Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustration.
See 41269-h.htm or 41269-h.zip:
(https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/41269/pg41269-images.html)
or
(https://www.gutenberg.org/files/41269/41269-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/sheilahmcleodher00bootrich
SHEILAH MCLEOD
[Illustration: Logo]
[Illustration: SHEILAH McLEOD _Frontispiece_.]
SHEILAH McLEOD
A Heroine of the Back Blocks
by
GUY BOOTHBY
Author of
'Dr Nikola,' 'A Bid for Fortune,' 'The Beautiful White
Devil,' 'The Fascination of the King,' etc.
London
Skeffington & Son, Piccadilly
Publishers to H.M. The Queen and H.R.H. The Prince of Wales
1897
All Rights reserved.
Copyright in the United States of America by the
F. A. Stokes Company
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
VAKALAVI IN THE SAMOAN GROUP, 1
CHAPTER I
OLD BARRANDA ON THE CARGOO RIVER,
SOUTH-WESTERN QUEENSLAND, 20
CHAPTER II
HOW I FIRST LEARNED MY LOVE FOR SHEILAH, 50
CHAPTER III
WHISPERING PETE, 71
CHAPTER IV
THE RACE, 107
CHAPTER V
CONSEQUENCES, 139
CHAPTER VI
COLIN McLEOD, 170
CHAPTER VII
I PROPOSE TO SHEILAH, 199
CHAPTER VIII
A VISIT FROM WHISPERING PETE, 216
CHAPTER IX
SHEILAH'S LOYALTY, 229
CHAPTER X
THE TRIAL, 242
CHAPTER XI
HOW I ESCAPED, 281
SHEILAH McLEOD
PROLOGUE
VAKALAVI IN THE SAMOAN GROUP
Looking back on it now I can recall every circumstance connected with
that day just as plainly as if it had all happened but yesterday. In the
first place, it was about the middle of the afternoon, and the S.E.
trade, which had been blowing lustily since ten o'clock, was beginning
to die away according to custom.
There had been a slight shower of rain in the forenoon, and now,
standing in the verandah of my station looking across the blue lagoon
with its fringe of boiling surf, it was my good fortune not only to have
before me one of the finest pictures in the South Pacific, but to be
able to distinctly smell the sweet perfume of the frangipani blossom and
wild lime in the jungle which clothed the hillside behind me. I walked
to one end of the verandah and stood watching a group of native girls
making tappa outside the nearest hut--then to the other, and glanced
into my overflowing copra shed, and from it at the bare shelves of the
big trade room opposite. The one, as I say, was full, the other sadly
empty, and for more than a week I had been bitterly lamenting the
non-arrival of the company's schooner, which was supposed to visit the
island once every six months in order to remove my gains and to supply
me with sufficient trade to carry me safely through the next half-year.
The schooner was now ten days overdue, and I had made sure she would put
in an appearance that morning; but the wind was failing, and it was,
therefore, ten chances to one against our seeing her before the next
forenoon. I was more than a little disappointed, if only on the score of
the company I should have had, for you must understand that it was
nearly six months since I had seen a white face, and even then the face
was only that of a missionary. But, in common fairness, I must confess
that that missionary was as different to the usual run of his cloth as
chalk is to cheese--a good fellow in every way, not a bit bumptious, or
la-di-dardy, or fond of coming the Oxford scholar-and-a-gentleman
touch, but a real white man from top to toe. And my first meeting with
him was as extraordinary as anyone could imagine, or wish for. It's a
yarn against myself, but as it shows you what queer beasts we men are, I
may as well tell you about it. It happened in this way:--
About ten o'clock one fine spring morning I was coming down the hillside
behind my house, and, according to custom, pulled up at the Big Plateau
and looked out to sea. To the north and south nothing was in sight, but
to the eastward there was a tiny blotch on the horizon which gradually
developed into a small fore-and-aft schooner of about fifty tons. When
she was level with the island she worked steadily up the reef until she
found the passage through the surf; then, having edged her way into the
lagoon, came to an anchor opposite my house. Seeing that she was going
to send a boat ashore, and suspecting some sort of missionary mischief
from the cut of her jib, down I went to the beach and got ready to
receive her.
The craft she was sending ashore was a double-ended surf boat, and a
well-built one at that, pulled by two Solomon boys, and steered by a
white man in a queer kind of helmet that I believe they call a 'solar
topee' in India. The man in the helmet brought her up in first-class
style, and was preparing to beach her just in front of where I stood
when I held up my hand in warning.
'Who are you, and what do you want here?' I asked, looking him up and
down.
'I'm the new missionary at Futuleima,' says he, as bold as brass, 'and
as I had a couple of spare days at my disposal I thought I would come
across and talk to the people on this island. Have you anything to say
against it?'
'Not much,' I answered, feeling my dander rising at the cool way in
which he addressed me, 'but what I _do_ say I mean.'
'And what is it you mean, my friend?' he asked.
'I mean that you don't set foot ashore if I can prevent it,' I replied.
'You understand me once and for all. I'm the boss of this island, and
I'm not going to have any of your nonsense talked to my men. I'm
civilising 'em on my own lines, and I won't have you interfering and
shoving your nose in where it ain't wanted.'
'I'm afraid you speak your mind with more candour than courtesy,' he
said, mopping his forehead with a snow-white pocket-handkerchief which
he had taken from his pocket.
'You think so, do you?' I cried. 'Well, you just set as much as your
little toe on this beach and you'll see that I mean it!'
'So I'm to choose between fighting you and going away with my errand
unaccomplished?' he answered, still as cool as a cucumber. 'Do I take
you properly?'
'That is my meaning, and I reckon it's a bigger one than you can
digest,' I replied, like the hot-tempered fool I was. 'Let me tell you,
you're not the first of your breed that has tasted my fist and gone away
with his appetite satisfied.'
'Then since it is to be the Church Militant here on Earth, and there's
no other way out of it, I suppose I must agree to your proposal,' he
said, after a moment's thought, and forthwith jumped out of the boat on
to the beach. 'But let it be somewhere where my boatmen cannot see. I
don't know that the example would be altogether beneficial to them.'
As he stood on the beach before me, Heaven knows it was a poor enough
figure of a man he made. He was not as big as me by a head and a half;
for I stand close on six feet in my socks, and am bigger in the beam
than the ordinary run of men; besides which, I am always, of necessity,
in the pink of condition. To think, therefore, that such a little
whipper-snapper should contemplate fighting me was too absurd. I stood
and stared at him.
'You don't mean to say you intend to put your fists up?' I cried,
letting him see how astonished I was.
'That I do!' he said, and bidding his men wait for him he led the way up
the path to the jungle at the back of the station house. 'Since you deem
it necessary that I should introduce myself to you in such a strange
fashion, I feel it incumbent upon me to do so. Besides, I want to teach
you a lesson you will not forget.' Then, stopping short in his walk, he
felt the muscle of my right arm critically and smiled. 'You'll be a man
worth fighting,' he said, and continued his walk.
Well, here I was in a mighty curious position, as you will understand.
Having seen the plucky way he had jumped ashore and taken me up, right
in my teeth, so to speak, I felt I had made a precious fool of myself in
being so ready with my challenge. He was a man and not a monkey, like
most of his fraternity, and he might have converted every nigger in the
South Pacific for all I should have cared. I wouldn't have stopped a
man like him for all the world, for I reckon he wouldn't have taught 'em
anything shady for the life of him. But there was no hope for it now, so
I walked up the path beside him, as meek as a new-born lamb, till we
came to an open patch at the base of a small waterfall.
'This should suit our purpose, I think,' he said, taking off his helmet
and coat and placing them beneath a tree. 'If you're quite ready, let us
get to business.'
'Hold on,' I cried, 'this won't do. I've changed my mind, and I'm not
going to fight you after all! Missionary or no missionary, you're a man,
and a proper sort of man too; and what's more, you shall waltz every
nigger on this island backwards and forwards in and out of Purgatory as
often as you please, for all I'll say you nay.'
'That's very kind of you,' he answered, at the same time looking me in
the face in a curious sort of fashion. 'Nevertheless, for the good of
your own soul, I intend that you shall fight me, and at once.'
'I won't, and that's the end of it,' I said.
'You will, and immediately,' he answered quietly. Then, walking up to
me, he drew back his arm and hit me a blow in the face. For a second I
was too much surprised to do anything at all, but, recovering myself, I
lifted my fist and drove it home under his jaw. He went down like a
ninepin and rolled almost over, but before I could say 'knife' he was up
and at me again. After that I didn't stop to consider, but just let him
have it, straight from the shoulder, as fast as he could take it. Take
it he did, like a glutton, and asked for more, but it was sickening work
for all that, and though I did my best to give him satisfaction, I found
I could put no heart in it.
When I had sent him flying head over heels in the grass for the sixth
time, and his face was a good deal more like an underdone beefsteak than
anything else, I could stand it no longer, and I told him so. But it
made no difference; he got on to his feet and ran at me again, this time
catching me a good one on the left jaw. In sheer self-defence I had to
send him down, though I loathed myself as a beast of the worst kind for
doing it. But even then he was not satisfied. Once more he came in at me
and once more I had to let him have it. By this time he could hardly see
out of his eyes, and his face was streaming with blood.
'That's enough,' I cried, 'I'll have no more of it. I'm a big bully,
and you're the best plucked little fellow this side of Kingdom Come!
I'll not lay another finger on you, even if you knock me into a jelly
trying to make me. Get up and shake hands.'
He got on to his feet and held out his hand.
'All things considered, this is the queerest bit of proselytizing I have
ever done,' he said. 'But somehow I think I've taught you a lesson, my
friend!'
'You have,' I answered, humbly, 'and one that I'll never forget if I
live to be a hundred. I deserve to be kicked.'
'No! You're a man, and a better man, if I'm not mistaken, than you were
half-an-hour ago.'
He said no more on the subject then, but went over to the little pool
below the waterfall and bathed his face. I can tell you I felt pretty
rocky and mean as I watched him. And any man who knows my reputation
among the Islands will tell you that's a big admission for Jim
Heggarstone to make.
After that he stayed with me until his bruises disappeared; and when he
went away I had made a firm friend of him, and told him all the queer
story that I have set myself to tell you in this book. Ever since that
time he's been one of my staunchest and truest pals on earth, and all I
can say is if there's any man has got a word to say against the Rev.
William Carson-Otway, he had better not say it in my hearing--that's
all.
But in telling you all this I've been wandering off my course, and now I
must get back to the afternoon of the day when I was awaiting the
arrival of the schooner _Wildfowl_ with a cargo of trade from Apia. As I
have told you the wind had almost dropped, and for that reason I had
given up all hope of seeing anything of her before morning. But, as it
happened, I was mistaken, for just about sundown she hove in sight,
rounded the bit of headland that sheltered the bay on the eastern side,
and, having safely made the passage, brought up in the lagoon. Her
arrival put me in the best of spirits, for after all those months spent
alone with natives, I was fairly sick for a talk with a white man again.
Long before her anchor was down I was on the beach getting my boat into
the water, and by the time the rattle of the cable in the hawse-hole had
died away, I was alongside and clambering aboard. I shook hands with the
skipper, who was standing aft near the deck-house, then glanced at
another man whose back was towards me. By-and-by he swung round and
looked me in the face. Then I saw that it was Dan Nicholson of Salfulga
Island, on the other side--the biggest blackguard and bully in the
Pacific, and I don't care where you look for the next. An ugly smile
came over his face as he recognised me, and then he said very
politely,--
'And pray how do we find our dear friend, the Rev. James Heggarstone,
to-day?'
'None the better for seeing your face, Dan Nicholson,' I answered
sharply. 'And now since you're here I'll give you a bit of advice. Don't
you set your foot ashore while this boat's at anchor, or, as sure as
you're born, I'll teach you a lesson you'll not forget as long as you
live.'
'As you did that poor, soft-headed Futuleima missionary cuss, I
suppose,' he answered, turning a bit red and shifting uneasily on his
feet. 'Well, having something else on hand just now, I don't think I'll
trouble you this time, beloved brother.'
I saw that he had taken the hint, so I could afford to forgive the way
he spoke.
After a bit more palaver I got my budget of letters, which I put into my
pyjama pocket, and then, accompanied by the skipper and supercargo,
went ashore. We strolled up to the station together, and while they sat
and smoked in the verandah I hunted up some food and set it before them,
with the last two bottles of gin I had in the store. I am a strict
teetotaler myself, and have been ever since the events I have set myself
to tell you about occurred. It was mainly the drink that did that bit of
mischief, and for the same reason--but there, whatever the reasons may
have been, I don't see that I need bother you with them till they come
into the story in their proper places. This yarn is not a temperance
tract, is it?
While they were at their meal I wandered outside to look through my
mail. Two of the letters were from the trading firm I represented at
Vakalavi. One was from Otway the missionary, warning me of an intended
visit, another was a circular from an Apia storekeeper, enclosing a list
of things a man in my situation could never possibly require; but the
fifth was altogether different, and brought me up all standing, as the
sailors say. With trembling hands, and a face as white as the bit of
paper I'm now writing on, I opened it and read it through. Then the
whole world seemed suddenly to change for me. The sun of my life came
out from behind the cloud that had covered it for so long, and, big,
rough man as I was, I leaned my back against the wall behind me, feeling
fairly sick with thankfulness. What a moment that was! I could have gone
out and shouted my joy aloud to the world. The one thing of all others
that I had longed for with my whole heart and soul had come at last.
I remained where I was for a while, thinking and thinking, but at the
end of half-an-hour, having got my feelings under some sort of control,
I went back to the verandah, where I found my guests smoking their
pipes. Then we sat talking of mutual friends and common experiences for
something like an hour, myself with a greater happiness in my heart than
I had ever felt in my life before.
Living as I had lived for so long, the only white man on the island,
with never a chance of hearing from or of my old Australian world, it
may not be a matter for surprise that I had many questions to ask, and
much news to hear. Since the schooner had last come my way great changes
had occurred in the world, and on each I had to be rightly and
exhaustively informed. The skipper and supercargo were both fluent
talkers, and only too eager to tell me everything, so I had nothing to
do but to lie back in my chair and listen.
Suddenly, in the middle of the narrative, a woman's scream rang out on
the night air. Before it had finished I had jumped to my feet and run
into the house, to return a moment later with a Winchester and a handful
of cartridges.
'For God's sake, man, what are you going to do?' shouted the skipper,
seeing the look upon my face, as I opened the magazine of the rifle and
jammed the cartridges in.
'I'm going to find out what that scream meant,' I answered, as I turned
towards the verandah steps.
'Be careful what you're up to with that rifle,' he said. 'Remember two
can play at that game.'
'You bet your life,' I replied, and ran down the steps and along the
path towards the bit of jungle on the left of the house.
Out on the open it was all quiet as death, and I knew exactly why. I
entered the thicket pretty cautiously, and before I had gone ten yards
discovered what I had expected to find there. It was Dan Nicholson sure
enough, and one glance showed me that he held in his arms buxom little
Faauma, the daughter of Salevao, the head man of the island. By the way
he was standing, I could tell that she had been struggling, and, from
the tilt of his right arm, I guessed that his fingers were on her
throat, and that he was threatening to choke her if she uttered another
sound. I moved out of the undergrowth and took stock of him.
'So this is the way you attend to my instructions, is it, Mr Nicholson?'
I said, kicking a bit of dead wood out of the way, and bringing my rifle
to the port in case of mischief. 'Look here, I don't want to shoot you
on my own grounds, when you're, so to speak, my guest, but, by God, if
you don't put those hands of yours up above your head and
right-about-face for the beach this very instant, I swear I'll drill you
through and through as sure as you're born. You understand me now; I've
got nine deaths under my finger, and all of 'em waiting to look into
your carcase, so, if you turn round as much as an inch, you're booked
for Kingdom Come.'
He never said a word, but dropped the girl right there, and put his
hands up as I had ordered him.
'That's right, I said. 'Now march.'
Without a word he turned to the rightabouts and set off through the
scrub for the beach. I followed behind him, with the rifle on my arm
ready to come to the shoulder at an instant's notice. The surf rolled
upon the reef like distant thunder, the stars shone down upon the still
lagoon, and through the palm-leaves I could just discern the outline of
the schooner.
'Now, sir,' I said, when we arrived at the water's edge, 'I'll have to
trouble you to swim out to yonder vessel. Don't say no, or dare to turn
round; for if you disobey me, you're dead pig that instant.'
'But I can't swim,' he cried, grinding his teeth so savagely that I
could hear him yards away.
'That be hanged for a yarn,' I said quietly. 'You swam well enough the
day Big-head Brown fired you off his lugger at Apia. Come, in you go,
and no more palaver, or you and I will quarrel.'
'But I shall be eaten by sharks,' he cried, this time meaning what he
said very thoroughly.
'And I wish them joy of a dashed poor meal,' I answered. 'Come, in you
go!'
With that he began to blubber outright like a great baby, and while he
was doing so I couldn't help thinking what a strange situation it was.
Picture for yourself two men, with the starlit heavens looking down on
them, standing on the edge of a big lagoon, one talking and the other
blubbering like a baby that's afraid of the water. I was about tired of
it by this time, so I gave him two minutes in which to make up his mind,
and promised him, in the event of his not deciding to strike out then,
that I'd fire. Consequently he waded in without more ado, and when I had
seen him more than half way out to the schooner, I put the rifle under
my arm and went back to the house.
My guests had evidently been listening to our conversation, and at the
same time amusing themselves with my gin bottles.
'You seem to have turned mighty strait-laced all of a sudden, Mr
Heggarstone,' said the skipper, a little coldly as I came up the steps
and stood the rifle in a corner.
'You think so, do you?' I answered. 'And why so, pray?'
'It was only a native girl at the best calculation,' said he. 'And, in
my opinion, she ought to think herself mighty well honoured to be taken
notice of. She ain't a European queen or an extra special female
martyr, is she?'
'I reckon she's a woman, anyhow,' I replied. 'And no Nicholson that ever
was born, or any other living man for the matter of that, is big enough
to play fast and loose with the women of my island while I'm about! So
don't you make any mistake about that, my friend.'
'You seem to think a precious deal more of the sex on your patch than we
do down our way,' says he.
'Perhaps so! And what if I do?'
'Nothing, of course, but I don't know that it's a good idea to side with
the niggers against white men. That's all,' he continued, looking a
trifle foolish, as he saw the way I was staring at him.
'Don't you? Well, when you've had sufficient experience, perhaps you'll
think differently. No, sirree, I tell you that the man who says a word
against a woman, black or white, in my hearing has to go down, and I
don't care who he is.'
'Of course, you've a right to your own opinions,' he answered.
'I have, and what's more, I think I'm big enough to back them!'
The supercargo, all this time, had sat as quiet as a mouse. Now he put
his spoke into the conversation.
'I suppose there's a yarn at the back of all this palaver.'
'There is,' I answered, 'and a mighty big one too. What's more, if you
like, you shall hear it. And then, when I've done, if it don't make you
swear a woman's just the noblest and sweetest work of God's right hand,
and that the majority of men ain't fit to tie her shoe laces, well,
then, all I can say is you're not the fellows I take you to be.'
'Give me a light for my pipe,' the skipper said, 'and after that fire
away. I like a yarn first-rate. The night's young, this bottle's about
half-full, and if it takes till morning, well, you'll find I'm not the
chap to grumble.'
I furnished him with a box of matches, and then, seating myself in a
long cane chair beside the verandah rails, lit my pipe and began the
yarn which constitutes this book.
CHAPTER I
OLD BARRANDA ON THE CARGOO RIVER, SOUTH-WESTERN QUEENSLAND
When first I remember old Barranda Township on the Cargoo River,
South-Western Queensland, it was not what it is to-day. There were no
grand three-storeyed hotels, with gilded and mirror-hung saloons, and
pretty, bright-eyed barmaids, in the main street then; no macadamised
roads, no smart villa residences peeping from groves of Moreton Bay
fig-trees and stretching for more than a mile out into the country on
either side, no gas lamps, no theatre, no School of Arts, no churches or
chapels, no Squatters' Club, and, above all, no railway line connecting
it with Brisbane and the outer world. No! There were none of these
things. The township, however, lay down in the long gully, beside the
winding, ugly creek just as it does to-day--but in those days its site
was only a clearing out of the primeval bush; the houses were, to use
an Irishism, either tents or slab huts; two hotels certainly graced the
main street, but they were grog shanties of the most villainous
description, and were only patronised by the riffraff of the country
side. The only means of communicating with the metropolis was by the
bullock waggons that brought up our stores once every six months, or by
riding to the nearest township, one hundred and eight miles distant, and
taking the coach from there--a long and wearisome journey that few cared
to undertake.
One thing has always puzzled me, and that was how it came about that my
father ever settled on the Cargoo. Whatever his reason may have been,
however, certain was it that he was one of the earliest to reach the
river, a fact which was demonstrated by the significant circumstance
that he held possession of the finest site for a house and the pick of
all the best country for miles around the township. It was in the
earliest days that he made his way out west, and if I have my suspicions
of why he came to Australia at all, well, I have always kept them
religiously to myself, and intend to go on doing so. But before I say
anything about my father, let me tell you what I remember of the old
home.
It stood, as I suppose it does to-day, for it is many years since I set
eyes on it, on a sort of small tableland or plateau on the hillside, a
matter of a hundred yards above the creek, and at just the one spot
where it could command a lovely view down the gully and across the roofs
of the township towards the distant hills. It was a well-built place of
six rooms, constructed of pisa, the only house of that description in
the township--and, for that matter, I believe, in the whole district. A
broad verandah, covered with the beautiful Wisteria creeper, ran all
round it; in front was a large flower garden stretching away to the
ford, filled with such plants and shrubs as will grow out in that
country; to the right was the horse and cow paddock; and, on the left,
the bit of cultivation we always kept going for the summer months, when
green food is as valuable as a deposit at the bank. At the rear was
another strip of garden with some fine orange and loquot trees, and
then, on the other side of the stockyard rails, the thick scrub running
up the hillside and extending for miles into the back country. The
interior of the house was comfortably furnished, in a style the like of
which I have never seen anywhere else in the Bush. I have a faint
recollection of hearing that the greater part of it--the chairs, tables,
pictures, bookcases and silver--came out from England the year that I
was born, and were part of some property my father had inherited. But
how much truth there was in this I cannot say. At anyrate, I can
remember those chairs distinctly; they were big and curiously shaped,
carved all over with a pattern having fruit in it, and each one had a
hand clasping a battle-axe on a lozenge on the back--a crest I suppose
it must have been, but whose I never took the trouble to inquire. The
thing, however, that struck people most about the rooms was the
collection of books--there were books in hundreds, in every available
place--on the shelves and in the cupboards, on the tables, on the
chairs, and even on the floor. There surely never was such a man for
books as my father, and I can see him now, standing before a shelf in
the half light of the big dining-room with a volume in his hand,
studying it as if he were too much entranced to put it down. He was a
tall, thin man, with a pale, thoughtful face, a high forehead,
deep-set, curious eyes, that seemed to look you through and through, a
big, hooked nose (mine is just like it), a handsome mouth, white teeth,
and a heavy, determined-looking chin. He was invariably clean-shaven,
well dressed, and so scrupulously neat and natty in his appearance that
it seemed hard to imagine he had ever done a stroke of rough work in his
life. And yet he could, and did, work harder than most men, but always
in the same unostentatious fashion; never saying a word more than was
absolutely necessary, but always ready at a moment's notice to pick a
quarrel with you, or to say just the very one thing of all others that
would be most calculated to give you pain. He was a strange man, was my
father.
Of my mother my recollections are less distinct, which is accounted for
by the fact that she died when I was only five years old. Indeed, the
only remembrance I have of her at all is of a fragile little woman with
a pale, sweet face, bending down to kiss me when I was in bed at night.
Drink and temper were my father's chief failings, but I was nearly eight
years old before I really found that out. Even to-day, when I shut my
eyes, I can conjure up a picture of him sitting in the dining-room
before the table, two large candelabras lighting the room, drinking and
reciting to himself, not only in English, but in other outlandish
tongues that I can only suppose now must have been Latin and Greek. So
he would go on until he staggered to his bed, and yet next morning he
would be up and about again before sunrise, a little more taciturn,
perhaps, and readier to take offence, but otherwise much the same as
ever.
That he had always a rooted dislike to me, I know, and I am equally
aware that I detested and feared him more than any other living being.
For this reason we seldom met. He took his meals in solitary grandeur in
the dark, old dining-room, hung round with the dingy pictures that had
come out from England, of men in wigs, knickerbockers and queer,
long-tailed coats, while I took mine with the old housekeeper in the
kitchen leading off the back verandah. We were a strange household, and
before I had turned eight years old--as strong an urchin as ever
walked--I had come to the conclusion that we were not too much liked or
trusted by the folk in the township. My father thought them beneath
him, and let them see that he did; they called him proud, and hinted
that he was even worse than that. Whether he had anything to be proud of
is another matter, and one that I cannot decide. You must judge from the
following illustration.
It was early in the year before the great flood which did so much damage
in those parts, and which is remembered to this day, that news got about
that in a few weeks' time the Governor of the colony would be travelling
in our district, and would probably pay our township a visit. A
committee of the principal folk was immediately chosen to receive him,
and big preparations were made to do him honour. As, perhaps, the chief
personage in our little community, my father was asked to preside over
their deliberations, and for this purpose a deputation waited upon him.
They could not possibly, however, have chosen a more unpropitious moment
for their call; my father had been drinking all day, and, when they
arrived, he burst into one of his fits of anger and drove them from the
house, vowing that he would have nothing at all to do with the affair,
and that he would show His Excellency the door if he dared to set foot
within his grounds. This act of open hostility produced, as may be
supposed, a most unfavourable impression, and my father must have seen
it, for he even went so far as to write a note of apology to the
committee, and to suggest, as his contribution to the general
arrangements, that he should take His Excellency in for the night.
Considering the kind of hotels our township boasted in those days, this
was no mean offer, and, as may be supposed, it was unhesitatingly
accepted.
In due course the Governor arrived with his party. He was received by
the committee in the main street under an archway of flags, and, after
inspecting the township, rode up the hill with the principal folk
towards our house. When he came into the grounds my father went out into
the verandah to receive him, and I followed close in his wake, my eyes,
I make no doubt, bulging with curiosity. The Governor got off his horse,
and at the same moment my father went down the steps. He held out his
hand, His Excellency took it, and as he did so looked at him in a very
quick and surprised way, just for all the world as if my father were
somebody he had seen before, in a very different place, and had never
expected to meet again.
'Good gracious, can it be?' he said to himself under his breath, but
all the same quite loud enough for me to hear, for I was close beside
him. 'Surely you are--'
'My name is Heggarstone,' said my father quickly, an unwonted colour
coming into his face, 'and you are His Excellency, the Governor of the
colony. If you will allow me, I will make you welcome to my poor abode.'
They looked at each other for a moment, pretty straight, and then the
Governor pulled himself together and went into the house, side by side
with my father, without another word. Later on, when the dinner given in
honour of Her Majesty's representative was over, and the townsfolk had
departed, His Excellency and my father sat talking, talking, talking,
till far into the night. I could hear the hum of their voices quite
distinctly, for my bedroom was next to the dining-room, though, of
course, I could not catch what they said.
Next morning, when his horse was at the door, and the escort was
standing ready to be off, His Excellency drew my father a little on one
side and said in a low voice, so that the others should not hear,--
'And your decision is really final? You will never go back to England
to take up your proper position in society?'
'Never!' my father replied, viciously crumpling a handful of creeper
leaves as he spoke. 'I have thought it over carefully, and have come to
the conclusion that it will be a good thing for society if the name dies
out with me. Good-bye.'
'Good-bye,' answered His Excellency, 'and God help you!'
Then he mounted his horse and rode away.
I have narrated this little episode in order to show that I had some
justification for believing that my father was not merely the humble,
commonplace individual he professed to be. I will now tell you another,
which if it did not relieve my curiosity, was surely calculated to
confirm my suspicions.
It happened that one day, early in winter, I was in the township at the
time when the coach, which now connected us with civilisation, made its
appearance. This great event happened twice weekly, and though they had
now been familiar with it for some considerable time, the inhabitants,
men, women and children, seemed to consider it a point of honour that
they should be present, standing in the roadway about the Bushmen's
Rest, to receive and welcome it. For my own part I was ten years old, as
curious as my neighbours, and above all a highly imaginative child to
whom the coach was a thing full of mystery. Times out of number I had
pictured myself the driver of it, and often at night, when I was tucked
up in my little bed and ought to have been asleep, I could seem to see
it making its way through the dark bush, swaying to and fro, the horses
stretched out to their full extent in their frenzied gallop.
On this particular occasion there were more passengers than usual, for
the reason that a new goldfield had sprung into existence in the ranges
to the westward of us, and strangers were passing through our township
every day _en route_ to it. It was not until the driver had descended
from his box and had entered the hotel that the crowd saw fit to
disperse. I was about to follow them when I saw, coming towards me, a
tall, dignified-looking man whom I had noticed sitting next to the
driver when the coach arrived. He boasted a short, close-cropped beard,
wore a pair of dark spectacles, and was dressed better than any man I
had ever seen in my life before, my father not excepted. In his hand he
carried a small portmanteau, and for a moment I thought he was going to
enter the Bushmen's Rest like the remainder of the passengers. He
changed his mind, however, and after looking about him came towards
where I stood.
'My lad,' said he, 'can you tell me which path I should follow to reach
Mr Heggarstone's residence?'
My surprise at this question may be better imagined than described. It
did not prevent me, however, from answering him.
'My name is Heggarstone,' I said, 'and our house is on the hill over
there. You can just see the roof.'
If I had been surprised at his inquiry, it was plain that he was ever so
much more astonished when he heard my name. For upwards of half a minute
he stood and stared at me as if he did not know what to make of it.
'In that case, if you will permit me,' he said, with curious politeness,
'I will accompany you on your homeward journey. I have come a very long
way to see your father, and my business with him is of the utmost
importance.'
My first shyness having by this time completely vanished, I gazed at
him with undisguised interest. I had not met many travellers in my life,
and for this reason when I did I was prepared to make the most of them.
'Have you come from Brisbane, sir?' I inquired, after a short silence,
feeling that it was incumbent upon me to say something.
'Just lately,' he answered. 'But before that from London.'
After this magnificent admission, I felt there was nothing more to be
said. A man who had come from London to our little township, for the
sole purpose of seeing my father, was not the sort of person to be
talked to familiarly. I accordingly trudged alongside him in silence,
thinking of all the wonderful things he must have seen, and wondering if
it would be possible for me at some future date to induce him to tell me
about them. At first he must have inclined to the belief that I was
rather a forward youth. Now, however, I was as silent as if I were
struck dumb. We descended the path to the river without a word, crossed
the ford with our tongues still tied, and had almost reached our own
boundary fence before either of us spoke. Then my companion moved his
bag to the other hand and, placing his right upon my shoulder, said
slowly,--
'So you are--well, Marmaduke Heggarstone's son?'
I looked up at him and noticed the gravity of his face as I answered,
'Yes, sir!'
He appeared to ruminate for a few seconds, and my sharp ears caught the
words, 'Dear me, dear me!' muttered below his breath. A few moments
later we had reached the house, and after I had asked the new-comer to
take a seat in the verandah, I went in to find my father and to tell him
that a visitor had arrived to see him.
'Who is it?' he inquired, looking up from his book. 'How often am I to
tell you to ask people's names before you tell them I am at home? Go
back and find out.'
I returned to the verandah, and asked the stranger if he would be kind
enough to tell me his name.
'Redgarth,' he said, 'Michael Redgarth. Tell your father that, and I
think he will remember me.'
I returned to the dining-room and acquainted my father with what I had
discovered. Prepared as I was for it to have some effect upon him, I
had no idea the shock would be so great. My father sprang to his feet
with what sounded almost like a cry of alarm.
'Redgarth here,' he said; 'what on earth can it mean? However, I'll soon
find out.'
So saying he pushed me on one side and went quickly down the passage in
the direction of the verandah. My curiosity by this time was thoroughly
excited, and I followed him at a respectful distance, frightened lest he
should see me and order me back, but resolved that, happen what might, I
would discover his mysterious errand.
I saw my father pass through the door out on to the verandah, and as he
did so I heard the stranger rise from his chair. What he said by way of
introduction I could not catch, but whatever it may have been there
could be no doubt that it incensed my father beyond all measure.
'Call me that at your peril,' I heard him say. 'Now tell me your errand
here as quickly as you can and be gone again.'
As I stood, listening, in the shadow of the doorway, I could not help
thinking that this was rather scurvy treatment on my father's part of
one who had come so many thousand miles to see him. However, Mr
Redgarth did not seem as much put out by it as I expected he would be.
'I have come to tell you, my--' he began, and then checked himself,
'well, since you wish it, I will call you Mr Heggarstone, that your
father is dead.'
'You might have spared yourself the trouble,' my father replied, with a
bitter little laugh. 'I knew it a week ago. If that is all you have to
tell me I'm sorry you put yourself to so much inconvenience. I suppose
my brother sent you?'
'Exactly,' Redgarth replied dryly, 'and a nice business it has been. I
traced you to Sydney, and then on to Brisbane. There I had some
difficulty in obtaining your address, but as soon as I did so I took the
coach and came out here.'
'Well, and now that you have found me what do you want with me?'
'In the first place I am entitled by your brother to say that provided
you--'
Here my father must have made some sign to him to stop.
'Pardon my interrupting you,' he said, 'but before we proceed any
further let me tell you once and for all that I will have none of my
brother's provisoes. Whatever threats, stipulations, or offers he may
have empowered you to make, I will have nothing whatsoever to do with
them. I washed my hands of my family, as you know, many years ago, and
if you had not come now to remind me of the unpleasant fact, I should
have allowed myself to forget even that they existed. You know my
opinion of my brother. I have had time to think it over, and I see no
reason at all for changing it. When we were both younger he ruined my
career for me, perjured himself to steal my good name, and as if that
were not enough induced my father to back him up in his treatment of me.
Go back to them and tell them that I still hate and despise them. Of the
name they cannot deprive me, that is one consolation; of the money I
will not touch a sixpence. They may have it, every halfpenny, and I wish
them joy of it.'
'But have you thought of your son, the little fellow I saw in the
township, and who conducted me hither?'
'I have thought of him,' replied my father, sternly, 'and it makes no
difference to my decision. I desire him to be brought up in ignorance of
his birth. I am convinced that it would be the kinder course. Now I'll
wish you a very good evening. If you have any papers with you that you
are desirous I should sign, you may send them over to me and I will
peruse them with as little delay as possible. I need not warn you to be
careful of what you say in the township yonder. They know, and have
always known me, as Marmaduke Heggarstone here, and I have no desire
that they should become aware of my real name.'
'You need not fear. I shall not tell them,' said Redgarth. 'As for the
papers, I have them in this bag. I will leave them with you. You can
send them across to me when you have done with them. I suppose it is no
use my attempting to make you see the matter in any other light?'
'None whatever.'
'In that case, I have the honour to wish your lor--I mean to wish you,
Mr Heggarstone, a very good evening.'
As he spoke I heard him buckle the straps of his portmanteau, and then I
slipped noiselessly down the passage towards the kitchen. A moment later
his step sounded upon the gravel and he was gone.
On the Thursday following he left the township, and we saw no more of
him. Whatever his errand may have been, never once during his lifetime
did my father say anything to me upon the subject, nor did I ever
venture to question him about it. Perhaps, as he said, there is
something behind it all that I am happier in not knowing. So far as I
have ever heard such skeletons are generally best left in undisturbed
possession of their cupboards.
After that we resumed the same sort of life as had been our portion
before his arrival.
This monotonous existence continued undisturbed until the time of the
great flood, which, as I have said before, is even remembered to this
day. It occurred at the end of a wet season, and after a fortnight's
pouring rain, which continued day and night. Never was such rain known,
and for this reason the ground soon became so thoroughly saturated that
it could absorb no more. In consequence the creeks filled, and all the
billabongs became deep as lakes.
In order to realise what follows you must understand that above the
township, perhaps a couple of miles or so, three creeks joined forces,
and by so doing formed the Cargoo River, on the banks of which our
township was located. There had been heavy rain on all these creeks, and
in consequence they came down bankers, united, as I have just said, and
then, being penned in by the hills and backed up by the stored water in
the billabongs, swept down the valley towards the township in one great
flood, which carried everything before it. Never shall I forget that
night. The clouds had cleared off the sky earlier in the evening, and it
was as bright as day, the moon being almost at the full. I was having my
supper with old Betty in the kitchen when suddenly I heard an odd sort
of rumbling in the distance. I stopped eating to listen. Even to my
childish ears the sound was peculiar, and as it still continued, I asked
Betty, who was my oracle in everything, what she thought it meant. She
was a little deaf, and suggested the wind in the trees. But I knew that
this was no wind in trees. Every moment it was growing louder, and when
I left the kitchen and went through the house to the front verandah,
where I found my father standing looking up the valley, it had grown
into a well-defined roar. I questioned him on the subject.
'It is a flood,' he answered, half to himself. 'Nothing but water, and
an enormous body of it, could make that sound.'
The words were scarcely out of his mouth before a man on horseback
appeared round the bend of the hill and galloped up the path. His horse
was white with foam, and as he drew up before the steps he shouted
wildly,--
'The flood is coming down the valley. Fly for your lives.'
My father only laughed--a little scornfully, I thought--and said, in his
odd, mocking voice,--
'No flood will touch us here, my friend, but if you are anxious to do
humanity a service, you had better hasten on and warn the folk in the
township below us. They are in real danger!'
Long before he had finished speaking, the man had turned his horse and
was galloping down the track, as fast as he had come, towards the little
cluster of houses we could discern in the hollow below us. That young
man was Dennis O'Rourke, the eldest son of a Selector further up the
valley, and the poor fellow was found, ten days later, dead, entangled
in the branches of a gum tree, twenty miles below Barranda Township,
with a stirrup iron bent round his left foot, and scarcely half a mile
from his own selection gate. Without doubt he had been overtaken by the
flood before he could reach his wife to give her the alarm. In
consequence, the water caught her unprepared, she was never seen again,
and only one of her children escaped alive; their homestead, which
stood on the banks of the creek, was washed clean off the face of the
earth, and when I rode down that way on my pony, after the flood had
subsided, it would have been impossible to distinguish the place where
it had once stood.
But to return to my narrative. O'Rourke had not left us five minutes
before the rumbling had increased to a roar, almost like that of
thunder. And every second it was growing louder. Then, with a suddenness
no man could imagine who has never seen such a thing, a solid wall of
water, shining like silver in the moonlight, came into view, seemed to
pause for a moment, and then swept trees, houses, cattle, haystacks,
fences, and even large boulders before it like so much driftwood. Within
a minute of making its appearance it had spread out across the valley,
and, most marvellous part of all, had risen half way up the hill, and
was throwing a line of yeast-like foam upon our garden path. A few
seconds later we distinctly heard it catch the devoted township, and the
crashing and rending sound it made was awful to hear. Then the noise
ceased, and only a swollen sheet of angry water, stretching away across
the valley for nearly a mile and a half was to be seen. Such a flood no
man in the district, and I state this authoritatively, had ever in his
life experienced before. Certainly I have not seen one like it since.
And the brilliant moonlight only intensified the terrible effect.
Having assured himself that we had nothing to fear, my father ordered me
off to bed, and reluctantly I went--only to lie curled up in my warm
blankets thinking of the waters outside, and repicturing the effect
produced upon my mind by O'Rourke's sensational arrival. It was the
first time I had ever seen a man under the influence of a life-and-death
excitement, and, imaginative child as I was, the effect it produced on
my mind was not one to be easily shaken off. Then I must have fallen
asleep, for I have no recollection of anything else till I was awakened
in the middle of the night by the noise of people entering my room.
Half-asleep and half-awake I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and blinking at
the brightness of the candle my father carried in his hand. Old Betty
was with him, and behind them, carrying a bundle in his arms, stalked a
tall, thin man with a grey beard, long hair and a white, solemn face.
His clothes, I noticed, were sopping wet, and a stream of water marked
his progress across the floor.
'Take James out and put the child in his place,' said my father, coming
towards my bed. The man advanced, and Betty lifted me out and placed me
on a chair. The bundle was then tucked up where I had been, and, when
that had been done, Betty turned to me.
'Jim,' she said, 'you must be a good boy and give no trouble, and I'll
make you up a nice bed in the corner.' This was accordingly done, and
when it was ready I was put into it, and in five minutes had forgotten
the interruption and was fast asleep once more.
As usual, directly there was light in the sky, I woke and looked about
me. To my surprise, however, for I had for the moment forgotten the
strange waking of the night, I found myself, not in my own place, but on
a pile of rugs in the corner. Wondering what this might mean, I looked
across at my bed, half-expecting to find it gone. But no! There it
stood, sure enough, with an occupant I could not remember ever to have
seen before--a little rose-leaf of a girl, at most not more than four
years old. Like myself she was sitting up, staring with her great blue
eyes, and laughing from under a tangled wealth of golden curls at my
astonishment. Her little pink and white face, so charmingly dimpled,
seemed prettier than anything I had ever seen or dreamed of before; but
I did not know what to make of it all, and, boy-like, was inordinately
shy. Seeing this, and not being accustomed to be slighted, the little
minx climbed out of bed, and, with her tiny feet peeping from beneath
one of my flannel night-shirts, came running across to where I lay. Then
standing before me, her hands behind her back, she said in a baby
voice--that I can hear now even after twenty years,--
'I'se Sheilah!'
And that was my introduction to the good angel of my life. Five minutes
later we were playing together on the floor as if we had been friends
for years instead of minutes. And when Betty came into the room,
according to custom, to carry me off to my bath, her first remark was
one which has haunted me all my life, and will go on doing so until I
die.
'Pretty dears,' she cried, 'sure they're just made for each other.'
And so we were!
It was not until some time later that I learnt how it was that old
McLeod and his baby daughter came to be under our roof that night. This
was the reason of it. The man and his wife, it appears, were but new
arrivals in the colony, and were coming out our way to settle. They
were finishing their last day's stage down the valley when the flood
caught the bullock dray, drowned his wife and all the cattle, and
well-nigh finished the father and child, who were carried for miles
clinging to a tree, to be eventually washed up before our house. My
father, standing in the verandah, heard a cry for help, and waded out
into the water just in time to save them. Having done this he brought
them up to the house, and, as there was nowhere else to put her, I was
turned out and Sheilah was given my bed.
Next morning a foaming sea of water cut us off from the township, or
what few houses remained of it, and for this reason it was manifestly
impossible that old McLeod could continue his journey. I remember that
poor, little motherless Sheilah and I played together all day long in
the verandah, as happy as two birds, while her father watched us from a
deep chair, with grave, tear-stained eyes. In the death of his wife he
had sustained a grievous loss, from which somehow I don't think he ever
thoroughly recovered.
Three days later the water fell as rapidly as it had risen, and as soon
as it had sufficiently abated, McLeod, having thanked my father for his
hospitality, which I could not help thinking had been grudgingly enough
bestowed, took Sheilah in his arms, right up from the middle of our
play, and tramped off, a forlorn black figure, down the path towards the
township. As far as the turn of the track, and until the scrub timber
hid her from my gaze, I could see the little mite waving her hand to me
in farewell.
That week McLeod purchased Gregory's farm on the other side of the
township, and installed himself in the house on the knoll overlooking
the river, taking care this time to choose a position that was safely
out of water reach. Once he had settled in, I was as often to be found
there as at my own home, and continued to be Sheilah's constant
companion and playmate from that time forward.
And so the years went by, every one finding us firmer friends. It was I
who held her while she took her first ride upon the old grey pony McLeod
bought for the boy to run up the milkers on. It was I who taught her to
row the cranky old tub they called a boat on the Long Reach; it was I
who baited the hook that caught her first fish; it was I who taught her
the difference in the nests in the trees behind the homestead, and how
to distinguish between the birds that built them; in everything I was
her guide, philosopher and her constant friend. And surely there never
was so sweet a child to teach as Sheilah--her quickness was
extraordinary, and, bush-bred boy though I was, it was not long before
she was my equal at everything where strength was not absolutely
required. By the time she was twelve and I sixteen, she could have
beaten any other girl in the township at anything they pleased, and,
what made them the more jealous, her beauty was becoming more and more
developed every day. Even in the hottest sun her sweet complexion seemed
to take no hurt, and now the hair, that I remembered curling closely
round her head on the morning when we first became acquainted, descended
like a fall of rippling gold far below her shoulders. And her eyes--but
there, surely there never were such eyes as Sheilah's--for truth and
innocence. Oh, Sheilah, my own sweetheart, if only we could have
foreseen then all the bitterness and agony of the rocky path that we
were some day to tread, what would we not have done to ward off the
fatal time? But, of course, we could not see it, and so we went on
blindfold upon our happy-go-lucky way, living only in the present, and
having no thought of the cares of the morrow. And the strangest part
about it all was that, thrown together continually as we were, neither
of us had taken any account of love. The little god had so far kept his
arrows in his quiver. But he was to shoot them soon enough in all
conscience.
To say that my father forbade my intercourse with the McLeods would not
be the truth. But if I said that he lost no opportunity of sneering at
the old man and his religion (he was a Dissenter of the most vigorous
description, and used to preach on Sundays in the township) I should not
be overstepping the mark.
I don't believe there was another man in the world who could sneer as
could my father. He had cultivated that accomplishment to perfection,
and in a dozen words would bring me to such a pitch of indignation that
it was as much as I could do to refrain from laying violent hands upon
him. I can see him now lying back in his chair in the old dining-room,
when he was hearing me my lessons (for he taught me all I know), a book
half-closed upon his knee, looking me up and down with an expression
upon his face that seemed to say, 'Who ever would have thought I should
have been plagued with such a dolt of a son!' Then, as likely as not, he
would lose his temper over my stupidity, box my ears, and send me
howling from the room, hating him with all the intensity of which my
nature was capable. I wonder if ever a boy before had so strange and
unnatural a parent.