THE LAST INTERVIEW
About this time a new settlement was projected at New South Wales, and
Government had already sent several convict ships to Botany Bay and Port
Jackson; but the unruly state of the people, and the necessary military
government of the colony, made it very desirable that some respectable
settlers should be induced to go out. Accordingly, whenever store-ships
were sent, a premium was offered for farmers' sons or farming men to
emigrate. One hundred acres of land for as many dollars were granted:
still very few could be induced to go. It was not for some years that
any regular settlers' ship went out with free passengers.
Young Barry conversed with his father upon this subject, and found him
quite disposed to let him have double the above-named sum, and even
encouraged the idea in the youth's mind.
It so happened that Captain Johnson, who commanded one of the earliest
store-ships which was sent to that colony, was acquainted with
Lieutenant Brand, and had written to ask him if there was any young
farmer who would like to go out with him from Suffolk. It was through
him that young Barry got an introduction to Captain Johnson, who
promised him a good berth, and every convenient accommodation. It was
soon resolved that John Barry should forthwith get a grant of land; and,
being furnished with all requisite particulars, he went to London to see
his ship, and make arrangements with his captain.
All his family now felt a double interest in him because he was going
away, to leave them, perhaps, for ever--at all events for a very long
period. His sisters worked hard to make him such changes of linen as
should last him for years; and every hand they could muster in the
village, capable of doing needle-work, was fully employed. Presents of
various kinds flowed in; and, upon his return home from town, he found
himself master of more stock than he could possibly have got together
for his own use in England, though he had laboured for it for many
years. He was very cheerful, and even told his sisters that as he might,
perhaps, marry soon in the new settlement, they might make him some sets
of female apparel! They laughed with astonishment at this request; but,
as they found him earnest, they each spared something from their own
wardrobe for his most eccentric request. Little, however, did they
surmise the real motive of his heart.
The day was fixed for the vessel to sail, and John must be, with all his
goods and chattels, at London in a fortnight. The last Sabbath-day that
he spent with his father, mother, brothers, and sisters, was memorable
for the deep-rooted power it ever after retained over his mind. The
clergyman's sermon was upon the universal providence of God, and, as if
he preached it on purpose (but which was not the case, for he was
ignorant of the intended movement of the young man), he discoursed upon
the unity of the Church of Christ in every place--the communion we had
even with our antipodes in the worship of the same God. He instanced the
especial interest which the Church had with all the colonies of the
mother country, and spoke of the joy to be felt when that reunion should
take place at the resurrection of the just. The preacher spoke as if
even the poor benighted aborigines of Van Diemen's Land were his
brethren, and showed how necessary it was for us to extend to them our
helping hand to bring them to Christianity.
After service, the worthy miller told his pastor that his son was going
to that very country, and that the young man had said he never should
forget that discourse. The clergyman went home with the family, and
spent that Sabbath evening with them. He fully entered into the prospect
before the young man, and pointed out to him the sure path to heaven,
through the strait gate, and inspired him with many hopes of doing good.
He joined with them in prayer, and gave them his blessing. He promised
to send him a valuable present of books, which he performed the next
day. Bibles, testaments, prayer-books, homilies, tracts, _The Whole Duty
of Man_, together with a work on planting, farming, horticulture, and
seeds, and one on natural history and botany, all which proved of the
greatest utility to the worthy and honourable young man upon whom they
were bestowed.
The day of parting at length came--the last sad day--and the young man
remembered his promise to Margaret, that he would see her once more
before he departed. He found her at home on the Monday, that very day
upon the eve of which he was to take the mail from Ipswich for London.
He came to take a long and a last farewell. And why did he torment
himself and the poor girl with this last interview? Was it with a
lurking hope that he might persuade her to accompany him? He had really
and truly prepared for such an event, could he have brought it about. In
his chests were presents which his sisters had made at his request, in
case he should marry in the new settlement. He had suggested this; but
his heart had to the very last a lingering thought that perhaps Margaret
might be induced to embark with him. Upon what small last links will not
true love depend!
"I am come, Margaret, to take my leave of you," said he, on meeting her.
"I am going to a colony the farthest off our own dear country of any
known island in the world."
"Indeed, sir! if so I wish you well, and pray God to bless you!"
"Before I go, Margaret," resumed he, "I must tell you that as long as
life holds in this poor heart of mine, I shall never love any one else.
I may prosper--I may be rich--I may be blessed with abundance--but I
shall never be blessed with a wife."
"Oh, sir, say not so! you grieve me very much to hear you talk in that
way. You are a young man, and the path of life, though it may not be
without thorns, has yet many blessed plants for your happiness. Why
should you speak so despondingly? Change of place and occupation will
make you feel very differently."
"You may think it may be so with me, Margaret; but if there be any truth
in this last doctrine which you have yourself divulged, it will hold
good in yourself as well as in me. If you change your place of abode,
and go with me, Margaret, will not you think very differently to what
you do now? Oh, that I could persuade you! Oh, that I could induce you
to join your lot with mine! Shake off that wild attachment to the
smuggler, and go with me. I will marry you to-morrow morning before we
sail. I have even hinted the matter to my captain. He has promised to be
bridesman, and has even taken out the license, and will be ready
to-morrow at ten o'clock. No preparation will be necessary for you: I
have prepared everything. Your bridal dress is even ready; and our
honeymoon will be kept on board the _Kitty_, which is to sail to-morrow
from London. Margaret, hear me! I am sure that your present connexion
will end in ruin. What is Will Laud but a desperate fellow who cannot
and, believe me, will not protect you? What sacrifice can it be to leave
a man who would have taken you away without your consent, for one who,
with your consent, will unite all his interests with yours as long as he
lives?"
There was a pause--an awful pause--after this declaration, such as
beings feel who are held in the most agitating suspense, between life
and death. Painful--very painful--was the situation in which Margaret
was placed. There was a flood of overwhelming agitation. The tears stole
down her cheeks. Her dark eye shone like the sun through the midst of a
watery cloud, and told that it longed to burst through the mists of
darkness, but could not find an opening for its beams. Faster and faster
fell the big drops--heavier and heavier dropped the clouds of the
eyelids, till, like a flash of lightning, burst the words from her
lips--
"Oh, leave me! leave me, sir! I never can alter the pledge I have given!
I never can be unfaithful! Though I may be unhappy in my choice, yet it
is a choice to which I feel so bound, that nothing but death can part
us. Oh, that Laud were as good as yourself! I feel, I own, the contrast;
but I hope he may be better. Oh, do not urge me, sir--do not urge me to
desert the only chance left for the restoration of a young man to
honesty and life!"
"Margaret, hear then my last words, and if they fail I will leave you. I
do not believe that Laud loves you as he ought to love. Did I think
there was one chance for your happiness with him, I would not urge my
present suit a moment longer. Believe me, he is not worthy of you. You
compel me to say he is a villain. He will betray you. He will desert
you. He will bring you to want, misery, and ruin. I know you love him.
Your early feelings have all been engaged in his favour; but which of
those has he not disappointed? which of those feelings has he not
wounded? Yet you cling to him, as if he were a safe-ground of anchorage.
Believe me--believe me, Margaret, the anchor you cast there will not
hold; it will suffer you to drift upon the rocks, upon which you will
perish. Say in one word, will you, or will you not, consent to my
offer?"
"John Barry, on my knees (and she suited the action to the word) I thank
you, and bless you; but I do not--I cannot--accept your offer!"
"Margaret, farewell!" exclaimed he, as he raised her from the ground, "a
long, a last farewell. Nevertheless, take this; it is a gift, which may
some future day be of service to you. You will not refuse it, as it is
the last gift of one who will never see you again. I know you cannot
even read it now; but the time may come when you may be enabled so to
do, and I had counted in my long voyage of teaching you so to do. It was
a present to me from my mother; but I have many more like it, given me
by our clergyman. Take it--take it--it can never do you hurt; and, with
God's blessing, it may be the means of our meeting in another world,
though we never meet again in this. God bless you, Margaret! farewell!"
He placed a small clasped Bible in her hands, in the opening and the
closing leaf of which were two five-pound notes; small sums perhaps
apparently to us in this day, but magnificent compared with the means of
an early settler in a strange land. This ten pounds paid poor Margaret's
rent, and all her parents' debts, at a subsequent time, when the deepest
distress might have overwhelmed her. But Barry returned to his parents
with a noble consciousness of an upright mind. His parting with them was
not, comparatively speaking, of so passionate or stirring a nature as
that which he had so recently undergone, but it was purely affectionate
and loving.
The hour of parting is over; and John Barry, as honest and worthy a
young man as ever left the shores of Old England, was soon on board the
_Kitty_, 440 tons; and with some few others, who like himself had a mind
to try their fortunes in a foreign land, he sailed for that colony, once
the most distant and unpromising, now becoming renowned, and which
probably will be the most glorious island of the Eastern world.