Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustration.
See 43465-h.htm or 43465-h.zip:
(https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/43465/pg43465-images.html)
or
(https://www.gutenberg.org/files/43465/43465-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/kangaroohunterso00bowmrich
THE KANGAROO HUNTERS;
Or, Adventures in the Bush.
by
ANNE BOWMAN,
Author of "Esperanza," "The Castaways," "The Young Exiles," etc., etc.
"Light and limber, upwards driven,
On the hoar crag quivering;
Or through gorges thunder-riven,
Leaps she with her airy spring!
But behind her still, the foe--
Near, and near the deadly bow!"
SCHILLER, _translated by Bulwer_.
Philadelphia:
Porter & Coates.
[Illustration: "He faced round, and with his fore-feet--his arms I
should say--he seized me, and gave me a heavy fall."]
PREFACE.
The rapid spread of education creates a continual demand for new books,
of a character to gratify the taste of the young, and at the same time
to satisfy the scruples of their instructors. The restless, inquiring
spirit of youth craves, from its first development, food for the
imagination, and even the simplest nursery rhymes owe their principal
charm to their wonderful improbability. To these succeed the
ever-interesting tales of Fairies and Enchanters; and the ardent boy
only forsakes Ali Baba and Sindbad for the familiar and lifelike
fictions of "Robinson Crusoe," and the hundred pleasant tales on the
"Robinson Crusoe" model which have succeeded that popular romance.
It is the nature of man to soar above the common prose of every-day life
in his recreations; from the weary school-boy, who relieves his mind,
after arithmetical calculations and pages of syntax, by fanciful
adventures amidst scenes of novelty and peril, and returns to his labors
refreshed, to the over-tasked man of study or science, who wades through
his days and nights of toil, cheered by the prospect of a holiday of
voyaging or travelling over new scenes.
This spirit of inquiry has usually the happiest influence on the
character of the young and old, and leads them--
"To know
The works of God, thereby to glorify
The great Work-Master."
In this belief, we are encouraged to continue to supply the young with
books which do not profess to be true, though they are composed of
truths. They are doubtless romantic, but cannot mislead the judgment or
corrupt the taste; their aim being to describe the marvellous works of
creation, and to lead the devout mind to say with the divine poet,--
"Great are thy works, Jehovah, infinite
Thy power; what thought can measure thee, or tongue
Relate thee?"
A. B.
RICHMOND, _October_, 1858.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. page 1-16
The Rector and the Soldier.--The Mayburn Family.--A Mission
to India.--The Orphans of Wendon.--Ruth the Unlucky.--Jack's
Project.--The Addition to the Mayburn Establishment
CHAPTER II. 17-31
Departure from Wendon.--Embarkation in the _Amoor_.--Ruth's
Adventures in London.--The Deverell Family.--The Pleasures of
the Voyage.--Tropical Wonders.--The Flying-fish.--The Stormy
Petrel.--The Albatross.--Deverell's Plans.--The Indian
Ocean.--A Storm
CHAPTER III. 32-44
Melbourne.--The Squatters.--The Two Convicts.--A Painful
Separation.--The _Golden Fairy_.--Ruth's Misfortunes.--A
Nocturnal Alarm.--Ruth's Confession.--The Ship on Fire.
CHAPTER IV. 45-57
Insubordination of the Sailors.--Rapid Progress of the
Fire.--The Boats lowered.--Ruth's Prize.--A Man Saved.--Black
Peter.--The Adventure of a Reprobate Crew.--A Dangerous
Comrade
CHAPTER V. 58-71
Afloat on an Unknown Sea.--The Insubordinate Sailor.--The Coral
Reefs.--An Island in View.--The Perilous Landing.--Peter's
Rebellion.--The First Night on Shore.--Ruth among the
Crockery.--A Valuable Prize.--The March from the First
Encampment
CHAPTER VI. 72-84
A Pleasant Resting-place.--The Turtle.--A Knavish
Trick.--Destitution.--An Exploring Expedition.--Lake
Scenery.--A Wrecked Vessel.--Strange Footsteps.--A Prudent
Retreat.--Return of the Explorers
CHAPTER VII. 85-97
The Results of the Expedition.--The Long Vacation.--Removed
from the Landing-place.--Birds and their Nests.--Fishing.--Tapping
a Cask of Potatoes.--Tent-making.--The Shell Spades.--Digging
a Tank.--A Grand Attempt at Boat-building
CHAPTER VIII. 98-111
The Launch of the Boat.--An Alarming Catastrophe.--Disappointed
Hopes.--Jack's Perseverance.--A Peep at the Old Encampment.--Black
Peter again.--The Loss of the Boat.--Canoe-building.--The
Luggage-van
CHAPTER IX. 112-127
The Foray.--Young Potatoes.--More Intruders.--Ruth's Introduction
to the Savages.--The Sailing of the Fleet.--The Desert Shore.--The
Giant Ant-hill.--Once more at Sea.--A Storm, and the Loss of the
Catamaran
CHAPTER X. 128-142
A Total Wreck.--An Unknown Coast.--The Green Ants.--The White
Cockatoo.--Waifs.--The Gourd Tree.--The Fresh-water Rivulet.--A
River Voyage Projected
CHAPTER XI. 143-156
The Voyage up the River.--The Way to China.--The Note of a Strange
Bird.--A Hasty Flight.--A Tropical Storm.--The Loss of the
Canoes.--The Cave of the Bats.--A Toilsome Pilgrimage
CHAPTER XII. 157-172
Alligators.--The Giant's Staircase.--Access to a New Region.--The
Pheasant Cuckoo.--Wild Oats.--The Unequal Contest.--The First
Kangaroo.--Scenes of Arcadia.--A Hint at Cannibalism.--The Cockatoo
Watch.--The Enemy put to Flight
CHAPTER XIII. 173-186
Rope-making.--The Cavern of Illustrations.--Ruth at the
Water-pools.--Victualling the Fortress.--The Blockade.--Assault
and Battery.--Bloodshed.--The Close Siege.--Prospect of Famine
CHAPTER XIV. 187-202
Rambles through the Caves.--Fairy Bower.--A Rough Path to
Freedom.--Preparations for Flight.--The Use of the Rifle.--A
Case of Conscience.--Departure.--Travelling among the Bogs.--A
View of the River.--Making an Axe.--A New Plant
CHAPTER XV. 203-216
The Tea-Shrub.--Another Canoe.--A Skirmish with the
Natives.--Wounded Heroes.--An Attempt at Voyaging.--A Field of
Battle.--The Widowed Jin.--Wilkins's Sorrows.--Baldabella in
Society.--The Voyage Resumed
CHAPTER XVI. 217-228
The Mother and Child.--The Interior of the Country.--Another
Cataract.--The Pilgrim Troop.--The Difficult Ascent.--The Frilled
Lizard.--The Mountain-range.--The Kangaroo-chase.--The Pass of Erin
CHAPTER XVII. 229-241
The Dangerous Pass.--The Coupled Travellers.--The Mountain
Labyrinth.--The Emancipation of Ruth's Chickens.--A Combat _à
l'outrance_.--The Ornithorhyncus.--The Forest in the
Mountains.--Singing Birds.--The Laughing Jackass
CHAPTER XVIII. 242-254
The Tunnel through the Mountains.--The Chase of the Emu.--An
Encounter with the Natives.--The Rescue of Baldabella and her
Child.--Making a Bridge.--Canoes Again.--The Fishing of Baldabella
CHAPTER XIX. 255-268
A _Cache_.--The Black Forest.--A Site for the Hut.--The
Eagles.--Gerald's Accident.--A Subterranean Grotto.--The Pitcher
Plant.--A Potato Ground.--The Fig-tree.--Australian Jumbles.--The
Hungry Guest
CHAPTER XX. 269-280
The Reservoir.--The Rains.--The Native Companion.--The Employments
of Prison Life.--The Unlucky Chase.--Jack's Tale of Trouble.--Black
Peter's Temptations.--The Release of the Eagle.--The Rescue Party
CHAPTER XXI. 281-292
The Approach to the Prison.--Baldabella's Stratagem.--The Release
of the Captive.--Wilkins's Tale of Trials.--A Well.--The Potato
Crop.--The Flying Opossum.--The Salt Plant.--Preparations for a
Siege
CHAPTER XXII. 293-305
Peter's last Stratagem.--Firing the Fortress.--The Watch-tower.--The
Welcome Rain.--The Close Siege.--The Conflict.--The Defeat of
Peter.--The Fortress Abandoned.--Once more on the Road.--Resting in
the Wilds
CHAPTER XXIII. 306-317
A Bark Sledge.--The Friendly Tribe.--The Wild Melon.--A Nocturnal
Alarm.--The Wombats.--The Bivouac on the Heath.--The Savages
again.--Away to the South
CHAPTER XXIV. 318-330
The Dry Wilderness.--Despair.--The Coming-down of the Waters.--The
Discomfited Savages.--Hunger and Thirst.--The Footsteps in the
Mud.--A Pond.--The Talegalla and its Nest.--The Valley of
Promise.--The River to the South
CHAPTER XXV. 331-343
Boat-building again.--Unlucky Ruth.--The Woods on Fire.--Dangers on
Land and Water.--The Wounded Girl.--A Home among the Mountains.--The
Bottle-tree.--The Bee-hunt.--Bean-coffee.--The Lost Hunters
CHAPTER XXVI. 344-355
The Search for the Lost.--The Fig-tree.--Signals.--The Wanderers
Found.--The Wounded Boy.--The Sufferings of the Thirsty.--The Rescue
and Return.--The Kangaroo Conflict.--A Strange Meeting.--The
Bush-rangers.--The Miraculous Escape
CHAPTER XXVII. 356-369
The Eagle's Eyrie.--The Chaotic Solitude disturbed.--The Voluntary
Prisoners.--The Report of the Spy.--The Foe at the Gates.--A Traitor
in the Camp.--Dispersion of the Invaders.--A lucky Escape.--A
pleasant Voyage
CHAPTER XXVIII. 370-383
The Cookery disturbed.--A Signal-rocket.--A Surprise and
Capture.--Pillage.--The Taste of Gunpowder.--A Fatal Explosion.--The
Contrivances of Necessity.--A Region of Famine.--Renewed Hopes.--An
Unfair Advantage
CHAPTER XXIX. 384-396
A Seasonable Supply.--Visitors in the Night.--Captivity.--An Old
Acquaintance.--The Ranger's Settlement.--An Embassy to Daisy
Grange.--Jack in a New Office.--The Grateful Native Woman.--Davy's
Compunction.--Bush-ranging Life
CHAPTER XXX. 397-409
A Proposal of Marriage.--Bill's Rejection and
Revenge.--Pocket-picking.--Jack's Return.--Black Peter
again.--Bush-ranging Merriment.--A Flight in the Dark.--An
Emu-chase.--The disappointed Hunters.--Pursuit.--A Stratagem
CHAPTER XXXI. 410-422
The Sentinels in the Trees.--The End of Bill the Convict.--The
Bush-rangers deceived.--A strange New Animal.--A Bloody
Conflict.--The Mountain-pass.--The Fruit of the Acacia.--The
Travellers in Custody.--The Court of Justice
CHAPTER XXXII. 423-435
Travellers' Wonders.--The Detective Force.--A Trap for the
Rangers.--The Skirmish and the Victory.--Daisies in Australia.--The
Constancy of Susan Raine.--The Trial and Sentence of the
Natives.--Peter and his Colleagues
CHAPTER XXXIII. 436-453
A Chase over the Mountains.--The Frightful End of the
Bush-ranger.--Ruth's Opinion.--The Cereopsis.--A Description of the
Colony.--The Dingo.--The Cattle at Home.--The Park.--The Arrival at
Daisy Grange
CHAPTER XXXIV. 454-463
The Comforts of Civilization.--Susan Raine.--The Hamlet and the
Church.--Plans for the Future.--Mrs. Edward Deverell.--The Beauties
of Daisy Grange
THE KANGAROO HUNTERS.
CHAPTER I.
The Rector and the Soldier.--The Mayburn Family.--A Mission to
India.--The Orphans of Wendon.--Ruth the Unlucky.--Jack's Project.--The
Addition to the Mayburn Establishment.
"I am a selfish creature, O'Brien," said Mr. Mayburn, the rector of
Wendon, to his invalid friend. "I cannot forbear from coming once more
to annoy you with my lamentations, and to ask your counsel, for I am
most unhappy. Every object I behold, every word I hear, recalls to my
mind my bereavement. I cannot remain in this place after the loss of my
beloved wife. She was the moving power of my household. It was she, in
fact, who was the pastor and director of the parish, the skilful tutor
of her children, the guide and the guardian of her weak and erring
husband. Alone, I am unfit for my responsible office; I shudder over the
conviction that I am faithless to my vows; I know, O'Brien, that I do
not fulfil my duty."
"There is an easy remedy for your distress, my good friend," answered
Captain O'Brien; "my advice is, do your duty, and be comforted."
"It is physically impossible, O'Brien," said the mourner. "My nerves are
shattered; my health is completely destroyed. I shrink from communion
with society; and though I exert myself to give my boys their daily
lessons, I would afterwards gladly enclose myself in my study, and live
amongst my books."
"No doubt you would," replied O'Brien; "but God did not send us into
this world to vegetate in solitude, and bring forth no fruit. Act,
Mayburn, I beseech you, man; power comes with action, you know well; and
whatever man has done, may be done. Work! work! is the counsel of the
worn-out dying soldier to him who has yet the labors of life spread
before him."
"But you have no idea how feeble my bodily powers are," groaned the
rector.
"I can form a very tolerable idea of your strength," said the captain;
"for the last time I was out I saw you plunged up to the knees in the
green marsh, regardless of a cold north-east March wind."
"I remember the day well," answered Mr. Mayburn, with animation, "for I
was fortunate enough to obtain the eggs of the crested grebe in the
marsh. You will not have forgotten that the preceding summer I got a
fine specimen of the bird."
"Very well," said his friend; "now, if you were able thus to toil and to
endure to save the eggs of a bird, you may surely exert yourself still
more to save the soul of a Christian. Go more among your poor; talk to
them, help them with your knowledge, and teach them to live happily and
die happily. I am not without experience in such work, Mayburn; as long
as I was able, I had a little flock of my own; and in secular matters at
any rate, was a sort of parish priest among my soldiers. I felt an
interest in the history and in the daily life of every man in my
company, and was never more at home than in the nooks and corners where
my poor fellows dwelt. It was this pleasant and profitable work that
Mrs. Mayburn ably accomplished for you, and I see Margaret is treading
in her steps; go with her, Mayburn, support her in her virtuous course,
and you will discover that life has still its pleasures for you."
"Not here! not here! my dear O'Brien," answered Mr. Mayburn. "Sometimes
I determine to relinquish this parish, and accept one of smaller
population, where the responsibility would be less; at other moments I
am prompted to adopt an entirely opposite course, and to make up for my
past wasted life by devoting my remaining days to missionary labors in
distant lands, where I might be more stimulated to exertion, in the
necessity of action. Give me your advice, O'Brien, on which of these two
plans to decide. On the one hand, I have the temptation offered me to
exchange for a small living on the north-eastern coast, where I should
meet with many ornithological novelties; on the other hand, I know I
have still sufficient interest among my old friends to obtain the
appointment to some mission in the colonies. I should prefer Northern
India or South Australia, both affording rich fields to the naturalist."
"A matter of secondary consideration," said O'Brien, smiling. "But wait
a month or two, my good friend; we must not decide hastily on such an
important step; and before that time has elapsed, you will have
fulfilled the last pious offices for me. Do not be agitated, Mayburn. I
know that I am dying; these old wounds have slowly, but successfully,
undermined the fortress; it cannot hold out long. But be comforted; I am
resigned and calm, nay, I am happy, for I know in whom I trust. Now,
Mayburn, to you and to your sweet daughter I must bequeath my wild,
half-taught boy. Give him all the book-lore he can be made to imbibe;
above all, Mayburn, make him a Christian. To Margaret I intrust his
physical education. I should wish him to be fitted to perform such work
in this world as it may please God to call him to. I am thankful that I
must leave him poor, as he will thus be exempt from the grand
temptation, and forced into healthy action. May God direct his labors to
the best and wisest end."
The words of his dying friend had for some time a salutary influence
over the amiable but vacillating Mayburn. With remorse and shame he
looked on his own discontent, and with a brief gleam of energy he turned
to the duties of his office; but long habits of self-indulgence in
literary pursuits and literary ease were not to be suddenly overcome;
and when the grave closed over his faithful friend and wise counsellor,
O'Brien, he soon shrunk back into morbid, solitary musings, and
gradually sunk into his accustomed indolence. But a waking of remorse
induced him to write to his old college friend, the Bishop of ----, to
pray that he might be allowed to resign his living, and be appointed to
some distant mission.
Mr. Mayburn, though upright in principle and amiable in disposition, was
yet unfitted, from his deficiency in firmness, for the responsibilities
of his office; but his constitutional timidity and indolence had escaped
notice during the lifetime of his valuable and energetic wife, who had
directed his actions and concealed his feeble nature. But it was the
will of God that she should be suddenly called from him; and, stunned
with his loss, he abandoned himself to sorrow and inaction. The death of
his valuable friend and counsellor, Captain O'Brien, cut away the last
prop of the feeble man, who was now alternately sunk in useless grief or
haunted with the horrors of neglected duties.
Pious and eloquent, his people declared he was an angel in the church;
but in their humble dwellings his visits, like those of angels, "were
short and far between." In his family, it was his pleasure to
communicate to his children the rich treasures of learning that he
possessed; but the lessons of life, the useful preparation for the
battle of the world, he had not the skill or the energy to teach.
His daughter, now sixteen years of age, had been ably instructed by her
excellent mother, and possessed good sense and prudence beyond her
years. Arthur, the eldest son, one year younger, had benefited by his
mother's advice and example equally with his sister, whom he resembled
in disposition. His brother Hugh, not yet thirteen years old, was too
young to have profited much by instruction, and was more volatile than
Margaret and Arthur. But the children were all frank, true, and
conscientious; and had yet escaped the temptations and perils of the
world.
Gerald, the orphan son of the faithful and attached friend of Mr.
Mayburn, Captain O'Brien, was the most weighty charge of his timid
guardian; though but twelve years old, he was bold, independent, and
forever in mischief; and hourly did Mr. Mayburn groan under his
responsibility, for he had solemnly promised to fulfil the duties of a
father to the boy, and he trembled to contemplate his incapacity for
the office.
"Margaret," said he to his daughter, "I request that you or Jenny will
never lose sight of that boy after he leaves my study. I am continually
distracted by the dread that he should pull down the old church tower
when he is climbing to take the nests of the harmless daws, or that he
should have his eyes pecked out by the peacocks at Moore Park, when he
is pulling the feathers from their tails."
"Do you not think, papa," answered Margaret, "that you are partly
responsible for his mischievous follies? You have imbued him with your
ornithological tastes."
"He has no taste, Margaret," replied her father hastily. "He has no
judgment in the science. He has never learned to distinguish the
_Corvidæ_ from the _Columbidæ_; nor could he at this moment tell you to
which family the jackdaw he makes war with belongs. He is negligent
himself, and, moreover, he allures my son Hugh from his serious studies,
to join him in rash and dangerous enterprises. He is totally deficient
in the qualities of application and perseverance. I have a dim
recollection, Margaret, of a childish hymn, written by the pious Dr.
Watts, who was no great poet, but was really an observer of the habits
of the animal creation. This hymn alludes prettily to the industry of
the bee, and if you could prevail on Gerald to commit it to memory, it
might suggest reflections on his own deficiencies."
"Papa," said Margaret laughing, "Gerald could repeat 'How doth the
little busy bee,' when he was four years old, and I do not think that a
repetition of it now would make any serious impression on him."
"He has no taste for the higher range of poetry," said his distressed
guardian; "and has too much levity to seek knowledge in the direct
paths. What would you think of giving him to learn an unpretending poem
by Mrs. Barbauld, which describes the feathered tribes with tolerable
accuracy. It commences,
'Say, who the various nations can declare,
That plough, with busy wing, the peopled air!'"
"Gerald is not lazy, papa, he is only thoughtless," said Margaret. "Let
us hope that a few years will bring him more wisdom; then he will learn
to admire Homer, and to distinguish birds like his good guardian."
Mr. Mayburn sighed. "But what shall I do with the boy," he said, "when
my duties summon me to distant lands? I am bewildered with doubts of the
future. Will it be right, Margaret, to remove you and my promising boys
from country, society, and home, perhaps even from civilization?"
"No, no, papa, you are not fitted for a missionary to savages," answered
Margaret, "you must choose some more suitable employment. And if you are
bent on quitting England, surely you cannot suppose, whatever may be
your destination, that we should consent to be separated from you."
"God forbid that it should be so!" exclaimed the father. "But I cannot
but feel, my child, that I have been selfish and negligent. Give me some
consolation--tell me that you think I may yet do some good in a strange
land. I am persuaded that I shall be better able to exert myself among
complete heathens than I am among these cold, dull, professed
Christians."
"If you feel this conviction, papa," said Margaret, "it is sufficient.
When we earnestly desire to do right, God always provides us with work.
We must all try to aid you. And Gerald is now our brother, papa; he must
accompany us in our wanderings. The boys anticipate with great delight
the pleasures of a sea-voyage, and I myself, though I regret to leave my
poor people, enjoy the idea of looking on the wonders of the world."
"Then, Margaret," added Mr. Mayburn, "I must trust you and Jenny to
watch that giddy boy, Gerald. Warn him of the dangers that surround him.
I should never survive if he were to fall overboard. I promised O'Brien
much; but, alas! I have done little."
Margaret engaged to use all needful watchfulness, though, she assured
her father, Arthur would care for the young boys; and being now
convinced that her father's resolution to leave England was earnest and
unchangeable, the young girl, assisted by Jenny Wilson, the old nurse,
set about the serious preparations for this important change; and when a
mission to a remote part of India was proposed to Mr. Mayburn, he found
the whole of his family as ready as he was himself to enter into this
new and hazardous undertaking.
"I looked for nothing better, Miss Marget, my darling," said nurse
Jenny; "and my poor mistress, lying on her death-bed, saw it all
plainly. Says she to me, 'Nurse,' says she, 'your good master will never
settle after I'm gone. He'll be for shifting from this place; but mind
this, nurse, you'll stick to my childer.' And then and there I said I
would never leave ye; 'specially you, Miss Marget; where you go, I must
go, and I hope God will spare me to nurse childer of yours. Though
where you are to meet with a suiting match I cannot see, if master will
choose to go and live among black savages."
"Not so bad as that, nurse," said Margaret, smiling. "I trust that our
lot may be cast on a more civilized spot, where we may find many of our
own countrymen living among the benighted people we are sent to teach;
and even they, though ignorant and degraded, are not absolutely savage,
neither are they blacks, my dear nurse."
"Well, my child, you know best," answered Jenny. "But there's a sore
task laid out for you, that will have all the work to do. Not but what
master is a grand hand at preaching, and can talk wonderful, nows and
thens, to poor folks; but he cannot get round them as you can. He never
seems to be talking to them as it were face to face, but all like
preaching to them out of his pulpit; and somehow he never gets nigh hand
to them. But it's God will, and, please Him, we must all do our best; we
shall be missed here; and oh, Miss Marget, what will come of poor Ruth
Martin? and we promising to take the lass next month, and make a good
servant of her. Here's Jack, too; just out of his time, a fair good
workman, and a steady lad, and none but you and master to look up to,
poor orphans."
"Do not be distressed, nurse," replied Margaret, "I have thought of all
my scholars; I have prepared a list of those I wish papa especially to
recommend to his successor; and perhaps Mrs. Newton will take Ruth on
trial."
"She won't do it, Miss Marget," answered Jenny. "I tried her before, and
she flounces, and flames, and says all sorts of ill words again the
lass, as how she's flappy and ragged, and knows nothing; and when I
asked her what she could expect from childer as was found crying over
their poor father and mother lying dead under a hedge; she said
outright, she should expect they would turn out vagabonds, like them
they belonged to. Yes, she said that; after you had given the poor
things schooling for six years."
It was not the least of Margaret Mayburn's pangs, on leaving Wendon,
that she must be compelled to abandon the poor children of the parish,
whom she had long taught and cared for; and she sighed over the
incapacity of the rough orphan girl that she now set out with her
faithful nurse to visit.
Ruth and Jack Martin had been found one cold morning of winter in a lane
leading to the village of Wendon, sitting by the side of the hedge,
weeping over the dead bodies of their parents, who had perished from
famine and fever, exposed to the storm of the previous night. The
children were conveyed to the workhouse, and from their story, and
further inquiries, it was made out that their mother had left a tribe of
gipsies to marry a railway _navvy_, as the children called their father.
He was a reckless, drunken profligate; and after losing his arm from an
accident which originated in his own carelessness, was dismissed from
his employment, and driven to wander a homeless vagrant. The children
said they had lived by begging, and had often been nearly starved; but
their mother would never let them steal or tell a lie, and she had often
cried when their father came to their lodging very drunk, speaking very
bad words, and holding out silver money, which their mother would not
touch.
But at last he was seized with a bad fever on the road, and, houseless
and penniless, they crept under a haystack; from thence the children
were sent to the road-side to beg from passengers, or to seek some
farmhouse, where charity might bestow on them a little milk or a few
crusts of bread; but the poor wife sickened of the same disease which
was carrying off her husband, and in their desperation the wretched
sufferers dragged themselves to the road which led to the village, in
hopes of reaching it, and finding shelter and aid. But it was too late.
In the midst of the beating snow, and in the darkness of a winter's
night, the man sank down and died. The wretched woman cast herself down
beside him, and, overcome by sorrow and long suffering, did not survive
to see the morning light.
The sympathy created by this melancholy event procured many warm friends
for the orphans. They were fed and clothed, sent to school, and
carefully instructed in that pure religion of which they had formerly
had but vague notions. Jack, the boy, who was about eleven years of age
when they were orphaned, was a thoughtful, industrious lad; for three
years he made useful progress at school, and in the last three years,
under a good master, he had become a skilful carpenter. Ruth, who was
two years younger than her brother, had inferior abilities; she was
rough, boisterous, and careless; and was ever the dunce of the school,
till at length the schoolmistress begged she might be put to something
else, for she declared she made "no hand at learning." She was then
placed with an old woman, who daily complained that "the lass was of no
use; she was willing enough; but if she was set to wash the cups, she
broke them; and she could not even stir the fire but she would poke it
out." At fifteen years old, Ruth was a strong, active girl, extremely
good-natured, true, and honest, fondly attached to her brother, and
devoted to her kind friends at the rectory; yet, certainly, Ruth was no
favorite with the wives of the neighboring farmers, who unanimously
agreed that she must have "two left hands," she was so awkward in all
her undertakings. Under these untoward circumstances, it had been
arranged that Ruth should undergo an apprenticeship in the rectory
establishment, to fit her for household service. This event was looked
forward to by the girl with great delight, and it was with much regret
that Margaret set out to announce to her their plan of leaving Wendon,
which must necessarily extinguish her hopes of preferment.
There was still another who would deeply feel their loss; and Margaret
was accompanied by her brothers, who were anxious to see their untiring
assistant, Jack. It was he who gave his useful aid to them in the
construction of bows, bats, leaping-bars, and all the wooden appliances
of school-boy sports; and above all the people of the village, the boys
murmured most that they must part with Jack.
They found the industrious lad busily engaged in making a new crutch for
Nanny, the old woman with whom the orphans lived. "You see, Master
Hugh," said he, "poor Ruth happened to throw down Nanny's crutch, and
then the careless lass fell over it, and snapped it. I reckon it had
been a bit of bad wood; but this is a nice seasoned stick I've had laid
by these two years for another purpose, and it comes in nicely; for
Nanny was cross, and poor Ruth was sadly put about, and this will set
all straight."
At this moment, Ruth, who had been sent out to milk Nanny's cow,
entered in woful plight. She had neglected to tie Brindle's legs
properly, and the animal, irritated by the teasing bark of an ill-taught
little dog, had struggled to extricate itself, kicked Ruth into the mud,
and the milk-pail after her, and then run off, pursued by its tormentor;
and the girl returned with her dress torn and dirty, and her milk-pail
empty. Nanny scolded, Jack shook his head, Margaret gently remonstrated
with her for her carelessness, and, worst cut of all, the young
gentlemen laughed at her. Then Ruth fairly sat down and cried.
"Well, Nanny," said Margaret, "you must look over Ruth's fault this
time, for we have some sad news for you all. We are going to leave
Wendon."
Jack threw down his work, and Ruth, forgetting her own vexation, held up
her hands, crying out, "Not without me, please, Miss Marget. You
promised to try and make me good for something; please do, Miss Marget,
and I'll pray God to make me of some use to you."
"But, Ruth," said Hugh, "we are going far away from here, across the
wide sea, and among people who neither talk, nor look, nor live as we
do."
"How many legs have they, Master Hugh?" asked the awe-struck girl.
"Only two legs, and one head, Ruth," answered he, laughing; "and we feel
pretty sure that they will not eat us; but, for all that, I am afraid
they are a little bit savage, if they be roused."
"Will you be so kind as to tell me, Mr. Arthur," said Jack, "where you
may be going really."
Arthur then explained to Jack the plans of Mr. Mayburn, and assured him
they all felt a pang at leaving Wendon; and especially they regretted
the parting from the children they had themselves assisted to teach.
"Then let us go with you," cried Ruth vehemently.
"Cannot we both work and wait on you? If I stay here I shall be sure to
turn out a bad lass. Jack, honey, we'll not be left behind, we will run
after Miss Marget and Mr. Arthur."
Jack was thoughtful and silent, while Margaret said to the weeping
girl,--"If we had only been removing to any part of England, Ruth, we
would have taken you with us, if it had been possible; but we dare not
propose such an addition to the family in a long voyage, which will cost
a large sum of money for each of us; besides this, we are going to a
country where your services, my poor girl, would be useless; for all the
servants employed in cooking, house-work, and washing, are men, who bear
the labor, in such a hot climate, better than women could."
"If you please, Miss Margaret," said Jack, eagerly, "I have thought of
something. Will you be kind enough to tell me the name of the ship you
are to go in, and I will get my master to write me out a good
testimonial, and then I will seek the captain, to offer to work for my
passage and for that of poor Ruth, if you will agree to try her; for you
see, Miss Margaret, we must never be parted. And when once we're landed,
please God, we'll take care to follow you wherever you may go."
Margaret was deeply affected by the attachment of the orphans; and
though she felt the charge of Ruth would be a burden, she promised to
consult her father about the plan, and the brother and sister were left
in a state of great anxiety and doubt.
As they walked home, Margaret and Arthur talked of Jack's project till
they satisfied themselves it was really feasible; and Arthur believed
that, once landed in India, the lad might obtain sufficient employment
to enable him to support himself and his sister.
"Oh, Jack will be a capital fellow to take with us," said Hugh. "I know
papa will consent, for he could always trust Jack to find the birds'
nests, and bring away the right eggs, as well as if he had gone himself.
Then he is such an ingenious, clever fellow, just the man to be cast
away on a desolate island."
"I trust we shall never have occasion to test his talents under such
extreme circumstances," said Arthur; "but, if we can manage it, I should
really like Jack to form a part of our establishment. As to that
luckless wench, Ruth, I should decidedly object to her, if we could be
cruel enough to separate them, which seems impossible. But I shall
always be haunted with the idea that she may contrive, somehow, to run
the ship upon a rock."
"Oh! do let us take Ruth, Meggie," exclaimed Gerald; "it will be such
fun. Isn't she a real Irish girl, all wrong words and unlucky blunders.
Won't she get into some wonderful scrapes, Hugh?"
"With you to help her, Pat Wronghead," replied Hugh. "But mind, Meggie,
she is to go. Papa will say what you choose him to say; and I will
cajole nurse out of her consent."
And serious as the charge was likely to become, it was at length agreed
that Jack and Ruth should be included in the party with the Mayburns;
and the girl was immediately transferred to the rectory, to undergo a
short course of drilling previous to the momentous undertaking.