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FERN VALE
OR THE
QUEENSLAND SQUATTER.
A NOVEL.
BY COLIN MUNRO.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL III.
LONDON:
T. C. NEWBY,
30 WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE.
MDCCCLXII.
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED BY THE CALEDONIAN PRESS,
"The National Institution for Promoting the Employment of Women
in the Art of Printing."
SOUTH SAINT DAVID STREET.
FERN VALE.
CHAPTER I.
"What sport shall we devise, here in this garden,
To drive away the heavy thought of care?"
RICHARD II., _Act 3, Sc. 4_.
Three days after that to which we brought down our narrative in the last
chapter the morning broke calmly and serenely over the wooded wastes of
the bush; and while the pleasant zephyr of the morning tempered the rays
of the sun, as he sped his course to the zenith, a happy party of
equestrians might have been seen cantering by the bridle path between
Strawberry Hill and Brompton. That party consisted of our friends,
Mrs., Miss, and Tom Rainsfield, and the Fergusons, accompanied by their
black boy Joey. The van was led by the first named lady, accompanied by
William Ferguson, while the others followed riding two abreast, having
paired off in a manner most congenial to themselves. The rear was
brought up by Joey and William's dogs, who coursed through the bush in
seeming delight at the prospect of wearing off a little of the rust that
had grown on them from their late inertness.
They had ridden for nearly four hours when they slackened their speed a
little as the noon-day sun became more powerful; while, at that moment,
they came to a beautiful little spot where a grassy slope terminated in
a lagoon, whose waters appeared to the travellers clear and refreshingly
cool. Here Mrs. Rainsfield drew up her horse, and proposed a halt for
tiffin; which being generally assented to, the party dismounted. The
bridles of their horses being each fastened round a tree, some
refreshments were produced by Tom from his valise; and the friends sat
down in a shady spot on the green sward, and partook with that hearty
zest that can only be appreciated by those who have been similarly
situated.
When perfectly refreshed they proceeded on their way, and arrived at
Brompton before the close of the evening. There they were hospitably
received by Mr. and Mrs. Smithers, and very graciously by Bob, who was
all urbanity for the occasion. They found several of the guests had also
arrived, those, who like themselves had arrived from a long distance;
and the house then was as much a scene of gaiety as if it had been the
grand reunion itself. The evening passed pleasantly enough; but, our
object being more particularly to picture to the reader the _fetes_ of
the following day, we will draw a veil over the company for the night,
and introduce them again on the morning.
The morning in due time came; and was simply a repetition of those
common to a Queensland summer. A cloudless sky spanned the horizon, in
which the sun had a tropical brilliancy, without the scorching power
incidental to most sunny climes. The air was genial and salubrious, and
the balmy breeze bore on its placid wings the aroma of the surrounding
acacia and mimosa. It was such a day as poets love to picture, but
which, to the incredulous matter of fact denizens of "foggy England," a
description only generates a confirmed and unqualified pyrrhonism. With
all the exercise, however, of the scepticism of our friends in the "old
country," it, nevertheless, does not diminish the lustre of such
glorious sunshine as, we again repeat, is to be found nowhere in such
tolerant perfection as in Queensland, and which marked the morning to
which we allude. Perhaps the weather was a little warmer than usual, and
the atmosphere drier; rather more so, in fact, than the settlers
desired, for their rivers and creeks were getting low, and many were
desiring rain to refresh their grass, and refill their water-holes and
courses. However, such desideratum had no consideration with the party
assembled at Brompton, whose sport at the time they seemed determined
nothing should mar.
The great _fete_ of the day was to be the races; and it was then that
the agrarian beauties of Brompton showed to advantage. It may be
remembered in an early chapter of our story we gave a cursory sketch of
the station, but in the event of its topography having escaped the
memory of the reader, we will again partially repeat the description.
For some considerable distance down the bank of the Gibson river the
land was almost perfectly level, and unusually free from timber. It was
fenced off into paddocks of considerable size. Towards the centre of one
of these was a swamp, from which the surrounding ground had just
sufficient rise to constitute it the reservoir for the drainage of the
land; while towards the river, and immediately on the bank, the land
rose in a little knoll. Here then was a naturally formed race course;
and, by the erection of a few posts, a course was marked out that for
amenity, level, turf, and convenience of sight, it would be difficult to
surpass.
Towards eleven o'clock nearly all the expected guests having arrived,
and the ground became a lively scene as the gay and well-mounted
equestrians cantered in laughing and merry groups backwards and
forwards; some few, more exhilarated or pedantic than the rest, trying
the course and the mettle of their steeds. The guests of the Smitherses
were not the only ones who had congregated to witness the sport. Other
visitors of a more plebeian character, and self-invited, were there; all
those within a circuit of some thirty miles, who by any possibility
could obtain release from their work, had camped themselves in the
neighbourhood to be spectators. The company had ridden over the ground,
and had dispersed in all directions; when the horses "entered to run,"
decorated with their party-coloured rosettes, and led by their
respective riders carrying their saddles, were descried coming on to
the course; and speedily the scattered parties converged to the knoll we
have mentioned, and which now served for a grand stand.
The horses approached the post; and the necessary preliminaries having
been gone through, they assumed their places; when the few of the
spectative portion of the company, who still remained in the way,
speedily retired, responsive to the call of "clear the course;" and,
after the usual amount of "false starts," the signal was given that was
unanimously acted upon, and away went the horses.
Horse-racing is the same all the world over, at least in all parts of
the globe where the Anglo-Saxon race holds sway. Therefore we need not
tire our readers by giving a prolix account of this one in particular.
We will merely say that the usual excitement prevailed at the start,
when the horses and their riders received respectively their due amount
of praise from their various admirers, whose bets were interchanged on
the result of the struggle. That the exciting anxiousness in watching
the progress round the course was there equally apparent That the
various hopes and fears of the betters as they witnessed the pulling up
or the falling away of their respective favourites; the intensity of
excitement; the uttered remarks; and the increasing watchfulness, as
some slight rise on the plain or piece of heavy ground tried the mettle
of the high-blooded animals, were all to be seen and heard there; and
that the other excitements of such a scene were equally noticeable. That
breathless interest as the horses approach the straight run to the
winning-post; the last exciting struggle of man and beast, when the
impatience of the former is administered to the latter in whip and spur;
the shouts of the jockeys mingled with the snorting of the steed, when
both are blended in the thunder of the latter's hoofs, which shakes the
very turf; while the straining animals pass the post with the seeming
velocity of steam.
As the panting and foam-covered horses, and exhausted-looking riders,
returned to the scales, the tongues of the assemblage were loosened; the
groups reunited; and, in the interval between that and the next race,
cantered about; while some of the younger equestrians emulated among
themselves the previous competitors. A small tent had been erected on
the bank of the river for the dispensation of refreshments, and for a
shady retreat for the ladies; and thither many resorted.
At this period of the amusements our friends had formed themselves into
a group with Mr. and Mrs. Smithers; but without Bob, who had been a
rider, and was the winner of the late race. They had leisurely ridden
round the course, and had returned to the stand, when Eleanor expressed
to John Ferguson (in whose company she had been riding) a desire to
dismount, and take a seat in the tent. He was instantly out of his
saddle assisting her to the ground, and (after giving their horses in
charge of a black boy) handed her to a seat in the shade. Bob Smithers,
who had divested himself of his riding costume for his ordinary
habiliments, then entered; and rudely brushing past John, advanced to
the girl and took her hand, while he exclaimed:
"Come along with me, Eleanor, I want you."
The abrupt manner of his entrance, his forcible abduction of the lady,
and his uncouth behaviour to himself, rather annoyed John. But the look
of patient endurance, mingled with entreaty, which Eleanor cast upon her
rough protector, struck our hero as containing more melancholy and
suffering than was to be expected in a young affianced bride, whose
nuptials were speedily approaching. It more than convinced him that his
friend Tom was right when he said that Eleanor Rainsfield could never be
happy with Bob Smithers. With a mind strangely agitated between fears
and hopes John emerged from the tent to see the being he loved leaning
on the arm of his rival, and going through the ceremony of several
introductions.
She freely entered into conversation with her new-made friends; but the
party being augmented by some others, to whom we presume Bob Smithers
did not condescend to introduce her, he led her away; and they walked
arm in arm to another part of the ground, apparently in earnest
discourse. She was laying her hand upon his arm, while she looked in his
face, and seemed anxious to impress something upon him; while he
appeared to listen attentively to her remarks, though he ever and anon
burst out into a loud laugh and ejaculated a few monosyllables, which on
each occasion created a faint smile on the features of his lovely
companion.
John Ferguson witnessed all this, and his heart sank within him. Never,
thought he, would woman hang on and talk thus with man, if she did not
love him. "Ah!" he mentally exclaimed, "she loves him devotedly; fool
that I was not to believe this before. Strange infatuation that led me
on to hope, when she herself told me as plainly as she could there was
no hope. I am doomed to disappointment I see; she never can be mine, for
she loves Bob Smithers." And with that melancholy solace John left the
spot of his soliloquy.
What was the nature of the conversation that so disturbed his peace of
mind we do not deem it necessary to reveal, but we are disposed to think
that our love-sick friend came to a too hasty conclusion upon the nature
of the communicant's symptoms. John Ferguson was not sufficiently versed
in women's little natures to be able to construe aright their motives in
their actions, or the impulses that actuate them in their deportment.
His dejection was, consequently, the more acute from the construction he
had put upon Eleanor's conduct. It was true she was engaged to the man
with whom he saw her converse, but he never dreamt to ask himself the
question, if that circumstance was not, in a great measure, owing to
his own dilatoriness; not to classify his supineness under a more
sheepish head.
He was sauntering away in his usual despondent mood when Tom Rainsfield
approached him from behind, administering, as he did so, a smart slap on
the shoulder, with the exclamation: "Why, John, what is the matter with
you? have you been visited by a myth? for you are as white as a sheet.
Come along with me, and I will give you some fun; William and I have
been looking for you all over the ground;" and, without waiting for an
answer or an objection, he led him off to where a party of gentlemen had
assembled to witness the next race. Amongst them were Dr. Graham, Mr.
Brown, and some others, which it is needless for us in our history to
trouble the reader by bringing forward.
When the race was finished they speedily made their arrangements for the
proposed sport Tom had alluded to, which was none other than a Kangaroo
hunt. Mounting their horses, accompanied by some powerful kangaroo dogs
(of which William's figured not the least conspicuously), and, with as
many guns as could be mustered on the station, they started into the
bush in a direction where they anticipated finding game.
These dogs, of which we have made mention, we may be forgiven for a
short digression to describe. They are a breed of the gaze-hound
species, though in many respects they are peculiar to themselves. The
stock was originally obtained from a cross of the Scotch staghound and
the English greyhound, and has made a race which combine in their
character the strength and courage of the former with the fleetness of
the latter, of whom, in colour and form, they have the greatest
resemblance. At the same time they are possessed of a muscular
developement which is essential to enable them to endure the severe
conflicts to which they are frequently subjected.
The party had not ridden far before they descried a herd of kangaroos,
though not within range of shot; the guns, therefore, were instantly
slung, and the dogs and riders gave chase.
The kangaroo as, doubtless, our readers are perfectly aware, is anything
but a graceful animal in its movements. Its fore legs are very short,
and, one would think, of little use, either for ambulation or defence;
but the paws are armed with strong and sharp claws, and in the
diminutive limb to which they are are attached, are possessed of
considerable strength, and can be used defensively with immense effect.
In their propulsion, however, these crural appendages are perfectly
unavailable; for the animals propel their unwieldy looking bodies by
long bounding leaps on their hind legs (which are long and powerful),
springing not from their feet, but by an impulsion from the whole leg,
from the hock joint to the toe, the whole of which length meets the
ground at every leap. In this motion, unsightly as it appears, they are
very fleet, frequently distancing the hardest rider, and only being
brought to bay by the dogs after a tedious chase.
The kangaroos were no sooner sighted by our party than they were away,
the dogs with the lead, down hills across gullies, and up slopes;
through thick underwood, where the exercise of the greatest care was
necessary for the rider to preserve his seat; over fallen logs, and
under pendent branches; dangers frequently occuring simultaneously,
overhead and under foot, and requiring the firmest seat, and the
quickest eye, to avert. All these, which would make the heart of many a
bold steeplechaser quail, but which are incidental to a kangaroo hunt,
were successively gone through by each member of the present party; and
after an hour's hard riding, the foremost horseman, who had with
difficulty kept the dogs within sight, halted when they came to a stand;
and the whole of the sportsmen collected to witness the fight.
An "old man" kangaroo sat on his haunches in a swamp, with his back to
a tree, dealing blows right and left with his epitomized limbs to those
of his assailants who ventured within his reach. The kangaroo had got
into water of sufficient depth to enable him to sit up in it, and guard
himself in the manner we have mentioned, while the dogs were raised off
their feet, and had to attack him at considerable disadvantage. They,
however, were in point of number superior to the game, and the entire
pack (six in number) boldly rushed to the charge. Though they were
successfully beaten off on each attack, and nearly all receiving wounds
that would, probably, produce scars of no mean magnitude, they as
frequently rallied, and returned to the fight.
After looking on for some time, and perceiving that the "old man" was
too knowing for the dogs, one of the party despatched him with a shot,
when he was dragged from his entrenchments, his body deprived of its
tail (which was carried off as a trophy), and left for the dogs to do
the work of further demolition. The hunting party then returned to the
station, but, not being so hasty in their homeward progress as they were
in their outward, it was late in the afternoon before they reached the
scene of festivities. The company at the time was breaking up from the
race-course to return to the house to dine, which important business of
the day having been got over, the guests amused themselves in various
ways until the hour of the _coup de main_, the grand finale--the ball.
We have already explained that a short distance from the house stood the
wool-shed of the station; and at the time of which we write was
comparatively empty, so much so that the bales of wool waiting for
transmission down the country occupied only a small space in the
building, to which we will, with the kind permission of our readers, in
imagination, transport them. The external appearance of "the shed" was
not such as to give the beholder any very exalted idea of internal
splendour; consequently, upon an entrance the eye was instantly struck
with the taste and skill displayed in the ornate arrangements. The
bareness of the slab walls was relieved, if not entirely concealed, by
the tasteful manipulations of the foliate decorator. At the head of the
room, in the midst of a collection of variously tinted green foliage of
numerous forms and leaf, were displayed in letters, some with the yellow
blossoms of the acacia, the magic word "love," under which was entwined,
with the wild vine and the flower of the sarsaparilla, that emblem of
mutual affection, a true lover's knot. Above it was a star of palm
leaves and fern, radiating from a centre, which was concealed by an
immense stag's horn fungus. The side walls were similarly, though not so
elaborately, decorated, and on them shone forth "mirth," and "concord,"
accompanied by various other devices; while at the head of the room, at
the feet of love, stood a piano, which had been removed from the house,
to provide the "spirit of the ball."
The room was illuminated by a bunch of lights, hanging from a rafter in
the centre. Though simply an extemporized chandelier from the hand of a
bush carpenter, it had its material so tastefully hid, by the same
genius that had decorated the walls, that it answered the purpose
admirably for which it was intended. If it did not surpass in effect the
most brilliant crystals, it was at least pretty and unique, and, with
the emerald tints in its reflection, imparted a pleasing and subdued
light, which favourably contrasted its sombre illumination with the
trying glare of the sumptuous city ball-room. The seats were arranged
round the sides of the room, and had their rough nature concealed in the
bush fashion, by being overspread with scarlet blankets, which gave them
the appearance of comfortable ottomans, and afforded a pleasing relief,
both visual and corporeal. The opposite end of the building was
partitioned off by a suspended carpet, which, by being gathered up a
little in one corner, afforded a means of entrance to what appeared to
be the sanctum, but which, in fact, contained the supper and
refreshment tables, duly caparisoned and loaded with the good things of
this life.
The guests congregated in the ball-room at an hour that would have
shocked the sensibilities of English ladies of _haut-ton_. But ceremony
was a thing not worth studying by the lady-guests at Brompton; they had
no occasion to retire to their boudoir and spend hours in getting
themselves up for the evening, or, when their personal adornments had
been completed, to sit waiting until the arrival of a genteel hour, in
an agony of mind lest they should mar the perfection of their
soubrettes' art. Enjoyment was the order of the day at Brompton, and
when it was proposed, shortly after coffee was handed round in the
drawing-room, that the company should adjourn to the ball-room, the
guests made the necessary transition; and in a few minutes the house was
entirely vacated.
The ladies of the company were for the most part married; hence we may
not be accused of partiality in declaring that our two friends, Eleanor
and Kate, far surpassed in beauty all their compeers, and shared between
them the adulation of the sterner animals. It could not be
satisfactorily determined which was the belle of the evening; for the
admiration of the gentlemen was about equally apportioned, and it was
difficult to decide between two such blooming beauties.
We think we hear some of our readers enquire, "how were the ladies
dressed?" On that point, fair mesdames, we would crave your especial
indulgence. We know that is a theme on which you love to dilate; but we
(though delighted to gaze upon your charming forms, graced by the
alluring symmetry of your well-fitting and becoming attire) confess
ourselves as ignorant as babes in the technicalities of habilimentary
detail. However, thus much our observations befriended us. We can affirm
that the chief characteristics of the costumes of the gentler sex were
becoming neatness and chaste simplicity, without that unblushing display
which we have so frequently noticed in gay circles; and which, we must
confess, does not accord with our exalted idea of female modesty,
innocence, and virtue. The manner of _our_ heroines was frank, candid,
and gay; without frivolity, affectedness, or coquetry; and their
costumes neat and ladylike.
The hand of Eleanor Rainsfield was so much desired in the mazy dance
that John sought in vain for an opportunity of soliciting a
participation with her in the pleasures of the evening, or even of
entering into conversation with her, until she had danced with nearly
all the gentlemen in the room. Then, she having been led to a seat near
where our despondent hero sat, he seized the occasion to ask her to
dance, which she promised to do after obtaining a short rest. During the
interval they fell into a sort of desultory conversation; but they were
not destined long to enjoy even this intercourse; for Bob Smithers
espying the occupation of his "lady-love," hastened to remove her from
an influence he in no way relished.
"Eleanor," said he, "I want you to dance with me."
"I am engaged for the next dance, Robert," she replied.
"To whom?" he asked.
"To Mr. Ferguson," she answered.
"Oh, never mind, you'll dance with me," said her lord. "Your engagement
with me always ranks in precedence of others; and I am sure Mr. Ferguson
will not mind looking for another partner."
"Mr. Ferguson has been waiting until I was disengaged, Robert," said
Eleanor, "on purpose to dance with me; so I must keep myself engaged to
him for the next dance, but will devote the following one to you."
"Well, as you like," exclaimed Bob Smithers, in none of the most amiable
moods; "if you want to dance with Mr. Ferguson you can, but I wanted to
dance with you myself;" and, casting a look of intense malignity on the
object of his detestation, and one of equal rancour on his affianced, he
strode to another part of the room.
Neither look had been lost on the parties to whom they had been
directed; in John they caused emotions of no pleasurable nature, whereas
Eleanor treated the truculence of Smithers with a calm benignity. The
moistened dewdrop, however, that gathered in the corner of her eye,
discovered to the anxious and watchful perception of John Ferguson the
hidden sorrow that rankled in her breast, and which she strove to
smother, dreading its discovery to the world.
As might be imagined, under such circumstances, the dance was gone
through with mere mechanical action, and with an undisturbed silence;
for the thoughts of both parties were too much occupied on matters
having no immediate connexion with the operation of dancing to indulge
in much conversational intercourse. Besides which they both, or at
least John, was conscious of the jealous eye of Smithers following them
in every movement; and therefore felt the more uncomfortable. It was a
relief to both when the music ceased, and John led his partner (who
expressed fatigue) to a seat; but she had hardly relinquished his arm
before she was pounced upon by Bob, who, as he carried her off, scowled
fiercely on his unfortunate rival.
John Ferguson was of an easy temper, but no man likes being grossly
insulted, and supplanted in the service of the one he loves, therefore
he felt the contumely to which he was subjected; and to calm his ruffled
temper, and to seek refreshment to his aching head, and an emollient to
his fevered brain, he walked out into the cool of the evening
atmosphere. He continued to wander, with his gaze fixed in a thoughtful
abstraction on the star-lit firmament, contemplating apparently the
argentuous brilliancy of the lunar orb travelling its ethereal course,
when his meditations were unceremoniously interrupted by the approach
of Smithers, who hastily confronted him with the following expression:
"I would like to have a few words with you, sir, and if you'll step into
the bush, out of hearing of our visitors, I will speak."
John replied, if he desired to say anything to him, he might have no
hesitation in saying it where he was; but that if he particularly wished
him to step a little on one side, he had no objection to do so.
Upon gaining a retreat from the possibility of being overheard Bob
Smithers began: "I have to request one thing of you, sir, and that is
that you discontinue your attentions to the lady to whom I am engaged.
On a previous occasion I made a similar request, as also did Mr.
Rainsfield; but both you seem to disregard; therefore, I have to make it
to you again, and to accompany it with a peremptory order that it be
complied with."
"I can't see, Mr. Smithers," said John, "that because I am called upon
by Mr. Rainsfield and yourself to break off my friendship with the
lady, that I am of a necessity compelled to comply; so long as I am
honoured by the friendship of Miss Rainsfield I shall make all your
demands subservient to the dictates of my own heart. While she holds out
the hand of cordiality to me I consider the privilege and pleasure
accruing too great to refuse to grasp it; but if Miss Rainsfield desires
our intercourse to cease, then, of course (however painful such an
estrangement would be), my courtesies would be discontinued."
"Well, sir," said Smithers, "I have only to repeat that they shall be
discontinued at once, or I will take steps to prevent their recurrence.
The lady is engaged to be married to me, and I have a right to dictate
whom she shall recognize as her friends."
"When you are married to the lady I shall not dispute your right," said
John; "though even then, if your wife should so far honour me as to rank
me among her list of friends, all your monitory language and manner
would not induce me to behave cavalierly to her whenever we should
chance to meet. But at present I heed not your request, unless it be
reiterated by the lady herself."
"That, sir," said Smithers, "you shall not have the satisfaction of
hearing, and you will instantly renounce all pretensions to the lady's
favours or leave the station."
"The first portion of your request I have already informed you I cannot
comply with; and the other, notwithstanding your gross insolence to me,
I could not offer such an affront to your worthy brother and his
inestimable lady, as to obey it."
"Then, by heavens! you shall fight me," exclaimed the exasperated
Smithers. "I'll be on this spot with pistols in ten minutes; so you may
make the most of your time, and obtain a friend."