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.
Weary, distressed, and suffering, the passengers on the _Amoor_ gladly
landed on the busy wharf, and were conveyed to Melbourne, where Mr.
Mayburn and his daughter, Mrs. Deverell and Emma, were settled in a
handsome hotel; but Mr. Deverell and his people, with the young
Mayburns, remained at the port to land the cargo and inspect the damage
done by the storm. It was soon ascertained that the loss must be
considerable--a number of sheep and cattle, besides a valuable horse,
had been swept into the sea; and all that had been saved were in bad
condition; but it was to be hoped a short rest at Melbourne might
restore these, and fit them for their long journey into the interior.
Then Deverell had to search for experienced drovers to guide and assist
his own men; and finally, he undertook to inquire for the first vessel
to Calcutta that could accommodate Mr. Mayburn and his family, as some
months must elapse before the disabled _Amoor_ could be prepared to
resume the voyage.
The girls looked out from the windows of the hotel with admiration at
the broad and peopled streets, the handsome churches, and the European
aspect of a town on the spot which, but a few years before, had been a
lonely wilderness; but the pious Mr. Mayburn called them away to unite
with him in thanksgiving for this their first experience of the progress
of divine and social knowledge, even into the farthest regions of the
earth.
"The spirit which has clothed the desert with the blessings of peace and
abundance," said he, "and has planted the gospel of life in a
newly-discovered world, will by God's blessing spread onwards like a
fertilizing river till the word of the Lord be accomplished; for the
blessed day draweth nigh when the scattered people of God shall be
gathered into one fold, and the great shepherd shall say, 'Well done.'"
"God speed the day, dear papa," said Margaret. "But we must not be mere
watchers; we must all be workers. Wherever we go, we shall find an
untilled field, and we must all put our shoulders to the plough."
"You are right, my child," replied he, with a sigh; for though ever
willing to fulfil the duty lying before him, Mr. Mayburn wanted
resolution to seek out the hard work of the fervent missionary of
Christianity. Evening brought to them the fatigued young men with
satisfactory news. A vessel, the _Golden Fairy_, which had landed a
party of gold-diggers from England, was going forward to Calcutta with
sheep and merchandise. The captain, very glad to obtain passengers,
readily agreed to accommodate Mr. Mayburn's family; he was to sail in
three days, so no time must be lost in making preparations.
"As to my own affairs," added Edward Deverell, "I have succeeded in
finding quarters for all my live-stock. The cattle, horses, pigs, and
sheep were certainly somewhat unruly; but the women and children ten
times more troublesome. Such an amount of bundles, bags, baskets,
cradles, and cats as they have brought! How we have housed them all is a
miracle; and how we are to get them up the country is a puzzling
problem. Finally, I have bought a train of wagons, and engaged two
gentlemen as guides, who are her majesty's prisoners, released on
_parole_; in fact, two ticket-of-leave convicts."
A scream from Emma, and a groan from her mother, followed this
information.
"Surely you have not been so rash, Edward," said Mrs. Deverell. "Let us
make our way rather with our own people only. Consider the contamination
of such society for our poor virtuous followers. Besides, it is but too
probable we may be robbed and murdered by such wretches."
"It is an inevitable evil, mother," answered Edward, "for we cannot
attempt the journey without guidance. These men have behaved well since
their transportation; they are brothers--poachers--who, like many in
their situation, have erred rather through ignorance and weakness than
depravity. At least, such is the report of the overlooker who
recommended them. They have been out before in the interior with
squatters, and know the valleys of the Murray and the Darling, beyond
which our ultra-frontier tract is spread. I have been to the Colonial
Office, and have obtained the necessary forms for taking possession of
fifty thousand acres of _waste land_, as it is called, for a long lease
of years. And now, mother, we are, according to the legalized and
elegant form, _squatters_."
"_Colonists_, my son; I cannot bear the strange, uncouth word
_squatters_," said Mrs. Deverell.
"Nevertheless, mamma," said Edward, laughing, "it is official language.
We may call ourselves, if we choose, landed gentry; but the world of
Australia will rank us only as part of the _squattocracy_."
"Am I a squatter?" asked little Emma, in dismay; and great was the mirth
of her favorite friends, Hugh and Gerald, when Emma was pronounced to be
legally a squatter.
Early next morning the two convict guides were admitted to receive their
final directions from Mr. Deverell, and were regarded with some
uneasiness and much curiosity. One was a rough country lad, dressed in a
fustian suit and a fur cap, rude in manner, but of pleasing, open
countenance: the other, who was older, had a shabby-genteel appearance;
he had discarded his convict's habit, and had expended the earnest-money
received from Mr. Deverell in an old suit of black clothes, and a very
bad English hat, which he had placed on his head in a jaunty style.
"Please to show me your district by map, sir," said he, bowing at the
same time in a very conceited manner to the ladies. "You must look to
me, _cartee blank_, sir; for you see, sir, my brother is not
intelligible; he has not had the blessing of eddication."
"And your education, my friend," said Edward Deverell, "has not been a
blessing to you, I fear. Have you not rather turned it to evil?"
"Quite the _contrairy_, sir," said the man. "I look forrard to its
helping me up-hill in this free country. Why, sir, a man born anunder an
hedge may top over quality and ride in his carriage here, if he can only
come round his parts of speech rightly. But Davy will stick where he is,
for he never could tell an X from an _anpassy_."
"It's all true," said the rough rustic, "I'se no scholar like Bill,
master, but I'se do my best for ye, and glad to get out from amang yon
rogues. It's hard for a lad to be sorted with such company for just
sniggling a hare."
"_Ensnaring_, David," said his brother, pompously; "_sniggling_ is
colloquial."
"Sniggling, you know, Bill," answered David, "our lads call it in t'
north country; and little harm is there in't I say, that they should
send a poor lad amang thieves and cut-throats. But, please God, I'se out
of their way, and it will be mony a day afore I come nigh them again."
"You seem a simple, though ignorant youth," said Mr. Mayburn, "and I
cannot understand how it happened you were so severely punished for
poaching; though doubtless it is an offence against the law."
Bill laughed contemptuously as he replied for his brother,--"You see,
sir, Davy was always a fool, or we need not both have been expostulated
to this place. Our master always called him David Simple, and sure
enough, if it had not been for his downright idiosyncrasy, we might have
got clear off; but nothing would serve him but to show fight."
"Now, just be quiet, Bill, man," said David; "it was for thee I stood
out. You'se hear all, master; I'se tell t' truth. Bill had his gun, and
brought down a few birds, and I were knocking a few rabbits over, and it
chanced to be a moonshiny night, when out pops a keeper, and fells Bill
down with a club; and I heard him shout out to me, as how his arm was
broken. That aggravated me bitter, and up I ran, and leathered t' fellow
well with my stick. Then Bill got up and ran off, but I was fain to
stop, and give t' keeper a hiding; but he roared out so loud that two
more chaps came up, and first took me, and then went off after Bill.
When they got to our lodging, he made as how he knew nought about it,
but they found birds and his gun underneath t' bed; and there was his
arm all black and blue, but not broken, as he said. So off they carried
us to prison, and Bill wanted me to say as how he that were with me were
Jack Kay, an auld poacher; but I couldn't swear away a man's
_charackter_, and t' keeper took his oath Bill wanted to shut him, and I
were no better; so they sent us both over t' water. It's a thousand
pities for Bill, for he's a scholar, cute as he is about sniggling."
David was the favorite of the family, who did not admire the flowery
language and cunning look of _cute_ Bill; but among a horde of lawless
men, Edward Deverell congratulated himself that he had been fortunate
enough to obtain two men less depraved than might have been expected.
It was with a sinking heart, oppressed with strange forebodings, that
Margaret looked on the large, dark, dirty and gloomy ship honored by the
inappropriate name of the _Golden Fairy_. She grieved for the separation
from the new friends that the whole family had learned to love so well,
and she shrunk from the prospect of unknown difficulties and dangers,
when all decision and responsibility would be thrown upon her, from the
helpless character of her beloved but irresolute parent. During the
first voyage, the powerful and energetic character of Edward Deverell
had swayed the judgment of Mr. Mayburn; but in future, Margaret felt she
could only look to her young brother Arthur for aid.
"Yet have I not a greater aid?" she repeated to herself. "Forgive me, my
heavenly Father! Thou art my friend and my counsellor! Let me ever turn
to Thee in my trials, and I must be in safety." And thus, with a heart
ever recognizing the presence and relying on the love of a watchful God,
Margaret Mayburn walked on her way steadily and fearlessly.
The parting of the two families was very painful, yet they cheered
themselves with the hope so unquenchable in the young. They talked
confidently of their future meeting, the boys traced over and over again
on the map the route they proposed to take to Daisy Grange; and, but for
Margaret's firmness, even Mr. Mayburn, at the last moment, would have
relinquished his hopes of spreading the gospel in the East, to follow
the new colonists into the dreary untrodden deserts.
There was an appearance of neglect and disorder in the _Golden Fairy_
that was repugnant to the taste of the Mayburns, after being accustomed
to the trim, orderly arrangements of the _Amoor_; Edward Deverell
pointed out to Captain Markham several necessary changes which must be
made for the comfort of passengers who paid him so handsomely, and was
annoyed to perceive that his suggestions were received slightingly and
almost contemptuously. He himself procured more conveniences for the
cabin of his friends, and he besought Margaret and Arthur to be firm and
determined with Markham, who seemed careless, and, he suspected,
addicted to drinking. Now, when too late, he regretted that he had not
induced the family to remain at Melbourne for the sailing of the mail
packet; but Arthur had been anxious for his father to hasten to his
mission, lest his vacillating nature should lead him to relinquish it.
Besides which, the throng of gold-diggers made the cost of living at
Melbourne a serious consideration.
Finally, with tears and sorrowful hearts, the friends took leave of each
other, with the remote chance that favorable circumstances might bring
them together again; and it was not till the fair sunny shores of
Australia had faded from their sight, that the voyagers retired to their
cabin to endeavor to resign themselves to their changed circumstances.
The want of order in their new home was particularly trying to the
scarcely-reclaimed Ruth. She had learned to be useful among the emigrant
women in the neatly-ordered _Amoor_; but she soon relapsed into her
usual heedless habits, amidst the scattered packages and general
confusion in the _Golden Fairy_. She stumbled over boxes which were not
stowed in their proper places, she was thrown down by some terrified
sheep that had escaped from its pen, she trod to death some rambling
chicken that had found its way into the cabins, or she destroyed the
cups and plates by officiously spreading the table in the midst of a
gale, though she had been warned of the consequences.
"Margaret," said Mr. Mayburn, who had been uneasily watching the girl's
unlucky movements, "I am of opinion that poor Ruth should be subjected
to some restraint I observe that the inevitable result of her
undertakings is destruction. She is a curious study; nor can I solve the
mystery why she should always do wrong when she designs to do right I am
alarmed, Margaret; I eat my food in terror, lest she should have poured
laudanum into the curry, or scattered arsenic over the pudding."
"Have no fear, papa," answered Margaret. "Ruth is never intrusted with
culinary preparations: the cook is too cross to allow her to touch any
of his dishes, nor has she the means of procuring any of those dreaded
poisons. I do not fear that she will harm any one but herself with her
heedlessness; but, poor girl, she is covered with bruises and cuts from
falls. Nor is she entirely to blame, for the cabins are filled up with
packages which Arthur says ought to be stowed in the hold. We must,
however, make up our minds to be inconvenienced for the short time I
trust we shall be shut up in this prison."
"That I could do, my child," answered he; "but I fear Markham is not a
man of understanding to depend on in emergency. This is a sea of perils,
of storms and pirates. What would become of us if any of these dangers
assailed us? Arthur, you look disturbed; you think with me, that Markham
is unfit for his situation."
"Truly, papa, I have some doubts of him," replied Arthur. "I think he
must be an experienced sailor, for he has made this voyage many times;
and I should not have lost confidence in him, if I had not actually seen
him intoxicated. And I fear he is utterly unprincipled, for he wanted us
to join him in his nightly revels. Now, Margaret, if a storm should come
on in the night, I feel assured that he would be incapable of giving
orders."
"And a pretty set of queer-looking boys he has fished up at Melbourne,"
said Gerald, "to man the ugly ship. Hugh and I have marked our men, and
haven't they _rogue_ written on their black brows!"
"But, Gerald, is it not somewhat unkind to form so hasty a judgment?"
said Margaret. "These sailors are strangers; why do you class them as
rogues?"
"Because, Meggie," said Hugh, "Gerald saw with his own eyes a lot of
fellows in their yellow convict dress brought up for Markham to choose a
crew from, for all his own men had deserted to go to the diggings. And
we both agree that he must have picked out the most villanous-looking of
the lot. Now, just come up with us, Meggie, and take a look at the
fellows, and you shall hear what Jack says."
Margaret went on deck with her brothers, to walk round the disorderly
place; and, under the pretext of examining the various parts of the
ship, she carefully marked the faces of the men she encountered, and
could not deny that they were not only coarse and bold, but that most of
them had the fierce, sinister, lowering expression which usually
distinguishes the convict. She stopped to speak to Jack, who was busily
engaged finishing a model he had begun at Melbourne, of one of the
light-hung, commodious, broad-wheeled travelling wagons Mr. Deverell had
bought at that place.
"I could easily make one for you, Miss Margaret," said Jack, "if it were
needed; but they tell me you'll want no wheeled-carriages yonder. More's
the pity. I wish master had been persuaded to stay with Mr. Deverell. I
don't half like this, for, oh! Miss Margaret," added he, looking around,
"we've got among a bad lot."
"What have we to fear, Jack?" asked she, pale with fear.
"Don't be down-hearted, miss," said the lad; "but I doubt we may have
awkward work; for when Captain Markham is in his cups, everybody's
master. But please God to send us fair winds, we shall soon get through
the voyage."
"We must pray for His help, Jack," said Margaret; "and let us avoid
these men as much as possible. You, Jack, as well as my brothers, must
remain below; better endure confinement than encounter wickedness."
"And please, Miss Margaret," continued Jack, "would you ask Mrs. Wilson
to mind and keep Ruth close; for these saucy fellows amuse themselves
with sending her on some foolish errand, and getting her into mischief.
I near had a fight with that big brute, the mate, for pitching her over
a hencoop; but Wilkins, that little sharp fellow at the masthead, got me
away."
Margaret and Arthur had many long and serious conversations on their
uncomfortable position, particularly when their voyage was retarded by
the contrary winds of that uncertain sea. Then the family secluded
themselves in the two crowded cabins appropriated to their use, and
endeavored, by prayer and regulation of the mind, to prepare themselves
for the dangers into which such an ill-ruled vessel might be hurried.
After a day of great vexation, occasioned by the carelessness of Ruth,
who had, by some mischievous device of the sailors, let all the poultry
loose, and had been compelled by the violent captain to hunt them up
from every corner of the vessel, the girl had been summoned before
Margaret and Jenny, to be rebuked for her thoughtless conduct. She wept,
and promised to improve, and was sent to her berth, Nurse declaring that
she had made up her mind never to lose sight of her all the next day.
Then, after meeting for prayers in Mr. Mayburn's cabin, they returned,
to seek such repose as their close, uncomfortable berths afforded.
It might have been two or three hours after this, when Margaret awoke
with a strange feeling of oppression and fear, which she vainly
attempted to shake off. At length, she called out from her berth,
"Nurse, are you awake? Will you go on deck with me for a few minutes? I
long for the refreshment of the night air, for the cabin is more
suffocating than usual to-night. Surely a storm must be at hand, for the
air is positively scorching."
Jenny yawned and murmured, till at length, becoming aware of the request
of her young mistress, she scrambled from her awkward berth; but no
sooner was she on her feet, than, thoroughly awakened, she exclaimed,
"God have mercy on us! for there must be something on fire. I smell and
feel it must be so!"
Margaret sprang up, trembling in every limb, but firm in heart, to rush
through the door that separated the cabins, and arouse her father and
brothers. Jenny, in the mean time, opened the outer door, and then the
smell of burning wood was plainly perceptible. While Mr. Mayburn and his
sons hastily got ready, Margaret proceeded to the cabin of Capt.
Markham, and knocked loudly in her fright, crying out almost
unconsciously as she knocked, "Fire! fire!"
"Who calls fire?" cried Markham, with a bitter oath. "Who dares to say
that?" and his head appeared from the cabin door. His voice was husky
and broken, and Margaret feared he was intoxicated and might not
comprehend her, as she rapidly narrated her observations and her fears.
Deep and horrible were the curses of the wicked man, as he staggered
forward, screaming and yelling for the watch. That there was any watch
in this disorderly establishment, Margaret doubted. She hurried back to
her father; and they were soon alarmed by the sounds of dreadful curses,
the trampling of many feet, the ringing of bells, and the cries of the
disturbed and terrified sheep. Arthur and Hugh were sent up to ascertain
the fact of danger, and they found the lazy crew effectually roused to
action; lanterns were flying about in different directions; and at
length the fatal cry was heard, "Fire in the after-hold!"