turn, showed there were two. ‘Now,’ I thought, ‘it is all up. They will be married in a few hours.’ The events which I had hoped might occur to prevent the fulfilment of the engagement had not happened, and I should lose my darling for ever. I gave the signal which would bring joy to my cousin's heart, but what bitterness and misery to mine! and then, I am not ashamed to say, I cast myself down on the soft springy turf and groaned aloud. I felt I could have borne with equanimity to have seen her married to a man whom she loved, had there been the least chance of her being happy with him, but to think that in another hour she would be tied to a brute, not even deserving the name of man, one whom, allowing she did love now, a girl of her high spirit and moral rectitude must, sooner or later, mortally detest; one who I felt certain would treat her brutally directly he tired of her. This was agony, and agony of no mean description. My pain on hearing of their engagement was sharp, but there had always been present with me the hope that something would occur to prevent such an ill-assorted union, and when the fellow did not arrive by the first steamer as he had promised, I was convinced that this something had occurred. I did not myself know how this hope had grown to be a certainty in my mind, till it was thus rudely dashed to the ground by the vision of two horsemen coming at speed up the road. The iron truly entered into my soul. To lose the object of one's affections by death is bad enough, but then there is always the fond hope that she will be happier there. But to give her up to the living death of what must most assuredly be an unhappy marriage—what language is capable of describing the intensity of the torture? What wonder that the weakest of us have died with our own hands rather than face it, and others have carried the scars to their graves through perchance long and weary lives? Not many of us can take comfort from the old saws usually advanced as applicable to these cases, such as, ‘There are as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it.’ ‘If you can't get the girl you want, take the one that wants you.’ Then there is not always a one who wants you to take, even if you feel so disposed.
I rose from the ground, determined at least to try and command my
The door was thrown open, and uncle held his watch in his hand. ‘Just in time Grosvenor, my boy.’
His voice fell, for in place of the long-expected bridegroom stood a complete stranger.
‘This is a friend of Mr Grosvenor's,’ put in Charlie.
‘My father, sir.’
Fanny turned as white as death. Any ordinary young lady would have fainted with the shock of the moment, but she came from a race on her mother's side who can bear pain with stoical endurance.
‘He would have come had he been alive,’ she murmured in a low tone.
‘God forbid that anything should have happened to him!’ I exclaimed in direct contradiction to my expressed wishes of a short time before, for I could not stand her stony look of agony.
The stranger now gave his message to my father.
‘Do not allow your daughter to be alarmed, sir. The gentleman you expected here to day would not have disappointed you if by any means he could have avoided it. Death, however has not prevented him, nor illness either as far as he is personally concerned. He was in Wellington on business when he received a letter from home informing him that his father was dangerously ill, and not likely to live long, and that if he wished to see him again alive, he must start without a moment's delay, so as he found there was a vessel leaving on the following day, he at once took his passage, fearing that, if he delayed till there was another chance, he might never again see his father's face. As I was travelling in this direction, he asked me to come up and relieve your natural anxiety on his account, and if that confounded steamer had not broken down I should have been here yesterday. Here is a letter for you, sir, and one for Miss Melton, which will further explain matters.’
‘Come in, sir. Of course, you are not responsible for your friend's actions, but I think it infernally scandalous. My father might have
‘I think, sir, when you have perused his note you will feel less warmly on the subject.’
This was the case. My uncle was considerably appeased.
I must here give the contents of the two letters:—
My Dear Sir —I am afraid you will think very badly of me for allowing any earthly consideration to prevent me from being present on the day fixed for my wedding with your daughter. Nothing short of what really has happened would have deterred me. My great love for Miss Melton, was an extra inducement for me to do my duty, which undoubtedly was to hurry home to my father's bedside. This will seem to you a trivial excuse, until I inform you that I received information that my younger brother was using unfair means to supplant me in my father's favour, working on his feeble health to induce him to do me out of my rights. In view of my approaching marriage I felt that I could not avoid looking after my future interests. I could not in honour have come to you, sir, and married your daughter, when I knew alt the time that my brother was robbing me of the property I had represented to you as falling to me at my father's death. Oblige by assisting me in my endeavours to show Fanny that it is far better to wait a few months. I will return at the earliest possible date to fulfil my utmost desires. —Your affectionate son-in-law in prospect,
Augustus Grosvenor.
Fanny's letter was not for the gaze of vulgar eyes. However, we gathered that it contained an innumerable amount of excuses and prayers for her to be true to him. He enlarged very much on the fact that love for his father was his sole motive of his journey; and that he was sure she must feel for him, for she alone could know what it must have cost him, loving her as he did, to put off the consummation of his happiness for some months; but then, he added pathetically, he had known his father much longer than he had known her. He had forgotten to mention in his letter to her father that he would have let them know this earlier, but he had only heard the news from home himself during the last few days, and there was no chance of communicating it before. He concluded by saying that if, as was morally certain to be the case, his father did unfortunately die, on his return she would speedily become Lady Grosvenor.
In uncle's letter his motives were pecuniary, in Fanny's purely love for his parent. This struck me as being strange. In looking over the Wellington paper, which Charlie had brought up, I failed to see the name of Grosvenor in the passenger list of the outgoing vessel. This I casually mentioned to his friend. That gentleman answered that he had taken his passage at the last moment, and his name had no doubt been omitted, or it was highly probable he had given some other name altogether, for he much preferred travelling incognito; it was a whim of his. He hated everyone to know his movements.
This did not mend matters much in my estimation, nor did I truly wish them mended, for I began again to hope that my outburst of feeling on the grassy knoll had been utterly needless; that this hateful union would never take place. Mrs Fortescue, in kindness to Fanny, now wished uncle to consent to put off their wedding also, but he naturally would not agree to this proposal, so, as there was yet just time, the clergyman was called in, and the ceremony performed in the drawing-room. The Sylvesters and some other friends were present, and notwithstanding the exceedingly embarrassing events of the day, we all made the best of it, and each one with varying degrees deavoured to act as if nothing extraordinary had occurred, and that uncle's wedding was the only one they expected to witness,
‘Ladies and Gentlemen,—My heart's too full of happiness to speak, but I think the more. You have drunk our healths. God bless you for it.’
After the breakfast the happy pair started for Wanganui in the waggon on their way to Auckland with a pair of greys, which Charlie and I had broken in for the occasion. The shower of slippers and rice proved a little too much for their equanimity (we had not thought of accustoming them to this part of the programme), and they started off at a furious pace. However, uncle had the rib bons, and aunt had unbounded confidence in his Jehuship, and plenty of pluck. Her ringing laugh was plainly audibl e, for wheels and hoofs made but little noise over the yielding turf. Uncle took them twice round the paddock in grand style, by which time they had to yield to his iron muscles; he soon had them in perfect command, and they spee dily vanished out of sight down the road. Mrs Sylvester had arranged to remain with us until their return.
We amused ourselves and our friends as best we could until it was time for the inevitable dance. This I had feared would be rather slow under the circumstances, but my fears were groundless, for it was a brilliant success. Fanny was again the life and soul of the party, and her efforts were ably seconded by the rest of us. Some of her young lady friends unwisely attempted something in the way of condolence and sympathy, but they were met with lively jokes and ridicule which thoroughly astonished them.
‘Surely a few more months’ freedom is not a matter requiring condolence,' said she.
Then one of the baffled condolers, a rather faded-looking virgin, whose very conspicuons though unavailing attempts at captivating one of the male sex were the laughing stock of her freinds—indeed, Grosvenor himself had been her aim on the occasion of his first appearance amongst us—this baffled condoler, I say, ventured on a little sarcasm.
‘You should really take care, my dear, that you have at least one string to your bean to keep him from roaming, and to draw him to you when required.’
‘When you cease to make such humiliating failures of your attempts at stringing on beaux, my dear, I will listen to you, but not before.’
This retort caused a perfect peal of laughter from those who heard it, for they all knew how well deserved it was. The recipient of it judged from Fanny's appearance and noted predilection for repartee, that it would be best to retire. This she did with a sickly smile. Her further remarks on the matter were restricted to confidential friends.
I had the pleasure of a good many dances with my cousin, and enjoyed them immensely. She confided in me as she would in a brother, and allowed that she felt dreadfully hurt at what had
‘My dear Frank,’ she replied, ‘I know now what you really feel for me, and how hard it must have been for you to act the kind brotherly part you have done, never referring unkindly to my disappointment, nor putting yourself forward and saying you would not have served me in this manner. I honour you, and than you heartily, my dear brother.’
‘Yes, darling, I'll allow it has been a fearful struggle to me to witness the way you have had to suffer, but your thanks are sufficient reward. Allow me just once to allude to your future husband. (The words nearly choked me.) Dear Fanny, promise me that you will not marry until we have had time to find out more about him, whether he really is what he says. Let me tell you I have reason for grave doubts whether he really has returned home.’
I saw before I had finished the sentence that I had committed another egregious error. When shall I learn to avoid blundering so hoplessly, and everlastingly saying the wrong thing, when I would give my ears to say the right one. Her eyes lost the fond look and flashed fire at me.
‘Frank, this is too bad of you. I cannot say a kind word to you, but you must immediately add to my trouble by casting unjust suspicions on one I love. You have in a moment undone your previous considerate actions. Never mention his name to me if you would be still my friend. He has gone home, I am certain of it, and I consider it very noble of him to give up his own happiness, and travel so many miles to look on his father's face once more. You would not have done so.’
‘I should certainly have got married first and taken my bride with me,’ I could not help replying.
This seemed to strike her as reasonable, but she was faithful to him.
‘There was no time. The old man might be dead. He acted for the best.’
I saw the mischief I had wrought, as she turned coldly away from me. Why could I not have been silent, and refrained from checking her kind, sisterly feeling by my unlucky request? We were now, I felt, as wide apart as ever.
The evening had come to a close, and our friends departed to their several homes. Charlie and I worked away with a will during my uncle's absence, determined to show him that we could manage very well without him. On his return he commended us for our zeal, and placed me on regular pay. He had previously made me various presents, but my services were supposed to be given in return for instruction in matters pertaining to pastoral pursuits.
Christmas, came round again, and you may be sure we did not overlook the festive day, nor forget the arrangements previously made to hold the annual gathering at my uncle's. Aunt proved, as everyone had anticipated, a most accomplished hostess, backed up as she was by the able assistance of her step-daughters. I had imagined that Fanny would not appreciate yielding up her absolute sway over the household which had lasted for many years, but that there would occasionally be battles royal in the little kingdom. This, however. was not the case. Mrs Fortescue did not adopt the rô;le of the typical stern stepmother, but rather gave one the idea of an elder sister.
Soon after his return home my uncle, to my great delight, ordered me to be ready for a journey to Auckland by the next steamer. He had when there purchased some valuable young shorthorn stock of aristocratic lineage, which would be now ready for delivery, and as every care must be taken of them, he judged it best to send me up to attend to their lordly wants on the voyage. This was a pleasant proof of his dependence on me. I started, therefore, on my trip in high spirits. The day was a beautiful one, the sea as smooth as glass, and my fellow passengers agreeable enough fellows. What an age it appeared since I had steamed down that coast, yet it was at most not more than fourteen or fifteen months. In that brief space of time my experiences had been manifold. I felt years older as I recalled my sensations at the time, and, looking backward, regretted that I could not blot out much that had occurred in the interval, and in place of my present hopeless attachment to my fair cousin, live over again those few blissful days of its early birth and trustful confidence in the future. My reflections were interrupted by the dinner bell, and truly the effects of the sea air made me heartily welcome the interruption.
The evening of the second day was closing in as we entered the Manukau Heads. The bar had divested itself of its terrors; its aspect was that of a lion asleep; the noise of its roaring was hushed; the restless raging to and fro had subsided into comparatively speaking restful peace. It is true there were low murmurings now and then, and gentle shudderings shook at intervals the mighty frame, as if even in his slumber the noble beast could not quite forget that he had a character to uphold.
I had entered Auckland by ‘bus late on the night of my arrival at Onehunga, and put up at the old Wyndham House. As I entered the breakfast-room the next morning, I noticed a youth of about my own age busily engaged on a plate of beefsteak. He looked up as I entered, and stared at me in what I considered a rude manner.
‘Frank, by Jove! Well, old man, how are your?’ he exclaimed, heartily.
I then knew it must be my old comrade, Harry, but how changed since I last met him! I should never have recognized him had he not spoken to me. He had become so bronzed and hirsute, and was dressed in the simple but serviceable uniform of the Forest Rangers. These, by-the-bye, were a body of men selected from the different militia regiments, noted for their indomitable pluck, and aptitude for darting into the trackless bush in pursuit of their foe, utterly regardless of the fact that the said foe might be lurking behind the trees ready to pick them off. They were commanded by the most brave and dashing officer that ever led his men to victory in New Zealand—Major Von Tempsky. He was a man who did not receive
pro tem., or at other places frequented by young men from the country. Although these gentlemen ‘shouted’ for him to his heart's content, called him a right-down good fellow, and got him to show them the way about town, which, notwithstanding his recent arrival, he appeared extremely well able to do, yet they none of them cared to take him on their farms, judging, I presume, that his capabilities in the direction before said would scarcely be likely to qualify him for hard work on a farm. He then wished he had kept Mr Robinson's letter of introduction, but having destroyed it, be was too proud to write and ask for another. Hanging round Hunter's Horse Bazaar one day, he observed the man whose duty it was to ride and show off the horses perform that duty so badly, being evidently inebriated, that he came down a cropper. Harry immediately seized the bridle and jumped on the nag, leaving the spectators to help up the fallen hero. He sent the animal up and down the tan in an entirely different style, so much so, that bidding became brisk, and it was evident to everyone that Harry's horsemanship had put at least an extra five pound note into the owner's pocket. That gentleman came up well pleased when Harry dismounted, and after thanking him, inquired if he wanted a billet. Our friend naturally replied in the affirmative, and the gentleman took him up to the auctioneer and introduced him to his notice. ‘This is the sort of fellow you should have to show off the horses, and not a drunken fool like Joe, who has spoilt the sale of many a good horse.’ Harry was engaged on the spot to ride at the sales and do any other work required of him about the yards. This billet he kept just a week. On the succeeding sale day a pompous little foreman thought fit to reprimand him for some fancied want of smartness. Harry replied rather testily, whereupon the fellow struck him with his whip, and a moment after lay on his back in the tan seeing stars at an unusually early hour in the evening. Harry, without asking for his week's wages, marched out of the Bazaar. An officer of a militia regiment from Hawke's Bay, happened to be amongst the crowd who witnessed this little fray. Instead of joining in the laughter and jeers which assailed the discomfited hero, he hailed the retreating Harry. The latter did not condescend to answer but walked away all the more speedily. The gentleman, however, was not to be done in that manner. He hurried after him down Durham-street, and thus accosted him:
‘I say, my man, those fists of yours would be better employed hammering rebel Maoris than peaceful white men. Come and join my company in Hawke's Bay. We expect some hard knocks will be going shortly.’
Harry at once acepted this offer, for he reflected it would both give him a chance of distinguishing himself, and bring him into the neighbourhood of his divinities. I use the plural, for I believe it would have puzzled him to have asserted which of the two young
A few days after his arrival in Napier, as he was marching through the town with his troop, his eyes fell on Miss Julia Robinson seated on a neat but spirited hack in a riding habit which fitted her well-developed form to perfection. Although his dreams of late had been, as I have related, more frequently of Miss Grave, yet in a moment his old infatuation possessed him with renewed intensity. He had never seen Miss Julia look so fascinating. The effort to soothe her horse's natural excitement at the sight of armed men and the martial music of the band, had increased the usual bloom of her complexion, and the manner in which her lithe and graceful form answered to every bound of the frightened animal proclaimed her a first-class equestrian. He was an example of the fact that two loves can exist in the same breast at the same time, and the owner of that breast, if of undecided character, may not for the life of him or her be able to decide to which to give the preference. One, however, is almost invariably an infatuation of the senses, while the other will be the deep lasting love of the heart, evoked by the sterling qualities of the beloved, rather than by outside show or trick of manner. Which, then, will win the day? The truer one undoubtedly, if cool judgment is displayed, but should, as is too often the case, advantage be taken of a weak moment of excitement, then assuredly facination will gain a victory over her calmer, holier sister.
Harry now had these two loves in his breast. Sometimes one was ascendant, sometimes the other. Since his farewell to Miss Grave she had been most frequently in his thoughts. Now this sudden vision of Miss Julia, intensified by a bright smile, which he took as intended for himself, though, as it afterwards transpired, she had not recognised him, caused him to dethrone her rival again. The young ladies themselves, of course, were ignorant of the way their images were playing at see-saw in the amorous heart of this young soldier.
He had only been a few days in town when orders were issued for the militia, volunteers, and friendly natives to hold themselves in readiness for an attack. The Hauhau fanatics, impressed with the idea of attacking Napier, had already taken possession of a friendly pa close at hand. Sir Donald McLean, the Superintendent, had, however, been apprised of their intentions, and before daylight one morning Colonel Whitmore at the head of a force, comprising a body of militia and volunteers, surrounded the pa before the enemy were aware of their presence, then called on them to surrender. Harry, who was of the party, was desperately afraid they would do so, but he need have entertained no such fears, for only just awakened as they were, they fought like demons for an hour, when the survivors were taken prisoners. They were mostly well armed, and like most
Harry in this, his first battle, had the misfortune to receive a wound in his thigh. He was fighting like a bull dog. In fact, this occupation exactly suited his present temperament. Place an enemy before him, and there was then no wavering or indecision, no taking false steps through pride. He went at them as if at last he had secured an opportunity of wreaking vengeance against some of his fellow-men for the wrongs, fancied or otherwise, he had received from others of them. He was taken after the affray to the hospital at Napier, and through either bad treatment, or from the natural consequences of such a wound, he had a severe attack of fever, and was unconscious for some days. It will be observed that Harry did not himself relate verbatim all these little incidents. My knowledge of him, and what I heard from others, enabled me to fill in the missing links in the chain.
Mr Robinson, finding the natives were likely to become troublesome, had recently taken a house in Napier for his wife and family instead of allowing them to reside up-country. After the attack on the Hauhaus, just related, the young ladies, at Miss Grave's suggestion, had visited the hospital, taking flowers and a few trifles for the wounded. I must state that Miss Julia did not fall in very willingly with this suggestion, but decided to go this once, as her friend was bent on it. On entering the hospital the wounded fanatics first met their gaze, for they had been conveyed there with our own men. Miss Grave offered them flowers, but they sullenly expressed signals betokening refusal. As their tattooed, scarred features were not pleasing to look upon, and our friends could do nothing for them, they proceeded to the part of the building where lay those of their own race. The delirious raving and screaming of a patient, whom the attendants were vainly attempting to keep quiet, came suddenly on them, naturally frightening them, and they were about to leave the hospital quickly, when the words:—‘Julia, my love, I'll have you yet if I have to drag you over the dead body of your father,’ uttered in the tone of one in a raging fever, caused them to halt.
‘It's Mr Baker's voice, I'm certain it is, Julia!’ exclaimed her companion.
‘It may be Mr Baker or anyone else. I'm not going to stop here and hear his ravings.’
‘But, Julia, let us go up and try to calm him. Those nurses are simply aggravating him. I must go and speak to them.’
‘You can go it you like. I certainly shan't. The nurses are paid for their services. Let them do what they can. I don't see the necessity of helping them, nor will I.’
‘Well, Julia, do as you please. I can't bear to see suffering without trying to alleviate it.’
‘Oh, yes, I understand. You were always good at comforting Harry Baker.’
‘Julia, this badinage is out of place when a friend's life is in danger. I might with more truth tease you about him, for remember he used your name just now.’
‘What do I care whose name he uses? What have I to do with a penniless private in a militia regiment?’
‘Well, at the risk of your again mistaking my motives, I must say that I consider each one of us has this to do with his or her fellow
Then this quiet young lady walked up to Harry's bedside, and regardless of some very strong language with which in his delirium he was anathematizing the said nurse.
‘This gentleman is a friend of mine,’ she exclaimed in an authoritative tone. ‘Leave him to me, I will soon calm him.’
‘But, miss, the doctor ordered us to hold him down and keep him quiet, whatever he did.’
‘You are only making him worse. Leave him to me. I'll take all the responsibihity.’
‘But miss, his language ain't fit for the likes of you to hear.’
Harry at this moment proved the truth of this statement, for he told them to go to — —, a place never voluntarily visited, and not keep his darling Julia from him.
‘I do not wonder at his language when you are holding him so roughly.’
On this they relaxed their hold and drew back. She immediately went up to his pillow.
‘I am not Julia, Mr Baker,’ she said, soothingly, ‘but I am a friend whom I hope it will please you to see. I am come to nurse you, so you must obey me, and do what I say. Remember I am your sister. I'll tell you all about Julia by-and-bye.’
‘Will you? Will you?’ he inquired eagerly, for he recognised her. ‘Bless you for sending away those cruel nurses, anyhow! They were killing me.’
He then fell back in a quieter mood, merely adding: ‘You are sure you'll tell me all about Julia, and let her know how ill I am; then she'll come and see me; it would do me a world of good.’
She had not the heart to tell him that the young lady in question had refused to come near him, so she simply again promised, and got him off into a sound sleep, much to the astonishment of the professionals. As it was getting late she left word she would call again next day, and placing the flowers where they would meet his eye when he awoke, she returned home to tea.
Mrs Robinson and Julia made some very unpleasant remarks about her mode of spending the afternoon, but knowing it to be her duty, she cared little for them, for had she not solemnly promised the friendless youth—friendless, indeed, through his own folly—to be a sister to him? She had certainly a stronger feeling for him, but she had made up her mind at this time that she never could trust her life's happiness to a man like him; that she would never be more than a sister to him, but that she would be in spite of everyone. She would not leave him to the mercy of strangers in his helpless state. God send more of us such sisters, I say.
The next day saw Miss Grave again at the hospital. She found her patient much improved. She was determined, if possible, not to let Harry know of Julia's refusal to see him, but, to her dismay, she found that one of the nurses had endeavoured to entertain him by repeating the conversation of the young ladies at the door on the previous afternoon. The woman naturally thought that it was Miss Grave he cared for, and he, therefore, would only be amused at the other young lady for not caring to come to him. He was, of course, much incensed at the epithet of ‘penniless private’ being applied to him. He ground his teeth and swore he would be even with her some day. After worrying for some time, and cursing the inconstancy of women—forgetting, as we too often do, what a monument of inconstancy he himself was—he suddenly seemed to think of Miss Grave and her kindness to him. This put him in a good humour just as she entered. He professed himself full of gratitude to her for coming to see him. She could not bring herself to speak of Julia at once, so she gave him a kind, but earnest, lecture on the wickedness of using such language as she had heard issue from his lips on the previous day. Raving she allowed it was, but if he had not been in the habit of using it, it would not have come into his head then. ‘Is it manly?’ she said—‘Is it even sensible?—Is it just, because we are put out, to call down curses on the heads of those we think have offended us? Let us leave punishment to God, and not entreat Him to pour it on others. No; let us rather pray for mercy on others as well as ourselves, than for punishment.’
She casually mentioned Julia's name later on.
‘Don't tell me anything of her,’ he exclaimed with a shudder. ‘She is a cruel, heartless girl!’
‘Mr Baker, what has she done to deserve those words from you?’ ‘Never mind what she has done, but speak about yourself, my darling. You are all the world to me. You are worth a thousand such as she. If I could only make you believe that I love you with my whole soul. If you would only admit that you love me a little in return, it would be almost too much bliss. But you must! you do!’ he exclaimed, regardless of her efforts to silence him, her fear that they might be overheard overcoming the delight she could not help feeling on hearing his avowal, although she knew she must not yet place any reliance on it. ‘You must! you do!’ he repeated in impassioned tones, ‘or you would not have troubled to come and nurse me.’
‘Am I not your sister?’ she exclaimed, hurt that he also should so misunderstand her motives, but determined to adhere to the path of duty, regardless of all unkind criticism. ‘And as your nurse,’ she continued, ‘I command you to be quiet instantly. This excitement is doing you a world of harm. Not another word, or I go and leave you to the other nurses. I am always your sister, nothing more, remember that,’ holding out her hand to him.
He clutched it eagerly, and the very touch of the soft white palm appeared to have a soothing effect on him, for he soon fell into a quiet sleep.
Her fears that their conversation might have been overheard proved groundless. Harry's bed was in the corner of the room, and the occupants of the nearest beds were too much engaged with their own sufferings to listen to Harry's earnest pleadings.
In a few days he was pronounced almost fit to join his regiment. On Miss Grave's last visit, she found him just about to take his first walk outside the precincts of the hospital. He at once begged her to accompany him, and they strolled up amongst the hills.
‘Are you sure, Mr Baker, you are not overtaxing your strength?’ she asked, anxiously noticing the palour of his face as he gazed at hers. ‘Perhaps we had better sit down and rest.’
‘Yes, it will be best,’ he said, dropping easily on to the ground at her feet. ‘Do not alarm yourself, though. It is not physical weakness that takes the colour from my cheeks; it is the thought of what must come of me, if you will persist in the answer you gave me the other day. Oh, darling, if you only knew what you are to me! You are life itself! When I first came out this morning from that stuffy hospital, I felt the delicious intoxication of the fresh air, of the vital fluid bounding through my veins again. The glorious sun seemed shining for me; the blue sea in the distance appeared to put new life into me. This will be all dashed into the blackest darkness if you will not consent to be mine. I know I have been weak and vacillating, but that is all past. My love is firmly and irrecoverably fixed. How could I have been such a dolt, such an utter idiot, as to have entertained half a thought for that worthless girl? It was not love, it was mad infatuation! I was not in my right senses!’ he exclaimed, passionately, gazing into her pure, pale face as she sat on the bank above him.
Two tiny tears glistened on the deep-fringed lashes of her liquid eyes—tears of sympathy and sorrow for him, and for herself—sorrow that she could not credit him, and take him to her heart.
‘Give me some hope, darling, something to live for!’ he continued hurriedly, arguing well from what he saw.
It was but now that she could find words to stop the torrent of his pleading—that she could steel herself to inflict the blow, which she knew would wound herself as much, nay, more than it would him. But it must be done. ‘Mr Baker, it hurts me cruelly to be forced to give you pain, but you must remember that you have made these protestations to me several times before, and you know too well how false they have proved. I cannot alter my fixed determination. Why will you continue to press me so cruelly?’
‘And you can accuse me of cruelty?’ he answered, springing to his feet, his voice hoarse with passion. ‘You, who could nurse and save a man from what would be a welcome death, to watch him from day to day gaining strength, gaining hope at your hands, only to wait till you think him strong enough to stand it, then coolly administer to him the torture of the damned! You could show him the heaven he would enter only to cast him into a living hell! But I will not live to endure it! I vow before God I will not leave the next battle-field alive! False, cruel girl, a Hauhau bullet will be more merciful than you are!’
She had turned from him to hide her sobs, and her voice was broken
Heeding neither her words, nor the effect his brutal outburst had on the gentle girl who had done so much for him, he strode angrily away without a word of farewell. Her heart bled for him as she watched his retreating form. His sufferings were as nothing compared to hers. The very coarseness and cruelty of his denunciation was an alleviation to his pain, and one which she could never obtain. It was not till he left her, that she felt the full force of her disappointment in him. How much she had built on the hopes that she had at last a chance of doing him some real good. But the one comfort left her was that she had done her duty. Until she was assured in her own mind that she had his whole heart, beyond any power of infatuation to rob her of it, in justice to herself she would not alter her resolution, whatever it might cost her to abide by it.
She did not see Harry again, as he at once rejoined his comrades, and it was not his fault that he failed to carry out his mad threat, for in their next encounter with the enemy he surpassed himself in desperate recklessness, and fought more like an incarnate fiend than a human being. For many months he was engaged with his company in hunting down the rebel Maoris on the East Coast, who had been concerned in various brutal outrages and coldblooded murders. Those who witnessed his utter disregard for life or limb, marvelled at the fact that he always remained comparatively unscathed. The life of a soldier in the New Zealand bush was a hard one, but it admirably suited his restless condition, and when the boldest and hardiest spirits amongst the militia and volunteers, were selected from the band known as the Forest Rangers, he was foremost on the list. He was spending a few days' leave in Auckland when I met him. Having given the account, from which the previous information of his doings was taken, I questioned him as to whether he had seen anything of Grosvenor in his travels.
‘Grosvenor! I should think so; curse him! The beggar loafed about Auckland borrowing money, and working the oracle one way and another, till the place got too hot to hold him. He had me for a few notes I was fool enough to lend him.
‘But have you seen anything of him lately?’
‘No, I haven't, nor do I want to; but here comes someone who can tell you more about him than I can. You remember Brown, our shipmate, the fellow that was always after molly-hawks, Cape pigeons, and things? Here Brown,’ he shouted, ‘you remember Frank Melton! He was just asking after that detestable sneak, Grosvenor. You told me the other day that you often saw him.’
‘Ah, but first of all let's hear how you have been flourishing, old man,’ I exclaimed, returning with interest his hearty handshake.
‘Well, you shall hear all I have to tell, but I promise you brevity will be the most noticeable feature in my account of my doing. I expect you will remember that I came out as a cadet to a gentleman in Hawke's Bay. I use the word gentleman purely out of courtesy. I could not use it in any other sense. His method of teaching sheepfarming reminded me much of old Squeers in “Nicholas Nickleby.” The cadets (for he had several) were sent out to the shepherds’ huts, one to each, and as soon as one got to understand the work—
‘Good Lord, you don't say so!’ exclaimed both of us in a breath.
‘But how about the dad?’ I added.
‘Oh, my noble G. waited until the boss had to return to England, after he had been out barely three months, to attend to some lawyer's business, which he had thought was completed. Then G. happened to meet Julia, and she asked him up to the station. You know the old lady always was partial to him, and with a little care, and a good deal of confounded cheek, he soon managed to get engaged to the dear girl.’
‘Engaged to her! But when did this happen?’ inquired I.
‘Well, I'm sorry for you, Frank, for I see it's into you, but it was just a week or so before last Christmas Day twelvemonths. I remember it, for they asked me in to their Christmas party, and he was there. The old lady was blowing about her daughter's brilliant conquest.’
‘Are you sure of this, Brown?’
‘Sure of it? yes; the old lady bored me so infernally, I'm not likely to forget it. I am awfully sorry old man, it's hot on you.’
‘No occasion to pity me, my boy. I was off that lay before I left the ship. I only want to get at the truth of the affair, because the
‘Yes; he got back two or three months since. He has been detained an unconscionably long time by a stupid lawsuit. I believe they are keeping Julia's engagement a secret from him. The old lady thinks herself quite justified in hoodwinking her husband to prevent, what she calls, his absurd suspicions of the poor boy standing in the way of her daughter's happiness.’
‘But, suppose when he comes to hear of it, he were to say he'd cut her off with a bob?’
‘Then the noble G. would cut off to Wanganui, I presume. He's always bothering the old lady to make it right with her husband, and to tell him that Julia will die if he doesn't consent to the marriage.’
‘I see his move. He's engaged himself to both girls, and means to marry the one with the most coin, when he really finds out which that is. He relies on the fact that Wanganui and Napier people rarely meet, and trusts to chances to keep each family ignorant of the terms he is on with the other. However, we'll try and spoil his little game.’
‘Yes, that must be his move, the villain! I remember now, I heard Julia say he had written to her something about having to go home, and we have not seen him since. But how do you account for him fixing the day with your cousin? He evidently meant to marry her. Perhaps he would have gone for Julia as well, and made a rush for Salt Lake.’
‘No; I am inclined to think he had come to the conclusion that Fanny was the best line, but neglected to break off with Julia, till he was certain of the other.’
‘Anyhow his behaviour is scandalous. What can he be doing now?’
‘I believe his friend, who he sent up to us with a message to put off the wedding, said he was in Wellington when he heard of his father's illness, and that he had embarked there for the old country. He always claimed to have some mysterious business of great importance to transact in the principal towns of both Islands. I believe my cousin really thought he was a wealthy potentate, without whose assistance, the various provinces would all come to grief.’
Harry now entered the room again; he had been out for some time. ‘What, haven't you done yarning about that beast of a fellow yet? I left the room because I can't bear to hear his name mentioned, and you are at it still. Here, I have brought a bottle of whiskey. Let's have a drink to take the taste of the reptile out of our mouths. Here's to our next merry meeting.’
I need hardly add we did justice to the toast.
‘Well, if you want to know anything about my opinion of Grosvenor's whereabouts,’ exclaimed Harry, irritably, for we had asked him what he thought about the question, ‘I should say he's in chokey, where he richly deserves to be, and I sincerely hope he'll have to stay there for the rest of his natural life. Under those circumstances I heartily drink long life to him.’
‘What makes you think that, Harry, my boy?’
‘Why, after all the games he played in Auckland, and narrowly escaped detection, I'll swear he couldn't be long outside a prison, for the colonial Bobbies are not to be despised.’
‘But perhaps his narrow escapes might have taught him a lesson to stop those little games.
‘No fear! He couldn't exist without a bit of villainy, and a pretty big bit, too. If he isn't nabbed yet, he jolly soon will be. But enough about the hound; let's talk of something more interesting.’
‘Well, one word more, and I've done,’ said I. ‘Brown, promise me to let the Robinsons know all about his affair with my cousin, and what Harry has told us. They will then see what he's like.’
‘I certainly would, only I am hardly likely to see them again, for I have left my billet. They have fenced the boundary, and my occupation is gone.’
‘I had better write, I suppose, and let them know all about it,’ said I.
‘Perhaps so. Oh! by-the-bye, I heard, since I came up here, that the old gent has sold his station for a good figure, and is going to buy a large farm up to the north of Wanganui. Do you know it, Frank?’
‘I should think I did. It must be the very place my uncle wanted Grosvenor to buy. I wonder we never heard of his looking about there for land.’
‘He got a friend and partner to go over and see it, I believe.’
‘I may here state that my old friend did buy the estate, and moved on to it shortly after. I did not write, as I thought I should be sure to see him almost as soon as a letter would reach him.
‘Is Miss Grave still with the Robinsous, Brown?’ I asked.
‘Yes, and I believe she was awfully annoyed at Julia's engagement, for she particularly detested Mr G.’
‘Your one word is a confounded long one,’ growled Harry, irritably. For God's sake have done with the wretch, or I'll clear out and leave you.’
‘Well, Harry, have you met any of our other shipmates?’
‘Yes; there was poor Gracie. You heard of his death, didn't you?’
‘No, that I didn't. How did it occur, poor fellow?’
‘He was in the same company that I was.’
‘Gracie, a fighting man! you don't say so?’
‘I do, indeed, and a braver fellow never stepped, but he was always just as fanciful and peculiar about his dress. The girl he was so spooney on in the steerage—you remember her, a washed-out looking
Major Von Tempsky.
‘Poor Gracie, though rather an oddity, he was a right-down good fellow. I am awfully sorry to hear of his death. Simple though he was, a more kind-hearted beggar never existed. He would do anything in his power for his friends. I did not think his affections were so deeply touched. It was an awful shame of that girl to encourage him like she did, then chuck him up.’
‘Oh, for the matter of that, it's a way they all have,’ replied Harry: ‘love you one day, and you may go to the devil the next.’
Finding it was past twelve, we retired to our respective rooms. I did not sleep much, however, as the news I had heard about my rival, made my heart sick—sick with the thought that such a detestable villain should have the power to keep the affections of a girl like my cousin; though, in all probability, at any time when it suited his base purposes, or when he tired of her, he would trample them under his feet. A man of his evil nature, and total want of principle, could not he capable of a true, lasting love. When every good impulse is sacrificed to selfishness and conceit, there is no room for love; it cannot exist. When I contemplated my cousin married to such a man, and the world-wide difference between my feeling for her and his, I doubted the goodness of God in allowing such things to be. Why could they not see him in his true light? Why would they not listen to what I could say in his disfavour? I would not exaggerate his faults, for that would be a difficult matter, nor ‘ought set down in malice.’ But no; everything I said was discredited. I doubted much if I should, even with my recently-gained knowledge of his doings, be able to stop this hateful marriage. What, I thought, if he should turn up in my absence, and marry her? What if he were even now in Wanganui? But this could hardly be. My thoughts were getting rather mixed. He had given them to understand that he had gone home, and even if he had not done so, he would not visit them again, until ample time had elapsed for him to have made the return journey, for fear they would suspect something was wrong. Would he not, though, if anything occurred to make it advisable to alter his plans and get married at once? He would with unblushing face, present himself at uncle's door, and give some specious rigmarole of an excuse, which they would in all probability credit, and the marriage would take place.
The reader can guess my feelings as these thoughts crossed and recrossed my mind, and when at length, in the early morning, I dropped into a troubled sleep, it was only to dream of a black demon, with the orthodox horns and hoofs, but Grosvenor's smirking features, persistently baulking my utmost endeavours to approach my cousin,
Harry, who occupied the same room, said at the breakfast-table that the hearty supper I had taken, or the fumes of the whiskey, must have given me the nightmare, for I was making such a devil of a row, that he couldn't sleep for my groans. I replied that there were worse troubles than good suppers and nightmare.
‘Why, old man, I believe you are spoony on that ass of a Robinson girl still! I thought you had more sense.’
I did not deign to answer him.
After our morning meal I had to go and take delivery of the cattle, and let the former owner know that I intended shipping them by the next steamer for Wanganui. I had still a few days to spend in town, for which I was not sorry. With returning daylight my brighter hopes had arisen, and I began to consider things might not be quite as black as they looked. Then followed a peaceful Sabbath. We rose late, and by the time we had breakfasted, the bells of Saint Paul's Church were ringing. I asked Harry if he was going.
‘No fear,’ he replied. ‘I never go near the devil dodgers. I like to think for myself. I don't want to know what their grannies told them about hell fire and all that; it's a played-out farce. I am surprised at you, Frank. I thought the time you've been in the colonies would have knocked all that nonsense out of you.’
‘Well, Harry, I also like to think for myself, and do. I can do that, and listen to them too.’
‘What do you want to hear them preach for, then? Can't you be content with your own observations and experiences? Why accept a lot of bosh that you can't prove to be true?
‘No, I can't be content with my own observations and experiences in religion, any more than in any other science. In astronomy, geology, and a host of other ologies, do we not take the written knowedge gathered by others without testing it for ourselves, by this means saving a lot of useless inquiry and time? Now, putting religion on a level with these science for the sake of argument, are we to take nothing for truth that is written by previous investigators and exponents? Are we only to believe the little scraps of knowledge we may pick up in our short lives? Why should we treat religion worse than worldly knowledge?’
‘I can't say I see the use of what you goody-goodies call religion—church-going, prayers, and all that. I hold that men want nothing more to teach them their duty, and to be good and moral; that the knowledge that it answers best, and that unhappiness and trouble arise from acting unfairly to one another is quite sufficient.’
‘But that knowledge is a part of religion, my boy, and a more important part of it than mere church-going. Was there no religion, there would be no punishment for acting wrong and no reward for doing right, no Supreme Being to reward or punish. But I dare say you do not believe in a Supreme Being?’
‘Well, I think those races who worshipped the sun were as near right as any. The sun certainly rules everything, and, with its warmth, makes life. Why need it have a maker?’
‘You must prove that it hasn't before you accept that theory, old man, if you want to carry out your own idea of only believing what yor know to be true. However, it is no good arguing. I once read a quotation from the works of some philosopher, I forget the beggar's
‘It's too hot to trouble to solve any problem except how to quench one's thirst this morning, Frank, so I'll give you best.’
That evening a gentleman came in with whom Harry was acquainted. He was a resident at the Thames, but was often in Auckland, and generally lodged at the place at which we were staying. His conversation, like that of many others at the time, was of nothing but mining shares, for Aucklanders were now in a fever of excitement and speculation over the new goldfields, which had been proclaimed a few months before at the Thames. Gold had been found as early as 1852 at Coromandel, but owing to obstruction from the native owners, the country around could not be fairly prospected. A few adventurous miners, however, did a little surreptitious prospecting, and the result justified the Colonial Government in making substantial arrangements with the chiefs, and the field was opened in 1867. As much as three pounds per acre a year, was paid to the lucky tribe for the use of the land for mining purposes. The prospects were so good, that as many as fifteen thousand miners from various countries visited it during the next four years. Four prospectors discovered a marvellously rich deposit in the bed of a creek. They immediately pegged it out, and named it the Shotover, and were men of great wealth in no time. Among the many rich mines, I may name the famous Golden Crown, which paid no less than two hundred thousand pounds in dividends in one year to the shareholders; also the Caledonian, a mine unequalled in richness in these colonies, or perhaps, elsewhere; out of which, in the space of twelve months, the almost incredible amount of ten tons of gold were taken, and six hundred thousand pounds paid in dividends. No wonder, when so many had partaken of this sudden access of wealth, that the whole province of Auckland, to say nothing of other parts of the colony, should be in a state of feverish insanity, I might almost call it. Sharebrokers started by dozèns, and, from the immense number of shares which passed through their hands, they must have coined money in commissions alone. Farmers sold their farms, and merchants their merchandise, to invest the proceeds in shares, shares, shares, no matter to some mad speculators whether the claim had yet found the colour, or not, or perhaps was ever likely to find it. Many, of course, lost their all. Fortunes were made or lost in a few days. Shares in the Caledonian, for instance, rose from a few shillings to two hundred pounds per share in an incredibly short space of time. This intense excitement was just commencing when I visited Auckland, but I have mentioned it here, as it had its effect on me, for I caught the gold fever. The only consideration which prevented me from rushing to the brokers, and buying shares—I cared little in what mine, for I had no knowledge of mining to guide me—was that, very fortunately, I had no spare coin to invest. Had I possessed the needful, it is ten to one I should have taken advantage of the offer of Harry's acquaintance to sell me, what he represented to be, the scrip of a mine only slightly inferior to the Golden Crown, and on the same reef, but which I noticed afterwards, wound up without paying a cent, or finding the colour of gold. At the time I anathematised my ill luck in not having the wherewithal to purchase the chance of making thousands of pounds, even although a very small sum would have done it. Could I but have bought those shares, I soliloquized, I might have been a man of wealth
Shortly after my safe return to Wanganui with the cattle, war broke out again, this time at Patea, a township to the north of us. Nearly all the young men about were joining the volunteers, so, not to be behindhand, I begged uncle to spare me for a time, and as he agreed, I was lucky enough to get enlisted in the company of Forest Rangers to which Harry belonged. They were engaged in trying to quell the disturbance at Patea. I have previously mentioned the Hauhaus, but it might not be out of place to give a short account of them here. About the year 1865 a Maori named Te Ua taught this new religion, if it could be termed such. There is little doubt but that he was a lunatic. It is, however, well known that no religious teacher can be so mad that he will not find any quantity of followers, even amongst the most civilized races. How much more, then, amongst a race as excitable as the Maori. The principal ceremony indulged in by these followers of the false prophet was a dance round a pole, on which was fixed the preserved head of one of their enemies, who happened to have fallen into their cruel hands, singing some meaningless words over and over again, and making a hideous noise resembling as much as possible the word Hauhau, or the barking of a dog, from which originated the name of their sect. They were taught that their god required them to kill missionaries, and burn all the Bibles they could get hold of.
I must now return to the time of my joining the Rangers. My aunt and uncle appeared to be a model husband and wife. They had certainly both had previous experience, which must be a great advantage. Fanny had received a letter from Grosvenor, but to her astonishment, instead of having English stamps and postmarks on it, it had evidently been posted in New Zealand. The envelope had inscribed on it, ‘Per favour Mr Blake.’ The writer mentioned to explain this that he had been writing to Blake on business, and had enclosed Fanny's note to save postage. Blake had therefore posted it on. I could see at a glance, when someone alluded to this in my presence, that Fanny was awfully annoyed at it, although she only remarked that she was surprised that he thought of petty economies; it was not like him. He requested
My two fair cousins did not at all appreciate my determination to join the forces. Fanny in particular was very urgent in her entreaties that I should not go. The tears were in her beautiful eyes as I rode away, and I did not soon forget the warmth of her handclasp, or her kind, sisterly salute—only sisterly, though. ‘God bless you, Frank, and send you back safe to us,’ she said, in feeling tones. I confess I was much touched, and almost altered my determination at the last moment. It is more than probable that, but for Grosvenor's assertion in his letter that he did not hope to be with her till the end of the year, I should never have done my little towards settling the Maori disturbances. He said that his father's illness had caused business entanglements which imperatively required his presence to unravel. I therefore thought it would be quite safe to leave her for a month or so, by which time I hoped the war might be over.
Major Von Tempsky had just arrived from Auckland, having been summoned to lead his men against the Hauhaus at Patea. Harry informed him of my desire to join the Rangers, and he replied that he would be only too happy to enrol any of Harry's friends, especially if they were lads of his spirit.
I was no sooner with them than we were off to Waihi, where several murders had recently been committed by the fanatics, who were acting under the order of their leader,
The sight that met our eyes there was one which, at this distance of time, makes my heart sick as I write. Judge, then, the effect it would have on a raw recruit, who had never before witnessed a fellow creature in the power of our universal foe—Death—in any form. I felt a cold, creeping horror in all my limbs, and I could not for weeks afterwards efface from my aching eyelids the horrible scene. Just inside the gateway, covered with gore, and fearfully mutilated with the cruel tomahawk, his heart literally torn out, lay the body of Captain Ross, while strewed around, and all more or less disfigured—some, indeed, almost chopped to pieces—were the still reeking remains of nine or ten of his men. We could only find three of the enemy dead on the field, but doubtless they carried off all they could, fearful that we should follow their example by wreaking vengeance on the slain.
About a fortnight afterwards the escort of the commissariat cart was attacked by seventy or eighty Hauhaus, not far from one of our outposts. We were soon on the spot, and they again fled. We managed to give them a volley they reached the bush, which gave them additional burdens to carry in the way of corpses.
Comparative inaction while our enemy were thus employed was little to our taste, and we were delighted when the word was passed that Colonel McDonnell would proceed with two hundred men to try and capture the stronghold in which these incarnate fiends were ensconced, and from which they, every now and again, emerged on the excursions described above. It rejoiced in the euphonious name of ‘Te Ngutu o te Manu,’ signifying in English the ‘Beak of the Bird.’ It was pouring with rain as we marched in the early morning, and the Waingongoro River, which we had to cross, was flooded. We passed some rifle pits and earth-works, constructed by the enemy with the idea of serving for a cover to harass us when we approached. Had we happened to use that road a day sooner, we should, undoubtedly, have received too warm a welcome, for there were recent footprints of gentlemen who did not generally wear boots, showing they had but lately left. The peaceful natives now rarely go barefoot, but these sable warriors found that they could glide about more swiftly and silently without these luxuries. We tramped on, wet and weary, till we came to the pa, which was surrounded by a strong palisading of stakes driven into the ground, and strongly bound together with vines and creepers. We halted while the colonel and a few men reconnoitred. The natives evidently had neither seen nor heard us. The order to advance was given, and with a mighty yell, rendered as diabolical as we knew how to make it, we rushed up to the pa. Finding a track in, we made use of it, and fired several volleys at the astonished natives. They returned our fire, but soon retreated to the bush which surrounded it. We found nine of them dead, and a goodly number of bullets, a few arms, and some cartridges of very primitive manufacture. Although the law was very stringent, forbidding the sale of firearms and ammunition to the native race, there were dishonest white men who made enough out of this trade to pay the fines had they been ten times as large, and secure a handsome profit besides. Our loss at this engagement was trifling.
These were not times for dallying, and orders were soon again passed round to be in readiness to leave our outpost at three o'clock the next morning, to the number of about three hundred, one hundred of whom were friendly Wanganui natives, to attack another pa, in which the famous Hauhau leader.
It was not the least of our troubles that we had to leave the bodies of some of our boldest comrades on the field to be abused by the fiendish foe. We were closely pursued, and the Hauhaus kept up a murderous fire. Sub-Inspector Roberts was now in charge, and his task of extricating us from the bush was no ordinary one. Lieutenant Hastings and seventeen men fell as we retreated. The screams of the wounded as the enemy reached them were heartrending. To try to assist them would mean simply going back into the jaws of a death of hellish torture ourselves. At dusk the foe ceased their pursuit, and we halted till the moon should rise, that we might see our way out of the murky bush. There were men among us whose tongues were far more apt at curses than at prayers, yet who prayed that night that God would mercifully grant speedy
I have admitted I was not of them, but I envy them. I will not here enter into the wisdom or otherwise of the attack. I am only writing a history of our lives, therefore I only mention it as it affected us. Many of Von Tempsky's men, feeling that they would never again have the chance of serving under such a leader, and thoroughly disgusted with their defeat, deserted.
I Shall have little or no more to write on war-like topics. Indeed, some of my fair readers may have wished that I had omitted them altogether, but as I wished to make this a true chronicle of our daily lives, I could not well leave out the discordant elements. I was, I need hardly affirm, most heartily glad to get back to the old home again. I found uncle and the family had all returned to the run after having, in company with other scattered settlers, taken refuge in the town during these troublous times. They had been delighted to find, on returning, that no damage had been done to the old homestead, as it fortunately lay out of the track taken by the rebels. I rode up unexpectedly to the gate one evening, and, giving my horse to Tim, went quietly into the house. In the hall I surprised Fanny, who had heard a step on the verandah. The dear girl threw her shapely arms around me, and pressed her full, warm lips to mine in a clinging embrace, in her delight at seeing me safe at home. What though it was a thought too cousinly, it was none the less welcome to me who had just returned from scenes
‘Now, fair ladies,’ I observed at last, ‘allow me to retire to my room and exchange this ragged uniform for a more fitting dress. But what is that?’ A noise such as I had never heard before in that house attracted my attention. It evidently originated in the dining-room, and entering, I beheld, reclining on a new and some what startling piece of furniture, I a stranger. His features, although I was certain I had never before beheld them, bore a ridiculous resemblance to uncle's. They were, however, much more minute, and less hirsute.
‘What's that, Frank? How can you ask such a stupid question? Don't you see it's a baby? and a lovely little fellow you are, arn't you pet? exclaimed Fanny, addressing the last query to the stranger, who crowed with pleasure at the soft impeachment.
I paid my respects to the new cousin, and even kissed him. I particularly disliked babies in those days, as a rule, and am not going to admit that I made an exception of this one. No; all they could get out of me was that ‘I thought he might be a nice boy when he grew up.’ He certainly was not now, for whether it was through having arrived in the midst of war's alarms and the disquietude of the times I cannot venture to affirm, but a more noisy and restless young reprobate never existed.
By the time I had changed my clothes and returned to the dining-room uncle came in, vigorously grasped my hand, and showed how pleased he was at my return. He always proved the heartiness and geniality of his disposition by that firm handshake. Preserve me from the man who allows your hand to barely touch his cold clammy one, then drops it! The ladies inquired whether I had been wounded. I showed them what I regarded as a few slight scratches. They thought them severe. I allowed them to have their own opinion. Sympathy from one's lady friends is, to say the least, balmy.
Altogether I spent a very happy evening. Charlie came in later on, and I found his thirst for information about the various skirmishes, in which I had taken part, difficult to satisfy. He had been very vexed that he was not allowed to join us. After talking myself hoarse, and fighting my battles over again by my uncle's hearth—far the most pleasant place to fight them, by-the-bye—we heard a knock at the door, and on Charlie opening it, our doctor appeared.
‘Good evening, ladies and gents. Late visit this, but you know, Mrs Melton, I promised to see you once again, and as I had to pass your gate on my way back from visiting a sick man up the road, I thought I'd give you a call, especially as I heard Mr Forest Ranger had returned from the warpath. I thought my services might be required to patch up some holes in him.’
‘Thank you, doctor,’ I replied, ‘but I do not think I shall require your services.’
‘Well, I am sure you do,’ interposed aunt. ‘Show him that bullet mark on your arm, Frank. In my opinion it looks very queer.’
‘Oh, that's nothing, aunt. Not worth talking about, I'm sure.’
‘Well, don't talk about it, but let's have a look at it. It won't do you any harm, and I never like to miss the chance of a job. Blood-poisoning, by Jove!’ as I showed it to him. ‘I must see to this at once.’
The doctor was au oddity, about the medium height, with considerable corpulence. A professional or dressy appearance was not his strong point. His costume was generally a plain snuff-coloured suit with a black billy-cock hat. His worst fault was an excessive fondness for whiskey, a by no means uncommon failing in the profession in the old days up-country. The long journeys they had to perform, often in the roughest weather on execrable roads, at all hours of the day or night, together with the unpleasant tasks they had to undertake, and the invariable habit of shouting, which has been previously mentioned, when even the merest acquaintances met—the doctor was, of course, ‘hail-fellow-well-met’ with the whole country side—all these reasons combined were some little excuse for the failing. He had great faith in the virtues of many of the shrubs and trees common to New Zealand, and especially in those of the blue gum, originally imported here, but which we look on almost as a native, and he always held that an All-wise Providence had placed remedies at our doors if we only had the sense to make use of them, instead of wasting money by sending to other countries for drugs not half so beneficial. He therefore made for himself a variety of preparations of the eucalyptus, the koromiko, the kohekohe, and a host of others, and was remarkably successful in curing the patients who put themselves under his care.
His peculiar hobby was match-making. It pleased him mightily when, by his efforts, a pair were brought together and ‘hitched up,’ as he termed it Nor did it trouble him how they suited one another afterwards. If it was pointed out to him that they were leading a ‘cat-and-dog’ life, he always affirmed that it was their own faults; that they were admirably adapted for one another by constitution, family history, etc.; that they ought to be happy, and if they were not, he couldn't help it.
A diffident young friend of ours, with a painfully slow enunciation, once sought his assistance in securing a partner. The doctor, after little consideration, sent him to call on an old couple at Patea who possessed a pair of marriageable daughters, the elder very nice-looking, but the younger decidedly plain.
The youth presented the doctor's letter of introduction, and was asked to stay and take dinner with them. The old gentleman was absent, but the ladies were particularly gracious to the doctor's young friend, though highly amused at his keen surreptitious glances at them, when he thought he was unobserved. If detected he blushed scarlet, and occupied himself with his plate. The result of this scrutiny became plain on the young ladies leaving the room to clear the table. The doctor's instructions were carried out to the letter, but far more abruptly than they should have been. With much stuttering and stammering, which I need not inflict on the reader, he preferred his request.
‘Would you have any objection, dear madam, to my calling here occasionally to pay my addresses to your eldest daughter!’
‘I am really very sorry, Mr Tombkins,’ exclaimed his hostess, with a quiet, mischievous smile, for she heard, though he did not the subdued titter of the young ladies at the keyhole, ‘but my eldest daughter is engaged’ (which was the case). Then, after a pause, ‘but the younger is not, and we shall be very proud to receive your visits.’
‘But she is so horribly ugly,’ he exclaimed, the bare idea frightening him to such an extent that he expressed his thoughts in plain words.
A convulsive shriek of laughter from the passage did not. I believe, decrease his haste in taking his leave. His confusion at this frightful breach of good manners made him quite forget to bid the young ladies adieu.
To return to our friend, the doctor, we did not, of course, allow him to go further that night. We all thoroughly enjoyed his company. His stories of his colonial experiences were delightfully varied and entertaining. A doctor who depended entirely on his profession in a scattered up-country district for a livelihood, would soon have need of neither profession nor livelihood, for all his skill would not save him from starving. Knowing this, the worthy doctor attempted to improve matters by farming, but the eccentric manner in which he carried out everything he undertook prevented him from amassing much wealth. He experimented recklessly on the vital powers of any members of his flocks and herds which happened to be sick, and they did not appear to thrive under the treatment. His liberality was also a considerable bar to the successful accumulation of property, for it was as unbounded as the mode of exercising it was peculiar. One example will suffice. In going to pay a professional call on a working man with a large family, whose continued ill-health and consequent inability to work had rendered him almost penniless, our friend would put a sack of flour in the buggy, if it was a road he could drive on, and after roughly asking the man to settle his account, he would answer his entreaties for time by telling him to let his boys work it out by carrying the flour bag into the house. When the recipient endeavoured to thank him for his kindness, he would exhibit much annoyance, and relapse into his usual rough manner of speaking. Benevolence was his motive, not the applause or thanks of men, and he would not endure them.
The morning after his arrival it was pouring with rain, and he said as he was in such good quarters and had no urgent cases to visit he would remain where he was. We were not sorry to hear him arrive at this decision. I was especially pleased, as my wound had been very painful all night—in revenge, I presume, for my having termed it a scratch—and I felt far from well when I came down to breakfast. The doctor immediately ordered me off to bed again. This proved to me that I was seriously ill, for he had a great scorn of any one who would lie in bed for a trifle. And indeed, I was not far wrong, for the rough life I had lately led, exposure to wet and cold, often sleeping in clothes drenched with fording rivers, had, together with my wound, completely prostrated me. It was now that I fully appreciated Fanny's kindness of heart, for at my sick bed she threw off all reserve, all little differences and unkind words were forgotten, and she was again the tender-hearted woman to me—not the easy offended, imperious girl she had been previous to my military experiences. But although it was grand to feel her
One day she had been more than usually kind to me. I was getting much better and was sitting up. We were alone together, and I thought I would again endeavour to persuade her to listen to my tale of love.
‘What a happy couple aunt and uncle make, do they not Fanny?’ I began.
‘Yes, they seem particularly adapted for one another. It is a perfect marriage as far as we can judge,’ returned my cousin, and thinking I noticed a blush on her soft cheeks, I took it for encouragement.
‘Fanny, my darling,’ I said, grasping her hand, which she did not withdraw, ‘I have just risen from a sick bed, and you have been excessively kind to me. I owe you a debt of gratitude, which it shall be my aim to repay.’
‘Repay it at once then by never alluding to it again, my boy,’ was her unsatisfactory answer.
‘I cannot do it that way. I must allude to it again, and endeavour to persuade you to allow me to save your life's happiness in return for your having probably saved my life by your careful nursing. I cannot, Fanny, no, I cannot bear to see you going on the way you are going, without stepping forward and telling you that, loving you as passionately and devotedly as I do, it is killing me to see you made the sport of a fellow like Grosvenor. He is playing a double game with you and Julia Robinson. I know for a positive fact he is engaged to her as well as you.’
Had I watched her face, as in my emotion I failed to do, I should have seen that her colour was not a signal of encouragement but of danger. She was simply speechless from amazement at my audacity in daring to make such statements, not as I fondly imagined, from a tender desire to hear me out. She petulently withdrew her hand. I did not interpret this movement rightly, but resumed my subject quite innocently.
‘And then to think of his not having written you for such a time. I have very good reason to believe he is not at home at all. Oh, Fanny! pause while you yet have time. I do not ask you to love me, but for God's sake do not marry this man. Though I love you as a man only loves once in a life time. yet I only say have nothing to do with him.’
The rich crimson hue which now suffused the usual roses in her cheeks, the quick upraising of her dewy eyelids as her glance met mine, showed that her deeper nature was touched—that it was not all displeasure which they manifested. There was a tenderness striving for possession with the wrath, but what would be the result?
‘Frank, I really do believe now that you love me more than he does. You are capable of a deeper love, yet he—’
‘A letter for you, Fanny, from your boy,’ interposed Charlie, bursting into the room, and darting off again with a significant look at me.
The sight of a letter from her lover had the effect of shattering all the good which I flattered myself I had effected, and called back all her faith in him. Clasping it tightly in her hand, her wrath burst forth in no measured tones. ‘Frank, I thought I had commanded you never to mention his name to me again! And now, in return for my trying to he nice to you, you have aspersed him most cruelly for your own ends! If this love you boast so much about induces you to repeat lying reports about him, preserve me from it!’ and she left the room like an offended princess. Yes, left the room—simple words describing a simple act. But what a tangled mass of unexplained trouble? What a load of unalleviated sorrow, often cruelly or carelessly, as the case may be, is also left behind when one party takes this means of ending a conversation?
‘Would to Heaven,’ I inwardly exclaimed! ‘that I had never uttered a word on the subject,’ It seemed there was no help for me. I was continually making matters worse instead of better. From the contents of Grosvenor's letter it would appear that he was getting very tired of his enforced absence from his lady love, and sincerely hoped he would soon be able to come and claim her; that business of importance, as well as his father's continued very feeble health, still chained him at home; that he was glad to say the business was progressing favourably to his interests, and a lot more in the same strain. How Fanny could have credited these everlasting excuses I could never understand. She became, however, most capricious and changeable, at times as affable and pleasant as usual, at others irritable and depressed. It added considerably to my trouble to see her so. I always felt that if I had but had a fair chance I could have won her love. Had she not been influenced by her womanly pride at having secured the affections of a gentleman who was all the rage, as Grosvenor appeared to be, in the circle in which she first met him, which pride she had mistaken for love, I am firmly convinced I should have been favoured with the true love of her heart. But what credit would there be in gaining an un-contested battle. No; to meet the foe in a fair field and vanquish him, that was the true test. But was the field a fair one? The weapons my adversary used were deceit and lies to which I would not stoop. Truth shall prevail, it has been said, but Fanny would not listen to my truth. But if I could not use his weapons neither could he use mine. True love in its best sense, honourably and uprightly expressed, would be as foreign to him as his pretensions and falsehoods would to me. I must yet have patience and await my opportunity. The fact that I could not believe that my cousin really loved my rival gave me some comfort. I will do her the credit to allow that it was her firm impression that she did, that she was deceived as to her true feelings. She had inherited from her
The doctor who had been attending me quickly discovered my mental trouble, and being so intimate with us all, knew very well what was the reason of it. He volunteered a speedy cure if I would but follow his instructions.
‘You must know,’ he said, ‘if you have any sense, that your cousin will marry Grosvenor. Go for another girl. Never waste your love, time, and trouble on one already booked, unless you are certain you can cut the other fellow out, which, from all I see, I doubt. Now, there is old Frost's eldest daughter. She's a marriageable age, and on the look out for a husband. Why don't you go for her? She's be the very thing for you. Grand girl to work, and a first-rate housekeeper.’
This Miss Frost was the venerable damsel whose attempts at condolence had been so effectively silenced by Fanny on the day which was to have seen her wedding.
‘Well, doctor,’ I replied, ‘strange to say, I have made up my mind, when I do marry, to take a less antiquated and more animated partner than Miss Frost will prove. I will have Fanny or none. I then informed him of my knowledge of Grosvenor's engagement to Julia, and my great difficulty in convincing my cousin of the fact, on account of her always accusing me of making spiteful misstatements when I uttered a word about her lover.
‘Well, frank, this looks awkward for him, but a good deal better for you. Certainly, from what you tell me, the fellow must be a bad egg. I have never met him, and of course it would not do for me to judge him by your account of him alone, for I don't think you would like to be judged by his account of you. Rivals cannot be expected to do one another justice, so I'll wait till I have a chance of forming an impartial opinion about him. There seems to be no hurry, as from his letter, or what you say about it, he won't turn up yet awhile. Manage when he does come to arrange that he shall meet Julia in your house when Fanny is present; that's your lay. I don't suppose he knows that they have moved over here, and you'll catch him properly.’
‘Yes, that would be a good move. If I can fixlit up so, I will. But won't you speak to uncle about him yourself, doctor? He would listen to you.’
‘Certainly not till I know more of him. If Melton was to ask where I got the information from, I should have to say from Frank. “Pshaw!” he would answer. “I have heard all that before,” or something to that effect.’
‘But I have not told him. I would much rather you did. He'd pay much more attention to you.’
‘I never repeat what I hear till I can prove the truth of it,’ returned the stubborn old man. ‘Wait, as I say, and arrange the meeting properly, and there will be ructions. Mind you ask me to see the fun.’
‘But doctor, you know the Robinsons, after remaining a week or so in their new place, left for a trip round the South Island. Goodness knows when they will be back. Mr Robinson left a man in charge, but he neither knows when they will return, nor their address. If I had known where to address a letter to him, I would have written myself, and put him on his guard against the scoundrel.’
‘Oh, they will be back before Grosvenor. You may depend on that.’
I did not relate to Aunt and Alice what I had heard in Auckland, for I found that Fanny and her father had so imbued them with the idea that I would either do or say anything to break off the match, and they had often desired me not to mention his name unless I could say something good about him. This I knew would signify silence about him for the rest of my natural life. I must wait till the Robinsons returned, and trust to Providence.
I had regained my health, and started work again, doing whatever was required of me, but not with the old vigour or energy. While I was in this restless and depressed state, increased by Fanny's fitful behaviour and evident unhappiness, I came to the conclusion that I could not bear to remain in the same house with her any longer. I found myself totally unable to carry out my previously expressed determination to stay and await patiently whatever might betide. I therefore sought an interview with uncle in his private room.
‘Uncle, I am come to have a little serious conversation with you.’
‘Oh, about Fanny, eh? My dear boy it's no good. What do you keep bothering about her for. She's fixed her mind on Grosvenor. If she hadn't it would be no good you bothering about her. You couldn't keep a wife for years yet.’
‘Wait a bit, uncle. It is about Fanny, but I wasn't going to urge my claim, for I have none, worse luck. I was only going to say that I cannot remain longer in the house to be constantly seeing her as miserable as that cursed wretch is making her by his infernal shillyshallying behaviour.’
‘Miserable! Who says she's miserable? It's only your lovesick imagination. The girl's right enough.’
‘Indeed she is not. You never see the bright smiles on her faces he used to wear so constantly.’
‘Bright smiles! Rot! She can't be always smiling, especially at you. You go about looking as miserable as a bandicoot, and expect a girl to smile at you. Ha! ha! Frank, I didn't think you were such a fool.’
‘Well, uncle, I feel I shall be better away for a time.’
‘By Jove! you are right, my lad. If you can't act like a man, by all means clear. Didn't think you'd have turned out such a namby-pamby—like a great schoolgirl—with your love nonsense! Pshaw! Let's talk about something else. I was just going to call you. Old Miller, the dealer, wants a score or so of prime fat beasts to make up an order for shipment. Think we can find him any? He says they're hard to get just now. Those that have 'em can't get 'em
‘I can hardly say. The last draught cleared all the primest of the paddock cattle. If we could only get that far-back lot of wild ones out, that have been on the ranges so long, there'd be safe to be some grand ones amongst them, but it would be a caution of a job.’
‘It would be a devil of a job. Just the thing, though, to knock the nonsense out of you. Tim and four or five Maoris went after them awhile-ago. You were hunting the Hauhaus. I wanted to sell 'em to the commissariat. But I told 'em they'd managed badly; they didn't get a hoof. Tim's a grand hand to follow 'em, but he wants a head for planning a job like that. Tell you what I'll do, give you and Charlie half of the price of all you get out. You can take Tim and one or two Maoris if you want 'em. What d'you say?’
‘I'll go if Charlie will, gladly, uncle, or if he won't, I'll undertake it myself, and get an extra Maori or two. But I'm certain he'll go with me.’
I consulted with Charlie, and we agreed to have a thorough good trial at the bush-hunting, and to start as soon as we could possibly make the necessary preparations.
Uncle's offer was a most generous one, for if we succeeded we should have a nice little sum in our pockets. On the other hand, it was a very arduous undertaking. It might mean weeks of weary tramping in the trackless bush, with the result that the cattle were driven further back instead of getting them out. The work, of course, had to be done on foot on account of the density and tangled nature of the underscrub. It is surprising, however, to see the rate at which these wild bush cattle smash through it, turning them heads from side to side to allow the tough supplejack canes to slide off them, if they do not break with the force applied to them. For men on foot to imagine that they could head or turn in the direction they wished a mob of these animals, would be absurd in the extreme. Our idea was to take provisions with us, and after we had found the cattle—which, by-the-bye, would be not unlike finding a needle in a bundle of hay—never to let them rest a moment longer than we could help, but keep dogging them on till they began to consider open country preferable to a bush, haunted by such relentlens tormentors as we and our dogs should prove. Our preparations were soon made. We each of us were supplied with a very light blanket. For provisions, a few biscuits, some tea and sugar, billy and pannikins were distributed amongst us. Charlie carried a pig spear, and I had my double barrel, fortunately, a very light one. For clothing we wore moleskin trousers, and blue serge shirts stuffed into them, a leather strap, to which the inevitable sheath knife was attached, and in the case of Tim and the Maori a tomahawk also. For meat we relied on getting a wild pig now and then. Horses were to be tethered in a certain gully, where, from the nature of the country, we guessed it most likely that the cattle would break cover, so that we could immediately mount, and so gain complete command of our prey, and prevent them breaking again for the bush. Uncle and a boy we employed about the place would ride out every now and then on the open to be ready to give assistance if it was required, and to tether our horses on fresh feed, or pick up stray cattle which might have been hurried out, before we came up
Fanny, who was in one of her fits of depression, gave me but a cold adieu, and I felt about as depressed as it was possible for a youth of my age, and in my state of unrequited affection to feel, as I left the homestead that morning with my three companions, whose high spirits and lively banter jarred on my nerves, and made me feel, if possible, even worse.
That a talismanic change came over me as I entered that mighty bush! My turbulent and despondent feelings were suddenly hushed into a quiet calm, as I stepped out of the heat of the day into its cool shade. My troubles were as nought compared with the vastness and infinity of the depths of the forest, into which neither sun nor rain could penetrate with sufficient force to harm us. We trusted in a great measure to the guidance of the Maori and Tim to take us to the ranges on which we hoped to find the mob we sought. We did not come across a single track of anything larger than a pig. The animal which had made them, fell a victim to an intense desire on our part for pork chops for supper. It was time to rest for the night when we came to the place where our dogs had bailed him up, and a bullet from my double barrel took instantaneous effect. Water being handy, we boiled our billy, and broiled the still warm chops by placing them on pointed sticks stuck in the ground and slanting over the fire. After these had been discussed with pannikins of hot tea, we gathered together heaps of tree fern leaves, and placing them between the arched roots of an immense rata tree, made luxurious couches. Our blankets were sewn up in the form of bags, consequently we got into them and lay down. This plan has many advantages. You cannot kick them off, and the mosquitoes cannot get in to torment you when the loose flap is thrown over your head. My comrades were speedily asleep, but I lay awake for some time wishing I could paint the scene before me. The bright rays of the flickering fire in front of us, which we had amply replenished, lit up the huge moss-covered trunks of the trees, the slim saplings, the slender tree fern, and nikau palm, as well as the intricately tangled creepers and vines, and threw grotesque, ever-changing, checkered shadows on to the surface of the
‘Do you b'lieve, sir,’ he inquired, in low and solemn tones, ‘that God ever made skeeters? I don't. I'll b'lieve anything but that; darned if I won't.’
The next morning we breakfasted, rolled up our swags, packed up as much of the pork as would suffice us for the day—we were sure of a further supply for the morrow—and started again on our search, which, on that day, did not prove successful. A nice little porker, plump and fat, was ruthlessly torn from his mother's breast by my dog Rowdy, who had managed to drop on to the family while enjoying a sound nap after their evening meal. As we thought it highly probable that we might come up with the cattle on the next day, we cooked a fair supply of this little gentleman that night, for we should have little time for cooking when we were once fairly on the trail. Our anticipations were fulfilled, for about three o'clock that afternoon, on ascending a sharp spur and getting out into a sort of fern-clad opening in the bush, covering but a few acres, we came across tracks, and ample evidence that the mob we sought were not far from us. They had camped here last night without doubt. The dogs were most anxious to follow up the tracks, but had to be restrained, as it was clear the cattle were heading further back, and until we could succeed in getting round them so as to set them going with their heads turned homewards, we did not wish them disturbed. We therefore followed up the tracks as quietly as we could till we could hear them crashing down the boughs from which they gathered the succulent leaves. Then we took a long detour down the steep gully which bordered the range, to prevent them from suspecting our proximity. When certain that we were fairly round them, we climbed to the top of the ridge again, the Maori carrying a billy of water which he had procured in the gully. By this time it was getting dark, so we again camped
On the afternoon of the second day's chase I was feeling intensely fatigued, and wished it was halting time. I had lagged somewhat behind my mates, when I heard extraordinary shouting and yelling, and the barking of dogs. I hurried on, but found they had disappeared, and, worse luck, my dog with them. Still, I had no fear but that I should soon pick them up, so I progressed as fast as my tired limbs would allow me in the direction—as I imagined—from which I had heard the shouting. I could not track them, as the ground was hard and dry about the part of bush in which I now was. After walking for a long time, I appeared to get no nearer to either men or cattle, so I sat down to consider what was best to be done. I was evidently lost, for I guessed that, when they rushed on so frantically, they must have got the cattle out in the open, and would be obliged to drive them safe home, by which time it would be too dark to return to look me up. I knew they would search the first thing in the morning, supposing that I did not succeed in extricating myself before that time, which was now impossible, as darkness had set in. Now, to camp out with companions is a pleasant change, but passing a night by one's self in the midst of a dense bush is a very different thing, especially when one has the unpleasant consciousness that one is lost. And now I bitterly repented my carelessness in leaving my compass at home. With such guides as Tim and the Maori, I had not thought it at all necessary. To make matters worse, the latter had borrowed my match-box to light his pipe, and had forgotten to return it. I tried the method said to be adopted by savage races of rubbing two sticks together, but though it made me savage enough to have
I took a short rest, then gave another prolonged coo-ey. Was that an echo or an answer? An answer I felt convinced. I tried another; this time there was no response. It must have been an answer. An echo would not confine itself to one sound. I again tried, but with the same result. I grew frightened that they had not heard me, but were calling on the chance of my hearing them. I now narrowly escaped splitting myself with my strenuous efforts to send my voice far enough to be heard. Again no response. They cannot have heard me. I shall have to spend perhaps three or four days, if this dull weather continues, eating nikau and describing circles of greater or less magnitude according to whether I increase or relax my efforts at keeping straight. I threw myself down on the ground, cursing the ill-luck which seemed to dog my footsteps unceasingly, forgetting that I should rather have cursed my carelessness in not having brought my compass. Suddenly I heard a rustling through the bushes. The start it occasioned showed me into what a nervous state my mishap had thrown me. Conceive my delight when old Rowdy came bounding up to me. ‘Dear old dog,’ I said, ‘so you have found your master. You are a sagacious animal. Now you will show me the way out, won't you? I'll be
‘Talk of the old gentleman and he is sure to appear,’ they say. I found it also applied to young ones, for at this moment Charlie and Tim marched up. The latter immediately handed me a flask containing some tea pretty stiffly laced with brandy, and also a few sandwiches. ‘Here, old boy, take a nip, for I guess you want it.’
I caught Charlie's hand and shook it till he begged me to desist. I then betook myself to the refreshments with energy, and asked him how far we were from home? should we get there to-night?’
‘To-night, you old duffer! why, we'll be out of the bush in an hour. We heard your coo-ey from the house early this morning. The wind was just right. If you had stayed where you were we could have had you home to breakfast.’
‘I know I ought to have remained on the spot, but I was so disgusted at getting lost that I thought I would get out at all hazards, but only got further in. But didn't you hear me coo-ey last night?’
‘Yes, but it was first here, and then there. We were so puzzled we couldn't strike you at all. We were out a good while after you with lanterns, but I knew it would be no good. Next time you get bushed stick to the spot till some one comes to find you, for you are an awful duffer in the bush, Frank, and would never find yourself; that's a fact.’
I was obliged to own to this, as I knew it was a true bill.
‘Don't you run down Rowdy again, Charlie,’ I exclaimed. ‘Dear old fellow, fancy him following my track and leading you to me!’
Rowdy lead us to you? Not much! Why, I couldn't get the stupid brnte to hunt you at all till we were almost up to you, when he heard your last coo-ey and rushed on ahead. We just followed your shouts, but they led us a pretty dance.’
We were out of the bush in a very short space of time under Tim's guidance, and I found that I must have been within three or four chains of the open several times during my circling rambles. Mounting our horses we soon got home, and my welcome reminded me forcibly of the one I received on my return from the wars. Uncle, however, commenced reproaching me for my carelessness in not taking my compass, especially as I was such a muff in the bush. I knew I deserved his reproaches, but considered that he might have postponed them, at all events for a time. Aunt was evidently of the same opinion.
‘Talk to him that way to-morrow, if you like, my dear, but he shall hear nothing of the sort this afternoon. Remember, we might have never seen him again. I was dreadfully frightened. Men have been often lost, and never heard of again. You have told me
‘When did you ever give me anything else, aunt?’ I observed, gratefully.
Uncle did not appear to admire these little compliments.
‘Never have seen him again. Nonsense!’ he answered, in a rougher tone than he usually adopted with her. ‘Frank is a muff, but not quite such a fool as that. He'd have got out all right himself if we'd given him time. He'll not forget his compass next time, I'll bet. Nothing like experience.’
‘Now, now; not a word more. If I had known what a hard-hearted old monster you were before I married you, I'd never have helped you out of the bush; so there.’
Fanny and Alice, as usual, conformed to the custom we had established of exchanging cousinly salutes after we had been parted for a few days, or weeks as the case might be. This pleasant little custom appeared to me to increase in sweetness every time I assisted in its observance; at all events as far as Fanny was concerned. I was fully convinced for the rest of that night that she loved me, and me only. The next morning her manner was cold and changeable, and so were my convictions of the previous evening. ‘When,’ thought I, ‘shall I understand women in general? Well, I do not care if I never do if I can only arrive at a fair underestanding of one in particular. But shall I ever do this?’
How I envied Melton Minimus, as he came to be called amongst us, for with him Fanny was always the same. The caresses she showered on him were always warm and loving at a time when he was much too young to enjoy them. How rapturously happy then would have made me! What an amount of sweetness is wasted on other things than desert air! How unequal is the distribution of this particular sweetness—the kiss from one we love. Some are surfeited with it, and do not value it, while others are ever vainly pining for it.
After a few days' rest we started again for the bush, and spent, off and on, rather more than a month, thoroughly scouring any part that we thought likely to contain the sort of cattle of which we were in quest, the result being as fine a mob of cattle as it would be easy to see. The dealers, on inspecting the twenty first offered, begged us to get as many more as possible of the same kind. Amongst them were many without brands or owners. These, of course, Charlie and I sold on our account, and, what with the proceeds of them, and half the price of those equally wild, but bearing uncle's brand, we managed to collect a very respectable sum of money. We gave Tim and the Maori handsome wages for their valuable assistance, and they wished the job would last for ever.
Christmas again passed in due time with its usual festivities, and if not quite so merry to all of us, it certainly was to Alice, for a few days after she gave her hand and heart to young Sylvester, and when I say he was worthy of her I say a great deal in his favour. The course of their love had run with unusual smoothness. I have but once alluded to it, as it does not effect the principal characters of my story. This second wedding in the family, I noticed, made Fanny feel sharply the unpleasant state of her own affairs, and I greatly sympathised with her, but when did I not?
The day after Alice's wedding my fair cousin and I both received letters. Hers was from Grosvenor, and had this time an English
‘There,’ she exclaimed,' ‘does not that prove all your wicked doubts about his not being at home false and unfounded?’
I had to admit that it did.
Then she commenced in a bantering tone, ‘Ah, Mr Frank, who is your letter from? I see it's a lady's hand, and a Dunedin postmark. I have it. It must be the fair Julia Robinson. Allow me to congratulate you, my boy.’
I had considerable difficulty in making them believe the truth, which was that my correspondent was none other than my sister Cecilia, who had just arrived in New Zealand with her husband, the Rev. Walter Stubbs. He was my father's curate before I left home, and I teased poor Cissy's life out about him. He was a remarkably mild young man with white hair, parted in the middle, kid gloves, a slow, almost stammering pronunciation, and most effeminate manners. As a boy, I disliked him extremely. He was so utterly at variance with my ideas of what a man should be. My ideal was formed principally from my father, who had been what was generally known as a sporting parson. Of late years he had not followed the hounds, as a fall from a horse had rendered riding irksome to him; but nothing pleased him better than hearing my accounts of the day's sport when I returned from a spin with the fox hounds, for I took every opportunity I could secure in the holidays to pursue my favourite recreation. I may state, however, that my father never allowed sport to stand in the way of duty. My ideal, then, was a man who would do his work in an upright, straightforward manner, and take his pleasure in a similar style. For instance, ride well to hounds whenever he got a chance, sticking at nothing that a horse would carry him over, and play cricket or football with the requisite pluck and determination ‘never to say die.’ Some consider such recreation inconsistent with the life of a young clergyman. I do not. Let him take his pleasures with his people, and encourage them in health-giving exercise as well as use his influence in keeping up their tone. Stubbs certainly did not come up to this ideal. I remember well his trembling limbs and pallid features on the only occasion we ever persuaded him to mount an antiquated pony, and display his horsemanship by accompanying my sister for a ride. His look of terror—when the squire's son mischievously asked him to take the place of a man whom sickness prevented from taking his part in our annual football match, with the next parish—caused much badly-concealed mirth, especially when he suggested that his time would be much better spent in visiting the sick man.
My sister Cecilia had always been a young lady of strong religious views. She was two years my elder, and looked on me as an unmitigated young heathen when we were at home together. I remember on one occasion I utterly exhausted her patience by chaffing her unmercifully about her lover.
‘Ah, Cissy, another time don't spoon so ontrageously with that stupid ass of a Stubbs. I saw you in the twilight to-night in the rose walk. How you blushed when he had the cheek to throw his arm round you and—’
An interruption took place, for this very serious young lady positively shied a book she was reading at my head, and as it was a very dry and knotty Dissertation on the Epistles, a present, in fact, from the author, who was no other than the gentleman in question, it gave me a severe blow.
‘I never dreamt Cissy that Stubb's arguments bore so much weight, or that his facts were so dense. No wonder he conquered you when he gave them extempore, for, collected in a volume, they shut me up, even when externally applied.’ I left for fear of the second volume following, for I saw ‘to be continued’ indicated in Cissy's irate visage. She was, however, I must say, a young lady who spent her time most profitably. Indeed, many ultra-religious members of my father's congregation who objected to his sporting proclivities, often remarked, ‘that the parson’ lady and her daughter did far more good in the parish than he did, for though his sermons were far from bad, look what an example he set to the young—galloping all over the country after a pack of hounds, and shooting innocent birds which never did him any harm, when he ought to be visiting the sick.’ On the other hand, the more liberally-minded would answer; ‘Well, if the parson does like a bit of sport, what is the odds? He never lets it interfere with his work, and a day in the turnips now and again keeps him in good health, and enables him to write a sermon worth listening to, instead of the twaddle that curate of his preaches.’ This opinion was held by all the farmers and hard-riding young fellows in the parish, many of whom would never have entered a church at all but for their acquaintance with him in the fields and covers.
This long digression may be useful to allow the reader to understand my surprise when I heard that a man, so particularly unfitted for the life of a clergyman in the colonies, should have made up his mind to come to New Zealand. They had been about three weeks in Dunedin when I received this note from my sister. It stated that, as her dear husband's finances were by no means extensive, he had accepted the chaplaincy of the gaol and hospital. This would enable him to do some good at once, and also give him time to consider where he had better locate himself. He had secured a free passage for them to New Zealand in consideration of his giving his services as chaplain to an emigrant vessel. She expressed regret that Dunedin and Wanganui were so far apart, for, like many people at home, she had imagined that by coming to New Zealand she would be near her brother, altogether forgetting the size of the Islands. Then followed a long description of the good her husband was already effecting, especially amongst the prisoners. One young man particularly had become quite a changed character, by his own confession, and was now a great help to his minister, and, indeed, quite an intimate friend. He had very evidently been unjustly accused and punished, for, although he allowed that he had led a very dissolute life, yet he had never been guilty of anything really criminal. From, his statements it was quite clear to them that the former chaplain had been a man who performed his duties in a manner which showed that he looked on his charges as utterly beyond amelioration, and therefore the less he bothered about them the better. The young prisoner often affirned that it was a glorious privilege to be allowed to sit under the ministration of a soul-stirring divine like Mr Stubbs. The week or two he had enjoyed it had effected what any number of the former gentleman's insipid sermons and carelessly-mumbled
I had just finished my letter when uncle entered the room, and informed me that he wished again to send me to Auckland on some business which might detain me some considerable time. I was pleased to hear this, as Fanny's happiness at the prospect of her lover's speedy return proved harder to witness than her unhappiness when the time at which she might expect to see him was uncertain. My cousins and aunt bid me a kind farewell, but there was a look of pity in their eyes which I found hard to bear. Uncle volunteered me some parting advice, cautioning me against mining speculations, judging it necessary, as from the papers which a friend regularly sent, we noticed that the excitement over them was as intense as ever, and he had, doubtless, observed the great interest I took in the weekly accounts of the mining returns, the wonderful dividends paid, and the sudden enrichment of men previously not worth a cent.
‘Don't go in for any of those mining shares, Frank,’ said the cautious old gentleman. ‘I don't believe in ‘em. Very well for old miners always at it. They know what they're buying. What business have farmers with such stock, eh? How would you know what you were getting? A lot of useless paper, perhaps. Those share-brokers ‘ll take you in right and left. Better play pitch-and-toss with your money by far. Chances are even then. The other way they're dead against you, so don't touch them, my boy. For one that makes his pile, fifty lose all they have.’
I thanked him for his good advice, but was not at all certain about following it. I stepped on board the steamer at Wanganui. A lucky speculator was returning to Auckland after a short visit to some friends, and the conversation on board was almost entirely on the subject of rich finds, lucky diggers, huge dividends, and quartz which yielded a fabulous amount of gold to the ton. What wonder, then, that the fever, which had been so long slumbering within me, should now burst forth with renewed intensity? that my uncle's warning should be totally disregarded? as also the fact that the company in which I was only prevented from purchasing shares on my last visit, by the want of the needful cash, wound up without finding the colour, or paying the shareholders a cent, their capital all exhausted in working expenses.
By the time I arrived in Auckland I had come to the determination to invest all my hard-won earnings in mining scrip, my idea being that a paltry hundred pounds or so was of little use by itself—my ideas are altered now, by the way—but if I could only double it by speculation, it would be worth doing, and the chances seemed greatly in favour of my increasing it tenfold; for why should not I be as lucky as those men of whom my fellow-travellers spoke? Why, it seemed to my excited imagination that a fortune was in store for me, perhaps even in the course of the next few weeks? What a pride I should feel in appearing again before my uncle as a man of means, superior at least to Grosvenor's. I forget for the time that the crowd who lose their money are not talked about, and considering my inexperience, I should be far more likely to be amongst them than one of the comparatively few lucky individuals whose names were in everyone's mouths.
My first object on landing, then, after I had deposited my carpet bag at the hotel, was to rush to the Insurance Buildings, in which most of the sharebroker's offcies were. I had considerable difficulty in entering the building, for the pavement in front, nay, half the street itself, was crowded with an eager throng of men. Elbowing my way through them as best I could, I entered the door of one of the offices and after waiting for my turn of speaking to the broker, to invest. He said gentlemen generally judged for themselves, but that he had shares for sale in most of the best paying mines on the Thames. On his mentioning the prices I thought them too high for my limited purse, so desired him to quote some not quite so famous. He did as I wished, and amongst the list I caught the name ‘Bright Smiles.’ These I thought would do; the name is enough to make them a success. Bright Smiles surely could not be wound up, so I agreed to purchase as many as my hundred pounds (the sum I had determined to invest) would procure. I felt satisfied, and walked out of the office much more cooly than I had entered it. I now had time to contemplate the curious group of men who were thronging round this centre of speculation. Their faces were a study. Some wore the well-satisfied looks of men who had just sold at a good smart profit shares bought for a trifle some time previously; or who had just received some handsome dividends; or, again, who had, like myself, just made what they considered a safe purchase. Others wore despondent faces. Their stock had probably dropped in the market. The first trial at the battery had, doubtless, proved the claim unpayable, and not worth a red cent.
‘Fool that I was,’ I heard one of these despondent ones growl to a neighbour, ‘I sold my nice little farm to buy shares in that infernal mine, and now it's wound up, and I have got nothing but this cursed paper, which I may as well use for pipe lights,’ showing the scrip.
‘Confound these calls!’ exclaimed another. ‘I thought when I
There were also the old and seasoned hands. Never a muscle of their faces would move to show whether they had lost or won hundreds or thousands of pounds. Then there were the loafers, who neither bought nor sold, but who hung about in the hope of now and then being offered a drink by some of their acquaintances, who had been lucky enough to ‘make a rise.’ These despicable individuals are always to be met with in colonial towns. They are often gentlemen by birth—men who have had money, and spent it like princes, as they would say, but like asses would be far nearer the truth. Having no more to spend, and from their dissipated habits being totally unfitted to earn it, they loaf about, and live on those who are what they once were, and will in all probability soon be what they are now. The crowd was by no means stationary. The business-like portion of them were rushing about, first into one office, then another, and when there was a steamer in from the Thames many of them would tear off to the wharf to get the latest news about any claims in which they were interested. After this excitement was over, back they would come to the magic spot.
The hotels were doing a roaring trade. Money was flying about in all directions, and lucky miners, up in town for a spree, found ample means of ridding themselves of their superfluous cash with an ease and expedition which was only equalled by the manner they had obtained it. Shouting champagne for all hands in a crowded bar, and escorting gandily-dressed ladies of their acquaintance, sparkling with newly-purchased jewellery, to the theatre and other places of amusement, were the order of the day amongst these gentry. Of course, there were exceptions. Some carefully invested their gains in property, which would bring them in a steady income for the rest of their lives, but thee were sadly in the minority.
I soon tired of gazing at the spectacle outside the Insurance Buildings, and returned to my hotel to tea. The boarding-house I usually patronised was full, so I had to take a room at the Star Hotel. The lodgers I found had most of them some interest in the Thames, whatever their calling might be, for the conversation turned principally on mining matters. Two gentlemen at my end of the table, evidently sole owners of a claim, were conversing in a loud enough tone to show they did not mind being overheard. One had been away down South for a time, and the other had come up to Auckland from the Thames that day to meet him on his return.
‘So you have sold the claim since I was away, B., I hear? What did you get for the rotten thing?’
‘How much do you think?’
‘Well, if you got a hundred for it you did darned well. It's a regular “wild cat.” If we dug till doomsday we'd never have got the colour.’
‘What do you say to two thousand?’
‘Say! why, I'd say it was a lie. You don't see any green in my eye, do you?’
‘Well, it's the truth, anyhow. Here's your cheque for half. But I expect you to fork me a nice little commission out of it.’
‘Well, you are a brick. How the devil did you manage it? I thought everbody knew what it was. Commission! yes, I'll gladly satisfy even your expectations in that way.’
‘So they do all know it about the Thames. But an old friend of mine came across from the other side (meaning Australia). He met me, and asked me to dine with him on Sunday at his hotel, and a rattling good dinner he gave me. While discussing the merits of the wine, he suddenly inquired if I could lay him on to a good spec. at the thames. He had a couple of thousands to invest, and would give me a good commission if I acted square with him. Here was my chance and I nabbed it like a shot. “well,” I said, “that's a strange coincidence. I do know a claim that is considered a duffer by everybody, but I happen to know from the opinion of one of the best judges going that it's right over a rich reef, and must strike it if it is only sunk deep enough. Now, they all believe that reef turns to the right, and doesn't enter the ground belonging to the claim, but they are wrong. The old volcanic disturbance has so tossed the country about at some time or other, that it has given it a twist to the left, which will bring it right under the old abandoned shaft. Another ten or twenty feet will touch it. The thing is a real bargain at two thousand, which is the lowest they'll take, for it's a big bit of ground. I would take it like a shot myself if I had the coin.” He thanked me, and the transfers were signed next morning. He noticed one of the names was mine, but I told him it was no relation. You bet I didn't sign before him.’
I looked at this man in amazement, and thought to myself, ‘Well, you are a black-hearted villain to take your friend in to that tune while eating his dinner. The only wonder was you did not “have” your partner also by making him believe the sale was for a much smaller amount, and pocketing the balance. But I suppose there is honour even among thieves. They appear to adopt a code that a friend may be robbed, but that a partner must be dealt fairly with.’
After these gentlemen had left the room I started a conversation with a quiet-looking, venerable old party on the other side of the table. We soon hit on the all-absorbing topic, and after my companion had described some of his own speculations, I remarked that I had purchased a parcel of Bright Smiles that afternoon.
‘Why, you must be green,’ said he. ‘They are complete duffers, and out of the line of the gold altogether. They'll wind up after spending all their capital in salaries and working expenses. What did you give for them?’
I informed him. He appeared to think deeply for awhile.
‘Well, my boy, I've told you the truth. They are the worst stock you could hold. Now, you'll think it strange that after saying so I should offer to take them off your hands, but I will do so, but not at the price you gave, which was above what's going in the market, for they were falling rapidly when the offices closed to-night. I would not have them at any price myself, but a client of mine up country wrote me to secure him a parcel of about the number of yours. I warned him as I have you, but he would have them. I know very well he'll lose his money, but better him than you; so here's a good chance for you to save yours, or most of it, and you can get something good with it instead.’
It was a shock to me to hear that the shares I was so proud of possessing were falling never to rise again, as the old gentleman declared, and he ought to know better than I, a mere stranger. I had just determined to accept his offer, although it would be at a loss of from ten to fifteen pounds, and be more cautions about my next
‘Is that Bright Smiles you say are falling, you old villain. Why, they have risen several shillings a share since four o'clock this afternoon,’ exclaimed he. ‘Hold on to them, Frank, for I see it's you, and don't deal with that gent. He's up to his old games again I see. Wanted them cheap to sell again in the morning at a good profit. You are an ass to be had like that.’
It was Harry. I felt ashamed that he should have discovered me so nearly caught by such a simple trick, but was thankful that he had prevented the transaction being completed, and also that my faith in Bright Smiles was renewed. The old fellow walked hastily out of the room, muttering some very bad language, which was hardly consistent with feelings of perfect peace and charity towards my friend. I thanked Harry for his timely information, and we were soon engaged in a pleasant interchange of accounts of our respective doings since we last met. Harry gave me to understand that he had left the Rangers shortly after I did, and had tried his hand at many things, but nothing seemed to suit him. The last billet he had was the worst; he engaged as waiter in an hotel. This he never intended to do, but, owing to his restless habits, he became hard up. He was staying at the hotel, and, when his bill was presented, he found he could not pay it, but offered to work it out as a waiter. One had just left, and the landlord was glad to accept his offer. He performed his new duties faithfully till the debt was wiped off, and he had a few pounds to the good coming to him. Just at the time he was on the point of leaving he received a letter from a lawyer in the old country informing him of the death of his uncle, who, it appears, had in his will left his nephew a legacy of five thousand pounds. My friend was very agreeably surprised, for he never expected a cent.; he was satisfied that his crabby old uncle had hated him to the end, but, doubtless, left him the money to spite some other relatives whom he hated worse. However, the reason of his generosity did not trouble Harry an atom. He obtained possession, and that was enough. He had come to the determination to invest it in land, and I had very little trouble in inducing him to come and inspect the properties for sale in our part of the country, informing him, as an extra inducement, that the Robinsons' would be soon back to settle on their farm there. He had already forwarded to Mr Robinson the amount of his friendly loan.
‘I have only seen them once since I last met you,’ remarked Harry, and am certainly longing to come across them again. It was such a lark. They positively came to stay a night at the hotel while I was doing the waiter business. It astonished their weak nerves above a trifle when I walked into the room with a napkin over my shoulder and ask what they would take for dinner. I was prepared, for I had spotted them, but they hadn't twigged me, so I did the thing cool, and right up to the knocker. The old boy noticed me first. “By Jove! its Harry,” said he. “How are you, old man?” “Very well, thank you, sir. What will you be pleased to take for dinner, sir?” Miss Grave shook hands and said in a low voice, “How do you do, Mr Baker?” “Very well thank you, miss. Do you wish a fire lit, madam?” The old girl and Julia looked daggers at the old gentleman and the little companion, and I heard Julia exclaim as I left the room: “The idea of being so familiar with a
‘What grand girl? Julia, Harry?’ I interrupted.
‘Julia! not very likely. The other one I mean. Well, Miss Rosa must needs tell me that if I loved her as much as I was making out, I couldn't care for a letter from a plain old maidish-looking lady like the one who had handed it to her (the little thing was a bit jealous you see), and that I must let her throw it into the fire. I gave her a kiss in answer to the first part of her speech, and swore the lady was my sister, but that we hadn't been on the best of terms on account of my taking this billet. This wouldn't go down, though, until I snatched the note out of her hand and read some of it aloud to her.
On opening the note I had snatched from Miss Rosa's fat little fists, I found a ‘fiver’ carefully wrapped up in a piece of paper, on which were written the words: ‘A loan from a loving sister, which please use to extricate yourself from a situation in which it grieves her to see you, and must grieve you to occupy.’ I showed Rosa the words ‘loving sister,’ and she was satisfied I wasn't cramming her, and laid herself out for a grand time with me, for the people had nearly all cleared that day and we had nothing to do. However, to her intense disgust I wasn't on. I left her abruptly and went up to my room, and cried like a great baby over those few words, and made up my mind to leave next day.
Use that note! not much! I'll keep it as long as I live. By the next morning's post I received the lawyer's letter of which I told you, but I did not tell you it contained besides the news of my good luck, a welcome advance; but if it had not, and I hadn't another cent in the world, I would have swagged it before I would have spent a copper of that note. Of course I sent her back the amount of her kind loan, but not that identical note. I informed her of my good fortune, but I tell you, Frank, I would give up every ‘stiver’ of it if I could only by that means persuade that noble girl that she has all my love. To be her adopted brother is something, certainly, but it isn't good enough. To be her husband would he, I must confess, a greater happiness than I deserve.
‘Well, Harry, I daresay you are right, but, thank God, neither happiness nor punishment are meted out in this world exactly according to our deserts, so there is hope for you yet, my boy. But you say you want to make Miss Grave believe she has all your love. How about the spoon with the little chamber-maid?’
‘Oh, that was only to pass the time, you know. Besides, I'll own I mean to give those little affairs best now. A fellow thinks they are grand till he once feels the right thing, then he sees what awful rot they are. My word, the little demon did give me beans, though, when she found I was clearing out.’
I doubted much whether Master Harry would stick to his new resolutions. He promised to pay us a visit at Wanganui when I returned. In the meantime he was amusing himself by a little speculation in mining scrip, though he appeared to be very much more cautions than I should have anticipated. The business that I had come up about took a peculiar turn, and, acting on my best judgment, I deemed it necessary to run down and consult uncle on some matter that had cropped up. I regretted the necessity, as I had just received another letter from Cecilia, stating that, shortly after sending her last, her husband had accepted a living near Auckland, and expected to be in that town in about three weeks or a month, when they hoped I would meet them there, so that, had I not been obliged to take this journey down the coast, I could have remained in town till they arrived. However, I should most likely be compelled to return to Auckland, so it did not really matter much.
My Bright Smiles had certainly risen in price the evening of the purchase as Harry had informed me, but only on a false report of a good reef being struck. When the truth of the matter was discovered next day, prices fell considerably below the figure at which I had bought. ‘Like many of their namesakes,’ I thought, ‘they are deceiving,’ and I wished I had not touched them. My hundred pounds' worth would now only fetch fifty or sixty pounds. I felt a sadder, but a wiser man.
We spent, as usual, the last evening before my departure together. On this occasion we visited the theatre, and were much entertained with the company performing there. Sometimes we used to take a pull round the harbour, or a walk round the town. I noticed particularly that Harry's thirst was not nearly so insatiable as I remembered it of old. An occasional call at the Occidental to inspect Perkin's latest curiosities, for in those days the hotel was quite a museum, and imbibe a glass of colonial ale would satisfy himi; whereas formerly he never liked to pass a bar without callng, and ardent spirits would be his ‘particular vanity’ instead of beer. The presiding Hebes at these places of resort had lost their influenc. Formerly, to be in their good graces would seem to have been the one aim of his existence. I ventured to remark on this improvement, and asked the cause of it.
‘A sister's prayers, dear boy. God for ever bless her,’ replied he, with a warmth of emotion very uncommon in him. ‘I know a change for the better has come over me since that girl took an interest in me, or rather, perhaps, since I discovered, which I have only very lately, the disinterestedness of her great kindness to me in the hospital by the light of her last act at the hotel. I have really tried to become more worthy of her. When once a fellow manages to get clear of the drink and folly in which he has become entangled, he wonders where the fun comes in, and gets disgusted with the thing altogether.’
The next morning saw me on board, bound for Wanganui. I had not advised them of my intention to return, for, as my resolve was a hasty one, I should have arrived at the same time as the letter. On
The longed-for moment came. I heard her approaching footsteps. She bounded into the room, a fit representation of the goddess Flora, her cheeks glowing with health and pleasant exerccise, her hat off, a wreath of the lovely native convolvus wound round her wealth of brilliant black hair, stray locks of which floated in the breeze, having been disarranged by rude contact with a mass of the same material which she carried in her arms, and which, in its turn, made the semblance more complete as its pure white blossoms and green leaves trailed over her pretty pink dress. But there were other footsteps, and almost at the same moment Grosvenor followed her in. Alas! for my anticipations. They were not to be realized. She started suddenly, then came slowly forward, offering me—not her lovely lips, as usual—but only her hand, which she would have offered the merest acquaintance. ‘Oh, Frank, is that you? We didn't expect you for another month at least. How are you?’ No pleasant surprise in her tone. Not much! It sounded vastly more like badly-concealed annoyance.
My feelings may be very much easier imagined than described. I answered her question, however, and also returned Grosvenor's cold, clammy handshake with a very bad grace, I admit. The locket, which I had in my hand ready for presentation, was returned surreptitiously to my pocket, and remained there. Grosvenor appeared to be almost as annoyed at seeing me as I was at his presence. I went round to the
Poor old Rowdy came bounding up to me, having recognized his master, and in the exuberance of his joy almost knocked me over. I fear he was repulsed with a cruel kick in the irritation and disquiet of mind consequent on the manner in which my own anticipations had been crushed. When I saw the look of mute reproach on his simple, honest face, I felt what a brute I was to trample on the affections of a dumb animal just because mine had been cast into the dust. A pat or two on his stupid old head put matters right in a twinkling, and he was again bounding about me as if nothing had happened. Happy dog! Would that my memory for trouble was as short.
Uncle at this moment came in from his usual ride round the place. I at once explained to him the reason of my return, and also informed him of my wish to meet my sister and her husband on their arrival in Auckland. He was very vexed at my considering it necessary to see him, and said that the matter could have been easily delayed until my return after meeting my relatives.
‘But, uncle, I acted for the best. I really thought it most important to consult you myself on this point, and the lawyer said the same.’
‘Oh, bosh! what did it matter for a few weeks? Only too glad of an excuse I expect. Sneaking after Fanny again. That's about the truth of it, you young idiot. First you say you want to get away, then back you come before you can say “knife.” A nice boy to send on business, truly! Comes back with paltry excuse before it's half done. You'll just go back by next boat. That's all about it!
I had great difficulty in keeping my temper, yet I knew that no thing was to be gained by losing it, so, again reiterating that I had acted on my best judgment, and also on advice, I left him muttering and grumbling to himself in about as bad a temper as I had ever seen him. Aunt, who was engaged nursing Melton Minimus, and superintending the preparations for the evening, welcomed me more warmly, although I could see also in her manner something of disappointment at my return, mingled with pity for me.
‘Mr Grosvenor came up last evening, Frank,’ she said. ‘He is just back from England. He wanted to have the wedding at once, but we have persuaded him to wait for three weeks to give time for proper preparations. We had hoped you would have remained away till the ceremony was over, as we think it would be so much better for you, and save you much pain.’
‘I think otherwise, aunt. I have already suffered as much as it is possible to suffer in the way you mean, and I think I can stand the rest. It would not look well if I was absent from my cousin's wedding, so I will be there, for I fear now nothing can prevent it. Who are coming to your party to-night?’
‘I think the only people besides the usual lot will be the Robinsons, who have just returned. We called on them the other day, and
‘Oh, yes, I know them all,’ I replied wearily.
‘Fanny appears to have exchanged confidences with her, and it appears she is also engaged to be married, and is waiting for her adored one to return from England, just as Fanny was at the time we called. A curious coincidence, wasn't it? I don't think she told Fanny his name. It is quite probable he came in the same ship with Augustus.’
‘Why, aunt, surely you remember? oh, no, I don't think I told you; but didn't Fanny tell you what I had heard in Auckland—that Grosvenor was also engaged to Julia Robinson; that the sneak was playing a double game, engaged to both to make sure of getting the one with the most money, when he could find out which that was? I don't suppose, bad as he is, that he would commit bigamy.
‘Told me: no! I never heard a word about it till now, nor do I believe it. People are always saying young men of property are engaged to every young lady to whom they speak. I would not spread the report if I were you; it would not be kind to Miss Robinson.’
The same old story; I was not believed. All put down to my spite against Grosvenor. I would say no more, but await the course of events. The complication, which the cute old doctor had advised me to try and bring about, appeared to be approaching without any assistance on my part. It gave me another gleam of hope.
Our guests on this occasion were not to arrive till after tea, so we had that meal to ourselves. It was the quietest I had ever sat down to in that house. Even Charlie's usual exuberance of spirits was absent. Uncle, who had not recovered from his annoyance, gave very brief replies to Grosvenor's remarks. Aunt endeavoured to get up a lively conversation with me, but she might almost as well have addressed the tea-urn, for I felt as dull as ditchwater, and could only reply ‘yes or no’ to her questions, and often gave one of these minute answers when the other should have been given.
After tea I overheard Grosvenor warning Fanny against dancing too much with that gloomy cousin of hers. ‘He looks as if he would like to eat me,’ he added.
‘Oh, does he,’ I exclaimed aloud, in a tone and with a look which made him regard me with terror for the rest of the evening.
Our guests had mostly arrived, and Fanny's birthday dance commenced. Grosvenor made a great point of having moved heaven and earth to be present on this auspicious day. I do not myself believe he ever thought of it being her birthday. It is true he brought her a handsome present, but this he would have done in any case. I was glad, when I saw how it threw the one I had purchased for her in the shade, that I had not presented mine.
The Robinsons entered after the dancing had commenced. Fanny was enjoying a galop with Grosvenor. As they came to a pause in a
‘Why, there are the Robinson's,’ Fanny exclaimed, ‘come at last. I must go and speak to Julia. Take me across to her, please.’
‘Damnation!’ mattered her partner between his clenched teeth, turning sharply round to prevent the remark, which he had failed to suppress, from being heard by my cousin, by which means he most unexpectedly found himself confronted by me, to whom, of course, it was distinctly audible. His face was white as death with dismay, combined with rage at my being a witness of his discomposure, and at the mocking smile with which I acknowledged it. There was no time for him to resent it, so he quickly regained his composure and turned to obey his partner's wishes. ‘Why did you not let me know they were coming?’ he asked. ‘How on earth did they get over here?’
‘I forgot that you knew them. Mr Robinson has bought the farm you were looking at.’
‘I am sorry for that, for Miss Julia is a bad lot. She swore I had made love to her on board, and also when I met her casually in Hawke's Bay. She is always imagining something of the sort. I shouldn't be surprised if she makes a scene here, but remember, dearest, whatever she says about me in that respect is false, se don't take any notice of it.’
After these few words he took her, with as much coolness as he could hurriedly assume, across the room to where Julia was chatting with aunt and her mother. They had not as yet seen him. I had myself quickly walked over to speak to the Robinsons, and to watch my rival's meeting with the girl he meant to treat so falsely.
Miss Julia had commenced a playful conversation with me, which she cut very short as her wandering eye caught sight of Grosvenor and Fanny approaching. Now, although my opinion of Miss Julia's good looks had decidedly suffered much since I had been acquainted with Fanny, yet had never seen her to greater advantage than when her face, already animated and excited at the idea of a dance, became suddenly lit up with an expression comprised of fond love, pride in the one she loved, and the intense pleasure and surprise on meeting him here, when she imagined he would be far away. If her appearance was improved by this unexpected meeting, Grosvenor's most certainly was not. Although, to a superficial observer, I must allow he was not a bad-looking fellow, and could perhaps disguise his real feelings better than any man I had ever met; yet at this moment I saw one short, transient gleam of baffied rage and enmity pass over his features, which rendered it, to my mind, that of a demon. One moment, and it was gone—I do not think anyone else observed it—and the usual bland, smiling look had taken its place; but having seen the other, I could not help observing how forced and unnatural this was. Deeper and more bitter curses are often expressed by a momentary movement of the features of men of evil natures than ever emanate from their lips—deeper and more bitter from the fact that time and circumstance will not allow them utterance.
And if such an immense amount of annoyance can be suffered in a few short moments, so also can an equal amount of wild joy be experienced. In the same brief space of time I saw Grosvenor's pretensions
‘Why, Gun.’ Miss Julia exclaimed, ‘is that really you? Come back without letting me know to give me a pleasant surprise, eh? In your last letter you said you would not be able to return for nearly six months; but I am delighted to see you, you naughty boy. How did you hear we had moved here? I don't think I mentioned it in any of my letters.’ Without waiting for an answer she turned to aunt. ‘And fancy you being in the secret, too, dear Mrs Melton! how excessively kind of you to ask Gus. here to meet me. I did not know that you were aware to whom I was engaged. Isn't he a dear fellow? Ah, Fanny, I have beaten you. I said I should have the pleasure of introducing my lover to you before you introduced yours to me. I now formally introduce to you my future husband, although he appears well known to you in his bachelor character. Where did you meet him?’
Fanny's look of astonished indignation was superb, and the rest of the guests who had gathered round appeared to be struck dumb. You might have heard a pin drop. Fanny soon found words.
‘Miss Robinson, I do not understand you. We have scarcely been long enough acquainted for you to indulge in this sort of fun at my expense, for I presume that is what you intend it for.’
‘Fun! There's no fun about it, except your delighful indignation. I'll soon prove my words. We are engaged, are we not, Gus?’ ‘Yes, yes, Julia, we are engaged; it's all right,’ replied Grosvenor, with a face, to outward appearance, imperturbably calm, but I could read by the help of the knowledge I had, the passion of doubt, fear, and even hatred of Julia, which was raging within. Bending over Fanny, he took advantage of Miss Julia's having turned aside to answer her mother's inqniry what it all meant to whisper to her. ‘She's a shingle short. Always imagining she is engaged to some one. I agreed with her merely to keep her quiet and save a scene. She becomes almost frantic if contradicted. I'll explain more by-and-bye.’
Fanny did not appear to be entirely reassured by this false speech, but I noted with alarm that though her blind faith in her lover had been sorely tried, it did not quite give way. At the moment of his
After the explanation that the poor girl was not quite in her right mind, compassion for her calmed the feeling of bitter hatred which jealousy had at first caused. Fanny immediately explained to her stepmother what Grosvenor had said, and whispered to her what a horrid girl she must be. Aunt at once went up to her husband who had only just entered the room, and had not, of course, heard the conversation recorded above, and related the incident to him, asking his advice as to the best course to pursue, as she did in most of her difficulties.
‘Don't bother about their nonsensical quarrels, that's my advice. I dare say he's been spooning with 'em both. Most boys do, eh! and girls, too. But Fanny's got him. Sure to be jealousy and all that. They'll get over it. Let 'em rip.’
This latter sentence, more brief than polite, was his favourite solution of a difficulty which proved to be a little out of his province. The word ‘rip,’ as doubtless most of my readers are aware, is formed of the initial letters of the words, requiescat in pace—rest in peace. Now, although uncle advised aunt to allow the young ladies to do this, yet they by no means did it. Firm friends as they had promised to be before this evening's episode, they now regarded one another with feelings of dislike and distrust. Aunt appeared far from satisfied with either Grosvenor's explanation or uncle's careless disposal of the difficulty, but as she always depended on his opinion, and disliked acting in opposition to it, she took no steps to clear up the peculiar turn that affairs had taken.
The dance meanwhile went on, and with Fanny's consent Grosvenor divided his time between the two ladies. On his again referring to the poor girl's mental misfortune—which this inveterate perverter of the truth actually put down to my scandalously trifling with her affections on the voyage—my kind-hearted cousin positively requested him not to neglect her on any consideration. He obeyed this request to the letter, much to the satisfaction of the poor afflicted creature. Mr Robinson was not at the dance, but his good lady made some remarks to my aunt, which were by no means agreeable, referring to Miss Melton's bold-faced attempts to steal her daughter's lover away from her. After a tirade of abuse she finished up by remarking ‘that considering her birth, she could not be expected to know better.’ After quietly endeavouring to calm the irate old lady, my aunt judged it wisest to leave a field where her adversary used ammunition of so coarse a nature. This added to the irritation and indignation of her guest in a far greater degree than if she had remained and argued with her. She was, however, reduced to the necessity of expending it on the company in general, though with very little effect, as I believe Grosvenor's version of the story was more generally believed.
I had by this time come to the conclusion that he would yet manage matters so as to blind my cousin and her relatives as to his real character, and the true state of affairs. I had a dance with her, and
Grosvenor got through the evening far better than he could possibly have expected or deserved. He managed with his wonderful powers of intrigue and deceit, to conciliate both ladies, and impressed each of them with the firm conviction that he would marry her. There was now little doubt in my mind, owing to a statement Miss Julia made to the effect that her marriage would take place in a few months, that his original plans were to marry Fanny, get hold of all the property he could, then abandon her, slip across to Hawke's Bay, marry Julia, and quit the country with her. He had not reckoned on the Robinsons moving to Wanganui and the two families becoming intimate. Thus he proved a blacker-hearted villain even than I had given him credit for being. Now the young ladies to whom he aspired had met, he must renounce one part of his plot, and concentrate his whole energies in obtaining the hand of one of them, lest between two stools he should fall to the ground. He might think himself wonderfully lucky if he succeeded. Still, with his consummate impudence and utter disregard for truth and honour, I felt he would in all probability succeed, the more especially when I noticed that Mrs Robinson's vindictive remarks had, aided by her daughter's reputed peculiarlty (which, by-the-bye, soon got magnified into insanity), created a complete breach of the friendliness just commenced between the two families.
Grosvenor visited the Robinsons frequently, it is true. He gave himself great credit for this self-sacrifice, as he termed it, leaving dear Fanny to spend a few hours with a girl like Miss Julia. Self-interest, I called it. He led the Robinsons to believe that he was staying about Wanganui to look for land, not with any idea of marrying something little better than a Maori wahine, as he scornfully termed my adorable cousin Fanny, to Miss Julia's intense delight. This little fact, unfortunately, did not come to our ears till long after. He was afraid of breaking altogether with Miss Julia for fear anything should yet prevent his marriage with Fanny. At all events he succeeded admirably in keeping either family in entire ignorance of the terms on which he stood with the other. This would have been impossible but for the aforesaid breach. Even Mr Robinson was so biassed by his wife's exaggerated, or rather fabricated, account of the treatment they received at the Melton's, that he refused to speak to uncle when he met him. The old lady had laid much stress on the rude manner in which Mrs Melton had walked off, and refused to listen to her, oblivious, doubtless, of the fact that no one unaccustomed to her vituperations could possibly be expected to stand calmly by and receive them, much less (if a lady) to return them in kind. Thus, in his whole courtship, everything seemed to favour Grosvenor. He wound himself with his insidious manner into the good graces of almost everyone, including our clergyman, an elderly gentleman in weak health, whom he went so far as to assist in the capacity of lay-reader. The doctor, the only man who I believe would have been capable of coping with him, had, unfortunately, left the district.
I Was longing for the steamer to start that I might return to Auckland, for though I had unaccountably made up my mind that nothing should prevent my being present at the wedding, which I was convinced must now occur, yet the sight of my favoured rival's happiness was too much for me. His supercilious air of condescending superiority when addressing me was too maddening to be borne with equanimity. I always felt an intense desire to kick him unmercifully, and it was only the thought that it would pain Fanny more than him which enabled me to suppress my violent inclinations in this direction. Charlie hated him as intensely as I did, and it was all Fanny and her father could do to prevent the young scamp from playing tricks on him. He improved a little in his riding under Fanny's tuition, but it was her greatest trouble that she feared she would never make a horseman of him. Almost living in the saddle herself, and being passionately fond of horses, it must have tried her considerably to witness her lover bullying his horse (poor old Bob, the quietest we had) because, as he asserted, he was so full of tricks (said tricks being caused by his rider's pernicious habit of holding on by his spurs).
In a few days I was again in Auckland, and striding down Queen-street Wharf to meet my sister and her husband. The steamer from Dunedin just hauled up alongside as I approached, and I was in plenty of time to see them land. Cecilia was little altered since I had last seen her, except that she had grown more matronly. She still had the will to command, which I so well remembered. The possession of a willing subject and slave had doubtless increased rather than diminished it. The greatest alteration I noticed in Stubbs was but a temporary one, caused by sea sickness, to which he had been a martyr. He was, if possible, several shades whiter than usual. His wife had not suffered in the least, but had entertained great sympathy for him, and been most kind on the voyage, he affirmed. Now they had arrived in port, she evidently thought he ought to be well, and ordered him here, there, and everywhere to get her multitude of small parcels, as well as larger luggage. The poor fellow obeyed, although I could see it was pain and grief to him. They both expressed themselves highly delighted at seeing me. On asking them where they intended to stay, Cecilia said they must go to some quiet boarding-house for a few days until her husband should meet his predecessor in the charge he was about to take, and inquired from him when the parsonage would be vacant. I accordingly took them to a suitable place, and the next day Stubbs called on the gentleman in question, whereupon it transpired that for some reason best known to himself that gentleman would not or could not give up the parsonage for three weeks. He had written to Stubbs to that effect and posted the letter himself. Stubbs replied that he had never
‘But, sir,’ suggested Stubbs, in his mildest manner, ‘could you not manage to let us have one room—a very small one would do—till you leave.’
‘No, no. With all my family the place is full. Not room for a mouse. We will be ready for you on this day three weeks, my dear sir.’
When Cecilia heard of this delay she was greatly vexed. ‘Why did you not insist on his giving you accommodation in his house or paying your bill here, as it was on account of his stupid carelessness. If you had received his letter you would have remained down there earning something. You know very well we cannot afford to pay for lodgings and everything now there is nothing coming in.’ Then her tone waxed sarcastic, as she continued: ‘If that great friend of yours had not borrowed so much of your money, it would not have mattered, but as it is, you know how pressed we are.’
‘Yes, yes, my dear, but what could I do? We must try and borrow a few pounds somewhere,’ with an appealing look in my direction.
‘But who would lend us money? We are strangers here,’ returned my sister, not noticing his reference to me.
‘Well, under certain conditions, I will, my dear Cissy. These conditions are that you will spend it in a trip to Wanganui to see our relatives there. They particularly wish you to do so, as this note from aunt will testify. A short visit will pleasantly fill up your spare time. If you are a little longer than the specified period I don't doubt the old gentleman will not object to take another Sunday or two.’
‘It would certainly be very nice, Frank, and I think we will accept your kind offer. I do enjoy the sea so much. My poor husband will be very sick again though, I'm afraid.’
‘Yes, I fear I shall,’ put in poor Stubbs, ruefully, ‘but as long as you enjoy it I don't mind what I suffer—at least not very much.’ The last few words were evidently added to counteract the apparent disregard of truth in his assertion. They were delivered after a pause, and a sad cadence seemed to cling to them.
‘Well, it's settled,’ replied the practical Cissy. ‘I suppose they don't give chaplains a free passage on these coastal steamers, Frank. They would not when we came up from Dunedin, though I tried them hard. I am afraid they would not have got much good out of you though, dear, for you were so awfully sick.’
‘No, they do not require the assistance of the church, as the voyage rarely includes Sunday. By-the-bye, how did you leave your young convert at the gaol, Stubbs? I suppose he was deeply grieved at your departure. A pity you couldn't have brought him up, and turned him into a Sunday-school teacher, or something.’
‘He deeply grieved at my departure! No, it was the other way about,’ replied my brother-in-law, in more excited tones than I had yet heard him use.’ I was deeply grieved at his departure, for he managed to escape a short time before I left.’
‘Yes,’ interposed Cissy, ‘and took a sum of money with him, which my husband was foolish enough to lend him. That was the worst of it.’
‘Hallo, Stubbs! you surely were not green enough to lend money to a prisoner, were you?’
‘Yes, Frank; unfortunately, I was. The young man seemed so sincere. He used to teach in my Bible-class, and even took the service for me on two occasions in the gaol. Then he told me, with tears in his eyes, that if he could only get twenty pounds to pay a lawyer he could obtain his freedom, for he was falsely accused. He promised to pay me back as soon as ever he got out, and although Cissy is sure he will not, yet I have still hopes that my teachings may come home to him some day, and he may return it. It may be long first, though,’ he added musingly. ‘I do not, however, agree with Cissy that the money loss is the worst. I think that the loss of the soul of one, who you believe has been gathered into the fold is far worse.’
‘That is very well, my dear,’ Cissy replied, ‘but the loss of the soul is his, while the loss of the money is ours.’
‘I am sure you must be right, my dear,’ Stubbs answered, meekly.
Harry walked in at this moment, and I introduced him to my sister and her husband.
‘I heard you were in town, Frank, so I felt sure you would be here. I have made a few lucky hits in the share-market since I last saw you, which have considerably increased the little legacy my uncle left me. I shall now stop speculating, for I often see fellows who have made a rise, wire in heavy till they drop the lot. It is not good enough. I have learnt a lot of experience from them, and mean to profit by it. When are you off for Wanganui? I'm ready to look out for a good farm there as soon as you like.
‘We are off by the next steamer. By Jove! old boy, I wish I had your luck.’
‘Luck, man! It isn't luck! there's no such thing. If a man studies every chance, and carries on with caution, he is pretty sure to come out right. It's those fools that rush blindly into a thing without troubling or knowing anything about it that cry out about not being lucky.’
Mr and Mrs Stubbs had by this time left the room.
‘I don't agree with you, there, Harry. Now, take my case in my love affairs. I have studied every chance, and taken every opportunity of letting Fanny know what an out-and-out villain Grosvenor is, yet he is winning and I am losing. I believe it is all luck, and that he has the luck of the devil, as they say.’
‘Not a bit of it, old man. You've been going in for a game you don't understand, while he's up to all the ropes. I do not believe you understand women an atom, Frank; excuse me saying so. If you did you wouldn't have been such a muff as to always run down Grosvenor to this girl of yours. It did him far more good than you. Begin that game with a girl, abusing a fellow she cares for, and the fat's in the fire, directly.’
‘Well, Harry, I didn't think you could teach me anything on the subject. How do you come to be so wise about the dear girls, eh?’
‘By studying the subject. You remember how cranky I used to be, shifting about from one to the other, and suffering greatly from the mistakes I made, and also from my hasty way of taking offence at trifling things they said and did. After a lot too much of this sort of thing. I saw there must be something wrong, so I began to consider. First, I thought there were none of them worth bothering
‘No, she was not. The old lady said she had a headache,’ replied I.
‘That old beast always prevents her going if she can, for Julia complains that she never gets so many dances when she is there. The old cat made up that headache yarn.’
I related the scene between Julia and Fanny, and informed Harry that we should be down in time for the wedding, and that Miss Grave would be there, as she had not been in the row.’
‘That will be grand for me, but it's rough on you. Can't we manage to expose the detestable villain somehow?’
No, the game's up. They won't believe us. He's got a way of making them all believe him. How he does it I don't know. I wish to heaven I did.’
The day previous to the departure of our steamer for Wanganui we hired a buggy, and took Cissy and her husband for a drive to give them some idea of the varied beauty of the scenery in the neighbourhood of Auckland. From the road which winds along the hills in the Remuera districts, even at that time a favourite locality for suburban residences, we saw beneath us the blue waters of the harbour, that vast sheet of water so snugly sheltered on the sea-ward side by the North Shore and the sloping sides of Rangitoto, beyond which gleamed in the sunlight the mighty ocean, its monotony relieved in the distance by the low-lying Tiri Tiri Island, while further away again in the blue haze loomed the misty outline of the Great Barrier, forming altogether a scene of which the eye never wearied. My brother-in-law was most enthusiastic in his admiration of the sea, providing always he was not too near it, and could gaze on it from the land. In this case the scene suited him admirably, as long rolling spurs divided by deep gullies clothed in verdure, and in some parts planted with ornamental trees and built on, formed a most pleasing foreground to the view, and gave him a sense of security, to be, alas! too speedily lost, for the next day found us being tossed and rolled about on the Manukau Bar. Cissy, Harry, and I enjoyed it immensely, but poor Stubbs had no sooner stepped on board at One-hunga than he remarked that, if we would excuse him, he thought he would go and lie down. He did not sufficiently recover to leave his cabin till we steamed up the Wanganui river, which, owing to nearly six hours' delay occasioned by some breakages in our machinery, was not until shortly after one o'clock on the day fixed for the wedding. This delay had been most irksome to me, as I reflected that in all probability we should not arrive in time to attend it. Cissy, to whom I had not confided my love for Fanny, remarked that had it been my own wedding I could not have exhibited more impatience. I wondered in an inane way why I was so determined to
Just as we had shut off steam Mr Bowden stepped on board and accosted me.
‘Oh, Frank, I am glad to see you! circumstances have occurred which render it extremely improbable that your cousin's wedding will come off to-day. It's very vexatious and annoying to her and the family. It will be the second time it has been postponed. To think that such an unforeseen circumstance should have happened just now.’
My hopes rose to a high pitch as he spoke—hopes that this mysterious something would put off for ever this hateful marriage. ‘But, Mr Bowden, to what do you allude?’ I inquired.
‘Why, our friend who was to have married your cousin has been notified by telegram that he must, at all hazards, proceed to Wellington by this steamer, which, owing to her delay, must be off almost immediately. She has no cargo worth mentioning to discharge, and the tide is already going out fast, so she can't wait. This renders it impossible for the wedding to take place, for three o'clock was the hour fixed.’
For the life of me I could not understand what my rival meant by this move. I felt sure it was some deep-laid scheme or other. At all events, any respite was preferable to the knowledge that Fanny was another's. I turned again to my informant.
‘Are you certain what you say is correct? Could you not have been misinformed?’
‘No, I assure you I am right. He showed me the telegram himself, and will be here directly. I came down to see him off, and to take a message up to the station for him, rather than to tell you.
This was more astonishing still, as Bowden was one of the few that were of my way of thinking about Grosvenor, and although he might easily have seen the telegram, yet it seemed in the highest degree improbable that he should have troubled to come down to see a man off whom he cordially detested. My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by another exclamation.
‘Here he comes! I'm glad. I was getting tired of waiting. I've been hanging about for the last half hour.’
‘Where?’ I replied. ‘I do not see him.’ Then rather sarcastically, ‘Why, here is the parson! Is he come to see him off too, I wonder?’
‘Well, it's him I meant. Why else did you think I'd trouble to wait about for?’
‘Why, I thought you meant Grosvenor. You said the man who was to marry my cousin.’
‘Ha ha! I see your mistake. I certainly said our friend who was to marry your cousin, but never dreamt you would have thought I meant Grosvenor. I shouldn't have used that term in his case. Our old friend here was to have done the business, wasn't he? The idea of you thinking I would have troubled to have come to see that confounded humbug off. If it was to see him hanged I'd go with pleasure ten times the distance, for, on my conscience, I believe he richly deserves it. I can't think how a man like Melton can allow him to marry his daughter. I have said as much as I dared to him, but it was no good.’
This explanation sent my hopes down to zero again.
The clergyman came on board and greeted us.
‘Oh, Frank!’ he exelaimed, ‘will you take a message to your uncle from me? Tell him that I regret most exceedingly—–’
He stopped short as my brother-in-law, for whom I had been most impatiently waiting, emerged from the saloon, loaded with his wife's wraps and travelling bags, and followed by the good lady herself.
I immediately made the necessary introductions.
‘Ah now, I see a way out of the trouble, that is, if Mr Stubbs will oblige us all by taking the service for me. You must understand, sir, that I had promised to marry these good people to-day, but have been imperatively summoned to Wellington on some most important business which will not admit of delay. I must go by this steamer, which will leave almost immediately. I would have gone up this morning and persuaded them to have the ceremony performed at an earlier hour, but I managed, as I thought, to secure a substitute, and, indeed, considered the matter settled, until half-an-hour since I received a note stating that the gentleman on whom I relied was laid up in bed. I was just about to send Mr Bowden up to inform them that I could not possibly get any one in time, in which case the wedding would have had to be postponed, for Mr Melton would not, under any circumstances, consent for a minister of any other denomination to be called in. Your providential arrival has, therefore, averted this very awkward state of things.’
‘I shall be most happy to be of any service, sir. What time does the ceremony take place?’
‘At three o'clock. Frank knows the church. You have no time to spare. Mr Bowden, if he will be so kind, might ride on and let them know you are coming. I would lend you my conveyance, but my horse is too slow. Had you not better get a buggy from Chavanne, Frank?’
‘Certainly,’ I replied. ‘Mr Bowden, as I see you are hurrying on to get your horse from the stables, will you order a buggy to be ready immediately. They will not send down for us, as they will require the trap to take the wedding party to church.’
‘By-the-bye, Mr Stubbs, I fancy I heard Frank say, when talking of you some little time since, that you were officiating as chaplain of
‘Oh, no. I only held the appointment for a few weeks until I could hear of something more to my taste,’ replied Stubbs.
‘You would be there at the time that noted Fitzwilliam escaped. I see by the papers they have not caught him yet. He must be a clever scoundrel.’
‘Yes, I was there at the time, and was bitterly deceived in him, for I looked on him as one of the most promising converts I had ever, through God's grace, been the means of showing the error of his ways. Stubbs then abruptly changed the subject, as it was rather a sore one with him.
By this time we had reached the stables, and found a buggy and pair ready harnessed for our use. The man in charge called me aside. ‘The boss ordered this pair to be put in when he heard you were going to drive, and were in a hurry, Mr Frank. He knows you are a good whip. They can travel, and no mistake, but the near-side one is devilish touchy, and only been in harness a few times. You'll have to be careful with him. As long as you let him go he'll be all right. All the other hosses as are any good are out.’
We jumped into the buggy, and the moment the man let go their heads the horses were off at a rattling pace. The animal the groom referred to was no other than Rewi, the nag I had hired for my first ride in New Zealand. He had only lately been submitted to, what he evidently considered, the indignity of harness, and he resented the insult by constant uneasy plunges and shrinkings, if by chance the pole or the traces unduly pressed against his glossy sides. He had never objected to the saddle, but the collar was too much to be borne with equanimity. My present mood rendered me by no means the lenient and cautious Jehu which the animal required. I was reflecting on the irony of fate—that fate which made me positively assist, by having induced my brother-in-law to come down with me, in consummating the very deed, which, had I not done so, must have at least been postponed, and which I would have given worlds to frustrate. This state of mind naturally made me morose and irritable, and little likely to deal easily with the increasing displays of temper in the animal, which was, for the time, under my guidance. I had to put up with my troubles, and do my duty, however disagreeable, and there was no reason why he should not. A rough pull or two on the bit; and a most injudicious cut with the whip, did not make him more amenable to discipline. I began to see that I must perforce adopt more gentle treatment with him, for it was all I could do to restrain the pace to a spanking trot, when an exclamation from Harry made me look round. Two Maoris were coming up behind us at a tearing gallop, whipping, spurring, and shouting at the height of their voices, their meagre garments flying in the wind. They were evidently under the influence of liquor, and would have no regard for any danger they might cause us. This was more than previously excited equine endurance could stand. A bolt was the natural consequence. Rewi's companion was now, by his ill-example, rendered as frightened as he was. Still, if the reins held, I might yet get them in hand without danger to ourselves. Stubbs, who occupied the front seat with me, was whiter than usual with terror, and Cissy, I grieve to relate, added her screams to the mad yells
This accident must of necessity prevent us from reaching the church till long after the specified time. Still, as I knew now that Stubbs would be available, if the ceremony did not take place that afternoon, it would the next day so the temptation to delay matters, which at first presented itself to me, vanished when I reflected how little was to be gained.
The wedding party arrived at the church in due time, and took their places, much astonished to see that the clergyman had not arrived. The church had been prettily decorated as a surprise to Fanny by her young lady friends, and was fairly well-filled with gaily-dressed spectators. Where could the clergyman be?
Again and again Bowden, who had delivered his message, was questioned, but all he could say was that Mr Stubbs had promised to be there in time, and that a buggy and pair of fast horses had been ordered.
‘That young fool of a Frank is at the bottom of it. He'd do anything to stop the wedding. If it is his fault, by Heavens he shall suffer for it!' muttered uncle in an undertone.
‘I'll answer for it they'll be here directly, sir. Don't put yourself out. It's a good, long drive, and they had but little time to do it in,’ interpolated Grosvenor, although they said his looks belied his words and proclaimed that he, too, was ill at ease.
‘Frank could have easily got them up before this with that team. If the parson was driving I could understand it.’
Uncle's discomposure naturally considerably augmented that of the ladies, and when a friend, who had ridden down till he could obtain a view of a good stretch of the road, returned and exclaimed, ‘No buggy and pair in sight, sir. Nothing but an old spring cart coming this way, and that can't be them!’ the whole party were in a state of uneasiness and alarm, which can be better imagined that described, and which certainly ill befitted a wedding party. They were consulting as to whether it would not be as well to leave the church and return home, when, with a deafening rattle of dilapidated springs and tires, the old spring cart drew up at the door, and its long-suffering occupants, almost shaken to death, got out, and proved to be the long-looked-for parson, Harry and myself. It was the only vehicle I could obtain at so short a notice. Cissy had wisely accepted an offer of a
My cousin looked supremely lovely. The bewitching beauty of her peerless form was enhanced by the white bridal attire. Now, for the first time, my disconcerted brother-in-law attained sufficient command of his feelings to raise his eyes and survey the party, but they only rested on Fanny, enthralled by her entrancing charms. She coloured as she met his gaze, but not to the extent that he did as he speedily applied himself to finding his place in his book. What a shy, contemptible little atom of mortality! What effect could such a man have on the male portion of his congregation? These thoughts, which were flashing through my mind, were suddenly cut short. What effect he might have had on any one else I know not, but he certainly had a most powerful one on Grosvenor. Why that look of ghastly horror, mortification, and hatred, as for the first time the bridegroom's careless eyes rested on the face of the most harmless man on earth? A moment before, as he caught my eye, his expression had been one of exultant pride and pleasurable anticipation. The change was more pronounced than it had been on encountering Julia at the dance. Though emboldened, probably by the ease with which he had extricated himself from that scrape, it was equally brief. A moment more and it was gone. Few if any besides myself noticed it, for I alone, of all that crowd, felt in my heart so bitter a hatred of the man who was robbing me of my love, that for the life of me I could not keep my hungry—I had almost written murderous—eyes off him. Could it have been my diseased fancy? No, I could not think so. I stood in, as it were, an awful nightmare. I felt there must be something beneath that sudden recognition. What was it, then? I was helpless to fathom it. Oh, God! could I but wake up and find it all a dream, and Grosvenor but one of those horrible demons who haunt and torture us in our slumber, but flee powerless for evil when we awake! But this could not be. I could not speak. I could not move. I felt glued to the spot. For the life of me I could not take my eyes off this villain who was bringing such
The service commenced ‘Stubbs’ weak voice was plainly audible in the still church. Again he looked swiftly at the pair he was about to unite. Swift as that look was, however, Grosvenor anticipated it by turning aside to glance down the church, and Stubbs again only saw Fanny's down-turned face. But still nervous and confused, he quickly took refuge in his book, and seemed determined not to raise his eyes from it again.
What a farce! What a hollow mockery to read those solemn words to one who had no sense or care of the responsibility he was undertaking, and would utter the responses and promises as so many meaningless words, to be, perhaps, kept as long as it suited him, then cast aside! I watched his look of self-satisfied pride as he felt, doubtless, that in a few brief moments he would have achieved his object, and be beyond the power of the fear which had so strangely disturbed him. For a moment my glance fell on Fanny. Her face wore the expression of a beautiful woman, conscious of all her faults and failings, but with all her worldly pride and passion hushed into a holy calm as she listened intently to the solemn words. Still the monotonous voice read on: ‘Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy state of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour her, and keep her in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, keep thee only to her as long as ye both shall live?’
With a haughty smile on his lips Grosvenor answered, ‘I will.’
My head sunk on my breast as these words seemed to me to seal my cousin's doom. A pause made me look up as suddenly. Stubbs still stood book in hand, but, even as I looked, it closed with a bang. His nervousness was forgotten, his face assumed a look of fiery indignation. It was some moments before words would come. When they did they were not those of the prayer-book, far from it. Pointing with no unsteady hand straight at Grosvenor, he exclaimed in a voice no longer calm and quiet:—
‘You will, you say, sir? you, an escaped criminal, with the knowledge of the deceit, and far worse, you have practised, will marry this young lady? Not with my assistance. I refuse to proceed with the service. I only this moment recognized you, but fortunately it is not too late. Mr Frank, see that this man does not leave the church while I speak to your uncle in the vestry.
With a thrill of wild and delirious delight which I shall never forget, I accepted the task. Grosvenor turned pale as death, and in his impotent fury at being baulked in his designs at the last moment he uttered curses loud and deep. Remembering himself too late, he turned to Fanny, and tried to make some apology and explanation to her. ‘What on earth was the matter with the cranky little parson? He has evidently mistaken me for someone else.’
My fair cousin's self-command did not desert her in her pressing need. She stood like a queen, and imperiously motioned him back.
‘Sir, I have been mistaken in you; he is not. From this moment we are strangers.’ And turning to aunt without a sign of tremor in her voice, she continued, ‘Let us go home at once, aunt,’ and they left the sacred edifice.
Uncle, on complying with Stubb's request to go into the vestry with him, merely reiterated his request to me. ‘Whatever happens we can trust you to look after him, Frank.’
He was right.
‘Sir,’ began Stubbs as soon as the door of the vestry was closed on them you are, no doubt, surprised at my behaviour, but will not long be so.’
‘I dare say not. I dare say not! But go on with your explanation, please.’
‘Well, sir that villain is the escaped prisoner Fitzwilliam. You will have seen the account in the papers. He was undergoing a sentence for forgery and embezzlement in the Dunedin gaol when I held the chaplaincy there for a few weeks after my arrival in the colony. I accepted the post for a short time till I could hear of something more suitable. He humbugged me shamefully with pretensions of being converted. He managed to escape, and has since successfully evaded the efforts of the police to trace him.
‘But you must be mistaken. This man's name's Grosvernor. He's just returned from England. Been home to see his father Sir Charles,’ replied uncle, hoping against hope that there might yet be a mistake.
‘No, Mr Melton, I am not mistaken. His terror-stricken face and the bad language he used when I recognized him, should convince you of that. I must inform you that at any time I am absurdly stupid at remembering faces, but in this case, through being so thoroughly upset and confused at keeping you all waiting, and being naturally shy with strangers, I really did not get a good look at the man. He recognized me, no doubt, and took all possible care not to meet my glance. The moment, however, he uttered the response I knew his voice, and looking up suddenly caught his eye, and I am as certain, sir, that he is the man as I am that God is in Heaven. As to his name, he has, doubtless, a dozen of them. In gaol he was known as Fitzwilliam. I never heard this alias of “Grosvenor,” or I might have been suspicious when Frank mentioned that your daughter was to be married to a gentleman of that name. He must have reserved that name for the North Island.’
‘I understand, sir. You must be right. What steps do you intend to take? You'll send him back, eh?’
‘I leave it all in your hands, sir. I understand you are a Justice of the Peace. I think I have done my duty. It is for you to act as you think fit with him’
‘I'll soon do that!’ retorted uncle, who, now that he thoroughly understood the case, was naturally highly incensed.
But to return to Grosvenor. As soon as Fanny and her friends had left he church he evidently thought it was high time to be off. It never seemed to have struck him that his liberty would be interfered with. He must have heard the instructions given to me to watch him, but imagined that out of consideration for Fanny's feelings, uncle would try and keep the thing quiet. Now was the supreme moment for which I had long hoped. I followed him quickly outside the building, and, with a bound, collared him, arresting his course in no gentle manner. He gave a frantic but utterly futile struggle to free himself from my grasp. I was by far the more powerful man and my strength seemed doubled by my bitter hatred and contempt for the cur. The temptation to thrash him within an inch of his life was almost too much for me, but judging that his punishment would yet be complete enough, I refrained. Several friends were about to render me assistance in holding him, but Harry, knowing my mood so thoroughly, and the relief the task was to my overwrought feelings, prevented them.
‘Leave him to Frank, my boys,’ he exclaimed. ‘He is quite able for the job, and is enjoying it.’
Grosvenor now had recourse to cajolery. ‘Frank, old man,’ he whispered, ‘you're a good sort. Give me a chance. Let me slip away. Fanny will be pleased to hear I've escaped. You've known me a long time, old friend. Let me go: there's a brick.’
‘Let you go!’ I almost screamed. ‘I've known you far too long, and too well, to let you go and carry on your infernal villainy somewhere else! You've had the upper hand long enough: it's my turn now!’
‘By heavens! you shall pay for this, you sneaking devil. I always hated you, but was satisfied when the girl you would have given your eyes to get threw herself at my head. By some damned trickery you have bested me! You're mean enough to take her, even now, but as sure as you do, by the God above us I'll find a way of making a corpse of you if I swing for it! You shan't possess her long, I warn you!’
‘Keep silence, you infernal hound, or it will be the worse for you! Who cares for your threats?’ and I gave him a shake which made his teeth chatter with fear.
At this moment uncle came up, and immediately called two stalwart young farmers, who had evidently driven their lady friends down to the wedding, and remained to see the fun.
‘Here, you two fellows, bring up that spring cart. Drive this man to the lock-up at Wanganui. There's a strong halter under the seat, I see. Tie him in tightly, for he's a slippery customer. I'll be down presently. Gag him with a handful of straw if he's noisy. If you lose him, look out! He's Fitzwilliam, the escaped prisoner. Policemen don't come to weddings, but you'll do instead.’
They evidently agreed with the last remark, for they hated the swell. If they were a little too rough in carrying out uncle's orders, no one pitied their prisoner, who was by this time completely cowed. All his resources of impudence and falsehood, all his cleverness at extricating himself from awkward predicaments deserted him. I shuddered as I thought how narrow had been Fanny's escape, how nearly this cowering criminal had succeeded in driving away from that church with a beautiful bride by his side, instead of as now, tied with
‘I'm sorry I didn't listen to you, Frank. The new-chum nephew has put the old hand to shame. You saw through him; I didn't. Getting an old fool, I suppose. Didn't think I could be had. Poor Fanny! But she's the right sort. Won't fret long. It took the parson to “put the set on him,” though. I honour you, sir. You've saved my family much disgrace and misery. You can always command us. I honour you, sir, and I thank you heartily. I can say no more.’
‘Not at all, sir, not at all. What am I saying? yes, I mean you do honour me far more than the occasion deserves,’ replied poor Stubbs confusedly, who was accustomed to do his duty in an unobtrusive manner, and look for neither praise nor reward.
‘Now, Walter,’ I said, ‘none of your getting out of it in that way. You have achieved in a few moments what I have been vainly endeavouring for months to do. I also heartily thank you.’
What a weight this weak little man, whom I had so despised, had lifted off my heart. It can easily be understood that I quite altered my opinion of him.
When we arrived at home we found Miss Grave was the only person present besides the home party, which, of course, included Alice and her husband Fanny had entreated her friend to remain a few days with her. Her quiet, lady-like manner—I use the word in its truest sense, acted like a charm on my cousin's disturbed feelings—disturbed in that he, to whom she believed she had given the priceless treasure of her love, had proved basely unworthy of it. The love was already dead, for she of all girls would be the last to retain the least kindly feeling for one whom she could not honour; but the mortification of being so cruelly deceived was naturally most severe. Nor was Fanny the only one on whom Miss Grave acted as a charm. Her kindly sympathetic disposition endeared her to us all, but, of course, to no one so much as to Harry Fanny took a great interest in throwing them together—always accidentally, of course.
One evening Harry and I stood on the verandah, watching the two girl friends strolling down the shady garden path, their arms clasped about each others’ waists in girlish fashion, the setting sun sending a few straggling rays of soft golden light through the tangled branches of the peach trees on to their shapely forms.
‘What a contrast they present!’ I remarked lazily.
‘They are the two grandest girls on God's earth, bar none!’ exclaimed Harry, fervently.
‘Why, Harry,’ said I, ‘what's this? Is it to be the old see-saw business over again? Are you going to cut me out as you did on board ship?’
‘See-saw business! no fear. Thank God there is no more of that for me. I have struck a patch at last, and, by Heaven! I'll stick to it. I hope between ourselves that this brother and sister business will soon be followed by something a thousand times better. I like your cousin immensely, but she has no power over me, now that I know what love really means.
I was amused at the solemnity with which he imparted to me this momentous secret of his, which was so patent to all of us.
A few days later uncle, who had a very strong sense of duty, and always went through with it, however unpleasant, happened to meet Mr Robinson, and on that worthy endeavouring to pass him without recognition, he at once addressed him.
‘Look here, Robinson, a lying scoundrel has caused this row between us. I've just found him out. He's sent to gaol again. That sneaking cur, Grosvenor, I mean. Let's be friends again,’ and he related the whole affair to show the truth of his words.
‘Right you are, sir. Put it there;’ and he held out his hand cordially. ‘I always believed that my good lady exaggerated matters considerably. It's a way women have, you know, and made far more of a row than there was any need for. I am delighted that you should suggest ending it, and to prove my words, had it not been that I had heard—pardon me for saying it—that you were rather inclined to be an obstinate sort of gentleman, and would not take advances kindly, I would have been the first to offer to make it up, whether you had rounded up that villain or not. I fact, I never really got to the bottom of what the quarrel was about.
‘Well, give my compliments and apologies to your good wife. Say I'm sorry anything happened in my house to annoy her Mrs Melton shall call and make it up. Then come over to tea the lot of you. That'll show every thing's right again.’
‘With all my heart, Melton. Here's my fist on it.
Miss Julia and her mother had a long discussion as to whether they should accept the proffered invitation, which Mrs Melton had confirmed when she called. They decided to go. The pleasure of witnessing, what they called, that proud minx's humiliation exceeded any motive of kindly reconciliation. I am inclined to think Miss Julia had also another reason for desiring to be again friendly with our party. She had heard of Harry's good luck, and that he was staying with us. I mean his luck in the acquisition of his uncle's legacy. Of what he considered his infinitely better luck in the possession of almost certani hopes of obtaining Miss Grave's hand she had heard nothing. She held that young lady far too cheaply to have any fears of her rivalry. Therefore, confident of conquest, attired in her most bewitching costume, she came, she saw, but whether she conquered or not will appear later.
Before closing this chapter in which we have described the final downfall of Grosvenor's schemes for his own aggrandizement, it may be well to state that he served out the remainder of his sentence, together with a new term for breaking prison, and a few other items, which had not been previously proved against him. After his release he left the colony, rightly judging that he was a man of too much note to live the life of retirement he needed. Whether he amended his ways or not I am not aware, as I have not heard of him since his departure.
Fanny, who happened to be very busy, after giving Julia a kindly welcome, asked Miss Grave to take her into her room to take off her things.
‘So you have your old flame, Harry Baker, here, all to yourself, the last few days,’ began Julia, as soon as they were alone. ‘I hope you have improved the occasion, and made the most of a chance you are not likely to get again. No wonder you were so anxious to remain here to comfort Miss Melton. Wasn't that the excuse?’
‘Now Julia, that is most unfair. It was really only when Fanny pressed me very earnestly to stay, and out of pity for her, that I consented. I thought, under the circumstances, your mamma wouldn't mind.’
‘Oh, yes, of course, I can quite believe that (this very incredulously). But, joking apart, if you were not such a noodle I should be jealous of you, for, between ourselves, I mean to accept Harry the next time he asks me, and I shall do my best to-night to hurry him up,’
Her companion listened to this with a quiet, self-confident smile.
‘I know it is no good speaking to you, Julia, for you never will listen to me; but I do hope you will not do anything unladylike or forward that you may afterwards repent.’
‘Listen to you! I should think not, indeed! What do you know about such things? Nothing, and never will. You are not the sort of girl gentlemen like at all, and are certain to live and die an old maid. Now you see if Master Harry doesn't propose to me this very night. I'm determined to bring him to the scratch to show you that I can do more in one evening with, what you call, my fast manner, than you can with all your ladylike reserve and grand opportunities.’ (This very sarcastically.)
‘I never allowed, nor will I, that I am trying to win any one, Julia; remember that.
‘Oh, no, of course not. It would be no good if you did though; that's one thing.’
Another quiet smile was the sole response Miss Grave vouchsafed to this rude speech. Miss Julia did not notice it, being too busily engaged complacently surveying her charms in the glass, and being satisfied with the result, she prepared to join the company, remarking: ‘There now, I think that will do the trick.’
Mrs Robinson made a very clumsy and confused bungle of her share in the explanation, but aunt wisely took it all in good part. Julia professed that, notwithstanding the peculiarity of the circumstances, she had never ceased to love Fanny, and was so very sorry for her. This, however, my cousin could not stand.
‘Sorry for me, are you? I am not sorry for myself, and I see no need for my friends to express sorrow for me. Keep your sympathy for yourself, Miss Robinson.’
‘Oh! I don't need it. I was only joking that evening about being engaged to Gus.—Mr Grosvenor I mean. We were taking a rise out of you, Fanny. We did it well, didn't we? It was not likely I'd become engaged to a man like him. I saw through him on board ship. I could have told you all about him if you had only confided in me.’
Fanny knew she was telling untruths, and longed to tell her so, but judged it best to let them pass, and only took means to show Miss Julia that the subject had better be dropped.
‘Well, Julia, be that as it may, I think we can find nicer subjects to talk over.’
Miss Grave, as I must still term her, for though Fanny always called her by her Christian name, which was Annie, the rest of us all talked and thought of her as Miss Grave. The name seemed so applicable and natural to us. Miss Grave, then, was rudely rebuked by the old lady for remaining so long away from her duties. Knowing it was undeserved, as she had written and asked permission, she took little notice of this displeasure on the part of her employer.
Nothing could exceed Miss Julia's gushing manner with Harry, nor the cool way in which she monopolized him the greater part of the evening. Miss Grave watched him closely several times, but it was with a pleased expression on her fair face. There was no element of pain or jealousy, nor was there the slightest cause for it. She was satisfied at once that he was merely interested in talking over old times with an acquaintance he had not met for some time. She could see that the reminiscences which that acquaintance playfully recalled, with her most fascinating manner and sunniest smiles mingling in Harry's mind with others—which she would have given a good deal to have left in oblivion—did not appear to bring the tender glances to his eyes which adorned them when engaged in the most ordinary conversation with herself. She saw this, and was content, and, convinced that her patient waiting and sisterly care would soon be rewarded, as it truly deserved to be, with the earnest, undivided love of a manly heart. She had owned to herself that she would have all or none, and now she felt that all was hers. She had watched to see first if Fanny's charms would have any effect in turning away this all from her; but they had not. Then she waited to witness his meeting with Miss Julia, and she saw that however fickle and changeable he might once have been in his love affairs, he was now true to her and to her only.
And he, what were his feelings and thoughts? I believe I must admit that when Miss Julia made her attempt at fascinating him, he did not strive much to counteract it. He thought it would be a good chance to try what effect his paying attention to her would have on his cool-hearted lady-love. Cool-hearted! He little knew her yet. A warmer heart than lay hid under that calm exterior never beat, and that he was yet to prove to his indescribable advantage. He made his little attempt at provoking jealousy, and looked to see what effect it would create. The pleasant expression he met showed him the uselessness of his attempt, and his response could only be one of those true and loving glances. This made assurance doubly sure to her. It was a complete contrast to the simulated ones with which he had favoured Julia, as he hung over her at the piano, while she sang extra sentimental songs, emphasizing the most touching parts by casting her liquid eyes up into his.
But if that glance of his made assurance doubly sure to Miss Grave, it had an entirely opposite effect on Miss Julia, for she saw it. She had come, as we have seen, feeling that it would be a very easy matter to bring to her feet the man whom she imagined she had held in her power, more or less, ever since she had known him—a man who had raved about her as he had done in the hospital. She had certainly on a few occasions been a little jealous of her companion, but this was forgotten. Now, after trying all her arts of fascinating, singing love songs, and bringing up past tender scenes in the most bewitching manner, it was hard not to obtain one reassuring glance which might betoken a chance of success in the future; harder still to see such a one bestowed on the girl whom she despised too much to consider a rival; whom she had but a short time since pitied, as being ‘too quiet and reserved to attract the attention of gentlemen’; and to whom she had strongly proclaimed her intentions with regard to the gentleman in question. What wonder, then, at the sight of that glance that her dark eyes should glitter angrily, her full lips quiver, and her shapely bosom heave in a manner which showed the tumult of jealousy within? Yet it had to be suppressed, though at a cost only known to herself. She could have flown at the nasty, sneaking thing (as she termed her in her own mind), and torn her fair smiling face with her ruthless nails. But it would not do. She must not lose all chance of the game by one rash move, although her adversary had, to all appearance, the best of it. So, with enforced calm and gaiety, she turned from the piano. ‘How did you like the song I sang just now, Mr Baker? It was a great favourite of yours on board ship, you will remember.’
‘Was it?' he replied, carelessly, ‘I had forgotten. The air is certainly very pretty. What a pity they could not have found some sensible words for it instead of that abominable love-sick nonsense.’
‘Oh, Mr Baker! how dare you say such a shocking thing about one of my songs? There was a time when you said much prettier things to me,’ the last sentence in a low tone.
He pretended not to have heard it, and conversed about songs in general. Generalities, however, were not to her taste just now. She altered the subject to that of his military career, hoping for better success.
‘I was so pleased to hear how bravely you acquitted yourself in the field of battle, Mr Baker. Everyone was speaking of your courage and pluck. I do love a man who is some good to his country, and not afraid of a few hard knocks like our friend, Mr Gus. Grosvenor.’
‘Your friend if you like, Miss Robinson, but don't say ours, please. I always utterly detested him. I heard of your engagement to him, by-the-bye. Accept my congratulations.’
‘Engagement! I never was engaged to him. You must imagine you're speaking to Miss Melton,’ answered the young lady, warmly and mendaciously.
‘Oh, I understood you were. Brown told me of it. Of course, as you say you were not, he must have been wrongly informed.’
‘Mr Brown knew nothing about it. But I want to hear all about your attacks on the rebels.’
‘You must excuse me the recital, Miss Robinson; it's too much like blowing my own trumpet. Besides, the doings of a penniless private in a militia regiment cannot possess the slightest interest in your eyes.’
She could stand it no longer, and the torrent of her wrath burst forth. Fortunately the others had moved out on to the verandah, and were not within hearing. Harry had risen to follow them, but Julia detained him.
‘So that remarkably ladylike companion of mine has been repeating things I have said—I mean, has been making up things to set you against me, Mr Baker; has she? I could see some malicious person had been at work, you are so unlike what you used to be to me, but I did not think it would turn out to be anyone professing such friendship to me as she does, the nasty deceitful cat! Why do you believe what she says about me?’
‘Wait a bit, Miss Robinson. How came you to think it was Miss Grave who “repeated the things you said—I mean made them up?”’ replied Harry, using her own words.
‘Oh, I can see quite as well as most people; she has been “gone on you” for ever so long, and knowing she could not win you by fair means, she has tried all sorts of spiteful, underhand ways. I wonder you are taken in by such low tricks.’
Harry's patience was now quite exhausted.
‘Your surmise is utterly unfounded. The lady you speak of so unkindly has never breathed a word to your discredit in any way to me. It was through one of the hospital nurses that I learnt your feelings for me at the time, as expressed by yourself to Miss Grave at the door. I'll admit I was hurt when I heard it first, lying there almost between life and death, but I have cause to be very thankful to you since for so plainly expressing yourself. As to that young lady being what you call “gone on me,” I wish to Heaven I could be quite certain she was. I should then be the happiest man alive. Her affection is worth winning. Her sisterly care of me never ceased when I was poor and friendless, or when I sorely wanted a kindly feminine influence to keep me in the path of duty.’
‘Sisterly, pooh! I can see through her now. She was poor, and didn't care what she did to secure a husband whether well off or not at the time. She knew your family at home, and guessed you'd come into money some time or other. She is deeper than I used to give her credit for. A girl of her position could, of course, go into a hospital and nurse a young fellow without anyone knowing or troubling about her, but it would not have been proper for me; mamma said so at the time. There is such a difference in us, you know.’
‘Yes, I should just think there was! You could no more understand her motives and feelings than you could fly. I must, therefore, decline discussing either them or her with you,’ exclaimed Harry, hotly, losing all patience.
Her indignation knew no bounds. ‘Sir, your rudeness is unbearable! Go and inflict it on that girl!’ (The emphasis on the word ‘that’ made any adjective superfluous.) ‘She will doubtless be proud to bear it. She will gladly put up with the manners of a barman, but spare me the infliction!’
‘I never had greater pleasure in obeying any commands of Miss Robinson's,’ he retorted with irresistible politeness, the strictest regard to truth, and a most profound bow. Passing out into the garden, he soon joined Miss Grave and Fanny, who, like the rest of the company, were strolling in twos and threes about the garden. The latter mischievously asked him to oblige her by entertaining
Here it may be as well to take leave of Miss Julia, merely stating the fact that two years later she married, against her father's consent, a man considerably more than twice her age, who was noted equally, for the amount of wealth he had amassed, and the unscrupulous manner in which he had made it. We heard of this with much sorrow, for we were certain such a match could not possibly be a happy one. Nor was it, for after fighting like cat and dog for a year or two, he turned her out of his house, and she was obliged to return to her parent's house a soured and embittered woman.
Harry had little to say until he and his companion were quite out of sight and hearing of the others. He appeared to be absorbed in thought. Miss Grave bantered him on his unusual silence, then seeing that had no effect, she gently inquired if she had offended him? Here was the opportunity, and now that it had arrived, he felt far more dubious about the result than when confidently proclaiming to me a few days previous the almost certain hopes which he entertained.
‘Offend me, darling! No, nothing that you would do or say could have that effect on me.’ And now words came fast, though faltering in tone, and such words, fair reader, as I hope you may soon hear from one worthy of you, if you have not already heard them—words of true, honest love, words not from the tongue alone, but from the depths of the soul itself, promising what the speaker will assuredly and faithfully perform if he be but allowed the chance, if she will become his and his only.
And could she do this? Yes, she could, and with the maidenly reserve, lovely blushes, and whispering tones, which I am told are usual in such cases, she told him so. He clasped her in his arms, and pressing his lips to hers enjoyed to the full that first sweet kiss of love, and several others. They were in paradise; their feet had left the sordid earth. It was, without doubt, the supremest moment they had either of them yet known. Hitherto their lives had not been very smooth. His peculiar temperament had prevented him from making many friends, or securing much sympathy, and her position in a family like the Robinson's, who, from their lower level, could not understand her, and were constantly paining her finer sensibilities, had been extremely irksome. She would have left them but for an exaggerated notion of Mr Robinson's kindness in taking pity on her,
‘We missed you, Harry. Your grave companion must have become quite gay to make you of all men miss your tea.’
‘If she was grave by nature, she has certainly changed, my dear madam, and I think I have the best reasons for saying that she has made up her mind to be Grave by name no longer than it will take to make the necessary arrangements for the proper casting off of that sombre cognomen. She could not withstand my pitiful appeal. It was somewhat in this wise, “Be my companion, my love, instead of Miss Julia's. I require one far more than she does. She has a mother, while I am a poor orphan.” This fetched her.’
This levity served to hide Master Harry's real feelings, and caused a laugh.
‘Poor little orphan,’ replied aunt; ‘sad case. I am delighted to hear it will have someone to take care of it, and see that it gets its meals regular, instead of playing about in the garden and forgetting them. Give the poor little manny some cake, Frank. He must be hungry. Don't spill the crumbs on your pinney, dear.’
We all crowded round him and wished him joy, though it seemed a superfluous wish, for he appeared to be as full of the commodity already as he could hold, regularly steeped in it, in fact.
We will pass over the little conversation which passed between Miss Grave and Fanny in her room. The usual amount of happy tears, without which ladies appear rarely able to express their deeper emotions, had, doubtless, been shed, and the regular quantity of purposeless and unsatisfying caresses given and taken.
The Robinsons had returned to their home directly after tea, and consequently before the happy pair left their leafy paradise. Miss Julia had complained of a severe headache. Heartache would have probably been nearer the mark, but ladies must be excused, as their slight knowledge of anatomy cannot be expected to enable them to locate the pain.
I need hardly say that I enjoyed this evening particularly. Although I felt it would not be kind to force my attentions too suddenly on my cousin, yet we had a very pleasant little chat after our friends had left. Her manner was all I could yet desire. She felt evidently that she ought to make amends for her former treatment of me, neglecting my warnings and accusing me of false representations. She could now see, she owned, that my motive had been her happiness, although I do not pretend I was blind to the fact that I hoped it would combine mine also. She asked my forgiveness for her injustice and cruel suspicions. This I freely gave, and the loving cousinly salute with which we sealed the bond of peace was the most exquisite sensation of the sort I had yet experienced; doubtless from the fact that I could certainly discern an element of something far
This little scene was enacted in an arbour covered with the trailing branches of the passion fruit plant, and did not keep us long enough away from our friends to expose us to the chaffing that greeted Master Harry, and as I had no real authority for hoping for such a speedy termination, if, indeed, such a happy one as he had already gained, it was perhaps as well.
While we had been thus engaged Uncle, Stubbs, and Mr Robinson, who had not returned with his ladies, held a long conversation over the re-captured prisoner. Mr Robinson informed them that his wife had never told him of Grosvenor's engagement to his daughter; that knowing he was very unfavourably impressed with him, she dreaded he would refuse to sanction it; and as she had set her heart on her daughter's making an aristocratic match, she had determined to try and arrange the wedding on one of his frequent absences from home, after which she felt that she could easily manage to make peace.
‘Then you were not greatly impressed with this Fitzwilliams, sir?’ asked Stubbs.
‘Fitzwilliams! was that one of his names?’
‘Yes, that was the name under which he was arrested and imprisoned.’
‘Now I believe I can tell you as much as you care to know about him. I had not the slightest idea till this moment that it was the history of an old acquaintance that I heard a stranger in an hotel at Dunedin relate to another fellow. He was talking of the escape, which was in the morning paper, of a prisoner of that name, and I took an interest in what they were saying. One of them had known him at home. His father was a very shady sort of low attorney; the son also had a natural taste for swindling. When he was at school he got the prefix of ‘Fitz’ stuck on to the more plebeian one of ‘Williams’ on account of the airs he always gave himself. On leaving school he entered his father's office for a few years, and made the most of the lessons learned there. By means best known to himself he managed to swindle the old gentleman out of sufficient funds to carry him to New Zealand and start him as a baronet's son travelling for pleasuse, for he was a 'cute fellow in his way. By various clever little feats of penmanship on blank cheques, imitating the handwriting of his acquaintances, and various other peculiar transactions, he had managed to keep himself going until the Dunedin police dropped on him. He evidently meant to have one or both of our daughters, Melton, curse him! And to give the devil his due, he played his cards boldly, for had not our reverend friend here “held the joker,” he would have had a hand too good for us, and we could not have escaped being euchred.’
‘Excuse me, sir,’ interposed Stubbs, mildly, ‘but I do not quite comprehend your statement about my holding the joker. It was Mr Frank who held him. I must not have the credit of doing what was not within my province, even had I been capable.’
‘Ha, Ha! Of course, you cannot be expected to understand, Mr Stubbs. I was merely making use of some terms in our favourite game of cards, which appeared applicable. It's a sorry joker the wretch would make, as he has found to his cost.’
‘Yes,’ said uncle, ‘he was certainly up to a dodge or two. I'm mad when I think he got over me. ‘Cute idea, to say he'd gone home, when he was in gaol. It's the only home he'a likely to have, though. I did make inquiries about the passengers by the ship he pretended he sailed in. There were several white-headed ones like him, so I thought it was right. See so few of such varmint out here. A man gets too unsuspecting.’
After this we saw very little of either Mrs Robinson or Julia. The old gentleman, however, often dropped in to join uncle and Mr Bowden in a game of euchre, or to have a yarn about matters pastoral. Mrs Robinson wrote a very sharp note to Miss Grave, ecusing her of heartless ingratitude and shameless behaviour, and desiring her never to show her face in their house again. This tirade of abuse did not cause much dismay in the young lady's breast, for aunt at ones, begged her to remain with us until Harry had completed the purchase of a block of land in our neighbourhood and built a house on it, of which it was generally understood she was to be mistress. She gratefully accepted aunt's invitation, and we were altogether a very jolly party.
Stubbs and his good lady had returned to Auckland. The kick not turn out serious, and soon succumbed to the careful nursing he received. Harry, of course, was to reside with us until his new home was habitable. His land was principally high fern with a little bush. This class of rich fern land about our locality was very easily transferred into fine grass paddocks without the expense and labour of ploughing. The natural growth was burnt off, grass and clover seed sown on the ashes, the land well fenced, and stocked heavily in the spring, when the cattle greedily eat the young tender fern shoots, and by degrees destroy it utterly. It this precaution of heavy stocking when the fern is young is not adopted, it gets the better hand of the grass and chokes it out, and your paddock again becomes a waste.
Just as I was thoroughly enjoying my daily companionship with Fanny under the altered circumstances, uncle called me into his study one day.
‘I've bought that big block of land ten miles north of here. Shall want you to go up and manage it. Take up Tom Hardy with you. He'll look after the cattle and cook. Then those two contractor fellows will soon run you up a slab hut. A tent will do till it's ready. They can go on with the stock-yard and horse paddock after. I'll go up with you to-morrow. Get your traps together, ready to start. I'll give you two pound a week and found. You can put on some stock of your own into the bargain. You've got some coin saved, I know.’
This programme I could not hail with unmixed delight. After residing in our lively home circle I should find bachelor quarters unquestionably dull, and the loss of Fanny's society would be a very severe one. Yet I should be very much more my own master, and instead of being virtually a stockman at the regular wages of one pound per week, I should be an overseer drawing double that remuneration, with the extra privilege of running a mob of my own
fac totum, was a good sample of the regular old hand. Nothing ever seemed to come amiss to him. He could drive a team of bullocks, break in a young horse, do rough carpentering, put in a day at the garden, slaughter a beast, cut your hair, or serve up as good a dinner as you need wish to sit down at, with the same imperturbable coolness and good humour. He had at various times served in a great variety of capacities. When wanting a job he never refused a good offer whether he knew anything of the duties or not, trusting to good luck and a general aptitude for adapting himself to his work, whatever it might turn out to be, to pull him through, which it almost invariably did. I never yet remember hearing him acknowledge that anything was beyond him. He was that rara avis, a jack-of-all trades, and master of most of them. It will be easily understood that he was exactly the man for me.
About six months previous to accepting my new billet from uncle, I was on one occasion strolling through the Wanganui auction mart, when I heard the stentorian voice of the auctioneer shouting out:—‘Only fifteen pounds bid for a filly like that—three years old and broken to saddle ! Only fifteen pounds, gentlemen. What are you thinking about? look at her breeding! ‘She was in a pen of unbroken colts and fillies, a fact which should have roused my suspicions, as all broken horses, if they are quiet and fairly sound, are ridden up and down the tan to show their paces. However, I wanted a horse of my own and on looking at the animal, liked her appearance and gave a nod, which signified another half-crown. The auctioneer who was only waiting for a genuine bid—he had been doing a bit of ‘trotting’—knocked her down, and she was mine at fifteen two six. To my utter disgust, I found directly I got her out of the pen that she was dead lame. I was ‘had.’ The farmers and dealers had a good laugh at my discomfiture, but I turned it off with the remark, ‘Ah, she isn't as lame as I thought. She'll breed me some good foals.’
At that moment a ragged-looking fellow, with a very red nose and a knowing look, stepped forward and whispered in my ear: ‘I say, boss, if you can only get her sound, she's a smart'un, I tell ye. Could lick anything on the station where she was bred. Me and Jim Smart broke her in with a lot of rattlers last season, and used to gallop them on the sly. Nobody else knows she can slide.
I gave the fellow, what he evidently expected, a ‘bob’ to drink my health and luck to her, and thought no more of it, except, perhaps, that he had gained his object. I took the animal home, and felt very small when Uncle and Charlie were chaffing me for being so easily taken in. Charlie at once christened her Dot-and-go-one, and declared that he wouldn't have given five pounds for a screw like that. When, however, he had examined her again after three months run, and found her lameness had miraculously disappeared, I thought of the horsebreaker's words, and determined to try her with Sultan, the fastest horse in the place, and Charlie's last birthday gift from his father, but one which, for some reason of his own, he never raced. The first thing, then, was to saddle and mount her, a task not so easy as it might appear, for her previous breaking had taken place six months before, and and evidently been hastily and carelessly carried on. The freedom she had since enjoyed appeared to have entirely obliterated it from her memory. We got her into the yard, roped and saddled her, but her furious bounds as the stirrups dangled at her sides showed how she rebelled against this badge of servitude.
‘She is a tartar, Frank,’ remarked Charlie. ‘You'd better serve her as we do our young ‘uns that have never been touched—handle her for a day or two before you mount.
I did not fancy Master Charlie always offering me advice.
I She is my own, and I can do what I like with her,’ I rejoined, testily.
‘Yes, she's your own, and so is your neck, and you're just as likely to break one as the other if you back her at once. I hate these brutes that have been half—broken, and turned out ten times worse than one that's never been tackled.
However, I knew no fear, so, after a good bit of coaxing and petting, I thought I would try and mount her. In short, in less then half an hour I was on her back, but in less than half a minute after I was on my own on the soft grass. The mare, after trying all she knew about bucking—which, by the way, was very little, flung herself down in a rage on her side, and me on my back, fortunately without crashing me. At the moment I thought of a maxim of Tim's, when some brother stockmen boasted of sticking to their saddles whatever happened. If a horse fell they pulled him up again, but didn't leave the leather. He replied: ‘Yer can say what yer like about atickin’ to yer saddles, but when a hoss falls wi' me I'm allers darn'd glad to git clear o' mine; it saves many a nasty squeeze.’
After this little performance I was more cautious, and very soon had the mare fairly quiet. I found she could show Sultan her tail easily, and determined to keep her in and train her for the next up-country race meeting. The races annually held at Wanganui I judged too good for her, at least, till she had proved what she could do in less aristocratic company. I started to train her after the most approved method I could manage, without too much loss of time, but soon gave it up, as it was just at the time when I was so depressed and miserable over my unsuccessful love affair, that I could not even
Now we will step forward the few months again to the time I was about to leave for my new home. The said races were shortly to take place, and I remarked one day to Charlie: ‘What an ass I was not to persevere with the training of Dot! I would give anything to have her fit to run in the Maiden and Cup. I met that fellow Morris to-day, who chaffed me so unmercifully about her that day in the sale-yard, and asked me with a sneer if I'd bought her to win the Cup. I said ‘‘Yes,” amid a roar of laughter. Those louts can see a joke in anything that ass says. He's got that big aking Hurricane of his as fit as a fiddle, and is as proud of him as he can stick together. It would have been grand to have taken the shine out of him with a five pound screw, as he, and you too, called her, Master Charlie. He must needs ask me to-day if I had her entered. I said “Yes, of course.”’
‘Well, my boy, it's not too late yet. I have been riding her a good deal since you have been away in Auckland, and one place and another, and have put a lot of hard tack into her. With what I've given her, I'll take my oath she is good enough for the Maiden Plate, though the Cup distance may be a little too much for her. The entries don't close yet awhile.’
‘You been riding her, you young scamp! What do you mean by making free with my property in that way, eh?’
‘Why, I knew when your love fit was over you'd be sorry you hadn't her fit to run, so whenever I had a chance I gave her a spin. I've often been up and had her round the two hundred acres at a good bat while you've been snoring in bed. She's in the loose-box behind the old barn if you care to look at her. If you don't want to run her I'll give you twenty notes for her, and get dad to let me enter her in my own name; but I hope you'll enter her yourself.’
Now, I had not had occasion lately to go near this old, detached building, which had not been used for some time, nor had I happened to come across the mob of horses on the part of the run Dot frequented, so it had been an easy matter for Master Charlie to keep me in the dark about this little surprise he was preparing for me. Fanny was the only one in the secret with him except Tim. He had questioned me several times during the earlier stages of her training to see if I had any wish to run the mare, but in my moody humour at the time I had refused to trouble with her. Now the good-hearted lad was delighted to hand her over to me fairly well-trained, and fit, at any rate, for the Maiden Plate, a race, as the name implies, for untried horses, and not to be taken in its literal signification, as the extra conscientious owner took it in an old story just revived in the papers, when he sent back the stakes his mare had honestly won to the Jocky Club, with a note stating that he did not intend to defraud, but he had found out since the race that she had once had a foal before she came into his possession, and therefore was not qualified to run in a maiden race.
We went to look at Miss Dot-and-go-one at once. She certainly showed unmistakably that her training had been done at home. I suggested to Charlie that her tail and mane would be improved by a little trimming.
‘No, no,’ he replied; ‘we'll let her run as she is. They'll all think she's a duffer, what with her being a bit rough, an a little staff from the old lameness, and won't they laugh at her; but let 'em. We'll be able to put a bit of ‘stuff' on her at all the longer odds, and have a rare laungh at them when they have to fork it out.’
As he seemed to be doing the mare justice, I allowed him to go on with the training for the week or so yet remaining before the races came off. I promised him a good percentage of my winnings, if any, and entered her for both the Maiden and Cup. I had to endure a fair amount of banter from the secretary as he took down her name, Dot-and-go-one. He had also been in the crowd when I led away my rash purchase from the sale-yard. However, it didn't trouble me much.
Uncle rode up with me the next day to show me the new run, and his plans regarding the working of it. It was a conveniently-shaped block, situated in the bend of a river, which formed a natural fence for nearly three sides of it. We took up with us a mob of cattle and the pack-horse, laden with the requisite supplies to last till the bullock dray should come up with the men to erect the hut, and further necessary stores and tools. Uncle, after fixing on the site for the but and stockyard, and pointing out the boundaries, returned home. Hardy tethered the old pack horse with a long line, as he had the faculty of love of home inordinately developed, and would not have been long finding his way back if left loose. The remembrance of the rich clover paddock in which he spent his idle hours had probably a good deal to do with this domestic tendency, and his readiness to travel any distance to exchange for it the rank, coarse herbage to be found here in its natural state. Our riding horses were animals of less mature years and experiences, and had a great respect for their aged friend, so we safely let them loose, for they always deferred to his choice of a feeding place in the paddocks at home, and would do so now, not being aware that his choice was now hampered by a tether line.
We pitched our tent, lit a fire, and slung the billy, which was to do duty for kettle and teapot, and gathered some crisp fern for our couches I asked Tom if the cattle were all right.
‘Yes, sir, they be. There's no moon to-night. After filling theirselves they did try to make off, but they're camped now, and there's no fear of their movin' till daylight. We'll have to look slippery after'em then, though.’
The billy soon boiled, and chucking in a handful of tea and a little sugar, we sat down on our couches on either side of the narrow tent, placed it between us with some bread and meat, and proceeded to enjoy our bushman's tea.
I have since heard a gentleman at a splendidly-appointed tea-table affirm to his guests that to his fancy tea never tasted so well in china, with cream and lump sugar, as it did when in the old days he dipped his pannikin into the billy, and brought it out full of the scalding black infusion, strong enough to bend a spoon, only that luxury was dispensed with, for the sugar, almost the same colour, had been put in before, and stirred with a stick. His little grandson spoilt the effect of his speech by exclaiming'' ‘‘Why don't you have it so now, then, grandpa? You can if you like. There's a pannikin in the kitchen.”
The young gentleman was peremptorily informed that it was his bed-time. The subject was discontinued.
Although when tired with a day's travel that style of tea is refreshing, I must say that I do not agree with my aged friend, for at the very time I was dipping in my pannikin for a fresh supply, I was thinking how much preferable was the sight of a neatly-laid table, with its snow white cloth and vases of flowers, your cup handed you by one you love, sufficiently cooled-the cup of tea, not the loved one—by the milk or cream to prevent the horrible sensation which ensues, when in your thirsty state you burn your lips with the pannikin, and gulp down a mouthful of liquid, which, all too late, you find at least ten degrees to hot for you. Then I found the bearded, bushman by my side, although a smart fellow at his work, and amusing and decidedly original in his conversation, a very poor substitute for the blooming young lady by whose side I sat at home. Nay, I felt like the old pack-horse—I required a tether line to prevent me from rushing off home, and a good strong one, too; and, indeed, I had it—a three-fold cord composed of the knowledge that it was my duty; that by this means I would sooner attain the end I had in view; and thirdly, that, Fanny approved of my accepting uncle's offer.
On the next morning, and every succeeding morning till the cattle settled down, daylight saw us in our saddles frustrating their effrts to return to their old run. What with one thing and another our hands were pretty full, and time passed quickly. On Saturday evenings I cantered down to the old homestead and spent the Sunday there, and I am well assured that the strictest and most earnest Sabbatarian never longed for or enjoyed those blessed days of rest more than I did. To ride with Fanny down to the little church and watch her earnest face as she listened to the words of counsel, rebuke, comfort, which fell in turn from the lips of our respected pastor; to sit again at a well-appointed table by her side; to stroll with her—down the shady orchard, and gather luscious peaches for her, and for myself; to exchange thoughts and ideas with this lovely cousin things made up the delightful list of my Sabbath Day's recreation. This is why I loved it of all days. Of course, I chatted to the others as well. They were all very well in their way; but I should not have fretted over much if I had found them al out, and my adorable cousin keeping house in their absence.
I had been about three weeks on the new run when the day arrived on which the races were to take place. I rode down early in the morning to breakfast at home, and accompany my friends to the course. They had rigged up a four-in-hand in the American waggon This contained uncle, aunt, and Melton Minimus in the front seat’ and Harry and Miss Grave behind. Harry had tried to persuade his
We arrived on the course shortly before the bell rang to saddle up for the first race—the Maiden Plate. Having left my cousin with her friends, I at once proceeded to the saddling paddock with my uncle, who was, as usual, to officiate as judge. I will pass over the description of the scene with as few words as possible The day was a bright sunny one, not too hot—in fact, all that could be desired. The spectators were as varied as they ever are where crowds are drawn together. A large proportion of them arived on horseback. Carriages and traps were few. Their places were taken by spring carts and drays, in which the hardy settlers brought their wives and families. In some cases these homely conveyances were drawn by yokes of stolid-looking bullocks, which certainly had not the appearance of being out for a day's pleasure or excitement, The few seedy-looking individuals who had brought ‘under and over tables’ and other games of chance (?) usually seen on racecourses, looked to be doing a fair business amongst the simple country people. The occasional shouts of ‘I'll lay, I'll lay, I'll lay' proved that the bookmakers were not entirely unrepresented, though being a small meeting they were not present in any force.
The centre of attraction was, of course, the saddling paddock, and the knowing ones were eagerly scanning the horses, six in number, which were being saddled. There was one great advantage here over the larger meetings—the horses were almost all locally owned, and fairly well-known. We all ran to win if possible, so that holding and foul running were unknown at these pleasant little gatherings. I at once noticed that the crowd round poor Dot was actuated with a spirit of ridicule rather than admiration. Her general appearance and stiff movements in the paddock did not give one the idea that she could gallop. However, I quietly backed her at very long odds, which were easily obtained, to an extent I could ill afford. Harry and uncle had both put a little on her, but did not appear to view her chances in a very favourable light. Charlie had also invested a little. Had his purse not been limited, he would have put on a pot, he said.
I donned my cap and jacket of dark blue, constructed by my fair cousin's hands, and weighed out all right. As I mounted, Mr. Morris, the would-be wit, tempted me grievously to kick him.
‘Frank,’ he exclaimed, as he rode by on Hurricane, the favourite, ‘no wonder you look so blue having to ride that brute. The colours are most appropriate.’
‘It's black you'll be lookig when I lick you hollow, Mr. Self-conceit, and that'll be worse,’ I retorted.
I took my preliminary amid roars of laughter. The mare moved in a most awkward style at starting, owing to the old stiffness. I was not, however, alarmed, as I knew it would soon go off. I was alarmed, though, at her total lack of the excitement generally felt by horses on the course, and her dull disregard of my spurs when I tried to wake
The second bell rang, and we were at the starting post. Here some little delay occurred through the efforts of Hurricane and another to get away before Mr Bowden, who officiated as starter, dropped the flag. Dot was not by any means anxious, I noticed with increasing alarm. She stood with her head down, looking as if it would be a matter of total indifference to her if they didn't start till Doomsday. The continued laughter at my expense, and a remark I overheard, ‘Why didn't old Melton stop Frank making such a fool of himself?’ roused me, and the flag falling at the same instant, my whip did the same. The effect was electrical. The mare was more roused than I was, and bolting through her horses, kept the lead at a pace which astonished everyone for the first half mile. I then managed to get a pull at her, fearful that she might not be able to keep it up, but this proved a mistake, for Hurricane and Deceiver, the two most fancied in the race, passed me, and the shouts as we swept by the judge's box for the first time were maddening ‘Hurricane will have it!’ ‘Deceiver for ever!’ ‘Dot for a tenner!’ Before another round was traversed the positions might be altered. They were. The excited yells of the crowd frightened Dot now her blood was well up, and notwithstanding my utmost endeavours to prevent her, she dashed up to Hurricane, and in passing seemed to swerve in against him, and was hurled to the ground by the collision, though the powerful gelding continued his course with no worse effects than a slight stagger. I lay almost under the mare stunned for the time, but a hundred hands were ready to help me, and I was carried to the waggon, where, with the help of a flask of brandy, I soon regained consciousness. The first thing that I remembered, as I recovered consciousness, was Fanny's face bending over me with an expression of glad relief, for she had feared that I might not wake again.
Hurricane had won the race, with Deceiver second. Dot, they told me, had regained her legs and appeared none the worse for her fall. I was severely shaken, and it was very evident that I could ride no more that day. They wished to take me home at once, but this I would not allow.
Just at this time a man came up to the conveyance, touching his hat, which, like the rest of his attire, was of very little account. ‘Please, sir,’ he said, ‘have yer secured a jock to ride th' mare in th' Cup? If yer ain't I'd be mighty proud t' ride her for yer. Master Charlie ain't strong enough in th' arms, for she's a terror t' pull, I know.’
I looked at the fellow in astonishment. His appearance was far from that of a respectable jockey, yet he had a horsey look and the bandy legs of a man who was much in the saddle. I suddenly recognized him as the fellow who had just told me the mare could gllop.
‘No, I have no jockey for her,’ I replied, wearily, ‘and I don't intend to run her again to-day. I shall scratch her for the Cup.’
‘Sorry t' hear yer say so, sir. Th' fust spin only warmed her; she'll be in better form. I'll swear she'll do it, though the knowin' ‘uns don't think so. Thur is a pile to be made on her. I've been a
‘Oh, Frank,’ exclaimed Fanny, aside to me, ‘do let him ride her. You'd win your money back, very likely, for he knows her, and is confident she can win. I've heard of the man. They say he's a capital horseman when sober.’
‘But Fanny,’ I said in a low tone, ‘I have lost all the spare coin I possessed. Indeed, I don't know that I have enough to pay my losses. I can't afford to put a penny on her, so what's the good of it. I must scratch her.’
Harry came up at this moment. He had been to examine the mare. He overheard my last words.
‘Scratch her! That you 'shan't! She's as right as a trivet, not a bit the worse for her tumble, and I have just got a very nice little thing on with Morris at splendid odds. You shall go halves with me if you like, for it's really more than I care to venture myself. They don't think her good enough for the Cup, though she opened their eyes a bit last time. Still, they can see she's an awkward brute to ride, and her fall tells against her in the betting, The worst of it is, it is too late to secure a good jock. I'd ride her myself, but my dear girl here won't hear of it since you came to grief.’
‘Oh, Mr Melton, don't let him, pray don't let him,’ put in the girl in question.
‘Well, there's a fellow here has promised to ride if I'll run her, but Harry, mind he doesn't get any beer before the race; he's a regular swiper.’
The thing was arranged, and our ragged friend was raised to the seventh heaven of delight at being allowed to ride the mare. He went up to her at once, and never left her side till it was time for him to don my colours and weigh for the race.
In the meantime a Maori Pony Race and the District Hurdles came off. Although the pony race was confined to Maori riders and steeds, they were allowed to enter their horses for any of the other races they liked. In some cases they owned valuable horses, and trained them very fairly, but the pony race was for animals under a certain height which had never been trained, and in all probability had never seen oats in their lives. It was the best contested race of the day. Four wiry-looking little animals, by no means burdened with flesh, a little too fine in racing parlance, were saddled up, and four wiry-looking jocks mounted. Their dusky faces showed intense excitement, which was shared by their diminutive steeds. Their colours were much after this wise:—No. 1, white shirt and black cap, viz., billy cock hat minus brim; No. 2, red Crimean shirt and no cap; No. 3, no shirt, but white cap; No. 4, red cap, tattered breeches, and spurs. They came up to the starter in a line as if on parade, their stirrups grasped between the toes of their bare feet. Boots, had they possessed them, would have been discarded, as with them this favourite grip of the stirrup is, of course, impossible. The flag dropped, and they were off. Whip and spur from start to winning-post was their beau ideal of finished jockeyship. The first three could have been covered with the proverbial sheet the whole way round, and No. 1 the happy possessor of both shirt and cap, brought up the rear astonishingly near the front. It was even betting who would win, and the public considered it a dead heat tor the three as they dashed past the post. Uncle, however, just managed to catch sight of the nose of No.
The District Hurdles brought four horses to the post. Charlie had a mount on a nice-looking bay belonging to his brother-in-law, Sylvester, and brought him in a winner in a very creditable manner, after negotiating the hurdles without a fault. Two of the others, although faster horses, lost their chances by balking, being badly ridden, and the third unseated his rider.
After this race Morris rode up to the waggon, and asked me, in a taunting manner, if I wished to back my outsider for the Cup race just about to be run; if so, he would accommodate me at even longer odds than he had given Harry. Stung by his manner, although I had already too much on, I said, ‘Yes, I would have another tenner with him.’ And now the bell rang for the Cup candidates to saddle up, and from my seat in the waggon I saw Dot start again for her preliminary, amid another storm of scornful laughter. This time, however, the jockey was, perhaps, the principal cause. He had borrowed a pair of riding breeches and boots, which were a world too wide for him, wore no spurs, but was armed with a long, slender supplejack, cut from the bush, instead of the usual jockey whip. My cap, tied under his chin with a bit of flax, and the blue jacket completed his outfit. The others came out, and they were soon at the post. Hurricane, who was also in this race, was installed a very warm favourite. Dot certainly looked a little more excited this time, but her jock thought it best to follow my example and set her moving by allowing the long, lithe cane to almost meet round her ribs, as Mr Bowden dropped the flag to a grand start. She bolted to the front, and kept there for the first mile, then Hurricane and two others passed her.
‘She's sulky! she's shutting up!’ cried Harry. ‘Why doesn't he warm her up a bit?’
‘What a horrid shame!’ said Fanny. ‘I fear she's done, but he should try. The race is lost.’
‘He sees she can't do it. and isn't trying. It's all up. Just my luck, Fanny,’ I replied.
I thought what a fool I had been to have ventured so much money on her with a jockey of whom I knew nothing. There seemed no chance. Although she was not losing ground now, still there was too wide a distance between her and the leaders. Now, when it appeared too late, the slender supplejack curled twice in rapid succession round her well-turned flanks—and watch the effect! The mare had suddenly acquired a speed of which even she had not dreamt before. With head outstretched, the bit seized between her teeth, the stiffness entirely vanished, she literally flew over the ground, as if she had been merely cantering before, and ere the next few furlongs were covered she had passed the two others, and was at Hurricane's quarters hands down. Morris, who was himself riding, now took to whip and spurs, and the animal answered gamely to the call, but Dot was not to be shaken off. The pace was terrific as they came thundering up the straight run in, the excitement intense!
‘Hurricane has it!’ was the cry, for it seemed utterly impossible that the mare could catch up the length required to win. She appeared to be doing her utmost, her jockey sitting with hands still down, while Morris looked confident, though still using whip and spur mercilessly, Why did not that talismanic rod again rise and fall?
Could it be that he thought it useless? that he knew it was not in her? In another moment the race would be Hurricane's; in but less than that moment up went the rod. It was enough; it did not fall. Dot took the hint, and with the grandest effort of the day managed to forge herself forward, and won by half a length. My luck at last had turned. Everything comes to him who waits. The cheers were deafening. The jockey was carried shoulder high round the paddock in appreciation of his magnificent finish. ‘I he owner would have been accorded the same honour, but his bruises and shaken condition prevented him from accepting this kind attention. Our lady friends were delighted, having, of course, heavily backed the winner, and began counting up the number of pairs of gloves they had won, and fixing on the colours and most desirable number of buttons. The exitement made me feel worse, and we left the course, Harry undertaking to drive the four-in-hand, as uncle could not leave his post. My winnings for the day amounted, after deducting the losses on the first race, to about two hundred and fifty pounds, and neither I, nor, indeed, the general public, were sorry that the principal part of this sum came out of Mr Morris’ pocket, as he was by no means a favourite, and it was a lesson of which he stood much in need. He was obliged to part with Hurricane to enable him to square up. much to that animal's future satisfaction, as he exchanged a hard and cruel task master for one who had some consideration for the noble animals who contribute so much to our comfort and enjoyment.
As soon as we arrived at home I had, with Harry's assistance, to be put to bed. He confided in me the fact that he had at last persuaded his dear girl to fix that day two months for the consummation of his bliss. Although it struck him that the date was too distant, yet it pleased him to know that it was fixed. Later in the evening uncle, the doctor, and Charlie came in, the latter having carefully escorted ‘Dot-and-go-oner,’ as he now called her, to her box, ‘Oner’ signifying in his language an extraordinary rate of speed. The other events, from their report, passed off very successfully. Charlie won the trotting match with his old stock pony Twister, and was in great glee at having ridden two winners. The doctor soon arrested his vivid description of the way Twister slid over the ground.
‘I'll make you slide over the ground, Master Charlie, if you don't cease that clatter. Frank is worse than I expected, and must be kept perfectly quiet. Now, Miss Fanny,’ he continued, as she entered the room, ‘I put this invalid under your charge. Do not allow anyone but your stepmother, and perhaps Harry, in till I see him again, and give him his medicine regularly at the times specified on the bottles. I look to you to kill or cure him, according to how you obey my instructions.’
Of the next few days I remember little save a sense of extreme pain and weariness. Harry afterwards informed me that I was delirious the greater part of the time, and raved about all sorts of t hings, mixing up in an incomprehensible manner racing and love making, the mare Dot and my cousin, Grosvenor and Hurricane. In my raving I had evidently facied that the horse was ridden by Grosvenor, and that he had knocked me over on purpose, and ridden on in triumph to marry Fany My agony was intense. Harry and Fanny had to exert their utmost strength to prevent me jumping out of bed to rush after my rival. The first thing that I remember was the sensation of exquisite comfort and calm that came over me as I heard Fanny's voice, ‘I am here, darling; you were only dreaming,’ and felt her cool, quiet touch as she gently removed the bandages from my fevered head and replaced them with fresh ones. I firmly believe those few kind words had more to do with curing me than all the doctor's treatment put together. It was the first time I had been so affectionately addressed by her, and hence their mystic power. When I completely recovered my senses I could scarcely believe she had used that fond word. I thought it must have been a part, though truly a very pleasant one, of my delirious dream; but no, it stood out in my memory too plainly, her look of pitying love, her low, sweet tone, the rosy blush which suffused her face, previously pale with watching, when she reflected that Harry must have overheard her—all, all assured me that I had not been mistaken. I had long felt that she was beginning to love me as I would have her, but now I was certain that the fulfillment of my hopes of happiness was not far distant. I thanked God, and went off into the only quiet sleep I had enjoyed since the accident; and the next morning, when Fanny came in, I was up and dressed, and so much improved that she exclaimed:
‘You will not want my services much longer. I shall not let you waste your time in a sick room when you ought to be out at work.’
Now I felt was my chance, but should I spoil it, as I had so often done before when trying to approach the same subject with her? I felt very little confidence in my powers of love-making, but I would do my best, bad though it might be.
‘Not require your services any longer?’ I blurted out, seizing her hands. ‘God above us knows there is nothing on earth I require one thousandth part as much as your tender, loving services for the rest of my life. If you will but grant them me it shall be my greatest honour and delight to return them tenfold.’
‘No thank, you, my boy, I don't feel much like wasting my life making gruel for you and forcing it down with a spoon, medicines ditto,’ answered this wilful girl, but the tremor in her bantering voice showed that she was trying to hide her real feelings.
‘Oh, Fanny, do be serious. I know that I don't express myself well, but I mean that I love you with all my heart and soul, and want to hear one little word of encouragement in return.’
‘Well, you shall hear several. You are a nice sort of boy, and I like you very much now you take your food properly’
‘Ah, I see you are only playing with me, as you have always done. I may give up all hopes. I never could understand women. I must give it up. Would to Heaven I had done so long ago!’ This counterfeited bit of agony served its purpose as well as a genuine one would have one.
‘Yes, Frank, I was playing with you, but will do so no longer, a you seem to take it so to heart.’
‘Then, darling, say may I take you to heart?’
She did not say, but it was immaterial. I did it, and caresses—this time untinged with an atom of cousinliness—passed between us, and we felt, in the exquisite language of Tennyson, that ‘Our spirits rush't together at the touching of our lips.’ Could there possibly be bliss in heaven or on earth compared to mine, as I sat on a comfortable lounge in that cosy little room, and heard her at last own that she loved me more than life itself; as I saw those glorious eyes, lit up with this wonderful love she bore me, gazing tenderly into mine, until the delicate fringes would drop to hide a tear of joy; as I saw that dewy little rosebud of a mouth diffidently raised to meet mine. Now I understood what it was to be intoxicated with joy. Truly, latterly I had been travelling from height to height in this respect. Oh, ye careless ones who crush down the true feelings of the heart, and, flinging ruthlessly aside pure love and affection, marry for a position, for wealth, or any other base motive, ye can neither know nor understand what we felt, and may well say in your well-deserved ignorance,’ ‘This is bosh. This is sentimental nonsense.’ It is as far out of your cold scheming reach as the pure stars above.
In the quiet half-hour that followed before we were disturbed Fanny confided in me that she could now plainly feel that she had loved me best all along (I could hardly have credited this had I not been so deeply in love); but that having accepted Grosvenor in a weak moment, she had imagined that she loved him. Imagination truly goes a long way with young ladies when it has to do with a young man whose appearance pleases, whose purses are reported lengthy, and ancestors titled. Then her pride or obstinacy, call it which you will, had prevented her owning even to herself that had she to choose again, she would have chosen differently. At times she was really disgusted with him, and on several occasions felt very tenderly towards me, she admitted; but my unfortunate manner of pleading my cause by running down my, rival, at once caused her to take his part, and stifle her truer feelings. Here I stopped her further confession by a method of my own, not quite original, and at this moment aunt came in with the quiet step, so natural to her, and so essential in a sick room. She was utterly astonished to see me up and dreased, and looking so much better, and was intensely pleased and amused to note what had evidently taken place.
‘Ah, Fanny, I fancied myself at nursing, but after this I grant you the palm. How exquisitely you have brought back his colour. How did you manage to get him round so quickly?’
‘Now, that's too bad, aunt. I have done nothing to get him round. Indeed, he quite surprised me when he said what he did.’
‘I dare say he did! I dare say he did! Agreeably though, he?’ replied aunt, mischievously enjoying a laugh at her niece's confused mistake and naive confession. ‘Now, be quick and hide your blushes, and perhaps it would look better if you would brush those long black hairs off Frank's coat collar, Fanny, for the doctor will be here in a few minutes.’
The worthy gentleman soon strode in, and looking from one to another of us with his keen, penetrating eyes, felt my pulse, looked at my tongue, then in slow, solemn tones, and without a twinkle in his eye, he slowly prescribed the following advice:—‘The mixture to be
I was soon about again. Charlie one day brought me a note containing an offer of seventy pounds for Dot, and I determined to let her go, for although she might soon win me more than that, I reflected that, perhaps on the other hand, she might not, and as Fanny had made me promise never to ride her in a race again, there would be no pleasure in running her, for I did not care an atom for the sport unless I could ride my own horses. So I quietly pocketed the price, and adding it to my winnings, and deducting what I had promised Charlie and a very generous fee to the jockey, I expended the balance in purchasing a nice little mob of cattle to turn on the run. I also persuaded uncle to give the jockey a billet, and I did my best to reform him by keeping him as much as possible out of the way of drink.
On informing my uncle that Fanny had at last consented to become my wife at some future date, he did not appear altogether displeased. I raved on about my delight in having caused her bright smiles to return, and similar rhapsodical rubbish.
‘But Frank,’ he asked, bluntly, ‘you can't live on bright smiles. How are you going to live? That's the question.’
‘Well, uncle, we must wait as others have had to do before us; and as for bright smiles, if we can't live on them, I think even you will admit that they make life far more pleasant, won't you?’
‘They do, my boy, they do. Have a little patience. We'll see what's to be done.’
I went back to my lonely hut on the up-country run and commenced work again, but with renewed energy. It was pleasant to see my own cattle grazing with uncle's, and feel that I was reaping no inconsiderable reward for my labours. We had quietly made up our minds that it would be some time before we could marry, as uncle was peremptory on one point, namely, that his daughter should not leave her home until she could go to one nearly as comfortable as the one she quitted.
A few weeks elapsed and Harry's wedding day was fast approaching. One Saturday evening, just after I had arrived, as usual, at the old home, Miss Grave remarked to Fanny, ‘How I do wish we could both be married on the same day. It would be so nice.’
‘Yes, it would be nice, but we must have patience. No chance of such a thing, I should have liked it so much, though,’ replied Fanny, with a sigh.
I was sitting on the sofa behind them looking over an Auckland paper which I had picked up, and they did not think I heard them. The rest came in to tea, and moving up to the table, they called me to take my seat, surprised that I had neglected to get Fanny her chair as usual. But a greater surprise was coming.
‘Hurrah! Bright Smiles are up!’ I shouted out suddenly, in an excited tone, electrifying them all. Every knife dropped, and every gaze centered on me.
‘What on earth is up with the boy?’ Aunt. ‘What do you mean, Frank?’
‘Gone cranky about Bright Smiles. Always raving about 'em,' said uncle, gruffly.
‘Mean, aunt! I mean what I say. “Bright Smiles are up.” They
This was still more inexplicable to all of them except Harry, who was laughing immoderately.
‘It will be “One more lunatic from Wanganui” in the Wellington papers next week, for I'm certain he's off his chump,' ain't you, Frank?’
I now thought it time to explain matters, and told them for the first time of my speculation in the Bright Smile Goldmining Company, and how, when I found it was likely to be a bad one, I had resolved not to say a word about it to anyone. In fact, the whole family took so little interest in the Thames share list reports that they were not even aware there was a mine bearing that name. I immediately sent word to a broker, with whom I was acquainted, to sell out at once. I was quite satisfied with the proceeds of the sale, as they amounted to nearly twenty times as much as I had paid for the same shares, viz., almost two thousand pounds for the one hundred I had invested. This I thought better than holding them on for the dividends which might accrue, should the rise in price prove to be justified by a good find of gold. This, however, was not the case, for it turned out a duffer. There certainly was gold, but comparatively little of it, for the reef of auriferous quartz narrowed as they followed it up till it was pinched into a mere vein by the masses of superincumbent rock. In a few weeks prices were down again. But I had sold. My bad luck, which I had so often anathematized, where was it? It was gone. I showed uncle the cheque when it arrived.
‘There, uncle, a few days since you said we could not live on Bright Smiles. I think we might manage to exist for a while on the proceeds of them, eh?’
I also convinced Fanny that if she liked we could now get married on the same day as our friends, and as the principal part of her trousseau had been already prepared for the former occasion, she agreed that it should be so. Carpenters were set to work, and a neat, weatherboard house erected in front of my bachelor hut, which was to be turned into a kitchen, and various other arrangements made. My uncle, with a generosity worthy of him, had promised to hand over to us on our wedding-day the title deeds of the run I had been lately looking after.
It was raining heavily when I woke on our wedding morning, and continued to do so until ten o'clock. The lamentations were excessive—dresses would be spoilt, for no covered carriages were to be obtained, and other awful consequences would doubtless ensue. But the clouds, which poured their copious discharge on the thirsty earth that morning, had something better than the proverbial silver lining; they had a golden one, and when we saw it we heard no more of spoilt dresses, but a good deal about ‘the beautiful day, and how exquisitely the rain had cooled the air.’
At my particular request my brother-in-law, Stubbs, had persuaded a clerical friend to discharge his duties, and again braved the briny ocean and its concomitant terrors to take part in the interesting ceremony. The church was even more elaborately decorated than on a former occasion. If all those flowers the children had in their baskets were to be dropped on our path as we marched out, we should have some trouble wading through them. Smiling faces of kind friends greeted us on all sides. Fanny and I were married first, Harry acting
* * * * * * * *
And now we have followed the changing fortunes of myself and friends so far on the river of life, and have got them safely past that bar, which, if taken when the smiling sun of love is shining, the waters calm, and all things propitious, and the trusty pilot, conscience, assures us it is safe, then a favourable voyage may be faithfully expected. But if the discordant elements of unholy motives—of love of wealth, or position are ascendant, the sun of love entirely obscured by black clouds of worldliness, or the storms and gusts of unworthy passion, and conscience signals the bar unsafe, then most assuredly the chances are there will be a total wreck, or the barque will be so strained and battered by the conflicting breakers, that the rest of the journey will be but poorly performed.