"Methinks it were a happy life,
To be no better than a homely swain;
* * * *
See how the morning opes her golden gates,
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun."
HENRY VI., _Act_ 2 _of Part_ 3.
It was then with a gladdened heart that William approached the hut,
which was of dimensions little larger than a good-sized dog kennel; and
when he reached the aperture that served for an entrance, and gazed at
the interior, he was not a little surprised to find that it was habited,
though the inhabitant was not visible. The interior was as miserable
looking as could be imagined; the floor, or rather the ground on which
it stood, was covered with as much water as the earth outside; and the
slabs, which formed its walls, had shrunk with their exposure to the sun
and weather since they had been first put together, and left long and
narrow interstices between each, through which the rain driven by the
wind, and the water on the ground in perfect streams, were permitted,
_ad libitum_, to make their ingress. In the centre of the domicile, and
seemingly firmly fixed into the ground, were four sticks, so placed as
to form the four corners of a parallelogram; their ends were forked, and
held two other sticks about six feet long, resting longitudinally in
their supports. To each of these side poles were affixed, with small
skewer-like twigs, the sides of a sack which had been cut open
lengthways; and formed in all, an impromptu bedstead or stretcher, on
which, by a bundle of blankets that there appeared, it was evident the
occupier of the establisment was wont to court repose, free from the
moisture of his mother earth. Under this rural bed, was a box of that
description generally brought to the country by emigrants, and at once
proclaimed its owner, to the practised eye of William, to be a "new
chum;" for he well knew that after a very short residence in the country
such cumbrous attendants were usually dispensed with--shepherds who had
gained much experience usually carrying their extensive wardrobes on
their backs, and their blankets and pots rolled up in their "swags."
As we have said, William at once knew the rural swain, whose habitation
this was, to be one new to the colony; and he readily conjectured his
absence from his abode was occasioned by some detention incidental to
the storm, and which his experience had not taught him to avoid. Before
the door of the hut lay a few sticks and logs charred by fire, the
relics of a conflagration; ignited, probably, for culinary purposes, as
well as to impart caloric to the person of the shepherd. Knowing these
to be less pervious to the wet than unburnt wood, William laid them in
order for burning, in a position as free from water as he could find;
and after stripping the flakey bark off some tea trees (the inner part
of which is generally dry and exceedingly inflammable), he speedily
managed, as only bushmen can, to ignite a fire; and had it in a cheerful
blaze, as the rain subsided and the occupant of the hut made his
appearance. Somewhat refreshed by the genial warmth of the fire, and the
prospect of having some tea and something to eat, William soon forgot
his fatigue and late dangers; and when the man reached his place, rather
surprised at the appearance of a stranger, our friend had taken the
bridle and saddle from his horse, hobbled him, and turned him out too
feed; and was comfortably seated at the fire, watching the water boil in
the shepherd's tin pot, preparatory to infusing his tea.
The circumstances of the intrusion were soon explained by young
Ferguson; and in a few minutes he and the shepherd were socially seated
at the fire, discussing their evening meal of salt meat, tea, and
"damper;" and were pleasantly conversing together, as if they had been
boon companions from their youth. From this man William learnt that he
had entirely gone out of his way; and that in the morning his best plan
would be not to attempt to regain the road in the way he had lost it,
but to take the track that led from the stock-yard in the vicinity to
the head station; whence he would find a well-beaten line to the main
road. His informant said he believed the road lay not far off; but he
could not say how far, nor in what precise direction; and should,
therefore, recommend him, for greater certainty and security, to go by
the more circuitous way of the head station. William admired this
cautionary advice, and determined on the following morning to act upon
it in preference to submitting himself to the ordeal of another
swimming; more especially as the station on which he then was, was
Rosehall, the place he had desired to find.
In the course of their conversation, William had elicited from the
shepherd some little information respecting himself; which we may be
pardoned, for the sake of information, for inserting here. He had only
been in the colony about six months; and had been hired by his present
employer direct from the ship in which he had emigrated, and brought at
once up to the station; where for some time he felt acutely the
hardships of his situation; though he had gradually become inured to
them, and was then perfectly contented. When he arrived on the station
the weather was fearfully wet; and he had been put into the hut he then
occupied, and given the charge of a flock of sheep, which he was left to
tend in perfect solitude. Added to this, the discomfort of his home (if
he could have called it by such a term), perfectly sickened him of the
country, and he heartily wished himself back again in England;
regretting the day he had ever been induced to leave it. Rolled in his
blankets, he used at night to lay down on the damp ground, to contract
rheumatisms and numerous other ailments; while his rations and
everything about him were continually saturated; and to make up the
catalogue of his troubles, he, on more than one occasion, lost himself
in the bush. Now, however, he said, he had got used to all these
inconveniences; which, after all (from the rarity of their occurrence),
he considered slight; and as to the wet, since he had been put up to the
dodge of keeping his bed dry, it did not concern him in the least. He
liked the independence of his life, though it was a little dull; and his
wages being good, he was enabled to save plenty of money; while he
intended to be removed to the head station, when, he said, he would be
perfectly contented with his lot.
The morning following the storm broke calm and beautiful; the air was
clear and fresh, and a serenity was diffused abroad, perfectly
enchanting; while the exhilarating buoyancy of the atmosphere, and its
refreshing temperature, fully compensated for the previous visitation.
William, as we would say here, rose with the lark; and having brought in
his horse, saddled and mounted him, and after bidding adieu to his
rustic entertainer, from whom he received directions about the road to
the station, "he went him on his winding way."
After following the directions of the shepherd, in about an hour or so
he approached Rosehall, and presented himself to the inmates as they
were about sitting down to breakfast. Upon the relation to them of his
adventure, he had the satisfaction to learn, that if he had skirted the
scrub for a short distance, until he came to the bend of the creek that
formed the pocket, in which he found himself after swimming it, he would
have been able to have struck the road in a few minutes. However, by the
time he received this information, it was of little use to him; and
having entirely lost all thought of his past danger, he could laugh with
his friends at the absurdity of losing himself in the bush. He remained
at Rosehall a few hours longer than he intended, at the solicitation of
his friend Mr Lauray; who was deeply interested in a question that was
then agitating the whole population of Moreton Bay; and which we will
take the liberty of explaining.
Some few years previous to the date of this incident, a small party,
feeling the injustice and neglect under which the district had so long
suffered, introduced the idea of applying to the Crown for the
separation of the northern portion of New South Wales from the parent
colony; and its erection into a separate state, with the free exercise
of its own legislation. The movement at first gained little favour; as
in the infant state of the district, it was thought premature, if not
preposterous. But that immortal colonial agitator, the Rev. Dr. Lang,
declaring himself an advocate for separation; and forcibly aiding the
scheme with his pen, and indefatigable exertions, the party continued to
gather strength until it had assumed a bold attitude, reiterating its
demands to the throne. To give the reader some notion of the subject,
we will endeavour to transcribe such of the conversation at Rosehall as
will serve to enlighten him.
"I shall want you, Mr. Ferguson, now you are here," said the proprietor
of the place, "to affix your signature to a petition to the Queen,
praying for the separation of these districts from New South Wales."
"I am not yet convinced," replied William, "that the district will be
benefited by being separated."
"I don't think," replied the other, "it will take much argument to
convince you, or any other rational being, that separation would not
only be beneficial, but is absolutely necessary for the welfare of
Moreton Bay. In the first place, we are not adequately represented in
the Assembly; and, in the next, five to six hundred miles is too great a
distance to be removed from the seat of government. Even if the ministry
had the desire to do us justice, their unacquaintance with our wants
would prevent their inclinations from being of any service to us;
though I am not disposed to think, from our past experience, that any
Sydney batch of legislators, would be at all inclined to give us any
consideration. The revenue derivable from the districts, is annually
swept into the Sydney treasury; and I would ask, with what return? Why
absolutely nothing! They amount in this district alone, I have no
hesitation in saying, to considerably over L150,000; while, with the
exception of a few salaries, paid to some almost useless officials, and
a few hundreds voted occasionally for our roads, just to remind us that
we are not entirely forgotten, we get no return. Look at our towns in
the country; whenever the exchequer is in need of a little ready money,
they put up sufficient land in our district to replenish their coffers,
and to make the inhabitants feel the desire and necessity for more. It
has always been the policy of our rulers to keep the demand for land in
excess of the supply, by which means they create a spirited competition,
and establish a fictitious value. Hence, these towns are each drained
of some thousands of pounds annually; while the streets are permitted,
by the powers that be, to remain in their primeval state, either to
become impassable, or dangerous to the limbs and lives of the
inhabitants."
"There certainly may be some little neglect on the part of the
government," replied William; "but surely a district, with so limited a
population as this, will with difficulty bear the expense of a separate
executive?"
"Not at all," said Mr. Lauray, "our income is perfectly adequate; in
fact it exceeds that of many an older state: besides we should have the
satisfaction of expending it ourselves, and should not require to be
continually demanding (but rarely receiving) money from the government
for such necessary works as bridges and roads. The present state of our
main lines of traffic is perfectly scandalous; and if we should remain a
portion of New South Wales until doomsday, I believe they wouldn't be
put into an efficient state."
"Well, but," replied William, "I imagine we can only expect the
expenditure of our share of public money; and if all the districts get
their proportions, what more can we desire?"
"But I deny," replied the other, "that we are getting anything like our
proportion, or any proportion at all. The public revenue is mainly
swallowed up in works that do not at all affect the country districts;
such as the public buildings in Sydney, and the harbour improvements
there. Notice the colonial debt of between two and three millions, and
say how was it contracted? Was it not in the construction of Sydney
sewers, Sydney water-works, and the Sydney railway? And for these, from
which we shall never receive the slightest benefit, we have not only had
our revenue appropriated for years, but have to sustain the impost of
higher duties, to provide for the interest of this fund."
"Still," replied William, "I think it is only just, we should contribute
our share of the public expenditure in the machinery of government."
"Granted!" said Lauray, "but city improvements do not in any way come
under that head. The improvement of the district is much, if not
altogether retarded, by the continual neglect at head quarters. There
are certain public works, the necessity for which is severely felt, and
even acknowledged by the government itself to be highly desirable; but
to every application of ours for the necessary money, we are met by the
cool assertion, that they have none to give us. Can you imagine anything
more unjust than this; after the application of our own funds to
purposes foreign to our interests, when we demand the expenditure of a
small sum upon our own districts, to be informed that the money has been
expended? We do not desire separation for the mere pleasure of being our
own masters; but for the purpose of having, more effectually, a voice in
the distribution of our revenue. If we had received more attention and
justice from the government in past years, we should never have
agitated separation; but now we feel it essentially indispensable, and
separation we must have. You are no doubt aware the Queen in council has
reserved to herself the right of dismemberment of these districts,
whenever the wishes of the inhabitants should render it necessary; and
now we do not intend letting the question rest, until we have attained
our object. We have already forwarded many prayers to the throne; and at
this moment petitions are travelling the length and breadth of the
country to obtain signatures. The opposition we shall receive from New
South Wales, I believe, will be strenuous; but the present size of that
colony, nearly half that of Europe, is perfectly preposterous, and
renders the equitable administration of the laws, in so vast a territory
and with the seat of government so isolated, perfectly impossible. I am
aware, that the revenue of the parent colony will be very much crippled
by the separate erection of her offshoot; and her burdens will be
consequently heavier on her inhabitants. But because her legislators
have, through a reckless system of extravagance, impoverished and run
their country into debt, that is no reason why we should also be bound
down to her in her depression. I know many condemn the desire of the
Moreton Bay people to relieve themselves from the embarrassment of New
South Wales; and state it is selfish and derogatory in us attempting to
repudiate our share of the debt, and after being benefited by her
prosperity in past years, to desire separation now, when her resources
are more circumscribed. But I believe the obligation is the other way:
Sydney has been drawing her prosperity in a great measure from these
districts; for the trade that has existed between us has been of greater
benefit and more advantageous to her people than to us; and as for their
debt, we are in no way liable for any portion of it."
It is needless for us to trace this conversation any further; as
doubtless, by this time, our reader will have formed some conception of
the "separation question." Suffice it to say, that though William, owing
to his having been living on the New South Wales side of the proposed
boundary, had heard very little of it, and that only to its prejudice,
it was a subject which absorbed the general attention of the Moreton Bay
community; and he, becoming impregnated with the same feeling, left
Rosehall a convert to the popular cry.
Soon after his arrival in town, he selected the furniture and other
things required on the station; and making arrangement with his agent
for their despatch by the return of the dray which was bringing down the
wool, he turned his face to his father's house, and in due time reached
New England, without the occurrence of any fresh adventure.
"I am so pleased that you have come, dear Willie," cried the blooming
and cheerful Kate, as she threw herself into William's arms when he
alighted from his horse at the door; "we have been expecting you for
some days, and began to think you had taken flight in some other
direction. I am so anxious to hear all about your doings, and to know
all those kind people, whose acquaintance you have made; particularly
those near you, whom John says I am to stay with. Are they nice people,
Willie? but I am sure they must be, or you wouldn't like them; but do
tell me what sort of a girl Miss Rainsfield is? John says so many fine
things about her; that she is a perfect angel, and all that sort of
thing; and that he has no doubt that, if I only have sufficient good
sense as to take her as my pattern, I will derive much benefit from my
visit. The impudent fellow, what does he mean by that, Will?"
"I don't know his precise motives, my little seraph," replied William;
"probably he thinks her quiet and serious manner would well accord with
his own little sister's nature; in preference to her volatile and
spirited character; and that her calm and dignified manner, would suit
you well in your new capacity of housekeeper. But I can support his
opinion that she is an amiable and charming creature; and I strongly
suspect that he is somewhat smitten with her."
"Well, then, I'll tease him dreadfully for giving me such a horrid
lesson," exclaimed Kate; "I can't be always serious like his Dulciana;
besides I don't think it so nice, do you, Will?"
"I don't indeed, my dear, in your case at least," replied he; "for I
think it would spoil you to try and check your spirits; but there is one
thing I must entreat of you to remember, you foolish little thing.
Although John has said nothing to me about his feelings towards Miss
Rainsfield; as I have already told you, I strongly suspect he is over
head and ears in love with her; but for his sake you must not lightly
mention her name, or the subject of his feelings; for, if he is
enamoured of her, I fear he is doomed to disappointment. I understand
she is already engaged; though her cousin tells me, he does not think
she cares much for her betrothed; and that he intends attempting to
prevent her from throwing herself away in the manner she contemplates.
Still, I fancy any mention of the subject to John would pain him, so we
must be silent. Now tell me, my pet, what I have done to be left
standing outside my father's house? may I not be permitted to walk in."
"Oh, dear me," exclaimed the girl, "I never thought I was keeping you on
the verandah; but, come along, mamma will be so glad to see you; I don't
think she knows you've come, for I was the only one who caught sight of
you. But, Willie, do you know Mr. Wigton is stopping with us just now,
and he has been kind enough to promise to accompany us?" saying which,
without waiting for any further remark from her brother, she tripped
lightly into the house; followed by William, after he had delivered his
horse to one of the men.
As we have already, in our opening chapter, introduced the reader to the
Ferguson family at Acacia Creek, we may be pardoned for omitting a
similar ceremony now; but of Mr. Wigton, who was at the time a visitor
in the house, it may be necessary to say a few words.
He was a clergyman of the Wesleyan persuasion; one of the old Methodist
leaven; an earnest and devout man, and a conscientious Christian: one
who was kind and benevolent in his disposition, and without that bigotry
and uncharitableness so prevalent among some of the rigid bodies of
religionists. His piety was such, as to induce him, in the work of his
Master, to forget all private interests, endure privation and fatigue,
and to carry the consolations of religion into the remotest corner of
the bush. He fulfilled, to the extent of his power, the injunctions of
his Saviour, when He said, "Go ye into all the world and preach the
gospel to every creature;" and while he received disappointments and
misfortunes with exemplary patience and unflinching courage, he
persevered in his course, with an energy worthy of the cause. In his
corporeal capacity, to judge from his appearance, he was ill calculated
to sustain the continual exertions incumbent on his vocation; and yet
he performed them with an alacrity truly surprising. He was of the
middle height; rather slim in figure, apparently delicate in his
constitution, fair complexioned; and a bachelor of about thirty-five
years of age. He had refused various solicitations from congregations,
to accept of a residentiary charge, and had devoted himself to the
missionary's work, where the presence of a spiritual teacher was much
wanted.
He had perceived that hundreds upon hundreds of square miles in the
bush, in fact almost all the country districts, were destitute of a
ministry of any creed or denomination; and he had, with an earnest zeal
and devoted piety, undertaken the task of administering to the spiritual
wants of the bushmen. Never since the days of the old apostles, had a
work of such magnitude been attempted by a single-handed man; and any
heart less stout, or enthusiasm less genuine, than that of the Rev. Mr.
Wigton, would have speedily sank under a load of mortification, at the
difficulties that beset his path. In a country where the Sabbath is
almost entirely forgotten; where on that sacred day the country stores
exhibit their wares for sale, and the public-houses resound with the
shouts of drunken revelry; where the servant is frequently punished, for
refusing to obey his master's commands to its desecration; where
blasphemy and sacrilege, in which master vies with man, is constantly
heard; and where ignorance and vice stalk triumphant through the
land,--some conception may be formed of the stupendous nature of the
reform to be effected.
Thanks to such as this messenger of peace, much good has now been
accomplished. Bad as it is, the Sabbath is better observed than
formerly, not only in the townships but on the stations; and depravity
is on the wane. But, at the time of which we write, the state of moral
darkness was as great as any heathenism extant. To the work of
enlightenment, had Mr. Wigton sanctified himself; and his name had
already become revered, in many places in the solitude of the bush,
where he had been the instrument of bringing grace to his benighted
countrymen. At the same time, he had not neglected the case of the
black. He had with considerable difficulty, acquired a pretty accurate
knowledge of their language and customs; and he preached the glad
tidings to them, whenever an opportunity presented itself. His present
intention was to accompany William with his sister, on their journey to
Fern Vale; and, while spending some little time with them there,
endeavour to do some good with the aborigines in that neighbourhood.