Some time had passed since the events just mentioned. It was winter,
not Christmas, however, but the period which in England is considered
the warmest and sunniest in the year. Frost and snow are not looked
for, but the wind blows from the cold south, and rain comes down in
plentiful showers, filling the water-holes, and turning the sluggish
streams into roaring torrents.
One evening, as Arthur and Willie were riding homewards from a distant
station, their course not far from the Warragong river, a cry reached
their ears.
"It is some one shouting for help!" exclaimed Arthur. "From what
direction does it come? Listen!"
"From up the stream!" cried Willie, spurring on his horse.
"Stay! there's a man in the river," said Arthur; "he is floating down.
We may pass him if we don't take care."
They rode directly down to the bank of the now rapid river. Every
stockman rides with a rope attached to his saddle. They looked out
anxiously as they now rode up the stream. Again the cry was heard, but
fainter though near; and through the thickening gloom of evening a man
was seen clinging to a log, which was borne swiftly down the current.
He had lost all power of guiding it, and from the way his head hung
down, it was evident that his strength was exhausted, and that he must
soon drop off and sink. To leap from their horses and to secure them to
a tree was the work of a moment.
"Here, hold one end, Willie! I think I can reach him!" cried Arthur,
binding the two ropes together, and fastening one end round his own
waist.
Throwing off his coat, and without waiting for any expostulation from
Willie, he plunged into the stream, and swam boldly out towards the
drowning man. The whirling eddies of the torrent bore the log along,
now carrying it towards one side of the river, now towards the other.
This much increased the difficulty of reaching it. The man clinging to
it had still sufficient consciousness to be aware of the effort made to
save him, but had no strength to help himself. Arthur had swum out very
nearly to the extent of which the rope would allow, and yet he feared
that he should not reach the man. He doubted whether he should be
strong enough to return to the shore without the aid of the rope.
"Stretch out your arms, Willie; give me all the rope you can, but don't
fall in. In mercy take care!" he shouted.
Willie stood on the very edge of the bank uncoiling the whole of the
rope, and keeping only the end in his hands. He dreaded lest, his feet
slipping, he should be dragged in himself; and though he did not fear
for himself, he knew that, if he was dragged in, Arthur would in all
probability be lost. He found that he could not stand still either, but
had to move down the stream, as his brother was swept on by the current.
"If it is difficult to hold him now, what will it be when he grasps the
drowning man?" he thought. He would have shouted for help had he
believed that any one was near to afford it. Arthur, meantime, saw the
drowning man approaching. An eddy seemed to be carrying him off towards
the opposite bank. Should he venture to swim across without the rope?
Had he a right to run so great a risk of losing his life, and bring
grief and sorrow to the heart of his young wife? He prayed for strength
and aid. He was about to loose himself from the rope, when again the
log was whirled near him. The moment for the greatest exertion had
arrived. He sprang forward. His right hand grasped the drowning man,
but the log on which he floated escaped from his hold, and was borne
onwards by the current. As he caught the man, the spring he made and
the additional weight almost overbalanced Willie, who was on the point
of falling into the water, when he found himself close to a young tree,
of the willow tribe, bending over the stream. He grasped it with his
left hand, hauling with all his might till he drew in a sufficient
length of the rope to pass it round the stem. His dread was lest his
brother should sink before he could reach the shore. He then feared
that the man for whom Arthur had risked so much might be torn from his
grasp before he could get him in. The fact of the willow growing there
showed that there was a permanent water-hole at the spot, and that,
therefore, the depth must be considerable. He dragged in the rope
slowly, for Arthur seemed scarcely able to support his burden. "Keep--
keep up, brother!" he cried out, considering whether he should not make
the rope fast and jump in to help him. Just then he discovered that the
current itself was doing what he wished; scarcely had he secured the
rope than Arthur was swept close up to the bank. He sprang on to help
him. The bank, happily, shelved, and together they dragged the nearly
drowned man to the shore. He was dressed as a labourer, and his rough
hands showed that he was accustomed to hard work. It was too dark to
distinguish his features. After they had rubbed him for some time, he
gave signs of life; and on his further recovering they placed him on
Willie's horse, and, supporting him on either side, led him up to the
house, which was about half a mile distant. The stranger scarcely spoke
all the way; indeed, he was but partially recovered from the effects of
his immersion. The ladies of the family, who had been expecting them at
an earlier hour, ran out as they reached the house. Emily hurried off
her husband to change his wet clothes; while Willie, briefly describing
how bravely his brother had behaved, conducted the stranger to his room,
that he might go to bed, while dry garments were got for him and some
hot potation was prepared. Had he been of the highest instead,
apparently, of the lowest rank, he could not have been more kindly
treated. Willie was delighted to be of use, and having collected some
clothes from his brother's wardrobe, brought them to the stranger, who,
having taken the remedies prescribed for him, insisted on getting up.
"Why, whose house am I in?" exclaimed the stranger, his eye falling on
the mark of some of the linen brought for him.
His young attendant told him.
"Then you surely must be little Willie Gilpin!" cried the stranger; "and
that fine fellow who jumped into the river and pulled me out is Arthur,
and those are your sisters. I thought I knew their faces."
"And who are you?" asked Willie.
"An old friend, though I think it likely a forgotten one," answered the
stranger. "Do not say that I know your people. If they recollect me,
well and good; if not, it matters little: I am not worth recollecting."
It was evident that the stranger did not belong to the rank of life his
appearance had at first betokened. James, who had been at a distance,
now arriving, came to the door, and invited him in to supper. The
stranger followed him, and with a bow to the ladies, which was certainly
not like that of a mere countryman, was about to take a seat at table,
when Arthur entered. The stranger's colour mounted to his cheeks as he
said--
"I am indebted to you, sir, for my life, and I am most thankful, as it
enables me to enjoy the present society, though I fear my life is not
worth the risk you ran to save it."
Arthur had been earnestly examining the countenance of the stranger
while he was speaking. "I thought so," he exclaimed, coming round to
him and taking his hand; "Mark Withers, of Wallington?"
"The same, though somewhat wiser; rather further down the hill than when
we parted," returned the stranger. "But I'll own it does my heart good
to meet so many old friends together."
Kind and warm greetings saluted the wanderer; his heart softened, and
for a time he laid aside his cynical, discontented manner. The
well-furnished rooms, the handsome arrangements of the supper-table, and
the servants in attendance, all spoke of ample means. A feeling of
jealousy might possibly have passed through his heart as he made these
observations. He remarked, however, when left alone with the brothers,
"Well, you fellows seem to have fallen on your feet; and I'm heartily
glad of it, indeed I am."
"We have been working pretty hard, though," said James; and, after
giving a brief sketch of their career in the colony, he asked, "And you,
Withers, I hope that you have got a comfortable home in Australia
somewhere."
"Home!" exclaimed Withers; "I haven't a wigwam I can call my own, and my
whole property consists in the damp duds I had on my back when I pulled
them off in Willie's room."
"Where have you been, then, Mark, all this time?" asked Arthur.
"Been! why, my dear fellow, all round the world, exemplifying the truth
of the saying, that `a rolling stone gathers no moss.' My father did
not much fancy my giving up his business; and indeed I had to take
French leave at last, and then write and ask his forgiveness. He told
me, in reply, that I was a graceless vagabond; but that I might follow
my own devices, if I was so minded, without opposition, though without
help from him. I fancied that my own devices were full of wisdom, so
resolved to follow them. I had fallen in with a man bound for the Cape
of Good Hope Colony, and, listening to his representations, agreed to
accompany him. Out to the Cape I went, but soon discovered that a
farm-life was not to my taste; and so, meeting with some sporting
companions, I spent my time in shooting elephants and lions, and other
beasts of the forests and mountains of that wonderful land. As my
expenses at this sort of work were far greater than my profits, I spent,
in time, all the money I possessed, and had at length to engage as a
labourer on a property of which, on first landing, I might have become
the owner. This was not what I had bargained for; and hearing that
fortunes were to be made rapidly in South Australia, I saved enough
money to carry me to Cape Town, where I found a ship calling in on her
way to that colony. I shipped on board her to work my passage; but
finding the work I had to do and the treatment I had received very far
from my taste, I resolved never again, if I could help it, to place
myself in the same position. I found, on reaching Adelaide, that if
fortunes were to be made in a hurry, they were to be lost still more
rapidly--not that I had myself any opportunity of making the experiment
I tried all sorts of plans which I thought would prove short roads to
what I so much desired--to become rich; but, somehow or other, none of
them proved satisfactory. At length I had struck out something new
which would, I really believe, have been a great success, when the news
of the wonderful discoveries of gold in California reached the colony.
Wonderful to relate, I had made enough money to pay my passage, which I
took on board one of the first vessels sailing for those regions I
considered myself wonderfully fortunate to get there, for I had now no
longer the slightest doubt of success. San Francisco was already a
wonderful place. Everybody on board hastened to the shore as soon as we
entered the harbour, and in the course of two or three days the whole of
the crew, except the captain and first mate, had deserted the ship. The
central part of the city consisted at that time chiefly of
lodging-houses, gambling-houses, and houses of entertainment. The
lodging-houses, fast as they could be put up, were crowded, and were of
the most wretched description. The best to which I could gain admission
was a long barn-like edifice, with bunks or berths like those on board a
ship, arranged along on either side with straw, hay, or leaves as a
mattress, and a horsecloth as a coverlet. The gambling-houses were the
most attractive. There was music gratis, and spirits without limitation
for all who chose to play. I felt sure that I should make my fortune in
that way. How was I to get enough to stake? I must work. I found no
difficulty in obtaining employment as a labourer at high wages. In a
short time I had saved about twenty dollars. I walked into the largest
gambling-house, with my few dollars jingling in my pockets. The hall
was brilliantly lighted. It was hung with coloured silk or calico, and
adorned with mirrors and pictures. There was a gallery with a band of
music, and a bar where all sorts of viands could be obtained. There
were small tables for cards on either side, and several larger tables in
the centre, at which sat the bankers, the professional gamblers, the
owners or renters of the saloon. I walked up to one of these tables and
staked five of my hardly gained dollars against a thousand or so, and
won. I won again and again, until I found myself the owner of twenty
thousand dollars. I had never been so rich in my life, but yet it was
not a sum which would allow me to leave off. I played on all night,
losing and regaining; and at length, when the saloon was closed, I had
but a quarter of my first winning remaining. This would never do. I
determined to go the next day, and I persuaded myself that if I could
win as much as I had done the first night, I would never bet on a card
again. I returned to that hall of horrors--for so it was, in spite of
its gilding and mirrors and music. The haggard, pallid countenances of
the professional players, almost Satanic in their calmness; the excited,
eager looks of those who had come in the hopes, by staking their all, of
clearing themselves from difficulties, or, by rapidly acquiring wealth;
of being able to return to their far-distant homes! To a considerable
number, I believe, the scene was thoroughly distasteful; and yet,
infatuated folly led them, as it did me, there. I won at first; but
fortune turned against me, and I went on losing rapidly. If I staked
high, I lost; if low, it was the same. Every instant I expected to have
my first good luck come back, till I discovered that, to the very last
dollar, my pocket was cleared out. But I saw a terrible sight that
evening--I spare you the particulars--the suicide of a poor young
Englishman, who, like me, had lost every shilling he had. I trembled
lest I should be tempted to commit a like act; for I found that hardly a
week passed by but some wretched victim of gaming thus plunged into a
fearful eternity, while numbers took to drinking hard, and brought
themselves speedily to the grave. Sickened for the time of gambling, I
worked hard again, till I had saved enough to take me up to the
diggings. I found one of my shipmates about to start. We agreed to go
together. We were bound to each other, not by mutual regard, but that
we required companionship, and believed we could trust each other. I do
not much like to think of all the hardships we underwent. We had some
distance to go up the river, on the crowded deck of a vessel; then, with
our packs on our backs, we commenced the toilsome part of our journey,
over mountain and valley, across rivers and plains, on the highlands,
exposed to sharp winds, which pierced bitterly through our light
clothes, while on the plains we were scorched with the fierce rays of
the unclouded sun. A large party had collected at the foot of a rugged
mountain. Before us lay a plain of vast extent, which must be crossed.
We had heard that there was a scarcity of water. Some had filled their
water-skins and jars and kegs; others laughed at the notion of not being
able to go a few hours without water, even should we not find any; and
some carried flasks filled with rum or brandy, boasting that that was
the best stuff for quenching thirst I never felt greater heat in the
tropics; the air was filled with the finest dust, which got down our
throats, stopped our nostrils, and filled up the pores of our already
parched skins. The first night we stopped for very weariness--no water
was to be found. Those who had some would not part with a drop to their
comrades: they might want it themselves. All night the wolves howled
round us, as if scenting their prey. There were reports, too, that
hostile Indians had been seen; and several times the camp was aroused by
an alarm that the redskins were on us. The next day, when the sun rose,
the sky was cloudless, and there was not a breath of wind. Greater than
ever was the heat, and more intense the thirst of those who had brought
no water. I had a small flask full; but though I kept wetting my lips
occasionally, I suffered dreadfully. Almost certain destruction would
be the lot of those who dropped behind; yet, one by one, several poor
wretches sunk down exhausted, in vain imploring the rest to carry them
on. Sad were their cries; but our breasts were steeled against their
appeals. We had our own safety to consult, and the gold mines were
before us. Among those who sunk down were several who carried flasks of
spirits. Our guides declared that we should reach water before sunset.
This kept up the spirits of the stronger men. They were mistaken, or
had purposely deceived us to encourage us to proceed. Again we slept on
the burning sand, with our pistols in our hands, and our water-bottles
under our heads, ready at a moment's notice to defend ourselves against
either Indians, wolves, or our own companions, who, tempted by thirst,
might endeavour to steal the water we found so precious. The howling of
the wolves in the distance, and the groans, and often the imprecations
of those suffering from thirst, drove away sleep; and I, with others,
started up to reach the river, which we were assured was not more than
fifteen miles off. In four or five hours it might be reached. We
pushed on at a rapid rate, our mules following willingly, instinct
telling them that relief was at hand. The green trees appeared in
sight, and the water, bright and limpid, was seen between them. We
hurried on--men and animals together rushing into the stream, the men
lapping the water up like dogs, and dipping their whole bodies in
without even stopping to pull off any of their clothes. It is a wonder
the sudden change from heat to cold did not kill some of us; but the
fact is, that our pores were so completely closed up with dust that the
bath, by removing the dirt, allowed the perspiration to escape and saved
us from fever. A few turns in the sun soon dried our garments, and then
delightful indeed was it to throw ourselves on the grass, in the shade
of the tall trees, and to rest after our fatigue. One man proposed that
we should load our mules with water and go back for our poor comrades
who had dropped in the desert, if the caravan would camp for a couple of
days; but the proposal was instantly negatived with derision.
"What! did he forget that we were bound for the diggings? Lose two
whole days which might be employed in collecting the gold of which we
were so eagerly in search! Scarcely had our companions came up than on
we pushed. The diggings were at hand; the nearer we got to them, the
more eager we became to commence work. We reached at last the principal
diggings. It was a fearfully wild spot--mountains on all sides, almost
destitute of trees, with the river running between them; the ground in
every direction was full of burrows, as if the habitation of rabbits;
but the chief work was going forward by the banks of the river, where
hundreds of men were labouring away from morn till night with very
varied success. My partner and I set up a hut; it was a wretched
affair, but not worse than many others; then we turned to with eager,
beating hearts. We dug and washed hour after hour, but, toil as we
might, we had not, at the end of the day, obtained more than would pay
our expenses; sometimes not so much. We toiled on. We had no choice;
we must find gold or starve. With the cold wind descending from the
mountains at night, and the chill fogs; the hot sun by day striking down
on our heads while we stood up to our knees in water--no wonder that all
suffered more or less from ague and fever. Many died from disease, some
went mad, some committed suicide. There was no one to care for them, no
one to mourn them; bowie-knives were in constant requisition, murders
frequent. One day I heard shots fired, and ran to see what was
occurring. Some strangers, that is, natives of various countries, had
trespassed on the ground claimed by a company of Americans. Without
giving any warning, the latter assembled and fired on the new-comers,
killing several; then rushing on them with bowie-knives, axes, and
revolvers, they desperately wounded or killed several more, putting the
rest to flight. `There, I guess they'll not try it on again,' I heard
one of the victors say, as he kicked the dead body of one of the
conquered party. I could describe many other similar scenes. At night
we always slept with our pistols under our pillows, and our knives at
our sides, ready to start up at a moment's notice. Several successful
diggers were murdered for the sake of their wealth, and others were cut
off by Indians, while prospecting beyond the chief diggings.
Altogether, I don't think that any place on earth could have been more
like Pandemonium than were those Californian diggings at the time I was
there, for I have not mentioned half of its horrors and abominations. I
resolved to get out of them. An unexpected run of success gave me the
means; the news of the discovery of gold in Australia expedited my
movements. My partner agreed to share my fortunes. We got back to San
Francisco, though not without great hazard of losing our gold and our
lives, and got on board a ship bound across the Pacific to this country.
The ship, however, being caught in a gale off this coast, drove on
shore, when half the crew and passengers lost their lives--my partner
among them--while I only saved my life and the clothes on my back. I
had learned by this time not to be surprised at any misfortune which
might overtake me. I was far better off than in California, for I was
among countrymen, I begged my way up to the diggings, or rather I had
not to beg it, for I was passed along from station to station. I was
much better off, too, at the diggings than I had been in California, for
I was now one of the ruling faction; and, though things were bad enough
in some respects, people were generally civilised and humane, compared
to gold-diggers I had met on the other side of the globe. My luck,
however, was much the same. All I could do was to keep body and soul
together, till at last I had to come to the conclusion that I was not
cut out for a gold-digger. On my way up to the diggings, I had rested
at a station owned by an old gentleman, who seemed to take an interest
in me. At all events, as I was going away, he promised to receive me
when I got tired of gold-digging, if I would come back to him, and to
put me in the way of making my fortune. Utterly disgusted with my
ill-success as gold-digger, I bethought myself of him, and was on my way
to his abode, when, on attempting to cross your river, I was carried off
my feet, and should have become food for fish or water-rats had it not
been for your courage, Arthur and Willie; and I can say, with sincerity,
that you deserve great credit for it. As to thanking you, I do not
fancy that thanks from such a wretched vagabond as I am are worth
anything, and so I'll say nothing about that."
"We are too glad that we have succeeded in saving your life, old friend,
to care about thanks," said Arthur. "And now you are here, we hope that
you will stay and try if you cannot follow our occupation. It is the
one that succeeds best in Australia in the long run, depend upon it."
Mark Withers said that he would think about the matter; but the next
morning he declared his intention of proceeding to the farm of the old
gentleman, a Mr Elton, who had invited him to his house before he went
up to the diggings. "The fact is," observed Mark, "I have an idea that
he intended to leave me his property, and that would not be an
unpleasant way of making a fortune, you'll allow."
"It would be a way of getting one, certainly," observed James; "though I
doubt if your expectations will be realised; and I think that you would
enjoy it far more if you make it yourself by honest industry."
"Every man to his taste," said Mark, with a careless laugh; "if I fail
in my expectations, I can but try on plodding industry at last, you
know, and little harm will be done."
"It is difficult to stop a rolling stone when it has gained an impetus
downhill," said James; "remember that, Mark. However, I can only say
that my brothers and I shall be glad to welcome you back, should you
find yourself mistaken in your hopes, and to find some employment for
you which will put you in the way of becoming independent in the end."
In so great a hurry was Mark to assure himself that he should obtain the
expected fortune from Mr Elton, that he insisted on setting forth on
his journey the next day. He did not object, however, to borrow a horse
and a few pounds from his old friends. This he did with the air of a
man conferring rather than receiving a favour. When Craven, who arrived
soon afterwards, heard of this latter circumstance, he predicted that
the face of Mr Mark Withers would not be again seen at Warragong,
unless he might have the assurance to return and borrow more.
Charles Craven had become a very constant visitor of late at Warragong.
By his intelligence, activity, and knowledge of mankind, he had
contributed greatly to the prosperity of the Gilpins own property, as
well as to that committed to their charge. They had obtained permission
to make over a considerable portion of the latter to his management, so
that he had now a comfortable, if not a handsome, income. There seemed
to be no doubt that he admired Miss Gilpin, though he had not proposed
to her. Perhaps he considered that she was indifferent to him, or
regarded him merely as a valued friend of her brothers.
Nothing had been heard of Mark Withers since his departure. One evening
a horseman was seen approaching the house, dressed in rough bush
fashion; and soon afterwards, into the room where the ladies were
seated, walked Mark himself. He had assumed a careless independent
swagger, peculiarly distasteful to those into whose society he had
introduced himself.
"Your brothers were right!" he exclaimed, throwing himself into a chair.
"Old Elton was a humbug. He has cheated me abominably. Got me to
labour for him, and then laughed in my face when I told him why I had
done so; telling me that, as I worked for love, I required no wages; and
that, as I was not worth my salt, he should give me none. However, here
I am, not much the worse for the adventure, with a few months experience
of bush life, and ready to become your brothers' chief stockman, or
overseer, or anything they like to put me to, not derogatory to the
character of a gentleman."
The Miss Gilpins and their sisters-in-law would have been inclined to
laugh at this speech, had it not been for the impudence of Mark's looks
and tone. On the arrival of the gentlemen he softened his manner; and
James and Arthur, ever kind and thoughtful, began at once to consider
how they could employ their old companion, so that he might not feel the
weight of his obligation to them. He decided that he would be employed
as a stockman, without considering his fitness for the occupation, but
preferring to ride about on a good horse to walking on foot or sitting
in the house with account-books before him. He acquitted himself,
however, more to his employers' satisfaction than they had expected. He
learned to ride and manage his horse well; and by the time he had gained
a knowledge of the country, he had attained many of the requisites of a
good stockman. He showed no inclination, however, to consider himself
of the rank of one, but, assuming on his early friendship with the
Gilpins, was constantly appearing at the house, and at length it became
tolerably evident that he proposed to better his fortunes by marrying
one of the Miss Gilpins. Jane had reason to believe that she was
honoured by his preference. Suddenly, after this discovery, Craven
ceased to pay his visits at the house as usual, or, if he came, went
only to the business room, and declined stopping to luncheon or dinner.
Whether or not Jane was in any way concerned at this, she let no one
discover. Mark came oftener than ever, boasting that he should soon
become a stockholder on a large scale, and that he intended to introduce
great improvements in the management of cattle in Australia.
Where cattle are so apt to stray, as in the Australian bush, herds of
different proprietors may occasionally get mingled, and therefore it is
necessary to brand them carefully. When this operation is to be
performed, the animals are driven into a pound. Ropes are then cast
over the horns and legs of the bullock to be first marked, he is thrown
to the ground, and the hot iron is applied. This is often a work of no
little danger; for when a young bull, who has been roaming at liberty
since his calfhood, finds himself thus treated, he is apt to turn on his
tormentors, and to attempt to retaliate. A considerable mob of cattle
had to be branded at Warragong, and all the hands who could be collected
were employed in driving them into the pound. To get them there was
difficult; to hold them quiet while being marked was still more so. One
young and very powerful bull had resisted all the attempts made to catch
him, when Mark Withers--who at that instant caught sight of the Miss
Gilpins riding by--declared that he could manage the animal; and,
leaping over the paling, lasso in hand, approached it with unexpected
hardihood. The animal's rage appeared excited to an ungovernable pitch
at seeing him, and, lowering his head with a loud roar, he dashed
towards him. While attempting to spring on one side, the unfortunate
man's foot slipped, and before he could recover himself, he was
transfixed by the animal's horns. The bull then, lifting up his head,
bore his victim as if in triumph round and round the pound. In vain
Withers struggled to release himself, and shrieked for help. James and
Arthur and Willie, followed by several men, leaped into the pound,
regardless of the risk they ran of being set on by other animals.
"Oh! horrible! Save him! save him!" simultaneously cried the Miss
Gilpins, who had ridden up.
At that moment Craven, who heard their cry, rode up, and, seeing the
state of affairs, ordered the gate to be opened, and dashed in. The
next instant he had thrown the lasso over the bull's head, clearing the
man, and while he drew it tight round the creature's neck, the rest of
the party came up and were able to get theirs round his legs and to
bring him to the ground. Mark breathed, but had received some severe
injuries. Whether they might prove fatal it was difficult to say.
"Oh! Mr Craven, we are indeed grateful for the way in which you
released that poor man from his horrible position," said Jane, in a
sweet, yet unfaltering voice, as, on riding out of the pound, Craven
bowed stiffly to the sisters.
He looked at Jane's countenance earnestly, and then rode up alongside
her horse.
"I have some slight surgical skill, perhaps I may be of service," he
said quietly.
Withers was being carried at this time towards the house.
"Oh! try what you can do. My brothers will be most thankful. It would
be dreadful were he to die in his present, as I fear, unprepared state,"
she replied.
Craven drew a deep breath. Susan echoed her sister's words. They were
approaching the house.
Craven's skill was not very great, but he was gentle and patient, and
contributed to relieve the sufferings of the injured man. Many hours
passed before the surgeon, who had been sent for, arrived. In the mean
time, Craven was as assiduous in his attention as he could have been had
Mark been his dearest friend. The surgeon would not pronounce a decided
opinion as to the case. Though the injuries were severe, if the man's
constitution was good he might recover, but if not, they would probably
prove fatal. James, as a true friend, felt that it was his duty to tell
Mark the truth.
The injured man groaned and muttered, "Yes, it was good; but I have done
my best to destroy it."
James spoke to him earnestly, and urged him, without delay, to make his
peace with God, through the only means open to sinful man--the blood of
His dear Son.
Mark listened, but a veil seemed on his understanding. "The fact is,
old fellow, I haven't thought about the matter, and I would rather not
now," he replied. "I don't intend to die just yet, if I can help it;
and who knows but what I may take up your notions of things, and become
as good as you are? You mean me well, I know you do; but just let me
alone."
But a faithful man is faithful in all things. Arthur persevered, and at
length a perceptible change took place in Mark's manner when he spoke of
sacred matters. The fear of death in him became great. More than once
Arthur heard him muttering to himself those awful words: HEREAFTER!
ETERNITY! At length the surgeon began to speak more favourably of
Mark's condition. He thought he would recover, he said, but would be a
cripple to the end of his life. It was a heavy blow to Mark, and caused
him many bitter tears, although it was evident that it was a wonderful
relief to his mind to be told that God had given him time for
repentance, and not cut him off in the midst of his sins. Arthur was by
his bedside continually, and it filled him with deep joy to be able to
believe that Mark was a changed man. He spoke penitently, sorrowfully,
of the past, but cheerfully and hopefully of the future. One day, as he
was lying on a sofa, to which he had been lifted from his bed, he said
to Arthur, "I remember long ago, in the old country, Arthur, when you
and I were discussing what was the object in life most worthy of our
aim, I thought wealth, for the sake of spending it on pleasure--on
myself. I could not make out exactly what your aim was; but you and
your brothers seem to me to have got all you can desire to make life
pleasant, while I have lost all I had, and gained nothing."
"I held, I believe, that all we should aim at is to do our duty, and
that openings for the employment of our energies will always be found
for us," answered Arthur. "We certainly have found this to be true in
our own case."
"Yes, that you have," said Mark, without, however, any bitterness in his
tone. "I should have called it luck once, but I won't now. I will try,
by God's mercy, poor helpless creature that I am, to find some means of
usefulness, that so I may not be a mere cumberer of the earth, but may
repay in any way that may offer itself some little portion of the
kindness of my benefactors."
The Gilpins had truly been fruitful fig trees. All they undertook
prospered.
Far and wide they were a blessing to their neighbours, for as such they
looked upon all those--rich or poor--whom they could reach.
Through their efforts and instrumentality the glad tidings of great joy
were carried to all around them, many of whom would never otherwise have
heard the Gospel sound.
The contrast between the career of the brothers and their quondam friend
was great, but not greater than will usually be found between those who
set the Lord always before their eyes, and seek him early while yet He
may be found, and those who turn aside from His ways and refuse to
follow them.
Craven declared that it was impossible any one could reap more benefit
from his friends than he had. It seemed probable, indeed, that, but for
them, he would have remained a hut-keeper to the end of his days. As it
was, he became not merely an upright man in the eye of his fellow-men,
but also a sincere Christian. He married Jane Gilpin, and with this
event we close our narrative.