Knowing how dense the outside darkness would appear to anyone in the vehicle,
I made a circuit, and got round to the rear. It was a single-seated buggy,
with a white horse, travelling at a walk; and, in the darkness
behind the lamps, two figures were discernible. I followed a little,
to hear them introduce themselves. They did so as follows:--
"Now, Archie; I'll scream."
"My own sweetest"----
"Letmego! O,youwon'tletmego!"
Why, the district was fairly bristling with this class of people!
I had never seen anything like it, except in the Flagstaff Gardens,
when I was in Melbourne.
"My precious darling! My sweetest"----
"I'iltellmotherIwill! O!"
"My sweetest, my beautiful"----
"O! Idon'tloveyoudear! Idon'tloveyounow! Andyouwon'tletmego!"
"There, then, sweetest. Kiss me now."
"Yes, Archie, my precious love."
There was more of it, but it fell unheeded on my ears. I paused,
and thought vehemently. The white horse in the buggy, and Archie M----,
Superintendent of the E---- Sunday School, with his girl! No wonder
I had met so many people, and all going in the same direction.
They were the sediment of the pic-nic party, returning from their orgy.
Here was the lost chord. The whole truth flashed upon me. Now,
the solid earth wheeled right-about face; east became west, and west, east.
I recognised the Victorian river road, because I saw things as they were,
not as I had imagined them--though, to be sure, I still saw them
as through a glass, darkly.
My worldly-wise friend, let us draw a lesson from this. If you have never been
bushed, your immunity is by no means an evidence of your cleverness,
but rather a proof that your experience of the wilderness is small.
If you have been bushed, you will remember how, as you struck a place you knew,
error was suddenly superseded by a flash of truth; this without volition
of judgment on your part, and entirely by force of a presentation of fact
which your own personal error--however sincere and stubborn--had never
affected, and which you were no longer in a position to repudiate.
It has always been my strong impression that this is very much like
the revelation which follows death--that is, if conscious individuality
be preserved; a thing by no means certain, and, to my mind,
not manifestly desirable.
But if, after closing our eyes in death, we open them on an appreciable
hereafter--whether one imperceptible fraction of a second, or a million
centuries, may intervene--it is as certain as anything can be, that,
to most of us, the true east will prove to be our former south-west,
and the true west, our former north-east. How many so-called virtues
will vanish then; and how many objectionable fads will shine as with the glory
of God? This much is certain: that all private wealth, beyond simplest
maintenance, will seem as the spoils of the street gutter; that fashion
will be as the gilded fly which infests carrion; that "sport" will seem folly
that would disgrace an idiot; that military force, embattled on behalf
of Royalty, or Aristocracy, or Capital, will seem like---- Well, what will
it seem like? Already, looking, or rather, squinting, back along
our rugged and random track, we perceive that the bloodiest battle ever fought
by our badly-bushed forefathers on British soil--and that only one of a series
of twelve, in which fathers, sons, brothers, kinsmen, and fellow-slaves
exterminated each other--was fought to decide whether a drivelling imbecile
or a shameless lecher should bring our said forefathers under the operation
of I Samuel, viii. (Read the chapter for yourself, my friend, if you know
where you can borrow a Bible; then turn back these pages, and take
a second glance at the paragraphs you skimmed over in that unteachable spirit
which is the primary element of ignorance--namely, those reflections
on the unfettered alternative, followed by rigorous destiny.)
Much more prosaic were my cogitations as I followed the buggy, keeping
both switches at work. According to the best calculation I could make,
I had ten or twelve miles of country to re-cross, besides the river;
and, having no base on the Victorian side, it was a thousand to one
against striking my camp on such a night. Of course, I might have groped
my way to B----'s place; but if you knew Mrs. B----'s fatuous appreciation
of dilemmas like mine, you would understand that such a thing was
not to be thought of. I preferred dealing with strangers alone, and
preserving a strict incognito. However, a pair of --- I must have, if nothing
else--and that immediately. The buggy was fifteen or twenty yards ahead.
"Archie M----!" said I, in a firm, penetrating tone.
The buggy stopped. I repeated my salute.
"All right," replied Archie. "What's the matter?"
"Come here; I want you."
The quadrant of light swept round as the young fellow turned his buggy.
"Leave your buggy, and come alone!" I shouted, careering in a circular orbit,
with the light at my very heels.
"Well, I must say you're hard to please, whoever you are," remarked Archie,
stopping the horse. "Hold the reins, sweetest."
"Who is it?" asked the damsel, with apprehension in her tone.
"Don't know, sweetest. Sounds like the voice of one crying in the wilderness."
And the light flashed on him as he felt downward for the step.
"Don't go!" she exclaimed.
"Never mind her, Archie!" I called out. "She's a fool. Come on!"
"What on earth's the matter with you?" asked Archie, addressing the darkness
in my direction.
"I'm clothed in tribulation. Can't explain further. Come on! O, come on!"
"Don't go, I tell you, Archie!" And in the bright light of the off lamp,
I saw her clutch the after part of his coat as he stood on the foot-board.
"I must go, sweetest"----
"Good lad!" I exclaimed.
"I'll be back in a minute. Let go, sweetest."
"Don't leave me, Archie. I'm frightened. Just a few minutes ago,
I saw a white thing gliding past."
"Spectral illusion, most likely. There was a hut-keeper murdered here
by the blacks, thirty years ago, and they say he walks occasionally.
But he can't hurt you, even if he tried. Now let go, sweetest,
and I'll say you're a good girl."
"Archie, you're cruel; and I love you. Don't leave me. Fn-n-n, ehn-n-n,
ehn-n-n!" Sweetest was in tears.
"This is ridiculous!" I exclaimed. "Come on, Archie; I won't keep you
a minute. The mountain can't go to Mahomet; and to state the alternative
would be an insult to your erudition. Come on!"
"O, Archie, let's get away out of this fearful place," sobbed the wretched
obstruction. "Do what I ask you this once, and I'll be like a slave
the rest of my life."
"Well, mind you don't forget when the fright's over," replied Archie,
resuming his seat. "That poor beggar has something on his mind,
whoever he is; but he'll have to pay the penalty of his dignity."
"Too true," said I to myself, as Archie started off at a trot;
"for the dignity is like that of Pompey's statue, 'th' austerest form
of naked majesty'--a dignity I would gladly exchange for what Goldsmith
thoughtlessly calls 'the glaring impotence of dress'."
I followed the buggy at a Chinaman's trot, thinking the thing over,
and switching myself desperately, for the night was getting hotter and darker,
and mosquitos livelier. You will bear in mind that I was now retracing my way.
Keeping on the track which skirted the river timber--the cool, impalpable dust
being grateful to my bare feet--I heard some people on horseback pass along
the parallel track which ran by the fence. Demoralised by the conditions
of my unhappy state, I again paused to eavesdrop. Good! One fellow
was relating an anecdote suited to gentlemen only. Thanking Providence
for the tendency of the yarn, I darted diagonally across the clearing
to intercept these brethren, and was rapidly nearing the party, when Pup,
thinking I was after something, crossed my course in the dark. I tripped
over him, and landed some yards ahead, in one of the five patches of nettles
in the county of Moira. By the time I had cleared myself and recovered
my equanimity, the horsemen had improved their pace, and were out of reach.
A few minutes afterward, I became aware of the footfalls of a single horse,
coming along behind me at a slow trot. I paused to make one more solicitation.
When the horseman was within twenty yards of where I stood, he pulled up
and dismounted. Then he struck a match, and began looking on the ground
for something he had dropped. The horse shied at the light, and refused
to lead; whereupon, after giving the animal a few kicks, he threw the reins
over a post of the fence close by, and continued his search, lighting
fresh matches. Assuming an air of unconcern, so as to avoid taking him
by surprise, I drew nearer, and noted him as a large, fair young man,
fashionably dressed.
"Good evening, sir," said I urbanely.
With that peculiar form of rudeness which provokes me most,
he flashed a match on me, instead of replying to my salutation.
"Are you satisfied?" I asked sardonically, switching myself the while,
and still capering from the effect of the nettles.
He darted towards his horse, but before he reached the bridle my hand
was on his shoulder.
"What do you want?" he gasped.
"I want your ----," I replied sternly. "I'm getting full up of the admiration
of the gods; I want the admiration of my fellow-men. In other words,
I'm replete with the leading trait of Adamic innocence; I want the sartorial
concomitants of Adamic guilt. Come! off with them!" and with that I snapped
the laces of his balmorals; for he had sunk to the ground, and was lying
on his back. "And seeing that I may as well be hanged for a whole suit
as for a pair of ----, I'll just take the complete outer ply while
my hand's in; leaving you whatever may be underneath. Let me impress upon you
that I don't attempt to defend this action on strictly moral grounds,"
I continued, peeling off his coat and waistcoat with the celerity of a skilful
butcher skinning a sheep for a bet. "I think we may regard the transaction
as a pertinent illustration of Pandulph's aphorism--to wit, that 'He who stands
upon a slippery place, makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up.'
When the hurly-burly's done, I must get you to favour me with your address,
so that"---- Here my antagonist suddenly gave tongue.
During an eventful life, I have frequently had occasion to observe
that when woman finds herself in a tight place, her first impulse is to set
the wild echoes flying; whereas, man resists or submits in silence,
except, perhaps, for a few bad words ground out between his teeth.
Therefore, when the legal owner of the ---- which I was in the act
of unfastening, suddenly splintered the firmament with a double-barrelled
screech, the thought flashed on my mind that he was one of those
De Lacy Evanses we often read of in novels; and in two seconds I was
fifty yards away, trying to choose between the opposing anomalies of the case.
A little reflection showed the balance of probability strongly against
a disguise which I have never met with in actual life; but by this time
I heard the clatter of horses' feet approaching rapidly from both sides.
The prospective violation of my incognito by a hap-hazard audience
made my position more and more admirable from a mythological point of view,
so I straightway vaulted over the fence, and lay down among some cockspurs.
Within the next few minutes, several people on horseback came up to the scene
of the late attempted outrage. I can't give the exact number, of course,
as I could only judge by sound, but there might have been half a dozen.
A good deal of animated conversation followed--some of it, I thought,
in a feminine voice--then the whole party went trampling along the fence,
close to my ambush, and away out of hearing.
The mosquitos were worse than ever. I pulled two handfuls of crop to replace
the switches I had thrown away on attempting to cajole the Chevalier d'Eon
out of his ----. My mind was made up. I would solicit this impracticable
generation no longer. I would follow the river road for eight or ten miles,
and then wait in some secluded spot for the first peep of daylight.
I began to blame myself for not having gone straight on when Archie
unconsciously gave me my longitude. To get home in the dark was, of course,
entirely out of the question; all that I could do was to aim
approximately in the right direction.
I was pacing along at the double, when a lighted window, a couple of hundred
yards from the road, attracted my attention. Like Frankenstein's unhappy
Monster, I had a hankering, just then, for human vicinity; though, like It,
I met with nothing but horrified repulse. You will notice that Mrs. Shelley,
with true womanly delicacy, avoids saying, in so many words, that the student
omitted to equip his abnormal creation with a pair of ----.
But Frankenstein's oversight in this matter will, I think, sufficiently account
for that furtive besiegement of human homes, that pathetic fascination
for the neighbourhood of man, which so long refused to accept rebuff.
With ----, man is whole as the marble, founded as the rock, as broad
and general as the casing air. Without ----, unaccommodated man is no more
but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art. The ---- standard
is the Labarum of modern civilisation. By this sign shall we conquer.
Since that night by the Murray, methinks each pair of ---- I see hanging
in front of a draper's shop seems to bear aright, IN HOC SIGNO VINCES!
scrolled in haughty blazonry across its widest part. And since that time,
I note and condemn the unworthy satire which makes the somnambulistic
Knight of La Mancha slash the wine skins in nothing but an under garment,
"reaching," says one of our translations, "only down to the small of his back
behind, and shorter still in front; exposing a pair of legs, very long,
and very thin, and very hairy, and very dirty." Strange! to think that man,
noble in reason, infinite in faculty, and so forth, should depend so entirely
for his dignity upon a pair of ----. But such is life.
Approaching the house, I judged by the style of window curtains that the light
was in a bedroom. I made my way to the front door, and knocked.
"Who's there?" inquired a discouraging soprano.
"A most poor man, made tame by Fortune's blows," I replied humbly.
"Is the boss at home?"
"Yes!" she exclaimed, in a hysterical tone.
"Would you be kind enough to tell him I want him?"
"Clear off, or it'll be worse for you!" she screamed.
"It can't be much worse, ma'am. Will you please tell the boss I want him?"
"I'll let the dog loose!--that's what I'll do! I got him here in the room
with me; and he's savage!"
"No more so than yourself, ma'am. Will you please tell the boss I want him?"
"Clear off this minute! There's plenty of your sort knockin' about!"
"Heaven pity them, then," I murmured sorrowfully; and I went round
to the back yard, in hope of finding something on the clothes-line,
but it was only labour lost.
I was on my way back to the road when I saw another lighted window.
The reason I had seen so few lights was simple enough. As a rule,
farmers' families spend their evenings in the back dining room; and the front
of the house remains dark until they are retiring for the night,
when you may see the front bedroom window lighted for a few minutes.
Turning toward the new beacon, I waded through a quarter of a mile
of tall wheat, which occasionally eclipsed the light. When I emerged
from the wheat, the light was gone. However, I found the house, and went
prowling round the back yard till I roused two watch-dogs. These faithful
animals fraternised with Pup, while I prospected the premises thoroughly, but
without finding even an empty corn-sack, or a dry barrel with both ends out.
In making my way back to the road, I noticed, far away in the river timber,
the red light of a camp-fire. This was the best sight I had seen since sunset.
Some swagman's camp, beyond doubt. I could safely count on the occupier's
hospitality for the night, and his help in the morning. If he had any
spare ----, I would borrow them; if not, I would, first thing in the morning,
send him cadging round the neighbourhood for cast-off clothes, while I sought
ease-with-dignity in his blanket. This was not too much to count on;
for I have yet to find the churlish or unfeeling swagman; whereas,
my late experience of the respectable classes had not been satisfactory.
At all events, the fire would give me respite from the mosquitos.
Encouraged by this brightening prospect, I crossed the road and entered
on the heavy timber and broken ground of the river frontage. But all
preceding difficulties, in comparison with those which now confronted me,
were as the Greek Tartarus to the Hebrew Tophet. So intense was the darkness
in the bush that I simply saw nothing except, at irregular intervals,
the spark of red fire, often away to right or left, when I had lost
my dead reckoning through groping round the slimy, rotten margins
of deep lagoons, or creeping like a native bear over fallen timber,
or tacking round clumps of prickly scrub, or tumbling into billabongs.
I could show you the place in daylight, and you would say it was one
of the worst spots on the river.
Still, in pursuance of my custom, I endeavoured to find tongues
in the mosquitos (no difficult matter); books in the patches of cutting-grass;
sermons in the Scotch thistles; and good in everything. Light and
Darkness!--aptest of metaphors! And see how the symbolism permeates
our language, from the loftiest poetry to the most trifling colloquialism.
"There is no darkness but ignorance," says the pleasantest of stage fools;
"in which thou art more puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog."
And what many-languaged millions of passably brave men have sympathised
with Ajax in his prayer--not for courage or strength; he had those already--
not for victory; that was outside the province of his interference--but for
light to see what he was doing.
No obligatory track so rugged but man, if he be any good at all, may travel
it with reasonable safety, in a glimmer of light. And no available track
so easy but man, however capable, will blunder therein, if he walks
in darkness; nay, the more resolute and conscientious he is, the more
certainly will he stub his big toe on a root, and impale his open,
unseeing eye on a dead twig, and tread on nothing, to the kinking
of his neck-bone and the sudden alarm of his mind.
And Light, which ought to spread with precisely the rapidity of thought,
is tardy enough, owing solely to lack of receptivity in its only known medium,
namely, the human subject. But--and here is the old-man fact of the ages--
Light is inherently dynamic, not static; active, not passive: aggressive,
not defensive. Therefore, as twice one is two, the momentum of Light,
having overborne the Conservatism of the Paleolithic, Neolithic,
and other unpronounceable ages, has, in this 19th century, produced a distinct
paling of the stars, with an opaline tint in the east. And, as a penny
for the first nail, twopence for the second, fourpence for the third,
and so on, amounts to something like a million sterling for the set
of horse-shoes, so the faint suggestion of dawn observable in our day
cannot do otherwise than multiply itself into sunshine yet. Meantime,
happy insect is he whose luminosity dispels a modicum of the general darkness,
besides shedding light on his own path as he buzzes along in
philosophic meditation, fancy free----
Here I trod on something about as thick as your wrist--something
round and smooth, which jerked and wriggled as my weight came upon it.
I rose fully three feet into the air without conscious effort,
and thenceforth pursued my difficult way with a subjective discontent which,
I fear, did little honour to my philosophy; thinking, to confess the truth,
what an advantage it would be if man, figuratively a mopoke, could become one
in reality when all the advantage lay in that direction; also, feeling prepared
to wager my official dignity against a pair of ---- that Longfellow
would never have apostrophised the welcome, the thrice-prayed-for,
the most fair, the best-beloved Night, if he had known what it was to work
his passage through pitch-black purgatory, in a state of paradise--nudity,
with the incongruity of the association pressing on his mind.
Ignorance again; but such is life.
It was about three-quarters of a mile from the edge of the timber to the fire;
and I should think it took me an hour to perform the journey. It was
a deserted fire, after all, and nearly burnt out; but I soon raised
a good smoke, and had relief from the mosquitos. The passage from the road
had given me enough of exploring for the time; so I parted the fire
into three lots, and, piling bark and rubbish on each, lay down between them,
to enjoy a good rest, and think the thing over thoroughly.
It may surprise the inexperienced reader to know that I had often before
found myself in a similar state of nature, and in far more prominent
situations. I had repeatedly found myself doing the block, or stalking down
the aisle of a crowded church, mid nodings on, and had wakened up to find
the unsubstantial pageant faded, and my own conspicuousness exchanged
for a happier obscurity. So, throughout the trying incidents of the evening
I have recalled, the hope of waking up had never been entirely absent
from my mind; and now, as I lay drowsing, with Pup beside me,
and not a mosquito within three yards, it occurred to me that if
I did n't get out of the difficulty by waking up, I would get out of it
some other way. Philosophy whispered that all earth-born cares were not only
wrong, but unprofitable. Though I had inadvertently switched my little engine
on to the wrong line when I postponed my intended smoke, and had so lost
the clothes which evidently went so far toward making the man, it would be
true wisdom to accept the consequent kismet, and wait till the clouds
rolled by. The end of the section could n't be far ahead.
Sufficient unto the day---- And I dropped asleep.
Here the record properly ends. I have faithfully recounted the events
of the 9th of November, at what cost to my own sensibilities none but myself
can ever know. But the one foible of my life is amiability; and,
from the first, I had no intention of breaking off abruptly when my promise
was fulfilled, leaving the reader to conclude that I woke up at my camp,
and found the whole thing a dream. The dream expedient is the
mere romancist's transparent shift--and he is fortunate in always having one
at command, though transparency should, of course, be avoided.
The dream-expedient vies in puerility with the hero's rescue of the heroine
from deadly peril--a thing that has actually happened about twice
since the happily-named, and no less happily extinct, Helladotherium
disported itself on the future site of Eden. I am no romancist.
I repudiate shifts, and stand or fall by the naked truth.
Therefore, though legal risk here takes the place of outraged sensibility,
I shall proceed with the record of the next day, till my loco. reaches
the end of the current section. By this large-hearted order of another
herring, the foolish reader will be instructed, the integrity of narrative
preserved, and the linked sacrifice long drawn-out. And if, in the writing
of annotations yet to come, the exigencies of annalism should demand
a repetition of this rather important favour, I may be trusted to grant it
without fishing for compliments, or in any way reminding the recipient
of his moral indebtedness. I can't say anything fairer than that.
It was good daylight when I woke, a little chilled and smarting,
but otherwise nothing the worse. Let me endeavour to describe the scene
which I stealthily, but carefully, surveyed during the next few minutes.
The Victorian river road, running east and west, lay about three-quarters
of a mile to the south. North and west, I could see nothing but heavy timber
and undergrowth. The eastern prospect was more interesting.
Within twenty yards of my lair, a long, deep lagoon lay north and south,
the intervening ground being covered with whipstick scrub. Beyond the lagoon,
a large promontory of red soil, partly cultivated and partly ringed,
projected northward from the road into the State Forest. Beyond this,
still eastward, the river timber again came out to the road.
A roomy homestead, with smoke issuing from one of the chimneys,
stood almost opposite my point of observation, and about a hundred yards
distant, whilst a garden occupied the space between the house and the lagoon.
At the north side of the garden, the lagoon was divided by a dry isthmus.
The nearer boundary fence of the farm, half-buried in whipstick scrub,
ran north and south along the edge of the lagoon, the lower line
of garden-fence forming part of it; and a gate opposite the isthmus
afforded egress to the river frontage.
Again, opposite my fire, but considerably to the right, a deep,
waterworn drain came down from the table land into the lagoon;
and between this drain and the house stood a little, old, sooty-looking
straw-stack, worn away with the Duke-of-Argyle friction of cattle
to the similitude of a monstrous, black-topped mushroom. The stack
was situated close to the drain, something over a hundred yards from the house,
and about the same distance from my camp. The paddock intersected
by the drain was bare fallow--that is, land ploughed in readiness for
the next year's sowing. There were several other old straw-stacks
on different parts of the farm, but they have nothing to do with this record.
Away beyond the farm, two or three miles up the main road, and just
to the right of the river timber, I recognised the F----'s Arms Hotel.
B----'s place lay beyond, and to the right, but shut out of view by a paddock
of green timber. The sight of the pub.--a white speck in the distance--
suggested to my mind an expedient, which, however, I had to dismiss.
We read that Napoleon Bonaparte, on the eve of signing his first abdication,
walked restlessly about, with his hands behind his back, muttering,
"If I only had a hundred thousand men!" Similarly, as I contemplated that pub.,
I muttered, "If I only had a handful of corks!" Ay, if! My prototype
wanted the men to abet him in maintaining his Imperial dignity,
whilst I wanted the corks to assist me in carrying-out an enterprise
attempted by a good many people, from Smerdis to Perkin Warbeck, namely,
the personation of Royalty. Something similar, you see, even apart from
the fact that neither of us found any truth in Touchstone's statement,
that "there is much virtue in an 'if'."
Nice customs curtsey to great kings. Jacky XLVIII, under whose mild sway
I have spent many peaceful years, wears clothes exactly when it suits
his comfort. When his royal pleasure is to emulate the lilies of the field,
he simply goes that way; thus literally excelling Solomon in all his glory.
The Evolution of Intelligence has stripped him of every other prerogative;
but there its stripping-power ends, and his own begins. European monarchs
will do well to paste a memorandum of this inside their diadems, for,
let them paint an inch thick, to this favour they must come at last.
Howevers that is their business. My own Royal master can still do no wrong
in arraying himself in any one of his three changes of attire--the put-on,
the take-off, or the go-naked--and if I could only counterfeit his colour
for a few hours, I would stalk majestically to my camp, caparisoned
in the last-named regalia, and protected by the divinity that doth
hedge a king. But I had no corks.
The homestead was cheerful with voices which reached my ambush clearly,
though unintelligibly, through the still morning air. At last I saw
a woman advance toward the edge of the fallow, and stand for a minute
facing the direction of the old straw-stack; then she looked over her shoulder
toward the house, and called out,
"Can any of you see Jim comin' with that horse? Father'll be ready
in a minute, and then there'll be ructions."
A little boy climbed the garden fence, and stood on the corner post.
"Not comin' yet, Mam."
Mam went back to the house, and the boy followed her. Here was my opportunity.
The topography of the place was so perfectly suited to the simplest plan
of campaign that it may suggest to the suspicious reader a romancist's shift,
diaphanous as the "woven wind" of Dacca. Let me repeat, then, that such
a flimsy thing is entirely out of my line, and would have been so
even at that time.
Availing myself of the abundant cover of whipstick scrub, I made my way down
to the lagoon, swam silently across, darted along the drain in a stooping
position, till I could "moon" the house with the old stack, and finally
took my post in a convenient recess on the side of the stack farthest
from the house. Sure enough, there was a cattle-track across the fallow
and a culvert on the drain close to my refuge. Jim would soon be coming down
that track toward the house. And, as my unhappy condition might appear
more compatible with the nature of an alien than of a Britisher,
I would accost him with a slight foreign accent, state my difficulty,
and ask him, pour l'amour de Dieu, to bring me a pair of his----.
My name would be Frongswaw Bongjoor.
I sat down with my back against the stack to recover breath, for already
Jim was in sight, approaching at an easy gallop, and in two minutes
was within fifty yards. Then hope for a season bade the world farewell,
and a cold shiver ran down my spine. Horror-stricken, but without moving
from my niche, I desperately tore down handfuls of Irish feathers
from the overhanging eave, to form a sort of screen; for "Jim"
was a magnificent young woman, riding barebacked, á la clothes-peg;
the fine contour of her figure displayed with an amazonian audacity
which seemed to make her nearly as horrid as myself. My brow was wet
with honest sweat whilst, from the poor concealment already described,
I watched her swing the horse aside from the culvert, and send him
at the drain: and, with that danger-begotten fascination by trifles which,
in situations like mine, you must often have experienced, I noticed
her pliant waist spring in easy undulation to the horse's flying leap.
And so, with that thick cable of platted hair flapping and surging
down her back, she vanished from the scene. She was a phantom of delight,
when first she gleamed upon my sight; but the revulsion of feeling
was one of the quickest and fullest I ever experienced.
It was some minutes before I became my own philosophic self again.
Then I crept to the corner of the stack, and reconnoitred the homestead.
Near the back-door, Jim had just saddled the horse, and, with the near flap
resting on her head, was taking up the slack of the girth with her teeth,
whilst her left hand, grasping the rein close to the horse's mouth,
prevented the animal from taking a piece out of her. Presently Dad
trotted out of the house and took possession of the horse, while she
stepped back a pace. Then she seemed to say something of great pith
and moment, for Dad paused, evidently questioning her. At last he returned
hastily into the house, leaving the horse again in her charge.
I made an effort to concentrate my remnant of faith on a double event,
namely, that he would n't delay long, and that he would come my way
when he started. He, at least, was a man and a brother.
I would interview him as he passed, and----
Faith scored. He didn't delay long, and he came my way straight.
But he came on foot, and he came with a gun; speaking over his shoulder
to Jim as he bustled past. Even in the distance, I fancied her attitude
was that of a girl who had imprudently set in motion a thing
that she was powerless to stop.
I could n't believe in the reality of the spectacle. But the illusion
was there, palpable enough; and it consisted chiefly of a determined-looking
man hurrying toward the stack, his right hand on the lock of a long duck gun,
his left partly along the barrel, and the cheek of the stock resting
against his hip. Beyond doubt he was after something, and beyond doubt
he meant mischief. I glanced behind me, and round the expanse of bare fallow,
but there was n't even a magpie in sight. At the same time,
the sportsman's general bearing, his depressed head and downward vigilance,
showed that he was stalking ground game, and was n't interested in anything
perched on the stack. This was apparent to me by the time he had got
within thirty or forty yards, and was holding the gun ready
to clap to his shoulder. Also I noticed that several other women
had joined Jim, and were watching his progress. Having now approached
within point-blank range, he deployed to the left, in order to outflank
whatever he was after.
Of course, you would have rushed him; you would have wrenched the gun
from his grasp, and broken it across your knee; you would have despoiled him
of his ----, and cuffed him home with ignominy. Yes, I know. So would I.
What I actually did, however, was to make two kangaroo-rat springs,
which landed me in the bottom of the drain. I called to mind that,
less than half-way down to the lagoon, I had noticed a deep, narrow,
miniature ravine, eaten into one side of the drain by a tributary channel,
and well sheltered by the foliage of large docks, now run up to seed.
In thirty seconds, I was rustling into this friendly cover.
There my confidence speedily returned, and, raising my head among
the seeding stems, I noted the guerilla tactics of that white savage.
Still holding his weapon at the ready, he had circled round the stack
till his view commanded all its recesses. Then he looked up and down
the drain, peered under the culvert, and cast his eye across the fallow
in every direction. Apparently satisfied, he threw the gun on his shoulder,
and started off toward the lower end of the garden. I saw him disappear
in the whipstick scrub, between the garden and the lagoon;
then I backed out into the drain.
But I could gain nothing by staying there, and just as little by going back
to my camp; whereas from the stack I could see any advantage that might offer
itself, either about the house or across the lagoon. And, logically,
the stack ought now to be one of the safest places in the province.
So I returned to my old post, and, almost hopelessly, brought one eye
to bear on the homestead.
I was just in time to catch occasional glimpses of Dad's head above
the foliage of the fruit trees, as he rode down along the farther side
of the garden to the dry crossing in the lagoon; and presently I saw him go up
the opposite bank, and disappear in the scrub. Another instance of erratic
shunting on my part. If I had stayed at my camp, I might have accosted him
on neutral ground, without his gun, and with his mind unpoisoned by any
of Jim's hysterical imaginings. What on earth had she told him about me?
She had certainly told him something.
Just at this moment, the sun, which had risen behind a dense bank of clouds,
suddenly burst forth. The colourless monotony of the scene flashed into
many-tinted loveliness under the magic pencils of golden light; and,
against the sombre background of river timber, a pair of white ----,
hanging, with other drapery, on a line between the house and garden,
leaped out in ravishing chiaro-oscuro!
A lifelong education, directing the inherent loyalty of human nature,
invests anything in the shape of national or associational bunting
with a sacredness difficult to express in words. Loyalty to something
is an ingredient in our moral constitution; and the more vague the object,
the more rabid will be our devotion to the symbol. Any badge is good enough
to adore, provided the worshipper has in some way identified the fetish
with himself--anything, from the standard of St. George to the "forky pennon"
of Lord Marmion; from the Star-spangled Banner to the Three Legs
of the Isle of Man.
Now, with insignia, as with everything else, it is deprivation only
that gives a true sense of value; and, speaking from experience, I maintain
that even the British Flag, which covers fabulous millions of our fellow-worms,
dwindles into parochial insignificance beside that forky pennon
on the farmer's clothes-line, which latter covers, in a far more essential
manner, one-half of civilised humanity. Rightly viewed, I say,
that double-barrelled ensign is the proudest gonfalon ever kissed
by wanton zephyrs. Whoop! Vive Les----! Thou sun, shine on them joyously!
Ye breezes, waft them wide! Our glorious Semper eadem, the banner
of our pride.
There was no time to lose. The bifurcated banner might be taken into the house
at any moment. In the meantime, several sharp-eyed women were
unwittingly maintaining a sort of dog-in-the-manger guard over their
alien flag. The ---- to him who can wear them, thought I. I must give
this garrison an alerte, though I should have to sacrifice the old straw-stack.
'Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes between the pass
and fell incensed points of mighty opposites: the old straw-stack
is the baser nature; the mighty opposites are the meteor-flag and myself.
Few men, I think, have a healthier hatred of incendiarism than I have.
This hatred dates from my eleventh year, or thereabout; when I was
strongly impressed by a bush-fire which cleaned the grass off half the county.
The origin of that fire still remains a mystery, though all manner
of investigation was made at the time; one of the most dilligent inquirers
being a boy of ten or twelve, who used to lie awake half the night,
wondering what could be done to a person for trying to smoke a bandicoot
out of a hollow log, without thinking of the dead grass.
But now it was a choice between the old straw-stack and my citizenship,
and the former had to go. I am aware, of course, that the Law takes
no cognisance of dilemmas like mine, and has no manly scruple against
raking up old grievances that would be better forgotten; but,
as I said before, Come on with your clue.
Embittered though I was by Abraham's idea of hospitality, I still felt
some lingering scruple as my order of battle unfolded itself in detail.
Every great operation, as well as every small or middle-sized one,
consists of details, as a circle consists of degrees; and the person
responsible for the grand enterprise must unavoidably be responsible
for its most uninviting detail. The details of a death-penalty, for instance,
are revolting enough; and here you must judge not according to the appearance,
but judge righteous judgment. You must perceive that the white hands
of the ultra-respectable judge are the hands which reeve the noose;
which adjust the same round the neck of the man (or woman); which pull down
the night-cap; which manipulate the lever; and which, if necessary,
grip the other person's ankles, and hang on till he is dead-dead-dead and
the Lord has mercy on his soul. It is as unreasonable to despise
M. de Melbourne, or M. de Sydney, for his little share in a scragging
operation as it would be to heap contumely on comp. or devil because of
this somewhat offensive paragraph.
Having, in the present instance, no subordinate to carry out my details,
I realised their unpleasantness, even whilst speciously justifying
the enterprise as a whole. Further provocation was required to overcome
my aversion to the dirty work; and this provocation was forthcoming
in ample measure.
I had withdrawn from the corner of the stack into my nook, to lay a few plans,
and to hastily review the ethics of the matter; now I crept back to feast
my eyes once more on the ----, before making my coup-de-clothesline.
But another object met my sight first; and I nearly fainted.
When I recovered myself, a few minutes later, I was in the lagoon.
I daren't swim across, for I would have been in full view from the stack.
A cluster of leafy reeds, growing in two feet of water, and the same depth
of slimy, bubble-charged mud, was the nearest cover; and in the midst of this
I cowered, hardening my heart against society, and watching Jim herself
as she tripped blithely past the end of the stack, and looked into my recess.
It seemed incredible; and yet, in spite of the cold and misery and difficulty
of the situation, I could n't wake up to find myself in my possum-rug.
I always make a point of believing the best where women are concerned,
and I had been prepossessed in Jim's favour; yet it now seemed to me
that if she had been worthy of her high calling, she would have brought
that pair of white ---- off the line, with, perhaps, a supplementary garment
or so, and modestly left them in the drain, instead of thus seeking further
occasion against me. She looked under the culvert, across the paddock,
and toward the lagoon, as Abraham had done, then walked round the stack,
and finally returned home by the lower end of the garden, even pausing
to look over the picket fence, and scanning right and left as she entered
the whipstick scrub.
Enough, and to spare, thought I. These barbarians have given me the sign
of their Order; now let me respond with the countersign. Not without
practical protest shall I die a nude fugitive on their premises;
and not if I can help it shall the post-mortem people find
the word ---- written on my heart.
The intervening garden and whipstick scrub effectually concealed my movements
from the enemy as I recrossed the lagoon, and made my way with all speed
to the unfurnished lodgings I had occupied on the preceding night.
There I selected a piece of thick bark, about the size of your open hand,
and solid fire for half its length. I swam the lagoon with this in my teeth,
and in a few minutes more had buried it in the broken, half-decayed straw
at the base of the stack. Then I returned along the drain, but instead
of crossing the lagoon, sneaked through the thick fringe of whipstick scrub
to the lower end of the garden, and there waited for something to happen.
I had to wait a good while. The old straw-stack wasn't in sight from my post;
and I began to think I should have to get another piece of bark,
when I heard a youngster's voice squeak out,
"Oo, Mam! th' ole straw-stack's a-fier!"
Then followed sundry little yelps of surprise from the women; and,
after giving them a start of a minute or two, I went loping round
the left-hand side of the garden, and into the back yard. Before the enemy's
vanguard reached the stack, I had captured the flag that braved
a thousand years, and applied it to its proper use. I also made free
with another banner, which I tucked into the former. I was like the man
who wrapped his colours round his breast, on a blood-red field of Spain.
Glancing into the combined kitchen and dining-room, I saw a row of wooden pegs
along the wall, with several coats and hats hanging thereon I appropriated
only an old wide-awake, shaped like a lamp-shade, even to the aperture
at the top; and from three pairs of boots under the sofa, I chose
the shabbiest. Astonished, like Clive, at my own moderation,
I next rummaged all the most likely places in search of a pipe and tobacco,
but without avail. I even extended my researches into the pantry,
and thence into the sacred precincts of the front parlour.
But the tobacco-famine raged equally everywhere. The place was a residence,
but by no stretch of hyperbole could you call it a home.
The side window of the parlour looked toward the conflagration; and there
I counted four women, one half-grown girl, and a little boy. Three
of the women, to judge by their gestures, were laughing and joking,
whilst the fourth, and most matronly, was talking to the others
over her shoulder as she turned her steps toward the house.
Then I bethought myself of Dugald Dalgetty's excellent rule respecting
the provant, and re-entered the kitchen. Early though it was,
the breakfast-things had been cleared away; so I took the lid off the boiler
under the safe, in search of the cake which ought to be kept there.
But the house was afflicted with cake-famine too. However, having no time
to fool-away, and being constitutionally anything but an epicure,
I just helped myself to the major part of a dipper of milk which stood
on the dresser, then secured a scone and a generous section of excellent
potted head from the safe.
Eating these out of my hand, I departed without ostentation; reflecting that
it was better to be at the latter end of a feast than the beginning
of a quarrel; and pervaded by a spirit of thankfulness which can be conceived
only by those who have undergone similar tribulation, and experienced
similar relief. Relief! did I say? The word is much too light
for the bore of the matter.
There is a story--bearing the unmistakable earmark of a lie, and evidently
not a translation from any other language--to the effect that once
a British subject, in a foreign land, was taken out to be shot,
just for being too good. Pinioned and blindfold, he stood with folded arms,
looking with haughty unconcern down twelve rifle-barrels,
all in radial alignment on his heart of oak. Twelve foreign eyes were drawing
beads on the dauntless captive, and twelve foreign fingers were pressing
with increasing force on the triggers, when a majestic form appeared
on the scene, and, with the motion of a woman launching a quilt
across a wide bed, the British Consul draped the prisoner from head to foot
in the Union Jack! That's all. The purpose of the lie is to convey
the impression that it is a grand thing to be covered by the flag of Britain;
but give me the forky pennon before referred to, and keep your Union Jack.
Cardinal Wolsey, you may remember, as a consequence of putting his trust
in princes, found himself at last so badly treed that his robe
and his integrity to heaven were all he dared now call his own. The effect
was a peace above all earthly dignities. So with me, but in larger beatitude.
Having my ---- and my integrity to heaven, I found myself overflowing
with the sunny self-reliance of the man that struck Buckley.
And before you join the hue-and-cry against the "barbarous incendiary"
of the ---- Express, just put yourself in my place, and you won't fail
to realise what a profitable transaction it was to get a puris naturalibus
lunatic clothed and in his right mind by the sacrifice of a mere eyesore
on a farm. The old straw-stack was n't worth eighteen pence,
but I would gladly have purchased its destruction with as many pounds--to be
paid, say in nine monthly instalments. To be sure, it did n't belong to me;
but then, neither did the splitters' bark. So there you are.
Crossing the dry place in the lagoon, I dived into the whipstick scrub
and turned northward, intending to get across the river as soon as possible,
and follow up the New South Wales side to my camp. I should have been--well,
not exactly happy; having taken degrees in philosophy which place me
above a state fit only for girls--I should have been without a ripple
on my mirrored surface, but I was n't. Serenely sufficient as I felt,
and fit for anything, some ingredient seemed lacking in my
fennel-wreathed goblet. There was a vacant chair somewhere in my microcosm.
I knew I was forgetting something--but how could that be, when, in the most
restricted sense of the word, I had nothing to forget?
Thus musing, I had gone through half my provant; now I turned round
to give the rest to ---- Ah! where was Pup? I knew he had followed me
on my first journey up the drain, but I had n't seen him since,
and had been too busy to notice his absence. He would probably be
at the farmhouse. I must get my clothes changed, and look after him.
It was about a mile and a half northward to the river. Before reaching it,
I saw, crossing the flat in the direction of the Victorian river road,
a swagman whom I recognised in the distance as my friend Andy.
In casual surprise--for, as you may remember, I had last seen him
on the New South Wales side, eight or ten miles away, and going
in the opposite direction--I went on without exchange of greeting.
Shortly afterwards, I came plump upon Abraham, sitting on his horse,
and talking to a young fellow with an axe on his shoulder. I respectfully
swerved aside, not wishing, in this particular case, to come under
the provisions of that unsound rule which judges a man by the clothes he wears.
Presently I became aware of the jingle of a horse-bell, and the smoke
of a camp-fire; and, close to the river, I found a tilted spring-cart,
near which an elderly man, with tattooed arms, sat on a log,
enjoying his after-breakfast smoke. Now, if I had only known this
a couple of hours earlier!
After the usual civilities, I reinforced my provant by a pannikin of tea,
some fried fish, and a slice off the edge of a damper which rivalled
the nether millstone in more than one respect; thus assuring myself
that I had attained Carlyle's definition of a man: "An omnivorous biped
that wears ----." Meanwhile, in response to my host's invitation to tell him
what I was lagged for, I explained that I was travelling; my horses were
on the other side of the river; I had come across to see a friend,
had been bushed all night, and wanted to get back.
He could manage the river for me, he said. He followed fishing
and duck-shooting for a living; but there was so many informers about
these times that a man had to keep his weather-eye open if he wanted
to use a net or a punt-gun. People needn't be so particular,
for there was ole Q---- had been warning and threatening him yesterday,
and here was the two young Q----s out this morning at the skreek of daylight,
falling red-gum spars to build a big shed, and the ole (man) out on horseback,
picking the best saplings on the river. Ole Q---- was a J.P. His place
was just across the flat, with a garden reaching down to the lagoon.
Q---- himself was the two ends and the bight of a sanguinary dog.
After breakfast, the old fellow furnished me with smoking-tackle,
and paddled me across the river. During the passage, for want of
something else to say, I mentioned to him that I had seen Andy crossing
the flat, apparently from his camp. He explained that the swagman
had been on his way to a new saw-mill, the day before, but had met
one of the owners, who told him the mill would n't start till after harvest,
and promised him work on the farm in the meantime. So Andy, on his return
journey, had seen the outlaw's fire in the dusk; and, after some
one-sided conversation across the river, the latter had ferried him over,
and entertained him for the night. I mention this merely to show
with what waste of energy the so-called sundowner often hunts for work,
particularly if he happens to be the victim of any physical infirmity.
On reaching the north bank, I reminded the old fellow that I wanted
to return by-and-by to look after a dog I had lost when I was bushed;
and he promised to bring his skiff for me when I would sing-out.
In a couple of hours I was at my camp. In another fifteen minutes
I was arrayed in my best and only. Shortly afterward, my horses were equipped,
and Cleopatra being in fine trim, was bucking furiously in the sand-bed
where I had mounted. In an hour and a half more, I had unsaddled and hobbled
both horses on a patch of good grass, nearly opposite where
the spring-cart stood. My persecuted acquaintance, in response to my coo-ee,
appeared with his skiff, and ferried me over. Then I hurried across the flat,
to the residence of Mr. Q----. A man loses no time when such a dog
as Pup is at stake.
It could n't have been later than half-past-one when I walked up
along the garden fence, and approached the door of the kitchen.
A modest-looking and singularly handsome girl had just filled a bucket
of water at the water-slide, and was hammering the peg into the barrel
with an old pole-pin. I recognised her as Jim, and forgave her on sight.
"Good day to you, ma'am," said I affably. "Sultry weather is n't it?
I'm looking for a big blue kangaroo dog, with a red leather collar.
Answers to the name of 'Pup'."
She hesitated a moment. "You better see my father. He's at dinner.
Will you come this way, please."
I followed her into the parlour. In passing through the kitchen,
I noticed that dinner was over, and a second young woman--apparently
the original owner of my boots--was disposing the crockery on the dresser.
In the parlour, Mr. Q----, a man of overpowering dignity, redolent of
the Bench, and, as I think, his age some fifty, or by'r lady
inclining to threescore, was dining in solitary grandeur, waited on
by young woman number three. Lucullus was dining with Lucullus.
"Good day, sir," said I, with a respectful salaam. "Have I the honour
of addressing Mr. Q----?"
"Your business, sir?" he replied, surveying me from head to foot.
"I'm looking for a dog I lost last night, or this morning;
a big blue kangaroo dog, with a"--
"Are you sure he's your dog?"
"Perfectly sure, Mr. Q----."
"How did you come in possession of him?"
"I bought him eight months ago. Am I right in assuming
that he's on your prem"----
"Steady, my good man. Who are you? What's your name?"
"I must apologise for not having given my name at first. My name is Collins--
of the New South Wales Civil Service. I'm Deputy-Assistant-Sub-Inspec"----
"And what leads you to imply that I've got your dog?"
"Information received."
"Leave the apartment, Naomi," said the magistrate loftily. "Now, Mr. Collins,"
he continued, pouring out a glass of wine, and holding it between his eye
and the light; "I want to ask you"--he drank half the wine, set the glass
on the table, and leisurely wiped his mouth with his serviette--"I want
to ask you"--he paused again, pursed his lips, and placed his forefinger
against his temple--"I want to ask you how you come to imply that the dog
is here? 'Information received' was your statement. Be precise this time,
Mr. Collins. I'm waiting for your answer."
"I had my information from a man who saw the dog on your premises, Mr. Q----."
"Very good, indeed! At what time did he see the dog? Be punctual,
Mr. Collins. Punctuality implies truth."
"About sunrise, I think."
"You think! Are you sure?"
"Well, yes; I'm sure."
"Describe your informer, please."
"Describe him! If I described him ever so accurately, you would n't know him
from Adam," I replied sharply, and withal truthfully. "Is my dog here,
Mr. Q----? If he is, I'll take him, and go. I don't want to be trying
your patience after this fashion."
"Steady, Mr. Connell. Was your informer a man about my height?"
"I have no idea of your height, Mr. Q----."
"Was he a man about your own height? We'll get at it presently."
"You've got at it first try. I should say you've struck his height
to about a sixteenth of an inch."
"Sunburnt face? Skulking, fugitive appearance generally?"
"Your description's wonderfully correct, Mr. Q----. You might, without libel,
call him a sansculotte."
"I'm seldom far out in these matters. How was he dressed?"
"In a little brief authority, so far as I remember But is my dog----"
"Do you imply a sarcasm?" inquired the J,P. darkly. "I would n't do so
if I was you. I'm not thinking about your dog. You and your dog!
I'm thinking about a valuable stack of hay I had burnt this morning;
and you've give me a clue to the incendiary." He paused, to let his words
filter in. "You done it without your knowledge, Mr. O'Connell,"
he continued pompously, again holding up his glass to the light.
In the silence that ensued, I could hear the murmur of the girls' voices
about the house, and the irregular ticking of two clocks; while there dawned
on my mind an impression that somebody had fallen in the fat.
"I'm sorry to hear of your loss, Mr. Q----," I remarked, at length.
"So far as the loss goes, that gives me no inconvenience, though it might
break a poorer man. I been burnt out, r----p and stump, by an incendiary,
when I was at Ballarat"----
"Ah!" said I sympathetically, but my sympathy was with the other party----
"And then I could afford to offer a hundred notes for the apprehension
of the offender, before the ashes was cold."
"But mightn't this last affair be an accident, Mr. Q----? A horse
treading on a match for instance? I think you ought to make strict inquiries
as to whether any horse, or cow, or anything, passed by the stack
shortly before the fire was noticed."
"I know my own business, Mr. O'Connor," he replied severely.
"I been the instigation of bringing more offenders, and vagabonds,
and that class of people, to justice than anybody else in this district.
If I'd my way, I'd stamp out the lawless elements of society."
"I admire your principles, Mr. Q----; and you may count upon my assistance
in this matter. By-the-way, there are two illicit red-gummers down here"----
"I was talking to you about this stack-burning affair," interposed the beak.
"I'm annoyed over it. I been on the wrong lay, so to speak, all this morning;
but that never lasts long with me. I got the perpetrator in my eye now,
in his naked guilt; and, take my word for it, Mr. Connor,
I'll bring him to book. I'll make an example of him. I'll make him smoke
for it. It was an open question this forenoon; but to show how
circumstantial evidence sort of hems in a suspected party--why, here I can
lay my hand on the very man; and, what's more, he can't get out of it.
I can point out the very mark of his body, where he slep' at a fire
among the whipstick scrub, just across that lagoon. And a party
I'm acquainted with seen him yesterday afternoon, some distance up the river,
on the other side; and I seen him this morning, crossing the flat here,
more or less about the time the fire was noticed. What do you think of that
for circumstantial evidence, Mr. Connelly? And in addition to this,
I can point out his incentive--which I prefer to hold in reserve
for the present. He might think his incentive justifiable; but the Bench
might differ with him." And El Corregidor held me with his glittering eye
while he sipped his wine.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Q----," said I, clearing my throat. "I can't help
taking a certain interest in this matter. Would it be impertinent in me
to ask who the person was that saw the suspected incendiary up the river
on yesterday afternoon?"
"I've no objection to answer your question, Mr. Conway. I quite expect you
to take a strong interest in the matter. In fact, I'll require to know
something of your whereabouts after you leave my premises. I think
you'll be wanted over this affair. The party that seen the incendiary
yesterday was Mr. H----, of H---- Brothers."
"Mr. Charles H----?" I inquired casually.
"No; Mr. Arthur H----. Very respectable man, having personal knowledge
of the incendiary." Again the J.P. sipped his wine; and the girls' voices
murmured, and the clocks ticked, and the hens clucked in the yard; also,
the magpies tootled beyond the lagoon, and a couple of axes sounded
faintly across the flat; and I even heard, through the open window,
the noise of some old back-delivery chattering through a crop of hay
on an adjacent farm. "Give me your address," continued Mephistopheles,
replenishing his glass. "Writing-material on the side table."
I wrote my name and official title, giving our departmental office in Sydney
as a fine loose postal address, and laid the paper on the table
beside the magnate. It reminded me of old times, when my Dad used to send me
to bring him the strap. It was time to shake my faculties together,
for ne'er had Alpine's son such need.
"I've made a study of law, myself, Mr. Q----," I remarked thoughtfully.
(This was perfectly true, though, in the urgency of the moment,
I omitted to add that my researches had been confined to those interesting
laws which govern the manifold operations of Nature). "I've made a special
study of law; and I think you will agree with me that a successful
criminal prosecution is a Pyrrhic victory at best. At worst--that is,
if you fail to prove your case; and, mind you, it's no easy matter to prove
a case against a well-informed man by circumstantial evidence alone--if you
fail to prove your case; then it's his turn, for malicious prosecution;
and you can't expect any mercy from him. When you think your case is complete,
you find the little hitch, the little legal point, that your opponent
has been holding in reserve. Now, you 're a gentleman of substance,
Mr. Q----.You're a perfect target for a man that has studied law."
I paused, for I noticed the Moor already changing with my poison.
"By heaven! I'd like to have a shot at you for a thousand!"
I continued, eyeing him greedily.
"One of the obstacles in a position like mine is the thing you just implied,
Mr. Connellan," responded the waywode, almost deferentially. "Same time,
this case ought to be followed up, for the sake of the public weal. As
valuable as the stack was, I don't give that for it." And he snapped
his finger and thumb.
"You may be morally certain of the identity of the scoundrel, but your proofs
require to be legally impregnable," I continued, pressing home where
he had disclosed weakness of guard. "I know a very respectable man--
a Mr. Johnson--who dropped something over a thousand in a case similar to this.
The scoundrel was a deep subject; and he got at Johnson for false imprisonment.
These roving characters can always get up an alibi, if they're clever.
Excuse my meddling in this case, Mr. Q----, but you've interested me strongly.
You have evidence that this suspected incendiary was seen somewhere
down the river yesterday--or up the river was it?--and you saw him somewhere
here, this morning. Very well. Would the two descriptions of dress
and deportment tally exactly with each other, and with the appearance
of the person whom, independently of that evidence, you know to be
the perpetrator--I mean the scoundrel of the camp-fire? Consider the opening
for an alibi there! You hold the incentive in reserve, I think you said?
Pardon me--is it a sufficient one?"
"It don't take much incentive to be sufficient for a vagabone without a shirt
to his back" replied the ratepayer, suddenly boiling-over.
"True," I conceded; "but, 'Seek whom the crime profits,' says Machiavelli.
What profit would it be to such a scoundrel to do you an injury, Mr. Q----?"
"The propertied classes is at the mercy of the thriftless classes,"
he remarked, with martyr-pride.
"But incendiarism! Mr. Q----," I urged in modest protest. "Why,
the whole country lives by the farmer: and I'm sure"----
"We won't argy the matter, Mr. Collingwood," replied my antagonist,
lowering his point. "Possibly I won't trouble you any further
over this affair. Your business keeps you on the move," he continued,\
looking at the paper beside him; "and it might be difficult to effect service.
You want your dog. Go into the kitchen; inquire for Miss Jemima,
and tell her I authorise her to give you the dog. And a very fine dog he is."
"Thank you, Mr. Q----. Good day."
"Good day," replied the boyard, acknowledging my obeisance
by a wave of his hand.
It was a near thing, but I had scored, after all. You can't beat
the pocket-stroke. Passing through the kitchen, I met the graceful Jim.
"Are you Miss Jemima?" I asked, in the tone you should always use
towards women.
A dimple stole into each beautiful cheek as she nodded assent.
"Well, Mr. Q---- authorises Miss Jemima to give me the kangaroo-dog."
"Come this way, then, please." There was a slight flush of vexation
on the girl's face now. And, indeed, it was scarcely fair of Dogberry,
when his own soft thing had fallen through, to make Jim cover his dignified
retreat. With deepening colour, she led the way to the stable,
and opened a loose-box, disclosing Pup, crouched, sphynx-like,
with a large bone between his paws. The red collar was gone; and he was
chained to the manger by a hame-strap. Of course, I did n't blame
the franklin, nor do I blame him now; rather the reverse. There seems
something touching and beautiful in the thought that respectability, at best,
is merely poised--never hard home; and that our clay will assert itself
when a dog like Pup throws himself into the other scale. But I could feel
the vicarious crimson spreading over Jim's forehead and ears as I unbuckled
the hame-strap, whilst vainly ransacking my mind for some expression of thanks
that would n't sound ironical. A terrible tie of sympathetic estrangement
bound this sweet scapegoat and me asunder, or divided us together;
and each felt that salvation awaited the one who spoke first,
and to the point--or rather, from the point. All honour to Jim; she paced----
"You call him 'Pup'," observed the girl girlishly. "He's a big pup."
"His proper name is 'The Eton Boy'," replied the wretch wretchedly.
And neither of us could see anything in the other's remark.
But the tension was relaxed; and, leaving the stable together,
we gravely agreed that a thunderstorm seemed to be hanging about.
Still a new embarrassment was growing in the girl's face and voice,
even in the uneasy movement of her hands. At last it broke out--
"I s'pose you haven't had any dinner?"
"Don't let that trouble you, Miss Q----."
"Father's not himself today," she continued hastily. "He blames us
for burning an old straw-stack; and I'm sure we never done it.
Mother's been at him to burn it out of the way this years back,
for it was right between the house and the road; and it was '78 straw,
rotten with rust. But I'm glad we did n't take on us to burn it,
for father's vowing vengeance on whoever done it; and he's awful
at finding out things."
"Mr. Q---- mentioned it to me," I replied, with polite interest.
"But don't you think it seems a most unlikely thing for a stranger to do?
Perhaps some of your own horses or cattle trod on a match that Mr. Q---- had
accidentally dropped there himself?"
"That couldn't be; for father never allows any matches about the place,
only them safety ones that strikes on the box. And he hates smoking.
My brothers has to smoke on the sly."
"Have you many Irish people about here, Miss Q----?"
"None only the Fogartys; and they're the best neighbours we got."
"And was nobody seen near the stack before the fire broke out?"
"Not a soul. I was past there myself, not twenty minutes before we seen
the fire; but I was going middling smart, and I did n't see anybody--nothing
only Morgan's big white pig, curled under the edge of the stack,
that always jumps out of the sty, and comes over here, and breaks into
our garden. Well, father's always threatening to shoot that pig; and me,
never thinking, I told him it was there; and he got his gun and went after it;
and us in a fright for fear he would find it, but he did n't.
Then when we seen him well out of sight, I went over to the stack quietly,
to shoo the pig home, but it was gone; and there was no sign of fire then,
and nobody in sight. Then my sisters and me was just starting out
to the milking-yard, and mother had begun to take the things off the line,
when little Enoch seen the fire. We couldn't make it out at all;
and I examined up and down the drain for boot-marks, but there was none.
And just before you come, I picked up the track of the horse I was riding,
to see if his feet had struck fire on anything; but I was as wise as ever."
"Ah! the horse was shod, Miss Q----?"
"No; he's barefooted all round. Well, he trod on a piece of a brick,
near the corner of the garden; but the fire never travelled from there.
It's very unaccountable."
"Very. I wonder would there have been such a thing as a broken bottle
anywhere about the stack, Miss Q----? The sun came out unusually strong
this morning, I noticed; and it's a well-known scientific fact
that the action of the solar rays, focussed by such a medium as I have
suggested, will produce ignition--provided, of course, that the
inflammable material is in the angle of refraction."
"I don't know, sir," she replied reverently.
"Why, gold has been melted in four seconds, silver in three, and steel in ten,
under the mere influence of the sun's heat-rays, concentrated by a lens"--
she shivered, and I magnanimously withheld my hand. "If this hypothesis
should prove untenable," I continued gently, "we may assume
spontaneous ignition, produced by chemical combination. Nor are we confined
to this supposition. Silex is an element which enters largely into
the composition of wheaten straw; and it is worthy of remark that,
in most cases where fire is purposely generated by the agency
of thermo-dynamics, some form of silex is enlisted--flint, for instance,
or the silicious covering of endogenous plants, such as bamboo, and so forth.
A theory might be built on this."
"It seems very reasonable, sir," she murmured. "Anyway, I'm glad
the old stack's out of the road. The place looks a lot cleaner."
"Well, I won't keep you out in the sun," said I reluctantly.
"Good bye, Miss Q----. And I'm very much obliged to you."
"Oh, don't mention it! I'm sure we're very happy to"---- she hesitated,
blushing desperately.
"Well, good-bye, Miss Jemima."
"Good-bye," she murmured, half-extending her hand.
"I might see you again, some time," I remarked, almost unconsciously,
as our fingers met.
"I hope so," she faltered.
"Good-bye, Jim," said I, slowly releasing her hand.
"Good-bye." The word sounded like a breath of evening air,
kissing the she-oak foliage.
Then the maiden with the meek brown eyes, and the pathetic evidence
of Australian nationality on her upper lip, returned to her simple duties.
And the remembrance of Mrs. Beaudesart came down on me
like a thousand of bricks. Such is life.
But my difficulties were over for the time being. My loco. had jolted its way
over the rough section, carrying away an obstruction labelled V.R.,
and had reached the next points. I was still two or three days ahead
of my official work; and there had happened to be a stray half-crown
in the pocket of the spare oriflamme I had unfurled at my camp.
Should I push on to Hay on the strength of that half-crown, draw my £8 6s. 8d.,
and send my clothier a guileful letter, containing a money-order for,
say, thirty shillings? This would test his awfulness at finding out things,
besides giving myself, morally, a clean bill of health. Or should I first
walk across to B----'s and get Dick L---- to shift some of my
inborn ignorance re Palestine?
I decided on the latter line of action, and followed it with--Well,
at all events, I have the compensating consciousness of a dignity
uncompromised, and a nonchalance unruffled, in the face of Dick's really
interesting descriptions of South-eastern Tasmania. Concerning my lapse
of engagement on the previous evening, I merely remarked that the default
was caused my circumstances over which &c.
I spent a couple of days, besides Sunday, at B----'s place;
while the fisherman kept an eye on my horses. I helped B---- to work out
a new and rotten idea of a wind-mill pump; Dick handing me things,
and holding the other end. On the first afternoon, a couple of hours
after my arrival, I drove into for some blacksmith work; and, whilst
it was being done, I looked in at the Express office, and had a gossip
with Archimedes on the topics of the day.
And now, whilst duly appreciating the rectitude of soul which has carried me
through this trying disclosure, you will surely condone the obscurity
in which I have been compelled to envelop all names used herein.