JF^^Kfp! UBRAKt SAN DIEGO j 36^1 U^^jitMiXrcri^n^^ 1 \ \^ A COLONIAL REFOEMEE A COLONIAL EEFOEMEK „^ M ■- '''■■ ^v- BY EOLF BOLDEEWOOD tf^^"'-'''^ J AUTHOR OF 'robbery under ARMS,' 'THE squatter's dream,' 'the miner's biuut,' etc. ILontion MACMILLAX ANJJ CO. AND NEW YORK 1891 A 11 vinlita vflapn^firl. First Edition (3 Vols. Crown %vo) November 1890 Reprinted November 1890 Second Edition (i Vol. Crown Bvo) i8gi CHAPTER I When Mr. Ernest Neuchamp, younger, of Neuchampstead, Bucks, quitted the ancient roof -tree of his race, for a deliberate conflict with fortune, in a far land, he carried with him a purpose which went far to neutralise doubt and depression. A crusader rather than a colonist, his lofty aims embraced far more than the ordinary sordid struggle with unkind nature, with reluctant success. Such might be befitting aspirations for eager and rude adventurers, half speculators, half buccaneers. They might fitly strive and drive — bargain and save — gamble, overreach, overwork themselves and one another, as he doubted not all colonists did in their proverbially hurried, feverish lives. But for a Neuchamp, of Neuchampstead, was reserved more chiv- alric exertion — a loftier destiny. As his ancestors had devoted themselves (with more energy than discretion, said tradition) to the refinement and elevation of the Anglo-Saxons — when first the banner of Tancred of Neuchamp floated over the Buckingham- shire meadows, — so would his lineal descendant difi'use ' sweet- ness and light' among a vigorous but necessarily uncultured community, emerging from his unselfish toil, after a few years, with a modest competency, and the reputation of an Australian Manco Capac of the south. Ernest Neuchamp fully endorsed the dictum that ' colonisa- tion was heroic work.' He sujaeradded to this assent a conviction that he was among the heroes destined to leave a glorious memory in the annals of the colony which he intended to honour. For the somewhat exceptional though not obsolete character of reformer, lie was fitted by natural tendency, derived probably from hereditary predisposition. The Neuchamps had always been leading and staunch reformers, from a period whence ' the memory of man goeth not to tlie contrary.' Of Alorrie England tliey would have secured a mucli lai'ger slice liad they not been, after Hastings, more deeply concerned in inflicting reforms upon the stubborn or despondent Saxons than in hunting after manorial privileges with a view to extension of teiTitory. l^ven in Normandy, old chroniclers averred that Balder-lvagnaiok, S B 2 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap. nicknamed Wiinsche (or the wisher), who married the heiress of Neuchamp, and founded the family, converted a fair estate into a facsimile of a Norse grazing farm, maddening the peasantry, and strengthening his natural enemies by an everlasting tute- lage as exasperating towards others as fascinating to himself. Mr. Courtenay Neucliamj), who inherited, in happier times, tlie ancestral hall, in Buckinghamshire, was an easy-going man of the world, combining a shrewd outlook upon his own aftairs with the most perfect indifierence as to how his neighbours managed theirs. He was a better man of business than Ernest, though he had not a tittle of his energy or fiery abstract zeal. So far from giving credit to his ancestors, and their spirited efforts, he bewailed their misdirected energies. 'Tliey were a lot of narrow-minded busybodies,' he would often remark, 'incapable of managing their own affairs with decent success, and what little power they ever possessed they devoted to the annoyance of their neighbours, people probably much wiser than themselves.' 'They had noble aims, to which they gave their lives,' Ernest would reply ; ' I reverence their memories deeply, fervently, more — a hundredfold — than if they had left us the largest manor in the county, amassed by greed and selfishness.' ' So don't I ; nothing can be more disgraceful than to see the representatives of the oldest family in the shire (for these Tudors are of yesterday) possessed only of an estate of less acreage than a tenant-farmer tills, with an inconvenient old rookery, hardly good enough for the said tenant-farmer to live in. I wish I had lived a few centuries earlier.' ' You would have enlarged our borders,' said the younger son, ' but at what a cost ! We boast a long roll of stainless ancestors, each of whom was true to his God, to his king, to his plighted word, and who called no man his master, save his anointed sovereign. You would have been cursed with an unhappy posterity of spendthrifts, profligates, oppressors of the poor or trucklers to the rich.' ' Gra' mercy ! as we used to say, for thy prophecies and pre- dictions. I see no necessity for vice being necessarily allied to success in life. I believe sometimes it is rather the other way. But you were always headstrong ; slave to imagination, that niisleader of humanity. Go on your own path, and you may convert all the Papuans, Australians, New Zealanders, or whatever they are, that you are going to waste your life among, if you have sufficient breathing time before you are roastecL' ' I am going to New South Wales, in Australia, where they don't roast people any more than in Bucks. But you will never read up on any subject.' 'Why the deuce should IV demanded the senior. 'What earthly benefit can I derive from the manners and customs of I A COLONIAL REFORMER 3 foreign savages. Yie have them of our own and to spare. If thereby I could persuade these pig-headed tenants of ours to farm in a more enlightened way, and pay interest on capital advanced for their benefit, or learn how to get old Sir Giles Windereach to sell us back that corner his father bought of Slacklyne Neuchamp, I wouldn't mind. Wliy else should I read beastly dry books V ' Because you would learn to take an interest in your kind, and might then propose to yourself the healthful task of trying to improve them.' ' But,' said Courtenay, rather disrespectfully, ' why should I improve those classes, from which as a landowner and very minor capitalist, I find it hard enough to defend my property as it is 1 Go and test a grocer in arithmetic, you will find him the more accurate man, and the readier. Try a labourer at his own cart, and see how he is at once your superior. Depend upon it, all this upheaval of lower social strata is bad. Some day we may find that we have freed internal tires and exjoloded social volcanoes.' 'I shall make the attempt where I am going, however,' said Ernest with decision. 'it may be that there are peculiar advantages in a new land, and a sparse population, without the crushing vested interests which weigh one to the dust in the old world.' ' Perhaps you may gather some of the dust of the new, which is gold, they say, if they don't lie, as most probably they do. Then you can rear an Australian Neuchampstead, which will be the third, under such conditions, built by our family, if old records are true. I wish you were taking more capital with you, old fellow, though.' Here the elder man slightly relaxed the cold undemonstrative regard which his aquiline features usually wore, as he gazed for a few moments upon the ardent expressive face of the cadet of his house. 'It's another of the family faults that we can neither stay decently together at home, nor fit out our kniglits- errant worthily for the crusade.' ' My dear Courtenay,' said the younger son, touched to the depth of a delicate and sensitive nature by the rare concession of the head of tlic house, ' things ai-e best as they are. You have enough which you require. I liave not enough, which is an equal necessity of my nature. I should die here like a falcon in a corn-chandler's shop, pining for the sweep of her long wings against the sea-clill", where with wave and tempest she could scream in concert. Hope and adventure are my life, the breath of my nostrils, and forth I nuist go.' ' Well, my blessing go -with you, Ernest ; I neither mistrust your courage nor capacity, and in any land you will ])robably hold your own. But I should have more confidence in your success if you had less of that inf(M'nal Neuchamp taste for managing other people's affairs.' 4 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap. 'But, my dear Courtenay, is it not the part of a true knight and a Christian man to lead others into the right path 1 We thankfully accept it from others. I think of the many needs of a new land, and of the rude dwellers therein.' ' I hate to be put right — colonists may be of the same opinion. Yoti never can be induced to do anything that is suggested by another, or any Neuchamp, that I ever heard of.' ' Because we take particular care to be identified with the latest, and most successful practice in all resi^ects.' ' Because we are always right, I suppose. A comfortable theory, but of which the public cannot always be convinced. I never try to convince them — I merely wish to be left alone. That is wlierel differ from you.' ' You will never gain, however, by your principles, Cour- tenay.' ' You will lose your fortune by following out yours, Ernest.' The conversation having ended, as had nearly all previous discussions between the brothers, in each adhering steadfastly to his own opinion, Ernest went his own way with the cheerful obstinacy of his character. He selected a ship and a colony. He ordered a large, comprehensive, and comparatively useless outfit. He purchased several books of fact and fiction, bearing upon the land of his adoption, for reading upon the voyage, and girding himself up, he finally completed all necessary arrange- ments. He bade farewell to the old home — to the villagers, whom he had known from boyhood — and to his friends and kinsfolk. He did then actually set sail in the clipper-ship St. Swithin, comforting himself with heroic parallels of all ages and all shades of maritime adventure. On the voyage out, he made acquaintance with several agreeable people. Of these, many were, like himself, sailing to Australia for the first time. Others were returning to the great south land, where they had probably spent their early years, or indeed been born. Among these, though he was not aware of the fact, since they did not advertise it, was a family named Middleton, consisting of a father, mother, and two daughters. These last were quiet and well - mannered, but decidedly amusing. Alice Middleton was handsome and lively ; Barbara was rather staid, given to reading, and did not talk much, except with congenial people. She, however, could speak very much to the point, should such speaking be needed. With this family Mr. Neuchamp became on sufficiently inti- mate terms to confide his views upon colonial life, including his hopes of benefiting the citizens of his adopted country by the inculcation of the newest English ideas in farming and other important subjects. He did not find that readiness of response which he had looked for. This puzzled and slightly annoyed him, as from their intelligent sympathy in other matters he had confidently reckoned upon their co-operation. Indeed he had I A COLONIAL REFORMER 5 discovered the second Miss Middleton in the act of smiling, as if at his enthusiasm ; while the matron, a shrewd, observant person, went the length of inquiring whether he did not think it would be better to see something of the country, before settling the afi'airs of its inhabitants. ' My dear Mrs. Middleton,' replied Mr. Neuchamp with grave dissent, ' I regret that I cannot see the force of your position. My feeling is that one is far more certain to criticise fairly and dispassionately a new land and a new state of society, while one's impressions are sharply and freshly defined. Afterwards, the finer lines are effaced by use, wont, and local jDrejudice. No ! depend upon it, the newly-arrived observer has many advantages.' ' Then you do not think it possible,' said Alice Middleton, ' that the new — arrival should make any mistakes in his inspec- tion of the unlucky colonists 1' ' If he has cultivated his power of observation, and his critical faculty, so that he can trust himself to be just and impartial, I do not see that it matters whether he may have lived one year or ten in any given country.' ' You will find that it does matter,' retorted his fair antagonist, ' unless you are different from every other Englishman we have ever seen.' ' Why, have you lived in Australia ? ' inquired he with accents of extreme surj^rise. ' I had no idea of the fact.' ' We have been there all our lives,' said Barbara Middleton, ' excepting for the last three years. Why should you think we had not been there 1 ' 'I — really — don't know,' protested Mr. Neuchamp, now discovering suddenly that he was on unsafe ground. ' I thought you were English, and making the voyage, like myself, for the first time.' 'Don't apologise,' laughed Alice; 'you may as well say at once that you thought we were too much like ordinary English people to be colonists,' and she made him a slight bow. ' VVell, so I did,' confessed our h('i-o, too honest to evade the expression of his opinions. ' But you know, you're so- well — you do expect a little difference in appearance, or manner ' ' Or complexion 1 ' continued his fair tormentor. ' Did you think Australians were — just a little — dark '? ' ' I recant, and apologise, and sue for pardon,' said Ernest, now completely dislodged from his pedestal, a horrid thought ()l)truding itself that similar discoveries would narrow his mission to most uninteresting dimensions. This ' check to his queen ' sobered ^Ir. Neuchamp for several days. He began to question tlie probability of iniluencing society in Australia to any great extent, if the coiuiionent parts were like the ^liddleton family. However, lie reflected that people of cultivated tastes and unexceptionable manners 6 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap. were rare in any country. And when he tliought of tlie vast interior with its scattered untravelled population, hojoe revived and he again saw himself the 'guide, philosopher, and friend of a guileless and grateful jDeople.' There were several landed proprietors who held great possessions in Australia among the passengers, with whom he made a point of conversing whenever such conversation was possible. But here again unexpected hindrances and obstacles arose. Mr. Neuchamp found that these returning Australians were rather reserved, and had very little to say about the land in which so large a portion of their lives had been passed. They committed themselves to the extent of stating in answer to his numerous inquiries, that it was a ' very fair sort of place — you could manage to live there.' ' As to the people ? ' ' Well, they were much like people everywhere else — some good, some bad.' ' Climate 1 ' ' Hot in some places, cold in others.' ' Manners ? ' ' Well, many of the inhabitants hadn't any, but that was a complaint almost universal at the present day.' The oppressed colonist generally, wound up by stating that when he, Neu- champ, had been in Australia for a year or two, he would know all about it. All this was very unsatisfactory. As far as these pieces of evidence went, the terra incognita to which, after such rending of ancient associations and family ties, he was even now voyag- ing, was as prosaic as Middlesex or Kent. These people either did not know anything about their own country or their own people, or, with the absurd indifferentism of Englishmen, did not care. He was partly reassured by one of the more youth- ful passengers, who had not been very long away from his Australian birthland. He considerately raised Ernest's spirits, and his estimate of Australia as a ' wonderland,' by certain historiettes and tales of adventure by flood and field. But when he introduced Indians, habitual scalping, and a serpent fifty feet long, Mr. Neuchamp's course of reading enabled him to detect the unprincipled fabrication, and to withdraw with dignity. In due course of time, the vessel which carried Mr. Neuchamp and his purpose arrived at her destination. The night was misty, so that he had no opportunity of comparing the harbour of Sydney with the numerous descriptions which he had read. He was met on the wharf by the perfectly British inquiry of ' Cab, sir, cab ? ' upon replying to which in the affirmative, he was rattled up to the Eoyal Hotel, and charged double fare, with a completeness and despatch upon which even a Shore- ditch Station cabby could not have improved. Having renovated himself with a bath and breakfast, Mr. Neuchamp proceeded to view the component parts of the busy street from the balcony of tlie great caravanserai. On the whole, he did not see any striking departure from the appearance T A COLONIAL REFORMER 7 of an ordinary London thoroughfare. Tliere wex'e omnibuses raking the whole length of the street, fore and aft, as it were, well horsed with upstanding joowerful animals ; tlie drivers, too, had something of the misanthropical air which the ti'ue 'busman always acquires after a certain period. Hansoms rattled about, with the express-train flavour peculiar to that luxurious vehicle for the unencumbered. Well - appointed carriages, from which descended fashionably attired dames and damsels, drew up at imposing haberdashers for a little early and quiet shopping. The foot passengers did not look as if they were likely to contribute to any Arabian Nights enter- tainment either. They wore chiefly black coats, I grieve to say black hats, and serious countenances, exactly like the mercan- tile and legal sections of the city men in London. The labourers wore the same shoddy suits, the sailors the same loose or inex- plicable tightened garments, the postmen the same red coat, the shabby-genteel people the same threadbare ditto ; even the blind man, with a barrel - organ, had the same reflectoral expression that he had often noticed. All the types were identical with, those he had hoped to have left ten thousand miles away. Certainly he did see occasionally a sauntering squatter, bronzed, bearded, and insouciant ; but he, again, was so near akin to a country gentleman who had taken a run to town, or a stray soldier on leave, that he was upon the point of exclaiming, ' How disgustingly English ! ' when a slight incident turned his thoughts to the far and wondrous interior. Down the street, on a grand - looking young horse, at a pace more suggestive of stretching out through endless forest-parks than of riding with propriety through a narrow and crowded thoroughfare, came a born bushman. He was a tall man, wear- ing a wide-leaved felt hat and a careless rig generally, such as suggested to Mr. Neuchamp the denizen of the waste, whom he had hungered and thirsted to see. Here he was in the flesh evidently, and Ernest di'ank in with greedy eyes his swarthy complexion, his erect yet easy seat on his horse. However, just as he was passing the hotel, whether the gallant nomad was looking another way, or whether lie had considered the hour, early as it was, not unsuitable for refreshment, the fact must here be stated that tlie colt, observing some triumph of civilisa- tion for the first time (a human advertising sandwich), stopped with deathlike suddenness ; his rider was shot on to tlie crown of his }ie;id with startling force. jNIr. Neuchamp was prei^aring to rusli downstairs to the rescue, when a quietly attired passer- by stepped up to the snorting colt and, with a gentle adroitness tliat told of use and wont, secured and soothed him. The gallant bushman arose, looking half-stunned ; then, gazing ruefully at the crown of his sombrero, he felt the top of his head somewhat distrustfully, and with a word of thanks to the stranger, who held the rein in a peculiar manner till he was safe in the saddle, mounted and pursued his way after a swift but guarded fashion. 8 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap, i ' My word, sir,' was his single remark, ' I didn't think he'd ha' propped like tliat — thank you all the same.' Inspirited by this incident as showing a possibility of lights and shadows even upon this too English foreground, Mr. Neuchamp thought that he would deliver one of his letters of introduction to a merchant, whose ad^dce he had been specially recommended to take in the purchase of land, or of whatever property he should select for investment. CHAPTER II When the past is reviewed, and the clear sad lamp of experience sheds its soft gleam upon the devious track, then are all ap- parent the scarce shunned precipices, the hidden pitfalls, the bones of long dead victims. Then can we measure the tender patience with which our guardian angel warned or wooed into safety. Here, where we loitered all heedless, flower -crowned, and wine-flushed, languished the serpent syren, heavenly fair, but deadliest of all. We had been surely sped. But an idle im- pulse, the tone of a passing melody, led to change of purpose, of route, and we stood scatheless anon, having tripped lightly among deaths as sudden and shattering as the lighted explosive. At the diverging roads, where dumb and scornful sat the sphinx of our destiny, while we lightly glanced at the path whence none return, save in such guise that death were dearer, why did our heedless footsteps cling all instinctively to the narrow, the thrice blessed way ? And yet again, in the dark hour when we should have been watchful as the mariner on an unknown shore, who ca.sts the lead over every foot of the passage through which his barque seems so easily gliding, how was our careless piide l)rought low, how sudden was the sorrow, how dreary the bondage, till we were ransomed from the dungeon of the pitiless one. From what endless weeping would not, alas, a dim knowledge and recognition of the first false step have saved us ! Such a false step Mr. Neuchamp was nigh upon adopting, with all its train of evil consequences. At the mid-day table (Vhote at the Koyal Hotel, sufliciently welcome to him after the weary main, sat a florid, good-looking, smiling, middle-aged man, evidently a gentleman, and not less surely connected with the country division. He happened, apparently by chance, to be seated next to Ernest, who was immediately attracted by his bonhomie, his humorous epigrammatic talk, joined to the outward signs and tokens of the man of the world. ' You have not been very long in this part of the country 1 ' said the agreeable stranger. 10 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap, Ernest slightly coloured as he replied, ' I certainly have not ; but I confess I don't see why I should be affiche as a new and in- experienced traveller. You and I are dressed much alike, after all,' added he, glancing at the other's well-cut travelling suit of rougli tweed and the black hat which hung beside his own upon the pegs provided for lunch-consuming visitors. 'True, quite true,' agreed his new acquaintance ; 'and it is not, perhaps, good manners to remark upon a gentleman as a species of foreign novelty. I remember a few years since chafing at it myself. But my heart warms to an Englishman of a certain sort. And we Australians learn to know the Britisher by all manner of slight signs, including a fresh com- plexion. I really believe, if you will pardon my rudeness in guessing, that you come from near my own county ? ' Ernest explained the locality of Neuchampstead, upon which the affable stranger rose and shook him violently with both hands, exclaiming, 'I could have sworn it. Our peoj^le have been friends for ages. I come from just over the border. You've heard of the Selmores of Saleham % ' mentioning county people well known by name to Ernest. ' Now this is very delightful,' said his new friend, after all explanations had been made, ' and I shall take charge of you without any scruple. You had better change your quarters to the New Holland Club. I can have you admitted as an honor- ary member without a day's delay. I am a member ; but I came here to-day to meet a friend, and have done so most un- expectedly, eh, my dear Neuchamp % ' So irresistible was Mr. Selmore, that Ernest felt absolutely carried away by the stream of his decided manner, his good stories, his pleasant sarcasms, his foreign reminiscences, and his racy description of Australian bush-life (he owned several stations, it would seem, himself). So it was natural that after a bottle of hock, of a rare vintage, ordered in honour of their auspicious meeting, that he should confide to Mr. Selmore his plans of life, his leading ideas, and the amount of capital which he was free to invest in some description of landed property. After they had compressed more droll, confidential, and semi- practical talk into a couple of hours than would have served for a week on board ship, Mr. Selmore proposed a sti'oll down the street towards the public gardens, which he thought his young friend would find novel and interesting. As they lounged down the principal street Ernest was struck with the change in the appearance of the crowd which thronged one side of the footway, between the bisecting cross-streets. The hard and anxious faces of the world's workers which had filled the pavement in the morning had vanished, and in their stead were the flowerets of fashion, the gilded youth of the land, the butterflies of society, the fair faces of daintily attired girls, the unworn features of those ornamented human types II A COLONIAL REFORMER 11 which comprise no toilers, whatever may be the proportion of siDinsters. Mr. Neuchamp, whose sensitive organisation was still more highly attuned by the voyage, gazed with much interest upon this novel presentment. Again he could not help asking him- self, ' Have I really left Britain ? Is this a colony, or a magic- ally sliced-off section of London life 1 The swells are identical to the turn of a moustache, or the set of a collar. That girl's bonnet has not been two months from Paris, for I saw the fellow of it, which had only that day arrived, on Cousin Amy's head the week I left home. Allah is great ! Have I come to reform these people ? However, this is only the city. All cities are alike, except, perhaps, Tangiers and Philadelphia. Wait till I get fairly into the bush ! ' Thus, looking with pleased eyes and wondering mind, Mr. Neuchamp hardly noticed that his companion, as he swaggered easily along, seemed to know and be known of every one. He, however, did not care to stop to speak to his numerous friends. As they passed on, some of them, Ernest commenced to observe, regarded Mr. Selmore and himself with an amused expression. Keenly alive to colonial criticism, though proposing to pour so many vials of the British article upon the heads of these un- suspecting Arcadians, he noted more closely the manner and bearing of the still undiminished number of the ' friends of his friend ' whom they encountered. It might have been fancy, but he thought that he saw a keen glance, in some instances not altogether of mirth, bestowed upon himself. They had reached a side street, along wliich they passed, when three young men, irreproachably attired for the ante- prandial stroll, blocked the way. ' Where are you oft" to in such a hurry, you old humbug ? ' said a tall handsome man imperiously. ' You can't have any business at this time of day.' ' Not so sure of that,' chimed in another of the party. ' / see you've got your black hat with you, Selmore.' Mr. Selmore looked straight into the speaker's eyes for a moment, and then gravely taking off the upper covering referred to, stroked it, looked at it, and replaced it upon his head. ' Yes ! ' he said, ' Evelyn, I have ; I prefer them, even in this confounded weather. Tliey make a fellow look like a gentleman if it's in him, and not like a man going to a dog-tight, like that white abomination you have on.' The trio laughed more heartily and continuously at this rejoinder than J^lrnest thought the wit justiliod, to the enjoy- ment of which Mr. Selmore al)andoned them without ceremony, merely remarking to Ernest, though good fellows, they were awfully dissipated, and he could not recommend them as friends. Before quitting the business part of the city, wliere the hand- 12 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap. some massive stone buildings gave an Italian air to the narrow streets, Ernest's roving eye happened to light on the name of ' Frankston,' legended upon a conspicuously bright brass plate. ' Ha ! ' said he, ' I remember something about that name. Is he a merchant — do you know him ? ' ' Yes,' said Mr. Selmore indifferently, ' he is a merchant, and a tolerably sharp man of business too. Takes station accounts ; but I forget, you don't quite understand our phrases yet. He would be called more a private banker where you and I hail from. Why do you ask ? ' ' Merely because I happen to have a letter of introduction to him from a man I met abroad once, and I shall deliver it to- morrow.' Mr. Selmore did not look sympathetic at this announce- ment, but he said little in contravention of his young friend's resolve. ' You must keep your weather eye open, if he gets you out to that pretty place of his, Neucharap, or you will find yourself saddled with a big station and a tight mortgage before you can look round you.' Ernest had more than once thought himself extremely fortu- nate in meeting with Mr. Selmore at so early a period of his colonial career. Now he was confirmed in that opinion. ' My dear sir, I shall be more than cautious in any deal- ings with him, I assure you,' he said warmly. ' Are these the public gardens ? How different from anything I have seen before, and how surpassingly beautiful ! ' They roamed long amid the glories of that semi-tropical park, rich with the spoils of the Orient and many a fairy isle of the Great South Sea. As the palms and strangely formed forest trees waved in the breeze fresh from a thousand leagues of ocean foam, as the blue waters glanced and sparkled through the clustering foliage while they sat under giant pines and looked over the sea-wall, and at the white- winged sailing boats flitting over the wavelets of the ocean-lake which men call the harbour of Sydney, Mr. Neuchamp freely acknowledged his wonder and his admiration. Stronger than ever was his faith in the destiny of a people with whom he was fixed in determination henceforth to cast in his lot. Mr. Selmore had obtained his consent to dine with him at a well-known caf^, and thither, after visiting the baths, as the short twilight was deepening into night, they wended their way. Upon entering the room the appearance of an extremely well-arranged dinner service was pleasant enough to view, after the somewhat less ornamental garniture of the table of a clipper- ship. Ernest was introduced to two other friends of Mr. Selmore, also of the pastoral persuasion, and who looked as if town visit- ing was the exception in their rule of life. II A COLONIAL REFORMER 13 The dinner passed off very pleasantly The menu was well chosen, the cooking more than respectable, the wines unim- peachable. Ernest was sober from habit and principle. It would have been vain to have made the attempt to induce him to exceed. Still, with all reasonable moderation, it must be confessed that a man takes a more hopeful view of life after a good dinner, more especially in the days of joyous youth. Mr. Selmore's friends were up-country dwellers, and it ap- peared that they were, in some sort, neighbours of his when at home. Much of the conversation insensibly took the direction of stock farming, and Mr. Neuchamp found himself listening to tales of crossing Hooded rivers with droves bound for a high market, or of tens of thousands of sheep bought and sold in a day, or the wonderful price of wool, while intermingled were descriptions of feats of horsemanship varied with an occasional encounter with wild blacks. In the midst of all this, Mr. Neuchamp's ardour kindled to such a iDitch that he could not forbear asking one of the last arrived strangers whether there was not any station for sale in their district that would be suitable for him. One of the pastorals looked at the other in astonishment, when they both looked reproachfully at Mr. Selmore. ' You don't mean to say,' at length broke out the older man, whose assiduity to the bottle had been unabated, ' that you haven't told our young friend here that Gammon Downs is for sale, 'pon my soul it's too bad ! ' ' Why, it's the very place in the whole blessed colony,' said the other, ' for a new arrival — good water, good sheep, a nice handy little run, and the best house in the district.' Mr. Neuchamp was so struck with the expressive and inter- rogatory looks of the two bush residents, that he bent a search- ing look upon Mr. Selmore, as if he had in some mysterious way been ill-treated by the withholding of confidence. 'Well,' at length spoke out that gentleman, with an air of manly frankness, ' you know me too well to think that I should propose to sell one of my own runs to a friend, comparatively inexperienced, of course, though well Vi\> in English farming, on the very first day I had met him. There are people, of course, who would do this, and more — but Hartley Selmore is not one of that sort.' ' ]jut it does seem a shame,' said the grizzled squatter, filling his glass, ' that if you have one of the best runs in the country, that you should refuse to sell it to this gentleman merely because he is a personal friend.' ' Thank you,' said Ernest warmly, ' you have interpreted my sentiments admirably. If this estate, or station, would be so suitable, why should we not come to terms about it like any one else 1 ' ' So remarkably clieap too ' said the other man ; ' but 1 supi)ose Selmore wants a lot oi cash down.' 14 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap. 'I have only live thousand pounds,' said Mr. NeuchamiD, ' and perhaps your property is far above that limit.' 'It is less than I thought of taking,' said Mr. Selmore thoughtfully ; ' but, yes ; I don't mind arranging for bills, at one and two years, which, of course, if you bought, could be easily paid out of the profits of the station. But pass the claret, we won't talk any more shop to-night. Just so far that my friends, who live near my place, are going up the day after to-morrow. They will be glad of your company, and will show you the wonders of the bush, including Gammon Downs. You can then, my dear JSTeuchamp, judge for yourself.' This plan appearing to Ernest to combine the utmost liberality on the part of the vendor with special advantages to the purchaser, who could have abundant time to examine and deliberate about his investment, was promptly acceded to. He departed at the close of the evening to the hotel, at which place he had decided to stay, notwithstanding the tempting offer of a club bedroom. Ernest Neuchamp was not minded to give up his habits of observation, and for the exercise of his pursuit he deemed the hostelry of the period more favourable than any modern club. Human nature is so constituted that a project feasible, favourable, and merely needing the very smallest propulsion into action over night wears a changed aspect with the dawn. As Mr. Neuchamp regained his suspended senses in a hot and mosquito - raided upper chamber in the Royal, the idea of becoming at a plunge the proprietor of Gammon Downs showed less alluring than over the joyous claret-illumined board of yester eve. What if the name (given by the rude pioneers, it had been explained to him from some nonsensical circumstance) should be only too correct a designation for a delusive invest- ment? What if Mr. Selmore were a little too obliging, con- fidential, and considerate for a true and generous vendor? What if his companions, who certainly appreciated the claret, were likely from friendship or interest to be leagued against the stranger? It behoved him to be careful. The slender resources of Neuchampstead had been strained to their utmost to supplement his younger brother's portion. Were this lost he could never regain his position. And though with the recklessness of a sanguine temperament, he would, without much regret, have addressed himself to the task of carving out a fortune with his own right hand in this land of promise, still he fully recognised the vast difference between a capital even of moderate amount and none at all. Throwing on a few clothes hastily, he strolled off" towards the baths, and after a leisurely swim in the cool translucent wave, he found his appetite for breakfast improved and his mental vision obviously cleared. He arrived at divers and various wise resolutions ; and one of them was to call upon Mr. Frankston, the merchant. Two heads are better than one, decided Mr. II A COLONIAL REFORMER 15 ISTeuchainp sapiently, and Granville said that this old gentle- man's head was an exceedingly good one, nearly, but not quite, as good as his heart. Discovering with some difficulty the precise street, almost a lane, where he had suddenly descried the well-remembered name, he walked into tliis office about half-past ten o'clock, and inquired for the head of the house. The clerk civilly motioned him to a chair, telling him that Mr. Frankston was engaged, but would not probably be long, as the gentleman witli him was Captain Carryall, in an awful hurry to put to sea. In rather less than five minutes the door opened suddenly, emitting a loud burst of laughter, and a tall sun-tanned man in a frock-coat, whose bold bright eyes were dancing again with fun and covert enjoyment of an apparently very keen jest. As more than one anxious-looking person had passed into the outer office, Ernest walked in, and found himself in the presence of a stoutish old gentleman, with a high-coloured, clean-shaved countenance, who was chuckling with great relish, and subsiding from an exhausting fit of merriment. His white waistcoat predominated much over his clothing generally, giving that colour, with the aid of a spotless domain of shirt- collar and shirt-front, an unfair advantage over his sad-coloured suit of gray tweed. ' Good-morning to you, sir, — won't you take a chair,' said the old gentleman with much civility. ' Very rude to be laughing in the face of a visitor. But that Captain Carryall told me the best story I've heard for ages. Picked it up at the islands last cruise. Awful fellow ! You'd excuse me, I'm sure, if you knew him. How can I be of use to you, my dear sir?' This last query belonged evidently to another region than the one into which the sea-captain, with his coeur-de-lion face, had allured him. So Ernest produced his card, and a note 'from their mutual friend, Mr. Granville, he believed.' The old merchant glanced at the signature, and without another look hurled himself out of his armchair, and seizing Mr. Neuchamp's liand, wrung it with affectionate earnestness. ' My dear sir — my dear fellow,' gasped he ; ' I'd have given a hundred jjounds if our friend could have been here, and heard that yarn of Charley Carryall's. Now, attend to me while I tell you what you've got to do. You'll have enough to amuse yourself till five o'clock, and then you're to come here with your trunk. The carriage will call punctually at that hour, and you're to come out with me to my little place, on the South Head Koad, and confer upon me the very great obligation of staying with me till you go up the country — if you do go. Now, isn't that settled?' ' I am very sorry,' stammered Ernest ; ' it is so extremely kind of you ; but I hiwv; more than half promised to go up tlie country to-morrow to look at a station witli a view to buying it.' 16 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap. 'And get sold yourself,' interjected Mr. Frankston. 'Not just yet, if you'll be my boy for a year or two. Whose desirable proi^erty is it ? ' ' It belongs to a Mr. Selmore, whom I met at the Royal Hotel,' answered Ernest, ' who was very kind, and gave me some very good advice.' ' Ha ! ha ! ha ! ' shouted the old boy, becoming very purple in the face ; ' knew it was him — Gammon Downs, eh ! Wonderful man, take in his own father if he was hard up, and suffer his venerable grandsire and maiden aunts to invest their last penny in a sour grass country, with fluky sheep, Cumberland and scab given in. Hanged if he wouldn't, and go to church immediately afterwards. Most remarkable man. Hartley Selmore ! ' Mr. Neuchamp wondered how Mr. Frankston knew the name of Mr. Selmore's valuable estate, and how he had ever made any Dioney, if he did nothing but laugh. Indeed, it seemed to be his chief occupation in life, judging from his conduct since they had met. 'Then you would not advise me to invest just at present?' inquired he. ' Not unless you wish to be in the possession of a small, very small amount of experience, and not one solitary copper at the end of twelve months,' said Mr. Frankston, with great decision. ' This is a bad time to buy, stock are falling. Don't begin at all till you see your way. If you meet Selmore tell him you've changed your mind for the present, and will write and let him know when it is convenient for you to inspect Gammon Downs. Five, sharp ! old man ; ' and with a paternal glance in his quick twinkling eye, Mr. Frankston made an affirmative nod to his chief clerk, who then and there entered, and a farewell one to Ernest, who after he left the portals stood for a moment like a man in a dream. ' This is certainly a most remarkable country,' he soliloquised ; ' with their outward resemblance to Englishmen, there must be some strange mental divergence not easily fathomed. I remem- ber Granville telling me that this old buffer was a better father to him than his own had ever been, or some such strong expres- sion ; therefore I will at once decide to act upon his advice ; Selmore and his winning way, notwithstanding. One must take up a position firmly or not at all. So I shall elect to stand or fall by this apoplectic old white- waistcoated guardian-angel, as he proposes to be.' 'My dear Neuchamp,' said a cheery voice, while a cheery hand smote him familiarly on the back, ' you look absorbed in contemplation. This is the wrong country for that. Action, sir, action is the word in Australia. Now, do you know what I was doing when I ran against you ? — actually going down to Bliss's livery stables to see if I could pick you out a decent hack. Burstall and Scouter are going to start early to-morrow, and of course you'll want a hack that won't frighten you after coming II A COLONIAL REFORMER 17 from the old country. With luck you'll be under the verandah at Gammon Downs on the afternoon of the fourth day.' Ernest braced himself together, and fixing his eyes upon the somewhat shifting orbs of his agreeable friend, said with studied calmness — ' I shall be extremely sorry, my dear sir, to put you or your friends to any inconvenience on my account, but I have changed my mind, and do not think of leaving Sydney for a month or two.' He was conscious of a stern, half -angry, searching gaze, which seemed to drag out of his countenance every word of the conversation with Mr. Frankston, before Mr. Selmore said grandly, ' I am sorry to hear that you have so suddenly altered your plans. I had written to the overseer at Gammon Downs to have everything in readiness to receive you, and Burstall and Scouter will, I know, be put out at losing the pleasure of your company. But of course if you have made other arrangements —only I am afraid that if you don't feel disposed to name a day for visiting Gammon Downs I may possibly dispose of it privately, and as the subject has cropped up (not at my initia- tion, you are aware), I do honestly think that no place in the country would have suited you half as well.' Ernest felt sorely tempted to say that in a fortnight or three weeks he would be able to go up, but he remembered Mr. Frankston's suggestion, and rather coldly answered that he would write and inform Mr. Selmore when it would be con- venient for him to inspect Gammon Downs. The inevitable smile, which was worn in all weathers upon the face of Hartley Selmore, had so little real sincerity about it after this state- ment, that when he had received a warm parting grasp, Ernest felt strongly convinced that he had fitted the right arrow to the string. CHAPTER III In one respect at least it cannot be denied that the new country difiers widely from the old. Events of important and fateful nature succeed each other with a rapidity so great as to affect the actor with a sensation of unreality. He soon learns, however, that this high-pressure transaction of life involves issues none the less exacting of consequences. He recognises the necessity of watchfulness, of prompt decision, and abandons liimself to tlie accelerated rate of speed with a degree of con- fidence which he cannot help suspecting to be recklessness in disguise. It may be that ideas akin to this view of the subject passed through Mr. Neuchamp's reflective mind while waiting for the appointed time at which he was to meet Mr. Frankston at his oflice. But a few hours since he had been on the verge of a headlong and what now appeared to him a dangerous invest- ment, in which his whole capital might have been swamped, and his plans for social and colonial regeneration delayed for years, if not wholly frustrated. Now, with an equally violent oscillation, he had abandoned one recent friend, and adopted another equally unkno%vn ; to-morrow he might be embarked upon another pi'oject with equal risk of proximity to a colonial whirlpool capable of swallowing an argosy. What was he to do in this frightful pi'ocession, where fortune and ruin followed each other upon the path of life like express trains ? Was there such a thing as prudence, hesitation, or delay in Austialian business matters? He would not be so credulous again. Was this cheerful old merchant, whose speech was kindness, and whose eye was truth apparently, to be unre- servedly trusted ? He would hear what his counsel was like meanwhile ; he knew liis friend Granville to be clear-sighted and direct. He fully trusted him, and had good reason to do so. Yes — he would put his fortune on this die. Vogue la galere ! He had consulted his watch more than once before the hansom deposited him with a portmanteau at the office of Paul Frankston and Co., at two minutes past five o'clock. Just afterwards, a well-appointed carriage, drawn by a well-matched CHAP. Ill A COLONIAL REFORMER 19 pair of bays, drove rapidly up to the door. As he was approv- ingly regarding the well-bred horses, he did not observe that a young lady inside was essaying to open the door of the carriage. Ernest, shocked at his unchivalrous conduct, rushed to the door, wrenched it open, and with a slight but deferential bow assisted her to alight. She walked at once into the oflice, followed by Mr. Neuchamp. ' I have been to Shaddock's, paj^a, for some books, and I thought I was late,' she said, throwing her arms round the old man's neck, unconscious that Ernest was immediately behind. ' You're generally punctual, puss, and so I won't scold her, Mr. Neuchamp,' said the old boy with his customary chuckle, as the young lady turned round and beheld with surprise the involuntary witness of her tribute of affection. ' Mr. Neuchamp, my daughter Antonia. My c^ear, this gentleman is coming to stay with us for a few months — for a year or two — all his life, perhaps, so the sooner you get acquainted the better.' Then the young lady smiled, and hoped that Mr. Neuchamp \vould find their house pleasant, and become accustomed in time to papa's jokes. 'I can tell you it's no joke at all, miss. You know very well that if Mr. Granville would have had you, I should have ordered you to marry him forthwith. Now, Mr. Neuchamp is a great friend of his, and all we can do for him will be too little.' ' Mr. Gran\'ille was the nicest man I ever met,' affirmed tlie young lady. ' As for marrying, that is another matter. I dare- say Mr. Neuchamp is coming to a proper understanding about your assertions, papa. How do you like the view, Mr. Neu- champ ? ' As she spoke she leaned partly out of the carriage and gazed seawards. They were now driving upon a rather narrow and winding road, smoothly gravelled and well kept, much like a country lane in England. On the southern side the hill rose abruptly above them ; on the lower side a dwarf wall of sand- stone blocks occasionally protected the traveller from a too precipitous descent. Siirubs and flowers, as strange to Mr. Neuchamp as the flora of the far-famed bay, but a mile or two from them now, was to Sir Joseph Banks, bordered the road on either side in rich profusion. But the eye roamed over the intervening valley, over villas of trim beauty, clean-cut in the delicately pale sandstone, to the wondrous beauty of the land- locked sea. Blue as the yEgean, it was superior in its astonish- ing wealth of baj^s, mimic quays, and peerless anchorage to any harV>our in the world. Crafts of all kinds and sizes floated upon its unruffled wave, from the majestic ocean steamer, gliding proudly to her anchorage, to the white-winged, over- rigged sailing boat, with her crew of lads seated desperately on the windward gunnel, to squatter out like a brood of wild ducks and right their crank craft, should fortune and the breeze 20 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap. desert them. Northward rose the ' sullen shape ' of the great sandstone promontory, the North Head, towering over the surges that break endlessly at its base, and with its twin sentinel of the south, guarding the narrow entrance to the unrivalled haven. The fresh breeze swept through the girl's hair and tinged her cheek with a transient glow, as she said, 'Is not that lovely ? I have seen it almost daily for years, but it never palls on me.' ' Beautifvd as a dream landscape,' said Ernest from his heart. ' It makes one recall dear old Sir Walters words — ' Where's the coward that would not dare To fight for such a land ? ' ' We are a peaceful people so f^r,' said Mr. Frankston ; ' but I fancy that we should take to war kindly enough in the event of invasion, for instance, and hammer away as briskly and as doggedly as our forefathers.' ' How many years have you been in this colony, may I ask 1 ' said Ernest. ' Not long enough to shake off British feelings and prejudices, I am certain.' ' About ten years,' deposed Mr. Frankston confidently. ' Oh, papa ! ' said Miss Antonia. ' Well ! ' said the old gentleman, looking roguishly at her, * I may have been here a leetle longer ; but I am within the strict limits of truth in stating that I have been here for ten years — there is no doubt about that.' Thus chatting, they had arrived at a pair of iron gates, through which entering, they turned into the smoothest of gravel roads, which was obviously watered daily. The grounds through which the upstanding bay horses bore them over the superb gravel, were extensive, but in perfect order. Many of the trees, chiefly of semi-tropical habit, were of great age, and their broad glossy leaves, faintly stirred by the sea-breeze, had a murmuring sound, which told the heart of an imaginative listener tales of a calm enchanted main of coral reefs, of paLm-fringed, milk-white strands, and all the wonders of the charmed Isles of the Great South Sea. They drew up at the door of a large old-fashioned mansion, built oi pale sandstone and surmounted by an extremely broad paved verandah, looking like a section of an ice-house. ' Mr. Neuchamp ! ' said the old gentleman, ' this is your home as long as you are in Australia. I hope you like the look of it. It's exactly twelve minutes to dinner-time; so I recommend both of you to waste no time in dressing. James ! ' A serious-looking man-servant advanced, and taking Ernest's portmanteau inducted him into a fascinating bedroom, with such a view of the sea that he was nearly led into forgetting the old gentleman's paternal admonition, and being late for dinner. However, by putting on extra steam, after the important Ill A COLONIAL REFORMER 21 transaction of the tie was completed, he managed to re-enter the hall just as Mr. Frankston came skipping downstairs, and was immediately entrusted with the care of Miss Frankston as far as the dining-room. The evening was warm, but the perfection of cookery com- bined with the quality and temperature of the wines to prevent any deep feeling of inconvenience. ]\Iiss Frankston talked pleasantly and unaffectedly, while the old gentleman neglected no opportunity of interjecting a joke or telling some remarkably good story, for Mr. Neuchamp's benefit, of which his daughter did not always see the point. After dinner Miss Frankston retired, with an assurance from her father that they did not intend to absent themselves for more than ten minutes, after which the serious butler brought in tenderly another bottle of claret, and departed. ' Fill your glass, Mr. Neuchamp,' said the old man ; ' it won't hurt your head, nor your — any other part, I guarantee, for I imported it myself, and let us talk a very little business. What do you think of doing 1 ' 'My intention is fixed to purchase a landed property, an estate or station, as you call them. Of course I can only begin in a small way, and that was why Mr. Selmore's place. Gammon Downs, seemed particularly suited.' ' Gammon Downs has ruined every man, but Selmore, who has ever had anything to do with it. It's a sour, bad little place, in which you would have lost all your money in about a year, and would have had to sell, or give away, the stock.' 'And did Mr. Selmore know that it was a bad investment, an undesirable property, when he oflfered it to me ? ' '1 am sorry to say,' quoth the old gentleman, 'that he did know it, perfectly well ; he knew that it has ruined half a dozen men, whose names I could give you.' 'And is he considered to be a gentleman and a man of honour, in this part of the world ? ' inquired Mr. Neuchamp in tones of great surprise. ' Well, he is a gentleman — that is, if good birth, good manners, and a good education go to make one. But he has always speculated to the verge of his capital, and now, stock being rather low, he is decidedly hard up. But he is a wonderfully sharp hand, and he generally contrives to get hold of a " black hat" at least once a year, which has puUed him through so far.' ' A black hat ? ' demanded Ernest ; ' and why not?— they seerju common enough. And why should a hat, black or white, help him in any way 1 ' 'You don't quite understand,' answered Mr. Frankston, with a twinkle of his fun-loving gray eyes, ' though it is more a bush expression tlian a town one, and rather slangy. A " black hat " in Australian parlance means a new arrival. And as people without colonial experience, like yourself, for instance, cannot 22 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap. be expected to understand the relative value of stock and stations, such a purchaser falls an easy prey to a talented but unscrupulous man like your friend Selmore.' A light suddenly illumined the understanding of Mr. Neu- champ, whose faculties, like those of enthusiasts generally, were keen, if occasionally misdirected. ' So that was what his friend Evelyn laughingly alluded to when they met us yesterday. " I see you have your black hat with you, ' he said.' ' By Jove ! you don't say so ; did Evelyn say that 1 ' laughed the commercial mentor ; ' just like him ; for two pins he'd have warned you not to believe a word he said. Fine fellow, Evelyn ! And what did Mr. Selmore say 1 ' ' He only smiled, took off his own hat — an ordinary " Lincoln and Bennett " — stroked it, and put it on his head again.' ' Capital, capital ! Oh lord ! that was Selmore all over. You can't easily match him. He has the devil's own readiness. Deuced clever fellow he always was ! It's a pity, too, really it is. If he were not so desperately cornered, I believe he's a kind- hearted fellow in the main. But when he has bills to meet he'd take in his own father.' ' Thou shalt want ere I want,' as that famous free-lance, Mr. Dugald Dalgetty, formerly of Marischal College, remarked, thought Ernest ; but he said, ' It seems then that my small capital was very nearly appropriated to the retirement of Mr. Sel- more's bills payable, which was not my primary intention in choos- ing a colonial career. My dear sir, I shall never be sufficiently thankful for your kind advice. What would you advise me to do now, if I may trespass further on your great kindness ? ' ' My dear boy, as Granville's friend, I look upon you as my son temporarily ; and if I had a son who had just completed his education and wished to purchase station property, I should say to him, this is a country and stock-farming is a profession not to be understood all at once. Before investing your money spend a little time in learning the ways of the people of the country and of the management of stock before you invest a shilling.' ' And how long do you think a man of reasonable intelligence ought to be in gaining the requisite knowledge ? ' asked Ernest, rather dismayed at the prospect of a lengthened term of ap- prenticeship. ' Not a day less than two years,' answered Mr. Frankston decisively. ' My advice to you is to travel for a month or two through the interior, and then to locate yourself on some station where you can acquire the details of practical manage- ment.' ' But will not that be expensive, and what could I do with my money in the meantime 1 ' ' It will not be expensive ; and as to your money, you can lodge it in a bank, where you will receive interest at current Ill A COLONIAL REFORMER 23 rates. You can select any of our Sydney banks, which are quite as safe as the Bank of England. I shall then be happy to give you introductions which will secure you a home and the means of acquiring the necessary knowledge.' ' Thanks, a thousand thanks,' quoth Ernest, much relieved ; ' at any rate I shall feel safe. I shall gladly take your advice ; and the sooner I am ofi" the better.' ' Better stay a month with me,' urged the kind-hearted old boy ; ' there is plenty of time for you to learn all about stock, and how to distinguish between Gammon Downs and a run that, if it doesn't make a fortune all at once, will not ruin you under five years at any rate.' But the man to whom he spoke had not crossed ten thousand miles of ocean, torn up old associations, and severed himself from the inherited life of an English country gentleman, to linger by the wayside. So he made answer — 'My dear sir, I feel that if I have left many good friends behind I have found one as kind and more effectual in hel]) and counsel. But my purpose is fixed. I cannot rest without I feel that I am on my way to its fulfilment. With your permission I must leave town next week at farthest.' ' Well, well — I am not sure but that you are wise. Sydney is an easy place to spend money in, and there is nothing like buckling to when there is work to be done. I must see and pick you up a horse.' ' Do you know,' said Mr. Neuchamp with an air of slight diffidence, ' that I much prefer to walk ; I shall see more of the country and be less hampered, I imagine, on foot.' ' Walk ! walk /' repeated Mr. Frankston, rather taken aback ; ' don't think of it.' ' Why not, may I ask % ' ' Because in this country no one walks. It is too hot for that sort of thing, and it is not exactly the thing for a gentle- man.' ' But,' pleaded Ernest, ' I am a tolerable pedestrian ; many a pleasant walking tour I have had in England, and indeed on the Continent. Is there any danger 1 ' ' None, that I am aware of — but I would certainly advise you to get a horse, or a couple ; they are cheap enough here.' ' You won't be offended if I say that I really prefer walking. It is a capital thing in many ways ; and I .shall not get a chance of seeing Australian life without conventional spectacles so easily again perhaps.' ' Please yourself, then,' said Mr. Frankston ; ' I am very much in favour of letting people alone, particularly in unimiwrtant matters ; you will find out for yourself, I daresay, why I advised you to commence your journey on the outside of a good horse. You won't take any more wine 1 Then we'll go and get a cup of cofi'ee from Antonia.' They found tliat young lady ensconced in a large cane chair '■^4 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap. upon the balcony in front of the drawing-room, gazing dreamily- over the dark glimmering waters. 'You will find coffee on that round table, Mr. Neuchamp ; and you, papa, will find your cigar-case on that ledge. Mr. Neuchamp, if you like to smoke, pray do so ; I have no dislike to it in the open air.' Mr. Neuchamp did not smoke. He held it to be a waste of time, of money, of brain-power ; leading likewise to a false con- tent with circumstances, with which the true man should wage ceaseless warfare. So he brought his chair near to that of Miss Frankston, and as the old gentleman lighted his cigar and leaned back in much comfort at some distance, he felt fully dis- posed for a little sesthetic talk. ' What a glorious night,' he remarked, ' with this faint fresh sea-breeze ; how grand the effect of the darkly bright water, the burning stars, and this superb cloudless heaven.' ' It is so indescribably glorious,' made answer Miss Frankston, ' that I feel incensed with myself for not delighting in it more freshly and intensely. But it is thus with all familiar marvels that one has seen all one's life.' ' All one's life ? ' repeated he. 'I was bornin this house,' said she simply, 'and have sat on a chair like this, and gazed on the sea, as we are doing now, when I was a small lonely child.' 'Oh! dreamy and luxurious southerner,' laughed he. 'A life of lotus-eating ! Has it affected the tenor of your mind with any indisposition to exertion or change ? ' ' As far as I can pretend to know, it has had the reverse tendency in my case. I have always had a passionate desire to travel. I am my father's own daughter in that respect, he says.' ' And where has Mr. Frankston chiefly been ? ' ' Where has he not been 1 When he was young he managed to get away to sea, and roamed about the world splendidly ; he has been to New Zealand, of course ; all over the South Sea Islands; besides having travelled to England and the Con- tinent, the East and West Indies, Russia, America, China, and Japan.' ' You quite take my breath away. Your papa is a perfect Marco Polo. But why should he have gone to England ? ' ' In order to see it, of course. Every AustraHan with suffi- cient brains to comprehend that there are more streets in the world than George Street would like to do that.' ' And was Mr. Frankston born in Australia ? I thought he told me that he had been ten years here.' ' So he has been, and fifty more. He did not say only ten years. He likes to joke about being taken for an Englishman, and says it is because he has a red face and a white waistcoat.' 'Well, I do not see the resemblance on those grounds,' made answer Mr. Neuchamp guardedly. ' But really, your papa is so Ill A COLONIAL REFORMER 26 exactly like an old gentleman of my acquaintance, who is a very Briton of Britons, that I took it for granted that he must be English.' ' So he is English, and so am I English ; only we were not born in that small great country. But you must think that there ought to be some distinguishing manner, or accent, about Australians, or you would not exhibit surprise at the resem- blance.' 'If I ever had such an absurd idea, I am now entirely dis- abused of it,' said Mr. Neuchamp gallantly ; ' and I must hope that in a short time to come I may be taken for an Australian, of which at present there is not apparently the least prospect.' ' Indeed, there is not,' replied Miss Frankston ; ' pray excuse my smiling at the idea.' ' But why should I be so advertised, apparently by my whole personal etl'ect upon society, that the waiters at the hotel are as aware of the fact, the cabmen, the persons whom I pass in street, as if I had " passenger's luggage " marked on my shirt- front? It is not entirely my complexion, for I see blonde people in every direction ; nor my clothes, nor my speech, I hope.' ' I do not know, indeed. I cannot say. There must be some difference, or people would not notice it. But you must not imagine that because you are known to have just come from home that anything short of a compliment is intended. Indeed,' said the girl with some diffidence, ' it's quite the other way.' ' I am delighted to hear you say so,' returned Mr. Neuchamp, 'and it will comfort Wilhelm Meister during his "Wander- jahre."' ' Kennst du das Land ? ' sang she. ' Are you fond of music, Mr. Neuchamp 1 for I think I shall go in and give papa his nightly allowance of harmony. He refuses always to go to bed until I have sung to him. You had better keep him company.' Mr. Neuchamp did so, the air of the balcony and the sight of the wondrous Southern Cross being as yet more attractive than the lady of the castle and her song. ' That's right,' said the old gentleman, lighting another cigar and composing himself to listen. ' Pity you don't smoke ; it's an added ])ley the bye, Charley Carryall was here the other day. Told me some lirst- rate yarns — sorry you weren't at Morahinoe to hear 'em. Well, but why liaven't you fetched your whaling ground — I lucan your run — yet ? Antonia was in a great way when she saw the tclcgiani, in the Evening Tiinea, that you had been appndiended and locked up for keeping company with 'another prisoner.' Ha, ha, ha! Can't help it, couldn't really! She kejtt picturing you in a dungeon, and all the rest of it. I said that you would enjoy it for a day or two, during the hot weather. What do you think about walking ? Have you got a horse yet ? We are all very U 93 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap, x niiddlino;. Couldn't you square it with Jedwood to come down at Christ- mas ? There's not much work doing then anywhere. The verandah at ]\Iorahmee won't be half a bad place about that time, if it's as hot as it was last year. I saw Hartley Selmore the other day. He sold Gammon Downs to a young fellow, just out. My head clerk is rather a queer old character. 'Ah! sir,' he said, 'don't you think Mr. Selmore will go to hell for selling such a place to that poor young gentleman ? ' 'Really I don't know,' I answered, 'there always seems a sufficient supply of young fellows with a little money and no brains. If they were not gobbled up by the Selmores, some other big fish would be sure to have them.' However, Antonia said Hartley was a cold-blooded rascal, and I was nearly as bad for making light of his villainy. So I did not take much by my joke. Stock have fallen since you left town, and will fall more yet if the war does not come to an end, and this very dry season. So your money is all the safer in the bank. Don't on any account invest without consulting me. Work as hard as you like, but don't get sunstroke. Avoid brandy and water ; and when you're very tired of wool and bullocks, see if you can't find the road to Morahmee again. Remember me to our Jedwood. He'll keep you up to the mark, unless he's altered.— Your old friend, Paul Fkankston. CHAPTER XI He who embarks upon an enterprise or commences a course of life involving absolute departure from every early habit and association will invariably be assailed at some stage or period by distrust, even by despondency. It is not in man to complete all the multifarious acts and volitions pertaining to any momentous change without experiencing the strongest reactionary impulses to halt, to doubt, to waver, to retreat. That Ernest Neuchamp possessed these, among other weak- nesses of our nature, we are by no means prepared to deny. But he had one counterbalancing quality which oftentimes stood him in good stead, when on the dangerous declivities of inde- cision. This compensating element was a habit of reasoning out his proceedings logically before the day of battle. He formed his opinions, arranged his movements, with Prussian deliberation and purpose aforethought. Having decided upon his order of action, he vowed mentally that no infringement upon his plan should be suffered, whatever might be his own ephemeral impulses, even convictions. Thus he often carried out programmes involving foregone conclusions, with ruthless exactitude against every feeling, taste, and sentiment then and there animating his rebellious mind. ' No ! ' he would repeat to himself. ' I made my calculations, carried out my reasoning to its legitimate demonstration, when no disturbing element was present. Shall I veer with every shift of wind, consult every sudden instinct or every emotional sen.sation ? No — onward by the true and proved course ! ' Steadfastly adhering, therefore, to his sketch-map, on the following morning Mr. Neuchamp accompanied his host on a tour of insjjection, and gathered some approximate notion of the character of the stock and station, together with the duties which as an aspirant to the comprehensive study of ' colonial experience ' he might be expected to perform. The somewhat extensive property known as Carrandilla was dividend by a river, on one side of which natural boundary tlie stock coiiHisted of sheep — on the other of cattle. The iiurtluM-n subdivision comprised four ' blocks,' having each five miles' 100 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap. frontage to the Wandabyne, a permanent and occasionally tur])u- lently flowing stream. As far back as thirty miles, the lands were held upon the usual lease from the Crown. Through all this great tract of country no man was legally entitled to travel, save on the road which passed along the course of the river, avoiding only the sinuosities of its course. North Garrandilla consisted wholly of saltbush plains, diversified only by ' belts ' of myall and eucalyptus forest. It was therefore held to be appropriate for sheep, to the highly successful production of which it had always been devoted. On the south side, the ' lay of the country,' as Jack Windsor would have called it, was different. Marshy flats, interspersed with lagoons and reed-beds, extended along, and for several miles back from the river. With this exception the greater part of the area was covered with more or less open forest, while at 'the back,' or the extreme limit of the unwatered region away from the river, were ranges of hills precipitous and heavily timbered, among which the cattle roved at will during the winter season, returning to the low grounds as the fierce sun of the Australian waste commenced to dry the interior water- courses. At a short distance from ' the house,' Mr. Jedwood's cottage, or hut, as the residence of the proprietor was indifferently designated, stood a roomy, roughly finished building known as the ' barracks.' Here lived the overseer, a hard-working, hard- riding, weather-beaten personage, who appeared to exist in a chronic state of toil, anxiety, and general lack of repose. Three of the numerous bedrooms were tenanted by young men, upon the same footing as Mr. Neuchamp, neophytes, who were gradually assimilating the lore of Bushland, and hopiiig to emulate the successful career of Allan Jedwood, or other pastoral magnates. One of these was a far-off kinsman, Malcolm Grahame by name, a steady, persevering, self-denying Scot ; while another, Mr. Fitzgerald Barrington, erst of Castle Bar- rington. County Clare, sufliciently expressed his nationality and general tendencies by his patronymic and titular designation. Lastly was a brown Australian boy, of eighteen or nineteen, very sparing of his words, and prone to decry the general intelli- gence of his comrades, from a comparison of their woodcraft with his own, in which competition they were, for the present, let us say, manifestly inferior. Into this society Mr. Neuchamp voluntarily and contentedly entered, holding that his education would be the sooner com- pleted if he graduated, so to speak, before the mast, than from the captain's cabin. To the barracks also were relegated those just too exalted for the men's hut, while not eligible for the possibly distinguished company occasionally entertained at 'the cottage.' Such were cattle-dealers, sheep-buyers, overseers of neighbouring stations, and generally unaccredited travellers whose manners or appearance rendered classification hazardous. xr A COLONIAL REFORMER 101 Ernest managed to have a preliminary conversation with Mr. Jed wood, in which the latter gentleman, who was extremely plain, not to say blunt, of speech, put his position fairly before him. ' You will understand, Neuchamp,' said he, ' that, though I feel bound, on account of old Paul, who was a good friend to me in time past, to do what I can for you, you must not look for any great amount of consideration from the overseer, Mr. Doubletides, or from the other youngsters. I hope you will all be treated like gentlemen as long as you stay at Garrandilla, but you will be made useful, and set at all sorts of work, in a way perhaps that may sometimes appear strange.' ' Not at all,' replied Ernest. ' I am as anxious as any one can be to master the details of bush life, and the sooner the better. I don't think you will find any false delicacy about me, what- ever may be the practical nature of my employment for the present.' ' Well, that's all right,' said Mr. Jedwood heartily. ' It's the best way, too. I had to work, and devilish hard, too, as a youngster, or I should never have been here as master, I can tell you.' After this conversation, Ernest was put under the immediate orders of the overseer, Mr. Doubletides, who speedily made it apparent to him that bush life at a large station did not entirely consist of galloping about like Bedouin Arabs and reposing under palm or other trees of grateful shade. Galloping about there was, doubtless ; but often the rides were long, weary, and unexciting, with absolutely no shade to speak of, while so con- tinuous was the routine of carrying rations, driving sheep, bringing in working bullocks, carting water to out-stations, and generally performing no inconsiderable amount of hardish manual labour, that Mr. Neuchamp at times felt inclined to adopt the same distrustful view of it all which Mr. Weller took of the alphabet — 'Whether indeed it was worth going through so much to learn so little.' In any riding that might be ordered, Mr. Neuchamp fared sumptuously compared with the other cadets, who, confined to the ordinai-y station -hacks, were constantly complaining of their roughness, insecurity, or generally unamiable qualities. Osmund, now quiet, well fed, and tended in the Garrandilla sta}>les, to use Jack Windsor's expre.ssion, ' went like a bird,' and daily demonstrated the soundness of that gentleman's choice and opinion. Charley Banks, the Australian youngster, admired Osmund in secret very niucli, and at length oftered Ernest five pounds to boot, if he would 'swop,' or excliange liim for a chestnut mare which he, Charley, had bought out of the neighbouring pound. 'Slic's quite good enough for this work, Neuchamp,' he re- marked, 'and you might as well have the fiver in your pocket 102 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap. as be wearing out your colt's legs for old Doubletides here. Jed- wood will see you far enough before he gives you another one in his place, if you screw him doing his work.' 'And why would he sell or swop him at all, ye little horse- racing divil, that wants to be making a blackleg of yourself at the township races 1 He's the only horse fit to carry a gentle- man I seen this year past, and the very moral of a horse the whipper-in of the Barrington hounds rode.' ' You be blowed,' retorted the son of the soil ; ' I don't believe you rode much to hounds in Ireland or anywhere else, or else you would stick on better.' ' Stick on ! ' shouted the Milesian. ' I can ride with any corn- stalk that ever sat in a thing with a pillow on each flap, that you call a saddle. Sure ye'd be laughed out of any hunting-field in Britain if ye took one of them things there.' ' Well, we can stick to 'em when we are there,' sarcastically observed Mr. Banks ; ' I'll bet you the fiver I was going to give Neuchamp, you don't sit for ten minutes on that chestnut colt Jack Windsor's coming up here with now, and he's ridden him, now it's the thi^'d day.' Charley Banks emphasised the last number of the colt's daily experiences of man, as if no one but an elderly capitalist, with gout or asthma, could possibly decline so childishly safe a mount. ' Done with you ! ' shouted the roused son of Erin. ' One would think you conceited cornstalks had discovered the horse, in this sandy wilderness of a country of yours, and that no one had ever ridden or shot flying before he came here.' ' I don't know about shooting,' said the lad reflectively, ' but I'm dashed if ever I saw a new arrival that could sit a buck- jumper, even if he only propped straight forward, and didn't do any side- work. Anyway, we'll see in about five minutes.' Here Mr. Windsor arrived upon a bright chestnut colt, with three white legs, and a blaze down the face, and a considerable predominance of the same colour into the corners of his eyes, thus giving an expression more peculiar than engaging to those organs, when used for tlie purpose of staring at the rider. In addition to these peculiarities, he had an uneasy tail, always moving from side to side with a feline, quietly -exasperated expression. 'Good-morning, sir,' said Jack to Ernest. 'Good-morning, gentlemen all ; fine growing weather.' ' No finer,' said Barrington ; ' how are you getting on with the colts 1 ' ' Not bad,' answered the horse-tamer ; ' I've backed two a week since 1 came, and have three in tackle, in the yard now. This one's a fine colt to go, but he's rather unsettled when the fit takes him.' ' Sorry for that, for I've a bet with Mr. Banks here that I'll mount him and stay on for ten minutes. Sure, ye knew, ye artful colonist, that he was a divil ; you won't refuse me the XI A COLONIAL REFORMER 103 mount, Jack, me boy, breaker to his Highness the Grand Duke of Garrandilla 1 ' ' Not I, Mr. Barrington, if you've got a neck to spare, but you'll bear in mind yourself— he's a sour devil when his blood's up ; and mayn't like a stranger. Though he's pretty fair now.' Here Jack slid quietly to the ground and patted the colt's neck, who snorted, but when soothed was apparently quiet. Barrington gained courage, and taking out his watch, gave it to Ernest to hold. ' Ten minutes,' he said ; ' and now I'll bet you all a couple of pounds each, that if I come off, not one of the lot of ye can ride him up to the stockyard and back.' The bet was taken all round. Mr. Barrington with a confi- dent air advanced, and getting Windsor to hold the colt closely and firmly, mounted easily and rode off. The young horse ap- parently took no notice of the change of riders for some time, but walked steadily off along a bank which led to the sheep- drafting yard. Barrington was charmed with himself, and with his mount, whom he immediately decided in his own mind to be an animal of fine disposition, in danger of being spoiled, as was usual in the colony, by rough breaking. As he turned back, after about five minutes' ride, he concluded to favour the com- pany with a trot. He therefore touched the colt with his heel and slacked the rein. Now, whether, as was very possible, though a fair and very bold horseman, he did not sit with the glove-like adherence to the pigskin's surface which characterised Mr. Windsor's every movement, we have no means of knowing ; of matters of fact, however, as eye-witnesses, we can judge. The chestnut glanced nervously back with his Albino-tinged eyes, made a rapid swerve, then a diving headlong plunge, instant- aneously arrested. This threw forward the incautious Bar- rington, while with sudden frenzy the now fully-aroused animal bounded galvanically upward with his back arched, and dropped with his mouth wrenched resistlessly from the rider's hold and almost touching the ground. The suddenness of the act, joined with the convulsive force of the propelling power, first tended to place Mr. Barrington in a somewhat leaning position. From this he was prevented from recovering his place in the saddle by the lightning-like rapidity of the recurring headlong plunges. Strong, fearless, and elastic with the glorious activity of early manhood, he made a desperate struggle to retain his seat ; but the dcerlike, sidelong bounds, instantaneously reversed, gave him no cliunce. Failing to follow a terrific side leap, his equilibrium was dis- turbed, the corresponding swerve sundered him and the saddle still farther, wliile a concluding upward bound on all fours, ' ])ropping,' so as to progress backward rather than othcrwi.se, shot him forward as from a catapult, head first and clean delivered. 104 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap. ' Ugh ! ugh ! shall I ever — ugh, ugh — get my wind again ? Ugh —you savage, unnatural son of a — ugh — gun — what right have you to be called a horse at all 1 Sure no one but a blackfellow, or Mexican, or a native, Banks, me boy, could expect to sit on such a baste of prey. Here's an order for five pounds, Charley, ye villain ; they're good, as yet, and now go ride him yourself, and let me enjoy myself looking on.' Mr. Windsor, on another horse, was by this time in pursuit of the excited animal, which kept snorting, kicking, and other- wise protesting against any other interference with his natural rights. ' He can buck a bit,' said Charley Banks, eoolly girding him- self for the fray by taking off his coat and tightening a leathern strap which he wore round the waist, ' but if you hadn't come forward, Paddy, the first time he propped, he mightn't have gone to market at all. Here goes.' The chestnut was soon secured by the agile and deft Windsor, and held by that horse -tamer, ready for Charley Banks to bestride. He coolly divested himself of his coat, and advanced with perfectly unembarrassed mien towards the alarming chest- nut. Staring with homicidal glare out of his white-rimmed eyes, the successful combatant was standing perfectly still, but in a constrained and unnatural position. Before putting his foot in the stirrup, Mr. Banks examined with long-practised eye the gear and accoutrements. ' Why don't you have a surcingle, Windsor ? ' he said. ' What's a pair of girths to a colt like this? Call yourself a breaker? Where's the crupper ? ' ' I left them at home, Mr. Banks,' explained the rough-rider. ' Ben Bolt (as I christened him) was getting on so nicely before you young gentlemen came in the way that I never thought of wanting the regular colts' toggery. Besides, it don't matter much.' ' Doesn't it ? ' demanded the unappeased critic. ' Suppose he sends the saddle over his withers ? How's a fellow to sit him with one leg on each side of his neck ? However, here goes.' Mr. Banks, having enunciated his sentiments, quickly slipped into the saddle, and putting his feet well home in the stirrups, cocking up his toes, squaring his shoulders, and leaning slightly ba.ck, with easy nonchalance commanded Mr. Windsor to let him go. Freeing the tameless one on the instant, Mr. Windsor retired a few steps, and awaited for the next act in the performance. The colt seemed in no hurry to make use of his liberty. He stood in a cramped, awkward, half -asleep position. Mr. Banks touched him quietly, but he made no response. ' Oh ! hang it,' said that young gentleman, ' I did not bargain to sit here all day. I'll move you.' Suiting the action to the word, he ' put the hooks on him,' as a jock would have said — in other words, gave him the spurs XI A COLONIAL REFORMER 105 so unreservedly that nothing less than the bronze horse of San Marco or the stone charger of the Duke would have borne them unmoved. Ben Bolt did not. It was the match to the powder-barrel. With one wild plunge and a desperate rear which nearly overbalanced him, the nervous but determined animal bounded into the air. After these feats^ he appeared to settle down to practical, business-like buck-jumping, im- promptu, certainly, but of the highest order of excellence. He certainly did ' go to work,' as Mr. Windsor afterwards expressed it. Every known and unknown device which Sathanas could have devised for the benefit of a demon disguised as a horse was tried — and tried in vain. Mr. Banks, swaying easily front or rear of his saddle, never lost head or seat for an instant. Brought up in a horse-loving, horse-breeding district, he was familiar from childhood with every known form of practical or theoretical contravention of equine illegality. He could ride as soon as he could talk, and ere he wrote himself indifferently man, had backed successfully scores of unbroken horses, and ridden for wagers the cannibal Cruisers of more than one stud. His figure, slight, but very accurately proportioned, was just above the middle height ; his features were delicate and regular, with an approximation in the hardly aquiline nose and short lip to the Greek type, by no means uncommon among Austral- ians of the second or third generation. His strength was far greater than was apparent, arising more from the toughness of his muscles than from any great breadth or solidity ; and he had astonished the Garrandilla population one day by the ease with which he walked off' with successive heavy bags of flour upon his back, when all hands were unloading a dray from Orange. It was a pretty sight in its way, interesting enough to those who love contests, far from unduly safe, between men and the inferior animals, to see the ease with which the boy's figure followed each frantic movement of the infuriated animal, and with what perfect and apparently instinctive ease he retained his perilous seat. In vain the roused and desperate creature tried stopping, wheeling, side way and forward, and indeed backward. Nearly blown was Ben Bolt, evidently relaxing the height and elasticity of his deerlike bounds. The victory was decifled in favour of the imperturbable horseman, in Mr. Windsor's characteristic speech. 'By the holy poker! Mr. Banks, you've "monkeyed" him enough for one while. He won't try it on with you again in a hurry.' The victorious athlete was awaiting with a smile of trium])h on his lips for the colt to stop and recover his failing wind, when the frantic animal made a last maddened rear, trembling on the Imlance of falling Ijuckwards till tlie spectators held their breath ; then dashing his head violentlv to the earth as he inverted his po.sition, he stood with arched back and forelegs 106 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap. stretched out before him, as if he had been petrified in that position. As he did so the saddle slid over his lowered shoulder, de- pressed, as in a horse jumping down a precipice, and the girths passing the 'elbows' or projecting joints of the upper leg underneath, moved, loosened and flapping downward towards the hoofs. Mr. Banks, of course, strictly associated with his saddle, could do nothing to arrest its earthward progress. As saddle and bridle approached the animal's ears, he threw up his head with tremendous force, catching the legs of Mr. Bank.s and casting him violently on to his back, with the saddle spread out above him. That young gentleman, however, held on to the bridle-rein with such tenacity that the throat-lash giving way, it was jerked over the horse's head, leaving the reins in the rider's hands, while Ben Bolt, with a wild snorting neigh, trotted off, free from all encumbrance, or, as Jack Windsor ex- pressed it, ' as naked as he was born.' Every one looked extremely grave and sympathetic as the lieroic Charley sat up with the saddle in his lap, until he, in the mild monotone of his ordinary speech, said — ' That's the fruits of being too lazy to put on a crupper and surcingle, as any man that calls himself a horsebreaker ought to do. Suppose I'd hurt myself, it would have been all your fault, Windsor ! ' Then he arose deliberately and shook himself, whereupon they all burst into a great fit of laughter at his rueful and injured air, as if being shot over a vicious colt's head, after ten minutes' buck-jumping, was a trifling annoyance, that the least care might have prevented. Mr. Neuchamp walked over to the saddle, which he carefully examined. ' Why, the girths are still buckled on each side ! ' he exclaimed with astonishment. ' How the deuce could the brute have got the saddle over his head as he did — as he certainly did ? ' ' Bedad he did ! eh, Charley, me boy 1 and that's a trick of rapid horsemanship / never saw performed before with my own two eyes,' said Mr. Barrington. 'There's many a man, now, in my country, if I were to tell this story, wouldn't believe me on my oath. They'd say it was unreasonable. You might stick them, and they'd never give in.' 'I wish one of them was on that brute's back,' said Mr. Banks, rubbing a portion of his frame. ' I thought I was as right as ninepence, and then to be slewed that way, and all for the want of a strap or two. I hate carelessness.' ' Never mind. Banks, you sat him magnificently,' said Ernest cheeringly. ' I never saw such a bit of riding in my life. It will be many a day before any of us can exhibit in the same way. I consider you fairly won your bet. But still I remain unsatisfied about the saddle coming off without breaking the girtha How did it ? ' XI A COLONIAL REFORMER 107 ' Well, it's this way,' said Mr. Windsor, bracing himself for explanation. ' It's not a common thing, though I've seen young ones do it more than once or twice before. You see, first the horse sticks down his head with his nose on the ground, as if he was jumping down a well. Then he plants his feet right out before him, so as his hoofs and his nose are almost touch- ing ; his legs and his neck are all of a line. Young ones gener- ally have a roundish, lumpy shoulder. If the saddle slips over it, and the girths over the elbows, down it must go ; and when the horse draws his head backwards out of it, then you have the saddle, like this one here, popped on the ground, with never a girth or buckle broke.' ' So that's the way it's done. Jack, is it ? ' inquired Mr. Bar- rington. ' Well, if I'm forgiven for riding that divil once, I'll never tempt Providence again by crossing him as long as I stay at Garrandilla. I'd like to take him home and exhibit him. There's many a bold rider in Clare and County Roscommon, but the divil a one would stay on him for five minutes, I'll go bail.' ' Every man to his trade,' said Jack Windsor. ' Mr. Banks and me have been riding ever since we were born, and it isn't easy to get from under us, I'll allow. But I daresay there's some other games as we shouldn't be quite so smart at.' 'I tell you what,' said Malcolm Grahame, who just came on to the scene of action, ' there's Jedwood and old Doubletides up at the drafting yards, waiting for some of you to come up and help put through those hoggets that got boxed. The old man is swearing just awfu'.' Every one hasted at this intimation to the scene of action, where the dust was ascending in a cloud, curiously reminding Ernest of a Biblical passage. For the rest of the day, 'Keep them up, wether, hogget, ewe, weaner, slit- ear, near crop,' were the principal terms and phrases interchanged. Ernest Neuchamp speedily discovered that he had reason to congratulate himself heartily upon the fact that, from the never- ending work at Garrandilla, he was much too tired and sleepy at night to care for conversation, or to desire congenial com- panionship. Had he craved for such ever so longingly, he would have found it impossible to obtain. Allan Jedwood, a man of singular energy and indomitable persuasion, had devoted all his powers of mind and body with ceaseless, unrelaxing obstinacy to what he was pleased to con- sider the main end of existence. In his case, the reaching and maintaining of an independent pastoral position had been the goal wliich liad stood forth before his eyes, a celestial mount, but slightly obscured by mists of pleasure, extravagance, or sympatliy, from his youth up. In the pursuit of this somewhat restricted ideal, bounded by a good station, a line herd of cattle, forty thousand sheep, and 108 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap. a balance at his bankers, he had spared not himself. He had strongly repressed tin; ordinary temptations, dedpere in loco, to harml(!ss dihittantism, to amusement, or imaginative con- templation. Tendencies literary or artistic he had none. Every- thing in his eyes that did not lead directly to the increase or main- tenance in good order and condition of his stock, he had eschewed and forsworn as unprofitable, almost iimnoral. Such was, the rigid discipline which he had enforced over his own spirit for long years. From the days that he had been a hard-worked under- overseer, a toiling owner of a small station, a hampered pur- chaser of a larger one, until now, that he was sole proprietor of a magnificent unencumber-ed property, he had foregone nothing of this rule and regimen, and the usual effects had followed the causes. Successful labour and unwearied self- denial had created the position for which he had so longed and thirsted all his early life through. And yet was there a side to this picture which did notcall for so much gratulation. In the stern repression, the pitiless starvation to which the spiritual portion of the man had been subjected, the germs of all intellectual and speculative tend- encies had first dwindled, then perished. Unsparing vigilance, untiring concentration upon the daily routine of station work, was no longer necessary to the opulent possessor of stock and station, freehold and leasehold, town and city property. But the habits, inexorably welded into the being of the man, remained fixed and unaltei-able, when the circumstances which called them forth had long changed, long I^assed away. Still daily, as of old, Allan Jedwood rode over ' the run,' among his flocks and herds, his men and his 'improve- ments,' his dams, his wells, his fences, his buildings, his fields, and his teams. At nightfall, returning to the humble unchanged building wliich had sufficed for his wants for many a year, he spent the short evening which followed the day of hard exercise in writing business letters, or in posting up station accounts ; or else, with military exactitude, he arranged with Mr. Doubletides the ensuing 'order of the day,' in which drafting of sheep, shifting of shepherds, mustering of cattle, and bargaining with dealers, took the place of marching and counter-marching, sorties and retreats, embassies and diplomatic manoeuvrings. Of the progress and potentialities of the outer world— liter- ary, artistic, social, or political— Allan Jedwood knew and cared as little as any of his Highland shepherds, frequently arriving from the paternal farm, who 'had not the English.' In Ernest Neuchamp's zeal for mental growth, for the onward march of humanity generally, and for the particular community with which he was temporai-ily connected, this stage of arrested development was very painful and grievous to the soul of an enthusiast and i-eformer. He tried all tlie units of the Garrandilla world, but he found no rest, lestiietically, XI A COLONIAL REFORMER l09 for the sole of his foot. Malcolm Grahame, who exhausted whatever mental vigour he possessed in trying to discover a cure for foot-rot, and in improving a natural aptitude for wool- classing, bade fair to become as complete and as prosperous a bucolic Philistine as Jedwood himself. Fitzgerald Barrington was conversational and discursive enough, in all conscience, but his mental exercise chiefly took the dii'ection of regret for the joyous days he had spent in his father's house and among his own people, whom — not observing any near prospect of a fortune in Australia — he bitterly reproached himself for having ever quitted. Besides, he held no particular views about the destiny of the human race, or of the Australian nation, or of any other race or people but his own. He did not see the use of wasting the life that could be so much more pleasantly spent in hunting, shooting, feasting, flirting, four-in-hand driving, drinking, and dicing, as became a gentleman of long descent (if he only had the money), in bothering and interfering with a lot of low people, not worth caring about and who did not thank you the least bit. If Mr. Charley Banks had any intellectual proclivities, they had not as yet passed a rudimentary limit. He smoked a good deal, read hardly at all except the sporting compartments of the newspapers, took more interest in the horses of the establish- ment than in the cattle or sheep, and was always glad of an excuse to get down to the public-house, or to gossip unprotitably in the men's huts. As for Mr. David Doubletides, he had long since abandoned the idea that reading and writing had any other connection of importance to humanity than the accurate setting down and adding up of station accounts. He was astir at or before dawn, on horseback all day and every day, from daylight to dark, and was often sufliciently tired in the evening to fall asleep with his pipe in his mouth. This purely objective existence, after the excitementof the first week or two, commenced to aflflict Mr. Neuchamp unpleasantly. ' Good heavens ! ' said he to himself, ' is all the universe to be narrowed down to the number of serrations in a lock of merino wool ? to the weight and tallow of a drove of bullocks destined for the market ? This half wild life is pleasant enough with the open air rambles on horseback, and the rude occasional labour. But, strictly, as a means to an end, which end is, or ought to be, the getting away from here, and the leading a worthy life in a less uniformly scorching land of monotony and privation, — fancy one doomed to linger on year after year. I see now the n;itural law which in desert tribes prompts the pilgrimage ; without society, comfort, or companionshij).' At this period Ernest commenced to acquire, if they had been needed, additional proofs of the melancholy tendency of all liuman efforts to crystallise into the narrow unalterable shape of custom. 110 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap. Nothing, he admitted, could be more praiseworthy and ad- mirable than the energy, the concentrativeness, the unwearied labour which Jedwood had bestowed upon the formation of his position in early life. And now the summit had been scaled, the goal attained, the reward grasped, of what commensurate value or benefit was it, now fully realised, to himself or to others 1 The contracted field of labour had become a necessity of life. The means, losing their original proportions, had be- come the end. It was as if an animal, long compelled to a mill- horse round of unrelieved labour for the purpose of grinding a fixed quantity of meal, had, when the task was completed, voluntarily resumed the collar and gone on ceaselessly accumu- lating an unneeded heap. It must be confessed that, occasionally, the unceremonious manner in which Mr. Doubletides ordered Ernest and the other young men to perform any minor task considered by him, "Doubletides, necessary to be done, rather jarred upon his feelings. It was— * Mr. Barrington, take the old roan horse and a cart, and go out to the fifteen-mile hut with a fortnight's rations for Joe Watson.' IT, ' Mr. Grahame, see that you and Banks are up at daylight to-morrow morning, or else you won't have that weaner flock drafted before breakfast.' ' Mr. Neuchamp, you had better get away as soon as possible, and look for those five hundred wethers that old Sails dropped at the Pine Scrub yesterday ; take some grub and a tether-rope with you, and don't come home till you find them.' All this was doubtless good practice, and valuable as storing up useful knowledge against the day when he should possess a station and a Mr. Doubletides of his own. Still it occasionally chafed him to be ordered and sent about without any explana- tion or apology for the extreme personal inconvenience occa- sionally involved. As it happened, this particular sheep-hunting trip became an adventure of much importance. Riding gaily upon the trusty Osmund, Mr. Neuchamp was fortunate enough, after a few hours' search, to come upon the ' wing of the wether flock which had been lost by the ex-marine circumnavigator— a blasphemous old man-of-war's man, referred to by an abbrevia- tion denoting his former work. Full of triumph, Ernest commenced to drive them in the direction of the out-station, to which the remaining portion of the flock had been sent. For the first hour he sauntered on behind the browsing sheep, confident of his direction and not doubting but that he should reach a spot which he knew in good time. Sheep are not particularly easy animals to drive after a few miles, and it soon appeared to Ernest that the double efibrt of driving five hundred sheep and steering straight in a country without a landmark, was likely to bear hard upon his woodcraft. XI A COLONIAL REFORMER 111 As the sun hung low, flaunting a vast gold-red shield athwart the endless pale green waste, a sense of powerless loneliness and confused ignorance of all but the cardinal points of the compass took possession of him. He cantered fi'om side to side of the obstinate, and perhaps puzzled, sheep, which probably had a distant impression in their woolly noddles that the line of direction lay quite another way. At length the red -gold blazonry faded out into darksome crimson, the pale green shades became dim and dullest gray — ' the stars rush out, at one stride comes the dark ' — and it became fully apparent to Mr. Neuchamp that he was lost. He was sufficiently learned in the lore of the dwellers in this 'land of freedom and solitude' to know that the chief duty of man when once placed in possession of stock, sheep above all, is to ' stick by them ' — to stick by them, as the captain lingers by the last plank of the breaking-up deck, in spite of danger and death, hunger, thirst, weariness, or despair. These last experiences were more likely to be the portion of Ernest Neu- champ than the former. Still it needed a slight exercise of determination to face the idea of the long lonely night, and the uncertain chance of discovering his whereabouts next day. The night was long — unreasonably long— Ernest thought. Sufficiently lonely as well. There were no wild beasts, or robbers, likely to be ' round.' Still there was an ' eerie ' feeling about the still, solemn, soundless night. The rare cry of a night- bird, the occasional rustling made by the smaller denizens of the forest, the soft murmuring of the pine-ti'ee nigh which he had elected to camp — these were all his experiences until tlie stars paled and the dawn wind moaned fretfully, like a dreaming infant. Having no culinary duties to delay him, Ernest saddled up his good gray steed, roused the unwilling sheep, and started fortli, ready to do battle with fate in the coming day. Alas ! he struck no defined trail. He hit off no leading thoroughfare. At first mid-day, and again the dewy eve, which might have been so described if the autumn rain had come — which it had not — again found Mr. Neuchamp a wanderer upon the face of the earth and no nearer home. As for the sheep, they found sustenance without diOiculty, as they ' nibbled away both night and day,' all heedless of the morrow, or Mr. Neu- champ's anxious brain and empty stomach. They apparently had no objection to camp at the deserted out-station, wliicli had so bitterly disappointed Ernest wlien he reached it at the close of the day. ]'>y this time, in addition to being unmistakably and im]ior- tunately hungry, ]\lr. Neuchamp was furiously thirsty. His .satisfaction was great, therefore, when he discovered, just out- side the door of the empty hut, two hogsheads filled with clean water. He was about to plunge his head into the nearer one, like an 112 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap, xi eager horse, when a sudden thought passed through his brain, and he stopped short, with desire and dread written in every line of his face. What was the potent thought, the word of power, that sufficed to arrest the step as if a precipice had opened suddenly below his feet to hold back the longing lips so parched and moisture- less? One word, lightning-like, flashed along the wondrous telegraph of the brain. That word was ' arsenic ! ' Ernest looked again at the casks. The water was suspiciously clear. He could not trust it. He knew that somewhere in that direction Mr. Doubletides had been dressing the feet of lame sheep with a solution of arsenic. He had seen in the local paper an account of a thirsty shepherd and his horse similarly placed. The horse drank out of one cask, the man from the other. The horse died. Ernest was not sufficiently tired of his life to take a philosophical view of the chances. Sudden death, undignified convulsions, a visit from the coroner — an unsympathetic individual, who declined minute shades of discrimination in favour of 'three star ' — ' Verdict, found dead, as much arsenic internally placed as would have killed a horse.' All this was uninviting, non- heroic. Bordering on the heroic, however, was the stern resolve to pass the night without tasting one drop of the doubtfully limpid elemeiifc. CHAPTER Xn It occasionally occurs to our unresting, unreasonable minds, prone, as we all are, to straining the mental vision and "wearying our hearts with efforts to descry the form, to catch the Sibylline words, of the veiled future, that we are not so very wretched in the society of the present. After some slight intervals of sighing for the (social) fleshpots of Egypt, Mr. Neuchamp began to enjoy his life very thoroughly, and to question whether he should be so much happier after he had become a proprietor and carried out his plans of regenera- tion. The spring had set in, and nothing could be more lovely than the fresh warm air, the gloriously fresh mornings, the cool calm nights. ' How happily the days of Thalaba went by ! ' His health, spirits, and appetite were faultless. It was a time of hope and expectation for the great event of the year. The shearing was coming on, and insensibly the increase of station hands. Tlie putting into order of the disused shearers' huts, wash -pens, machinery, and woolshed, spoke of impending transactions of importance, and told that ' the year had turned.' He had made up his mind, too, that 'after shearing he would revisit the metropolis.' There the moon-lighted, sea-washed verandah of Morahmee, with a slight and graceful form pacing thereon, musing 'in maiden meditation fancy free,' showed softly yet bright, as an occasional romance gleam through the somewhat prosaic mist of his ordinary day-dreams. It might have been the influence of the pure dry air, of the oxygenated atmosphere, which caused Ernest to become so very light of heart after this heroic resolution. If it were so, nothing that has ever been said by enthusiastic tourists, in praise of the beauty and saluljrity of the Australian climate, can be held to be in the slightest degree exaggerated. iVnother effect was noticeable about this time. Ernest com- menced to be remarked, among his observing messmates, for a suspicious eagerness to learn and acquire all the mysteries of stock farming, some of which he might have ])reviously over- looked, lie deliglited Mr. Doubletidcs by his alacrity, and that I 114 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap. grim veteran remarked that in a year or two more he might be able to look after a small station himself, always provided that he had a careful overseer. ' The deuce a bit you'll see of him thin, me ould shepherd- driver, in a year or two, or next year either,' said Barrington. ' ' I know the signs of it. He's going to cut Garrandilla after shearing, and he's trying to suck ye, like a marrow-bone, of all the fruits of all yer long hard life and experience, me ould warrior. And why wouldn't he? Sure I'd be off myself and invest, if my uncle would only send out the ten thousand that he promised me.' ' Neuchamp manage a station ! ' said Malcolm Grahame. ' He just knows naething whatever about foot- rot, and he disna know first-combing from pieces ; it's my deleeberate opinion, he'll just be insolvent within the year.' ' How do you know 1 ' quoth Charley Banks. ' It's half luck, seems to me. I know an old cove that only branded his cattle once about every two years, and he made more money than all the district put together. Neuchamp's a good sort of notion about a horse, and he don't drink. I'll lay six to two he ain't broke next year, nor the year after.' Garrandilla was not a fenced run. It was in the pre-wire- bearing stage, preceding that daring and wondrous economy of labour. At the period of which this veracious chronicle treats, the older pastoral tenants were wont to speak with distrust of the new-fangled idea of turning large numbers of valuable sheep 'loose — literally loose, by George — night and day' in securely fenced but unguarded enclosures. One thing was certain, they had made their money mainly by the exercise of certain qualities, among which were numbered, beside industry and energy, a talent for organisation scarcely inferior to that required by a general of division. At Gar- randilla the twenty or thirty flocks, averaging two thousand each, were marshalled, counted, gathered, dispersed, with the punctuality, exactness, and discipline of a battalion on field duty. Were all these rare endowments, these valuable habits, to be henceforth of no avail? Were the sheep to be just turned loose and seen from time to time like a lot of store cattle 1 Were experienced shepherds, skilled overseers, henceforth to be unnecessary ? And would any young inexperienced individual who had brains enough to know a dingo from a collie, or to see a hole in a fence when such hiatus was present, do equally as well to look after five or ten thousand sheep in a paddock, as the oldest shepherd, under the orders of the smartest manager in the land ? These were serious and important questions. Mr. Jedwood was not a man given to hurried outlay. The process of building up his fortune had been hard, anxious, and gradual. He had no idea of reversing the process in any ])ossible casting down of that edifice. Therefore, with the aforesaid twenty or thirty shepherds, ration - carriers, etc., XII A COLONIAL REFORMER 115 it did not admit of doubt as to there being plenty of work at Garrandilla. Of a truth the work was unceasing from daylight on Monday morning till dark, or later, on Saturday night. Indeed Sunday was often spent by Mr. Doubletides in weighing out rations, and making out a few of the men's accounts, as a species of rest from his labours not unbefitting the day. The process of general management was somewhat in this wise. Each of the young men had certain flocks placed in his charge ; these he was expected to count at least once a week. He had a small sheep-book or journal in which the name of every shepherd, with the number of his flock, was entered upon a separate page, as thus: "John Hogan, 14th May; 4- tooth wethers ; No. 2380 ; dead, 5 ; added, 14 ; taken out, 52 — total, 2337." A similar account was kept of every flock upon the station, which was expected to be verified by a count at any moment. This counting it was de rigueur to perform early in the morning. As the shepherd usually left the yard or fold soon after sunrise, and many of the flocks were ten or fifteen miles from the head station, it followed that the young gentleman who counted a distant flock had to quit his couch at an exceedingly early hour. Then the ration - carriers, who were always conveying provisions, water, wood, all things necessary to the shepherds, required in their turn supervision. Nothing but the hardest bodily labours and unsleeping apprehensive vigilance kept this small army in good order and efficiency. If a shepherd lost his flock, there was mounting hot haste and terrific excitement till the sheep were found ; Mr. Jedwood riding and aiding personally in the quest as if ruin was awaiting the non-arrival of the flock, to pounce down upon him and his. There was no denying that the management of Garrandilla was very successful upon the whole. The fat sheep were eagerly competed for by dealers and others directly it was known that they were in the market. The wool brought a good though not extreme price in the home or colonial markets. The station accounts were kept by the storekeeper with the strict accuracy of those in a merchant's office. There was no waste, no untidiness, no delay, no dawdling of any kind. The men were well though not extravagantly lodged and fed, after the manner of the country. They received the ordinary wages, sometimes a shade above them. Whatever they di'ew from the station-stoi'c was accurately debited to them, and they received a che(]ue for the exact amount of tlie balance ujwn the day of their departure. What they did with the said cheque — whether they spent it in forty-eight hours at the nearest inn, whether they k(!j)t their money for tlu; pur]wse of buying land, whether they put it into the savings bank, or gambled it away — was 116 A COLONIAL REFORMER chap. a thing unknown to Mr. Jedwood, and concerning which he never troubled liimself to inquire. When Mr. Neuchamp, in the ardour of his unquenched pliilanthropy, questioned him about these things, he declared that he had no great opinion of station-hands as a class, that most of them were d — d rascals, and that as long as they did his work and received the pay agreed upon he really did not care two straws what became of them. Ernest felt this to be a very doubtful position, as between master and men, and further required to know whether, if he, Mr. Jedwood, took measures to locate a few of his best men with their families upon the frontage to the river, he would not secure an attached tenantry, and be always certain of a better and readily available class of labour. To this Mr. Jedwood made answer that he should consider himself to be qualifying for admission to a lunatic asylum if he attempted to do any such thing. ' In the first place you would lose,' he said, 'a quantity of your best land, and your best water. In the next place, as their stock increased they would use and spoil double the quantity of land they had any legal title to. Most probably they would not work for you, when you needed labour, except at their own price and terms ; and if you wished at any time to buy them out, they would ask and compel you to give double the price they had paid. No, no ; I've kept free selectors out all these years, and, as long as I live here, I'll do so still.' So Mr. Neuchamp had again to fall back upon his own thoughts and excogitations. He was not convinced by Mr. Jedwood, who took a narrow, prejudiced view of the case, he contended. But he arrived at the conclusion in his own mind, that the amount of bodily and mental labour devoted to the sheep-pasturing division of Garrandilla was exhaustingly large, and that any mode of simplifying it, and reducing this great army of labourers, would be very desirable. More and more to him was it apparent daily that there was no cessation, no leisure, no possible contemplative comfort in a life like this. It was the same thing every day. Sheep, sheep, sheep — usque ad nauseam. Garrandilla was a highly unrelieved establishment. There were no ordinary bush distractions. There was no garden. There were no buildings excepting those positively necessary for the good guidance and government of the place. Jedwood's two rooms served him for every conceivable want here below. They really were not so much bigger than the captain's cabin in the good ship which brought Ernest to Australia. But they were large enough to eat, drink, and sleep in twenty years since, and they were so now. At times a neighbour rode over and spent an hour or two, talking sheep, of course. Occasionally a lady, from sheer weariness or ennui, would accompany her husband or brother, xii A COLONIAL REFORMER 117 and beat up the great Mr. Jedwood's quarters for a short visit. One day Ernest was standing near the cottage in a medi- tative position, when a gentleman rode up, having a lady on either hand. Mr. Jedwood, with old-fashioned gallantry, promptly assisted the fair visitors to dismount, and then calling out loudly, said, ' Neuchamp, take these horses over to the stable.' Ernest walked over, and taking the horses mechanically, was about to make for the stable, when one of the ladies exclaimed in a tone of great astonishment, ' Mr. Neuchamp ! ' He looked up, and to his very considerable surprise recognised one of the young ladies of the Middleton family, his fellow-voyagers. ' Why, what is the meaning of all this ? ' inquired Miss Middleton. ' I never thought to see you so generally useful ; but I understand — you are staying at Garrandilla, and per- forming the " colonial experience " probation.' 'You have guessed it exactly with your usual acuteness, Miss Middleton,' said Ernest, who, slightly confused at having to act as amateur stable-boy, had now recovered his usual self- possession, — never long absent, to do him justice. ' I will come in as soon as I have stabled the horses.' When Ernest returned he found the ladies evidently con- cluding a short narrative to Mr. Jedwood, in which he guessed himself to have figured. Nothing could be warmer or more pleasurable, however, than their recognition. 'And so, Mr. Neuchamp, here we meet, after all our argu- ments and passages-of-arms,' said the younger sister. ' We are on our native heath, you know, so we shall take the offensive. How do you find all the new theories and schemes for improve- ment stand the climate ? ' ' Not so very badly,' assented Ernest boldly. ' I am biding my time, like the Master of Ravenswood. I intend to cause a sensation by carrying them out when I have a station of my own.' ' Oh, you must get one in this district,' affirmed the elder sister with determination ; ' it would be so pleasant to have some one to talk to. We are living in utter solitude, as far as a ration