THE MERRI CREEK FALLS
“I THOUGHT, a week ago,” said Dr. Lane, “that my son and your daughter
intended to remain for ever in a state of armed neutrality. They
bristled at sight of each other, like two terriers, and politeness was
all that restrained them from combat. There were even indications that
the politeness was wearing thin. And look at them now!”
He waved a hand towards the little flat below the house, where Robin and
Barry, mounted on ponies borrowed from Mr. Merritt, had erected a brush
hurdle and were taking turns in jumping. The ponies were awkward, and
the riders not highly skilled; when they succeeded in making the steeds
face the hurdle they did not always get them over; when they got them
over they rarely remained in the saddle. These minor defects did not
chill the ardour of the riders. Shouts of laughter echoed up the hill,
mingled with mutual comments that lacked nothing of frankness. Beyond
doubt, the partnership was firmly established.
“This seems to be the result of impromptu mixed bathing,” said Mrs.
Hurst, laughing, as her eyes dwelt on Robin. “I still shiver at the
thought of my girl’s danger—but I am not altogether sorry it happened.
They are very happy together. And it is so good for Robin to have a
friend. She did not realize how lonely she was.”
“She didn’t suggest loneliness. I think the companionship between you
was very delightful, and she will find it so again when Barry has gone.
But youth calls to youth. As for Barry—it has always been our regret
that he has no sister. To be friends with a girl like your Robin is very
good for him.”
“Barry doesn’t in the least regard Robin as a girl,” said Mrs. Lane,
from the couch where she was generally to be found, in spite of the fact
both silk-clad ankles were equally slender. “He told me this morning
that the best thing about her was that she was just like a boy. ‘No
silly girl-tricks!’ said Barry. ‘I can’t stand girls!’ And he was quite
sure he meant it.”
“And yet he has many little chivalrous ways with her that he certainly
would not show for another boy,” Mrs. Hurst remarked. “I do not think he
even knows he has them. But they are there, all the same.”
“I’m glad to hear that you have noticed that,” said Dr. Lane. “I thought
I had, too: but I was afraid it might be only desire to think so on my
part!”
“Oh, no; I have seen a dozen little proofs. Why, I found him cleaning
her boots to-day!”
“That is indeed a proof, for it is hard enough to make him clean his own
when he is at home,” said Mrs. Lane, laughing. “When Barry cleans a boot
he declines to perceive that it has any back. Oh, look!—his pony jumped
the hurdle without knocking it down, and he didn’t fall off! My Barry
will be a jockey before he leaves here.”
“I only hope we shall return him to you undamaged,” said Mrs. Hurst.
For it had been settled that Barry should stay another month at Hill
Farm. Business was calling Dr. Lane to Queensland, and his wife insisted
that he should not go alone: but Barry hated the hot weather of the
North, and was so happy in the bush that his parents had begged Mrs.
Hurst to keep him. Barry himself welcomed the suggestion with delight;
anything was better than to grill for weeks in Brisbane in midsummer;
and Hill Farm, where he had settled down as though it had always been
his home, was a very lucky alternative.
The partnership between him and Robin had deepened into a firm
friendship. Barry’s feeling of natural superiority as a boy had quickly
vanished before the girl’s leadership in all bushcraft. He was a clumsy
new chum where she trod with the sure, quick step of one who has entered
into her kingdom. The dense scrub that puzzled him was to her an open
book, for she had that instinctive knowledge of direction and of
unconscious observation that marks the bushman born. It irritated Barry,
now and then, that she should know so much. “For, after all, you haven’t
been here so awfully long yourself,” he would say. Robin could not
explain it. “I feel as if I’d been born knowing the bush,” she would
answer, half apologetically. “But you’re getting on splendidly, Barry,
so don’t worry.”
Already the month for which the Lanes had asked had gone by, and Dr.
Lane was, as he said, “screwing-out” a few more days before he and his
wife must go North. It had been a very happy month; everything had gone
smoothly, the Lanes had been the most cheerful and considerate of
paying-guests, and Mrs. Hurst marvelled at the ease with which she had
managed her big household. There was satisfaction in that, as there was
in the thought of the comfortable little balance mounting up in the
bank: solid satisfaction, too, in the knowledge that she and Robin had
made good friends. The Lanes declared that nothing should prevent their
visit being a yearly one, so long as Hill Farm would have them: they had
exacted a half-promise that Robin and her mother should visit them in
Melbourne. The vision of the future, when Robin must go to the city to
learn typing, lost half its terrors for the anxious mother now that she
knew that her child would not be friendless.
On the flat below, the riders decided that their ponies had had enough
tuition in jumping—perhaps induced to this conclusion by their own
bruises. They came cantering up, passed the house with a gay shout, and
presently appeared on the veranda, flushed and hot.
“What have you done with the ponies?” asked Mrs. Hurst.
“Taken them back to their own paddock: Mr. Merritt wants them to-morrow.
Oh, Mother, we’ve had fun!”
“You seemed to be enjoying life,” Dr. Lane said. “I hope the ponies
enjoyed it too.”
“Oh, they were quite happy. They knew ever so much more about it than we
did—but we managed to get the same point of view after a while.
Jumping’s great sport,” Barry ended.
“When you stick on?”
“Yes—or even when you don’t. The grass is so thick down there it’s like
falling on a carpet, and if we fell off the ponies always stopped very
kindly and began to feed. It must be much more disheartening to fall off
and see your horse disappearing into the distance: I like them trained
to pause, like these.”
“I never had the luck to ride a pauser,” remarked Dr. Lane. “When I
quitted the saddle they invariably quitted me, at the rate of knots, and
I had to walk miles before I found them. Hence, I prefer motors, which
do not run away——”
“Not even down a hillside?” asked Robin, wickedly. “I knew a Buick—”
“The very thing to prove what I was saying,” returned Dr. Lane. “Even
when the wicked tracks of Gippsland let a good car over the edge, what
does the good car do? Somersault to the bottom? Certainly not. It
hastily finds a tree, and leans up against it, waiting for its master!”
“Uttering gentle bleats, to attract his attention,” finished Robin,
softly. “That’s what I noticed about the car I mentioned. And everyone
seemed so pleased with it!”
“It played us a very good trick, at all events,” remarked the doctor,
shaking his fist at her. “Think what a holiday we have had because it
chose that spot to fall over the edge, and what a hideous time we should
have had if it had gone peacefully on its way to Baroin. I refuse to
hear one word against my car. But there’s something else I want to
consult you about, Robin. Do you know the way to the Merri Creek Falls?”
Robin knitted her brows.
“I’ve never been quite to the Falls,” she said. “I did go a good deal of
the way with a camping-party more than two years ago. We gave it up: I
was young then, and they were all soft, and the going was certainly very
bad. I believe there is a better track now. Why, Dr. Lane?”
“Well, I’d like to go there,” he said. “A man I met fishing yesterday
told me they were well worth seeing. It’s a bit of a rough trip, he
said, but we could do it in the day if we made an early start. I thought
you and Barry and I could tackle it, if your mother were willing. I have
got permission from my headquarters”—he nodded meekly towards his wife.
“This fellow told me there was good fishing in the creek below the
falls. He had been camping there.”
“I am quite willing, but I should strongly advise against fishing,” Mrs.
Hurst said.
“The track is exceedingly rough; I don’t think you realize what a
nuisance rods would be to you on a long walk in such country: and fish,
if you got them, would be an added burden on the way back.”
“That sounds common-sense,” said the doctor, regretfully. “Well, after
all, I have had better fishing here than I ever hoped to have, so I may
as well put it out of my head. But I would like to see those falls. Feel
inclined, Barry?”
“My Aunt!” said Barry, eagerly. “It would be a ripping day!”
“And what about you, Robin?”
“Oh, I’m always ready for an excursion,” she said. “But I warn you, it
will be rougher walking than anything you have done about here. We shall
have to wade the creek ever so many times; I remember we walked in the
creek itself for a good way, but perhaps the track will save us that
now. When would you like to go, Dr. Lane?”
“To-morrow, I thought; it’s beautiful weather, and I have so few days
left.”
“Do you think we could get breakfast at five o’clock, Mother?” Robin
asked.
“Five!” exclaimed her four hearers in various notes of horror. But Robin
only smiled.
“I’ve tried to get to those Falls, and you haven’t,” she said. “I’m all
for an early start, to get as far as we can before the day grows hot. We
can always rest on the way—and we’ll want to!”
“I’m beginning to think this is a more serious expedition than I had
imagined,” laughed the doctor.
“Oh, I don’t know that it’s serious,” Robin answered. “But it _is_
rough, and I warn you that I don’t know any short cuts.”
“Could you get lost?” demanded Mrs. Lane. “If so, I shall hang bells on
all three of you before you start!”
“You wouldn’t be up,” said Barry, solemnly.
“I should rise to the occasion,” was his mother’s lofty reply. “But tell
me, Robin: I am going to enter a protest if there is any fear of your
being bushed.”
“Oh, we can’t get bushed if we stick to the creek,” Robin said. “There
are short cuts, I know, that make the distance much less, but of course,
it wouldn’t be safe to tackle them. So we must be prepared for a long
day. I could get breakfast ready to-night, Mother, and pack the lunch.”
“Yes: I will help you. You must all eat enormous quantities of eggs and
bacon before you start—then I shall feel more easy about you,” Mrs.
Hurst said.
“If anyone, a month ago, had told me I could devour eggs and bacon at
five o’clock in the morning, I should have thought him mad,” said Dr.
Lane. “But I feel now that I could tackle anything that was offered me,
at any hour. That’s the result of Hill Farm, Mrs. Hurst!”
Even though it was almost midsummer, it was chilly enough in the deep
gullies when they set out the next morning. The mists had not yet risen:
ahead of them the bush was dim and mysterious, and every bough dripped
with moisture. For the first few miles they were able to keep above the
creek, following sheep-tracks through the hill settlers’ country: they
walked steadily, anxious to get as far as possible before the real
fatigue of the journey began. Then they came to the last of the
clearing. Before them ranged the tall rounded masses of the hills,
covered with dense scrub and giant trees.
“Now we’ll have to stick to the creek, unless we can find a track,”
Robin said.
They went down the steep hillside, and were lucky in coming upon a
narrow path that followed the windings of the creek. It was not easy
travelling: the track was so narrow, the greedy march of the bush so
swift, that the undergrowth brushed their faces, and often they were
forced to hold it apart while they forced their way through. Sometimes
it curved sharply round the butts of huge trees, leaving only the barest
footing, where one went, clinging to any stray shoot of musk or hazel as
a support: sometimes it dipped into waterworn gullies where brambles
disputed every yard of the way. But still, it was a track; and Robin, at
least, was duly grateful for it. Below them the creek sang and rippled
on its way: occasionally they caught glimpses of the brown water,
gurgling over its boulder-strewn bed. But for the most part the scrub
undergrowth hemmed them in, and they went in single file, seeing nothing
but the dense green wall on either side.
It was past nine o’clock when the track suddenly ended in an enormous
fallen tree, the butt of which, six feet high, made a grey wall before
them. Its roots, now intertwined with scrub, stretched down to the
creek. They followed along its great length, and the pale shadow of a
track seemed to them to stretch away northward into the bush. But Robin,
looking at it, shook her head.
“It might be our track,” she said. “And then, again, it mightn’t. I
don’t like trying experiments in this sort of country.”
“No experiments for me, thank you,” Dr. Lane said, briskly. “The creek
is definite: we’ll stick to it.” He looked at his companions. “How are
you two feeling?”
“First-rate,” said Robin and Barry in chorus.
“That’s good. Still, I think we’ll have twenty minutes’ spell, not
because we are tired, but because the wise man rests before he is tired.
Let us climb round this large vegetable which is blocking the way and
get down to the creek.”
They fought their way round the fallen tree—it took them five minutes
to do it: and so came to where the brown water gurgled and chattered
over a bed of huge rounded stones. Barry lay down with his face in a
pool, and drank as a dog drinks, inelegantly, but thoroughly.
“My word, that’s good!” he said. “Have some: I left plenty for you!”
“That was kind of you,” said his father. He produced from his pocket
little collapsible aluminium cups, and screwed them up, offering one to
Robin.
“These are handy things,” he said. “Sometimes they collapse at the wrong
moment, and it is very awkward, especially if you are drinking coffee in
a railway carriage. Here, we should probably enjoy it, so they won’t
collapse. Sandwiches—yes, please Robin, I think that is a very good
idea.”
“I made a little parcel for our first halt,” said Robin. “We ought to
have lunch at the Falls, if we have any luck.”
“I could eat an enormous lunch now—and at the Falls, too!” said Barry.
“This is a hungry stroll we’re taking!”
“Supplies wouldn’t hold out,” said Robin, practically.
They lay on the soft grass just above the water’s edge and nibbled their
sandwiches economically, to make them last longer. Below them a great
veil of maidenhair fern trailed downward to the stream that washed its
fronds: above towered the tall brown shafts of tree-ferns, their
spreading crests mingling with sarsaparilla and clematis. Just across
the stream stood a clump of Christmas-bush, already a starry mass of
white. There were birds everywhere among the bushes, happy and unafraid;
bell-birds chimed ceaselessly in the tree-tops far above them. Once, a
wallaby hopped upon an open space on the farther bank, looked at them
serenely for a moment, and then hopped back into cover.
“You were right, Robin,” Dr. Lane said. “We have not seen any bush like
this—nothing so quiet and utterly undisturbed. It makes one feel
oneself an intruder.”
“We’d see lyre-birds if we could stay here long enough without moving,”
Robin said. “Look—there’s a platypus!” She pointed to a tiny promontory
across the creek, where a queer flat creature, furry and with a bill
like a duck’s, paused for a moment before sliding head-first into the
water.
“First I’ve ever seen,” commented Barry. “My word this is a jolly place!
I wish we could have a camp here.”
“We’ll think about it next year, when we come back,” said the doctor.
“Meanwhile, I’m afraid we had better move: we don’t know how rough the
going will be after this.”
They were soon after to prove the melancholy truth of the foreboding
contained in this remark. There was no track at all to be found near the
creek, and the banks were so overgrown that each yard of progress had to
be fought. So they took to the water, a slow process, since it was
necessary to follow the creek through all its windings: a laborious one,
because most of the way was over smooth and slippery stones, where each
foothold had to be tested. All were wearing rough spiked boots, which
gave them more security in treading; but they also made walking tiring,
when heavy with water. The creek rarely rose above Barry’s knees: but it
was swift, the power of the current increasing as they mounted higher
and higher into the hills; and it was hard to gauge the depth of the
pools. There was more than one moment when Dr. Lane asked himself
doubtfully if they should give up the attempt to reach the Falls.
The children, however, scouted the suggestion indignantly. To have come
so far, and then to turn back, seemed to them an unthinkable idea.
“I had to do it once, and I’ve been sorry ever since,” Robin declared.
“And I wasn’t fourteen then. We can’t be so very far from the Falls
now.” She peered ahead into the dim tunnel of greenery—it was long
since they had seen the sun, shut in by the trees as they were. “Look—I
believe it is a little clearer ahead. We might have another try at
walking on the bank.”
“Let’s see,” said Barry, eagerly. “Gee, but my feet are sore from these
old stones!”
They waded on as quickly as they could. As Robin had thought, they came
upon a break in the dense wall of undergrowth. There were signs of old
axe-marks on some of the trees, and many felled stumps, now rotten and
overgrown with creepers and moss.
“Probably some old prospector lived about here ages ago,” said Robin.
“He’d have to clear a way down to the water. This is most likely his old
track.”
“Did they ever find gold here?”
“No—at least, only the merest traces. But there are always fossickers
about in the hills who believe they will hit on gold some day. Some
people think that these hills hold all sorts of things—marble, and
limestone, and valuable clays, and even oil. I suppose they’ll be
discovered by-and-bye.”
“What a lark if we found an oil-well on your place!” said Barry. “How
does one look for oil, Father?”
“Other people do the looking, and then they make you buy shares, my
boy,” said his father, gloomily. “I’ve lost more than I care to think of
in that way. The last oil-well in which I was interested spouted only
hot water instead of oil, and so, much of my hard-earned money went up
in steam. I’ve given up buying things I can’t see. Let us try the old
prospector’s clearing, and see if it leads us to anything. We won’t go
far from the creek, though.”
The clearing was so overgrown that to speak of it as cleared was only to
distinguish it from the impenetrable scrub on either hand. Still, it was
possible to find a way through it; and presently, to their delight, they
came again upon the track, and saw, through a rift in the timber, that
they were not far from the head of the gully where the creek came down.
They forgot fatigue as they hurried onward, making light of the many
difficulties in the way: anything was better than wading over the smooth
round stones that hurt the feet so cruelly.
Presently, as they went, a sound came to their ears: a low boom which at
first they took for the soughing of a far-off wind coming across the
tree-tops. It grew louder as they advanced, almost unnoticed by them:
one does not lend a very attentive ear to sounds, when one is fighting
every step of an uphill climb. But at length, in a moment when the going
was easier, it suddenly brought Dr. Lane to a standstill.
“By Jove!” he said, with a touch of excitement unusual in him. “I
believe that is the noise of the Falls!”
They halted, listening. The sound was a dull, steady roar that never
varied. Wind and sea have light and shade in their stormy note, but
falling water comes with a ceaseless and unalterable boom: a roar that
has lasted since time began, and will last down the ages when the little
races of men are dust. There was no doubting the sound now.
Barry gave a joyful cry and dashed ahead. They heard him shout again as
they hurried after him.
The path ended in a wide space clear of trees. On their left, the creek
had broadened out until it was a great pool; a whirlpool of wild water
that boiled and foamed and eddied, before it rushed away over the stony
bed between the walls of scrub. Behind it the hill rose sharp and
rugged, a mass of grey rocks, where mosses and lichen clung, and stunted
bushes struggled for a foothold. A huge, rough mass showed near the top,
fifty feet above them: and over it, in a smooth and glistening curve,
lit by a dancing rainbow where the sun’s rays struck it, poured the
waters of the Fall.
Half-way down, the wonderful wall of shining water was broken by a fang
of rock that jutted from the hillside. The fall split upon it, shooting
out on either side, to meet again, lower down, so that the united
curtain flung its whole weight into the boiling waters of the pool. But
where it was cleft by the jutting rock, a dancing curtain of spray hung
like a misty veil before it, catching the rainbow light from above and
multiplying it into a myriad gleams of flying colour. One might fancy
one saw all the fairies of air and water dancing in the opal mist.
“Oh!” said Robin—“oh!” She sat down on the grass, hugging her knees,
and stared up as though she were worshipping. It was long before any of
them spoke.
“Well!” said Dr. Lane at last—leaning near her, because of the roar of
falling water. “It was worth the walk, don’t you think, kiddies?”
They nodded: there was awe on each young face.
“Come along,” Dr. Lane said. “We can’t afford to wait too long,
considering the track home; and the billy must be boiled. Let us get a
little farther back, where we can watch the Falls and hear ourselves
speak as well.”
But no one seemed to have much wish to speak: the wonder of the Falls
held them all silent. They boiled their billy and ate lunch under a big
tree at the edge of the scrub, saying little, but watching the dancing
mist-rainbows on the face of the water, and the splendid curve above,
like polished black marble. Robin sighed heavily when at length Dr. Lane
gave the word to march.
“Well, I was always sorry that I didn’t see it,” she said. “But it was
worth waiting for. It’s like a dream, to take home for keeps. If only I
could make Mother see it too!”
“We don’t know what is going to happen next year,” Dr. Lane said,
wisely. “If we managed to camp where we halted to-day—and found a man
who could tell us more about the track—and got the two Mothers into
hard condition by judicious exercise—who knows what we may not arrive
at! At any rate we’ll have a try. Red Robin!”
“Barry, I think your Father is the nicest ever!” said Robin, solemnly.
“Tell us news!” was Barry’s lofty response.