Produced by Nick Wall and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
Transcribers Note:
Unexpected spelling, punctuation, and inconsistent hyphenation have been
retained as they appeared in the original, except as listed at the end
of the book. On Page 321 the gobbledegook "while the use nht psoe hwi
cfirt h tth em" has also been retained as it appears in the original.
FERN VALE
OR THE
QUEENSLAND SQUATTER.
A NOVEL.
BY COLIN MUNRO.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL I.
LONDON:
T. C. NEWBY,
30 WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE.
MDCCCLXIL
EDINBURGH: PRINTED BY THE CALEDONIAN PRESS,
"The National Institution for Promoting the Employment of Women
in the Art of Printing."
PREFACE.
Some fifteen years ago, when the first mention was made in the Imperial
Parliament of the intention of Her Majesty to dismember the Northern
districts of New South Wales, for the purpose of establishing a refuge
for the expatriated felons of Great Britain, a certain noble lord rose
to enquire where New South Wales was, and whether it was anywhere in the
vicinity of Botany Bay.
Since the time of this sapient patrician much has been said, and more
has been written, respecting our antipodean empire; though I believe the
mass of the English people are still as unacquainted with the
characteristics of the colony, and the manners of colonial life, as if
the vast continent of Australia remained in its primitive inanition.
Poor as is the knowledge of our friends "at home" respecting their
periecian brethren, I grieve to say, with regard to, or rather of, the
Australian colonists, that knowledge is too frequently tinged with
prejudice and erroneous impressions, formed from the writings of
discontented colonists, who, without a sufficiently lengthened residence
in the country, or opportunities to form correct opinions, have not only
disregarded facts, but have presumed to pass judgment upon what they
have never appreciated or understood, and have written statements
decidedly false and scandalous.
It is notorious that in some circles of society, the bare mention of
Australia in connexion with any one's name is sufficient to create a
feeling of distrust and contempt, and the colonists are at once stamped
as being, at least, something mean, with antecedents involved in a
suspicious obscurity. Unfortunately there have been writers, too, who
have come before the public professing an intimate acquaintance with,
and an impartial judgment of, colonial life, who have not failed to heap
aspersions on the very name of the country and everything connected with
it, and to envenom their writings with the rankest untruths. I have read
accounts of colonial society where it has been characterized as the
vilest that can be imagined in a civilized state; where the men are
spoken of as habitual debauchees, and the women as universally
shameless, immoral, and dissipated; where life and property are
insecure; and bushrangers are the terror of the inhabitants.
I don't say such productions are numerous. I rejoice that they are not;
but many people are inclined to receive such a description as a truthful
one, and to consider a true narration of facts as merely an over-drawn
and flattering panegyric of an interested author. People have been long
accustomed to look upon Australia as only a place for convicts, and the
population, if not prisoners themselves or those who have served their
allotted term, at least as the descendants of those who have done so. I
have frequently had the question gravely put to me whether or not such
is the case; and have experienced great difficulty in inducing people
to believe otherwise. They forget, if indeed they ever knew, that many
leading men in this country owe their position in society to a
prosperous career in the Australian colonies, and that more than half
the colonial settlers are men of good family connexions who have
emigrated to improve their position in occupations which are at the same
time remunerative and honourable.
When this is remembered, in conjunction with the fact that
transportation has been discontinued for many years, and that, after the
expiration of a convict's term of expatriation, if of an incorrigible
nature, he invariably returned to the "old country," where he had a
wider field for the exercise of his genius, it can't but be seen that,
generally, there must be a healthier tone of society in the colony than
is credited "at home;" while morality is quite on a par, if not above
the ordinary level of British ethics. At the same time it is only but
just to state that the greater proportion of what vice does exist is
chargeable to that wild and uncontrollable mass, which, generally
attracted to gold-producing countries, necessarily forms there the
substratum of the working population; while the native born portion of
the people is entitled to all praise for its strict propriety. To remove
this stigma of _mauvais ton_, and establish our fair name in opposition
to the mal-impressions which have gained currency respecting the
Australian colonists, I have been induced to add another to the tales of
Australian life, and to lay "Fern Vale" before the public.
I don't enter the arena so much to defend the colonies collectively, as
to present a fair face for the young one of Queensland, and to draw
attention to it as a field for British labour, industry, and capital.
And being disposed to think this description of work will find more
favour in the eyes of that class I would especially desire to attract,
than a topographical and statistical treatise, I have blended facts with
fiction to present my volume to the public in such a form as to afford
amusement with information. I have endeavoured to depict life and
manners as they exist in Queensland, and to describe the country, its
climate, and capabilities. The leading political topics of the day I
have also lightly touched upon; but, while craving the indulgence of the
public in these interpolations, I may remark I have only treated them to
a very cursory glance; considering that, in the present mutable state
of legislation in Queensland, to enter more fully into detail would be
inadvisable. The colony is young, but the government is infantine;
though, notwithstanding that it is little more than two years old, it
has proved itself indefatigable, concise, and beneficial in its
workings; and many a local incubus has been removed, and many a long
felt desideratum been supplied, during its short period of existence.
To illustrate what the district was, and what it had to labour under, I
have drawn all my characters as existing under the _regime_ prior to the
felicitous epoch of "separation." But to prevent my readers from forming
an erroneous impression of our model colony, I will succinctly furnish a
synopsis of our march of improvement.
The old iniquitous land system has been abolished; and in its place one
substituted similar to what I have mentioned in this work as being the
scheme of Dr. Lang. One of the first acts of the new government was to
sweep away the trite and cumbersome machinery of the old system, by
making nugatory the existing law of the parent colony, and to pass an
act which, for liberality, perhaps stands unequalled. Its main features
are--for pastoral purposes--occupation and settlement, with right of
tenure, subject to a rental of one farthing per acre per annum; and for
agricultural lands--free selection for purchase at the fixed rate of one
pound per acre, with a right to rent in contiguity thrice the quantity
purchased for a period of five years at a yearly rental of sixpence per
acre, with the option of purchase at the expiration of the lease, at
the residue of the purchase money, viz., 17s. 6d. per acre. To all
immigrants paying their own passage, a remission of their passage money
is granted in an equivalent of land. This, with the activity of the
government in throwing large tracts of land into the market, has done
away with a good many of the abuses detailed in our narrative; more
especially the "station jobbing," attributed to Bob Smithers, and the
vexatious detentions to small capitalists desirous of becoming farmers.
Another of its features is the inducement held out to the
agriculturalist to cultivate cotton in the shape of bounties almost
amounting to the value of the staple. The towns have also been benefited
by the establishment of municipalities which have removed many long
standing nuisances. The old forensic injustice, and judicial
burlesques, have been annihilated by the appointment of district police
magistrates; and, in fact, the whole country and people have "gone a
head."
With regard to the incidents of my story I may say that, almost without
an exception, they are facts well known to Moreton Bay people; and,
though I have used some discrimination in their collocation, so as to a
certain extent to shield the actual actors from the public gaze, I have
in no way exceeded the margin of truth. The scene at the "Bullock's
Head," I must guard against any charge of plagiarism by stating, is the
description of an actual occurrence which took place not many years ago
in the town of Brisbane, and, if I mistake not, the principal actor in
which is still living, and in this country. Captain Jones' marriage,
its results, the poisoning, murder, and protection society, are all
drawn from life; though, as I've said before, varied in their
arrangement. Neither have I indulged in any flights of the imagination
in depicting the horrible, but rather subdued the poignancy of the
original; particularly in the case of the murder, which in my hands has
received considerable detrition. Though the proceedings of "the society"
may be said to be the "coinage of my brain," I have not hazarded such an
accusation, as is contained in their narration, without being possessed
of sufficiently authentic information to warrant me in doing so. After
the melancholy event, from which I borrowed the idea of the Strawberry
Hill massacre, it is known for a fact that the blacks mysteriously
disappeared from the country; while the squatters were out in arms for
weeks scouring the bush, and made no secret of their enrollment for a
mutual protection. At the same time I have heard a settler of the
district, and one of considerable means and standing, when alcohol had
stimulated his nerves and courage, boast that he had shot _hundreds_ of
blacks; and have also heard others speak of such an action as merely an
unpleasant necessity. I must caution my readers, however, from imagining
that, because the tragical event which immediately precedes the
_denoument_ of my plot occupies so conspicuous a place in the narrative,
such dangers are incidental to a residence in the bush. Far from it.
Security reigns supreme; and I merely engrafted the too well known
catastrophe to my compilation to add interest to the tale. Such
visitations are, happily, not to be heard of once in a generation, and
then only on the extreme borders of civilisation. Convicts are no
longer noticeable, and bushrangers are only known as myths or scourges
of historical notoriety.
The peculiar idiom of the blacks, in their conversation with the
settler, I have introduced to give some idea of the unintelligible and
periphrastic jargon the whites have to adopt to make themselves
understood. And so accustomed do the squatters, and their men, become in
its use that they naturally fall into it whenever they experience any
difficulty in making themselves understood by any one not acquainted
with their language. Hence all foreigners, of whom, especially Germans
and Chinese, there are a great many in the colony, who have not a
thorough knowledge of the English tongue when they come to the country,
acquire this peculiar phraseology.
I fear I must crave the pardon of many of my friends for having
introduced into my book some little episodes in their personal history
which they may not have desired to have had laid before the world. But,
though such may be recognisable to themselves, I feel safe in expressing
my confidence that to the public they will remain hid by the veil of
fiction.
LONDON, _1st May 1862_.
CHAPTER I.
"Sister, farewell: I must to Coventry;
As much good stay with thee, as go with me."
RICHARD II., _Act_ 1, _Sc._ 2.
"Good-bye, Kate, I can't help leaving you at least for a time; and if we
can make any settlement with Smithers for any of his country, you know
I'll soon be back for you: so don't make me disheartened by seeing you
so melancholy. John has started some time since with the pack-horses,
and seeing you had run away from the parlour while the governor was
talking to me, I have followed you to see you look cheerful, and get
another kiss before we part. My mother thinks me already on the road,
and Joey is only strapping on my valise to the saddle."
"I shall be so lonely, Will, when you are gone; I'll have no one to ride
with, and as for kangaroos, I am sure I shall not see one until you
return, for you know Papa never cares about going out with the dogs. You
may as well take the poor things with you, for they will be of no use
here; they will be company and afford amusement to you."
"Oh, never mind them, Kitty, I'm for work not sport; but come now dry up
your tears, and while I am away be sure and make yourself a proficient
in housekeeping, because you know, if we succeed in forming a station,
as soon as we can get up a decent sort of a 'humpie,' and comfortably
settled, I will come and fetch you; and know thou, my Kitty darling, if
you do not make your brothers as contented as they in their gracious
will shall desire, they will publish throughout the length and breadth
of the land the short-comings of their pert little sister; and the
decree once gone forth that our Kitty is a useless little baggage, and
not fit to be a squatter's wife, what will she do then?"
"She will tell her brothers' friends that she is the persecuted victim
of a pair of ungrateful fellows, who are never satisfied with anything
that is done for them, and I know which of us they will believe. But,
Willie, Mr. Wigton tells us the blacks are very troublesome down where
you are going: will there be any danger in living there?"
"Not the slightest, my dear: it is all nonsense the way in which
croakers talk about the blacks. Some of our imperious settlers, by their
own conduct, encourage them to commit depredations and to revenge
wrongs; but, for my part, I never knew a black fellow make an unprovoked
aggression, whereas Mr. Wigton merely speaks from what he has been told
by the squatters."
"Well, but, Willie, you say the country is quite unoccupied: will not
the natives be dreadfully wild, and easily provoked to commit some
horrible act? Would it not be better to avoid any risk, by getting a
station in some more settled part of the country?"
"Believe me, my pet, your fears are perfectly groundless; I have had
more experience with the blacks than most people, and I have no
unpleasant apprehensions from our squattage. However, our speculations
are all in precedence of our plans, and your objections are only
advanced on conjecture; it will be quite time for you to disparage our
home when we have formed one, and I can assure you, my dear Kate,
neither John nor I would wish you to leave the security of our parents'
roof for our protection, if by so doing you would imperil your precious
little self. But, even if there were any danger to us, to you, I
believe, there would be none; unless indeed it were to be carried off by
some bold, adventurous, and enthusiastic son of the soil to receive the
homage of his illustrious countrymen as their tutelary angel. But to
prevent any such predatory outrage, we will form ourselves into a
body-guard and enlist the services of all the knights-errant of the
neighbourhood."
"You are an impudent fellow, and I have a good mind to give at once my
refusal to go; but if you do settle there, I hope you will cultivate the
acquaintance of some nice people, if there are any near you."
"Nice gentlemen you mean, I know. Oh, yes! I will try and oblige you on
that point; but good-bye, Kate, I must be off."
With this remark concluded the colloquy of William Ferguson and his
sister, Kate; and after a mutual embrace, the young man bounded from the
room, and in a few minutes might have been seen riding through the bush
at a sharp canter, in company with his black boy, Joey, to overtake his
brother on the road, who, as the reader has already learnt, left the
house some time previously with the pack-horses, laden with the
provisions and necessary articles requisite for their journey. While we
leave the young men to proceed on their way, and their sister sitting
listlessly gazing with tearful eyes through the open window of the
drawing-room, conjuring in her imagination the scenes through which her
brothers were about to pass, we will cursorily glance at the family
whose acquaintance we have just made.
Mr. Ferguson, the elder, the proprietor of Acacia creek, where we find
ourselves for the _nonce_ located, was a gentleman who had attained the
meridian of life, though years sat lightly on his open brow. He was tall
and handsome, robust in constitution, affable, benign, and hospitable in
disposition; a fond father, and one of the most respected settlers in
the district of which he was a magistrate. As his history is somewhat
romantic, the reader may be disposed to pardon the digression, in our
stopping here to give a brief outline of it.
John Ferguson, who was a native of Scotland, and a member of an ancient
family who prided itself on its blood and lineage more than on its
virtues and frugality, was early left to battle with the world through
the prodigality of a parent, whose greatest pleasure was to keep the
most hospitable board in his county, and whose greatest dread was to be
stigmatised with (what was to him the _acme_ of derogation) meanness and
parsimony. Though the family, through the extravagance of its head, was
reduced to extreme penury, it was with the utmost difficulty the pride
and prejudices of the father could be overcome, to be induced to allow
his son to accept an appointment in a government office in London, which
had been obtained through the intervention of a well-wisher of the
family, and offered to the young man.
The course of life, which the acceptance of this situation would open to
the fancy of young Ferguson, was congenial to his ardent imagination and
enthusiastic spirit. He therefore joyfully accepted the post, which was
kindly and delicately offered as a means of employment and support to
himself and of pecuniary relief to his parents, as a stepping-stone to
fortune; while the romance with which his disposition was tinged, served
to picture to his prophetic vision, scenes of official gradation and
pre-eminence. How often do young men of similar temperament indulge in
the same enticing speculations, and allow themselves to be carried away
by the blissful creations of a fertile fancy; alas! only to awake from
the intoxication of their delightful dream, to realize the pangs of a
bitter disappointment, and a total dispersion of all their brightest
hopes. Not that we deprecate the indulgence of such romantic feelings.
We believe it frequently produces that emulation, by which a persevering
and indomitable spirit is frequently enabled to realize the dreams of
the bright imaginative fertility of youthful ardency; but, as we shall
presently see it was in the case of young Ferguson, so it is too often
in general life, that such visions are doomed to speedy dissipation.
In due time the young man entered upon the duties of his office with a
zeal commensurate to the exalted nature of his expectancy; but the ideal
varnish of his mental conception speedily vanished under the hard
brushing of a monotonous official routine, and his romance succumbed to
the realities of a mundane experience. Though the appointment, to which
our young friend had been inducted, was all that could have been desired
for the scion of a noble house, whose pampered whims and vices were to
be ministered to by the lavish hand of a fond parent, and where the
display of mental abilities was no more necessary than in the propulsion
of the mechanism of one of Her Majesty's establishments erected for the
ambulating exercises of petty delinquents, yet to a young and
high-spirited nature, such as John Ferguson's, the very absence of any
intellectual requirements in the performance of the duties devolving
upon him, caused him soon to feel a distaste for the service; while the
indolence and self-importance practised and assumed by his colleagues
(and so much emulated by the class of candidates for such honours) were
to him extremely irksome and disagreeable, and early caused his
energetic disposition to be dissatisfied with his position.
He had been some little time in his office, and began to experience the
feelings which we have described, when, through the instrumentality of
the kind friend to whom he was indebted for his appointment, he began to
circulate in that society which by his family connexions he was entitled
to mix in. To say he was not fascinated with the polish, gaieties, and
pleasures of a fashionable town life, would be to conceal the truth:
though, at the same time, we must say their hollowness soon became
apparent to his mind; and he, instead of following the example of most
men in similar circumstances, and making himself the slave to the
pleasures and dissipations of the fashionable world, looked calmly on
the allurements of society, and preserved a perfect control over his
mind and morals. During the vortex of a London season, he added to the
list of his friends a merchant of considerable standing, and of very
large reputed wealth. In the house of this gentleman, who was pleased
with the young man's sterling qualities, apparent to the quick
perception of the man of business, he received a _carte blanche_; and
thence commenced the intimacy which formed the romance of his life.
Mr. Williamson, the gentleman of whom we have spoken, had an only
daughter, the mistress of his house, and the idol of his heart and of
all who knew her. She was beautiful in the extreme. Her disposition was
of the sweetest description, and fully justified the lavishment of the
fond parental affection with which she was blessed; while her amiability
was only equalled by her dutiful attention and consideration of the
smallest wish of her kind and doating parent. That such a being should
arrest the notice of a young man of the temperament of John Ferguson is
not to be wondered at, nor that his attention was rivetted on her the
first moment his eyes were gladdened with the seraphic vision. The first
feeling of admiration soon gave place to a sentiment of a warmer kind,
and it was not long ere young Ferguson was hopelessly entangled in the
meshes of Cupid's net, deeply immersed in the sea of love; which, for
his ardent nature, was of that turbulent kind that knew no control, nor
experienced any pleasure, except in the society of his fair enslaver.
This feeling was long kept a secret within his own bosom, and his time
glided happily by in the sweet countenance of this charming creature,
content in the privilege of loving, and fearful lest a disclosure of his
sentiment should break the spell.
Love is a strange emotion; its inexplicable workings operate with an
occult influence, irresistible and unaccountable; and while our hearts
receive a glow and pleasure at the mere contemplation of the object of
our love, our selfish gratification blinds us to all but our own extatic
delight, and eliminates from our minds all considerations not directly
tending to a consummation of our desires. At the same time our cowardice
often operates on our fancies so as to create fears, lest to the object
of whom we are enamoured we prove indifferent, and we fancy ourselves
almost criminal for loving. Though possibly not a common phase in the
_esprit d'amour_, it was, nevertheless, the one in which burnt the lamp
of our friend; for though he loved Miss Kate Williamson to distraction,
he never ventured to breathe one word to her that was likely to disclose
the fire that consumed his heart. 'Tis true her manner to him, though
cordial in the extreme, was not such as to inspire him with the idea
that his love was reciprocated. With the high sense of her filial duty,
she conceived herself bound to receive the authorized attentions of a
gentleman possessing the warrant of her father's friendship, and, in
return for that friend's civilities, to tender those little captivating
mannerisms, and throw into her receptions and interviews those sweet and
winning ways, so peculiar to beings of her stamp. Beyond that, however,
she gave him no encouragement. It may be she soon perceived, what John
Ferguson failed to conceal, the pleasure which he enjoyed while in her
society; it may also be that those visits, which she at first considered
a duty to her parent to receive, she afterwards welcomed with receptions
as warm and cordial as possible, compatible with her own modesty; and it
may be true that she began to admire their visitor for his own merits,
and reciprocate pleasure in their numerous interviews, while she little
dreamt, that what she considered the mere acts of hospitality, were
making such havoc in the breast of John Ferguson. He, on the other hand,
while admiring the bright object ever in his mind, feared venturing a
disclosure, which, in his position and prospects, his conscience
whispered to him would be considered presumptuous. Thus matters rested,
until a fortuitous circumstance broke the spell that bound these two
young hearts, and disclosed to each the transitory nature of their
dream.
A young physician of considerable practice, good connexions, gentlemanly
manners, and prepossessing appearance, and who had long been known to
and intimate with the family, in an interview with Mr. Williamson,
declared his admiration for his daughter's virtues, and expressed an
esteem for herself, that justified the father in sanctioning his request
to be admitted as an acknowledged suitor for the young lady's hand; and
his pretensions to her regards were supported by her father, who
believed their congeniality of tempers would render such an alliance
happy and prosperous.
Miss Williamson listened to the appeals of her admirer, we must admit,
with satisfaction; and though his addresses were not distasteful, she
felt a pang in her heart that plainly told her it was already possessed
by another. It required but this spark to kindle the flame that had long
been smoldering in her breast; and at the moment when, had she not known
John Ferguson, she would have been pleased and flattered with the
protestations of her suitor, she felt disappointed and distressed that
those proposals had not emanated from another source. The very
contemplation of this disappointment increased the warmth and ardour of
her affection for young Ferguson, while it annihilated all thoughts of
the other; and even, respecting as she did the wishes of her father, she
could offer no encouragement to his medical friend. The young son of
Galen, unacquainted as he was with the real state of the lady's
feelings, attributed her taciturn abstraction to the innate modesty of
her nature, and therefore delicately refrained from pressing proposals
which he perceived she was not prepared to entertain. Contemplating the
resumption of the subject at a future time, when the lady's mind would
have in all probability recovered the shock, which he imagined was
occasioned by the novelty of her situation, he left her, while he
expressed the deepest devotion and unalterable attachment.
Shortly after this interview, the young men met at the table of their
hospitable host; and there for the first time John Ferguson discovered
the position in which the young physician stood to the family. He
watched with a jealous eye the movements of his rival, who, though
noticing a peculiarity in his young friend's manner, never dreamt of the
true cause of his dejection. The contention in the breast of the lady
was equally painful; for, while she divined the nature of Ferguson's
melancholy, and was aware that the young doctor's attentions to her
would lead her taciturn lover to imagine she was gratified with and
encouraged them, she could give him no clue to her own feelings; while
her devotion to parental authority deterred her from slighting her more
voluble admirer, and her kind and amiable disposition shrank from
assuming a state of feelings foreign to her nature. John Ferguson
retired from the presence of his loved one, with a heavier heart than he
had ever experienced before; and, after being the prey to a series of
mental convulsions, at a late hour of the night he retired, not to
sleep, but to a further meditation in a horizontal position. The morning
dawned without any alleviation of his miseries, and, on the impulse of
his natural impetuosity, he formed those plans which entirely altered
the course of his subsequent prospects and career.
The Australian colonies, at this time, were attracting public attention,
and John Ferguson determined to escape from his thraldom and misery, by
chalking out a home for himself at the antipodes; his fancy lending its
aid to picture the realisation of a fortune, and the oblivion of his
misplaced affection. This resolution once formed, he determined to
carry it out in such a way as to preclude the possibility of being
deterred by any undue influence; and without acquainting any of his
friends of his designs, he took his departure, merely writing to his
mother the cause of his sudden flight. In this letter to his parent, as
may be imagined, he expatiated on the beauty, grace, accomplishments,
and virtues of the unwitting instrument of his expatriation; confessed
his undying love with his usual enthusiasm, and expressed his belief in
her perfect indifference to his sufferings. He also stated that the lady
had accepted the addresses of another; and while he deprecated his
inability, through the disparity of their positions, to make any formal
advances or obtain a footing of equality with his more favoured rival,
he declared his decision, rather than submit to the torture he was
enduring, to leave the country and constitute himself in a distant land
the architect of his own fortune. He concluded by breathing the
tenderest affection for his parents, and entreating their forgiveness
for his seeming neglect, in parting from them in so cold and
unceremonious a manner.
The surprise and consternation of the young man's friends, occasioned by
the receipt of this letter, may well be imagined; and if John Ferguson
had not been bordering on insanity when he made his rash resolve, he
would have hesitated ere he had been the cause of that anguish, which,
in his calmer moments, he well knew would be felt. But the past was
irrevocable; and the remorse he felt for his neglect and inconsideracy,
as his native land receded from his view, still further embittered a
spirit surcharged with grief.
The painful throes of his mother's heart, felt at the loss of her son,
was far surpassed by the indignation of his father, who, with his
consanguineous prejudices, and supercilious contempt for riches
unaccompanied by birth, deemed the claims of his son by blood far
superior to the pretensions of the plebeian trader. He only saw in the
confessions of his son, the result of a deep-laid plot for his
entrapment and ruin, and could only believe his malady to be the result
of a collusion on the part of Miss Williamson and her father, by whose
joint wiles and chicanery the young man's peace of mind had been
destroyed, and he driven from the land. In the firm belief of this, he
wrote to Mr. Williamson, adverting in the strongest terms to the injury
he conceived himself to have sustained at his hands, couching his
epistolary invective in no very polite or considerate language, and
enclosing the young man's letter to his mother as a documentary proof.
This communication had the effect, at first, of raising the merchant's
ire; but, upon more deliberate consideration, his wrath gave way to pity
for the father, in whom, through the haughtiness of his clannish spirit,
he could detect the anguish for a son's loss, and for the young man,
whose sudden disappearance had been to him inexplicable, but in whose
conduct he discovered the workings of an honourable nature. With this
feeling in his breast, he forewent the indulgence of that animosity that
was likely to be occasioned by the letter from the old laird; and he
replied to it in a strain of cordiality and commiseration, disavowing,
on the part of himself and his daughter, the application of any
influence on the feelings of his son calculated to destroy his peace of
mind; and denying, until the perusal of the young man's letter, any
knowledge of his sentiments towards his daughter, and his entire
ignorance of the cause of his disappearance. We may premise, that this
explanation brought no further intercourse between the heads of the
families, and that Mr. Williamson, though he believed that, if the
intimacy between his daughter and young Ferguson had continued, the
esteem which she entertained for his young friend would have developed
itself into a reciprocation of those sentiments which it was evident had
actuated the young man in his confession and flight; yet, at the same
time, he did not conceive it possible, in the absence of any confession
to his daughter, that such feelings could have existed in her breast.
Therefore he deemed it quite unnecessary to explain to her the
information he had obtained, more especially as she had made no enquiry
as to the cause of Ferguson's absence, nor even mentioned his name.
Though, as we have said, Miss Williamson preserved a perfect silence on
the name of the absentee, yet she was fully sensitive to the nature of
his feelings, and pretty shrewdly divined the cause of his flight. In
the midst of this, while the lady's mind was racked by love, pity, and
disappointment, the young physician pressed for a further contemplation
of his suit, and met with a repulse; which, though kind, and expressive
of gratitude, was such as to smother any hope that he might have
entertained of the possession of her devotion. To her father, this
decision was the annihilation of a long cherished expectancy; but
respecting his child's feelings, and being convinced she must have been
actuated by some strong motives in her refusal, he refrained from
pressing the cause of his friend, or enquiring the nature of his
daughter's objections. It was only then that the light flashed across
his mind, that his daughter might have loved young Ferguson; and he then
determined, through his correspondents in New South Wales, to which
colony the young man had emigrated, to keep his eye upon him; and, if
conducive to the happiness of his daughter, to further his prospects by
an unforeseen agency.
Some time had elapsed from the period of which we speak; and young
Ferguson, by his persevering industry, and the influence and assistance
of some friends, who had sought and cultivated his acquaintance through
the solicitation of his kind and generous patron, Mr. Williamson, had
obtained a position of comfort and moderate competency. In the meantime,
matters had gone on with the Williamsons very much as usual, until the
mental anxiety, occasioned by some severe reverses in busines, had
prostrated the merchant on a bed of sickness, where the affectionate
energies of the daughter, in her ministerial responsibilities, were
displayed in their brightest effulgence.
During one of her occasions of attendance, she was requested by her
father to select from papers in his cabinet some documents to which he
wished to refer; and while in the execution of this duty, her eye
chanced to fall upon one, the peculiar chirography of which was strange
to her, though in its body she more than once caught the repetition of
her own name. She took up the paper to satisfy herself as to its
authorship, and her surprise was immeasurable when she glanced at the
extended sheet and noticed the autograph of John Ferguson, and
throughout the whole epistle discovered the fervent breathings of a deep
affection for herself. From the reverie into which she fell, she was
aroused by the voice of her father, and retracing her steps slowly and
noiselessly to his bedside, while giving vent to her emotions in a deep
sigh, she placed the letter in his hands. The sick man glanced at it,
and then at the face of his daughter, who answered his enquiring look by
putting the question, "and this sacrifice, then, was for me?"
"Say not sacrifice, my child," replied the parent; "the young man has
prospered as he deserved. I periodically hear of his welfare; for,
believing from circumstances that transpired that you sympathized with
him, I felt an interest in his career. I now see that my surmises were
correct, that you loved one another, though nothing on the subject was
ever breathed between you; and I have no fear, if God spares me to rise
from this bed, but that I shall shortly see you both happy."
He was as good as his word; for, being soon sufficiently recovered to
resume his occupation, he took an early opportunity of corresponding
with young Ferguson, explaining how he came into possession of the
secret of his heart; how he had made himself acquainted with the course
of his life, relating the circumstance of his discovering his daughter's
feelings; and expressing his entire concurrence in their marriage, if
the young man retained his attachment. It is almost unnecessary to say,
this brought a response in person, and resulted in the happy union of
the young people. Mr. Williamson, whose business had not prospered very
well of late years, broke up his establishment and accompanied his
daughter and son-in-law to Sydney, where he settled; while the young
couple proceeded to the station of the bridegroom. It is at this spot we
now find them still located, happy and prosperous, and blessed with a
family of whom they were justly proud.
The eldest son, John, was a fine handsome young man, of about
two-and-twenty, tall and robust, with regular and pleasing features,
rather florid complexion, light brown hair, beard and moustache, with a
disposition kind and generous, and a manner sedate and retiring. Our
friend William, whose acquaintance we have already formed, was a fine
lively fellow of about twenty, not quite so tall as his brother, with a
cheerful and pleasant countenance, a profusion of rich curly flaxen
hair, and a disposition the counterpart of his father's. Their sister,
Kate, was the third. She was about eighteen years of age, in the first
blush and florescence of youth; the idol of her parents, and the pet of
her brother William (whom she resembled in her disposition and
complexion), while she seemed to have inherited her mother's beauty and
virtues. Besides these, there were three other children, two girls and a
boy; but as we shall have no occasion to notice them in our narrative,
we will merely mention that they were as pretty and interesting, and as
well conducted and dutiful, as children usually are.
Though this family had rarely been away from their home in the bush, and
seldom called upon to exercise their hospitality on others than the
neighbouring settlers, or receive their father's magisterial friends,
they possessed all the acquirements of a polished education, and the
ease, grace, and elegance of a fashionable training, more as an inherent
quality of their nature than as the effect of example from their
neighbours.