"Pray if you know
Where in the purlieus of this forest stands
A sheep cote?"
AS YOU LIKE IT, _Act_ 4, _Sc._ 3.
That portion of the year to which we now bring our narrative is, without
exception, the finest period of Australian seasons; when the temperature
is the _acme_ of salubrity, and the climate, generally, as delightful as
can be imagined. We speak of the spring when merging into the early
summer, and when the cool freshness of the morning breeze tempers the
genial warmth of the mid-day sun; which had acquired just sufficient
strength in his rays to impart a pleasant heat without oppressiveness.
On such a morning, then, when the vast concave of the heavens, expanded
in a perfectly spotless azure sky (such as in our foggy isle is never
seen); and with the freshness of the bush developing its verdure in the
odorous exudations of floriferous plants, and the blithesome exuberance
of the songless denizens of nature's nemoral aviary; William took his
departure on the mission we have detailed in the last chapter.
He journeyed on for days, singly but not lonely; for his heart was
inspired by the lambent fragrance of nature's smile; and he felt not the
solitude of the road, as he travelled over the vast expanse of the
Darling Downs. He had traversed this vast table-land, and was
approaching its eastern margin, where the descent was to be made to the
coast country, when he began to experience an oppressiveness in the
atmosphere, which he knew portended a storm. He, however, continued his
course, though, indeed, he had no option, until, as the sun was
approaching the meridian, he entered the deep gorge called Cunningham's
Gap, through which the road passed to the low country, and looked
anxiously at the lowering aspect of the sky. He felt he might make up
his mind for a drenching in the approaching storm, which he perceived
would soon burst over his head; and only exerted himself to get through
"the Gap" into open land, before it commenced.
Cunningham's Gap, or, as for the sake of brevity it is generally called,
"the Gap," is situated between fifty and sixty miles from the coast; and
is, as its name would imply, a defile in the mountains, affording a
convenient passage through the "main range;" or more properly speaking,
a descent from the table-land of the Darling Downs to the country below.
The descent effected by this pass is between two and three thousand
feet; and the view obtained in the passage of the low lying country is
beautiful in the extreme. The gorge itself is one of those combinations
of the picturesque and sublime with the useful; and viewed as a
specimen of scenery, it is surpassingly grand. Looking at it in its
ascent, where its two stupendous sides raise their gigantic masses in
rocky precipices, upwards of two thousand feet high; which seem to frown
upon the bold traveller who ventures within their cavernous precincts;
one cannot contemplate the vast fissure other than as the work of a
beneficent providence, as a gateway in the otherwise insurmountable
"range."
William Ferguson had entered the "Gap," and was riding down the
declivity at a rapid rate, when the sky became still more overcast, and
the clouds gathered in quick succession; while the low fulminating of
the distant thunder, and the death-like stillness of the defile,
indicated the speedy approach of the storm, and imparted a solemnity to
the scene. The thunder became more distinct. The lightning flashed in
vivid darts, which seemed to play along the sides of the pass, until the
attractive adamant deviated the refrangible fluid; which then buried
itself in some deep crevice of the pendent rocks. A few heavy drops of
rain then fell to the earth, and were speedily succeeded by a deluge,
which was driven on the face of a tempest almost irresistible. Still on
sped the rider almost carried on the wings of the storm; until he was
relieved from any pressing anxiety by emerging on the plain; while the
elemental warfare raged with unabated fury.
William, now relieved from apprehension, proceeded leisurely on the
road, which he had to travel for some miles until he reached an inn;
but, as he began to feel extremely uncomfortable, to sooner reach the
shelter of a roof, he determined to accelerate his speed. With this
intention, he clapped spurs to his horse and went off at a sharp pace,
until he came to a track that emerged at an acute angle from the road.
At this spot he hesitated for a moment; but, believing it to be the road
leading to Rosehall, the station of a gentleman with whom he was
distantly acquainted; and as night would be shortly closing in, while
he had a long distance to go before he reached the inn; he decided upon
intruding on the hospitality of his friend. He therefore turned his
horse's head into the path, and rode off again at a brisk pace. As he
proceeded, however, the road became somewhat indistinct; and at last all
appearance of a track vanished; leaving our friend involved in the bush
without the semblance of a path, or appearance of any habitation in the
vicinity. By this time William discovered his mistake in taking this
path (which appeared only to be a bullock track) for the road to
Rosehall; and his only alternative was to find his way back again to the
road he had left. To do this, however, he did not fancy retracing his
steps; and, there being very little time for speculation, he determined
to make a short cut through the bush in the direction he knew the main
road must run.
His resolution was soon formed, and as speedily acted upon; for the idea
no sooner entered his mind than he plunged into the bush without any
further consideration; and continued his course until his progress was
stopped by the intervention of a seemingly impenetrable scrub. The sight
of this impediment by no means tended to animate him with pleasant or
amiable feelings; for he knew, if he was compelled to deviate from his
course, his chance of reaching the road before night would be very
remote; and, if he did not succeed in doing that, he saw no option but
to make a nocturnal sojourn in the bush; the idea of which, all things
considered, he did not much like. To extricate himself from this
difficulty, he skirted the scrub, both up and down, for an opening
through which to penetrate; until at last he perceived an aperture, into
which he darted, though only to find after a short progress, a still
further stoppage; and this time one of a more unpleasant nature.
At his feet ran a creek, swollen by the rains into a deep and rapid
stream. To skirt its banks, to ascertain the direction in which it
flowed, was impossible; for, with the exception of the spot on which he
stood (and where it seemed broader and shallower than elsewhere), it was
lined by the scrub. Beyond the stream was the direction he wished to go
to reach the road, but this fluvial barrier stopped his progress; and he
saw no other course, if he wished to attain his goal, than to swim the
flood. For a few moments he gazed upon the dark waters of the creek, as
they hurried on their turbid volume sullenly and quietly; and knew that
to cross them, he had to swim a current that might prove too strong for
him to stem; besides the numerous eddies and hidden dangers that they
might contain. His heart had some misgivings at the venture;
nevertheless, he was aware, if he was to reach shelter that night, the
passage of the creek had to be effected. The momentary sensation of fear
gave place to the excitement of braving hazard; and its danger was
speedily forgotten in the contemplation of a night's bivouac under a
tree; and with the consciousness of being a good swimmer, and a
familiarity with such predicaments, he rode his horse to the edge of the
stream, and urged him into it.
Often do the instincts of the lower animals prompt them to an avoidance
of danger, where the rasher nature of man impels him towards his doom.
For some time the animal which William rode--standing on the margin of
the water, with his nose close to it, seemingly to ascertain the nature
of the element into which his master wished him to plunge--snorted and
paced the ground with a degree of impatience, that plainly showed he did
not like the task required of him. He was not long, however, permitted
to hesitate; there was no escape from the passage; the creek had to be
crossed, while no other way presented itself but to swim; so, upon a
fresh admonition from his rider, the animal entered the water, and
gallantly breasted the stream.
As the horse took the flood, William quietly slid off the saddle into
the water, and keeping a hold of one of the stirrups, easily swam by
his side. The noble animal, in a case like this, required no guiding
hand to direct him; his instinct told him, his master's object was to
reach the other bank; and he, therefore, swam direct for the point
desired. For a few seconds the quadruped and his owner kept on "the even
tenor of their way," and William congratulated himself on the favourable
prospect of his crossing; until they got more into the force of the
current, when he found it almost overwhelming. He, however, struggled
hard; while, alternately, he was almost swept from his hold by the force
of the stream, and nearly separated from his trusty steed by the vortex
of an eddy. But these difficulties were trifling compared to the one
that awaited him.
He had reached about the middle of the creek, when he perceived, with
consternation, the immense trunk of a tree floating down the stream,
with all the fearful velocity of the current; and in an instant his mind
comprehended the danger of his perilous position. The tree was one,
evidently, which had been long lying on the bank of the creek; and had
been dislodged, and carried off, as the water had risen in the present
flood. From its long recubation, it had become divested of its bark,
foliage, and smaller branches; leaving only its knarled trunk and
concomitant adjuncts, its crural like limbs. As it approached the
swimmers, it presented nothing to view, but the long surface of its
trunk, which floated supinely in the water; at the same time rushing on
with irresistible force, and having its branches concealed beneath the
surface of the flood. The stout heart of young Ferguson almost sickened
at the sight; however, he braced his nerves for a struggle, and urged
his faithful horse to its utmost, to escape the proximity of their
dangerous neighbour.
On it came, closer and closer, still watched by the anxious eye of
William; until he thought (as it almost reached him, angrily muttering,
with the subdued murmur of the flood, its disappointed expectations of a
victim) that he was safe. But his self-gratulation, at this moment, was
very inopportune; for, just as he uttered an exclamation of thankfulness
at his supposed escape, the tree approached the broad and shallower part
of the creek; when, suddenly throwing its upper end into the air with a
convulsive leap, it threatened utter destruction to the two devoted and
struggling objects in the water. For a moment it seemed poised; but,
losing its equilibrium, it fell obliquely into the stream, covering
William and his horse with the blinding spray; and before they could
regain their sight, the huge mass swang round with the current, and
entirely submerging them, swept them off with the flood, as they were
almost reaching the bank.
The cause of this grotesque manoeuvre on the part of the tree, we will
here explain. In approaching the broader and, consequently, shallower
part of the stream, its course had been arrested, by one of its sunken
branches coming in contact, and burying itself, in the soft bed of the
creek. The log, therefore, with the impetus it had gained in its
transit, thus suddenly brought to a stand, momentarily reared its head;
but almost instantly losing its equipoise, fell again sideways into the
stream; while the branch being still imbedded in the soft mud of the
bottom, the trunk naturally described a circle; and to all appearances
annihilated William and his horse.
Some time after this, how long he had not a remote idea, William, upon
returning to consciousness, found himself stretched upon the bank of the
creek; while the shades of night were fast closing in around him. What
he had experienced he shuddered to think of; though every circumstance
attending his late danger, and providential escape, segregated itself
from the chaotic mass in his brain, and laid before him a panorama of
his ordeal. In his mind, he had distinct visions, of having been, as it
were, grasped with a rough hand by the watery element, and drawn by the
demon of the flood to the depths of his cavernous home; while the
hissing of the water, which seemed to him at the time to rush into his
very soul, still sounded in his ears. To the fearful sensation of
oppression and smothering that first weighed in his heart, succeeded a
calm and tranquil sleep; from which he was aroused, by a repetition of
the noises of rushing waters in his ears; and the sensation of the
horrors of a mundane dissolution filled his mind. At that moment, his
head came in violent contact with some object; which, on the impulse of
the moment, he clutched with a drowning grasp; while with the friendly
aid of the pendent branch of a tree, he had an indistinct recollection
of drawing himself from the water, and alighting on the ground; where he
sank in a state of utter insensibility. How long he remained in that
state, he was unable to conjecture; but he awoke with a feeling of
sickness, which weighed heavily on his heart; and with his limbs
perfectly benumbed and almost paralysed (thankful for the manifest
interposition of providence), with a painful effort he arose. He then
went to search for his horse, to see if the faithful animal had been as
fortunate as himself; and had not proceeded far ere he espied him, still
standing trembling from the fear, from which he had hardly recovered.
To reach the inn that night was hopeless; in fact, to proceed at all,
William felt was almost impossible, for both he and his horse were
perfectly knocked up; while he was so unnerved and dispirited, that he
hardly knew which way to turn. To remain where he was, however, was not
to be thought of; for setting aside the discomfort of his position, the
danger was imminent. The rain continued to fall in a deluge, and the
land on which he stood being low, if the creek rose much more (which was
very probable), the flat would be soon covered with water. He had no
alternative, then, but to drag on his weary limbs, and lead his worn-out
horse, to either some hospitable shelter, or a more auspicious locality
to camp in. Before resuming his journey, he gave two or three
vociferous "cooeys," but without hearing any answering sound, save the
echo of his own voice. He then crawled along, in the direction which he
imagined the road must be in, in the hope of falling in with some
cheering prospect; but after toiling for about half an hour, the
consternation with which he witnessed the effectual stoppage of his
further progress, by another stream, fairly overcame him; and he sank
exhausted to the ground.
The sagacious animal, that had borne the young man through many a
difficulty, and who stood over the prostrate body of his master, showed
his concern for him by many little signs of emotion, and at last brought
William to an application of his energies, by causing him to notice his
movements. William then raised his languid frame; and with drooping
spirits, gazed on the fresh obstacle before him. He perceived it had a
current, running opposite to that which he had lately crossed; and then
the truth flashed across his mind, that it must be another bend of the
same creek, forming a pocket of the land on which he was standing. He
now perceived that, by a slight deviation from his course, he might have
avoided the crossing which had nearly cost him his life; though now it
was evident, to reach his destination, he would have to cross it again.
Not wishing, however, to risk his life a second time in so short an
interval; and feeling himself perfectly inadequate to the task, even if
he desired it; he determined to follow the creek up its course, in the
hope of meeting with shelter of some sort. He therefore resumed his
weary travelling, skirting the bank of the stream; and occasionally
"cooeying," to ascertain if any human being was within hearing.
Thus he had proceeded for some time, perfectly disheartened and almost
desponding, when he espied on a little knoll, a short distance from the
creek, a small slab hut. Humble and untenable as the refuge appeared, no
shipwrecked mariner, with the prospect of being rescued from a watery
grave, by the opportune assistance of some life-boat, did ever hail his
deliverance with greater joy and gratitude, than did William the sight
of this "humpie." It looked uninhabited and perfectly deserted; but
still, wretched as it appeared, it promised shelter for himself and his
beast; and would enable him in all probability to make a fire and
refresh his weary limbs. At the same time he knew that, even if the
place were deserted, there would be sure to be some signs of settlement
near, and possibly a track to the head station of the run on which it
was situated.