Although, as I have said, the faces of our host and hostess did not
please me, and indeed gave me some disquietude, they both made
themselves so pleasant, and were so civil and hospitable, that I could
not help feeling it was ungrateful for me to harbour hard thoughts of
them. While we were still at the table, a man came in and took his seat
opposite to me. I supposed that he was living in the house, at all
events that he was expected. He eyed me very hard, and then went on
eating his supper. At last Charley White addressed me as Mr Biddulph,
though he generally called me father. Immediately the stranger started
up, and coming round to me and taking my hand, exclaimed, "Why, Mr
Biddulph, I thought that I knew your face, but I little expected to see
you out here." When he spoke I recognised a man to whom I had once
rendered a considerable service. He was in debt. I gave him a sum of
money to save him from prison, and he promised to repay me. Before he
did so he disappeared, and I did not expect to receive a farthing, but
on two occasions small amounts were sent to me, which I knew came from
him, though the larger portion still remained unpaid.
"I hope that you are doing well, Jacob," said I, not thinking of the
debt.
"Pretty well, but not as well as I could wish, Mr Biddulph," he
answered. "I have been in the country about five years, and know it as
well as most men, but there are one or two things on my mind which I
should like to get free of. One of them is my debt to you, and the
honest truth is, that though I have worked hard, of money I have none.
Most of my wages have come in the shape of rum, and I never yet heard of
a man getting rich on such payment as that."
I saw that our host and hostess exchanged glances, but I took no notice
of them.
"If you know the country you are just the man I want, and can quickly
repay me, and place me in your debt also," I observed. "I want a guide
through the country, and some one who knows the nature of the land, to
help me in choosing a farm."
"Just the thing I should like," he exclaimed, jumping at the proposal;
"I'm a free man, and can go where I like."
I judged from this that he had not always been free. Our entertainers
did not seem over well pleased at his so readily accepting my proposal.
Still they treated us civilly, and we had no cause to complain. They
brought us some sacks full of dry grass, which they spread on the floor,
with some kangaroo skins to cover us; in those days sheep skins were
rare. We lay down, commending ourselves to God, and felt as secure
among convicts, with the possibility of a visit from the bush-rangers,
as we had done in our tight little craft in the middle of the ocean.
We were on foot before daybreak, and with Jacob Rawdon as our guide, set
out, as soon as we had taken some food, on our journey. Our host and
his wife were evidently displeased at his leaving them.
After we had got to a distance I asked him why this was. "The reason is
that I had become well-nigh their slave," he answered. "They paid me my
wages in rum, which I drank mostly, or exchanged at a great loss for
necessaries, and so you see that I am not a shilling the richer than I
was when I first began to work for myself. Still I hope to be able to
repay you, and it will be a great satisfaction to me to do so."
I did not doubt him, and had heard enough about the people I was likely
to meet to know that it would not do to question him too closely as to
why he had come to the country. I observed that he was frequently
downcast, and that an expression of grief passed over his countenance;
indeed, from several things he said, I felt great hopes that, whatever
had been his errors, he was resolved to turn from them and to lead a new
life. Under this belief I spoke seriously to him, and reminded him that
he could not go on in his own strength, that the best man alive could
not; and that if he would do right he must seek for aid from God the
Father, through the influence of the Holy Spirit, trusting entirely and
alone to the perfect sacrifice of Christ. He listened attentively. The
doctrine seemed entirely new to him, but he did not in any way appear
inclined to reject it. He walked on by my side, often silent, now and
then he made a remark. His voice faltered. I saw that he was in tears.
"Can God pardon such a vile, mad sinner as I have been?" he asked at
length.
"If you are looking to Christ as the Lamb slain for you, you are
pardoned, completely, entirely," I answered; "though your sins be as
scarlet, they shall be white as snow in God's sight."
His step became elastic; a brightness spread over his countenance. "I
see it, I see it, but I would not have believed it," I heard him saying
to himself.