Volume Three—Chapter Fourteen.
The “Elephant” and His Mate.
For several days after my “exhumation,” I was compelled to remain in my tent, an invalid.
When at length I became able to take the road, I started back for Ballarat, where I arrived after an arduous journey on foot, that lasted nearly three days.
On again becoming fairly settled on this far-famed gold-field, I purchased a share in a claim on the “Gravel-pits” lead.
This speculation proved fortunate: for the prospect turned out a good one. The gold I expected to obtain from my claim—added to what I had previously accumulated—promised to amount to a considerable sum. With this, I should have been willing to relinquish the hardships of a miner’s life, and follow some less laborious occupation.
When I thought of doing so, however, certain difficulties always presented themselves.
What should I do? What other profession could I follow? These were interrogatories, not easily answered.
Where I should go, after leaving the diggings, was a subject for profound consideration. For what reason should I go anywhere? What purpose had I to accomplish by going anywhere, or doing anything? While asking myself these questions, I thought of Jessie, though not with pleasure, for then within my mind would arise a temptation hard to resist.
Unable to shape out any plan, I left it to circumstances; and toiled on from day to day, with no more interest in the future than the shovel I held in my hands!
How very different it appeared to be with the two young men, who were part owners of the claim, in which I had purchased a share!
Our “firm” was a large concern, owned by ten of us in all; and out of the number, there were but two who appeared to be toiling for an object. The majority of mankind think they are living and working for some purpose; but many of them are mistaken. They have some wishes, with a faint desire to see them fulfilled. But few there are who labour with that determined resolve that cannot be shaken, or set aside by the circumstances of the hour. Men do not often struggle with the determined spirit, that is ever certain to insure success.
The most superficial observer could not have failed to perceive, that the two young men I have mentioned were acting under the influence of some motive stronger than common.
The energy they displayed in their toil, the firmness they exhibited in resisting the many temptations set before them, their disregard of the past, their anxiety for the present, and confidence in the future—all told me that they were toiling for a purpose. They acted, as if they had never met with any serious disappointment in life; and as if they fully believed that Fortune’s smiles might be won by those who deserve them.
I knew they must be happy in this belief: for I once indulged in it myself. I could envy them, while hoping that, unlike me, the object for which they were exerting themselves might be accomplished. I had seen many young men—both in California and Australia—yielding to the temptations that beset them; and squandering the most valuable part of their lives in dissipation—scattering the very gold, in the accumulation of which they had already sacrificed both health and strength. It was a pleasure, therefore, to witness the behaviour of these two young miners, actuated by principles too pure and strong to be conquered by the follies that had ruined so many. For this reason, I could not help wishing them success; and I sincerely hoped that virtue, in their case, might meet with its reward.
Nearly everyone has some cause for self-gratification—some little revenue of happiness that makes him resigned to all ordinary conditions of life.
My two companions wished to acquire a certain sum of money, for a certain purpose. They had every reason to believe their wishes would be fulfilled; and were contented in their toil. Such was once the case with myself; but my circumstances had sadly changed. I had nothing to accomplish, nothing to hope for.
And yet this unfortunate state of existence was not without some reflections, that partially reconciled me to my fate. Others were toiling with hopes that might end in disappointment; and I was not. Apprehensions for the future that might trouble them, were no longer a source of anxiety to me!
One of the young men, whom I have thus ceremoniously introduced, was named Alexander Olliphant. He was better known amongst us as “the Elephant”—a distinction partly suggested by his name, and partly owing to his herculean strength. He was a native of the colonies—New South Wales—though he differed very much in personal appearance from the majority of the native-born inhabitants of that colony, who are generally of a slender make. “The Elephant” was about six feet in height, but of a stout build, and possessing great physical strength. Although born and brought up in New South Wales, his conversation proclaimed him familiar with most of the sights to be witnessed in London, Paris, and many others of the large cities of Europe. He appeared to have been well educated; and altogether there was a mystery about the man, that I could not comprehend. I did not try to fathom it. Men working together on the gold-fields are seldom inquisitive; and two mates will often associate, throughout the whole period of their partnership without either becoming acquainted with a single circumstance of the past life of the other—often, indeed, without even learning each other’s family names!
I was along with Edmund Lee—already mentioned in my narrative—for many months; and yet he never heard my name, until the hour of our parting in Callao—when we were entering into an arrangement to correspond with each other!
The second of the young men I have spoken about, was known to us simply as, “Sailor Bill.” He seldom had anything to say to anyone. We only knew, that he had been a sailor; and that he was to all appearance everything an honest fellow should be. He had worked with Olliphant for more than a year; and, although the two appeared to be on intimate terms of acquaintance—and actually were warm friends—neither knew anything of the private history of the other!
As soon as we should have completed our claim on the Gravel-pits lead, Olliphant and Bill had declared their intention of proceeding to Melbourne—to return to the diggings no more. They had been both fortunate, they said—having obtained the full amount for which they had been toiling, and something more.
They were going to realise those hopes and wishes, that had cheered and inspired them through the weary hours of their gold digging life.
They were both quite young. Perhaps they had parents in poverty, whom they were intending to relieve? Perhaps others might be waiting for their return, and would be made happy by it? The joy of anticipating such a happiness was once mine; and I could imagine the agreeable emotions that must have occupied the thoughts of my two companions—once my own—to be mine no more.
They were going to give up gold digging—with spirits light, and hopes bright, perhaps to enter upon some new and pleasanter sphere of action, while I could bethink me of nothing that would ever more restore my lost happiness. For me there was nothing but to continue the monotonous existence my comrades were so soon to forsake.
Volume Three—Chapter Fifteen.
A Dinner-Party of Diggers.
Our claim was at length completed, and we—the shareholders—with some of our friends determined to hold a little jollification. We engaged a private room in the hotel, where we had divided our gold; and, after settling all accounts, we sat down to as good a dinner, as the landlord could place upon his table.
After dinner, our pipes were lit; and the only business before us, was to find some amusement for the rest of the evening.
“Rule Britannia,” “The Red, White, and Blue,” and “The Flag that braved a Thousand Years,” were sung, and duly applauded. The poet of the company then gave us a song of his own composing, which, whatever may have been its merits, met with the approval of the company.
As it was understood that “the Elephant” and “Bill” were going to give up gold digging for good, and were to start for Melbourne the next day, one of the party came out with a proposal, warmly seconded by the rest.
“Elephant,” said the person thus proposing, “now that you and Bill have made your fortunes, and are going to give up the business, suppose you tell us all what you intend doing with your money—so that, when we have made our fortune, we shall have your example to guide us in spending it?”
The individual who made this request, had once been a convict in Tasmania. He was rather a good-looking man, about forty-five years of age, and went by the name of Norton. The little bird called “rumour,” had chirupped about the diggings many tales of his former achievements in crime—all of which, however, seemed to have been forgotten.
The reader may ask, why those of our company, who professed to be respectable men, should associate with one who had manifestly been a transported felon?
The answer is, that we were in circumstances very different from those who might think of putting such a question. Ten or twelve men were required for working a mine on the Gravel-pits; and where nearly all the people of the place were strangers to each other, a man could not very well make choice of his companions, at least not all of them. Norton had bought a share in the claim from one of the first holders of it; and all that the rest of us could require of him, was, that he should perform his share of the work.
On such an occasion as that of dividing the gold, he had as much right to be one of the company, as any other shareholder.
“I will agree to what you propose, on one condition,” responded the Elephant, to the proposal of Norton; “and I have no doubt but that my friend, Bill, will do the same. But in order that you should understand what I intend doing in the future, it will be necessary that you should be told something of my past. This I am willing to make known, if you, Norton, will give us a true account of the principal events of your life; and Bill will probably gratify your curiosity on the same terms?”
“Oh certainly,” said Bill; “if Norton will give us his history, I’ll give mine.”
The idea of an old convict giving us a true account of his misfortunes and crimes, was thought to be a very happy one; and the whole company were amused at the way the “Elephant” had defeated Norton’s attempt to gratify his curiosity: for they had no idea that the convict would make a “confession.” But to the surprise of all, he accepted the terms; and declared himself ready and willing to tell “the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
Olliphant and Bill could not retreat from the position they had taken, and Norton was called upon to commence. The glasses were again filled, and the short black pipes relit.
The company kept profound silence—showing the deep interest they felt in hearing the life narrative of a man, with whose crimes rumour had already made them partially acquainted.
“I am,” began Norton, “the son of a poor man—a day labourer, and was born in the north of Scotland. Inspired by the hopes common to youth, I married early. In consequence, I had to endure the misery every man must meet, who is cursed with poverty, and blessed with a family he is unable to support.
“The mutual affection my wife and I entertained for each other, only increased our wretchedness. It was agony to see one who loved me, having to endure the privations and hardships to which our poverty subjected us.
“By almost superhuman exertions, and by living half-starved, I managed at last to scrape together a sufficient sum to take me to America—where I hoped to be able to provide a home for my wife and child.
“I had not the means to take them along with me, though I left enough to secure, what I thought, would be a permanent home for them until I should return.
“My wife had a brother—an only relative—who lived in a lonely house among the hills. He and his wife kindly agreed to give my old woman a home, until I should either return, or send for her.
“I will not weary you with the particulars of what I did in America—more than to state that I went to the copper mines near Lake Superior; and that I was not there a year, before I was so fortunate as to find a rich vein of ore, which I sold to a mining company for 6,000 dollars.
“I sent my wife a part of this money, along with the intelligence, that I would soon return for her. With the rest, I purchased a small farm in the southern part of the State of Ohio; and leaving a man in charge of it, I returned to Scotland for my family.
“I got back in the middle of winter—in December. It was a very cold morning, when I arrived in sight of the hovel, that contained all I loved most dear on earth. It was Christmas Day; and, in order to have the pleasure of spending it along with my wife, I had walked all the night before. When I drew near the house, I noticed that the snow—that had been falling for two days—lay untrodden around the door!
“I hurried up inside, when I saw, lying on the floor, and partly covered with rags, my wife and child. They were what men call—dead!
“The appearance of the hut, and of the dead bodies, told me all. They had died of cold and hunger.
“I afterwards learnt, that my brother-in-law had died some time before; and that his wife immediately afterwards had gone away from the hovel to join some of her own relatives, who lived near the border.
“My poor wife had disposed of every thing that would sell for a penny; and had in vain endeavoured to find employment. The distance of the hut from any neighbour, had prevented her from receiving assistance in the last hours of her existence: for no one had been aware of the state of destitution to which she had been reduced.
“During the severe storm preceding her decease, she had probably lingered too long in the hut to be able to escape from it; and had miserably perished, as in a prison.
“Neither she, nor the child, could have been dead for any length of time. Their corpses were scarcely cold; and it was horrible for me to think, that I had been walking in the greatest haste throughout all that stormy night, and yet had arrived too late to rescue them!
“When sitting by their lifeless forms, in an agony of mind that words cannot describe, I was disturbed by the arrival of a stranger. It turned out to be the post carrier, who stepping inside the hut, handed me a letter. At a glance, I saw it was the letter I had sent from America—enclosing a draft for twenty-five pounds.
“Why has this letter not been delivered before?” I inquired of the man, speaking as calmly as I could.
“He apologised, by saying that the letter had only been in his possession four days; and that no one could expect him to come that distance in a snow storm, when he had no other letter to deliver on the way!
“I took up an old chair—the only article of furniture in the house—and knocked the man senseless to the floor.
“His skull was broken by the blow; and he soon after died.
“I was tried, and convicted of manslaughter, for which I received a sentence of ten years transportation.
“At the end of three years, I obtained a ticket-of-leave for good conduct. And now, gentlemen, I have nothing more to tell you, that would be worth your listening to.”
At the conclusion of Norton’s narrative, several of the company, who seemed to be restraining themselves with great difficulty, broke into loud shouts of laughter. Norton did not appear to be at all displeased at this, as I thought, unseemly exhibition!
I afterwards learnt why he had taken it in such good part. It was generally known, that he had been transported for robbing a postman; and the cause of their mirth was the contrast between the general belief, and his own special account of the crime.
For my part, I could not join in their mirth. His story had been told with such an air of truth, that I could not bring myself to disbelieve it. If not true, the man deserved some consideration for the talent he had exhibited in the construction of his story: for never was truth better counterfeited, or fiction more cunningly concealed, under an air of ingenuous sincerity.
Volume Three—Chapter Sixteen.
The “Elephant’s” Autobiography.
When tranquillity had been again restored, the “Elephant” was called on for his autobiography—which was given nearly as follows:—
“My father is a ‘squatter’ in New South Wales—where I was myself born.
“At the age of seventeen, I was sent to England to be educated; and, being well supplied with money, the design of those who sent me was not defeated: for I did learn a good deal—although the knowledge I obtained, was not exactly of the kind my parents had meant me to acquire.
“I possessed the strength, and soon acquired the skill, to defeat all my fellow students in rowing or sculling a boat. I was also the best hand amongst them with a bat. I became perfect in many other branches of knowledge, of like utility. During my sojourn in Europe, I made several trips to Paris—where I obtained an insight into the manners and customs of that gay capital.
“My father had a sister living in London—a rich widow, who had an only daughter. I called on them two or three times, as I could not well avoid doing so. I was not infatuated with my cousin, nor did my visits beget in my mind any great affection for my aunt.
“Her husband had been dead several years before that time. He had been related to a family of title, and on his death had left a fortune to his widow of about fifty thousand pounds.
“My father considered his sister a person of great consequence in the kingdom; and used to keep up a regular correspondence with her.
“When I was about twenty-two, I received a letter from him, commanding me forthwith to marry my cousin!
“He had made the match with my aunt, without consulting my wishes.
“The deluded man thought the plan he had formed for me, would make me a very great personage. But I could not regard the affair in the same light.
“Soon after receiving my father’s orders, my aunt sent me a note—containing a request for me to call upon her.
“I complied; and found that she considered the thing as quite settled, that I was forthwith to marry my cousin. In fact, my aunt at this interview had a good deal to say about preparations for the ceremony!
“My cousin was neither personally good-looking, nor interesting in any way. On the contrary, she had a disposition exceedingly disagreeable; and, to crown all, she was a full half-dozen years older than myself.
“Soon after that interview with my English relatives, I embarked for Sydney. I had been for some time anxious to return home. As I have told you, New South Wales is my native country; and I prefer it to any other. I had seen enough of Europe; and longed to gallop a horse over the broad plains of my native land.
“On my return home, and reporting that I had not married my rich cousin, my father flew into a great passion, and refused to have anything farther to do with me.
“I tried to reason with him; but it was of no use. It ended by his turning me out of his house; and telling me to go and earn my own living. This I did for some time, by driving a hackney coach through the streets of Sydney.
“My father, on finding that I was man enough to take care of myself, without requiring any assistance from him, began to take a little interest in my affairs. In doing so, he discovered something else—that caused him quite as much displeasure as my refusal to marry my English cousin.
“He learnt that I was making serious love to a poor, but honest girl, who, with her mother, scarce earned a subsistence, by toiling fourteen hours a day with her needle.
“To think I should let slip a woman with fifty thousand pounds—and who could claim relationship with a family of title—and then marry a poor sewing girl, was proof to my father that I was a downright idiot; and, from that hour, he refused to acknowledge me as his son.
“When gold was discovered in these diggings, I gave up my hackney business, took an affectionate leave of my girl; and came out here.
“I’ve been lucky; and I shall start to-morrow for Sydney. I shall find the one I love waiting for me—I hope, with some impatience; and, if I don’t miscalculate time, we shall be married, before I’ve been a week in Sydney.
“I am young, and have health and strength. With these advantages, I should not consider myself a man, if, in a new world like this, I allowed my warmest inclinations to be subdued by the selfish worldly influences, that control the thoughts and actions of European people.”
I believe the company were a little disappointed in the “Elephant’s” story. From the remarkable character of the man, and the evidence of superior polish and education—exhibited both in his bearing and conversation—all had expected a more interesting narrative—something more than the tale he had told us, and which was altogether too simple to excite their admiration. Some of them could not help expressing their surprise—at what they pronounced the silliness of the “Elephant,” in “sacking” a fine lady with fifty thousand pounds, and an aristocratic connection, for a poor Sydney sempstress. To many of them, this part of the story seemed scarce credible, though, for my part, I believed every word of it.
Reasoning from what I knew of the character of the narrator, I felt convinced that he was incapable of telling an untruth—even to amuse his audience; and I doubted not that he had refused his rich English cousin; and was really going to marry the poor sewing girl of Sydney.
In judging of the Elephant—to use his own words—I did not allow my “inclinations to be subdued by the selfish worldly influences, that control the thoughts and actions of European people.”
Volume Three—Chapter Seventeen.
Sailor Bill’s Life Yarn.
As the autobiography of the “Elephant,” had been of too common-place a character to create any excitement, there was but little interruption in the proceedings; and Sailor Bill, according to the conditions, was next called upon to spin the yarn of his life.
Without any formality, he at once responded to the call.
“When a very small boy,” began he, “I was what is called a gutter urchin, or ‘mud lark,’ about the streets and docks of Liverpool. It was not exactly the business for which I had been intended. When very young, I had been bound apprentice to a trade I did not much like, and to a master I liked still less. In fact, I hated the master so much, as to run away both from him and his trade; and became a ragged wanderer in the streets.
“The profits of this profession were not so great, as to allow me to contract habits of idleness, though, somehow or other, I managed to live by it for nearly a year.
“I was one day overhauling some rubbish, that had been thrown into a gutter, when a man ran against me; and his feet becoming entangled in the rags that composed my costume, he was tripped up, and fell into the mud.
“He immediately got to his feet again; and shook me, until he was so exhausted and agitated, that he could do so no longer.
“While he was doing so, I was not idle. With my nails, teeth, and feet, I scratched, bit, and kicked him—with all the energy passion could produce.
“My desperate resistance, instead of further provoking, seemed to make a favourable impression on the mind of the man: for, as soon as he had ceased shaking me, he declared that I was ‘a noble little wretch,’ a ‘courageous little vagrant,’ and many other pet expressions equally conflicting.
“Then taking me by the hand, he led me along by his side, at the same time questioning me about my home and parents.
“Having satisfied himself, that he had as good a right to me as anybody—and perhaps a better by my being in his possession—he continued to drag me onward, all the while muttering to himself, ‘Dirty little vagabond! give him in charge to the police. Spirited boy! give him in charge of my steward.’
“Favourably impressed with the general expression of his features, I offered no resistance to his taking me where he liked. The fact is, I did not care what became of me, for I was independent of either fortune or circumstances.
“I was finally carried on board of a ship; and handed over to the care of her steward, where, for the first time in three years, I had my body covered with a complete suit of clothes.
“The man who had thus taken possession of me, was a good-natured, eccentric old bachelor, about fifty years of age; and was master and owner of the ship, that traded between Liverpool and Kingston, Jamaica.
“I remained with this man seven years; and under his tuition, I obtained something of an education. Had I been his own son, he could not have shown more zeal, or taken greater pains to teach me.
“During all that time, his ship was my only home; and I had nothing to tempt me away from it. It was all the world to me; and of that world I was not long in acquiring a knowledge.
“I was about twenty-one years of age, when I was made first officer of the ship. My father—for as such I had got to esteem the man who raised me from rags, and out of mud, to something like a human existence—was going to make one more voyage with me, and then lie by for the rest of his life—leaving me master of the ship.
“We were on our return from Kingston, very deeply laden, when we encountered a severe gale. For some time, we allowed the ship to run with the wind—in order that we might keep on our course; but the storm increased; and this could not be done with safety. We were preparing to lay her head to sea, when a wave rolled over the stern, and swept the decks fore and aft. The captain—my generous protector—and two of the sailors, were washed overboard; and we could do nothing to save them. All three were lost.
“I took the ship to Liverpool, where a wealthy merchant succeeded to the captain’s property. To make way for some friend of the new owner, I was discharged from the service—after receiving the few pounds due to me as wages.
“The commotion caused by the discovery of the Australian gold-fields, had then reached Liverpool; and seamen were shipping to Melbourne, asking only the nominal wages of one shilling a month! I was able to get a situation as second officer of a brig bound for that port.
“We had one hundred and twelve passengers; and amongst them was a bankrupt London merchant, emigrating with a large stock of pride, and a small stock of merchandise, to the golden land. He was accompanied by his wife, and a beautiful daughter. To me, this young lady appeared lovely, modest, intelligent; in short, everything that a young man—who for the first time had felt the tender passion, could wish its object to be.
“I had frequent opportunities of conversing with her—when she would be seated outside on the poop; and many of my happiest moments were passed in her society, in those delightful evenings one experiences while crossing the Line.
“I was at length made perfectly happy, by the knowledge that there was one being in the world who felt an interest in my welfare.
“I soon saw that my attentions to his daughter, were displeasing to the proud merchant; and I was told by the girl herself: that she had been commanded to discourage my addresses.
“I sought an interview with the father; and demanded from him his reasons for thus rejecting me. I was simply told: that the girl was his daughter, and that I was only a sailor!
“That same evening, when on duty, I was spoken to by the captain in a harsh and ungentlemanly manner. I was in no pleasant humour at the time: and to be thus addressed, in hearing of so many people—but more especially in the presence of her I loved—was a degradation I could not endure. I could not restrain myself, from making a sharp and angry reply.
“The captain was a man of very quick temper; and, enraged at my insolence, he struck me in the face with his open hand. For this insult, I instantly knocked him down upon the deck.
“The remainder of the voyage I passed in irons. On arriving at Williamston, I was sentenced to two months’ imprisonment—during which time I was confined on board a hulk anchored in Hobson’s Bay.
“I made an attempt to escape; and, being unsuccessful, I received a further sentence of two months’ hard labour on the hulk.
“When at length I received my liberty, I hastened to Melbourne. There I made inquiries for the merchant, in hopes of being able to obtain an interview with his daughter, who was then the only being on earth, for whom I entertained the slightest feeling of friendship.
“I succeeded in finding the young lady; and was conducted into the presence of her mother—who, somewhat to my surprise, received me in the most cordial manner!
“The old merchant was dead. He had died within a month after landing; and the goods he had brought with him to the colony—not being suited to the market—had been sold for little more than the freight out from England had cost. His widow and her daughter were living by their own industry—which, I need hardly tell you, was something they had never done before.”
Here Sailor Bill paused—as if he had got to the end of his story.
But his listeners were not contented with such a termination. They believed there must be something more to come—perhaps more interesting than anything yet revealed; and they clamoured for him to go on, and give them the finale.
“There’s nothing more,” said Bill, in response to the calls of the company; “at least nothing that would interest any of you.”
“Let us be the judges of that,” cried one. “Come, Bill, your story is not complete—finish it—finish it!”
“I’m sorry myself it’s not finished,” rejoined he. “It won’t be, I suppose, until I get back to Melbourne.”
“What then?” inquired several voices.
“Well then,” said Bill, forced into a reluctant confession, “I suppose it will end by my getting spliced.”
“And to the young lady, with whom you spent those pleasant evenings on the poop?”
“Exactly so. I’ve written to her, to say I’m coming to Melbourne. I intend to take her and her mother back to England—where they’ve long wished to go. Of course it would never do to make such a voyage, without first splicing the main brace, and securing the craft against all the dangers of the sea. For that reason, I’ve proposed to the young lady, that she and I make the voyage as man and wife; and I’m happy to tell you that my proposal has been accepted. Now you’ve got the whole of my yarn.”
And with this characteristic ending, Sailor Bill brought his story to a termination.
Volume Three—Chapter Eighteen.
My Brother William.
The next morning, I arose early, and went to Olliphant’s tent—to take leave of him, and his companion Bill.
I accompanied them to the public-house, from which the stage coach to Geelong was to start. We stepped inside the house, to have a glass together.
“There’s a question,” said Bill, “that I’ve often thought of putting to you. I’ve heard you called Rowland. Excuse my appearing to be inquisitive; but I have a strong reason for it. You have some other name. Will you tell me what it is?”
There is something extraordinary in the power and quickness of thought. Suddenly a conviction came over my mind: that I had found my brother! I felt sure of it. Memory did not assist me much, in making the discovery. It seemed to come upon me, as if by inspiration!
It is true, I had something to guide me, in coming to this conclusion. Sailor Bill had evidently, at some time or other, known a person by the name of Rowland. It at once entered my mind, that I must be the individual of whom he had this distant recollection.
“My name,” said I, in answer to his question, “is your own. Is not yours Stone?”
“It is,” rejoined he, “William Stone.”
“Then we are brothers!”
“You are the Rolling Stone!” exclaimed Bill, grasping my hand. “How strange that I did not ask the question, when I first heard you called Rowland!”
The excitement caused by our mutual recognition, was of the most pleasurable character; and, for some moments after the first words, we both remained speechless.
‘The Elephant’ was nearly as much astonished as ourselves, at the discovery thus made. “What a fool I’ve been,” said he, “not to have seen long ago that you were brothers. If ever there were two brothers, I could swear that you two were the pair. I have been blind not to have told you before—what you have at last found out for yourselves.”
We had no time to do more than exchange mutual congratulations: for the stage coach was about to start. I immediately paid for a seat; and set off along with them for Geelong. At the moment, I had along with me all the gold I had gathered. I had brought it out, for the purpose of taking it to the Escort Office—as soon as I should bid adieu to my friends. There was nothing else of much importance to detain me in Ballarat; and I parted from the place at less than a moment’s notice.
My brother and I found plenty of employment for our tongues, while making the journey to Melbourne.
I asked him, if he had been aware of our mother’s having followed Mr Leary to Australia.
“Yes,” said he, “I knew, when she left me in Liverpool, that she was going to follow the brute out there; and I concluded she had done so.”
“And have you never thought of trying to find her, while you were in Sydney?”
“No,” said my brother, in a tone of solemnity, “when she deserted me in Liverpool, to go after that wretch, I felt that I had lost a mother; and it is my belief, that a mother once lost is never found again.”
“But did it not occur to you that you should have tried to find Martha? Do you intend leaving the colonies without making some effort to discover our sister?”
“Poor little Martha!” exclaimed William, “she was a dear little child. I would, indeed, like to see her again. Suppose we both try to find her? I do not believe that if we discover her, we need have any fear of being ashamed of her. She was once a little angel; and I am sure she will be a good girl, wherever she is—Oh! I should like to see Martha once more; but to tell the truth Rowland, I do not care for ever seeing mother again!”
I then informed my brother, that his wishes might yet be gratified; and, as we continued our journey, I gave him a detailed history of the affairs of the family—so far as I was myself acquainted with them.
It was by no means an agreeable mode of transit, travelling by stage coach in the state the roads of Victoria were at the time, yet that was the happiest day I had ever passed in the colony. William and I kept up our conversation all day long. We had hardly a word for our companion, Olliphant; and we were under the necessity of apologising to him.
“Don’t mention it,” said the good-hearted Elephant. “I am as happy as either of you. You are two fellows of the right sort; and I’m glad you have found each other.”
On our arrival in Melbourne, we all went together to the Union Hotel. After engaging rooms, we proceeded to the purchase of some clothes—in order that we might make a respectable appearance in the streets of the city. My brother was in breathless haste to get himself rigged out; and we knew his reason. He intended to spend the evening in the society of his future wife and her mother.
At an early hour in the afternoon, he took leave of us.
Olliphant and I were compelled to kill the time the best way we could; but the trouble of doing so was not great: since there are but few cities of equal size with Melbourne, where so much time and money are devoted to the purpose of amusement.
Next day, I accepted an invitation from my brother, to accompany him on a visit to his sweetheart. She and her mother were living in a small house in Collingwood. When we arrived at the door, it was opened by a rather delicate ladylike woman, about forty years of age. She received my brother with a pleasant smile; and I was introduced to Mrs Morell.
The young lady soon made her appearance, from an adjoining room; and, after greeting my brother in a manner that gave me gratification to witness, I was introduced to her.
Sarah Morell was, what might have been called by any one, a pretty girl. She had not the beauty of my lost Lenore, nor was she perhaps even as beautiful as my sister Martha; but there was a sweet expression in her features, a charm in her smile, and a music in her gentle voice, that were all equally attractive; and I could not help thinking, that my brother had made choice of a woman worthy of his honest and confiding love.
She talked but little, during the interview—allowing most of the conversation to be carried on by her mother; but, from the little she did say; and the glance of her eyes—as she fixed them on the manly form of my brother—I could tell that he was beloved.
By that glance, I could read pride and reverence for the man upon whom she had bestowed her heart; and that she felt for him that affection I once hoped to win from Lenore.
How superior was my brother’s fate to mine! He was beloved by the one he loved. He was in her presence; and they were soon to be man and wife. He was happy—happy as youth can be, when blessed with hope, love, wealth, and health. I was happy also; but it consisted only in seeing others blessed with the happiness, which I was myself denied.
After passing some hours in the cheerful companionship, of Mrs and Miss Morell, my brother and I returned to our hotel—where we found ‘The Elephant’ in a very unamiable mood. He had just ascertained, that he would have to stay three days longer in Melbourne: as there was no steamer to start for Sydney before the third day from that time.
After a council held between my brother and myself, it was resolved that I should go on to Sydney with the Elephant; and try to induce our sister Martha to accompany me back to Melbourne. The pleasure of meeting a long-lost brother, and of being present at his wedding, we hoped, would be sufficient inducement to cause her to change her resolution, and consent to live with relatives, who were only too anxious to support and protect her.
Since William had been told of our mother’s death, he appeared to take much more interest in Martha’s welfare; and urged upon me, not to come back to Melbourne, without bringing her along with me. We could not, he said, feel happy, returning to England, and leaving our sister alone in the colonies.
I promised to use every effort in the accomplishment of his wishes—which, of course, were but the echoes of my own.
Miss Morell, on hearing that her lover had a sister in Sydney, insisted on the marriage being postponed, until Martha should arrive.
“I am willing to be married the very day your sister comes,” said she, adding in her artless manner, “I shall wait with great impatience until I have seen her.”
It is hardly necessary to say, that these conditions redoubled William’s anxiety for the speedy arrival of our sister; and, before taking leave of him, I was compelled to make a most emphatic promise of a speedy return. Olliphant, without knowing the object of my visit to Sydney, was gratified to hear that we were to continue our travelling companionship still further; and in joyous spirits we stepped aboard the steamer bound to that place.
Volume Three—Chapter Nineteen.
A Milliner’s Yarn.
The Melbourne steamer made the port of Sydney, at a late hour of the night. On landing, we proceeded direct to a hotel, where, after some difficulty, we obtained accommodation for the night.
In the morning, after eating our breakfast—which in Sydney is the most important meal of the day—my companion and I walked out into the streets. We soon parted company—each taking a different direction, since each had his own affairs to attend to.
I proceeded direct to the house where I had left my sister, two years before. I was both surprised, and disappointed, at not finding her there; and perceiving that the house was no longer a milliner’s shop.
I inquired for the people who formerly occupied the premises; but could learn nothing of them.
“I am justly served,” thought I, “I should have corresponded with my sister; and this disappointment could not have happened.”
My relatives had been lost to me once. That should have been a warning. I should have taken precautions against a recurrence of this misfortune. Instead of doing so, I had led Martha to believe, that I had gone back to England; and during my absence had never written to her. I now perceived how foolishly I had acted; and felt as if I deserved never to see my sister again.
I should have been more deeply aggrieved by my conduct, but that I still entertained the hope of being able to find her.
Sydney was not a large city; and if my sister was still within its limits, there was no reason why I should not discover her whereabouts—especially with the energy and perseverance I determined to make use of in the search.
This search I lost no time in instituting. I turned into the next street—though rather mechanically than otherwise: for I was still undecided as to how I should act.
All at once I remembered, that the woman, with whom Martha had gone into partnership, was a Mrs Green. I remembered, too, hearing Mrs Green say, that she had resided in Sydney for several years. Some one, therefore, should know her; and, if she could be found, it was natural to infer, that I should learn something of Martha.
While sauntering along the street, into which I had entered, my eye fell upon a little shop, which bore the sign of a milliner over the window. That should be the place for me to commence my inquiries. I entered the shop, where I saw standing behind a counter the worst-looking woman I had ever beheld. She was not ugly, from having a positively hideous face, or ill-formed features; but rather from the spirit that gave expression to both. It was a combination of wicked passions—comprising self-esteem, insolence, avarice, and everything that makes human nature despicable. The woman was dressed in a style that seemed to say: “vanity for sale.”
I asked her, if she could give me any intelligence of a Mrs Green, who formerly kept a milliner’s shop in the next street.
A disgusting grin suddenly spread over the features of the woman, as she promptly replied, “Yes; Mrs Green was chased out of Sydney over a year ago. She thought to smash my business; but she got smashed herself.”
“Can you tell me where she is to be found?” I inquired.
“Yes. She saw it wasn’t no use to try to carry on business against me; and she’s hooked it to Melbourne.”
“There was a young woman with her, named Martha Stone,” I continued, “can you tell me where she is?”
“Yes. She’s another beauty. I am not at all astonished at young men inquirin’ for her. Don’t think I am, mister. I’ve kept that lady from starving for the last six months; and I’m about tired of it, I can tell you. This is a nice world we live in, sure enough. What might you be wantin’ with Miss Stone?”
“I wish to know where she is to be found—nothing more,” I answered.
“Certainly. You wish to know where she is! Of course you do. Why not?” said the disgusting creature, in a tone, and with a significant leer, that I have ever since been vainly endeavouring to forget. “What right have you to think, that I should know where any such a person lives?” continued the woman. “I wish you to understand, sir, that I am a lady.”
I should certainly never have thought it, without being told; but, not the least grateful for the information, I answered:
“You say, that you know where Miss Stone is to be found. I am her brother, and wish to find her.”
“Oh! that’s it, is it?” retorted the woman with a look of evident disappointment. Then, turning round, and forcing her neck someway up a narrow staircase, she screamed out, “Susan! Susan!”
Soon after, a very young girl—apparently half-starved—made her appearance at the bottom of the stairs.
“Susan,” said the only woman I ever hated at first sight, “tell this man, where Miss Stone lives.”
There was something not so bad in the creature after all; and I began to fancy, I had been wronging her.
“Please, sir,” said Susan, pointing with outstretched arm towards one of the sides of the shop, “go up this street, till you come to the baker’s shop; then turn round this way, and go on till you pass the public-house with the picture of the horse on it; then turn that way, and go on till you come to where the house was burnt down; cross the street there, and go on to the house where they sell lollies; go by that, and at the turning beyond go this way until you come to the house with the green window blinds—”
“That will do,” I exclaimed. “I don’t want to lose my senses, as well as my sister. Can you tell me, Susan, the name of the street, and the number of the house, in which Miss Stone resides?”
“No, sir, thank you,” answered Susan.
“Can you go there—if this lady will give you leave?”
“Yes, sir, if you please,” said the girl, glancing timidly at her mistress.
I thought the mistress would refuse; and even hoped she would. Anxious as I was to find my sister, I did not like to receive even so slight a favour from one whom I had hated with so very little exertion.
The woman, contrary to my expectations, consented to the child’s going out to show me the way; and I am so uncharitable as to believe, that her consent was given with the hope that, in finding my sister, I should meet with some chagrin!
I followed Susan through the streets, until we came to a dirty, wretched suburb of the city, where the girl pointed out a house, and told me to knock at the door.
Giving the poor little slavey half-a-crown, I sent her away; and, the next minute, my sister was sobbing in my arms.
Everything in the room proclaimed her to be in the greatest poverty. Strange that I did not regret it; but, on the contrary, was gratified by the appearance of her destitution! It was proof that she was still virtuous and honest. Moreover, I fancied she would now be the more willing to accept the protection, I had come to offer her. She was under the impression, that I had just returned from England. When I undeceived her on this point, she seemed much grieved, that I had been so long in the colonies, without letting her know it.
I soon learnt from her the simple story of her life, since our last parting. At the time she had joined Mrs Green in business, the latter was deeply in debt; and, in about three months after, all the stock in the little shop was sold off to meet Mrs Green’s liabilities. Their business was broken up; and Mrs Green had gone to Melbourne—as her rival had stated. Martha had obtained employment in two or three milliner’s establishments in the city; and, as she blushingly told me, had good reasons for leaving them all.
She was now making a sort of livelihood, by working for anyone who chanced to have sewing to give her; and was obtaining occasional, but ill paid employment, from the lady who had assisted me in finding her.
“Oh, Rowland!” said Martha, “that woman is the worst that ever lived. She never lets me have a piece of sewing, at a price that will allow me more than bread and water, and yet I have been obliged to take it from her, because I cannot get enough sewing elsewhere. I often work from six o’clock in the morning till ten at night—when I can get anything to do; and yet I’ve often been very, very hungry. I’m sure it is as bad here, as the stories I’ve heard about poor sempstresses in London. Ah, brother! Good girls are not wanted in this place. People seem only to care for those who are bad; and while they have everything they wish, girls like me must live as you see I’ve been doing. Oh, Rowland! is it not a cruel world?”
I was much gratified at hearing my sister talk in this manner: for each word was evidence, that she had been leading an honourable life; and, moreover, her despondency led me to believe: that she would no longer oppose my projects, as she had previously done.
It was all for the best, that she had not done as I wished her two years before. Had she then consented to returning with me to England, I should have gone thither—notwithstanding my disappointment about Lenore. By doing so, I should have missed meeting my brother—besides I should have lost the opportunity of making above fifteen hundred pounds—which I had gathered on the gold-fields of Victoria.