The band of Romulus, it is most certain,
Were ruffian stabbers and vile cutpurse knaves;
Yet did this outcast scum of all the earth
Lay the foundations of the eternal city.
Before daybreak next morning the light of Port Jackson was visible from the deck of the Leviathan, and shortly afterwards that trusty vessel entered the Heads — two bold bluff precipices, between which lies the entrance to that spacious harbour, supposed to be one of the finest on the surface of the globe. A pilot had come on board to direct the course of the ship to her anchorage; and during the run of nearly seven miles from the entrance of the Port to the site of the town of Sydney Rashleigh had ample opportunities of scanning the external features of the land in which he was destined to find his future home.
The shores of Port Jackson then possessed few charms, either natural or acquired: sandy bays opening to great distances inland, bordered apparently by stunted trees; rocky headlands between each inlet, crowned with similar foliage; and far away, on either hand, a background displaying dense forests of sombre green. There were then none of those elegant mansions or beautiful villas, with their verdant and ever blooming gardens, which now so plentifully meet the eye of the new colonist, affording abundant proofs of the wonted energy of the Anglo-Saxon race, who speedily rescue the most untamed sods from the barbarism of nature and bid the busy sounds of industry and art awaken the silent echoes of every primeval forest in which they are placed.
Not a single patch of cultivated soil appeared in those days to refresh the sight of the wearied voyagers with evidences that here the foot of civilised man had ever trod prior to their arrival. One of the passengers, who had visited New South Wales before, called the attention of his companions on the poop to an isle called Garden Island, and Ralph looked towards the spot, expecting now, at least, to detect some proof of the reclaiming hand of man. But alas, the so-called Garden Island presented nothing to his view but a doubly sterile mass of rugged grey rocks rising from the bosom of one of the numerous bays, and crowned with the same unvarying livery of russet green; but as they rounded the next projecting point they came in view of a small embattled building on a height, which was said to be one of the forts at the entrance of Sydney Cove. Immediately afterwards they saw a straggling range of cottages, mostly of a very small size, which stretched along an eminence, and which were declared by their informant to be a portion of the town of Sydney known as “The Rocks”.
The Magnet was shortly brought to anchor opposite a neck of land on which stood a slaughter-house, and our voyagers could survey the greater part of the town from a very favourable position. The dwellings appeared to he chiefly of one story; in fact, most of them deserved no better name than huts. The streets were narrow and straggling; nor did there seem to be more than half a dozen good or convenient private buildings in the town. There was no cultivated land to be seen from their station, and but a very few miserable cottages, peeping here and there out of the trees, stood upon the north shore of the harbour, in various parts of which there were then about six other large vessels at anchor, besides a good number of small cutters and boats which were passing to and fro continually.
The day after their arrival, the Colonial Secretary, the Principal Superintendent of Convicts, and other officers came on board to muster the newly arrived prisoners, who were each called separately into the cabin, asked their names, ages, religions, native places, trades and a host of other interrogatories, the replies to which were taken down and a personal description of each convict added. When this ceremony had been gone through with all the new arrivals, these official visitors departed and a number of other persons came on board, some seeking news from the “old country”, some to enquire after expected relations, a few of the great ones to ascertain what sort of men the new chums were, and whether there were certain descriptions of persons among them, according to the wants of each querist in the article of labour.
Among others who thus came was an elderly gentleman who kept an academy, whose object was to enquire for a suitable assistant in his scholastic labours. The surgeon superintendent accordingly recommended Ralph Rashleigh, who was at that moment writing in an inner cabin. Being called out, he was presented to the applicant, who questioned him as to his attainments. The answers appeared to prove satisfactory and the schoolmaster departed.
In about a fortnight from their arrival the prisoners on board were again mustered preparatory to their going on shore and received each a new suit of clothing, after which they were placed in boats, by divisions, and rowed to a spot of land near Fort Macquarie, where, being landed, they waited until all had arrived and then proceeded through a part of the public promenade known as the Domain, up to the Prisoners’ Barracks, where they were placed in a back yard by themselves, and shortly afterwards again paraded. On their dismissal a host of the older prisoners insinuated themselves among them for the purpose of bargaining for clothes, trinkets or other property, and many a poor new chum — the distinctive name bestowed upon them by the old hands — was deprived of all his little stock of comforts by the artifices of the others, who appeared to pique themselves in no small degree upon the dexterity with which they could thus pick up (rob) the unwary new-comers.
The day after Rashleigh’s landing the dispersion of his shipmates began, and in four days there remained but himself and two others out of about 140 who had safely reached the Colony with him, the remainder having all been sent, or, as the phrase ran, “assigned”, to the service of private individuals, by tens, fours, threes, or single individuals, according to the priority of application or degree of interest possessed by the masters. Most of these men were employed at the trades or occupations to which they had been brought up or accustomed, except such as had been used to trades which were not then in existence in New South Wales. They were assigned as labourers and sent into the interior. Of these the most numerous class was the weavers, who subsequently made but sorry shifts at using the axe or the hoe, the latter being by far the most usual mode of tilling the soil in that early period of Australian agriculture.
As for Rashleigh, he was in a few days sent to the schoolmaster whom he had seen on board the ship, and after a long lecture from his employer touching his future conduct, was duly installed into office, which, truly, was all but a sinecure, for the system or rather no system, of education pursued at this “classical and commercial academy”— for such, in sooth, it professed to be — was full easy for both instructors and instructed. It was most true that in Ralph’s after experience he never found any of his quondam pupils had attained any very high grade of scientific or literary acquirement; but then, the meeting was always a pleasant one, nevertheless, because the pseudo-scholars ever remembered their tutor with gratitude as one who was always ready to do his devoir at obtaining them a holiday, if he could, upon any pretence or no pretence at all.
The chief of this “educational establishment” was much more fond of his amusements by day and the allurements of the social glass by night, than the toil inseparable from that “delightful task” which Mrs Barbauld has sung so sweetly. His assistant, Rashleigh, who was now, once more, respectably clad and enjoyed a good deal of liberty out of school hours, began to form acquaintances among other educated prisoners, chiefly clerks in government offices, who were wont to meet, after they had concluded the small share of what they were pleased to call work that fell to the portion of each, to discuss matters of more weighty and deep moment, no less than the affairs of the State, which, being everybody’s business, were, as is usual in the opinion of such sages at least, most shamefully neglected.
But alas, no prophet is honoured in his own age or country, and the political disquisitions of these learned pundits at last attracted the attention of the Sydney police, who were so illiberal as to take umbrage at them. And one evening, when our hero, who began to feel the full fervour of amor patriae for his adopted country, was loudly descanting upon her wrongs under the iron sway of General Darling, then Governor, an addition to the auditory, equally unexpected and unwelcome, was made in the persons of half a dozen constables under the command of a chief who had formerly been a member of that fraternity, so useful to anatomical science, yclept stiff-hunters, or body-snatchers.
This man of office, with awful brow, began to question all of the amateur politicians as to their appellations and places of residence, but specially honoured Ralph Rashleigh, whose oratorical display he had so cruelly marred, with a double portion of his scrutiny. No further steps were taken that night, the party of embryo Demosthenes’ being permitted to repair to their several abodes, marvellously discomfited at this malapropos interruption.
After this Rashleigh dared not seek the same society for a while, and confined his amusements to walks in the town and neighbourhood, for though accustomed, as he had been, latterly at least, to scenes of vulgarity and to association with the lowest of the human race, even his mind revolted from mingling with the only sort of companions accessible to him.
The town at that time contained but two classes, one comprising the high government officers and a very few large merchants, who formed at that period the aristocracy of Australia. The other was composed of men who, like Ralph, either were or had been convicts, or, to use the milder colonial phrase, “prisoners of the Crown”. Many of the last, who were now free, had become very wealthy; but Heaven knows, they formed no exception to the description given by Pope of those on whom riches are generally bestowed, they being, he says,
Given to the fool, the vain, the mad, the evil,
To ward, to waters, chartres, and the devil.
And surely, the men among the freed convicts of New South Wales who had acquired riches offered abundant evidence of the truth of the above couplet, the nucleus of their gains having been acquired either by the exercise of every art of fraud, or at least by chicanery, and in some cases by pandering to the grossest vices of their fellow-convicts, whose chief luxuries. and in fact the grand prima mobile or summa bona of whose existence were rum and tobacco, to wallow in beastly drunkenness being to them the very acme of earthly bliss! As our adventurer was thus debarred from such male society as he preferred, he would fain have sought for solace among the gentler sex, who were beneficently bestowed by the creator to soothe the cares and enhance the blessings of man; but here the case was even worse, for the only females accessible to a person in Rashleigh’s situation had also reached the Colony as prisoners, and in pity to the frailties of the softer part of the creation the author willingly draws a veil over the description given by Ralph of the “ladies” of Sydney in those early days.
But the time was now at hand when a new phase in the life of a convict was about to open upon our hero. In about a month after the occurrence before related, when the police had interrupted his diatribe against the Governor, a constable came one day to the school with an order from the Chief Superintendent of Convicts that Ralph Rashleigh should accompany the bearer to Hyde Park Barracks; a mandate with which he was fain to comply, though sundry misgivings as to the purport of the recall shot athwart his mind. When he reached that establishment he was placed in strict and solitary confinement, and the next day, before sunrise, having been handcuffed, was dispatched in the care of a messenger, on the road to a Government Agricultural Establishment situated at Emu Plains, about thirty-five miles from Sydney. He was not to be permitted to call at his former abode or to obtain from thence any clothing or other necessaries. The messenger in whose charge he was proved obdurate to all his entreaties or offers of a bribe if he would only allow him to diverge a few yards from his road for any purpose; and thus he was compelled to march along in the slight dress he wore while teaching and having on a thin pair of shoes, which, long before he reached the end of his day’s stage, at Parramatta, were dropping from his feet in tatters. The day following he was obliged to march the remaining twenty miles barefooted over miserable apologies for roads, the greater part of which lay along stony ranges, so that his feet were cut and bleeding from twenty wounds before they reached their destination.
Robin: Work! Work! Work! All the day long! No such thing as stopping a moment, to rest yourself, for if you only straighten your back, up comes the overseer, and then ——.
Having crossed in a punt the splendid sheet of water which the Nepean river forms at Penrith, nearly at sunset on the second day of their journey, our weary travellers had a view of the broad expanse of Emu Plains, which afforded a noble prospect. But Rashleigh was too tired and full of pain to appreciate its beauties, only looking forward to the hope of a rest in some shed, however humble, and caring but little, at the moment, what might be his lot on the morrow, so he might enjoy a little present repose. They had yet a mile to pass over from the river; and when that intervening space had at last been crossed, they entered the camp — as it was called — a collection of huts built on both sides of the way, which might have reached to the number of nearly thirty. Though of all kinds, they were invariably of the same materials, being formed of split slabs of timber, one end of which was set in the earth and the other nailed to a pole, that formed a wall-plate above it, the whole being covered with sheets of bark.
The external appearance of these dwellings was anything but captivating, for the materials of which they were built had been all used quite green, and in seasoning, the slabs had shrunk one from another, so that a man could easily pass his hand through between them. In different places these chinks had been stopped up with old rags, parts of which, projecting farther than they were intended, either hung down in beauteous negligence or waved to and fro at the bidding of each capricious breeze. Glass, of course, there was none to any of the numerous openings called windows, they being supposed to be closed by shutters made of boards nailed on a sort of frame; but both these and the doors, from the same cause as the slabs, had shrunk to such a degree that the openings between the boards were half as wide as the boards themselves.
Here Rashleigh was given over in charge to the camp constable, a tall, stout countryman with a limp in his gait, who shortly piloted him to the residence of the superintendent of Emu Plains, or to Government house, as it was called. He was there directed by his conductor to wait while the other entered the mansion. In a brief space a personage made his appearance followed by the constable, who stood bareheaded behind him and motioned our adventurer to pull off his hat.
The superintendent was engaged in reading a letter, during which operation Ralph had time to scan the personal appearance of a man whom he had often heard spoken of before as a terror to all the convicts in the Colony. This official was rather above the middle stature, of an exceedingly swarthy complexion, with brows of portentous gloom, and when he spoke the stern severity of his tone belied not the austerity of his looks.
“So, my fine fellow,” said he. “you are inclined to politics, are you? Wen, we will try if we cannot find you something else to think of here. You are sent to this establishment to learn field labour, and on no account to be employed in any other way for two years. When that time has expired you will he assigned to a settler. Take him away, Row, and send the principal overseer to me when the gangs come in.”
Our hero now followed his conductor back to the camp, where the latter said with a sneer, in a strong west country dialect, “As you bees another of theasem dom’d quill drivers, I do zuppose you had better be put along with the rest; so you will stop in the pla’house there”, indicating an irregular sort of straggling-looking mass of buildings, all of them of the same stringy-bark order of architecture with the huts before described, from which it differed in no degree save size.
Rashleigh, who was really tired, nearly to death, and would have given worlds, had he possessed them, long before, to have been permitted to lie down, soon made his way to the hovel in question. Finding the door open, though the inmates were absent, he walked in and flung himself upon a rude bench made of a piece of split timber, set upon two stumps sunk in the earthen floor.
He now surveyed the interior of his future dwelling, which he quickly discovered was in perfect good harmony with its external attractions. Like the famed mansion of that worthy who delighted in the cognomen of “Jack Straw”, it was neither wind — nor water-tight; frequent awful gaps in the bark roof plainly indicated the causes of the many puddles on the dirt floor, and the cracks between the slabs freely admitted the playful vagrancy of every sportive zephyr. Furniture Rashleigh saw none save a table, made in the same manner as the bench on which he sat, two large iron pots, and a few vessels of tin.
His fatigue soon overpowered him, and he fell fast asleep; nor did he awake until he was rather roughly shaken by the shoulder, a man telling him at the same time that he must get up and answer his muster. He now staggered half asleep outside the hut; and in a few minutes the camp constable, with a train of watchmen, came bearing a lantern, which one of them held while another called over the names of the prisoners belonging to that hut, Rashleigh, of course, being last. In his simplicity he now asked the great man of office where he was to sleep.
“Wherever yow like, and be dom’d to yow,” was the courteous reply.
“But shall I not get a bed and blanket?” asked the new chum.
“I’ll tell ‘ee what!” retorted the other. “On’y I think yow bees a fool, by what yow’ve been up to in Sydney, I’d knock yow down for axing me such a dom’d stupid question. But I’ll compute it to yower ignorance. and tell yow there an’t no blankets for nobody in the stores. There’s two hundred men here a’ready wi’out any, and many on ’em has been so for more nor this two years; so doan’t ‘ee be bothering me any more, or else I’ll be dom’d if I doan’t find a shop for ‘ee.”
With this cheering assurance he departed, and Ralph followed the party into the interior, where one of the men observed “old Tom Row was getting good because he did not put the new chum in the chokey,” and another man, assenting, added that sometimes he had “knowed a dozen men put in for less than half that provocation.”
Ralph now begged to be informed what he had said that could by any possibility be construed into a crime; and the first speaker replied, “Lord bless you, stop a bit. You’re like a motherless cub, all your sorrows to come. You’ll soon find out the men in office here don’t want to receive no provocation to get a man flogged, for they delight in making out schemes to do so without”— an observation Rashleigh had abundant opportunities of verifying by actual experience afterwards. But he now enquired what shifts the rest of the men made for bedding who, like himself, were without any. His informant said some got a few sheepskins, which, indeed, were mostly stolen from drays passing on the road, and they sewed them together, rolling themselves up in them at night; while those who hadn’t the luck to get any skins had lately found out a way to prepare tea-tree bark for the same purpose; and he volunteered to show our hero the method of doing this the first leisure time he had.
Rashleigh returned his thanks, and as there was no other remedy, lay down in the ashes of the fireplace, Which, like those of the olden time in England, was spacious enough to allow half a dozen men to do so, besides leaving room enough for the fire, as it, in fact, occupied all one end of the hut. Here, though he was very hungry, he quickly fell asleep again, and awoke not until an excessive bustle caused him to do so.
Looking around him, he quickly perceived it was morning. The hut was nearly empty of its inmates, who were running out in great haste. Our adventurer jumped up. Being already dressed he found now to be some advantage, and he followed the throng of men he saw before him, going towards the camp gate, which Ralph was about to pass through, when the camp bell, which till now had been rolling most vociferously, ceased to ring; and instantly as it did so, a florid-faced man mounted on a black mare spurred across the gateway, stopping the egress, and roaring out, “Stop there, you sons of bitches! I’ll teach you fellows to come a little smarter to muster. Here, Sam, take these men’s names down.”
“Sam” was a clerk. albeit he wore a most unclerkly appearance, being very ragged, with an old pair of slop shoes on, that, having been immensely too large for him at first, had turned up at the toes, until the soles were now staring their wearer in the face. On the back part of his occiput he wore what had once been a cap made of kangaroo skin; but the crown, being nearly out, now overhung, flapping against his back; and the whole tout ensemble of this pupil of the pen much resembled what in Scotland is called a “potato bogle”, and in England a “scarecrow”. He now began to take down the names of those men that were inside the gate, of course, including our luckless adventurer whom the principal overseer no sooner saw than he cried Out, “Oho, my fine quill-driver, you are beginning well, at any rate! Here, Joe! Take this chap into your mob, and try if you can’t waken him up a bit.”
Upon this, Joe — as he was styled — a little bandy-legged chocolate-cheeked Jew, said, “Come here, you, sir. S’help mine Gott, I’ll shtir you up before night.”
Shortly afterwards, the names of all the men being read over, each shouldered his implement of labour, and the gangs began to move off; but for Rashleigh’s part, the overseer Joe called him and ordered him to take up a rope that lay near, and bring it along. Ralph looked at the rope, which appeared heavy enough to load a horse, it being nearly as thick as a cable and of great length. He attempted to lift it, but finding it far beyond his strength, he was fain to desist. He then received a volley of oaths from the little Jew, and two men being called, they placed the rope on his back. It was as much as he could stagger under, and finding it impossible to walk steadily, he ran a few paces, when his foot caught something, and he fell beneath his load, cutting his shin upon a root, so that it bled profusely. But the inflexible Joe directed the rope to be replaced on his back, which was done, and although he repeatedly fell down, it was as repeatedly again hoisted on his back, until at length, trembling in every limb from the intensity of this over-exertion, Ralph reached the scene of their appointed labour.
The gang under the orders of overseer Joe was at present employed in burning off the trees, which had been some time previously fallen, for the purpose of clearing the land and reducing it to culture. To do this the huge monarchs of the forest, now recumbent, were lopped of all their boughs, and the larger limbs and branches cross cut with saws into convenient lengths, the stumps of the trees having before had all the earth dug away from around them, so that the roots were laid bare, many of tile smaller ones being cut through. The timber was then piled around and over these stumps, the butts or large logs beneath, and the smaller and lighter branches above, the interstices being filled up with twigs, bark and chips, to make the whole ignite readily; and when a suitable number of the stumps had been thus made ready — or in wet weather, as fast as they were prepared — the masses were lighted, the fires, if necessary, being attended to until the firewood and with it the stump were completely burned out.
All the gang, having now arrived at the scene of action, were quickly distributed to their several tasks; and Ralph and some others each obtained a wooden handspike, with which to roll out the trunks of trees or carry them upon to the fires for which they were designed. A favourite plan with the overseer — Joe — who appeared to delight in oppressing his men as much as possible, was to cause six or eight handspikes to be laid on the ground before a large trunk of wood, which was then rolled thereupon; twelve or sixteen men, one at each end of the handspikes, lifted the trunk bodily up, on which master Joe would order six of their number away, on pretence that the remainder were well able to carry the log. These were thus often compelled to strain every nerve to do so; otherwise, if any one gave way, of course the log fell to the earth, and those on the same side with the defaulter stood in imminent danger of fractured limbs. But should they escape these, they were certain of incurring punishment from Joe, who would surely cause them, every man, to be flogged for neglect of work, or, at least, put into “Belly Bot” that night.
Again, this worthy would pitch upon one of the gang who had incurred his anger — which it was most easy to do, by the by — generally someone who was old or constitutionally infirm, and having selected a stump or short block of wood of the very uttermost weight any ordinary man could carry, he would call the culprit to him and cause two other men to lift this burden upon his shoulders, directing him to carry it to some distant fire. If the poor fellow could at all make shift to move under his load, he would stagger off, amid the jeers of the overseer and his toadies. When he had nearly reached the place where he supposed he had been directed to carry the load to, Joe would shout with the lungs of a Stentor — for though a small, stunted abortion of humanity, he had wondrously effective lungs —: “You blasted crawler, where are you going to? That’s not the fire. Take it over to the one far over there, on your right.”
The poor wretch, frightened at the threatening tone and language of the overseer, would now attempt to go as ordered; but Joe would still keep on, roaring out, “Not there”, “Or there”, wherever he went, until at last the man, being utterly exhausted, would fail himself or perchance throw down the load, when he was certain of condign punishment from the bench of the magistrates.
It may seern strange that such doings were allowed; but besides this establishment being a place of punishment for convicts who misbehaved in a minor degree, yet whose offences were not cognisable by law, the superintendent was very anxious to get as much work done as possible by any means. To effect this he selected from among the convicts under his charge the worst behaved and most indolent of the number for his overseers and other subordinates, who, as he rightly judged, by being the most afraid of the hardships of work themselves, would exercise all manner of rigour towards their fellow-prisoners and exact as much labour as possible from each, in order to keep their places. Thus it was that the men were so much oppressed, for if one of these convict overseers were working a gang of fifty men and had ten of them flogged every week — no uncommon proportion — it became a mere matter of arithmetical certainty that another who had a gang of twenty-five could not do his duty unless he took five of his men to Court weekly also.
Again, it was the policy of the superintendent to put two gangs of similar strength at the same kind of work within view of each other, when the overseers would vie one with the other to try which could get most done; and dire was then the cursing, swearing, raging and tearing of the rivals, who would goad on their men every instant with threats of the torturing lash, uttered with all the real arrogance of low-bred jacks-in-office, who, it need hardly be said, were capable of any atrocity themselves, and would commit any crime rather than descend from their ill-sustained eminences to work among their fellows. This is premised, lest the reader should scarcely believe what follows; yet there are many scores now alive in New South Wales who can vouch for the truth of the leading features.
Rashleigh and his fellows were quickly immersed in their fatiguing occupation, grimed from head to foot with charcoal from the logs they carried, and blinded by the smoke from the numerous fires near at hand; until at length, being employed with the others in turning the huge butt of a tree which was partially embedded in the earth by the force of its fall, Ralph, through his awkwardness, placed the end of his handspike between the body of the tree and a broken limb which was attached to it, and which formed a very acute angle with the body of the log. When, after many oaths and the expenditure of much sweat, the log at last was moved, it went over with a sudden jerk; and the branch referred to, striking the back of Ralph’s handspike as it turned over, of course forced the implement out of his grasp, and the handspike whizzed through the air, passing so close to overseer Joe’s head that it tore a portion of the brim of his hat away in its flight, and then ploughed a furrow in the earth for some distance behind him. Most assuredly, if it had struck his head, this worthy would have ended his days on the spot; but fate had otherwise decreed the issue, and Joe, transported with rage, now rushed towards Rashleigh, pouring forth a volley of mingled threats and execrations.
It chanced that upon his way he had to pass the trench out of which the log had just been turned; here there lay, now exposed to view, an enormous Jew lizard — a kind of reptile supposed to derive its name from the membranous bags around its jaws, which it distends with air when enraged, so as to form a slight resemblance to a human beard. This the overseer nearly trod upon; but drawing back, he lifted it on his foot, casting it with great fury towards the unlucky Rashleigh, who, on his part, seeing the unknown but very forbidding reptile come flying towards his throat, made an involuntary blow at it with his right hand; and Joe being now close to him. the lizard was flung full in his face. Dropping from thence on his breast, it began tearing away at his handkerchief and shirt, until one of the bystanders assisted the affrighted Israelite to remove it. The latter no sooner recovered himself than he ordered Rashleigh to be secured, vowing, with the bitterest malice in every gesture, that “he’d make him pay for all”.
Accordingly, Ralph was seized by the deputy overseer and the water carrier of the gang, and hustled to a tall bare stump standing near, when a chain having been passed round it, he had his hands locked behind his back to the chain by a pair of handcuffs. In a few minutes Joe came up, and saying, “You blasted varment! I’ll teach you to mutiny and try to take my life, I will,” he then struck the defenceless prisoner on the head, knocking off his hat; and having thus given him a foretaste of what he might expect from his brutality, this choice specimen of a government officer then withdrew.
Not long after, the superintendent made his appearance on the ground, and having demanded what Rashleigh had done, was informed by the overseer that he had thrown a handspike at him and attempted to take his life, showing his mutilated shirt and tom straw hat in proof of what he alleged.
“Let him be confined in the camp until next Tuesday, and then brought to court,” said the great man.
At dinner-time, Rashleigh was marched a prisoner home, when being given up to old Tom Row, that functionary grinned and said, “Oho! Thee bees danngerous, boost thee? Oi’ll teake cear thee does noa more dommage for one whoile!” Thus saying, he laid hold of the culprit’s collar, and in this guise conducted him to an open triangular space formed by the converging ends of buildings erected on two sides of a square, the external side of this space being secured by a high palisade fence, in which was a small open wicket.
Tom Row pushed Ralph in at this opening with such force that the latter almost fell headlong; as it was, he lost his hat in going through. The old constable chuckled and said, “There! Thee bees safe enough naw! Thee’ll knock nobody’s brains out naw, I’ll warrant thee!” And he laughed heartily while he locked the gate. Rashleigh begged in vain that he might have the handcuffs he wore transferred from behind his back to his front, as the former position, besides being very painful, impeded any attempts at helping himself. The other, however, only grinned and left him.
Being bareheaded, and the sun now nearly vertical, he knew not how to shield himself from its too powerful rays, which made him feel both giddy and sick; but the open area in which he was enclosed prevented his gaining any shelter until the afternoon, when the sun’s decline enabled him, by thrusting his head against the end of one of the buildings, to obtain a little shelter and relief. His dinner, a morsel of salt beef and a dough-boy, or dumpling made of boiled maize meal, had been brought to him soon after his confinement; but at the time he felt much too sick to eat anything. When he got better he would fain have done so, but did not know how, as the position of his hands, thus secured behind him, would not permit any other mode of eating than by going down on his belly and gnawing his food, like a dog, out of the dish. This, at last, hunger compelled him to do, and he was compelled to remain this way from the Thursday night until the following Tuesday morning, without the handcuffs being once removed. It being advanced in autumn, the nights were piercingly cold and the dews abundant; so that our unhappy prisoner was regularly wet through his flimsy rags every evening soon after sunset, and he spent each long night shivering in this plight, not being dry again until the sun acquired power enough to do so, after many evolutions and turnings on his part to expose each side of his person alternately to the beneficent source of heat. Sleeping, it may well be imagined, was almost out of his power, as independent of the cold preventing him, the constrained position in which his arms were confined produced intense pain. In the bitterness of his anguish he repeatedly wished for death, and in order to effect it ran his head with great violence two or three times against an angle of one of the sheds; but this only added to his excruciating torments.
At last the morning of Tuesday arrived, and his keeper came to order him out of this wretched place of confinement. It was necessary he should he washed, and for this purpose his handcuffs were taken off, but the anguish of bringing his cramped arms round again into their natural position completely overpowered him, and he fell fainting to the earth. When he recovered he found himself lying in a puddle of water; and the cause of it was disclosed by the sneering laugh of one of the constables standing by with an empty bucket in his hand, who asked, “An’t I a fine doctor to bring any fellow out of a swound?”
Ralph got up, and then, for the first time, saw that his wrists were swollen to more than twice their original size; and when he tried to wash his face lie found he could not bend his arms to do so. This swelling produced one good effect: there was not a single pair of handcuffs to be procured that would go upon his wrists, and consequently they were, sorely against their will, obliged to permit him to go over to Penrith without any. But one of his feflow-convict constables marched alongside of him, having received strict injunctions from Tom Row at parting, that if the prisoner made the slightest attempt to escape, the constable was to knock him down that minute, for, added this humane official, “’Tis no odds breaking the heads of a score such fellows as he. There’s plenty more of his sort in the country.”
In this guise they reached the Court-house without any interruption, and they found the business of the day there far advanced. There were a great many men — as usual, from Emu Plains — brought up to answer various charges of insolence to overseers, neglect of work, breach of regulations, or disobedience to orders; and the majority of them had already been tried and sentenced to receive various amounts of corporal punishment, from seventy-five to a hundred lashes being the general proportion of the sentences. A very few accounted themselves fortunate in only having got fifty; and one man came out of the presence of the awful conclave of magistrates wearing a countenance radiant with smiles. On being asked by a compeer what had been his luck, he replied, laughing, “Oh, I’ve nobbed it. I’ve got life to Newcastle,” meaning that he was fortunate in being about to leave Emu Plains, though he was sentenced to go to pass the rest of his days at a place of punishment of no common degree of rigour.
Ralph’s turn now came to be heard, and he was placed at the bar before the magistrates, who were an ancient parson, an old settler and a young military officer. Overseer Joe, being now sworn, circumstantially related the facts of a most mutinous attack and murderous assault which had been made upon him by the culprit, who he said had shied a handspike with all his force at the head of the said overseer, and he once more produced the mutilated straw hat in proof of the narrow escape he had made from death. He added that after this Ralph had come up to him and violently assaulted his person, so as to tear his shirt — also produced — and wound up by assuring the bench that he “never knowed a more desp’rater, a more dangerouser ruffian than the willain before them”.
Rashleigh was now asked by the military gentleman what he had to say, though the settler J.P. muttered two or three times, “A clear case, a very clear case. Never heard a clearer case.” As for the clerical gentleman, he had been asleep nearly ever since Ralph came into Court. The prisoner, however, shortly detailed the real facts of the case, making use of his hands and fingers to show the relative positions of the log, branch and handspike. While he was doing so the young officer observed the swollen state of his wrists, and demanded to what this was owing, on which Rashleigh narrated his sufferings in handcuffs. As the captain had not been very long in the Colony, all these proceedings were quite new to him and appeared to excite his compassion. He minutely questioned our adventurer as to the facts, and finally, appearing to be convinced that he spoke the truth, the military man turned to the farmer magistrate with an air of astonishment and asked if it was possible such cruelty could be allowed.
The other calmly replied that it was necessary the most stringent measures should be adopted to control the turbulent spirits of convicts and ensure their safe custody, that no doubt the prisoner now before them was much better known to the authorities of Emu Plains than to any other persons, and that, in short, it would not do for the magistrates to interfere with the duties of a government establishment like that or they should never be out of hot water. The last portion of this reply was made in a very low tone of voice, as if confidentially to the captain; but Rashleigh’s ears being sharpened by self-interest, he caught it every word.
As soon, therefore, as he could speak with propriety, he declared to the magistrates that this so-called offence had taken place on the very first day he had been sent to work upon Emu Plains, and also that this was the only charge that had as yet been made against him since his arrival in the Colony. On this the captain asked if he had any witnesses who could prove his statement. The settler J.P. observed with a sneer, “Witnesses! Aye! I’ll be bound he has. Fifty, if that’s all, ready to come and swear to that or anything else.”
“But,” returned the militaire, “we’ll take care of that. Let him name his witnesses to us only. Then let him be closely confined over here till the next Court day, so that he cannot see or speak to any of them. We will examine them ourselves, and if he has attempted to impose upon us, we will give him a hundred lashes in addition to the punishment of his crime.”
This proposal being agreed to, Rashleigh described four men who had been working with him as well as he could to the military magistrate, and the case stood over.
Upon the next Court day the same three magistrates attended, and shortly after their arrival Rashleigh was again ushered into the Courtroom. The reverend J.P. was installed into the chair, and the captain and settler sat on either side of him. The proceedings began by the clerk reading the deposition already made by the overseer and the prisoner’s defence. During this reading the chairman, as was his wont, went to sleep, ever and anon making such profound reverences to the back of the clerk that his reverend nose appeared to be in imminent danger from the desk behind which he sat. The settler J.P. in the mean time amused himself by reading a newspaper. The captain next enquired whether the witnesses were in attendance, and having ascertained that they were, he ordered one to be called in.
This fellow, who was a raw countryman, made a loutish reverence and looked very much afraid as he entered the room. He was sworn, and the captain asked him if he knew the prisoner.
Witness: (scratching his head — with a sort of leer): Ees, sur; that is, noa, sur.
Captain: What do you mean by that? Did you ever see the prisoner before?
Witness: (very much afraid): Whoy, Oi’ve a-seed un, sur, on the pleans.
Captain: Were you ever at work with him? Don’t be afraid, but speak.
Witness: Ees, sur, Oi wor.
Captain: Well, do you know what he did to be brought here?
Witness: Whoy sur, they do zay he troyed to kill th’ overseer.
Captain: When did that happen?
Witness: That day as he wor at work wi’ Oi.
Captain: Were you there?
Witness: Oi wor a-working alongside of him.
Captain: Now, tell us what you saw of the matter.
Witness: Whoy, sur, Oi on’y seed the Jew lizard a-tearing of Joe’s shirt.
Captain: You did not see this man throw a handspike at his overseer.
The witness replied that he did not, and a few more questions satisfied the captain that the matter had occurred as Rashleigh had stated; which was unwillingly confirmed by the other men, who all gave their evidence in the prisoner’s behalf with great apparent reluctance, being obviously fearful that they would suffer the ill will of the dreaded Joe for speaking the truth.
The captain now addressed the settler, and enquired what he thought of the matter after that.
The agricultural Lycurgus smiled sarcastically and said, “Oh, captain, I leave it entirely to you. But when you have been so long in this country as I have, you will not take much notice of anything these fellows either say or swear!”
The captain now ventured to disturb the profundity of the reverend chairman’s slumbers by a gentle nudge, asking him at the same time what he thought of the case.
That holy man suddenly jumped out of his seat, pulling up the slack of his black silk small-clothes as he did so, and cried, “A most dreadful scoundrel, an atrocious villain. Send him to Newcastle. Or stay! He won’t stop there . . . Send him . . . Send him Aye, send him to eternity!”
“Nay, but,” remonstrated the captain, “it don’t appear to me he’s guilty of any offence. Mr Clerk, read over the last evidence!”
While this was being done the reverend gent settled himself for another nap; but ere he could go to sleep again the brief notes taken in the case were concluded, and he then said, “Well, well. Give him a hundred; it will help to smarten him.”
“Pardon me,” quoth the son of Mars, “I can’t see he has deserved any punishment; or if he has, surely what he has already suffered ought to be taken into consideration.”
“Oh, you don’t know the artfulness of these scoundrels,” retorted this christian pastor. “You’d better give him seventy-five, at any rate.”
I think rather,” persisted the captain, “we may let him go this time; but if ever he comes again, we’ll double his punishment.”
“Well, well. Do as you please, captain,” said the chairman with an air of virtuous resignation; “but the overseers ought to be supported in their duty.”
“True,” said the captain; “but this man has been twelve days now in strict confinement, and we’ll take that for his present punishment. Prisoner, you are discharged. Go back and mind your work, for if ever you are brought here again, you will not escape so easily.”
“No,” added the farmer J.P. “You shall receive double punishment for giving us all this trouble.”
Rashleigh was removed, and when the Court had concluded was about to leave the place in charge of a constable, when overseer Joe came up to them, his saffron-coloured cheeks fairly livid with rage; and shaking his fist at our adventurer, he said, “Gott shtrike me dead, my fine fellow, if you an’t the very first man that ever beat me at Court; and I’ll take blasted good care you don’t come off free next Tuesday.”
A commanding voice was now heard from within a pair of Venetian blinds attached to the window of one of the rooms in the Court-house close by. It called out, “Come here, you, sir!”
Joe’s jaw dropped. He was about to walk off when the blinds were pushed open suddenly, and the military magistrate thrust his head out of the window and again called loudly and passionately, “Here, you, sir! You, overseer, I mean! Come back instantly!”
Joe now very reluctantly complied, and pulling off his hat, confronted the dreaded man of power bareheaded, while the latter said, “Now, sir, I happened to overhear your language just now, and in the first place I’ve the greatest mind in the world to give you a most sound flogging for the daring impiety of your expression; but as the Court has now broken up I will overlook that. Still, I’d have you take great care what you are about, for if I catch you tripping in an oath, I’ll prosecute you myself for perjury. And by heaven, sir, I’ll make you wish you never had been born. Now be off to your duty, sir . . . and beware!” shaking his finger at Joe in a most significant manner.
Joe now sneaked off, and he suffered not the grass to grow under his feet until he was completely out of view from His Majesty’s Court-house, Penrith. Our adventurer was shortly afterwards reconducted to the camp, when he was received by his fellow-prisoners with a kind of awe, such as vulgar minds feel towards a conjuror or person of wondrous acquirements. In fact, he was looked upon by the convicts as being a kind of lusus naturae, solely on account of his acquittal; for such a phenomenon had never before been known in the history of Emu Plains as a working man obtaining a victory over an overseer, or even of getting the benefit of a doubt in his case when a charge was preferred against him by such a hard-swearing fellow as Joe was well known to be, it being a common saying of him “that he would swear a white horse was a chandler’s shop, and every hair upon his back a pound of candles”, rather than be vanquished.
Rashleigh slept this night in clover, for a man who had run away a short time before had left behind him a little nook formed of a sheet of bark like a boxed shelf, which was filled with the inner husks of Indian corn. Among these the wearied wretch, who had not since his arrival had any better resting-place than the slab door of a lock-up or the cold earth, was too happy to burrow as quickly as he could. In the dead hour of the night, however, he was aroused by a most discordant din, arising, as it appeared, from half a score or upwards of old tin dishes, beaten with fists, after the fashion of gongs, and sundry other noises, which reminded him of the manner in which the country people of England swarmed their bees.
Upon enquiry, he learned that this unearthly turmoil was occasioned by a party of men, who, having resolved to run away themselves, adopted these means of beating up, as they called it, for “recruits for the bush”!
In consequence of the execrable system of tyranny and intolerable oppression perpetrated by the convict overseers, constables, watchmen and others “dressed in a little brief authority” upon this government farm, scarcely a week passed without numbers of men absconding in this manner; and others were actually paid by the petty officers, their fellow-convicts in place, to do so, that the latter might gain either a pecuniary reward or a remission of sentence for taking them prisoners again. For instance, there was either a sum of ten shillings in money or a remission of six months’ servitude allowed for every runaway convict apprehended by another. It was a common practice, therefore, for the overseers to oppress some poor fellow under them until they had, as they called it, converted him into a crawler, that is, a spiritless wretch heart-broken by hardship and hunger, who could scarcely move, and who could not, then, do any proper share of hard work. The overseer would next say to him. “Why the devil don’t you bolt (run away)? I’ll give you some grub, to get rid of you;” and the poor fellow, willing even to earn a few days’ rest from labour by a sound flogging, would at last agree to abscond. The same night he would receive from his kind friend a few pounds of flour a small quantity of tea and sugar, and perhaps a little meat, the overseer promising him in addition his favour and protection after he should succeed in getting the reward for taking him. It would then be agreed by the crawler that in three days’ time, which it was necessary should elapse before any reward would be given, the overseer should meet him in a certain place, whither the latter would go, as if by chance, and capture him. He would then bring his prisoner before the magistrates, magnifying his exertions, of course, in making this capture, and swearing a host of lies respecting the desperate resistance made by the runaway, who would, if it was his first offence, get off for the punishment of a hundred lashes, being then returned to his work, where his overseer would quickly turn him out of his gang, to be subject to the same discipline from another, ending in the same results, except that the runaway, on his second offence, would be punished by being sent to a penal settlement. In this manner many of the convicts’ officers shortened their allotted periods of servitude; for the terms being eight, six, and four years for a life, fourteen, or seven-year convict respectively, of course, if any of them could thus capture half a dozen runaways, it at once wiped off three years from his servitude.
The next day after Rashleigh returned from the Court at Penrith he was ordered into a different gang, which was employed in felling timber under the orders of one David Muffin, a Welshman, the brutality of whose character will best be exemplified by the following incident, which occurred the first morning our adventurer was at work in his party.
The men were employed in pairs, and it chanced that two were cutting down a huge tree, which proved to be quite decayed at the heart; so that when they had chopped through the living timber, it snapped off suddenly, and falling in the line on which the boughs spread heaviest and farthest, crushed two ill-fated wretches beneath its ponderous top. So instantaneous was its fall that not a second’s space was afforded for warning the sufferers, who, being intent upon their work, did not observe the mass until, as it proved, they were hurried into eternity. But four of the men who were nearest ran to see if they could help their comrades; and they were penetrated with horror to find only a shapeless mass of quivering flesh and bones. denuded of all resemblance to the human form, where but a twinkling of an eye before had stood two robust, athletic young men in all the pride of conscious strength.
Davy, however, did not allow them to stand moralizing a moment on the subject, for with a volley of oaths, he ordered his satellites to put them, all four, into handcuffs for daring to leave their work without his permission; and for this crime they each got a punishment of fifty lashes on the next Court day. Such being the temper of his overseer, it may very easily be imagined Ralph Rashleigh’s employment under him was anything but agreeable, and as, although he was willing enough to work, he was most awkward in his attempts to do so, he came in for a double share of threats and abuse every time the overseer approached him.
Thus waned the day, until, at the sound of a bell, the overseer directed his deputy, or assistant, to collect the men and tools, while he started off to the camp. Rashleigh was loaded with a heavy rope, which he was told always fell to the lot of the man who had last joined the gang to carry, and consequently he was among the last that reached the tool-house, where, on throwing down his burden, he found Davy, Joe and other overseers standing by a number of men handcuffed to a chain, two and two, and guarded by two or three of the camp constables. He was ordered to join this body, which he did with a heavy heart, not doubting but that he was about to be confined again, in order to be brought once more to Court. In a few minutes the miserable cortège set forth towards a place of security called “Belly Bot”, which was situated about a mile from the camp, inside the first range of the Blue mountains.
Upon their arrival here, they were ordered into the interior of this receptacle, which was subdivided into cells about seven feet by four feet in area and eight feet high, into each of which they were literally crammed in an erect posture, until it was absolutely impossible any more could be stowed in them, when the doors, which shut from the outside, were closed upon them, squeezing them in tight against each other.
They were then left to pass the night as best they could. To sit or lie down was out of the question, unless some of them had been willing to be undermost and would also permit the others to lie upon them. But to prevent this possible contingency, a quantity of water was daily thrown into each cell, which converted the stratum of clay that formed the floor, with a very little trampling, into mire, ankle-deep at least; and thus these unfortunates were obliged to stand all night.
A little after daybreak next morning the doors of their dens were thrown open, and they were ordered to be off to muster. This they did as quickly as possible for fear of being too late, in which case they were sure of receiving some further punishment; and by the time they had reached the camp, the bell demanding their attendance began to ring, so that they had barely time to snatch a morsel of bread, which, eaten as they walked to work, formed their only breakfast.
In this wretched manner Rashleigh spent five nights out of each week for nearly three months after this, and was besides lumbered almost six months, the latter meaning being obliged to work for Government on Saturdays, while the rest of the men were allowed from one o’clock on that day to mend and wash their clothing. This was the mode by which Mr Davy Muffin avenged upon our adventurer the outrage which, through him, the majesty of overseership had received in the person of his brother officer Joe. This system of confining the men all night was allowed by the regulations of the place to be put in force by the petty officers as a sort of minor punishment for the misconduct of the working prisoners, which they were at liberty to inflict without appealing to any superior.
This, however, produced one tragical event in our hero’s presence. A man named Bright, of a gloomy morose temper, had been confined in Belly Bot one night by his overseer. As was this man’s wont, he bore it in silence, not even grumbling or saying one word to the men who were in durance with him; but on reaching the camp next morning, he went into his hut, like the others, for a piece of bread, and then walked across to the tool-house, where the implements of labour were laid in readiness for each man to take one with him to work. Bright here picked up a very narrow felling-axe, which he generally used, and went on towards the gate.
It chanced his overseer passed him on the way; and Bright said to him, “What made you put me into Belly Bot last night, ToM?”
“For a lark, you b — — ” replied Tom.
“Then take that for a lark!” responded Bright, at the same time swinging his axe down with irresistible force, so that he sank the head of the weapon to the poll in the overseer’s skull, until the edge protruded beneath his victim’s jaw.
So fell had been the blow that he could not disengage the axe again; but the dying man having sunk on the ground before him, he placed his foot on the body — for the overseer had neither spoke nor moved from the moment he was struck; and Bright was now struggling in vain to free his murderous weapon. In the mean time some of the camp constables, whom his demoniac fury had perfectly paralyzed before, rushed in and secured the murderer, who now surrendered himself, saying, however, “I wish I could have loosed my axe. I’d have made dog’s meat of a dozen more of you blasted tyrants.”
This man was soon after tried and hanged for his crime. When called on for his defence, he only said he was tired of his life, and all that he was sorry for was that he had not killed a hundred such wretches instead of only one.
It might be supposed this would have some effect in altering the system of the remaining overseers for the better. So far from it, however, they became more brutally oppressive than ever, each one after this carrying a huge club for protection; and if any of the men only looked cross at one of them the overseer would say, “You are a-going to bright me, are you, you rascal? I’ll chalk you first, at any rate,” finishing his speech by knocking the offender down.
Nor was the ill-treatment of the overseers, combined as it was with the hardship of perpetual labour, all the evil these luckless men on Emu Plains had then to contend with. As remarked before, nearly one half of them had no blankets or any other bedding. Happy and luxuriously lodged was the wight who was master of a few pieces of sheepskin, however acquired. The rest made beds of corn husks, thrown loose on their berths; these, however, could be obtained only once a year. For a covering to sleep under, they fabricated a kind of rug by stitching together layers of the paper-like inner bark of the Australian teatree. These rugs, indeed, were exceedingly fragile, and when they became perfectly dry, would tear like tissue paper. Some others wove a kind of matting of long grass. But all these expedients were wretchedly inefficient, and were it not that fuel was abundant, so that the prisoners could thus maintain large fires at night in the winter season, they must have suffered much more severely than they did. As it was, most of the elder men were periodically laid up with the rheumatism, and not a few lost the entire use of their limbs from paralysis.
The period of our adventurer’s sojourn at Emu Plains was also one of great dearth in the Colony, almost amounting to famine, arising from drought. No rain having fallen in any part of the country in sufficient quantity to cause vegetation for upwards of two years, all the inhabitants were reduced nearly to a state of starvation. Wheat was sold the year of his arrival on the Nepean river at seventy shillings per bushel, and maize at forty shillings, very little of either being in fact procurable at all. And such indeed were the necessities of the lower class of free colonists that when the government cattle were being slaughtered upon Emu Plains — which was done weekly to supply meat for the prisoners’ rations — the stockyard was absolutely besieged by old and young, the inhabitants of the once fertile district around, to beg of the convict butchers the entrails and offal of the cattle, a bullock’s paunch being esteemed a rich gift, and the feet almost invaluable.
This being the destitution of the free population, it may well be conceived the prisoners did not fare very luxuriously. The ration they at this time received was a fractional quantity more than five and a half pounds of flour and nine pounds of beef to all men in the service of Government weekly. In addition to this each obtained one gill of pease or an equivalent quantity of rice per day. This formed the whole quantity out of which they were supposed to make twenty-one meals; but in many places, where the whole weekly supply was issued to each individual at once, the prisoners would devour it all in, at most, three days, many of them, indeed, in one day; and they would then starve through the rest of the week as best they might, eking out a meal with various grasses and herbs — for vegetables were not accessible to them even if the seasons had permitted their growth — and in many cases satisfying the cravings of hunger with snakes, rats, lizards and even far more repugnant materials.
On one occasion a party of men stationed upon a road over the mountains coaxed a fine dog belonging to a traveller. When he came near they secured him with a noose after the mode of the South American lasso, and managed to stifle his yells. When the proprietor missed his faithful companion, and returned to the camp of the road party, where he remembered having seen him within the last half-hour, he saw a gaunt and hungry-looking wretch busily engaged in skinning the poor dog’s head. Upon questioning this man, it turned out that a regular fight had ensued for the dismembered limbs of poor “Nelson” as soon as the carcase was skinned, and that this man, in the scramble, had only got hold of the head, which he loudly complained was unfair.
As for the men on Emu Plains, their food was issued to them daily, so that they were at least certain of one meal. such as it was, in the twenty-four hours. To obtain more than this, many very ingenious schemes were resorted to. From the time that peaches, of which great quantities grew almost wild along the river banks, and even nearer to the camp, had attained the size of hazel nuts, they were eagerly sought after and devoured, many boiling them and adding salt to the mess.
When the crop of maize began to ripen, a fresh plan was followed by the starving wretches with much avidity. The men in the camp were mustered twice every evening, the last time at eight o’clock, after which it was a punishable offence for anyone to be found out of the hut to which he belonged; yet very many, impelled by hunger, would, at the season referred to, dare all the danger of being caught by the numerous watchmen round the camp, or those in the corn fields, and steal off to the latter provided with an old tin dish converted into a grater, or fiddle, as they called it. They would then spend perhaps three or four hours grating the scarcely Ripe cobs of maize with these implements, until they might probably have succeeded in obtaining four quarts of pulpy meal, and for this wretched booty they were content to lose the greater portion of their rest, beside running the hazard of obtaining at least a hundred lashes if detected.
So stringent were the rules of Emu Plains at this period of scarcity that if a constable or watchman, on entering a hut — which was done by one or other many times in the course of every evening, to see what was going on — should chance to observe the print of a cob of maize in the ashes of the fireplace, where they were sometimes roasted by the prisoners for food, the constable would question that unlucky wight who at the moment stood nearest to the fire, and if he could not point out the offender or would not do so, he was confined, and being brought before the worshipful bench of magistrates the next Court day, he was certain to receive seventy-five lashes, whether he had been roasting a Hawkesbury duck — which was the colonial phrase for a cob of parched maize — or not.
While our adventurer was thus placed amid scenes of suffering the like of which he had never before wimessed, it may excite surprise that he was not many times tempted to commit suicide; but the fact is no less singular than certain, that the majority of men only value life in a directly inverse ratio to the enjoyment it might be supposed to afford them. Thus Rashleigh declared that during his life of criminal prosperity in London, when he indulged in every pleasure that money could purchase, he had never valued existence half so highly as he did during the time of his most intense suffering as an Australian convict. This appears a most merciful dispensation of providence, for were it otherwise, there can be no doubt that eighty out of every hundred malefactors who for their crimes were exiled from England to this Colony of New South Wales until about ten years ago would most certainly have rushed headlong into eternity.
The play, the play’s the thing.
There were times when the yoke of this galling slavery was rendered lighter. Among the prisoners at Emu Plains a theatre was established under the auspices of one “Jemmy King”, a most eccentric genius, on a small scale, who was at once architect, manager, carpenter, scene-painter, decorator, machinist, mechanician, and to crown all, a very passable comic actor.
What rendered this combination of talents more extraordinary, Jemmy could neither read nor write, the only method he possessed of learning his parts being to listen while another read them; and though during these lessons the ever busy fingers of Manager King would still be at work, perhaps in the discordant avocation of a tinker, employed in making or mending the theatrical lamps, yet none of the corps dramatique were more perfect at rehearsal.
The theatre, as before stated, had few external charms. It was formed only of slabs and bark; yet the interstices of the walls being filled in with mud, and the whole of the interior whitewashed with pipeclay, of which there was abundance near, it produced no despicable effect by candlelight. The whole affair was under the benign patronage of the superintendent, who bestowed upon the performers many indispensables for their use. Of course, in New South Wales, there was no lack of timber. The materials for the walls of the edifice were thus easily procured, as were also those for the very rude seats of the pit and boxes — for to no less than the latter accommodation did the ambitious followers of Thespis at Emu aspire — together with the framework of the scenes.
The canvas necessary was obtained in fragments of bags, prisoners’ duck clothing, bed ticks, etc., and painted in distemper with pipeclay, charcoal and various coloured earths. Lamps and candlesticks were fabricated from worn-out tin pots and dishes by the never-failing hands of King. Materials to light the theatre were supplied by voluntary contributions of the officials, who, forming the haut ton of the establishment, received candles, or oil, as part of their supply of rations from the governmerit stores.
But the wardrobe! Oh, the wardrobe! No powers of language can enable me to do justice to a description of the wardrobe.
In the first place, to survey “King Artexomines” in the solemn extravaganza of Bumbastes Furioso: his glittering crown was composed of odds and ends of tin and copper, brightly furbished, most of it garnished with pieces of window glass set on parti-coloured foils of a flowing wig fabricated of bits of sheepskin, the wool being powdered with bone ashes; a gaudy fringe of fur bedecked a regal mantle that in the days of its pristine freshness had been a purple stiff cloak with cape and hood, and belonging to “Mother” Row, the wife of the camp constable; which splendid fur trimming had once covered a native cat, in the glossy spotted coat of which indulgent observers might detect a very faint resemblance to the imperial ermine; and to complete the truly magnificent ensemble of this august monarch, his boots of russet hue had assumed their present form from the legs of an ancient pair of duck trousers, whilom the property of Manager King, dyed to that colour by the juice of wattle-bark.
The caput of the doughty “General Bumbastes” was surmounted by a magnificent cocked scraper, the body of which was pasteboard covered over with black cloth, once appertaining to the skirts of the parson’s coat, adorned with a floating forest of feathers that waved gallantly in the breeze, the latter being supplied at the expense of the barndoor cocks belonging to Regentville, a host of whom had been denuded of their tails for this purpose. The stalwart general’s coat had once covered a corporal of the guard; but the theatrical tailor having turned it, and having with great difficulty procured a consignment of cast-off copper lace and bullion from the military officers at Sydney, this was newly furbished for the occasion, and now shone most resplendently decorative on the brawny breast and shoulders of the (pot?) valiant hero, whose unwhisperables of humble duck were clean washed and fancifully braided in a most ingenious manner with strips of old blue cloth. A pair of monstrous policeman’s boots, equipped with glittering tin spurs having rowells as big round as dollars, ended the martial person of the ferocious commander, who was, moreover, supplied with a sword that in point of size might have done honour to old “Bell the Cat” himself. The blade and guard were each composed of the very best hoop-iron, well scoured and bright, however, and the sword knot, to furnish which all the ragged silk handkerchiefs within a mile had been laid under contribution, might have vied in size with the swab of a 74-gun ship.
The rest of the properties of the theatre at Emu were of a like description; but seen at night, and from a distance, they appeared in the eyes of most of the beholders to be quite faultless. True it is, the chiefest number of the audiences, being composed of either the small settlers of the Nepean or their wives and children, had no more exalted idea of theatrical splendour than might be derived from the exhibitions of travelling mountebanks, or at best a strolling company of comedians in a country barn.
But there were at times others among the spectators of the humble attempts or the brethren of the sock and buskin: the then Chief Justice, nay, the very representative of royalty himself, having deigned to honour the Emu Theatre with their presence, moved, it may be supposed, by the novelty of the thing, and a desire to observe what kind of shifts could be made by men as utterly destitute of all means and appliances as even their great prototype Thespis, who first represented comedies in the early days of Athens to his then rude countrymen, having only a waggon for a stage and the sky for a canopy.
Visits such as these, of course, were hailed as great honours and prepared for with corresponding anxiety. Ralph formed one of the corps when it was honoured by a “bespeak” from the Chief Justice, who was then residing at Regentville for the vacation with all his family; and the Knight who owned that spacious and wealthy estate, together with a perfect galaxy of the élite of Australian aristocracy, proposed to accompany his illustrious visitor to the entertainment.
King having laid before the superintendent a list of the pieces they were ready to represent, it was forwarded to Sir John, who selected Raymond and Agnes, followed by The Devil to Pay, for the evening’s performance.
Dire was now the turmoil among all the hangers-on in the theatre, that structure, in the first place, requiring repairs, and all the interior to be whitewashed and redecorated. The scenery, too, and the dresses wanted a good deal of touching up. Rehearsals must be had and the properties looked to.
It must be borne in mind that every one of them engaged in these multifarious avocations had withal to labour in the fields at different kinds of work from sunrise to sunset every week day save Saturday, which could not, of course, be pitched upon, as it would be inconvenient, on account of the lateness of the performance encroaching on the hours of the Sabbath before the audience could reach their respective abodes. The indefatigable King and his trusty coadjutors worked nearly all the intervening nights with great zeal, for to these stage-struck heroes it was truly a labour of love.
By the time the period of representation had arrived, all was prepared much to the satisfaction of the manager himself, who, upon surveying the effect of his labours from the pit just after the whole was brilliantly illuminated by four small lamps and full twelve mould candles, rubbed his hands in an ecstasy, and cried, “Well now! This is something like.”
With palpitating hearts, partly through the haste of their running home from work, partly through awe at the greatness of their expected guests, did the assembled Company prepare for their début, and precisely at seven o’clock — in newspaper phrase — the “orchestra struck up an overture”. This orchestra, by the by, consisted of four instruments, namely a violin — only so styled in the theatre; elsewhere it received the humbler appellation of a fiddle —; a flute, much akin to a fife in sharpness of tone; a tambourine, profusely decorated with tin jingles, and the handiwork of Manager King; and a huge drum, which owed its origin to the same omni-capable personage, to whom must also be ascribed all the honour and glory of fabricating the flute, and though last, not least, the fiddle also — beg pardon, violin, I mean — the material of which was King’s great panacea, tin. Tin served him in an infinity of ways; of it he made all sorts of articles, swords and scabbards, spurs and spectacles, decorations and diamonds.
But lo! the curtain now draws up, and the play begins. The melodrama was received with rapturous applause by the unwashed multitude who crowded the pit, and with better expressed approbation by the occupants of the boxes; the only drawback to the manager’s satisfaction being that a number of the men belonging to the camp, as there was no gallery, had taken undisturbed possession of the roof, where they vented their criticisms in rather an obstreperous manner, deaf to the dignified remonstrances of the irritated Jemmy King, who ever and anon devoted them to the deis infernis in “curses, not loud, but deep”.
At length, the sweet symphony of the musicians failing to extract any more plaudits from the auditory, it was judged time to commence the after-piece, which also was received very courteously. In fact, it went off well, but for one trifling incident, which, however, luckily passed unnoticed by the audience, though it elicited a series of grave rebukes from the manager. It was thus. The representative of “Jobson”, having made rather free with some wine which the Knight of Regentville had presented to the performers to solace their thirst during their labours, was somewhat too energetic in applying the stirrup-leather to the shoulders of his sleeping partner “Nell”, whose prototype on this occasion was a strapping young man of twenty-two, and as Master “Jobson” observed his spouse for the nonce winced somewhat under this application, he took a malicious pleasure in repeating the dose when not required by the action of the drama. At last the patience of the quondam “Nell” being quite exhausted, he went close up to “Jobson”, and shaking a fist as large as a moderate sized leg of mutton in his face, said, sotto voce however, “D—— your eyes. If you do that again I’ll knock your infernal head off.” Luckily, at this moment there was a slight noise in the pit, which prevented the words being heard; but the natural energy of the gesture which accompanied them elicited a loud “Bravo! Bravo!” from Sir John, which recalled the recollection of the exasperated wight, or he might have proceeded to put his threat into execution, as he was by no means a person to stand upon trifles.
The performance concluded happily, and a respectful valedictory address having been delivered by the manager, the company prepared to depart. Prior to their doing so, however, the Chief Justice requested that the performers be brought to the entrance before he took his leave, in order that he might have an opportunity of examining their disguises more closely. This request, of course, from so exalted a personage assumed all the force of a command, and in a few minutes the Company of actors was mustered in a double line leading from the foot of the rude staircase to the entrance of the theatre.
The superintendent led the way, followed by his visitors, among whom were several ladies, who viewed the quasi-female performers with unmixed amazement on discovering that the chief representative of the softer sex on these primitive boards had, like Sir John Falstaff in the dress of the cunning woman of Brentford, a most unmitigated growth of whiskers, which the wearer valued so much that he would on no account consent to the sacrifice of them, but rather had contrived a head-dress with much art, the fastenings of which served pretty well, at a distance, to conceal these very unfeminine appendages to a female eye; but on a closer view the quondam lady of the gallant Knight in the play was discovered to be neither more nor less than a brawny bullock-driver, clad in attire which, though perhaps it might once have decorated a duchess, yet, if ever such was the case, its present dilapidated state and faded glories distinctly told of its having been a very, very long time before.
Nor was the astonishment of the gentlemen present much less, to observe the many shifts which it now became apparent had been resorted to in order to trick forth the male performers for the purpose of enabling them to “strut and fret their hour upon the stage” with something like dresses approximating to fitting costume. In particular, Ralph Rashleigh’s dress, as conjuror, elicited the admiration of the Chief justice, who had some difficulty in believing that the flowing wig which adorned his head was made of so humble a material as sheepskin, which after personal examination His Honour satisfied himself to be the case, and remarking that “necessity was the most fruitful parent of invention”, he returned the wig to its wearer, paying him, at the same time, a well-deserved compliment upon his ingenuity, and slipping a pound note unobserved into his hand, saying in a low tone as he did so, “For yourself.”
The guests now departed, the Knight of Regentville and all his party having expressed their high satisfaction at the entertainment, and made such presents to the manager for the Company as, with gifts more suited to their humble circumstances made by other spectators, enabled that functionary to distribute a share amounting to no less than ten shillings to each of the musicians and fifteen shillings to the performers.
These are thy blessings: Industry, rough power,
Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain.
As Rashleigh wsas returning from work one morning shortly after the memorable “bespeak”, in company with one of the pseudo-performers, he had to cross the highway road leading to Bathurst over Emu Plains. It chanced that just as they did so, a mounted traveller accosted them, who by his appointments had evidently been no long time in the Colony, and who was struck, as it would seem, with their appearance. The winter’s supply of clothing having been recently issued, each had on a frock and trousers which were nearly new. These garments were somewhat uncouth to look at, being merely the natural colour of the wool as it was cut in the fleece, put together in a truly antediluvian style which would have positively horrified the soul of a Stultz if he could have only caught a glimpse of them, and rendered much more conspicuous by the characters “P-B-E-P” each about six inches long, stamped with glaring red paint in no less than eight different places, before and behind each wearer. These letters were meant to represent “Prisoners’ Barracks Emu Plains”; but from the colour of the cloth, the utter shapelessness of the clothes, and the brilliant contrast afforded by the hue of the stamps, each person who wore this primitive garb resembled some strange monster in a state of transition, scarce half man but more than half sheep, branded, as it might appear — having been newly shorn — with the initials of its owner’s name.
So at least seemed to think the stranger, who checked his horse and sat motionless in the saddle, gazing with dilated eyes and gaping with open mouth at the long file of convicts as they passed. Ralph and his companion being last, he addressed them as if he were anxious to ascertain whether this were an unreal mockery of his vision or whether they were palpable living men possessed of the usual organs of speech.
“Halloo,” he said, “what are you?”
“We belong to the camp yonder,” was the reply.
“Oh,” returned the stranger, “and pray, what sort of dress is that you wear?”
“Our Government supply,” replied Rashleigh.
“Indeed; and now, if I may ask, what are the meanings of all those letters sprinkled over it?”
“Why sir,” answered Ralph’s companion, who was the small wit of Emu Plains, “they mean ‘Poor Beggar — Eternal Punishment’.”
“Dear me!” exclaimed the horseman. “I’m very sorry for you!” And he threw them a handful of silver, which they gathered with great goodwill. And the stranger departed.
Eighteen months had now elapsed since Ralph Rashleigh first joined the agricultural establishment at Emu Plains, during which period he had experienced full many an aching heart arid full many an empty stomach. By far the greater part of that time he had neither shirt nor shoes to wear. In fact, his only garments consisted of a tattered frock of the kind just described and scarcely three parts of a pair of unmentionables, so much patched that, like the celebrated stockings of Sir John Cutler, hardly a particle of the original material remained. The nether extremities of these scanty apologies for decency looked as if his constant nightly companions, the rats — who maintained almost an equal right to his wretched bed of corn husks with himself — had nibbled them away piecemeal, until at last they had encroached upon those regions which ought to have covered the knees.
But the worst and most trying deprivation of all, to him, was the lack of shoes. For in the fields the sharply angular masses of clay, indurated almost to the hardness of flints by the arid sky, produced painful stone bruises, while on the “burning-off” ground or in the bush the frequent fires, having consumed all the inflammable portions of the grass, left nothing behind but the short stems, stiffened by flame, and as sharp as pointed stakes, which pierced, cut and tore the soles of his feet, until it was absolutely painful to him in the least degree even to stand erect upon them. If he walked at all it was necessarily at the rate of a snail’s gallop, which procured for him a double portion of abuse from his overseers and the expressive but neither euphonious nor honourable appellation of a crawler.
In the winter time, too, the torment produced by the hoar-frost, which agonised his very soul whenever his lacerated feet came in contact with it, produced many a bitter pang. But time enabled him at last to find a remedy for even these evils. He invented a sort of sandal similar to those of the Romans of old, the bottoms of which were formed of light wood, having a complicated arrangement of buckling straps to secure them. He also fabricated a kind of stockings from old woollen rags, which served the double purpose of warmth and security against thorns and briary vines which had so cruelly mangled him before. Besides, and better than all this, he was now getting so much inured to work that he no longer dreaded it, nor had his hours of rest broken by frightful dreams of cruelties perpetrated by the tyrannical overseers, as was too frequently the case at first.
In addition to all these causes of self-gratulation afforded to our exile, the drought which had so long oppressed the Colony broke up in the ensuing spring, arid copious rains again blessed the earth with their fertilising effects, dressing the surrounding plains with nature’s gayest livery — instead of the arid appearance they had so long presented — and affording promise of an abundant harvest to gladden the long depressed hearts of the starving settlers. Besides, Rashleigh was now wealthy, his store having been increased by the unexpected liberality of the stranger to the sum of nearly two pounds — an amount which promised, with due economy, to afford him a moderate supply of extra food, sufficient to last him until the crops were ripe, when he hoped to earn a further supply.
Time now coursed rapidly on, until the month of November, when wheat reaping commenced. In compliance with an annual custom, instituted in order to afford the free settlers opportunities of acquiring additional labour to gather in their grain, which, in the then very limited population of New South Wales, would otherwise have been quite inaccessible, the superintendent of Emu Plains granted passes to such of the men under him as he thought deserving, each week upon Thursday evening; which documents entitled the holders thereof to be absent from camp and to work for themselves in the neighbourhood until the ensuing Sunday night — an indulgence which was so highly appreciated that all hands strained their nerves to the utmost to obtain it.
Ralph was among the fortunates, and having gotten his “pass”, with a merry heart and full of joyful anticipations he hied across the river in search of work to do, being accompanied by one of his hut-mates. About ten o’clock that night they reached a part of the Nepean bank which was thickly occupied by small settlers, and where he had learned the wheat was now nearly ripe. The yellow lustre of the harvest moon illumined all the surrounding scenery with its mild radiance, and the hum of many voices told that the settlers were busy.
Upon going nearer, the travellers soon found this to be the case in good earnest, for it was a favourite as well as beneficial practice with the Australian farmers of that day to perform the greater part of their agricultural labours either by night or early each morning, so that during the middle hours of the day, when the sun was in its greatest altitude, they slept or amused themselves in their dwellings. To do this with the greater advantage they carefully studied the phases of the moon, being rather guided in their hours of labour during the summer by that luminary than by the too ardent god of day. Thus, when Rashleigh neared their settlement, which stood upon the estate of Regentville and was named “Irish Corner” after the nation of its chief occupants, the greater part of the population were actively employed. Men and women, boys and girls, all had sickles, reaping away with the greatest energy, while ever and anon the jocund laugh, the shouted jest and the merry response told that all were engaged in an occupation they highly enjoyed.
The travellers, on reaching the first wheat field, waited at the fence until the reapers came up, when they saluted the leader with a good-night. He had not observed them, being absorbed in his work; but he now stood up and returned their salute in kind, asking them if they’d far to travel.
Rashleigh responded “that it depended on circumstances, as they were looking for work”.
“By my sowl, thin,” said the other, “you’ve come to the right place to find it! Praise be to the Vargin! But maybe, though it’s looking for work youse are, yees don’t want to do any yourselves?”
Indeed we do,” said Ralph, “if we can get anybody to employ us!”
“Employ yees? Gerrah, thin, why not?” returned the reaper. “I suppose youse are all right? Not crappies (bushrangers), I mean.”
“Oh no,” replied Rashleigh. “I and my mate here are men on pass from the Plains till Sunday. Here’s our passes if you like to look at them.”
“Is id me look at ’em?” responded the other. “Bedad thin, there ud be little good in that, anyway; be the same token that I don’t know big A from a bud’s foot!” And he laughed most heartily at this highly delightful idea. “But if id’s raally raping you want, I’ll give you a pound an acre for all you’ll cut of this saam whate. And if you’ll take that, jusht sthick in, and say no more about id.” And the old man again set to work, twisting the wheat down with surprising vigour.
Ralph remarked, however, that this was a strong heavy crop and worth more than that.
“Don’t be boddering us,” said the owner. “Sure I can cut an acre a day of id flankin’, and I’m sure hearty young min like the pair of youse ought to knock down a dale more nor that.”
Well,” rejoined Rashleigh, we’ll look about a bit among your neighbours, and if we can’t get any higher offer we’ll come and set on along with you.”
“By this and by that thin, you won’t,” said the choleric old chap. “If you go sthreeling about looking for more wages, you shan’t touch a sthraw of Jack Canavan’s whate, see that now!”
“Very well, no harm done,” returned the other, and passed on a little farther.
In the next field they reached, there were five individuals reaping, towards whom they went and found an elderly man somewhat ahead of the others. Hard-favoured, long-sided, and still unbent by age, the reaper raised himself up and said, “Good morrow, boys. Is id me you want?”
“Aye,” was the reply. “We want to know if you can give us work with you.”
“Bedad thin,” rejoined the old man, “I cud do that saam, but what ud you be axing?”
“Oh, we don’t know what’s going; but we’ll take the same as others get,” replied the travellers.
“Musha now,” said the senior. “I’ll tell you at a word what I’ll do. If you’ll work along wid us here, and work as we work, I’ll pay you a pound for every day you sthop; bekase, you see, my whate is rip’ing all in patches and I must rape wherever id’s wanted to be cut firsht and id ‘udn’t be convanient to mizzure.”
“What about our mess?” said Ralph.
“Arrah thin, I forgot that. Why, if you plaze me, I’ll not charge you a traneen for all you’ll ate of the besht of good living, such as I’ve got myself!”
On these terms a bargain was struck, and as by this time the other reapers had worked up to the foremost, they were directed to “side over” into the standing wheat, and each of the new-comers being provided with a sickle, to it they went right earnestly, the old man keeping the lead, Ralph’s mate nearest to him, then one of the others, and next Ralph himself.
The reapers on either side of Rashleigh were slim and agile in figure, the only dresses they wore apparently being shirts, made very long certainly, and hats. Neither of them — not excepting the old man — had shoes on, yet they swept along over the clods and stubble with a celerity that compelled Ralph, to use a colonial phrase, “to hit out from the muscle”, that he might not be left behind. For two hours they wrought in silence, till at length, observing a cessation among his preceding partners, the former looked up and saw the old man leaning over the fence apparently in a deep yarn with his mate. In a few minutes Ralph had also cut up to the fence, when he stood erect, to take breath and wipe the perspiration from his face.
The old man, now noticing him, said, “Bedad, my lad, you and your mate done well. We’ll soon cut all that’s ready at this rate.”
The remainder of the field (persons reaping) having now come up to the fence, the old man observed to Ralph’s amazement, “Now, gals, you and these two young men had better bind up what’s cut while the dew’s on it and lave it laying there. We’ll put it together in the daylight, and I’ll go and help the old woman get something ready for breqquest.”
Ralph now looked closely at the person who was standing next him, and though there were few feminine charms in her countenance, he could see enough to convince him that this hard-working reaper who had made him use such expedition to keep up with her was really nothing but a girl of at most thirteen, but even at that age nearly as tall as himself. The old man turned away as he spoke, and Ralph, with his companions, began to bind the sheaves where they lay, each going down the rows they had cut during the night. This, not being a very arduous task, admitted of conversation, and presently they were as intimate as if they had known each other for years.
There was no affected squeamishness or reserve among these unsophisticated children of nature. In reply to queries from their male companions, the latter discovered they were working for a man known on the river as “Big Mick”, who had a family of six daughters and no son, all his male children having died in infancy. It was said that soon after the birth of Mick’s third daughter he was lamenting to his wife their want of a son to help him in his labours on the “farrum”, when his strong-minded helpmate interrupted him by saying, “Gerrah, why, what are you boddering about? If I don’t make my darters better min than one half the crathurs I see crawling about the counthry-side, by the Jakus, I’ll ate ’em every one.”
In conformity with this resolution, from their earliest infancy each member of the family was employed to do whatever her strength would permit. The very youngest of all was set to mind the pigs, that they came not near the cultivation to do mischief, then promoted to pull suckers from corn or tobacco. As they advanced in years they took to the tools of manual labour nearly as soon as they could lift them.
The effects of this course of education were now to be observed upon all of them, for either of the girls could cut down the largest tree in the bush with an axe as readily as most men, or do a man’s share at breaking up new ground with the hoe, driving a team of bullocks, threshing wheat or maize, reaping, or in short any other agricultural occupation. Nor was Mick’s family a solitary instance of this. Many others at that early period, when labour was so very scarce in the Colony, bred their female children in the same way. When there were several daughters, as in the present case, one usually remained at home, alternately, to assist the mother in her necessary domestic duties; which was, in fact, all the chance they had of learning aught that would be serviceable to them when they got married and had houses of their own to mind. As it was, though they might, each and all, be able to sew, so as to mend their own clothes or those of their male relations, and bake a damper in the ashes — the usual method of preparing bread in the interior of Australia-or make ready the humble meals of the family, yet it was far more common to meet a young woman — in other parts besides Irish Corner — who could reap her acre of wheat a day than one who could make a shirt.
Thus masculine in their labours, their persons were scarcely less so. Though their features, in numberless instances, might be considered positively handsome, as are in fact the general race of fair Australians, yet exposure to the sun and wind completely tanned them and gave them a weatherbeaten tinge in their youth; while their forms, unrepressed by any confinement of clothing, acquired all those ungainly attributes which characterise the clown. But the chief marvel of all was the astonishing size of their feet, for never using shoes in their childhood, and being always in motion, those extremities obtained a most portentous development, a fact which may be guessed at from the following trivial circumstance.
Ralph one day subsequently was asked by the old man to fetch him his shoes. He went to the hut for this purpose and returned with a pair he had found on the floor which were much larger than his own. As he had not seen any other member of the family adopt such encumbrances he naturally concluded they were the right articles. But on reaching the threshing-floor, which as usual stood in the open air, and where all the family were then employed, he soon found out he had made a mistake, for Mick burst out into a horse-laugh and Said, “Arrah now, by my sowl, if that don’t bate Banagher! And all the world knows Banagher bates the Divil. If he hasn’t brought me Nancy’s little brogueens (small shoes) instead of my own.”
Rashleigh stared at Nancy, who was a girl about eleven years of age, and she came over laughing to claim her shoes.
“Bother you,” said her sire good-humouredly, “how foolish and fashionable you get! Must be claning your brogueens every week now! I’ll engage you are looking out for some sweetheart or other to put the come ‘ether over wid your capers and clane shoes.”
This sally over, he directed the girl to go and try could she find the right brogues; and as Nancy tripped off on her errand, Rashleigh had lots of opportunities to observe that large as the shoes were, they were likely by no means to be a loose fit for her feet.
Then, too, their out-of-door life rendered them excessively rude and boisterous, of which Ralph heard a laughable instance some time after.
A person with whom Big Mick had a dealing, after the business was concluded, produced a case-bottle of rum from his saddle-pack, vowing that they’d have a dram together to wet the bargain, and down they sat very seriously to discuss the drink. Now the stranger was a person of some little means and a shrewd, keen chap withal, who had got a few cattle and a couple of good brood mares, which were then quite a fortune. So Mick, after a few balls had opened his heart and his temper, began to think it would be no bad spec. to interest his guest in one of his daughters. Could he persuade him to take one as a wife, why, she would be, in his own expression, “a made girl for ever”.
Urged by this idea, he began a long eulogium upon the beauty and numberless good qualities of his girls. After a time, getting warmed by the theme, and a little piqued, it may be also, at the stoicism of his companion, who only opened his oracular jaws to emit the smoke of his dhudeen, he said that he could afford a smart penny to portion each of the gals, so that it would by no means be a bad chance for anybody “that ud know how to trate a dacent wife” when they got her. Still this did not produce the wished-for effect upon the insensible mind of Mick’s companion, and at last the old man broadly hinted to him, “Sure, it’s a shame for you that you don’t look out for some good little crathur to be keeping house for you, and not be living all your days like a solunthary bacheleer.” And he wound up by saying that his guest should see the darlin’s and judge for himself.
Upon this they adjourned to the outside of the dwelling, where the old man gave a loud cooay as a signal for his daughters to return home from their work. Both the men now gazed in the direction from which they expected the girls to appear, when lo! shouting, laughing, and tearing obstreperously along, the six beauteous and dutiful damsels came racing towards them. Disconcerted at this novel mode of introducing a bride-elect, no sooner did the stranger see this troop of Bacchantes sweeping over the newly ploughed ground at this rate, than he bolted to his horse and cried, “Goodbye, Mick! I might as well marry a whirlwind as one of thim wild divils. Why, the fastest mare I’ve got ud never be able to catch her!” And he rode off at speed, pursued by loud shouts of “Ahoo! Ahoo!” from the young ladies and peals of laughter from the merry old man.
After Ralph and his companions had finished tying up the sheaves that lay cut on the ground, they adjourned to Mick’s dwelling, which originally consisted only of two small apartments, with sundry additions made to it at various times, abutting from one or the other side in divers singularly ugly excrescences, with lean-to roofs resting against that of the parent edifice. All these structures were composed of the then unvarying materials of Australian architecture in the interior — slabs or thin pieces split off by means of mauls and wedges from logs, the roof covered with forest box or stringy-bark, which was stripped from the living trees in sheets of about six feet long and from two to four feet wide, laid upon rafters composed of small sapling poles just as they came from being cut in the bush. The sheets of bark, having holes pierced through each in pairs, were then tied on the rafters with cords twisted of the inner rind of the kurrajong tree. The whole framing of the roof was secured as it was needed by wooden pins in order to save the expense of nails, which were then both too scarce and too dear to be used by the lower order of settlers.
Indeed, all kinds of ironwork were equally inaccessible, and instead of hinges to tie doors or window shutters, those appurtenances were all made to revolve on wooden pivots in holes, bored a short distance into the corresponding parts of the frames.
Thus the materials of Mick’s habitation were pretty much the same as those of the prisoners’ huts on Emu Plains; but the chinks in the slab walls of the former were well stopped up with plaster made of cow dung and sand. A bark ceiling also was laid over the tie-beams which, while it prevented the dust from pouring down in such torrents through the interstices of the roof, also afforded a convenient loft for the storage of pumpkins and many other articles of domestic consumption. Besides these indications of comfort, the whole of the inside had been newly whitewashed — that is, only the Christmas before, though in the eleven months which had intervened the volumes of smoke which continually rolled through every cranny of the place had somewhat tarnished the virgin purity of its hue, converting it at length into a whity-brown yellow; yet even that colour was better than none.
As usual, the fireplace occupied nearly the whole of one end of the hut, and being composed entirely of wood, the danger of its igniting had been diminished by hard dried clods of clay built up about a couple of feet high round its interior and laid in a sort of mortar also composed of clay tempered with water to a semi-liquid consistency. On the sides of the ample fireplace were constructed rough seats for the winter nights, above which might be seen store of pieces of salted beef and pork, pigs’ heads, bags of cabbage and pumpkin seeds, and a multitude of other articles which required to be kept dry, this being by courtesy considered the most secure part of the dwelling from the incursions of rain. There was no possibility of any leakage, except from the top, which was not more than two feet square, and left quite open in the fond hope of persuading or enticing the smoke to go out there instead of continually struggling for passage through the crevices of the bark roof or pouring out in volumes at the ever open doors and windows. But such was the perversity of this obstinate element that it too generally preferred any illicit vent to the legal one and very frequently asserted its supremacy in such a manner as effectually to drive the inmates out of doors altogether, for sheer lack of breath to continue the contest any longer. As this generally took place in very wet weather, when a fire could not be maintained out of doors, as was the usual summer custom, and besides, the chilliness rendering it acceptable in the house for its warmth, it may be conceived that the piety of the inmates, at no time very conspicuous, was not vastly enhanced by their having to stand in the rain, perforce, in order to escape suffocation, until it pleased the vaporous enemy to allow them a short respite by retiring to the loft or any other part of the premises, except the chimney of course, which it appeared most of all places to shun.
The furniture was truly of a primitive cast. A number of tin pint pots and dishes, half a dozen three-legged cast-iron boilers of various sizes, a long-handled frying-pan, a few rough stools, mostly fixed on stumps sunk in the floor, two or three short round blocks of wood cut off trees with a cross-cut saw to serve as movable seats, and two stationary tables made of unplaned slabs, one fixed in the centre and the other on one side, completed the accommodation of the outer apartment.
When the doors of any of the sleeping-rooms admitted a view of their contents, it did not appear that luxury was by any means the besetting sin of either Big Mick or his family. The sleeping-berths were all fixtures, made of slabs and sheets of bark, only the one belonging to the father and mother being furnished with any attempt at curtains, which for economy’s sake were confined to the foot of the bed and one side. The berth being fixed in a corner, all was thus enclosed, partly by the slabs and partly by the curtain, which exactly answered the description given by Pope of those “in the worst inn’s worst room”, being tied with tape and never meant to draw; instead of which, the blue striped shirting of which it was composed was secured back by loops and buttons which hung them partly aside and exposed to view a tattered patchwork quilt, apparently innocent of the washing-tub since its formation.
The effeminacy of sheets was unknown to any of the inmates. Though they obtained abundance of feathers, which when plucked from the birds on which they grew, were suffered to lie on the spot where they fell until dispersed by the winds, when they sailed about in all directions, a positive nuisance, yet each of the family slept on beds of chaff contained in rough ticks, many of which, being the worse for wear, suffered their contents to escape through their numberless orifices, when it littered the earthen floor. Being scattered thence into unknown corners, where brooms never penetrated, the rubbish proved fruitful nurseries of “flaas”, to the extreme annoyance of the good matron of the house, who strove in vain to abate it by repeated libations of water, until mud was by no means a scarce article, either within or without the domicile.
To this habitation Rashleigh and his mate now received a “kindly welcome” from both the old man and the woman, and a plentiful supply of salt beef, damper bread and pumpkins being spread on the table, they all fed most heartily, washing down the feast with bumpers of tea out of the tin pots before named. When they had done, a short interval being allowed them to smoke a pipe each, they again sallied forth to work.
It was now dawn, and they continued to reap until about nine o’clock, when they returned to the hut, partook of another meal like the former, and then all retired to rest. Ralph and his companion, having obtained a couple of blankets and directions to a corner of the loft where lay a large heap of corn husks, slept soundly until about four o’clock, and then to work again.
In this way, making about fifteen hours at work out of each twenty-four, they both completed three and a half working days of ten hours each by Sunday night, when, having received their money and thanks from Big Mick, with pressing requests to come again whenever they could get leave, the reapers returned to Emu Plains and gave up their passes to the camp constable, after which they retired to rest, to prepare for another week’s work for Government.
In this way the harvest passed over. Twice more did Rashleigh obtain a pass, and each time was employed by his old patron Big Mick.
Base is the slave that pays.
A number of the settlers having preferred a request to that effect, the whole of the “play actors” of Emu Plains received permission to go with all their paraphernalia to perform a play at a distant part of the Nepean settlement.
Proud was the manager, great was the bustling importance of the Company, and by the first light of the day appointed, the “scenery, machinery, dresses and decorations” of the Emu Theatre having been transferred to a settler’s dray, all were en route to the scene of action — a large barn belonging to the keeper of a very small inn, who had kindly lent the edifice for this purpose; of course, solely for the amusement of his neighbours, without the slightest expectation of prospective advantage to himself. Notwithstanding his disinterested feelings, however, after the corps dramatique had been hard at work for a couple of hours, Boniface, rubbing his hands, came in to the quondam theatre and expressed his admiration in glowing terms of all that he saw, winding up a most flowery speech by enquiring whether it was not a dry job, at the same time hinting obliquely at the excellent qualities of a beverage composed of good rum and peach cider, of both which his stock was immense, adding that as no doubt the performance would amply remunerate the Company, he would not object to supplying the members thereof with refreshment for the day on credit, always providing his account should be liquidated as soon as the play was over.
These terms having been joyfully acceded to by, the thirsty Thespians, a sample of the much-vaunted drink was obtained, and although it was not quite equal to nectar — as the cider was something of the sharpest, and the rum rather peppery — yet to men from Emu Plains it appeared very superior. About noon, too, a servant came, who in the name of her master, the inn keeper enquired if any of the players wanted dinner. Accordingly, all adjourned to the kitchen, where salt beef and pork, abundance of greens, and the unvarying damper awaited their appetites. This sumptuous feast was duly crowned by libations, though sooth to say, the tender care of their host prevented their getting drunk, because the rum, though very pungent and very hot, was also very weak, being, in nautical phrase, only equal to three-water grog, and thus did not disturb the acting powers of even the most weak-headed among the theatricals.
The performances of the evening having closed amid rapturous applause, a good jollification was resolved on. But alas, as Burns has sung,
The best-laid schemes o’ mice and men
Gang aft agley.
All unforeseen difficulty arose; the innkeeper insisted on payment of his bill before any fresh supplies were afforded. On examination of this ingenious document, it appeared each performer owed him one pound two shillings and sixpence for drink, dinner and supper, both of these repasts being charged at three shillings per head, and the remainder made up of pints of rum, gallons of cider, and ditto, ditto . . . almost without end. Now, as is customary in such cases, the debtors could not by any process be brought to believe that they had actually obtained even half the liquor charged against them, and the obdurate creditor vowed most solemnly that he had served the whole of it himself. To add to the mischief, it was found on investigation, that after paying a few trifling claims for nails and other minor incidental expenses, the receipts would but admit of a dividend of thirty shillings to each principal player in the Company and the stipulated wages of the supernumeraries — scene-shifters and others.
Indeed, as each man’s share of the bill was alike, the Company actually owed more than their gross receipts; but on this being explained, the landlord at length agreed to take what the lower rate of performers obtained in full from them, if the others would cash up the amount of his claim on each of these. Further, he said he thought himself and the chief constable might persuade their superintendent to let the Company remain where they were and play again one more night; which he kindly volunteered to do, and in the mean time — always after a settlement — would let the Thespians go on again with a fresh score, on the faith of their next night’s receipts.
This arrangement being at once acceded to, the disinterested landlord received instantly by far the greater portion of the collection made by the theatrical treasurer, and then the Company began again to enjoy themselves, free from the dreadful thoughts of the reckoning, which was thus procrastinated twenty-four hours, at any rate. The next morning, betimes, Manager King called a council of his trusty coadjutors and opened to them a most brilliant device of his own composition, by which he doubted not to astonish the natives in general, and none more so than their kind confiding host in particular, who had been so fluent of his beverage and so cunning with his chalk; this notable plan was to be put into execution at the close of the evening’s amusement and was rapturously acceded to by his fellow-convicts, who deemed it would form a most appropriate finale to the amusements of the night.
They now partook of breakfast; and after a couple of glasses of grog by way of stimulus to repair the ravages made by their last night’s jollificationtion in the sensorium of each, the most eloquent of the performers were dispatched in small parties to make a circuit of the settlers dwelling near, exhibiting in each house a play-bill, to compose which Rashleigh had exhausted nearly all his powers of persuasive oratory, in setting forth the magnitude of that night’s attractions at their temporary theatre, enumerating the various points of allurement quite as grandiloquently as a London manager of a minor theatre, and winding up with the awful annunciation that it was most positively their last exhibition at that place. The ambassadors were also commissioned to explain to the expected guests such reasons good as compelled them to believe the last assertion, namely, that the passes of the histrionic heroes would expire that day.
Rashleigh, backed by a new and youthful recruit, whose beardless face well suited the female parts he sustained, made his rounds, meeting with many promises of attendance and much rude hospitality from all the small settlers round about. This was a period of most universal merriment, indeed, a sort of prescriptive saturnalia in society of that sort every year, but doubly so upon this occasion, when the agriculturists, for the first time in seven years, were blessed with overflowing garners teeming with grain. In every hut, therefore, was then to be found a keg, filled, not with choice Jamaica, but with its fiery prototype from Bengal; and mirth and revelry was the order of both day and night.
Evening drew nigh as they returned to their companions, when the manager announced to our adventurer that all was prepared for the successful dénouement of the preconcerted plot to form the finale of the night; and after each had partaken of a refreshment, it was time to dress for the play.
An early hour had been fixed upon for commencing, because, it being Saturday night, they wished the whole bill of fare, which was rather a long one, should be gone through before midnight. The barn — beg pardon, theatre — was crammed to over-flowing; many, who would not be turned away, were accommodated on the roof; and each new point elicited rapturous bursts of applause. But as soon as every thing was done with, either of the scenery or of the valuable properties, it was slyly and noiselessly withdrawn through an opening, which had been clandestinely contrived in the slabs of the barn; and at last, when the drop-scene fell, Manager King was the only performer left in the house. All the others had followed their paraphernalia, which, as it was removed, had been placed in a dray hired for the purpose, and kept concealed at a short distance, among some swamp oaks in a dell by the riverside, where the whole party now waited with impatience the arrival of their manager.
That eloquent personage, among whose other attributes was a most fluent “gift of the gab”, and who was not at all annoyed at any opportunity of exhibiting his oratory, amused the audience fully a quarter of an hour by his facetious farewells, returning thanks for the distinguished honour of their patronage, etc. Finally, perceiving a movement towards the door on the part of some impatient persons who wished to be at home, Manager King, amid a profusion of bows that would have done honour to a dancingmaster, each too, in accordance with approved theatrical taste, much lower than its predecessor, himself at length withdrew through the aperture before mentioned, carefully closing it after him, and leaving to the landlord, in liquidation of his claim, the drop-scene — which, by the by, was so foully abused by its antiquity that it had long been laid aside as condemned, even at the Emu Theatre — and about a dozen rough, battered tin sconces, with the ends of candle they contained. These were all the available assets they resigned to their creditor in satisfaction of his demand for the previous night’s festivity, their meals that day, and an awful accumulation of lush supplied these runagates by their too confiding host during the last twentyfour hours.
Boniface, who was himself in the theatre at the close of the performance, had vigilantly assisted the money-taker at the door, kindly volunteering his services, not only to prevent any from evaporating without payment, but also, by jocular railleries and reproofs of their stinginess, to stimulate those who did offer cash to exert unwonted liberality. After all the auditory had departed, the landlord remained near the orchestra, in patient expectation of the advent of the performers from behind the scenes. As there was no other outlet from thence — that he knew of — he made himself certain they must pass by him before they could leave the scene of their histrionic display, and probably the worthy Knight of the Spiggot consoled himself by casting up the “tottle of the whole”, as Mr Hume would say, and jingling imaginary coins in his breeches pockets, to be derived from the proceeds of the theatrical treasurer, whose harvest he was certain, from ocular demonstration, must have been a pretty productive one.
At length, however, finding the actors did not make their appearance, and hearing no sound emanate from their supposed retreat, the profound stillness of the whole theatre forming, too, a complete contrast to the merry shouts of jolly Bacchanalians whom he could hear noisily revelling away at his own house — which incident also demanded his early attention, in order that he might assist in the operations of his trusty coadjutors of the rum-keg — the landlord clambered over the rails which divided the orchestra from the pit, climbed upon the temporary stage, lifted the ragged curtain, and, after an awful pause, plucked up heart of grace and boldly entered the sanctum sanctorum of the sons of Thespis.
Here the bewildered Boniface could scarcely credit the evidence of his eyes. By the almost expiring rays of a single morsel of candle end, he could see neither scenery nor actors, and what puzzled him more, he could by no means conceive how they had contrived to get out, as there was then no opening whatever visible; and he at last well-nigh decided in his mind that they must be conjurors as well as comedians. Brimful of wrath, he hastened to his home to institute enquiries, which, it is almost needless to add, proved all in vain. Not one of the many persons there knew which way the fugitives had fled, and the advanced hour, with the darkness of the night, rendered pursuit at that moment hopeless. Vowing bitter vengeance against these delinquents, whom he stigmatised as monsters of most odious ingratitude, the irate man of reckonings was reluctantly compelled to bottle up his anger as well as he could for the present and defer until daylight any ulterior measures.
In the mean time, Manager King and his hopeful squad had pursued their journey merrily, keeping down in a grassy valley, where the turf offered no noisy impediments to their progress, until they reached one of the many rapids, or falls, in that part of the Nepean, which are often crossed by such wayfarers as eschew the payment of puntage. Here they waded the stream, and having gone but a little distance along the opposite bank, called a halt in a little sunken spot that promised to prevent their fire from attracting the attention of any wanderers. There they kindled a blazing flame and began to busy themselves in preparing a feed, the basis of which, I regret to record, had been procured from the victimised host under the pretence of a stage supper necessary in the course of their night’s performance, but which — with near two gallons of his much extolled beverage that they had secreted and brought with them to do honour to the occasion — had not been paid for as yet; and indeed, to say truth, if the wills of those about to consume it were to be consulted, the payment for the whole was like enough to be procrastinated ad graecas kalendas.
Here hilarity prevailed to an unusual extent, the staple fun with which their jokes were seasoned being all levelled at the luckless landlord; and many most witty conjectures were hazarded as to the length, breadth and depth of the astonishment which that worthy and liberal soul would exhibit upon making the disagreeable discovery that he had been so deeply done. The performers did not drink much, however, as they conjectured that mine host would make his complaint to their commandant, and they wished to appear before that awful officer in full possession of all their powers of reason.
About sunrise they arrived at home, and having unloaded their valuable effects, each man prepared himself as best he might for the approaching interview. Manager King — who in this, as in all things else, took the lead — promising to stand spokesman on the occasion. About seven o’clock the landlord made his appearance, accompanied by the chief constable, who, however, could scarcely conceal his merriment at the lugubrious tale, told with such unwonted energy, by the suffering subject of the “pla’actors’” peculations.
The landlord made his entrée to the theatre, where he discovered Manager King, dressed in his full suit of Sunday slops, lying apparently asleep in his berth. And that worthy certainly performed the part of one just awakened, to a miracle; for when the visitor enquired what he meant by running away without paying the debt incurred by the Company, jemmy King yawned heavily once or twice, then affected great anger at being so unceremoniously aroused, and at length gave the complainant very deliberately to understand that he, for one, thought the players had already paid dear enough for all that they had received from him; and further, if the landlord expected any more money from them, why, he must get it the best way he could.
On this the other burst out into indignant exclamations against such excessive ingratitude, saying, however, that he expected no less; and at last he started off to lay his lamentation before the superintendent, from whom he confidently expected both redress and sympathy. In a few moments a summons arrived for all the corps dramatique to attend that awe-inspiring official, and being quickly arranged in his sight, he demanded what they had to say for themselves in reply to this charge of fraud.
King, after apologizing for occupying the time of his superior, told all the history of the first day’s proceedings, laying particular emphasis upon the overcharges made by the landlord, as they appeared on the first bill, winding up his oration by a reference to the second account, and appealing to the superintendent whether he thought it at all possible the men then present, who, it was perfectly evident, were unaccustomed to the use of any intoxicating drinks, could have consumed the quantities of spirits charged against them in the space of about thirty-six hours, and still preserve their sobriety, so as to enable them to play both the nights, some of them sustaining three different parts on each — which, he submitted, it would have been quite impossible for them to do if they had even drunk half the liquor the landlord now sought to make them pay for.
The great man seemed rather struck with this defence, and on examining both bills, could not but admit the accuracy of King’s argument. Then, observing that the meals had been charged at three shillings each person, he asked of what viands they consisted; and the homely qualities of the several repasts being asserted by King and admitted by mine host, the superintendent told the latter he could not help thinking that part of the charge too dear by half; and as for the rest of his claim, he (the superintendent) could not believe the men had drunk all the grog stated, because each person’s share would in his opinion make, and keep, any ordinary individual drunk at least for a week, and yet those who the landlord stated had consumed it all in a day and a half now stood before them, apparently as sober as if they had never tasted anything stronger than water.
“At the same time,” concluded the chief, “if you request it, I will order the whole of them to be brought before the bench of magistrates, to answer any charge you may think fit to prefer against them. But I’d recommend you to remember that there is an Act of Council in force, imposing a fine of five dollars for each offence in serving a convict with spirits; so that, perhaps, you might lose more by taking them to Court than you would clear by making them pay, even if you gained your case, which seems rather doubtful.”
In brief, after all, the landlord was compelled to give the business up for a bad job, and console himself by reflecting that what with his first overcharge, and what the audience assembled through means of the performance had expended at his house, he was in the whole a gainer, instead of a loser, by the brothers of the buskin; though he often vowed he never had been so “willainously wictimised” before in all his life.
This was the last occurrence of any note in Rashleigh’s time at Emu Plains; for the two years having now expired to which his stay was limited at first, he was one morning kept back from work, and informed that he had been assigned to the service of one Mr Arlack of Bunbury Curran, since called Airds, and having received directions for his journey, and a pass for his protection, he departed after taking a friendly farewell of his quondam companions belonging to the play-house hut at Emu Plains.
He goes to a tint and he spends his half-crown;
He mates wid a frind and for love — Knocks him down.
It was a glorious spring morning when Ralph Rashleigh turned his back upon the scene of his late sufferings with a light heart. The charms of nature tended to delight him, and the soothing anticipations of hope promised him, at least, a much more comfortable home than the one he had quitted; and he plodded gaily on, albeit his whole stock of earthly chattels, besides the clothes he wore, were contained in a very small cotton handkerchief. Still, he considered himself positively comfortable for a convict, as he had a stout pair of boots, a whole pair of trousers, a new straw hat, and the magnificent stock of four shirts, besides a black silk handkerchief on his neck, and a tidy blue jacket to his back. He was also possessed of four pounds and upwards in currency money, and this sum in his present circumstances appeared a mint of treasure.
After he had passed the river and its clustering settlers, he journeyed through bypaths across the bush and was soon deeply immersed in the almost twilight gloom of an Australian forest, where the deepest silence ever prevails. No warbling choristers here greet the merry morn with jocund flights of song. No lowing of herds or bleating of flocks awakes the slumbering echoes. The feathered tribes are here entirely mute or only utter either discordant screams or brief harsh twittering. The solitary bellbird chiefly, whose voice may he heard sometimes, disturbs the primeval solitude with its single sharp note, which resounds through the grove with so great a resemblance to a sheep bell that it requires a practised ear to detect the difference between the bird and the reality.
Animated nature here appears to slumber, for not a single living thing can be seen, except at rare intervals, when a gaudily-marbled goanna of great size may perhaps hurry on his spiral route up a tree to avoid the approaching foot of man, or perchance, a snake may glide hastily across his path, the glittering colours of its skin, in its convolutions, chiefly attracting the eye by their brilliant contrast with the faded dull brown herbage or the dead leaves among which it rustics in its sinuous way. No kangaroo, emu or other larger fowl or animal may be seen; ’tis too near the busy haunts of man, while on the other hand, the domesticated quadrupeds are not found, because this forms part of a large settler’s grant. He has got no stock in this neighbourhood; yet will he not allow his poorer neighbour’s single cow to subsist upon the grass, which annually springs, comes to maturity, is parched to dust by the winds of summer and blown away by the breath of autumn.
Over such a forest tract as this Ralph pursued his way until noon, when, arriving at a pond of water and feeling both tired and hungry, he halted, procured fire by means of his tinder-box, made some tea by boiling it in a quart pot he carried with him, and ate some food he had provided. He next prepared his pipe and lay in luxurious ease upon the grass enjoying the dolce far niente until he fell asleep; and when he again awoke, by the altered position of the sun he thought it must be after three o’clock in the afternoon. He now started up and re-pursued his journey, still alone.
Since he had left the settlement on the banks of the Nepean he had not seen a single human being, nor could he be certain that he was following the right path. Still, from the slight knowledge he possessed of Australian geography, he was assured he must ultimately reach the road leading to the southern settlements by keeping the now declining sun upon his right hand. While these thoughts yet occupied his mind, he saw at some trifling distance before him a man who had seemingly joined the path he was upon from another, which came from towards the east. Rashleigh quickened his steps and called to the stranger, who stopped until he came up, when, after the customary salutations, the former enquired if he were going in the right direction for Liverpool. The other, who was a slim youthful-looking person, replied in a very sweet voice that he believed so, but was himself almost a stranger to that part of the country. Rashleigh now asked from whence the youth came, to which the reply was made that he had lately been in Parramatta, but was now making his way from South Creek to Liverpool.
Rashleigh, on his part, acquainted his new-found companion that he had belonged to Emu Plains, and they beguiled the way by talking over the various topics of interest that had lately occurred in the Colony within the knowledge of either of them until they reached a high-road, which the youngster pronounced to be the one they sought, leading from Sydney southward by Liverpool to Campbelltown, Airds, Appin, etc. After pursuing this for about half an hour, they overtook a cart drawn by a single bullock, who was plodding steadily along, though no driver could be seen. When the travellers came up, however, they perceived an old woman lying down in the bottom of the cart, fast asleep. She, apparently relying on the sagacity of the beast, had resigned herself to the arms of Morpheus, being no doubt stimulated thereto by deep draughts from a small keg, which even in slumber she still enfolded in a most ardently loving embrace.
The cart contained various articles of property of those kinds that generally constitute the bulk of a settler’s swag. There wore pipes, tobacco, the keg above named, a quantity of tea and sugar, two or three coarse cotton striped shirts, and a pair or two of duck trousers.
Rashleigh thought it best to awaken the old lady, fearing if she were robbed it might be discovered they had passed her on the road, and they be blamed and perhaps punished for it; so, after shouting a good many times in vain, he seized the occupant of the cart by the leg. She, arousing herself, stared at both the travellers alternately for a second or two, and then burst out with, “Wirrah! Wirrah! Shpare my life! Shpare my life!” To which our wayfarers, overpowered by her ridiculous attitude and the dolorous gravity of her address, only responded by a loud peal of laughter; and the poor old soul, who, by the by, still clung to the keg with the tenacious grip of desperation, resumed her lament: “For the love of the blissed Vargen, don’t murder me. Take what you want, and go your way!”
Ralph now assured her that they had not the slightest intention, either to injure or rob her, adding that if such had been their purpose, they needed not have aroused her.
“Arrah thin, what du ye want?” demanded the ancient dame.
“Nothing at all; only your company to Liverpool,” returned Rashleigh.
“By the powers thin, my shild, you shall have all that same,” replied the old woman. “Git up and ride in the cart, the pair of yees.” And she now addressed the bullock, saying, “Wo, Nobby! Woa!!”
The poor beast, unconscious of his mistress’s alarm, had still been creeping on at his own discretion, but now obeyed the well-known voice, which he also acknowledged by half turning his head toward the cart and giving it what seemed a deprecatory shake or two on perceiving the proposed addition to his burden. The travellers got up and were most cordially welcomed by its mistress, who supplied them with some empty sacks, upon which her own august person had been reposing, directing them to sit down and handing them the keg when they had done so, inviting them to drink after she had herself sanctified the bunghole by the application thereto of her own sweet lips.
Rashleigh received this vessel, and putting it hastily to his mouth, did not inhale the powerful odour which it emitted; nor was it until — in his own opinion, at least — he had swallowed an ocean of liquid fire that he discovered the contents to consist of very powerful raw rum from Bengal. When he had made this discovery, he hastily set down the keg again, gasping for breath, and testifying his discomfiture by sundry diabolical grins, which elicited great mirth from the old lady, who demanded if he’d never drunk a “drap o’ rum” before.
“Not like that, nor out of such a droll drinking-cup,” was our adventurer’s answer.
“Bother!” rejoined the old girl. “I s’pose you’re of the silver-spoon sort . . . want a chrishthial tumbler to dhrink out of. . . . Here, young man, will you have a taast?” And the youngster, to Rashleigh’s great amazement, put the keg to his head and took a hearty swig.
“Ah, now!” said its mistress. “That’s something like! But by the Jakus, it’s a’ most sundown. Come Nobby, pull foot. You’ll he late at home else! Nobby! Nobby!!”
The old bullock, who at the first mention of his name, had only cocked up his ears and whisked his tail, manifestly mended his pace the second time it was spoken, and absolutely quickened it into a run on the third repetition. Thus rolling and, tumbling one over another through the roughness of the road — while ever and anon some clumsier jump than common would cause uproarious mirth to the merry old dame, who made them ever the apology for another swig at the keg — they jolted into Liverpool, just as it was becoming dusk in the evening.
Liverpool is a town about twenty-one miles from Sydney, on the Great Southern Road of the Colony. It was founded by Governor Macquarie who, in selecting that name for it, seems to have expected it would become an important mart of manufacturing industry or of commercial enterprise. With this view he built an excellent hospital of great extent, a gaol, a barrack and many other public buildings. But alas, His Excellency could neither improve the quality of the soil around it nor supply the deficiency of water; for although a stream called George s river, navigable! — for shell boats — quite up to the town, runs in from Botany Bay to the interior, passing very near Liverpool, yet it flows with salt water, and the only method the inhabitants found, in after times, to obviate this pressing deficiency, was by building a dam across the river’s bed and thus repressing the influence of the tides.
When the old convict system fell to decay and the government establishments were withdrawn, Liverpool sank at once to its proper grade of a village, and that too, one of the very dullest in all the Australian colonies, since from the causes we have named above, it is not nor ever will be the centre of any overabundant agricultural population; while its want of water effectually precludes its becoming a manufacturing town of any note. ’Tis true, if the trifling sum of a few millions were expended in deepening the channel of George’s river, and in removing the impediments it presents to navigation, such as trees drifted by the stream, rocks as large as churches, etc., it might then become a port, though for what trade as yet appears an insoluble mystery.
In the days, of which we write, however, there were 1,500 convicts employed by Government there, and a new church was also erecting by contract, which gave the place quite a bustling and lively appearance as Rashleigh and his companions entered the town, though it was just getting night; for all the workpeople were now returning to their homes, and the prisoners to barracks.
The travellers went on, unheeding the jocular observations made on them by the loiterers, many of whom hailed the old lady in the cart with various quaint kinds of salutation; but she only replied to them by laughing, until a person called out to her in a strong Hibernian tone, “Gerrah, Biddy! Who’s thim in the cart wid you?”
“My governmint min, to be shure, you shpalpeen!” returned Biddy, winking at Ralph, and meaning that they were convicts assigned to her service.
“Asy now wid your jokin’. Shure, id ain’t in airnest she is, young man, is id?” said the querist, appealing to Rashleigh.
“Oh yes,” asserted the latter, to keep up the joke. “We’re this lady’s government men.” And the young lad also joined in this harmless deceit, which appeared highly to delight its object; for, swallowing the story, he roared out, “Whoo! Success, Biddy! Shure, yous’ll all be getting on now, like a house a-fire at both ends!” And they rattled on, leaving him in the midst of apparently earnest congratulations on this stroke of good luck that had fallen to the lot of his old acquaintance Biddy.
As they jolted on their way, this ancient dame kept stimulating the old bullock by repeated cries of “Nobby! Nobby!!” uttered reproachfully whenever that discreet animal showed any symptom of relaxing in his run. And as this continually occurred, so great an expenditure of breath involved a necessity for stimulating herself also with the contents of the keg, an operation at which the old lady was amazingly au fait; for she took such hearty swigs as quite surprised Rashleigh, who frequently wondered with what kind of uninflammable composition her throat must be lined, to enable her to gulp down this liquid lava.
The old dame offered both of her companions in the cart a sup as often as she drank from the keg, and finding Ralph did not avail himself of this invitation, she at last insisted on his doing so, saying, “Gerrah, ye wake-barred crathur! Take some of the native . . . Shure, it’ll keep the cowld out of your stummick this raw night.”
At last, when every bone in Rashleigh’s body ached by reason of the sore bumps he received at the rate of two or three in every second, the ancient crone observed, “Praise be to the Vargen, I see our lights yonder. We’ll soon be at home now, Nobby.”
In a few moments afterwards the old ox turned off the road towards a cluster of huts situated in the centre of a large clearing. The noise of their approach, through the rumbling of the cart and the jingling of the harness, quickly alarmed the canine inhabitants at any rate, so that a right noisy salute now welcomed Biddy’s return; and to judge from the uproar, at least fifty dogs surrounded their vehicle, barking, yelling, jumping and snapping around poor old Nobby the bullock, who however seemed not at all to be disturbed in his equanimity by the vain clamour.
Presently a group of bare-legged urchins, bearing torches formed of filaments stripped from stringy-bark, came racing out, with loud cries of “Here’s Granny. Welcome home, Granny!”
The old woman stopped Nobby with some difficulty, for that sapient beast began to smell his usual place of repose, and two or three of the least that were roaring for a ride were placed in the cart, and once more they were set in motion. The distance was but very short, and the ancient bullock stopped at the door of a large rambling hut of the usual kind, in which were six or seven demi-savage-looking mortals, both men and women apparently, moving busily about by the light of the fire. The old woman now got out first and the “childher, God bless ’em,” after her. The precious keg was next received into her loving arms, having been handed to her by Rashleigh; and the old dame, when she had thus secured all she apparently thought of any value among the miscellaneous contents of the cart, left the remainder of her purchases to be brought in by the young fry, and entered the hut, bearing with her the burden of that dear native, as she called it, which seemed to be the object of her most ardent affection.
“Welcome home, Mother!” said, or shouted, all the group. “How are you after your journey? And how did the corn sell?”
“Why thin, acushla,” replied the old lady, “I’m most bate down wid fatague and wore out wid sore thravelling; but id’s all no odds now . . . Shure, I’m safe at home wanst more! I sowld die corn raking, and I’ve brought you lashins of tobacky, tay and shuger, and a dhrop of the crathur! Bud, by the Jakus, I’m aforgettin’ . . . Here’s two poor thravellers, childher, I fell in wid by the road; and they’ll sthop wid us to-night.”
“Cead mille falteagh! Welcome, kindly welcome!” said all the inmates in a breath. “Dra’ forret to the fire. Supper’s been ready this hour, Granny, and awaitin’ for you.”
“Wen thin, alanna, and now I’m reddy for id . . . But where’s my owld man?” enquired Biddy.
“Faix thin,” returned one of the juniors, “he got tired and wint to bed an hour ago.”
“Did he thin, poor owld sowl!” observed the considerate dame. “Bud shure, I’ll take him a dhrop of the shtuff. 1 know he won’t mind being awakened for that!”
In the mean time some tin pots had been wiped out and a “small taast”, as the ancient granny called it, consisting of about a gill of the fiery spirit, was poured into each. But when all the vessels in the house had been mustered, they were not found enough to afford one to each person; so that they were fain to do as well as they could with one pot to two of their own family. The strangers, however, were scrupulously attended to, and received a cup apiece.
When all were thus accommodated, the “ould woman” cried out. “Now bys and gals, as ye are! I’m going to give you a sintimint . . . And bad loock to the wan that don’t dhrink id wid all the veins of their hart!! Here’s success to ould Ireland, for ever and ever, Amin!”
Rashleigh dared not refuse due honour to a toast like that, so he drank off his liquor — an example which was followed by all the others, repeating at the very top of their voices, “Success to ould Ireland! Whoo!!”
In the mean time “Granny” had gone to an inner apartment, and presently returned divested of her travelling dress, which, it should have been stated, was simply an old horseman’s coat. Bonnet she had none, but an ample night-cap and two or three dirty handkerchiefs did duty in place of it, to keep out cold.
The whole party now sat down to supper, which consisted of pork fried, damper bread, and tea, with abundance of eggs and a very small piece of butter. The meat, as usual, was all put into a dish, which stood in the centre of the table. Plates, knives, forks, or tablecloth were apparently superfluous encumbrances which were utterly unknown to these good folks, each of whom, however, was provided with a pocket-knife, with which he, or she, first cut a slice of the cake, then, selecting a morsel of pork to their fancy, placed the meat on the bread, and sawed away as hard as they liked. The whole family pressed our travellers to help themselves and not to be any ways “sthrange”, but make themselves at home, the old lady taking the lead in these hospitable solicitations. In fact, she would fain have persuaded the strangers to devour enough at least for six meals, telling them that “people on the road ought always to lay in a good foundashun, whin they cud, seein’ that none cud tell how soon they might be short taken, and ded bate for a male of vittles in the wild bush.”
The supper did not pass over without a feeling lament from the ancient dame that “there wor no shpuds (potatoes) to be got in this thieving cullony, bekase they wouldn’t grow in id”: an idea, which, strange as it may now seem, was very prevalent about thirty years since in Australia; for whether it was owing to the want of proper culture or suitable seed or some other cause, it was exceedingly rare to see these well-known roots in any part of New South Wales; or, when they were found after many trials to grow, they scarcely attained the size of hen eggs, even the largest of them, while by far the greater portion were only about as large as musket bullets.
Supper being at length over, the “equipage” was soon removed and the fragments were equitably shared among two or three pet pigs, which enjoyed the privilege of the entrée into this Australian dining-room, where, indeed, if certain indubitable symptoms on the floor might be credited, they felt themselves, if anything, rather more at home than the inmates; for the human inhabitants of this choice domicile, though they were sufficiently indifferent to filth, yet did not go the length of defiling the room to quite so great an extent as the four-footed denizens.
The philanthropic tenderness of this primitive family was not confined to the progeny of the sty only, but was extended to a sick calf that was nursed in one corner and a favourite mare whose accouchement had taken place in another. The latter, indeed, seemed to fancy her temporary quarters so well that although she had now occupied them more than three months, she still made her way to the accustomed place at nightfall, where she behaved herself with due and befitting gravity, as might be expected from an animal of advanced age. Her foal, on the other hand, appeared a perfect imp of playful mischief, for during the meal, he could scarcely he restrained from mounting on the supper table altogether; and he played various tricks by stealing bread from the juniors, then turning round to kick at them, thus adding with all the levity of youth — in every case — insult to injury, but which only elicited shouts of laughter and applause from the admiring witnesses of his frolics, the younger fry of whom enjoyed his tricks in an uproarious manner, as he formed a most befitting playmate and jovial companion for them. Beside the quadrupeds, who shared the floor, a host of fowls roosted among the timbers of the open roof, whose loud cackling at times testified their unqualified alarm when the mirth of the family became too obstreperous.
As soon as the table was cleared, a bucket was placed upon it, to serve as a stand for the rum-keg, which was presently hoisted into its place surrounded by all the tin pots they could find. A supply of the tobacco brought by the old lady from Sydney was next distributed to those who required it, and a few neighbours dropping in, they seemed bent on enjoying themselves, for two or three shapeless fragments of drinking-vessels having been filled up with grease and provided with twisted rags inserted in each to act instead of lamps in illuminating a space which had been cleared from obstacles, half a dozen of the youngsters, both male and female, stood up to dance, an amusement which one or other kept up with great zest for many hours, although their only music was a large and ardent tin dish, beaten after the manner of a tambourine, by a person who really seemed to consider it a labour of love, at least if one might judge by the awful intensity of the thumps he bestowed upon his instrument from time to time.
The seniors, in the mean time, sat on either hand, enveloped in the vapour raised by their dhudeens, which soared in mist above their heads until it joined the main body of smoke arising from the fireplace, which, according to established Australian usage, eschewed the meanness of sneaking off by the regular vent, but rather seemed to prefer struggling to get out through the interstices of the roof.
The grave sages who sat around on such seats as chance provided, among which buckets and tubs turned upside down appeared to be the favourites, from time to time emitted their admiration of the performers on the “light fantastic toe” by loud shouts, such as, “Hurra, Paddy!” “Now go it, Mick!” “You’re the gal. Biddy!” “That’s the darlin’, Norry!” and turned from time to time to each other, criticising upon the excellencies or defects which the style of either exhibited. The ardent founder of the feast, in the mean time, was not at all idle, either in partaking of the consolation derivable from the contents of the keg or in dispensing it to the guests. So, about midnight, there was as pretty a chaos of dancing, drinking, roaring, shouting, singing, love-making, kissing and fighting as Rashleigh had ever borne witness to in all his days.
He kept as sober as he could without affording serious offence to the hospitable intentions of his hostess, who many a time and oft replenished his tin when he would fain have been excused. He also contrived to remain neutral in a corner, pleading his fatigue as a reason for not dancing, and was by this means considered fair game by an old fellow, who had been transported to New South Wales for participating in the Irish rebellion of ‘98. This senior posted himself at Rashleigh’s side and began a long detail, in most prosaic style and execrable English, of his wonderful feats at Vinegar Hill and Enniscorthy, at last favouring him with a song of interminable length in the Irish language relating to the same, a musical treat which our adventurer most willingly would have dispensed with, as he knew as much of Sanscrit as of the language in question.
But the prosy old chap persisted in his monotonous chant, until a loud and apparently excited voice having roared out, “Whoo, Shanavest!” at the end of the hut, the ancient songster ceased his ditty, jumped up, and ran to the spot, which now appeared the scene of a regular scrimmage, or “hurra” fight.
The only sounds at all distinguishable by Rashleigh’s ears were “Whoo, Shanavest!”, “Whoo, Carawot!” which ever and anon pealed high above the din of conflict, being apparently used as battle-cries of contending parties, whose strife now raged fierce and fell. Old and young, males and females were mingled in the MêLéE, wielding sticks, buckets, broken stools, or whatever else came to hand, kicking, cuffing, cursing, swearing, raging and tearing, the men fighting hand to hand with cruel oaths, the women engaged in more distant combat, swelling the din with their shrill screams. The children roared, the dogs growled and bayed fiercely, finally tearing one another with tooth and claw in ambitious emulation of their masters, the pigs squeaked and the fowls lent their shrill cackling to augment the uproar, which seemed of duration as interminable as the confusion was appalling. In all the row, however, the two strangers were strictly regarded as neutrals, nor did any of the combatants approach them, their only danger being from the many missiles that flew about in all directions.
At length, the belligerents were carried outside by “the fierce current of the heady fight”, and the interior of the dwelling was left in the deep repose of silence for a short time; after which, the inmates began to straggle back, one by one, to vent their maudlin grief at the scene of utter dilapidation presented by their household appurtenances, but pouring out the fulness of their sorrow in pathetic jeremiads over the prostrate rum-keg, which had been overthrown early in the conflict, so that a great portion of its precious contents had escaped on the floor, where part of it lay in puddles, mingled with the other abominations of this unsavoury apartment.
But old Granny herself, who lay prone in a corner, soon attracted the attention of her dutiful offspring, one of whom staggered towards her; and after twice or thrice falling down himself in vain attempts to lift up his fallen parent, he at length gave up this mode of succour as being unattainable under present circumstances, and after his last tumble, having gained a sitting position, he edged closer to his mother and taking her head in his lap, found to his horror that it was covered with blood. He instantly broke out into a sort of prolonged howl, that might have almost awakened the dead, saying at last, “Ochone! Ochone! Mother darlint, can’t you tell your own Tady who’s afther killing you, and by the Jakus, I’ll make him smell hell, so I will! Och, wirrah, wirrah! What’ll we doe”
By and by the pulling and dragging the old dame got from her sympathising and sorrowful sons and daughters actually restored her to life; for it appeared she was not dead through the flight of her immortal spirit, but through the quantity, amounting to a superabundance, of spirits which she had poured down her throat. In other and plainer terms, she was dead drunk! But now, slowly opening her eyes, she gazed around in most ludicrous amazement, and heaving a deep sigh, exclaimed, “Wirrah! Wirrah! Where am I? Sure it’s losht, and disthroyed, kilt, and murdered I am, in the ind ov my days!”
All the rest, as with one accord, roared out to know “who bate her”. And the old lady was about to reply when her eyes rested on the rum-keg.
Springing on her feet, she leaped towards this cherished darling of her heart’s warmest affection with an agility that quickly set the minds of the bystanders at ease as to her having received any very serious injury. But on finding out the diminished state of the contents of that valued receptacle, the old lady burst into a fresh storm of passionate exclamations, until at last her mouth having approached the bunghole, the fading echoes of her voice were lost in the reverberating cavity of the keg. Everyone present now followed the old dame’s example, and this genial refresher having apparently cured all their complaints, they retired to rest, the travellers being accommodated with a shake-down of straw on a sheet of bark before the fire.
There woman reigns: The mother, daughter, wife
Strews with fresh flowers the narrow way of life.
Around her knees domestic duties wait,
And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.
The next morning Rashleigh and his companion were first stirring. The latter, somewhat to Ralph’s surprise, made a fire, swept up the earthen floor, and put the débris of the last night’s battle into as tidy a state as he could, for which both received the warmest thanks of their hosts when they arose. A breakfast, ample in quantity though rude in quality, being soon after paraded and discussed, the wayfarers departed, having been first obliged to take a “taast of the native” just as old Biddy said, “to wash away the cobwebs out of their heads, afther lasht night”., and to this was added a hearty invitation, if ever either of them “passed the door”, a threatened curse if he did so without calling in being implied, of course.
The route of the travellers now lay along the high-road between Liverpool and Campbelltown, at which latter place Rashleigh’s companion intimated his journey would end. There were at that time no ponds and but few houses near the highway in this part, and they suffered a good deal from thirst as the clay was very warm. They had, however, no remedy save that of using greater speed, and they accordingly reached the few scattered huts then dignified by the name of Campbelltown soon after midday. They went into the first public-house to solace their thirst, and Ralph observed that the young man, before he would enter, went to a window that commanded a view of the single public apartment as if he were anxious to ascertain who was inside; after taking this survey they went in and quenched their drought with copious draughts of cider.
Rashleigh proposed to remain awhile to rest and invited his companion to dine at his expense; but the latter refused, urgently requesting instead that our adventurer would accompany him to his sister’s, whither he was himself bound, and which was at no great distance, adding that he was sure Ralph would be most welcome for his sake. This being at last agreed to, our exile purchased a bottle of rum, unknown to the other, which he designed to carry with him as he had observed enough of colonial society to he certain that this stimulus was always an acceptable adjunct to a settler’s meal, and that the bringer of any was sure of being doubly welcome.
Having put the liquor up in his bundle, he followed his companion, who was conversing outside with some female, from whom he parted when joined by Rashleigh. They both proceeded on their way, which led them off the high-road, past the church along a narrow lane bordered by fields of green maize, through which they walked for nearly a mile, until at the edge of a piece of standing timber, they saw a pretty little hut with more of an English appearance about it than any other Rashleigh had yet seen in Australia. Although it was formed of the ordinary bush materials, the frame being of split timber and its roof barked, yet the walls had been coated externally with mud, after the manner of rough casting — colonially called “daubing”— and this when dry had been well whitewashed. There was also a verandah ranging along the whole front, around the rough untrimmed wooden pillars of which a few parasitical plants had been trained; and before the dwelling — what was a most uncommon rarity in those days to see-there was actually a plot of flowers.
Small, indeed, was the extent of that little parterre, and very very common were its plants; yet, from its extreme rarity, it breathed the balmy breath of old England’s cherished homes around the travellers as sweetly as if it had contained many acres and had been appended to a palace.
“This is my sister’s,” said Rashleigh’s companion, and Ralph fancied there was some exultation in the tone; at any rate, he thought a little pride in so neat a relative would not he unbecoming. The front door was shut, and the travellers went round to the rear of the house, where they saw a spacious yard, well enclosed by a high fence made of cornstalks set upright and kept in their places by rails of split timber on each side of them. Through the gate of the enclosure might be seen a number of fowls and a few pigs; and there was a stockyard visible, with milking sheds and pens for calves, from which a woman was now approaching, who quickened her steps at the sight of strangers.
Rashleigh’s companion spoke not, though it was plain he was subjected to a very earnest scrutiny by her who now came towards them, and who at last, to Ralph’s extreme surprise, cried out, “What, Jane! My dear girl! Is that you?” And the two sisters, for such they were, were presently enfolded in a warm embrace. After a few hasty enquiries they entered the house, our adventurer being invited to accompany them. The females soon withdrew into an inner apartment, and their visitor had time to comment upon the very different appearance of this hut from that of most belonging to the lower classes in the Colony.
The floor, ’tis true, was only made of cow dung and ashes trod into a solid and firm mass, but then, it was level and clean-swept. The stools and tables, though all of the coarsest make, being apparently the handiwork of the settler himself, were scoured until they were perfectly white. The tin pots and dishes all shone with the resplendence of new-minted silver, and the whole of the interior was whitewashed to almost a degree of fastidious purity. The walls, in place of pictures or any other production of art, were decorated and relieved by suspended bunches of fresh-gathered and sweetly-scented flowering shrubs, the most choice indigenous produce of the neighbouring bush.
Rashleigh was musing upon the wide difference between this hut and the one in which he had spent the previous night, though it had been occupied by persons of the same rank in life and having the same means of improvement with his present hosts, when the door of the bedroom opened and the mistress of the house made her reappearance. After a few commonplace remarks she busied herself to set out the dinner. She was a woman apparently of twenty-five, who, though no great beauty, had a very pleasing countenance. Her dress was of the simplest form, the only parts in view being a kind of dimity jacket tied dose up to the throat in front, and extending a short distance below the hips, with short sleeves, which left bare the arm from the elbow, and a blue dungaree petticoat with a checked apron. A pair of slippers, apparently made by the wearer, completed her costume, for she wore no cap, her hair being neatly, although very plainly, arranged.
In a few minutes Ralph’s late travelling companion made her appearance, dressed in a very neat and becoming style as a female; and now our adventurer began to wonder how it was he had not made the discovery of her sex during the many miles they had journeyed together. This idea perhaps his countenance betrayed, for his former companion, after shaking his hand, laughed and said, “I suppose you had no idea your fellow-traveller was a woman, had you?”
The comical look which accompanied Rashleigh’s acknowledgement how well she had sustained the part of a man so as completely to deceive him, caused great mirth to both the sisters, and they enjoyed it very heartily, after which the matron went to the back of the house, and ascending on a stump, gave a very loud and shrill cooee for her husband to cease labour and come to dinner.
Presently the “good man” entered, accompanied by a little troop of children, who, after washing themselves and welcoming their relative and the stranger, sat down to their meal, which, though consisting of only salt pork, pumpkins and bread, with tea as usual to drink, was far better prepared than is general, the meat having been soaked to deprive it of a portion of the salt; and the pumpkins, besides having been pared before they were boiled, were steamed after they were done, which made them dry and mealy instead of being, to use a colonial phrase, “all of a squash” when they were served up, which is generally the case. The bread was leavened and baked in a huge loaf under an inverted iron pot, which nude it much lighter and more palatable as well as more enticing in appearance than the ordinary damper simply cooked in the ashes of a wood fire.
The appearance of both father and children told that the hand which thus laboured for their creature comforts also extended its attention to their personal wants. Rashleigh noticed as they came in that the children washed themselves in water set ready near the back door, even to their feet; and those who were too little to do this properly for themselves were cleaned up by the elder ones. Their clothing was certainly simple enough, each and all wearing only a kind of pinafore or smock frock reaching from the neck to the ankle and made of very coarse osnaburg, but kept as clean and whole as the nature of their employment allowed. Besides this single garment, each youngster was equipped with a coarse straw hat, but of shoes they had none among them, for probably, like nearly all Australian children, they looked on them as useless encumbrances.
The father’s striped shirt, sleeved waistcoat and duck trousers were all clean and carefully mended; nay, his very boots, though patched in all directions, had evidently been well greased only the night before. in short, cleanliness and care appeared to be the chief attributes of all belonging to this house, which formed a complete contrast to the dwellings of Australian farmers in general.
The husband, who was addressed by the very unpretending appellation of Bob, welcomed his sister-in-law with great cordiality, but during dinner he enquired whether there had not come two men down the lane. On being told that Jane was one of them, he laughed and asked how far she had come in that dress. She replied all the way from Parramatta, and the reason she had adopted it was because she thought it a good deal safer to travel as a man than a woman, especially on foot and alone. Bob observed, “I don’t know how anybody could he deceived in your baby face. I am sure I should find you out in any dress for a woman.”
Dinner soon being ended, Rashleigh apologized for taking such a liberty and produced his bottle of rum. The host at first declined taking any, but at length, his sister-in-law joining our adventurer in pressing him, he agreed, upon condition that his eldest boy should be sent into Campbelltown for some more liquor, so that they should not be altogether drinking at the stranger’s expense. This being complied with, and the rest of the youngsters dispatched to their several occupations, the four seniors sat down to drink their grog and play at cards for a couple of hours, when the females pleaded fatigue and retired to lie down, while our hero and his new-found friend stuck to the sport a while longer, until, upon Rashleigh’s stating that he would like to look at the farm, they set out together for a stroll.
The portion of land cultivated by Bob did not exceed fifty acres, but it was all good soil, well cleared and carefully tilled. The fences were nearly new, and maintained in good order; in short, all the arrangements bespoke as much care out of doors as the aspect of their domestic management proved to reign within the walls of their humble home.
Bob told his companion in the course of their walk that he had been free about two years, having spent all the period of his sentence in the service of a rich settler near Campbelltown, to whom he had acted as working overseer for about four years. When he had married he had held a ticket of leave, but preferred remaining with his old master until he became free altogether, because he well knew that a ticket was at best but a very fragile indulgence, liable to be lost at the will of any great man who might wish to injure the holder.
When he received his certificate, finding that the savings of himself and his wife would amount to a pretty fair beginning, he had looked about him awhile, and having discovered that the land he now occupied was unused and remained in a state of nature, he made enquiries respecting the owner, whom he at last discovered to be a military officer abroad with his regiment, and that a merchant in Sydney acted as his agent.
To this gentleman, therefore, Bob went, and after a little bargaining, obtained from him a lease of the whole farm for seven years, on condition of his clearing fifty acres out of the 1,280 of which the grant consisted, and giving it up in a well-fenced and cultivable state at the end of the lease if required to do so. Only a little while before Rashleigh’s visit, Bob had been to Sydney, where he chanced to see the merchant in question, who told him Colonel Cornewell — the owner — had written lately to him, stating that if the tenant liked to clear and fence another fifty acres, he might occupy the whole of the grant for fourteen years instead of seven. To this proposal the farmer had agreed. A fresh lease on these terms had therefore been executed, so that the land was now his for twelve years more, certain; and they hoped, if they had success during that term, to be able to purchase a piece of land of their own at the expiration of their occupancy.
Of course, both Bob and his wife had worked very hard, both day and night occasionally, in falling, stumping and burning off the land, and Rashleigh found that this truly industrious woman had always shared her husband’s toils, from the first. She helped him cross-cut the trees, roll them together, mend the fires, put up the fences; indeed, she was, as Bob observed, better to him than any government man or even free hired servant would probably be, for she worked with greater zeal, knowing that herself and her children reaped all the benefit of her labour. Even at that time she still wrought as occasion required the same as a man; for her husband’s old master always lending him oxen to yoke their plough, Mary drove the bullocks while Bob held the stilts, so that the tedious operation of breaking up the land with a hoe was avoided.
While they thus talked they came to a piece of rich low land which was under tobacco; and here were the young ones, busily engaged with diminutive hoes, chipping between the rows to kill the weeds. Their father praised their industry, and Ralph taking one of their tools, Bob took another and worked awhile, to give the children a spell.
They were thus engaged when one of the youngsters cried out, “Look, daddy! There’s a gentleman at the fence.”
On turning to observe him, they perceived a person making towards them dressed in a clean grey shooting-coat, white trousers, black hat — in fact, a very decent-looking man. Coming up, he saluted both the men and enquired if one Robert Marshall lived thereabout, to which Bob replied, “I am the person.”
“Oh!” replied the other. “Then Mr Hammell of Campbelltown told me you’d got some fat pigs to sell, and I am buying pigs.”
“Why,” answered Bob; “I did think of selling some pigs, but I think I’ll require the meat myself now. How many do you want?”
“I want to buy a score or two, if I can,” said the stranger, at the same time rather ostentatiously rattling some dollars in his trousers pocket.
Ralph continued to eye this new arrival, for he thought he knew the slim form and pale, youthful, rather pretty-looking face again. He was just going to burst out laughing, but a glance checked him as his eye met that of the stranger; and all three turned to go towards the house, conversing as they went about the weather, the state of the crops, and the prospects of the settlers generally. When they had got up to the dwelling, Marshall called out his wife, who quickly made her appearance, and they both walked a short distance apart to converse together.
In the mean time Rashleigh said, “Aha, Mistress Jane, I knew it was you,” though in truth, he was not very sure of it.
But the stranger smiled archly and replied, “Hush! We’re going to have a bit of fun with Bob.”
The others now returned; but Ralph observed that Mary shunned to meet her sister’s eye and also kept a corner of her apron crammed in her month as if to stifle her inclination to laugh. Marshall and his customer went to the pigsty together, where the animals he was willing to sell were pointed out, most eloquently descanted upon by him, and knowingly examined by the pretended pig dealer, who, after a good deal of chaffering, finally struck a bargain, and the contracting parties adjourned to the house to pay for them and take a receipt.
Writing materials being procured, the stranger sat down, and made a great parade of looking out the cash. Rashleigh, having been requested to draw up the necessary document, enquired the purchaser’s name.
“My name?” returned the soi-disant pig merchant, with an arch look at Marshall, “why, my name is Jane Bates.” At which Marshall jumped up and making a playful blow at his sister-in-law’s head, knocked her hat off, and then her luxuriant hair, bursting its fastenings, tumbled all over her face, amid the laughter of Jane and Rashleigh, and to the discomfiture of Bob, who was forced at length to own, not only that he did not detect his sister’s disguise, but what was more strange, that he did not know his own best clothes and hat which she had got on. But, as he observed, the latter after all was not so much of a wonder, because he had only worn them about twice, for he very seldom dressed himself up, having something else to do.
By this time the lowing of cattle announced that the cows had come home, and the men went out to put up the calves in their pen for the night. The stockyard, though small, was strong and compact, formed of four horizontal rails and a cap, making in all a fence about seven feet high. The bails for milking and the calf pen were both roofed with bark and floored with slabs. The herd comprised only eight milkers; but, as Marshall remarked, eight good ones were worth fifty wild brutes that no one could get near, and every one of these had cost him ￡20 apiece. They had got some fine heifers and steers running with them; four of the latter Marshall intended breaking in the next year, so he hoped soon to have a team of his own.
At sunset the children all came in to supper, and Jane, having by that time changed her dress, once more assisted their mother in washing them and getting ready for their evening meal, which seemed, by the extent of the preparations, to be considered the chief one of the day. Indeed, Bob observed that was the case, as a farmer could then take his time and enjoy himself after his day’s work. Accordingly, the viands included short cakes, light bread, good fresh butter, cream with the tea, a couple of young fowls broiled, and plenty of eggs, to which ample justice was done by all.
After supper, the young fry being dismissed to play for an hour in the stockyard, the seniors drew their chairs around the fire, each with a little hot grog, to converse together, Marshall having asked Jane how she had been getting on lately. Rashleigh discovered she had only just become free out of the Female Factory at Parramatta — the place where all the female convicts not in assigned service are kept at labour. It appeared that Jane had been a kind of overseer, or monitress there, until she had lately become free. And by her accounts, the inmates of that choice establishment for reclaiming the dissolute members of the tender sex were little less than incarnate furies, as the following relation, made by the young woman in question, will show.
Only a short time prior to this period a kind of food called hominy had been issued to the convicts of both sexes in the Colony as part of their rations, which was new to them, it being a sort of porridge made from boiled Indian corn meal. This issue, being a substitution for other and more palatable food, had caused serious discontent among all the prisoners, the carriage of the Governor upon the Race Course at Sydney having, as a mark of their displeasure, been placarded by stealth with a paper bearing the marvellously ill-written and worse-spelt inscription of
“Thiss year his ommani toms drag — lord send itt ma drag im to ell.”
At which the Australasian representative of royalty was so grievously irate that he offered a reward of ￡50 to discover the daring scoundrel who wished to send him such a long journey to a place having so hot a climate; but though the author of this insult was never discovered, yet the exertions made by the authorities upon the occasion, and the distribution of a few thousand lashes among the grumblers effectually prevented any worse consequences from the male convicts.
The gentle dames at the Female Factory, however, openly rebelled the first morning the hominy was offered to them, and most positively as well as disdainfully refused to receive it. On this emergency one of the most active members of the magistracy that formed the governing committee of the institution was sent for, and the revd gentleman, who was very short and very fat, came bustling in, much out of breath with his haste. The cause of the uproar having been stated to him, he declared that he was perfectly surprised at their conduct — this would appear rather a premature declaration, seeing what followed — and attempted to reason with the exasperated fair ones, winding up an eloquent oration in praise of hominy by stating that he frequently ate it himself and liked it very well. One of the hardiest of the Amazons now exclaimed with many expletives that if he had been always obliged to live upon it he’d never have possessed such a paunch as he then could boast of; but, added she, turning to her companions, “As he’s so fond of it, in the devil’s name let him have plenty of it.” And she suited the action to the word by snatching a small kit or piggin of the much-lauded condiment from one of the bystanders, who had brought it for the magistrate’s inspection. That revd gentleman, overpowered by the heat of the day and the fervour of his eloquence, had removed his hat and was wiping away the perspiration from his rubicund face, when the last words of the virago were spoken, and ere he could avert the infliction by any means, she inverted the little kit on his head, driving the vessel down with her fist.
Fortunately, the hominy had got a little cool pending the dispute, or the consequences might have been serious. Still the mess — which much resembled hasty pudding in consistency — was hot enough to be very painful. Besides, the little kit fitted his head so tightly as to defy his hurried efforts to remove it; but at last His Reverence escaped, nearly suffocated by this novel poultice, and pursued by inextinguishable merriment from the mob of women.
In the mean time, a violent onslaught had been made upon the body of insurgent Amazons by the matron, or female superintendent, at the head of a sort of bodyguard of monitresses and other she-official toadies, who wished to rescue His Reverence from the sacrilegious claws of his enemies; but alas, the daughters of Belial were too strong for them. These well-meaning personages — matron and all — were overpowered, and every one compelled, under the direst threats of punishment, to swallow each the allowance dispensed for six women, which in good truth was nearly enough to burst them; and then, as a parting salute, the rebels shaved every particle of hair from the scalps both of the superior and of her satellites, finally letting them go as bald as Capuchin friars — a mode of treatment, by the way, which the prisoners might have considered in some degree to partake of the nature of retributive justice, as shaving the heads of incorrigibles had been recently recommended by the Matron and adopted by the assembled committee to be put in force as a punishment for misbehaviour by the confines.
This second revolt of the Harem was not quelled until after the escape of many of the ringleaders, which was vainly endeavoured to be prevented by calling in the aid of a company of soldiers. But these gallant militaires, who belonged to an Irish regiment recently arrived from the “isle of saints”, swore they’d “rather kiss the darlin’s than charge them”. So they grounded their arms and allowed the Amazons to escape without opposition, after which order was at length restored among those who chose to remain.
In talk of this kind the evening passed sociably away, and at a late hour the party separated. Rashleigh was accommodated with a comfortable bed and the luxury of a clean pair of sheets for the first time since he had left Sydney. After a luxurious repose, for the enjoyment of which the night seemed much too short, our hero arose, and declining to wait for breakfast, took leave of his hospitable entertainers and departed, amid reciprocal good wishes, with a cordial invitation from Marshall to come and see them as soon as he could obtain liberty from his new master.
Her face wad fyle the Logan-Water;
Oh, sic a wife as willie had,
I wadna gie a button for her.
It was early morning when Rashleigh took the road once more, pondering upon the comfort enjoyed by these industrious people, whose whole mode of life and manners formed so complete a contrast to that of the lower classes of Australian society that he scarcely dared to hope the habitation of Mr Arlack, to which he was bound, would be in any way comparable to it.
According to the directions he had received, he now retraced his steps towards Campbelltown, and going on to a small public-house at the southern end of its straggling street, obtained some breakfast, after which he enquired among a knot of idlers who were playing at quoits which was the road leading to Mr Arlack’s.
“Mr Arlack!” replied the man to whom he addressed himself. “I never knowed as he had got a handle to his name before!”
Then, calling to one of his compeers, he shouted, “Why, what do you think! Here’s a cove as wants to find out Mr Arlack’s. An’t that a pretty go?
“Ho! ho! ho!” roared out the other. “I say, young fellow, how long have you been in the Colony?”
“About two years and a half,” replied Ralph.
“Oh! Then you’re only green yet, as green as a savoy cabbage; but old Lunnon Bob is the name we gives your Mr Arlack. What do you want with him, eh?”
“Why, I am assigned to him,” responded Rashleigh.
“Aye, aye! Assigned to him, are you? Let’s look at your teeth,” said the other; and our adventurer, simply enough, opened his mouth.
“Ha! By George!” swore the querist. “You’d better knock one half of them there grinders o’ yourn out again the first iron-bark fence you come to; for in the first place, you’ll have no use at all for them at old Bob’s, and in the next, Polly Arlack will hate you like hell, for she’ll think you’ve come a’purpose to eat her out of house and home.”
At this sally, the man’s brother compotators testified their satisfaction by redoubled peals of horse-laughter; and Rashleigh, taking such treatment in dudgeon, was about to depart when the fellow who had first spoken to him offered him a drink of something from a pot he held, saying as he did so, “Never mind that old fellow, he’s only having a lark with you. Come, drink a drop o’ this; you won’t have a chance again soon. Now, do you see them slip-rails? Well, you must rum down a road that leads through them, and follow it along until you come to a farm you’ll see in a cleared bottom; enquire there and they’ll show you the path to Lunnon Bob’s.”
Thanking the man, Rashleigh followed the route he had thus indicated, and soon arrived at the first farm, where the dogs, to the number of at least a score, rushed out upon him with tremendous yells, their gaunt and bony frames testifying such an extremity of famine as might well inspire fear in the breast of anyone whom they assailed, lest the ravenous brutes should immolate him as the readiest means of appeasing that hunger which had reduced them to skeletons.
This danger he happily escaped, and being again instructed as to the proper path, at length arrived upon Bob Arlack’s farm. The culture of this cherished spot of the earth’s surface did not afford any very high specimen of the arts of agriculture. Weeds of rank and luxuriant growth formed by far the most prominent objects in the so-called cultivated field, amid which, in one corner, about ten acres of straggling rows of maize seemed to maintain a most desperate conflict for sufficient air from the heavens and nutriment from the soil to enable them to support a sickly existence.
Other crops there seemed to be none, and the rest of the cleared land was enjoyed by the weeds in undisputed supremacy. Where the fence could be seen, it appeared in a most dilapidated condition; the bush poles of which it had at first been composed were in many places broken down and in others altogether missing, thus leaving the paddock they were destined to secure at the mercy of any vagrant animal who might chance to stray that way. At the farther end of this clearing might be seen a cluster of huts, towards which a narrow pathway appeared to lead, that Rashleigh now followed; but upon his getting near his destination, the view did not afford any very cheering anticipations of his future lot.
The principal dwelling, or home of all the Arlacks, was a hut which, even in that age of simple materials and rude workmanship, might claim pre-eminence for ugliness and deformity. The walls, having dropped much out of the perpendicular, were shoved up by props applied externally. The gaping orifices in the bark roof bespoke premature decay, occasioned by neglect. The chinks between the slabs, of fully an average width, had once been attempted to be stopped; but the rain having wetted the plaster through the yawning fissures, it had fallen in piecemeal, and was never renewed; and finally, it seemed a moot point whether there was more filth to be found inside, or out, of this most delectable dwelling.
As Ralph drew nigh the door, a shoal of half-starved hens and ducks disputed the precedence of the entrée with him; while just as he was crossing the threshold, a whole flight of these fowl intruders, apparently alarmed by some unexpected opposition from within, fluttered out past his head with most discordant screams. Inside the hut was a being of epicene gender; at least, its dress rendered sex doubtful, inasmuch as the upper parts, which first met his gaze, were, a tattered man’s hat and shirt, both marvellously out of repair, and utterly unacquainted with any kind of ablution or other purification. The elf locks which in greasy and matted luxuriance shaded her face, and a questionable garment that depended from her middle, looking more like a petticoat, however, than anything else, seemed in Rashleigh’s opinion to stamp this apparition of uncleanliness as a female, and accordingly he saluted her as such, with, “Pray, ma’am, is Mr Arlack at home?”
The lady replied, “He’ll be here just now. What do you want with him? Drat them fowls!” she added parenthetically. “What a deuce of a row they kick up!”
“Why, ma’am,” replied our exile, “I’m assigned to him, from Emu Plains.”
“Oh,” returned the dame. “You’re the new government man. Sit down and rest yourself.” And then she began again the execution of some domestic duty which the irruption of the feathered invaders had apparently interrupted.
Rashleigh, having obeyed her injunctions to be seated, calmly surveyed his future mistress at his leisure. In person Mrs Arlack was rather above the middle height, but so far from being en bon point that her enemies called her skinny. Her cheek bones in particular were remarkably prominent. Above these twinkled a sparkling pair of small greenish-grey eyes. These orbs of vision, in apparent mistrust of the “willainy of the world”, as Arlack would express it, had retreated as far as possible from the surface of her countenance, and taken up their abode at the bottom of two deep caverns, the entrances to which were fortified by stiff bristly overhanging brows of portentous size and a very dirty flaxen hue. Her nose, from its irregular aquiline shape, bore no slight resemblance to the broken bill of a cockatoo, but ever appeared to maintain an anxious guard over the orifice that formed a most capacious mouth, into which, in fact, the nasal protuberance seemed desirous of intruding its extremity at least.
Her complexion, as far as the important fact could be ascertained through the dirt which so perpetually begrimed it, was a kind of dingy yellow, and her voice was a not very melodious compound of a growl and a squeak.
As Mrs Arlack was so philosophically negligent of the means of setting off her own most powerful natural charms by any recourse to the fastidious arts of tidiness or cleanliness, it may easily be conceived that her dwelling was none of the neatest on earth. Indeed, the complicated arrangement of unhewn timber, which by the greatest stretch of courtesy was called a table, appeared never to have been cleansed or washed since it first was put together and at present afforded a singular mélange of movables, among which may just be mentioned a large black iron pot, leaning negligently on one side, so as to show a little hominy in the bottom; a few wooden spoons, of most indubitable native manufacture, as they might vie in size as well as rudeness with the paddles used by the Tonga Islanders; some half-munched fragments of corn cake; in divers places a plentiful sprinkling of tobacco ashes from the pipe of the proprietor; a lump of blackish-yellow home-made soap swimming in a puddle of slop; a lot of ragged children’s clothing, with a few filthy napkins among them; and some four or five dirty tin pots, which were battered and bruised into all manner of shapes.
The earthen floor of this recherché retreat was plentifully strewn with fowls’ dung, agreeably chequered by petty lagoons of stinking water. The fireplace, for want of care, had most grievously suffered in its contests with the fury of the element it was erected to control, for many of the slabs that composed it were burned quite across at their bottoms, leaving large orifices for the accommodation of a stray dog or pig who might wish to enjoy the genial warmth of the ashes, which a grunter was at that moment doing, having stretched his lazy length along in perilous proximity to a blazing log.
To crown all, the hut appeared the chosen rendezvous of myriads of fleas upon the floor and of clouds of flies in the air, the perpetual biting of the former serving to counteract the somnolent desires occasioned by the monotonously drowsy hum of the latter.
While Rashleigh was intently gazing upon the varied rich and rare beauties of this charming prospect, a pot on the fire near him boiled over suddenly, and Mrs Arlack cried out, in a tone like that of a cracked tin trumpet, “What the hell are you gaping at, you, sir? Why don’t you take the pot off?”
This he hastened to do, and the lady added, “You’d better look a little smart here, I can tell you. We don’t like no sleepy-going coves about our farm.”
In a few minutes more, Mr Arlack appeared at the door, dressed in a dirty and ragged cotton shirt, ditto duck continuations, a dilapidated straw hat, and boots to match.
His beauteous helpmate said, “Here, Bob, is a new government man for you;” and showed him the pass which she had received from Rashleigh.
While his new master was reading, or rather pretending to read this pass, Rashleigh observed that Mr Arlack was short, squat and bowlegged. His mouth, to use a colonial witticism, was unlike a poor man’s lease in being “from y-ear to y-ear”, because it stretched from here to yonder; and yet, in spite of its size, it seemed still to be too small for his tongue, which, whenever its owner was quiescent, protruded very much and wobbled about in an extraordinary way as often as he spoke.
Besides the decidedly open feature above referred to, Arlack possessed a most splendid squint with both eyes, so that it was often observed he would make a capital cook, as he could always keep one eye on the pot while he surveyed the intricacies of the chimney with the other; and, to complete the catalogue of his complexional recommendations, his face was absolutely furrowed, seamed and gashed until it had nearly lost a human shape by the pitiless assaults of the smallpox.
As Mr Arlack had originally been a member of the ardent fraternity of chummies in the cityward regions of London, he had there contracted the usual cockney contempt for the letters “v” and “w”, transposing those much injured visible signs of spoken sounds in the most careless and ludicrous manner. His first address to our adventurer exemplified this peculiarity; for having apparently at last deciphered the date of the pass, he demanded, “Vell, and vere have you been to all this vile? Vy didn’t you come ’ere sooner than this ’ere?”
“I am not a very good hand at walking,” replied Rashleigh; “but I did not lose much time on the road, any more than I could help.”
“Um,” replied the other. “I s’pose not; but howsomever, I von’t take no furder notice of this ’ere breach. Sally, did you give him his mess?”
“No,” said Sally. “I thought there was time enough.”
“Vell, vell. Give it to him now, and let him go to his hut,” returned the caro sposo of the amiable lady, who thereupon left off mixing up her corn meal and enquired of Ralph, “What are you going to put your mess in?”
“Why,” returned the other, “I don’t know, unless you may be good enough to lend me a bag.”
“Well, I’m sure!” retorted the dame. “Lend you a bag, indeed! A pretty thing, as if I’d got nothing to do but make bags for government men!”
As this was spoken with sufficient haughtiness to show that she was fully aware of the immeasurable distance in point of station between herself and the applicant, Ralph saw he could not hope for any accommodation from her, and he replied, “Very well, ma’am. I’ll put it in my handkerchief and hat, if you please.”
“Come on, then,” said his mistress. And after measuring the grain with the greatest nicety in a quart pot, she said, “There now. There’s a peck of corn (maize) for you, and here’s four pounds of pork. That’s your week’s mess, and you’ll come to me this day week for more.”
Not if I can help it, thought Rashleigh, as he withdrew to the hut, which Mrs A. pointed out from her back door as his future residence. He passed a small shed open on three sides, where there was a steel mill. A little beyond this stood three diminutive stacks of bush hay and straw, which the efforts of the cattle had nearly overturned, these roving bands of plunderers having nibbled all round their bottoms until they looked just like whipping-tops, supported by some most mysterious agency. A little beyond these stood the government men’s hut.
It may easily be imagined from the account given of Mr Arlack’s own dwelling that the abode of his assigned servants was anything but a palatial residence. In good truth, a more desolate and neglected-looking hole can scarcely be conceived. Two rude sleeping-places constructed of sheets of bark, and three pieces of broken iron pots comprised all the movable articles, except two short blocks of wood. The sides and roof were more than commonly pervious. The earthen floor was covered with littered straw, apparently wasted out of one of the berths, where it lay as if the occupant used it for a bed, loose as it was. On a fence opposite the door hung a mass of rags, which only close examination could convince an observer had once been a blanket. Ralph, who had found an empty bag hanging up, went his way to grind the maize with the steel mill. This instrument was in very bad repair, and sunset arrived by the time he had ground his pittance of meal, which was, after all, so coarsely done that if he had used a sieve fully half of the weekly allowance would have been lost; but Mr Arlack’s establishment did not allow such a wasteful piece of refinement.
He now returned to the wretched hut, brought a little wood in, made up a fire, and swept the floor with a handful of leafy boughs. While he was thus engaged, his future companion came in, bearing a calabash full of water. Rashleigh had well-nigh fainted with affright at the first glimpse he caught of this gaunt and woebegone wretch, whose emaciated figure would have well befitted him to represent Shakspeare’s starved apothecary, so much so, indeed, that our adventurer at first deemed him no earthly being; but the spectral visitant speedily reassured him by saying, though in melancholy and sepulchral tones, “Well, mate! You’ve come home, I see!”
“Aye,” returned Rashleigh; “and a pretty home it is to come to!”
The other only replied by a significant gesture, and after having brought in his tattered bed-clothes, set himself to work in the preparation of some hominy. Having procured another of the pieces of iron pot, Ralph followed his example, and both sat down upon the blocks to eat this meagre fare. Salt or sugar they had none, and Rashleigh could swallow only a few mouthfuls of the tasteless repast; but his companion, after remarking that he did not seem to like hominy, quickly finished what he had left. He then produced a few dry leaves of bush tobacco, offering some to our exile, who declined it, while “Jem” filled a rough wooden pipe and sat down to smoke in silence.
After a while, he asked Rashleigh whether he had yet obtained a blanket, and being answered in the negative, observed that he ought then to go to the house and ask for one; which Rashleigh did, and received a tattered rag from Mrs Arlack, after a few muttered curses from his master for being so troublesome. Ralph ventured to observe “that it did not seem a very good one”; but the gentle dame replied, with an oath, that “most likely the blanket was as good as he was”, and then shut the door in his face; upon which rebuff he returned to his companion, who aided him in bringing a quantity of straw to lie upon, which was laid in the vacant berth, and as comfortable a bed made as circumstances would permit.
Rashleigh slept quickly, nor did he awake until his hut-mate shook him by the shoulder, saying it was more than time to get up, for the laughing jackasses — certain birds so called — had been crying out a long while. Ralph tumbled out quickly, and began to put on his clothes in great haste.
Before he had done this, however, though it was not yet clear daylight, Arlack was at the door, damning them for a pair of lazy beggars, and asking if they meant to stop there all day. When they came out he said to Rashleigh, “I’ll tell you vot it is, my fine svell cove. You an’t a-goin’ to do as you likes here. So don’t think it. If you don’t brighten your lamps (open your eyes) pretty quick, I’ll try what good a teazing (flogging) will do you . . . And as for you, Jem, you ort to know better. ‘Ow do you expect I’m agoin’ to find you in wittles if you lies there stinking till these ’ere ‘ours of a morning, eh?”
“Why, Bob,” replied Jem in a plaintive tone of apology, “I overslept myself; and this young fellow I suppose was tired arter his journey!”
“Bob, indeed!” said the other. “I think it might he Mr Arlack, or Master at any rate, in your mouth! Have I served my lagging in all sorts of misery to be ‘Bobbed’ by you, do you think?”
Thus grumbling and growling, he led the way to the house, where he gave to each a tremendous large hoe, saying, “There, Jem. You know the new ground. Go there with your mate and pitch into it, and I’ll be down presently.”
Rashleigh and his companion went to a distant part of the farm which had just been cleared, and where a small portion was newly broken up. Jem now explained the manner in which they were to set in, each taking a piece to himself, so that the work could be afterwards measured without difficulty, as Arlack insisted upon his men doing the full government task at all kinds of labour every day that a man went into his ground.
Now the allotted portion of new land for each assigned servant to break up was thirteen superficial rods per day, two spits deep; and even in a favourable spot it was found quite work enough; but here the soil was as hard as stone, and the hoe rebounded off it. Rashleigh was very soon bathed in perspiration; but he kept on, thinking it might come easier after a bit. About eight o’clock they went home to a breakfast of more hominy, with a little pork fat to relieve it, and in half an hour resumed their work. Arlack came to look at them very soon after breakfast, and seeing that Rashleigh had done only a very small portion of his task, he abused him most heartily, telling him that it was just as he expected; but he’d take care no beggar had the laugh of him, to make him find rations for nothing. If he hadn’t got his government work done by sundown he might look out, for he should go to Court, and then he’d find out there was no gammon in Bob Arlack.
Such were the truculent threats of this worthy that Ralph began with all his heart to wish himself back again on Emu Plains; but still, as he knew he could not try any harder than he had done, he hoped to be forgiven if he were taken before the magistrates, and therefore resolved not to give Arlack any insolence that might furnish him with a further and more reasonable ground of complaint. But by steady perseverance he managed to get his task done a few minutes after sunset, his master having been standing over him for fully two hours before.
Tired to death, and every bone aching with the severity of his toil, our unlucky adventurer hastened home and threw himself on his miserable bed, where he lay like one entranced until morning, not even feeling energy enough to get up and prepare any food.
Mr Robert Arlack belonged to a class at that time very numerous in New South Wales, both among the very great and very little, who looked solely upon their assigned servants or government men as machines for getting money, and who with this view worked them most unmercifully, extracting from each the full quota of work stipulated by the regulations; and if they broke down, returned them to Government, obtaining fresh ones in their places. In fact, they considered convicts to be only a more expensive kind of labouring cattle, and on account of their not being able to live upon grass, a trifle less worthy than working bullocks. With such views they never thought of giving these unfortunate wretches a single ounce of any nourishment they could possibly avoid or a single article of raiment unless absolutely compelled; and strange to say, it was only very recently that regulations were made by Sir R. Darling, then Governor, to compel an equitable supply of food and clothing to be given by assignees to their servants; and even then, for a long period the regulations were evaded. Thus the position of convicts assigned to private service, even of the more wealthy among the early settlers, was sufficiently irksome, because these gentlemen, for the most part avowing that they came so many thousand miles from home for the sole purpose of amassing fortunes, considered any and all means to be sanctified by such an end. As for those whose fortune allotted them to the employment of the lower class of Australian agriculturists, their lot was pitiable in the extreme.
The latter, being men who had for the most part served sentences of transportation during which they had themselves suffered all the rigour of oppressive task masters, thought they were fully justified in retaliating upon those whom the change of fortune incidental to freedom had placed under them all the ill usage which they had endured in their periods of bondage. Besides this, they also had the incentive of a grasping desire to get money; though the majority of them could neither use nor accumulate any sum, but regularly wasted the produce of their land in scenes of the most brutal debauchery, which they continued as long as they had the means, and starved during all the rest of the year, both themselves and their families and of course their assigned servants subsisting almost entirely upon maize.
In addition to these evils of starvation and hard work, convicts assigned to such men as these were obliged to endure all the acts of petty tyranny and overbearing malice that vulgar minds, intoxicated by the acquisition for the first time in their lives of almost unlimited power over a fellow being, alone could either conceive or prompt the execution of. And no complaints, however well founded, stood the slightest chance of redress, for the simple reason that the magistrates before whom such complaints must be brought were all masters of convicts themselves and consequently highly interested in upholding what they no doubt considered a proper system of discipline and subordination.
Then again, the overbearing pride and hauteur generally assumed towards government men by their masters tended much to irritate the minds of the former, more especially when it happened that their superiors for the present were men who, originally steeped to the lips in the cornmission of every atrocity, had at length but recently become free themselves, too many of them having also acquired freedom by acts of the basest treachery, or by the most tyrannical abuse of power entrusted to them as constables, overseers, et hoc genus omne.
For many days Ralph Rashleigh wrought at the hoe, breaking up new ground in the manner before described, until at length, having recovered his appetite, he found his ration very insufficient; and as he could not starve, he had recourse to the system he had learned on Emu Plains, of grating corn to meal. In order to supply animal food, he laid all sorts of plans to trap the poultry belonging to the farm; and this went on until Mrs Arlack began to suspect her government men of being the culprits chargeable with this crime. She came into the hut one night at the moment after Rashleigh had taken out of the pot two of her young ducks, scenting the odour of which, she vented her anger in most opprobrious epithets; but as Ralph had seen her approaching, he concealed the spoil in such a manner as to defy her strictest search. Still, she could see the liquor in the pot, and truly enough insisted it was some of her poultry that had been boiled therein.
After this narrow escape from detection. our adventurer, still goaded by hunger, resorted to another means of cooking any fowls he could purloin. Not daring to bring them into the hut, he made fires in such secluded spots of the bush as might be secure from observation. Some hours afterwards, when the fires were sufficiently burned down, he enveloped the birds in tempered clay, feathers and entrails included, then covered the whole mass with red-hot ashes, after the manner of baking a cake. When sufficiently done, the covering would break off like pieces of potsherds, carrying with it the feathers incorporated in the clay; and on opening the bird, all the entrails fell out in a lump, leaving the cavity perfectly clean and wholesome.
His mistress, who found her stock of poultry diminish fearfully under this process, having no means of securing or watching the objects of plunder, at last resolved to watch the suspected plunderers; and one night, as Rashleigh sat alone by the fire, revolving plans in his mind of escaping from this state of intolerable thraldom, to the service of Government, he heard the sound of breathing close to his ear, and turning suddenly round, he saw through a chink the light reflected from the fire by a pair of sparkling eyes, and through other minor causes he rightly conjectured his mistress was there. He took no notice, however, but went to bed and pretended to snore audibly soon after. Presently Mrs Arlack entered the hut on tiptoe, having very stealthily opened the door. She marched round the place, peeping into every nook and cranny she deemed could possibly conceal even the bones of a fowl, but could find nothing.
Rashleigh now feigned to talk in his sleep, and after some indistinct muttering said distinctly, “Two last night . . . Two more tonight, feathers and all . . . The old goose too. Feathers and all. Oughch! Feathers and all . . . Oughch!”
Then, turning partially and heavily over, he began to snore more loudly than ever; but all the time he took great care to observe the prowling dame with a very small portion of one of his eyes unclosed. That good lady seemed almost beside herself with rage. She looked round apparently for something to strike him with, but finding no weapon at hand, had time to recollect herself, and withdrew.
Rashleigh now went to sleep in reality; but some time in the night he awoke, and going to the fire to light his pipe, he observed through a hole in the slabs part of a plaid cloak, which he knew belonged to his mistress.
Close by the fire was a pot full of liquor, in which pork had been boiled, which, through a hollow log that ran near it having taken fire, was now simmering, and appeared pretty hot. Pretending to kick against the pot, he muttered a curse, and seizing it by the pothooks, dashed its contents full at the hole. A loud shriek attested the success of his cruel experiment, and Rashleigh ran out. He was saluted by Mrs Arlack — for she it was, as he had anticipated — with a volley of oaths and the most dire abuse, she swearing she was scalded to death, and that she would have him hanged, if there was any law or justice to be obtained in New South Wales.
In the midst of this tumult, Arlack came running out in his shirt, armed with an axe; and before Rashleigh could defend himself, the axe was thrown at his head, which it very fortunately, but narrowly, missed. His master then rushed upon him like a fury, bellowing all sorts of threats; but as he came with his head rather low, Rashleigh raised up his knee, which caught Arlack in the mouth at the same rime that he received a well-aimed blow planted just under his right ear, that felled him senseless to the earth. Dreadful was now the clamour of Mrs Arlack, who had got hold of the axe, which she uplifted to strike our adventurer; but he, closing upon her, wrested the murderous weapon from her hand and pushed her backwards on the ground. Then, bidding her get up and take her husband away with her, he retreated into the hut, fastening the door as well as he could, and keeping the axe with him.
His discomfited master and mistress withdrew, vowing that they’d get our adventurer hanged, at least, next day; but as soon as they were out of sight, Rashleigh dressed himself and left the hut. He walked to the residence of the district constable, about eight miles off, where he told his tale and begged protection from the brutality of Arlack and his wife, showing in confirmation of the truth of his statement, the axe he had brought with him, and his face, which had been much torn by Mrs Arlack’s nails in the struggle.
Now it so happened that this worthy official wanted the services of a man for a few days, and he had, besides, a strong though concealed hatred of Arlack; so he listened very attentively to the story, and when it was over, received Rashleigh, locking him up in a small room used for purposes of confinement.
About an hour after sunrise Mr Arlack arrived, and our adventurer, on hearing his well-known voice, repaired to an orifice, where, himself unseen, he could still both see his master and hear the awful account he gave the constable, of a “vicked and murderous assault made by a willain of a government man of his, both upon himself and his vife”, concluding by saying that “the wagabond had bolted avay with an axe, and as he vas a most desperate willain, the constable had better look out for him”.
“Well,” replied the constable, “there’s nothing like hearing both sides of a story, certainly. I had heard your man’s, for he has been here this three hours, and now I’ve heard yours. But I expect the magistrates will have to settle betwixt you. So I’ll only tell you my private opinion, and that is, that you are both a liar and a rascal, and your wife a damned sight worse than you are! I’ve had my eye upon the pair of you this long time, and I’ll let the magistrates know how you goes on with your men.”
Arlack was rather taken aback at this unexpected rebuff; but, at last recovering a portion of his native impudence, he retorted, “Vell, and I should jist like to know vot it is to you, how ve uses our government men, eh? I’ll tell you vot it is, Mr Constable, you’d better mind vot you’re arter, or I’ll try if I can’t put a lever under you that’ll hoist you flying out of your billet.”
“Be off with you!” said the man in office, enraged. “And don’t come here athreatening of me in the execution of my dooty, or else I’ll find a shop for you, as free as you are.” And off went Mr Arlack in high dudgeon at his reception, which greatly delighted Rashleigh, who had been a gratified spectator of his mortification.
In a little while, the door of the place of confinement being unlocked, the constable let Ralph out, saying, “As you’ll be here a week now before there’s any Court, if you have a mind to help me on my bit of ground a little, I’ll find you in summat to eat for your trouble; and that’ll be better for you than stopping in here upon dry bread, which is all that Government allows for prisoners before they are tried.”
Rashleigh very gladly assented, and after a hearty breakfast they went out together to burn off some fallen timber. About noon, however, another constable came, who spoke to the lock-up keeper in private; and they both departed together, leaving Ralph to work alone during the rest of the day.
Shortly after sunset the myrmidons of the law returned, bringing with them a prisoner. When our adventurer came in from work he found them in high glee, and by their conversation it was evident they anticipated a heavy sum of money as a reward. They had also brought with them some spirits, for the lock-up keeper gave Rashleigh a small quantity before he locked him up.
Come, read me my riddle! Come, hearken my tale!
And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale.
The imperfect light which streamed through the chinks of the slabbed partitions between the place of confinement in the lock-up house and the room occupied by the constables enabled Rashleigh to see that the other confine was a very tall and bulky man, who lay upon the rude floor, wrapped up in an opossum-skin cloak. He scarcely deigned any reply to Ralph’s salutation of good-evening, but aroused himself, after a little while, upon observing that our adventurer had brought in a lighted pipe with him, and asked the other to fill one for him, which the stranger could not do for himself, as he was handcuffed.
This little piece of kindness, being performed, seemed to abate something of the stranger’s sullen reserve, for he sat up, and in reference to the mirth of his captors, who, it appeared by their jovial conversation, were now getting merry over their grog, the new-comer observed, in a tone of grim irony, “Aye, booze away, my boys. You think you’re all right now; but my turn will come again yet.”
This remark exciting Rashleigh’s curiosity, he asked what his companion in captivity was confined for, but received only an evasive reply; and finding that the other eschewed any conversation, Ralph made a sort of bed with a few articles lent to him for that purpose by the lock-up keeper, on which he lay down and soon fell asleep.
Far in the night he was awakened by someone who said, “Get up, and come along,” shaking him as he did so. Not being thoroughly aroused, he could only at the moment notice that the door of the lock-up was open, and that a tall figure was going towards it. He involuntarily arose to dress himself; but before he had got his jacket on, the same figure reappeared, saying, “Why the hell don’t you make haste?”
Rashleigh thereupon went forth into the outer apartment, where he saw half a dozen men, in various dirty dresses, but all armed to the teeth. The two constables were fast asleep, with their arms resting on the table.
“Now,” said a voice which Ralph recognised as being that of the late captive, “get some fire sticks. We’ll set light to the hut and burn both it and these blasted dogs together.”
“Aye, aye!” responded his companions, thronging around the fireplace to obey the cruel mandate.
“For God’s sake,” cried Rashleigh, “don’t burn the men, but go away. As you’ve got out, they won’t know anything about it, and you may be far enough before they awaken.”
“Hold your infernal tongue!” retorted the other. “Or else we’ll handcuff you and chuck you neck and heels into the lock-up again, to be roasted like a snake in a log.”
Ralph was about to reply; but the man, whose strength was equal to his tremendous size, put one hand over his mouth, and gripping him by the collar with the other, led him out. They walked to a small distance in front of the hut, when Rashleigh’s companion halted and released him. Turning towards the lock-up, Ralph could see the roof was already in a light blaze; and as it was thatched with reeds, that combustible covering was rapidly consuming with a loud crackling noise, which contrasted fearfully with the perfect stillness of all around, and which, as our adventurer hoped, could not fail of awakening the slumbering inmates.
Apparently his huge captor thought so too, for he asked of those standing near, “Has anyone fastened the jigger and the jumps (door and windows)?”
“Yes, I did,” responded another. “I took blasted good care not to leave the rascals a hole to creep out of.”
“Heavens!” said the horror-stricken Rashleigh. “You surely will not let the poor wretches die such a dreadfully lingering death.”
“You mind your own business, and be damned to you,” was the reply.
“At least, then,” persisted Ralph; “save the woman and her children. Think of your own mothers,”
“Now by hell and the devils!” roared the former captive. “If you breathe another whisper, I’ll blow your head off!” And as he said so, he cocked a horse-pistol, which he held close to his prisoner’s ear.
The stern determination of this ferocious ruffian’s countenance, rendered plainly visible by the light of the burning hut, which cast a ruddy glare around, told Rashleigh he was not to be trifled with, and he wrung his hands in an agony of horror. Still, though the thatch of the lock-up house was now all consumed, and the flames had seized upon the slabbed ceiling, the doomed inmates slept on. Ralph supposed the men were insensible through intoxication, but knew not how to account for the sound sleeping of the woman, who, with her two children, had retired to rest at the same time that he was himself locked up. In a few minuters more, a portion of the roof that had stood over their sleeping-room fell in, blazing up bright and fiercely just before its fall, its concussion scattering myriads of burning flakes, which flew far up into the sky.
The next instant arose such a shrill and piercing scream that it agonised Rashleigh’s inmost soul, for he knew it emanated from the hapless mother just awakened to behold this dire calamity. Next came the wailing cry of the children, shriek upon shriek, and the vain attempts of the men to break the clumsy fastenings of the door and windows, accompanied by many oaths and exclamations of despair. The timber walls now began to blaze, when Ralph, seizing an opportunity that offered by his guard’s relaxed vigilance for an instant, rushed towards the hut, bent on rescuing the inmates by forcing the door. At this moment one of the constables, having succeeded in breaking down the window shutter, jumped out of the flames. In an instant four or five guns were discharged. The half-escaped wretch leaped convulsively up and fell to the earth, and immediately afterwards, Rashleigh received a violent blow from behind on the back part of his head, which stretched him, bleeding and insensible, on the ground.
When he recovered, he felt very stiff and sore; but on attempting to rise, he found himself fastened down to the earth so strongly as to prevent his doing so. His struggles apparently had the effect of attracting the attention of some watchful guard, who in a menacing tone bade him, “Lie still, and be damned to you, if you don’t want another knock on the head that will settle you altogether!”
This language effectually put an end to the attempts of our captive, who remained passive in his painful posture until the dawn of morning; in fact, from the mode in which he was bound, he was unable even to turn himself.
As soon as it became light he cast his eyes around and discovered that the party of men, whom he had seen at the lock-up house the night before, now lay in various positions upon the ground near him. The spot they occupied seemed to be only sheltered partially by an overhanging rock, and to be open to the bush on all sides save one, and from the edge of this semi-cavern the ground appeared to dip or sink into a valley. It was late in the morning when some of the party arose, made a fire, and commenced preparing breakfast, which consisted of tea made in tin quart pots, meat broiled upon the coals, and dough cakes cooked in the same way.
The remainder of the party, having now got up from their various lain, assembled round the fire, and Rashleigh then perceived that they were seven in all, variously dressed, some clad in government slops, and others in better habiliments, obviously unsuited to their station in society and most probably stolen from some settler. The nature of their avocation was now plain to Ralph. Their arms and the outrage they had committed after rescuing their captive leader from the lock-up spoke them to be one of those bands of ruthless bushrangers who then roamed at large in the wilds of Australia, carrying terror and devastation wherever they made their appearance.
While he was thus commenting upon the character of his guards or captors, and puzzling himself by vain conjectures as to what they could propose to do with him, the party had discussed their breakfast, which done, one of them approached our adventurer, and casting loose part of his fastenings, bade him get up. Rashleigh complied, and guided by the other, now approached the leader, who had seated himself on a small hillock near the entrance of the cavern. This man, whose name was Foxley, was of stature far above that of his fellows, and muscular in proportion; he was dressed in a fustian shooting-coat, with a broad riding-belt round the middle, containing two large pistols. Shaggy cloth trousers, a blue woollen shirt, fur cap and pampoos or rough hide boots completed his costume.
His first salute to the captive was, “Stand off, and don’t come too close. What were you in the lock-up for?”
“I gave myself up to complain of my master,” replied Rashleigh.
“Oh, you’re one of the complaining sort, eh? Who was your master?” demanded the other.
“One Arlack of Airds,” was the rejoinder.
“Well and what did he do to you?” enquired the bushranger.
“He wanted to starve me to death and work the flesh off my bones,” responded Ralph.
“Why the devil didn’t you knock the beggar’s brains out and take to the bush?” asked Foxley.
“Why, I thought it better to get away quietly,” was the answer.
“But wouldn’t you like to be revenged of the old tyrant?” demanded the outlaw.
“Why, yes,” returned Rashleigh, with some hesitation; “if 1 could without murdering him or his family.”
“Murder be damned!” said the other fiercely. “If it was me, I’d set fire to the old brute’s hut and burn both him and all that belonged to him in it. Bad egg, bad bird, as we used to say long ago in Tipperary!”
Ralph made no answer to this speech; but the truculently diabolical look that accompanied it, and a remembrance of the dreadful catastrophe of the last night, which it naturally excited, shot athwart his mind, and upon the recollection, too, of the woman’s piercing cry of horror, a shuddering fit seized our adventurer, which was plain enough to the bushranger, who added, with a strong expression of contempt, “But 1 can see you are a regular chicken-hearted crawling fool, who would stand anything and be trampled upon like a dog rather than turn out like a man. I wish I’d left you in the lockup, for you an’t worth saving; and maybe you’d hang us all if we was taken.”
“Aye, I told you so,” said another of the party, whose name was O’Leary. “I knew he was a cur.”
“Let’s knock the beggar on the head, to make sure of him,” said a third. And many threatening expressions burst from the rest of the party, who began to handle their weapons and eye poor Rashleigh with looks of the most hostile import.
“Silence!” cried the leader in a commanding voice. “I’ll not have him hurt, and you know I will have my way. We want somebody to carry our swag (plunder) and cook our grub, for you all grumble like hell to take it in your turns; and this fellow shall do that. It is damned hard if seven men can’t watch one; and if we find him out in any treachery, he shall die like a dog, if he were twenty times my own father.”
To this the rest grumbled a surly sort of acquiescence, and one of them was told by the chief that for one day he should be answerable for the captive, while another was warned to take charge of him at night, this duty being thus destined to all in turns.
Ralph was now completely unbound and informed that he might get his breakfast and then gather up the utensils and food in readiness to move off when he had done. In a very short time, all being prepared, the party set forward, Rashleigh bearing a heavy load and being closely followed by the person who had been directed to guard him. With this exception, no particular order appeared to be observed, nor were they very scrupulous in preserving silence. Indeed, from the nature of the country through which they passed, little danger was apprehended. They travelled on some hours over a succession of broken ranges and at nightfall they found themselves near a small running creek, the course of which they followed for a considerable distance. Having chosen a commodious spot, the fire was quickly kindled and Ralph prepared a meal, which all sat down together to partake of.
The conversation turned on their recent exploits. And now, for the first time, Rashleigh had reason to believe that the whole of the wretched inmates of the lock-up had perished miserably in the flames, for from words dropped in broken sentences, he learned that the man who had broken out in his sight and another who followed him through the same outlet had both been remorselessly shot dead, and their lifeless remains hurled into the blazing ruins. The fate of the woman and children was left to conjecture; but as he gathered that some of the bushrangers had stayed by the burning lock-up house until it was completely consumed, there remained not the slightest hope that any had escaped with life.
After the band had finished their meal, Rashleigh was directed to prepare some dough for baking in the ashes, and on the flour bag being produced, Foxley remarked that it was getting low, but it was no matter, they would soon fill it again. From this remark and other expressions which fell from individuals of the party, our adventurer concluded they contemplated the commission of some fresh act of violence very soon. It was wearing late before the party lay down to rest; and when they did so the man who now took charge of Rashleigh for the night handcuffed his prisoner to himself.
Early the next morning they arose and after taking a meal, proceeded on their route. About midday one of the men observed he knew, by the shape of a certain hill close by, that they were not far from Campbelltown, which rather surprised our adventurer, as, from his idea of the distance they had walked, he imagined they were much nearer to Sydney, or to Liverpool at least, towards the sea-coast; but he afterwards found that in order to avoid the settled districts the bushrangers had made a very wide circuit, first going towards the east and then returning westward,
The party now lay still in the heart of a very luxuriant scrub, or thicket of bushes, which was in fact so dense that nothing could be seen at the distance of a couple of yards. Here the men prepared their arms, made masks to conceal their features, and then lay quiet until dusk.
Shortly after nightfall they were again in motion, and having proceeded about four miles through a tract of open forest land, they again halted, two of the party being now sent forward to observe the intended object of attack. On their return they communicated their intelligence to Foxley, and all proceeded with stealthy caution in the way indicated by these spies. The bushrangers soon came to a narrow lane, and a dog was heard to bark at a very small distance. After a short consultation the body was divided, four of them getting over the right fence of the lane, along which the others continued to proceed in silence, Rashleigh being attached to the last-mentioned, who after proceeding a few rods farther, arrived before a small cottage, which Ralph, to his great pain, soon discovered was the neat little abode of Marshall, in which he had passed so pleasant a night a few weeks before. His consternation increased when he discovered, by the threatening execrations of their leader, that Bob, who had once been Foxley’s overseer, had in that capacity procured him the punishment of a flogging, for which the latter was now come to exact revenge according to his own brutal code of undiscriminating vengeance.
Ardently did Rashleigh pray that some lucky chance might defeat the vindictive object of this ruthless ruffian, whose cold-blooded atrocity, on the former occasion, had made a deep and heart-felt impression upon the mind of our adventurer; but all seemed as peaceful as the grave within and about the doomed dwelling. Not a light glimmered through any opening, nor did even a dog bark outside — a circumstance which much surprised Rashleigh, who knew that the owner had more than six of these animals, some of whom were tied up all day, but allowed liberty to roam about the yards at night. And Marshall had boasted to him respecting the vigilance of two of them in particular, who, he asserted, would not suffer even a leaf to fall without giving the alarm, and were so ferocious that they would tear a stranger limb from limb after dark. He afterwards found that all these faithful guardians had been fastened up for this occasion in a distant shed by the family, in order to avoid any accidental rencontre with the company they had invited to celebrate the christening of their youngest child. Of this gathering, of course, the bushrangers knew nothing; and they were consequently most amazed, while waiting the appointed signal from their detached confederates, to hear a peal of merry laughter emanating from some building in the rear of the cottage, whence also soon after issued the notes of a fiddle and tambourine, the staple music of a colonial sheevo, or merry-making. There was an open gate beside the dwelling, through which the bushrangers cautiously passed into a stockyard that seemed to contain the building the sounds proceeded from; and on passing round some smaller sheds, they found this to be the case, for just before them was a large barn, through the chinks of which much light streamed, and other indications of revelry were manifested which audibly proclaimed the occupants of the barn were amusing themselves with a dance. The marauders were now joined by their four companions, who had approached by some back way.
The leader, Foxley, now issued his commands, that all the outbuildings should be searched to secure any stragglers and prevent them from escaping. This being done and no person discovered, the bushrangers now approached the only door of the barn, where they knocked some time without being heard; but when at length the door was opened, and the grim array of armed and masked figures in their uncouth and dirty dresses met the gaze of the festive party gathered within, a scene of universal consternation ensued. The women shrieked, the children screamed with affright, and the men huddled themselves together.
Foxley now advanced into the middle of the floor, which terror had completely cleared, and he shouted out in loud and savage tones, “What! Are you all scared at a few young fellows that have come to your spree without being invited? Won’t anybody welcome us? No! Why, where’s the master of the house? Ha, I see you, Mr Marshall! Come out here”
And with that he very deliberately cocked his gun, which he levelled at the unfortunate man, while those who were near him slunk away, and he, seeing escape hopeless, reluctantly advanced towards the bushranger, saying as he did so, “You an’t a-going to murder an unarmed man, are you?”
Foxley deigned him no reply, but made a sign to one of his comrades whose name was O’Leary, who came to his side and having received a whispered command from his leader, produced a pair of handcuffs, with which he secured Marshall’s wrists and then retired with his prisoner.
Foxley now ordered all the terrified inmates of the barn to get together on one side of the door; and two of the other bushrangers coming in, one proceeded to search the pockets of the festive group, and laid whatever he found upon the floor at Foxley’s feet. The demented ones, after having been thus closely examined, were passed over to the other side of the barn, where they were strictly guarded.
It chanced however that one of the females was attacked by some sort of unusual fit, which produced a considerable degree of confusion, during which a young man and woman had the address to escape through die open door unobserved by any of the bushrangers. Rashleigh saw them, and going round the barn, suddenly confronted them as they were about to get over the fence.
The young woman, seeing him masked, shrieked; but our adventurer made a deprecatory motion and was about to approach her when her male companion said, “Stand back. I dare say you are armed; but by the heaven above us, you shan’t lay a finger on that girl, unless you do so over my dead body.”
“Be quiet,” returned our compulsory outlaw. “It seems the noise the young woman has made was drowned by the shrieks of that poor creature inside, or else you would find others who might not be inclined to let you go.
“Well,” replied the youth; “here’s all the money I’ve got, and my watch. I’ll give you that to let her go. I don’t care for myself.”
“No,” rejoined Rashleigh, suddenly making up his mind. “Go, both of you. I don’t want your money; but for the sake of heaven, make haste in to Campbelltown and tell the chief constable that Foxley the Murderer is here. Beg him to hurry; or Marshall will be slaughtered and all his family. Do not delay, as you hope for salvation.”
“I’ll run every step,” said the girl, now recovered from her terror; and, jumping, over the fence, both disappeared, while Rashleigh, fearing lest he might have been missed, crept back in the shade of the barn to the spot where he had been placed by the bushranger who had the care of him.
In the mean time the sufferers in the barn having been reduced to order by the stern threats of Foxley, the ceremony of fleecing them proceeded anew. Both sexes underwent this ordeal, being stripped of their money, trinkets, watches, and in several cases of their silk handkerchiefs, coats and waistcoats to boot, until there was a great heap of these articles of spoil upon the floor. All were plundered in this way, which, however, was not done without some delay, and a vast deal of tears, lamentations and entreaties from the females, as a cherished trinket or valued scrap of finery was snatched from its possessor by the rude hands of this unwonted toilet assistant; but Foxley was inexorable to all the prayers, entreaties, or all the soft artillery of blandishments with which he was plied by the fair victims, and in reply to their most moving supplications only ordered them to stand off.
At length, the whole party had been completely shorn of their disposables and the robber now directed the clothing to be stowed in some wheat sacks, loading his own pockets and filling his hat with the watches money and jewellery. When this was accomplished, the sacks were put outside the door, and all — but two, to whom was deputed the task of guarding the prisoners in the barn — the bushrangers withdrew into the stockyard, where O’Leary and poor Marshall were standing. Foxley directed them to accompany him and Rashleigh to follow with his provision bags; they then all went to the back door of the dwelling-house.
This entrance was fastened in some way; but a blow from the butt end of Foxley’s piece made it fly open, and all the party went in. The interior was in darkness, and O’Leary was dispatched to the barn for a light. When he returned they saw a goodly store of poultry and other eatables, ready dressed, together with many bottles of wine and spirits, apparently prepared for transmission to serve as a supper for the party assembled in the barn.
Foxley, directing his address to Marshall, said, “What money have you got in the house?”
“Only about four pounds,” was the reply.
“Where is it?” was the next brief demand of the bushranger; and on being informed it was in the bedroom, he ordered Marshall to point it out and they both withdrew.
Presently the noise of breaking woodwork was heard, and loud curses from Foxley, apparently produced by disappointment at the meagre amount of the plunder. The door being left open when they came out, Rashleigh cast a glance into the once neat bedroom, which was now strewn with articles of dress and bedding, broken drawers, boxes, etc., in dire confusion.
“Where’s your tea and sugar?” now demanded Foxley; and the chest of tea and cask containing sugar being indicated, Ralph, under the direction of O’Leary, began to fill the bags he had brought with him for this purpose.
While this was doing, Foxley demanded of their unwilling host what had become of the money he had lately received for the wheat he had sold, and was answered that it had been all paid away, except the sum Foxley had got.
“I know that’s a damned lie,” was the rejoinder. “But no matter. Though I can’t get it, I’ll take precious good care you don’t live to enjoy it!”
The poor man, upon whom the stern brutality of Foxley began to produce an effect of fear, now again asked with a tremulous voice, “surely you will not murder a defenceless man, who has not done you any harm.”
“Silence, liar!” was all the reply.
“For God’s sake, think of my poor wife and helpless children!” persisted Marshall.
“Think of your damned tyranny!” now roared Foxley, suddenly removing the crape from his face. “Look in my face, wretch! I am Philip Foxley, that you got flogged for neglect of work. Don’t you know me?” And then, sinking his voice to a sort of half whisper of concentrated malignity. “If you had as many lives as I got lashes through you, aye, ten times told, I’d take them every one tonight. So you may make up your mind to die . . . I’ve already slaughtered eleven of my old masters and overseers, and you shall make up the dozen!! For I’m a good mark. I never forget to pay my debts.”
Marshall’s whole frame shook with terror at the sight of a man whose face he knew too well and whose bloodthirsty name was a terror to the whole country; but after a, strong effort, apparently perceiving the inutility of more entreaties, he calmed his outward demeanour.
In the mean time Rashleigh had got a quantity of tea, sugar and flour put up, to which some of the cooked food and four bottles of spirits were added by Foxley, who then withdrew into the yard with his prisoner. Here they were met by Mrs Marshall and her sister, who had but just ascertained that Bob was a prisoner, and who, driven to desperation by the idea of his probable fate, had rushed past the guards, who did not know what to do, not liking to fire upon two women, whom however they could not otherwise stop. They now clung to the doomed man with frantic eagerness, demanding what the wretches were going to do with him.
“Drag those women away!” roared Foxley, absolutely foaming at the mouth with fury at this further delay of his revenge; and after a severe struggle they were brutally torn from the arms of Marshall and forced back into the barn.
Foxley now directed McCoy to take charge of our adventurer and lead him to a certain place. Next, addressing O’Leary, he demanded, “Is your piece loaded with ball?”
“It is,” was the reply.
“Then, Marshall, kneel down and pray as if you mean it,” continued Foxley in a very cool tone. “I’ll give you ten minutes to make your peace with God!” And he took out the poor man’s watch, which he held near a light carried by another bushranger.
By this time Rashleigh, urged by McCoy, had taken up his load to depart, and turning away, could still hear the prayers and entreaties for mercy made by the wretched man, who seemed to increase the intensity of his supplications as the awful moment drew nearer. Just as our adventurer and his guide had got on a fence and were about to cross it, the former looked back, aroused by a yell from Foxley, which reached him like the blast of a clarion on the breeze.
“Down! Down on your knees! Here, O’Leary. He won’t pray. So be ready; and when I give the word, aim right between his eyes.”
The wretched man appeared still to be imploring his murderers for mercy when flashes close at hand, followed by the reports of a dozen or more muskets, appalled the bushrangers, one of whom, the man who held the light close by Foxley’s face, fell with a piercing cry.
“Surrender, in the King’s name!” Was vociferated by many tongues.
“Fire at the beggars and keep close together, my lads. ’Tis your only chance!” roared out Foxley in reply; and again a stream of brilliant flashes gleamed on the darkness, followed by cries of pain, rage, anger and exultation, according to the different fortunes of those who uttered them.
After the bushrangers had fired their pieces, they thronged round Foxley and all made their way to the fence, on which McCoy and Rashleigh had remained, as it were entranced by the suddenness of the surprise; but now, joined by the others, they were urged into a rapid flight by the exclamations and example of Foxley, who, with all his haste, forgot not to enquire whether their slavey — meaning Ralph — had escaped; and on finding he had not, he told McCoy it was a good job, for if that beggar had got away, his life should have answered for it, an asseveration which produced the effect of making McCoy doubly anxious for the security of the captive.
The darkness of the night and the confusion of those who had attacked them favoured the escape of the bushrangers, and having run across Marshall’s clearing, they gained the covert of the standing timber unpursued. Halting now to breathe awhile, the first care of the discomfited ruffians was to ascertain how many of their body were missing. Three of the party were accordingly found absent, two of whom were known to have fallen at the first fire, but whether dead or only wounded was uncertain. After a brief rest, they pursued their way with as much speed as possible, directing their course eastward by the guidance of the stars; and when daylight came they sought a deep and rugged gully, in which they concealed themselves. But the food had been lost, together with all their plunder, in the hurry of their flight, except the more portable articles taken from the festive group, which had been deposited on the persons of Foxley and McCoy.
Rashleigh might certainly have escaped from the bushrangers at the time he had spoken to the two runaways behind the barn; but he then preferred remaining until the police, whom he hoped they would send, should arrive, thinking that perhaps something might occur in the interim to enable him to save the poor man Marshall. His being placed under the strict charge of McCoy and hurried away before the constables came prevented his either doing this or joining them later and helping to capture the ruffianly crew, whom he had come to hate. We have seen that during their retreat, hasty as it was, he was too closely looked after to run in any other direction than the one pointed out to him. Deeming that at any rate Marshall’s life was saved for the present, he was the more readily consoled for this disappointment, because he hoped some opportunity must certainly occur before long to enable him to bid adieu to his ruthless companions.
The party of bushrangers, after having slept a few hours, awoke in very ill humour, as they were exceedingly hungry; and they all united in venting their spleen upon Rashleigh, whom they asserted might, if he had chosen, have retained and preserved the bag of provisions. O’Leary, who from the first had appeared to dislike the prisoner, never allowed any opportunity of showing that he did so to escape him, and now not only abused him heartily, but struck him violently, and was about to repeat the blow when Foxley interfered to prevent him. An angry altercation then ensued between O’Leary and the leader, who seemed to be ready to fight over it. At the instance of the rest, who soothed and separated them, a hollow kind of peace was restored, though Rashleigh observed the former long afterwards muttered revengeful threats against both himself and Foxley, casting malignant glances at them from time to time.
The party, towards evening, began to consult who should venture into Campbelltown or Liverpool, from which places they were about equidistant, in order to purchase some necessary supplies of food. Prior to this being arranged, Foxley called up McCoy to produce the different articles of spoil he had carried, which being complied with and united to those in his own custody, the whole was divided into four parts and apportioned by lot among the surviving bushrangers, Rashleigh not being allowed any portion. After this distribution was over, lots were again drawn for the purpose of ascertaining who should be their messenger, and O’Leary being pitched upon, he received from each a sum of money, divested himself of his arms, and departed.
Shortly after he was gone, Foxley, McCoy and Smith — the other bushranger — held a sort of consultation together, from part of which, overheard by our adventurer, it appeared to consist of invectives against their absent confederate O’Leary; and many dark hints of apprehended treachery on his part were thrown out by the leader, who proposed they should remove from the place in which they then were, and seek some more secluded spot before he came back, so that, in case he should prove faithless, they might witch him as he returned, and if he was accompanied by any one, they might thus be enabled to fly. This being acceded to, in a little while they all removed more than half a mile farther away, into the bottom of a narrow valley overhung with trees. By this time it was nearly night, and Foxley went back to lie in wait near their first camping-ground, so that, if all was right, he might guide O’Leary to their new retreat.
Time wore on. Rashleigh and the remaining two bushrangers were dozing near the fire; and it seemed to be late in the evening when O’Leary, conducted by Foxley, returned. They brought a good store of tea, sugar, bread, and salt pork, also four bottles of rum. Some of the meat being hastily cooked in a calabash, in another of which some water was boiled and tea prepared, the whole party made a hearty and most welcome meal. After this, O’Leary proposed they should have some grog, and produced the tip of a bullock’s horn to serve as a drinking-cup.
The present manners of this man seemed to excite some surprise in the minds of the others, one of whom remarked that he was getting mighty good all at once, as he pressed the others continually to drink and did not seem anxious to do so himself, alleging that he had drunk half a pint to his own share at Campbelltown, where he had purchased the supplies. Rashleigh noticed that in proportion as O’Leary increased in gaiety, Foxley became more gloomy and taciturn, until at last he wrapped himself up in his skin cloak and lay down to rest, which Ralph also did soon after. Having drunk a little of the rum, the latter quickly fell asleep; but a sudden squall of wind, that caused the fire near which he was lying to roar very loudly, again awoke him. He now got up in order to remove to a greater distance from the huge burning pile of wood. Before he again lay down, he observed that the two men he had left sitting with O’Leary now lay, stretched at full length, snoring loudly and apparently insensible from the effects of intoxication. O’Leary himself lay at a little distance, and Rashleigh fancied that he was not asleep; indeed, as the latter passed him, a ruddy glare of light appeared to sparkle from beneath his bushy brows, as if he had been watching the movement of our adventurer, who, however, once more disposed himself to rest, and was half asleep when he observed O’Leary raise his head and look furtively around towards himself and Foxley, who was obviously deeply buried in slumber.
Ralph, willing to observe what O’Leary’s intentions were, settled himself to watch, but pretended to snore, counterfeiting sleep with all his might. In a few minutes O’Leary arose and taking in his hand the calabash in which the pork had been boiled, he crept slowly and stealthily towards McCoy and Smith, whose pieces lay beside them. Over the locks of these he dropped a small portion of the pot liquor, and then spilt some more upon the pistols which they wore in their belts. O’Leary now more cautiously approached Foxley, creeping along upon one hand and his knees, carrying the calabash in his right hand and an open knife in his mouth. When he had thus got dose to Foxley’s back, he raised himself a little and peered cautiously into the other’s face. Foxley lay with his gun secured fast between his knees, but still remained soundly asleep. After a pause, O’Leary took something out of his pocket, and appeared to the watchful Rashleigh bent upon turning the screw that secured the flint which lay conveniently exposed for his machinations, and which at last he effected, as Ralph could see by the firelight that the flint fell out when this was done. O’Leary made some futile attempts to possess himself of Foxley’s pistols, but fearing apparently to arouse the sleeper, he again desisted, and after a short delay, on reattempting, managed to open both the pans and shut them softly, thus permitting the priming to fall out. He next wetted the whole of both the locks, after which he arose, and glancing around, took up his musket and stealthily withdrew in the direction of Campbelltown.
Rashleigh made no doubt from these proceedings that O’Leary was playing the traitor, as the pains he took to render their arms useless proved that he expected an attack from someone whom he was now most probably going to seek, that he might guide them to the capture of his betrayed companions. Our adventurer was now much inclined to adopt the opportunity afforded him by the relaxed vigilance of his oppressors to withdraw and deliver himself into the hands of the police; but he reflected that if O’Leary’s plan proved successful, as there was every prospect of its doing, unless he should take steps to prevent it, they would all be tried together, in which case the traitor would unquestionably be accepted as an approver; and his well-known hatred to Rashleigh left no doubt of his evidence being directed to criminate the other, no matter how guiltless, as being actively concerned in the robbery and attempted murder of Marshall. Independent of the certain punishment to which he would be consigned if his guilty accession to this crime should be considered proved — and he knew too well the weakness of any exculpatory defence he could make, as it would be unsupported by any other evidence than his assertion, therefore he had every just cause, to dread such a result on the mere ground of fearing an ignominious death — he could not besides for a moment endure the idea that Marshall’s wife and sister-in-law, who had treated him with so much kindness, should suspect him of the base ingratitude of joining in an attempt so nefarious against them.
Actuated therefore by these double motives, he resolved upon denouncing the traitor to Foxley, whom he awakened for the purpose by touching him with his foot. The bushranger sprang up at once, gun in hand, and presenting his weapon at Rashleigh’s head, hurriedly exclaimed, “Stand off, or I’ll fire! I’ll never be taken alive!” Then, seeing who it was, he demanded angrily what he wanted.
Rashleigh now briefly acquainted him with the conduct of O’Leary and his suspicions of this man’s treacherous intention, which the missing gun flints and wet pistols of Foxley too abundantly confirmed. McCoy and Smith were now awakened and made to comprehend their danger with some difficulty, owing to the drunken confusion of their thoughts.
Their fire-arms were now put in proper order, loaded and primed anew. It was then resolved that they should all withdraw a short distance within the covert of the thickest neighbouring shrubs, there to await the issue of the event, Foxley’s opossum-skin rug and part of the other men’s clothing being disposed in such a manner where they had previously lain as to afford a slight resemblance to sleeping men, that might deceive any one approaching hastily, with only the fitful glare of the firelight to guide him.
They spent more than an hour, shivering for lack of their usual covering, in thus watching their late place of bivouac; and the intensity of the cold, together with their eager anxiety, made the time seem interminable. At length the noise of crackling twigs and a slight rustling in the brushwood denoted the approach of someone. Foxley stood next to our hero, who could not help remarking the diabolically savage expression of his features, the compressed lips and glaring eye-balls of the desperado evincing a ferocity and thirst for blood which were truly appalling.
O’Leary first approached with cautious and stealthy steps, like those of a cat endeavouring to surprise her winged prey. He bore a gun in his hand, and was followed by four other well-armed men, who emerged into the open space and looked around upon what they thought were the sleeping robbers. After a whispered consultation they separated and approached the places where the men seemed to lie. Foxley now motioned the other two to follow him, and while his opponents were still intent upon their supposed capture, the three bushrangers levelled their pieces and fired at the constables, one of whom fell, pierced by a ball in the forehead; and a second dropped directly afterwards. Foxley then clubbed his piece, and rushing upon O’Leary before the latter, amazed at this sudden surprise, could present his gun, he dealt the traitor such a fell blow that the stock of the musket broke short off and O’Leary sank on the ground without a groan. In the mean time the other two constables, having partially recovered from their alarm, fired their muskets at random and hastily made off in safety.
Foxley and his mates now surrounded O’Leary.
“He an’t dead,” cried Smith.
“Stand on one side and I’ll blow his brains out!” said McCoy, cocking and presenting his gun.
“Hold!” shouted Foxley, knocking up his comrade’s piece with the musket barrel he still retained. “Don’t hurt him for your life! I would not for a thousand pounds the traitor should die so easy a death! I’ll pay him off better than that.” And fetching some water, he bathed O’Leary’s head, until the wounded man recovered consciousness.
The banditti now examined the other fallen men, one of whom they found quite dead. While they were stripping the body naked, the other, whose thigh was broken, got partially up, and deliberately resting his gun on the log, took a steady aim at McCoy, who stood beside O’Leary and was not aware of the danger. Rashleigh saw it, but would have cared nothing if all the three were shot, so did not interfere; but unluckily, the bullet only whizzed close by the bushranger, burying itself deep in the bark of a tree against which he leaned. Foxley sprang upon the wounded wretch with his knife and stabbed him repeatedly until the yells of the dying man, which had at first rung through the forest, died away in inarticulate sobs, whereupon McCoy, who had stood threateningly over the prostrate wretch with the broken musket barrel but feared to strike while Foxley was engaged in his brutal work, now rained a shower of blows upon the victim’s skull until it was actually smashed into a shapeless pulp of hair and brains. Both bodies were now stripped and hauled to a deep waterhole close by, into which they were finally thrown and a number of large loose masses of stone piled on them.
The ruffians then turned their attention to their living captive, whom, traitor as he was, and ruffianly as had been his conduct towards himself, Rashleigh could scarcely help pitying, as he concluded the truculent wretches who had captured him no doubt designed a fearful fate and dreadfully lingering death in expiation of his attempted treachery. At present, however, he was safely tied to one of the party and driven forward amid the blows and execrations of the other two, which he endured with a sulky silence. Rashleigh, loaded with their remaining provisions, was obliged to accompany them, marching along in their front. In this guise they shortly after daylight crossed the Great South Road, one of the bushrangers first exploring the way so as to assure his confederates that the path was free from impediment and that no travellers were near. They now entered a tract of very gloomy and sterile country, which seemed to descend perpetually and bore scarcely any other than that kind of trees which in the Colony are called forest oak, from what reason seems totally unintelligible, as nothing, at any rate in external appearance, can be more dissimilar than this denizen of the Australian woods from the oak of old England.
At long past noon the party halted in a spot which to Rashleigh’s foreboding eyes appeared at any rate a fitting scene for the horrid tragedy he feared would here ensue. Not a blade of grass concealed the naked barrenness of the sod, which consisted of gravel only. Not a sunbeam could penetrate the umbrageous canopy of boughs, whose formation and evergreen hue bore a striking resemblance to that of the funereal cypress or yew. Not a sound disturbed the silence of the mighty world of forest, and all nature seemed hushed in horrid anticipation of the scene of barbarity which was about to disgrace the men here assembled, who, though they possessed the outward semblance of humanity, yet proved their hearts might vie with that of the tiger in ferocity.
Rashleigh was directed to make a fire and prepare some food, and O’Leary, being partially unbound, was confronted with Foxley, who eyed him with stern malignity for a few minutes, and at length broke silence, saying, “Well, have you got anything to say for yourself, you blasted wretch?”
The other replied with a voice of concentrated hatred, “No! I’m only sorry that you wasn’t all grabbed; for there’s nothing on earth I’d rather see than all three of you cowardly, blasted murdering dogs hanging.”
On this, McCoy, who was standing close by, raised his piece, and striking the scurrilous captive on the mouth, drove his front teeth down his throat with the brass-bound butt end of the musket. Of course O’Leary fell. But the remorseless Foxley cried out, “Fetch some water. Throw it on him . . . When he comes to, we’ll make him fast to a tree and flog him first as long as we can stand over him. After that we’ll hang him up to feed the crows.”
Soon after he was raised up perforce, as he refused to stand, and was bound to a neighbouring tree. Foxley, now taking off a broad leathern belt which he wore, flogged him with the buckle that secured it until to Rashleigh’s sickened sight it appeared as if large pieces of flesh were actually knocked off his back at each of the last blows. When Foxley was tired, he resigned the instrument of torture to Smith, who again applied the scourge until O’Leary, ceasing gradually his dreadful shrieks and the terms of bitter execration and abuse he had been heaping on his tormentors, suffered his head to sink on one side and hung, apparently lifeless, in his bonds.
McCoy next took the belt, saying, “Oh, you’re fainting, are you? Blast you, I’ll bring you to.” And he administered a sound thrashing in his turn to the now apparently insensible corpse, until all present really thought O’Leary was dead.
“Hold your hand,” said Foxley; “or he won’t have life enough left to be worth hanging.”
Some moments after he was taken down from the tree and Foxley again directed water to be brought. McCoy gave him some, which he threw over O’Leary’s head; but Smith scraped a piece of salt pork into some water in which Rashleigh had washed other slices; and this wretch now brought it to the seemingly lifeless sufferer, saying, “Clear the way. I have something will revive him with a vengeance!” And he began to rub their victim’s lacerated back with the saline fluid.
O’Leary almost instantly returned to consciousness, and the intolerable anguish occasioned by this smarting application made him howl with torment, he mingling his yells with the direst reproaches and most biting sarcasms against his tormentors.
“Gag the brute!” at last said Foxley; and a short stick having been forced into his mouth, it was tied fast at the back of his head.
A cord was next made of some supple green vines, and a tree having been selected, one of whose vast arms stretched out horizontally at a distance of about twelve feet from the ground, the most agile of the bushrangers climbed up with one end of the rope, which he fastened round the limb, a running noose being formed at the other extremity. A pile of logs was next made up immediately under the bough in such a manner that a slight push would throw them down again.
The wretched captive had watched all these movements with foreboding eyes. He now struggled violently to rid himself from his bonds, but in vain, biting furiously at the stick in his mouth and speaking incoherently in his abortive rage. The dread preparations being all made, Foxley came towards the detected traitor and began to drag him towards the place destined for his final exit; but O’Leary forcibly threw himself on the earth, and it was as much as the united exertions of Foxley and Smith could effect to bear the struggling ruffian to his death, and no sooner had they placed him on the logs, than his struggles knocked them all down. At length he seemed somewhat exhausted and they contrived to secure the rude noose around his neck. Foxley, with O’Leary in his arms, next got on a fallen tree and called out to his confederates above to tighten the rope. When this was done, the robber chief cast his burden rudely away, and O’Leary swung to and fro, distorting his limbs in convulsive spasms of agony.
Twice, through the stretching of the green vines, the rope lengthened so much that the feet of the dying victim touched the ground; and twice did Foxley hold his body up on high, so that his life might at last be ended, while Rashleigh, in pity to his prolonged agony, prayed that at least they would blow the quivering ruffian’s brains out.
“No!” was the brutal declaration of the leader. “I would not shorten his well-deserved struggles a single second, for a thousand pounds! He did worse than a dog’s deed. and he is now dying a dog’s death., as he ought!”
This truly dreadful scene, which harrowed every fibre in the body of our adventurer, was at length brought to a close. The awful death rattle and a final quivering convulsion that shook his whole frame announced that last dread struggle of nature to be over, and O’Leary was a rigid breathless corpse.
A meal was now prepared by Rashleigh, to which his three ruffianly companions did ample justice, making during its progress many coarse jests and brutal allusions to the death pangs of their treacherous associate, whose lifeless body hung within a very few feet of the spot they had selected for their repast.
It may easily be conceived that our adventurer had no appetite after the appalling scene of mortal suffering he had so recently witnessed, and he waited most anxiously for the signal to commence their march, so that he might at least be relieved from the sight of the dead ruffian. But he had a task to complete that he did not anticipate; for Foxley, seeing that he had put together the fragments of food and their humble cooking materials, ordered him to gather a pile of dry wood and place it beneath the body of O’Leary as it hung. This being quickly done, as there was abundance of fuel at hand, one of the party applied fire to the pile, and when it was alight another got on the limb to which the rope was fastened, which he cut through, and the corpse fell into the midst of the flames, while the bystanders laughed, and Foxley remarked, “The damned scoundrel has got a warmer bed now he’s dead than ever he had during his life!”
An additional quantity of dry timber being now thrown into the fire, until the corpse was completely concealed from view, the desperadoes only waited until the roaring progress of the devouring element assured the dead bushranger’s combustion, when they withdrew.
No hope arose of being freed
And my dim eyes of death had need.
About noon the band of bushrangers and their unwilling companion crossed the Cowpasture river upon a rude catamaran, made of apple tree boughs tied together with vines, and in a short time had gained the rough broken country at the foot of those lofty mountains that traverse the whole of the centre of New Holland, then even more solitary than it is now, the poverty of the sod forbidding any cultivation whatever; while the natural grasses are so scanty that they do not afford pasturage even for the indigenous animals of Australia. Through such sterility as this they journeyed during three days without seeing a single habitation or even a human being. Their provisions again began to grow short, when, on the fourth morning from the death of O’Leary, a few hours after they had quitted the spot of their past night’s sojourn, they came to the summit of a lofty range, where a prospect equally unexpected as it was beautiful and varied burst upon the sight of the enraptured Rashleigh, whose tormenting feelings, induced by the fear of what fate might have in reserve for him as punishment of his involuntary association with the desperate and blood-stained ruffians who now formed at once his guard and his masters, all gave way before the majesty of nature, and he drank in large draughts of delight in contemplating the lovely scene now expanded before him.
Immediately in front of his present position was a precipice some hundred feet in height, whose ragged breast sank sheer down to the broad expanse of the low country; but immediately at its base the Nepean river, here narrowed to about the distance of a hundred yards between its banks, rushed with tumultuous force around the greater part of the hill on which they stood, from which immense masses of rock had apparently been detached by some long past convulsion of nature, and now lay in the bed of the torrent, causing the rapid waters to flash around them in sheets of snowy foam. Far to the right and left the winding convolutions of the stream might be seen at intervals appearing through the foliage, here in magnificent sheets of water, and anon, beyond a projecting promontory forming a low range of hills, the river seemed contracted into the semblance of a dazzling silvery riband that sparkled in the beams of the morning sun.
In the background rose the lofty heights of gloomy mountains, whose variously undulating sides were chiefly clad with the dark evergreen foliage of New Holland, though here and there might be seen upreared the giant form of some rude and fantastically shaped peak or rifted cliff whose grey bosoms were boldly exposed in naked sublimity. As far as the eye could reach in front was an expanse of nearly level woodland, broken here and there by cultivated patches of a greater or less extent, and thinly studded with solitary farmhouses, cots and one or two hamlets with their churches.
The houses were for the most part embosomed in peach orchards, whose leaves of more delicate green contrasted well with the sombre hue of those that clad the neighbouring indigenous trees. The maize fields, too, which were now in full blossom, and gracefully waved their lofty tasselled tops over many an acre of the rich soil on the river bank, formed no inconsiderable item in the charms of the landscape, the appearance of which Rashleigh surveyed in a reverie of pleasure, until the iron hand of Foxley smote upon his shoulder, and his deep harsh voice demanded, “Are you dreaming?”
Aroused to a sense of the dull and dread realities of his present condition, Rashleigh turned mechanically and followed the party, who struck more deeply among the hills. At an early hour in the afternoon Foxley warned his mates that they were approaching the Great Western Road, leading over the mountains to Bathurst, which it was necessary they should cross, and therefore it behoved them to keep a sharp look-out, that they were not surprised by any straggling party of constables or mounted police, which were frequently much on the alert just on the edge of the highlands in order to prevent the escape of any of the prisoners — who at that time were employed working in irons, in order to form the new line of road — as the latter frequently absconded in large or small parties, carrying plunder and havoc into the settled districts during their brief career wherever they came.
The warning had scarcely been given by the leader, whose two companions reloaded their fire-arms, when they heard a shrill cry of a peculiar kind, which is in the Colony called a cooee, and which is chiefly used by parties in the bush to denote their positions or make known their desire of help, guidance, etc. The bushrangers halted and listened attentively; the cry was two or three times repeated, apparently by the same voice. At length, after a brief consultation, McCoy went towards the place from where the sound proceeded, while Foxley, Ralph and the other plunged into the heart of a thicket a little apart, and in a short time the voice of their companion who had gone to reconnoitre was heard hard by. They now got up and went to meet him.
He was accompanied by a short stout man seemingly past the middle age, rather decently dressed, who carried a thick walking-stick, and was introduced to the party by the name of “Mr Huggins, the overseer of No. 1 Iron Gang, who had lost his way while looking after bushrangers”. This introduction was made in a very peculiar manner by his companion to Foxley, who received it with a most significant look, in which Rashleigh fancied he could observe traces of malignant and ferocious satisfaction that made him shudder; while Huggins glanced apprehensively from one to the other of the party who now stood before him.
Silence was broken in a few minutes by Foxley, who said briefly that he thought he could put Mr Huggins in the right way to find some bushrangers very soon; at any rate he’d “be sure to put him into a way that would be certain to take him home”.
Satisfied by this ambiguous speech, Huggins placed himself under the treacherous guidance of his foe, and they all moved on towards the west. Ralph could hear fits and snatches of conversation between Foxley and the newcomer, by which it appeared the former described the party as bush constables belonging to Campbelltown, who were in search of Foxley and his gang of bushrangers, then supposed to be lurking somewhere in the fastnesses of the Blue mountains. Imbued with this idea, Huggins talked much and long of the necessity of putting a period to the depredations of this notorious horde of daring scoundrels and wound up his speech by declaring that if he (Huggins) should come across the rascal in question, he’d never change a word with him, but shoot him down like a dog. Upon this declaration of his sentiments by the overseer, Foxley turned his head to McCoy and Smith, who marched last of the five — Rashleigh being kept in the centre — and shot forth a glance of sarcastic contempt, twisting his naturally coarse features into a truly Satanic as well as sardonic grin, at the effusion; while the other two responded to the gesture by gripping their guns more closely, with expressively grim looks at their leader’s companion.
After they had thus walked about an hour, Huggins began to be alarmed at the duration and tendency of their journey, as they did not reach any road. He repeatedly asked Foxley if he were certain of being in the right direction, to which the other replied, as before, ambiguously, that they would be “as safe as the bank directly”!
In a few minutes more, as they were descending a very deep and rugged glen, or gully, Foxley placed his foot before Huggins, who of course fell some feet forward; and in order to prevent any resistance, Foxley secured him by falling on his back. In his overthrow, Huggins had struck his head with some force against a stone, and before he could recover the effects of this blow his treacherous assailants had firmly bound both his hands and feet.
When the captive regained his senses, his astonishment could only be equalled by his affright; and now, too late perceiving the real character of his captors, he begged in the most moving terms for mercy, abjectly supplicating for heaven’s sake that they would not harm him; but he might have spared this humiliation of himself, for no tiger was ever more pitiless to his prey than the fiend in human shape into whose power he had now fallen. No reply whatever was vouchsafed by Foxley, who seized him by the collar, and assisted by one of his confederates, they thus between them partly led and partly dragged their captive to the bottom of the narrow valley, which was a dreary spot almost inaccessible to the light, and looking as if in fact it were a mere rift, or chasm, in the range, formed by an earthquake, each side being chiefly shut in by naked and jagged rocks, some of which were blackened by age until it appeared as if they had been split by the agency of fire.
A small space, level and clear from obstructions having with some difficulty been found, Foxley seated himself upon a fallen rock, while his companions stood before him with Huggins between them; and now, with a smile of malignant cruelty about to be gratified, the bushranger informed his captive, “As you have such a mighty great wish to see Philip Foxley, I think ’tis a pity so reasonable and harmless a desire should not be granted; and as you’re a nice sort of a man, you shall have your own way . . . I am Foxley. What do you think of me, eh? You won’t speak. Well now, that’s what 1 call being very ungrateful. However, it’s no odds. As it’s a very great favour to see me and my mates, I mean to take care you shan’t tell anybody you have done so!”
As these words were spoken with cool and concentrated malignity which left no doubt of the fell meaning they implied, the hapless wretch to whom they were addressed gave himself up for lost, but endeavoured to move his iron-hearted captor by supplications for mercy.
“Silence!” said one of the bushrangers. “Don’t you know me? Ay, look! What! Not know Sandy McCoy?”
Huggins looked at him, but shook his head and burst out into a fresh paroxysm of lamentations and entreaties.
“Ah,” resumed McCoy, “You know me too well! It is not twelve months ago since I was under you in your infernal gang, and one day when I wanted to go and see the doctor, you put me in the lock-up. You left me there thirty-six hours, handcuffed over a beam, both wrists twisted above my head, all my weight hanging on my hands, and my toes only resting on the ground. You delighted in nothing but tyranny, as long as you had the power. But now, our turn is come; and you may say your prayers, for you are standing on your own grave!”
“Oh,” remarked Foxley. “That tricing men up to a beam is a very common trick of his. Why, not a month ago one of the deputy overseers was tried for killing a poor devil of a crawler who was very sick and wanted to go to hospital; but Mr Huggins ordered him to be triced up, and the other obeyed him, and handcuffed the man over a pole for two days and a night. The first night the deputy was told the man was dying; but he only answered, ‘Let him die and be damned, there’s too many of his sort in the country.’ So the next night, when the doctor came at last to see him, the poor fellow was dead and stiff. That scoundrel, though he was committed, managed to pull through it. He made shift to escape from the Law. But I’ll take rattling good care you don’t escape from Justice, my fine fellow, for I’m judge in this here Court, and I never acquitted a tyrant like you in my life.”
At this Huggins threw himself on the ground in an agony of despair. He beat his head against the earth. He knelt to Foxley, alternately invoking blessings on his head if he would be merciful, and denouncing the most awful imprecations if he deprived him of his life.
At length Foxley roared out, “Damn the crying beggar; he’ll make us all deaf. Gag him at once.”
As he spoke thus the outlaw rose from his seat, and it appeared to his fellows that their chief had suddenly gone mad; for he jumped about, he threw himself down, he raved and swore most vehemently, and as a finale to this extraordinary performance, tore off all the clothes he had on, until he stood before them stark naked; nor did his energetic exertions cease even then, for he danced, whistled, sang, halloed and swore all in a breath.
In vain did his companions ask for many moments what was the matter with him. At length they gathered that their chief, in the pride of his triumph over Huggins, had sat down incautiously within a very dangerous proximity to a huge nest of those ants which are called by the lower classes in the Colony light-horsemen. They are of immense size, upwards of one and a half inches long, of blue and green colours, and the most fierce and virulently biting insects in the bush. So long as Foxley sat quiet they did not molest him, but the moment he put himself in motion he was stung by scores at once; and now his whole body presented a most singular appearance, being completely covered with swellings the size of a hazelnut, very deeply inflamed, which arose instantaneously after the bite of these sanguinary insects, and to judge by the grimaces of this dauntless ruffian, who had frequently endured the most severe floggings without wincing, the pain must have been intense. When it was in some measure allayed, Foxley gathered his clothes, shook them free from the intruders, and vented several bitter execrations upon Huggins, whom he considered as the origin of his mishap, and who now lay grovelling in the dust, completely senseless with the agony of fear.
“Blast you!” roared Foxley, with inexpressible ferocity of tone and manner. “I’ll waken you directly, with a vengeance.”
With that he directed the other two bushrangers to get some bark to twist into ropes; and this being soon accomplished, all of them set to work making cordage, by laying two or three plies of the inner coat of the bark up, until a good-sized line was formed by each.
Foxley, who had first completed the fabrication of a stout and tolerably long cord, next proceeded to cut a number of stakes about two feet long, which he also pointed with his knife at one end, and then directed the others to gather as many short logs of timber together as they could. At length all these methodical preparations — the meaning of which Rashleigh could not divine — had been completed, and the ruffians approached their victim, who still appeared paralyzed by fear.
He was first stripped entirely of his clothing, and then maugre his struggles, carried, or rather dragged, along until they reached the ant-bed. The dreadful nature of the torture intended to be inflicted upon the helpless wretch now flashed upon the mind of our adventurer, who had before heard of bushrangers having thus wreaked their vengeance upon persons inimical to them; and he began by using every argument he could think of to endeavour to move Foxley to pity or remorse and to induce him to forbear his horrid purpose, pointing out to him that sooner or later it must come to his turn to suffer for the crimes he seemed so much to delight in committing.
At last the patience of the bushranger gave way. He had before only shot darksome glances at Rashleigh from beneath his shaggy eyebrows; but now he burst out in tones of thunder, “Hold your infernal tongue, you blasted crawling wretch, or else I’ll lay you alongside of him. I know damned well that if ever I am taken alive 1 shall swing; but that can never be while I have one charge for a bulldog left. So while 1 live I’ll be revenged on all such bloody tyrants as this is.”
His speech was delivered with such a suitable emphasis and seconded by so many appalling denunciations against Rashleigh as well from the others as from Foxley, that the poor fellow was fain, for very fear of his own life, to cease his supplications, and he withdrew to a short distance, turning his back upon the scene. He would now most willingly have stolen away altogether from his ruthless companions but that he knew not which way to turn himself and was well aware if they pursued him with success his doom would be certain death, perhaps with additional and cruelly refined torments. On the other hand, if he lost his way amid these pathless mountains, there could be no doubt of his dying a miserable death by starvation, as many others had done, who like him had wandered away from companions on or near the only road that then traversed that inhospitable tract.
After a short time a piercing yell attracted his attention and forgetting his resolution, he involuntarily looked around. The ruffians had now placed Huggins on the ant-bed. When he felt the stings of the enraged insects, despair lent him herculean strength and he burst from the grasp of his three captors. He was free! Alas, he had run but a few yards when a stone hastily caught up in the race by McCoy, but thrown with all the fury of disappointed malignity, struck him between the shoulders, felling him to the earth. Foxley now roared out for the assistance of Rashleigh, swearing that if he did not come and aid them he should die the death of a dog; and thus coerced, our trembling adventurer was compelled to help carry the senseless man back to his bed of torment.
Huggins was now hurled again on the ant-bed, from whence he had so nearly escaped, and the top of which having been flattened down, a slight trench had been made in it to receive the luckless wretch. The insects, angered into madness at the injuries inflicted on their storehouse, were swarming in thousands around it; but the moment the fresh shock was felt from the fall of Huggins’s body, they all rushed to the spot and he was completely covered with them directly afterwards. The bushrangers, being thus relieved from the attacks of the furious ants, now coolly set to work, and tied the wretched sufferer fast down with several cords passing over his thighs and body, two to each arm and leg, and two crossing his neck. The ends of the cords were secured to the pegs cut by Foxley, which were now driven tight into the ground in a sloping direction the better to retain them. The struggles of the wretched victim to escape from these bonds, which were at length so numerous as to form a complete network over him, were further rendered nugatory by logs that were piled upon the cords, between his body and the pins on every side, so that they were tightened until they cut into the flesh.
All these dire arrangements were completed before Huggins had recovered from the effects of that fatal blow which had caused his recapture. When he again became conscious, the convulsive throes of agony that heaved the mass of flesh, cord and logs were so appalling that a sensation of dizzy sickness came across the brain of Rashleigh, who fell to the earth and cut his head severely. Perhaps the flow of blood from the wound removed his faintness, for he felt no more of it, and was now permitted to withdraw under the guidance and guardianship of McCoy on a search after water. It was long before they found any of this necessary fluid; but having done so, Ralph prepared a scanty supply of food, all that they had left. When Foxley and Smith joined them, the former, upon noticing their slender stock of eatables, observed that “only it would put that rascal (meaning Huggins) out of his pain too soon, he would go and cut a steak off his body.”
Perceiving that Rashleigh looked rather incredulous as well as disgusted at this abominable idea, the truculent desperado verified his assertion with a volley of energetic oaths, winding up the whole by declaring, “There can’t be a sweeter morsel cooked for a man than the heart of a tyrant.”
Such, it is to be observed, is the term used by all the convicts of New South Wales to designate any person, whether magistrate, overseer or constable, who may perform his duty more strictly than is agreeable to the exalted notions these worthies entertain of the deference and consideration with which they ought to be treated.
After supper the party lay down to rest, and at an early hour in the morning were again in motion up the valley, on their return towards the western road, from which, it now appeared, Foxley had turned on meeting with the ill-fated Huggins, whose lair they now shortly passed, when what was Rashleigh’s astonishment, upon casting a furtive glance at the spot for an instant, to find that nothing remained of him but bones, not quite clean certainly, but with little indeed of flesh to be seen upon any part, except the head, which was still nearly untouched. While our adventurer was amazed at the voracity of these tremendous insects, he also felt a little comforted at the idea that the sufferer’s death could not have been so painfully lingering as he had anticipated; and Foxley, seeing the astonishment depicted in Rashleigh’s features, observed with a sort of grim chuckle, “Aye! Them’s the little boys for polishing a bone. In a few hours there won’t be a morsel of Huggins left but his bare skeleton.”