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 THE MAINLAND
 
 NOVELS BY E. L. GRANT WATSON 
 
 WHERE BONDS ARE LOOSED 
 THE MAINLAND
 
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 THE MAINLAND 
 
 by E. L. GRANT WATSON 
 
 PUBLISHED AT NEW YORK 
 by ALFRED A. KNOPF 1917 
 
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 COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY 
 ALFRED A. KNOPF 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
 
 To 
 
 My Stepfather 
 
 J. C. POWELL
 
 Over the great windy waters and over the clear-crested summits, 
 Unto the sea and the sky, and unto the perfecter earth. 
 
 Come, little bark — to a land wherein gods of the old time wandered, 
 Where every breath even noiv changes to ether divine. 
 
 Come, let us go; though withal a voice whisper — "The world that we 
 live in, 
 Whithersoever we turn, still is the same narrow crib; 
 
 'Tis but to prove limitation, and measure a cord, that we travel- 
 Let who would scape and be free go to his chamber and think; 
 
 'Tis but to change idle fancies for memories wilfully falser; 
 'Tis but to go and have been." Come, little bark, let us go. 
 
 A. H. Clough.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I The Island 9 
 
 II The Port of Kaimera 45 
 
 III The Seaboard 62 
 
 IV The Wide Horizon 107 
 V The Mirage 147 
 
 VI The Town 188 
 
 VII The Desert 213 
 
 VIII The Beaten Track 259 
 
 IX Epilogue 303
 
 THE MAINLAND 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 THE ISLAND 
 
 ON the crest of a sand-dune under the shadow 
 of a clump of stunted and wind-bent acacia 
 bushes the boy, John Sherwin, sat at his ease 
 and looked out over the Indian Ocean. The afternoon 
 was calm with an occasional gust of wind to ruffle the 
 surface of the sea, adding here and there a touch of green 
 or purple to the deep blue of its smooth expanse. 
 
 John Sherwin, sixteen years old, was a well-formed, 
 strong boy. He wore no clothes whatever, and his skin 
 was tanned dark brown by constant exposure to the sun. 
 His hair was long and matted and reached to his shoul- 
 ders. It was red in colour, but so dark as to be in no way 
 " sandy," rather the tint of dark mahogany with the sun 
 on it. His neck was full and strong, well-proportioned 
 to support the head with its mass of hair. As he moved 
 indolently the muscles of his arms and neck slipped like 
 live and alert animals under the smooth skin. His hips 
 were narrow, his legs hard and well-tapered with no 
 spare flesh on them, and his boy's belly was lean as a 
 hound's. On his chin were a few adolescent hairs. His 
 
 9
 
 io THE MAINLAND 
 
 features were regular and tranquil, and between his lips 
 his teeth shone very white. 
 
 During the morning he had been out with the dinghy 
 fishing for snapper. He had caught ten: more than he 
 needed — but then catching them was such fun. They 
 now lay beside him strung together by a cord through 
 their gills. They formed an iridescent pile of scarlet and 
 silver. John scraped one of them affectionately with his 
 thumb-nail and marvelled at the blending of orange, 
 scarlet, rose and silver on its scales. Everything that he 
 had ever seen in the sea was brilliantly coloured or had 
 something brilliant about it, from small shells on the 
 sand to the great tiger-sharks, which at evening came 
 close in shore after the shoals of gar-fish. The corals 
 were always brightly coloured, so too were the swimming 
 sea-worms, the crabs, the sea-slugs and the fish, and even 
 the little sand-coloured flat-fish had eyes more brilliant 
 than any other living creature. He was glad that there 
 was so much colour in the sea, and loved it for having 
 so many bright things hidden. 
 
 The fifteen years of John Sherwin's life had been lived 
 on Kanna Island with his father and mother and the 
 black boy Coffee. He had been for the most part very 
 happy. He was happy with his parents, and most happy 
 in the long hours of solitude spent in roaming over the 
 island. He knew the island and all the beasts that lived 
 there; and the edges of the sea he had also explored very 
 thoroughly and knew a great many of the sea creatures. 
 He could shoot well with his father's gun, and could hit 
 wallabies, or sea-eagles, or oyster-catchers when they 
 were needed for food. He could fish as cleverly as a 
 native, and could spear fish as easily as he could hook
 
 THE ISLAND n 
 
 them. He lived out of doors all day and every day, and 
 often slept out with a single blanket for covering. 
 
 This life to a child of civilization might have seemed 
 monotonous, but John had never known what it was to 
 be bored. For him there was always interest to be found 
 and sometimes adventure. How could he possibly be 
 bored by lying on the sand-dunes watching the various 
 insects that burrowed in, or flitted about it? If he were 
 tired of that he could go and play in the sea, or swim 
 far out, and imagine he was leaving the world altogether; 
 then he could come in and run along the sands to 
 where the dead coral reef touched the beach; there he 
 could test his skill to the uttermost by trying to catch 
 the ever-wary cray-fish that lurked in the deep hollows 
 of the coral pools. Without knowing it, he loved life 
 with a passion that gave joy and zest to every moment. 
 
 As he now gazed lazily out to sea, he caught sight of 
 something unusual about fifty yards from the shore. 
 He stood up to get a better view. Yes, there were three 
 large black objects making slowly in towards the land. 
 As they moved near the surface of the water they 
 looked like some huge kind of fish, but they were larger 
 than any fish that he had ever seen. For a few seconds 
 he could not think what they were, then he saw that 
 they were three monster rays, or stingarees. He had seen 
 plenty of small ones, but these looked to be eight feet 
 or more across. As they came closer in, he could see 
 more distinctly. The two smaller fish appeared to be 
 driving the larger one towards the land. As they came 
 into the shallow water, they rose nearer to the surface, 
 and their fins sticking out sometimes beat the air. The 
 boy watched, tense with excitement; then he turned and
 
 12 THE MAINLAND 
 
 ran as fast as he could inland towards a hut where he 
 kept his fishing-tackle, and where he knew there were 
 two harpoons that his father had made for turtle-spearing. 
 He seized a harpoon and ran back to the shore, leaping 
 over the bushes in his excitement. The stingaree were 
 still there, but a little further out. He ran into the sea 
 towards them. Fortunately the fish had no sense of 
 fear, so that he was able to get quite close, though by 
 this time he was up to his waist in water and could only 
 move slowly. He knew that they were dangerous, that 
 they had a long spine on their backs which carried a strong 
 poison. Arrived within three feet, he flung the harpoon 
 with a strong downward stab, and fell backwards just in 
 time to avoid the side swish of the tail. The fish dis- 
 appeared in a swirl of water; then in a moment John felt 
 the line tighten on his wrist. Slowly he let it out, and 
 at the same time made for the beach, then, turning, 
 when knee-deep he began to fight his fish to land. 
 
 The harpoon was only fitted with a light shark-line 
 which, John knew, could not stand a great strain, so that 
 he had to work very slowly and carefully. At last he 
 had the stingaree on the surf, but now began the difficult 
 part. The big pectoral fins could here get strong leverage 
 on the sand, and every time that the boy hauled his fish 
 through the surf the stingaree wrenched himself back, 
 threatening to break the line. For half an hour the boy 
 tugged in vain, then to his great delight he saw the black 
 figure of Coffee in the distance. He shouted, and Coffee 
 heard and came towards him. 
 
 " Look, Coffee, I got urn one big fellow stingaree, " he 
 panted. " You run quick fellow along a hut and fetch 
 other fellow harpoon."
 
 THE ISLAND 13 
 
 Coffee hesitated. " That one bad place I not go there." 
 
 " What for, you frightened fellow ? You go quick 
 and fetch harpoon." 
 
 " Yes, I frightened fellow. That one bad place. 
 Plenty devil-devil." 
 
 " Oh you damned fool, Coffee! You catch hold here. 
 You let him go I kill you Don't pull too hard! " 
 
 " All right, Master John, I hold 'im plenty tight. I 
 catch 'em stingaree plenty time." 
 
 John gave one anxious glance to see that Coffee had 
 the fish well in hand, and then dashed off once more 
 towards the hut. 
 
 When he returned he found that the black had pulled 
 the stingaree into the surf. " Quick, Master, " panted 
 Coffee. " This one fight plenty hard. Hey whop — der 
 
 fiirtin' devil " Then as John struck: " That good 
 
 hit; now you hold 'em I catch 'em tail." 
 
 The two harpoons both held fast, and John took both 
 the lines. Coffee now made quick dashes at the slashing 
 tail. He finally secured it, and at once held the slippery 
 end in his teeth. Then grunting and panting, he made 
 signs to be given one of the lines. Taking the line in 
 both hands he held it taut across the back behind the 
 spine, between the spine and the tail, then with an out- 
 ward and downward jerk broke off the spine close to the 
 back. With a laugh he let go his hold. The fish was 
 now defenceless and no longer dangerous. 
 
 For some moments Coffee, chuckling with delight, 
 watched the helpless flounderings, then firmly twisting 
 his fingers into the gills, he began to drag the stingaree 
 up the beach. John helped with all his strength, and 
 they soon had their catch high and dry.
 
 14 THE MAINLAND 
 
 " Him big fellow, plenty full of eggs, " grunted Coffee 
 as he tugged at one of the pectoral fins, and finally turned 
 the fish on its back. 
 
 John was very excited at this new and enormous 
 capture, as he had only seen small stingarees before, 
 and he was full of admiration for Coffee's familiar way 
 of dealing with the creature. He probed tentatively at 
 the crescent-shaped mouth with the butt end of one of 
 the harpoons, and felt very much interested in the rows 
 of large flat teeth that snapped savagely on one another. 
 Then recollecting the broken spine, he ran off to fetch it. 
 
 The spine was about seven inches long and made of 
 very hard white bone, barbed in every direction and 
 covered all over with transparent mucilage. This 
 mucilage, he knew, was what was so poisonous. By 
 rubbing it in wet sand he got rid of all the poison, and 
 very soon the spine shone like white ivory. This was 
 indeed a trophy for a boy to be proud of, and one much 
 prized by all sea fishermen, both black and white. 
 
 When he returned to Coffee, he found him engaged 
 in cutting up the still remonstrating stingaree. He set 
 to and helped, delighted at what appeared to be such 
 beautiful flakes of white flesh. With a boy's curiosity 
 he made a very thorough dissection of the stingaree, 
 and when at length he was satisfied as to its structure 
 and resources, he selected some of the better pieces of 
 flesh, fastened them to his string of snapper, and then 
 started to trudge home. Coffee remained, intent on 
 securing the best of what was left. 
 
 The house where John Sherwin lived with his parents 
 lay in a hollow between two sand-dunes and was hidden 
 from all approaches except the sea, One of these dunes,
 
 THE ISLAND 15 
 
 higher than any neighbouring point, offered a good view 
 of the island. It was his father's habit frequently to 
 climb this sand-dune, and to stand looking out to sea 
 and down upon the long narrow length of the island. 
 As John now approached he saw that his father and 
 mother were both there. That they had already seen 
 him he did not doubt. He felt annoyed a little because 
 he knew that his mother would scold him for having 
 discarded his clothes. About half a mile from the sand- 
 dune he put down his string of fish and went to a thick 
 clump of acacia bushes. From under these bushes he 
 produced a pair of old cotton breeches and a shirt. 
 These, when he had slipped into them, altered his ap- 
 pearance considerably; and he was no longer the beau- 
 tiful and prehistoric youth of the island, but looked 
 rather like a disreputable but handsome young pirate. 
 Picking up his fish and slinging them over his shoulder, 
 he climbed towards the dune where his parents were 
 standing. 
 
 n 
 
 John Sherwin senior was fifty years old, strongly built 
 and hardened by an exposed life. He looked younger 
 than he was. There was little sign of grey in his thick 
 red hair and beard. His face and bare arms were darkly 
 tanned and covered with freckles. There was confidence 
 in his look and a strength which only comes from a 
 successful conflict with primitive material. His blue 
 eyes were rather deep set and very bright; in them was 
 tranquillity and happiness. His wife Alice, though five 
 years younger, was more aged. Her black hair was 
 streaked with grey and her face was heavily lined, but in
 
 16 THE MAINLAND 
 
 her expression there was also a great contentment. As 
 is usually the case with women living in primitive 
 conditions, she was wearing herself out in the service 
 of the man whom she loved, and was happy in the 
 sacrifice. 
 
 This man and woman, who lived so solitary a life on 
 Kanna Island, had found happiness. They had attained 
 an easy harmony with the surroundings of sea and cliff. 
 The wind, blowing over the swept sand-dunes, contained 
 the significance of their isolated life. Neither of them 
 had any wish to return to the towns that for so long they 
 had left. In each other they found reliance and security 
 born of the tried companionship of years. 
 
 Sherwin's simple and frank nature found satisfaction 
 in the island life. His small sheep farm gave him 
 employment, and was an adequate means of livelihood. 
 It was the one link which connected him with the main- 
 land, and he was glad of the visits of the cutter when 
 it came to bring stores or to take away his fat lambs. 
 This exchange of goods enabled him to live. He had 
 no need of money, and for the last few years had alto- 
 gether ceased to use it. With Pomfrey, the captain of 
 the cutter, he made rough bargains of exchange, and they 
 both were satisfied. 
 
 Alice his wife had also found contentment, a thing 
 rare with women of her type. At first the wide sweeps of 
 the sea and sky had filled her with a sense of loneliness 
 and fear, but later, when her son was born, she began 
 to feel, through her husband's senses, the joy of their 
 deep solitude and the waxing confidence of their union. 
 
 From the crest of the dune, where they now stood 
 hand in hand, they watched the boy climbing towards
 
 THE ISLAND 17 
 
 them under his heavy load of fish. In the woman's ex- 
 pression there was a look of almost passionate admiration 
 for his youth, and Sherwin's eyes betrayed the pride which 
 he felt in his son. They neither of them spoke, but 
 watched silently as he panted up the hill. John gave no 
 salutation as he approached, but flung down the fish in 
 front of his father and then slowly turned them over with 
 his foot so as to expose the ribbed white steaks of sting- 
 aree flesh. "Do you know what that is? " he asked. 
 
 Sherwin bent and picked up a piece; then said ques- 
 tioningly, "A big stingaree? " 
 
 " Yes," said John, full of pride, " and look "— he held 
 out the spine. 
 
 " My word, that must have been a big one," said his 
 father gravely, examining the spine. " How did you get 
 it?" 
 
 John told the story. Then eagerly: " It's good to 
 eat I suppose? " 
 
 " I prefer snapper," laughed his father. " No, even 
 little ones are tough, and this one is just like rubber; 
 feel it. You must have struck hard to get your harpoon 
 in — I daresay Coffee could eat it, but it's coarse, com- 
 mon stuff." 
 
 " Anyway I'm going to try it," said John. " Mother, 
 will you cook some for me? " 
 
 Sherwin laughed again. " Do you remember the blue 
 bob-tail that you made your mother cook for you? I 
 expect it will be something like that." 
 
 "Mother, will you cook some for me?" insisted the 
 boy. 
 
 " Oh yes, I'll cook some." 
 
 " What have you done with the skin? " asked Sherwin.
 
 18 THE MAINLAND 
 
 " Coffee's got that. Why?" 
 
 " I was thinking it might come in useful. Stingaree 
 skin is very tough. I believe there's a big trade done in 
 some parts. They make a kind of leather that fetches 
 a high price. I'll come and have a look at it — perhaps 
 we can dry it in the sun. Alice, you can take one or two 
 of the fish with you. We'll bring the rest when we 
 come." 
 
 Down on the beach they found Coffee still occupied 
 with the stingaree. Sherwin was pleased with the look 
 of the skin, and decided that it was worth drying. By 
 the time they started to walk towards the hut it was 
 twilight, and when they came to the flat open ground in 
 which it stood, Coffee hung back and finally halted. 
 
 "What's the matter, Coffee? " asked Sherwin. 
 
 " Plenty devil-devils this way. I not come — night 
 time devil-devil." 
 
 John expected that his father would come out with 
 some fierce oath that would send the recalcitrant Coffee 
 speeding ahead, but to his surprise he noticed that the 
 two men stood eyeing each other — Coffee resolute, and 
 his father doubtful, suddenly turned sulky. He heard 
 his father mutter something in his beard as he took the 
 harpoons; Coffee then turned, and without a word ran 
 towards the beach. The boy wanted to laugh but his 
 father's manner restrained him; he only mentioned 
 how Coffee had refused to fetch the harpoon from the 
 hut, and asked what he meant by the talk of devil-devils. 
 Sherwin, however, gave no answer, and John knew his 
 father's temper too well to repeat the question. At the 
 hut Sherwin very slowly put the harpoons away and stayed
 
 THE ISLAND 19 
 
 to pick up some of the tackle that had fallen; then 
 in a lowering mood he walked back in silence to the 
 house. 
 
 Sherwin's quick temper was seldom prolonged into 
 sulkiness, and his dark mood soon passed. At the even- 
 ing meal he joked about John's stingaree, and the boy 
 was eager with questions about the trade in skins. All 
 that he heard excited him; with a boy's easily kindled 
 enthusiasm he planned to make a collection of skins 
 which some day he could trade with on the mainland. 
 What exactly this would mean he did not know, but 
 obviously the first thing was to get the skins, and that 
 was enough for the present; the rest was a splendid and 
 nebulous dream. He had heard a little about the main- 
 land from Pomfrey and the two sailors who sometimes 
 landed from the cutter. They had told stories of the 
 North sea-board and of pearling, stories of Kaimera, 
 the nearest port, and of horse-racing and prize-fights. 
 For long past he had wondered idly about these things, 
 but lately they had become more important: not that 
 he did not love the life on the island, but he was begin- 
 ning to be a little conscious of something else, something 
 that was growing in strength and which now wove itself 
 delightfully among his dreams of stingaree hunting. He 
 urged his father to tell him all he knew about the trade, 
 leading him on to talk of the pearling on the north coast. 
 Sherwin, who usually only spoke of the life on the island, 
 warmed to the new theme. John sat in silence, taking 
 in the new picture of the outside world beyond the sea 
 and the sand-dunes of Kanna Island. 
 
 " Did you ever go pearling? " asked the boy.
 
 20 THE MAINLAND 
 
 " No, but I might have done so at one time. There 
 was an inlet not fifty miles from here — they called it 
 Useless Inlet — out of which they took twenty thousand 
 pounds' worth of shell." 
 
 " Is that a great deal? " 
 
 " It's enough to scrape up with a couple of old luggers 
 and a few blacks." 
 
 " Is there more to be had? " 
 
 " Not round here, they've taken it all, but up beyond 
 Maund's landing they say there are black pearls and big 
 shells worth a lot of money." 
 
 After a pause John asked, " What do people want all 
 the money for? " 
 
 " To buy things with," then with a little snort of 
 contempt, " and to make themselves damned miserable." 
 He looked across at Alice who smiled confidently at him. 
 He went on, pleased at her encouragement. " It's not 
 many boys of your age who have never wanted money. 
 We have here everything that we want, and nothing to 
 fret about. Now is there anything that you want that 
 you haven't got? " 
 
 The boy thought a moment. " I would like a new 
 rifle — one like Pomfrey's." 
 
 " You shall have one," said Sherwin, and thumped the 
 table with his fist. "Anything else?" 
 
 " Father, when will you take me to the mainland? " 
 
 The question was unexpected, and in a moment 
 Sherwin's anger flared out. " What the hell do you want 
 to go to the mainland for? You say you've got all you 
 want here. There are a damned lot of rotten things on 
 the mainland, my son, and you're a fool to go seeking 
 them before you need. . . . Isn't that so, Alice ? There's
 
 THE ISLAND 21 
 
 a bloody lot of nonsense they teach boys there, and you 
 can thank your good luck you're quit of it." 
 
 John would never meet his father in that mood; he 
 knew it was useless to talk. He had known too that his 
 father did not want him to go, and that his request had 
 been audacious. Only because they had talked about 
 the pearling trade had he found courage to ask. Now, 
 while his father glowered at him, he discreetly kept silence, 
 but after supper, while helping his mother wash up the 
 things, he said, " Mother, I must go one day to the main- 
 land, I can't live here always, can I? " 
 
 " Yes, you must go one day." 
 
 "Will father let me?" 
 
 " Yes, he'll have to let you go later on." 
 
 "Why not now?" 
 
 " Do you want to go away and leave us? " 
 
 After a pause — "No " Then after another 
 
 pause, " Will you always stay here? " 
 
 " Yes, always." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " We are happy here, we want nothing else, and we 
 want to keep you with us as long as we can. Your father 
 would miss your help." 
 
 " Oh, I can't do much," said the boy depreciatingly, 
 but proud of the tribute. Then after a long pause, 
 " One day I must go — I feel that. You won't mind, 
 mother " 
 
 " I shall want you to come back sometimes." 
 
 " Oh, I'll come back sure enough. That's partly why 
 I want to go — for the fun of coming back." 
 
 " How different you'll be," smiled his mother. " Well, 
 wait another season, you're only sixteen and a half."
 
 22 THE MAINLAND 
 
 " Another year," he mused. " Yes, I'll wait." 
 
 ni 
 
 That evening he had a desire to get away by himself. 
 The house seemed very small, his father seemed very big 
 and in the way. He slipped out at the back door and 
 ran down towards the sea. 
 
 The island was lit by the light of a half-moon and the 
 sands shone smooth and white. The boy moved silently 
 to the sea's edge. 
 
 With a rhythmical beat small wavelets slapped the 
 shore, and in the shallow ripples that ran up the beach 
 were minute phosphorescent globules. How still it was 
 except for that monotonous sound. How big was the 
 sea — how enduring the land. It was at night they talked 
 to one another. John let the waves wash over his feet. 
 Life, he felt, was extraordinarily sweet, it was big, stretch- 
 ing to the horizon and far beyond, and all for him. 
 Glorious! and how splendid to live! He would himself 
 find out everything — explore the mainland and all the 
 great cities. He felt that he was loved. Life and earth 
 loved him — the sea too. — Oh, damn these clothes. In a 
 moment they were off and hurled up the beach. That 
 was better. Slowly he walked out into the water. He 
 stood thigh deep and looked at his own reflection. His 
 five fingers he rested on the surface of the water. Five 
 other fingers had come to meet them. He could see the 
 reflections of the stars too. A moment ago he had felt 
 like plunging in and splashing, but now something 
 checked him. He moved his hands, making smooth 
 ripples, then stood still. On the beach he could hear 
 the land-crabs scuttling in and out of their holes. He
 
 THE ISLAND 23 
 
 had not heard them at first because of the plash of the 
 waves. Now he heard them distinctly. 
 
 He waded into shallow water and regarded with a 
 sense of satisfaction his own wet legs shining in the moon- 
 light. Then, quite unexpectedly, he felt depressed. He 
 was suddenly conscious of an ache within him. It was 
 a warm smouldering pain. The sea beat upon the land 
 with the same monotonous plash, but both sea and land 
 were changed. They had become incomplete, and he 
 felt fragmentary. He was discontented as never before, 
 yet tingling with excitement. He began to walk along 
 the hard sand by the edge of the waves. For a while he 
 found relief in quick movement. Then he paused again, 
 and, looking round at the sea and sky, found them ex- 
 tremely empty. They had become different, yet their will 
 towards him was the same. They could love him again 
 if they were complete, but something was lacking. He 
 walked on again, puzzled, and soon came to the place 
 where a host of crabs were devouring the remains of the 
 stingaree. He thought of Coffee and of his fear of 
 devil-devils. The thought pleased him — it brought a 
 new interest. 
 
 Inland, the dunes rose in ridges one behind the other, 
 covered with acacia scrub. He picked his way between 
 the low bushes, disturbing tribes of wallabies and bandi- 
 coots, which made great squeaking and scuttling. Soon 
 he reached the edge of the flat clearing beyond the dunes. 
 As he approached the solitary hut he had a feeling of 
 awe, mingled with a hope that he would see something 
 strange. Never by night had he been here before, and 
 he saw for the first time what a bare, ugly spot it was. 
 It was quite cut off from the sea; the sand-dunes en-
 
 24 THE MAINLAND 
 
 closed it. It was more lonely than the beach, yet he 
 was glad to be there, it suited his mood. He crouched 
 down holding his knees. For an hour, he sat there very 
 still and silent, watching the shadow of the hut shift on 
 the white sand and the moon sink low in the sky. His 
 feelings changed slowly. He had lost interest in devil- 
 devils, that had been only a passing whim, of which he 
 was ashamed. Now he was cold and sleepy. A thin mist 
 hung between the dunes. He shivered and stood up, 
 then walked in the direction of the homestead thinking 
 with pleasant anticipation of his bed. 
 
 rv 
 
 The cutter Shark lay at her moorings off the landing- 
 beach of Kanna Island, and moved almost imperceptibly 
 to the small undulations that lapped her sides. It was 
 afternoon, and the sun blazed from a clear sky. Pomfrey 
 had hoisted the main-sail, which hung motionless in the 
 calm air. In its shadow he lounged smoking. His eyes 
 watched the shore, and followed the figure of John 
 Sherwin walking along the beach. He smiled as he saw 
 the youth strip and wade into the sea and begin swimming 
 out in his direction. John swam with a leisurely, easy 
 stroke, and soon raised his dripping sun-browned body 
 over the gunwale. He shook the water out of his hair 
 and squatted near Pomfrey's feet. " You haven't told 
 me yet what you think of my skins," he began. 
 
 Pomfrey eyed him, amused and phlegmatic. " Well, 
 I don't say you haven't a fine lot of them! How many 
 did you say? " 
 
 " One hundred and forty-two, and the smallest more 
 than two feet wide."
 
 THEISLAND 25 
 
 " Of course you might sell them, but I don't know any- 
 one on this coast who'd buy. You see they are an out- 
 of-the-way sort of thing altogether. There was a German 
 up here last year who tried to start a turtle-canning fac- 
 tory; perhaps he'd have bought them. He had an eye 
 open for odd things. They should have a value, but they 
 are out of the run of ordinary trade." He paused, con- 
 scious of the damping effect of his remarks, then added: 
 " You must have worked pretty hard to get all that 
 number.* 
 
 " Eighteen months — and now I'm going to the main- 
 land to see if I can't do something with them. Anyway, 
 I shall find something to do there. I've been here long 
 enough." 
 
 Pomfrey chuckled, " You'll have to have your hair cut, 
 my lad, and you'll have to wear some clothes too. And 
 what does your father say? Has he given his con- 
 sent?" 
 
 John didn't answer for a moment, then: " I shall go 
 in spite of father," he said. " I can't stay here always. 
 I'm damned if I will," he added with quiet intensity. 
 
 " What reason does your father give for keeping you? " 
 
 " He doesn't give any reason. He just gets angry and 
 says I've everything I want here." 
 
 " And haven't you? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 Pomfrey spat emphatically into the sea and looked with 
 great relish and amusement at the young man. 
 
 " I've knocked up and down this coast, and on many 
 other coasts too, for a long time before you were born, 
 but I've never met such a queer couple as you and your 
 father. A man gone wild, clean away from all the rest
 
 26 THE MAINLAND 
 
 and his son like him. How old are you? Seventeen. 
 Well, your father has been on this island for twenty 
 years and never to the mainland all that time. It's 
 strange that he wants to keep you here." 
 
 "What made my father come here first? " 
 
 " There was a hospital for natives, like there is on 
 Fenton now. Your father used to keep the stock. Dr. 
 Hicksey, he was boss here, and your mother was matron. 
 The doctor and your father were a queerly matched couple, 
 and your mother too." He chuckled at recollections. 
 
 " Tell me about the doctor? When did he go? " 
 
 " No, my boy, it's not for me to tell you all that old 
 story, and I don't to this day know the rights and wrongs 
 of it, but there have been queer happenings on this island, 
 mighty queer. When the doctor was here, things were 
 not as they are now." 
 
 " Tell me, do tell me about it. What happened to the 
 doctor? " 
 
 " He's dead," admitted Pomfrey. 
 
 "How did he die? When?" 
 
 " No, no, it's not for me to say anything," said Pomfrey 
 meditatively, " but it's queer that your father's so set 
 against your going to the mainland." 
 
 "Why's that, do you think?" 
 
 Pomfrey, who had been gazing into the sea for the 
 last few seconds, raised his little blue eyes to the young 
 man's face. " He can't expect to keep you here always 
 can he? Then most boys of your age have gone to school 
 and have learnt to read and write and know something 
 about money too. Why, if you were over in Kaimera 
 they'd think you were a savage, an aborigine." 
 
 " Why doesn't my father let me go? "
 
 THE ISLAND 27 
 
 " Maybe he thinks that things are just as well as they 
 are, and he's no mind to alter them." 
 
 " What is it you mean? " said John exasperated. 
 
 Pomfrey again raised his eyes to the boy's face, then 
 looked back at the sea and spat. After a short silence 
 the old man asked: 
 
 11 When you go swimming about these bays, do you see 
 many sharks? " 
 
 " A good many." 
 
 " Do they sniff about at all? " 
 
 " No, not much, sometimes they are a little inquisi- 
 tive." 
 
 " Are you frightened of them? " 
 
 " No, they're quite harmless and frightened at any 
 splash." 
 
 " The doctor who used to be here on these islands was 
 eaten by sharks they say. He was a great swimmer and 
 afraid of nothing. I remember when I first brought him 
 to the island he dived in just here and brought up my 
 anchor that I had lost." 
 
 " That's not much of a dive," said John peering down. 
 
 "No? But he was town bred. ... A fine swimmer 
 and hard to kill, I should think." 
 
 " He must have been a fool to let the sharks get him. 
 They are as timid as boody-rats." 
 
 " Are they now," mused Pomfrey. " And what if the 
 sharks didn't kill him? There was a time when he and 
 your mother were mighty taken up with one another." 
 
 John crimsoned. " Why do you say all this? " 
 
 Again Pomfrey's eyes twinkled. " Well, when a man 
 wants to get a woman, he will do some odd things to get 
 her, and take a lot of trouble too — even kill a hundred
 
 28 THE MAINLAND 
 
 and forty-two stingaree and dry their skins in the sun." 
 
 John looked at the old man with wide eyes. For a 
 moment he wondered what a woman could have to do 
 with stingaree; then, as the ripples spread from a stone 
 thrown into a pool, he became conscious that the idea of 
 woman was already of importance — how big an impor- 
 tance he couldn't guess. The ripples spread outward in 
 a great arc, which in the distance diffused into clouds 
 of mist stretching to the wide horizon — infinite. Pom- 
 frey's words brought him back with a jerk. 
 
 " I mean no harm to any of you, my lad. But you're 
 growing up and should know the ways of life, and if 
 your father did do for the doctor one fine night (and I 
 wouldn't be surprised if he did) I think no worse of him, 
 but give him the credit for his pluck. I can keep my 
 own counsel, no fear about that, and of the two I always 
 liked your father best. The doctor — well, he was a 
 clever fellow, but as cold as a fish, as cold as a fish." 
 
 " You think my father killed him," said John slowly, 
 puzzled and almost stupefied by the clash of ideas. 
 
 " I don't say I think he killed him, but I think he 
 might have killed him, seeing what hot-tempered men they 
 both were. And then it isn't natural for two men to live 
 alone on an island where there's only one woman. As I 
 say, the doctor was hard-hearted and cold, a difficult man 
 to get on with." 
 
 " And if he did kill him, what difference does it 
 make? " asked John, still puzzled. 
 
 " To you and me it makes no difference — he knows 
 I'm his friend. But over there," he jerked his head to- 
 wards the mainland, " it means hanging. Mind you, I 
 don't say he did it, but it has crossed my mind before now
 
 THEISLAND 29 
 
 that he might have done it, and that being the case, it 
 would account for his keeping so much to the island and 
 wanting to keep you here too." 
 
 "Why should he want to keep me? I'd never tell, 
 even if he had." 
 
 " I suppose it's like this — he thinks things are safe now 
 and wants to keep them just as they are without change." 
 
 John impulsively started to speak, then checked him- 
 self, and for some minutes they both remained silent. 
 Pomfrey sucked unconcernedly at his pipe. The boy 
 meditated, staring at his hands and brown arms, at the 
 white deck, at the sea, and finally at the sky. The blue 
 clear water, the white line of the beach with the tumbled 
 sand-dunes behind, and the over-arching vault of the 
 sky were silent and yet expressive. To both the man 
 and the boy they were the end and the beginning, they 
 contained all things; and in their expressive silence they 
 registered impartially the fact, or the supposition, of 
 murder. 
 
 " Anyway," said John at length, "I'm not going to 
 stay here always. I mean to go to the mainland. Will 
 you take me? " 
 
 Pomfrey shook his head. " Not without the boss's 
 orders." 
 
 " Then will you speak for me? Tell him I must go! " 
 
 " I have said a word or two to him already, but he's 
 not an easy man to argue with." 
 
 "Have you asked him that I might go? " 
 
 The old man grunted. 
 
 " Thank you," said John embarrassed. " I never 
 knew." Then after a short pause: " He'll let me go in 
 the end. Mother says that he's sure to, that he can't
 
 30 THE MAINLAND 
 
 help it But I get — longing, longing to go. . . . " 
 
 Then after a pause, this time a longer one : " Do men 
 often kill men? " 
 
 Pomfrey smiled at the naive question. This absence 
 of education and of the simplest knowledge was a source 
 of great amusement. 
 
 " I've known some five cases, not counting black men," 
 he said. 
 
 " What happened to them? " 
 
 " Two of them was hung. One took to the bush and 
 hasn't been heard of since. Another, old Morat, who 
 killed a brace of niggers, you can see on the beach of 
 Kaimera any day, and the last — oh he's quite a fancy 
 gent, got a house in Perth, and married a rich wife. He 
 made his pile up on the pearl coast." 
 
 " That's where I want to go. Do you think they'd 
 take me as a diver? " 
 
 " Maybe. You're as good as any black boy I've seen 
 at the job; but it's a dog's life — not for a white man." 
 
 From the beach a halloa was sounded and John's name 
 was called across the water. Sherwin's burly figure was 
 seen waving a signal from the verandah of the house. 
 
 " I have to help father with some sheep," explained 
 John, " I forgot. Thank you for speaking to him. I'll 
 ask him again soon." Without troubling to stand up and 
 dive he slipped over the side of the boat and swam to- 
 wards the shore. 
 
 v 
 The work with the sheep did not take very long, but 
 the sun was setting by the time father and son walked 
 back towards the homestead. John saw that his father
 
 THE ISLAND 31 
 
 was on the whole in a good mood, and he decided to make 
 a bid for liberty. He plunged straight to the heart of 
 the difficulty. 
 
 " Father, I want to go to the mainland. I've got a 
 hundred and forty-two stingaree skins that I want to trade 
 with." 
 
 Sherwin's face darkened immediately. The boy looked 
 at his father very critically as he waited in suspense. He 
 remembered how afraid he used to be of that look, but 
 now he had no fear, and he thought that in the end his 
 father would yield. There was a great strength in his 
 father's face and a kind of honest stupidity; he loved him 
 for being just as he was. He hated to go against his 
 father but yet had to do so for the sake of his own life. 
 He tried to think of his father killing a man. It was just 
 remotely possible. But how deeply he would have to be 
 moved for that! It would not be done lightly. Perhaps 
 to protect his son or his wife, but for no slight thing. 
 John could read his present scowl; it was part real annoy- 
 ance, and part the habit of the dominating head of the 
 household. He felt very drawn to his father while thus 
 opposing him. 
 
 "To trade with stingaree skins?" Sherwin sneered. 
 " They're worth nothing. Who's going to buy them ? " 
 
 " I don't know, but I shall find some one. Pomfrey 
 will take them in the cutter for me." 
 
 " So you've been talking to Pomfrey? The old fool! " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Why, you don't even know the value of money." 
 
 " That's partly why I want to go. I shall learn. I 
 don't learn anything here." 
 
 Sherwin remained silent, red in the face and gloomy.
 
 32 THE MAINLAND 
 
 " Father, Pomfrey won't take me unless you tell him. 
 I must go. Please let me go." 
 
 " So you've asked him already, have you ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 There was silence as they trudged on over the shifting, 
 light sand. Then Sherwin said gruffly, " You can bide a 
 bit longer." 
 
 " You always say that. Eighteen months ago I was 
 to wait a year. Now I want to go at once. Tomorrow, 
 when Pomfrey sails." 
 
 " Hold your mouth." 
 
 " I won't," cried John, stung to anger. " I will talk 
 and I will go. I'm not afraid, and if I can't go by the 
 cutter I shall swim." 
 
 " You fool," said Sherwin, getting a deeper red. " It's 
 thirty miles and a strong current." 
 
 " I don't care; then I shall drown." 
 
 Sherwin stopped in his stride and faced his son. 
 
 " See here. I've had enough of this nonsense. Shut 
 down, drop it. Not another word." 
 
 John was defiant with unflinching eyes. " I shall go. 
 I don't care, I shall go." 
 
 Sherwin's hand swung out in a half circle and caught 
 the boy on the ear, sending him flying. John felt chiefly 
 surprise at finding his face and hands in the sand, then 
 anger flared in his heart so that it nearly burst. He 
 scrambled up and with clenched fist made for his father. 
 But at the first step he stumbled and came down, kneeling 
 on the sand. Something was roaring through his head; 
 he felt sick and was trembling. 
 
 Sherwin regarded him for a few seconds, then catching 
 his elbow, lifted him to his feet.
 
 THEISLAND 33 
 
 " Can you stand now, boy? " he asked. John nodded, 
 the roaring was still in his ears. " Now, no more of this 
 nonsense. You can walk on home." 
 
 With an effort John could just hold his balance; he 
 freed his arm from his father's support with an angry 
 gesture. They walked back in silence side by side. 
 
 VI 
 
 At the evening meal few words were spoken. That 
 there was angry blood between her two men Alice saw 
 at once, and she was careful, fearing another outburst, 
 to speak only of superficial things. Sherwin ate fast in 
 large mouthfuls with sullen looks. John, equally sullen, 
 ate nothing, but drank several cups of tea. The situation 
 was difficult for him, it was unusual, never before had 
 there been such tension. He had never come so near to 
 hating his father, but even now part of his mind was 
 trying to excuse him, though the other part, and that was 
 master, was adamant, and full of rage. Sure of his 
 mother's sympathy, he longed for her support, but honour 
 bound him from saying a word. If it were any other 
 trouble he could go to her, but against his father he 
 could never speak. It would spoil for him both his idea 
 of himself and of his mother, if together they condemned 
 his father's unjust actions. Instinct and habit held him 
 true here ; there had never been and never could be factions 
 among them : the many years of isolated life on the island 
 bound them fast together. His father was almost a part 
 of himself, a part to be striven with and opposed, but not 
 to be hated; and if he must strive now for freedom, he 
 could do it all himself. He didn't need help, for he 
 knew that he would never submit to tyranny.
 
 34 THE MAINLAND 
 
 After supper it was usual for John to help his mother 
 wash-up while Sherwin sat and smoked on the verandah. 
 It was this solitary companionship with his mother that 
 he now wished to avoid, for he knew that she would then 
 question him; besides he wanted to be alone, and far, 
 far away from his father whom he would not be in such 
 danger of hating at a distance. Yet, if he rose to go out, 
 his father would probably call him back, and this would 
 make him feel more angry than ever. He was saved from 
 this danger by Sherwin's walking out on to the verandah 
 and calling to Alice to fetch him his tobacco. John seized 
 the opportunity, and running out of the back door, made 
 for the sand-dunes and the bushes. 
 
 When Alice returned, she found the kitchen empty. 
 For a moment she hesitated as to whether she should men- 
 tion the boy's absence to her husband or whether she 
 should wait. She thought she understood his desire to be 
 away by himself, it would be better to let him be alone, and 
 easier perhaps to talk with her husband if he were the 
 first to notice the boy's absence. She decided to wait. 
 Later, when she had finished washing-up and drying the 
 supper plates she came and sat beside Sherwin on the 
 verandah. In the gathering darkness she could not see 
 his face clearly, but she at once felt that he was still in 
 a gloomy and depressed mood, so she sat near him and 
 did not speak. After a while, he asked: 
 
 " Where's John got to? " 
 
 " I don't know, he went off by himself." 
 
 " Did he say anything? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 There was silence again for some minutes, then she
 
 THEISLAND 35 
 
 said: "Tell me, John, what is it that's happened?" 
 Sherwin puckered his brow and stared out into the 
 night. " I hit him," he said. Alice remained silent, sit- 
 ting very still. Then after another pause, " He defied 
 me." 
 
 Alice was tempted to question but checked herself, 
 knowing that if she kept silence the whole story would 
 come out. She felt an extraordinary wave of love for her 
 two men, and pity for both, especially for the angry and 
 remorseful spirit that was now struggling to tell the story 
 of his fear and weakness. 
 
 His voice began speaking into the darkness and she 
 listened, thrilled, knowing that he would speak of that 
 subject which had never been spoken of since the night 
 he had first claimed her there on the verandah. " He 
 wants to go to the mainland. — It's natural he should 
 want to go, but I — I hate all that over there — all that we 
 have left — that misery. . . . Things go so well here as 
 they are. . . . One never knows what might come out. 
 People seeing the boy might ask questions — some damned 
 fool come nosing about. They'd talk to him, perhaps put 
 him against us. They might — they would talk about 
 him. ... It may be fancy, but I wish the lad could stay 
 here." Again he was silent. " My God, I've never felt 
 it like this before." The words came in pain, " But the 
 
 land over there " he stretched out his hand and 
 
 moved it in a wide arc, " it seems to be tainted — I want 
 no link with it. — We've been happy here, Alice, and he's 
 been happy. If he goes, he'll forget his happiness, forget 
 how to be happy. They'll get hold of him and he'll for- 
 get — and that story, he's sure to hear some of it. ... I
 
 36 THE MAINLAND 
 
 don't say it's so very likely, but anything might come out." 
 
 Again the silence of the night, now quite dark, settled 
 upon them. 
 
 Alice laid a hand on her man's sleeve. " But, John, 
 he must go sometime — and soon. For more than a year 
 he has been longing to go. See how he's worked at his 
 skins. Think how it was with you while you were here 
 alone. He must go, if only to find a wife; he's restless. 
 You must let him go. As for the other, that will never 
 come out. It's too long dead. The boy is to be trusted, 
 and if there is a risk we must take that. There's not 
 much. He'll soon be lost in the crowd. He must have his 
 life, and the life of youth. . . . Perhaps he may come 
 back to us, perhaps go back to all that we have left. He's 
 a good boy, and I too wish that he could stay always." 
 
 Sherwin bent his face in his hands, then suddenly rais- 
 ing his head: " Alice, I dread the mainland. We have 
 been too lucky to escape it all — all the beastliness and 
 dirt of it." He paused, hoping that Alice would speak, 
 but she said nothing. Then, after listening for a while 
 to the soft noises of the night, " If he must go, when is 
 it to be?" 
 
 "Oh soon! Tomorrow, if Pomfrey sails. After this 
 it is better." 
 
 " Very well, I'll tell him." 
 
 Alice checked the wave of warm feeling that rose in her 
 heart, knowing that any show of it now would be resented. 
 She felt that he must have the triumph and proud bitter- 
 ness of his victory alone. He stood up, and for a moment 
 took her hand in his, squeezed it hard, then quickly turned 
 and walked down the verandah steps out into the night. 
 
 He had no immediate desire to find his son, though 

 
 THEISLAND 37 
 
 that possibility was in his mind, but he too wanted to be 
 alone, to feel the air wide and open to his lungs, and to 
 move over the earth quickly. Happiness and pain min- 
 gled in him, his fear was almost dead; life was again 
 as in youth, urging him with strong purpose. The depths 
 of his soul moved, and the new resolve came out of the 
 depth with exultation. Under the dark dome of the sky 
 he could feel free and untrammelled, and in the familiar 
 and yet ever strange quality of the night his body and 
 senses were touched to harmony. 
 
 vn 
 
 After John had escaped from the house, he ran steadily 
 towards the north of the island. At first he wanted sim- 
 ply to get away and to avoid any chance of being called 
 back, but later he ran for the feeling of power that it pro- 
 duced and because he found pleasure in the sure and 
 steady movements of limbs. For only a short distance had 
 he kept inland under the cover of the bushes, he had then 
 made for the shore where the sand was smooth; he ran 
 where it was hardest, just at the limit of the waves, some- 
 times splashing in and out of shallow pools. He knew 
 that for more than six miles the island stretched north- 
 ward. There was space in front of him, and he needed 
 to be far away where he could think and plan by himself. 
 
 After some three miles he stopped running, prepared 
 now to think out his problem and his means of freedom. 
 He walked on quickly, still anxious to put distance be- 
 tween himself and his father. He was rebellious, the 
 island seemed stale to him. All the little and familiar 
 things that it contained he knew, and they had ceased to 
 be satisfying. He now desired bigger adventures than
 
 38 THE MAINLAND 
 
 diving after turtle or fish-spearing. With his stingaree 
 skins he believed he could do great things; but if his 
 father would not let him go and take them with him, then 
 he would go without them. But how? The idea of 
 swimming all the way was ludicrous; drowning would 
 be the certain result. He must get Pomfrey to take him, 
 but that would be difficult. As he walked on, thoughts 
 came quickly and a plan of action presented itself. In 
 the morning he would wait till Pomfrey was almost ready 
 to start for Kaimera, then he would slip into the sea un- 
 noticed and swim out far from the coast and wait for 
 Pomfrey in mid-sea. He would then swim to the boat 
 and persuade the old man to take him on board. All 
 would be well in that he would get to the mainland and 
 evade his father, but he was sorry not to be able to say 
 good-bye to his mother. This thought worried him, but 
 it was not sufficiently an obstacle to make him hold back. 
 A message could be sent by Pomfrey. But why, why, 
 couldn't his father let him go? This was impossible to 
 understand. Then for a little he wondered whether his 
 father had killed the doctor as Pomfrey had hinted, but 
 this line of thought didn't much interest him, and he had 
 no doubt that, if it were so, the doctor thoroughly deserved 
 killing. 
 
 Before long he came to where the sand-dunes break 
 away to the narrow spit of land which forms the northern- 
 most cape of the island. He walked now more slowly, 
 sometimes plashing in and out of the water; and then 
 as the mood took him treading very silently the dry sand. 
 Pomfrey's words about man's desire to seek for women 
 came to his mind. That was, perhaps, part of what now 
 urged him to go. Not before had he thought definitely
 
 THEISLAND 39 
 
 of this, but he could now admit that he had long wished 
 to meet women. He would be afraid of them and very 
 nervous, or else, he imagined, very bold; his fear would 
 compel him to be near them, eager for encounters. He 
 thought of exciting meetings and absurd and romantic 
 affinities. Such dreams, very vague for the most part, 
 he had often dreamed, now he believed that they might 
 become true. 
 
 There was satisfaction in having come to the end of 
 the land. The place was lonely and wild; the sea on 
 three sides and the deep sky overhead. Gentle plashing 
 of waves was the only sound. In this solitude his imagi- 
 nation could almost see himself; he could talk to himself 
 as to a person whom he loved and wished to understand. 
 Ah, wonderful air of the night enveloping everything, 
 fertile with the promises of growth, covering and with- 
 holding thousands of desires and the seeds of desire. 
 The womanliness of existence was about him in the night, 
 soft and full of mystery. 
 
 Close along the break of the waves there was a white 
 ridge composed of small fragments of broken shells. This 
 ridge was touched by the moonlight and shone brightly. 
 Along its edge John walked up and down. He walked 
 to its extremity and then turned and walked back. Again 
 and again he paced its length, sometimes pausing to look 
 out to sea over the moon-dappled waters, then pacing 
 again the line of the beach with eyes bent, as if mes- 
 merized by its whiteness. There was only a faint breeze 
 and the night was very still. A gentle silence hung over 
 the land. The boy on the beach and the waves that 
 broke at his feet were alone restless. Never tiring, the 
 waves broke against the shore, building and destroying
 
 40 THE MAINLAND 
 
 the line of fragments upon which he walked. Once he 
 stopped and dipped his hands in the water which was 
 warm as his own blood. It was warm with life, and the 
 forces within him were akin to that response. He had 
 come to the limits of the land, beyond him was the 
 ever-moving and passionate sea. 
 
 vm 
 
 It was past midnight when John struck homewards 
 over the sand-dunes, making the shortest route across 
 the inland plateau of the island. When within about a 
 mile of the house he suddenly halted, feeling that he 
 was observed. He looked quickly about him, and, at the 
 same moment that he saw his father standing near some 
 high bushes, he heard his name called. He stood still, 
 making no response. He was not now in the least nerv- 
 ous or embarrassed; the long run across country had 
 opened his lungs, so that every sense in his body was 
 in tone, but mingled with the sense of youthful power 
 was the germ of a new interest in his father and a 
 wonderment about his night wanderings. 
 
 Sherwin advanced with something of a frown, his eyes 
 very hard on his son's face. He spoke abruptly in a 
 voice harsh and deliberate. " I ask your pardon, John, 
 I should not have hit you. It's right and natural for 
 you to want to go, and I'll tell Pomfrey in the morning 
 that he can wait a bit and load up your skins." 
 
 The boy was not expecting this. It was the one blow 
 he was not prepared for. They stood dumbly for a 
 while, neither of them able to speak. Then Sherwin in 
 the same rough voice went on: "Before you go, I've 
 something to say to you. Come with me now, I can best
 
 THE ISLAND 41 
 
 tell what I've to say at the place where the thing was 
 done." He abruptly turned and led the way through 
 the scrub that grew high and thick. They went on in 
 silence down a narrow ravine that opened on the clearing 
 in which the fishing-hut stood. Outside the hut Sherwin 
 checked and stood with his back to it. John watched 
 him, awed by his manner. 
 
 " It's twenty years since I've been to the mainland," 
 he began, " and if I live twenty more I shall never go 
 again. Over there I've no place, and your mother has 
 no place." Then after a pause, his eyes fiercely holding 
 his son's in the dim light, " Eighteen years ago I killed 
 a man in this hut here. It was done in fair fight, man 
 to man. I have no regrets, and my conscience is clear. 
 On the mainland, if they knew it, they'd hang me with- 
 out question, and your mother they'd hound into the 
 streets to get her bread as best she could, or starve." 
 Sherwin's voice rang with a bitter, angry note. John 
 had never known his father like this; he felt a tremen- 
 dous admiration, a living sympathy, gratitude and pride 
 in this confidence. " I have no regrets," Sherwin re- 
 peated. " In this hut. ... I visit it nearly every day. 
 ... I keep my things here. Coffee, he's a sav- 
 age and frightened of devils. He knows. ... He was 
 
 here and is afraid. In there I killed him I find 
 
 the place convenient and I have no remorse. And it's not 
 fear that keeps me away from the mainland. If I wanted 
 to go, I should go and take the risks. I stay here because 
 here I have all that I need : a good wife, work, this island 
 which is my own and which I love, and contentment. 
 Over there is everything that I hate — restlessness, greed, 
 drink, the hunt for women and gold, hypocrisy, every-
 
 42 THE MAINLAND 
 
 thing to prevent happiness. . . . That's what I found 
 it. Here I have a home, you know what kind, and you've 
 been happy. . . . 
 
 " Well, it's natural you should want to go. I can see 
 that. I was against it, because such happiness as I have 
 had is too rare. I wanted things to go on as they were. 
 . . . You'll hear stories perhaps of the doctor and of 
 the past time. . . . When they see you, they will talk. 
 No one knows what happened, but they will invent. 
 Don't listen to it, my son. Be content to let that rest. 
 I shall not tell you either. There was great misery for 
 your mother, and she would not wish it told. What I've 
 said is enough. You carry my life in your hand; don't 
 wish to find out more, but I can swear before God that I 
 have no regrets, and that I would do what I have done 
 again in the same cause. If I had sinned, I should not 
 have been happy as I have been. Do you understand? " 
 
 John's emotion was too great for him to speak. With 
 eyes full of tears he nodded in affirmation. This secret 
 that he carried was like a treasure of infinite price, a trust 
 never to be betrayed. By this confidence his father had 
 raised him to equality, given him a dignity beyond his 
 years. His father's soul had been bared to him. He 
 wondered at, without understanding, the past pains and 
 fires whose embers now glowed in the blackness. 
 
 Sherwin continued, his voice now not harsh, but deep 
 and full. " I wish for your mother's sake that there had 
 been other children. She'll miss you badly, so shall I. 
 ... On the mainland you will find yourself behind 
 in many things. There's money and learning. . . . 
 Well, you'll pick up enough to get on with — and women
 
 THEISLAND 43 
 
 — you'll be after the women for sure. When you've been 
 through with enough of them, and there's little you'll find 
 in most, get a simple woman like your mother for your 
 wife, one country bred, no town woman. A man to be 
 happy must have a wife. Then maybe if you're sick of 
 the rottenness over there, you can come back here and 
 bring your wife, and give your mother some grandchildren 
 to lighten her age. But this you must never do: no trips 
 to and fro with town friends. That's partly why I've 
 spoken tonight. Do you promise? " 
 
 " Yes, I promise," said John, " but may I come back 
 alone?" 
 
 " If you need to, not otherwise — unless you should 
 mean to stay." 
 
 Sherwin took a few paces up and down. It was quite 
 dark and the moon had set. John longed to be able to 
 speak something of the love and gratitude of his heart, 
 but not even under the cover of the darkness of the night 
 was he able to find any words. At last he brought out 
 an inadequate " Thank you " as the sum of his emotions. 
 
 " Thank your mother, boy, it was she who brought me 
 to see that you must go; but of what I've told you — 
 not a word to her. She knows it all of course, but never 
 speak of it." 
 
 Then changing his tone, " In the morning I'll fit you 
 up with some clothes and some money that I've put by 
 and that you can make a start on; and I daresay Pomfrey 
 will give you advice as to how best to behave in Kaimera. 
 . . . We'll get those skins aboard. Don't be too much 
 in a hurry to sell them, they may be of more value than 
 either of us reckon."
 
 44 THE MAINLAND 
 
 John still found nothing to say as they walked towards 
 the house; he was not able to express his feelings in 
 words and not willing to talk of material details. 
 
 Sherwin chatted for a short time of tomorrow's pros- 
 pects; then he too became silent, unable to sustain the 
 weight of such fleeting things. They walked home to- 
 gether side by side in the darkness.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 THE PORT OF KAIMERA 
 
 A SQUALID row of bedrooms enclosed the yard 
 of Flynn's Hotel, Kaimera. They had been 
 built by Flynn and his son to suit the require- 
 ments of a growing establishment, and consisted of cor- 
 rugated iron and hessian nailed to uprights and then pro- 
 fusely whitewashed inside and out. In one of these 
 rooms John Sherwin spent his first night on the mainland. 
 He had come there with Pomfrey, who was to keep him 
 under his charge till some promising opening was found. 
 After the excitement of the day, John was heartily 
 glad to be now by himself, able to review his recent ex- 
 perience. The time had been long and crowded, con- 
 taining, for the grown youth, a thousand impressions, 
 such as usually are absorbed by the slow growth of 
 childhood. In the early morning he had rushed down to 
 the beach and had swum out to tell Pomfrey that his father 
 had at last given his consent. Then they had worked 
 together stowing the skins in the hold. When that was 
 done, his mother had insisted on cutting his hair, so that 
 he should not be laughed at by people on shore. His 
 father had produced a pair of dungarees hardly worn, a 
 slouch hat and two blue shirts. He had felt much altered 
 and dignified by the new clothes. His father had also 
 
 45
 
 46 THE MAINLAND 
 
 given him ten pounds, which was sewn into the belt of 
 his trousers. This he was to spend little of, to keep as 
 much as possible for emergencies. Then there had been 
 the good-bye to his mother; she had cried a little and 
 this had brought tears to John's eyes, but what had left 
 the deepest impression of all was sailing away from the 
 island and hearing his father's last farewell shout, very 
 faint across the water. That had indeed given his heart 
 a wrench, and he was glad when the figures on the crest 
 of the sand-hill were at last out of sight. He had then 
 felt very sad, sadder by far than when saying good-bye; 
 but he was happy in his melancholy. 
 
 When the lighthouse was sighted, and the shore became 
 visible stretching in long sand-dunes north and south, 
 John's sense for new adventures burned up. The boats 
 and ships anchored off the sand-banks by the river's mouth 
 excited him beyond words. There was a trading steamer 
 loading wool at the pier. John silently gazed at the bulk 
 of her black hull, and at the scores of people on the decks. 
 It was almost incredible that so vast a building should 
 move over the sea. He could have wondered at it all 
 day, had there not been so many other things to look at. 
 There were the men on the pier, others in dinghies who 
 rowed from ship to ship and shouted to one another. 
 
 Pomfrey had dropped anchor, then had pulled to the 
 pier, where they had scrambled up a rope-ladder. There 
 had been the ride in the train, wonderful in itself, three 
 miles across Babbage Island, and at last Kaimera. To a 
 civilized man this was but a typical coastwise port con- 
 sisting of square, one-storey houses, painted for the most 
 part pink or white. The streets were wide and bare, 
 with no green save that of agaves and pepper trees; over-
 
 THE PORT OF KAIMERA 47 
 
 head, a blazing sun. To John the sight of so many 
 people had been disturbing, it had made him feel both 
 shy and eager. The women were different from what 
 he had expected; they were different from his mother, 
 the clothes they wore making them look odd, and strange 
 to his eyes. He thought the people looked unhappy and 
 uncomfortable, and felt sometimes a kind of disappoint- 
 ment, though frequently he saw faces that he wished to 
 know. Such were his early impressions, but later, when 
 he had met many of Pomfrey's acquaintances and had 
 had to answer their greeting and questions, he longed 
 to be away by himself, to get things sorted in his mind, 
 and to avoid being overdone with impressions. But he 
 was not able to get away; there were people everywhere; 
 so all the evening he had sat dumbly, and rather miserably, 
 listening with growing boredom to the chatter of the bar, 
 while Pomfrey and his friends drank numberless glasses. 
 
 Now, alone and in bed, he was glad to think over all 
 these things. He assured himself that in time he would 
 get accustomed to it all, then the next moment he 
 doubted, feeling there was so much new and strange to 
 find out. But he was wholly glad that he had come. To- 
 morrow he would not be so shy of all those other people, 
 who of course understood so much. Things that they 
 took for granted appeared to him marvellous, and he 
 remembered the light in the courtyard which had sprung 
 into existence when Flynn had touched a little knob 
 near the door. He had not liked to say anything about 
 this at the time for fear of being laughed at, but now 
 he determined to see for himself. 
 
 Out in the yard it was very dark and he could hear 
 Pomfrey snoring in the next bedroom. Everybody was
 
 48 THE MAINLAND 
 
 asleep. Quickly John crossed the yard, felt for the 
 button and pushed it down. The light sprang into ex- 
 istence. At once rather scared he pushed up the knob — 
 darkness. After a pause he pushed it down again, once 
 more there was the light. Off — on, off — on, it was 
 obedient to his finger. He tiptoed very quietly towards 
 it — a glass globe with a little looped red-hot wire: what 
 an extraordinary light! Gingerly he put out his hand. 
 It was warm, but did not burn like a flame. For a long 
 while he gazed surprised at its steady glow. It was 
 marvellous that the pressing of a knob so far away should 
 make a light; this alone was wonderful as a dream, and 
 tomorrow there was all the mainland and all his life for 
 discoveries. He gazed at the lamp in an ecstasy of happy 
 anticipation, then tiptoed back to the knob. When again 
 it was dark he glanced for a moment up at the familiar 
 stars overhead. Then assured by the recognition of what 
 was normal and enduring, he quietly crossed the court 
 and with a shiver of happiness curled himself up in bed. 
 
 n 
 
 Early next morning before any of the inhabitants of 
 Kaimera were about, John made a tour of inspection of 
 the town. From one wide street to another he turned, 
 filled with wonder for the size and numerousness of the 
 houses; most of all he was impressed by the new Coffee 
 Palace just completed, which was two stories high with 
 a double verandah. When his curiosity was satisfied he 
 went down to the pier-head, had a look at the small en- 
 gine and train, then started to run out towards the sea. 
 It was easy going, along the boarded way beside the rail- 
 way line, and it amused him to look down between the
 
 THE PORT OF KAIMERA 49 
 
 cracks and to see space beneath his feet. To the end of 
 the pier it was three miles, but well worth the run. He 
 wanted to bathe in deep sea, not liking the look of the 
 river estuary where the water was muddy and where 
 large yellow and black water-snakes were now and then 
 to be seen. Much to his disappointment he found that 
 the steamer which last evening had been loading wool 
 had sailed in the night, but he found other boats anchored 
 in the shelter of the sand-banks. He dived in and swam 
 round for an inspection of the various craft, finishing up 
 on the Shark where he surprised the silent and abstracted 
 Toby who had been left in charge. They breakfasted 
 together on some bread and some rather scaly fish-soup 
 made of sea-water and snapper hacked into chunks and 
 boiled. After breakfast John returned to his clothes on 
 the pier, and then back to Kaimera. 
 
 By this time the streets were full of people, and John 
 hurried back to Flynn's Hotel, disliking to feel himself 
 alone in a strange town. The rest of the morning was 
 taken up by meeting various of Pomfrey's acquaintances, 
 beach-combers of all kinds, including the notorious Morat, 
 the murderer, who had not only killed a white man but 
 had three niggers flung in to complete his reputation. He 
 was a little sandy man with rheumy eyes, and John 
 thought he looked very mild. These gentlemen were all 
 told of the stingaree skins, and in the afternoon a party 
 was made up to visit the Shark. 
 
 Depreciating and pessimistic remarks regarding so un- 
 usual a freight were the preliminaries of a business deal. 
 Pomfrey, who had arranged with the elder Sherwin that 
 he was to have a commission on the sale, did his best to 
 speak up, and after much banter on both sides asked for
 
 50 THE MAINLAND 
 
 an offer. A miserable five pounds was suggested, but 
 Pomfrey was not to be gulled to that extent, and after 
 further discussion and a deal of good-natured blasphemy 
 ten pounds was reached. Pomfrey was not going to 
 commit himself. He knew the beach-combers and their 
 methods of trade and determined to hold on for a day 
 or two on the chance of a better bid. 
 
 All this talk seemed to John very stupid, and he soon 
 became indifferent. Ten pounds or a hundred were 
 much the same to him. He vaguely understood that on 
 the mainland money was necessary. It still seemed ab- 
 surd that people should have to pay to live, but it wasn't 
 worth bothering about. For the present he had enough. 
 The skins had only been a pretext. He had already lost 
 interest, and felt restless in the presence of so much talk 
 and so little action. 
 
 The next morning, when John again ran down the pier 
 for his bathe, he saw that there was a newly arrived cutter 
 anchored at the extreme end of the sand bar. Evidently 
 she had come in late on the previous evening. John soon 
 stripped and swam out towards her, curious for a closer 
 view. There was only one man on deck, and he was 
 occupied at the small box-like cook-house forward. 
 Very quietly John swam up behind him and then trod 
 water, while he compared the various qualities of the 
 new arrival with those of the Shark. The contrast was 
 marked, for the Shark was old, having had no money 
 spent on her for a good ten years, while this boat was 
 the very acme of all that was well-cared-for and ship- 
 shape. Her painted sides gleamed in the morning sun 
 and made complementary reflections in the limpid water. 
 Her lines were delicate and tapering, suggestive of speed,
 
 THE PORT OF KAIMERA 51 
 
 and as the wavelets tossed against her hull she seemed to 
 stir like some bright creature of the air, eager to spread 
 her wings and skim out over the sea. Thrilled with 
 admiration for so beautiful a craft, John swam nearer. 
 Within about ten feet he stopped and had a closer look 
 at the broad back of the man who, as he could now see, 
 was frying fish at a fire. He wanted much to find out 
 about this new arrival which so far surpassed in appear- 
 ance the other boats of the port. He did not know how 
 best to open a conversation, but was unwilling to swim 
 away tamely without further satisfying his curiosity. 
 The whim took him to dive under the boat. He came 
 up with rather a splutter, shaking the water out of his 
 hair and ears. On the cutter the man had put down 
 his frying-pan and was gazing at him with a fierce ex- 
 pression from under thick black brows. For a moment 
 they looked mutely at one another, then came the natural 
 though disconcerting question: 
 
 " What the hell are you doing? " 
 
 John felt abashed by the man's uncompromising aspect 
 and replied in words that he felt were weak and illusory, 
 " Just swimming about." 
 
 " Well g-go and swim somewhere else." 
 
 There was a slight stutter on the " go " which seemed 
 to add emphasis to the command, though John could dis- 
 cern a certain amused interest. At a loss what to say 
 he stared blankly at the broad, solid face and the heavy, 
 straight brows. He felt extremely foolish in this en- 
 counter which he had pushed himself into, and to avoid 
 looking so, submerged himself with an upward lift of his 
 hands. Under water he made towards the boat and 
 came up very silently beneath the wide counter.
 
 52 THE MAINLAND 
 
 From here he heard another voice speaking. The tones 
 were clear and full of vitality. " Who are you talking 
 to, Tom?" 
 
 " There was a red-headed boy come up out of the sea — 
 God knows where from." 
 
 "Is he there?" 
 
 " No, damned if he is." 
 
 " Where has he gone to? " 
 
 " Under water again like a damned fish." 
 
 John heard the footsteps on the deck and the two 
 men expressing their amused surprise at his strange ap- 
 pearance and disappearance. After a little he submerged 
 again and swam a short distance from the boat. When 
 he came to the surface he was hailed. 
 
 A tall slim man in silk pyjamas with a black beard was 
 standing on the deck. "Do you want anything?" he 
 shouted in a voice that sounded eager and full of zest 
 for any incident that might offer novelty and entertain- 
 ment. 
 
 " No, I was just having a morning swim," said John, 
 more at his ease. " I came to look at your boat; she's 
 such a beauty." 
 
 " Where have you come from? " 
 
 " The pier." 
 
 " That's a far swim; are you not afraid of the sharks? " 
 
 " No, they eat fish; I've never had one after me." 
 
 During this exchange, John had swum nearer and was 
 now treading water. The tall man continued his ques- 
 tions. 
 
 " You seem pretty well at home in the sea, where did 
 you get to just now? " 
 
 John smiled as he answered, " Under your boat."
 
 THE PORT OF KAIMERA 53 
 
 The two men on board laughed, amused at his re- 
 source. The tall man was obviously pleased at this new 
 acquaintance, and relished the humour of the meeting. 
 The other man, whom he addressed as Tom, was now 
 also smiling at John's account of himself. He asked 
 John to give an exhibition of one of his disappearing 
 dives. John at once complied, glad to show off. He 
 swam straight to the bottom where he collected various 
 shells and one or two small sponges. He stayed under 
 as long as he was able, and when he came up trium- 
 phantly handed the shells up to be displayed on the white 
 deck of the cutter. Their praise, which was obviously 
 sincere, made him feel well rewarded, and he readily ac- 
 cepted the invitation to clamber on board and breakfast 
 with them. 
 
 The tall man, whom John by this time recognized as 
 the " boss," helped him on board with a firm hand-grip. 
 He felt, in spite of the stranger's light and friendly man- 
 ner, that at this moment he was being looked at critically 
 and with a keen glance. He in his turn looked critically 
 back. His first impression of a slim, wiry figure was 
 confirmed. The stranger's face, well tanned by the sun, 
 was formed of clear-cut, intelligent features; his forehead 
 was high and unlined; his eyes, which were deep-set, 
 were light brown in colour and had a very direct glance, 
 obviously honest; his nose slightly aquiline and large; 
 his lips and chin covered with a well-trimmed moustache 
 and beard. John judged him to be over thirty. 
 
 " What's your name? " he asked. 
 
 " John Sherwin." 
 
 " My name's Arthur Cray and this is Tom Julep. 
 Tom will give you some clothes, and if you like you can
 
 54 THE MAINLAND 
 
 help him with the breakfast. I'm going to dress now." 
 He added with a smile: " At breakfast I shall have ques- 
 tions to ask you." 
 
 In the forecastle Julep kept his clothes and all his 
 belongings. He pulled out a pair of trousers and a shirt. 
 " Slip into these; the air will soon dry you," he said. 
 He looked at John critically for a few minutes with a 
 suppressed smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes. John 
 thought him very ugly but somehow attractive. His thick- 
 set limbs took kindly curves, and his heavy features and 
 prominent dimpled chin gave some suggestion of a coarse 
 species of Oriental Buddha filled with self-approbation 
 and a strong sensual zest for life. " The Boss has rather 
 taken to you," he said. " He's not free with his invita- 
 tions." Then with a knowing wink, " What sort of a 
 place is Kaimera? " 
 
 John, having no other town to compare it with, was 
 at a loss. " I don't know," he said, " I've only been there 
 two days." 
 
 "Well, isn't that long enough? Is there any good- 
 looking stuff about? " 
 
 Again John was at a loss. " What do you mean by 
 stuff?" 
 
 " Women, girls, what else? " 
 
 John crimsoned. " I don't know." 
 
 " I see, you spend your time diving." This was sug- 
 gested with kindly sarcasm. Then, amused at John's 
 silence, he screwed up his eyes in another critical glance 
 before swinging himself up on to the deck. " What do 
 you think of The Venture? " he asked, looking along the 
 white planks of the cutter. 
 
 " She's fine; have you come far in her? "
 
 THE PORT OF KAIMERA SS 
 
 " Up from Perth — more than five hundred miles, and 
 we are going a long way further. She's a good sailer and 
 seaworthy. It's part of his g-gentlemanly fancy to keep 
 her spick-and-span." Again the slight stutter struck 
 John as singular. It seemed to suggest some weakness 
 in the great physical bulk of the man and at the same 
 time a gentle streak in his primitive animalism. " He 
 sailed her up from Albany by himself with just his wife 
 to help him," Julep went on, " but at Perth I joined 
 as crew. We fixed that up in Paris months ago, now we're 
 off on a twelve months' trip." 
 
 " Where are you going to? " 
 
 " I don't know. Somewhere up north. He's just 
 pleasure-cruising with his wife." 
 
 While Julep occupied himself with the preparation 
 of breakfast, John's attention was captured by the neat 
 array of cups, plates, etc., which seemed to him the ex- 
 travagant and elegant accessories of a meal. These 
 people on The Venture were wonderfully different from 
 all his previous experience. They seemed also to be 
 different from the people of Kaimera. Certainly they 
 had little in common with Pomfrey and his taproom 
 acquaintances. John remembered his half-acknowledged 
 feeling of disappointment and his boredom with the 
 townsfolk. In comparison with Cray's eager vitality the 
 inhabitants of Kaimera seemed stale and unprofitable. 
 His eyes went landward, following his thoughts. The 
 land was far distant, and the early morning scene ap- 
 peared as wonderfully beautiful, filling him with hap- 
 piness and the untroubled zest of youth. Long tongues 
 of sand ran out on either side of the river's mouth to 
 meet the blue sea-water. Between these wide-flung spurs
 
 56 THE MAINLAND 
 
 lay the dark mud of the estuary with its ferruginous 
 burden of mangrove thickets. Beyond was the stretch 
 of Babbage Island with yellow sand-dunes and in the 
 hazy distance the roofs of Kaimera, a town of opal and 
 pink, fragile and transparent as a sea-medusa. 
 
 When Cray came on deck, John was astonished and 
 even a little awed by his smart appearance. He wore a 
 spotless, well-fitting white suit, and on his head was a 
 wide-brimmed topee. He conveyed an impression of 
 evenly poised alertness, and John was filled with admi- 
 ration. A few seconds later Mrs. Cray came up the com- 
 panion-way out of the cabin. She was a woman of 
 twenty-eight or thirty, but she looked considerably younger 
 and on occasions might have been taken for not more 
 than twenty. She was now dressed in an unbleached 
 linen skirt and a tussore blouse embroidered with a line 
 of cerise round the throat and wrists. Her abundant hair 
 was largely concealed by her wide-brimmed hat. 
 
 Cray, with an easy smile, introduced John as their 
 first visitor from the mainland, who had swum out to 
 have breakfast with them. The boy was enveloped by 
 successive waves of embarrassment. Never had he imag- 
 ined any one in the least like Mrs. Cray. The vague girls 
 of his imagination had been wild, shy, long-haired, dark 
 creatures. This woman was a being from another world. 
 She was not woman, to his conception; she was hardly 
 human — there was no gauge by which he could value 
 her. She said good morning to him very simply, and 
 he remained silent, not knowing in the least what to 
 do with his hands, his eyes, or his feet. His native good 
 feeling made it impossible to address her with any speech 
 that was at his command. He felt that he was a fool,
 
 THE PORT OF KAIMERA 57 
 
 and that she was self-possessed and wonderful; whether 
 she was beautiful his abashed senses did not dare to de- 
 cide, but she was wonderful, extraordinarily wonderful. 
 The direct glance of her blue eyes made him look down 
 to the blue waves lapping the boat's side. Seeing that he 
 was embarrassed she moved away and occupied herself 
 with the arrangement of a cloth over the cabin top which 
 was to serve as breakfast-table. Cray took John for- 
 ward and asked questions concerning places of better an- 
 chorage and the best approach to the town up the muddy 
 estuary of the river. When they turned again towards 
 the others, John noticed that Mrs. Cray was absorbed in 
 a long contemplation of the landward scene. In her ex- 
 pression of delight at the awakening beauty of the day 
 he recognized a subdued though deepened reflection of his 
 own feelings of a few moments past. 
 
 At breakfast, which they took sitting at the side of the 
 cabin roof, Cray talked with an easy vivacity, doing all 
 he could to put John at his ease. He was surprised at 
 the admission that this was the boy's second day at Kai- 
 mera, and asked where he had come from. On hearing 
 of Kanna Island, which was only thirty miles to the west- 
 ward, he said, " But surely you must have been over to 
 Kaimera before? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Then who lives on Kanna Island?" 
 
 " My father and mother, and the black boy Coffee." 
 
 " No one else? " 
 
 " No. Pomfrey goes across in the cutter from time to 
 time." 
 
 "But have you never been to the mainland before? 
 Is this your second day of civilization? "
 
 58 THE MAINLAND 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Cray was now thoroughly interested. He asked, " Have 
 you never been to school? " 
 
 " No," admitted John, flushing with shame. 
 
 Cray smiled across at his wife. " At last I have met 
 a man who has escaped the blight of education." Then 
 to John he apologized for his many questions. " But 
 I'm so interested," he continued. " You don't know 
 your good fortune, you have not only resisted education, 
 which is the best we others can hope for; you've escaped 
 it altogether. Have you learnt to read? " His question 
 was full of a pleased eagerness. 
 
 At first John had been embarrassed by so many ques- 
 tions, but Cray's manner was so unaffected, and his inter- 
 est so real, that the boy felt almost flattered and now spoke 
 from his natural feeling. " No, mother did want me to 
 learn, and tried to teach me, but I never took to it much. 
 Learning the letters was so senseless." 
 
 Cray kept silent for a few seconds while he looked at 
 John with a critical admiration. Here was the raw 
 material of humanity, the child of nature, unspoiled 
 primitive manhood. In those few seconds of criticism 
 he checked the flood of questions that pushed themselves 
 forward. He wanted to know more of the youth, but 
 the knowledge must come slowly, it must unfold itself 
 rather than be dragged forth in disjointed monosyllables. 
 He dropped his eager questioning to a more ordinary 
 tone. 
 
 " What does your father do on Kanna? " 
 
 " He's a farmer and keeps the stock for the hospital 
 on Fenton Island." 
 
 Mrs. Cray, who had been listening with an interest
 
 THE PORT OF KAIMERA 59 
 
 not less keen but which appeared more subdued than 
 her husband's, now asked, " Have you never known any 
 one but your father and mother? " 
 
 " No one except Pomfrey and Toby who go to and 
 fro on the Shark, and of course Coffee, who is a black." 
 
 " Have you seen no other woman? " 
 
 " Yes, I saw some in Kaimera yesterday." 
 
 " When I asked him just now what they were like," 
 Julep laughed, " he couldn't tell me." 
 
 " He'll leave that to you, Julep," said Cray, then to 
 John, " I suppose you helped your father with the farm 
 and are now looking out for some job on the mainland." 
 
 They talked of possible openings, and John told of 
 his skins. Cray was interested, and said that he would 
 go over to the Shark that morning and see them; if 
 he liked the look of them, he would make John an offer. 
 
 After breakfast the three men started off in the dinghy. 
 They took Julep to the pier where he was able to scramble 
 up to the level of the railway track and from thence start 
 on his journey to the town. John then sculled in the di- 
 rection of the Shark, Cray sitting in the stern and steering. 
 
 Half a dozen skins were pulled out and looked at in a 
 great deal less time than the bargainers of yesterday had 
 taken to the consideration of one. 
 
 " I don't know in the least what they are worth," said 
 Cray. "They look fairly good and may have value; on 
 the other hand they may be quite valueless. You see I 
 never thought I should come to buy stingaree skins. They 
 may be worth five pounds each or more. I don't know. 
 I'll make you a sporting offer if you like, and I don't sup- 
 pose you'll get more from any one here. What did they 
 offer you? "
 
 60 THE MAINLAND 
 
 " Ten pounds, I think." 
 
 " Well, I'll give you fifty. I'm sure they ought to be 
 worth that." 
 
 " All risrht, if that's not too much," said John de- 
 lighted at having succeeded where Pomfrey had failed. 
 But he took little credit to himself, for how different 
 was Cray from Pomfrey's customers. If this was trade, 
 then it was not so bad after all, and far different from 
 yesterday's bargainings. 
 
 They started back towards The Venture both pleased 
 with themselves and with each other. About half-way, 
 Cray gave the order to easy with the oars and let the 
 boat drift for a while. 
 
 " If you are looking for a job," he said, " will you come 
 with me on The Venture? You'd have to help Julep with 
 his work, learn to cook, do any odd work that needed 
 doing, and sail the boat when you were told to. I'll pay 
 you a pound a week, which is rather less than you get 
 on the sheep runs or the gold fields; but then the work 
 you will have to do will not be very hard, at any rate for 
 a while." 
 
 John flushed with excitement. " Are you going up 
 north? " he said. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 This was his dream come true, better than he could 
 have hoped. " Yes, I'd come for nothing," his impul- 
 siveness earned him away. 
 
 Cray smiled indulgently, though he liked the spirit. 
 " No, I shall pay you, and that fifty pounds — it will want 
 looking after. And I shall look after you a bit while you 
 are with me, until you've learnt something of life and 
 money. You had better bank it and start an account.
 
 THE PORT OF KAIMERA 61 
 
 I'll show you how that's done," he smiled. " You will 
 be glad of the money perhaps when the trip's over. Now 
 we'll go back to the boat to fetch my cheque-book and my 
 wife, then you can help us find the way up the river to 
 the town." 
 
 Cray rather enjoyed talking to John, as if he were a 
 child. The position of patron set him high in his own 
 estimation, he could feel the warm radiations of the youth's 
 growing devotion. As for John, his imagination was cap- 
 tured. This man, with his gentle and sharp-cut manners 
 (so unlike his father), his eagerness for events, his self- 
 confidence, his generosity, and above all his power of lift- 
 ing life to the plane of a grand adventure, touched the 
 pulse of a new existence making glorious the hope of the 
 future. He would go to the ends of the world, if so 
 bidden, and ask no reward. The light in the sunlit waves 
 was eloquent with happiness, and when Cray gave the 
 signal he struck them with his oars, making the dinghy 
 leap forward as if infected by the fervour of his faith.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 THE SEABOARD 
 
 I 
 
 ARTHUR CRAY was the son of a London mer- 
 chant. At the whim of his father he had been 
 educated in France and Italy, where he had 
 travelled with tutors. At nineteen he had taken a schol- 
 arship in Physics at Cambridge. At the University he 
 had abandoned science and had taken a First Class in 
 Classics. From Classics he went on to Moral Sciences 
 and from Moral Sciences to Psychology. This latter study 
 had taken him back to Paris, where for some time he as- 
 sumed the dress and habits of a French savant. Suddenly 
 tired of the life, he had cruised in the Mediterranean, had 
 visited the coast of Africa and had risked his life in more 
 than one encounter with the wild Bedouin tribes. On 
 returning to Paris he met Caroline Vertaud. 
 
 Caroline was the daughter of a French Protestant and 
 an English mother. She had been educated in England 
 and this was her first year in Paris. Cray fell romanti- 
 cally in love with her, and, with the brilliance of his 
 many accomplishments, carried her off her feet. After 
 they were married, he took her to the Pacific. In Tahiti 
 they had stayed more than a year, then back to Paris and 
 later to London. They had now been married for seven 
 years, and, although Cray had taken a house near Fon- 
 tainebleau, they had never settled. His restless genius, 
 
 62
 
 THE SEABOARD 63 
 
 eager for knowledge and adventure, had urged him to 
 travel. 
 
 With power and sufficient self-control to hold life in 
 his grasp, he had regarded it as an experiment whose 
 proof lay through sense and brain to spirit. Throughout 
 their years of wandering Mrs. Cray had followed him 
 with a passive obedience. Her life, devoid of any ma- 
 terial anchorage and unable to keep pace with her hus- 
 band's hurrying imagination, had come to move about 
 its own axis. In the contemplation of the ever-changing 
 beauty of existence she found a cool and spiritual satis- 
 faction. Her husband, in the fervour of his concep- 
 tion of life, had simply not recognized the ordinary needs 
 of a woman's existence, and Caroline, under the influence 
 of his enthusiasm, had found pleasure in renunciation and 
 a passive happiness in accepting the accidental joys of 
 adventure. 
 
 Tom Julep first met Cray in Bristol. He was then in 
 charge of a small ketch plying between Bristol and 
 Cherbourg. They had exchanged greetings on the quay 
 near Bridge Street and the two men had been attracted 
 to each other by their dissimilarities. Then, some 
 months later, they had met again by the river-side in 
 Paris. At this time Cray was planning the cruise round 
 the north coast of Australia. He told Julep of his scheme, 
 which was projected chiefly for the sake of new adven- 
 ture, but which contained prospects, which, besides offer- 
 ing danger and enterprise, suggested the possibility of 
 large profits. They had discussed these possibilities, had 
 come to a business understanding, and subsequently Julep 
 had travelled out to join The Venture at Perth. The 
 first four hundred miles of the journey had passed
 
 64 THE MAINLAND 
 
 uneventfully. They had put in at Kaimera to buy stores 
 sufficient to last them for the eight or twelve months that 
 they hoped to be away. 
 
 The three days they were in port, Cray spent mostly 
 in Kaimera making his purchases and talking to any one 
 who could give information about the coast northward. 
 The skins he brought to the pier and addressed to his 
 agent in Perth. He kept John with him, taking an evi- 
 dent pleasure in showing the boy how things should be 
 done. He banked the £50 in John's name, and bought 
 him an outfit as a present, including a shot-gun and a 
 store of cartridges. 
 
 After the first visit, Mrs. Cray did not go again to the 
 town, but walked by herself on Babbage Island. She 
 took with her her paint-box and a camp-stool, seeming 
 happy in solitude. Julep, whenever he was free, spent 
 his time on shore following his own ends, and not till 
 the day before they started did John see anything of him; 
 then together they had the slow task of tacking down the 
 estuary against a head-wind in a shallow-draught ship's- 
 boat which Cray had hired to carry out his store of 
 provisions. 
 
 That evening they all slept aboard; as the night was 
 hot they slept on deck, Cray and Mrs. Cray in hammocks 
 near the poop and Julep and John forward on the bare 
 boards. The Venture stirred very gently to the move- 
 ment of the waves, and John, as he gazed up through 
 the clear night air, watched the mast-head tracing 
 patterns among the stars. The water against the hull 
 sounded with a soft plashing that had in it the friendli- 
 ness of intimacy. Once he raised himself to look at the 
 rippling surface, then lay back upon the deck contented.
 
 THE SEABOARD 65 
 
 In the depths of the night above him there was room 
 for all aspiration, and in the glitter of the stars a thousand 
 kindling hopes. 
 
 n 
 
 Early the next morning the south-west wind came in 
 light puffs over the Indian Ocean. The crew of The 
 Venture were astir before sunrise, anchor was lifted, the 
 sails flapped for a moment then steadied to the wind, the 
 water murmured about the bows, and The Venture, like 
 a white sea-bird, headed north-westward for the open. 
 The lights of early morning in grey and mauve forgot 
 slowly their bashfulness and the sun, yet hidden by the 
 earth, lit with a line of crimson the thin mist clouds that 
 hung above the land. The sea was green and translucent. 
 In distant streaks of smooth surface it was olive alter- 
 nating with yellow, but nearer, in the hollows of waves 
 could be discerned a fleeting pinkness, that flashed from 
 transparency to disappear in emerald caps. Overhead 
 the sky flushed a deeper pink as the sun rose. 
 
 The wind grew stronger as the day lengthened, the 
 water under the bows babbled more loudly, and the 
 cutter leant over, dipping her starboard bulwark as she 
 cut the waves. Behind her a wake of tumbling water 
 twisted the reflections of the sun in eddies and swirling 
 pools. 
 
 By midday both sky and sea had taken on a deep blue. 
 The waves, now full of indigo and cobalt, broke sometimes 
 to white crests, which in turn subsided to clusters of 
 clear bubbles scattering and dipping over the film of 
 their undulations. On the cutter the deck became so hot 
 that water had to be sluiced over it to prevent the feet
 
 66 THE MAINLAND 
 
 of the men from being burnt. Now and then an old 
 shell-back turtle rose to the surface and looked with a 
 serious eye at The Venture as she sped past. Often the 
 sharp fins of sharks appeared in a long line, sometimes 
 a school of porpoises came chasing one after another, 
 regardless of everything in their swift career. 
 
 Then, later, as the sun sloped toward the western 
 ocean, the intensity of the blue waters subsided and the 
 thin red glare of a tropical evening pervaded the sky. 
 The waves caught and cooled the reflections, temper- 
 ing the crimson of sunset with greens and amethyst. As 
 the wind dropped, they lost their white caps, while the 
 liquid colours, blending and shifting in undulations, ex- 
 changed their bright tints for the opaque greys and mauves 
 of twilight. 
 
 On board the cutter, life very easily adapted itself to 
 the habit of the encompassing elements. Each individual 
 formed a distinctive appreciation of the sea-life; in re- 
 turn the sea touched each personality with something of 
 its pervading nature. The necessary duties of sailing the 
 boat and preparing food became in themselves adequate 
 and sufficient actions. The speaking of words became 
 a freedom not to be lavishly wasted; in the intervals of 
 silence was room for self-sufficiency and quiet happiness. 
 
 The first evening they anchored in a small sheltered 
 bay near Maund's Landing, and the next morning made 
 a more northerly course, still hugging the land. For 
 three days they sailed northwards, the south-west wind 
 holding good. When they had rounded the north-west 
 cape they steered four points westward, keeping the land 
 close on their right. 
 
 Sometimes in the evenings Cray would go ashore and
 
 THE SEABOARD 67 
 
 take John with him. They had their guns and would 
 shoot wallabies and kangaroos for fresh meat. On these 
 occasions Cray would make the boy talk of his past life, 
 and their friendship developed. It was a curious re- 
 lationship. John on his side was full of admiration for 
 the polished product of the elder man's experience. He 
 had devotion also, and with it a shy desire to learn. 
 Cray, conscious of John's emotions, was pleased with them 
 and pleased with himself for being the fount of their 
 inspiration. He liked the youth, and especially his fresh 
 simplicity. Too intelligent to assume superiority for his 
 knowledge, he chose a friendly equality of manner, trust- 
 ing to John's honesty to observe the just quality of their 
 relationship. In this trust he was justified, and their 
 friendship grew. 
 
 During the voyage northward all the ship's company 
 seemed united in an easy intimacy. Cray's clear-edged 
 leadership gave vigour and confidence, while Julep's 
 friendly good nature received an additional quality from 
 the sensual leer that usually accompanied it. He took a 
 perverse pleasure in gently ridiculing Cray's idealism and 
 John's ignorance. The two men liked each other for 
 their opposite qualities and liked the youth, both for 
 himself and for the way in which he drew out the char- 
 acter of the other. They admired also his great efficiency 
 in fishing with spear or hook, in shooting, sailing and the 
 like. 
 
 Mrs. Cray in her passive and watchful attitude towards 
 life seemed content to find satisfaction in appreciating 
 the qualities of the others. Her life in no way mingled 
 with that of the men; she remained outside, a spectator 
 living in a world of her own thoughts. Her relationship
 
 68 THE MAINLAND 
 
 with her husband did not display itself. She was friendly 
 and kind but by no means under his sway, as were the 
 two men. Perhaps in the course of seven years his bril- 
 liant egoism had tired her, or perhaps she found in her 
 own thoughts a more congenial interpretation of life. 
 
 After The Venture had left behind the North-West 
 Cape, many islands were sighted. Among these islands 
 they cruised to and fro for some days. Cray seemed much 
 interested, especially in the atolls and the long fringing 
 reefs. Sometimes he spent whole days ashore and took 
 Julep with him. John was sorry that he was not asked 
 on these expeditions, especially as he believed they were 
 looking for something about which he knew nothing, 
 and was curious. 
 
 He had spoken very little to Mrs. Cray and was shy 
 of talking to her now that they were left alone. She 
 didn't seem anxious either to talk to him, and beyond 
 some friendly greeting or question she was silent. Usually 
 she would sit aft near the companion-way either paint- 
 ing or reading one of the numerous books that she had 
 brought on board. John would go ashore and lie lazily 
 in the grass watching the sand insects or would roam the 
 beach, looking for shells. His orders were not to go far 
 from the boat. 
 
 One evening when he was squatting in the bows of The 
 Venture catching snapper with hook and line at the turn 
 of the tide, Mrs. Cray walked forward and stood watching 
 his occupation. He had already four shining fish upon 
 the deck; each weighed fourteen pounds or more, and 
 he was just playing a fifth. The bright sides of the fish 
 caught the sunlight, the crimson and silver scales reflect* 
 ing it like jewels.
 
 THE SEABOARD 69 
 
 " Why do you catch so many? " said Mrs. Cray, " we 
 can never eat all those." 
 
 " It's fun catching them," said John with a hasty 
 glance up. 
 
 " You don't want all those." 
 
 " No," admitted John, landing the fifth. 
 
 " What colour he has, and what a fight he makes for 
 life. Put him back, you don't want him." 
 
 " Very well." He pulled out the hook and let the 
 fish slide through his hands into the sea. It lay for a time 
 on its side exhausted, the gills under the silver plate of 
 the operculum making great play. While they watched, 
 the fish righted itself, then with a suddenly realized 
 freedom dived deep through the clear water. 
 
 " See how glad he is to live," she said; then looking at 
 those on the deck. " Their beauty soon fades when they 
 are dead." 
 
 Peering down through the water John saw two laige 
 jelly-fish. Their transparent flesh was tinted a pale blue, 
 and their streaming tentacles swayed in the currents. 
 "Do you see those jelly-fish?" he said, feeling a little 
 embarrassed and glad to speak. 
 
 " Yes, I watched others like them this morning, numbers 
 of them passed the boat." 
 
 " They look nice, don't they? " said John, then added, 
 as though ashamed of praising them, " though they are 
 no good to eat, and they sting awfully when one swims." 
 
 Mrs. Cray looked through the clear waters with eyes 
 full of appreciation. The fragile texture and pale colour 
 of the sea creatures evidently pleased her. " They have 
 such a beautiful name," she said. " They are called 
 Medusae."
 
 70 THE MAINLAND 
 
 John repeated the word as though tasting about it a 
 whimsical quality, then asked, " Are some words better 
 than others? " 
 
 "Yes, don't you think they are?" He hadn't ever 
 thought about it, but he registered the fact for further 
 consideration. " Now I want you to paddle me to the 
 shore," Mrs. Cray went on. " The other two are having 
 all the fun. I like the look of this island and want to 
 climb the hill over there and see from the top of it." 
 
 John was surprised, suddenly very pleased. Mrs. Cray 
 had spoken very little to him and consequently he had 
 regarded her with curiosity and a certain mixture of 
 antagonism; now, as he looked at her slim figure stand- 
 ing by the mast, he realized that she was beautiful and 
 interesting. If some words were better than others, then 
 this woman was better and different from anything he 
 had imagined. With this new-sprung interest the thought 
 came that perhaps she had felt lonely that day. 
 
 When he pulled up the dinghy to the side of the 
 cutter, he had an impulse to help her in but checked it, 
 feeling it to be absurd. When she put out her hand for 
 his support he was pleased. As he sat opposite to her 
 pulling at the sculls he looked, as bravely as he dared, at 
 the soft and delicate lines of her face. He felt a con- 
 sciousness of himself, was glad that he was young and 
 strong, and that the exercise of sculling showed off the 
 muscles of his brown arms. When they reached the 
 shore, they started to walk inland, and John discovered 
 that Mrs. Cray had the power, though indeed she had 
 spoken very little, of raising this tiny expedition to the 
 level of an adventure. He felt it indeed to be an excit- 
 ing adventure. Into the smallest incidents Mrs. Cray
 
 THE SEABOARD 71 
 
 was able to read a pleased significance. She laughed at 
 trifles, and, at the same time as she endowed them with 
 humour and meaning, extracted from them those very 
 qualities. To John's newly awakened imagination the 
 incidents of their progress shone, each isolated and per- 
 fect, and he learnt how that in the simplest things joy can 
 be discovered. 
 
 When they reached the hill-top, which was little more 
 than a sand-dune, they could see inland towards distant 
 tree-clumps and high rocks. In front of them was a 
 wide stretch of blown sand which spread out on either 
 side in a long crescent, following the edge of the fringing 
 reef. It looked too far to walk to the high land in the 
 centre, so they sat down where they were, and Mrs. Cray 
 began to make rough drawings in a sketch-book. John 
 sprawled on the sand chewing a grass blade. At first she 
 made him talk about Kanna Island, his father and mother, 
 and the life they lived together. He was glad to speak of 
 them, feeling her sympathy. Once started he talked on, 
 eager to tell his experience, his knowledge of wild life 
 and wild things, of the island mice that carried their 
 young in a little pouch, of the bandicoots whose skin was 
 so tender that it tore when you caught them unless you 
 were very careful, of the grasshoppers that the bandi- 
 coots eat and that imitated twigs in self-protection, and 
 of the sand-living insects. These last were round about 
 them in the sunshine, working at their various tasks. 
 Mrs. Cray put down her drawing to watch the work of 
 the burrowing sand-wasps while he told her of their 
 habits. 
 
 Two hours went by very quickly. John talked all the 
 time, while Mrs. Cray listened and asked occasional
 
 72 THE MAINLAND 
 
 questions. Then she remembered that they must go back 
 and prepare supper before the others returned. On their 
 way back to the shore John plucked a large seed-head of 
 a plant resembling a giant dandelion. He held it up for 
 her to see the perfect globe of its delicate structure. 
 
 " When I was a child," she said, " we used to tell the 
 time with seeds like that." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " By blowing them. If you blow five times to send 
 the seeds all flying, then it's five o'clock." 
 
 " But not really? " 
 
 " No, not really, it's just a child's game. We liked to 
 see each little seed floating in the wind." 
 
 He gave a puff and a cloud of tiny white parachutes 
 went flying, then he dropped the stem, not deigning to 
 play a child's game with those that still clung to the 
 central disk. Mrs. Cray watched the seeds floating in 
 eddies of air. Even this small incident she seemed to 
 rescue from insignificance. The dandelion-head and the 
 separate flying seeds took rank with the medusae as things 
 of beauty. She had endowed them with something of her 
 own grace, or rather some quality possessed in common 
 by them both had become evident through her joy in 
 them. 
 
 John wondered what she had been like as a child, who 
 were her companions, and where had she lived, but he 
 did not question her, the idea of that was too new. 
 
 When in the evening Cray and Julep returned to The 
 Venture Mrs. Cray made no allusion to her visit to the 
 land, and John, following her lead, said nothing. That 
 night he thought about her as he lay on deck under the 
 stars. Why had she said nothing, when his instinct had
 
 THE SEABOARD 73 
 
 been to tell Cray of their expedition? The next day he 
 watched her, hoping that she would talk to him again, 
 but the loveliness and pleasure of yesterday had vanished. 
 She appeared as on the early days of the voyage, self- 
 contained and silent. He felt indeed humiliated that she 
 seemed hardly to recognize his existence. 
 
 m 
 
 For a week they had been among the islands, but the 
 next morning Cray gave the order that they should con- 
 tinue their course north-westward. He told them he was 
 leaving the land and did not expect again to strike it for 
 four days. The south-west wind which holds for months 
 in that region bowled them along over the waves. They 
 had the spinnaker set and The Venture looked like a white 
 moth that in summer-time is caught on the surface of a 
 pond, carried along by the breeze. By night the men kept 
 watch four hours at a time, but during the day they had 
 no fixed rule, Mrs. Cray taking her turn at the helm. 
 The time went very lazily, the weather was hot and cloud- 
 less. They were sailing now between latitudes 21 and 16 
 south, and were daily going farther north. At midday 
 they would sit close under the shadow of the sails and be 
 very glad when the sun sank westward. During these 
 days they talked a good deal, coming to know one another 
 in the way that only close companionship can teach man to 
 know man. Cray and Julep told of former expeditions, 
 while John listened eager to hear of other lands and seas. 
 Mrs. Cray listened also, speaking very little, though she 
 was always ready to pay tribute to a good story. Julep 
 she liked, though she kept him at very respectful dis- 
 tance, and was unfeignedly amused by his good-natured
 
 74 THE MAINLAND 
 
 jibes at men and women. Cray talked with his usual 
 vivacity and intense manner, though sometimes, when he 
 was telling stories that she had heard before, it was just 
 perceptible that she was a little bored. Now that John 
 observed her with a personal interest he could see that she 
 remained outside and apart from the life of the men. 
 Often she would be away by herself reading in the cabin 
 while they sat together and talked. This was as it had 
 been from the first days north of Kaimera, but he felt that 
 things were not quite as they then were. He himself had 
 changed, and since their walk together felt himself to be 
 as her secret ally. 
 
 On the evening of the fourth day they sighted land to 
 the westward. As they drew near they saw that there was 
 a small white settlement with a pier for loading wool to the 
 trading steamers. In a small bay to the north of the set- 
 tlement was a native camp. Cray passed the pier and 
 dropped anchor opposite to the camp. The natives stood 
 in rows along the beach full of curiosity concerning the 
 new arrival. 
 
 The next day Cray asked John to come ashore with him. 
 He said he wanted to talk to the natives and to see what 
 sort of fellows they were. As soon as they reached the 
 land two or three natives came running to them and began 
 at once to ask for tobacco in pidgin-English. Cray took 
 no notice of these importunities beyond looking at the men 
 with a kind of contemptuous resentment. They followed 
 him, rather abashed but still clamorous. By the time the 
 white men had reached the camp they were surrounded by 
 an eager crowd, anxious in their demands for tobacco, 
 pipes, handkerchiefs and other of the desired products of 
 civilization. One old man who was evidently of high
 
 THE SEABOARD 75 
 
 standing, threatened to become troublesome. He violently 
 gesticulated, demanding that his requests should at once be 
 gratified. Cray simply looked past him as if he did not 
 exist, then noticing a man who was still sitting by one of 
 the fires, he went up to him and asked with slowness and 
 deliberation, noting each answer as though it were a fact 
 of interest and importance, what was the name of the tribe, 
 of the place, his own name and names of his wives, his 
 father and mother. Very soon the others ceased their de- 
 mands and listened interested. The old man of high 
 standing became anxious to volunteer information. He 
 was envious of Cray's interest in the other man. Again 
 he was ignored. There was now no thought of begging; 
 they were all silent and interested. The man whom 
 Cray had first spoken to, and who now was standing 
 up, was questioned further. He was delighted at the 
 attention paid him, doing his best to please by his 
 answers. This became too much for the old chief, who 
 positively implored to be heard. Cray now relented a 
 little, telling him that he wished to see some of their 
 boomerangs, their spears, their throwing-sticks and shields. 
 A collection was soon displayed, and this simple-minded 
 and primitive people offered in reward for his condescend- 
 ing notice nearly everything that they had in their camp, 
 this for the simple reason that he had taken the trouble to 
 despise them and had shown his contempt. After refusing 
 the many gifts which they offered he distributed some sticks 
 of tobacco brought for that purpose. These were much 
 appreciated, and the subdued natives put out their brown 
 delicate-looking hands not daring to ask. 
 
 For some hours Cray stayed in the camp talking with 
 the natives, John remaining with him full of admiration
 
 76 THE MAINLAND 
 
 for the way he asserted his control. He asked about the 
 seaboard northward and of the various tribes that in- 
 habited the coast. There were wild fellows on the islands 
 they told him, wicked fellows who killed every one who 
 landed, both white and black. When he had learnt all 
 that he needed, he took the old chief aside and asked to 
 see the tribal magic-sticks that were kept in a sacred place. 
 The old man was pleased at this special attention. He 
 took them away into the bush a short distance and there 
 unearthed some of the sticks and waninga of the tribe. 
 By means of indirect flattery Cray persuaded him to bar- 
 gain two of these precious carved sticks for a pipe and 
 several whole pieces of tobacco. He gave the old fellow a 
 red handkerchief thrown in to please him ; they parted good 
 friends, both satisfied with the transaction. 
 
 On the way back to the shore Cray was in high good 
 spirits. " These little sticks," he said, " are of more value 
 among wild natives than any amount of guns and revolvers. 
 A wild man doesn't fear death you'll find, but he's afraid 
 of magic, and sticks like this belonging to a foreign tribe 
 have the power to kill through the very fear of them." 
 
 John listened, full of wonder, as yet only half under- 
 standing. " Now come with me," Cray continued with a 
 growing excitement showing through his quiet manner. 
 " I want to look at the shore along here; and keep your 
 eyes open for cover where two men could hide and be 
 hidden even from the eyes of a black fellow, which don't 
 miss much." He led the way through the thick scrub 
 which grew along the edge of the sand-dunes, then pausing 
 and pointing to a dark-leaved clump of acacia that grew 
 in a hollow, " Could you crawl through that do you think, 
 and jump out again quick at the word of command? "
 
 THE SEABOARD 77 
 
 " Yes, I think so," said John, looking doubtfully at the 
 long thorns. 
 
 " You'll get a bit scratched, but that's all in the day's 
 work. Crawl in and let's have a look at you." 
 
 John obeyed. 
 
 " Further in," insisted Cray, " I can still see a foot. 
 Now turn round — that's all right. Is there room for 
 Julep there? " 
 
 " Yes, but he won't like the thorns." 
 
 " Now crawl out again carefully so as not to break any 
 of them," Cray laughed. 
 
 John was now thoroughly curious and excited ; he asked 
 what was going to happen. Cray only smiled indulgently, 
 suggesting that it was time to get back for lunch on board. 
 
 rv 
 
 The next morning Cray set off with Julep for the main- 
 land. John, who felt very much dissatisfied at not being 
 taken, was left behind with Mrs. Cray. Half the night 
 he had lain awake wondering what was afoot. Something 
 certainly was going to happen, and he was afraid that he 
 should miss the excitement. He was more than dis- 
 appointed, he was cross and annoyed, feeling that he didn't 
 care even to go ashore and fish and shoot by himself. 
 For the last five days Mrs. Cray had hardly spoken to him; 
 now he rather purposely avoided her. He sat by the 
 forecastle disconsolate, mending some of his fishing tackle. 
 After a while he heard his name called. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, trying to seem indifferent. 
 
 " I am going ashore, will you carry some of my things 
 for me? " 
 
 He went aft to pull up the dinghy. Mrs. Cray, with
 
 78 THE MAINLAND 
 
 her sketching-bag in her hand, was on the steps between 
 the cabin and the deck. John noticed at once that she 
 looked happy and full of a quiet gaiety. This was just 
 as she had been on their expedition together, quite differ- 
 ent from her suppressed character of the last few days. 
 
 "There are trees over there, do you see?" she said. 
 " I haven't seen trees since I left Perth. I shall take my 
 painting things and a stool. You will carry it for me? 
 And let us take some lunch too! " 
 
 She looked so pleased and fresh that John's annoyance 
 all disappeared. The spirit of adventure which she could 
 put into trifles became at that moment greater than the 
 mystery of Cray's undivulged plans. By the time that 
 they were in the dinghy John was glad that he had been 
 left behind. When they reached the shore they walked 
 up the bed of a small stream which trickled through 
 the growth of grasses and flowering herbs. A few bushes 
 grew by the water's side; further inland the pale stems 
 of white gum trees appeared in scattered groups. It 
 was too hot to walk far, so they climbed the hill a little 
 way and Mrs. Cray sat down under the shadow of wide 
 branches. She began to make drawings of the tiny creep- 
 ing sundews and the delicate blue orchids that grew richly 
 among the grass. John watched her pencil and the play 
 of her hand, interested by her power to trace on paper the 
 image of live plants. 
 
 In the valley about a mile distant they could see the 
 native camp, where the white figures of Cray and Julep 
 could be discerned. As to Cray's purpose, they both felt 
 curiosity, though they did not speak of this. Mrs. Cray 
 questioned about John's visit to the camp yesterday, asking 
 for his impressions. He had as yet little interest in the
 
 THE SEABOARD 79 
 
 natives; not understanding them he thought they were 
 ugly and dirty, contemptible in their begging and in their 
 subsequent desire to please. He told how Cray had mas- 
 tered them, how he had refused the proffered presents, and 
 how that friendly relations had been ultimately estab- 
 lished. In all this he spoke his praise from his heart, 
 wishing that they might together commend the qualities 
 he admired. 
 
 " Yes, my husband is very good with natives," said 
 Mrs. Cray. " They feel his intelligence and his sym- 
 pathy. He is extraordinarily imaginative in some things; 
 he understands their point of view." 
 
 " Have you seen many black-fellows before you came 
 here?" 
 
 " Yes, we lived in a native village in Tahiti quite by 
 ourselves for six months." 
 
 "Did you like them?" 
 
 " Oh yes." Her eyes showed the pleasure of recollec- 
 tions. " The Tahitians are the most beautiful people 
 with strong supple bodies, that is where they are in the 
 country away from the towns, and they are so happy and 
 simple, much nicer than white people." 
 
 " Nicer than white people? " he questioned. 
 
 " Yes, they are more happy. They know what con- 
 tentment is, and haven't invented so much pain for them- 
 selves. They wear very few clothes, and that's a good 
 thing, keeping them clean and sweet in the wind, the sun 
 and the rain. People in Europe are always dressed too 
 much and live too much indoors." 
 
 John was silent, trying to digest this criticism of the 
 whites. It seemed strange that black men, even the best 
 of them, should be considered better than people of his
 
 80 THE MAINLAND 
 
 own colour. After a pause he said, " Tell me about 
 Europe." 
 
 Mrs. Cray smiled at so wide a question. " No, I can't 
 tell you all that, I know too little myself. Perhaps one 
 day you may go there, but don't be in a hurry; life out 
 here is wider and has more leisure. Europe has taken 
 thousands of years to make; it is built up of laws and 
 restrictions, and only when one knows the best of it from 
 inside is it possible to outgrow its restraint and to learn 
 very slowly some of its freedom." 
 
 This answer was unsatisfying; he did not understand; 
 it seemed as if she were trying to avoid his question. 
 Remembering his father's abuse of the mainland and all 
 the life of men and cities, he wished for more know- 
 ledge. 
 
 " My father came from England before he lived in the 
 towns — in Perth and Kaimera. He told me that he hated 
 it all." John was embarrassed by speaking about his 
 father in this relation, but he wanted so much to know 
 more. He spoke with a simple earnestness, feeling that by 
 confessing his father's beliefs he was laying open part of 
 his own life. " He said that there was no place on the 
 mainland for himself, or for my mother, and that I should 
 only learn unhappiness. He told me to go back to the 
 island when I had found out how bad and rotten it all 
 was." 
 
 " You say he never went to the mainland, nor your 
 mother either? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 Mrs. Cray had put down her pencil and was watching 
 the boy with interest. After a short pause she said: 
 " There are some who would be glad to get away from
 
 THE SEABOARD 81 
 
 it all. There must have been a very strong reason." 
 
 " There was, but that I can't tell you. Though that 
 was not all. He never wanted to go back anyhow. I 
 know nothing about anything," John complained, " but 
 I don't believe it's as bad as he made out." 
 
 " No, it's not all bad," Mrs. Cray smiled, " but a 
 great deal depends on how you learn it. In a way you are 
 lucky to start fresh with everything before you unspoiled. 
 That's what my husband said when you swam out that 
 first day at Kaimera and had breakfast with us. It will 
 all came in its turn, don't be in a hurry. This journey 
 north will teach you something before you are let loose on 
 the cities." 
 
 While she had been speaking the last few words John's 
 attention had veered from what she was saying to her 
 herself. Quite of a sudden he had seen her personality 
 as an object of grace, something to be reverenced and ad- 
 mired. A feeling of gratitude filled him, that this woman, 
 a creature from another world as she seemed, should be 
 talking to him with such seriousness and intimacy. That 
 in itself was wonderful, but not so wonderful as the picture 
 that he now had of her gentle personality, alone amid the 
 untamed landscape. The stem of the white-barked gum 
 tree at her back had a grace similar to her own, and the 
 thin flat leaves that spread in fans from its delicate 
 branches cast a dappled tracery of shadow and sunlight 
 upon her face and blouse. There was something young in 
 her, younger than himself; both body and spirit had the 
 quality of a flower new sprung from a kind soil. 
 
 Looking up, she met his glance and looked away again ; 
 then she picked up her pencil and continued her drawing. 
 John, feeling her slight embarrassment, also looked away,
 
 82 THE MAINLAND 
 
 and gazed at the blue distance of the hills, then, feeling 
 a pleasure in the growing silence between them, he looked 
 up into the branches of the tree. As the stem tapered 
 upwards it became less pale than the main trunk, being 
 tinted with blues and mauves. His eyes followed the 
 slender growth and were suddenly arrested by what, at the 
 first glance, looked like a large and irregular swelling; at 
 the next he saw that it was a huge lizard that clung close 
 against the stem. For a moment he lay still, surprised at 
 its size. It was bigger than anything he had ever seen on 
 Kanna Island, being at least five feet long; then he scram- 
 bled up. " Look at that enormous lizard," he called. 
 
 Mrs. Cray stood up for a better view, and they looked 
 for the first time on one of the giant iguanas of the 
 North-West. The lizard remained quite still and un- 
 concerned, allowing them to admire his green and bronze 
 sides, his flat broad head and wakeful, blinking eyes. 
 After a while John threw a stick to make him move. In 
 an instant he ran out along a bough and half jumped, 
 half fell into the next tree. There was a great scatter of 
 dry bark amid the rasping sweeps of his tail, and he was 
 gone. They followed but could find nothing of him; 
 big as he was, he had disappeared, though they knew he 
 was not far away watching them, concealed by his pro- 
 tective colouring. John told of other smaller lizards on 
 Kanna Island, of the bush-devils who are covered with 
 spines and who drink through their skins, of the little 
 sand-lizards with tiny legs and a long body that disappear 
 as a flash into loose sand, and of the geckos that live 
 under loose bark. He stripped bark from the nearest tree 
 and found several of these latter. Mrs. Cray took the
 
 THE SEABOARD 83 
 
 slow-moving little creatures in her hands. She was 
 pleased at the round cup-like toes that clung to her fingers. 
 She, in turn, told of the heath-lizards of England and of 
 the handsome green fellows that live at Fontainebleau. 
 For some time they walked on, looking for other live 
 things, discovering under bark monstrous spiders and 
 long-legged fluffy centipedes, as well as creatures which 
 neither of them could name. At lunch time they went 
 back to the shade of the eucalyptus clump where they had 
 left the camp-stool and the sketching things. In the easy 
 talk over their morning's adventures, John was happy 
 with a new and unclouded happiness. This happiness, 
 which sprang from a fuller and more lively appreciation 
 of everything in life, possessed him, making his heart feel 
 light and his body the airy flame of his spirit. In the 
 afternoon when they walked back towards the shore he 
 was grave and self-contained; with no words could he ex- 
 press the joy he felt in their day's companionship. He 
 was contented to breathe in silence the cool breeze from the 
 sea, glad that he was alive. 
 
 v 
 Mrs. Cray and John were back in The Venture in good 
 time to prepare supper, but he had not been at work long 
 when Julep's whistle sounded from the beach as a call for 
 the dinghy. John pulled across to fetch them. He saw 
 that Cray was in good spirits. As he stepped from the 
 dinghy to the deck he told John to hurry on with a cold 
 supper as he had things to say to them all, and they would 
 have to go ashore again that evening. John's interest in 
 adventure kindled in the presence of Cray's keen person-
 
 84 THE MAINLAND 
 
 ality, soon blazing to excitement. He tried to find out 
 from Julep what was to happen, but Julep would say 
 nothing beyond letting drop tantalizing hints. 
 
 After the meal Cray drew back chairs for himself and 
 his wife on to the poop, while Julep and John seated 
 themselves on the cabin roof. After a short pause that 
 their attentions might be fixed, he began to speak of the 
 venture which months ago he and Julep had hatched in 
 Paris. 
 
 With his incisive, alert manner he went straight to the 
 heart of his subject. " The two boats that we saw yester- 
 day were pearling luggers from Broom. This is the be- 
 ginning of the season of their best work. You'll have 
 heard that there's a big industry in shell at Broom, and 
 the men who run it are very particular whom they let in. 
 They have a ring, with which any outsider finds it diffi- 
 cult to compete." 
 
 "Distinctly unhealthy," broke in Julep; "a man 
 wouldn't live a month if he tried it. that is if he had any 
 prospect of success. I was there a matter of eight years 
 ago, and I know." 
 
 Cray went on, regardless of the interruption. " The 
 law is that no black or yellow man shall be employed on 
 the mainland. But the ring of pearlers at Broom is so 
 strong that an exception is made. They have Japanese 
 divers, and pay a good price." He made a slight pause, 
 then continued : " My scheme is to cut out the regular 
 traders and take some of the pearls. Up north-west from 
 here there are numberless islands, some unchartered; and 
 some have blacks on them, really wild fellows, not like the 
 half-tame ones in the camp yonder. White men have
 
 THE SEABOARD 85 
 
 never been near them. They only show themselves with 
 spears and boomerangs, ready to fight." 
 
 "I'm going to make friends with these wild men and 
 make them work for me; I shall pay them in tobacco and 
 presents, things they value more than money. The diffi- 
 culty lies at the start . . . getting into touch. . . . After 
 that all will be easy." He spoke now directly to John. 
 
 " You understand there will be danger, and it's illegal. 
 Against us there is the law, the natives, and, what is 
 perhaps most dangerous of all, the people in the regular 
 trade. Fortunately they have no suspicion. Our first 
 difficulty will be the natives. For the natives we must 
 have an interpreter who can talk and from whom I can 
 learn something of the language." 
 
 Mrs. Cray's interest was held, she knew vaguely the 
 scheme, though the details were new to her. Her husband 
 went on: 
 
 " Nothing on earth, but force, could compel one of 
 those fellows on shore to go up north among the wild tribes. 
 They would be like lambs among wolves, and they know 
 it. All the same, I must take one with me," he added 
 with a smile. His intense manner now relaxed, and he 
 spoke as if reviewing with an easy mind the details of his 
 plan. " There is a man in the camp, whom I talked with 
 yesterday and again this morning, called Teacoopoo. He 
 is an intelligent little fellow, strong and hardy looking. 
 He is the man I shall take with me. I am going ashore 
 in about half an hour, and John will bring back the 
 dinghy. At six o'clock I want you two," nodding to 
 Julep and John, " to go ashore a quarter of a mile north of 
 the place where the thick clump of acacias is. You must
 
 86 THE MAINLAND 
 
 pull the dinghy up and hide it in the bushes. Then go 
 and hide, both of you, at the place I pointed out to John 
 yesterday. You must be there by six, and out of sight. 
 At half-past I shall come, bringing with me Teacoopoo." 
 He laughed, partly amused at his own dramatic mode of 
 talking and partly at the pleasant picture of his device. 
 " There may be two of them," he added, " but I shall try 
 and bring only one. When I call you are to jump out of 
 that bush like knives. I shall have him close, and you 
 will be able to grab his legs. Bring a gag with you, Julep; 
 the great thing is not to let him shout. Dont hurt him if 
 you can help. Black fellows if they are away from their 
 tribe die easily if they are a little out of sorts. Take cord 
 to tie him up with. We'll get him into the dinghy, on 
 board and out to sea before they know he's missing. Is 
 that all clear? " he asked, looking straight at John. 
 
 Julep screwed up his face in a kindly grin and answered 
 for him. " Yes John's all right, he's just bursting to 
 tackle our friend Tea-cup." 
 
 They all laughed at the nickname, and Mrs. Cray re- 
 marked with compassion, " Poor Tea-cup," then to her 
 husband, " You'll take him back to his tribe when we 
 return, and not let him be hurt? " 
 
 " Of course," said Cray, " he will be as safe as any of 
 us, safer. Three or four months away from his tribe won't 
 do him any harm. In a day or two he will be quite happy, 
 and when I bring him back I'll give him more presents 
 than black boy ever dreamed of. You know Upiko who 
 was with us, and how he cried when we left — well, this 
 fellow will be the same." For a while he went on talking, 
 pleased at recollections, telling of adventures in Tahiti, of 
 the faithful Upiko and his fellow-tribesmen. When Cray
 
 THE SEABOARD 87 
 
 was in this mood he carried everything before him, like a 
 fresh breeze over a sunny sea. By the time John had 
 paddled him across to the beach he was thoroughly in- 
 fected with the spirit, and as he watched him walk away 
 alone towards the native camp he had no doubts as to the 
 success of the enterprise. 
 
 At the appointed time John and Julep reached the 
 beach. They hid the dinghy in thick bushes, and soon 
 afterwards crawled into their own hiding-place. Julep 
 swore a good deal at the thorns, and laughingly made 
 John go first to smooth them the right way, as he put it. 
 Once inside, he remarked that the ruddy things would now 
 all be pointing the wrong way when they came to get out. 
 As they squatted there together at such close quarters John 
 felt the physical charm of his companion's easy-going 
 strength. There was something so firm and unyielding in 
 Julep and so suggestive of kindly good nature that it was 
 not difficult to believe the truth of the tales he told of his 
 successful encounters with women. He began now to 
 speak about the black girls that he had seen at the camp, 
 saying that he wished Cray was not in so damned a hurry 
 to be off, and that two of the younger ones were not so bad, 
 to his thinking. He went on to complain in coarse 
 phrases how that it was all very well for Cray, who had 
 his wife with him, but that he hadn't seen a woman since 
 he left Kaimera. The brutality of his meaning struck 
 John like a blow; he felt as if he had been hit in an un- 
 expected and tender place. Besides being hurt, he was 
 angry. Julep had no right to talk about Mrs. Cray in 
 that way. He had no right to speak of others from his 
 point of view. It was a hateful point of view John 
 thought. He didn't say anything, though he felt indig-
 
 88 THE MAINLAND 
 
 nant — indignant that he had been made to see something 
 that he had not wished to think about. He felt a pas- 
 sionate resentment against marriage and married people. 
 
 It was now late twilight, and for some minutes they 
 waited in silence. The sound of Cray's voice warned 
 them for action. Julep handed the gag to John. " I'll 
 grab his legs and bring him down," he whispered, " you 
 sh-shove this in his mouth." The voices came nearer, and 
 Cray and Teacoopoo halted opposite the bush; then Cray, 
 without raising his voice, but still speaking as though in 
 conversation, gave the order. 
 
 In a moment, regardless of all thorns, they sprang from 
 their ambush. The unfortunate Teacoopoo gave one 
 squawk of terror as he came to the ground. John made 
 a bad shot for his mouth and nearly got bitten. Julep 
 
 panted in a fierce whisper, " Stop his b mouth," then 
 
 in the next moment Teacoopoo was spluttering into the gag, 
 while Julep's weight pinned him to the earth. 
 
 Cray stood by, calmly watching. " That's right," he 
 said. " Now let me have the cord." They tied up their 
 capture by his legs, his wrists, and his thumbs, and soon 
 had him on board the dinghy. From the camp there 
 came no sound. All had gone well. 
 
 So soon as they reached The Venture they hoisted sail 
 and the light evening wind carried them out to sea. Once 
 they were out of sight of land, Cray, who all the while 
 had been trying to put Teacoopoo at his ease and allay his 
 terrors by assurances that he would soon return to his own 
 people, untied his bonds. The black fellow was a little 
 consoled and not so terrified as at first. Before long, how- 
 ever, he became very sick. When at length they all had to 
 turn in he was tied to the anchor up in the bows for fear
 
 THE SEABOARD 89 
 
 that in his convulsions he might fall overboard. John took 
 the helm for the first watch. His thoughts were in tumult 
 and troubled. He felt disappointed in the whole adven- 
 ture, not because he was particularly sorry for poor Tea- 
 cup, but oh! he was restless, and the boat was small. He 
 thought of Cray and Mrs. Cray. Yesterday's expedition 
 seemed remote, not to be regained. Then he thought of 
 Julep and the black girls, and though the cool moonlight 
 fell very gently upon the waves he discovered both in the 
 undulating reflection of the water and in the night air a 
 warm, inextinguishable pain. 
 
 VI 
 
 On the eastern shore of an uncharted, nameless island 
 there is a wide bay. Outside the bay the coral reef runs 
 north and south, enclosing the shallow water of a lagoon. 
 The rocky hills of the island rise westward to high cliffs, 
 covered here and there with tropical jungle. The foot 
 hills fall away to open country, where grow luxuriant blue 
 and green grasses. These reach down to the sand of the 
 sea's edge. North of the bay a rocky promontory, a spur 
 of the central ridge, affords protection from the north; 
 behind it a creek runs inland. 
 
 After four days of cruising among the neighbouring 
 islands The Venture skirted along the edge of the reef 
 looking for a passage between the white coral rocks. Cray 
 was pleased at the view of the long reef. For the last 
 three days Cray had sailed from island to island and 
 had found nothing that looked so good. He told John to 
 dive in and examine the sides of the reef, also the floor of 
 the lagoon. The shells that he brought up were the large 
 pearl shells of the North-West, and Cray expressed him-
 
 90 THE MAINLAND 
 
 self satisfied. The look of the country inland was also to 
 his liking. The island was large, with several streams of 
 clear water running down from the rocks to be lost in a 
 tangle of rich grasses. That it was inhabited he felt little 
 doubt, for he had seen natives on smaller islands in the 
 vicinity, also several on rafts, who had made quickly for the 
 shore as The Venture approached. Anchor was dropped 
 under the shelter of the northern promontory far enough 
 from the shore to be out of range of spears and boom- 
 erangs. " I like this place," said Cray, " it's the best 
 we've seen so far. I don't think we'll do better. As soon 
 as we are friends with the natives, we'll have a camp on 
 shore and put up tents. There is plenty of timber up on 
 those hills, so we can cut down poles, and stretch a fly for 
 sitting under." Smiling at the prospect, he turned to 
 Julep, " Now, Julep, I want you to make some really nice 
 cakes and some loaves of bread that we can take ashore as 
 presents this afternoon. Not very big ones — we mustn't 
 pamper them — but nice ones to make them interested." 
 
 Cray had rejected so many promising places that they 
 were all glad he had at last settled to stay. They were 
 pleased at the look of the island, also at the prospect of 
 a camp on shore. 
 
 The short voyage northward had been accomplished by 
 the end of the first day, the rest of the time had been spent 
 in visiting various beaches, prospecting for beds of shell. 
 After the first night Tea-cup had ceased to be sea-sick, 
 and in the morning allowed himself to be consoled with 
 hot food, tea and brandy. Mrs. Cray and Cray were very 
 gentle with him. John and Julep, following their ex- 
 ample, extended a friendly tolerance. 
 
 Cray spent much of his time forward in the bows learn-
 
 THE SEABOARD 91 
 
 ing to talk the native language. By the time that they 
 reached the island Tea-cup was at his ease; and some- 
 times, when eating the good food of the white man, quite 
 cheerful. He soon fell under the spell of Cray's influence, 
 having for him an unlimited respect and already the seeds 
 of a dog-like devotion. During the days of prospecting 
 John and Julep had their time and thoughts much taken 
 up with the work ashore and in the water, also in learning 
 the difficult words of Tea-cup's language, which Cray in- 
 sisted that they must acquire. Mrs. Cray kept as usual to 
 her own thoughts, and John, instead of being resentful that 
 she hardly noticed him, was pleased that she should 
 keep to herself any trace of memories they shared to- 
 gether. 
 
 On the day of their arrival they kept watch for any 
 sign of natives, but could see none, either on the wide sweep 
 of the beach or further inland. In the afternoon Cray and 
 John went ashore. They climbed to the summit of the 
 high rocks of the promonotory, there depositing their offer- 
 ing of cakes and bread. Julep watched from The Venture, 
 with a rifle handy in case they should be attacked. His 
 instructions were not to shoot unless absolutely necessary. 
 That night they heard the bull-roarers x at first far off, 
 then coming nearer. Soon there were half a dozen sound- 
 ing from different quarters, so that they knew the island 
 must be full of natives. Watch was kept through the 
 night for fear that the boat might be attacked. At the 
 sound of the bull-roarers drawing nearer Tea-cup was in 
 a sweat of terror, swearing that the island was full of bad 
 
 1 Bull-roarers are magic instruments : pieces of flat wood tied 
 to a string which when swung round rapidly makes a moaning, 
 sobbing sound, very suggestive of mystery and magic.
 
 92 THE MAINLAND 
 
 men who would eat them all. He went into the forecastle, 
 hoping to hide himself. 
 
 For the first four hours of the night Cray kept watch. 
 This excitement and danger was far more what he had 
 come for than the pearls or the riches they could give. 
 The moaning sob of the bull-roarers filled him with an 
 elation that carried him out of himself away into the night. 
 The primitive men over there in the bush, fierce and un- 
 controlled, he was going to conquer. Confident in his 
 power, he hoped to make himself their benevolent despot. 
 This island with its bays and headlands formed a perfect 
 kingdom. Its savage inhabitants he would subdue by the 
 gentle strength which he knew was in him. 
 
 The next two days no natives showed themselves, 
 though it could be seen from the thin columns of smoke 
 from their fires that they had come down to the lower 
 slopes of the foot-hills. At night they came close to 
 the shore, swinging their bull-roarers from the height 
 of the promontory to frighten away the intruders. Each 
 day Cray left upon the rocks presents of food which in 
 the night the natives carried away. On the third day he 
 took with him beads and pieces of looking-glass as well as 
 food. As he was climbing the rocks he saw two naked 
 figures squatting by some bushes. They had in their 
 hands spears and throwing-sticks, and watched him in- 
 tently. Without pausing he walked past, put down his 
 presents at the usual place, then as he returned he called 
 out in native language that he wished to talk, and had 
 brought many presents. There was no response, and the 
 two figures disappeared. " They are very shy as yet," he 
 said to John, " but before long we shall make friends. I 
 like them for being shy. It's their native good manners,
 
 THE SEABOARD 93 
 
 that many white people have forgotten." He looked in- 
 tently at the waving grass. " At any rate we've raised 
 their interest. They are all round us now. I can't see 
 them, but I can feel that they are there: fifty of them at 
 least." John could feel it also, and was a little uncom- 
 fortable. " White men," Cray continued, " would by this 
 time have killed anything so strange as we are to these 
 little fellows; but they are not frightened of us, they are 
 only inquisitive. The savage is not a bad fellow when 
 you come to know him, and if you treat him with respect 
 he'll seldom let you down." 
 
 When they reached the shore Cray again shouted that 
 he wished to talk; then they sat down for a while and 
 waited. After a little a naked brown figure appeared 
 beckoning that they should follow. He led them towards 
 the centre of the island along a narrow path through thick, 
 high grass. When they had gone a good half-mile, and 
 were by this time quite hidden from The Venture, John 
 began to feel uneasy. He remarked that it was a long 
 way back to the boat. 
 
 " Yes, there's no going back now," Cray answered 
 cheerfully. " They are all round us; can't you see the 
 grass waving, and behind us too? The great thing is to 
 show them we are not in the least afraid. If they thought 
 we were afraid we shouldn't have two minutes to live. 
 As it is we are perfectly all right." 
 
 Their guide led them further, till the path opened on 
 a wide clearing which was trampled hard by many foot- 
 marks. At the far end twenty of the elder tribesmen 
 were seated on the ground. Spears and shields lay close 
 at their hands. As Cray appeared they looked up, utter- 
 ing sharp, angry noises from their throats; some put out
 
 94 THE MAINLAND 
 
 hands for their weapons. Cray advanced to within about 
 thirty paces, holding his head high and looking uncon- 
 cernedly at the old men. Then to John's great surprise 
 he sat down, telling John to do likewise. " They are un- 
 certain of us," he said. " If we walked any nearer now 
 they might kill us out of pure funk. Pretend not to no- 
 tice them much, and sit quiet." 
 
 In the midst of all his excitement an overwhelming 
 admiration for his leader beat in John's heart. His ad- 
 miration grew still greater as Cray talked on, apparently 
 quite at his ease, though excitement showed in the bril- 
 liance of his eyes. For twenty minutes or so they sat, 
 talking to one another, while the natives watched, some- 
 times in silence, sometimes conversing among themselves. 
 The men who had taken up weapons put them down. 
 They were puzzled by the two white men. At last one 
 of their number approached, making signs that they 
 wished Cray to come nearer. Cray rose and walked to 
 the centre of the half-circle which they made; then again 
 he sat down. 
 
 The men in front of him were mostly the leaders of 
 the tribe. They wore no clothes beyond a string of small 
 bones round their waists and another round their fore- 
 heads. Some of the younger had a pearl shell hung 
 round their necks. Their bodies were gashed with deep 
 cuts on shoulders and abdomen, and twisted in their 
 beards were little balls of hard clay. They were all 
 silent now, sulky and distrustful. With a direct gaze 
 Cray fixed his eyes upon one of the elder men, who for 
 a while remained silent, uncomfortable under the un- 
 flinching stare, then dropping his eyes, barked out a 
 salutation. Cray returned the recognition, and fixed
 
 THE SEABOARD 95 
 
 upon the next man. In turn he regarded each man, ex- 
 acting from each a greeting as sign of respect. One man 
 alone did not speak, though Cray continued to stare 
 angrily at him. At length, pointing to his mouth and 
 ears to show that he was deaf and dumb, he stood up in 
 sign of respect, so as not to anger the stranger. 
 
 To the best of his power, with the few words at his 
 command, Cray explained that he had come from a far 
 country for the special purpose of speaking with these 
 people, that he would now send for his interpreter and 
 tell them of his wants. John was sent back to fetch 
 Julep and Tea-cup. A native boy went with him to show 
 the quickest way through the long grass. 
 
 Poor Tea-cup was terribly frightened at the idea of 
 going ashore, and still more so when John and Julep 
 hurried him along a narrow path leading to the heart of 
 the country. By the time he reached Cray he was grey 
 with fear, but soon recovered a little confidence in the 
 presence of a leader who inspired so much respect. Cray 
 now told the natives that he wished to be their friend, 
 and had brought for them many presents. He also said 
 that he had great magical powers, more potent than any- 
 thing they possessed. He had magic sticks which he 
 carried in his bag, and which would kill, if he were so 
 minded, any one who wished him evil. At this news the 
 natives gave ejaculations of wonder, fidgeting uncom- 
 fortably where they sat. Cray said he would show these 
 sticks to the old men, but must first be sure that no 
 women were present. 1 They assured him that they were 
 on sacred ground where no women might approach. Cray 
 
 1 In the wild Australian tribes women are not allowed to see 
 any instruments pertaining to the higher forms of religion.
 
 96 THE MAINLAND 
 
 did not, however, wish to appear easily satisfied, but 
 rather to test his power. He pointed to various bushes, 
 bidding the old men look behind them and see whether 
 no women were concealed. They went obedient to his 
 command, although but a short hour ago they held power 
 over his life. When they returned he showed the sticks 
 with much display of sacred awe. Wah! Wah! Wah! 
 Pff ! Pff ! Pff ! gasped the natives in the intense excitement 
 of their religious sympathy. Cray assured them that his 
 magic would not be used against those who were his 
 friends, and that his power was only exercised against his 
 enemies and those who had evil thoughts. All day he 
 stayed talking with the natives, questioning them singly 
 and making rapid strides in the acquisition of their lan- 
 guage. He took notes and made vocabularies of their 
 words, and, to amuse them, made drawings of the things 
 they described. -He laid himself out to please, yet all the 
 while made stronger his position of authority. In the 
 afternoon the old men conducted him through the bush to 
 their encampment, where the women and younger men 
 were gathered. Here he divulged something of his plan 
 of using their young men as divers. In return for their 
 services he would extend his protection to the tribe, and 
 also give presents of brightly coloured cloth, tobacco, 
 pipes and beads. The natives received the suggestion 
 without much enthusiasm; but by assurances that all 
 would be easily settled when work was once started and by 
 the distribution of other small presents they were kept in 
 good humour. At the same time he made them feel that 
 he was bestowing a privilege in allowing them to work 
 for him. In the evening he returned to the cutter well 
 satisfied with his progress.
 
 THE SEABOARD 97 
 
 The next day Cray was early on shore and before long 
 he had a working agreement with the leading tribesmen. 
 It was conceded that twenty of the younger men should 
 work for him as divers. In return he should promise to 
 use his magical powers for the benefit of the tribe, should 
 help them against their enemies in the case of their being 
 attacked, and should give, at his own discretion, presents 
 to the chiefs and to the divers. 
 
 When all was arranged and friendly relations cemented 
 with gifts from both sides, Cray's first concern was to 
 build a good camp. Tents were brought up from the 
 hold and pitched on the heights of the promontory 
 where a breeze cooled the air and kept away the mos- 
 quitoes. Trees were cut down and poles erected, on 
 which a double fly was stretched to afford shelter from 
 the sun. The natives watched in admiration the making 
 of so big a camp; their respect was increased as folding- 
 tables and camp-beds were added to its magnificence. 
 In all there were four tents; there was also a big double- 
 fly twenty-four feet square and a small one for cooking 
 under, where at night Tea-cup could sleep. Altogether 
 an imposing camp commanding a good view of the long 
 bay. 
 
 Their next work was to build heavy rafts that could 
 be anchored beyond the reefs and from which the men 
 could work. Baskets also had to be woven for shell 
 collecting. A section of the beach to the southward was 
 put aside for the sorting and examining. Here the fish 
 could be left to open in the sun where the smell of their 
 decomposing bodies would be far from the camp. 
 
 Two weeks of hard-worked preparations went by be- 
 fore they could start on the main issue. Then, when
 
 98 THE MAINLAND 
 
 at last the real diving began, it was John's task to show 
 the black boys what shells to collect and what to reject. 
 He was glad to have this task assigned to him, not envying 
 Julep his work on the beach under the hot sun amidst 
 the reek of decomposing fish. 
 
 vn 
 
 During the inception of the new industry Cray worked 
 with indefatigable energy. On his initiative the success 
 of the whole scheme depended. The natives had to be 
 kept in good order and cheerful while the various branches 
 of the trade were organized. First, there was the diving 
 work from the rafts, the selection and discarding of shells, 
 then the transport to the beach, the opening and clean- 
 ing and the search for pearls. For pearls of the right 
 size and quality he offered special rewards of coloured 
 cloth, or triangles of looking-glass, so that the natives 
 should be keen in their search. 
 
 After the first day, when a definite routine was estab- 
 lished, the white men were able to relax their energies 
 and look with a thrill of satisfaction on the orderly prog- 
 ress of the industry. Soon one or other of them was 
 able to take times off in which to explore the size and 
 resources of the island. Cray made a rough map, naming, 
 for his own satisfaction, some principal features. On 
 these expeditions they at first took natives as guides, but 
 before long the country in the neighbourhood of the camp 
 became so familiar that John and Julep could go out 
 with their guns in search of wallabies with no danger 
 of being lost among the high grass. John found his way 
 over to the western side, where there were high cliffs
 
 THE SEABOARD 99 
 
 with dead coral at their base, reminding him of Kanna 
 Island. Here he would hunt for eggs of the sea-birds, 
 and sometimes shoot the black oyster-catchers that flew 
 piping from rock to rock. On his return to camp he 
 would have to cross the deeply wooded hills of the cen- 
 tral ridge and drop down to the broken country of the 
 foot-hills, where the trees grew more sparsely, forming 
 clump and groups, as in a park, amidst luxuriant grass 
 and flowering herbs. It was in this region that one day 
 to his great surprise he saw Mrs. Cray seated under some 
 dark-leaved fig-trees, which grew on the summit of a 
 small prominence. Never before had he seen her so 
 far from the camp, and although he knew that she often 
 walked by herself he was rather shocked to think of her 
 being exposed and solitary among savages. He stood 
 for a while watching her. She was reading a book, and 
 was intent on her occupation. John had felt very curious 
 about books, though he had spoken little of them, not 
 liking to display his ignorance. Especially with Mrs. 
 Cray had he preferred to speak of the things that he 
 understood. He wondered how it was that she could 
 spend so much time looking at white pages. He would 
 like to know what interest she found there, and although 
 he was shy of approaching her without an invitation, 
 having a natural instinct against disturbing her solitude, 
 he now pushed his way through the long grass. Mrs. 
 Cray did not see him till he was quite near to her. When 
 she looked up there was a pleased look of welcome making 
 him feel glad of the happy chance of finding her alone. 
 
 "I didn't expect you out here so far from the camp," 
 he said. " We don't know all the natives on the island
 
 ioo THE MAINLAND 
 
 yet. I wouldn't trust them too much. You know there 
 are others that come in boats that we haven't seen any- 
 thing of." 
 
 Mrs. Cray smiled at the prudence of the protecting 
 male in him. " Natives are never hurtful if you treat 
 them right. It's all a matter of attitude. They know 
 when one is afraid and distrustful, and that makes them 
 show the same feelings." 
 
 This answer seemed so right that John could say no 
 no more on that head. " But then there are snakes," he 
 objected. 
 
 "Oh, come!" Mrs. Cray laughed at him. "There 
 are just as many snakes near the camp as there are here. 
 I'm not going to be restricted just because of snakes. 
 You yourself told me that most of them are harmless." 
 
 John gave it up, feeling that the protecting male at- 
 titude was somehow no good. " You've found a very 
 nice place," he said, " and it certainly looks safe and 
 comfortable. These fig-trees give the best shade. It's 
 really cool under them." 
 
 " Yes, and there is a breeze too from the sea. Look 
 between those boughs; you can see blue water." 
 
 He sat down with his back to one of the black trunks. 
 " There are no flies here in the shade," he said with 
 relief. " They are just awful in the long grass." Then 
 after a moment's pause, " Do you sit here long looking 
 at that book? What is in it? What is in books? " He 
 felt antagonism against things that seemed so absorbing, 
 but which were closed to him. 
 
 Mrs. Cray answered quite seriously, trying to speak 
 adequately and lead in the best way his unaccustomed 
 mind. " The thoughts and feelings that men have wished
 
 THE SEABOARD 101 
 
 to give to other men are recorded in books. Things that 
 they thought were interesting and beautiful and that 
 they wished other men to share." 
 
 " Will you read me some? " said John rather shyly. 
 
 " The man who wrote this book wrote about Europe. 
 It is strange to read him here because his book takes me 
 into another life. Europe is so different. It is cooler 
 and older and much more sad than anything here." 
 
 " Do read me some." 
 
 Mrs. Cray turned the pages for a few moments, then she 
 read very slowly and in an even tone: 
 
 " And, like a dying lady lean and pale, 
 Who totters forth, wrapped in a gauzy veil, 
 
 Out of her chamber, led by the insane 
 And feeble wanderings of her fading brain, 
 
 The moon arose up in the murky East, 
 A white and shapeless mass " 
 
 For a while the young man was silent. The sound 
 charmed him, and his thoughts were occupied with com- 
 paring pictures of the veil-wrapped lady and the full 
 moon rising in mist. " That must have been after the 
 rains," he said. " It's not often like that." 
 
 " Not here, but in England, where there is much rain 
 even in summer — yes." 
 
 " Read me some more," he demanded. 
 
 She hesitated. "About what shall I read?" 
 
 John was lying now on the ground propped on his 
 elbows. He looked up at her pale face. In her eyes he 
 saw the light of his awakened feeling. Her features were 
 passive through the habit of long-accustomed restraint, 
 but the curves of her rather large mouth were evidence
 
 102 THE MAINLAND 
 
 of a strong spirit. " Read about the time before sun- 
 rise," he said. 
 
 Again she turned the pages. " No. This is about the 
 night. Listen." 
 
 " Swiftly walk over the western wave, 
 
 Spirit of Night! 
 Out of the misty eastern cave, — 
 Where all the long and lone daylight 
 Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, 
 Which make thee terrible and dear — 
 
 Swift be thy flight! 
 
 Wrap thy form in a mantle grey 
 
 Star-inwrought ! 
 Blind with thine hair the eyes of day; 
 Kiss her until she be wearied out, 
 Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land, 
 Touching all with thine opiate wand — 
 
 Come, long-sought! 
 
 When I arose and saw the dawn 
 
 I sighed for thee; 
 When light rose high, and the dew was gone 
 And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, 
 And the weary Day turned to his rest, 
 Lingering like an unloved guest, 
 
 I sighed for thee. 
 
 Thy brother Death came, and cried, 
 
 'Would'st thou me?' 
 Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, 
 Murmured like a noontide bee, 
 ' Shall I nestle near thy side ? 
 Would'st thou me?' — And I replied, 
 'No, not thee.' 
 
 Death will come when thou art dead, 
 Soon, too soon —
 
 THE SEABOARD 103 
 
 Sleep will come when thou art fled; 
 Of neither would I ask the boon 
 I ask of thee, beloved Night — 
 Swift be thine approaching flight, 
 Come, soon, soon." 
 
 For a long while after she had finished he said nothing. 
 The first wealth of his awakened feeling would be ex- 
 pressed only in silence. At length he said, " The night 
 here is like that. It must be the same everywhere. Will 
 you read it again, please? " 
 
 She read now even more slowly than at first, letting the 
 value of each line express itself in the cadence. 
 
 " There are some parts that I don't understand, just 
 as there is something in the night. I like the sound. 
 Will you read me some more? " Then impetuously, 
 " Will you teach me to read? " 
 
 Touched by his wonder and his glow of enthusiasm 
 she felt in herself and her own power of appreciation the 
 beauty of Shelley's perception. She once more turned the 
 pages, this time in eager search. " You will not under- 
 stand altogether, but later I will tell you. This is about 
 the spirit of life and all that makes things grow and 
 reproduce and die and hope. It is that spirit speaking: 
 
 " From the forests and highlands 
 
 We come, we come; 
 From the river-girt islands, 
 
 Where loud waves are dumb. 
 Listening to my sweet pipings, 
 The wind in the reeds and the rushes 
 
 The bees on the bells of thyme, 
 The birds on the myrtle bushes, 
 
 The cicale alone in the lime, 
 And the lizards below in the grass,
 
 104 THE MAINLAND 
 
 Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was, 
 Listening to my sweet pipings 
 
 Liquid Peneus was flowing 
 And all dark Tempe lay 
 In Pelion's shadow, out-growing 
 The light of the dying day, 
 Speeded by my sweet pipings. 
 The Sileni and Sylvans and Fauns, 
 
 And the Nymphs of the woods and waves, 
 To the edge of the moist river-lawns, 
 And the brink of the dewy caves, 
 And all that did then attend and follow, 
 Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo, 
 With envy of my sweet pipings. 
 
 I sang of the dancing stars, 
 
 I sang of the daedal Earth 
 And of Heaven, and the Giant wars 
 
 And of Love, and Death, and Birth, — 
 And then I changed my pipings — 
 Singing how down the vale of Maenalus 
 
 I pursued a maiden and clasped a reed. 
 
 Gods and men we are all deluded thus! 
 
 It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed: 
 All wept — as I think both ye now would, 
 If envy or rage had not frozen your blood — 
 At the sorrow of my sweet pipings. 
 
 John lay still, looking dimly at the distance of the hills 
 from under the heavy branches. There being no envy 
 or rage in his blood, his eyes were filled with tears. 
 Much there was that he had not understood, but the 
 break in the rhythm and the passionate sadness of the 
 words had filled his heart with new happiness and sorrow. 
 A mystery that lay in sounds had been unfolded. Music 
 and melody, half touched by meaning, yet complete in
 
 THE SEABOARD 105 
 
 themselves, flowed past like a river. All his senses un- 
 knowing, willing, yet half fearful, were committed to 
 the stream of smooth deep waters. But, while his senses 
 flowed with the music his spirit was full of dread, and 
 could have cried out in pain had a hand been raised in 
 negation against the passionate incompleteness of his de- 
 sire. Away in the far distance were the fruits of life, 
 but as he contemplated all that was remote for him the 
 perspectives changed so that grey, unformed hopes be- 
 came translucent with the bright colours of life. From 
 out his first dreamy mood there grew a vivid conscious- 
 ness of his companion, together with a passionate grati- 
 tude for all the wealth of new horizons that she had 
 lifted. He turned to look at her. At that moment all 
 the emotions so newly springing from earth, touched into 
 flowers and strong plants, by the pipes of Pan, all hopes 
 and aspirations gathered from forests, rivers and sea 
 turned into a deep channel of adoration for the woman 
 whose eyes met his own. 
 
 A half-conscious fear, that by her look she might deny 
 hopes that were not yet formed, made him speak. " Will 
 you read again, telling me the meaning where I don't 
 understand? " 
 
 She told him then some of the stories of mythology, 
 of Pan and of Apollo, of Dryads and Nymphs, spirits of 
 woods and waves, of gods and lesser gods who peopled 
 nature, breathing into all things the spirit of man. These 
 stories, which like reflections on still water represent in 
 colour and outline the life of senses growing in the sultry 
 air, seemed to the young man to share with her the in- 
 tellectual quality that held her distant and aloof. In all 
 things she was his teacher; he feared the hard edge of
 
 106 THE MAINLAND 
 
 her intelligence, and, though he worshipped her, felt that 
 he must hide his worship. 
 
 For a long while they sat talking under the shade of 
 the heavy leaves. As yet John had but a glimpse of the 
 wide horizon that she had spread before him. Eager for 
 knowledge, he plied her with questions, waiting breath- 
 less and worshipful upon her answers. Not till the sun 
 was sinking toward the sea's edge did they start back for 
 camp. Then it was John's turn to take command, for 
 they suddenly realized that they must quickly make their 
 way through the high grass if they were not to be over- 
 taken by the swift-falling darkness.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 THE WIDE HORIZON 
 
 TWO months passed, while the pearling indus- 
 try developed. John and his divers worked 
 regularly in the shallow waters. Pearls were 
 found of various size and value; those that were worth 
 keeping were taken to the small safe on The Venture and 
 the better quality shells were stowed in the hold. Now 
 that a regular routine was established, Cray developed a 
 great interest in the natives, devoting his spare time to the 
 study of their social organizations and customs. His eve- 
 nings were all spent sitting with the elders of the tribe, re- 
 cording long genealogies and taking notes. This work 
 removed him from the more immediate interests of the 
 camp, and even at meal-times, when he was not telling of 
 his latest research, he would sometimes sit in silence with 
 a faraway look, gazing into abstraction, oblivious of the 
 conversation of the others. Out of these reveries he would 
 come suddenly back when anything had to be decided, 
 and in his incisive manner would discuss and settle all 
 doubtful issues. He was amused and rather pleased 
 when he heard that his wife had undertaken to teach 
 John to read, thinking it an admirable way of giving them 
 both an interest. Once or twice he offered to read with 
 them, but John's slow, uncertain pace was exasperating, 
 
 107 
 
 ^N
 
 108 THE MAINLAND 
 
 and his quick mind eagerly returned to the fascinating 
 combinations of native sociology. 
 
 Julep was much amused. His attitude of knowing 
 wisdom and soft insinuation made John angry. But he 
 himself soon found diversion to his taste. Before he had 
 been ten days on the island he had smilingly announced 
 to Cray that he had taken two ugly little devils of girls 
 under his protection, that he had made a temporary mar- 
 riage and paid their respective fathers in presents of to- 
 bacco, etc. Cray was at first rather annoyed, fearing 
 that there might be jealousy, and that disturbances would 
 arise, but as soon as he had found that the natives were 
 pleased and flattered he had deprecatingly allowed Julep 
 to go his own way, though he had strictly forbidden any 
 native to be brought to the camp. Julep had stayed 
 for a few days, then he had moved his tent to the neck 
 of the promontory. There, with his two wives, he started 
 a polygamous though very primitive establishment. 
 Since his duties kept him much in the camp, and since 
 he had not lost his taste for civilized food, he partook of 
 the meals that he and John prepared, leaving his Bertha 
 and Jenny, as he called them, to arrange for themselves 
 their favourite repast of lightly warmed entrails. 
 
 When Julep first went to live with his black wives 
 he had suggested to John that he should come with him, 
 and should take a girl from the tribe. John, although he 
 had refused, had let Julep enlarge on the benefits of a 
 married life. This chaffing talk had created a definite 
 temptation, and although with his picture of Mrs. Cray's 
 high idealism he could refuse so sordid a suggestion, there 
 was in his mind an envious resentment against the more 
 easily satisfied appetite of the elder man. A few days
 
 THE WIDE HORIZON 109 
 
 later he mentioned Julep and his wives to Mrs. Cray, 
 asking for her judgment. She seemed for a moment un- 
 willing to speak, but said, half contemptuously and half 
 in excuse, that for Julep such actions were so much in 
 his character that they were inevitable, and that were he 
 different he would not be so pleasant and simple a per- 
 son as he was. This answer seemed entirely adequate. 
 What she said about Julep was true, and at the same time 
 it gave John the pleasant assurance that she placed him 
 in a different category, not thinking it possible for him 
 to follow so crude an example. 
 
 n 
 
 One day when work had been in progress for more 
 than eight weeks the advent of new arrivals caused a 
 great excitement in the island. At the time a load of 
 shell was being stowed under Julep's direction. The 
 large shining surfaces of the pearl shells were laid out on 
 the deck of the cutter and those of inferior quality were 
 being thrown back into the sea. To throw away shells 
 is an extravagance unusual with pearlers, but where there 
 was so limited a storage space they could only afford to 
 keep the best specimens. Work was progressing quietly 
 when suddenly a shout sounded from the hills and natives 
 came running down from their camp shouting out that 
 a large canoe was approaching from the northward, that 
 there was a white man in it with a rifle, besides several 
 black-fellows who were paddling swiftly shoreward. 
 
 Cray, who thought that the stranger might be the 
 first of a raiding party, hurried to The Venture, taking 
 John with him. They stood by their fire-arms waiting 
 emergencies. In the meanwhile natives ran along the
 
 no THE MAINLAND 
 
 crest of the promontory shouting out in great excitement 
 the direction taken by the stranger. When at length a 
 long black canoe rounded the point the island to its 
 most inland camps was stirred and all eyes were directed 
 seaward. 
 
 The canoe was longer than anything that Cray had 
 seen in the North-West. It was manned by four natives 
 with broad paddles. In the stern sat a white man with 
 a rifle leaned against his knee. He held the big steering 
 paddle in his hands. Close in front of him was a very 
 fair young half-caste girl, and forward in the bows were 
 two other women crouched down in the hollow of the 
 boat. On seeing The Venture the strange craft headed 
 straight towards her, approaching to within about fifty 
 yards without a hail. Then the white man at the stern 
 gave the order to easy with the paddles. 
 
 They could see now that he was a tight-built, wiry 
 fellow of middle age. His clothes were very ragged and 
 patched, and he wore an obviously home-made rush hat. 
 His face was not prepossessing, there being an unsteady 
 look in his grey eyes. His nose twisted slightly to the 
 side of his face, and his rather small mouth followed its 
 direction. " A good morning's business," he said in the 
 most everyday sort of tone that betrayed a slight American 
 twang, and had in it a touch of sarcasm. 
 
 Cray ignored the remark. " Where do you hail from? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " Put your mind at ease," the other returned. " Not 
 from Broom or any other of them God-damned, fiddling 
 little one-horse ports. There's an island some sixty miles 
 north. That's where I live. For three years I've been
 
 THE WIDE HORIZON in 
 
 done with civilization . . . taken to the simple life. 
 See! " As Cray made no comment he went on with a 
 swaggering easiness, " Word came up — it's all round the 
 islands for a hundred miles — that white men that knew 
 native talk (dead black-fellows, some of them said, come 
 back) were on this island after pearl shell. I haven't 
 spoken to a white man for three years, so I've come to 
 pay you a visit. See! " He paused for a moment, re- 
 garding the shining shells on the deck. " Pretty good 
 trade I should think here too. I congratulate you on 
 stealing a march on the lousy swine at Broom. I reckon 
 there'd be the devil to pay if they knew your little game." 
 
 Cray saw that the fellow was out to score at every 
 point that he could, and that he would have to hold him 
 in hand. By this time the boats were close alongside. 
 
 " Will you come on board and have a drink? " he said 
 quietly. 
 
 The other hesitated. " What about my boat? " 
 
 " That will be all right. I'll send it ashore when my 
 people will see to your men." 
 
 " How are you going to trust a lot of black men ? 
 You've only been here a couple of months. They'll 
 fight each other like cats." 
 
 " They'll do as I tell them. Your fellows won't be 
 hurt. John, you take the boat ashore, and see that the 
 men are given food and drink." 
 
 The stranger seemed to be thrown a little off his balance 
 by Cray's authority. After a short pause of indecision — 
 "Well, I don't mind if I do," he said, "and what's 
 your name if I may ask? " Cray gave his name and 
 those of John and Julep. " My name's Peter Trigg,"
 
 112 THE MAINLAND 
 
 said the other as he stepped on board The Venture. 
 " How I got to these parts I'll tell you when I've had a 
 wet." 
 
 As he stepped out of his boat the half-caste girl called 
 to him, asking some question. He turned and spoke 
 fluently to her in native, and the look of perplexity slowly 
 went out of her face. 
 
 " She's frightened," he explained, " but she'd better 
 go with them; they are more afraid of her tongue than 
 of mine." 
 
 John was about to take Trigg's place as Cray had 
 directed when Julep stepped forward. " All right, John, 
 I'll take them back," he said. " You stay here. I'll see 
 that they are fixed up." 
 
 John yielded his position, amused at Julep's eagerness 
 to go with the half-caste girl, who was young, well- 
 formed, and not unpleasing in appearance. 
 
 When Julep and the canoe-load of blacks had set off 
 for the shore John brought drinks. Cray and Trigg sat 
 together on the poop of The Venture. 
 
 " It's a pretty cutter you've got here," began Trigg, 
 taking a more conciliatory tone than at first. 
 
 " Yes, she's a good sailer and can outstrip most ships 
 I've sailed on. She can leave behind anything on this 
 coast." 
 
 Triggs put out his hand for the tobacco that Cray 
 offered. " I tell you it's a pleasure to speak with a white 
 man again," he said. " I've been alone up here for three 
 years with no one but blacks to speak to." 
 
 " How was it you got stranded here? " 
 
 " I was shipwrecked off a barque trading between 
 Singapore and Kaimera. I was second mate, and the
 
 THE WIDE HORIZON 113 
 
 only survivor. We were caught in a Willy-Willy and 
 driven ashore." 
 
 " Have you been living with natives ever since? " 
 
 " Yes, I taught them to cook for me, and taught them 
 to build a decent sized canoe to get about a bit." 
 
 " Have you seen no white men? " 
 
 " Not one." 
 
 "That girl you have with you — who's she? " 
 
 " She's my wife — or one of them," he added with a 
 leer. " Out here one takes what one can get." 
 
 " But how did a half-caste get here if there are no 
 white men? " 
 
 Trigg seemed embarrassed. " Damn it, I don't know," 
 he said, irritated. 
 
 Cray did not press the point, but after a short silence 
 asked abruptly, " What is it you want of me? " 
 
 "If you'd been alone up here for three years you'd 
 go some little way for company I expect," said Trigg 
 with a note of defiance. Since Cray made no response 
 to this protest he went on. " But to tell the truth I've 
 come to ask a favour. I've had enough of the simple life. 
 Will you give me a passage back when you go? Take me 
 to Kaimera and I'll be more than grateful. I can't pay 
 my passage — I've no money, but I'll work. You'll find 
 I'm a good worker. I know how to knock these niggers 
 about and make them move quick." 
 
 Cray poured out a second glass for his guest, and his 
 manner became more genial. " Yes, I'll take you as far 
 as Kaimera willingly, but since I manage my own natives 
 I shall not want your services. Since you are staying on 
 with us till we sail, you'll camp on the island. You'll 
 want your women with you, I suppose? " Trigg nodded.
 
 n 4 THE MAINLAND 
 
 " Then you had better make your camp near Julep's. I 
 allow no natives in my camp. John will take you across 
 in the dinghy. I expect you'd like to get fixed up 
 pretty soon." He turned now to John. " As for the 
 men, put them down on the flats the other side of the 
 long grass. Speak to Puramatta and Mindolo. Make 
 them responsible." 
 
 " I'll have my men with me," broke in Trigg. 
 
 " They will be where I choose to put them," said Cray. 
 " That is if you want to stay here and come back with 
 me to Kaimera. I don't have strange natives sleeping 
 near the camp." 
 
 Trigg made no further remark but smiled ambiguously 
 as he got into the dinghy to be pulled ashore. 
 
 When John returned, Cray, who had in the meanwhile 
 finished superintending the storing of the shells, called 
 him up to the poop; told him to take one of the camp- 
 chairs. He then asked, " What do you think of our new 
 friend?" 
 
 " I don't know," said John. " He told me all about 
 his shipwreck." 
 
 " That's all a lie I'm convinced," said Cray in a musing 
 tone. " Though how he came to be here I don't know. 
 That man was never a sailor, at least not a second mate." 
 
 " What is he, do you think? " asked John. 
 
 " Just a typical beach-comber; there are hundreds of 
 them up and down this coast, but one doesn't usually 
 find them so far away. He's the sort of rascal I couldn't 
 trust; probably a thief. His whole story is a make up. 
 With that boat he's built he could get down to Broom 
 in a couple of months by hugging the coast if he wanted 
 to. He's on the look out for pickings, but probably a
 
 THE WIDE HORIZON 115 
 
 fool, like most knaves, and harmless. But you had just 
 as well keep your eye on him while he's here. While he's 
 with us he's all right, but if he did happen to slip away 
 and fall in with a Broom lugger I should have to start 
 rather sooner than I intended." 
 
 "What do you think he wants?" asked John, per- 
 plexed. 
 
 " He's out for gain — anything he can pick up. He'll 
 take anything I choose to give him, and if by betraying 
 us he could get anything from the Broom people, then 
 he'd do it. He's a scallywag." 
 
 John, who had never yet met with any double-dealing, 
 found it difficult to believe that a man should appear 
 with an elaborate lie worked out in detail, and was in- 
 clined to discuss and even argue the point. Cray, how- 
 ever, said little more, but took the precaution of conceal- 
 ing the small safe in which he had already more than 
 five thousand pounds' worth of pearls. 
 
 m 
 
 After his first remonstrance concerning his men's quar- 
 ters Trigg appeared quietly to acquiesce in the order that 
 Cray established. His camp, where he lived with Bella, 
 the half-caste girl, and another of his women, was pitched 
 close to Julep's, near the neck of the promontory. His 
 manner toward Cray was that of a man anxious to please, 
 full of respect, though rather avoiding company, taking 
 his meals at his own camp. With Julep he came a good 
 deal into contact, making every effort to establish friendly 
 relations. In the evenings he asked him over to his own 
 camp, where they smoked and drank together. On these 
 occasions he was quick to see Julep's interest in Bella.
 
 n6 THE MAINLAND 
 
 Often he would leave them alone, telling the girl to enter- 
 tain his guest in his absence. 
 
 Bella could talk English fluently, for, a year ago, she 
 had run away from the Catholic mission at Cape Lon- 
 donderry with Peter Trigg, who was at one time a monk 
 of that institution. Tiring of the monastic life, and 
 being attracted by the light-skinned, voluptuous girl, he 
 had persuaded her to run off. Subsequently she had been 
 of great service in helping with the natives. Anything 
 that he wished she was willing to do, provided always 
 that he promised to stay with her. Now at Trigg's re- 
 quest she did what she could to please Julep to the best 
 of her primitive ability. 
 
 In the course of a few days Julep became thoroughly 
 pleased with the companionship of his new friends. 
 Trigg could talk well, telling amusing stories of past 
 experiences. Julep found that he had more in common 
 with him than with Cray's rather remote and superior 
 intelligence or with John's ingenuous ignorance. Trigg 
 on his side gathered much information from these con- 
 versations. He learnt what was the approximate value 
 of the pearls already collected, also the share that Julep 
 was to have in the total takings. He gave the opinion 
 that a tenth was too small a proportion for the impor- 
 tance of Julep's work, hinting that it was pretty cool for 
 Cray to take nine-tenths with his by-your-leave, superior 
 manner. 
 
 In the day-times Trigg found himself at a loose end; 
 and since Cray would not allow him to have any dealings 
 with the natives, he often spent his time watching Julep 
 at the work of searching for pearls among the shells and 
 flesh of the dead molluscs.
 
 THE WIDE HORIZON 117 
 
 One day of exceptional good luck Julep found two 
 pearls of high quality. Trigg inspected them with greedy 
 eyes. " Well, you're a lucky man to get a tenth of their 
 value, but a damned fool to my thinking not to put them 
 in your pocket and say nothing about them." 
 
 Julep, choosing to take this remark in jest, laughed and 
 said nothing. 
 
 Trigg continued in a whining argumentative voice. 
 "Why should he have all the swag? You say he's got 
 between ten and twenty thousand pounds' worth. That's 
 enough to buy his boat and outfit and cover his own fair 
 share. You take as much risk as he does. Any man but 
 a natural would take his pickings now and then. Why, 
 he expects it." 
 
 " Shut your mouth! " said Julep roused. 
 
 "Oh well! it's none of my business," rejoined Trigg 
 laughing, " but one can see you haven't been out here 
 for long. Out here, we've left law and useless convention 
 behind. A man here takes his own price and his own 
 value. That is, if he knows it; and if you ask me our 
 superior friend is not ten times better than other men, 
 though no doubt he thinks he is." 
 
 Julep did not answer, but continued his work. He 
 did not altogether resent Trigg's talk; there was some 
 truth, he felt, in that ten times argument, but was not 
 going to encourage it. After a little while he came on 
 another pearl, this time better than any of the others. 
 "Look at that!" he exclaimed in excitement, "it's the 
 best we've found ever since we've been here." He dis- 
 played the shining sphere on his palm, then held it to 
 the light. Trigg looked on, critical and excited. " Worth 
 a thousand," he said. " Why, it's a perfect wonder."
 
 n8 THE MAINLAND 
 
 Then ironically, " Say good-bye to it, put it in the bag 
 with the rest." He watched Julep, his sneer being rem- 
 iniscent of the snarl of an exasperated animal. Then 
 suddenly his feeling burst free beyond control. " Some 
 snipes have all the bloody luck! To think of that God- 
 damn-gentlemanly young wouser carrying off the pick 
 of the beach like that — why it makes me cry to say 
 good-bye to a stone of that quality. Here, let me have 
 a look." He bent down and began turning over the shells 
 in wild excitement. 
 
 " You leave those shells alone," called Julep, " you've 
 no part in this show." 
 
 Trigg jumped up with his hands clenched, leering. " So 
 the little dog growls over his little bone, like the big dog 
 over his big one." He stood looking savage for a moment, 
 then suddenly laughed. "My fault! I shouldn't look 
 at stuff like this. But I know the value of it, know what 
 could be done with the money. That's what makes me 
 mad. There," he laughed out loud, " I'll leave it alone, 
 I don't want it. I'll clear off." 
 
 " Yes, you had better," said Julep somewhat mol- 
 lified. 
 
 For a few moments they stood looking at one an- 
 other. Trigg by this time quite controlled and laugh- 
 ing, Julep stolid under his black brows, but inclined to 
 smile. 
 
 " Right you are, I'll clear off, and good luck to your 
 finding," said Trigg as he turned, then walked away 
 whistling. 
 
 After he had gone, Julep shook the pearls out into his 
 palm. For a long while he looked at them, turning 
 them this way and that, then with a sigh put them back
 
 THE WIDE HORIZON 119 
 
 into the bag which every evening he was accustomed to 
 hand over to Cray. 
 
 IV 
 
 That evening Julep showed to Cray, when handing 
 them over, the splendid findings of his day's work. 
 
 " We'll be rich men," Cray remarked, highly satisfied. 
 " Another month and we can start home." 
 
 They talked of their total takings, and Julep calculated 
 that together from pearls and shell he might receive a 
 share of two thousand pounds. He thought of Cray's 
 nine-tenths enviously. The pearls that he had just handed 
 over to his chief he looked at with a feeling of regret, 
 then consoled himself with the thought that they all 
 went towards the common store. What surprised him 
 that evening was that the safe was not in its usual place, 
 and that Cray merely returned the pearls to the bag 
 and laid them on a shelf in the cabin. 
 
 This small incident seemed insignificant at the time, 
 but later it caused disturbing cogitations. He wondered 
 uneasily why Cray had removed the safe from its accus- 
 tomed place. 
 
 v 
 
 During the last weeks John had been taking regular 
 reading lessons from Mrs. Cray. Besides teaching him 
 to read, she explained thoroughly the matter that they 
 read, so that John came to have an ever-widening view 
 of the value of civilization and of the progress of man 
 in different ages of history. Such stimulating thoughts, 
 together with his passionate and ever-growing adoration 
 for Mrs. Cray, filled the whole world of his brain. The 
 events of everyday work, the intercourse with Julep and
 
 120 THE MAINLAND 
 
 Cray, and even the advent of Trigg and Bella became 
 merely the grey background over and above which the 
 wings of his imagination could feel the yielding air, 
 preparatory to strong flights into mists of hope and aspira- 
 tion. 
 
 If it is ever possible for the human soul to know 
 happiness, it is surely in that trembling flight of imagina- 
 tion, ready to fling all destiny to the fair promise of de- 
 sire. In these first weeks John was supremely happy, 
 but the early happiness was short-lived, for he began to 
 notice that Mrs. Cray gradually withdrew herself from 
 him, and even seemed to avoid his company. There 
 were still times when she read with him, but on these 
 occasions she talked much less than formerly. It now 
 appeared that she selected only dull and prosy things, 
 deliberately building up a wall between their eager senses 
 of appreciation which at first so joyfully had mingled, 
 gaining from each other additional strength. 
 
 Both day and night John was consumed by the thought 
 that she was cutting herself off from him, becoming 
 always more remote. For a while he bore his pain in 
 silence, then, after many nights of troubled thought, 
 during which his manhood was strengthened by suffer- 
 ing, he determined to confront her and demand the reason 
 for so denying their friendship. How had he displeased 
 her, or in what had he failed? 
 
 Since their division Mrs. Cray seldom went for walks 
 in the evening, and John no longer had opportunity of 
 finding her alone. Lately she had taken to walking in 
 the early mornings, when she knew that he was at work 
 with the divers. After a night of much deliberation and
 
 THE WIDE HORIZON 121 
 
 painful thought John determined to leave his work the 
 next morning in the charge of one of the chief natives 
 who could be trusted. He would then be free to find 
 Mrs. Cray by herself and demand an explanation. 
 
 He followed her track from the camp, and came upon 
 her sitting under some close-grown stunted bushes on 
 the cliff's edge. Round about, the grass was luxuriant, 
 but had been kept short by the constant passage of the 
 wind. She looked up, surprised to see him, greeting him 
 with a faint trace of alarm. With words that she knew 
 were insincere she tried to gain time until she could read 
 his meanings. " Is anything wrong at the camp? Why 
 are you not at your work? " 
 
 He stood in front of her, rendered inarticulate by the 
 difficulty of his task, charged with emotion. From the 
 pose of her slight figure as she sat on the grass with hands 
 clasped round her knees he could see that she was nerv- 
 ous, and now that it had come to speaking, he realized 
 how brutal and stupid were any words at his command. 
 " No, the camp's all right," he blurted out. Then des- 
 perately, "Why do you avoid me? You hardly speak 
 to me now, but keep away." 
 
 " But I don't avoid you. You must imagine it." 
 
 " You do. You know you do. What have I done to 
 make you like that? " 
 
 " You imagine it, John." Then rather coldly, " I like 
 to be by myself sometimes, that's all." 
 
 He stood biting his lips, very red in the face. " I'm 
 sorry if that's it. I've been stupid, good-bye." He 
 turned fiercely away, his voice trembling with mortifi- 
 cation.
 
 122 THE MAINLAND 
 
 " John, come here," she called. " Come here, John." 
 He paused, uncertain. " Come and sit down, don't be 
 angry." 
 
 He came back two paces. " What is it? " he said. 
 
 " I've been horrid, I know. Sit down. Let me talk." 
 
 He remained standing, obstinate in resistance. 
 
 " While we were friends I was happy," she continued, 
 " more happy than you know. You were the first friend 
 I'd had for ever so many years. I don't make many 
 friends. I'm always travelling, you see. My husband, 
 he also has very few friends, just one or two whom he 
 sees occasionally. Men don't like him for the most part, 
 and he never bothers about women. When we left 
 Kaimera I loved those days at sea and the expeditions on 
 shore. I liked it when you told me about wild creatures 
 and when I showed you in books things that were new 
 and beautiful to you." She looked now distressfully at 
 him. " But you don't understand how it is when people 
 are married. My husband doesn't like me to see so 
 much of you. It's not that he's jealous," she added 
 
 quickly, " but he just " she paused for words, then 
 
 finished lamely, " told me not to." 
 
 "Did he say that? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " He has no right." 
 
 " John, don't get angry. You don't understand. It's 
 like this in all marriages. There is so much in which a 
 husband and wife must consider each other." 
 
 The young man looked hard at her anxious face. 
 " You're not happy," he said. 
 
 " Oh, happiness is not a thing to be bothered about." 
 
 " But you, who could be happy — why aren't you? "
 
 THE WIDE HORIZON 123 
 
 " I am sometimes, and have been, as you know." 
 
 " Not often I'm sure. You change so much." 
 
 " Few people are, but it would never do if we all cried 
 about our little tin-pot tragedies." 
 
 With the simple directness of extreme youth, his voice 
 full of concern and sympathy, he asked, " What is it 
 that hurts you? " 
 
 In their simplicity the words fell with extraordinary 
 appeal. She knew that it was wrong to speak, but feelings 
 that for years had been suppressed surged up to find 
 expression. 
 
 " Sit down, John, and I'll tell you. Don't stand like a 
 judgment over me." He obeyed, sitting in the sunlight 
 opposite to her. Her eyes were very wide open, fixed 
 steadily upon him. He knew that she was speaking from 
 her heart. " I've never had any home. I've always 
 travelled, travelled, and my husband he doesn't really 
 care about me. All his life he lives in his own mind, in 
 his plans and schemes. He could never recognize a 
 woman's life. I simply don't exist. Haven't you seen? " 
 
 " Yes," said John, unable to speak more. Then after 
 a long pause, " But he's so nice. I'm awfully fond of 
 
 him. Oh! how stupid! But why does he mind " 
 
 She cut him short. 
 
 " John, you must be my friend. Perhaps I shouldn't 
 have told you. Be my friend. Don't show anything — 
 I am glad of you. . . . Just be as you are. . . . 
 You have made a great difference to my life. . . . 
 Don't show that you know anything about me, or think of 
 me. Let us be as we have been. If I have helped you to 
 a little, you have helped me ten times more." 
 
 "How?"
 
 124 THE MAINLAND 
 
 " By being what you are," she smiled, " unspoiled and 
 able to see all the things that I see." 
 
 He was unspeakably glad of what she said, feeling that 
 they had come very far from where they started. His 
 mind harked back. " But then I must be allowed to see 
 you." 
 
 She hesitated in uncertainty. " Yes, but not too 
 much." 
 
 " Can we go out as we used to and read? " 
 
 " Yes, sometimes, but not too often." 
 
 With more feeling betrayed in his voice than he had 
 intended he said, " You don't know how I look forward 
 to those times." 
 
 Mrs. Cray looked a little distressed. After a silence 
 she said, " John, I want you to be very sensible. Remem- 
 ber that I am ever so much older than you are — more 
 than ten years. You have seen nothing of life and I 
 have seen so much, and have lived before I was married 
 far more than you have." John, only half understanding 
 her thoughts and finding them contradictory, remained 
 silent. To break this silence she went on rather lamely, 
 " You must be willing always to take my advice." 
 
 Looking at her now, as she sat opposite him, the young 
 man felt her present weakness and uncertainty. He felt, 
 too, a quality of enveloping mystery of which he was 
 ignorant. There was something; between them and around 
 them at that moment greater and stronger than them- 
 selves. They were in the shadow of a falling wave. It 
 bent over them, and then hung suspended. An impulse 
 rose to say how much he worshipped her, to lie at her 
 feet and touch the edge of her skirt, to declare that she 
 was even-thing that was beautiful and wonderful in the
 
 THE WIDE HORIZON 125 
 
 world, that when she was absent all things were trans- 
 fused into an urging hope for his next view of her, and 
 that when she was present the world was perfect, throb- 
 bing with inexpressible hope. But to say any of these 
 things would be vain and useless. They would be false 
 in their inadequacy. She would see their falseness and 
 would be displeased. She would be kind out of compas- 
 sion. He did not wish to appear a fool and weak. Yet. 
 under the shadow of the threatening wave, there surged 
 up his weakness and folly. Only by looking away out to 
 sea at the far-stretching waters was he able to keep 
 down that flood of inadequate words. The extent and 
 placidity of the distant ocean gave new assurance. The 
 secret of himself, yet unknown, he must keep hidden, 
 willing to accept in gratitude the certainty of the patient 
 earth, of the smiling sea, of the land, beautiful and 
 rugged, crumbling beneath its weight. 
 
 His companion was also looking out over the sea. On 
 that wide horizon he knew that they could meet and 
 perhaps smile untroubled to one another. In the forests, 
 in the life of the jungle, and on the sea was light-hearted 
 happiness. That was where she wished them to meet; 
 and in the silence of their look seaward was the strength 
 of her hope. The secret of himself was yet dark and un- 
 veiled, though a moment ago it had pulsed through his 
 temples and heart. Now as he gazed on the beauty of the 
 tropical morning he became placid, sure of himself. He 
 had been promised friendship, that was happiness suffi- 
 cient and overflowing. 
 
 When at length he turned to her he saw that she was 
 filled with immaterial joy and that they could share 
 with each other their appreciation. For a brief moment
 
 126 THE MAINLAND 
 
 their eyes met in recognition of common happiness. 
 Then Mrs. Cray exclaimed as she jumped up, " We'll be 
 shockingly late for breakfast if we don't hurry. I don't 
 know what will be said about your cutting work." 
 
 " No one will know," said John light-heartedly. 
 
 In this he was quite right; and since they were not 
 even late for breakfast no remark was made about their 
 morning walk together. 
 
 VI 
 
 On a rough matting of dry grass under the shadow of 
 bushes covered by an awning the half-caste girl Bella lay 
 smoking her pipe and gazing out over the length of the 
 bay, where natives could be seen at work on the beach 
 and in the water. The idle life on the island suited her; 
 having nothing to do, she was able to rest in the shade 
 during the long hours of sunlight. In the evenings Trigg 
 would return, and she would get up and cook for him. 
 He had promised to take her down south where they 
 would live together as man and wife, able to enjoy the 
 many benefits of civilization. Having had some years 
 of a mission education, Bella well understood the value 
 of money. She was fond of Trigg for the primitive and 
 sufficient reason that he had paid her the attention of 
 running off with her. Also she knew that she was lucky 
 to live with a white man rather than be claimed by the 
 elders of the tribe and live like a native. If she had any 
 anxiety, it was to get safely south with her man, and there 
 be established, with him dependent upon her services. 
 She knew that she had been indispensable in the past 
 when they were amongst the tribes, but, now that they 
 had fallen in with these white people, she feared that he
 
 THE WIDE HORIZON 127 
 
 might possibly desert her. This fear was always present 
 at the back of her mind and could not be banished by his 
 assurances. Now, as she lay in the shade sucking her 
 pipe, she turned over all the possibilities of their voyage 
 towards civilization. She felt that she needed a firmer 
 hold. 
 
 Towards evening Trigg climbed up over the sand-hills 
 and stooped under the shelter of the awning. She did 
 not greet him, but looked up, half-turning on her side. 
 Trigg sat down on an empty case that served as a chair 
 and began striking at the flies with his whisk. " It's cool 
 in here under the bushes," he said, "but my word! it's 
 hot on the beach. They've got some stuff there that's 
 worth handling. These fellows are in luck's way. I've 
 never seen anything like it. It's a good thing they are 
 on to, no mistake." Then screwing up his eyes and look- 
 ing at the girl between the lids, " If only I could get a 
 little of it, we'd be all right for my farm. But they are 
 close — want to keep it all to themselves — though there's 
 more than enough for us all." 
 
 " What for you not take some? " 
 
 Trigg laughed. " That's just what I want to do, but 
 it's not so easy. That fellow Cray, he's sharp, and Julep 
 is too big a fool to see his own interest." Then leaning 
 back and striking at the flies. " Mind you, I'll get some 
 of it all right — no fear. I've settled that — but how? " 
 
 After a silence he leant forward, again screwing up 
 his eyes. " There's no change to be got out of Cray or 
 that young Sherwin, who's as green as grass for all his 
 red head — but Julep, he's the sort of fool we ought to 
 be able to tackle. Look here, Bella, you can help, and it's 
 that I want to talk about. He's a bit set on you, I think,
 
 128 THE MAINLAND 
 
 by the look of things. Well, draw him on a bit; warm 
 him up. Let him cuddle you, but don't let him get too 
 close, see! You know how to take care of yourself. 
 Lead him on, get him hot and feverish, keep him so. 
 He's the sort to rise easy." 
 
 The girl lay still, regarding Trigg with dreamy eyes, 
 vacant of expression. 
 
 Not quite sure of her, Trigg questioned, " He's not 
 a bad sort of fellow for a girl, is he? " 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. " No." 
 
 " Well, can you manage him? " 
 
 " I think so. What do you do then? " 
 
 He avoided the question. " Those pearls, Bella, some 
 of them are worth more than I could get in ten years. 
 If I can get hold of a few you can be comfortable, have 
 your own servant, live like a lady. Plenty of money for 
 ribbons and looking-glass. Now just do as I ask and 
 leave the pearls to me. You ask me what I'm going to 
 do. I don't quite know, but Julep's the line. Once get 
 his nose down on the track and his fool eyes and ears 
 shut, and I'll get the money, you leave that alone." 
 
 " How long you stay here? " she asked suspiciously. 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know. Long enough to best him and 
 Cray too. Come, he's not a bad sort of fool for a girl 
 to play with. You'll have your fun out of it! " 
 
 " That time you get plenty pearls. What happen then? 
 You go south quick fellow, no mistake? " 
 
 " Yes, we could get away amongst the islands for a 
 bit in my canoe and then down to Broom. There we 
 could get a steamer to Kaimera, go on the gold-fields — 
 keep a pub and a store, or take a sheep run, do as you 
 like. Have plenty money."
 
 THE WIDE HORIZON 129 
 
 Bella stretched herself and lay back comfortably. She 
 laughed softly. " All right — Julep easy fellow. He 
 come along here some time talk plenty much. He want 
 me go along of bush with him." 
 
 " Oh, does he? Well, mind you keep him waiting." 
 
 She nodded in assurance, and Trigg smiled, pleased 
 with his scheme. As an afterthought he added, " Don't 
 you say anything to him about the pearls. Leave that 
 to me, see! " 
 
 She took tobacco from the pouch that he held out. " I 
 hear one black fellow say big corroboree by and by." 
 
 " Yes, there'll be one towards morning up on the hill. 
 The people from the camp are all turning out I believe. 
 If I can slip away I get over to the boat and see what's 
 to be seen." 
 
 " Very well, I go along corroboree find Julep." She 
 chuckled mischievously, and Trigg gave her an affec- 
 tionate kick. 
 
 " You bad woman," he said, knowing that she exactly 
 understood his wishes and could be trusted to carry them 
 out. 
 
 vn 
 
 Since their morning walk together, when Mrs. Cray 
 had let her suppressed feelings find a momentary expres- 
 sion, John's adoration for her calm serenity had been 
 enriched by pity. That he should know of her discon- 
 tent caused him pain and secret delight. In experience 
 he had realized no unhappiness which did not openly 
 make itself manifest; only in imagination, throbbing 
 with sympathy, could he contemplate her dignified en- 
 durance. With all his hopes he embraced that courage 
 in her, which does not cry out, and which enables to live,
 
 130 THE MAINLAND 
 
 together with unhappiness, the flying delights of the 
 moment. This knowledge gave to his mind a new-born 
 joy, a joy which left his heart filled with a most poignant 
 ache. Interest in his work faded, leaving the day's task 
 mechanically to be accomplished. It was as if some 
 presence were always with him, complaining of his ir- 
 reverence, making demands, vague and intangible, that 
 remained unsatisfied. If he worked he was restless, 
 disgusted with himself, and if he stopped to look into 
 his heart and there seek to recognize the intruder he felt 
 his inside go cold within him, and worked on again for 
 fear lest he should shiver. 
 
 Towards Cray, John's feelings were mixed and very 
 uncomfortable. He liked Cray — loved him with the 
 hero-worship of youth. Certainly he admired his chief's 
 intelligence, but was puzzled at the stupidity of his neglect- 
 ing so rare and wonderful a being as his wife. Towards 
 this stupidity he felt an anger which would have found 
 expression had not his good sense warned him that it 
 would have been ridiculous. To attempt criticism would 
 be useless and would involve being snubbed. What Mrs. 
 Cray had not been able to effect, he had better leave alone. 
 
 In a way he was glad that Cray was stupid in this one 
 most important respect. Yet had it been put to him that 
 by any act he could make happiness where there was now 
 estrangement he believed that he could gladly have found 
 his one delight in his friends' mutually-recovered appre- 
 ciation. What baffled him in Cray was that he didn't 
 seem to realize that anything was wrong. He appeared 
 supremely pleased, especially with himself; John was 
 left wondering at his obtuseness. 
 
 When they were all three together John felt the bonds
 
 THE WIDE HORIZON 131 
 
 of his friendship with Mrs. Cray grow taut and strong. 
 He knew her thoughts, or at any rate some of them. He 
 saw how much she was unappreciated, and with all the 
 prodigality of youth longed to offer the unvalued wealth 
 of his soul as recompense. Here again Cray remained 
 oblivious of their feelings; but John felt that Mrs. Cray 
 understood and rather feared his passionate desire to 
 give all and more than he had. His desire for giving 
 could never be satisfied; he had, so it seemed, little to 
 give. Besides, she was shy of accepting. Any protesta- 
 tions would be killed by the chill of her dignity. His 
 sympathy, to be allowed her presence, must be always 
 veiled, hidden beneath the hard shell of everyday cheer- 
 fulness. He felt that she tutored him. Like a child, 
 agile to learn and eager for approval, he walked at her 
 discretion. He was pleased only if he could please her, 
 and yet something unnamed within him scorned his 
 child's humility. Though his mind might be conquered 
 and in happy bondage, his heart still rebelled, making 
 him to roam by night along the beaches cold and hot 
 by turns, in the cool air. In his isolation he had no prec- 
 edent; he knew only of what was within himself: the 
 disharmony and conflict, the joy and the pain, and the 
 strange shivering at night. Sometimes he came near to 
 understanding that there might be a remedy in the 
 functioning of his own life, but he doubted that audacity 
 in himself, unwilling to find both intelligence and soul 
 but contained fractions of his body's need. 
 
 As for the other white men on the island, John saw 
 and thought little about them. Trigg he instinctively 
 disliked, and from Julep he wished to keep hidden his 
 present thoughts and feelings. He spent a good deal of
 
 132 THE MAINLAND 
 
 time by himself (though he attempted not to appear 
 moody), and, only because Cray urged him, did he prom- 
 ise to be present at the corroboree that the native tribes were 
 preparing. 
 
 On the appointed night he went, together with Cray 
 and Julep, up through the long grass towards the forest- 
 clad hills. Several tribes from neighbouring islands had 
 gathered to witness the sacred dances, and as Cray's 
 party moved forward, they were conscious of stirring 
 grass on either side and of shapes which kept themselves 
 hidden. 
 
 The corroboree was to be followed by the initiation 
 of certain youths, and would be the sign for the com- 
 mencement of the spring period of Saturnalia. Later 
 there would probably be tribal fights, but these would not 
 occur during the first few days. 
 
 Cray had been much interested in all the preparations, 
 and had of late deserted the work on the beaches to 
 spend his days inland talking to the tribal elders, taking 
 notes of their customs, and making genealogies. This 
 new interest appealed to his active mind as even more 
 engrossing than the quick fortune that, day by day, grew 
 beneath his hand. He believed that in these primitive 
 men might be found the source and mingling of all the 
 nascent prejudices of religion, ethics and social custom. 
 In the evenings he sat alone in his tent writing out his 
 day's notes, sometimes gazing in abstraction over the 
 sea while some new idea took shape in his mind. 
 
 At the place where the dance was to be held the natives 
 were ranged in a wide half-circle of small groups, each 
 centred about a fire of glowing sticks. On the right of 
 the curve was a pile of brushwood fifteen feet high. In
 
 THE WIDE HORIZON 133 
 
 the centre was bare ground beaten hard and smooth. Cray 
 took his place a little to the rear on the left wing and 
 sat down with John and Julep to watch the ceremony. By 
 this time bull-roarers were sounding from all points, their 
 varying modulations sounded as the voices of bush-spirits, 
 strong in expectancy, speaking of things of deep signifi- 
 cance. 
 
 The groups of natives were singing in a nasal, monoto- 
 nous chant. One group would slowly lift the refrain 
 from a low, rasping dirge, like waves upon a pebbly 
 beach, to the high-pitched scream of the under sough 
 in a tempest. Imperceptibly they would drop it to a 
 whisper and the faint tenderness of broken voices. When 
 the spirit of the song was almost dead, the next group 
 would take it up, remake it, give the same fierce climax, 
 the same fading death, then pass it on. Sometimes pos- 
 sessed by the spirit of the land and of dead generations, 
 they would sing all together, and, as the blue smoke-spires 
 wafted dimly up into the darkness above the embers, 
 John felt his flesh quiver and little ripples of emotion 
 creep over his skin as his heart beat fast in response. 
 Cray's eyes shone with excitement. His clear-cut features, 
 catching the firelight, symbolized the advance of man's 
 intelligence from out the early birth of emotion. 
 
 This singing continued with the same monotony and 
 the same variations till the first glimmer of dawn; then, 
 without any warning, an old man stepped into the bare 
 space in the centre. There was at once silence. For a 
 minute or more he harangued in a loud voice, then stepped 
 back into the bushes. At once a flame ran up the pile 
 of brushwood, and at the same instant the women bent 
 their heads to the earth, hiding their faces under skins,
 
 134 THE MAINLAND 
 
 lest they should see or hear sights or sounds of magic 
 allowed to men alone, making at the same time a moan- 
 ing noise. The dry brushwood blazed into a roaring 
 flame, and into the open space of bright light there came 
 eleven male figures dressed for the dance. Their bodies 
 were blackened all over with soot and oil, long red 
 and white streaks of clay shone brightly against this 
 background. On the hips and shoulders were tufts of emu 
 feathers, while on their heads, or rather round their 
 faces, were the sacred waninga or head-dresses. These, 
 spider-web fashion, radiated out from the face, which 
 was thrust through a hole in the centre. The connecting 
 strands, covered with white down, were sometimes 
 smeared with clay. Varying in size from small ovals, not 
 more than two feet across, to shapes which touched the 
 ground and stood ten feet high, they presented an irregu- 
 lar and weird appearance. The dancers proceeded with 
 sharp, mechanical movements, knees and elbows bent, 
 jerkily twisting in their hands white down-covered sticks 
 as they danced. Their conventional steps and gestures 
 suggested automata sprung of a sudden from the earth 
 to express some of its savage significance. With heads 
 thrust forward and with features fixed in a set grin, their 
 movements portrayed a complex of emotions. Piety was 
 there, deliberate and enduring; savagery, abrupt with 
 fierce intentions; a mystic seriousness, a phallic facetious- 
 ness, an intense grotesque maleness more pious than the 
 grave endurance of a thousand madonnas. 
 
 While the figures shifted in the slow maze of the dance 
 the nasal chant swung through all its modulations, sup- 
 ported always on the undercurrent of the low moans of 
 the women.
 
 THE WIDE HORIZON 135 
 
 The brushwood, which had burnt quickly with a fierce 
 blaze, as quickly died down. As the flames flickered and 
 fell the dancers withdrew into the darkness of the trees. 
 The old man who had announced their coming ran out into 
 the open gesticulating, then the women raised their faces 
 and the onlookers became suddenly aware of the first 
 faint traces of morning to the eastward. The long chant 
 ceased, the corroboree was over, and in small groups the 
 natives began to move away into the bush. 
 
 Throughout the dance John had sat rigidly still, while 
 his heart beat fiercely in response. There had come over 
 him a sense of new power. It seemed that the secret of 
 his body's self had been revealed. He held the clue to 
 life; had brushed against the mystery of the male sex, 
 and had come away strengthened with savage power from 
 the contact. He was isolated by the sudden poignancy 
 of his own existence. The dispersing figures of the na- 
 tives seemed like forms seen through thick glass. In 
 this world of shapes his attention could be fixed, able 
 to take notice, yet somehow removed. He saw that Bella 
 was standing not far away. He felt a passing attrac- 
 tion for the shape of her bare shoulder and breast, then 
 her sallow face and narrow eyes repelled him. She moved 
 leisurely across the open space, stood at an opening in 
 the trees and looked back, then disappeared into the 
 bush. Julep rose with a kind of slow deliberation and 
 walked, like some great animal wakened from sleep, 
 across the open, pushed his way through the trees that 
 had closed behind her, and was lost to sight. John 
 watched and understood. He was himself far away, liv- 
 ing intensely in his own heart. 
 
 He looked round at Cray, and felt anger that he should
 
 136 THE MAINLAND 
 
 be making notes in a book. He resented the power that 
 could hold aloof, valuing all things through cold intelli- 
 gence. Cray looked up, smiling. " That was worth stay- 
 ing up all night for, eh ? " then he went on with his 
 notes. John could see that he had already sketched the 
 positions of the groups of natives and the brushwood fire. 
 ' Yes," he answered, unable and unwilling to say any- 
 thing else. He did not envy that objective detachment; 
 his feeling appeared more important. 
 
 Abruptly he walked away. He had a sudden vision of 
 a certain piece of cliff's edge that he wished to be on, 
 feeling an absolute conviction that Mrs. Cray would walk 
 there as soon as the sun was up. It was now an hour 
 or more to sunrise, and if he ran he could be there in 
 half the time. He started off to walk, unwilling to get 
 there too soon; but before long his limbs carried him along 
 in a steady run. 
 
 He had to wait nearly an hour, during which time he 
 sat perfectly still concealed in the bushes. When at 
 length she came he waited till she was near, then walked 
 to meet her. 
 
 " I knew you would come here," he said. 
 
 She checked and reddened. Her voice was rather high- 
 pitched with sudden excitement. " How? " 
 
 " I've been waiting an hour." 
 
 " But why? " She drew back a step, but not sufficient 
 to escape his hands upon her wrists. From her wrists 
 they went to her shoulders, and in a moment she was in 
 his arms and his lips were on her mouth. Unresistingly 
 she suffered his kisses. 
 
 If she had tried to repulse him, he knew that he had
 
 THE WIDE HORIZON 137 
 
 power to overcome her resistance. He was sure of his 
 new strength and master. While he kissed her, she lay 
 quite still with her blue eyes wide open. Trembling, 
 though masterful, he held her. In her eyes he could see 
 that there was no resistance. He could see that there 
 was joy, but as he gazed he saw that somewhere in the 
 depths of her passivity there was something unknown 
 which made him pause. He could not find thought for 
 what it was ; gradually it filled him with awe, and touched 
 his heart with a flutter of fear. His grasp became more 
 gentle, not so masterful. He felt he could not hold her 
 gently enough. He almost feared to look into her eyes, 
 feared now to kiss her. His hands trembled to her shoul- 
 ders, then fell. He stood looking at her abashed. 
 
 She put out her hand to his bare arm. " What is 
 it?" 
 
 " Everything! I don't know! I had to! " 
 
 She looked at him very frankly. " Yes, I know. I've 
 seen it, and been afraid." 
 
 "Why afraid?" 
 
 " You see I'm married and ever so much older than 
 you are. I knew that there was danger, but was glad of 
 you." Then very seriously, " John, I have tried to avoid 
 you." 
 
 " But marriage makes no difference. You've not been 
 happy! " 
 
 " Yes, in myself always." 
 
 " Not — not happy as now? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Are you glad? " 
 
 Very slightly she inclined her head but did not answer.
 
 138 THE MAINLAND 
 
 " Will you kiss me? Thank you." 
 
 " You silly, John," she laughed, " you mustn't say 
 thank you for kisses." 
 
 He blushed, feeling himself a child. Where indeed 
 had his strong and primitive impulses vanished? 
 
 In her easy triumph she turned towards the sea that 
 lay shining and placid far beneath them clothed in the 
 morning light. From its wide bright eye she seemed to 
 gain added confidence. John felt her strength and was 
 inarticulate. Her airy spirit dominated him, making to 
 recede all recollections of primitive male aborigines. In 
 his submission he could take infinite pleasure in the sight 
 of her free body, the intake of her breath, and the rising 
 sunlight, yet cold from the sea, reflected on her hair. 
 All the restraint of their first separation vanished. 
 He had risen to an equality, while yet remaining in 
 subjection. The relationship seemed perfect. With a 
 smile she turned, meeting the love and adoration of his 
 eyes. " There's time to walk on. I want to get higher 
 up, to see right down the long beach." 
 
 His hand took hers with unembarrassed happiness as 
 they walked further along the cliff's edge. Their talk 
 was of all the small things that have so much significance: 
 the few flowers by the way, the coral pools and the long 
 beaches, ants and insects on the ground at their feet, 
 birds in the air, and in the water the sleepy turtles that 
 browse off beds of seaweed. 
 
 When they turned to walk back they kissed again in 
 silence, then, to assure himself of his supreme joy, he 
 held her hand very tight as they retraced their steps. 
 He had an impulse to turn, to stay away all day that they 
 might go together to the end of the island. She laughed,
 
 THE WIDE HORIZON 139 
 
 admitting that it would be splendid, but would not allow 
 him. 
 
 Together they walked back in their new-won happiness, 
 John envying the flying minutes, yet unspeakably glad 
 in the thought of the morrow and the day after. He was 
 a child. She had made him a child after all — a happy 
 child walking upon air. 
 
 VIII 
 
 Although Bella had walked leisurely across the open 
 space while she knew that she was being watched, she 
 moved very quickly when once hidden by the trees. 
 Julep, following hot on the scent, was disappointed to 
 see nothing of her when once under the shadow of the 
 covering branches. Peering about in the dim light he 
 could see only the tree-trunks and the black roofing of 
 leaves. He walked first in one direction then in another, 
 making casts, looking behind wide stems, deliberate in his 
 search. At length puzzled, he stooped to examine her 
 footmarks, but these were already made indistinct by 
 his own, which had many times crossed the trail. While 
 he was on all fours with eyes close to the earth he heard 
 a laugh and looking up saw the object of his search 
 perched in the fork of a bough about ten feet from the 
 ground. 
 
 " You look plenty hard you find him," laughed Bella* 
 swinging out one of her little yellow legs so that a foot 
 waved above Julep and then was withdrawn to safety. 
 
 " So you've got up a tree? " he said smiling. " What 
 made you do that? " 
 
 " I like climb tree. Nice place here." 
 
 "Nice place is it? Is there room for two? "
 
 140 THE MAINLAND 
 
 " Maybe — not plenty room. You too big fellow," 
 and she laughed again, the clear rippling laugh of the 
 natives, expressive of unclouded merriment. 
 
 Julep went to the tree-trunk and tried to reach the 
 bough to swing himself up. After several vain attempts 
 he muttered that the damned bough was too high and 
 slippery to get a grip on. " How did you get up? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Use my toes plenty much. You too heavy." 
 
 Julep walked back under her perch. " You come down. 
 What you want to sit up there for? " 
 
 " I plenty all right here. What for come down ? " 
 
 " I'll get a crick in my neck if I stand here looking up. 
 Come down and be a bit sociable." 
 
 "What for? " she pouted. 
 
 For a while he looked at her provoking and desirable 
 little body, then, realizing that she had the best of it, 
 lolled back against one of the large supporting roots, 
 from which position he could see her more easily. He 
 could now talk without straining his neck, and guessed 
 that she would make the next advance. This she did 
 by swinging her dainty young legs clear of the branch 
 so that he had an admirable view of the soft elegance of 
 their curves. 
 
 " You tired fellow? " she asked. 
 
 " Well, I'm not go-going to stand here and get my 
 neck twisted, you little tree-puss." 
 
 " What for tree-puss? " she asked as she slid her body 
 a little further down the bough and waved her bare legs. 
 
 Julep watched his opportunity, then sprang up, only 
 just missing a foot which swung into safety. She gave a 
 high-pitched scream and a laugh of triumph.
 
 THE WIDE HORIZON 141 
 
 " Bella, don't be a damned little fool ! " She saw that 
 he was angry and giggled, swinging her foot nearer. 
 " Yes, you've got damned pretty little legs," he said re- 
 covering his temper. " Here, let's have hold." He 
 stretched a hand up. 
 
 " You promise not to pull me down? " 
 
 " You come along." 
 
 "You promise true fellow?" 
 
 " Come along." 
 
 Gingerly she let her foot come nearer. His hand 
 clasped on the little round heel. With his other hand 
 he stretched up, feeling the warm calf to the soft skin 
 inside the knee. 
 
 " Oh, Bella, come down; don't be a damned fool." 
 
 " What for? If you pull I kick." 
 
 "Would you ? Damn! " He caught the other 
 
 foot. In this position of security he waited, smiling in 
 good-natured triumph. To his senses it was not so 
 pleasant to take a woman against her will as with her 
 consent. " Now let go, I'll catch you," he suggested 
 pleasantly. 
 
 She pouted remonstrance. " Too long way to fall. 
 You let go, perhaps I come down." 
 
 " But I can catch you." With hands holding her 
 ankles he moved her legs to and fro. " Now come on 
 or I'll have to pull you." 
 
 Bella looked round furtively in all directions, then 
 letting go her hold she stretched out her hands, letting 
 herself slip from the bough. 
 
 Julep caught her in a hot embrace, holding her body 
 close, seeking her mouth with his lips. For a moment 
 she rested passive, then with a lithe twist ducked under
 
 142 THE MAINLAND 
 
 his arm. It needed all his quickness to catch her by the 
 shoulders before she could escape. With fierce, petulant 
 gestures she strove for freedom, but firmly he drew her 
 to him, and at last she submitted to his long kiss, lying 
 without resistance in his arms. 
 
 Trigg's cynical voice broke the silence. " A very pretty 
 scene which I am sorry to interrupt, Mr. Julep." This 
 was a cold douche to passion. Bella wrenched herself free 
 with a squawk of alarm. " So that's your little game — 
 with another man's wife, is it? " Trigg continued. 
 
 Julep's surprise, or " flummuxment " as he would have 
 described it, was so complete that he could only mutter 
 inarticulately, " Most men in such circumstances would 
 look foolish "; and he felt that he was no exception. 
 
 Trigg turned to the girl. " Now you clear off home, 
 quick. I got to talk to our friend Mr. Julep. Get! " 
 
 After the girl had gone Trigg stood looking at Julep, 
 his eyes screwed up, as was his way, and eyebrows raised 
 wrinkling his forehead. Julep was uncomfortable under 
 the inspection. "What the hell do you want?" at last 
 he broke out. Trigg, without changing the position of 
 his features, let appear the suggestion of a whimsical 
 smile. It was to be seen that his mood was not dangerous, 
 though the advantage was with him. He came a step 
 nearer. He would talk no doubt, perhaps try to play the 
 bully, Julep couldn't be sure. In the meanwhile the 
 silence, and that quizzing expression was trying. " Well, 
 what do you want? " 
 
 " Look here, Tom," Trigg began in his slow Yankee 
 fashion, " we've been moderate good mates while we've 
 been on this island; but this gne thing's plain — as plain
 
 THE WIDE HORIZON 143 
 
 as that you've got first look in at the pearls — that girl 
 belongs to me. See?" 
 
 Julep was stolid, not to be bullied; he answered in the 
 same whimsical vein as Trigg had adopted. " No need 
 to make a fuss, she's only a black girl." 
 
 " Black or white or yellow, she's mine to do just what 
 I like with." He laid emphasis on the last words. Then 
 suddenly veering from the subject and speaking quickly 
 before Julep had time to answer, " How much longer are 
 you staying on before you sail? " 
 
 " Don't know for sure — month or six weeks. We shall 
 get away before the ' Willy-Willies.' What's that to do 
 with it? " 
 
 " I was only thinking how long you'd be stewing round 
 after that girl — supposing I was to stay. Oh, she's a one 
 — a clever girl. Time for a nice little honeymoon. But 
 she'd do as I tell her, no fear of that." 
 
 " What are you driving at? " 
 
 " I was thinking, that's all." He stopped and scratched 
 his head. ' When I was up north and coming down the 
 coast I saw plenty of black fellows. I looked at the girls 
 and the men as owned them. The same rule was every- 
 where. If you stole another man's girl or tried to you 
 were speared for sure, but there wasn't a man who would 
 wouldn't sell — for good price. As you say, she's a black 
 girl." 
 
 As Julep understood Trigg's meaning his heart gave 
 a thump, for Bella had tempted him. He felt as if he 
 had been robbed of his natural food, but could now 
 afford to smile as he questioned, " What price? " 
 
 " A share of the pearls, Tom. You can have the girl
 
 144 THE MAINLAND 
 
 for as long as you like, but you must let me in." Julep 
 hesitated. " That's my only price, and if you don't take 
 it — well, I'm sick of hanging about here with nothing 
 to do — I shall clear off and take Bella with me. I don't 
 want much, but I want a share." 
 
 " Some of them are mine," Julep admitted after a 
 silence. " I suppose I can trade with what's my own." 
 
 " Of course you can. Can you get at them handy? " 
 Julep was embarrassed. " As a matter of fact I can't 
 just now." 
 
 " What, do you hand them all over to him? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I suppose you know where he keeps them? " 
 
 " I did, but they've been moved." 
 
 " Don't you know where they are? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Well, you are . . ." Trigg whistled. " Not only do 
 you let him take nine-tenths, you give him the blooming 
 lot." • 
 
 " I used to know where they were," said Julep in 
 defence, " but he's moved them." 
 
 " Of course he has," nodded Trigg, as though it was 
 a foregone conclusion, " now he's got a rich lot. Oh, 
 Tom, you want some one to look after you." Then after 
 contemplating the unfortunate Julep with a pitying stare, 
 " I suppose you know how many there were and what 
 worth there was in the safe, and what your own share is. 
 Perhaps you don't know that? " 
 
 " He'll have to bring them out if I ask him and share 
 up as we said," growled Julep. 
 
 " Will he ? How do you know he's not taken out the 
 best of them? What's to make him hand them over?
 
 THE WIDE HORIZON 145 
 
 Why should he hide them away if he's not going to keep 
 them?" 
 
 " I know all the best ones when I see them," said Julep, 
 by this time thoroughly uncomfortable. " He'll give 
 them up all right." 
 
 " You think so? What made him put them away? " 
 The repeated question was extremely irritating to 
 Julep's nervous and suspicious state. He looked Trigg 
 straight in the face. " With a scamp like you about a man 
 would be only wise to hide them." 
 
 Trigg had not been expecting this blow. " No need 
 to get personal because you've shown yourself a mug. 
 Well, go and ask him. Perhaps he'll give you a few little 
 ones to keep you quiet, but, before you make a bigger fool 
 of yourself than you've made already, remember this: he's 
 got the shooting-irons, he's got the boat, he's got the pearls; 
 you've got nothing except a love of women which won't 
 carry you far I guess." Trigg turned as though finished 
 with so outrageous a fool. 
 
 "Well, wa-what the hell would you do?" 
 " Make sure of your own share. Go carefully. Find 
 out where the stuff's kept, and see that you get it at the 
 end of the trip. I'll help you. I can't be left out. It's 
 more than human nature can bear to see all these pearls 
 and not have a hand in. You have a tenth — well, give 
 me a fifth of your tenth. I'll see you get your share and 
 perhaps a bit over, and you can have the girl for as long 
 as you like." Trigg shoved his face near, very excited. 
 " I'll see you get your money. It's bad luck his hiding it. 
 That's good enough for me, but we'll get it. Now for 
 God's sake don't say anything."
 
 146 THE MAINLAND 
 
 "And if I don't agree?" said Julep, suddenly very 
 stolid. 
 
 " Then I shall clear off." 
 
 Julep's black brows contracted, making a thick bar 
 across his face. " I can have the girl tonight? " 
 
 "Tonight? Yes, tonight, and I'll come down on to 
 the beach this afternoon and help you look over the shell 
 that the boys bring in. We're likely to find something, 
 eh?" 
 
 " Very well," said Julep, and nodded in agreement. 
 
 The only black boy not at the corroboree that night 
 was Tea-cup, who had followed Peter Trigg on his night 
 wandering. He had followed him down to the beach, and 
 knew that he had swum out to the cutter and had come 
 back very much annoyed at finding that Mrs. Cray was 
 sleeping on board; then he had followed him to his own 
 camp, and after that into the bush. The scene with 
 Julep he had witnessed, but less than half understood. 
 His senses were quick to appreciate that his loved master 
 might perhaps be in danger and that Julep was likely to 
 go over to the enemy. 
 
 Full of evil forebodings, he determined to be more 
 watchful than ever.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 THE MIRAGE 
 
 THOUGH indeed it is usual for man to be 
 thwarted in not only his desires but even in the 
 birth of aspiration, yet sometimes blind circum- 
 stance, by a malicious or seemingly happy chance, will 
 allow sunshine and kindly rain to nourish the flowers 
 which lie hidden and urgent in the human soul, and let 
 grow those airy palaces, structures of more than earthly 
 beauty, which so swiftly rise trembling in the vapours of a 
 mirage. Such glory and such mirage gave indeed a blessed 
 drunkenness, a joyful agony, a fever which can become 
 august only in its consuming and in its death. What is 
 indeed blessed and cannot be taken from us, even in the 
 bitterness of the desert, is that the mirage was real. Our 
 happy fancies, better than ourselves, peopled those palaces. 
 The earth was left below: we were forgetful. All earthly 
 measurements were of the past; values became nebulous, 
 to be created anew, nearer the heart's desire. 
 
 So, before eyes, filled with the hope of youth, the 
 mirage grew to the beat of John's impulsive heart. The 
 occasions for meeting Mrs. Cray became numerous. They 
 did not have to be planned, they happened. At first 
 John had no thought for the future, it was enough that 
 he could meet her today, sure of tomorrow; but later, 
 
 147
 
 148 THE MAINLAND 
 
 when he came to know more of her life, he began to realize 
 her need of a home and all the things she had lived with- 
 out. Out of this knowledge there came a hope, at first 
 remote, but growing quickly in strength, that he might 
 be able to supply her need. Often they talked about 
 his father and the life on Kanna Island. Then he would 
 speak (impersonally always, though conscious of its per- 
 sonal application) of life on the mainland, sheep farming 
 and other means of earning a living. 
 
 One day he questioned whether Cray would not sus- 
 pect their so frequent absences, reminding her of the 
 earlier protest. Mrs. Cray blushed, admitting that the 
 protest had in truth never been made, but that she had 
 herself invented it because she was afraid of their growing 
 intimacy. " He would never say anything of that sort," 
 she added; " besides he is so occupied with his own life, 
 he never thinks about me." This admission made John 
 know some of his power. It was a new thought that she 
 should have feared him in that way, and now that he had 
 broken down the barrier he felt strong enough to accept 
 all obligations to challenge all hazards. 
 
 Another result of their intimacy was that John became 
 conscious of himself. On Kanna Island he had thought 
 little of his appearance; but now she made him cogni- 
 zant of his body. She admired his brown skin, his wavy 
 thick hair and strong neck and shoulders. He was very 
 glad that she found him admirable. With self-apprecia- 
 tion came new power. He knew that his body was him- 
 self, understanding that it was an appeal, a sense of 
 pleasure to her sight and touch just as the firm smooth- 
 ness of her hand and the gentle moisture of her lips filled 
 him with unutterable joy. He worshipped her body,
 
 THE MIRAGE 
 
 149 
 
 finding his own admirable, exalted by her response to 
 the sense of a mutual approval. 
 
 With the coming of self-realization there grew also 
 power, threatening her reserve. He felt his manhood, 
 knowing not how to wield it. Their intellectual sym- 
 pathy was always her defence. The untried motives of 
 the boy she was able to control, directing towards the 
 realm of ideas that ferment within, which to her nature 
 was so stimulating, to her intelligence so fraught with 
 danger and even with absurdity. Books had been half 
 of her life; into this world she could lead him, gaining 
 an easy mastery. For hours sometimes she read aloud, 
 while his virgin mind drank in rich essences distilled by 
 poets from the stuff of civilization. Of books she had a 
 a great store. Together they dipped into histories and 
 into sciences. She told him something of religions, 
 speaking of them as of plants which grew, to bloom, 
 wither and be replaced. He came to see civiliza- 
 tion as the increase of mankind, mastering, through the 
 ages, the urgencies of its own expansion. She read to 
 him from anthologies of poems, and in boyish enthusiasm 
 he learnt long verses to declaim against the roar of the 
 surf, or to speak slowly on solitary cliff tops. Thus, 
 holding off the menace of his sex, she could remain un- 
 perturbed, yet with her mind could embrace the picture 
 of young manhood afire with the imaginative inspiration 
 of her own spirit. 
 
 But although Mrs. Cray could for a while hold John in 
 control, the part she played was, she knew destined to 
 failure. On this failure she did not let her mind dwell 
 but was content to accept unquestioning the serene and 
 happy moments of the present. John also thought little
 
 150 THE MAINLAND 
 
 of the future. The relation developed regardless of his 
 consciousness, though sometimes when alone he cherished 
 the hope of making her a home where she could rest from 
 travelling and find tranquillity. 
 
 When one day at their midday meal Cray announced 
 that they would be sailing in a couple of weeks, the know- 
 ledge came with a sharp stab. John realized that oppor- 
 tunities of spending long and happy evenings with Mrs. 
 Cray would be over. He also remembered that at 
 Kaimera he would probably have no further excuse for 
 remaining in her company. Cray had talked lightly of, 
 perhaps, taking him on as far as Albany, but this was 
 very vague; and even if he went south with them, it 
 would only put off the moment of separation for a short 
 time. John watched to see how Mrs. Cray would take 
 the news, but she carefully avoided his glance. After 
 the meal he went away for a solitary walk full of his 
 thoughts, feeling that whatever happened he could never 
 let her go out of his life. After walking for some time, 
 turning over in his mind all possibilities, he found but 
 one conclusion: without her he could not live. Of that 
 he was sure. Everything must now be put to the test. 
 
 That evening when they met he was resolute to deter- 
 mine his fate. At first sight of him she knew that he 
 was charged with purpose, felt her heart leap in response, 
 though there was regret there also, that the smooth meas- 
 ure of their friendship could not last. From perverseness 
 and from latent fear she offered to read as usual. He 
 refused with brief words, and for a while they sat side by 
 side in silence. 
 
 Their meeting-place, one where they had often sat talk- 
 ing or reading together, was a grove of Morton figs near
 
 THE MIRAGE 151 
 
 the round of a cliff's top. Beneath the dark leaves they 
 were now in shadow, though they faced westward to- 
 wards the setting sun. The low hanging boughs cut them 
 off from the direct rays, but the sun's reflection from the 
 sea was flung bright on their faces. Inside the tent of the 
 branches there was wide room since the ground was bare 
 of all luxuriant growth, the hard soil supporting only short 
 grass and close-grown moss. 
 
 When she was thus silent in expectancy, John found 
 speech very difficult. All her superiority of education 
 and birth was then upon her side. John was humbled 
 and abashed. 
 
 " In two weeks, he says, we are going to start south," 
 he began at last. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 There was not much help in the response. John won- 
 dered how he could bridge the distance that they were 
 apart. Could he have courage to call her by her name, 
 a thing he had never done. It would sound, he thought, 
 absurd and decided against it. Then quite simply he 
 found expression of his most dominant thought: " I 
 can't bear to be separated from you." Some little wince 
 of emotion that she gave supplied the courage that he 
 needed, and words came now with a rush. "I can't lose 
 you after this. I want you to come away with me — 
 leave him. I will make you a home. You have not been 
 happy. I will make you happy." 
 
 Abruptly he paused. She did not speak, did not even 
 turn towards him, though he knew now that she was not 
 hostile. " We must tell him," he went on. " He will 
 not want to keep you if he has lost your love; then when 
 we get south we can go away together." As an after-
 
 152 THE MAINLAND 
 
 thought, and as a concession to what he imagined the 
 practical needs of the world, " I know I haven't much 
 money, but I can make it I'm sure." 
 
 She turned to him now very serious. " Don't say any- 
 thing to him, John. He'd never let me go I know." 
 
 " But if you don't love him he won't want to keep you 
 with him against your will." 
 
 " No, don't say anything. You don't understand. 
 Men aren't like that." Then letting her glance rest on 
 the distant ripples of the sea, " John, you don't know what 
 you are asking. It's such a risk. I knew, of course, that 
 you had been thinking this, and have been afraid. I'm 
 so much older than you, and although I have money you'd 
 want money of your own, and you don't know how diffi- 
 cult it is to get. You know nothing of the world." 
 
 " I know that I know nothing," said John with pas- 
 sionate warmth, " except that I cannot let you go away 
 from me. I know that you are unhappy and that you 
 could be happy with me. We could make a home — go 
 anywhere, anywhere you liked." 
 
 Touched by his enthusiasm she looked almost for- 
 lornly at him. " But oh, John, I'm so dreadfully much 
 older than you are." 
 
 " No, not much. I'm nineteen and you look as young. 
 Twenty-eight isn't so much difference. It's nothing, why 
 think about age? " 
 
 " But when you are thirty — just a young man begin- 
 ning life — I shall be forty, a dreadful age." 
 
 " You won't be. You'll grow younger than I am, and 
 it's eleven years to then. Age won't matter with a home 
 and children. My father and mother are much older, 
 and they are happy."
 
 THE MIRAGE 153 
 
 Very tenderly she now looked at him. " Do you want 
 children? Why, you are such a child yourself." 
 
 " Yes, I want your children. You will forget my being 
 so young when you have real children of your own." 
 
 Her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears, and putting 
 out a hand she pulled him towards her, while her face 
 puckered curiously with emotion. " Kiss me," she 
 whispered. " Hold me close to you — closer." 
 
 The ardour of his youth she returned with kisses so 
 passionate that he was bewildered with joy. All restraint 
 was gone; body and soul were close and pulsing to his 
 own. In her eyes was all her love. Through them he 
 could see that her soul was opening to receive all the hope 
 of his desires. When the flood of her emotion was spent 
 she lay still in his embrace, then stiffened herself. " Let 
 me go! Let me go! " Very gently he now touched her, 
 afraid that by his roughness he might have hurt some 
 delicacy in her nature. For a moment she lay, looking 
 at him with tears running down her cheeks, then, turning 
 over and hiding her face in the grass, she wept. Long 
 sobs shook her body, as if her sorrow was too great to be 
 contained therein and must tear itself free. Slowly they 
 subsided, and she lay almost motionless, a pale figure in 
 the dark twilight under the leaves. John was awed and 
 a little frightened, begging her to forgive him if unwit- 
 tingly he had hurt her. For answer she clasped her 
 fingers upon his hand, holding it very tight. 
 
 11 
 
 On the short days that remained before the sailing, 
 Mrs. Cray and John met morning and evening. In these 
 times of mutual worship and happiness hope conquered.
 
 154 THE MAINLAND 
 
 The future was a world flooded with rose-coloured sun- 
 shine, open to discovery, and even Mrs. Cray was able, be- 
 fore the blaze of John's enthusiasm, to banish those stupid 
 prudences which from time to time flitted across her brain. 
 
 The one flaw in John's happiness was that he was not 
 allowed to tell Cray. He wished to have things open, 
 seeing no reason to prevent a dignified parting. Surely 
 Cray, who was so reasonable in all things, would not 
 oppose their happiness nor wish to keep in bondage one 
 who no longer loved him. But on this point Mrs. Cray 
 was very definite, making him promise to say no word. 
 Her husband would never let her go, she said. Too much 
 of the past would bind them. A break against her hus- 
 band's will would not be possible; he would never let 
 her go. She told John that since they were now pledged 
 to one another they had better leave secretly when they 
 reached the mainland. Cray would not follow, he would 
 be too proud. She did not think he would miss her much 
 when she was gone, he would always have his own in- 
 terests, but an open break was not to be thought of. In 
 time he might perhaps forgive them; he was generous, 
 that she fully endorsed, but it would be quite impossible 
 to go away with John openly. The very idea made her 
 smile. 
 
 What the world would think of so unusual a venture 
 did not disturb her often. Her world was far away. 
 The colonials they would live among would know nothing 
 of their past. They would pass as an ordinary couple. 
 She was still young, ready to start life and face hardships. 
 John would grow into a man and would succeed. With 
 him a normal life would open out; a home and children, 
 and oh! she believed, a rich contentment. The very
 
 THE MIRAGE 155 
 
 prospect of escape from Cray's cold intelligence warmed 
 her. As for money, she had enough in her own right to 
 keep them safe. 
 
 So through hours of happiness the dream grew in form 
 and colour. Each day brought them nearer to each other. 
 John grew older, more of a man, and she deferring to 
 his lead became younger. Many hours of freedom they 
 spent together, yet remained unmated. The tenderness 
 of his love ruled his passion. He wanted her free, himself 
 to be free also, his own master. 
 
 m 
 
 The pearl-fishing came to an end with the exhaustion 
 of the shallow-water beds, and the last days on the island 
 were spent in leisurely striking camp and in general re- 
 laxation. Cray alone continued to work hard. These 
 extra days he was staying on for the purpose of complet- 
 ing his study of the natives. Early and late he was at 
 his notes, spending long hours of each day in the native 
 camp. He seemed oblivious of all but the deep secrets 
 of Totemism and class-marriage. 
 
 During this time of comparative idleness Peter Trigg 
 made progress towards the attainment of his desire. 
 Julep gradually fell under his influence, imbibing some 
 of his hostility towards Cray. The separate camp that 
 they made with their black girls and Bella was so different 
 in atmosphere and conversation from the camp on the 
 headland that they came to look upon the other with 
 resentment. If they were satisfied with such unadorned 
 simplicity it was snobbish of Cray to live by other 
 standards. 
 
 Trigg was careful to propound no plan as yet; there
 
 156 THE MAINLAND 
 
 was merely an open understanding that he and Julep 
 were to have a good share in the pearls. He hinted that 
 those in the safe might fall to their portion, leaving Cray 
 with his cutters-hold of shell. This much alone was 
 definite that at Kaimera, or earlier, they must slip off 
 with their takings and strike inland far from pursuit. 
 About that they need not be very anxious, Trigg remark- 
 ing that any fuss made would show Cray up for breaking 
 the law in the first place. 
 
 Meanwhile a double game had to be played with Bella. 
 Trigg pretended that he and Julep were going separately 
 in his canoe and could take her with them. This kept 
 her quiet and obedient to his wishes. His true intention 
 was to give her over to certain blacks, paying them with 
 his canoe for keeping her quiet when The Venture sailed. 
 Such primitive children of nature as Bella and Julep were 
 easily managed, indeed they assisted him by being so 
 much occupied with each other. He was confident of 
 success. 
 
 Tea-cup alone was suspicious always. He hated 
 Trigg, who, well aware of his hatred, returned it with 
 contempt, never losing an opportunity of administering 
 hit or kick. 
 
 As time drew near for departure John and Mrs. Cray, 
 in spite of being filled with eagerness for the future, felt 
 regret at leaving scenes where such happiness had, as it 
 were, shyly against its will, revealed itself. There were 
 the places where they had met, rich with significance of 
 their progress. To bid farewell to these was, in a way, 
 a gladness, for they knew that nothing can ever be repeated.
 
 THE MIRAGE 157 
 
 Life was too strong for them to value the past for its own 
 sake, yet the past had led to the present, and for that they 
 were grateful. On the last day they both wished to say 
 farewell to the island together. 
 
 Instead of going to the dark grove of fig-trees — their 
 usual meeting-place — they set out to climb to the highest 
 point of the central range. Their way led at first among 
 guava bushes and through long grasses, which arched 
 above their heads. John went first, striking a path out 
 with a stick. Mrs. Cray followed, stooping under the 
 grasses, not speaking, but enjoying the silence and their 
 solitude together. Once they stopped and laughed to 
 one another while John brushed the sweat out of his eyes. 
 As they reached higher ground, the grass gave place to 
 dark-leaved jungle-undergrowth. Here they were glad 
 to rest in the shade for a while. Higher up near the 
 summit they came to grass again, this time not so tall, 
 though reaching waist-high, and covering the curved 
 domes of the hills like a garment. 
 
 At the top they halted. John had been helping her 
 up the steep slope, and still held her hand. Beneath 
 them the island lay silent as if gently breathing in the 
 warm sunlight. Every tint was there, from the deep 
 blue-black of forest trees to the palest yellow of dry sand- 
 dunes. Like a live creature eternally still, waiting 
 crouched, intent, full of purpose, or in other places spraw- 
 ling negligently, but always motionless, the land, alive and 
 warm, seemed to wait on some command, or perhaps only 
 on its own whim, for the moment when it should rouse and 
 shake itself, sending the trees scattering before its strength. 
 Yet the moments passed, and it remained silent, without a 
 twitch or a tremor, too heavy for even its vast fecundity to
 
 158 THE MAINLAND 
 
 stir. In front of them, whichever way they looked, was 
 the ocean, dead blue, opaque, climbing to the steep of the 
 horizon. To the east far distant was a broken arc of 
 islands, high hill-tops which inclosed the waters between, 
 as a frame some mirror whose surface age has deadened, 
 making dim the fleeting, half-seen reflections. Such inti- 
 mations of nascent forms glimmered over the dull weight of 
 the sea, as puffs of wind stirred the calm of its surface. 
 Elsewhere, scattered to north and south, were other islands, 
 floating lightly on the water, casting faint shadows. 
 
 They gazed for a while without speaking, thrilled and 
 alive with the beauty of the scene. John at last broke the 
 silence. " What a wonderful place the world is," he 
 said with heartfelt reverence, " and how beautiful." 
 
 " Yes, I have never known how beautiful till now. I 
 am so glad of you, that I am afraid. Don't let us look 
 for too long. It is perfect. Let us go lower down and 
 rest in the shade." 
 
 He understood her mood, though was rather inclined 
 to smile at her fear while pitying it, knowing how much 
 she had been disappointed. 
 
 " I could stay here for hours and watch the sun set," 
 he answered. " Let us go down to the shade a little way 
 and then climb up again later." 
 
 Lower down under the trees they sat and talked. After 
 a while they came to realize that this would be their last 
 opportunity of undisturbed conversation until that hoped- 
 for time when they would be free together. It was now 
 that they must make all their plans. 
 
 " John, I want us to go south. I don't want to live 
 here in the tropics. In the south there are wonderful for- 
 ests, cool, with huge ferns and tree-stems twenty feet wide
 
 THE MIRAGE 159 
 
 and ever so tall. Near Kaimera it is all baked sand and 
 such ugly white people. Up here it is too hot and no 
 place to live. Let us go south." 
 
 "Where to?" he asked. 
 
 " Down near Hastytown or on the Marget river. We 
 stopped there coming up, it was beautiful. We can get 
 steamer from Kaimera to Leith and then go by train and 
 coach." 
 
 " Yes, we must leave at Kaimera, if not before," he 
 said thoughtfully. 
 
 She carried on the thought, planning their escape. 
 
 " Our first stop will be to take Tea-cup back. But there 
 the natives would soon know all about us. We must go 
 at Kaimera or before; before if possible, where you are 
 not known." 
 
 He broke in. " I do wish we could tell your husband! " 
 
 " But, John, I know it would then be impossible, he 
 would never let me go." 
 
 ' We could go in spite of him, he couldn't actually 
 prevent us." 
 
 For a moment she looked distressed, then said with a 
 smile, " Yes, I could come now, I know. I would go 
 with you anywhere. But if we told him there'd be a 
 scene; he'd be sarcastic. I would go with you, but don't 
 make it too hard." 
 
 " It makes me feel mean, this concealment," com- 
 plained John. 
 
 " I know, but it can't be helped, the other is worse. 
 We will write explaining everything. It will not be so 
 hard for him that way. His vanity will be hurt. But, 
 John! I've had years of him. I can't go back to it after 
 this. I want life too. He never let me live " She
 
 160 THE MAINLAND 
 
 broke off for a moment in distress, then: "It's bad 
 enough to think how his pride will take it when he finds 
 we are gone, but I couldn't face the agony before. . . . 
 Yes, I could if it was necessary. Help me at first. For 
 so long I've lived just following him, shut off. . . ." 
 
 He looked puzzled, half understanding. " Why didn't 
 you leave him? " 
 
 " I haven't courage for that kind of thing." 
 
 " Not for attacking things? " 
 
 " No." She shook her head sorrowfully. " I hate 
 scenes." 
 
 " When you are free you will be happy and get brave." 
 
 She smiled, part in encouragement of herself, part at 
 his boyish seriousness. Then breaking the thread of their 
 discourse with a return to the practical : " Once on board, 
 we had better not talk much together, or try to talk. It 
 will be better so. I hate whispers; small concealments are 
 vulgar. And when Tea-cup goes ashore we will not land; 
 the natives watch everything. Near Kaimera we will go. 
 We must be very sensible not romantic; if he stops at some 
 little station we will land there and wait till he has gone, 
 then take ship southward." 
 
 John flushed with happiness at the thought of the voy- 
 age together. " Of course there may be some difficulty 
 about getting off, but we will manage it. I know we 
 shall. Leave all that to me. You can be confident — 
 we shall succeed." His eyes were bright with enthusiasm 
 as he looked at her. 
 
 Very seriously she looked back. " Yes, we shall suc- 
 ceed. At first I had so many doubts, now I am confident. 
 This is not madness as the world would think it. It is the 
 beginning of sanity. That sterile, barren life was not
 
 THE MIRAGE 161 
 
 life — this is the beginning. You are my man; I am your 
 woman. I have never before meant anything so seriously 
 as I mean this. I will go with you anywhere you wish. 
 You are my husband." Her face was white with emotion, 
 and John was silent with reverence for the sincere piety 
 of her sudden declaration. Henceforward he could in- 
 deed be sure of her. He took her hand, holding it for a 
 while without speaking, then said in almost a whisper, 
 " I will love you always. You shall never have any re- 
 grets." 
 
 Before returning to camp they walked again to the 
 summit of the curved grass-covered hill and from there 
 watched the sun sink below the horizon. The ocean had 
 now changed from dead blue to live crimsons and yellows, 
 streaked and bordered by ribands of green. The hills 
 to the eastward had disappeared in mist, and the scattered 
 islands on the west now appeared as solid black rocks, part 
 structure of the ocean-bed, which jutted up through the 
 glassy water. The air was still, with scarce a breath. 
 The only sound piercing the silence was the irregular 
 and plaintive whistle of some bird in the jungle be- 
 low. 
 
 v 
 
 Throughout the night, though fearful, as are all sav- 
 ages of solitude and darkness, Tea-cup remained alone 
 in the jungle. The importance of his task, strengthened 
 by love and hate, was so urgent that even the fears of 
 darkness could be braved. In the midst of thick under- 
 growth he squatted close to the ground. In front of 
 him, stuck endwise in the earth, was the hollowed out
 
 162 THE MAINLAND 
 
 thigh bone of a wallaby. Into the cavity of the bone 
 he poured in an even voice a methodical and unceasing 
 stream of curses. With face bent low, forehead lined 
 with savage wrinkles, mouth open and lips writhing in 
 the flood of his imprecation, he cursed his enemy, cursing 
 every organ and fragment of his body from his crown to 
 his finger-nails. His eyes were to go blind and burn him 
 like coals, his tongue was to swell, his teeth were to fall 
 out, his stomach was to get hard, his throat was to dry, 
 his feet were to be eaten with lice, his toes were to canker, 
 his bones were to ache, his heart was to burst, his kidneys 
 were to wither, his skin was to be covered with sores, his 
 brain be infected with madness. Then he cursed every- 
 thing that his enemy should eat. Meat was to stick in 
 his throat, bread was to burst his stomach, fish to become 
 putrid between his lips, the flesh of birds to poison him, 
 tea and milk to fill him with dropsy, whisky to drive him 
 mad. Then he cursed everything that his enemy might 
 touch. Trees were to bend their thorns against him, 
 dogs were to bite him, snakes were to poison him, every- 
 thing living was to turn against him for evil. When 
 Tea-cup had come to the end of his imagination he went 
 through the whole curse again from the beginning. 
 
 For more than two hours he sat over his bone, filling 
 it with all evil imaginings. At last, when he considered 
 that he had sufficient bad-magic accumulated, he very 
 carefully tied a pair of shoes, that he had made of emus' 
 feathers, upon his feet that his track might not be known. 
 Cautiously he now made his way to Trigg's camp and as 
 silently, as only a native can, made his way among the 
 sleeping women. To his anger and surprise Trigg was 
 not there. On this discovery Tea-cup paused for a mo-
 
 THEMIRAGE 163 
 
 ment uncertain, then placed the bone under Trigg's pillow. 
 After that he vanished again into the bush. 
 
 Having done thus far all that was in his power against 
 his enemy, his duty now was to see what that enemy 
 was about. He guessed that Trigg might be at the place 
 where his own black-fellows slept, and set off in that direc- 
 tion. In this surmise he was correct. At the camp a 
 small fire was burning, and round about it sat Trigg and 
 three of the older men of his party. They spoke in 
 native, and Tea-cup listened unobserved. He heard 
 Trigg arrange that two of them should catch Bella, gag 
 her, and carry her off into the bush. In the morning, he 
 said, he was going away with the other white men in 
 the cutter. He would be away on a short journey, and 
 while he was away they could have the use of his canoe. 
 They were not to let Bella follow him or make any noise. 
 If they let her escape he would come back very angry 
 and kill them. All this Tea-cup heard, but it didn't much 
 interest him. Trigg's dealings with his women might 
 be shady, but for that particular half-caste girl he had 
 no thoughts and certainly no sentiments concerning fair 
 play. Trigg went on to say that he would bring Bella 
 to where the blacks would be waiting for her early in the 
 morning, and that then he would go down to the boat and 
 sail away. They were to make sure of catching her, re- 
 membering that she was quick, and again he added, " See 
 that she makes no noise." 
 
 Although in all this talk Tea-cup had heard nothing 
 that threatened Cray, he now suspected Trigg more than 
 ever. He saw him as a ruthless scoundrel, one against 
 whom his master must be warned before it was too late. 
 Again he made off through the bush, arriving at Cray's
 
 164 THE MAINLAND 
 
 camp just as dawn was breaking. Silently he entered the 
 tent and timidly touched Cray's foot. Cray opened his 
 eyes, awake at once. Tea-cup put his fingers on his lips, 
 signalling to be silent, then backed out of the tent. 
 
 Cray got out of bed, then followed, amused and won- 
 dering. "Well, what is it? " he asked when they were 
 outside. 
 
 ' That one Trigg bad fellow, damn bad fellow," began 
 Tea-cup. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Bad fellow! We go along o' Venture. Leave him 
 stay here." 
 
 Cray smiled at the simple plan. " But I've said I'll 
 take him with me." 
 
 " No matter, him bad fellow, better stay here." 
 
 " All right, Tea-cup. I'll watch him. I know he's up 
 to something. You watch him too." Then laughing, 
 ' We two plenty good enough for fellow like Trigg." 
 
 Tea-cup grinned. " By and by I go away." 
 
 ' Yes, then I can look after him by myself. I'm not 
 frightened fellow. By and by Trigg frightened fellow, 
 I think." 
 
 Tea-cup continued to grin. He was assured that his 
 master was, at any rate, conscious of possible danger. 
 Cray was amused, very confident. " Good thing you wake 
 me early, Tea-cup. Plenty much to do. You help me 
 pack my bed, pull down tent." 
 
 Together they set about striking camp, both in good 
 humour over their morning's confidence.
 
 THE MIRAGE 165 
 
 VI 
 
 Both at the camp on the promontory and the camp 
 further inland there was great stir. The natives buzzed 
 round in swarms anxious for pickings. Cray gave many 
 presents with an unusual generosity, and Trigg and 
 Julep also disposed of all the small things that now they 
 would no longer need. At the last, when it came to 
 bidding farewell, the black women parted from their 
 lords and masters very philosophically. John noticed 
 that Bella was nowhere to be seen, and rather wondered 
 what had become of her. He was, however, so occupied 
 with his own schemes that the thought was only in his 
 mind for a few moments. It was recalled when, an hour 
 later, well out to sea, he chanced to overhear a fragment 
 of conversation. Trigg had remarked that he took good 
 care not to have melodrama with the girl swimming out 
 after the boat or making a damned noise. Julep had 
 merely spat into the sea rather emphatically, and said, 
 " Poor little beast," though his whole attitude and ex- 
 pression showed for a moment a certain commiseration. 
 This was the last mention that was made of Bella, and 
 it was not to be supposed that any one would be much 
 concerned as to her fate. 
 
 Once at sea, The Venture headed southwest, home- 
 wards, towards Garlip. The journey which, on the way 
 out, had been so full of detours, was now the directest 
 line. Cray wished to make all speed, since he had left the 
 season late, and was afraid of being caught in a Willy- 
 Willy. The wind was variable from the east, so that they 
 had to beat, but were usually able to make a long run on 
 the port tack.
 
 166 THE MAINLAND 
 
 The change of life from land to sea affected all on 
 board. The close quarters and the wide stretch of mo- 
 notonous sea induced a restlessness. The like condi- 
 tions of the voyage out also emphasized the different 
 mental atmosphere that now prevailed. There was only 
 the show of open comradeship, each individual living an 
 intense and intimate life in his own thoughts. Cray 
 deeply regretted that it had ever been his luck for him 
 to fall in with Trigg, but he was confident that he had 
 the situation in hand. He was fairly sure that Trigg 
 was up to some villainy and that he had been successful 
 in estranging Julep. John he could rely on if he needed 
 help, but feeling quite competent to deal with the matter 
 on his own account he made no mention of it. About 
 Julep he was worried, for he disliked treachery. Here he 
 was willing to act leniently, believing that Julep had 
 been led almost against his will by Trigg's stronger 
 personality. For the present he was content to watch 
 and wait. In the meanwhile he could give Trigg no 
 advantage and decided not to land at Garlip, but merely 
 to put Tea-cup ashore in the dinghy. He guessed that 
 things would be likely to come to a head near Kaimera, 
 where he would have to be careful, since he did not wish 
 to have any fuss in the port itself. The more completely 
 Trigg were worsted the keener would he be to turn in- 
 former. It would be best, Cray thought, to put in some 
 twelve miles to the north, this would be within tempting 
 walking distance, and the situation would be likely to 
 develop. Should nothing happen, he would land Trigg 
 a little further up the coast, then run for Kaimera before 
 any information could be given. This plan, so simple 
 and effective, did not much occupy his mind, and such
 
 THE MIRAGE 167 
 
 times as he was not directing the course of the boat, he 
 sat in the cabin writing up his notes on the aborigines. 
 
 Julep's mind was by no means so untroubled. He was 
 uncomfortable about the agreement with Trigg. Still, 
 he had pledged himself. Some of the pearls were his, 
 and, considering how hard he had worked, he thought 
 himself entitled certainly to more than a tenth. Before 
 they set sail he had tried to extract from Trigg some 
 details of his plans, but all he could hear was that if they 
 stopped near any settlement Trigg would manage to get 
 hold of some of the pearls, and that then they would get 
 clear of the cutter and make away inland. 
 
 As to John and Mrs. Cray, they were oblivious to all 
 thoughts that did not concern each other. At the first 
 opportunity they too would make their escape. That 
 event loomed as all-important. The very imagining of 
 so critical a time making them breathe quick in hope and 
 fear. 
 
 At Garlip Tea-cup was landed, Cray sending him back 
 to his fellow-tribesmen laden with presents of tobacco, 
 pipes, blankets, cloth, everything that a native's heart 
 can desire. There was more than he could carry at once, 
 a dinghy full of his possessions, including an English 
 knife, most cherished of all. His delight was beyond ex- 
 pression, and at bidding farewell he wept tears of both 
 joy and grief. Cray, in his own dignified way, shared a 
 reflection of this pleasure. It was pleasant to appear as a 
 generous deity. He had a conscious pride in his actions, 
 and those mortals who ministered to his greatness he re- 
 warded adequately. 
 
 Of all this Trigg was openly scornful. He hated Cray 
 for his damned superior ways. What need, he thought,
 
 168 THEMAINLAND 
 
 to make such a fuss over a savage, a damned smelly black 
 man, who should have been kicked and kept in his place. 
 He regretted that he couldn't give Tea-cup a parting 
 jab with a marlinespike, make him grin after another 
 fashion. As it was, he could only express by silence and 
 his general attitude of bored contempt the scorn he felt 
 for such sentimental nonsense. He was glad though to 
 see the last of the black, for he knew now he was free of 
 an enemy quicker of sight and hearing than he was him- 
 self; an enemy too who would think as little of murder 
 if the occasion should offer. 
 
 After leaving Garlip, The Venture stood well out to 
 sea, making a line for the North-West Cape. Land was 
 soon left behind, and on all sides blue sparkling waves 
 rose and fell, passing on with careless indifference to the 
 tight-stretched motives which grew always more intense 
 in the small confines of the cutter. In so limited a space 
 private conversation between two people was only possible 
 on rare occasions, then perhaps words might be hurriedly 
 spoken; but for the most part few confidences were ex- 
 changed. They all waited with silent expectancy the 
 next landing. 
 
 Mrs. Cray and John had no suspicion of Trigg and 
 Julep. They thought only of their own adventure, having 
 no idea that there grew up another plot parallel with their 
 own. The daily sight of Mrs. Cray was for John suffi- 
 cient recompense for the enforced silence. Her quiet dig- 
 nity of manner, the soft yet firm quality of her person- 
 ality, the trust he had in her, and the thought that by 
 some rare fortune he was able to bring happiness to her 
 life filled him with such feeling of warmth and courage 
 that no ordeal seemed too hard to be suffered. That
 
 THE MIRAGE 169 
 
 he could feel that she was glad of him was itself a joy 
 more great than he had ever imagined. Their silent 
 intercourse — a glance sometimes, or merely the unspoken 
 praise and thanksgiving for her near presence — was a 
 sufficient delight. He loved their silences, holding them 
 as trembling, eager birds captive in his hands, which in 
 so short a while would be loosed to fly straight up to 
 heaven, lit with all the radiance of a morning sun. 
 
 Of the others he had little thought. They also were 
 oblivious to his life, intent on their own interests. Cray 
 had kept his doubts to himself, but watched Trigg nar- 
 rowly. Concerning his wife he had no suspicions. Cer- 
 tainly, he had noticed that there was something strange 
 about her manner, but this he put down to the heat and 
 perhaps a weariness of the island and sea life. He de- 
 cided that he would take her to Paris for some months, 
 perhaps spend the northern summer at Fountainebleau. 
 John too was somewhat altered. Cray guessed that it 
 might be excitement at the prospect of so soon returning to 
 the mainland. Any suspicions that he might have con- 
 cerning Trigg he was not going to let worry him. The 
 ideal freshness of the journey south was unspoilt. He 
 alone of all on board fully enjoyed all the small emer- 
 gencies of the voyage. This wonderful movement over the 
 globe — the leaving of one place still full of interest to 
 find another yet more interesting — was what his soul 
 loved. Every day and every hour of the day the ocean, 
 seemingly the same, was varied with slight changes. The 
 colours changed with the changing sky, and a different 
 saltness was in the breeze. Each day, after taking his 
 bearings, when he pricked off his position on the chart, it 
 gave him pleasure. It gave an intimacy, a familiarity
 
 i 7 o THE MAINLAND 
 
 with earth and sea. Plans he made only of the broadest 
 outlines; he seldom anticipated details, confident in the 
 future. Now he was content to wait, feeling that when 
 the occasion came he would be able to meet Trigg with 
 strategy better than his own. 
 
 After they had turned the North-West Cape he steered 
 southward, hugging the land. He now began to watch 
 Trigg closely, feeling sure that the fellow was up to 
 something. It was at this time that he discovered that 
 Trigg hated him. There was no doubt about the hatred, 
 now that he had once seen it. It was of the kind that 
 would not stop at murder. A thrill of excitement gave 
 him a pleasant feeling of anticipation for their coming 
 contest. Yes, he would lie up twelve or fifteen miles 
 north of Kaimera, and then wait developments. 
 
 After ten days' sailing from Garlip they sighted Cape 
 Cuvier, and knew that they could make Kaimera that 
 evening. With the knowledge that they were so near 
 their destination there burnt up an intense excitement 
 which they each endeavoured to conceal. Mrs. Cray felt 
 the sudden strain more than any of the others, and al- 
 though she kept absolute control she had a look as if her 
 spirit were almost burnt out and smothered under the 
 rigid mask of her passivity. Once she had time to 
 whisper to John that he must be very careful as she had 
 noticed that her husband suspected something. 
 
 When Cray announced that he was going to lie up for 
 the night and not going to enter Kaimera till the morn- 
 ing all hearts beat faster. This was just what they had 
 hoped. It had always seemed possible that he would 
 prefer to wait till the morning, but none of them had 
 dared to build on it. Now surety had suddenly come.
 
 THE MIRAGE 171 
 
 John and Mrs. Cray dared not meet each other's eyes, 
 hardly dared speak for fear of betraying the emotion of 
 their hearts. 
 
 As The Venture ran in towards a small bay there ap- 
 peared far away to the north a line of smoke. This grew 
 larger, and they could soon make out the lines of one of 
 the coastwise passenger steamers that plied between 
 Singapore and Leith. Any doubts that Trigg had about 
 taking action were banished. He would get the 
 pearls that night, and at the same time make sure that 
 he was never bothered by any pursuit. He would then 
 make for Kaimera, catch the steamer that, he knew, would 
 sail at dawn. As for Julep, he would settle with him 
 later; that would not be a difficult task. 
 
 The distant steamer on her voyage southward brought 
 to John and Mrs. Cray the same thought of flight. 
 Providence was indeed being kind. John found oppor- 
 tunity to whisper that he would manage their escape 
 that night. She looked fearfully at him, but showed by 
 her look that she was willing to follow where he should 
 lead. 
 
 vn 
 
 When the sails had been furled and The Venture lay 
 close to the land there was a general feeling of expecta- 
 tion. They were all disappointed when Cray made no 
 preparation for going ashore. " Are you going to land? " 
 asked John, showing his surprise. 
 
 " No, why should I ? I shall land at Kaimera tomor- 
 row morning." 
 
 " I thought after so long at sea " John ventured. 
 
 " You can land if you want to stretch your legs." said
 
 172 THE MAINLAND 
 
 Cray cheerfully. " There's no point in it, but you can 
 do as you like." 
 
 This indeed made things difficult; John had counted 
 on a general landing as was usual, then escape could have 
 been easy. However, he was screwed to the pitch now, 
 meaning to join the steamer at whatever price. He saw 
 that by pretending that he wanted to go ashore he could 
 at any rate get the dinghy unshipped and into the water. 
 " Very well, I'll go," he said as he began to loosen the 
 ropes that held the dinghey. He didn't dare risk the 
 suggestion that Mrs. Cray should come with him. 
 
 His expedition was not a long one, but was of this much 
 service that he found the ground behind the sand-hills 
 was not very rough or broken, also that there was a 
 lightly marked track leading towards Kaimera. Once 
 ashore together, then all would be easy. When he re- 
 turned to The Venture he fastened the dinghy, letting 
 her float astern. 
 
 That night, as if by common, unspoken consent, they 
 all turned in early. It was dark and calm. The boat lay 
 very still. John had pulled his bed far forward into the 
 bows, taking the place that Tea-cup used to occupy. 
 Forward of the mast Trigg and Julep lay wrapped 
 in their blankets, one on either side of the small cook- 
 house. Aft of the mast was the cabin roof which, stand- 
 ing two and a half feet high, cut off the view of the poop. 
 Aft, on each side of the companion-way, Cray and Mrs. 
 Cray lay in their hammocks, which were hung between 
 the mainstays and the bows. Between, the boom and the 
 sag of the furled sail cut them off, to some extent, from 
 each other's view. Cray's hammock was to port, Mrs. 
 Cray's to starboard. For two hours all lay very still.
 
 THE MIRAGE 173 
 
 No one slept, each waited till the others should be asleep. 
 
 Cray was the first to move. Very silently he got out 
 of his hammock, then carefully arranged his pillows and 
 rugs to appear as if he was still lying there. Like an 
 indistinct shadow in the darkness he went to the com- 
 panion-way, and then down into the cabin. Mrs. Cray 
 saw him move, and her mouth became dry with excite- 
 ment. It was now too late to warn John. She was 
 terrified that her husband suspected everything. The 
 three men forward had heard not a sound. They still 
 waited, listening under the silence of the night. 
 
 In the cabin Cray unlocked a drawer and took out his 
 revolver. He did not expect to have to use it. He hoped 
 not, as violence was very distasteful to his educated senses 
 but he had seen a look in Trigg's eyes, and meant to be 
 prepared for all eventualities. 
 
 Up in the bows, close to the anchor-chain, John lay 
 very still. He was not going to spoil things by being in 
 a hurry. He would wait till they were all asleep. It 
 was a clear night, dark without a moon. He lay looking 
 up at the innumerable stars. The promise of life was 
 very big, and his heart beat strongly against his ribs with 
 love and hope. The world, the whole universe, was even 
 more beautiful than it had appeared to his earlier youth 
 on Kanna Island. Adventure, romance, success, all were 
 to be his. He loved everything, the stars so distant and 
 remote equally with the tiny waves that plashed against 
 the bows close to his head. In the immediate crisis he 
 believed in his fortune. What accidents could stand 
 against such love as theirs? She had told him that she 
 loved him, had pledged herself with no uncertain breath 
 to follow wherever he should lead. He had never asked
 
 174 
 
 THE MAINLAND 
 
 for that assurance, it was her own spontaneous gift, mak- 
 ing him doubly sure. He could even now feel her heart 
 beat in warm response to his own. Now surely they 
 were all asleep. Very silently he climbed over the star- 
 board bow, lowering himself into the water. He kept on 
 trousers and shirt, and had to be very careful lest the 
 bubbles should betray him. The water was cool and 
 delicious. He swam silently with slow deliberate strokes 
 towards the dinghy. Mrs. Cray alone heard the swirl 
 of the water as he passed. 
 
 A few seconds after John had climbed over the bows, 
 Trigg and Julep had exchanged whispers. They had 
 not seen him, nor had they any suspicion of his move- 
 ments, but they also felt that the moment had come 
 when all the others must be asleep. Trigg's commands 
 were short and imperative. For the work he had to do 
 he wanted Julep out of the way. After a moment's 
 whispering Julep, who was on the port side, lowered 
 himself over the bulwark into the water. He was not 
 quite so careful about the bubbles in his clothes as John 
 had been, and both Cray and Mrs. Cray heard a faint 
 sound. By this time John was beside the dinghy and 
 heard nothing. It was his intention to get Mrs. Cray 
 into the dinghy but to remain in the water himself, pushing 
 it silently to the shore. 
 
 When Julep was overboard working his way down the 
 side of the boat, Trigg pulled out from among his blankets 
 a heavy marlinespike, then crossing to port he crept 
 along behind the cabin roof towards Cray's hammock. 
 
 As soon as he came to the corner by the companion- 
 way Mrs. Cray saw him. Trembling with fear now, she 
 lay still. No idea of his motive had entered her head.
 
 THE MIRAGE 175 
 
 She felt that his action was all somehow connected with 
 her intended flight. Slowly Trigg stood upright, looking 
 round with fierce, eager eyes. Everything was still. 
 His lithe taut figure seemed strung to savage harmony 
 with the malicious and suddenly revealed cruelty of the 
 nig*ht. The wavelets even, plashing against the side of 
 the boat, now sounded hollow and cold. 
 
 Julep, making every effort to be silent, worked his way 
 along the cutter's side. When he came to the stern he 
 was surprised, and, in his present nervous state, terrified 
 to see the dinghy coming towards him stern first im- 
 pelled by some invisible force. Entirely thrown off his 
 mental balance, he retreated to wait events. 
 
 On deck Trigg, bending his head like some suspicious 
 and wary animal, peered across the deck at Mrs. Cray, 
 then coming a step forward raised the marlinespike with 
 terrible swiftness, bringing it down a smashing blow on 
 the pillow, on which he supposed Cray's head to be rest- 
 ing. The hammock sprang into the air with a switching 
 rebound. In its unexpected and senseless activity there 
 was something intensely mocking. From that one out- 
 rageous and insulting bound it subsided to feverish jerks, 
 a few petulant trembles, then again all was silent. Mrs. 
 Cray had leapt up in her hammock and now sat bolt up- 
 right, looking at Trigg with wide-open, terrified eyes. 
 
 Neither made any sound; she had uttered no scream, 
 not even an oath had escaped him. In silence they 
 regarded each other. Trigg under his immobility was 
 mad with rage. He would kill, kill, kill, damn them he 
 was not going to be tricked like that. Mrs. Cray was 
 rigid in her fixed position, pale, her senses stunned by 
 the awfulness of his intent. Into the silence John's
 
 176 THE MAINLAND 
 
 whisper came from the water, eager with expectation 
 " Come quick, I have the dinghy." She made no answer. 
 " Come," he repeated. " Can you hear? " 
 
 Trigg, his face now convulsed with rage, made a quick 
 step, and leaning forward over the boom, raised the 
 marlinespike. Mrs. Cray uttered a faint scream as she 
 put up her hands against the blow. The sharp crash of a 
 revolver shot rang out. Trigg's taut figure became con- 
 vulsed, he tottered, choked and fell. The marlinespike 
 dropped from his hand, falling close beside Mrs. Cray. 
 
 In the companion-way Cray stood, revolver in hand. 
 His composure had for once left him. " The black- 
 guard! Did he hurt you? " he cried. 
 
 She was very pale, but held her composure with iron 
 fortitude. "No! Oh, Arthur! " she gasped. 
 
 With a step he was by her side. She clasped his arm. 
 On the deck Trigg gave a long gasp, then stretched and 
 lay still. Cray, now gaining control over his first wild 
 excitement, bent over him. " He's dead, I think. I had 
 to make sure, he was so close to you ... a bullet clean 
 through his head." He spoke now as if apologizing for 
 his violence. " I never thought that he'd strike at you. 
 ... I didn't want to shoot, that's why I waited. There 
 was nothing else to be done." Then recollecting. 
 " Where's Julep ? John ! " he shouted. 
 
 From either side of the boat they answered him, and 
 began to climb up over the bulwarks. Both wondered at 
 the shot, each was filled with his own misgivings. At so 
 strange an appearance Cray's anger blazed up. " What 
 the hell are you doing there? Julep, Sherwin, are you 
 both in it? " Then to his wife, " Get my lanthorn from 
 the cabin, quick."
 
 THE MIRAGE 177 
 
 " In what? " asked John as he pulled himself up by a 
 stay and stood upright. 
 
 "You should know better than I do! Some damned 
 rascality. Trigg tried to murder me in my sleep, then 
 nearly killed my wife, would have done if I hadn't shot 
 him." 
 
 "Trigg tried to kill her?" said John incredulously 
 with a convincing astonishment. " No, I know nothing 
 of that, but " 
 
 Abruptly Cray turned to Julep. " What do you know 
 of it all?" 
 
 " By God, I never thought he meant murder, that I 
 swear." 
 
 " You knew there was some scheme afoot, and you 
 were in it," said Cray now more calmly. 
 
 Julep was silent. His wet clothes dripped upon the 
 deck. Mrs. Cray by now had returned with the lanthorn, 
 which she placed on the cabin roof. She was trembling 
 and pale. Wrapped in a white dressing-gown, she stood 
 close to the companion-way in the full light. Her hair 
 hung in two long plaits on either side of her neck, reach- 
 ing to her waist. Cray, very tall in his white sleeping- 
 suit, stood near the stern. At his feet lay Trigg's lifeless 
 body, the head resting in a dark pool of blood. Cray 
 continued his questions. " What were you doing in the 
 water? " 
 
 Julep spoke quickly, muttering his words with his eyes 
 on the deck. " I was after the dinghy. He said he'd 
 slip into the cabin for the pearls. I had no thought of 
 murder, that I swear. For God, I wish I'd never listened 
 to him." 
 
 " And you, John, what were you doing? "
 
 i 7 8 THE MAINLAND 
 
 "I — I know nothing of all this, but I was going to 
 deceive you too. I'm glad I can talk now. I wanted to." 
 His voice was trembling and dry with emotion, though 
 full of boyish enthusiasm. As he spoke he gained confi- 
 dence. "I — your wife — we were going away together. 
 We love one another. I wanted to tell you. Now we 
 can go without deception." 
 
 " What were you doing in the water? " 
 
 " I was getting the dinghy." 
 
 Cray laughed a hard, broken laugh, then to his wife: 
 " What have you to say? " 
 
 Mrs. Cray's eyes were fixed on the deck. Her head 
 was bowed. " I am ashamed," she said without looking 
 up. 
 
 With a fierce pang of pain that made his cheeks tingle 
 and shrivel, the words pierced John's heart. The next 
 instant he knew that he had mistaken her sense; she was 
 merely ashamed of their deception. 
 
 Cray looked at her with a shadow of perplexity visible 
 in his eyes, then with quick anger to Julep, " I shall put 
 you ashore. I can't have people I can't trust near me. 
 ... Go forward, get your things together. Go to the 
 forecastle. Stay there till I call you." Mrs. Cray winced 
 as though the words had been flung at her. Julep went 
 forward muttering to himself. 
 
 When he had gone, Cray came a step nearer to John. 
 
 " Now tell me," he said. 
 
 " I have told you. We are going away. We love one 
 another. You would not wish to keep her against her 
 will. I wanted to tell you before but she was afraid. 
 Now you must know." 
 
 " You will make her a home I suppose from out of
 
 THE MIRAGE 179 
 
 your great experience of life? Is that what you've 
 arranged? " 
 
 John was stung by the crude sarcasm. " Yes, I can 
 learn and shall succeed. I shall make a better home than 
 you have ever made for her," he answered defiantly. 
 " She has been unhappy for years. You know nothing 
 of her; hardly notice her existence." 
 
 Mrs. Cray broke in. " Oh, John, don't talk any more, 
 don't talk." 
 
 " I must. He must hear why we are going." 
 
 She flashed at him one glance. " That was all a mis- 
 take. Oh!" 
 
 Again that terrible stab of pain that made John feel 
 old in face and heart. Where could his courage come 
 from if she was against him? Why wouldn't she look 
 at him? With her support he could manage everything, 
 compel Cray to let her go. Was she indeed ashamed? 
 
 Cray looked from one to the other still a little puzzled, 
 then he perceived that under the strain of the night's 
 adventure something had snapped in his wife; that she 
 was broken. He was sure of her now. His pride was 
 safe. For all time she would be his, pledged irrevocably, 
 could he but use his advantage. He saw that he could 
 afford to be generous. " Your choice is free," he said with 
 sarcasm still in his tone. 
 
 " Oh, I am ashamed! ashamed! " She stepped to- 
 wards her husband, laying her head on his arm. 
 
 John's heart had gone black and small. Hope had 
 died, with it his spirit had died also; it was but some dead 
 ghost that spoke, still he must fight on. " Ashamed of 
 what? All our hopes? All that we dreamed? All that 
 you told me — where has that gone? "
 
 180 THE MAINLAND 
 
 She glanced at him warily. " That was nothing." 
 
 "Nothing!" The word was like the breaking of a 
 heart. His brain had turned black now, like his heart. 
 His head was empty, only one obstinate belief, that was 
 no belief, persisted. There was some huge error. She 
 was not against him, could not be. All her dear words 
 of truth, her smiles, her tears could not be swept away! 
 Then even the mocking ghost of hope vanished. She 
 was against him. He was without courage, without 
 strength. Yet he must fight on to taste all bitterness. 
 Where was her self-possession, her gentle pride? To 
 what could he appeal? "What has happened — why 
 have you forgotten everything? " 
 
 The former incidents of the night were but as a shadow. 
 Indeed they were all oblivious now of the dead man at 
 their feet. 
 
 " I have remembered," she said, looking at him now 
 with steady eyes. " I shall stay with my husband. We 
 are man and wife. I had forgotten, and I — I should 
 have loved you as a friend. You are so much younger, 
 so much younger. You will meet some one your own age, 
 some better woman whom you will marry. It is my fault. 
 I should have known. I shall stay with my husband. 
 It has been a mistake. You must forget me, forgive me 
 if you can." 
 
 " It is no mistake. What difference does age make? 
 You were unhappy, you lived shut up in yourself, but 
 you were dying inside. With me you rediscovered life. 
 All of our life was true — the other dead. That sterile, 
 hopeless life you said." 
 
 Cray had been listening, all his keen intelligence awake. 
 " Did you say that? " he asked.
 
 THE MIRAGE 181 
 
 She spoke to John now pitifully, almost pleading. 
 " See how weak faith is in me — how old I am. You 
 belong to another world. You must go. You must go." 
 
 At that moment Cray understood his wife. He had a 
 vision of long years of solitude piled up against her, 
 breaking her youth and spirit. He spoke now quite gently 
 to John. " She has made her decision. You must go." 
 
 In the last struggle of a dying faith, a faith, however, 
 that would never be quite dead, the youth cried, " Why 
 do you throw away from you everything that we be- 
 lieved? " 
 
 The answer was not logical, but it had to John a ter- 
 rible and perplexing conclusiveness, the finality of a mons- 
 trous and all-obscuring lie, a falsehood never to be for- 
 given. " I love my husband." 
 
 For a moment he was staggered by such a blasphemy of 
 words, then he flashed at her, " If you did you wouldn't 
 say so." 
 
 " Perhaps she will learn to," said Cray with a humility 
 that sounded strange. They were all silent while several 
 moments passed. Then Cray asked his wife, " Do you 
 wish to say anything else? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 She turned, and with one look at John, into which at 
 future times he could read all manner of fancies, she 
 walked down the steps into the cabin. 
 
 Then John heard Cray shouting to Julep. All was 
 vague about him, he was indifferent to what happened. 
 The scenes that followed were always indistinct, as if 
 they had happened in a dream. 
 
 " Julep, have you got your things ready? " Cray 
 shouted.
 
 182 THE MAINLAND 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Go to the hold and fetch a couple of heavy shells." 
 
 John vaguely wondered what he wanted shells for. 
 When Julep came Cray bent over the body. He took 
 the shells from Julep and put them in the dead man's 
 pockets. Then he stuck the marlinespike through his 
 belt. " That ought to sink him," he said. " John, give 
 me a hand." He bent, lifting Trigg's shoulders. John 
 mechanically took hold of the feet. They dragged the 
 body to the side. It seemed extraordinarily heavy. Then 
 with a lurch they sent it overboard. An arm waved in the 
 air, the water looked black and thick as very slowly the 
 corpse sank. John felt his heart and all his youth go with 
 it down into the cold blackness. Bubbles alone rose from 
 out that obscurity. After that he was numb with misery, 
 regardless of details He was ordered with Julep to get 
 into the dinghy. He remembered feeling it strange 
 that he should sit in the stern and that Cray should scull. 
 When they reached the land Cray backed in the boat 
 stern first. He heard Cray ask, " Can you jump out 
 now?" "Yes." Then he jumped out. It all seemed 
 so much like an ordinary expedition; but the thought 
 came that he would never see her again and that she was 
 unhappy, having sustained some injury the nature of 
 which he did not comprehend, but which was deep and 
 crippling. 
 
 As he stood on the beach he could hear the sound of 
 Cray's sculls getting more remote. Julep was saying 
 something to him. " We better stay here till it's a bit 
 light. It's so damned dark I can't see the way." 
 
 " On the other side of the sand-hills," said John, " out 
 of sight."
 
 THEMIRAGE 183 
 
 In a hollow of the dunes they lay down to wait till the 
 dawn. The earth was still warm from the day's sun. 
 Above them the sky was thick with tiny glittering stars. 
 The milky-way, like an ascending spire of smoke, swept 
 across the heavens. Other stars shone bright and hard. 
 For a while John gazed at them, then put his arm across 
 his eyes to shut out their cold and pitiless indifference. 
 
 vni 
 
 For a while John lay still with his arm pressed hard 
 across his eyes. His finger-nails were gripped in the flesh 
 of his shoulder, and, as his muscles tired, the action 
 instead of becoming feebler became tighter and more 
 savage. If by shutting out the faint light of the stars 
 he could find in the immeasurable darkness oblivion from 
 the pain of his new knowledge, then he were content 
 to shut off life for always and to lie dead upon the sand- 
 dunes. But, just as distorted and grotesque patterns grew 
 under his dark eyelids, so new knowledge flickered and 
 blazed in livid flames. Question followed question in 
 useless, hopeless succession. There was no answer, yet 
 there was always the same answer, inarticulate, finding 
 no words for expression, vague and evasive, which like 
 a burning cloud enveloped the world. Sometimes 
 through physical tiredness he could relax a little, sinking 
 with a vague gratefulness into the comparative calm of 
 despair; then his pain would swoop again hungrily upon 
 him, making his muscles taut, his whole frame to vibrate 
 beneath the sharpness of its blows. 
 
 During the times of relaxation he began to argue with 
 himself. How was it he had been so tame? This pain, 
 had he then felt it, could impel him to anything. Why
 
 184 THE MAINLAND 
 
 had he let her go? He should not have taken her denial, 
 for it was false. He had been as one stunned — stupid, 
 silent, obedient. Why had he been so young, so unpre- 
 pared ? 
 
 In amongst these futile questions came curses and 
 mutterings from Julep. Slowly John began to feel a 
 slight interest and opened his eyes. He saw Julep not far 
 distant and could discern his features in the twilight of 
 early dawn. Julep looked back at him with a queer ex- 
 pression of self-depreciation. 
 
 " Well, we've made damned fools of ourselves," he said 
 with a sour smile, " and the only consolation is that that 
 blighter Trigg got his deserts. I lost all my share through 
 him for nothing, and find myself a thieving scamp at 
 the end of it." 
 
 " What were you doing? " asked John. 
 
 " We were going to sneak some of the pearls, but I 
 
 never knew he was up to murder — the swine Now 
 
 I'm damned if I'm going to talk about it. It's bad enough 
 to have taken the wrong side and be paid out." Then as 
 John said nothing, " The Boss is all right. I've never 
 served under a better man; and what's worst of all is 
 having gone back on him. Thank God that blighter's 
 dead; if he weren't — I'd do for him myself " 
 
 After another pause he mused, " He's no coward either; 
 he takes every risk. He leaves you and me here, a few 
 miles from Kaimera, to give him away for taking the 
 pearls and doing in that dud; but by God we're not 
 that sort, and it's just something to think that he knows 
 it." 
 
 John still made no answer, his interest in Julep had 
 dropped and he had gone back to his own thoughts.
 
 THEMIRAGE 185 
 
 Julep regarded him with a certain surprise and a faint 
 interest that any one should take a love-affair so hard. 
 " And you made a pretty blimy fool of yourself," he 
 said encouragingly; " why didn't you take a black girl 
 as I told you, instead of messing about with a married 
 woman? " 
 
 John felt a passing wave of anger, but somehow it was 
 too irrelevant to his suffering to find expression. He 
 remained still silent. Julep, seeing the drawn look on 
 the boy's face, felt a genuine compassion. " Come, 
 don't take it too hard," he said, " there are plenty of 
 other women in the world — white ones, married too if 
 you prefer 'em. Cheer up, they're as common as goose- 
 berries and as easily picked, once you know the way." 
 
 The words were so unaccordant to John's thoughts that 
 he hardly heard them, yet the communion with another 
 human being and Julep's crude though well meaning 
 sympathy worked in him strongly. Against his will two 
 unexpected tears rolled down his cheeks. 
 
 " Come, John, cheer up," said Julep kindly. " You're 
 so damned young, that's why you feel it. It's nothing 
 when you're a bit older and know how to put things in 
 their place. You know how it is with dogs. You've 
 seen the old dog tied to his kennel, he's quiet and happy, 
 while the puppy yelps all day and most of the night. 
 It's just the same when the pup gets his first licking, most 
 of his howling is due to surprise and outraged feelings. 
 After a bit he gets used to it, just as he gets used to the 
 chain. You can't get everything you want — but as you 
 get older you can get a good deal if you go the right way 
 about it." 
 
 John was touched by his kind intention, and answered
 
 186 THE MAINLAND 
 
 rather tragically, " But there is no one else like that." 
 " Lord bless you, yes," said Julep, thinking that the 
 saneness of his philosophy was bound to tell, " hundreds 
 of them. All the women are much the same. Put their 
 heads in bags and you could hardly tell the difference. 
 God made them all for the same good purpose, and they 
 damned well know it." 
 
 John could almost feel a wan kind of amusement to 
 think how little Julep could understand. He did not 
 think it worth while to say anything. Julep, who took 
 this silence as a sign of the youth's conversion to a sen- 
 sible point of view, continued his discourse now not so 
 much for John's enlightenment as for the gratification 
 of hearing his own wisdom. " Yes, they are all the same, 
 except that you get tired of some sooner than of others. 
 No man can go on loving a woman any more than he can 
 go on eating sweet cake, that's why women are always 
 discontented. If you ask me, you were lucky to get off 
 so easily. Had you never thought that you might be 
 tired of her in three months' time? You'd have a change 
 of fancy by then, besides she's ever so much older than 
 you are, and you'd be put to it to know what to do with 
 her, just when you were getting a taste for life. She'd 
 be a lump round your neck." 
 
 John cut him short, raging at him. " You fool, don't 
 speak of her, don't dare speak of her — damn you — 
 
 damn you " In his anger he had sprung to his feet 
 
 and now stood over Julep, his eyes hard with rage. Then, 
 as he saw in Julep's eyes a surprised and ruffled look of 
 resistance, he knew that all his courage and hope were 
 dead. He wished only to be away from this loathsome 
 cynicism, to be alone where all his stricken faith could
 
 THE MIRAGE 187 
 
 wither and die without being defiled. He turned abruptly 
 and walked with quick trembling steps away towards 
 the low hills that stretched to eastward. 
 
 " All right, all right," expostulated Julep, " I didn't 
 mean to say anything against her. Sit down, and don't 
 be a fool." Then, as he saw John turning away towards 
 the bush, " Come back, John, don't be a fool. Come 
 
 back Oh well, damn you, I'm not going to run 
 
 after you." Then to himself, " What the hell's the matter 
 with him? He'll get bushed as like as not." Again he 
 shouted, but John, who was now some distance away, 
 took no notice. " Well, I can't go running after him," 
 thought Julep. " He can run a sight faster than I can." 
 Then consoling himself, " He'll soon come to his senses 
 when he gets hungry."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 THE TOWN 
 
 THE small, though flourishing, port of Rupert- 
 town is the junction of the Northern line from 
 Gould and the railways from the Lyell Gold- 
 fields; from Nallan, Mt. Gerard and Redsand. It does 
 considerable shipping trade besides being the commercial 
 centre and outlet to all towns and stations in the Lyell 
 and Garloo districts. A long street, lined with shops and 
 hotels, which runs parallel to the shore, is its chief feature. 
 Beyond this street are rising sand-dunes with dwelling 
 houses clustered upon their sides and summits, some of 
 which are built in two or even three stories after the 
 European pattern. Here and there are green enclosures of 
 garden. To south of the town are low-lying stretches of 
 sea-marsh from whence comes mosquitoes and sand-flies. 
 Inland, are hills rising slowly towards Garloo. 
 
 The town of late years has been particularly prosperous. 
 This prosperity is displayed by the imposing plate-glass 
 windows of its few shops and by the record number of 
 " drunks." There is a saying that there are more 
 " drunks " in Ruperttown at nine in the morning than in 
 any other town in the West at the same hour at night. 
 By midday it is certainly the rule that every third man 
 goes with an uncertain gait. This, considering that the 
 
 188
 
 THE TOWN 189 
 
 air is dry, the sun hot, money very cheap, and the inns 
 and drinking-shops in adequate proportion to the town's 
 prosperity is natural enough. 
 
 It was late evening when down the long street John 
 Sherwin walked, with a quick, rather nervous step, look- 
 ing about him from side to side. He had arrived by 
 the steamer which had just come from Kaimera, and was 
 one of the first of a crowd of passengers who now hurried 
 ashore. John was dressed in new clothes of the ordinary 
 pattern: blue dungarees, a blue shirt and a felt hat; over 
 his shoulder he carried a bundle. 
 
 Since that time when he had walked away by himself 
 leaving Julep alone upon the sand-dunes many small 
 incidents had gone towards moulding the new channel 
 into which his life should flow. At first he had just 
 walked on aimlessly, anxious to be alone, then after a 
 while he had become aware that he was very hungry, 
 and still more thirsty. He had a thirst so great that it 
 almost rivalled the suffering of his mind. His instinct 
 for life, though it had been for a few moments broken 
 and twisted, now recovered, and if for no other motive 
 than to gratify his thirst he made as straight a course 
 as he could for Kaimera. 
 
 About two miles north of the town he came on a dried- 
 up river-bed, with here and there pools, banked by 
 rushes, white gum-trees and thickets of red eucalyptus- 
 bushes. He took deep draughts of the warm green water, 
 then sat down to think. In spite of his misery «'hich in 
 no way grew less, but recurred with all its maddening 
 questions and regrets, he knew that he must live. For 
 what purpose he could not answer, since all hope was 
 dead. But he must live — his instinct told him that — if
 
 190 THE MAINLAND 
 
 for no better reason than a savage vindictiveness against 
 his own youthful idealism. After a while he came to 
 notice that the river-bed where he sat was beautiful, 
 just such a place where, with Mrs. Cray, he had been so 
 often happy. There were tiny creepers growing amongst 
 deep moss which stabbed him with remembrance, then 
 there was all the tribe of insects, the buzz of wings, the 
 singing of large yellow cicadas, for all of which she had 
 her own fanciful, yet very adequate, names. With a 
 kind of bitter self-hatred he wished no longer to see the 
 reflections of his love, and so had trudged on towards 
 the town. 
 
 On his way he turned over possible plans of action. 
 The world was empty, there was no reason why he should 
 stay at one place or go to another. The thought of per- 
 haps visiting his people on Kanna Island came to him, but 
 he put it aside with revulsion. He could not bear them 
 to see him so utterly a failure. Then he thought that 
 at Kaimera people might know him. Pomfrey might 
 be there and he would be recognized. He would get 
 away as soon as possible. His father he had heard talk 
 of the gold-fields. By boat he could get to Ruperttown, 
 then perhaps go inland. 
 
 In the evening when he reached Kaimera, he found 
 that he needed money and remembered that at the bank 
 there was fifty pounds that Cray had paid for his stingaree 
 skins. When he had made his way to the flat-faced 
 imposing-looking building he was surprised to find that 
 Cray had left a letter for him that morning. With the 
 letter was an enclosure of forty pounds for himself and 
 a hundred pounds for Julep, He read with difficulty the 
 small firm handwriting.
 
 THE TOWN 191 
 
 " To John Sherwin, 
 
 " The enclosed forty pounds are the wages due to 
 you for the five months you have been with me. This 
 is at the rate of two pounds a week which your services 
 have fully justified. The hundred pounds in the enclosed 
 envelope you will give to Julep; it should cover, for 
 him, the expenses of this trip. You will be wise to keep 
 the money banked till you have in view some sound 
 investment. 
 
 " Yours, etc., 
 
 " Arthur Cray." 
 
 That was all, there was no message, no mention of the 
 past. How indeed could there be? he questioned; 
 yet he felt keen disappointment that Mrs. Cray should 
 not have sent some word, some kindness, which would have 
 taken away part of his bitterness. He felt reproach 
 against her omission, hugging the cruel thought that all his 
 love had been for her but a trivial mistake. 
 
 He became conscious that the people in the bank were 
 watching him. Damn Cray and his talk of " sound 
 investment." He would take out all the money and get 
 away to Ruperttown as soon as possible; away from this 
 cursed spot. 
 
 At the hotel he found Julep as he had expected, and 
 handed him his money. Then he had gone off to the 
 Coffee Palace where he preferred to lodge. He did not 
 wish to hear Julep's unavailing regrets, his eulogies of 
 Cray, or philosophical remarks about women. 
 
 The ten days that he had to wait for the next steamer 
 he spent almost entirely by himself. He bought a new
 
 i 9 2 THE MAINLAND 
 
 outfit of clothes, so as not to be conspicuous. Most of 
 each day he sat in his room gazing out to sea. He shrank 
 from the idea of conversation, or even from being seen 
 by other people. In his mind he was puzzling out the 
 ethics of disillusionment. Slowly they sifted themselves 
 clear of his pain. If the world was his enemy and the 
 fairest hopes made of brittle stuff, then it were best to 
 take firm grasp on suspicion. For hours he would brood, 
 thinking about women. Mrs. Cray he would acquit 
 from all general indictments — she was something apart, 
 wonderful in herself, justifying all that she did; in him 
 must have been the blame — but when he thought of 
 women, other women as opposed to men, he believed 
 them to be false and wanton. He did not actually admit 
 this to himself, for he would still have repudiated 
 Julep's philosophy, but this was the strong undercurrent 
 of his feeling. His instinct for self-preservation would 
 make him distrustful of them in future. 
 
 The voyage on the steamer had come as a relaxation. 
 John had found that the sea was still blue in the light of 
 sunshine, and his senses could take pleasure in a kind of 
 apathetic contemplation of the moving water. This 
 tranquillity, that he now felt, lay only on the surface. 
 It was a superficial calm; underneath was a tumult of 
 emotion of which his brain knew nothing. A wave, that 
 from babyhood to childhood, to adolescence, had been 
 sweeping steadily on had now been checked. It had 
 impinged upon hard rocks, and deep down was raging in 
 angry swirls soon to break the surface, beating it into 
 foam and broken water. 
 
 Now that he had arrived in Ruperttown John's busi- 
 ness was to look about for a lodging. The first large
 
 THE TOWN 193 
 
 hotel that he came to was " The Golden Sun." He paused 
 for a moment a little shy of entering, then walked into 
 the bar where some twenty men were drinking uproari- 
 ously. He pushed his way through the throng to the 
 counter. " Can you let me have a bed for the night? " 
 he asked of the host, a spare man who somewhat reminded 
 him of Peter Trigg. 
 
 " Have a bed ? Yes. But you've come to the wrong 
 door. Now you're here, you'll have a drink? " 
 
 A jolly-looking half -tipsy man struck John on the 
 back. " Of course he'll have a drink. What shall it be, 
 sonny? " 
 
 " No, thank you, I won't have any," said John. 
 
 "What, not have a drink? Gor blimy! What's the 
 matter with the kid? " 
 
 " No, I want a bed," said John lamely. 
 
 " Well, you can go to bed when you've had a drink ! 
 What's to stop you? " said the man. 
 
 A well-looking, handsome girl with thick lips, pale 
 cheeks and sleek black hair, who stood behind the bar 
 leant across to John and said pleasantly : " Come, 
 Mister, what will you 'ave? You must have something 
 to oblige the gentleman. 'Ave a Scotch and soda." 
 
 " Very well, Scotch and soda," said John. 
 
 The stuff tasted horrible, reminding him of the smell of 
 dead mice, but he gulped it down. The men watched him 
 amused, seeing his distaste. " Well, how do you find it ? " 
 said one of them. "That's good whiskey that is; any- 
 way, it's as good as you'll get in Ruperttown, unless you 
 buy it in a bottle." 
 
 " Looks as if the last thing he tasted was his mother's 
 milk," said another man. " How do you like it? "
 
 i 9 4 THE MAINLAND 
 
 John was nettled. He would show them he was not so 
 green as they thought. He turned to the man who had 
 stood him the drink. " What will you have? " 
 
 The man smiled, gratified. " Well, I don't mind if I 
 do." Then to the girl: " Same as usual." 
 
 John nodded to two other men who stood near. " Will 
 you join us ? " 
 
 Accepting, they extended to him a friendly grin. He 
 was not such a mug after all. The talk then flowed on. 
 John gulped down his second glass. He now noticed 
 that the girl with the sleek black hair was looking at him 
 with wide-open, talking eyes. The admiration and 
 interest in her look made him remember that he had 
 rather a fine body. Something in him responded with a 
 leap towards his old self-confidence. He gave a glance 
 back which was recognition of the tribute that she paid. 
 
 " If you want a room, I'll show you," she said. 
 " You'd better pay and come along, unless you want these 
 fellows to fill you up." 
 
 John, having no smaller change, pushed a five-pound 
 note across the counter. The bar-keeper looked at him 
 with new interest. "Are you staying here long?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " Three or four days, I expect," said John. The man 
 nodded and passed him across his change. " Four 
 pounds sixteen shillings. It's a shilling a drink here." 
 
 "Are you coming?" said the girl. When they were 
 outside she said: "Lord! you shouldn't show all that 
 cash. You're lucky to get away. Never show more than 
 half a quid. Let's 'ave a look! " 
 
 They had some difficulty in getting up the stairs, for
 
 THE TOWN 195 
 
 five drunken men lay supine in different places. " They 
 are all ' gropers ' from upcountry," commented the girl. 
 " See the way they wave their arms in their sleep ? 
 That's because of the flies. The flies are dreadful in 
 Talgoo. They gets into the 'abit of brushin' them off, 
 and when they're drunk they does it just the same. 
 Well," she added philosophically, " they pay for beds, 
 it's their own fault if they don't sleep in them." 
 
 She showed John into a two-bedded room. " Will 
 this do for you? Take your choice of beds. There'll be 
 another bloke in here afore long." Then after a short 
 pause and another meaning look: " What's your name? " 
 
 " Sherwin." 
 
 " No, your Christian name? " 
 
 " John." 
 
 " My name's Mabel. You can call me Mabel, John. 
 Well, good night." 
 
 " Good night." 
 
 He felt, as he shut the door, a glow of response to the 
 girl's approaches. Her strong female quality was like a 
 challenge. Sex antagonism burnt up in him, making him 
 wish to run after, to catch her, subdue her, and master 
 that sensual animal that he saw in her eyes. Then as he 
 walked across the shabby little bedroom he felt pain come 
 back upon him. How loathsome all this was! How far 
 from him all that he had dreamt and hoped! How he 
 hated the present ! Yet what else was there? That it was 
 all so different, was the one consolation which grew to a 
 savage exultation. He would trample on all his old self, 
 exacting a pitiful revenge. Oh ! she had lied to him, lied 
 to and renounced him. Such faith could never grow again.
 
 196 THE MAINLAND 
 
 He would trample it deep in the mire. To be able to live 
 he must kill that aching weakness in himself. Every- 
 thing had gone, only sensuality was left. 
 
 He lay still, long into the night, listening to the noises 
 of the hotel. Men were shouting and swearing in the 
 bar and in the passage-way. From the bedrooms came 
 hoarse shouts and from the rooms opposite and on either 
 hand came the retching and belching of abandoned drunk- 
 enness. 
 
 n 
 
 The next morning John was up late. He had a dry 
 feeling in his throat and a cold hard lump in his stomach. 
 He had no appetite, so went out without breakfast and 
 walked down the wide street in the bright sunshine looking 
 at the shops. By a shop that sold books and papers he 
 paused. There were names on some of the covers of the 
 books that he had learnt about from Mrs. Cray. No, he 
 would not read, he would tightly shut out all that life; 
 it was too thick with pain. He walked on towards the 
 open flats of the salt marshes. Here, amongst the wild 
 things, in the open air and the sunshine, a little breath 
 of the old life came back, bringing with it the same pain. 
 Hastily he turned back towards the town. 
 
 At the hotel he dined in the big saloon under the 
 burning iron roof. Flies swarmed on walls and ceiling, 
 and hung in black festoons on the coloured paper, which 
 long ago had been put up in honour of some feast. 
 John ate the rich, hot meal greedily; there was nothing 
 in it to remind him of the clean frugal food of the camp. 
 
 When he had finished, the innkeeper, strolling in, 
 greeted him and took a seat at his table. 
 
 " And how long do you think of staying? " he asked,
 
 THE TOWN 197 
 
 " A day or two." 
 
 " Are you thinking of going up the line? " 
 
 " Perhaps, I'm not sure." 
 
 " You're not wanting a job ? " 
 
 " Oh, no." 
 
 " Well, you won't mind my mentioning it, but you 
 seem new to this part. If you carry bank-notes on you 
 you may one day find them missing; it's best to have 
 them put away somewhere. Now if you are staying here 
 for a bit, and there seems to be no reason why you 
 shouldn't — it's comfortable enough and there's good 
 food — I'd take care of your money for you, keep it safe. 
 Then you could just eat and drink here and I'd reckon 
 it off against your account. When you go, you could 
 have the balance." 
 
 To John, who had been rather embarrassed by his 
 wad of notes, the idea appeared quite good. He thanked 
 the innkeeper for his consideration and without further 
 discussion handed him over fifty pounds. Some half- 
 conscious thought at the back of his mind made him 
 feel that he might need some money for sudden and 
 private purposes. It would strip him of strength to 
 be left quite moneyless. He kept back thirty pounds 
 odd. 
 
 The fifty pounds was more than the brightest hopes 
 of the innkeeper had risen to, not that he had not taken 
 cheques of twice that size off fellows before, but then 
 John was so young, and didn't look as if he'd had much 
 money. He now folded the notes carefully and with 
 satisfaction before putting them in his pocket. " Well, 
 you can stay here and have all that you want. Don't 
 stint yourself," he said, rising.
 
 198 THE MAINLAND 
 
 John nodded, relieved at not having so much money 
 about his person. 
 
 in 
 
 In the afternoon John lounged on one of the long, 
 red divans of the big saloon. In the corner was a small 
 private bar for the convenience of guests staying in the 
 hotel, and which in the evening took the overflow from 
 the outer bar. For some time he was the only occupant 
 of the room. He sat idly there having nothing else to 
 do; besides, the air was a little cooler than outside 
 under the awning. On hearing the clink of tumblers 
 he looked up and saw that Mabel had come into the bar 
 in the corner. 
 
 " Hullo! All alone — are you out of sorts? " she said. 
 
 John resented the question. " No, it's damned hot, 
 that's all." 
 
 She strolled across to close where he sat and leant 
 against a table. " Well, I suppose you're like the rest, 
 work till you've made a cheque, then slack about and 
 have a good time till you've spent it? But you didn't 
 give all your money to the boss, did you ? " 
 
 John perceived a significance in her question. " No." 
 
 Their eyes met and he knew that they were both 
 conscious of each other's thoughts. His glance travelled 
 on over her body, noting its proportions. Then he stood 
 up rather awkwardly close to her. There was between 
 them an acute consciousness of sex attraction. His 
 instinct told him that here was a woman who deliberately 
 offered herself to what was an habitual gratification. She 
 also was aware of the fierceness of his need, divining that 
 everything in him had, for the time, turned to desire.
 
 THE TOWN 199 
 
 For a moment they said nothing, then John put a hand 
 on her arm. She came towards him, yielding to his grip, 
 then in abandonment pressed close to him. For a time 
 they clasped oblivious, in a kiss such as John had never 
 experienced. 
 
 Steps and voices were heard approaching the door. 
 Mabel pushed herself free and turned to the newcomers 
 with an astonishing coolness. John was obliged to turn 
 away to regain composure. His brain was thick and 
 dizzy. 
 
 Three men entered, demanding drinks. They asked 
 John to join them. He didn't mind what he did; he 
 was pulsing with excitement and glad to meet them on 
 their own footing. The fiery spirit seemed good as he 
 gulped it down, there was pleasure too in listening to 
 the coarse jokes of one of his companions and in knowing 
 what was between him and the woman there, with the 
 hungry, speaking eyes. As time went on he became talk- 
 ative, excited, and stood drinks all round. Other 
 men came in. He stood more drinks, flushed with the 
 power of being able to show off. They were amused at 
 him, made him talk. He babbled all sorts of nonsense, 
 drank and shouted, and all the while the thought of the 
 girl blazed in his mind like a smoky torch. The drink 
 gave him new power, new strength, making him more 
 perfect for her embrace. 
 
 As time went on and the room filled up John became 
 moody, clasping his one thought. Though he felt his 
 head swimming he asked defiantly for another glass. 
 Mabel leant towards him. 
 
 " You've had all you can hold," she whispered. " You 
 better go to bed now."
 
 200 THE MAINLAND 
 
 He understood, and was for a moment sobered by a 
 tightening of excitement in his chest. Without answer- 
 ing, he turned and staggered across the room. A voice 
 shouted scornfully, with a burst of drunken laughter, 
 something about having had enough already, but he didn't 
 heed. 
 
 On the upper corridor Mabel was waiting. He didn't 
 speak, there was no need of speech, but followed her up 
 yet another flight of stairs. He was blind, dumb, ob- 
 livious to everything but one overmastering impulse. 
 
 IV 
 When he woke the next morning John had a very bad 
 headache and couldn't remember where he was. He lay 
 still, looking at the lighter square of the window and the 
 drawn blind. Then remembrance came back like a sear- 
 ing flame. For a while he was unwilling to look at 
 the woman by his side. A weakness and a desire to cry 
 came over him. Had he been in the open lying upon 
 the earth he could have wept and been refreshed. How 
 deep was his misery? He questioned. How different 
 was life from the brave hopes of his love? What was 
 upon him now was reality and the present. Life was 
 real and no dream. How he hated the beastly woman 
 who lay there breathing heavily. He turned to look at 
 her. Her face was red and puffy, her black scurfy hair 
 dragged across the rumpled pillow. The stabbing thought 
 came that he had better die than know such degradation; 
 and yet his strong instinct for life was even then turning 
 against itself in hatred. Life with its recurring con- 
 vulsions of pain had still to rend itself many times 
 before he could win to any freedom. Again he looked
 
 THE TOWN 201 
 
 at the girl. He was glad she was still asleep; he didn't 
 think that he could bear having to talk to her and look 
 at her. Very quietly he got out of bed. She moved and 
 turned over, but did not wake. Then John collected his 
 clothes and hurried down to his room. 
 
 With the day, came the same monotony of idleness 
 and the same resurging of his pain, followed by the fierce 
 desire. By midday Mabel appeared looking, in contrast 
 to his last view of her, very powdered and neat. Though 
 he now hated her, she still had the same unanswerable 
 attraction. 
 
 Since there was no incentive in Ruperttown for John 
 to do anything, he stayed on in idleness at the hotel, and 
 the days and weeks went by. As time passed he came to 
 hate Mabel so much that he thought he would kill her. 
 It gave him pleasure to think of different possible ways. 
 At any rate, she was his to struggle against in mutual 
 mutilation. He would tear the very essence of life out 
 of her, grip her with steel muscles and crush her cruelly 
 beneath his weight. 
 
 When drinking at the bar John won a cheap sort of 
 notoriety for his recklessness and the foulness of his 
 speech. He drank heavily, his strong constitution being 
 able to stand the foul stuff that was sold as whisky, 
 though it left its mark on him. His face became blotchy, 
 his eyes bloodshot. His former self, together with his 
 pain, became less active, more inclined to slumber. His 
 soul submerged in self-hatred could find in lethargy a 
 welcome oblivion. Upon its sensitiveness he could heap 
 the ruins of his youth, burying safe from any breath of 
 thought that tender surface, which winced and bled be- 
 neath the sharp cruelty of recollection. Then one day
 
 202 THE MAINLAND 
 
 there came an incident which woke him to new life and 
 new pain. 
 
 In one of the gloomy phases of drunkenness he was 
 sitting in the dining saloon; his head was heavy, and 
 for the most part he kept his eyes shut, because of the 
 throbbing in his eyeballs. Two men in well-fitting white 
 suits sat at a table close by. Their voices drew John's 
 attention. They were cultured, clear voices, reminding 
 him at once of Cray. He opened his eyes to see what 
 sort of men they were, feeling at the same time resent- 
 ment. They were both men of about thirty, obviously 
 not inhabitants of Ruperttown. One of them was stolid 
 in appearance for so young a man. He had a some- 
 what bloated look, without being in any way corpulent. 
 His eyes, which seemed to note with a mixture of pleas- 
 ure, amusement, and disdain his friend's arguments, were 
 intelligent, though glassy. On the whole a remarkable 
 figure, even attractive, except when you noticed the back 
 of his neck which was thick and puffy. His companion 
 who was now speaking, and whose voice it was that had 
 attracted John's attention, was a vivacious, fair-haired 
 man with deep wrinkles on his forehead which he continu- 
 ally twitched as he spoke. 
 
 " How can you? " he contended. " You, who are the 
 collector and possessor of so many fine works of art, 
 affect to despise men? The firm and harmonious feeling 
 which is expressed in their work — you cannot despise 
 that. . . . Why, take even these savages, whom we've 
 just left, the lowest type of men, their message — sticks 
 and boomerangs, all the paraphernalia of their sacred 
 dances, each is ornamented correctly, with the right feeling, 
 expressive of the designer's sense of harmony and also
 
 T H E T O W N 203 
 
 possessing, what one might call, a religious dignity. 
 Take the next step in evolution — go to the Malays and 
 Paupans with their grotesque and awe-inspiring figures 
 — surely they speak of the maker's soul. Such works 
 live for all time, clothed in their peculiar beauty — a 
 terrifying beauty, I admit — but the beauty is there. Go 
 further — across the Pacific, and you cannot dare to 
 despise the markers of the vast megaliths — the dwellers 
 on the great lost continent who have fashioned figures 
 more august and greater even than we with all our ma- 
 chinery can rival. Take any civilization or people that 
 you like: Egyptian, Greek, Roman, Florentine or even 
 the moderns, their work speaks for them, vindicating the 
 soul of man, expressing it always with dignity and 
 beauty." 
 
 " Your arguments don't do your intelligence much 
 credit," replied the other. " All that may sound very 
 well, but it's superficial. You don't discriminate. Of 
 course, man has made beautiful things; why else should 
 I collect them? But have you ever met a man or woman 
 (don't answer in a hurry) who was beautiful and har- 
 monious in the way that even the simplest design is 
 harmonious; and not only that, but who was not petty, 
 contemptible and even foul in the less obvious though 
 deeper channels of his life? No. Men are the manure 
 out of which the fine flower of art can grow. I despise 
 them because I know them. They are mean and greedy. 
 Always greedy. Greedy for money, or food, or women, 
 or fame. They call their greed ambition or love, as it 
 suits them; but underneath it's just dirty, guzzling, 
 gutter-greediness, the greed of a lustful and conceited 
 animal. Yes, and above all, hypocritical."
 
 204 THE MAINLAND 
 
 While he spoke it was easy to see that he was on a 
 theme which to expound gave him some pleasure. 
 
 " They are vermin — dirty vermin. Yes, even you 
 and I, my friend, are like that." He smiled, offering 
 his cigarette-box. " Of course, you and I get our clothes 
 from a good tailor — that is, when there happens to be 
 one, which is not the case in Australia — and wash sev- 
 eral times a day. Uusually I am not so bad mannered as 
 to destroy the sentimental insincerities that we live behind ; 
 but when you confuse a man with the work that he pro- 
 duces, then " He didn't finish the sentence, but 
 
 merely looked deprecatingly at the ash on his cigarette, 
 which he blew away. " When you next go out anywhere, 
 here or in Europe, just look at humanity with as little 
 prejudice as possible. There is not one moral quality or 
 motive that is not pretending to be something that it is 
 not, and to hide from mankind his own filthiness. Every 
 public utterance from ministers, archbishops, and the 
 rest of them is for the same purpose, and based upon a 
 foundation of lying assumptions. Not one of these 
 speakers but would blush to have his motives analysed 
 or his thoughts known. And if we knew them, we would 
 all scream with rage and shame because they are so like 
 our own." He smiled, with a sense of the completeness 
 of his intellectual assurance. " You ask how it is pos- 
 sible to despise men; I ask how is it possible to do any- 
 thing else? " 
 
 His friend was impressed, but not convinced. " You 
 must admit," he said, " that there is a relation between 
 a man and the work he produces. If the work is good, 
 then the man must possess that good quality."
 
 T H E T O W N 205 
 
 " Just the relation between a dunghill and the flower 
 growing upon it." 
 
 " But the flower grows from a seed." 
 
 " Yes, but the seed isn't generated by the dunghill, 
 as you might know." 
 
 " From where does it come, then? " 
 
 " From previous generations of flowers, just as in art. 
 Tradition." He smiled ironically. " The good God has 
 ordained that works of art shall grow out of men just as 
 flowers out of dung. There is the relation." Then, as 
 if exasperated by the other's stupidity. " Just look about 
 you if you want to be convinced." He nodded in John's 
 direction. " There's a specimen of hopeful young hu- 
 manity with a few of the veils off. He's so drunk all 
 the time we've been here (and for a good deal longer, 
 I expect) that he's no eyes or thoughts except for a 
 dirty, lousy female whom you and I (because we have 
 the habit of being well-dressed and washed, that's the 
 chief reason) wouldn't touch with the end of our um- 
 brellas. It has amused me to observe them together. 
 Sometimes he looks at her with quite a pleasing sincerity, 
 without any disguise. No doubt he would call it love, 
 if he were articulate; and with good reason." 
 
 John felt such rage surge up in him that he knew that 
 for the moment he could not speak. Then he rose and 
 walked to the table where the two men were sitting. 
 
 " You ! " he used the only words that in 
 
 the vernacular of swearing could express his disdain. 
 Words that cannot safely be applied in anger to even 
 the most degraded. " You dried up miserable creature. 
 You know nothing with all your damned talk. You've
 
 206 THE MAINLAND 
 
 never tried to live. Better be a verminous rat born to 
 failure than a thing like you." He bent over the young 
 man's scared face and bawled at him. He was so excited 
 that tears were in his voice; he hardly knew what he was 
 saying. " Don't speak of love, you beast." 
 
 All the men in the room had risen to their feet, sur- 
 prised at what seemed to them an unprovoked, drunken 
 attack. Already the host and one of his assistants were 
 running forward to interfere. 
 
 The young, well-dressed stranger, quickly recovering 
 from the first shock of the assault, had scrambled to his 
 feet and stepped back quickly. " Take the drunken brute 
 away," he said, with cool contempt. 
 
 "By God! I'll do for you," roared John, stung to 
 fresh rage. He made a rush forward, striking furiously. 
 One blow got in, but the other missed; then he was 
 hurled back. He didn't know whether it was two, or 
 three, or more men against him, but he fought on, mad 
 with rage, regardless how many blows fell. In particular 
 he remembered being struck twice very hard on the body 
 and on the chin. He then became dizzy and the strength 
 went out of him, but he staggered on under yet more 
 blows, feeling the sharp quick jerks of them rather than 
 the pain. At last a black and all-obscuring cloud shut 
 down over his brain with a feeling of blessed relief, then 
 he fell. 
 
 " Damn the young swine; I've fairly broke my knuckles 
 on his jaw," complained the host. Then he turned apolo- 
 getically to the man who had been assaulted. " I'm very 
 sorry, sir. I hope he didn't hit you hard. I knew he 
 was a bad-blooded young devil, but I never fancied as 
 how he'd play out like that all of a sudden. He's been
 
 T H E T O W N 207 
 
 here long enough, I'll turn him out after this. It's the 
 last he'll have from me." Then looking again at his 
 knuckles. " My word, I must have fairly broke his jaw. 
 I'd have never thought there was so much fight in him, 
 after going the pace as he has for a month! " 
 
 The young man, who had now entirely recovered his 
 composure, merely looked some of his contempt at the 
 self-gratulating and ingratiating attitude of the inn- 
 keeper, then glancing down at John's unconscious figure 
 he said slowly, emphasizing each word. " Take the 
 filthy brute away and kill him." 
 
 V 
 When John recovered consciousness he found that he 
 had been rolled out into the backyard of the hotel, and 
 was now lying amongst some short, rank grass that grew 
 sparsely round a scrap-heap formed of empty tins and 
 broken bottles. The sun was blazing down upon the back 
 of his neck, making him feel sick, while each of his 
 many bruises was pulsing as if it must burst. For a 
 while he lay still just conscious of his misery, too sore to 
 move. Why could he not die and have done with it all? 
 he wondered. He wished for death, not fearing it, but 
 fearing with an overwhelming dread further degradation 
 that might come. On this rubbish-heap he felt it was 
 too hot to die. If it were not so hot and dry, but cooler 
 then he might be able to die comfortably. His very dis- 
 comfort stirred him to life. Where the sun was so hot, 
 life was sure to triumph. He felt a savage need to laugh 
 at himself. He was no weakling to die because he'd had 
 a few knocks! Certainly he had nothing to live for, but 
 that was very different from being able to give up life.
 
 208 THE MAINLAND 
 
 The very insistency of the throbbing pain in his head 
 and limbs was a sign of life. The dry blood on his face 
 and neck that cracked off in little flakes as he moved, all 
 seemed a conclusive proof of his obstinate vitality. He 
 rose to his feet swaying unsteadily; but only for a 
 moment. He had to kneel down again because of a 
 cracking feeling in his head. If only he could get to 
 the tank and drink some water, he thought, nothing else 
 would much matter; that would be sufficient. He started 
 to crawl on hands and knees, hoping that no one would 
 come out from the hotel and jeer at him. The way 
 seemed long, and twice he had to rest, but at last he 
 reached the tap. He let the water run into his mouth and 
 over his face. That was better; he felt stronger now, 
 and again stood up. 
 
 Outside the yard there was a row of low cottages, and 
 to one side of them was a thicket of bushes. John 
 looked at this thicket enviously. If he could get into 
 their shade, then he would be able to rest. Gathering 
 all his strength he walked swaying across the yard. At 
 the gateway he had to pause, clinging on to one of the 
 gates for support. The way his limbs trembled and his 
 knuckles rattled against the woodwork seemed somehow 
 ludicrous; then pity for himself surged up and tears 
 began to run down his face as the black picture of present 
 misery swept before him, blotting out that hurrying and 
 tremulous thought of dreamed-of happiness). He felt 
 then how small and weak he was. How had he dared 
 hope for anything ? Now, if in all humility he could reach 
 the shade of the thicket it would be happiness enough. 
 His love was dead, and dust. No, not dead, but hot 
 dust and an ache more burning than all his bodily
 
 T H E T O W N 209 
 
 bruises. A cowardly thought came to him: if he could 
 cry from his heart, just once, expressing all his sorrow, 
 then, as the wound opened and let forth his agony, the 
 shuck of him that was left behind would be so empty 
 that he would die. The thought burnt through him 
 like the passion of love, making him tremble more 
 violently. He was dumb and knew that he would remain 
 dumb always. Then more practical thoughts came to 
 him. There was still the thicket to be reached. Half 
 laughing, now half crying at his weakness he staggered 
 across the intervening ground and crawled deep into the 
 thicket. For a long while he lay still, content to be at 
 rest. The pains in his brain became less acute, and he 
 slept. When he awoke it was dark. He felt much better 
 — not nearly so dizzy, though still very stiff. Stretching 
 his limbs and feeling his bruises he began to take an 
 interest in his recovery. It was strange, he thought, 
 that he should care for anything so trivial. He was glad 
 of the silence of the night time. There was in the air of 
 the night a touch of softness, a comfort which was not 
 tangible, but which enveloped him gently. 
 
 Then again he slept, this time not waking till late in 
 the morning. 
 
 The sun was well up, and through the twigs and leaves 
 he could see bright patches of blue sky. People were 
 occasionally passing down the road. He was glad that 
 he was concealed and could lie there unobserved. In 
 the cottage that was nearest the thicket, the door was 
 wide open and John could hear the sounds of a woman 
 cleaning her house. He shifted his position so that he 
 could see the open door and also could look down the 
 rcitd which lay in front of the cottages. Two small boys
 
 210 THE MAINLAND 
 
 passed, who he hoped would not see him; then a woman 
 came down the road. She stopped at the open door and 
 looked in. 
 
 " Good morning, Mrs. Leeth, I'm sorry to hear that 
 you've had more trouble." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, Mrs. Tracy. My life's been full of 
 trouble; eight children in nine years: and only three of 
 them left now this one's been took." x 
 
 The voices became lower and muffled and John sup- 
 posed that the two women had gone into the house. 
 After an interval they came to the door again and he 
 heard Mrs. Leeth complaining: " There's not been much 
 going out for me since I was married. He never does a 
 hand's turn to help me with the home; he's all for outside, 
 he is — people don't know what I've had to put up with 
 — never even wash up the breakfast things, he won't, not 
 when I had to take the poor baby to hospital and be 
 there by nine, and when I got back past twelve and the 
 children wantin' their dinner I got to wash up, he grum- 
 bling 'cause his dinner wasn't ready. . . . Then the next 
 day when they sent round to say the baby was dead, he 
 didn't say nothing. He don't care." The voice now be- 
 came less accusing though more charged with indignation, 
 with tears not far distant. 1 
 
 The voices again became indistinct and John lay still, 
 feeling his cheeks drawn and thin. In his brain there 
 was a painful sickness. Here was a misery worn hard 
 with sordid outrage. Life was cruel and unrelenting as 
 he too had felt it, but more sordid than he had 
 
 1 Passage omitted at advice of the publisher.
 
 THE TOWN 211 
 
 imagined. But oh, the years, the long years of its dura- 
 tion! Was it courage or mere stupidity that made poor 
 human animals endure to live yet other years of suffering? 
 Perhaps that beast of a fellow in the hotel had reason to 
 despise men, but it was rather pity that John felt, pity 
 and a passionate regret for the dreams of his youth. 
 In those moments of intense understanding, as he lay 
 motionless in the bushes, he saw his early life as a happy 
 dream now far away. The picture of life now before 
 him was reality. Here was the great mainland of human 
 suffering upon which he too had trodden. He knew 
 with a sure conviction that Mrs. Leeth was no exception. 
 She was one of hundreds and of hundreds of thousands. 
 The picture of suffering humanity dazed his imagination. 
 In Ruperttown there were many others with probably as 
 hard a fate; and just as Ruperttown stood to John's 
 small experience as the symbol of all civilization, so Mrs. 
 Leeth in the squalor of her affliction symbolized the 
 sordid suffering of all humanity. He felt the infectious 
 breath of compromise and failure blown towards him, 
 threatening to hold down in the mire for ever the broken 
 pinions of his faith. He was possessed by terror at the 
 vast indifference of mankind towards crimes perpetuated 
 against the spirit of life, and his soul, already stricken 
 and made weak with pain, shrank back before the shadow 
 of despair. 
 
 While the women had been speaking the interest of what 
 they had said had held him; now that they had ceased, 
 he felt that it would be intolerable to remain any longer 
 concealed where he was. He wanted to be away from 
 men and women; the wide gulf between the reality of 
 life and his boyish ideals was so great, that even the
 
 212 THE MAINLAND 
 
 desire for wreaking upon himself vengeance for his failure 
 now dwindled, leaving nothing but the instinct of some 
 wounded animal for solitude. 
 
 It was not difficult to escape without observation from 
 his hiding-place. He had no thought of trying to recover 
 the money that, in his innocence, he had handed over to 
 the innkeeper. The few weeks that he had known of 
 civilization were sufficient to teach him that there was 
 small chance of its recovery. Nearly all the money that 
 he had kept by him he had at one time or another given 
 to Mabel. He now had but a few shillings, sufficient, 
 he was glad to think, to buy him a meal. 
 
 Near the railway station at the back of the town was a 
 small Coffee Palace. Here John bought food and drink. 
 In the afternoon he walked up the line which ran straight 
 eastward into a country of mulga scrub and bare red 
 dust. Not far from the town the track climbed a long 
 gradient. Near the top of this John waited, lying down 
 in the shadow of some acacia bushes. For a while he 
 slept, being still tired from the experiences of the previous 
 day. In the evening he was woke by the Garloo and 
 Mt. Gerard train puffing slowly up the incline. John 
 waited concealed in the bushes till it had almost passed, 
 then ran out and swung himself up above the wheel- 
 axles of the last coach. He had heard of this method 
 of travelling, and now found that he could hoist him- 
 self clear of the moving axles, and without much diffi- 
 culty hold himself in safety. When the train had climbed 
 the gradient and the pace increased John had to hold 
 tight and was much jolted. He found, in a little, a 
 better position, and in spite of the many jolts was con- 
 soled to think that every minute took him further from 
 the hated port of Ruperttown.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 THE DESERT 
 
 NORTH-EAST of Garloo a tableland of red 
 granite stretches for sixty miles before it ab- 
 ruptly breaks to the shores of Lake Harrison. 
 In winter the lake, which is thirty miles long, is covered 
 with a thin layer of water, but in summer its thick mud 
 is caked over with a far-stretching expanse of blue-white 
 salt. The upland plateau, with the long, red cliff dip- 
 ping to the lake is typical of the West Australian bush. 
 The quartz and felspar of the granite have split into 
 the finest dust, which is caked hard on the surface and 
 cracked by the sun's heat. Here and there at intervals 
 dry, blue-leaved mulga bushes break the surface, thin 
 gnarled stems — expressive of a struggle against extreme 
 heat and lack of water. In this desert there is small 
 variety of animal or bird life. The aboriginal natives 
 are now almost extinct and never to be seen in their wild 
 state. Kangaroos and wallabies are still abundant in 
 the neighbourhood of water-holes. Smaller animals there 
 are of various kinds: echidnas, bandicoots and mice, 
 though no species is very plentiful. Of birds there are 
 few. The red and black crows, the wheelbarrow bird, 
 who makes a noise like the squeaking of an unoiled wheel, 
 an occasional parroquet that screams as his green wings 
 
 213
 
 214 THE MAINLAND 
 
 flash by, and sometimes there appear larger flocks of 
 tiny birds that sweep from bush to bush with faint 
 chirpings. The stillness of the land is what gives it its 
 quality and its beauty. Here bird-voices do not mingle 
 as in Europe; each sounds separate and alone, emphasiz- 
 ing the silence. The bushes also seem to minister to 
 the stillness. They grow separate, divided by large 
 spaces of sun-baked earth. Their feathery branches, 
 poised in the motionless air, seem like raised hands com- 
 manding attention, waiting for some secret voice, guarding 
 with pious gesture the ancient spirit, which by virtue of 
 its external restraint has remained young, while a million 
 geneiations of such gnarled slow -living shapes, have ful- 
 filled their guardianship, have waited, always hushed for 
 the secret, and have become dust. 
 
 North of Garloo there are a series of water-holes, at 
 one time used by the natives. They lead in an irregular 
 chain some thirty miles into the bush, forming con- 
 venient bases for gold-prospectors and sandal-wood cut- 
 ters. Close to one of these holes Loo Radcliffe and John 
 Sherwin made their first temporary camp after leaving 
 Garloo. 
 
 John had travelled as far as Garloo, hanging on to the 
 underside of the last coach of the Mt. Gerard train. 
 He had then been too stiff to go further and had stayed 
 in the town for a few days; during which time he had 
 taken any odd jobs that he could pick up. By chance he 
 had fallen in with Radcliffe, who had come to the town 
 covered with the red dust of the bush, fresh from sandal- 
 wood cutting. They had talked together, and Radcliffe 
 had agreed to employ John at piecework. He had ad- 
 vanced him a small sum of money on the agreement
 
 THE DESERT 215 
 
 that John should work for six months with him in the 
 bush; then they had together bought John's equipment, 
 which consisted of an ax, very carefully chosen, two 
 cooking " billies " and a " bluey." Radcliffe had then 
 purchased sufficient stores for a long expedition into the 
 bush. These had been loaded into a light, though spa- 
 cious, handcart, and they had set off, dragging the cart 
 behind them. 
 
 John would have been glad to go with any one who 
 would offer him a means of livelihood, away from the 
 towns, with their temptation of cheap women and bad 
 drink, and he had not looked at Radcliffe with any 
 critical judgment. Solitude was the medicine for which 
 he craved; any one who would help him to the fulfilment 
 of that desire he would willingly accept. Loo — he was 
 seldom known by any other name, and had almost for- 
 gotten that he had another — was a typical bush groper. 
 He had lived for so many years in the bush that he would 
 have found existence anywhere else impossible. He had 
 become red like the soil, the fine particles of dust having 
 worked deep into his skin. Like most solitary workers 
 he was given to long silences. Of this John was glad, 
 having no wish to talk, far less to be questioned. He 
 wanted merely to be away by himself and lost to man- 
 kind. The new knowledge and experience of pain must 
 have time to adjust itself. Perhaps with time and soli- 
 tude his soul would grow strong enough to bear that 
 weight, and not, as now, to sink under it in agony. 
 
 The first day they dragged their cart ten miles north- 
 ward through the bush. Across the desert-scrub there 
 was fairly easy going, the ground being level and the 
 bushes so far apart that it was usually easy to go between
 
 216 THE MAINLAND 
 
 them. Throughout the heat of the day the two men 
 worked in silence save for brief directions from Loo as 
 to which way to drag the cart. It was not till evening, 
 when they reached a water-hole, that any exchange that 
 approached a conversation took place. Loo tasted the 
 water critically. " It's all right, but flat. Make a fire 
 and boil it; you'd better fill your water-bottle for to- 
 morrow before it gets mucked up. Some of the water 
 up here tastes better than this, but it's so full of minerals 
 it's poisonous. You have to boil it with Epsom salts 
 before you can drink it." Again he relapsed into silence 
 while John collected wood and lighted a fire. Then, 
 with his deeply lined face wrinkled into a searching 
 look: " Is this your first time out this way? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 This answer didn't seem either to please or displease. 
 Loo was silent till they had boiled both the billies, filled 
 the bottles, and set them to boil again. 
 
 "There's no wood round here; it's too close to the 
 town, but another ten miles, the way I'll show you 
 there's plenty of wood and a good water-hole I've found 
 that not many know about; leastways, I've never seen 
 any tracks there." 
 
 John looked hard at the lined face of his companion 
 which was deeply seamed with long cracks of red mud 
 made of sweat and dust. There was something in its 
 simplicity that was extraordinarily aged and extraordi- 
 narily fresh. It seemed somehow to have taken on the 
 stamp of the desert, to reflect it, and become almost a 
 part of it. 
 
 Loo smiled quite genially under John's direct stare.
 
 THE DESERT 217 
 
 " That's right, have a good look at me. You won't see 
 another human face for six months or so." 
 
 " I'm glad," said John. 
 
 "That's my way of thinking; but it's not so with 
 most, and I daresay you'll have changed your mind in a 
 month's time, but you'll have to stick it. You won't be 
 able to find your way back. And when we get to work 
 don't get roaming too far away from the sound of my 
 ax. It's easy to get ' bushed ' in a country like this, 
 every bush looks the same, and once you are lost, then, 
 if you're new to it, you may as well give up soon as 
 late, for there's nothing you see to guide you." 
 
 " How do you find your way? " 
 
 Loo had been waiting for the question and was pleased. 
 " / know, I couldn't lose myself if I tried. Set me down 
 blindfolded, and I'd find my way back. How old do 
 you think I am? " 
 
 " Fifty." 
 
 " More than that and I've been thirty years in this 
 country, so I ought to know it." 
 
 John put the question though he thought he knew what 
 the answer would be. " Do you never want to go any- 
 where else? " 
 
 Loo, with his eyes half shut from long habit of keeping 
 out the dust, paused before he said: " I've known men 
 out here who've gone mad in a week from this country, 
 and others who've walked off and shot themselves. They 
 couldn't stand it . . . Well, I don't think I could live 
 anywhere else . . . You'll find out for yourself. . . ." 
 Then, as if he had said more than he had meant to and 
 far more than his wont, Loo began to prepare the bread
 
 218 THE MAINLAND 
 
 for their meal. " Look in that cloth and you'll find some 
 chops. The last mutton you'll have for some time. 
 After this it will be kangaroo and bush turkey, and only 
 that if we're lucky. For the rest it will be dry bread 
 with a raw onion now and then, and very good tack, too; 
 with a dose of Epsom Salts if you get the rot." 
 
 After they had eaten their meal John followed Loo's 
 example and rolled himself up in his blanket. It was 
 now twilight. The outlines of the bushes were silhou- 
 etted against a sky of pale yellow and green. The par- 
 roquets and smaller birds that he had seen earlier in the 
 day were now all gone to roost, and the only sound break- 
 ing the stillness was the regular and high-pitched whistle 
 of the wheelbarrow bird. As darkness set in, this also 
 became silent, and John gazed up into the great depth 
 of the night, feeling somehow soothed and comforted. 
 He felt, even on this, his first evening in the desert, the 
 subtle and powerful character of its charm. There was 
 a quality of virginity and unviolated youth in its vast 
 and silent extent. It was as if some period of the earth's 
 history, millions of years back, had here survived. This 
 land had been made, even as it now remained, before 
 ever man or even his ape-like ancestors had troubled the 
 forces of evolution. Here, sorrow had not yet been born. 
 Its very calm was too tranquil, its midday heat too re- 
 lentless and petulant. He was glad to feel around him 
 an element even younger than he was himself: younger 
 and yet eternal. As an old man draws the warmth of 
 vitality from the near presence of a child, so John, suf- 
 fering from the immediate affliction of disillusionment, 
 was able to take comfort in the wide innocence of the 
 desert. He could feel far down in his heart a faint flut-
 
 THE DESERT 219 
 
 ter of gladness. Life was still terrible with the blackness 
 of broken faith; and the agony of his shattered hopes 
 still held his soul a cripple in bondage; he believed the 
 world could offer no recompense, but could admit with a 
 tremor of hope that fortune was at least kind in pre- 
 serving so strong and beautiful a spirit of earth, untainted 
 by the suffering of mankind. 
 
 h 
 
 The next day they left the main wheel-track that ran 
 north of the town and struck eastward over untrodden 
 ground. Before long Loo pointed out some good clumps 
 of sandal- wood bushes. They did not stop for them, 
 but pressed on towards the water-hole that was to be 
 their base. At midday they halted on account of the 
 heat, and shortly afterward came upon several water- 
 holes, at one of which they made their camp, burying 
 most of their provisions so that mice and ants should 
 not devour them. 
 
 The work of sandal-wood cutting is a solitary trade. 
 Each man goes by himself over a certain area of ground 
 cutting all the wood that he can find. He then drags it 
 to a central pile which is to be later collected. The 
 whole day is spent in this solitary search for the precious 
 wood, and most often the two fellow- workers do not 
 speak or come within hail during the day's work. At 
 evening they will meet at the camp to make a fire, boil 
 tea and prepare an evening meal. Their guns they have 
 with them always, so that they can shoot any kangaroo 
 or bush turkey that comes within range. 
 
 For the first days John followed Loo's advice and kept 
 always within sound of his ax for fear that he should be
 
 220 THE MAINLAND 
 
 lost, but later, when he came to know with assurance 
 certain landmarks, he went fearlessly by himself, working 
 outwards from the centre, and returning by even circles 
 to well-known ground. His first feeling of relief in the 
 presence of the untamed country returned more strongly, 
 now that, for day after day, he worked alone. The 
 silence of the bush, broken only by the stroke of his own 
 ax, seemed the natural medicine of his soul. Here, there 
 was time and space to think and feel in quiet. Around 
 him, in the living things and in the growth of the trees, 
 were reflections of his earlier life. Wild nature he had 
 loved, living always close to the earth, and was now glad 
 to feel his life enveloped and soothed by the untroubled 
 beauty of its virginity. This feeling lasted for a while, 
 then a new one slowly grew in its place. He began to 
 realize the cold indifference of nature's smile. As the 
 discords of his own mind became less insistent, and his 
 pain less turbulent, he felt with an overpowering vivid- 
 ness the insignificance of human life. He came to know 
 with convincing certainty that all human power was but 
 an accident possessing but a trifle's weight compared 
 with the sublime endurance of the desert. He argued, 
 that men could spread over the desert, changing the na- 
 ture of the land; but the argument gave no assurance. 
 Even though man should cover the whole world with 
 his importance, he would become thereby, more than ever 
 accidental and irrelevant. The stars and the vast spaces 
 of the sky would still smile down as coldly, chilling his 
 imagination to humbleness, teaching him the knowledge 
 of his insignificance. 
 
 The days passed and John worked in solitude. The 
 sound of his ax falling upon the hard, brittle wood seemed
 
 THE DESERT 221 
 
 the only barrier that shut out the growing terror of the 
 desert. Yet the fear grew each day. The easy confi- 
 dence that he had earlier had in the presence of all wild 
 things was now withdrawn. Familiar objects seemed 
 grotesquely magnified, terrible in their mystical signifi- 
 cance. In the presence of the soft, almost honey-sweet, 
 smile of the desert the familiar humming of a bee re- 
 minded him of the duration of eternity. 
 
 Sometimes he would stop his work and gaze at the dry 
 branches that had grown there at the command of the 
 great spirit of the land; or had they grown in defiance of 
 that spirit? he wondered. Their gnarled, dry stems 
 looked as if they had taken a hundred years in the 
 making. He thought he recognized in the scaly bark 
 and fiat, blue leaves a great humility; marvelling that 
 they should have the audacity for even the soft and deli- 
 cate expression of their blossoms. Then, in a sudden 
 terror of the tiny sounds caused by insects or a breath of 
 air, he would swing his ax, finding an escape from fear 
 in the working of his own muscles and the sound of the 
 ax on the wood. His mind would run on the question, 
 Why had those bushes lived there? Why grown so re- 
 mote and self-possessed? However hard he worked, and 
 whatever he thought, the desert was always enveloping 
 him with its silent smile: a smile that yet remained in- 
 different to the advent of man upon the world, aloof from 
 any of his aspirings. John came to understand what 
 Loo had told him about men going mad in the desert. 
 He was not going to do that. He had lost confidence, 
 though not the love of life. Though he feared; he was 
 glad of its solitude. Here all impurity was washed from 
 his soul.
 
 222 THE MAINLAND 
 
 His sorrow, too, dwindled, seeming to diffuse itself 
 into the objects about him. He had sometimes a pas- 
 sionate impulse to save some of his most intimate recol- 
 lections from the oblivion of indifference that brooded 
 around. He was afraid, often mortally afraid, of his 
 loneliness, yet his brain insisted that he must master his 
 fear or perish. 
 
 Then as weeks and months passed, the terror of the 
 waiting silence grew less. It became familiar. His 
 heart grew larger, taking from the desert some of its 
 wide tranquillity. Once he lay down upon the earth and 
 wept with relief that his fear was passing. In his tears 
 was gratitude for a new and growing confidence — a con- 
 fidence not in life, or any sunny smiles of fortune, but 
 in himself, founded upon the firm base of suspicion and 
 despair. His pain no longer consumed him, though the 
 ache of it would remain for always. Something august 
 and gentle had entered into his heart. 
 
 Now that his terror was passed, John felt a growing 
 interest in his companion. He understood now the ex- 
 pression in Loo's half-shut eyes, and why he was so silent. 
 He himself wished to be silent, but was glad of the 
 presence of the other man. At night, when they sat to- 
 gether by the fire, he would feel a bond of close com- 
 radeship. It gave him an admiration and love for his 
 companion, to know that he had lived, for so many years, 
 alone, and without failure, so close to the naked spirit 
 of reality. In the smile of the desert there was no for- 
 giveness or pity. If man in his audacity should venture 
 so close to the uncovered heart of life he would find 
 treachery and guile, cruelty, swift madness and death; 
 but should he survive, it would be by power of a love
 
 THE DESERT 223 
 
 deep enough to comprehend the duplicity of life, and a 
 suspicion deep as his love. There was pleasure in 
 the thought of Loo's long wanderings in the desert and 
 an increasing, though subdued, joy in the belief that so 
 potent a spirit must give them each day a closer re- 
 semblance. Their beings seemed to be fashioned to the 
 same mould. There was no need for them to speak to 
 express their sympathy. Brought together by the com- 
 pelling quality of the bush, they were, in spite of the 
 difference of age and experience, like two friends of 
 long standing. Theirs was the same strength in weak- 
 ness, the same humility, the same religion. 
 
 The life in the bush, though from day to day pre- 
 senting little variety, is never monotonous. Those who 
 live there often become oblivious of time. They do not 
 count the days or know them. When sufficient wood was 
 collected Loo and John returned to the town where 
 they hired horses and a cart, with which to collect 
 their store of chopped wood; then they returned again to 
 the bush. 
 
 More than six months had passed in this way when the 
 rains came. They lasted only for a week, but they 
 changed the whole face of the land. The red dust was 
 at first covered with tiny shoots. These grew to a carpet 
 of green which burst into pink and white blossoms. Each 
 flower had dry, brittle petals and gave out a faint scent 
 of honey. Innumerable insects soon swarmed everywhere. 
 Large stick-insects became active on the green sprouts of 
 the acacia bushes. Grasshoppers of all sizes were pro- 
 duced as by magic, and swarms of hover-flies and sand- 
 wasps filled the air. In places the desert was white as 
 snow with tiny blossoms. The sudden and surprising
 
 224 THE MAINLAND 
 
 beauty was overwhelming. John felt it keenly, and it 
 brought new sadness. Such joyful expression reminded 
 him too intimately of Mrs. Cray. The desert now seemed 
 to possess her soft and silent capacity for ecstasy. The 
 frenzy of such fervent blossoming was pain. He saw in 
 it the enthusiasm of his love, knowing that such prodigality 
 could never again be his. 
 
 For three weeks the flowers lasted, then the heat of 
 the sun burnt them and all the life that they supported 
 to fine powder, mingling them with the red dust of the 
 earth. Again the dry heat settled upon the desert, the 
 ground opened in cracks beneath the sun's rays, and the 
 green leaves and white flowers became like the remem- 
 brance of a passing dream. 
 
 Often the silent heat of midday was disturbed by fierce 
 gusts of wind known locally as " Cock-eyed-Bobs." 
 These swifts and currents of air not more than a yard of 
 two in width rush roaring across the levels, carrying a 
 cloud of red dust with them, and whirling along broken 
 boughs. John could always hear them coming and found 
 them easy to avoid, though sometimes when one turned 
 at an unexpected angle he had to move quickly to escape 
 the whirl and dust left in its wake. These currents, 
 which every day race across the plain, are small imita- 
 tions, as it were, and gentle reminders of the tremendous 
 " Willy-Willies " which yearly sweep the country, break- 
 ing down all obstructions and often carrying away the 
 feathered live-stock from the farms and stations, depositing 
 them miles away in the desert never to be seen again by 
 their owners. 
 
 Once, when one of these swift winds had passed not 
 far distant, John noticed bright flashes of metallic blue
 
 THE DESERT 225 
 
 moving about the upper boughs of the mulga bushes 
 near him. On looking more closely he saw for the first 
 time the bright, blue butterflies of the " bush." By fol- 
 lowing their irregular flight he was able to observe one 
 closely. It perched, with several others of its kind, on 
 a small dead bush and there, sometimes slowly, as if 
 in leisurely enjoyment, sometimes quickly in an ecstasy 
 of delight opened and closed its brilliant wings. That 
 so bright an insect should live among the dull, soft 
 colours of the " bush " was surprising, so, too, was the 
 fragility of so airy a thing which dared live in the prox- 
 imity of roaring winds and under fierce rays that burnt 
 all living matter to dust. John watched with a kind of 
 awed wonder its delicate independence. He was aston- 
 ished at the enigma of its existence. This frail life, 
 which existed with obvious joy upon the scorched, in- 
 hospitable desert, swept by fierce winds, was in itself a 
 question set to stagger all philosophies. Was chance al- 
 ways to remain master of the ends of life? He won- 
 dered whether he himself and other men had any power 
 over the direction of their lives. Certainly he had be- 
 lieved that he had such power, or did he merely exist in 
 some space of quiet air and at such a moment when no 
 fierce wind rushed by, destroying his kind, whirling them 
 along in dust and storm? Then, in the stillness he was 
 dismayed by the thought of a brain that could see and 
 measure its own destruction. His dismay lasted but a 
 moment, followed by unexpected gladness. There was 
 exhilaration in the belief in the hazards of chance; there 
 was delight like a douche of cold water in that feeling 
 of freedom. As he gazed at the butterfly it clicked its 
 wings over its back and danced up into the air. John
 
 226 THE MAINLAND 
 
 followed its flight, catching a reflection of its gladness. 
 
 Not only for six months, as he had agreed, but for 
 more than twice that time did John remain in the bush 
 with Loo Radcliffe. The life, when once he had mastered 
 it, possessed a strange attraction, and for a long while 
 he had no desire to mix with other men. He had become 
 genuinely fond of Loo, although they had talked little 
 together. Their companionship had been very silent; the 
 surrounding stillness of the desert had expressed, for 
 each of them, all that could need expression. After fif- 
 teen months, John had earned considerably more than a 
 hundred pounds. He had gained a new assurance in 
 himself and was supremely well. The desire to travel 
 once more amongst men grew slowly but with certainty. 
 One day he told Loo that he was going further up the 
 line. Loo received the information in silence, but later 
 that evening remarked that further east the rainfall was 
 too uncertain for the growth of good wood, though there 
 was gold he knew. " Gold is always uncertain," he said. 
 " Of course, you may have your luck, but if you should 
 want to come back you'll find me hereabouts." Then, 
 as if it were an effort, " If you are down on your luck, 
 come back here." John nodded; he was wonderfully 
 glad of Loo's friendship, feeling that their mutual under- 
 standing did not need for its expression the feebleness 
 of speech. Amongst the chances of life he had found 
 at least one thing calm and enduring. At their parting 
 he had no regrets, such personal and now petty-seeming 
 sentiments he felt he had left behind, though the thought 
 of meeting again warmed him with pleasure. 
 
 A few days later he walked into Garloo with his kit, 
 slung on his ax, over his shoulder. He drew money at
 
 THEDESERT 227 
 
 the bank, and lunched at the hotel, taking pleasure in 
 ordering the best of everything. Then in the evening 
 he strolled down to the station and took train for Mt. 
 Gerard. 
 
 in 
 
 At Mt. Gerard John did not stay for long, finding it 
 too populous, also very expensive to live in. He took 
 train on to Tharamecka, which is at the head of the line, 
 where he heard that the country was newly opened to 
 prospectors. 
 
 All that marked the station at Tharamecka was a 
 small shed and two huge tanks raised on high wooden 
 supports. Near the railhead is a store, about which 
 cluster hessian and corrugated iron huts. A buggy was 
 standing near the station building. Out of the train a 
 prosperous-looking man jumped and hailed the buggy 
 driver, then climbed up beside him. He was about to 
 give the order to drive away when John boldly asked him 
 where he was going. 
 
 " Out to the ' Magenta ' claim. Have you business 
 there?" 
 
 " Not yet. Is there a job to be got? " 
 
 The stranger eyed him. " I want all the labour I can 
 get." 
 
 " Are you Boss out there? " 
 
 " I'm a partner." 
 
 "Will you take me out? " 
 
 " All right, jump up." 
 
 The stranger, whose name was Stephens, tried to per- 
 suade John to work for him by agreement for a three 
 months' span, but John wished to keep his independence,
 
 228 THE MAINLAND 
 
 having an idea that he would like to do some prospecting 
 on his own. He wanted the excitement of the element 
 of chance, also to be his own master. He agreed, how- 
 ever, to work for a couple of weeks at the regular wage. 
 
 It was a thirty-mile drive across open bush country 
 from Tharamecka to the " Magenta " claim. The same 
 red granite stretches here, as further west, broken only 
 by long dykes of schist. In these schist dykes, which 
 were often fifty or sixty yards across were veins of 
 quartz and lesser dykes of ironstone, olivine and serpen- 
 tine. Stephens told John that gold, when it was to be 
 found, was usually in these latter. The country was flat 
 except for the slight rise of the long parallel dykes which 
 did not decompose quite so rapidly as the matrix of 
 granite. Trees grew here more commonly than near Gar- 
 loo, as the rainfall was more certain, also underground 
 water was frequent. The buggy followed wheel-tracks 
 across country, where a cart could easily be driven over 
 the bare spaces between the growth of vegetation. 
 
 After about twenty miles they came on the camp of 
 some prospectors who offered a share of their evening 
 meal. They did not stay for long, but it was on the dark 
 side of twilight by the time they reached the outskirts 
 of the " Magenta " camp. They drove up to a row of 
 tents which marked head-quarters. Stephens jumped 
 down, and after putting his bag in his tent, walked 
 towards a camp-fire about a hundred yards' distant. 
 
 Round the blaze of dry wood sat a ring of between 
 twenty and thirty men. Their attention was now cen- 
 tred on an elderly man of about sixty who stood well 
 forward in the light, talking with ingenuous enthusiasm 
 and much gesture. The men were listening with an
 
 THEDESERT 229 
 
 amused relish. Stephens had approached without being 
 noticed by many. He exchanged nods and stood back 
 in the shadow listening. John he motioned to wait, 
 saying in explanation, " It's old Gilbert wound up for 
 the night. Listen to him, he's a rare old bird, and as 
 mad as a hatter." 
 
 Gilbert stood in the firelight smiling and gesticulating. 
 The irregularities of his handsome hawk-like face, deeply 
 lined from years of hard work and red with the dust 
 amongst which he lived, were sharply emphasized by 
 hard lights and dark shadows. " She was sitting there 
 without moving, her great face like a brass tower on 
 the stern of a battleship, with eight eyes on it. Yes, 
 eight eyes: two of them big, and one biggest of all in 
 the middle of her forehead, and five little ones. . . . 
 And round each eye, which was red like a ruby, was a 
 double row of warts like the boss on a shield, and in each 
 wart was a tuft of spines. . . . And no expression in 
 the whole; but dead blank. . . . And she looked at 
 him. No wonder he was nervous. . . . And he, with 
 his long legs and his little skinty body, kept dancing to 
 and fro and sidling up, and running away, and putting 
 out one of his long claws and feeling towards her. Then 
 he moved round, thinking perhaps she'd look better from 
 behind. . . . But she moved round with him, keeping 
 her face to him without moving, leastways, you couldn't 
 tell how she moved. So he kept going round, and the 
 old woman looking at him from her hairy eyes. You 
 should have seen him, as it were, pick up his heart in 
 his hands and come running up amorous-like. He shot 
 out his long claw and stood all a-tremble still." Gilbert 
 imitated the attitude. " She didn't move, but she just
 
 230 THE MAINLAND 
 
 wagged her jaws at him sideways and lifted her great 
 whiskers up and down over her mouth. That was too 
 much for his nerves altogether, he fair fell over back- 
 wards with fright. ' Poor devil,' I thought. She was 
 a terrible woman to make love to. After that the gentle- 
 man was more obsequious, he put on his most winning 
 smile and kept rubbing his hands together and hopping 
 on his long hind-legs. Then he came cringing up, walk- 
 ing as it were, on his knees, begging her to have pity 
 on his love. She looked at him from out of her great 
 blank face and I could almost see her eyebrows twitching." 
 There was a roar of applauding laughter. " Go on, Gil- 
 bert," some one shouted, " draw it mild." " Well, if it 
 wasn't her eyebrows twitching, her legs were getting ready 
 for a spring. Then, in a flash she was on him, her can- 
 nibal jaws biting his little soft body. He hadn't time 
 even to squeal. She devoured him whole, leaving only 
 the tips of his legs, that were dry and not worth the 
 trouble of sucking." 
 
 A laugh greeted the tragic denouement. Some one 
 asked : " How did you come to think of all that, Gil- 
 bert? " 
 
 " Think of it? I saw it with my own eyes." 
 Now that the story was over, the listeners, who had 
 been held by the force of the narrator's delivery, were 
 inclined to adopt a jeering attitude to Gilbert's eccentric- 
 ities. 
 
 , Stephens now stepped forward into the circle, and was 
 greeted by nods and low exclamations. He spoke to 
 Gilbert, who had sat down and was shading his face from 
 the flames with an outstretched hand. " Who was the 
 lady? I missed the first part of the story."
 
 THE DESERT 231 
 
 " A great woman-spider I was watching in my lunch 
 hour, and a little bit of a male thing that knew no better." 
 
 " It's lucky thing we don't do our courting that way," 
 remarked one of the men. 
 
 " Men take longer to eat up," replied Gilbert scorn- 
 fully, " and, for the most part, they squeal out more 
 about it." 
 
 " Don't get him started on women, for the Lord's sake, 
 or we'll never hear the end of it. Spiders are enough 
 for one evening." 
 
 Stephens had sat down close to the fire. " My word, 
 it's cold tonight," he said. " One half of me is roasted, 
 and the other's freezing." 
 
 " Yes, we've had it cold these last few nights and no 
 mistake; the water bottles have been frozen." 
 
 "Tell that new Johnnie I brought up — where is he? 
 Oh, there you are, Sherwin. You better get some extra 
 blankets from the storekeeper — that smiling rogue over 
 there, who'll charge you six times their proper price — 
 or you'll be frozen stiff by the morning. We are up 
 pretty high here, and though it's baking hot by day it's 
 damned cold by night." 
 
 John showed his willingness to take the advice, and was 
 led away by the storekeeper, a fat, smiling man, who, as 
 good as his reputation, extracted the most outrageous 
 price for the necessary blankets. After they had bar- 
 gained, John took the opportunity of asking about Gil- 
 bert. " Oh, he's mad," chuckled the storekeeper. " Been 
 in the bush so long he couldn't live anywhere else. He's 
 gone cracked. God knows, he come from Ireland, some- 
 where — owns a brewery, so they say, and is worth thou- 
 sands. He's gone gold-mad, just lives for the sight of
 
 232 
 
 THE MAINLAND 
 
 the yellow stuff round the dish, though he has no value 
 for it . . . hasn't washed since the memory of man, and 
 stinks like an old bush-porcupine. He's happy just fos- 
 sicking around. He's his own master, and knows a 
 damned lot about gold and tin. Knows more about tin- 
 ores than any man in the West. Like the rest of us he 
 lives on the hope of hitting something big and rich one 
 day, though what he'd do with it God alone knows, I'm 
 sure he doesn't." 
 
 For a while longer the men sat close to the fire yarning 
 of mines and of luck that they had had, or missed. 
 Then, as they became cold and sleepy, they went off to 
 their tents. John, who was accustomed to sleeping in 
 the open, lay down under a mulga-bush, rolling himself 
 tight in his blankets. He felt glad that he was once more 
 about to be in close contact with men. He liked the 
 little he had seen of Stephens and was particularly glad 
 to think of Gilbert as a member of the camp. He guessed 
 that the observer of the loves and deaths of spiders 
 would in all probability prove a sympathetic spirit, none 
 the worse for his reputed madness. Certainly his talka- 
 tiveness would be a contrast to Loo's silence. Of this 
 John was glad, feeling a growing desire for the exchange 
 of ideas. 
 
 IV 
 
 The " Magenta " had two shafts each a hundred feet 
 in depth. Parallel galleries were now being cut through 
 green iron-stone which was wielding two ounces of gold 
 to the ton. This was nothing very brilliant, but Stephens 
 had hopes of richer ore before long. John worked for a
 
 THEDESERT 233 
 
 couple of weeks in the main shaft, shovelling broken 
 rocks into buckets. At the end of this time he " chucked " 
 work, being tired of the monotonous labour underground, 
 and since he had plenty of money in his belt decided to 
 prospect around for himself. He bought a " dolly," a 
 mortar and a hammer, which, with a couple of pans, was 
 sufficient paraphernalia for a start. The usual hope of 
 all novices of finding " a colour " worth working began to 
 kindle in his mind. For several days he wandered over 
 the country, tapping rocks and dollying samples, but he 
 had no sight of the much desired yellow dust round the 
 rim of his pan. Each night when he returned to camp 
 he heard exciting reports. A vein of ore had been struck 
 which was yielding at first six ounces, the next night ten, 
 and in a few days even twenty and thirty ounces to the 
 ton. Stephens was radiant with excitement. " There is 
 plenty of the stuff," he said, " getting better and better." 
 He prophesied that before long the railway would be out 
 to the camp; already labour was pouring in; scores of 
 dust-stained bushmen come to prospect along the ridge. 
 
 John felt a burning eagerness not to be left out of the 
 rush for success. He was surprised that he should sud- 
 denly care so much about anything. He wanted success 
 badly, also had the good sense to realize that he would 
 not yet be strong enough to hold his own single-handed 
 against the gangs of rough, experience-hardened charac- 
 ters that poured into camp. Already he was being robbed 
 for everything that he bought. He was afraid that he 
 might lose a large portion of his money before being 
 able to put it to any useful account. Although several 
 offers of partnership had been made him by shady-looking
 
 234 THE MAINLAND 
 
 characters, who suspected him of possessing money which 
 might be extracted, he had sufficient suspicion to warn 
 him against the integrity of average human nature. 
 
 Of all the men in the camp, he could feel most confi- 
 dence in Gilbert. Gilbert, he felt sure, was honest; such 
 extravagant imagining betraying a simple mind. Al- 
 though he had not seen him since the night of his first 
 arrival, he now set off for the claim, which he was told 
 was three miles along the ridge. He found Gilbert's 
 tent, a ramshackle affair, red with age and dust, guarded 
 by a shaggy dog of the same colour. A few yards distant 
 was the high parapet of a trench. In the trench he found 
 Gilbert. John hailed him and began to ask questions 
 about the claim and the country. 
 
 " Yes, a good line of stuff has been here, but I've lost 
 it. It dips down, I think. I shall have to go deeper." 
 
 " If you go deeper you'll need two workers," suggested 
 John, " one to fill the buckets, and one to haul up." 
 
 " I shall, but in the rush that there's like to be, if 
 what they've got in the Magenta proves as good as they 
 think, every man's gone off his head in anticipation. The 
 chap I had working for me is off ' fossicking ' on his 
 own. They are all after the chance of finding some- 
 thing for themselves." Gilbert spat scornfully. 
 
 " Don't you think they will find anything? " 
 
 "Well, they might; but there be precious few that do 
 find anything that's lasting and good. This of mine might 
 have a rich patch lower down. It's worth working all 
 the time, though I expect nothing big of it." 
 
 "Would you take me on to work with you?" asked 
 John, abruptly coming to the point. 
 
 Gilbert looked surprised at the offer, for he knew that
 
 THEDESERT 235 
 
 most labour was snapped up for work at the main shaft 
 of the " Magenta." However, it was not for him to en- 
 quire into motives; he was in luck getting the offer. He 
 glanced critically at John before he answered, then, as 
 though accepting casually, " To be sure, if you want the 
 work." 
 
 Their agreement was of the ordinary type, and the 
 next day John started to work with Gilbert at sinking a 
 shaft. The work was monotonous, consisting of first 
 breaking the rock with a pick, then filling the fragments 
 into buckets and hauling them up by a winch. At mid- 
 day their routine was broken by the interest of testing 
 samples. For twenty feet down they continued to find 
 gold, but not very much; then it suddenly petered out. 
 
 Each day after the work at the shaft was done Gilbert 
 and John would go rabbit hunting in the bush. Rag, 
 the woolly red sheep-dog, came with them, and John 
 would take his ax. All about the bush are scores of fallen 
 trees which have rotted where they fell. At each hollow, 
 fallen tree that they came to, Rag would sniff intel- 
 ligently, and if there was a rabbit hiding in it, he would 
 pause at the exact place and scratch. A few strokes of 
 the ax, then the trunk would split and the rabbit be seized. 
 
 On these expeditions Gilbert talked fluently, telling 
 fantastic stories of things seen and experienced. He 
 would amuse John with extravagant accounts of animal 
 and bird life, talking gaily and easily, though with always 
 a touch of sarcasm and contempt for human conventions, 
 contrasting them disadvantageously with the habits of 
 animals. John found him an amusing companion. He 
 was certainly not like other men. It was easy to under- 
 stand his reputation for madness. This was due to his
 
 236 THE MAINLAND 
 
 fearlessness of human opinion. He went his way regard- 
 less, living the life he found good. Animals, he would 
 maintain, were more sensible and worthy of respect than 
 men. Often he pointed histories with instances of their 
 sagacity, putting man's to shame. 
 
 In the meantime, the " Magenta " was reaching the 
 height of its fame. Rich veins of ore had been found, 
 which as yet showed no sign of exhaustion. Men were 
 rushing in from all parts of the western gold-fields, too 
 late, of course, to get any of the spoils, but hoping to find 
 in the neighbourhood some equally rich ore-deposit. The 
 feeling of excitement spread up and down the ridge for 
 miles. Each day men would pause on their way at 
 Gilbert's claim and ask questions. Gilbert would laugh 
 at them after they had gone, and say how he would sell 
 them his claim when he was sure there was nothing else 
 in it, maintaining that they were fools enough to buy 
 simply for position on top of the ridge. But in spite of 
 his scoffing he began to get restless. When, instead of 
 finding richer ore as he went down, his line petered out, 
 he suggested to John that they should take a day off 
 from their work now and then for prospecting. They 
 could not be away much, for unless Gilbert continued 
 to work his claim it might be " jumped." John was 
 delighted at the idea, all enthusiasm. For a time they 
 worked up and down the ridge, but found nothing, then 
 one Sunday they started off for a long day-expedition 
 across the low granite country, hoping to come upon an 
 outcrop of ore-bearing rock. 
 
 After a long walk they came to a narrow ridge run- 
 ning parallel to the one they had left. They worked 
 the whole length of it. It did not stretch far, being
 
 THEDESERT 237 
 
 not more than a mile in length, and on this account 
 had been overlooked. After chipping off many pieces 
 of rock, and never finding anything that was hopeful, they 
 were deciding to go back when John saw a thin line of 
 smoke in the distance. 
 
 " Look at that smoke," he said. 
 
 "Where?" said Gilbert, in sudden excitement. "It's 
 a burning tree." 
 
 " Yes? " said John, not understanding. 
 
 "Well! why should a tree be burning unless as a 
 mark? Come on." 
 
 They made toward the smoke, finding it, as Gilbert 
 had suspected, to be a burning tree. The tree had fallen, 
 but the stump was still smouldering. 
 
 " Some one's lit this, for certain. Work out from the 
 centre. Notice everything you can." 
 
 Soon John heard a cry from Gilbert. He ran quickly 
 to where he was. Gilbert stood, full of triumph, with a 
 finger stretched, pointing. In front of him was a mulga 
 bush with a bough broken and twisted upon itself. 
 
 " Look between here and the tree." He was down on 
 hands and knees now. "And here are broken stones! " 
 he exclaimed. He spat on a fractured surface, then 
 scrutinized it. " Not much there, but the right-looking 
 kind of stuff. Look, it's a tiny outcrop, an island." 
 He was now breaking off from the main rock chips with 
 his hammer, spitting on them and putting them aside. 
 
 " It's not very good on the surface; but who knows what 
 it may be like underneath. It's the right-looking stuff. 
 Look, it's running this way. Work along and see if you 
 can't find any more." 
 
 John soon came on a rounded cap of rock, from which
 
 238 THE MAINLAND 
 
 he broke off a flake. He spat on it as he had seen Gilbert 
 do. In the wet surface there sparkled some tiny yellow 
 particles. He hurried to Gilbert with the fragment. The 
 old man's eyes shone, his hawk-face wrinkled with emo- 
 tion. "My God! that's all right. It's rich, though it 
 may be small." He began chipping off other flakes, 
 examining them. " It looks like another tiny island right 
 away from the main ridge. Perhaps it joins up under- 
 neath; there's more lower down." 
 
 For a time they worked, chipping off flakes, putting 
 them in their bags. Gilbert handed a stone to John. 
 " Look there, that's better than ever. We'll peg this out 
 tonight before that fellow who lit the fire comes back. 
 He's a fool not to have waited; but he didn't find this 
 rich bit." 
 
 John set to work with his ax, cutting some stout pegs, 
 then Gilbert stepped out the limits of what he considered 
 the extent of the ridge. He waited nervously while John 
 drove the pegs with the head of his ax. " It's a pity 
 to make a noise," he muttered, " though we are so far 
 away. Men have sharp ears at a time like this." Then 
 when the pegs were all driven, and the claim written out. 
 " We must keep this dead quiet till the surveyor has 
 been here. There are men who'd do anything for a chance 
 like this, and there's that fellow who burnt the tree. I 
 shan't feel safe till the thing's on paper, drawn out on 
 the map. I've been fifteen years at this, and I've never 
 seen anything that looked so rich on the surface." 
 
 John thrilled with excitement. Although he was in 
 Gilbert's employ in work hours, they were prospecting 
 at " off " times. He was now on equality, and knew that
 
 THEDESERT 239 
 
 by the law of the bush he had half-share in anything 
 that was found. 
 
 When they returned to camp, they made a long circuit 
 so as to approach from another direction. On their way 
 they passed near a group of men who were out rabbit 
 hunting. " Walk slowly," said Gilbert, slacking his pace. 
 " If they see us pacing along they'll think we've found 
 something, and might track us." He stopped, and began 
 to shake a bush, and then walked round it, peering at 
 the ground. 
 
 " What's that for? " asked John, amused. 
 
 " They'll think it's that damned old fool, Gilbert, fos- 
 sicking around over his stick-insects and daddy-long-legs, 
 trying to catch all the fleas in the camp." 
 
 John laughed, and they strolled on slowly, though it 
 was difficult, with their minds so vividly at work, not to 
 quicken their pace. At the camp, Gilbert insisted that 
 they should set down to the commonplace task of pre- 
 paring their food. John was all for " dollying " the 
 samples, but Gilbert would not allow it. " If we were 
 to ' dolly ' them now, we should have half a dozen fellows 
 sniffing round. Listen, they'd say, there's Gilbert ' dolly- 
 ing ' some stones after he's been out all day. He must 
 have found something. No, we'll take them to the shaft 
 tomorrow morning, then have a look at them." 
 
 John had to submit to the reason of this argument. 
 He became infected by Gilbert's caution. His excite- 
 ment became intense through being controlled. That 
 night he lay awake thinking of the new claim, building 
 schemes upon the wonderful possibilities of success. The 
 thought of Mrs. Cray, from long habit, mingled with the
 
 2 4 o THE MAINLAND 
 
 other thoughts. There was still pain and regret woven 
 about his picture of her, but now there was new hope 
 and interest. His thoughts roamed back again to the 
 burning tree, to the broken and twisted raulga-branch, 
 and to the four stout pegs driven into the red, virgin soil. 
 
 V 
 
 All the phases of excitement within the bounds of dis- 
 covery and possession crowded upon one another in the 
 next week. First there was the " dollying " of speci- 
 mens in the early morning, the washing of the broken 
 rock, and the bright rim of gold particles which stretched 
 a third of the way round the pan's circumference. Gil- 
 bert bent above them, crooning with delight, shaking the 
 specks of yellow metal to and fro amid the black grains 
 of biotite. There followed a journey down the line and 
 back; the surveyor arrived; then, the final triumph of 
 their hopes, the new claim was marked out in red and 
 white upon a map. All had gone well, no one had sus- 
 pected them, their pegs had not been moved, and none 
 of the threatening eventualities, which they had imagined, 
 had occurred. Now in all security they could openly go 
 to the new claim. The old claim was sold. All para- 
 phernalia, together with good money's worth of stores, 
 was packed on to a cart, and John, in the first triumph 
 of ownership, drove across the flats of granite to the site 
 of the new claim. 
 
 During the first few days several men walked over to 
 have a look at the ridge that Gilbert had found. Among 
 them came Stephens and two of his companions. " Well, 
 Gilbert, you've struck a rich patch at last," he said, 
 after " dollying " several samples. " Of course, there's
 
 THE DESERT 241 
 
 no telling how much there is, but what there is is good." 
 Gilbert was too old a hand to boast or to seem opti- 
 mistic, he knew how that the fine gold particles could 
 tempt a man to raise high hopes, then suddenly dis- 
 appear into black rock like the powdery tail of a comet 
 into the surrounding night. " Ah, nothing like the ' Ma- 
 genta,' " he replied. " But that's the sort of luck that a 
 man should meet once in a hundred years." 
 
 Stephens shrugged his shoulders, pleased at the tribute. 
 "Oh! who knows?" he said generously, though he felt 
 pretty certain that his luck was not to be rivalled. In 
 this he was right, the " Magenta " is still famous in the 
 history of the West, while " Burnt Tree," as they called 
 it, though it had its moment of splendour, is long for- 
 gotten. 
 
 The first month gave to Gilbert and John their best 
 yields. There was plenty of ore within two feet of the 
 surface. The gold was well distributed. Daily the num- 
 ber of the sacks of ore grew greater. Each sack they 
 could estimate as being worth about five pounds, so were 
 able to count their fortune as it came warm from the 
 earth. As the extent of work grew, they employed at 
 first three men and later double that number. Within 
 a couple of months they had come to the limit of the 
 small island outcrop. As they sank shafts and drove 
 galleries to deeper levels the flush of gold proved, as 
 Gilbert had feared, faithless, losing itself in occasional 
 sprays of fine dust in the less acid rock foundation. At 
 the end of three months, the gold-bearing rock had be- 
 come so scarce that they discharged their labour, though 
 they continued to work on themselves. " Burnt Tree " 
 had proved typical of the district: a small, rich claim
 
 242 THE MAINLAND 
 
 which was petering out and was now almost dead. Gil- 
 bert and John had made a profit of between five and 
 six thousand pounds. The exact sum would not be known 
 till the ore had been through the mills. 
 
 During the time that the two partners had been working 
 at the mine they had come to understand each other as only 
 men who live, sleep and eat together out in the wilds, can 
 understand the value of comradeship. The difference of 
 age and experience seemed somehow to count as a small 
 thing. They discovered a strange affinity founded upon 
 experience. From the first, Gilbert had perceived in John 
 something that was unusual. There was a quality both 
 naive and serious, a reserve which sometimes betrayed 
 itself by eager flutterings, suggesting a desire for closer 
 intimacy, but which drew back with a childish show of sus- 
 picion. Gilbert could guess that John had plunged deep 
 into life, and had come bruised from the contact. He was 
 also interested to find how limited was John's experience, 
 and how unknown to him were the ordinary forms of 
 human life. Once when they were sitting before the blaze 
 of an evening fire he asked John who it was who had 
 taught him his wide knowledge of woodcraft. " Have you 
 been with the natives? " he said. " For it's not often a 
 white man has your eyes for seeing." 
 
 " Yes, I've known natives." 
 
 " Up on some back station? Perhaps that's where 
 you've come from?" 
 
 John felt a sudden impulse to tell Gilbert some of his 
 story, feeling an attraction for his companion's strange 
 and simple personality. " I was on an island up on the 
 north-west coast with my father and mother and a black 
 boy till I was seventeen," he said.
 
 THEDESERT 243 
 
 " Were you all alone, you three, with the black? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Gilbert appeared much interested, seeking to take in 
 the significance of this solitary upbringing. " What have 
 you done since? " 
 
 " Wandered about." 
 
 " It's a good life," said Gilbert meditatively, " that, 
 and to keep quit of the bonds that bind a man. What 
 made your father go and live in so solitary a spot? " 
 
 " He had killed a man," said John, with a frankness 
 that seemed surprising to himself. He somehow knew 
 that Gilbert was absolutely to be trusted. 
 
 Gilbert was silent, though he took the information 
 with no show of surprise, then after a pause: " Perhaps 
 it was a blessing to him to be quit of it all." 
 
 " That's what he told me," said John, pleased at Gil- 
 bert's understanding. " My father trusted me. He was 
 very fond of my mother; they live there still. One day 
 when I have all the money I want, I shall go back and 
 see them." 
 
 "You think he'll be proud of your money?" asked 
 Gilbert, with an amused irony. 
 
 " It's something." 
 
 " Oh yes, it's something, and where did you learn to 
 read and write and get that thoughtful air you carry 
 about with you? Have you picked that up since you 
 left your island? " 
 
 John reddened, feeling a pleasure in Gilbert's ques- 
 tioning and a desire which had lately been growing to 
 tell something of his story. " I went up pearling," he 
 said. " I'll tell you what happened. I'd like to tell you, 
 though no one else knows."
 
 244 THE MAINLAND 
 
 He told his story simply, while Gilbert listened. Once 
 or twice he had to pause to keep his voice steady, he was 
 very anxious to do that. Details he avoided, as likely 
 to cause him too much emotion. He spoke in broad 
 statements. At the end Gilbert looked at him kindly. 
 " You've had better luck than many, my boy, and worse 
 too, in a way," he said, by way of comment. " By God, 
 you have." Then with a smile, " And now you are after 
 gold for a change? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Should we make some money at the claim, as looks 
 likely, how would you spend it? " 
 
 " I shall travel and see the world, and see the towns. 
 . . . But I shall stay here till I have all I want." 
 
 " Why do you want to go to the towns? Haven't you 
 seen enough? " 
 
 " I have seen a little of one town ..." 
 
 " They are all much the same. Some are bigger than 
 others and more wicked. What should you want money 
 to go to the towns for? " 
 
 John thought for a short while. " I want money be- 
 cause it's what other men want," he said. 
 
 Gilbert laughed. " That's a good reason, too. I've 
 spent more than half my life fighting for it because of 
 that. Now I don't care. Oh, yes, I make money, but 
 I don't care. I've got the habit of it," he smiled. " My 
 one bad habit — that, and the love of gold." 
 
 In the words, John could read more than their surface 
 value. Gilbert was in earnest, and smiling with an odd 
 embarrassment; he had made a confession which to him- 
 self had hardly been admitted. John could guess in the 
 silence which followed that the love of gold was not only
 
 THEDESERT 245 
 
 Gilbert's one bad habit, but the sole remaining bond which 
 bound him to the ordinary life of men. After a while 
 he continued: 
 
 " I've kept myself, one way and another, since I was a 
 brat of ten years old. I had a bad mother. At home I 
 couldn't stand it, so I ran away. On a farm I worked at 
 fourpence a week, driving the plough horses. They gave 
 me little enough food; often I would walk along crying 
 of the cold with my belly empty, poor devil of a kid, 
 and the old swine of a farmer flinging stones at me if 
 I didn't drive the horses fast enough. When I was older 
 and strong I left the farm and took to navvying on the 
 new railroad. I had better money then for my labour, 
 but I lived hard. I slept out in the wet and cold, night 
 after night, yet I kept my health. I got strength for 
 myself, and loved my own freedom. Ah, I grew a man 
 then. I could work. The women didn't let me forget 
 that I was a strong, well-liking fellow. I was free, I 
 didn't see the great danger that there is in women. I 
 would play with them, flattered, like a child with a new 
 toy, not knowing the fear of them. 
 
 " Then I went to the town. I had always had a want 
 for learning. At a big newspaper-office where I worked 
 I picked up how to read and write. I seemed made to 
 get on those days. As you said just now — I wanted 
 money because other men wanted it. I got it too. 
 
 " At twenty-five I married. My wife was a big, strong 
 woman as tall as myself with a great mass of hair. 
 We lived small at first, but always growing, changing 
 from one house to another. I lost my freedom. I was 
 being changed against my will. I didn't want to change. 
 It was all struggle between us. I was fighting then, as
 
 246 THE MAINLAND 
 
 I'd never thought to fight: for my life, for more than, 
 life. I learnt then the danger in women. Sex is the curse 
 of our lives. . . . My wife had nine children, five of 
 them died. When I was thirty-eight my wife died. She 
 had had her children too close, so the doctor said, and 
 that was what had killed her. At that time I was junior 
 partner in a brewery business. I had made my way to 
 success, though every year I was losing freedom. . . . 
 My God! I hated all that life, but was not able to 
 get out of it. When my wife died, I seemed able to 
 know for a moment where I stood, but the business was 
 always claiming me. I had money, and after a while 
 every one took it for granted I should marry again. 
 For four years I kept free, but at forty-two I married a 
 young wife. It was her prettiness, her smallness, her 
 tiny hands and feet — she was so unlike the first." Gil- 
 bert paused and spat into the fire. " I cared for her more 
 than for any other woman I've ever set eyes on. That 
 made me weak towards her, and there was the same 
 struggle, but worse. Everything in me was changing 
 and being twisted and rounded off, blurred. It was hell. 
 She had no soul, was like a flower, empty and naked, 
 and no shame, with tears, and little soft ways to make a 
 fool of me. Sometimes I would let fly at her, and curse 
 her and go off, letting everything go; but all the while 
 I was away, I was tortured by the thought of some other 
 man making up to her. So I'd come back and carry on 
 the business. I was senior partner then, and a rich 
 man. I kept in the town and never went out to my old 
 haunts. I was ashamed to meet with my old self out of 
 doors. 
 
 " Then one day, after three years of it, I had the good
 
 THE DESERT 247 
 
 sense to clear off. I left everything to my wife; took a 
 hundred pounds and came out here. I came straight 
 up to the gold-fields. I seemed to know that they claimed 
 me. Sometimes I've worked at tin up at Pilbura, but 
 it's really gold. I love the sight of this yellow dust. 
 For fifteen years I've been free again, as I was when a 
 young man, free of the curse, do you understand? 
 
 " It's a good life! " he exclaimed, looking up at John 
 with a smile of contentment. " I send all the money 
 home. I don't need it. My wife was always one for a 
 show. She spends it, but I never let her know where I 
 am. My word! " he laughed. " If she saw me now, 
 red with dust, she'd never own me. A dirty old groper 
 — well, thank God! " 
 
 " Do you send all your money back and never know 
 what happens to it? " asked John, not quite knowing 
 how to comment on Gilbert's story. 
 
 " Yes, all but what I need for living, and that's little 
 enough. I have no use for it. What I like to see is the 
 dust in the pan. First in the broken stone you can see it,, 
 it's a fine sight; then when it's broken in the pan with 
 the water, and you know that the gold may be there 
 hidden." Gilbert produced the rocking, swaying move- 
 ment with his hands. He stroked the flat of his thumb 
 over imaginary broken particles. " First the greater and 
 the bigger lumps come off; now the smaller ones, and 
 underneath is the fine black dust all wet with the gold 
 sparkling in it." He smiled at John apologetically at his 
 own extravagance. " One time I used to dream about 
 it. I do sometimes now, and every year the love of it 
 gets stronger." 
 
 John laughed in sympathy.
 
 248 THE MAINLAND 
 
 " It doesn't blind me any longer. I don't keep the 
 money it brings. I don't want it. It's just the gold I 
 love the sight of. . . . There's not a man who doesn't 
 live by some delusion, and not many of them see the 
 other side of their own minds. With animals it's different, 
 they just live without reason or delusion. Everything is 
 simple. But man, he understands or half understands. 
 Things have grown up. He wants their measurements, 
 and sets values on all his pleasures. Sex, that's what 
 gives everything a twist. That's the curse. Women don't 
 understand; in that they are like animals. Simpler. 
 But the curse is on them too. It breaks their bodies, not 
 their spirit." 
 
 " Sometimes their spirit," said John. 
 
 " Yes, but not often — a man it destroys." 
 
 " Unless he runs away? " John questioned doubtingly. 
 
 Gilbert nodded. " Then he might find something to 
 fill the empty place, money or gold, or the naked pleasure 
 of shaking out the next pan full . . . Why, I'm tired of 
 this thing we're at here, already. I want something new. 
 This is a great country: unexplored and full of metals 
 — miles of it untrodden. That's where I want to be." 
 Gilbert waved his arm widely towards the East. 
 
 There in the lilac and mauve distance of that great 
 unexplored country John also had dreams of wandering; 
 for him if was not to be the end and all-sufficing climax 
 of experience, but the beginning. He could understand 
 Gilbert — this old man wearied with the distractions of 
 materialism, though alive with the spirit of freedom — 
 could sympathize with his desire for renunciation and 
 the untrammelled liberty of poverty, while he himself 
 was feeling the promptings of power, ripening for adven-
 
 THEDESERT 249 
 
 ture among mankind. His strength was growing within 
 him. He had the capacity to gauge something of the 
 adventure of life. The sex impulse he recognized as 
 something profoundly dangerous, with a danger that might 
 show itself in almost any direction. Perhaps it was the 
 curse of life, as Gilbert had said. His instinct would 
 make him cautious in future, but youth and power were 
 pulsing in his veins with new assurance. In his first 
 contact with the complex life of the mainland he had 
 proved himself a failure and a weakling. When the 
 time came for him to go again into the world, he wished 
 to meet mankind with the conscious knowledge of success. 
 
 VI 
 
 During the months that the partners worked together 
 there had grown between them a close interchange of 
 thought. Gilbert found satisfaction in having a com- 
 panion who would listen with understanding to his 
 philosophy of life. To be considered mad by the men 
 in the camp was no great hardship, but it was gratifying 
 to find a sanction for the wisdom in his madness. He 
 felt a pleasure in justifying himself to the younger man. 
 His self-esteem was able to grow, as the picture drawn by 
 himself — a free spirit, a voluntary renouncer of the world 
 — took definite shape before John's eyes. 
 
 In the life of each succeeding day, the world of their 
 experience was common. To both men the silent and 
 soft expanses of the bush was a home adequate to satisfy 
 all temperate needs of the spirit. In the presence of the 
 untamed life of plant and animal, there grew up a spon- 
 taneous understanding. Gilbert chatted of the small 
 things that long observation had made part of his life,
 
 250 THE MAINLAND 
 
 and John could trace the personal thoughts which flick- 
 ered in his companion's brain. Out in the bush on these 
 walks together, Gilbert would often talk for hours on 
 end: an easy wandering monologue, which John would 
 listen to with an amused interest, following the thoughts 
 and back-thoughts, so hastily succeeding each other: 
 " See the holes of the bardi-grubs in the roots of that 
 bush yonder. Have you ever noticed that the grubs that 
 live in the mulga are sweeter to taste than the big pink 
 ones out of the yarra ? Perhaps you've never eaten bardi- 
 grubs? There have been times when I've been glad to. 
 They taste best cooked by the side of a fire. You can 
 catch them by putting a rough stem of grass or spinifex 
 up their holes and twisting it round. The grub will 
 be tickled on his backside and come bucketing out back- 
 wards with an important, swaggering air, like an old 
 gentleman out of a bank, with his pockets full of notes. 
 He's fine, pale, like ivory, and smooth, with little yellow 
 breathing holes down each side, like the port-holes of 
 a ship, each with its brass fittings. Now put him down 
 carefully by the side of some hot ashes. He stretches 
 out to twice his usual length, and when he boils, he 
 pops; then he tastes all crisp at one end and soft at 
 the other, like almond-cream running into fried parsley. 
 You can eat them raw, but they flip so much from side 
 to side, that I've no fancy for their dying struggles be- 
 tween my lips, being more tender-hearted than Almighty 
 God. By this time, though, I should fancy He's dead, 
 or gone sick from eating the same kind of grub over 
 and over again. . . . They make a fine moth, too, in 
 the spring: green, with big wings hanging down, all 
 limp over their backs when they first come out from the
 
 THE DESERT 251 
 
 wood. . . ." He would chatter for hours, half to him- 
 self, half to John, with an occasional look and smile in 
 his direction. 
 
 The time passed pleasantly. John came to be very 
 fond of Gilbert, finding a relish in his passing references 
 to a world of thought as yet so unexplored. All this he 
 loved. He could understand Gilbert's contempt for the 
 world that he had left, his open cynicism for the delusion 
 of men and his own obsession for the glittering gold- 
 dust. These things John could feel were adequate and 
 in place, but they were not sufficient for his own growing 
 needs. With the consciousness of power to direct his 
 own course he desired the companionship of younger 
 men. Sometimes he would be tired of Gilbert's con- 
 versation and walk over to the " Magenta " camp. There 
 he could talk of the growing township. By this time 
 the town of Magenta was half built, and the rail from 
 Tharamecka completed. Hundreds of prospectors, wages- 
 men, and sandal- wood cutters poured past the railhead 
 to spread out over the newly opened country. Among 
 the new arrivals John met a young fellow from the south, 
 obviously new to the fields, whose appearance of honest 
 ingeunousness marked him out from the commercial and 
 experience-lined faces that were the usual type. 
 
 Robert Dixon had lived the typical life of the son of a 
 small prosperous farmer. His father's farm was on the 
 Marget River in amongst the big " yarra " forests of 
 the south. In that land of sleepy shade and sunshine 
 he had passed an uneventful boyhood. He had grown 
 restless under the pleasant monotony, and at last after a 
 struggle against his father's authority gained permission 
 to go wandering for adventure out into the world.
 
 252 THE MAINLAND 
 
 John had liked him at first sight. They had talked 
 together, and Dixon had come back to " Burnt Tree " 
 camp where he had stayed for a night. After this their 
 friendship quickly grew up. They took days off, wan- 
 dering in the bush with their hammers and bags for 
 samples of stone. Gilbert sometimes came with them, 
 but often they would go alone. 
 
 At the end of four months it became obvious to Gilbert 
 that there was not much more gold to be taken out of the 
 " Burnt Tree " claim. He suggested that they should 
 sell the claim, the position of which had some value, 
 and the ore already extracted as a single lot. They 
 approached Stephens with the suggestion, and after some 
 bargaining agreed to the sale for five thousand five hun- 
 dred pounds. This saved the arduous process of seeing 
 the ore through the mills, and left each of them with 
 two thousand five hundred in pocket after all expenses 
 had been paid. " There was no fortune in that," Gil- 
 bert remarked, " but still, it was not so bad." 
 
 For some days they remained in the camp, then Gil- 
 bert suggested a fresh start. It was not till the sug- 
 gestion came that John realized that he did not wish 
 to bury himself once more in the bush with Gilbert. 
 He felt he wanted the warmth of some kindred enthu- 
 siasm. He wanted for companion a younger spirit, some 
 one who could share with him his dreams of fortune 
 and power. " No, I shall wait here for a bit," he had 
 said. 
 
 Gilbert, who understood at once, smiled genially. 
 " Well, good luck to you. I see you're for the towns and 
 all the world of folly. Good luck." 
 
 John wrung the hard, red hand held out to him. A
 
 THEDESERT 253 
 
 feeling of affection, that was almost painful, for this 
 lonely man claimed by the yellow dust of his washing- 
 pan, contracted his heart; and yet, as with Loo, he was 
 glad to say " good-bye." He felt that he was parting 
 with a stage of his life that was for ever past. Now he 
 must live in the warmth of hopes, new born, firmly rooted 
 in the consciousness of power. 
 
 vn 
 
 Not many days after Gilbert had wandered off into 
 the bush with his bundle over his shoulder, John bought 
 a horse and cart that he and Dixon might make some 
 long prospecting expedition. John arranged to pay all 
 expenses of outfit, stores, etc., and, since he was the 
 pioneer, and by now the experienced bushman, it was 
 agreed that three-quarters of any find, that either of them 
 made, should fall to him. With a horse and cart they 
 would be able to carry material for a long expedition. 
 They planned to follow up a line of water-holes which 
 John had discovered leading eastward. From time to 
 time they would, of course, have to return for more 
 stores, but would be fairly free to make deep explorations 
 into the surrounding country. 
 
 When the two young men came to the end of the track, 
 which led outward from the town of Magenta and some 
 eight miles deep in the bush stopped abruptly, they both 
 felt a thrill of pleasure at plunging into unknown coun- 
 try. " Out ahead of us," said John, " there is a land 
 which, perhaps, has never been trodden by white men. 
 There'll be natives, of course, but only a few. There's 
 just miles of fiat bush like this for further than we can 
 possibly go."
 
 254 THE MAINLAND 
 
 " Well, I trust to you to find the way back," laughed 
 Dixon, " and to talk to the natives, if they come spearing 
 us." 
 
 " All right, Bob, don't be anxious. I've been in this 
 sort of country for more than two years. I'm pretty 
 sure by this time. I can feel my direction, just as Gil- 
 bert can." 
 
 " I'll learn it too before long, I expect, but it's so 
 different from the big-treed country down south. In the 
 forest there is usually a blaze or something to guide one. 
 Here the whole land is so flat and lonely, and still, 
 except for those ' cock-eyed ' winds that are always dodg- 
 ing about." 
 
 " Yes, it is lonely," said John, " but you get to like it, 
 I expect. I can't fancy any forests being as beautiful as 
 this." 
 
 "Oh! you wouldn't say that if you slept out in the 
 forests as I have, and woke in the early morning and 
 lain on your back looking up the great pink and yellow 
 stem of a tree that rises a hundred feet clear without a 
 branch; and then seen the sunlight come softly through 
 the leaves on the spreading fan-shaped branches, dappling 
 the dark patches of bark." 
 
 " Is it all forest down there? " asked John. " I've 
 seen plenty of trees in the north, but nothing very tall." 
 
 " No, there are big clearings where there are home- 
 steads, and wide stretches of grass-lands and sometimes 
 marsh, but there are miles of huge yarra trees that have 
 never had an ax near them." 
 
 " Have you lived there always? " 
 
 " Yes, till a month ago." 
 
 John remembered his own experience on Kanna Island
 
 THEDESERT 255 
 
 and his urgent desire to escape into the world. Dixon 
 was much his own age, perhaps a little older; but John 
 felt that his seniority was inevitably decided by the 
 weight of several years of experience. " I suppose your 
 people have always lived there? " he said, after a pause. 
 
 " Well, I'm the third generation. My mother's father 
 was one of the first settlers who came out from England. 
 The whole country then looked like this bush does to 
 us. It was wild, with swarms of natives. The white 
 men, and some of them had families with them, like 
 my grandfather, landed from their ships as best they 
 could and lived for a while just where they landed, on a 
 narrow strip of the coast." 
 
 " Tell me about it," said John. " Were they the first 
 white men on the mainland? " 
 
 " Yes, among the first. Of course, I've only heard 
 stories," Bob apologized. " I know they had difficulty 
 in making friends with the natives. They lived on what 
 they could shoot of kangaroos and emus, of which there 
 were plenty, and flour they had from the ships. After a 
 while they made friends with the natives and built huts 
 just over the sand-dunes. Then they brought their stock 
 ashore. They had brought cows and goats in the ships 
 with them. Some of them began to spread inland, but 
 the difficulty was to find water and good pasture. The 
 way they found the farm where my grandfather and 
 mother lived, and which my Uncle Hastie has now, is 
 the story which is always told. The farm is called 
 ' Cattle-chosen,' and is quite close to our place. When 
 they were all living down on the beach together, one of 
 the cows got loose and was lost. Some time later there 
 was a big bush fire which spread right down to the beach
 
 256 THE MAINLAND 
 
 and burnt all the settlement. They had then to look 
 for a new place where there was pasture unburnt. My 
 Uncle Hastie, who was a boy then, went out with a 
 native, who said he knew the country. They wandered 
 in the bush for some time and at last came on a green 
 valley with long grass; and there they found the lost 
 cow with a calf that had been born, both of them quite 
 well. That's where they moved to; and have stayed 
 
 ever since." 
 
 " So that's why it's called ' Cattle-chosen,' " commented 
 John. " There was luck in that." 
 
 Bob talked on, pleased to talk of the country and the 
 home that he had left. John received a picture of the 
 farm life with its pleasant monotony of existence. It 
 was something very different from anything he had yet 
 encountered on the mainland. He felt attracted by his 
 friend's easy account of mother, brothers and sisters. 
 Farm life on the Margaret River must be something very 
 pleasant, different in its atmosphere of homely prosperity, 
 from anything he had experienced. 
 
 As the days and weeks passed and the two friends 
 wandered over virgin stretches of bush country they be- 
 came impelled towards a close intimacy by the still in- 
 fluence of the land which stretched, always the same, al- 
 ways wide-eyed, with a strange youthfulness, on all sides. 
 They both talked of their past lives, though John forbore 
 to mention his relationship with Mrs. Cray or any of his 
 more intimate experiences. Though he had spoken to Gil- 
 bert of these things, he now preferred to remain silent. It 
 was pleasant to let life take its surface value. There 
 was always the pleasure of the search, the dollying of 
 samples, and in the evenings or early morning the long
 
 THE DESERT 257 
 
 and patient stalks, rifle in hand, after the wary bush 
 turkeys. 
 
 The ridges of schist, that first they came to, were quite 
 barren of ore, though they worked thoroughly the various 
 cross dykes of black iron-stone. They struck further east- 
 ward, coming on small deposits, but nothing good enough 
 for their hopes. John was not to be satisfied with some- 
 thing small, but was looking for a big, rich thing that 
 would make it worth while to bring out the railway. 
 So always they wandered on and on, covering wide 
 stretches of country, happy in the open life, becoming 
 daily more the enamoured slaves of the bush. " I shall 
 be a regular ' groper ' before I'm thirty," John had said. 
 " I can understand Loo and Gilbert; but I shan't really 
 be like that. I want to go everywhere and see things, and 
 know what life is really like on the mainland." 
 
 A find big enough, at first showing, to satisfy John's 
 estimate of what was worth working, was not found till 
 after an eighteen months' wandering. Then one day, at 
 the furthest limit of a long expedition, they came on a 
 white-capped ridge of acid-rock in which were veins of 
 gold-bearing quartz. There was plenty of rock, and the 
 veins seemed wide and deep. 
 
 John and Dixon made a big claim, including all the 
 cap of the ridge. Soon they employed six men to work 
 under them. The number grew as the shafts deepened. 
 The claim looked as if it would be good, and although 
 nothing like so brilliant as the " Magenta," it promised 
 to justify itself. John didn't mind how far he plunged 
 in expenditure. He believed now in his luck. It had 
 been a long time coming, he felt, but now it was sure. 
 
 " White Rock " developed steadily. It was not very
 
 258 THE MAINLAND 
 
 rich, but there was plenty of it. Very soon the two 
 partners received offers which, though they considered 
 them inadequate, were by no means uncomplimentary. 
 
 The life of sudden excitement, after the long months 
 of search, the travelling to and fro between Magenta 
 and the mine, involved by his position of boss, the con- 
 gratulations of old acquaintances and their ill-concealed 
 envy, and, best of all, the eagerly expected news at the 
 end of each journey, tasted as the sweet wine of life. 
 This was the success . of which he had dreamed. New 
 hopes and activities quickly sprang into being. Once 
 end of each journey, tasted as the sweet wine of life, 
 and had lost; now with the riches given by gold and 
 power within his grasp he would take the sweet things 
 that life offered.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 
 
 FAR out into the desert wherever the hunt for gold 
 has led the way, the gay superficiality of civilized 
 life has thrust out colonies which, regardless of 
 any quality inherent in the land that they have invaded, 
 flourish with all the arrogance of commercial success. At 
 such mining centres as Mt. Gerard, Redsand and Garloo, 
 there exist, as yet in rather a primitive state, but never- 
 theless with the usual self-importance, all the etceteras 
 of society life. There are tennis parties, dances, clubs, 
 lending library, cinemas and the rest; each on a small 
 scale, but following, as tradition has ordained, the accus- 
 tomed round, and thus producing the artificial sparkle 
 so necessary to keep up the spirits of the white man when 
 placed amidst surroundings whose peculiar significance 
 he does not wish to understand, or even to see. 
 
 Mt. Gerard, which is at the junction of the lines to 
 Tharamecka and Redsand, is the largest town on the 
 Lyell Gold-fields. Here are situated the large crushing 
 mills to which ore is brought in from the country round. 
 In the town itself there are Government offices, a mining 
 school, several banks — also some large and comfortable- 
 looking houses, the property of millowners, Government 
 officials and bank managers. There is a big hotel with 
 
 259
 
 260 THE MAINLAND 
 
 electric light and other modern luxuries, also with ex- 
 tensive tennis-courts of excellent quality made of the 
 hard cement taken from the nests of white ants. The 
 hotel, named " The St. Quintin," after one of the oldest 
 mines, has also a large ballroom, hung about with mir- 
 rors and illuminated globes, screened by glass pendants. 
 Close to the tennis-courts there is a garden, whose water- 
 ing alone is said to cost five pounds a week. This one 
 green oasis, in the midst of red dust, is enclosed by a 
 high wall. In the garden there is a green lawn, famous 
 in the neighbourhood, also several English plants which 
 are pointed out for the admiration of visitors. 
 
 Besides the " St. Quintin " there are three other hotels 
 and several coffee palaces. There is a double row of 
 glaringly new and ugly shops which line a street planted 
 on either side with pepper trees. Beyond the main street 
 are others less pretentious, usually peopled by numbers 
 of goats, who seem to have eaten every leaf of cactus or 
 dry grass, which might once have graced the landscape, 
 and now out of sheer ennui are eating the coloured 
 labels off discarded jam tins. On the outskirts of the 
 town there is a long line of dust pyramids made of the 
 minute fragments of rock which the mills have crushed. 
 This chain of hills is constantly varying in shape and 
 size. It is added to by the continuous working of the 
 mills and depleted by the hot winds of summer. These 
 sweep away the dust in dense clouds, whirling it through 
 the town, forcing it into the smallest cracks and crannies. 
 
 When the weather is not too hot and the winds are not 
 blowing, life is by no means dull at Mt. Gerard. The 
 hotels are usually full. There is plenty of money, plenty 
 of women, and consequently no lack of entertainment.
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 261 
 
 The chief life of society is centred round the two clubs, 
 the " Blue Star " and the " W. A." These, like the " St. 
 Quintin," are patronized chiefly by the wealthier men 
 who represent, not only Mt. Gerard, but all the shifting 
 population of the gold-fields. 
 
 When John arrived at Mt. Gerard to see the first con- 
 signment of ore from " White Rock " through the mills, 
 he looked in his dusty blue shirt and trousers the typical 
 bushman. He had been five years wandering in the 
 desert since, clinging to the underside of a railway coach 
 he had left Ruperttown. In that time he had known 
 solitude and its healing quality. Also he had come to 
 know himself in the limitations of his own power. He 
 had tasted friendship and success, and was now his own 
 master, boss of a prosperous concern. 
 
 On his journey down the line, he had anticipated with 
 pleasure the life that was before him. He knew that 
 when once he began seeing his ore through the mills it 
 would take up his time both night and day, so he had 
 purposely come ten days in advance. Stephens, who 
 had been out on a visit to " White Rock " and had lately 
 become intimate with John, had urged him to come early 
 so that he might be introduced to some friends of Stephens, 
 influential fellows on the gold-fields, also to some pretty 
 girls. 
 
 When John arrived at the station, Stephens was there 
 to meet him. " I must take you round to my tailor's," 
 he said, after their first greetings, " and see that you are 
 fitted out with some decent clothes. You can't stay at 
 the ' St. Quintin ' in that rig. All right, I can lend you 
 something till you are ready." At the tailor's John 
 ordered the necessary white silk suits, then went with
 
 262 THE MAINLAND 
 
 Stephens to the hotel, where he enjoyed thoroughly the 
 change to sudden luxury from the rough life of the 
 bush. Stephens was greatly amused at his ingenuous 
 pleasure over the hot and cold water laid on in the 
 bedrooms. He chaffed John over his interest in electric 
 lamp globes and their remote switches, which still carried 
 a remembrance of the first night on the mainland at 
 Flynn's Inn. 
 
 At dinner that evening, John was introduced to the 
 other guests, who all seemed to know each other and 
 Stephens. There were about fifteen men, some of them 
 residents in Mt. Gerard, who as a regular practice took 
 their meals at the hotel, and about the same number of 
 women. Among the latter was a Mrs. Vance and three 
 pretty daughters. They all talked gaily and rather 
 loudly, seeming thoroughly at home, very conscious of 
 their good looks and smart clothes. Mr. Vance was man- 
 ager of one of the banks. He and his family were regu- 
 lar residents at the hotel. 
 
 John was excited at the presence of so many people, 
 yet not in the least abashed. He felt master of himself, 
 being full of confidence. All these people knew (and if 
 they didn't know already, they soon would) that he was 
 the successful owner of " White Rock." He was proud 
 of what he had achieved, and was pleasantly stimulated 
 by the thought of coming to know all these people. There 
 was no reason why he should feel embarrassed. His 
 early pictures of human relations received at Ruperttown 
 and printed for always upon his brain, now formed a 
 kind of sombre background which enhanced the present 
 gay picture. If terror and despair moved always as the 
 undercurrent of life, it was fortunate that they did not
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 263 
 
 often show themselves. He could be thankful for the 
 bright superficial talk that buzzed around him. 
 
 The women were particularly interesting. Their beauty 
 came almo3t as a shock, being so different from the 
 austere, veiled quality of the bush. The bright-coloured, 
 soft, flimsy materials in which they were dressed gave 
 him pleasure, so also did the thought of limbs and bodies 
 enclosed in so delicate a substance. Both sight and 
 thought were wonderfully attractive, but a deep suspicion, 
 not to be eradicated by years of solitude, warned him of 
 danger. The warm pulse of his youth answered this 
 warning, telling him that such suspicion was in no way 
 a barrier against life, but rather a weapon, a shield to 
 guard him from wounds. He was only vulnerable to 
 pain and such injuries as he had received, when mind 
 and soul were open in the rich act of pouring out all 
 their most cherished possessions. Now that he had but 
 material things to offer, he felt very strong behind the 
 steel shield of his disenchantment. Women, of course, 
 were wonderful in their fresh beauty. He did not wish 
 to deny them anything, but he would not let the generosity 
 of his own imagination clothe them with riches that 
 were themselves imaginary. Men who forwent women 
 were either fools or cowards. He remembered Gilbert 
 as neither fool nor coward, but then he had had his ex- 
 perience. In him, renunciation was ripe; it was no mat- 
 ter of lame paws. Women, he felt, held in their small 
 soft hands the very pulses of life itself. They were man's 
 strongest, most dangerous, most subtle antagonists. 
 Blood, brain, and heart told him how much was to be 
 gained in that struggle: the completing of the male sex 
 in him, the justification of his stand upon life's citadel.
 
 264 THE MAINLAND 
 
 His past losses made him in this respect more confident. 
 He had now the world's riches, nothing so very precious, 
 even if lost, but enough, fully enough to offer. That 
 he should experience love was a possibility so remote 
 that it did not enter his mind. It was sufficient, that in 
 the jolly laughing bodies of the girls near him, there 
 was attraction and the same strong wave of life that 
 pulsed in his own veins. 
 
 John sat during dinner next to Hilda Vance, a pretty 
 girl of twenty-four, with a white skin, dark hair and a 
 vivacious manner. " It must be very splendid for you 
 to be boss of a big thing like ' White Rock.' Usually 
 only old men have these honours. It must be very nice 
 to feel it all belongs to yourself." 
 
 " It isn't all mine," said John. " I have a partner." 
 
 " Yes, but you have the bigger share, and all the re- 
 sponsibility. Where is your partner? He's quite young, 
 too, isn't he? " 
 
 " He's stayed up at ' White Rock.' I came down, you 
 see, to see the ore through the mills." 
 
 " But you've got some days first to look round, haven't 
 you? This is our gay time, before the hot weather comes 
 and those awful winds. I expect you look forward to 
 some tennis after your long time in the bush." 
 
 " I can't play tennis," admitted John. 
 
 " Well, then, you must learn. It's the greatest fun 
 on earth. You can dance, though, I'm sure. There's 
 going to be a dance here the day after to-morrow. And 
 next week there will be a kangaroo hunt. That's best 
 fun of all; you are bound to like that." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I'm in for everything there is. You and
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 265 
 
 your friends I hope will be kind enough to teach me how 
 to play tennis and dance. I know how to ride." 
 
 " But fancy you not knowing how to play tennis. 
 Where had you been to before you went gold seeking? " 
 
 " I'd been up on the North Coast after pearls since I 
 was eighteen. Before that I lived away on an island, 
 and never saw anybody." 
 
 Hilda Vance had already spotted John as some one 
 interesting and unusual. " You must have had a strange 
 life," she said. " Then have you never been at a place 
 like this before? " 
 
 " No, this is my first experience." 
 
 " Oh well, you will enjoy it. There is so much to find 
 out." 
 
 John could see in Hilda's bright and frank manner 
 that there was a good deal that she had already found 
 out. He liked her and was attracted towards a certain 
 hardness of fibre that he could discern in her prettiness. 
 He was pleased by the ingenuous way in which she looked 
 at him, as though he were an interesting specimen to be 
 judicially played with, led out, made to display himself 
 in the warmth of her smiles. She was a nice girl, he 
 thought: honest and old enough to be experienced in 
 the ways of the world. He was lucky in finding so 
 pleasant a companion. He felt that the world was to 
 her a jolly place full of pleasing adventure. Her garden 
 of Eden was rich with pleasant fruit, towards which she 
 would stretch out her pretty hands as the fancy took her. 
 She had, too, a hard glitter, which pleased him. It was 
 sufficient to banish all fears from his mind of a possible 
 mawkishness.
 
 266 THE MAINLAND 
 
 The next day Hilda took him in hand to teach him 
 tennis; but, as John expressed it, he was a mug at the game 
 and soon gave it up. They went then to look at some 
 horses, kept at the hotel, and finished up by having a 
 ride across the bush together. Hilda rode well and with 
 obvious pleasure. She won John's admiration by the 
 way she put her pony over the wide stems of fallen trees. 
 
 " It's awfully nice of you to give up your tennis when 
 you are so good at it," he said. 
 
 " Oh well, riding is equally good fun. I feel it doesn't 
 matter what I do so long as this fine weather lasts, and 
 it's not too hot." 
 
 John felt complimented in her having chosen him 
 as her companion. It gave him an additional confidence 
 in himself, for there were several other men who were 
 good tennis players, who were anxious enough to pay 
 her attentions, had she wished for them as partners. 
 
 In the afternoon, during the heat of the day, Hilda 
 went to rest. John sat in the spacious smoking-room 
 talking to the men and sometimes thinking of Hilda, 
 getting from the thought the sensation caused by a warm 
 patch of sunshine shining upon his life. It was a com- 
 fortable and gratifying sensation, without any of the pain 
 of being in love. 
 
 The next morning John rode again with Hilda. They 
 found plenty to talk about, though their conversation 
 was made up of trivialities. It pleased him to follow the 
 quick workings of her mind, to see the eager way she 
 flitted from subject to subject. From the first, there 
 had been between them a sharp sex consciousness. They 
 were both good-looking, clean-limbed young animals,
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 267 
 
 thoroughly alive. All the physics of spontaneous attrac- 
 tion were at work. John found himself talking some- 
 times quite fatuously. He didn't care. He was not 
 really fatuous; he was talking, not for the sake of what 
 he was saying, but for the sake of getting near by an 
 indirect, yet wholly natural process, to the half- veiled, 
 half-naked substance of the girl's life, which at sudden 
 vital moments touched him with throbbing intensity. 
 After such momentary pulses he was left, eager and 
 baffled, on the far side of her amused laughter. 
 
 That evening was the evening of the dance. John 
 proved as big a failure as a dancer as he had as tennis 
 player, and after the first few attempts he gave it up. 
 Hilda sat out with him some of the time, though she 
 danced some of the dances. Half-way through the even- 
 ing they walked out together into the garden. Hilda 
 was very gay, stimulated by the dancing, shining with 
 the full light of her vitality. John was abashed and 
 rather silent, feeling a need to express by some adequate 
 embrace his admiration for the warm glow of her. They 
 walked round the garden, Hilda talked gaily and 
 irreverently; John was silent. They looked at the flowers 
 planted from English seed and pretended to admire them, 
 though their thoughts were elsewhere. They then looked 
 at the pipes and all the apparatus for spraying the lawn. 
 " It's terribly expensive in this dry land. Just think, 
 five pounds a week for this lawn, but it's worth it. It's 
 nice having a green place to walk in." 
 
 " Oh, damn the lawn sprays. It's you I'm thinking 
 about," laughed John abruptly. He put his hands on 
 her shoulders and drew her towards him.
 
 268 THE MAINLAND 
 
 For a moment and more than a moment, she accepted 
 his kiss. Then, laughing, she broke away and ran back 
 to the hotel. 
 
 n 
 
 For the rest of the dance, Hilda perversely avoided 
 John, and not till the party were breaking up did she 
 speak to him again. She then ran up to him, and pluck- 
 ing from her dress a portion of a spray of nigella blossom, 
 that she was wearing, said, laughing: "Wear this to 
 prove your faithfulness. I shan't say good night to you. 
 You don't deserve it." She turned away with a smile 
 full of gay wickedness, that made John want to run after 
 her and make her explain herself. 
 
 While he was putting the nigella into his buttonhole, 
 Stephens happened to pass near by. " I see you're 
 favoured," he said. " Those flowers were Mr. Fryett's 
 ewe-lambs. He had no end of bother rearing them. 
 They were a special gift to Miss Vance, so I know who's 
 given them to you. You had better not let him see you 
 wearing them. . . . She's a damned pretty girl, intelli- 
 gent, too. Her mother doesn't know what character that 
 girl's got. If she doesn't marry her off soon, she had 
 better look out for squalls. That sort of girl's a modern 
 type — particularly Australian, I might say, with ideas 
 in her head, and I daresay the courage to act on 
 them." 
 
 John went with Stephens into the smoking-room, and 
 for a while they smoked. When they turned in, they 
 were the last to leave the room. 
 
 The long corridor of bedrooms, when John reached it, 
 was dark and deserted. When he came to unlock his
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 269 
 
 door, he found that there was an obstruction in his key- 
 hole. He held his candle lower. Sticking out of the 
 keyhole was one of Mr. Fryett's nigellas. John's heart 
 gave a bound. He stood for a moment while the idea 
 took hold of his mind. Then he looked down the long 
 corridor. There was not a sound, every one was shut in 
 for the night. Silently he then walked down the passage. 
 Four doors further down were two blossoms dropped on 
 the mat. John blew out his candle, went to the door and 
 opened it. Inside, the room was lit only by the dim 
 light from the windows. As he closed the door he heard 
 the rustle of a moving figure, then soft hands were laid on 
 his neck. " Clever boy," said Hilda. " That's why you 
 didn't deserve saying ' good night ' to." 
 
 m 
 
 With Hilda the days passed quickly. John was in no 
 hurry for his consignment of ore, which at first he had 
 looked forward so much to receiving. Each day he found 
 Hilda's companionship more charming, and her self more 
 intimate. She seemed so frank and direct. What sur- 
 prised him, was that she made no sort of claim upon him. 
 Willing to accept the present with light-hearted cheerful- 
 ness, she left the future to take care of itself. " Men 
 aren't always fussing about what is going to happen to 
 them next year. If women want freedom they must be 
 thorough," she had said, and once when they were riding 
 together far out in the bush, " Most girls I know are 
 only fit to get married. They are such cowards. I dare- 
 say I shall get married some day, but not yet. I have 
 such a deep suspicion of men. Once they are married 
 they set to work grimly to become husbands. I've watched
 
 270 THE MAINLAND 
 
 them. They forget that their wives are women, not only 
 women from a man's point of view, but from their own, 
 and that they are thinking just twenty times as fast as 
 the average man." 
 
 " Do men change so much when they are married? " 
 asked John. 
 
 " I should just think they do. The whole attitude 
 alters. They get full of assumptions, and the knowledge 
 of legal rights. What has the law got to do with it? " 
 
 He asked with a smile: "Does that make so much 
 difference? " 
 
 ' Yes, it does. I like to belong to myself. It seems 
 more generous like that. Of course lots of women, I 
 know, like their bondage. It makes them feel snug and 
 secure. Then they like to think that their men are 
 eternally faithful and all the rest. But that's rot. Men 
 aren't like that, God made them different. And " — 
 here she laughed with frank roguishness — " I'm willing 
 to take man as God made them." Then with one of her 
 quick changes of thought. " I suppose you know that 
 you are an eligible catch, and that I might try and marry 
 you? Probably every one thinks that I'm trying to. 
 Well, perhaps I shall when I get old. I like you, like you 
 too well to want to marry you yet." 
 
 ' What is it you like? " John, like every other man, 
 found it pleasant to be flattered by a pretty woman. 
 
 " What I first liked was the way you seemed to sum 
 me up without any impudence when you looked at me. 
 Now — oh, I like you all now. You've got such a nice 
 clean body . . . Are you pleased that I like you? " 
 
 " Yes, of course." Then, after a pause, he asked. 
 " Have you known other men as you have me? "
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 271 
 
 " That's not the sort of question a man should ask, 
 John, but somehow I don't mind your asking. Yes, I 
 have. There was another fellow, but he was a rotter." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " Oh, he was soft; full of sickly sentiment. Just be- 
 cause I'd been generous to him, he seemed to think that 
 he had power over me, and that I must marry him. I 
 didn't in the least want to marry him. I couldn't shake 
 him out of all his stupid prejudices. That's the best of 
 you, John, you haven't got any. His mind seemed to be 
 dark inside. Besides, he was soft. I turned him down." 
 
 " Hilda, you are splendid. I like you for your inde- 
 pendence." 
 
 " Yes, there are not many girls like me," she answered, 
 laughing, " though you may think there are, you wild 
 bushman! " 
 
 When John was by himself after their rides and talks 
 together, he was interested to notice how much he had 
 entered into the field of her ideas, and how little of that 
 firm substance of his own opinions, formed from hard 
 experience, had been disclosed. They had plenty of 
 things in common, and always interesting subjects to 
 talk about; but there remained a world of deeper thoughts 
 that Hilda's cheerful vivacity did not touch. All his ex- 
 perience of loneliness and pain was unknown to her. 
 Perhaps it was an additional charm that her courage was 
 without suspicion. 
 
 One of the trifles of their everyday life which amused 
 John and gave him great pleasure was to see Hilda eat 
 her breakfast. She did so thoroughly enjoy her food. 
 There was nothing in the least greedy about her, but 
 there was a frank, undisguised enjoyment, the wholesome
 
 272 THE MAINLAND 
 
 appetite of a strong and healthy woman. This was a 
 small thing, but it pleased him. He gloried in her health- 
 iness. She was happy, full of song and vigour, alive 
 in the true sense. Everything that she did, she thor- 
 oughly enjoyed. John thought her a splendid girl. 
 
 As the ten days before the ore arrived flew past, John's 
 intimacy with Hilda grew. At the end of the time he 
 told her with brusque frankness that he must give his 
 undivided attention to the work. She nodded in her 
 self-contained manner, telling him to look sharp and grow 
 rich. 
 
 Night and day he had to be at the mills, sampling the 
 gold as it passed through, seeing that he was not robbed 
 at any of the many stages. It was not hard work, but 
 he had always to be on the spot. During this time he 
 hardly saw Hilda at all, and consequently had oppor- 
 tunity of getting his relation with her " placed " (to a 
 certain extent) in his mind. He found he did not miss 
 her, nor suffer any ache from the separation. She re- 
 mained like a warm piece of sunlight in his thoughts; a 
 pleasant person to think about. He was glad that she 
 was there, and that he would meet her again. That side 
 of his nature which was uppermost when he was with her 
 was excellent in its way, but not the whole of life. Yet 
 though he could do without her, he was very glad of 
 their relation. It made life richer. He felt, too, real 
 friendship for her honesty and frankness. Had she been 
 a man possessed of those qualities he would have still 
 liked their possessor. As it was, he liked her additionally 
 for being a woman. By her surrender she had paid 
 tribute to, and strengthened his manhood. 
 
 During this period of work he often thought of Gilbert,
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 273 
 
 wondering in what way he had so failed that he had 
 found sex to be the curse of life. John wondered if he 
 had tried to find in it things that were in his own mind, 
 and which rarely could find place in the compromise that 
 must be between men and women. This thought brought 
 the admission that it would be difficult to live always 
 with a woman, then led him with a sharp pang to his 
 recollection of Mrs. Cray. Perhaps with a woman like 
 that anything might be accomplished. He remembered 
 that he had loved her with such tender adoration that 
 he had never desired her as he desired Hilda. Hilda 
 always belonged to herself just as he belonged to himself. 
 They were friends in the mutual expression of their 
 rejoicing vitality. The recollection of his love was some- 
 how different from that. He felt that such passionate 
 tenderness as he had then experienced might plunge him 
 so deep into pain and joy that he might lose all con- 
 sciousness of himself, letting his identity be moulded into 
 strange and unknown patterns. Gilbert, he felt, had 
 never let that happen to him. Perhaps he had fallen 
 between the two states. It would be possible, he imagined, 
 to get them hopelessly muddled. 
 
 Again his thoughts came back to himself. Where he 
 was travelling, or where he now stood he could not tell. 
 He had no fear, and it was useless to regret opportunities 
 that by inexperience he had lost. What he had attained 
 was a certain measure of success. Life was again attrac- 
 tive, an open book with leaves pleasant to turn over. 
 
 When the work at the mills was finished, he picked up 
 his relations with Hilda just where he had left it. It did 
 not seem that he had been away any time; there was 
 between them the same frank intimacy of thought, the
 
 274 THE MAINLAND 
 
 same sincerity. In addition to her friendship, he had 
 now the glow of growing success. The mine was turning 
 out better than expected. 
 
 The work of seeing consignments of ore kept John at 
 Mt. Gerard. Often there were long intervals when he 
 could enter into the gay life of the township. Sometimes, 
 too, he would run up to the mine for a couple of days. 
 He would return glad to see Hilda again, and to feel the 
 warm, assuring embrace of her arms. Once, to find ex- 
 pression for his good luck and satisfaction, he said : " I 
 think, Hilda, you are the most perfect mistress that a 
 man could hope for. You leave a fellow so free and are 
 so free yourself." 
 
 " That is the finest compliment a man can pay a 
 woman," she answered. " I'd rather be a mistress than 
 a wife." 
 
 For some months their easy relationship lasted, but in 
 spite of a mutual and passionate desire for freedom, 
 bonds gradually grew between them. In John's mind 
 there germinated a tiny grain of pity for Hilda, as for 
 some lonely creature who did not know the danger and 
 treachery of life. Any expression of this feeling, either 
 by word or movement, he knew, would be resented; still, 
 it constituted a bond. The need for constant secrecy 
 was also a tie. At times John experienced rebellious 
 anger against so arbitrary a necessity, feeling that some- 
 thing must be very wrong with a society that penalized 
 a woman for satisfying the natural impulse of her life. 
 At other times, when he heard the ordinary smoking- 
 room talk, he was glad that they had been able to keep 
 their intimacy so hidden under the shell of cheerful in- 
 difference. Their chief safety was in Hilda's large ac-
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 275 
 
 quaintanceship with other men and John's easy friend- 
 ships with women. 
 
 As the inevitable ties of their relationship grew, John 
 began to feel that his life was becoming circumscribed. 
 There was the mine and Hilda. There was Hilda and 
 the mine. He began to want something else. A desire 
 was stirring, making him restless. As yet he knew not 
 what the desire was, but in his restlessness he felt that 
 Hilda could not help. 
 
 When, one day, Stephens unexpectedly turned up at 
 Mt. Gerard and suggested that John should take a month's 
 holiday with him in Leith, John jumped at the idea. He 
 had often vaguely thought of going to Leith, and now the 
 chance had come at an opportune moment. 
 
 When he told Hilda that he was going, she looked just 
 a little vexed that she could not come, too. But that was 
 not possible. 
 
 " Well, good luck," she said, in her hard, matter-of- 
 fact way. " Don't forget all about me." 
 
 He kissed her his assurances. He was not sorry to say 
 good-bye, though, as on other occasions, he could think 
 with pleasure of meeting her again when he returned. 
 " I shall write," he said, " it will be good practice for me 
 in letter-writing." 
 
 IV 
 
 By the side of Macquary's Hotel, at which Stephens 
 had taken rooms the " St. Quintin " would have looked 
 but a provincial inn. Its magnificence produced in John 
 a sense of easy extravagance. He liked the super-luxury 
 of its huge cushioned chairs and its attentive men-serv- 
 ants. The activity of the city life passing before the
 
 276 THE MAINLAND 
 
 windows was stimulating; there was satisfaction in being 
 himself aloof, confident in the power of commercial suc- 
 cess. 
 
 The afternoon of their arrival was hot even for Leith 
 in midsummer. John and Stephen sat in the draught of 
 air from an electric fan in their private sitting-room and 
 looked out across the road and gardens beyond, to the 
 wide blue water of the harbour. 
 
 " You haven't forgotten that I've booked us to dine 
 out to-night? " said Stephens. " Some interesting people, 
 the Melvilles; quite the leaders of culture and all that 
 sort of thing, travelled a lot in Europe at one time. He's 
 a keen yachtsman. I daresay we shall meet him a good 
 deal on the water. It's his wife who chiefly patronizes 
 the arts. You are likely to find it quite amusing. They 
 are sure to have some of their latest proteges, some girl 
 who paints pictures in spots or streaks, of some young 
 fellow with a tie and a lot of hair, who scrapes a violin. 
 Not so bad in small doses. It rather amuses me. After 
 all one can always get Tom Melville to talk about his 
 latest device for making fast the jib-sheets. You've done 
 some sailing, haven't you, before you came on the fields? 
 Oh, well! you needn't be hard up for a subject." 
 
 " Will there be much of a crowd? " asked John. 
 
 " Oh no, some six or seven to dinner, and I daresay 
 half a dozen more will come in afterwards. It's quite an 
 informal affair. There's sure to be some one interesting. 
 Perhaps Carter will be there with his pretty wife — any- 
 way, there will be nobody dull in the ordinary way. 
 Mrs. Melville sees to that. She has a reputation to keep 
 up. It's up to her to find some new kind of exotic every 
 time. Mind they don't try and run you as one of their
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 277 
 
 side-shows. They are out for anything not quite usual. 
 I can imagine the description. Entirely self-made — 
 had such wonderful luck on the gold-fields; such a nice 
 young man and so intelligent." 
 
 " Oh, damn," said John. " I shall keep my mouth 
 shut." 
 
 " Don't do that, you'll miss half the fun if you do. 
 What's it matter? It's not such bad sort of damned 
 nonsense, anyway. . . . Oh, I didn't tell you, I've a little 
 friend of mine coming round to tea — a nice little girl — 
 I must introduce you. She's my typist, not that she's 
 any good at typewriting, but that accounts for her. . . . 
 She's my private secretary." 
 
 " Is she coming, too? " 
 
 "Good Lord, no! Mrs. Melville is fairly broad- 
 minded, but she couldn't stick that." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Oh, well, one doesn't take a girl of that sort out to 
 dine at a lady's house! Look here," laughed Stephens, 
 " you mustn't let on you are so ignorant of the ways 
 of the world, or they are sure to make a side-show of 
 you." 
 
 " But why the dickens should a girl always be penalized 
 if she doesn't get married? It seems unfair." 
 
 " Oh, you are up against Church and State there. 
 You'd better leave it alone . . . but you'll soon get into 
 the hang of things. They'll all talk, if not about their 
 own affairs about other people's. All you've got to do 
 is to listen. They are quite a pleasant set, when you 
 get to know them." 
 
 John found the party amusing enough. To meet, for 
 the first time, so many new types was bound to be an
 
 278 THE MAINLAND 
 
 interesting experience. Melville was a large bluff fellow 
 with a fair beard. He smiled benignly at his guests, 
 but didn't say much, leaving the way open for his wife. 
 Mrs. Melville was a sinuous lady with a long neck and a 
 refined face. She greeted most of her guests as, " Well, 
 my dear," and informed them how pleased she was to 
 see them. For John also she had a graceful greeting, 
 having heard stories of him, she said, from her old friend, 
 Jim Stephens. The guests were such as she had good 
 reason to be proud of, each carrying with him the con- 
 sciousness of some kind of success or distinction. There 
 was Carter, a heavy fellow with a square chin who had 
 made a fortune gambling in wool. Mrs. Carter, an ex- 
 ceptionally pretty blonde, with artistic leanings, developed, 
 partly for the sake of the elegance of the occupation, partly 
 as an escape from the rather thick atmosphere that Carter 
 shed around him. There was Professor and Mrs. White- 
 stone. Mrs. Whitestone was a leading figure in Leith, 
 being one of the chief intellectual lights. She had 
 " squashes " every Wednesday where she presided, the 
 central figure of art and learning. Her manner dis- 
 played the consciousness of her magnificence. She bore 
 a resemblance to a plumed and distinguished ostrich. 
 The professor was an insignificant little man, with wide- 
 world reputation for his adventures in the realm of pure 
 logic. He wore a dark blue suit which looked rather 
 small for him, and had a large bald head, which, Stephens 
 afterwards remarked, might have been laid by the ostrich. 
 Mrs. Whitestone, he maintained, gave an occasional glance 
 towards its shining dome, with just that air of proud 
 possession which a mother-bird might bestow on an ex- 
 ceptionally fine egg. Then there was Hunter, the journal-
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 279 
 
 ist, a wiry man with black eyes and a sour smile, and Miss 
 Raeburn, the new successful artist who was painting the 
 portraits of all who could afford to pay. Stephens had 
 been quite right. Her very original method to get her 
 effect was to draw with crayons a series of straight lines, 
 slanting from the right-hand top corner to the left-hand 
 bottom corner of her canvas: a very remarkable conceit. 
 Then there was her friend, Miss Mackintosh, a plump girl 
 with a pleasant smile, who was so clever at painting 
 china. 
 
 At dinner John sat between Miss Mackintosh and Mrs. 
 Carter, and was very much interested in the talk about 
 their studios and the pleasant-sounding easiness of their 
 lives. Miss Mackintosh told him that she was going to 
 have a show of her work in a few days' time. John 
 promised to be present. 
 
 The evening passed pleasantly, in the open garden 
 which looked out over the harbour. After dinner several 
 of the guests came in, including two specimens of the 
 hair-and-tie variety of young man. They had pleasant 
 faces and an open, deliberate way of speaking, of which 
 they were very conscious. Art and literature were still 
 the subjects of conversation, but later in the evening these 
 gave way to yachting. Mr. Melville now became ani- 
 mated, and he and Stephens arranged for expeditions in 
 the harbour for several days ahead. 
 
 When, at the end of the evening, John and Stephens 
 returned to their hotel, John felt a pleasant interest in 
 his new acquaintances. He looked forward to meeting 
 them again, feeling inquisitive to know how they spent 
 their leisure. He had learnt that they could talk well, 
 was indeed rather bewildered by the flow of conversa-
 
 280 THE MAINLAND 
 
 tion. It had all been very stimulating, but he supposed 
 that they had other and wider activities. 
 
 v 
 
 The next day was spent sailing in the harbour. 
 Stephens and Melville were both possessors of small 
 yachts, and the party divided itself between the two 
 boats. On the smaller yacht were Stephens, John, Mrs. 
 Carter and a Mrs. Ogalini, who appeared to be an old 
 friend of Stephens'. She was a small, bright-looking 
 woman with an abundance of dark hair and rather soft, 
 graceful movements. The day was fine, with a light 
 breeze, and the boats moved leisurely over the water, 
 exploring the many irregular bays and inlets of the har- 
 bour. It was arranged that at luncheon both parties 
 should meet at a rendezvous; till then the boats followed 
 their separate courses. As is usual on such occasions 
 the conversation was between couples, only becoming gen- 
 eral now and then. John soon found himself talking 
 with amused interest to Mrs. Carter, who, he had to 
 admit, came up to her reputation of frail, delicate pretti- 
 ness. She was very young, only just twenty, and talked 
 in an ingenuous manner, which John found very charm- 
 ing. He noticed in her a languid, seemingly tired ex- 
 pression, as if she had not much real interest in life. 
 When she was not speaking she let her eyes roam over 
 the sun-capped waves as though she did not see them. 
 
 John asked why her husband was not able to come with 
 her. 
 
 She smiled, as though pleased at the question. " Oh! 
 he has so much to do almost every day. He has to travel
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 281 
 
 about a great deal. He has gone to Albert and will be 
 away a week, perhaps longer." 
 
 " I expect he wishes he could be here with you," said 
 John. 
 
 " Yes." She was again languid and had lost interest. 
 After a moment she asked him: " I suppose you've done 
 a great deal of sailing? " 
 
 " Yes, up in the North-West by Garlip and further 
 north." 
 
 " Oh, tell me about it. That must all be a very wild 
 part." 
 
 He gave a short description of the cruise from Kaimera 
 northwards. Mrs. Carter listened with wide eyes full of 
 interest and sympathy. 
 
 " I should like to travel like that. You men are lucky 
 in your freedom. It doesn't seem to matter with a man, 
 how poor he is; he is always able to live his life." 
 
 John was puzzled at her allusion to poverty. " But 
 what do you know of poverty? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, a great deal." She smiled again, pleased at the 
 question. " Before I married I was very poor. My 
 father was an engineer at Kalgoorlie, not a rich one. 
 We had very little money." 
 
 " You must find it now a pleasant change," said John. 
 " It certainly is pleasant to have all the money one wants." 
 
 " Yes," she answered, without conviction. 
 
 John looked at her pretty, though rather sad little 
 face, and saw what he might have seen at first sight, 
 had he been more observant of other people's feelings; 
 that she was unhappy in her marriage. " Poor little 
 woman," he thought. " He does look a heavy, coarse
 
 282 THE MAINLAND 
 
 brute of a fellow with no ideas in his head beyond making 
 money. Poor little woman." 
 
 The knowledge that Mrs. Carter was not happy, also 
 that she looked pretty and helpless gave her additional 
 interest. He thought it a shame that women should be 
 tied to men that they didn't like, because in early youth 
 they had been indiscreet enough to get married. He be- 
 gan to feel a certain tenderness for her as for some child 
 who has hurt herself and who doesn't yet understand 
 the cruel order of things that allows pain so unkindly 
 to touch her. It pleased him too that she was cheered 
 and happy in his company. While he talked to her 
 about his adventures on the pearling coast and the gold- 
 fields, her look of childish happiness returned. But even 
 in her happy moods he could see that she was very sensi- 
 tive, still smarting from the effect of some sharp pain. 
 
 During the next few days John met Mrs. Carter on 
 several occasions, sometimes when out on the harbour, 
 sometimes at dinner or at the theatre, and once he and 
 Stephens went to tea at her studio to look at her paint- 
 ings. At these times she made no attempt to hide her 
 pleasure at his presence. John certainly liked her, though 
 he felt no strong attraction towards her as he had towards 
 Hilda. His emotion was chiefly one of compassion and 
 kindness, mingled with a certain satisfaction at the tribute 
 which her weakness paid to his strength. It was a pity her 
 husband was such a heavy, uncongenial fellow. 
 
 VI 
 
 About ten days after the dinner-party at Mrs. Mel- 
 ville's, John received a note from Miss Mackintosh re- 
 minding him of the small exhibition of painted china and
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 283 
 
 allied artistic productions that she and some of her friends 
 were giving. At the studio John found an assortment 
 of amusing modern paintings, about which their creators 
 were talking in a very serious fashion. Such fragmentary 
 remarks as, " Extraordinary well proportioned "... 
 " She's quite right and taking her art very seriously," 
 and "Remarkable work! " caught his ear. Miss Mack- 
 intosh's painting was certainly what pleased him most. 
 She covered large china bowls with a pale green back- 
 ground on which a continuous string of naked girls 
 danced with every sign of jolly abandonment. The fig- 
 ures which, in their delicate pink, contrasted vividly with 
 the pale green, had much originality of gesture and pose. 
 They certainly lived. Two of the larger of these vases 
 rather took John's fancy. Giving way to a sudden im- 
 pulse he bought them. 
 
 When they arrived at the hotel he was rather embar- 
 rassed by their size. One he had packed and sent to 
 Hilda with a little chaffing letter telling her not to forget 
 him. The other he didn't in the least know what to 
 do with. For a day or two it stood full of roses on a 
 table in the sitting-room; then John suddenly remem- 
 bered that Mrs. Carter had much admired the gay figures, 
 and had regretted that her husband could not buy her 
 one of the rather fantastically highly priced bowls. Again 
 upon an impulse, he had the bowl packed up and ad- 
 dressed to her. He thought of writing a note, but merely 
 enclosed his card. 
 
 The next day he received a very grateful little letter. 
 It was so very kind of him, she said, to give her the 
 beautiful bowl that she had so much wanted. Would he 
 come to tea with her at her studio that afternoon. She
 
 284 THE MAINLAND 
 
 had asked Miss Mackintosh that they might both admire 
 the bowl in its new setting. 
 
 When John reached the studio he found Mrs. Carter 
 alone. She was becomingly dressed in pale green with a 
 soft yellow scarf and waistband, matching her hair. 
 Both she and her daintily furnished room looked very 
 pretty. Miss Mackintosh had not yet arrived, so Mrs. 
 Carter began to show John some of her own paintings. 
 They talked about the bowl and how well it looked, 
 also about the studio; then, since Miss Mackintosh did 
 not come, they decided to have tea and not wait for 
 her. After tea Mrs. Carter suggested that they should 
 look at some sketches that she had made while travelling 
 with her husband in the south. She pulled out a big 
 album. Then they sat side by side, resting it upon a 
 table. John turned over the pages while Mrs. Carter 
 explained the drawings. John was not much interested 
 in the pictures, but he experienced a feeling of considera- 
 ble pleasure in her close proximity. He guessed that 
 Mrs. Carter must also find the pictures rather dull, but 
 he recognized it as part of the process that they had 
 to go through. Although she talked volubly, neither of 
 them paid much attention to what she said. There grew 
 between them a more direct means of communication. 
 John was conscious of her rather tender melancholy. It 
 was very pleasing. Also, he felt tolerably certain that 
 she had wished to be alone with him, and had never 
 asked Miss Mackintosh to be present. He felt that she 
 was delightfully slight, delicate, pleasant to embrace in 
 her soft, filmy dress; yet he sat still, making no sign. 
 
 When they came to the end of the album, they both 
 felt a little shy in the sudden absence of any subject-
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 285 
 
 matter, about which to talk. John held the last leaf in 
 his hand. For a moment they were silent; then Mrs. 
 Carter let her hand fall gently upon the back of his and 
 rest there, as though quite unconsciously it had chanced 
 upon that spot by accident. 
 
 A thrill at the delicate contact passed up his arm to 
 his heart. He knew that she had the same emotion. 
 Her face was turned away with a pensive, downward 
 look, but he could guess the tumult of excitement that 
 her calm concealed. He moved his hand so that her 
 smaller one slid into his palm, then closed his fingers on 
 it. His other hand he stretched to place on her shoulder. 
 Then turned her round and kissed her. 
 
 " Oh, John, do you love me? " she said, her blue eyes 
 very wide open, and shining with tears of emotion. He 
 did not answer, but kissed her again. 
 
 " Oh, John, I have had so little happiness. ... I am 
 happy now ... I knew when first I saw you." 
 
 For answer he still kissed her. What could he say? 
 He didn't love her, and saw no reason why she should 
 love him. They were both young and good-looking; that 
 was the reason of their attraction. While she lay happy 
 in his embrace, he told her how beautiful she was. Her 
 young beauty with its delicate charm was her gift in 
 return for his kisses and his praise. If she had been 
 unhappy, he was sorry for her. If she was happy and 
 because of him, he was glad. Why should she not take 
 what happiness came in her way? So soft and delicate 
 a creature, he thought, was perhaps not fitted for the 
 hardnesses of life. He guessed that she would never will- 
 ingly meet them, but would always find some kind of 
 subterfuge. For his part, it was sufficient justification
 
 286 THE MAINLAND 
 
 that she was very feminine, and that her kisses were sweet. 
 As for her husband — he was a dull fool immersed in 
 stocks and shares — unworthy of a pretty woman. John 
 had for her a genuine compassion when he remembered 
 his view of Carter's thick lips and bristly moustache 
 closed over a cigar. " Poor little woman," but she was 
 pleasant to kiss and seemed equally pleased to kiss him. 
 Very different from Hilda, he thought to himself, lack- 
 ing Hilda's vitality and hard cheerfulness. With Alice, 
 he would never be able to feel so much at ease. They 
 could never be so honestly comrades. He knew, thus 
 early in the relationship, that between them there would 
 always be a veil, not exactly of dishonesty, but of some- 
 thing that wasn't quite sincere, and which he would never 
 be able to draw aside. He could divine her sentimen- 
 tality as her chief quality, and a very real part of her 
 charm. It was all in the way of experience and very 
 sweet. To be critical at the moment of their first em- 
 brace seemed ungrateful. He would let their relation take 
 its course unimpeded by thoughts. It would, of itself, 
 develop easily enough. 
 
 vn 
 
 For the next few weeks, John found his time very 
 largely taken up by Alice Carter. She was so frail 
 and easily hurt that his natural gentleness made 
 him very tender with her. Besides the demands that 
 she made upon him, there were also those made by 
 the necessity of secrecy. At first the latter had been 
 stimulating. They had planned a wild adventure up- 
 country; had taken train to Darmunding and had stayed 
 at a small hotel among the hills. They posed as a honey-
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 287 
 
 moon pair. For a few days John had been very happy 
 while they wandered together amongst the trees and the 
 wild flowers. But although he was happy it was not 
 an unclouded happiness. They had both had to tell, and 
 to write, a great many lies, from which, somehow, the 
 very texture of their relationship seemed to have suffered. 
 
 It was at Darmunding that he remembered Gilbert's 
 remarks about marriage. He wondered, as yet very re- 
 motely, whether it was true that sex was the curse of 
 life. He remembered that Gilbert had said how marriage 
 changed him against his will. Well, not only was he now 
 being changed, but all the surroundings of trees and 
 plants appeared different. How they were changed he 
 could not exactly say, but they had a different aspect. It 
 was as if he was shut off from them. The personality of 
 Alice Carter somehow stopped his natural communion 
 with the wild things of nature. He could still admire 
 flowers, taking pleasure in their colour and shape, but 
 they were not the same as at one time they had seemed. 
 Some essence, which to his earlier youth, had burned 
 very vividly, and especially vividly under the influence 
 of Mrs. Cray, was now but feebly alight. Since he felt 
 that he could rekindle it by going away into solitude, he 
 was not much concerned about its temporary absence. 
 In place of flowers Alice offered him her flower-like and 
 delicate self. For the time this was sufficient. 
 
 Gilbert's second wife, he imagined, must have been a 
 woman rather like Alice. " Naked and shameless like a 
 flower," he remembered had been the description. Yes, 
 Alice was like that. To possess her as something pe- 
 culiarly his own was sometimes an intoxicating and blaz- 
 ing thought; but in the shadow that it cast he could feel
 
 288 THE MAINLAND 
 
 the desire for escape and for freedom in himself. He 
 could understand why Gilbert had run away. 
 
 When they were obliged to leave Darmunding and 
 return to Leith, he was both glad and sorry. There was 
 fierce, bitter pain in the thought of rendering her back 
 to her husband, but there was also a light-heartedness 
 at his own escape, a happiness which would take large 
 mouthfuls of free air. Yet he was not free. They often 
 met, and always there were notes passing between them. 
 There were moods in which he felt the soft power of her 
 surrender, when he felt he must rush to her and carry 
 her off openly. He wanted, with the strength and brutal- 
 ity of his own hands, to mark her yielding nature with 
 its own mark. In such moods she was to be his, to be 
 enjoyed or discarded; he would kill any other man who 
 looked at her with eyes of possession. Then the mood 
 would pass. At their next meeting they would be gentle 
 towards one another, and he would do anything that she 
 wished. 
 
 Once she asked him to go to church with her. He 
 had often seen churches, but had never been inside one. 
 They knelt side by side. John was surprised at her 
 obvious emotion. He wondered what she could find in 
 the nasal whine of the hymns or in the pretentious and 
 dull sermon. The whole thing, John thought, was dead: 
 the dullest show he'd seen, and he'd seen a good many 
 dull music-halls since he'd been in Leith. It was dead 
 dust, without even the juices of decomposition. A cor- 
 roboree was a ceremony infinitely surpassing it in re- 
 ligious emotion and significance. After the service, when 
 John was very bored, feeling that she had made a fool 
 of him by making him sit through it all, Alice showed
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 289 
 
 signs of unusual sentimentality, oscillating between tear- 
 ful manifestations of her affection, and oddly incongruous 
 self-reproaches for being unfaithful to her husband. 
 John decided that, if going to church were responsible 
 for this difficult combination, he would not again accom- 
 pany her. 
 
 When they were back at her house she turned to him 
 with moist eyes. " John, you must love me very much 
 to make up for my being so wicked." He didn't under- 
 stand this talk about wickedness, it seemed to him beside 
 the point; but he could dimly recognize that there was 
 reason for her being not happy. He himself was not 
 altogether happy. He felt that their relation led them 
 nowhere. It was sterile, a flower without roots, it cer- 
 tainly had been sweet, but was destined to fade. He 
 felt even as he looked into her large, blue eyes that life 
 would sweep them apart regardless of all sentiments. 
 She was not woman enough, she was soft not brave, she 
 had no spaciousness about her. He felt that she could 
 never live for long periods out of doors. Perhaps churches 
 were made for that type of woman. Her life would al- 
 ways remain shut in, and cramped within the limitations 
 of the town. Of course she had had bad luck in her mar- 
 riage, but if she had married some ordinary " townee " 
 successful fellow — that didn't happen to be such a heavy 
 bore as Carter — she would have been happy. With 
 him, she would never be happy. It was nonsense her 
 falling in love with him, part of her weakness. They 
 were not mated, though he did sometimes feel that fierce 
 lust of possession. That again was weakness and shame. 
 They were bound only by their weaknesses. She would 
 be his slave, his plaything, to be loved and hated, never
 
 2qo THE MAINLAND 
 
 his friend. Her thoughts were confined, he felt, within 
 a small flat circle, crushed beneath the weight of common 
 opinion. 
 
 When he was away from her, he dreaded and longed 
 for their next meeting. He knew that he would have to 
 step down to let their thoughts touch. It was pleasant 
 stepping down, but the process often repeated became 
 humiliation. 
 
 Sometimes he would get a picture of himself: one of 
 the money-grubbing city throng, a successful member of 
 society. Like all the rest he was greedy for women and 
 money. There was Stephens making love to Mrs. Ogalini 
 and running his little typist at the same time. He could 
 think of a score of similar cases. Then there were the 
 Melvilles with their veneer of cultured intelligence. Mrs. 
 Melville, he suspected, had become so coated with her 
 sense of the correct things to say and the correct things 
 to do so as not to appear commonplace, that she had died 
 inside her case; but the men were all like himself, greedy 
 after money and women. Yet he could remember that 
 once he had known other ways of life. Recollections of 
 early idealism which had flourished so strongly under the 
 influence of Mrs. Cray, sometimes reproached him with 
 stabs of pain. That was life indeed. There, there was 
 growth and hope, pain and joy mingled. Then he had 
 felt a power of love that would increase always, carrying 
 his hopes higher and higher. ... It had failed him — 
 crumbled to dust. He wondered. Life was now as 
 strong as ever it had been. The way no doubt was still 
 there. Why was he stumbling so aimleesly on broken 
 paths? 
 
 Then again the life of the town would seize him as it
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 291 
 
 hurried by: the round of parties and entertainments, 
 gossip at the club and assignations with Mrs. Carter. 
 His weakness seemed to bind him to her. Her soft hands 
 and wide eyes daily became more unquestionably a part 
 of his life. 
 
 Again he would break away, questioning fiercely what 
 right had she to live or hope for happiness. She was 
 soft and weak, unworthy. He saw the lives of other 
 women: the hard, grinding lives of town-bred women 
 sacrificed to the mechanical routine of commerce. They 
 had their professions and their vaunted freedom. On 
 the empty letter of that freedom (what some talked bom- 
 bastically of as emancipation) they could starve body, 
 soul and sex; and die, broken and wasted, the refuse 
 of a great machine. Hundreds of them had better right 
 to live than Alice Carter. 
 
 He thought of Hilda. She was brave and wonder- 
 fully capable of taking the consequences of her acts. She 
 would never snivel at fate. She was hard, well-tempered 
 to life, and cheerful. Then he thought of Gilbert. Gil- 
 bert had known all these things about the city and so- 
 ciety and the sheltered lives of women, and the lives of 
 women that were not sheltered. All these things which 
 John was just beginning to see he had seen long ago. 
 Yes, and Gilbert had run away. In the bush he had 
 found happiness! 
 
 John thought of the wide innocence of the bush, its 
 virginal smile, its hardness, its cruelty, its delicate wel- 
 come of soft scents. In the light of that thought he 
 began to hate the city. He saw his own restlessness 
 during the last few weeks. He had been in chains, and 
 every day was fixing them more firmly upon him. Well,
 
 292 THE MAINLAND 
 
 the way of escape was open. He had promised to be 
 back at the mine long ago, and yet he had stayed in the 
 town. Now he would go. The city with its vast preten- 
 tiousness could take care of itself. Why should he add 
 to the dross of its existence? 
 
 VIII 
 
 As the train, which carried John from Ruperttown to 
 Garloo, climbed the long incline leading out from the 
 town into the open bush country, John felt the warm 
 certainty and joy of one who returns home. At Garloo 
 he discarded his town clothes in place of a blue shirt and 
 dungaree. The strong desire to be immediately in con- 
 tact with the earth made him break his journey, and 
 for several days he wandered by himself in the bush, 
 sleeping at night on the bare, red ground under the stars. 
 Here at last his mind could escape the cramping bonds 
 forged for it in the city. The ever-youthful quality of 
 the desert was more lasting than any of the makeshift 
 irrelevances of town life. In the evening hush of the 
 bush there was calm: a tranquillity so wonderful, that 
 the deep gratitude of his heart welled up in tears to his 
 eyes. Here was the eternal source of his youth. The 
 evening birds, each night, gave their mournful cries in the 
 still air. They spoke the language most adequate to ex- 
 press the wonder of the twilight. Each night as he lay on 
 the ground, looking up at the bright southern stars, he could 
 see the shapes of black mulga-leaves silhouetted clear and 
 dark against the depths of the sky. His heart was filled 
 with gratefulness for the purity of his solitude. He could 
 believe that every little plant and bush expressed, even 
 in the shape of branch and twig, its sense of happiness
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 293 
 
 for remaining yet unviolated by the restlessness of man- 
 kind. 
 
 Yet though the solitude and close contact with the un- 
 spoiled wilderness was medicine to his soul, he knew 
 that for him it was not the bread of life. Even in the 
 happiness of his newly-found content, there was a deep- 
 moving desire, which told him that his satisfaction was 
 but temporary. This wild beauty of nature would not 
 always be sufficient. It was not complete. His very 
 reverence for life demanded more. There was something 
 wanting before he could touch, with that yearned-for 
 familiarity, the deep mystery of life. He knew that the 
 key for him was in some attribute of the feminine. It 
 was not merely in women. Femaleness was not enough; 
 he was thankful that Mrs. Carter was safely in Leith. 
 He wanted love as he had once felt its warm pulse — 
 love, folded in hope. Hope of what? he questioned: 
 of a spiritual freedom perhaps, in which all manifesta- 
 tions of life might be touched to an intenser joy. 
 
 He knew that it was not for him to live away from 
 mankind. Unlike Gilbert, he had not sufficiently out- 
 lived desire. Desire, with its wings of hope, was just 
 stirring after long years. Ever since he had landed at 
 Kaimera, it had been buried under the wrack of broken 
 illusions, under the weight of his body's fierce reactions 
 towards life at any cost. Now once more desire stirred 
 in his heart. It had driven him from the city to the 
 desert and would drive him yet further. 
 
 For not more than a week did John stay in the bush 
 near Garloo. He then travelled on to Tharamecka and 
 thence to the mine. He was glad to be back at the work. 
 The shafts had grown during his absence. There was
 
 294 THE MAINLAND 
 
 much news to hear from Dixon. He was glad to be back 
 in the midst of work once more. 
 
 " The old mine's going along first-rate," Dixon told 
 him. " She hardly needs looking at. The stuff comes 
 out regularly; there's a lot more ready to go through 
 the mills. I was waiting for you to give the word, but 
 I'll go down and see it through whenever you like." 
 
 " I think it's your turn for a holiday," said John. 
 "Wouldn't you like to go down and see your people? 
 I'll see the stuff through the mills." 
 
 " Well, yes, I should. I want to see Leith, too. I 
 hardly stopped there at all on my way up; just one day 
 while the steamer was at Port Leith and that was all." 
 
 " Oh well, I'll give you some introductions, and, of 
 course, Stephens will see you through. I wonder if you'll 
 like the life. It's a great change from the bush. I'm 
 very glad to get back." 
 
 "Why, didn't you like it?" 
 
 " In a way, yes, part of it was all right. I don't sup- 
 pose though that a man like myself who's lived in the 
 wilds all his life can understand what they are driving 
 at." 
 
 Dixon waited for further explanation. 
 
 " Oh well, you see, Stephens moves amongst just the 
 rich people. They have things as they like, yet none seem 
 satisfied. To tell the truth, I don't think I like towns 
 or the people who live in them." 
 
 " But why on earth not ? They are just the same as 
 other people, aren't they? " 
 
 " I don't know. I suppose they are. I don't know 
 what people are like," John said testily. " I know I was
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 295 
 
 damned glad to get out of Leith and wish I hadn't stayed 
 so long." 
 
 " What made you feel like that? " 
 
 " I don't know," John repeated more thoughtfully. 
 "Well, I've got an idea what's partly the matter: the 
 women are all so damned unhappy. I don't mean to say 
 that they go about with long faces (they are a sight more 
 sprightly than is natural), but they are not happy. The 
 married ones are hardly ever contented; and why should 
 they be with their beastly little, proper homes cluttered 
 up with things . . . and men who own them, without 
 taking the trouble to understand. The unmarried ones 
 are worse off. They are either miserable because they 
 can't get married, or else slave at some damned job that 
 they hate, to keep what they call their freedom. There's 
 an awful lot of talk about women's rights and freedom, 
 but the more they get of it, the worse off they are. It 
 simply means freedom to slave their youth and beauty 
 away in an office for some money-grubbing brute like 
 myself, without even being kissed in return. Do you 
 remember old Gilbert used to say that sex was the curse 
 of life. For women I think it is; neither with it, nor 
 without it can they be happy. ... As far as happiness 
 goes the average black gin, who's the common property 
 of half a dozen smelly old black boys, is better off than 
 the women drudges of the town. Why, in a town, you 
 seldom hear a woman laugh with anything like the light- 
 heartedness of these black gins." 
 
 " Anyway, Leith doesn't seem to have agreed with you," 
 laughed Dixon. " Don't you think that you are taking 
 rather a sour view of things? The women I know aren't
 
 296 THE MAINLAND 
 
 a bit like you describe. They are as reasonably happy as 
 they can be. Two of my sisters that are married are 
 awfully happy, I'm sure." 
 
 "Where do they live? " 
 
 " In Hasty Town." 
 
 " That's only a tiny place, isn't it? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Oh well, I'm sorry I'm sour," smiled John. " That's 
 how they appeared to me in Leith. I didn't want to 
 find them like that. Perhaps you'll have better luck. 
 Anyway, I'm happy to stay here if you want to go." 
 
 It was arranged that Dixon should take a long holiday, 
 first to Leith, and then down to "Cattle-chosen"; John 
 to keep his eye on the mine while a new manager, whom 
 they had just engaged, was getting into touch with the 
 work. Then, after a week or so, John was to go down 
 to Mt. Gerard to see the ore through the Mills. 
 
 After Dixon had left, the time at " White Rock " passed 
 uneventfully. John was very glad to find himself once 
 more amongst the interest of the work. He loved the 
 mine as a man loves a child of his own making and dis- 
 covery, but the desire, that he had felt kindling when he 
 was alone in the bush at Garloo, grew steadily more ur- 
 gent. He began, before long, to look forward to meeting 
 Hilda again. He remembered the easy comradeship, 
 wondering how he could for so long have done without 
 it. Her hard absence of sentimentality would be a pleas- 
 ant contrast to his recollection of Alice Carter. 
 
 He wrote her a letter saying that he would soon be 
 down with a consignment of ore, and would be staying 
 at the " St. Quintin." Close on the heels of his letter he 
 followed. Hilda was just the same. She had the same
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 297 
 
 pleased laugh of recognition, the same cheerful smile, 
 and the same frank renewal of their relationship. During 
 the first few days, all the best of their past seemed 
 revived. He thought her a wonderful person in her free- 
 dom. Then one day she surprised him by saying that 
 she thought soon of getting married. 
 
 "Why?" he asked her. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. I'm getting near the age when 
 one has to get married." 
 
 " Is it so inevitable as that? " 
 
 " Yes, what's a woman to do if she doesn't get married? 
 I don't want to work. Don't think me horrid, but, my 
 dear, I couldn't marry you. Somehow it would spoil 
 things. Why we have always got on so well together is 
 that we are free. I'm glad it began like that, and so it 
 must end. If we were married, you would soon cease to 
 pay me compliments. Besides, I must marry some man 
 I can manage, a quiet, docile sort of fellow. Some one 
 who'll give me the things I want. You'd never do, John. 
 You say you are bored with Leith already. That's where 
 I want to live." 
 
 ' He'll be a lucky fellow, whoever he is. You are 
 splendid the way you can see things. . . . But I wish we 
 could go on as we are now ..." 
 
 " No, it's all very well for you, but I get bored to 
 death in this little place, with all its beastly red dust. 
 Besides, there comes a time when one must get married; 
 I'm getting near it. I feel it in my bones. I'm jolly 
 glad we met, but it couldn't last for ever. Think of the 
 old women who are childless and lonely. I don't feel I 
 was made for that." 
 
 " No, of course you are not. I hope you'll have a big
 
 298 THE MAINLAND 
 
 family of clear-headed, charming people like yourself." 
 " Thank you, I shall take great care not to have a big 
 family. Two will be quite enough. I hope boys. I'd 
 rather have boys, because then one can share so much 
 in their lives as one grows old. I shall know of some 
 of the pretty women they love, and be glad. I shan't be 
 jealous any more than I am of you. ... Of course, I 
 know that you wouldn't have stayed all that time in 
 Leith without some adventure! Are you glad to be back 
 with me? " 
 
 « Yes " John generalized from a particular case. 
 
 " Most women are so sentimental." 
 " And I'm not." 
 " Not a bit." 
 
 IX 
 
 For some time after his work at the mills was accom- 
 plished, John stayed on at Mt. Gerard. From time to 
 time he would visit " White Rock," and then return to the 
 pleasant life at " St. Quintin." For a time the vague de- 
 sire that he had felt at Garloo was no longer uppermost, 
 and he was wholly glad of Hilda's companionship. Then, 
 as the weeks passed, he began to be again discontented. 
 He came also to understand Hilda's discontent. She was 
 quite right in wanting to get married; her present life 
 could not really satisfy her. Since he had been with her, 
 she had spoken less about marriage, but as soon as he had 
 gone, he knew that she would take the step. For both 
 of them there were further things to be discovered. They 
 had met and travelled together for a distance. They 
 would be friends for always, but they must part, perhaps 
 to meet again, but with new friendship, His growing
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 299 
 
 desire, vague but incredibly sure, urged him to travel on. 
 But where was he to go? The solitude of the bush satis- 
 fied him no longer. Neither did the mine nor the life 
 at Mt. Gerard. 
 
 One day he suddenly announced his intention of going 
 back to Leith, giving as an excuse that he wished to meet 
 Dixon. Hilda, who had seen his restlessness, understood 
 at once, and felt a vague melancholy at their parting. 
 This she concealed under her usual hard cheerfulness. 
 
 The night before his departure he went to her with 
 mixed feelings of joy and regret. In the morning, when 
 he was dressed, he went to kiss her good-bye, where she 
 lay still in bed in her white nightgown. He felt a sharp 
 tightening at his heart and an overflowing of unspeak- 
 able gratitude. He stooped to kiss her, putting into his 
 kiss more undisguised affection than perhaps he had ever 
 before expressed. She gave a little hard laugh, as if 
 warding off, and rather afraid of, his tenderness. " Good- 
 bye," he said, and, when he had left the room, felt he 
 had left behind him almost too much of his life to be 
 bearable. He knew he was right to go, yet the parting 
 was full of pain. 
 
 On his journey westward in the train he could not 
 forget the hard little laugh when he had kissed her. It 
 made him understand the duplicity of both his and her 
 feelings, also it revealed more than anything else he had 
 experienced the tragic compromise of a woman's life. 
 He understood how much was hidden beneath the sur- 
 face, and felt an overwhelming pity. It was a terrible 
 audacity that any woman, however well equipped, should 
 challenge the cruelty and extreme hazards of life. Life 
 was hard enough for men, but for women, how much
 
 3 oo THE MAINLAND 
 
 worse! How lonely each soul was. How terribly in 
 need of love. Why was it he had forgotten how to love? 
 One would not love people sufficiently, he thought, to 
 protect them from the hard disenchantments of life. The 
 thought of other people's existences became more clear 
 than ever before. Each lonely, with nothing but that 
 astonishing human bravery to save them from despair. 
 
 Hilda He did not really have fears for her 
 
 She would marry, would manage very successfully her 
 husband and her children, have her full share of human 
 happiness; and yet his heart ached. He found now 
 that he loved her, but in a way quite contrary to any 
 preconceived idea. That was why he was so willingly 
 going from her. 
 
 x 
 
 When he arrived in Leith John did not go to Mac- 
 quary's hotel, but went to a small hotel close to the 
 harbour. He was disappointed to find that Dixon was 
 down south with his people. Failing Dixon he didn't 
 particularly wish to see any one. He felt that he had no 
 particular function in Leith. He was there because he 
 was restless, and the big movement of the city attracted 
 him. He had no desire to join the routine of enter- 
 tainments and parties, preferring rather to keep his pres- 
 ence in the capital unknown. He wrote only to Dixon, 
 saying that he would be glad to see him. 
 
 For some time he spent his days wandering about the 
 city looking at the many and various manifestations of 
 city life. This, of course, had great interest, but still he 
 was lonely, and he soon began to feel the monotony of 
 his idleness. Then one day he made a discovery not of
 
 THE BEATEN TRACK 301 
 
 anything new, but of something old, which he had almost 
 forgotten. In a book shop he saw the name of writers 
 that he had heard of from Mrs. Cray. He had a sudden 
 desire to renew all those memories. The life he had 
 then led was more real than any of his subsequent ex- 
 perience. He went in. The bookseller happened to be 
 also a book-lover, and soon was interested in John's obvi- 
 ous ignorance of literature coupled with his keen en- 
 thusiasm. For an hour John remained in the shop talk- 
 ing with the bookseller over different volumes commended 
 to his notice. At the end of the time he came out with 
 a large parcel under his arm. The bookseller had " set 
 him up," as he said, for some time to come. 
 
 The next month was one of ever-increasing pleasure. 
 It was as if John had stepped into a new country, or 
 rather into several very large new countries. He read 
 Darwin and Fabre. Fabre he particularly loved. He 
 read Keats and Shelley. Shakespeare he discovered for 
 the first time. Don Quixote was also among his collec- 
 tion. The riches of all the world were opened before 
 him. However long he lived there would always be more 
 and more to find out; always a richer life. 
 
 One day Dixon walked into the hotel. " What are 
 you doing here? " he asked, as he looked round at the 
 faded curtains. 
 
 " Lying low," said John. " I didn't want to mix in 
 again with all that crowd." 
 
 " But what do you do with yourself? " 
 
 " I've been reading," said John, amused at Dixon's 
 surprise. 
 
 " I see you have. What a lot of books." Then — 
 " this seems a dingy sort of place."
 
 3 02 THE MAINLAND 
 
 " Oh, it's not so bad; it's quiet. No one of the set ever 
 comes here." 
 
 " I should think not. . . . But it is dingy. Look here, 
 I want you to come down and stay with me at our place." 
 
 " But I can't " John began. 
 
 " Oh, yes you can, you can read as much as you like, do 
 just what you like. It's quite as quiet as this and much 
 nicer. I've got a nice little mare for you to ride, and 
 when you are tired of reading, there are things we can 
 do on the station. They have all heard so much about 
 you, they want you to come, and say, I've got to bring 
 you along with me." 
 
 This appeared to John to be the one thing that he had 
 of course wanted. He did want the country again. 
 
 " All right, I'll come. I'd love to."
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 THROUGH a luxuriant, though airy, undergrowth 
 of ferns, black-boys, tree-ferns and Dicksonias, 
 the huge mottled stems of jarra and salmon-gum 
 thrust upward like towering columns, which carried, a 
 hundred feet from the ground, the magnificent vaulting 
 of their branches. In the early stillness of dawn, a thin 
 mist hung in the tree-tops, while here and there more 
 opaque streaks of vapour stretched motionless athwart 
 the stems, like sleepy sharks drowsing in a forest of giant 
 undersea growth. Few birds were yet singing; an occa- 
 sional parrot high up among the leaf-tracery screamed, 
 and perhaps was answered by some distant mate. Night- 
 moving animals stirred the fronds of fern, and slid silently 
 over the moss. Among the moss grew tiny plants; creep- 
 ers and sundews, with flowers as small as their delicate 
 leaves with thin petals yet concealed within the protecting 
 green calyx-cup. A small white tent, looking as insig- 
 nificant as a dropped handkerchief amongst the sur- 
 rounding grandeur of vegetation, was the only sign that 
 man had invaded the august reticence of the forest. In 
 the doorway of the tent stood a young woman. She was 
 looking out through the tree-stems, and her glance trav- 
 elled upward to the faint tracery of leaves half-obscured 
 
 303
 
 304 THE MAINLAND 
 
 by the mist. Her look of quiet happiness seemed to be 
 touched by the pervading spirit of the dawn, having a 
 simple harmony with the great enveloping freshness of 
 all things newly awakened. A week ago she had been 
 married to John Sherwin. He had taken her, with all 
 the simple happiness of her unshaken confidence, away 
 into the forest, one of those great forests that she had 
 known so well since her childhood, which now opened 
 all its secrets to her heart, filling her with content. 
 
 Mary Sherwin was blue-eyed and fair skinned, with 
 broad forehead and delicately moulded chin. She had 
 the look of one who is still full of confidence in life and 
 in herself, that confidence most able to express the firm 
 happiness of human life. In the forest, there was for 
 her no fear lurking, just as in life there was no fear. If 
 there was enchantment, and assuredly there was, that 
 enchantment was a part of the beauty of existence. For 
 a few moments she stood with alert eyes and ears listen- 
 ing to the hushed though vigorous breath of the dawning 
 day. Then stepping silently across the moss, she walked 
 a short distance through the undergrowth to where a 
 stream served her as her daily bathing-place. Here she 
 bathed, delighting in the fresh coldness of the water. 
 After she had bathed and was again dressed, she plucked 
 a small bunch of flowers, and hung them on a twig, then 
 she returned to the tent and began to prepare things for 
 breakfast so that she might be ready with hot drink and 
 food for her husband when he returned. 
 
 John had risen very early at the first twilight. He had 
 left his young wife asleep, and had wandered off with his 
 gun into the forest. In the early morning it was easier 
 to shoot meat for their day's food, also, it left his time
 
 EPILOGUE 305 
 
 free to ride, walk or read with her in the daytime. He 
 had gone some distance from the camp before he turned 
 homewards with a couple of young wallabies slung over 
 his shoulder. On this morning walk, which was the first 
 time that he had been deliberately alone since his mar- 
 riage, he felt the full measure of the content that so sud- 
 denly had come into his life. It now seemed strange to 
 remember that only three months ago he was a discon- 
 tented man, spending his time in irrelevant philanderings 
 in Leith. He remembered the days in the bush at Gar- 
 loo, and the urgent desire he then had towards a more 
 satisfying expression. Later, when he had come to the 
 farm on the Margaret River, it had seemed to him a place 
 isolated and complete in its own atmosphere, shut off 
 from the influences of modern civilization. All the best 
 associations of his own youth were here made more per- 
 fect by the sober dignity of the old farmer and his wife. 
 Here, he recognized, was a life very simple, yet almost 
 proud in the very limitations imposed by its simplicity. 
 In that small, neat homestead, what was worthy of human 
 praise and effort very definitely spoke for itself. The 
 father and mother and children all expressed in their 
 every movement the assurance of their tacit belief in 
 bravery, strength and cleanliness. There was kindness, 
 too, and the happiness engendered by a sympathy, imagi- 
 native enough to allow for individual development. 
 
 From the very first Mary had seemed to him like a 
 grown-up and beautiful child, a child, whom he at once 
 hoped would never know the cruelties and ugliness of 
 life. He had felt for her, in those first days, a tender 
 admiration such as he had once experienced for the bril- 
 liant blue butterflies, which with spontaneous happiness
 
 306 THE MAINLAND 
 
 open and close their wings in the bright sunlight of the 
 desert. He felt that the existence of so beautiful a crea- 
 ture was in itself a justification of life, of life as yet 
 untouched by the urgency of physical needs. What most 
 appealed to him was her spiritual gladness. Her soul 
 was pure, strong for adventure. First, admiration alone 
 filled him, then he began to feel that a being so proud 
 and tender must never be permitted to go unshielded 
 among life's cruelties which can be so fierce in their 
 pain that both flesh and spirit can, at the contact, be 
 mortally wounded. Though he believed that the courage 
 hidden deep in the calm composure of her eyes could 
 vanquish many injuries, he did not wish that her spirit 
 should be torn by contact with what was ugly. It was 
 enough that men should have to undergo that ordeal; 
 why should frail women, on whom the very functions of 
 life imposed so many burdens, be compelled to bear it 
 also. If her body must of necessity suffer from life, 
 he wished her spirit to have always strong wings, that 
 had never been broken. 
 
 His love for her had grown quickly, but with little 
 passion. It was at first such a love as he would have felt 
 for a child, who, without knowing it, needed his protec- 
 tion. During his stay at the farm there had been much 
 opportunity for them to talk. They had ridden often 
 in the evenings over the wide enclosures that sloped 
 toward the sea. They had talked not only of the wild 
 outdoor life that they both loved, but of the thoughts stirred 
 in him by the books he had been reading. The ideas 
 germinating in his own mind had also struck root in her 
 brain, becoming thereby a bond. In her shining, eager 
 enthusiasm he saw his unspoiled self. It seemed that
 
 EPILOGUE 307 
 
 all that was most loved in himself, and which he had 
 thought lost, was suddenly redeemed. 
 
 When he asked her to marry him, he knew already her 
 answer. As they rode home that evening it was sur- 
 prising that they had kept separate for so long, and that 
 they should be married now seemed a small thing, it was 
 but the beginning of an adventure. Perhaps by the help 
 of that adventure he would rediscover himself. Already, 
 values won from past experience were becoming firm and 
 sure. 
 
 Now as he walked alone in the forest in the hush of 
 early dawn, the memories of his past life gave him a 
 feeling of awe and yet of hope in the sight of his new 
 adventure. When he came to the stream, he followed its 
 course to their bathing-place. Here he found the little 
 bunch of flowers, and knew that his wife had already 
 been there. Quickly taking off his clothes he plunged 
 in. When he rose to the surface he shouted from sheer 
 joy in life. 
 
 At the tent he found Mary waiting for him with break- 
 fast ready. 
 
 n 
 
 One morning when they were riding through the forest 
 towards the coast, which was not far distant, she ex- 
 claimed suddenly: " John, tell me about Leith. I have 
 often wanted to go, but have never been further north 
 than Pinjanup. I have heard so much about it. It 
 must be wonderful there. Will you take me? " 
 
 " It isn't half so nice as the country here," said John. 
 
 " But there's the wonderful harbour. T should like to 
 see that, too."
 
 308 THE MAINLAND 
 
 " Yes, the harbour's all right," he admitted. 
 
 "Don't you like Leith? " 
 
 " No, I don't." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 John didn't wish to tell her all his reasons for disliking 
 the city, yet felt that if he based his answer on any small 
 foundation she would think lightly of it. During his two 
 visits to Leith his eyes had been open; and in any city 
 or town it is not difficult to see the misery of the streets; 
 the poverty, greed, dishonesty, luxury, indifference. He 
 hoped that his wife would never know of the great sub- 
 stratum of city life, believing that ignorance of such things 
 meant a freer happiness. Such lives as Mrs. Leeth's, 
 Mabel's and even Mrs. Carter's, he felt, were the natural 
 product of the great mill of civilization, which, gathering 
 all human desire and spirit into its clutch, mangles them 
 beneath its huge rollers, and at last flings out the poor 
 remnants of human souls, to hang slack and wasted like 
 dirty rags. But he did not wish to tell her all this. " I 
 hate the cities and towns because life loses its value 
 there. Everything . . . things of the most importance 
 get covered up by all the things that don't matter." 
 
 Mary was silent for a little, then she said: " I should 
 like to go and see for myself. I have always thought of 
 Leith so differently. Father and mother are proud of 
 our city. You see, they remember its growth. It's the 
 centre of the country. I thought it was the heart of all 
 the life of the land." 
 
 " No. The real life is out here and up in the bush, 
 that's where people do things. ... I can't explain it, 
 because I don't understand it all. But I know that I 
 dislike that life and love this and the life up in the bush.
 
 EPILOGUE 309 
 
 That's all," he smiled. Then since Mary was again 
 silent, " I'm like my father," he said. " He ran away 
 from civilization and hated it. Of course, in a way my 
 father was a failure. That's why he lived always on that 
 island. I don't want to do that, but " — he spoke now 
 with sudden feeling — " I feel that only injury and evil 
 can come to people from life in cities. I've seen such 
 hell of misery there. No one is really happy. The rich 
 people do an awful lot of things to keep themselves 
 amused, but they are not happy." 
 
 Mary smiled at his sudden earnestness, she liked him 
 for being so definite and uncompromising. " I want to 
 know about things for myself," she said; " I'm not so 
 weak as to break at the first touch." 
 
 " I know you are not," he said gravely, then, smiling, 
 " There's always life." 
 
 " Will you take me to Leith? " 
 
 For some moments he made no answer. He didn't 
 like to think of Mary among Mrs. Melville's set, caught 
 up in all their irrelevancies. Then he thought, that if he 
 had been able to come safe through it all, she with her 
 calm dignity of spirit would be able to form a true valua- 
 tion. He believed that the ballast of her early life would 
 bring her safely through the city's superficial glamour. 
 " Yes, I'll take you," he said. " And I'll take you to 
 the mine, too, and show you the bush-scrub. I love the 
 desert, in a way, as much as I love this country here. 
 And then I'll take you on to see my people at Kanna 
 Island. I should like to see them again, and it would 
 give them great pleasure to see you. You will find them 
 rough, crude people, who have been cut off from the rest 
 of the world for nearly thirty years. My father was
 
 310 THE MAINLAND 
 
 always a rough fellow, though he made me respect him. 
 We had a great struggle when I wanted to leave the 
 island. It was that, that brought us together. I never 
 loved him till then. Then he showed me that he could 
 be generous as well as strong. . . . Will you come with 
 me over there? " 
 
 " Yes, John. I'd like to." 
 
 "Very well; we'll go first to the mine and I'll show 
 you the country that Bob and I tramped through. Then 
 we'll go to Kanna, then back to Leith, and you can stay 
 there as long as you like. By that time the new house 
 will be built." 
 
 " If you don't like Leith we won't stay there long," 
 she said. " We can come back here. I've never been so 
 happy as I am here. I don't suppose I shall want to stay 
 long in Leith, but I want to see for myself. If the new 
 house is nearly finished, of course, I shall want to come 
 down and see how it's getting on." 
 
 " Look," he said, " you can see the sea through that 
 gap in the trees — and again over there right away in the 
 distance. My word, this is a glorious country." Then, 
 smiling at his wife, " I shall be sorry to leave it for even 
 a few weeks, but it will be fine to come back to it. . . . 
 Bob has been a trump the way he's looked after the mine 
 while we've been down here, and I've neglected it shame- 
 fully. . . . Well, we'll start as soon as you like." 
 
 " Oh, not just yet," she said. " Let's stay a week 
 longer." 
 
 " Very well, then, we'll go home and say good-bye to 
 your people and get some clothes together. I want 
 to see the builders, too. I shall go over to Hasty Town 
 and make sure they understand all about the new house.
 
 EPILOGUE 311 
 
 I shall have a good three days' work to put in before I'm 
 ready to start." 
 
 For a while they talked about the new house that they 
 were having built on an estate that they had bought not 
 far from " Cattle-chosen," and about their coming journey. 
 But later, when from a small hill-top a long stretch of 
 coast and broken sand-dunes was suddenly spread before 
 them, they forgot everything in the delight of that wide 
 view of sparsely populated land sloping to the white 
 breakers of the Indian Ocean. John was very glad that 
 there was yet a week's respite before returning to the 
 life of the world. He would willingly go when the 
 time came, yet it was a pleasant thought that for some 
 days longer they would sleep beneath the high vaulting 
 of the trees, and each morning be awakened by the early 
 cry of birds in the cool seclusion of the forest. 
 
 THE END
 
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