Project Gutenberg's The Gilpins and their Fortunes, by William H. G. Kingston This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Gilpins and their Fortunes A Story of Early Days in Australia Author: William H. G. Kingston Illustrator: Archie Webb Release Date: May 15, 2007 [EBook #21464] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GILPINS AND THEIR FORTUNES *** Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England William H G Kingston "The Gilpins and their Fortunes" Chapter One. Arthur Gilpin and Mark W ithers walked down the High Street, arm-in-arm, on their return to their respective homes from the well-managed school of Wallington. They were among the head boys, and were on the point of leaving it to enter on the work of active life, and make their way in the world. They had often of late discussed the important question—all- important, as it seemed to them— “How are we to make our way—to gain wealth, influence, our hearts’ desires?” “For my part, I cannot stand a plodding style of doing things,” said Mark. “It is all very well for those without brains, but a fellow who has a grain of sense in his head requires a more rapid way of making a fortune. Life is too short to be wasted in getting money. I want to have it to spend while I am young and can enjoy it.” Arthur was silent for some time. At length he remarked, “It strikes me, Mark, that the object of making money is that we may support ourselves and families, and help those who are in distress. My father often says to James, and to me, and to the rest of us, ‘I don’t want you, when you enter business, to be thinking only how you can make money. Do your duty, and act liberally towards all men, and you will have a sufficiency at all events, if not wealth.’” “Oh! your father’s old-fashioned notions won’t do in the world, and certainly won’t suit me, that I can tell you,” answered Mark, in a scornful tone. “My father is considered a sensible man. W hat he preaches he practises; and though he has a very large family, no one calls him a poor man,” argued Arthur. “He says that, considering how short life is, it cannot be wise to spend the time, as many men do, in gathering up riches and setting so high a value on them. But here comes James! Let us hear what he has to say on the subject.” “Oh! of course, James has got the same notions from your father that you have, and I am not going to be influenced by him,” answered Withers. James, however, was appealed to, and answered, “Even if we were to live for ever in this world, I should agree with Arthur; for, from all I see and hear, I am convinced that wealth cannot secure happiness; but as this world is only a place of preparation for another, it is evident folly to set one’s heart upon what must be so soon parted with.” W ithers made a gesture of impatience, exclaiming, “Come, come, I won’t stand any preaching, you know that; but we are old friends, and so I don’t want to quarrel about trifles, when we are so soon to separate! You stick to your opinion, I will stick to mine, and we’ll see who is right at last.” “If this matter were a trifle I would not press it, but, because I am sure that it is one of great importance, I do press it upon you most earnestly, though, believe me, I am sorry to annoy you,” said Arthur Gilpin. “Oh! I dare say you mean well,” answered W ithers, in a contemptuous tone. “But don’t bother me again on the subject, there’s a good fellow. You, James, are so above me, that I don’t pretend to understand what you mean.” Saying this with a condescending air, he shook hands with the two brothers, and entered the house of his father, who was the principal solicitor of the town. The two Gilpins walked on towards their home. Their father possessed a small landed property, which he farmed himself. He had a very numerous family, and though hitherto he had been able to keep them together with advantage, the time had arrived when some of them must go forth to provide for themselves in the world. James and Arthur had long turned their thoughts towards Australia, for which part of the British possessions they were preparing to take their departure. Mr Gilpin, or the squire, as he was called, was looked upon as an upright, kind-hearted man. He was sensible, well educated, and a true Christian; and he brought up his children in the fear and admonition of the Lord. A year passed by: a long sea voyage was over, and James and Arthur Gilpin stood on the shores of Australia. Two other brothers, with their sisters, remained to help their father in his farm at home. James and Arthur had left England, stout of heart, and resolved to do their duty, hoping to establish a comfortable home for themselves and for those who might come after them. Their ship lay close to the broad quay of the magnificent capital of New South Wales. They had scarcely been prepared for the scene of beauty and grandeur which met their sight as they entered Port Jackson, the harbour of Sydney, with its lofty and picturesque shores, every available spot occupied by some ornamental villa or building of greater pretension, numerous romantic inlets and indentations running up towards the north; while the city itself appeared extending far away inland with its broad, well-built streets, its numberless churches, colleges, public schools, hospitals, banks, government buildings, and other public and private edifices, too numerous to be mentioned. The Gilpins, as they were put on shore with their luggage, felt themselves almost lost in that great city. They were dressed in their rough, every-day suits, and looked simple, hardworking country lads, and younger than they really were. Large as Sydney then was, it was still diminutive compared to what it has since become. Founded by criminals, it was unhappily as far advanced in crime and wickedness as the oldest cities of the old world, though efforts were being then made, as they have ever since continued to be made, and, happily, not without some degree of success, to wipe out the stain. The two brothers stood for some time watching the bustling scene before them. Huge drays laden with bales of wool were slowly moving along the quay towards the ships taking in cargo, while porters, and carts, with ever-moving cranes overhead, were rapidly unloading other vessels of miscellaneous commodities. Irish, Negro, Chinese, and Malay porters were running here and there; cabs and carts were driving about, and other persons on foot and on horseback, mostly in a hurry, evidently with business on their hands. There were, however, a few saunterers, and they were either almost naked black aborigines, with lank hair, hideous countenances, and thin legs, or men with their hands in their pockets, in threadbare coats and uncleaned shoes, their countenances pale and dejected, and mostly marked by intemperance. Many of them were young, but there were some of all ages—broken-down gentlemen, unprepared for colonial life, without energy or perseverance, unable and still oftener unwilling to work. The brothers had not to inquire who they were. Their history was written on their foreheads. “What shall we do next?” asked Arthur. “I should like to get out of this place as soon as possible.” “So should I, indeed,” said James; “but we must go to an inn for the night, ascertain where labour is most wanted in the interior, and how best to find our way there.” “You and I can scarcely carry our traps any way up those streets; perhaps one or two of those poor fellows there would like to earn a shilling by helping us,” said Arthur, beckoning to some of the above-mentioned idlers. The first summoned walked away without noticing them, another stared, a third exclaimed, “Egregious snob! what can he want?” and a fourth walked up with his fists doubled, crying out in a furious tone, “How do you dare to make faces at me, you young scoundrel?” “Pardon me, sir,” said James, quietly; “my brother made no faces at you. We merely thought that you might be willing to assist in carrying our luggage.” “I assist you in carrying your luggage! A good joke! But I see you are not quite what I took you for; and if you’ll stand a nobbler or two, I don’t mind calling a porter for you, and showing you to a slap- up inn to suit you,” said the man, his manner completely changing. “You’ll have to pay the porter pretty handsomely, my new chums! People don’t work for nothing in this country.” W hile they were hesitating about accepting the man’s offer to get a porter, thinking that there could be no harm in that, a country lad, Sam Green by name, who had come out as a steerage passenger with them, approached. As soon as he saw them he ran up exclaiming— “Oh, Master Gilpins, there’s a chap been and run off wi’ all my traps, and I’ve not a rag left, but just what I stand in!” Sam was, of course, glad enough to assist in carrying their luggage. James apologised to the stranger, saying he would not trouble him. “Not so fast, young chum!” exclaimed the man. “You promised me a couple of nobblers, and engaged me to call a porter. I’m not going to let you off so easily! Down with the tin, or come and stand the treat!” The Gilpins were rather more inclined to laugh at the man than to be angry; certainly they had no intention of paying him. Perhaps their looks expressed this. He was becoming more and more blustering, when a cry from several people was heard; and looking up the street, an open carriage with a pair of horses was seen dashing down towards the water at a furious rate. There was no coachman on the box, but that there was some one in the carriage James discovered by seeing a shawl fluttering from the side, and by hearing a piercing shriek, uttered apparently as if then, for the first time, the lady had discovered the imminence of her danger. In a few seconds the carriage would have been dragged over the quay and into water many fathoms deep. “Stop the horses! Fifty—a hundred—five hundred pounds to whoever will do it!” shouted a man’s voice from within. Right and left the people were flying out of the way of the infuriated steeds. There was not manhood enough left apparently in the idle, dissipated-looking loiterers who were standing near. Two or three took their hands out of their pockets and ran forward, but quickly returned as the horses came galloping by them. The young Gilpins heard the gentleman’s offer. “We don’t want that!” cried James. “Come on, Arthur!” They sprang towards the carriage, one on each side; and then turning, ran in the direction it was going, grasping the head-stalls of the animals as they passed, but allowing themselves to be carried on some way, their weight however telling instantly on the galloping steeds. Sam Green had remained standing by the luggage, having made up his mind that the suspicious- looking stranger would decamp with it, if left unguarded. W hen, however, he saw that the horses, in spite of his young friends’ efforts, would drag the carriage over, unless stopped, he started up, with his hands outstretched before him, uttering with stentorian voice a true English “Woh! woho!” and then, with an arm from which an ox would dislike to receive a blow, he seized the heads of the horses, already trying to stop themselves, and forced them back from the edge stones of the quay, which they had almost reached. Undoubtedly the horses had been broken in by a trainer from the old country: Sam Green’s “Woh! woho!” acted like magic; and the pacified though trembling animals allowed themselves to be turned round, with their heads away from the water. W hile the elder Gilpin and Sam held them, Arthur ran to open the door, that the lady and gentleman might alight. The one was of middle age, the other very young—father and daughter, Arthur surmised. “My brave lads, you have nobly won the reward I promised,” said the gentleman, as he lifted out his daughter, who, pale and agitated, still, by the expression of her countenance, showed the gratitude she felt. “I am sure that my brother and I require no reward for doing our duty,” answered Arthur, blushing as he spoke. “Besides, without the aid of that other lad, our fellow-passenger, we should probably have failed.” “W hat! I took you for labouring youths, I beg your pardon,” said the gentleman, giving a glance of surprise at him. “Our intention is to labour,” said Arthur, unaffectedly. “Ah! you have the stuff in you to command success,” said the gentleman. “But I must request you to accompany me for a short distance, as my daughter prefers walking; and if I once lose sight of you in this straggling city, I may not easily find you again.” “Thank you, sir,” said Arthur; “we have our luggage with us, and must go to an inn; but if you will favour me with your address, we will call on you before we leave Sydney.” W hile they were speaking, the coachman, in consequence of whose carelessness in letting go their heads the horses had run away, came up, and released James and Sam. Not a word of scolding was uttered—the gentleman thought a moment. “Here, Sykes, lift that luggage into the carriage, and drive these young gentleman home; leave them there, and come back for Miss Fanny and me to the club.” In vain the young Gilpins expostulated. “I am a determined person, and will have it so,” said the gentleman. Before they looked round, Sam had stowed away their luggage in the carriage, greatly to the disappointment of the bully, who had, it seemed, been watching for an opportunity to make off with a portion. The stranger then, almost against their will, forced them into it; and writing a few lines on the leaf of a pocket-book, gave it to the coachman. “Come, my friend, you must go in also,” he added, taking Sam by the arm. Sam drew back, and, touching his hat, exclaimed, “Noa, sir—noa, thank ye. It ’ud ne’er do for me to ride wi’ the young squires; I know my place better nor that.” A mob such as Sydney, of all British ports, perhaps, can alone produce, had by this time collected round the carriage. Sam’s remark produced a loud guffaw laugh from among them, and a variety of observations came rattling down on him, such as “Go it, young Touch-my-hat; the nob will pay you— he’s a nigger with a white face. I wonder where he was raised? His mother was a dancing mistress— little doubt of that.” Sam’s temper had been irritated from the loss of his property, which he very naturally concluded had been stolen by some of his tormentors. He now looked as if he were going to give way to his temper. Instead of so doing, however, he turned calmly round with his double fist, and said slowly, “I’ll tell you what, young chaps, a man who respects himself keeps his own place, and when he meets a gentleman he’d think himself without manners nor character if he didn’t touch his hat to him. Did any on ye ever see two gentlemen take off their hats to each other? Well, then, I have; and I should just like to know which was the worst man of the two? I’ll say another thing—I have mostly found that when I have took my hat off to a gentleman he took his off to me; and I wonder if his friends laughed at him. But I suppose some of you are great nobs yourselves, and know all about what nobs do.” Having thus delivered himself, Sam, giving a contemptuous glance at his opponents, slowly mounted the box by the side of the coachman. The gentleman, who had walked on with his daughter, bowed to the Gilpins as they passed. “I am afraid that, from taking us to be ploughboys, he now believes we are young noblemen in disguise,” observed Arthur. “This is a very different style to that in which we could have expected to have entered Sydney half an hour ago.” “Perhaps he thinks more of the service we have rendered him than we should,” answered his brother; “however, it’s a curious adventure, certainly.” “Well, muster, there be rum jokes in this town o’ yours,” observed Sam to the coachman, after keeping silence for some time. “There be, young man,” was the laconic answer; “and rum things done.” In this Sam agreed, informing Mr Sykes—for this, he ascertained, was the coachman’s name—how he had lost his property. “Be thou the young man who stopped the ’osses?” inquired Sykes. “The young squires did it, and I helped ’em,” said Sam. “And saved my bacon,” observed Sykes. “I say, Muster Sykes, what’s the gen’l’man’s name?” asked Sam, discovering, perhaps, by the tone of the coachman’s voice, rather than by any perceptible change in his mask-like features, that he was not ill disposed towards him, and preparing therefore to be confidential. Sykes informed him that his master’s name was Prentiss, that he was a large squatter, that there were other brothers all well off, and an old father; and that, take him all in all as masters went, he was not a bad one. Sam, in return, told him all about himself, and all he knew about the Gilpins, by which time the carriage had reached the door of Mr Prentiss’s residence, in one of the best parts of Sydney. It was a handsome house; and a respectable-looking servant-woman, after a few words from the coachman, showed the Gilpins into a well-furnished dining-room, their luggage being placed in the hall. “You’ll go with me, young man,” observed Mr Sykes to Sam; “you’ll be more comfortable than with the gentry.” To this Sam agreed; and drove round to the back of the house, where he was introduced to Mrs Sykes, who lived over the coach-house, and numerous Masters and Misses Sykes, thin, sallow, and remarkably precocious young people, the eldest not being more than ten. Among this hopeful family Sam in a few minutes made himself a great favourite. The young immigrants waited the arrival of their host with no little curiosity, for they knew less of him than Sam had contrived to learn. In a short time, however, the servant, placing a tray with meat, bread, fruit, and light wine, begged them to refresh themselves. This occupied their time till the arrival of Mr Prentiss. Perhaps James was disappointed at not seeing the young lady when her father entered the room. Mr Prentiss put out his hand, cordially welcoming them to Australia and to his house; and, begging them to make it their home during their stay, he quickly drew out from them a statement of their plans and wishes. “You can make a fair start,” he observed. “You have the five hundred pounds I promised, very nobly won, too; and I may give you a few hints besides as to the purchase of stock. You will, of course, become squatters—by far the best business for young men of enterprise and activity. What do you say to it?” “We should like nothing better, sir,” answered James. “But—I speak again for my brother as well as for myself—we cannot accept payment for performing a mere act of duty; your advice and assistance may be of the greatest value to us, and of that we will gladly avail ourselves. The young man who helped us to stop the horses must, of course, speak for himself.” “Well, well, I admire your independence and high feeling,” answered Mr Prentiss. “I doubt, however, that you will find many in this country to consider that you are right; but perhaps I may be of service to you in the way you desire. You, of course, will make my house your home while you remain in Sydney; when you wish to commence your life in the bush, I will send you up the country to my father and some brothers of mine, who will put you in the way of a fair start. Your young shipmate fairly earned a portion of the reward; he also deserves my gratitude. He looks as if there was work in him, and to such a person I can be permanently of use. Unhappily, numbers of men come out here—they may be counted by hundreds or thousands—who will not work, or who cannot work; nothing suits them. They come with pockets full of letters, expecting first-rate situations with nothing to do. How can such people be assisted to any advantage? Give them money, and they squander it; place them in situations of trust, and they are dismissed as incompetent, or they throw them up as uncongenial to their tastes. All we want in this magnificent country are people who will try to work, and if they do not succeed in one thing, will turn their hands to something else. There is ample room, I say, for persons of every possible description, provided always that they belong to the ‘try’ school.” Mr Prentiss insisted on taking his guests round the town to visit its lions; and greatly surprised they were to see the wonderful progress it had already made. “Wool has done it all! Well may the golden fleece be our emblem!” he observed. At the late dinner hour they were introduced to Mrs Prentiss and two daughters—the young lady they had before seen and a younger sister. All awkwardness soon wore off, and they felt themselves perfectly at home. Mr Prentiss had a conversation with Sam, the result of which made him supremely happy; his satisfaction was not decreased either when, two days afterwards, Sykes brought him his bag of clothes. “Don’t ask questions, young man,” he observed, as he handed them; “there are few of the old hands I don’t know, and I guessed who had your property.” Pleasant as the two young Gilpins found their stay in Sydney, they did not disguise their anxiety to be off into the country; and their new friend accordingly made arrangements for their journey. Chapter Two. A dray, similar in construction to that used by brewers in England, but drawn by oxen, and laden with all sorts of stores, such as are required on an Australian farm—tea, carpenters’ tools and agricultural implements, groceries and casks of liquor, clothing and furniture—was making its way towards the north-east from Sydney. There was the bullock-driver in charge, with his chum, a newly hired hand, and Sam Green, who walked or sat on the dray; while the two Gilpins rode alongside on horses, provided by Mr Prentiss. They were dressed more in the Australian style than when they landed, and in a way much better suited to the climate. The road had been excellent for a hundred miles or more, with numerous villages near it, and a large proportion of houses of entertainment, so that they had no want of accommodation when they halted. They had now for some time left the high-road, and though there were inns, and occasionally villages, and farms, and stock stations, they had sometimes to depend on their own resources, and to bivouac in the bush. This the young immigrants found by far the pleasantest part of their journey. The oxen were turned loose to graze at leisure; sticks were collected, and a fire lighted for boiling the tea-kettle and cooking the damper. The old hands troubled themselves very little about their night’s lodging; they, like Sam Green, were satisfied with the bare ground under the dray if it threatened rain, or anywhere near it if the weather was fine. A small tent had been provided by Mr Prentiss, which, with some ticking filled with dry grass, gave the Gilpins a luxurious lodging for the night. They could scarcely go to sleep on turning in for their first real night in the bush, from the novelty of the scene and the prospects opening up to them. Before dawn they both started up, awoke by the strangest and most discordant sounds. “What can it be?” cried James. “An attack of the blacks,” said Arthur, rubbing his eyes. “But no! Listen! They are birds, I verily believe; but the strangest birds I ever heard.” He was right: there was the hideous, unearthly cry of the laughing-jackass, called often the bushman’s clock; the screaming cry of thousands of parrots flying here and there through the forest; there was the cackle of the wattle-bird, the clear notes of the magpie, and the confused chattering of thousands of leather-heads; while many other birds added their notes to the discordant chorus, and speedily banished sleep from the eyes of their hearers. The stockmen started to their feet, and hurried off to bring in the oxen and horses; a fire was lighted, tea boiled, breakfast discussed with considerable rapidity; and, before the sun was up, the party had recommenced their journey along the dusty dray-track—for as yet it deserved that name rather than a road. The scenery was varied, and often very beautiful when viewed under a clear blue sky and bright sun. The beds of streams were frequently passed, but they were either dry altogether, or occasional holes only with water in them could be seen here and there along the course, or, if nowhere dry, they were easily forded. The Irish bullock-driver, Larry Killock, told Sam that, in the rainy season, these were often foaming torrents, rushing on with terrific noise, and sweeping away everything they meet. “Many a poor fellow has been drowned in trying to cross on horseback where, perhaps, he went over with dry feet a few days before,” said Larry. “That’s after the snow melts,” observed Sam. “Snow! man alive! It’s a small matter of snow comes down from the sky in this beautiful country, except, now and then, on the top of the Blue Mountains out there; though, as for frosts, it’s cold enough on the high ground in July and August, when the south wind blows, to make a fellow blow his fingers to keep them warm, and to think a blazing fire and a blanket pleasant companions.” Sam thought that Larry was quizzing him, but still he did not like to accuse him directly. “It’s a strange country this, then, muster, I’m thinking,” he remarked cautiously. “Strange! It is a strange country, faith!” answered Larry. “It is summer here when, by all dacent rules, it should be winter; the south wind is cold, and the north blazing hot. There are creatures with four legs which have ducks’ heads; and birds, with long legs and no wings, as tall as horses; while some of the animals stow their young away in a bag in front of them, instead of letting them follow properly at their heels, as pigs and ducks and hens do in the old country. The trees shed their bark instead of their leaves; and it’s only just surprising to me that the people walk on their feet instead of their heads, and that the sun thinks fit to rise in the east instead of the west; and it’s often when I wake in the mornin’ that I look out expecting to see that he’s grown tired of his old ways, and changed to suit the other things in the land.” Sam, who could appreciate an English style of joke, was unable to make out whether or not the Irishman was in earnest; but he thought it wise to wait till he could learn the truth from his young friends, when they camped in the evening. “It’s only just come out, ye are?” asked Larry. Sam told him all about himself, as he had told Sykes, expecting an equal amount of communicativeness in return. “You’ve been some time in the country, master, I’m thinking? How did you come out?” Larry looked at him with a twinkle in his eye. “Faith, that’s just a sacret between myself and them who knows all about it,” he answered, with a laugh. “It’s my belief that the big-wigs across the fish- pond had just an idea of the mighty great value I’d be to the country, and sent me out free of all charge to myself and family intirely.” The scenery improved as the travellers advanced, and contrasted favourably with the dusty, stony, and worn-out region through which they had passed nearer the capital. “Horrible farming!” observed James; “if such were practised in England universally, the whole country would become a desert in a few years.” Sometimes they passed through scenery like that of a park in England, with open green pastures sprinkled with clumps of trees; some deserving the names of woods, others consisting but of a few trees. The greater number were Eucalypti the evergreen gum, and stringy-bark trees; but on the banks of streams and on the hillsides, and sometimes in rich, alluvial valleys, such as are found in the northern hemisphere and in less sunny climes, were to be seen flowers, of great size and beauty, such as flourish only in greenhouses in England; while a great variety of the orchis tribe, and geraniums, both large and small, were found in great profusion. The trees, the names of many of which were given by Larry, bore little or no resemblance to those of the same name at home. Among the most common were the box, wattle, and cherry; but undoubtedly the most prominent everywhere in the landscape were the old gum trees, and the huge iron stringy-bark trees, which, now with shattered and weird appearance, had braved the fierce storms of winter and the hot blasts of summer for centuries. Many strange birds flew by overhead, and still stranger wild animals started up from beneath some sheltering bush, and ran off along the fresh glades, all reminding the new-comers how far distant they were from the home of their childhood. The old settled district had been left far behind before the animal they most wished to see started up near them. He was a large creature, full five feet in height as he sat upright under the scant shade of a venerable gum tree, contemplating apparently the scene before him. His long tail was stretched out on the ground behind him—an important support, and his little fore-paws tucked up in front. James and Arthur were ahead of their party, and so quietly had their horses trod over the soft ground that he did not appear to have heard them. They possessed guns, parting gifts from Mr Prentiss; but, not being required as a means of defence or offence, they had been left in the dray. The kangaroo (“an old man” Larry called him) at length, hearing a sound, turned his mild, intelligent countenance towards them, and as he did so instantly gave a spring forward, startling them by its suddenness and the extent of ground it cleared. Away he went, moving with similar springs, at a rate fleet as that of the deer. In vain Larry and the men with the dray shouted and ran after him with their guns. He was out of range before they could lift them to their shoulders. Larry said that possibly a mob might be come upon before long. In another hour or so, as they were travelling along a somewhat stony ridge, a large number of creatures were seen in the fertile valley below them. Some were lying stretched at length on their sides, some were frisking about, round and over each other, and others were sitting up, sedately watching the rest. “Hurra, now! There’s the mob I told you of!” shouted Larry. “If we had but the dogs and the master’s rifle, we’d have more kangaroo steaks for supper than we’d eat in a week.” He could scarcely restrain himself from leaving his bullocks and giving chase; he made a start indeed, but checked himself in time, seeing that the probable result would have been the upsetting of his dray and the destruction of most of its cargo. The young Gilpins with Sam found their way down the hill, hoping to ride down one of them; but the quick scent and keen eyes of the animals discovered their approach, and in an instant all were up on their feet and tails ready for a start—the mothers picking up the young joeys and putting them into their pouches—and off went the entire herd down the valley, springing along in the most curious fashion, till they were out of sight. Sam Green’s open eyes of astonishment were very amusing. “Well! I always did think that animals had four legs, and there they go just two and a tail, a-skipping like grasshoppers over the ground. Well, well, well!” he continued ejaculating till they disappeared. “There they go; there they go! There’s nothing I won’t believe after that!” Their adventures as they travelled on were to be singularly few, they thought. Now a dingo or wild dog, now a toombat or opossum, made its appearance, and created matter of interest and inquiry. One evening, after they had camped on the borders of a wide plain, containing fine sheep-runs, which they were to cross the next day, the brothers led on their horses to find better feed than appeared near at hand; and, having tethered them, they sat down to talk over the future, and to commune with themselves. Their heads had been resting on their hands for some time, when Arthur, looking up, saw a creature approaching from a distance. That it was an emu they guessed at once. They sat still, afraid of frightening it away. It stalked leisurely on towards their horses, not noticing them. Its head seemed fully six feet from the ground, at the end of a long neck; its legs were thick, to support its fat, tub-shaped body, of a brownish-black colour. Reaching the horses, it stopped, made a curious noise, which sounded like “Boo!” in their faces, and which caused them to start back. James and Arthur, thinking that their steeds would have broken their tethers, jumped up, when the emu, having satisfied his curiosity, turned round and trotted off, at a pace which showed that he had no fear of being pursued. Towards the close of the day the travellers, after crossing an elevated down, saw before them a silvery stream running through a wide valley towards the east, its banks fringed by a variety of trees; while not far from them, amid a grove of fruit trees, appeared a pretty dwelling-house, with a verandah running round it, and near at hand, barns, sheds, stables, and other outhouses. A closer inspection showed them that there were carpenters’ and blacksmiths shops; indeed, it was a complete farm establishment on a large scale. As riding on, in advance of the dray, they reached the door, a stout, hearty-looking old gentleman came out to meet them, and welcomed them in the most cordial manner. Their horses were quickly unsaddled and turned into a paddock, and they themselves conducted into the house, and introduced to the members of the family as late arrivals from the old country. All welcomed them; and they were soon seated at a well-covered supper-table, surrounded by the various inmates of the house. The young strangers were surprised to find that the letter of introduction they brought had not been read, and that the kindness they were receiving was quite independent of anything that might be said in their favour. It was not till the next day that the old Mr Prentiss alluded to it. “We received you, young gentlemen, as strangers,” he remarked; “but I little thought how much I owed you for saving from injury, if not death, those so dear to me.” James and Arthur Gilpin agreed that their “lines had fallen to them in pleasant places.” They were treated as members of the family, and, what was of the greatest consequence to them as intending settlers, they were shown all the operations taking place on the farm. As they gave diligent attention to everything they saw, they rapidly acquired a sufficient knowledge of agriculture and of the management of sheep and cattle, as practised in Australia, to enable them, with their previous experience as farmers in England, to commence farming on their own account. W hile, however, they were in search of a station to suit them, Mr Prentiss received an application to find a gentleman capable of taking the management of a sheep and cattle farm, about a hundred and fifty miles off. “Quite in our neighbourhood, as we measure distances in this country,” he remarked. He proposed to the young Gilpins that they should accept the post. “You will be allowed to keep a proportion of sheep and cattle on your own account, and receive wages for looking after those of your employer, so that you will gain in both ways. You will find also an established system by which, if it prove a good one, time and labour may be saved. I would gladly find you employment, but this will be far more to your advantage. It was hoped, I believe, that one of my own sons would take it.” The brothers at once agreed to accept the offer. Chapter Three. The Gilpins no longer felt like newly arrived immigrants when they found themselves on their way to Warragong, the station of which they had undertaken charge. They were far, however, from being over-confident of success, or of pleasing their employers; but they had resolved to make up by diligence and perseverance for their want of experience, and Mr Prentiss assured them that he had no doubt of their doing well. Sam Green had thrown in his lot with them, and though receiving good wages from Mr Prentiss, he begged that he might be allowed to accompany them on the chance of their being able to give him permanent employment. Knowing by this time the value of a thoroughly trustworthy servant in Australia, they were very glad to accept his offer. They, as well as Sam, had been furnished with excellent horses; and, much to his own satisfaction as well as theirs, Larry Killock was sent with a light cart to convey their luggage and various luxuries, which had been provided through the kindness of Mrs Prentiss. A native black, partly civilised, and able to speak broken English, accompanied them as guide, and formed the fifth person of this party. He either travelled in the cart or ran on foot beside it. “I should think that very few settlers begin a life in the bush with so many advantages as we possess,” observed Arthur, as he rode on with his brother, a little ahead of the cart; “we appear to have jumped over all difficulties, and to have arrived at a point which many only reach after years of toil.” “I am not quite certain that it will prove to our permanent advantage,” answered James. “I would rather have begun as we proposed, and worked our way upward; we should the better be able to encounter difficulties or mishaps which may occur.” “Well, I vote we do not grumble with our good fortune,” said Arthur, laughing; “we shall have plenty to do, depend on that.” There was no great variety of scenery in that part of the country over which they travelled, but for the want of it the beauty of the climate, and the sense of present freedom which they enjoyed, made ample amends. W ithout luggage they might have performed the journey in three days, but with the cart, twenty or, at the most, thirty miles could not be got over in the day. Even supposing that they could have found their way alone, it would not have been altogether safe to leave the cart without protection. Bushrangers were occasionally, though rarely, heard of, and would probably, if they fell in with the cart, make no scruple of running off with it, and perhaps murder the driver. Any wandering blacks from the interior might also pillage the cart, and most probably kill poor Larry. Larry had been entertaining Sam Green with an account of the depredations committed by such gentry in the bygone days of the colony, when the Dick Turpins, who had obtained a short-lived celebrity on the highway of Old England, laid the settlers in this new land under contribution; and the white stockmen shot down the black natives with as little compunction as they would kangaroos; the blacks, in retaliation, murdering them or any white men they could meet with. Larry, observing the wide-mouthed interest created by his narratives, went on till poor Sam began to wish himself safe out of the country again. They were crossing a wide plain, with a light soil thickly covered with grass. A cloud of dust was seen to the right of the direction in which they were travelling; it increased in extent, and rose higher and higher. “Be them the niggers coming to murder us?” asked Sam, in a fright. “If them are niggers, they’re big ones, my boy, anyhow,” answered Larry, evasively. A dull, regular, pounding sound was heard, and at length dark forms were seen issuing from the cloud of dust—a few first, and then more and more, resolving themselves into bullocks, black, white, and dun, galloping on and bellowing with might and main. Horsemen appeared on either side, like officers on a parade, and with their long whips, which they kept on cracking like pistol-shots, they kept order among their unruly charge. Shouting and shrieking, they galloped round from the rear to the side to bring back any beast which showed an intention of straying away, their dogs sagaciously rendering them assistance by barking at the heels of the animals, and turning them back into the herd. W hat with the thunder-like bellowing of the cattle and the tramp of their feet, the shouting of the drivers, the cracking of their whips, the barking of the dogs, the dust from the ground, and the steam from the creatures’ backs, as, lashing their long tails, they tore onwards, jostling each other in their course, their sharp horns lowered for the charge, the approaching herd appeared like some vast army of savage monsters, rushing on to meet their foes in battle. To draw up out of their way was impossible, and the travellers soon found themselves surrounded by the herd; the creatures, however, turned their horns aside, while the shape of their own heads and the width of their backs prevented them from running them into their companions in front or on either side, in spite of the seemingly confused way in which they were hurrying on. The herd had passed, when two of the principal drivers, who, in spite of their rough dress and hair-covered countenances, appeared to be gentlemen, drew up and saluted the Gilpins with “Good day, friends; whither bound?” “To Warragong, to take charge of the station,” said James. “I wish you joy,” remarked one of the strangers; “you will have no easy task, I take it. A sad scoundrel has had the management of it for some time, as we know to our cost, having once employed him. I am afraid, also, from the sort of men he always gets about him, that you will have no small trouble with them.” The strangers informed them that they were bound south to the Port Philip district, where there was a great demand for cattle. As the evening was approaching, the parties agreed to camp together. Fires were lighted, the triangles erected, and the pots were soon boiling, while the quickly made damper was placed under the ashes to bake for the coming meal. None of the party, however, could keep their seats by the fire long, without being often summoned to their feet, and sometimes to their saddles, to drive in the straying bullocks. It seemed as hard work to keep them together when resting as to drive them forward, but neither master nor men were disconcerted; they rushed here and there with shout and song and laughter, till they had brought back the straying cattle, and then they sat down by the fire, or rolled themselves up in their blankets, as if nothing had happened. The Gilpins were sorry to part from their new friends, whose frank, hearty manners had won their regard. The morning meal of tea, damper, and pork having been discussed, they rode off in opposite directions. “Not pleasant information this, our friends gave us last night,” said Arthur. “What can we do?” “Wait events,” answered his brother; “forewarned is forearmed. We will keep our knowledge to ourselves, though it will be necessary to advise Green not to trust to any of the men, so as to be led into mischief by them. Perhaps the accounts of their misconduct may have been exaggerated.” Travelling in Australia has its disagreeables as well as its agreeables: there are heavy rains and fogs and sharp winds in winter; and in summer, scorching blasts and stifling heat, and biting or stinging insects, flying, and crawling, and hopping, and dust and smoke from bush fires and the burning trees, and want, at times, of water; but, notwithstanding these occasional drawbacks, so delightful is the perfect freedom to be enjoyed, the pure, bright atmosphere, and the general healthfulness of the climate, that in the opinion of most people the advantages very greatly preponderate. The brothers had expected to reach the station in the afternoon, but an accident to the cart caused some delay, and the sun set before it appeared in sight. Their black guide, however, assured them that the intervening country was tolerably level and easy, and that as there were certain woods he knew well, and a river on the other side, they could not miss their way. Accordingly they pushed on, though it became so dark that they began to wish that they had camped at the usual hour. Suddenly, as they reached the confines of a wood, their horses snorted and started, and refused to proceed— those in the cart very nearly upsetting it by turning rapidly round; and, had not Sam caught their heads, they would have galloped off in an opposite direction. Directly afterwards, a bright light burst forth from the wood and a spectacle appeared sufficient to make even a stout heart, with any tendency to superstitious feelings, tremble. From among the trees, just beyond the light, appeared, flitting in and out, some twenty or thirty blanched skeletons, throwing their bony arms and legs with the greatest rapidity into every conceivable attitude. Now they disappeared in the darkness, now again they darted into light; round and round they went, now seeming to sink into the ground, now leaping into the air, and often turning head over heels. All the time not a sound proceeded from the phantom-looking dancers. The Gilpins could scarcely help fancying themselves under some delusion. They rubbed their eyes. “What is it?” exclaimed Arthur. “Horrible! most horrible! Do you see the skeletons?” “Indeed I do,” answered his brother; “but such things cannot be—are not—at all events.” Sam Green had hitherto been engaged with the horses; he now came up to the point where the hideous spectacle was visible, and no sooner did his eyes rest on it than he exclaimed, “Run, squires, run! If it was mortal foes I’d stick by ye; but that’s more than any mortal man can dare to face. Oh! this is a terrible country, where the people cannot lie quiet in graves, but must needs go skipping about without any flesh on their bones.” “The hoighth of ondacency!” cried out Larry, in a voice which showed very little, if any, alarm. “Murra, go and tell your ugly countrymen that they are frightening the horses, and that they must turn their other sides to us till we have passed.” This order was given to the guide, who ran fearlessly up to the spot where the skeleton dance was proceeding, and no sooner did he reach it than the whole vanished like magic. “It’s only some black fellows dancing a Corroborry,” said the Irishman, laughing; “you needn’t be in such a mighty tremble, Sam. We haven’t the shred of a ghost out here; there may be some in the old country, but they’re not fond of the salt sea, and couldn’t cross it, not if they were paid for it, except they came out at the expense of the Government, like some other honest gintlemen I’ve heard spake of.” The horses, however, were still very unwilling to proceed, and it was some time before they could be coaxed past the suspicious spot; they then set off at increased speed to get away from the object of their dread. The party pulled up for the black, who came running up. “No good people,” he said, in a low voice; “come here, do bad.” The Gilpins, hearing his remarks, endeavoured to discover the reason of his supposing that the party of natives they had just passed were badly disposed, but could elicit no further information from him. It was more than an hour after this that a glimmering light appeared ahead, which Murra, the guide, assured them must proceed from the station. It appeared to be somewhat above them on the hillside, and they soon afterwards found themselves ascending slightly towards it. They had not got far, however, before several large dogs flew out, barking furiously, towards them. They and Larry shouted loudly to the hut-keeper to call the animals off, but no one appeared, and, the dogs contenting themselves with barking, they proceeded on to the hut, from the window of which the light gleamed out. The dogs, still loudly barking, at length roused up a couple of rough-looking men, who staggered out of the door, and, one of them holding a lamp, stared stupidly at the travellers, at the same time that, with loud oaths, he shouted to the dogs to be quiet. “Oh! you are strangers,” said the least tipsy; “well, you shall have a stranger’s welcome in the bush; and so you may just go and turn out your horses, and then come and get what you can inside.” “We’ve come to take charge of the station,” said James, rather nettled; “so, my men, I rather think that it is your duty to see and make yourselves useful to us.” “Ho! ho! Pretty sort of masters you’d make over us!” cried the man, holding up the light in their faces. “To my mind, you’d better go back to them that sent you.” This was even a worse reception than they had expected; but, perceiving that the man was very drunk, they saw that it would not be wise to irritate him. “Well, my man,” said James, calmly, “we have pushed on here in the hopes of being welcomed, but all we will ask now is a supper and a night’s rest.” “As you speak us fair, we’ll treat you fair, whoever you may be,” said the man. “Come in; the kettle is boiling, and there’s a damper or two ready under the ashes.” The cart having been placed close to the hut, the horses were unharnessed and unsaddled and turned out to pick up their supper, and the whole party were soon collected in the hut. The interior showed evident signs of a late debauch. There was a rough table in the centre covered with tobacco-ashes, a broken black cutty, or pipe, some battered tin mugs, and a couple of empty spirit bottles on their sides, while under it lay a couple of men fast asleep, and another in the corner. Some kicks from the shoe of their more sober companion, who had brought the newly arrived party in, roused them up; and he then proceeded to eject them, telling them to go to Bateman’s hut, where they would find shelter. Grumbling, they staggered out, except two, who were too far gone to move. The hut was, as might have been...