A few days after the return of the owner of Marumbah Downs, he, with
Gerrard and the black stockman, Toby, were camped on the bank of a
creek about thirty miles from the head station. They had started out at
daylight to muster some of the outlying cattle camps, and now after a
hard day's riding were stretching themselves out upon the grassy bank to
rest, whilst Toby was lighting the fire in readiness for supper. On the
top of the bank the three hardy stockhorses and a packmare, were grazing
contentedly on the rich green grass, and lying at Westonley's feet
were two beautiful black-and-tan cattle dogs, still panting with their
exertions. The camp had been made in a grove of mimosa trees, within a
hundred yards of the clear waters of the creek, which rippled musically
over its rocky bed as it sped swiftly to the sea. It wanted an hour to
sunset, and already the hum of insects was in the air, and a faint cool
breeze which had been stirring the green graceful fronds of the mimosas,
and wafting fleecy strips of white across the blue dome above, had died
away.
In the thick foliage of a cedar tree on the opposite bank, a pheasant
and his mate were hopping about, uttering their harsh, rude notes; then
came a whir and whistle of wings and a quick passing shadow overhead
as a flock of black duck sped over the tree tops to some sandy-banked,
reed-margined pool near by.
Westonley, a big, bushy-bearded man, raised himself on one elbow, and
watched them disappear; then he called to Toby to take the gun and
follow.
“What's the use of 'em, Ted?” said Gerrard, as pipe in mouth, and with
hands clasped under his head, he gazed upwards to the sky. “There's two
scrub turkeys in the saddle-bags; don't be such a beastly glutton.”
“You mind your own business, my little man. You like scrub turkey. I
don't. Give me a black or a wood duck, freshly killed, before all scrub
or 'plain' turkeys in Australia. And move yourself, you useless animal,
and get one of your turkeys and pluck it while Toby is getting a duck or
two. Wonderfully intelligent nigger is Toby. I've never yet known him to
fail in getting me a duck if there was one within a mile. I say, Tommy,
d'ye like crawfish? This creek here is full of 'em. We'll get some after
supper.”
“All right! I'm with you there,” said Gerrard, as he pulled out two
scrub turkeys from the saddle-bags, and then seizing one by the legs, he
took aim at the broad back of his friend, and the fat, heavy bird struck
him fairly in the middle of it. The big man never moved, except to
carelessly put his hand out behind, and taking the turkey, began to
pluck it.
“Tommy,” he said, presently, “d'ye know how to make crawfish soup? It's
grand!”
“Can make it as well as you can, sonny,” replied Gerrard, as he sat down
and began plucking the other bird.
“Fearful lot of cubs at the 'Union' now in Sydney,” said the older man,
meditatively. “Hate going into the place. Met the two young Arlingtons
there the other day, and asked 'em if they were going home to the
station. 'No jolly fear,' said one of the cubs--they have just come back
from college in England--'we've had enough of Portland Downs and bullock
punching, branding, and all the rest of the beastly thing.' 'But you'll
go and see your father?' I asked. 'Well, I don't think so, you know, Mr
Westonley,' drawled the elder cub, 'it's a beastly long way, and takes
such a devil of a time to get there--fourteen hundred miles by steamer
is no joke, and we have to be back in England in five months. So the
governor is coming down here to have a palaver with us.' It hurt me,
Tom, to hear these two youngsters talking like that, for Arlington is
over seventy years of age. And they were good lads until he sent them
to England to college with more money than was good for them. And it has
done them harm--made cads of 'em,” and he viciously tugged at the wing
feathers of the bird he was plucking. “Your father used to say that
Oxford and Cambridge turned out more good men, and more moneyed snobs
into the world than all the other colleges in the universe.”
“Daresay,” said Tom Gerrard, carelessly, as he began a surgical
operation on his turkey. “I have heard my father say that old Arlington,
who was one of the best of the old time squatters, made a mistake in
sending those two boys home with unlimited money and credit. I suppose
they'll turn out rotters.”
“Most likely. And Arlington--by thunder, can't that old fellow of
seventy ride through scrub--thinks that they will take his place on
Portland Downs when he dies, and be a credit to the colony. _I_ wouldn't
have 'em on Marumbah as jackeroos, at a pound a week. But yet there is
good stuff in them, Tom, and good English blood--the best in the world.
Hallo! this turkey has eggs; just the very thing for the crawfish soup
to-morrow.”
Presently two shots rang out in quick succession.
“Toby has got on to 'em,” said Westonley; “how do you cook black duck,
freshly-killed, sonny, when you're camping out?”
“Grill 'em.”
“The whole carcass?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you must have degrading, greedy customs up in Queensland. Why,
the only part--but there, I'll show you presently when Toby comes back.
Tommy!”
“Yes.”
“This sort of thing is all right, isn't it?” and the big man waved his
great arm vaguely around his head.
“Yes, it's as fine a bit of country as there is anywhere in Australia,”
replied the younger man, who knew how devoted his companion was to
Marumbah. “In fact it is all good country on Marumbah. I wish my run was
half as good. Still I've nothing to grumble at. There are five thousand
cattle on Ocho Rios now, and it will carry another two thousand easily.”
Presently Toby appeared carrying three ducks, which he handed to his
master, who felt them approvingly. “They're all right, Toby. Go and look
to your fire. Now, Tom, my son, I'll show you the only way to fix up a
black duck quickly, and correctly as well.” Plucking the thick coating
of feathers off the underneath half of a bird from the lower part of the
neck down, he made a deep, sweeping curve with his sheath knife, removed
the entire breast denuded of plumage, and then threw the rest to the
dogs. A second bird was done the same way, and the two portions were
then skewered through with a piece of hard, green wood, sprinkled with
salt, and handed to the black boy, who soon had them frizzling merrily
over a glowing fire.
Gerrard nodded approval. “Quick, but wasteful, old man. You would never
do for a cook in a well-regulated household.” Then cutting off a large
piece of the turkey, he skewered it in the same manner, and hung up the
rest for Toby to eat.
Night came swiftly, and, as the two friends ate their supper, and drank
their strong “billy” tea, the stars came out, and the heavy dew began
to fall upon the grass. Spreading their blankets under the mimosas, they
lit their pipes, and with their saddles for pillows, began to discuss
various matters--the past day's work, the price of fat cattle in
Melbourne, the late drought in South Australia, and such other
all-important subjects to Australian pastoralists.
Then Gerrard, after describing some of his experiences and troubles with
the wild blacks on Cape York Peninsula where his station, “Ocho Rios,”
was situated, said:
“By the way, Ted. That was a curious thing that you should come across
that youngster Jimmy, just through having a yarn with a sailor on board
the _Balclutha_.”
“Very curious; no--it's something more than that Tom. It was as if
the Power above had directed it. This man Coll was one of the
quartermasters, and only mentioned the _Cassowary_ in the most casual
manner to me as we were passing the place where she went ashore. 'I was
in her, sir,' he said in the most simple, matter-of-fact manner, 'and me
and a poor little boy about four, was the only ones as was saved.'
“'Good heavens!' I said, 'you are the one man in the world I wanted
particularly to meet I went especially to Sydney, but could not find any
trace of you except your name in the shipping office where you had been
on the _Cassowary_ as an A.B. And I advertised in all the Australian
papers for you and the boy, but you seemed to have vanished off the face
of the earth.'
“'It's very easy to explain, sir,' he said. 'As soon as I got to Sydney,
I went to the Sailors' Home, taking the boy with me. There was hundreds
of people wanted to take him, but I was too fond of the kid to give
him up to anyone. I suppose it was wrong of me, seeing as I have a big
family of my own, which was then living at Newcastle. But I knew the old
woman wouldn't make too many bones about another mouth to feed.'
“Then he went on to say that being afraid the boy would be taken from
him by some of the many people who wanted to adopt him, he slipped
away with him one night from the Sailors' Home, and took him on board a
collier schooner, whose captain he knew, and who was leaving Sydney on
the following morning for Wellington, New Zealand. The skipper of the
vessel consented to take Jimmy away with him, and then bring him to
Newcastle on the return voyage--the collier belonged to, and always
loaded at Newcastle--and hand him over to Mrs Coll. This was done, and
in a few months, although Coll was continually asked by people what had
become of the youngster, he always told the same story--the boy had
been adopted by a family with plenty of money, whose name he was not at
liberty to reveal, etc.
“Then, of course, I told him that I was the son-in-law of Captain
Gerrard, whom he remembered perfectly well, as also your mother and poor
Rayner. We had quite a long talk, and in the end I succeeded in wresting
a promise from him that if 'the old woman' was agreeable to parting with
Jimmy, he would also consent.
“I went to Newcastle with him and saw his wife, who brought the boy to
me. He was quite decently dressed, and got into my heart right away...
And I thought that Lizzie would like him too.” His voice dropped, and he
ceased speaking for a few minutes.
“Well, I had a hard struggle to induce the worthy woman to give him up,
but in the end she consented. Then I talked about little Mary, and how
happy the two would be together, and that it would not be natural for
two children who had been rendered orphans by the same dreadful calamity
to be separated. The poor creature's face was streaming with tears when
she at last consented. 'It's no for the sake o' the money I pairt wi'
the bairn. It's little he costs me, an' my own children will be sore at
heart for many a lang day after he goes!'.. But she recognised that it
would be wrong of her to refuse--and so the matter was fixed up.”
“Good old Ted!”
“Well--keep this dark from Lizzie, old man--I gave 'em a cheque for two
hundred and fifty pounds.”
Gerrard's clear laugh. “Poor Lizzie! She thinks you gave them fifty
pounds only.”
“Just so, just so--you see, old man, Lizzie isn't a bit mean--and she
doesn't know that I am as well in as I am, so I told her a fifth of the
truth. I said that fifty pounds was a great help to a hard-working man
with a large family.”
“Cunning beggar!”
“Then, as Coll struck me as being a downright, straightforward man,
who had a pretty stiff pull of it to bring up and educate his children
decently on seven pounds a month--seaman's wages.--I got him a berth as
wharfinger to a steamship company at twelve pounds, and he was made as
happy as a sandboy, I can tell you: Lizzie knows that much, for I told
her. And she lets the youngster write to the Colls now and then.”
“Does she?” said Gerrard, dryly. He could not help it. Then he sat up,
and re-filled his pipe.
“Ted, old chap, I like that youngster. Let me have him and take him to
Ocho Rios with me. I want little Mary most, but know you won't part
with her, and even if you would, a cattle station in the Far North is no
place for a girl. But let me have the boy. I'll be good to him.”
Westonley made no answer at first. Then he said slowly, “I'll tell you
in the morning, Tom. Good-night.”