The Gilpins found Craven a great addition to their social circle in
their remote station. They, more than ever, required support and
assistance, for depressing news began to reach them from Sydney. The
financial affairs of the colony had for some time past been in an
unsatisfactory state. Money for paying the men was often considerably
in arrear; and stores and provisions were sent up only in small
quantities and of an inferior quality. At length, a letter arrived from
the agent, directing them to send produce to Sydney, to meet certain
heavy liabilities. As wool was not forthcoming, they were to boil down
both cattle and sheep, to dismiss a large number of the men, and to
practise the most rigid economy. The requisite boilers and casks for
the tallow soon afterwards arrived. It was most disagreeable and
painful work. Flock after flock of sheep were driven in and
slaughtered; the carcases were put into the cauldrons, the fat was
packed in the casks, and the hides roughly dried; while the meat, which
might have fed thousands of the starving poor in the old country, was
allowed, of necessity, to rot uselessly on the ground. Theirs was no
solitary instance of the consequence of want of capital to carry on
business, for such was the condition to which the greater number of
squatters throughout the colony were reduced. Fortunately, tallow and
hides were in demand, and realised high prices, and thus many of the
settlers were soon able to get out of their difficulties, though left
with sadly diminished flocks and herds. The Gilpins and their overseer,
Craven, spared no exertion to save, as far as possible, the loss of
property. One day Arthur had gone in search of some cattle, which had
strayed among the range of mountains to the west. After looking for
them in vain, he was returning, annoyed and out of spirits, when he
observed a stream issuing from the side of a hill, with the banks on
either side encrusted with a glittering white substance. He tasted it,
and found it perfectly salt. Collecting a pocketful, he returned home
with his spirits completely revived. All the party were of opinion that
it was a salt spring; that others would be found in the neighbourhood;
and that salt could be manufactured with which the meat, which was now
lost, might be preserved either for sale or for future consumption. The
next morning they eagerly set out for the spot. They were not
disappointed. Other springs were found. By evaporation alone, a small
supply could be procured; and with some simple apparatus they hoped to
produce as much as they would require. A cauldron and some pans were
sent up, and after a few experiments they succeeded to their
satisfaction; and they were able to send into Sydney, with the next
dray-load of tallow, a cask of salted hams and tongues.
About this time, they received a letter from their first friend in the
colony, Mr Prentiss, saying that the losses of his family had been so
great, and that his father had so taken it to heart, that he was
completely prostrate, and not likely to survive. He had, therefore,
himself come up to take the management of affairs, accompanied by his
children. He requested James to come and pay him a visit without delay.
Leaving Arthur and Craven in charge, he at once set off. He rode
alone, though he would probably have to camp out one or two nights.
There were stations on the road, but they were at inconvenient
distances; and unless compelled by bad weather, he did not purpose
stopping at them. He had a gun as a protection; but he had no fear of
bushrangers. They were now seldom heard of in the colony. From wild
beasts to be dreaded by a traveller, Australia is, happily, free. He
was not likely to meet any blacks inclined to be unfriendly.
Occasionally the natives murdered hut-keepers and stockmen, but in most
instances they had been provoked to do so by ill-treatment. With
saddle-bags and holsters well filled, a blanket, a tin kettle and pot,
strapped to the saddle before him, he set forth on his journey. There
is an elasticity in the atmosphere and a freedom from restraint which
makes travelling on horseback in Australia most delightful. James
Gilpin enjoyed it to the full. He also found it good to be alone
occasionally, to commune with his heart; and this journey gave him ample
opportunity of being so. The first day passed over pleasantly. He had
arranged to spend the evening with an acquaintance on the road. As his
own shadow and that of his steed were lengthened out on the grass, the
smoke of his friend's hut, curling up among the gum trees, appeared
before him. He called out as he rode up to the door, but no voice
answered; the distant sound, however, of tinkling sheep bells told him
that the flock of the station was being driven into a pen for the night,
where the new-born lambs could be better protected from the dingoes and
hawks, their chief enemies, than if left on the open. Unsaddling and
turning his horse into a paddock near at hand, he entered the hut. The
kettle was hissing on the fire, and the damper was baking under it.
There were signs that the hut was the residence of a gentleman (though
all was in the rough), and evidently that of a bachelor. Every spot on
the walls was covered with shooting and fishing gear, sporting prints,
and some of a better description; and there was a book-case, with
thoroughly used volumes, and coats and hats hung up, and shelves loaded
with all sorts of articles, and chests below, and casks, one with flour
ready open; the corners also were crowded. There was a bed-chamber
boarded off for the owner, a refinement not very often indulged in, and
a bunk at one end of the general room, for the hut-keeper. The cheery
voice of the proprietor addressing his dogs announced his return. He
warmly greeted his neighbour (their abodes were only forty miles apart);
and tea, damper, cold beef, and pork were speedily on the table.
The two settlers were merry and contented, in spite of misfortunes.
Johnstone had also been compelled to boil down.
"Now is the time for a fellow with five or six hundred pounds to lay the
foundation of a fortune," he observed; "both cattle and sheep can be
bought at a mere nominal price. I must sell or boil down still more of
mine; but I see my way clearly out of my difficulties, and keep up my
spirits."
The hint was not lost upon James. He had been unwilling to take any of
his employers' cattle, lest it might throw him open to suspicion; but he
now resolved to offer to purchase some, and, at all events, to take all
that Mr Johnstone might wish to sell. Local subjects were of course
discussed.
"By-the-by," observed Mr Johnstone, "we were surprised some days ago at
seeing a white man lurking about here, dressed in skins and rags. The
people thought he must be mad; for whenever they approached him, he ran
off howling into the bush. I ordered some food to be placed for him at
a spot where we could watch him. He saw us, and would not approach; but
after watching for some time we went away, and he then must have darted
out from his concealment and carried off the food, for when we returned
it was gone. From that day he disappeared, and whether he has been
drowned in some river or water-hole, or has been starved in the bush, I
cannot say."
James Gilpin started at an early hour the next morning, intending to
make a long day's journey, and to camp out, as he must in that case do.
His horse, a peculiarly fine and strong one, bore him well through the
early part of the day. In the afternoon he entered a forest, extending
on either side to a considerable distance. The track through it was
less defined than usual, still, by constant reference to his compass,
when he had any doubts, he had no fear about making a mistake.
He had ridden on for some distance, when he observed that the sky was
overcast, and the wind began to moan among the trees. Suddenly, with a
spring which would have thrown a worse rider, his horse started at a
vivid flash of lightning which darted from the sky, struck a huge tree
near him, tearing off a large limb, and then ran hissing along the
ground. A crash of thunder, such as he had really heard, followed, and
he found it impossible to prevent his affrighted steed from setting off
at full gallop among the trees. It was with the greatest difficulty
that he could guide the animal, so as to save his legs from being dashed
against the trunks and his head against the branches. Crash succeeded
crash in rapid succession, and at times so vivid was the lightning that
the forest seemed one blaze of fire. In vain he searched for an open
space where he might, at all events, be free from the danger of being
crushed by falling branches. Now he thought he saw an opening on one
side, now on the other; but each time he was disappointed. He
discovered, however, that he had got out of the track, and when he began
to consider in which direction he should go, he was under the somewhat
painful feeling that he had lost his way. He put his hand in his pocket
to examine his compass; it was not there. Again and again he searched
for it; nowhere was it to be found. It had undoubtedly been jerked out
of his pocket during some of the violent springs his steed had made when
frightened by the lightning. He had not the remotest hope of finding it
on the ground, and would therefore not waste time in looking for it.
Just as he had made this disagreeable discovery, the fury of the storm
abated, and he was in hopes that it was about to cease altogether. He
rode forward, he believed, towards the east. If he could get out of the
wood he might still reach a station before dark, considerably short of
the distance he hoped to have made good that day. On he went, his horse
starting and trembling, not having yet recovered from its fright. The
rain was falling in torrents, and he was already wet through--no
uncommon occurrence, however, for a squatter, who is in the saddle many
hours every day of the year. Down it came, harder than ever. Another
vivid flash, followed by a terrific clap of thunder, made his horse
again start forward. He galloped on till an open space was reached;
here, at all events, he might be secure from falling branches, though
not from the lightning, which was darting in every direction.
He had almost lost hope of getting out of the wood that night. Wet as
he was, he must camp out on the bare ground. He was searching for a
spot where he might dismount and tether his horse, when again the animal
started; this time, however, it was not at a flash of lightning. James
looked round, when, about a dozen yards from him, he saw, as if
endeavouring to conceal himself behind the gnarled stem of an aged gum
tree of gigantic proportions, the very figure Johnstone had described to
him the previous evening. At first he thought that his imagination must
have deceived him; the light was uncertain, and his eyes had been
dazzled by the lightning. Still, he could not be mistaken: there was
the human face, the glaring eyeballs, the matted hair and beard, and the
dress of skins and rags. The figure moved its arms and made threatening
gestures at him. "I must know whether this is reality or imagination,"
he said to himself, again urging on his horse towards the tree under
which the seeming figure stood. As he did so, the threatening gestures
became more vehement, and, as he continued to advance, a loud, unearthly
shriek rang through the forest, and the unhappy maniac, for such without
doubt he was, fled away into its depths, his cries echoing amidst the
trees till they grew faint in the distance. This incident did not
contribute to make the prospect of camping out in that wild spot
pleasant. Still, James Gilpin had no choice, and his mind was too well
trained to allow him to be made anxious by unnecessary apprehensions.
The only thing he dreaded was the possibility of the maniac returning,
and, perhaps, should he drop asleep, committing some violence on him.
Both rain and lightning had ceased, and having tethered his horse in a
grassy spot, where the animal might find food, he bethought him of the
possibility of lighting a fire. Under the trees there was no lack of
fuel, and with the last remnant of daylight he collected enough to serve
him till the morning. Under the lee side of the trees, also, he scraped
together enough dry leaves and small twigs and bark to raise a blaze and
dry the wet wood. He looked up very frequently, as was natural, to
ascertain that the maniac was not near him. With flint, steel, and
gunpowder he quickly raised a blaze; his kettle was boiling, his meat
toasting, and his damper warming up, while his blanket and clothes were
drying; and had it not been for the spectre he had seen, he would have
been well content with his lot,--not that he much feared what the poor
creature could do to him, but it was the feeling that at any moment he
might rush out on him which was so painful. By the look of the sky he
saw that the weather was still unsettled, and the state of the
atmosphere, judging by his sensations, told him that there might still
be more thunder and lightning. He consequently considered it imprudent
to seek for greater shelter under the trees. His clothes and blankets
were now tolerably dry, and having shifted the tether of his horse, that
the animal might have fresh food, he wrapped himself up, with his feet
to the fire and his head on his saddle-bags to seek that rest of which
he stood so much in need.
He, of course, intended to keep his eyes open, and turned in the
direction where the poor maniac had disappeared. As might, however,
have been expected, he closed them and fell fast asleep. Weariness made
him sleep, but anxiety prevented him from sleeping soundly. He was
dreaming, it seemed, all the time; and his dreams were painful and
confused in the extreme. The strange figure of the maniac was
constantly before him, while his unearthly cries resounded in his ears.
His chief idea was that he was engaged in a desperate struggle to get
out of some fearful difficulty--now swimming in a roaring torrent, now
climbing a precipice with savage animals raging below, now flying for
his life across a boundless plain; the maniac was mocking him on the
banks of the stream, or present among the wild beasts, or following him
with a troop of savages across the plain. A loud noise sounded in his
ear. It was a peal of thunder. The storm was again raging with
redoubled fury. He started up to secure his horse, lest the frightened
animal should break loose and escape into the depths of the forest. He
must have slept long, for a few glowing ashes only remained of his fire,
which the rain would soon quench, unless a supply of fresh wood were
added. He felt for some he had placed in readiness, and threw it on the
ashes. As he did so, a vivid flash of lightning lit up the forest
opening, and by its light he saw, with a gleaming axe uplifted in his
hand, the wretched maniac stealthily approaching him. He sprang to his
feet, seizing his rifle, when again all was darkness.
"Stand back, whoever you are, or I must fire!" he shouted, at the same
time leaping on one side, away from the spot where he had been lying.
There was the sound of feet, as if a person was springing over the
ground, a shriek, and the crash of a weapon descending. Yes, he was
certain it had struck his saddle-bags. The next instant, the wood
igniting on the fire, a flame burst forth, revealing the figure of the
maniac retreating across the glade in the direction of the old tree,
where he had at first appeared. He must have just reached it when
another flash of lightning came down in a zigzag course from the very
clouds overhead. It struck the huge tree, which was riven into several
portions, and its knotted limbs scattered around. The thunder at the
same moment crashed and rattled with almost terrific sound. He seized
the tether rope of his horse, as the animal, having torn the pin from
the ground, was about to dash off through the forest. The poor creature
stood as his hand stroked its head, but trembled violently. He brought
it up to the fire, looking round as he did so for his late assailant,
but the maniac was nowhere to be seen. He had the greatest difficulty
in keeping his horse quiet; for the storm continued raging as before,
the rain came down in torrents, the wind howled and whistled, and the
lightning flashed; the thunder roared and rattled, and the rending of
boughs, and the crashing of falling trees was heard on every side,
warning him of the danger of attempting to pass among them. As may be
supposed, he did not again lie down: having saddled his horse and thrown
his blanket over his shoulders, he employed the time in quieting the
animal, throwing wood on his fire, and keeping a vigilant watch for the
approach of the maniac. The most weary night must have an end. The
storm ceased completely; the dawn came at last. He looked around. The
sight which most attracted his attention was the blackened stump of that
huge tree which had stood there the previous evening--the monarch of the
forest glade. He approached it. Under one of the limbs lay a human
form--it was the maniac's body; life was extinct. He examined the
features. There could be no mistake; though haggard by starvation and
exposure, and distorted by his violent death, he recognised them as
those of the former overseer of Warragong, the outlaw Basham. A small
black mark on one side of his head showed that he had been struck by the
electric fluid, and that his death must have been instantaneous, and
must have immediately followed the attempt on his life. To bury the
body of the wretched man was impossible. All he could do was to drag
the heavier boughs of the trees torn off by the storm over it and leave
it thus entombed, and then to escape from the scene. The rising sun
showed him the direction he should pursue, and in half an hour he was
out of the wood, and had regained the track with which he was
acquainted. He reached a station in time for breakfast, when he
narrated to the occupant what had occurred, and learned from him that
Basham had more than once been there asking for food.
A rest of a few hours restored James's strength; but instead of camping
out as he had intended, he was glad to take shelter that night in
another squatter's hut. It was thus that the traveller in those days
was able to traverse the province from one end to the other, with the
certainty of finding food and shelter, and a welcome at any hut where he
might call. He was most cordially received at Prentiss Town, where he
arrived late in the evening; but he went to a house of mourning. Old
Mr Prentiss, under the belief that his losses were far greater than was
the case, and that the whole country was about to be ruined, had sunk
broken-hearted into the grave. He had trusted in riches, and they had
failed him. An apathetic indifference to everything around him had
seized his eldest son, who had the same belief in the ruin impending
over the colony.
Notwithstanding this, there was sunlight in the dwelling: there could
not fail to be so, James thought, where Fanny and Emily Prentiss were to
be found. They received him as an old and valued friend, and expressed
their sorrow that his brother could not have accompanied him. He
naturally expected that they would complain of the dulness of the life
they must now lead in the country, and regret all the gaieties and
amusements they had left behind in Sydney; but, on the contrary, they
seemed much pleased at having escaped from its unsatisfactory
frivolities. Everything in the country delighted them, and they had no
fear of no having ample occupation. They proposed to study the natural
history of the district--the trees and flowers, the birds and insects,
and the wild animals, of which there were not a few; then the farm would
of itself afford ample occupation, along with the improvements in the
house, into which they were about to move, on another part of the
estate, where a garden was also to be formed. And there were also
several settlers with wives and grown-up daughters, who lived somewhat
far off, to be sure; but the young ladies were good horse-women, and
thought little of a ride of thirty miles or so. There were likewise
numerous families of the lower orders, who had no means of obtaining
religious or secular instruction. Among these they circulated books and
tracts, and would often stop and read the Word of God to those who were
unable to read themselves. Thus every moment of each day was fully
occupied. James Gilpin could not fail to admire the manner in which his
young hostesses spent their time, or to discover how many objects of
interest they had in common. Even under ordinary circumstances he would
have been interested in them. As it was, the interest he felt increased
the longer he remained in their society. He was of much use to Mr
Henry Prentiss in arranging the affairs connected with the property; and
at length, with new hopes and aspirations, he returned to Warragong.
The arrangements for the purchase of the cattle and sheep were soon
complete. The brothers did not even now lay out all their capital, but
allowed a portion to remain in the bank to meet any unexpected demands.
They had from the first been allowed a percentage on the increase of the
stock under their charge; but this, owing to the mismanagement of the
persons employed, and the depredations of Basham and his associates, had
hitherto been small. The boiling-down process at length being no longer
necessary, and the management in every department being greatly
improved, the increase was so much more rapid than at first, that they
found themselves, a few years after landing in Australia, the owners of
very considerable flocks and herds, while no men in the district were
more respected. Their visits to Prentiss Town became more and more
frequent; sometimes one brother went, sometimes the other--as they were
unwilling to leave the station together--and they both met with a
reception which made them wish to return. The Prentiss Town property
was now divided, and the house inhabited by Mr Henry Prentiss was
considerably nearer to them than that of his elder brother. They also
had secured some runs lower down the Warragong river; and having fixed
on a site for a house in that direction, somewhat similar, but far more
picturesque than the spot where the old hut stood, they built a hut
which they could inhabit till their new residence could be erected,
leaving Craven in charge of that up the stream. This change enabled
them to leave their own abode early in the morning, and to reach that of
Mr Prentiss before sunset. There was the house of a new settler about
half-way, and several huts where refreshment could be obtained, so that
their visits became still more frequent and expected. Even in the bush
gossip is not impossible, and it became pretty generally reported that
the two Mr Gilpins were about to marry the two daughters of Mr Henry
Prentiss.