The late supper in the plain, homely room--where the table was on
trestles, the chairs were stools, and the arm-chairs ingeniously cut out
of casks, the carpet sacking, and the hearthrug skins--and the
performance in the way of sleep on his arrival, interfered sadly with
Nic's night's rest.
It was an hour after his father's return before they all retired; and as
soon as Nic was in his room he felt not the slightest inclination for
bed. Everything was so new and fresh; the brilliant moonlight lit up
the tract outside with such grand effects that the first thing he did
was to take the home-made tallow candle out of its socket and hold it
upside down till it was extinct, and then put it back.
The room was now all bright in one part, black shadow in the others; and
he was going to the open window to look out, but just then an idea
struck him, and he took up his gun, closed the pan, drew the flint
hammer to half-cock, and proceeded to load. He carefully measured his
charge of powder in the top of the copper flask, and poured it into the
barrel, in happy unconsciousness that in the future ingenious people
would contrive not only guns that would open at the breech for a
cartridge containing in itself powder, shot, and explosive cap, to be
thrust in with one movement, but magazine rifles that could be loaded
for many shots at once.
Then on the top of the powder he rammed down a neatly cut-out disk of
felt, the ramrod, drawn from its loops and reversed, compressing the air
in the barrel, driving the powder out through the touch-hole into the
pan, and making a peculiar sound running in a kind of gamut: pash--
pesh--pish--posh--poosh--push--pud--pod--por--with the wind all out and
the powder compressed hard down by the wad. Next a little cylindrical
shovel full of shot was extracted from the belt, whose spring closed as
the measure was drawn out, and the shot trickled gently into the barrel,
glistening in the moonlight like globules of quicksilver. Another wad
was rammed down; the pan opened and found full of the black grains, and
the ramrod replaced in its loops behind the barrel, the gun being stood
in the corner beside the bed ready for emergencies in that rough land.
Nic's next proceeding was to listen and find that the murmur of voices
heard beyond the partition had ceased, and he slipped off his shoes and
stepped softly to the open window.
The flowers smelt deliciously in the cool, soft night air, and he looked
out, leaning his arms on the sill to realise more thoroughly that he was
in the place he had so often longed to see when he did a similar thing
at the Friary in far-off Kent.
It seemed impossible, but it was true enough. His old schoolfellows
might be looking out of the window now over the Kentish hills, but he
was divided from them by the whole thickness of the great globe. They
were in the northern portion of the temperate zone; he, as he leaned
out, was in the southern. They would be looking at the hills; he was
gazing at the rugged mountains. Then, too, it was just the opposite
season to theirs--summer to their winter, winter to their summer.
"It's like a big puzzle," thought Nic. "I shan't understand it all till
I've made a globe. I wish I'd studied the big one at the Friary more.
How strange it all seems!"
As he looked out, the place appeared very different. He had seen it in
the full sunshine; now, in the silence of the night, the trees glistened
in the moonlight as if frosted, and the shadows cast stood out black,
sharp, and as if solid.
And how still and awful it all seemed! Not a sound,--yes, there was: an
impatient stamp from somewhere on the other side of the house. He knew
what that was, though: the horses were troubled by some night insect.
There was another sound, too, as he listened--and another--and another.
He was wrong: there was no awful silence; the night, as his ears grew
accustomed to the sounds, was full of noises, which impressed him
strangely or the reverse as he was able to make them out or they
remained mysteries.
As he tried to pierce the distance, and his eyes wandered through the
network of light among the trees on the slopes which ran up toward the
mountains, his first thoughts were of blacks coming stealing along from
shelter to shelter, till close enough to rush forward to the attack upon
the station; and over and over again his excited imagination suggested
dark figures creeping slowly from bush to bush or from tree to tree.
Once or twice he felt certain that he saw a tall figure standing out in
the moonlight watching the house, but common sense soon suggested that a
savage would not stand in so exposed a position, but would be in hiding.
Then, too, as minutes passed on and he was able to see that the objects
did not move, he became convinced that they were stumps of trees.
That sound, though, was peculiar, and it was repeated. It was a cough,
and that was startling, just in the neighbourhood of the house. But
again he was able to explain it, for he had heard that cough in the
fields of Kent, and the feeling of awe and dread passed off; for he knew
it was the very human cough of a sheep.
But that was no sheep--that peculiar croaking cry that was heard now
here, now there, as if the utterer were dashing in all directions. That
was followed by a hollow trumpeting, and a short, harsh whistle, and a
strange clanging sound from far away, while close at hand there was a
soft, plaintive whistling and a subdued croak.
By degrees, though, as he listened, he was able to approximate to the
origin of these calls. Night-hawks, cranes, curlews, and frogs might,
any of them, or all, be guilty; and some kind of cricket undoubtedly
produced that regular stridulation, as of a piece of ivory drawn along
the teeth of a metal comb.
Then there was a heavy booming buzz, as some great beetle swung by; and
beneath all, like a monotonous bass, came a deep roar, which could only
be produced by falling water plunging down from on high into some rocky
basin.
"What a place! what a wonderful place!" thought Nic, as he gazed out--
perfectly sleepless now; and as he thought, the idea of wild beasts came
into his head, for there was a deep-toned, bellowing roar, very
suggestive of tiger or lion, till it was answered by a distant lowing,
and he knew that the first was the bellow of some huge bull, the latter
the distant cry of a bullock far up in the hills.
The time glided on. The white bed was no longer inviting, and he could
not tear himself away from the window. At last, though, thinking that
he had better lie down for fear of being very tired next day, he reached
out his hand to draw in the casement, but kept it there, for a very
familiar sound now struck upon his ear: _Clap, clap, clap, clap_ of
wings, and then a thoroughly hearty old English cock-a-doodle-doo! and
the boy burst into a merry laugh.
"Go to sleep, you muddle-headed thing," he muttered. "Don't make that
noise in the middle of the night.--They always do that at home when the
moon shines."
But the cock-crow was answered from a distance, and there was the lowing
of cows; chirping came from the trees, there was the piping of the
magpie, and soon after the deep chuckle of a great kingfisher, followed
by burst of; shrieks and jarring calls from a great tree; and it
suddenly struck the watcher that there was a pallid light shed from
somewhere behind him.
"Why," he said half aloud, in a regular Hibernian spirit, "it's
to-morrow morning!"
Morning it was, coming on fast; and all thought of bed being now given
over, Nic began to put on his shoes.
"Lady O'Hara said things were all upside down here," he muttered; "but I
didn't know I was going to sleep in the daylight and sit up all night."
A few minutes' thought, however, took away his surprise at the
apparently sudden advent of the dawn, for it was well on toward morning
when the family had left the dining-room--that name being maintained;
and now, feeling bright, cheery, and full of anticipations of what he
had to see in his new home, Nic had a wash and brush and hurried out, to
find that the business of the day had begun.
The first he encountered was Leather, who responded to his cheery good
morning with a keen look and a surly nod, as he passed on, and went off
from the shed he had left for the open field.
The next minute, as Nic went round the house, there was a tremendous
burst of barking, and the two dogs charged at him so excitedly that one
went right over the other in collision; but they were up again directly,
leaping at him, careering round, snapping playfully at each other, and
madly showing their delight at meeting a familiar face in the strange
home.
"Hullo, old fellows!--good dogs, then!" cried Nic, lavishing his
caresses on the excited beasts. "Down there! steady there! I'm not for
breakfast: don't eat me." The dogs sobered down and trotted beside him,
each trying to walk with its sharp-pointed muzzle thrust into one of his
hands.
"Chuckle, chuckle, chuckle," came from a great tree which sheltered one
side of the house, and the dogs looked up and barked.
"'Morning, young master," came in a harsh, cracked voice: "smart
morning. Here, you two: I'm just going to feed old Nibbler, and I'll
give you a share."
There was the rattle of a chain hard by, and a heavy bark, as a great
dog like a greyhound that had grown stout, came out of a kennel formed
of a barrel laid on its side. The great beast looked at the two collies
and growled, while the latter set up the dense frills of hair about
their necks and showed their teeth.
"None o' that, now!" cried old Samson. "You three have got to be
friends. You don't know Nibbler, Master Nicklas."
"Dominic," cried the boy.
"Ah, I allus forget. Missus has told me your name times enough, too. I
can allus recklect that there's a Nic in it. Hi, you, Nib, this here's
the young master--young master! d'yer hear?"
The dog growled, but wagged its tail.
"We calls him Nibbler, sir; but he's a biter, and no mistake, ain't yer,
old man? You ought to ha' had him with yer when them blacks come
yesterday. He don't mind spears and boomerangs, do you, Nib?"
The dog growled and showed its teeth.
"Pst, lad!--blackfellow."
The dog made a bound to the full extent of its chain, and uttered a deep
bay.
"All right, Nib. Gone!" cried Samson, showing his yellow teeth.
"Breakfast."
The dog's manner changed directly.
"Come and pat him, Master Nico-de--Dick-o-me--I say, sir, hadn't I
better keep to Nic?"
"Yes, if you like," replied the boy, approaching the great dog, but only
to be received with a low growl.
"Ah!" shouted Samson, "didn't I tell you this was young master come
home? Down!"
The dog threw itself on its side, blinked at him with one eye and raised
one paw deprecatingly, as it slowly rapped the ground with its long thin
tail.
"Now come and put your foot on his neck, sir, and pat his head. Don't
you be afraid."
"I'm not going to be," said Nic; though he felt a little nervous, and
thought of the consequences of a snap from those steel-trap jaws.
"That's right, sir. There--you'll be friends enough after this, Nibbler
knows."
But Nibbler shook his head and growled, for the collies, after
protesting, whining jealously at Nic's favours being bestowed upon a
stranger instead of upon them, barked again and came on steadily, as if
to attack the stranger.
"Down, down!" cried Nic; and they stopped.
"It's all right now; they shan't fight. Here, I'll show you. You ketch
hold of this, sir."
Samson took an old pitchfork from where it stood in a corner, handed it
to Nic, and then, somewhat to the boy's dismay, took hold of the big
dog's collar with both hands, and set it free by dragging the strap over
its ears.
Then for a moment there were threatenings of a fight, but a shout from
Samson checked the turbulent spirit.
"Give Nib a rap over the head with that fork shaft if he don't mind you,
sir. He's hard as iron, so you may hit sharp. Couldn't break you, Nib,
eh?"
The dog looked up and uttered a short bark. "Here, Master Nic,"
whispered the old man with a grin: "go closely to him and say sharply,
`Kangaroo!'"
Nic did as he was told, and the dog gave a tremendous bound and stood
looking wildly round, ending by running back with a deep-toned bark,
looking up at him as much as to say, "Where?"
"Gone, Nib!" cried Samson. "Now follow the young master, and he'll give
you some breakfast."
The little old fellow led the way, Nic followed, and the three dogs came
behind, Nibbler with a collie on either side, keeping up a low muttering
growl, which sounded like threats of what they would do if the big dog
interfered with their master. To which Nibbler responded by some
language of his own, and leering looks to either side, as if in search
of spots where there was not so much hair when he began to nibble.
Samson stopped at the far end of the farthest shed, where there was a
little lean-to; and on raising a wooden latch and throwing open the
door, there within hung half a sheep, with the skin on a peg, and a
chopping-block and a hatchet in the middle.
"Slaughterhouse, sir," said Samson, with a grin. "'Bliged to be our own
butchers out here,--fishermen too. S'pose you'll ketch our fish now?
Mind chopping off some o' that sheep while I hold it on the block?"
"I? No," said Nic.
"That's your sort!" said the man, lifting the half sheep from a hook
fastened in the beam overhead. "Emmygrunts does anything. I want you
to chop off that lyne, and then cut it in three bits for the dogs."
"Then you don't only give them bones?" said Nic.
"Gives dogs what we've got plenty on. It's mutton now. We don't want
this to spyle. It was alive and well yes'day, but a couple o' dingoes
hunted the pore thing down. Hi! Nib, what come o' them dingoes?"
"_R-r-r-r-ur_," snarled the big dog fiercely.
"Ay, you did, mate. He gave them dingo, sir. These wild dogs is one of
our biggest noosances after the sheep. Now, please chop straight. Well
done, sir! There's three. Take care. That chopper's very sharp. Now
through there and there. That's right. Three bits. I was going to
bury half on it, for it won't keep mor'n two nights; but your two sheep,
dogs'll help him. We'll feed 'em up a bit for two or three days, and
then starve 'em for two or three more to put it straight. Now then,
sir, you stick the fork into they three bits, and you shall feed 'em,
that'll clinch old Nibbler's making friends with you. See?"
Nic nodded.
"Look," said Samson: "he knows what I've been saying."
The dog, which was sitting watching, with a collie on either side--the
latter evidently in doubt as to whether the joints were intended for the
house--gave a deep bark.
"Now give him the biggest bit, sir."
Nic stuck the fork in the piece of loin and held it out to the big dog,
and it came and took it with a low muttering sound, wagging its tail
slowly from side to side, while the collies grew excited, growled, and
tossed up their heads to utter a protesting whine.
"Here, you, Nib, wait," cried Samson. "Give t'other two their bits,
sir."
Nic served each collie, and then stared at what followed.
"Now then!" cried Samson, "take it out in the back and eat it. Show
your chums the way. Right off. No messing about nigh the house. Off
with you!"
The big dog uttered a low growl, and went off with its breakfast, the
collies following; all three looking decidedly comic with their jaws
distended.
"There you are, sir," said the old man, wiping the chopper very
carefully and then sticking it into the big clean block. "Seems a pity.
Beautiful mutton. The brutes had only just pulled it down when Nib was
on to 'em. Leather called me to see. It was half-hour's walk, and
there he was sitting by the sheep, and the two dead dingoes close by."
"Didn't he begin worrying it?" asked Nic.
"Him, sir? Nibbler worry a sheep? Not him. Why, I've seen him lie
down and let the lambs play about him. I should like to ketch him at
it. Not him, sir: I eddicated that dog. There ain't his like nowhere.
Coming along o' me, Master Nic?"
"Yes: I want to see all about the place."
"That's right. Ah, you're a lucky one: it's all ready for you. When me
and master come there was just nothing; and now see what it is. Look
what a garden we're getting. Here, Brooky! Did you bring in the cows?"
"Yes.--'Mornin', sir," said the man.
"'Morning. Tired after your journey?"
"Wonder if I warn't!" said the man. "I had everything to do. Look ye
here, Sam: next time waggon goes up to town you'll come too, and so I
tell the master."
"What's the matter, matey?"
"Heverything. That there Leather's no good at all. I have to do all
the work, and I won't stand it."
"Why, I thought Leather did more than you," cried Nic. "I noticed it as
we came; but you always grumbled at him."
Samson showed his yellow teeth and chuckled.
"Don't you be sarcy, sir," growled Brookes; "and what are you crowin'
at, old Sam? You needn't begin makin' a noise like a laughin' jackass.
Something's going to be changed, or I goes to another station."
"Goin' now?" shouted Samson, as the man strode off angrily.
"Never you mind," growled Brookes; and he disappeared round a barn-like
structure.
"He's got his knife into Leather," said Samson, chuckling. "Strange,
disagreeable sort o' chap, Brookes, sir. Leather's sour as Devon crabs;
but I will say this on him: he do work, and work well. But yah! a
hangel couldn't satisfy Bill Brookes. Reg'lar curds-and-whey sort o'
fellow. But don't you stand none o' that, sir," continued the old man
seriously. "You're young master: you let him have it for telling you
not to be sarcy. He wouldn't ha' said it to me; and if you don't check
him I shall tell the master. Bill Brookes wants to play first fiddle
here; but he can't and won't. I'm foreman; and if I've on'y got a
little body, Master Nic, I've got a will as big as Bill Brookes's, and
bigger too. Now I'll go and feed the pigs."
This highly interesting piece of business was gone through, Samson
mixing up some meal and water, pouring it into the troughs, and
belabouring the greedy animals with the mealy stick.
"Take your feet out o' the stuff, will yer?" he roared. "They do make
good pork and bacon and ham, Master Nic, but they are about the
savagest, fiercest things I know. Fine pigs, though, ain't they? Come
on: I want to see if that chap's getting on with the milking."
Sam led the way to a shed with open side, where the black whom Nic had
seen on the previous day was busy milking; the thick, rich milk given by
one of half a dozen beautifully clean cows descending in its double
stream, _quisk_--_whish_, and frothing up in the white pail.
"Take some in to White Mary soon," said Samson, and the man raised his
shining black face and grinned.
"I say, why do you say White Mary?" asked Nic, as they left the
cow-shed. "Who's she?"
"Because you've got to talk to them blackfellows so's they can
understand you, sir. White Mary's white woman to them. He's going to
take the pails as he fills 'em in to Miss Janet: she sees to the dairy.
And Miss Hilda, she's White Mary too, and so's your mar."
"Oh," said Nic thoughtfully. "Now then, I want to see the horses."
"Which? those on the run or in the stable?"
"On the run?"
"Yes. They're miles away, and you'd want to ride."
"Well, in the stable."
"This way, then; but won't you come and see my garden first? I've got
real apple trees a-growing."
"I'll see the garden after. I want to look how Sour Sorrel is."
"Fresh as a daisy, sir."
"I want to feed him."
"You should have got up sooner, Mister Nic. I fed the horses more'n
hour ago, and rubbed 'em down. Do you like Sorrel?" said Samson,
showing his teeth.
"Like him!" cried Nic, with a voice intense in its appreciation.
"That's right, sir. I bred him speshly for you, Master Nic. He was to
be for you, and you won't ride him too hard, will you?"
"Why, it would be a sin!" cried Nic.
"Sin ain't half bad enough word for it, sir," cried the old man. "Any
one as'd hurt a horse with a temper like Sorrel, and such a willin'
heart, ud do anything wicked, I don't care what it is. Why, I don't
believe even a lifer ud do that."
"What's a lifer?" asked Nic.
"Transported for life, sir."
"Oh yes, I remember now," said Nic, as they turned into the long wooden
stable. "Ah, father! you up already?"
"'Morning, Nic, my boy. Oh yes, we are early birds here. Been round
the farm?"
"Yes, some of it. He has been showing me."
"Well, do you think you can be content with our rough life?"
"Oh, I say, father!" cried Nic protestingly, "don't talk to me like
that! Like it? Everything seems too good. Why, I love it already."
"Don't be too enthusiastic, my boy," said the doctor, clapping him on
the shoulder. "It is not all bliss. See what a journey it is to
civilisation."
"Bother civilisation!" cried Nic. "That means me being away from home
with people who don't care for me."
"You should make people care for you," said the doctor gravely. "Our
friendships depend much upon ourselves."
"But I wanted to come out, father."
"And you've come to where nearly all our neighbours are blacks--savages,
and many of the others convicts, who are not merely blacks on the
surface, Nic. Well, we shall see how you get on. You may alter your
tone, my boy."
Nic said nothing, and the horses--six--were inspected.
"Janet and Hilda ride those two little mares, Nic," said the doctor;
"and sometimes I get your mother to mount this old favourite, but not
often. The others are away grazing."
"You have plenty of horses, then?"
"Yes. They are a necessity here, where so many miles have to be covered
a day. You think you will be contented here?"
"Of course, father."
"But you'll have to work, Nic."
"To be sure, father. I'm sure I shall like it."
"A great change from school, my boy."
"Yes, father; but it was a great change for you to come from your London
practice."
"So it was, Nic," said the doctor: "a greater change, perhaps, for I was
no longer young and sanguine. Greatest of all was the change for your
mother and sisters--leaving, as they did, all the pleasant comforts of
life, to be their own servants and stoop to all kinds of work. But they
were very good. They saw health was the great thing. Nic, boy, for
once let me refer to this seriously. I came out believing that I might
prolong my poor weary life a year. At the end of that year I thought I
could prolong it two more; and at the end of those three years I began
to be hopeful of living with those dear to me another three."
"And now, father, you are going to live to be a fine, healthy, hearty
old man."
"Please God, Nic," said the doctor, reverently raising his hat,--"for
the sake of your mother and the girls."
"He might have said, `and for your sake too,'" thought Nic, as the
doctor walked away to pat one of the horses, returning directly after to
talk in a bright cheery way.
"I'm glad you like the horses and the place, Nic," he said. "Your
mother and I were a little nervous about it being dull for you."
"Oh, I shan't be dull, father," cried the boy. "Not if you have a boy's
healthy appreciation of nature, Nic; and that I hope you have. No, you
can't be dull; there is too much to take your attention. It will be a
rougher education, but it is a grand healthy life--one like this out in
a new land, to make a good simple natural home. People fear to come to
some of these places, because they say there's no doctor. I am a
doctor, Nic."
"Yes, father; and I've heard say that you were a very clever one."
"I did my best, boy. But I was going to say I am a doctor, and saving
for an occasional accident, which nature would heal, I am like a fish
out of water."
"Break-fast!" cried a merry, girlish voice; and Hilda, looking bright
and eager, looked in at the stable door.
"Ah! here you are, Nic!" she cried. "What a shame! your first morning,
and not been to say `how are you?' to mamma!"
Nic rushed by her before she had finished, and ran into the house, where
Mrs Braydon was eagerly waiting to welcome him to the board.
"I needn't have been so apologetic," said the doctor drily, as he came
in a minute later and took his place. "Here have I been preaching to
this boy about the hardships of our life, and our rough fare, and--
humph! French ham, new-laid eggs, coffee, cream, honey, jam, hot
bread-cakes, and--tut--tut--tut! My poor boy, I am so sorry there are
no fried rolls. Can you make shift?"
"Yes, father," said Nic, laughing, as he thought of school fare. "I'm
going to try."
He did.