An official summons—Travelling in state—Brisbane—On board
ship again—Triumphal entry into Sydney—In a church again—The
lecture—Meeting old friends—Soft reflections.
Some few weeks after this, the brothers were discussing their future
plans with Burns.
The fact was that ever since the riding episode, he had been trying
to induce them to stay altogether at his station, and they had almost
agreed with his proposal to do so, at all events for six months,
when their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a mounted
messenger, who, with a loud clinking of spurs, came up the verandah
steps and handed Burns an official-looking document, saying shortly,
as he did so,—
“From the Governor.”
“Hullo, you Stanleys,” shouted Burns, as soon as he had skipped
through the letter, “here, read this. You are both—all of you—expected
to accompany the bearer back to Brisbane at once, to wait on the
acting-Governor, and then be shipped off to Sydney. But here, read it.”
The brothers read the letter carefully through, and found that it was
indeed a summons to Brisbane from headquarters; that “the two natives
were to go with them, and that Burns was to find the horses.”
“But how do they know anything about us?” inquired Mat.
“That’s what beats me,” said Burns. “Oh, stop; I’ve got it! That
drunken rider who was here has a brother, sort of head-clerk in
Government House. The breaker has told his brother, and thus the
whole matter has come to the ears of the Governor. That breaker, as
you know, went back to Brisbane; but I daresay you _don’t_ know that
he never paid me my five pounds; only, I suppose just to show that
there was no coolness between us, took a bottle of my best brandy with
him. But now, my friends, this is no time to talk. You must get your
‘swags’ as quickly as you can, and I’ll see about the horses: you
don’t know what luck may be in store for you.”
“But one moment,” said Tim. “The natives can’t ride.”
“Oh, bother the blacks! never mind, I’ll send you all in the buggy,
besides, it will be easier going for rheumatics and stiff joints. It’s
lucky we have all finished letters for the home mail; you can post
them.”
A few hours later, having bid farewell to their good-natured host,
we again find our little party heading southwards, but this time
_clothed_, driving a carriage and pair, with an outrider in uniform to
show them the way; and, in fact, “travelling like gentlemen,” as Tim
said.
Dromoora and his wife, who had at first been much frightened, and
ultimately as delighted, at the novelty of being driven on four
wheels behind two of the terrible horses, were still more dazed and
astonished at the appearance of the town of Brisbane, when they
arrived there,—at that time a township of wooden huts roofed with zinc
sheeting.
Our party drove straight to the house occupied by the acting-Governor,
who, after being satisfied that the story reported of them was true,
told them that he had received a request from Sydney to send them
there at once, as every one was impatient to see the only survivors
of the emigrant-ship, and to hear their story; and that, as a steamer
was waiting for them at the wharf, they had better get away before
the inhabitants found them out. He added that he had procured some
suitable clothing for them, so that they had only to shift and walk on
board.
“Our twins” were a handsome couple, as they stepped on to the boat
which was to convey them south.
Owing, doubtless, to the better class of food on which they had been
subsisting lately, they had grown stouter and broader, whilst their
dark red complexions were set off by the suits of white Indian drill
in which they were clothed.
As their tall manly forms appeared on the poop, one might well echo
the captain’s greeting, as he said,—
“Gentlemen, I’m proud to take you in my ship;” adding aside to his
chief officer, “twins, I’m told, and a right handsome pair, too.”
Dromoora and his wife were rather subdued during the voyage, for
after leaving the Brisbane river a choppy sea rendered them violently
sea-sick, and they had barely recovered their spirits when, after
three days, the vessel was standing up the magnificent harbour of
Sydney.
As they approached the town, the brothers remarked that the wharf
was densely crowded with people, whilst flags were fluttering in the
streets adjacent to the landing-place.
“What does all this mean?” asked Mat of the captain.
“Why, it’s in honour of your arrival, of course; don’t you see I have
‘dressed’ my ship, too.”
As they slowly neared the quay, a band on shore struck up, “See, the
conquering Hero comes!” whilst the people cheered again and again on
catching sight of the tall figures of our foresters.
“Well, this _is_ coming it rather strong,” remarked Mat with a smile.
“Lucky that we’ve come a bit gradually into civilization, and know a
few things, and how to handle a knife and fork properly. I almost wish
I was back in the bush again.”
As the steamer sheered alongside, many of the more active of the
spectators sprang on board, whilst more of the crowd poured in as soon
as the gangway was available.
The brothers were almost overwhelmed by the army of reporters who
besieged them, note-book and pencil in hand, whilst volleys of
questions were poured in from every side. However, much to their
relief for they found it impossible to reply to the numerous and
varied questions, and their arms were aching from the continued
handshaking, an orderly forced his way up, and told them that he had a
carriage ashore to convey them to Government House.
All four shortly found themselves seated in the vehicle, and,
accompanied by an enthusiastic portion of the inhabitants running
alongside, drove off.
The Governor, who stood on the steps of his house to receive them, was
a spare-built, shrewd-looking man, between fifty and sixty years of
age.
After welcoming our travellers to Sydney, he ushered them into the
house, and continued,—
“You may have been surprised at the reception you have met with, but
you must remember that the citizens are aware that you are the two
sole survivors of the ship _Young Austral_, in which ill-fated vessel
they had many relatives; at least, we have quite lately been told
that you were the only two who came ashore; but that which also adds
an intense interest to your presence here is the fact that you are
the only two men ever known in this country who have lived for years
amongst the wild _northern_ blacks and survived; and, judging from
your appearance, you have evidently been well treated during your
captivity.
“When the news of your escape arrived from Brisbane, the townspeople,
the squatters also from up country, inundated me with letters and
special messengers, begging me to get you down to Sydney. The
Government was appealed to, and—here you are. We will make you as
comfortable as possible whilst you stay in this town; and now I will
introduce you to my _aide-de-camp_. And your two blacks,—would they
like a tent, or where shall we put them?”
On being appealed to, our dark friends said that they would prefer to
erect a “gunyah” out of doors, if they might cut down a few branches;
so a suitable spot was found, and strict orders given that they were
not to be molested.
Mat and Tim were then introduced to the _aide-de-camp_, Captain
Marvin, who led them into the smoking-room, and, having made them
comfortable in easy chairs, said,—
“You must not be afraid that I am going to cross-examine you, but I
may as well tell you at once that a rather delicate affair has been
deputed to me to propose to you, and that is, to plunge at once into
matters, you are requested by every one—by the voice of the people—to
appear, one night, with your two natives, at the School of Arts, and
give a short account of your adventures in the unknown northern
country.
“I know that you will be well received. They do not want to stare at
you as if you were newly-caught savages, but to _listen_ and to learn;
and my impression is that, if you choose to appear, it will save you a
world of worrying questions in the future, besides, it will be a kind
act, as the door-money will go to a very deserving charity, which I
shall be glad to tell you all about.”
“We will think it over,” said Mat when Marvin had finished speaking.
“Meantime, we have some old books, in which we have written a rough
diary, and when you began speaking it seemed to me that perhaps the
people would like to have it published, instead of our lecturing to
them.”
“May I glance at the diary? I promise not to divulge a word.”
“Certainly, you are welcome; there are no secrets.”
So Mat fetched the old novels, with their closely pencilled margins,
gave them to Marvin, and then sauntered into the garden with Tim to
discuss the question of the lecture.
“_I_ shan’t speak,” said Tim, as soon as they were by themselves, “but
_you_ can tell them a few things straight, and they’ll be pleased
enough. For all Marvin says, I’ll bet they _do_ want to have a good
look at us; it’s natural enough, too, and ’twont hurt us.”
“I’ll try, then,” said Mat; “and if I break down, they can still
stare—that’s all.”
In the evening, “our lads,” as we may, perhaps, still be permitted to
call them, for old associations’ sake, were introduced to Mrs. Marvin,
who told them that she had already made the acquaintance of the native
girl, who had come to the house for something to drink.
“What a nice, dark-eyed woman she is,” said Mrs. Marvin; “such a sweet
voice, and she looks quite pretty when she smiles and shows her white
teeth; and she knows a little English, too; she said ‘milk,’ and
‘bread,’ and several other words. What is her name?”
“Terebare,” Mat informed her, “which means in her language, ‘Rainbow.’”
“And a pretty name, too. I shall go and talk with her, if I may.”
“Oh, please do! They are a bit dull; it is such a new life to them.”
And Mrs. Marvin departed, laden with good things for our chief and his
wife.
Before they went to bed that night, our brothers adjourned with
Captain Marvin for another consultation.
As soon as they were comfortably seated behind a couple of the
captain’s best cigars, he said,—
“I have looked over your journal, and if you would write it out at
length, I should like to show it to our publishers; I know that they
would agree with me that it would make an interesting and valuable
book. You have described unknown native customs, besides dwelling upon
the different sorts of country (most important this); nor have you
forgotten to jot down useful notes about geology and plants. It will
sell. Many words have got rubbed out, but doubtless you know what they
are.
“We will re-write it carefully then,” said Mat, “now we can get pens,
ink, and paper; and leave it in your charge. But now about this
lecture. We have talked about it, and I will try it if you will first
let me try speaking—as though I was talking to a lot of people, I
mean—in this room, before you, when we’re quite alone.”
Captain Marvin was delighted to hear that Mat would give the lecture,
and promised to help him. “We will settle the day as soon as we can,”
he said. “To-morrow will be Sunday, there is rather a famous man going
to preach in the evening in a church close by, and if you are so
inclined why there is plenty of room for us all in the Governor’s pew.”
“Yes, we’ll go,” said Tim; “we haven’t been to church since we were
lads in t’vorest, excepting on board ship, and that ain’t ’zactly
church.”
“That’s settled then; I’ll look out for you two to-morrow evening. You
will like Parson Tabor; he is a good man.”
When the brothers entered the church next evening they found it
crammed to suffocation, and with difficulty they followed Captain
Marvin to the Governor’s pew.
The grand and solemn tones of the organ were playing a voluntary as
they passed up the aisle,—music which sounded sweet and soothing to
their unaccustomed ears.
During the prayers which followed, our foresters carefully imitated
Mrs. Marvin in kneeling, standing, or sitting, as the case might be.
She also helped them to find their places in the prayer-book, when at
a loss.
Prayers over, the sermon commenced. Complete silence reigned as
the clergyman ascended the pulpit; the brothers, looking up, saw a
broad-shouldered man of florid complexion and square-cut jaw, whose
profile reminded Mat for an instant of a fighting-man, whom he had
once known in the Forest, but the resemblance quickly changed when he
saw his full face, with its solemn, earnest expression, and heard his
voice.
The preacher gave out a text which at once enwrapt the attention
of our twins, so applicable did it and the eloquent sermon which
followed, appear to their own case in having escaped so many dangers.
As they walked homewards their thoughts were with the parson Tabor,
and what he had said to them. Yet Tim made one remark,—
“Mat, if ever I want help or advice I’ll go to that man.”
In the middle of the succeeding week, and after Mat had rehearsed, to
Marvin’s satisfaction, the latter came in with the morning papers.
“Look here,” he cried, “you are in for it now; here’s the announcement
of the lecture, there, read it—‘Under the patronage, &c.’”
“Yes, I am,” laughed Mat, as he glanced at the advertisement. “As you
are pleased to say I shall pass, thanks to you, I shall go at it with
a light heart.”
The much-thought-of evening had arrived. Though Mat and his party,
supported by the Governor and suite, arrived early, they found the
large building already crammed, every seat having been engaged some
days beforehand.
Having gained the platform, the Governor introduced his friends in a
few happily chosen phrases, and Mat, as soon as the applause was over,
at once commenced; his brother and the two natives standing by him.
He told his audience that he had never addressed a meeting of his
fellow-countrymen in his life, and that he hoped they would forgive
any shortcomings.
When he and his brother were told that not only the citizens, who had
received them so warmly at the steamer, but that also many influential
squatters had expressed a wish to hear how they had passed their
time with the northern blacks, they determined to come to that house
to-night and obey the call. He said,—
“To begin with, we are gipsies, born and bred in the New Forest, in
England—”
At these words, a stentorian voice in the audience called out,—
“I knew it; the lad I broke in myself.”
Mat looked in vain to see who spoke, but only noticed in the quarter
from whence the voice proceeded, a burly individual with a purple
face, and a long white beard, sitting rather prominently amongst the
audience, so he continued,—
“I did not come out at the expense of my country, but for all that I
helped to break the Forest laws by being out with a friend when he
shot a deer.”
Mat then gave a full account of the wreck, of the subsequent escape,
and of life amongst his black friends.
He added that he reckoned that as near as he could put it the wreck
happened in about seventeen degrees south latitude.
That which interested his audience more especially was his account of
the habits of the wild blacks; and as the chief and his wife were led
forward by the brothers, tremendous cheers went up from the people;
who were already aware in what manner these two natives, together with
their tribe, had befriended the white men.
It so happened that Dromoora had been told, upon the occasion of
their being cheered on board the steamer, that when the white man
“corroboreed” he must take his hat off; so remembering his lesson,
or rather knowing that it had something to do with his hat, and not
having that article on his head, he seized it from the chair where
it had been placed, with one hand; whilst with the other he dragged
his wife’s from off her head, throwing them both into the air; then
shouting, “White fellow, corroboree,” he was proceeding to force his
“jin” to beat two chairs together, when he was promptly seized by the
brothers and conveyed to a seat.
Mat continued his lecture for a good hour after this occurrence, and
finally concluded by stating that their trade consisted of breaking-in
horses, and that they looked forward to carrying it on in the country
which had given them such a kind reception.
Mat brought his lecture to a conclusion amidst enthusiastic cheers,
and the four guests of the evening were preparing to retire, when a
crowd of squatters jumped on to the platform, amongst them the jovial
looking individual with the white beard, who elbowed his way up to
Mat, and said, with outstretched hand,—
“Don’t you remember the squire, Mat? a bit grey about the muzzle, eh?”
“Why, my good old master,” eagerly replied our forester, as gazing
earnestly at him, he recognized the well-known features of years gone
by.
“Here, Tim,” he continued, as he wrung Bell’s hand; “here’s the squire
I so often told you of.”
“And my daughter, Annie,” added the squatter “I don’t suppose you
will remember her either.” And Mat certainly did _not_ at first
recognize the young lady who now came forward, holding out her
hand,—and small blame to him.
It will be remembered that the last time he saw Annie was in the
gun-room of the squire’s home, in the New Forest, and then only for
a brief two minutes; but during the many years that had elapsed
since then, he had secretly kept in one corner of his brave heart a
remembrance of the fair young vision. Without having a very distinct
idea of her features generally, he never had forgotten the soft look
in her eyes, the gentle voice, and above all the beauty of her hair.
He had never seen, in either man or woman, hair of that peculiar type
before; in fact, he had not been able to depict its colour, when
describing the young girl to Tim.
On this eventful evening Mat was confronted with a young lady, with
masses of the same beautiful dark auburn hair gathered up in neat
coils at the back of her head. He knew that he had only seen that
colour once before in his life, and when Annie spoke, the whole scene
of his boyhood came back to him.
In her sweet, soft voice, yet in cheery tones, she welcomed him to
Sydney, and added slowly with a smile, and raising her eyes to his,—
“I remember you in the Forest home, Mr. Stanley.”
As she stood there, her blushing face half-hidden behind a bouquet of
“stephanotis,” the perfume—he could not realize at the moment whether
the scent was of the flowers or Annie’s hair—the situation, this
sudden _rencontre_, and all the novelty of speaking in public, which
he had gone through that evening, caused our hero to feel completely
unnerved, so that he felt himself blushing in _his_ turn, and
murmuring some words of “pleasure at the meeting,” was turning away,
when the squire came to his rescue.
“You and your brother, and those frisky natives, must come at
once—to-morrow—and stay with us at our new station quite near here. We
shall all be delighted to see you; and Tom, whom you taught to shoot,
you remember, when I told him I was sure it was Mat Stanley who had
escaped, said,—yes, by gad, Mat!—he said he’d never speak to me again
if I didn’t bring you home! What do you think of that for cheek to his
old governor? He would have been here to-night, but was obliged to
meet a man about some cattle at an out-station.”
“Thanks,” responded Mat, who had now found his tongue. “I must speak
to them at Government House first; they have been so kind to us.”
“Here’s Tom’s tutor,” interrupted the squire. “Not the one you knew in
England,—wants to grasp the hands of the foresters.”
Our boys turned, and met the earnest face of the man who had so
impressed them by his sermon a few days before. They exchanged
friendly greetings with him; and after refusing, for the present,
many kind and pressing invitations from their late audience, Mat
and Tim were glad to make their escape to Captain Marvin’s snug
smoking-room, where they intended to have a quiet chat; but hardly had
they sat down when the Governor came in and carried them both off to
supper.
Some time before they entered the dining-room a young colonial had
been giving his views concerning the evening’s lecture.
“My word,” he said, “it _was_ a good yarn, and well told. Why that man
Stanley speaks as good English, and almost as good grammar, as if he
had been to college,—and mostly self-taught they say. I thought that
gipsies in England were a sort of half-breeds, who made tin kettles
and ‘jackshays,’ those quart pots, you know, and ‘planted’ people’s
fowls and things; but this fellow’s a gentleman, and—”
His remarks were here interrupted by the entrance of the individuals
in question, and the conversation was abruptly changed by the young
“native,” for such is a white person termed who is born in the
colonies, who from that moment, as he intimated to Mrs. Marvin,
intended “to take a back seat.”
During supper-time the conversation turned upon many interesting
subjects connected with the past adventures of our twins. From these
it drifted into colonial matters, the latest news from “home” as
England is always so referred to in the colonies; and the party broke
up.
Mat could get but little sleep that night; the events of the evening
had been almost too much for his otherwise strong nerves.
Besides the excitement of his lecture, and the remembrance of that,
thoughts of a softer nature rushed through his mind.
It must be remembered that his experience of woman-kind had been of
the roughest description, amounting to an exchange of chaff with
the lassies at the Hampshire fairs, and owing to the nature of his
occupation and mode of life in and around the gipsy camp, he had but
rarely come in contact with the better class of New Forest “squatters”
in his old home.
Bearing this in mind, let us follow his thoughts as he lay awake in
the town of Sydney, New South Wales.
“I’ve met to-night for the second time a real lady, and such a
beautiful and gentle lady. I wonder whether they are _all_ like _her_.
Oh, but how she has altered! Would she laugh at me if she knew I had
stuck to ‘Robinson Crusoe.’ I expect she’d only open her eyes big,
as she did to-night, when she seemed surprised. What a fool she must
have thought me! I couldn’t even say anything civil. I don’t know what
came over me. I could talk easily enough to that big crowd of people,
and to Mrs. Marvin, and be civil to _her_. Perhaps Captain Marvin’s
cigars are too strong for me. Yes; _that must be it_.”
Having thus determined the nature of his malady, though not _entirely_
to his satisfaction, our forester turned over, and went to sleep.