Coming Back
The letter which Caldigate wrote to his father from Ahalala, telling him
of the discovery of gold upon their claim, contained the first tidings
which reached Folking of the wanderer, and that was not received till
seven or eight months had passed by since he left the place. The old
Squire, during that time, had lived a very solitary life. In regard to
his nephew, whom he had declared his purpose of partially adopting, he
had expressed himself willing to pay for his education, but had not
proposed to receive him at Folking. And as to that matter of heirship,
he gave his brother to understand that it was not to be regarded as a
settled thing. Folking was now his own to do what he liked with it, and
as such it was to remain. But he would treat his nephew as a son while
the nephew seemed to him to merit such treatment. As for the estate, he
was not at all sure whether it would not be better for the community at
large, and for the Caldigate family in particular, that it should be cut
up and sold in small parcels. There was a long correspondence between
him and his brother, which was ended by his declaring that he did not
wish to see any of the family just at present at Folking. He was low in
spirits, and would prefer to be alone.
He was very low in spirits and completely alone. All those who knew
anything about him,--and they were very few, the tenants, perhaps, and
servants, and old Mr. Bolton,--were of opinion that he had torn his son
out from all place in his heart, had so thoroughly disinherited the
sinner, not only from his house and acres, but from his love, that they
did not believe him capable of suffering from regret. But even they knew
very little of the man. As he wandered about alone among the dikes, as
he sat alone among his books, even as he pored over the volumes which
were always in his hand, he was ever mourning and moaning over his
desolation. His wife and daughters had been taken from him by the hand
of God;--but how had it come to pass that he had also lost his son, that
son who was all that was left to him? When he had first heard of those
dealings with Davis, while John was amusing himself with the frivolities
of Babington, he had been full of wrath, and had declared to himself
that the young man must be expelled, if not from all affection, yet from
all esteem. And he had gone on to tell himself that it would be
unprofitable for him to live with a son whom he did not esteem. Then it
had come to pass that, arguing it out in his own mind, rationally, as he
had thought, but still under the impulse of hot anger, he had determined
that it was better that they should part, even though the parting should
be for ever. But now he had almost forgotten Davis,--had turned the
matter over in his mind till he had taught himself to think that the
disruption had been altogether his son's work, and in no degree his own.
His son had not loved him. He had not been able to inspire his son with
love. He was solitary and wretched because he had been harsh and
unforgiving. That was his own judgment as to himself. But he never said a
word of his feelings to any human being.
John had promised to write. The promise had not been very
enthusiastically given; but still, as the months went by it was
constantly remembered. The young man, after leaving Cambridgeshire, had
remained some weeks at the Shands' house before he had started;--and
from thence he had not written. The request had been that he should
write from Australia, and the correspondence between him and his father
had always been so slight, that it had not occurred to him to write from
Pollington. But Mr. Caldigate had,--not expected, but hoped that a
letter might come at the last moment. He knew to a day, to an hour, when
the vessel would sail from Plymouth. There might have been a letter from
Plymouth, but no letter came. And then the months went by slowly. The
son did not write from Melbourne, nor from Nobble,--nor from Ahalala
till gold had been found. So it came to pass that nearly eight months
had passed, and that the father had told himself again and again that
his son had torn himself altogether away from all remembrance of his
home, before the letter came.
It was not a long letter, but it was very satisfactory. The finding of
the gold was in itself, of course, a great thing; but the manner in
which it was told, without triumph or exultation, but with an air of
sober, industrious determination, was much more; and then there was a
word or two at the end: 'Dear father,--I think of you every day, and am
already looking forward to the time when I may return and see you
again.' As he read it, the tears rolled down his cheeks, and unluckily
the old housekeeper came into the room at the same time.
'Is it from Mr. John, sir?'
He had to recover himself, and to get rid of his tears, and to answer
the old woman in an unconcerned tone, all in a moment, and it
disconcerted him.
'Yes,--yes;' he said. 'I'll tell you all about it another time.'
'Is he well, sir?'
'I daresay he is. He doesn't say. It's about business. Didn't you hear
me say that I'd tell you another time?' And so the old woman was turned
out of the room, having seen the tear and heard the little gurgle in the
throat.
'He seems to be doing well,' the Squire said to Mr. Holt. 'He has got a
couple of partners, and they have succeeded in finding gold. He may
probably come back some day; but I don't suppose it will be for the
next twenty years.'
After that he marked the posts, which he knew came from that part of the
world by San Francisco, and had resolved not to expect anything by that
of the next month,--when there came, a day before its time, a much
longer letter than the last. In this there was given a detailed
description of the 'claim' at Ahalala, which had already been named
Folking. Much was said of Mick, and much was said of Dick, both of whom
were working 'as steady as rocks.' The number of ounces extracted were
stated, with the amount of profits which had been divided. And something
was said as to the nature of their life at Ahalala. They were still
living under their original tent, but were meditating the erection of a
wooden shanty. Ahalala, the writer said, was not a place at which a
prosperous miner could expect to locate himself for many years; but the
prospects were good enough to justify some present attention to personal
comforts. All this was rational, pleasant, and straightforward. And in
the letter there was no tone or touch of the old quarrel. It was full
and cordial,--such as any son might write to any father. It need hardly
be said that there was no mention made in it of Mrs. Smith. It was
written after the return of John Caldigate from Sydney to Ahalala, but
contained no reference to any matrimonial projects.
Letters then came regularly, month by month, and were always regularly
answered,--till a chance reader would have thought that no father and no
son stood on better terms with each other. There had been misfortunes;
but the misfortunes did not seem to touch John Caldigate himself. After
three months of hard work and steady conduct Mick Maggott had broken out
and had again taken to drinking champagne out of buckets. Efforts were
made, with infinite trouble, to reclaim him, which would be successful
for a time,--and then again he would slip away into the mud. And then
Shand would sometimes go into the mud with him; and Shand, when drunk,
would be more unmanageable even than Mick. And this went on till Mick
had--killed himself, and Dick Shand had disappeared. 'I grieve for the
man as for a dear friend,' he said in one of his father's letters; 'for
he has been as true to me as steel in all things, save drink; and I feel
that I have learned under him the practical work of a gold-miner as it
cannot be learned except by the unwearied attention of the teacher.
Could he have kept from spirits, this man would have made a large
fortune and would have deserved it; for he was indefatigable and
never-ending in resources.' Such was the history of poor Mick Maggott.
And Shand's history was told also. Shand strayed away to Queensland, and
then returning was again admitted to a certain degree of partnership,
and then again fell into drink, and at last, deserting the trade of a
miner, tried his hand at various kinds of work, till at last he became a
simple shepherd. From time to time Caldigate sent him money when he was
in want of it, but they had not again come together as associates in
their work.
All this was told in his monthly letters which came to be expected at
Folking, till each letter was regarded as the rising of a new sun. There
is a style of letter-writing which seems to indicate strength of purpose
and a general healthy condition on the part of the writer. In all his
letters, the son spoke of himself and his doings with confidence and
serenity, somewhat surprising his father after a while by always
desiring to be remembered to Mr., Mrs., and Miss Bolton. This went on
not only from month to month, but from year to year, till at the end of
three years from the date at which the son had left Folking, there had
come to be a complete confidence between him and his father. John
Caldigate had gone into partnership with Crinkett,--who had indeed
tried to cheat him wretchedly but had failed,--and at that time was the
manager of the Polyeuka mine. The claim at Ahalala had been sold, and he
had deserted the flashy insecurity of alluvial searchings for the
fundamental security of rock-gold. He was deep in the crushing of
quartz, and understood well the meaning of two ounces to the ton,--that
glittering boast by which Crinkett had at first thought to allure him.
From time to time he sent money home, paying back to his father and to
Bolton's bank what had been borrowed on the estate. For there had passed
between them many communications respecting Folking. The extravagances
of the son became almost the delight of the father, when the father had
become certain of the son's reform. There had been even jocular
reference to Davis, and a complete understanding as to the amount of
money to be given to the nephew in compensation for the blighted hopes
as to the reversion of the property.
Why it should have been that these years of absence should have endeared
to John Caldigate a place which, while it was his home, had always been
distasteful to him, I cannot perhaps explain to those readers who have
never strayed far from their original nests;--and to those who have been
wanderers I certainly need not explain it. As soon as he felt that he
could base the expression of his desires as to Folking on the foundation
of substantial remittances, he was not slow to say that he should like
to keep the place. He knew that he had no right to the reversion, but
perhaps his father would sympathise with his desire to buy back his
right. His father, with all his political tenets as to land, with his
often-expressed admiration as to the French system, with his loud
denunciations of the absurdity of binding a special family to a special
fraction of the earth's surface, did sympathise with him so strongly,
that he at once accepted the arrangement. 'I think that his conduct has
given him a right to demand it,' he said to Mr. Bolton.
'I don't quite see that. Money certainly gives a man great powers. If he
has money enough he can buy the succession to Folking if you choose to
sell it to him.'
'I mean as my son,' said the father somewhat proudly. 'He was the heir.'
'But he ceased to be so,--by his own doing. I advised you to think
longer over it before you allowed him to dispossess himself.'
'It certainly has been all for the best.'
'I hope so. But when you talk of his right, I am bound to say that he
has none. Folking is now yours, without encumbrance, and you can give it
to whom you please.'
'It was he who paid off the mortgage.'
'You have told me that he sent you part of the money;--but that's
between you and him. I am very glad, Caldigate, that your son has done
so well;--and the more so perhaps because the early promise was not
good. But it may be doubted whether a successful gold-digger will settle
down quietly as an English country gentleman.'
There can be no doubt that old Mr. Bolton was a little jealous, and,
perhaps, in some degree incredulous, as to the success of John Caldigate.
His sons had worked hard from the very beginning of their lives. With
them there had been no period of Newmarket, Davis, and disreputation. On
the basis of capital, combined with conduct, they had gradually risen to
high success. But here was a young man, who, having by his
self-indulgence thrown away all the prospects of his youth, had
rehabilitated himself by the luck of finding gold in a gully. To Mr.
Bolton it was no better than had he found a box of treasure at the
bottom of a well. Mr. Bolton had himself been a seeker of money all his
life, but he had his prejudices as to the way in which money was to be
sought. It should be done in a gradual, industrious manner, and in
accordance with recognised forms. A digger who might by chance find a
lump of gold as big as his head, or might work for three months without
finding any, was to him only one degree better than Davis, and therefore
he did not receive his old friend's statements as to the young man's
success with all the encouragement which his old friend would have
liked.
But his father was very enthusiastic in his return letter to the miner.
The matter as to the estate had been arranged. The nephew, who, after
all, had not shown himself to be very praiseworthy, had already
been--compensated. His own will had already been made,--of course in his
son's favour. As there had been so much success,--and as continued
success must always be doubtful,--would it not be well that he should
come back as soon as possible? There would be enough now for them all.
Then he expressed an opinion that such a place as Nobble could not be
very nice for a permanent residence.
Nobble was not very nice. Over and beside his professional success,
there was not much in his present life which endeared itself to John
Caldigate. But the acquisition of gold is a difficult thing to leave.
There is a curse about it, or a blessing,--it is hard to decide
which,--that makes it almost impossible for a man to tear himself away
from its pursuit when it is coming in freely. And the absolute
gold,--not the money, not the balance at one's banker's, not the
plentiful so much per annum,--but the absolute metal clinging about the
palm of one's hands like small gravel, or welded together in a lump too
heavy to be lifted, has a peculiar charm of its own. I have heard of a
man who, having his pocket full of diamonds, declared, as he let them
run through his fingers, that human bliss could not go beyond that
sensation. John Caldigate did not shoe his horse with gold; but he liked
to feel that he had enough gold by him to shoe a whole team. He could
not return home quite as yet. His affairs were too complicated to be
left quite at a moment's notice. If, as he hoped, he should find himself
able to leave the colony within four years of the day on which he had
begun work, and could then do so with an adequate fortune, he believed
that he should have done better than any other Englishman who had set
himself to the task of gold-finding. In none of his letters did he say
anything special about Hester Bolton; but his inquiries about the family
generally were so frequent as to make his father wonder why such
questions should be asked. The squire himself, who was living hardly a
dozen miles from Mr. Bolton's house, did not see the old banker above
once a quarter perhaps and the ladies of the family certainly not
oftener than once a year. Very little was said in answer to any of
John's inquiries. 'Mr. and Mrs. and Miss Bolton are, I believe, quite
well.' So much was declared in one of the old squire's letters; and even
that little served to make known that at any rate, so far, no tidings as
to marriage on the part of Hester had reached the ear of her father's
old friend. Perhaps this was all that John Caldigate wanted to learn.
At last there came word that John intended to come home with the next
month's mail. This letter arrived about midsummer, when the miner had
been absent three years and a half. He had not settled all his affairs
so completely but that it might be necessary that he should return; but
he thought that he would be able to remain at least twelve months in
England. And in England he intended to make his home. Gold, he said, was
certainly very attractive; but he did not like New South Wales as a
country in which to live. He had now contracted his ventures to the one
enterprise of the Polyeuka mine, from which he was receiving large
monthly dividends. If that went on prosperously, perhaps he need not
return to the colony at all. 'Poor Dick Shand!' he said. 'He is a
shepherd far away in the west, hardly earning better wages than an
English ploughman, and I am coming home with a pocket full of money! A
few glasses of whisky have made all the difference!'
The squire when he received this felt more of exultation than he had
ever known in his life. It seemed as though something of those
throbbings of delight which are common to most of us when we are young,
had come to him for the first time in his old age. He could not bring
himself to care in the least for Dick Shand. At last,--at last,--he was
going to have near him a companion that he could love.
'Well, yes; I suppose he has put together a little money,' he said to
Farmer Holt, when that worthy tenant asked enthusiastically as to the
truth of the rumours which were spread about as to the young squire's
success. 'I rather think he'll settle down and live in the old place
after all.'
'That's what he ought to do, squoire--that's what he ought to do,' said
Mr. Holt, almost choked by the energy of his own utterances.