r" 
 
 1^ 
 
 ^1' 
 
 'j>\. 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 i
 
 THE EMIGRANT: 
 
 ^ Cale of ^uistralta* 
 
 BY W. H. LEIGH, ESQ. 
 
 AUTHOR OF " RECONNOITRING VOYAGES AND TRAVELS IN SOUTH AUSTRALIA, 
 • CAPE OF GOOD HOPE, ETC." 
 
 H. V, r. OF THE AFRICAN INSTITUTION OF PARIS, ETC. ETC. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY SIMMONDS AND WARD, 
 G, BARG.E YARD, BUCKLERSBURY. 
 
 1847.
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY H. I. STEVENS, I'lUI.POT LANE, I-ENCHUKCI! STREET.
 
 THE EMI GRANT 
 
 A TALE OF AUSTRALIA. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 " I write not of what I have heard, nor of what I have read, but of what I have seen" 
 
 Eetrarch. 
 
 There is neither a more interesting nor a painful sight, than to 
 behold the departure of a vessel, with her tear-bedewed passengers 
 hanging in intense anguish over her side, and gazing, probably for the 
 last time, on faces which, in all human probability, they are destined 
 never more to behold. The brother is there ; his tenderly-rloved sister 
 is weeping on the sands. The son is in that proud-sailing bark, and 
 his sUver-haired sire is supporting himself on his staff as he wafts fortli 
 his blessing upon his only hope. Hearts are big with agony, and the 
 bosom is swelling with the vain attempt to drown the deep sorrow that 
 is reigning, to smother the long-drawn sigh that shaketh the hot tear 
 from the straining eyeball. Gallant is the bearing of the vessel, as 
 the favouring wind distends her white sails to the sun. Noisy is the 
 mariner, as he bustles amid the confusion that is. around him ; but he, 
 even he, accustomed as he is to the wild waves and the storm, turns 
 yet an eye of tenderness upon the round, green hills, which are so soon 
 to be enshrouded from his view : the rapidly-drawn sleeve over his 
 bronzed brow swept thence aifection's tribute from a heart that no 
 danger could cower, no tempest disturb. 
 
 B 
 
 -•s ■s o rr' r"* <— i"i 
 
 XJl/«c<^ouU
 
 2 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 These are the times, and these are the scenes, which would make the 
 most prosy, poetical ; the most unthinking, reflective ; the most callous, 
 feeling ; and cast a momentary shadow over the sunniest, the glad- 
 somest brow. The heart that is unaccustomed to the woes of another, 
 now has a double duty to perform ; and the eye that has but gazed 
 upon its lonely troubles, is rivetted by the melancholy that is accumu- 
 lated around it. In that little bark, as viewed from the anxious shore, 
 what niunbers have embarked their all ! In that lonely speck, fast 
 disappearing in the waste of waters, how many have trusted their entire 
 world ! All that can niuuke life sweet, or existence endurable, is there. 
 The father gazeth silently upon his little ones, and their playful smiles 
 but meet in return the pallid cheek of their long-struggling, their ill- 
 rewarded sire. Now, he and his helpless family are there : the land 
 where their forefathers are sleeping is left for ever. The past must be 
 viewed, with all its pleasures, its vicissitudes, or its pains, as a blank 
 which is never to be noted ; and the future must be gilded by the ray 
 of all-radiant hope, to light him cheerfully to a more peaceful, a happier 
 goal. 
 
 Over the scarcely-heaving bosom of the sea, how silently is skimming 
 that proud triumph of man — that floating ark, destined to traverse 
 such an immensity of water ! to meet with the sickening, dispiriting 
 calm, and to lie upon the encircling belt of the world a solitary Efnd 
 unmoving thing ! Day after day will she rest, motionless and dead, 
 upon the slumbering wave, where all around is lifeless — not a bird dare 
 raise his drowsy wing — but deathlike stillness, in all its dread 
 solemnity, must attend them till the lazy and fickle wind shall breathe 
 once more spirit and energy into the flagging, useless sails. Then 
 comes the tempest, hurrying along, and driving like a fury in his car ; 
 lashing the angry waters into foam, and whirling their giant crests 
 resistless over the sailless and giddy bark, till once more the ele- 
 ments of strife shall sink to peace — the favouring zephyr swell the 
 sail that wafts the weary wanderer to his long-looked for, his adopted 
 home.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " I cannot say but 'tis an awkward sight 
 To see one's native land receding through 
 The world of waters ; it unmans one quite."— Byron. 
 
 In a vessel bound for such a voyage as from England to Australia, 
 there must of necessity be but little room to spare ; the supply of pro- 
 visions, the water, the baggage, articles belonging to the ship, live 
 stock, and compressed hay for their use, hanging rovmd the already- 
 crowded vessel, with the motley group of passengers — all these, mighty 
 in bulk and in weight, are to be wafted over the unfathomable deep, 
 defying the very elements, to the antipodes of the land they have left. 
 What a subject for reflection are those few planks that are bearing so 
 heavy a' burden ! and what a subject for wonder is man, who could 
 devise so astonishing a machine, and direct it to lands in darkness or 
 light, through tempest and elemental vicissitude, to its destined port ! 
 How daring the project ! how happy, how marvellous its perfection ! 
 By it, man receives the advantages of lands how remote from his 
 own ! by it, the luxuries of the Orient are at once at the Laplander's 
 cot, and the blessings of civilisation and the education of the human 
 mind can travel with the feet of the wind. How the ill-requited, the 
 vmfortunate, must turn to this mighty condor of the water ! must behold 
 in it what at once bespeaks the liberator from the fruitless toils they 
 endure — the willing messenger from climes of a sunnier aspect, and the 
 patient camel of the weary waste, that is ready to bear him to the 
 land he has selected — to waft him, as in a dream, from his chilly clime 
 to where a brighter sun shall beam over him, and the bountiful earth 
 return his labour with the hundredth fold. And there are those within 
 that distant speck who have now forsaken the home of their fathers —
 
 4 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 have abandoned for ever the land for which their hear s would bleed. 
 There are those within that swift-retiiing speck whose souls are 
 animated with the noblest fire, and whose only hope, humble and 
 unostentatious though it be, is the desire, the certain prospect, that 
 their industry may meet with reward, and their endeavours be crowned 
 with success. 
 
 Sad is it for that land which parteth with her choicest sons, un- 
 willing to receive their proffered assistance, or unable to reward them 
 for the labour they have j)erformed, yet how often must the sorrowing 
 eye gaze upon the manly hearts that sheer desperation is hurrying 
 from the soil ! How often must the Briton turn and sigh to behold 
 his country diumally drained of her choicest sons — her hard-working, 
 well-deserving, but neglected peasantry ! And still oftener must the 
 heart of the philanthropist be shocked when squalid misery surrounds 
 the cot and rank weeds are acciimulating around the dwelling where 
 pining industry unwillingly is idle, and where the strength of the soil 
 is left in his squalidness, his helplessness, his want. 
 
 " 111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey. 
 Where wealth accumvilates and men decay. ■ 
 Princes and lords may flourish or may fade ; 
 A breath can make them, as a breath has made ; 
 But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 
 When once neglected, ne'er can be supplied." 
 
 Let the sigh that the expatriated tiller of the soil heaved for his de- 
 serted coimtry be recorded as an evidence, that indigence, and not 
 inclination, had driven him, an alien, to a distant, but a less-loved 
 land. 
 
 The sea had gradually changed from its apple-green, the sandy 
 bottom no longer had illumination from the heavens, and the deep blue 
 of the bottomless water was dashed into foamy diamonds by the speed 
 of the vessel. Every one had gazed for the longest, the latest moment, 
 on the island, the island they so devotedly loved, which now appear- 
 ed but a dim cloud upon the verge of the horizon. The evening was 
 rapidly advancing. The watch of the night was set. The mate had, 
 with stentorian voice, declared " eight bells," and Darkness was, for 
 the first time at sea, drawing her dark mantle around the wanderers.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " I sate beside the steersman then, and gazing 
 Upon the West, cried 'Spread the Sails!' "—Revolt of Islam. 
 
 *' Holloa ! — here we are ! — now's the time for sailing ! — 
 
 ' Merrily, merrily goes the bark 
 Over the waters blue ;' 
 Merrily, cheerily, sings the lark, 
 Bampfylde Moore Carew ! 
 
 I could not for the life of me find another rhyme but the Gipsy King ; 
 but hovir satisfactory it is to me, after the dreadful sickness I have en- 
 dured — the horrible, as the French call it, the ' mal de mer horrible,'' 
 
 or the horrible of the ; but I forget my Latin, save the 'propria 
 
 quce.' That's an ill omen ! that's a foul bird ! there he goes ! Well, 
 thank Heaven, I've made my will anyhow, in case I should have — 
 what should I have ? I'll chew a biscuit. I feel like a man released 
 from his prison, with a touch of poor Pelisson when his gaoler killed 
 the spider. Well, anyhow here we most decidedly are, with nothing to 
 look forward to but — I cannot say what misery to endure, for I cannot 
 say how long ! When it will be more endurable, it is impossible at all 
 to say ; and who, and what we are, is more difficult still — and what, and 
 for what we are voyaging, and the results of all this, as the poet says, 
 or sings — I think he sings, (May I be permitted to trouble you for a 
 light?) The poet sings thus — thus sings the muse : — 
 
 ' As o'er the bosom of the mighty main 
 
 The gallant sailor seeks the distant land. 
 He leaves the home he ne'er may see again, 
 Yet proud he beareth on the strangest strand. ' 
 
 I have seen the time when I could sing those ballads ; but that time
 
 () THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 and the voice are like Nebuchadnezzar's dream — ' they are gone from 
 me;' hut how gaily this craft skims 'the ruffled wave!' 'How 
 Neptune's sheep are grazing o'er his Downs ! ' 
 
 "Do you know ? if you do not, how can I tell you the secret with 
 which I am oppressed? but, 'There's glory in the fading eve;' 
 'There's beauty in the night;' 'There's wonder in the firmament.' 
 (Thank you, sir, for a light) — Fal la la la la la la la ! Well, I should 
 have been very sick, very ill indeed. How dreadful is that sickness ! 
 Look at those unhappy, miserable beings, ' on forrard' — God bless 
 me, how distressed they are ! Don't it appear as though the very — 
 but I won't mention it — they must indeed sigh for some friendly hand 
 to give them the ' neutral tint,' as painters say. Is it painters ? — 
 yes, memory serves — to give them the neutral ! they have at present 
 what physicians denominate the ' ventral tint' — yes, memory serves 
 again. How horrid it is, that same sickness ! How well the ancients 
 describe it ! thus : — 
 
 * How violent the tossing ! — o'er that wave 
 That was to thousands such a sudden grave, 
 How dreadful the commotion ! — and how sick — 
 
 I forget the last line, but it goes on to state that the ancients certainly 
 were intimate with the malady — and, as I was stating, it must really 
 be owing to beholding those poor persons ; but — I really — well — I 
 could not have — I feel very — 
 
 " Can't be helped, as Jupiter observed to the Egyptians respecting 
 the mummy, (vide Josephus.) Yes, Josephus — memory serves. I was 
 very ill; a touch of the hum-phum-gum -bogie — yes, that's the com- 
 plaint, memory serves ; but a man, as FalstafF says, a man of my 
 liver — is it liver ? yes, as he. Lord John, says — ' a man of my liver' 
 to have a touch of the abominable ! Well, after the dreadful deposit 
 I have made, I can only quote the illustrious bard who sings — I forget 
 his name — however, hear what he says ; — after my misfortune I called 
 to mind these rhymes, and as I thought of them I felt consoled, as they 
 were peculiarly applicable to my case. Now for them : 
 
 ' Full many a gem of purest ray serene 
 Tlie dark, unfathom'd caves of ocean bear.'
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 7 
 
 You are fond of poetry; so am I. What think you of those rhymes? 
 as Pope said to his father, or his father to Pope. Does memory serve ? 
 Well, I like the sea, and I like the land ; but I do not like a ploughed 
 field to walk through after a heavy fall of snow when 'tis nearly 
 thawed ; neither do I relish the sea when we get what the sailors call 
 a ground swell — ground swell, is it ? yes, memory serves, (vide Bond 
 Street, last page, or the tail end on it.) 
 
 ' T am like the jolly tars — I like bumbo and flip, 
 But I do not like knocking about — ' 
 
 That's my creed — that my idea — and may a worse — but if you like 
 to just step down into my nutshell, — and I am a man of rank, being the 
 ' kernel,' — I will give you a whifF of the primest Cavendish you ever 
 distended your cheek vdth. But as time is growing late, and the eight- 
 bell hath tolled, I will not press upon you any longer for the present; 
 but, mark this ! and it's a plain, untanned hairy bacco-pouch. Just 
 mark it, and if you like the plain unadulterated herb within, it is your 
 earnest welcome ; and during the long voyage and pilgrimage before 
 us, it is your own fault if we smoke not the calumet of peace." 
 
 All this was spoken, sung, and said, with a volubility that defies our 
 pen, and with a gaiety that seemed but ill to suit the party to whom it 
 was addressed. Be that as it may, the speaker, upon the conclusion of 
 his last sentence, gave a flourish of his old-fashioned German pipe, and 
 descended to his berth with the rapidity of one well used to a seafaring 
 life. Whilst our voluble friend is below, let us take a transient view of 
 what is passing upon the deck of the " Ocean Queen." 
 
 Upon the forecastle are to be seen numbers of the emigrants who 
 have as yet escaped the agonies of sea-sickness : some engaged in deep 
 and abstruse speculations as to the time which is to elapse before they 
 make the first land, viz. the Cape of Good Hope ; and others, indif- 
 ferent, or apparently so, are indulging with the ease, satisfaction, and 
 nearly the attitude of a Turk, the " fragrant weed." The seamen for 
 the most part have already performed their duties of the day, and are 
 mixing, as if forgetful of the day that has passed, with the gaiety and 
 thoughtlessness peculiar to their race. How often does the hoarse, but 
 hearty laugh, resound from their quarter as brother Jack in his humour
 
 8 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 detects some awkwardness in the lubbers with whom he has so recently 
 become acquainted ! and how puzzling it is to them, and how delightful 
 is their ignorance to him, as they marvellingly behold with what facility 
 and confidence he can mount aloft, and how deeply learned he is in the 
 knowledo-e of each individual rope that appears to hang in such tangled 
 confusion ! Jack is now in his peculiar sphere ; he can please to spin 
 them yams of amazing quality, both as regards their length and in- 
 terest ; and when he condescends (for to all intents and purposes it is 
 with him extreme matter of condescension) to actually remove his quid 
 to the opposite position, and when the romantic moon just deigns to 
 smile upon Jack during the spinning of that same yarn, then is the 
 perfection of nautical life. No man need wash to hear any other tale of 
 danger, of war, of courage, and the expeditions against the natives — 
 no ! the stranger, when he is permitted to rest for an hour upon that 
 sacred spot the forecastle, and when the ghost story — but I must not 
 anticipate that, there slumbereth one now that may fitter deal with so 
 awful an event. 
 
 Well, from that " Boothia Felix," the " forrard," as our lively friend 
 maintains, there is a kind of "no-man's ground," to those precincts, 
 where the chief and his clan are seen to walk. Often ere now has the 
 noblest form, the most undaunted heart, paced over the poop of the 
 " Ocean Civieen;" but never was there a more beautiful favourite of 
 nature than was seen to step lightly over its broad and whitened surface, 
 to behold the round moon this evening throwing her broad and trickling 
 flood of light over the bosom of the half-slumbering waters.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Fit couch of repose for a pilgrim like thee ! 
 Magnificent prison enclosing the free !"— Wilson. 
 
 " Thy messenger! to render up the tale 
 Of what we are !— Alastor. 
 
 Once more let us gaze upon the dark blue sea. Once more may we 
 turn over the waters the longing eye of anxiety, of thrilling suspense ; 
 now may we find time to become upon more familiar terms with those 
 who are destined to be our fellow-travellers ; and now it behoves us the 
 more especially to observe " peace and good-will to all men." 
 
 As a life at sea (in spite of all that has been said to the contrary) is 
 the most monotonous, irksome, and unsatisfactory, to the mere pas- 
 senger, that can be passed, — as it generally, if not always, is to him, 
 from its sameness of sky and water — its unpleasant and unremitting, as 
 well as unnatural motion, a period of absolute purgatory, — we must 
 enforce the social law vdth double rigour, in order that man upon this 
 most pressing occasion may render unto his fellow every assistance that 
 he possesses to shorten by friendship and kindness the tedium of the 
 voyao-e, and to show there yet exists in the human bosom the unex- 
 tinguished spark of benevolence, which requires but a slight exertion 
 to brighten into a glorious, a heart- warming flame. Let us, now we 
 are fairly upon the " waste of waters," forthwith, and, sans ceremonie, 
 see who is upon deck. At a glance we discover that it is densely- 
 peopled. That hoiTor of all horrors, the " qualm," hath left but few 
 suffering under its tyrannical rod ; the rosy cheeks of the stern North 
 are again visible, and the glorious sun is smiling upon what has so 
 recently been a scene of everything dismal and wretched. 
 
 By the sunny side of the long-boat, which boat for security is stoutly 
 
 c
 
 10 THIi: EMIGRANT. 
 
 lashed amidships, we may remark a pensive youth, who, as he pur- 
 sues his solitary march of five steps a turn and a return, keeps his 
 eyes firmly i-ivetted upon the deck, as if he alone were the-^ole in- 
 habitant of that crowded bark. He turns his dark eye neither to the 
 right nor to the left, but silently, with his arms crossed behind him, 
 does he perseveringly continue his diminutive walk ; he is watched by 
 a short chubby-faced individual, who sits smoking a long pipe upon a 
 water-cask. Ah ! the gentleman of the pipe can watch him with 
 patience no longer, but, after a preparatory remo the aforesaid 
 
 pipe and a " hem ! " he thus salutes the promenader : — " We are a-going 
 along stylish, sir; we are just about slipping through — I suppose we 
 are trotting out something to the tune of — (the speaker peeps over 
 the side) — something to the tune of — Captain, how many knots ? 
 The Captain answers, " Somewhere about seven." The gentleman 
 resumes, " To the tune of seven, you hear. Well, I don't call that 
 bad work," nodding his head with an air of satisfaction ; "I call that 
 anything but — " Here the voice of the walking gentleman, deep, 
 sonorous, and distinctly articulated, was heard, " I wish it were nine." 
 " Ah ! there you are," interrupted the smoker, " there you are," slap- 
 ping his knee and looking inquisitively at the wisher ; " you want all 
 things not to be got at. If we had been going four, the first thing you 
 would a' said Avould a' been, ' I wish we were going along seven !' 
 Now we do go seven," looking over the side again — " Now, sir, we 
 do go seven, and you want to go nine. If we went nine, then clap on 
 another ought, and let's go ninety at once ; that's the way of the world — 
 mortal man 's nearer satisfied." And here the speaker was interrupted by 
 a third party, who gravely uttered, " Your observation, most learned 
 Thebar,, is remarkable for its learning, and the grace with which it was 
 delivered : you recollect, ' Men would be angels, angels would be 
 gods' — Pope — memory serves. May I solicit the favour of a little of 
 your prime tobacco ? I found a curl or two of the fragrant herb in 
 my nutshell, and I am proud that I arrived just in time to see you 
 knock the ashes out of — doubtless your third pipe ? ' Uncle Toby had 
 just knocked the ashes out of his third pipe,' — that's classical, it's a cer- 
 tain dead proof that the ancients used the divine weed ; — * he knocked 
 the ashes out of — This is — (puff, puff,) — thank you, this is, vulgo, ele-
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 11 
 
 gant bakky. Your observation, that man was never satis — But I forget 
 my manners, — Sir, your fellow-traveller and most hvimble of all your 
 slaves, Tobias Turkey, vulgarly yclept Toby Turkey, — you will gene- 
 rously excuse my card — it would not be worth your acceptance, for, if 
 memory serves, it would certainly not turn up trump — I never held a 
 trump card in my life. I have played many a game, and have gene- 
 trally found myself in the hedge, as the learned term it, and have never 
 been able to get the odd trick; — never got the odd trick — no, never, — 
 memory serves — never. But may I be honoured, sir, with your name ? 
 I see you are a man of considerable kidney, and one doubtless who pur- 
 poses accompanying the good ship ' Ocean Queen ' even unto the final 
 disembarkment. " 
 
 " Sir, with you I am uncommon pleased ; I was just a-wanting such a 
 companion ; the gentleman who has popped his head down the hatch- 
 way, he has been toddling about a-first a this un, and then a that 
 un." 
 
 "To and fro, like Satan in Job," interrupted Mr. Turkey. 
 
 *' Well, I can't say anything about Satan — in Job, did yer say ? — inas- 
 much as I never talks of that gentleman behind his back ; but I can just 
 give yer my observations upon this score, and (stopping the tobacco down 
 in his pipe — pufF, puff,) fust and foremost, how do you like this here 
 bacco ?" " It's tol lol," replied Mr. Turkey ; " it's tol lol." " It's 
 more than tol lol ; look here, (patting the pork-cask, upon which he 
 sat,) here's lots o' room. This bacco — but now ain't this excellent, to 
 sit at our ease with the wind right aft driving us along so cosy to 
 Aus — or Austral — is't? — asia!" " I assure you, my esteemed friend, 
 Mr. — Mr. — I beg pardon, I really have not yet had the pleasure of 
 hearing from your own lips your — your — the worthy name of my good 
 friend on my right." " Oh, my name — (puff, puff,) — I'm like you ; I 
 got no good cards in my pack, — there's none on 'em no great shakes ; 
 howsomever, I've got in my pocket a letter I received (fumbling his 
 pouch for it) by the very last Plymouth pack — packet : no, was it the 
 packet 1 Well, really one has been knocking about the waters so long, 
 one almost forgets ; howsomever, here is the letter. Now (handing 
 the letter with an air of dignified importance) read for yerself. what i* 
 says on the outside, — let's hear what it says — can you sypher it 1 — in
 
 12 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 course you can ; it says" — " Oh, thank you, I read distinctly,—' Mr 
 Ochus Moss, Esq., Mary & a bone, to bee left at Mrs."—" It don't, 
 say no such a thing as Mary and a bone ; it's where I formerly resided, 
 at Marlebon, London, and it's addressed to be left at my grand- 
 mother's. Howsomever, my name you now know, at your service, 
 Ochus Moss, of Marlebon, London." — " Any relation to the Fungus 
 family?" — " Fungus! no, the Mosses of Marlebon. And now, sir, 
 sitting with you on this here pork-chest, sailing away at the rate of — I 
 suppose (looking anxiously about) — Captain I — where"s the captain ? — 
 Mate! mate, I say ! (looking over the side) how many knots? nine, I 
 look upon — upon it." — " Ay, nine knot— But, sir, your pipe wants a 
 little more bacco. I see you know the valee of an old-stager; you 
 smokes 'em till they be a reglar Sambo, and that's the proper ticket — 
 vi'hat say you?" — "Come, let us drink to the good luck of every 
 mother's son onus — (drinking) — Here's luck !" " Ah, Mr. Ochus Moss, 
 I little thought that I, an humble indiwidual — is that the correct lexico- 
 graphy ? that I, an in-di-wid-w- (oo, is it, Mr. Moss ?)" — (" Never mind 
 tlie oo") — " that I, an — but I can go no further — should have fallen into 
 the society of one so much after my own heart. Would it be too intruding 
 in me to ask you, whilst we blow forth this princely weed, and beguile the 
 fathoms, to give me an idea, a consolatory outline, of whether .1 am to 
 set you down, in my pocket-book as an Australian neighbour, or whether 
 I must send you an invite a month beforehand to ask you when it wall be 
 agreeable to you to ask — (puff, pufF,) — for me to invite you to a — a — the 
 best my mansion can offer? you understand me." " I tell you what, Mr. 
 Turkey, I have, from the time I first set foot aboard to this here very 
 moment, entertained this — that is, I means to make my precious self" — 
 ("Your precious self, Mr. Moss? You're right — memory serves") — 
 *' pretty comfortable — that is, if all goes along pretty bobbish ; but if 
 things goes anyhow at all, I flatters us we shall just about do the thing ; 
 but, as you seem a decentish sort of a fellow, and as we shall in all 
 likelihood be a smartish bit together, I'll just tell you what brought me 
 out to emigrate in these rum Australia countries. Now, just you fill 
 your pipe, make yourself comfortable, and here goes. 
 
 " You shall know, Mr. Turkey, that in my youth — for though rather 
 an oldish codger now, I have been a youth, and as dapper a one too as
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 13 
 
 — but self-praise, you know, friend Turkey, is no — But, excuse me, Avhat 
 a queer name your'n is, Turkey ! it puts me in mind of Christmas : Tur- 
 key and sausages, or Turkey and forcemeat balls, and Turkey — " " Yes," 
 interrupted the addressed, " Turkey carpets, Turkey rhubarb, and a few 
 others, no doubt — memory serves." " Well, as I was holding forth — 
 let's see, where was I ?" " You Avere ' as dapper a something — ' " 
 " Oh, ay — well, I really was in those days remarkably sprightly ; but — 
 (sorrowfully) I was then a youth. I received my edication at the Gram- 
 mar School in the village ; it was a sad neglected place to be sure, like 
 all the rest o' that name, though it had lots of property, as most on 'em 
 have, to make it very excellent as a school, and edicate no end on us ; 
 yet there was but about half-a-dozen when I was there, and the parson 
 who pocketed the £700 a-year gave an old lame pensioner about £20 
 a-year to teach us 'rithmetic and syntax : but it was sadly managed — 
 all was decay and ruin, even the rain used to come through the ceiling 
 and wash out all our figuring ; and when I left it, having got all my 
 learning, there was scarcely any roof to it, and but about four lads 
 there, at all." " I dare say," cried Mr. Turkey, " that even those were 
 students upon the foundation ? '' "Well, I don't, know about that, but 
 upon leaving that seminary of logic, (Mr. Turkey blew out a cloud,) I 
 was put apprentice to a man that renovated old hats, and made cast-off 
 apparel look better nor new. I stayed touching up the castors and 
 tickling the fat out of sleeves and coat-collars till my master found the 
 old-hat trade but a very seedy 'fair arter all ; and though he polished up 
 other people and brought 'em all from the shade into the very broad day- 
 light, yet in spite of his steam engine, for we did it upon scientific 
 principles, the customers dropt off one by one like ripe apples, till at 
 last the master calls me a one side, and he says — says he, ' Ochus,' says 
 he, 'throw all those old leathers into the river; follow 'em up by the 
 hoofs !'" " Beg pardon, Mr. Moss, what leather and hoofs were they ?" 
 " Oh ! bless your heart, they was the life' and soul, secret and body, of 
 the concern. We got from all quarters parings of leather, ditto of 
 hoofs, and any other of those gummy sort of things, and biled 'em all 
 together in a cauldon : that used to form, with a bushel of soot added, a 
 thick, sticky compound ; and with that same, if you had sent me the 
 vilest old tile you ever had upon your precious poll, I could have
 
 14/ THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 touched it up by those means to look like what now-a-days is called a 
 thick- webbed spider 4s. 9d. gossamer, or a velvet Frenchy ; if we'd a' 
 gallooned the edges, you'd be astonished ; and that same hat wore un- 
 common well till it rained, and then, in course, you might has well a' 
 had a nightcap of tripe on your head, as anything like that, to feel dry 
 and comfortable. — Well, where was I ? — oh, ay, well, 1 felt rather as- 
 tonished to hear my master give the word to throw all the valuables 
 pack and package into the river, and at first thought he might be a 
 matter or two malty ; but no, he was as sober as a judge. So accord- 
 ingly into the river 1 bundles all the parings, hoofs, and leather ; which 
 as soon as I had done, my master called me once more into a secret 
 conference. ' I am a-goin, Ochus,' says he, ' to change my mode of 
 life altogether.' ' So I should think,' says I. ' I am a-going,' says 
 he, ' the very next blessed Sunday as comes, to be married to Mrs. 
 Moffat, the pawnbroker's widow ; and Moss, I am going to turn Uncle.' 
 My surprise was beyond all control. I roared out, ' You're going to be 
 married to Mrs. Moffat !' ' I am, next Sunday as ever comes, I am !' 
 'And,' cried I, ' are yer a-goin to turn the tender heart of the peace- 
 able renovator into the grinder of the needy and distressed?' 'No, 
 Ochus,' said he, ' not exactly tlie grinder on 'em, but upon the usual 
 equitable principles." " Principles in a pawnbroker ! did memory 
 serve ?" inquired Turkey. " Yes, upon equitable principles. I was 
 bewildered; and when he offered to increase my little pay if I chose to 
 remain a short time with him, as a sort of likes, we made a kind of 
 bargain over a glass of gin-and-water, and I proceeded, according to 
 his directions, to make as free with the old hats and the hat-blocks as 
 I had done already with our sinners of war the stiffening. 
 
 " A few days rolled away ; the Sunday came, and Mrs. Moffat and 
 my respected master Abraham Barlow were man and wife. The honey- 
 moon was ushered in by Mrs. Barlow getting the painter to regild the 
 balls, that had swung in sombre blackness as if in mourning for their late 
 master; the outside of the house was fresh painted ; the old jewelry I 
 rouged and rubbed and arranged afresh, and a dashing framed glass, 
 bearing the inviting words ' Money lent,' was placed in a favourable 
 position in the little bow winder. 
 
 "Well, though I didn't much like the pawnbrokerin idear, howsomever
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 15 
 
 to it I went tooth and nail. But it wouldn't do : I couldn't abear the 
 poverty and distress daily before my eyes. God bless you, Mr. Turkey, 
 I've met such fine swells in the street, taking the wall of everybody, 
 and blowing a long beak vip, and every feather out for show, like a tor- 
 mented Turkey cock ! — Beg pardon, didn't mean to be personal. Well, 
 and about the time that blessed Monday morning came round again, 
 there was I tolling out half a sovereign or so — yes, it's true, week after 
 week, enter and cross the thingummies half worn in the shop and half 
 out. Then the misery — oh ! the supplications, the begging and the 
 praying for another shilling ! Altogether I could not stand it, so I gave 
 Master Barlow due warning, though it was a well-enough-paid place, 
 and I was going to face the world like a thimblerigger arout the visible 
 means. Well, I did — I left him hard at it, and one fine morning I 
 walked my chalks to try my luck. I fell in next day with a gentleman's 
 servant's place; but the maid-servants and I was rather too agreeable, 
 and the master, though he looked over that as being natural, yet one 
 thing stuck in his crop, and he never liked me arter that. I'll tell you 
 how it war. You must know, I had all left-ofF clothes as perksites ; 
 and the master never wore 'em when they went seedy abit under the 
 arms. Now, one of the wicked wenches put me up to this trick which 
 I used — 'twas just to tickle them abit in that situation with my — you 
 won't go to mention it, Mr. Turkey?" " No, upon my honour. What 
 did you tickle them with ?" " My penknife ! So when they got so thin 
 as you might see to read through, I shoved my thumb through at once; 
 and when I was helping him on with his coat, I just tugged his shirt 
 through the hole, and then made him hold up his arm at the glass. I 
 found it never fail. But one unlucky day — I believe in imlucky days — 
 he actually was watching me out of his window when I expected him 
 not out of bed, and I forthwith, as he said, ' for my ingenuity,' had the 
 sack. I have sold many a coat, but never off his back — always on his 
 back. He was a fine-looking man ; and when a dealer used to call 
 for an article, I used to shut him up in the saddle-room till master 
 came down to see the nags ; so then I showed him his bargain to the 
 best advantage, and he always had it by the end of the week. After 
 leaving that place, I set up in a public, and should have done tolerably 
 well, had not one of the confounded wenches from my old place wanted
 
 1() THK EMIGRANT. 
 
 to speak to me upon very particular business. So I sold the good- 
 will of the concern, traps and all, and resolved at once to emigrate to 
 South Australia. And here I am, highly gratified to find so excellent 
 a gentleman as Mr. Turkey ; for I see you are a gentleman, in every 
 sense. You have got an after-cabin, ain't you?" " It may be called 
 partly after, and partly intermediate ; more comfortable, though more 
 expensive. But I beg to thank you for your kind yarn ; and, ' by 
 two-headed Janus, Nature hath made strange fellow^s in her time.' I 
 suspect, how^ever, this to be grog-time o'day, if memory serves ; so, if 
 you will just whip down into my berth, you shall shoot the crow 
 flying, as they say in the Low Countries." — " Do they ?" said Moss ; 
 " well, then, I '11 just have a pop at the crow, and it shan't be my fault 
 if I miss him, for I'll put a good charge in, howsomever."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " She is not of our order, but belongs 
 To the other powers. Mortal ! thy quest is vain, 
 And we are baffled also."— Manfred. 
 
 The weather had heen, with but little intermission, for the last fort- 
 night, one continued blaze of sunshine ; the voyagers were now rapidly 
 approaching the equatorial line, and all things on board had fallen 
 into the regular routine and quiet which is as infectious as it is neces- 
 sary for a life at sea. The quiet of the evening after a burning day, 
 when the busy hum of the sailors in their various employments had 
 died away — when nothing was heard but the sullen plash of the noble 
 vessel as she bore her bluff bosom through the waves, making silence 
 audible, — these were the precious moments when the body could take 
 from every breath that stole o'er the sea new vigour, and the mind 
 expand upon the deep blue vault of heaven, and dwell for a few 
 celestial moments with those dear friends that long since have left us 
 alone to toil and trouble midst this rugged world. But the gloom 
 that the departure of the glorious sun has spread upon the waste of 
 waters, though it makes the ebon mantle of night still of a darker, a 
 gloomier hue, yet the pensive twilight has hardly ushered in her reign, 
 when, lo ! the queen of the stars appears bounding in the already-glow- 
 ing South ; and around her, gorgeous and sudden, millions upon count- 
 less millions of radiant worlds appear, dancing and gleaming, bespan- 
 gling the vault. Then, forth from the dark bosom of the distant wave, 
 slowly and stately emerges the bright round moon, looking of magni- 
 tude immense. How solemnly and with what majesty does she rise, 
 like a spectre at the bidding of some mighty magician ! There, now, 
 her whole globe is visible. Over her head, what subdued radiance ! 
 
 D
 
 18 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 She boasteth not that refulgence which precludes all but the strong- 
 eyed eagle to gaze upon her charms ; the humblest animated being can 
 see and admire her ; and though her rays are said to possess but little 
 fire, yet how comes it that she inflames the lover's heart, consuming 
 the very soul ? Without the moon, the Adonis might sigh in vain ; 
 without her warm, yet chaste assistance, Venus might pine alone, and 
 Cupid, whcMi he had unharnessed the goddess's doves, break his bow 
 and his arrows in twain. 
 
 Upon the deck of the " Ocean Queen," — beautiful vessel, Cleopatra- 
 like, sailing upon a sea all dazzling with gold, — are to be seen, as usual, 
 upon these heavenly tropical eves, the emigrants. Various are the 
 themes discussed : now the soft hiun of some secluded pair, descanting 
 upon the friends they have left, in soothing tones of pensive melan- 
 choly — anon rising into energy, as they strike the chord, the chord that 
 vibrates to the adopted home to which every moment draws them nearer. 
 Upon the poop, rapidly pacing on the windward side, we have now two 
 gentlemen in animated converse. Let us hear what can have so much 
 claims upon their oratory and discussion. 
 
 " My dear Rennie, the observation you have just made may be true 
 to a certain extent : I am willing for one, free as any man, to confess 
 the difficulties which beset our course. I am not a man who has left 
 England without mature considerations ; I have weighed the matter 
 well — I have cudgelled the question, and I flatter myself that there is 
 not a point bearing upon the subject but what has occupied my most 
 serious attention. I stand no better, perhaps not so good a chance as 
 you do ; my former habits are so ditterent to my anticipated employ- 
 ments ; but I have nerve, and, I hope, perseverance — and, they in 
 spite of all obstacles, must carry the day." 
 
 " But, my friend Blair, are we not to consider difficulties must and 
 will arise of which we dream not '! Do we expect to land upon a shore 
 already flowing with milk and honey ?" 
 
 " Now, Rennie ! I have already shown you the chart of Australia — 
 yes, Australia the Southern ! — in it do you not behold boundless plains, 
 forests, mountains, rivers, meadows, lakes, rivulets, and, in short, every- 
 thing that can render life either happy or desirable ? I am no dreamer ; 
 do you for one moment consider, friend Rennie, I would have left mv
 
 'JHE EMIGRANT. 
 
 19 
 
 all, put myself to so many months' anxiety, amounting even tp absolute 
 wretchedness, — do you suppose, I ask, that I am a mere shallow-pate, 
 who would have parted with my certainty in the land of my fathers, 
 for an uncertainty in an antipodeal wilderness ? Answer me that ; you 
 are silent — yes, you are silent ! It is not my nature, Rennie, to over- 
 value tinsel ; I am aware, to my cost, it is not all gold that glitters ; 
 but why are you silent — why do you not speak? why not speak, 
 Rennie ? I see, by your so hastily drawing your cigar, that you are 
 comtatino- something that is intended as an underminer to what I have 
 so positively advanced. Is it so ? " 
 
 " Blair ! I have listened, and the answer that I can only make is 
 simply by three questions : What, in the name of fortune, caused you to 
 become discontented with your English lot ? what first put emigration 
 in your head ! and v.hy are you so certain of success ? You will, I am 
 certain, my dear Blair, excuse the freedom of these questions ; but 
 you are aware that they are deserving of all our attention." 
 
 " Rennie, of this I am fully aware ; and upon another occasion, when 
 we have not quite so nmch overfatigued ourselves with the promenade, 
 we will devote an hour to those very questions ; and I will satisfy you, 
 I feel confident, in every point, that I have acted as you or any other 
 right-thinking man would have done under similar circumstances. But 
 for the present let us just rest half-an-hour upon these hen-coops : 
 how admirably they are contrived ! see, they form comfortable seats all 
 around the poop, containing dozens of fowls, and yet how compact, 
 how very close they are arranged ! not an inch — no, not one inch to 
 spare ; on the contra What voice is that singing ? Hark !" 
 
 " I low merry, how gay is the sailor's life ! 
 As the bird he is \vamlering free ; 
 In the very last port is his widow 'd wife — 
 Sing fal the ral lal, lal lee." 
 
 " What scoundrel, ^Ir. Rennie, sings that libertine song ? Hark! he 
 is actually going on again!" 
 
 " I 've roamed east, I 've roamed west, 
 And, s])linter me, thus I say^ 
 The sigh tliat heaves from Polly's Ineast 
 I shan't hear when 1 'm far away.
 
 20 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 And many a time, in the midnight watch, 
 
 My heart it is beating true ; 
 But if I had been but her street-deor latch, 
 I 'd have known who had just pass'd through. 
 Then fal lal lal la, and chorus all, 
 As we sail on " 
 
 " Strike the bell eight, there ; call the watch." 
 
 " Ay ; there, Rennie, I am glad they put a stopper on that rascal's 
 pipe. So, that 's a true hearted blue ? Only just reflect, what a dis- 
 graceful doggrel he has been singing ! and, what was more provoking — 
 so easily are people led away by impvidence — I heard several voices 
 join him ; yes, actually anticipate the scoundrel ! What do you say 
 to honest Jack, Rennie ? After this, is he any better than he 
 should be?" 
 
 "You will, I am sure, excuse me, Blair, when I tell you, that I have 
 neither heard the singing of the seaman, nor any of your elaborate, 
 and doubtless learned, remarks on music. I have been, for the last 
 quarter of an hour, watching a lady who is leaning alternately upon 
 the arm of her maid and upon the taffrail. I do not recollect that I 
 have seen her before. Do you know who she is ? I have not seen 
 her, to my knowledge, at the cuddy table ; neither have I heard that 
 any lady occupied her cabin from illness. Know you, Blair, who she 
 is ? Surely she is not an intermediate passenger ?" 
 
 " Rennie, I know not. If it is your wish, let us speak to her. She 
 is a fellow-passenger, you know ; and, waiving etiquette — in fact, it is 
 etiquette, the very essence of it ! to introduce ourselves — if we could 
 see the Captain ! But, however, it is of no consequence ; we will just 
 walk that way, Rennie. Douse your cigar. No, Blair, wait a moment; 
 suppose the lady is an invalid ? Let us first ask the Captain." 
 
 " Does your lady not know her, nor any of the other lady passen- 
 gers ? It may be some one we know, only in a different costume." 
 
 " No, Rennie ; I know it is not any one we have already seen ; and 
 1 will give you this as my authority, — the maid answered not the 
 question of the steward's wife, as to what was the matter with the 
 young lady in No. 10 ; and the inference drawn by my wife from the 
 maid's taciturnity, and the lady's non-appearance, is, sea-sickness." 
 " No, doubt, Blair."
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 21 
 
 " Yes, it may be that, Rennie ; but I'm afraid, from what I am 
 obliged to hear, it 's a far worse malady than that, and far more 
 fatal !" 
 
 " God bless us, Blair ! you don't mean consumption ?" 
 
 " No ; worse than that. Consumption only consumes the body ; 
 her malady, if she has it, which God forbid, gnaws the soul !" 
 
 " Ah, I see, Blair ; she is doubtless an incurable fanatic ?" 
 
 '* No, you are wrong ; and, to a certain extent, you are right. I 
 will tell you what aileth that creature. You have never seen her ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 ** Upon your honour ?" 
 
 ** I have never seen her." 
 
 " Well, then, I will tell you her disease. She is an • I can 
 
 hardly make myself heard, from the noise those fellows in the inter- 
 mediate cabin are kicking up. — Well, let us see. Oh, you have 
 never seen her?" 
 
 " Never, upon my honour." 
 
 " Well, then, according to all accounts, she is a perfect ve 
 
 It's of no use — those bacchanals — ^just hark ! Hoav little do they 
 reflect there is not but a single plank betwixt them and eternity !" 
 
 (A voice singing, from the intermediate cabin.) 
 
 " Though the weather it be foul, 
 
 And the sea in thunders roar, 
 Yet we'll quaff a hearty bowl 
 
 For the friends we 've left ashore. 
 Though to other lands we roam, 
 
 And leave all we adore, 
 Yet our hearts are still at home, 
 
 And Hope anchors on her shore." 
 
 " Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! Turkey, your health — Mr. Tobias 
 Turkey's health ! Three times three, and one cheer more !" 
 
 " Ah ! there it is — it 's Turkey — I expected it was. What a fellow 
 that Turkey is !" 
 
 " Well, whilst we have been listening to the songs, our fair friend 
 has departed. Did you see her depart ?" " No." " Major Rennie ?" 
 " Yes, Blair." " Well, we will just have a biscuit, and a glass of half 
 wine and quarter water, with our lively friends in the intermediate,
 
 ^~ THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 crowded though they be. These companion staircases are none of 
 the surest of descent, Rennie." " You are right, Blair : I shall 
 follow." 
 
 " Oh ! oh !" cried a voice the moment tu.y appeared in the cabin — 
 " Oh ! oh ! — as we live, our valued friends Messrs. Rennie and Blair. 
 Gentlemen, your health — and, in fact — Who stops the jorum ? — and, 
 in fact, I am about to drink your most astonishing good healths — good 
 beyond anything known since the Millennium — Gentlemen, Captain 
 included." " Thank you, Mr. Turkey." " Gentlemen, the health of 
 our compatriots and fellow-travellers — en bonne esperance — yes, memory 
 serves, en bonne esperance — Messrs. Rennie and Blair — with the third 
 edition— hip, hip, and conserve of hips : Dr. Blair without his Ser- 
 mons, and Professor Rennie without his Insects." " Order, order 
 Mr. Chairman. Mr.Turkey — :\Ir.Turkey, you forget yourself." " Not 
 so, my worthy and approved good masters — Memory — yes — The ob- 
 ject I had in view — Mr. Brown, may I trespass upon your time one 
 moment?" " Certainly, sir." '* Then pass the bottle. Mr. Blair, 
 first and foremost be this understood — I was, ere your august presence 
 was amongst us, duly elected Vice-Chairman — mark the Vice, Toby 
 Turkey his mark. Mr. Rennie, if you consider yourself better qualified 
 than I am, I will thank you to favour the company with an extempore 
 song." " I assure you, Mr. Vice-Chairman, I could not in your pre- 
 sence attempt." " Our friend Blair ?" " The plea of Mr. Rennie 
 availeth me." " Well, then, you have all heard the spirit-stirring old 
 song of The Turned Head ?" " No, never — what Turned Head ?" 
 " Well, ici commence." 
 
 THE TURNED HEAD.-SONG BY MR. TURKEY. 
 
 An old cliap there was, and I dare be bound 
 
 His equal was not upon Kn^^land's ground; 
 
 He was wron;^- in his pate, as soon will be found — 
 
 He fancied and swore that his licad was turn'd round. 
 
 So nervous was he, as lie sat in his room. 
 He thought all who saw him would laugli at his doom, 
 And as round it he'd shuflle, would frequently roar, 
 "What a strange thing it is tliat my head 's hind before !
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 23 
 
 If any one call'd on this comical chap, 
 There he sat with the tails of liis coat in his lap ; 
 And loud \e would shout, " As thus I'm equii)p'd, 
 How uncommonly well I could see to be whipp'd! " 
 
 And when he walkd forth just to show them the door, 
 He'd the hind of his breeches loose dangling before ; 
 And button'd behind was his waistcoat likewise, 
 And the queue of his wig flourish'd over his eyes. 
 
 He'd his spectacles hung on the back of his poll, 
 And the hind of his stock buckled under his jowl ; 
 And when he shook hands to bid any good daj', 
 His arms he poked out just the contrary way. 
 
 He often would joke, for facetious was he. 
 
 And loud he would laugh, as he said *' Don't you see, 
 
 If scandalous neighbours my character rack, 
 
 I shall see every rascal that bites my back ! " 
 
 And as there's no man in futurity sees, 
 I am equal, and look on the past when I please ; 
 I can see all the rogues, and confuse every knave. 
 Who thinks I walk to, when I walk from the grave. 
 
 But Malice may say, "Ha ! he sits in his chair, 
 Turns his back on lis all," as no doubt I appear; 
 Yet let those who know me their judgment suspend, 
 I willingly ne'er turnd my back on a friend. 
 
 " Well done, Mr. Turkey ! noble sentiments, and wonderfully ex- 
 pressed — not to mention the execution !" " No, sir, you are right, as 
 the creditor observed to his bum-bailey, not to mention the execution." 
 •* Well, Mr. Turkey, I trust you may ever keep your head in the 
 proper position, and at the same time have an eye to your wallet on 
 your back." " Thank you, Captain ; though that same wallet be in 
 resemblance a very fac- simile of the Honourable Richard Dowlass's in 
 the play, I am still anxious to retain it, as it, especially at this moment, 
 contains a many curiosities." " Curiosities ! did you say curiosities, 
 Turkey ?" " I did, most redoubtable Captain — such as few people 
 can o-et sight of now-a-days, not even the most distinguished literati !" 
 " God bless us ! what ever have you in your mysterious wallet? Have 
 you some eggs of the Onyrhyrynchus paradoxus ? or the beard of 
 Moses made into a modern wig, with sleeves to it ?" " Neither, thou
 
 24 
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 bantering son of Neptune. My wallet contains no less than half-a- 
 dozen shirts ; ditto fronts ; wristbands and collars to match ditto ; 
 two swallow-tail coals ; one spencer sans tail, continuations to 
 match : and I esteem them the greatest curiosities I ever possessed, 
 for be it known unto all men they are all paid for ! — pos — ! got the 
 receipt in a glass frame. Gentlemen ! agreeable dreams. Bung swear. 
 Parley-voo? Memory serves, gentlemen — Bung swear.'" And the 
 Vice- Chairman bounded like a kangaroo into his berth.
 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " There was a woman beautiful as morning, 
 And she sat looking upon tlie waves."— Revolt of Islam. 
 
 " How vain, my dear Susan, are my attempts at repose ! There are 
 but few nights that I can note productive of refreshing sleep. The 
 mind, Susan, the mind that is not at rest will allow the body but little 
 slumber. How beautifully does Young sing upon this subject ! 
 
 ' Tired nature's calm restorer, gentle Sleep, 
 He, like the world, his ready visit pays 
 Where fortune smiles — the wretched he forsakes, 
 To light on lids unsullied with a tear.' 
 
 Sometimes I doze gradually into a partial state of forgetfulness — half 
 asleep, and yet in a state of consciousness : it is a delicious kind of 
 dreamy existence — vivid pictures skip before the imagination, as if we 
 had parted with our mortal coil, and were no more inhabitants of clay. 
 This beatific delirium passes at length av/ay before the leaden-sceptred 
 King of Sleep, and for one half-hour the world, its good and its evil, 
 has been erased from tlie tables of the mind. All is gone, departed ! 
 The throbbing breast still toils on ; but the soul has retired within 
 herself, and death is not more perfect. The grave and the couch are 
 equal then." 
 
 " You encourage melancholy, my dear missus. There can be no 
 need o' your going on a this un ! You are con-tin-u~ally filling up 
 your poor dear head with all sorts of foolish phantasmagories ! And 
 you a' no more occasion to fret than I have : you know very well what 
 1 have suffered — only picture to yourself what I have gone through. 
 
 £
 
 V 
 
 26 
 
 THE BMIORANT. 
 
 I am sure nobody knows the trouble as I 's in ! what wi' one thing, 
 and what wi' another, I a' suffered a martyrdom — no poor crittur ever 
 more, I'll say. But look at yourself: here you are, young, hand- 
 some, and — " 
 
 " Now pray, Susan, spare me any of those compliments — I did not 
 suspect that my faithful Susan could have been so easily schooled by 
 the world. Susan ! never allude to my appearance : better, far better 
 for me had I been plain, even uglier than a Macbeth witch. — But I 
 forget myself." 
 
 " Ah ! my dear missus, you do ; and I am willing to remind you, 
 things is not so black as the folks paints 'em." 
 
 " Bring me my guitar, Susan : it is wonderful how the motion of a 
 vessel unfits one for any kind of application. Thank you; now, Susan, 
 
 you can leave me. What a destiny is mine ! what a card in the 
 
 lottery of life has fallen to my share ! How little do shortsighted 
 mortals see into futurity ! how merciful in Providence to close the 
 pages of destiny ! To-morrow we arrange for a bridal morn — to-morrow 
 we are a corpse upon a pallet ! Our vision was happiness ; its inter- 
 pretation. Thou shalt find it in the tomb. Yes, dear guitar, companion 
 of many a sorrowful hour, once more I will call forth thy soothing 
 voice." 
 
 SON G . 
 
 From o'er the ocean's boundless wave, 
 
 I land me on a foreign shore. 
 Welcome to me the wretched slave 
 
 That gasps for joy that is no more ! 
 He bends beneath a tyrant's chain — 
 
 And I, beneath a load of sighs : 
 His lamp may ne'er be lit again — 
 
 Like mine, how dark his destinies ! 
 Sigh on — sigh on, thou careless Sea, 
 
 In whom sleeps many a weary breast; 
 Thy voice alone hath charms for me — 
 
 It soothes the wretched soul to rest. 
 
 *' I can sing no more ; but I will once again, for the thousandth time, 
 gaze upon his face. Yes ! these are the lineaments — how true ! it is
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 27 
 
 wonderfully true. Poor Charles ! thou hast been — But no, my tongue 
 will not pronounce the hated word. Oh! is there no power — is there 
 no guardian angel to reveal the truth ? Why should such things be ? 
 why should tffe all-valued voice of justice not be heard ? and why 
 should the wicked and the crafty flourish and fatten upon the righte- 
 ous, the innocent ? Sure as there is an overruling Power, justice will 
 be done, and the villain receive the reward of his iniquity. But — " 
 
 " Oh ! missus, would you not like to just come on deck ? They are 
 a-shooting the line ! There is such a piece o' work I and they do say 
 as how Mr. and Mrs.- Neptune is a-coniing aboard. I hardly knows 
 what they be a-going arter : every soul is on deck ; and I overheerd 
 the Captain ask the Mate if he could see the line yet ! But Mr. Turkey, 
 who was by, said as how the American ships, with their Indy-rubber 
 hind parts, rubbed it out a good deal." 
 
 " What a rhodomontade story you have got by heart, Susan ! Well, 
 I do not feel sufficiently well to appear on deck ; so you can tell me, 
 when Neptune arrives, how he was received, and what kind of a gentle- 
 man he was. It is wonderful to me, this crossing the Line ! How 
 
 many thousand times has this farce been acted, and yet it seems not to 
 lose any of its original interest ! But one can scarcely be surprised, 
 when we take into consideration the unvaried dullness of a seaman's 
 life ; one can enter into the feelings of that, to me, unhappy race of 
 imprisoned beings, and I can imagine that the least circumstance that 
 varies their monotonous existence must be eagerly caught at, and prized 
 accordingly." 
 
 This was the soliloquy pronounced by the mistress of the eager 
 Susan, as the latter departed with rapid strides to the scene of action , 
 and though these were the thoughts of a gentlewoman unused to the 
 sea, the voyager who has traversed the ocean and crossed the encircling 
 belt of the world will (unless he be a cynic indeed, or a sombre Cal- 
 vinist) readily excuse — nay, even join in — the boisterous merriment 
 that announces his " shooting the Line." 
 
 The tramping and hurrying of footsteps upon deck — the evidently 
 unusual buzz and bustle that seemed to issue from that sanctum of 
 Jack's, the forecastle — the mystery which sat upon the countenances of 
 the uninitiated — and last of all, the tremendous blast of a horn, be-
 
 28 THE KMKiRANT. 
 
 spoke the presence of something or other out of the way of ordinary 
 things. As Susan was an eye-witness from the commencement to the 
 close, it will be proper to hear from her own lips what took place upon 
 this important occasion, and what sort of a gentleman Mr. Neptune 
 proved himself. 
 
 " I never seed such a thing afore in all my life — never in all my 
 born days — I never did ! First and foremost, a loud ging-gong sounded ' 
 then, all on a sudden, a trumpet blows a blast; and then, actilly from 
 out the bottomless sea, over the very water itself, a rough, cracked 
 voice, a most unhuman voice, says, ' Ship, a-hoy !' ' Hello !' answers 
 a sailor aboard, looking over the side. ' Any o' my sons aboard V 
 says the rough voice again. ' Better come aboard and look yerself,' 
 says the sailor. AccordingZy, I heard a scramble and a deep growl, 
 like unto V/ombwell's wild elephant, come from the bottomless, 
 and, in less than a minute, up the side of the ship, wringing wet, all 
 over hair, like Hesor, and a three-tined fork, and such a beard ! all 
 a-dribbling — up comes Neptune himself — his actual self! up comes 
 he ! and after him Alfytite, his wife. I never did see such a pair ! 
 Alfytite was the biggest ooman 1 ever seen : some said her was no 
 ooman at all, and but a mermaid. All of a sudden, a clumsy-looking 
 can-iage, drawed by a dozen, dressed up and bedizened like the old- 
 fashioned morris-dancers, all over flying rags, and masks on. These, 
 all harnessed to the car, preceded by three musicianers, and a drummer, 
 who I seed at once was the black cook, Congo ; he played a good 
 drum on his soup-tin bottom. The musicianers and all marched 
 round, drawing the king and queen of the ocean, till they got on to 
 the part where the butcher kills his pigs ; then and there Neptune 
 demands, through a trumpet, whether he may not see his new sons ? 
 According^?/, I sees a poor fellow being led up blindfolded towards the 
 throne. When he gets opposite to his majesty, he kneels down, and 
 Neptune puts his trumpet to his ear and roars out whether he had 
 ever been across his dominions afore? 'No,' says the blind man. 
 'Well, then, you must be shaved. Barber!' cries Neptune (through 
 the trumpet, for he never speaks without that engine), — ' Barber,' says 
 he, ' up with your Christopher,' says he At those words, the barber 
 pulled forth and brandished a lathcring-brush, like what the chimbly-
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 29 
 
 sweepers use for routing out Hues, and with this he actilly besmeared 
 and beskumbered the blind man's face all over ; yes, all over, his neck 
 and all. * How old are you ?' says he ; ' and have you cut your 
 wisdom-tooth ?' When the poor fellow opened his mouth to answer, 
 the hard-hearted barber stuffed in a doUoper of wadding soaked in 
 tar ; and then, at a given signal, there was such a torrent of water 
 come poshing upon him from above, that I never did see the like — it 
 fairly washed the unfortunate a yard or two. Then, as he lay upon 
 his back, the unmerciful barber, with his razor, a yard and a half long, 
 shaved him. Another torrent from aloft, and then the poor soul was 
 unbandaged and unbound. But, wringing wet as he was, he didn't 
 afear taking cold, for I seed him soon after getting up the rigging, with 
 a bucket of water, to throw on another one wot was a-being shaved, 
 and make him as uncomfortable as lay in his power," 
 " I wonder, Susan, that you did not get a sprinkling !'' 
 " Why, so, ma'am, they tell me I should ; but I prevaricated the 
 matter, and guv 'em a bottle of rum as a prevaricator." 
 " Well, and what then happened, Susan ?" 
 
 " Why, ma'am, there was six or seven had a fine soaking and shav- 
 ing. * The Lord ha' mercy upon 'em!' said I. ' Suppose the man 
 should catch the agcr, or swallow the ball of wadden ; the crowner's 
 inquest would bring it in, Died by visitation of God — or, what is wose, 
 
 might bring it in ' " 
 
 " Temporary Insanity, rather, on the part of the murderers, 
 Susan." 
 
 " Well, Miss, then there'd be what they call 'a doudand ; ' and 
 who's to satisfy that, I should like to know ?" 
 " A deodand on what, Susan ?" 
 
 " On what, ma'am ? Why, on the ball of wax, or pitch, or what it 
 was as choked him ! That's a doudand — when a man gets killed by a 
 mad bull, then the bull has to pay a doudand ; and if, as in course, 
 the beast can't pay, then his owner has to forfeit the beast, as he was 
 the owner of the murderous doudand ! he has to give him to the 
 crowner for his trouble in the investigation. 
 
 " Well, after they had all been shaved, Neptune rises from his car 
 and makes a long speech to the Captain, assuring him that grog was a
 
 30 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 wholesome licker, and good for the inwards. So, after this speech, 
 three bottles of rum was given to Neptune, on behalf of himself and 
 brethren. The lady Alfytite then danced a hornpipe with her lord the 
 king ; and, that done, they mounted the car again, and striking up the 
 music and a song, they departured this way, an' in the same order they 
 come ; but they are all a-fiddling and dancing now on the forecastle ; 
 yes, that they are, till they are all of a reek. I am sure a sailor must 
 be made of Indy-rubber ; he is, by what I read in some book — he's a 
 hamfiboose animal. But I'm glad it's over. I never seen such a sight, 
 and never shall again. I wouldn't have a sailor for a husband, with 
 his great tarry fist, and his undecent tight breeches, all begrimed and 
 betarred ! I would not have one of those hamfiboose critturs, not for 
 the Indies o' goold !" 
 
 •' Well, Susan, thank you for giving me such an insight into your 
 choice of a husband. I am afraid you would not, according to your 
 present opinion, even accept the heart of Neptune himself." 
 
 " Of Neptune, Miss ! and have his great bear's paws and elephant's 
 voice a-near me ! I'd rather be a spinster for " 
 
 " Susan !" 
 
 " For years, and wear out my existence a virgin ! that's what I'd 
 do, believe me, Miss !"
 
 CHAPTER Vir. 
 
 " And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, 
 So soft, so calm, yet eloquent. 
 The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 
 But tell of days in goodness spent." 
 
 Hebrew Melodies. 
 
 " Good morning, Captain." 
 
 " Good morrow, Mr. Blair." 
 
 " What's the pace this morning ? About six, I fancy ?" 
 
 '* Why, I should say, maybe half a knot more." 
 
 " By-the-bye, Captain, who is that delicate, mysterious young lady, 
 who confines herself so strictly to her cabin ? May I be informed who 
 and what she is ? I am extremely curious upon that matter, and 
 long to know." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Blair, I can gratify you so far as this — she was accom- 
 panied on board by an elderly gentleman and three young ladies, who 
 wept bitterly during the whole time they remained. The gentleman 
 begged of me to give her every attention in my power, and to 
 seek her the best lodgings possible upon my arrival in Australia ; and, 
 in the event of her not wishing to remain, my orders are either to 
 bring her back to England, or put her on board any vessel which or 
 whatever she may choose. Her passage is paid, and her maid's also ; 
 and the parties who came with her had a coronet upon their carriage. 
 Now, my dear sir, you know quite as much about her as I do." 
 
 " Well, but. Captain, is it not mysterious ? Is it not wonderful ?" 
 
 " Very." 
 
 " What can that delicate and unprotected flower do in a lone and 
 desolate wilderness ?"
 
 S2 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 " That, sir, is more than I can answer." 
 
 " But, Captain — really I'm quite bewildered — but, is your vessel 
 not to touch at Sydney ?" 
 
 " Yes, it is." 
 
 " And will she accompany you V 
 
 " That, as yet, I cannot say." 
 
 " How very strange ! But here comes Rennie. Well, Rennie, my 
 ■worthy, eomme vous passe la nuit V 
 
 " Passableme7itf je vous remercie. Glorious weather ?" 
 
 " It is." 
 
 " We have just been trying to capture one of those beautiful polypi, 
 the Portuguese men-of-war as they call them ; but " 
 
 " Where's a Portuguese man-of-war? Good morning, gentlemen. 
 Where's a Portuguese man-of-war?" 
 
 " Good morning, Turkey. No, the polypus so called. There, look 
 you ! What splendid colours ! Cook, just dip your bucket under 
 that fellow. Ay, there you have it, bring it here. Well, what radiant 
 colours to be sure ! I'll just lift him out. Just feel the weight of 
 him, Turkey." 
 
 " I'm obliged ; I never take liberties with strangers. I prefer the 
 faculty of sight to that of touch, to either wolves, crocodiles, or Portu- 
 guese men-of-war. Once I did accidentally handle one, and, if memory 
 serves — Ay, ay, — ha! ha! What, he's stung you, has he? — ha! ha!" 
 
 " Rennie ! what, are you bit ? Ha ! ha ! You forgot he was a 
 noli me tangere. I was once caught, and they sting like nettles, can't 
 it?" 
 
 " It is, Turkey, irritating like nettles." 
 
 *' Well, then, you'll not get rid of that delightful sensation for seve- 
 ral days ; for, if memory serves, a pocket-handkerchief I had on at the 
 time I was tickled by one: that very handkerchief stung me a fortnight 
 afterwards, and, for what I know, might have given the old washer- 
 woman a touch into the bargain. Here 's the Mate : ask him how he 
 does, and shake hands with him." 
 
 *' Well, how are you this morning. Mate ?" (holding out his hand and 
 familiarly shaking him). 
 
 " Nice weather indeed, this, 'Mr. Blair," said the Mate. " Yes, we
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 33 
 
 trip through nicely, though I can't say how long it will last. Sky 
 looks rayther coppery," again remarked the Mate, (scratching his hand) ; 
 "it may hold out another degree or so, but — (rubbing his hand lustily,) 
 but I can't say I have much opin — ion — I can't think what's the 
 matter with my fist all in a minute ! — it smarts, and pricks, and 
 shoots." 
 
 "Let me look," cries Turkey. "Ah! it's all over red spots, — you 
 have been drinking a little over-night — had an extra north-wester, no 
 doubt ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, sir. I am sure, nothing a that sort." 
 
 " Well — I see — you had better consult the Doctor, and get bled di- 
 rectly, and mustard poultices under your arms. I'm sorry to say it's 
 decided — but I won't frighten you." 
 
 "What do you think it is, sir?" said the Mate, continuing his 
 friction. 
 
 " I think it's only the prickly heat. I often have that in hot cli- 
 mates, and the best remedy I find is just a good stout dose of salts ; 
 though it's a medicine I abhor." 
 
 "Well, I tell you what," inteiTupted Mr. Turkey, "that is no 
 prickly heat ! But come with me into my cabin ; it's a pity to disturb 
 the Doctor. I know your disease : I've got a remedy — follow me." As 
 Mr. Turkey spoke these words, he put his arm with a firm link through 
 the yielding limb of the easy Mate, and they both left the deck for the 
 dormitory of Mr. Turkey. No sooner were they fairly gone than a 
 loud laugh rang amongst the party who had been accessory to the mis- 
 chievous Toby. 
 
 "I have been pumping the Captain," said Blair to Rennie, "just 
 before you came on deck, relative to that beautiful creature below." 
 
 " And what have you made out ? " interrupted Rennie. 
 
 " I have made out," said Blair, " just nothing more than tli;it au ohi 
 fellow and three young ladies brought her in a coroneted carriage, left 
 strict orders about her bring particularly attended to, and ordered the 
 Captain to take her to any part of tlic world to which slie wished to 
 go; and if not going himself, to see her safely and e()nifortal)ly off." 
 
 " Humph '.—that's all ? " 
 
 "■ Every morsel I "" 
 
 1-
 
 34 
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 " That gir], Blair, will be the death of me ! " 
 
 " We shall both be buried in one grave, Rennie." 
 
 " She is a mysterious being from another sphere ! " 
 
 " That's what she is, Rennie." 
 
 Here the Mate rushed upon deck, distorting his face, and making 
 the most laughably-hideous gesticulations, crying aloud — " I certainly 
 will never take any more of your most abominable stuiF as long as / 
 live, Mr. Turkey ! I would not, if I was dying of the plague I — 
 whough! — it's the vilest stuff!" 
 
 " Well, my good friend, compose yourself! — consider your disease !" 
 
 " Consider my disease ! — if it was the cholera morbus I laboured 
 under, and if another dose would save me, I would not have it — I 
 would not, 4HpH|;{ that's what I wouldn't," cried the Mate, as he 
 stamped the deck violently. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Mate?" cried Rennie, "what! has Mr. Turkey heen 
 doctoring you ?" 
 
 " Doctoring me ! he pretends I've got the — the — I forget the disease 
 — ' Fantods,' I think he called it ; says it's fatal in a few hours, and 
 he has got a specific. So he actually crammed down my burning 
 throat — it's like a overheated flue this minute — he's crammed down 
 a dose of the most devilish mixture ever man devised ; I can feel it 
 working round in my body like a fire-rocketi^pJ^BpfcCongreve." 
 
 " Why, Dr. Turkey, we did not conceive you were a man of medi- 
 cine : pray what have you given the patient?" inquired the Captain. 
 
 " Ah ! that. Captain, is a most impenetrable secret ; but if you will 
 promise me not to divulge it, and only to use it for the aid of suffering 
 Immanity — " 
 
 " Whoop !" cried the Mate, who overheard Turkey's last word — 
 "whoop!" 
 
 " — I will whisper the precious words." 
 
 " I promise." 
 
 " Well, then, come into the remotest part of the vessel ; let not 
 mortal ear but thine devour the invalixable secret. Put your ear down." 
 
 " Well, now, Turkey." 
 
 " You promise upon your honour not to tell it to any one for five 
 minutes ?"
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 35 
 
 " I do," smilingly said tlie Captain, bending his neck. 
 
 " Well, then, I gave him Croton oil, Cayenne pepper, oil of sul- 
 phur, and mustard!" 
 
 "^tf^BP-" cried the Captain. 
 
 " That's what I say," calmly breathed Turkey, as he walked quietly 
 oif with his hands in his pockets — " that 's what I say." 
 
 " A shark ! a shark !— by all that 's glorious, here 's a shark ^-'j^ 
 shouted Blair from the tafFrail. In an instant, the whole of the pa^^^ 
 sengers who were on deck rushed simultaneously to the side to gaze 
 upon the vagabond — the marauder — the detested tyrant of the deep. 
 
 " Suffer me," cried a voice which was immediately recognised as 
 Mr. Turkey's — " gentlemen, suffer me for one moment to have what 
 is vulgarly called * a finger in the pie.' It glorifies me bfcyond mea- 
 sure to indulge in a little revenge. How do we know, ' brother sail- 
 ors ' (Boatswain Smith?) — yes, memory serves — how do we know 
 whether this ravenous villain may not contain our very grandfather, 
 or, at the least, the codicil to his will ? Let us hook him — let us 
 obtain him by hook or by crook, as the adage expresses it. Now, 
 brother Moses, where 's the pork ? Sharks are no Israelites, though 
 an Israelite may be a shark : it is possible they are cousins-german — 
 yet they abhor not the flesh of swine. No — you have not sufficiently 
 
 disguised that h^H^P^^iOO^ — niay I be really, you are very 
 
 obleeging — thank you. Now, my hearts of oak, look out — ' over- 
 board he goes. Bill ' (Old Song)." And as Mr. T. adjusted the deli- 
 cious morsel, the action of overboard, &c. was immediately suited, and 
 the piece of " glorious gammon" sank some four or five fathoms into 
 the deep. 
 
 " Look, Captain ! See, Rennie ! There!" 
 
 " How green it looks !" 
 
 " What looks green ?" 
 
 " Why, the pork." 
 
 "The shark looks greener. See — there! by .Tove ! — ah I ah! — 
 Silence, all hands ! silence in court — take that child out ! Hush — 
 (whispering) — Look at the pilot-fish — what ' knowing vons!' they go 
 back to the caitiff! they tell him what a gandeamus ! He swims nearer
 
 36 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 and nearer. Silence ! on his side — yes, he is on his side — Waugh ! 
 
 Haul away — yeo, boys ! he 's got it !" 
 
 And true it was, the shark had slewed round upon his enormous 
 
 beams, and, at one very easy gulp, down went the ten pounds of pork ; 
 
 and, to pursue the tale as Turkey described it to the invalids, as we 
 copied it from his own Journal — 
 
 " The reptile bolted the fat — the salt and the deceitful ; yes, down 
 it went with a jerk and a dab like an auctioneer's hammer — dab ! and 
 there it was, like a bad debt ; it stuck in the gullet, and then, as the 
 poet sings, when he describes the very scene — see — Virgil — Virgil ? 
 no, it can't be the Georgics ? Well, however, memory is not always to 
 be depended upon — but the this or that poet thus chaunts (no doubt, 
 when they had hooked a shark) : 
 
 •' And there arose from sea to sky 
 The wild farewell : 
 Then all was still, except the shriek, 
 The solitary flapping of the tail, 
 Of the vile rascal in his agony,' 
 
 But all were not still ; for a rush, and a most determined one — a rush 
 like unto that when a happy pauper, possessing the envied ticket for the 
 more envied soup, essays, by all that appertains unto him — by his 
 might and main, to gain his point — His point? a pauper gain his 
 point ! does memory serve ? Yes, too severely. How oft have I, 
 Tobias Turkey, witnessed the pale face of starving misery ! how often 
 have I seen the fluttering rags that the bitter breeze lifted, as in 
 mockery, to show the skin-drawn bones beneath ! Ay, often, too 
 often, have I beheld the miserable of earth's most forsaken sons stand, 
 hour after hour, with their spoutless jug, trembling in the falling, 
 freezing shower, in the expectation of being able, at least, to secure 
 a nourishless pot of charity soup. Oh, thou who canst feed upon thy 
 quiet crumbs and thy easy cheese, how little does thy mind embrace 
 the agony of the being who solicits his charity soup ! His turn arrives 
 from his shivering hours ; he bears it, cold as a corpse, to his starving 
 little ones ; it is the donation of pride, or the hard-wrung drainings of
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 37 
 
 a race who, in the pressure of adverse times, begrudge even the fa- 
 mished a fare." 
 
 But to return from Mr. Turkey's private MSS. to what became of 
 the shark. Safely on deck was he produced, and no danger from him 
 could again happen. " How he did," as Mr. Rennie observed when 
 he gave him the final blow — 
 
 " How he lash'd his venom'd tail!" 
 
 Or, to quote a further illustration of what the fourteen-feet monster 
 did when he lay his length upon the quarter-deck, we may collect the 
 following: from his tormentors : 
 
 » 
 
 " How he doth curvette and kick !" 
 
 ( Hudib ras.) — T u r k e y . 
 
 Perdition catch thy arm ! The chance is thine ; 
 
 But, oh ! the vast renown thou hast acquired 
 
 In conquering!" {Rich. HI.) — Rennie. 
 
 " How many perils do environ 
 They who meddle with cold iron!" 
 
 (Hudibras.) — Blair. 
 
 " I would not enter [him] on my list of friends." 
 
 ( Cowper.) — Turkey. 
 
 " I think the caitiff hath a cho po co!" 
 
 {Turkish i^/^.)— Turkey. 
 
 And so he was cho-po-co'd ; for amongst the party who had captured 
 him, not a morsel was respected. The fins adorned the cook's galley, 
 as a present to some Chinese of distinction, should they pick one up 
 at sea ; the head was dissected by the Doctor for his jaws — the body 
 was also his perquisite for the same interesting purpose ; the tail was 
 requested by an amateur ; and a capturing indefatigable desired the 
 backbone (which was quickly dried in the rigging) as a walking-stick ; 
 part of his flesh was served on table, by way of a novelty — a sort ckf 
 " caller haddy," as the Scotch have it ; and his stomach — liis all-
 
 38 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 importunate stomach — was opened, with much ceremony and before 
 numerous witnesses, by Turkey, who with an enormous knife threw 
 daylight into the "tomb of all the Capulets" — but, lo ! what did 
 Turkey find in the " maw-solemn ?" He found, what he keeps as a 
 souvenir to this day — he found the last bouilli-tin that ever was issued ; 
 and by its means he was enabled to assure all those whom it might 
 concern, that by the last bulletin things were in as undigested a state 
 as ever.
 
 CHAPTER Vlir. 
 
 " Disguise it not, we have one human heart ; 
 All mortal thoughts confess one common home."-— Shelley. 
 
 The sailing in a vessel is, as we have upon a former occasion remarked, 
 monotonous enough even under the most favourable circumstances. 
 The little novelty afforded by the ship soon becomes most tire- 
 somely familiar. The only thing at sea which wears well to the very 
 last, and never diminishes in interest, is the all-charming dinner- 
 bell. There is a halo around that iron-tongued marker of the flying 
 day, and as he, hour after hour, solemnly announces that another sixty 
 minutes of our little span has departed, we derive a consolation from 
 our loss, that he has tolled — has been heard — has been understood ; 
 and though he is for another brief space to be left in repose, his voice 
 has not sunk into echo ere the sound of the feast takes up the solemn 
 knell, and turns solemnity to gladness. But eating and drinking must 
 cease for a time — the excitement cannot last long, and Ennui again lays 
 her melancholy spell around. To relieve this, and turn the vacant 
 hours into profit and to cheerfulness, it was arranged amongst the 
 passengers in the cabin of the " Ocean Queen," that those gentlemen 
 who had seen any part of the great drama of life, or who had actually 
 played a strange part themselves, should, so far as it was agreeable to 
 themselves, for the benefit and amusement of the others, sketch the 
 same. This being agi-eed upon without one dissentient voice, the only 
 question now remaining was the all-important one, " Who 's to begin?" 
 " Gentlemen," said a youth, who had hitherto been remarkable for
 
 40 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 his melancholy manner and profound silence — who had seldom been 
 out of his cabin, but whom we have ah'eady seen upon deck as the 
 party discontented with the speed of the vessel, — " Gentlemen," said 
 he, " I will tell you my tale." 
 
 " Good ! very good !" cried the company, as they one and all drew 
 their stools, or the trusses of compact hay (which were drying on the 
 poop) around the speaker. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF THE MELANCHOLY GENTLEMAN. 
 
 " My history, gentlemen, is the history of but a humble individual ; 
 and if it fails to interest, I shall leave oiF at any part of the tale. It 
 may possibly relieve the next dull hour, and will at any rate disclose 
 to you the miserable and unhappy being who arraigns himself before 
 you. Pledge yourselves that you will not exercise my confession 
 against me ; let me at once assure myself that misfortune shall yet find 
 a friend, and hopelessness and despair find comfort even in the breast 
 of the passing stranger. 
 
 " It is necessary, then, that I begin my early life ; for, as you may 
 readily perceive, though young in years, I am about to show I am 
 nevertheless old in misfortune ; and if you detect in my narrative 
 aueht that can arouse a smile, 'twill be but the burst of sunshine 
 through the eternal thundercloud, rendering all more sombre around. 
 
 " I shall, however, pass over my earliest life — the tedious and almost 
 unprofitable time I spent at school. I did not learn anything there ; 
 but the little information I possess was picked up at later intervals, by 
 my observation of men and manners, and by devoting a portion of my 
 spare time to literature. By this means, I repaired what had been 
 sadly neglected before ; for although my father paid (what to him, and 
 what, perhaps, was a goodly sum) thirty guineas yearly for my board- 
 ing-school education, yet I really cannot look back upon any one 
 useful thing that I acquired. The system of the school was radically 
 bad : we were, for instance, hurried through the ai-ithmctic, from the 
 beginning to the very end, without understanding the common Rule of 
 Three ; we went at the same railroad speed through our Grammar ;
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 41 
 
 and, as we stood in rows and parroted away passages from * Enfield's 
 Speaker,' or mouthing at a fearful rate ' To be, or not to be,' our intel- 
 ligent master would be patiently wading through an old Chronicle, 
 occasionally lifting off from its pages his spectacled eyes, to cry out 
 ' Let me hear that again.' Thus we went on day after day, marvelling 
 in our own minds what beauty there could possibly be in the twang- 
 twang rhymes, or harder blank verses, of those people called poets. 
 My account-book exhibited the handicraft of the usher ; my letter, 
 the all-important letter at the approach of the vacation, was scrawled 
 and re-scrawled a thousand times, till, at length, by the formation of 
 one syllable after another, upon the principle then in use called 
 'guiding the hand,' I turned out an epistle that for solid round turns 
 and affectionate phrases to my ' honoured parents' was without any 
 rival, but those of my schoolfellows, which in beauty of penmanship 
 and expressions of tenderness were fac-similes. Well, I at length left 
 the school to brave the world upon my stock of knowledge. I actually 
 could recite an entire act of a play said to be written by Shakspeare ; 
 I could read the first fable of ^sop in Latin, and explain its meaning 
 in English ; and I could say the whole of my Catechism. What more 
 could an * honoured father' or a ' dearest mother' require ? and what 
 more could the busy world demand of so industrious a youth? I was 
 consulted as to what profession I would embrace, and not being aware 
 of the merits of one from the other, I selected that of medicine. 
 To a practitioner at once I went, and I will tell you what influenced 
 my choice for the Esculapian pursuit : (Heavens ! would that the day 
 had died in its birth !) 1 was at a neighbour's in the village in which I 
 then resided, and as one of the family happened to be ill, the doctor, 
 as the surgeon was called, drove up to the garden-gate. I recollect 
 the circumstance vividly. ' Oh, gracious goodness I ' cried the young 
 ladies, all in a breath, 'here's the doctor !' and forthwith there was a 
 grand scuffle to arrange everything, as their old mother expressed it, 
 in * apple-pie order.' So it was; the chimney-piece was redolent with 
 flowers, and though the dearest member of the family was at death's 
 door, nevertheless all bore the appearance of extraordinary gaiety. 
 The young ladies were, each and all, in the highest apple-pie order, and 
 so was their mamma and the unhappy patient himself. The ' old
 
 42 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 gentleman' had his nightcap aiTauged knowingly on one side, and his 
 hair brushed and oiled by the young ladies, that even he, ill, dispirited 
 and disturbed as he was, must, nevertheless, be in ' apple-pie order.' 
 Well, in strode the majestic and learned doctor, and forthwith he was 
 duly ensconced in a large easy chair. I recollect well what passed. 
 I remember it to the very letter. Down sat the doctor, and after 
 waving a highly-scented handkerchief in the air, and taking several 
 huge pinches of snuff, he thus began : * Good morning, ladies ; how's 
 papa ? ' 
 
 " ' He has passed a miserable night — so restless, and his cough is 
 
 dread ' 
 
 '* ' What a shower we had just now ! it'll knock the wheat about. 
 So they say Miss Brown is going to be married ! — well, wonders never 
 cease. I hear strange things as I travel. Does papa keep as good ale 
 as he had used ? I remember he had some fine old October when I 
 was this way last.' 
 
 " ' Oh, dear, yes ! doctor,' cried the mother of the young ladies, who 
 sat quite absorbed with the presence and the contemplation of the 
 doctor. * Lucy, my dear, go fetch a tankard ; here — skip. We alliss 
 keeps a good tap. I dare say, doctor, as how you feels warmish 
 anow ? ' 
 
 " ' The weather is sultry,' replied the doctor, blowing his cheeks to 
 the magnitude of two melons ; ' we may pronounce it" hot /' The ale 
 arrived, and the doctor forthwith despatched it. ' I dare say,' quoth 
 lie, ns he set down the empty tankard, smacking his lips, and tapping 
 Miss Lucy under the chin, — ' I dare say I shall be obliged to hear 
 strange news some of these odd days — eh ! — eh ! — I dare hardly lay a 
 wager which goes first, eh ? Ladies are like Members of Parliament ; 
 they often pair off — ay, they pair off— that they do, mamma ! You'll 
 be sorry to lose them, but you must be prepared. Never drank better 
 ale many a long day ! ' 
 
 " 'Do, doctor!' cried the old lady, her eyes sparkling with plea- 
 sure at the doctor's prophecy, — " do, doctor ! Lucy, dear, go fetch a 
 drop more beer — it'll never hurt you, doctor : you've had a long ridvi. 
 Lucy, skip.' 
 
 Lucy skipped away for an additional supply of ale, which the doctor
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 43 
 
 swallowed as gravely as before, concluding with ' Ay ! ay ! my ladies, 
 I know what I do know — pretty faces can't be hid — I am a married man 
 and getting old ; but?/— yes, I say if! — but now let's see poor papa!' 
 Off go the whole party to the sick chamber. ' Well, how dost do, 
 poor soul ? ' cries the doctor, holding out his hand for the sick man's 
 wrist, and solemnly looking at his watch. ' Humph ! — put out the 
 tongue — humph ! — no sleep ? ' 
 
 " * None at all,' groans the patient. 
 " ' Humph ! — thirsty ? ' 
 " ' Very,' was replied. 
 
 " ' Humph ! — you must have a little repose — shall see ynu again 
 to-morrow — shall send you a draught to be taken every half-b.:)ur, and 
 two bolusses at night — yes, tongue furred a good deal — humph ! — 
 humph ! — humph ! — Well, good day ; you'll soon mend, we hope — oh, 
 we'll soon set him up,' says the doctor, as he hurried off to his gig. 
 ' I'll send him the physic with directions. Young ladies, take great 
 care of yourselves. Good day.' 
 
 " No sooner was he fairly off than out broke all the three simul- 
 taneously : * Now, Lucy, ain't he a delightful gentleman V ' Oh ! Jane, 
 he is a sweet creature!' 'Such a good-humoured soul!' rejoins the 
 old lady, ' not a bit of pride about him — a gentleman like that to sit 
 and drink beer — he didn't care — he who drinks his port and sherry every 
 •day after dinner, and eats frosted fruit — he, you see, dears, can put 
 his mouth to a farmer's brown joe, and make no fuss ! But it's alliss 
 the case with the thorough-bred gentility; they are not of the out-scouts, 
 not they — they know how to behave. How different, my dears, he is 
 to some of these muckill-bred uns ! so familiar.' ' Oh ! he is, mamma, 
 a dear, good-humoured gentleman, and everybody speaks well of him." 
 
 " Now, hearing and seeing all this, my mind was instantly inflamed, 
 and all my early ambition wis to be just sucli another gentleman as 
 Dr. Howshe. From that very day I thought of nothing but being a 
 doctor ; it was my thoughts by day and my dreams by night — nothing 
 would do but a doctor I must be, and at length the to me happy period 
 arrived when I was to be conveyed to this very Dr. Howshe as his 
 pupil. How my heart panted for joy ! everything that earth held out 
 to my desiring eyes was that day to be crowned. I was to be put upon
 
 44 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 the high road to become a gentleman and a doctor, even as great as the 
 great Howshe himself, with whom I was immediately to associate. How 
 vain my search after the hidden gem of happiness ! I was elevated to 
 the highest pinnacle of hope, and from my exalted position I soon began 
 to look down upon the flowery fields I had left, and to cast a sigh, that 
 came deep from my heart, after the joys that had now departed. I found 
 that Dr. Howshe at home and Dr. Howshe abroad were as different as 
 midnight from noonday ; that the gay, the charming, the all-polite 
 Dr. Howshe, with whom I had been so enraptured at the village, was 
 not that easy, good-humoured, all-joking creature I had imagined ; and 
 as it regarded his mightiness, his grandeur, and his all-enchanting pre- 
 sence, he sank from the former before I had been on intimate terms 
 with him one solitary half-hour ; and as to his all-enchanting presence, 
 I could totally and for ever most willingly have dispensed with that 
 with far more alacrity than I dispensed my medicines. 
 
 " My kind and amiable father, by the industry of many years, had 
 accumulated a small pittance, upon which he subsisted in his decline of 
 life. Out of this he sliced off the small sum, * a mere nothing,' as Dr. 
 Howshe termed it — ' simply a nominal £200 ' — for fee of apprentice- 
 ship ; and for this my parent indulged the hope that I should instanter 
 be treated as a member not only of a liberal profession, but of the 
 family. A dream — a pleasant passage of thought ! I was called upon 
 forthwith to sweep out the surgery, I was degraded to the lighting of 
 the fire belonging to the same ; I was head counter-scourer, pallet- 
 polisher, bottle-arranger, duster, and washer. I was, to be sure, fre- 
 quently employed upon what I might call, in theatrical language, the 
 * legitimate drama ;' but year after year passed away — year after year, 
 I say, for I remained but two, and at their expiration I still found my- 
 self sole manager of the tinder-box and broom. To be sure, I had long 
 since been taught the art and mystery of carrying out medicines, and 
 the deep secret of so arranging them in capacious pouch to prevent their 
 breaking — for, lo ! I could not bring myself (in spite of my humiliating 
 flourishes with the broom in private) to carry a basket of bottles like a 
 pop hawker in public. 
 
 " I come now to my final catastrophe, beginning and ending with my 
 zeal! — for really I had moments of pure and unadulterated zeal for
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 45 
 
 science, even as much in its carelessness for torture as the dog-crimping 
 Magendie himself. One morning, whilst pounding, till my arm ached 
 again, an enormous mass of ' pill klier comp.' I thought ' Why am I 
 always pounding and pill-rounding, and bottle-carrying ? This is not 
 the practice of chirurgery ; and as I am not intended as a physician, 
 I aspire higher, for I have repeatedly heard Howshe exclaim, " Any old 
 woman would do for a physician" — now, knowing this fact, I'll stick 
 to surgery, and I will perform an operation upon a living animal, if I 
 am driven to the necessity of cutting a toe off the cat.' 
 
 " At this moment of furious resolve, in came, lonely and quietly, a 
 workhouse pauper — (O that he had never been bom !) — and behold, he 
 held a handkerchief to his jaw : he had come for the purpose of having 
 his offending tooth extracted. My eyes sparkled with joy as I politely 
 informed him that the Doctor never drew teeth — (he hated, like most 
 others of his tribe, the operation) — but that I was an exceedingly clever 
 operator (God forgive me !) and that if he would entrust himself under - 
 my hands, I would whip out the grinder in a wink. To my joy, the 
 unsuspecting wretch (O that I had never beheld him !) sat quietly, at 
 my desire, upon the floor, in order, as I told him, that I might not 
 cause a quarter of the usual pain. Down he sat, and I forthwith fur- 
 bished up the instruments. ' Now,' said I inwardly, — 
 
 ' Now is the winter of my discontent 
 Made glorious summer — by this pauper.' 
 
 I consoled myself with the reflection that, after all my obscurity, now 
 was I about at once to emerge — 1 was about to perform a surgical ope- 
 ration ! I was a dentist about to be in full practice. 
 
 " 1 bade him open his mouth. I examined the tooth : it was an 
 enormous one, to be sure, and very hollow ; but out it mxist come. So, 
 seizing my lancet, I cut deeply at the rout. I, even to this day, flatter 
 myself that no living artist could have lanced that man's gum better 
 than I did — and 1 am confident that it would have been equally out of 
 their power to have lanced it deeper. I fixed the terrible key upon the 
 tooth, and straining with my uttermost might, I found I could not stir 
 it in the least degree. Another, and a most awful strain — the pauper
 
 46 
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 uttered a deep groan, and his*^ eyes, like mine, were nearly starting from 
 their sockets. Still, I kept on my unrelenting screw, now with one 
 arm, now with two. At length, from the agony the miserable man was 
 enduring, and my perseverance in force, he gradually rose from the 
 floor, inch by inch, as a spectre is said to rise slowly from a tomb. At 
 last, he arrived at too inconvenient a height for my exertions ; for I 
 expected, by perseverance, to gain my point by actually tiring out the 
 holding muscle, and so getting out the tooth the moment it relaxed. 
 However, the unhappy patient contrived to rise ; to meet him, I also 
 elevated myself to my utmost erect position — then on my very tiptoes. 
 Still, the gaunt pauper seemed to grow ; I actually appeared to draw 
 him out like wire. I desperately mounted a low chair. It was too 
 high ; I descended, having still my hold of him as tight and unrelaxing 
 as ever. Though the sweat by this time poured off" my brow, and the 
 patient's face was red and bloated as a rising sun, he began to place 
 cautiously one foot before the other in cramped march round the room. 
 As he advanced, I retreated. There he was, with his head finn on one 
 side, as if it had been nailed to his shoulder. I could at that moment 
 have died upon the spot, of vexation. The man could bear it no longer. 
 I cried. ' Help me, pauper!' for I began to hate him, and in my heart 
 wished him safe back, tooth included, at his workhouse. In pure des- 
 peration, worked up to frenzy by agony, he seized my arm with both 
 his fleshless paws, and, with a tremendous wrench, out came the tooth. 
 ' Thank Heaven,' cried I, 'here it is at last!' showing the enormous 
 fangs to the ought- to-be-overjoyed man. He looked at it a moment 
 with his great grey eyes ; then hastily rubbing the blood off" a part of it 
 
 with his thumb, he roared out, in a voice of Stentor, * I'll be d d 
 
 if it ain't the wrong 'un !' 
 
 " Imagine my feelings at this moment — imagine me, after all my 
 labour, hearing this announcement ! Vainly did I endeavour to poke 
 a pin into any part of the tooth to induce the furious man to believe it 
 was a vile one — the obstinate pin would not enter the smallest cranny; 
 side, bottom, inside fang, outside fang — all in vain, whilst he continued 
 his roarings — ' That 's my only good tooth — the only one that met on 
 all my jaw ! I'd a rather you'd a pulled 'em all out than that 'ere !' — 
 I attempted to console him, that he would do quite as well without it ;
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 47 
 
 that — (I was going to say paupers required no teeth) — it had every 
 symptom of speedy decay. The more I argued, the more he solilo- 
 quised about his loss. I knew not what to do. I would give him gin — 
 I had none ; money, ditto. A bright idea struck me — 1 gave him 
 a large wine-glass of pure spirit of wine, and, in order to soothe him, 
 I poured in some laudanum. ' There,' cried I as I held it out to him — 
 ' there ! drink that, my friend ; and though you have lost yovir tooth, 
 some of these days I will make you ample amends ; but now swallow 
 this — it is for the benefit of your gums.' The bewildered man tossed it 
 off at a draught ; but the scene that followed, how can I describe it ? 
 The burning spirit, getting upon his mangled gums, produced the most 
 excruciating torture, making the former misery a positive pleasure in 
 comparison. He put both hands to his mouth — he blowed, and he 
 gasped for breath — his big, wild, glassy eyeballs rolled round in their 
 orbits, or fixed glaring upon me, as that of the serpent upon its prey ; 
 he could endure it no longer — down upon the floor, amongst the blood, 
 regardless of ranges of bottles, he kicked and he plunged, as a galvanised 
 dead man by the application of the most powerful battery. I expected 
 all was soon to be over with him — that these were his last struggles ; 
 for I doubted not that nature, under such violent exertion, must soon 
 yield. 
 
 " Never was any hapless and bewildered lover of science in a more , 
 helpless or unenviable condition. If I could have called upon the earth 
 to swallow me up, pauper and all, I should have been happy, and had 
 my shame and my misery sealed for ever. But to find myself the 
 murderer of a fellow-being! — to slay him, too, under false pretences! — 
 when he had reposed confidence in me, seated himself wishingly at my 
 desire, opened his ill-fated mouth — (O that it had never drawn breath!) 
 — and, oh ! horrors ! to come to me to be slain ! I could not hide the 
 corpse ; for now it lay motionless, and the eyes were firmly shut — no 
 doubt closed for ever ! I looked for a moment upon the result of the 
 employment of the last half-hour : what a change had that short period 
 wrought ! How lucky should 1 be if it were in my power now to make 
 it appear that the man died in a fit ! But then there would be an 
 inquest on the body ; there would at once be shown his lacerated jaw ! 
 But suppose he died immediately of apoplexy after the extraction of
 
 48 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 the same ? But they would open his body, and there were spirits of 
 wine — and, oh ! horrid to think of, laudanum ! I rushed out of the 
 surgery, hurried with fearful strides up to my room, seized a pen, and 
 wrote the following hasty note, which I, as soon as I had changed my 
 coat, left upon my table. 
 
 "To Dr. Howshe. 
 
 " The unfortunate man who lies dead upon the floor came to me in the 
 agony of toothache, and insisted upon my extracting it; I did so — he then 
 fell down in a fit — I gave him some spirits of wine to revive him ; but he 
 groaned heavily, and ceased to exist. I assure you the man died of his own 
 free will. But I cannot remain any longer under your roof, as from this 
 day I forsake so horrible a profession. 
 
 " In haste, 
 "11 Clock, Monday r "Your late Puvil." 
 
 .1 
 
 *' Having so far arranged matters, I ventured one more look into the 
 ill-fated chamber of death, and to my horror, there still, and stiffer 
 than ever, lay the body of my victim the pauper. 
 
 "I sprang from the house, and ran headlong at the top of my speed 
 from the accursed spot. Getting at length upon the mail, I was borne 
 from the scene of my misfortunes fifty miles ere I dared to venture one 
 timid glance behind. 
 
 " Scarcely knowing whither I flew, I stopped when the mail had 
 arrived at its journey's end, and found myself to my great comfort 
 near a relation of mine, of whose character I had heard little else than 
 that he was a quiet, unassuming gentleman. Had I heard him repre- 
 sented as a wild man, as an unchained wolf, I should have at that 
 moment sought his protection, or prayed him at once to devour me. 
 Towards his mansion I at once directed my trembling steps, was re- 
 ceived with astonishment, which, in order to appease, I at once forged 
 a most serviceable lie, which I adhered as adhesively to as my 
 bewildered imagination, confused by my horrible deed, would allow. 
 Although this excellent relative entertained me with wonderful hospi- 
 lity, yet he would frequently say, * I cannot for the life of me un- 
 derstand why you travel with so little baggage ; you say you deter- 
 mined to pay me a visit — now you must intend it to be a very short one, 
 as I remark you travel with less luggage than the generality of gen-
 
 THE liMIGRANT. . 49 
 
 tlemen.' Thus did he search me; at length, unable to bear it any- 
 longer, considering myself looked upon with an eye of suspicion by 
 the whole household, I seized an opportunity when the old gentleman 
 was alone, and disclosed to him the fact of my having deserted 
 my profession — one that I abhorred — one that was more than any man 
 with nerves short of iron could endure, and I ended by imploring him 
 to allow me to remain his guest for a short time, to recruit, as I said, 
 my shattered constitution. He lent a willing ear to all I had stated, 
 and at the conclusion, (for I did not ])reathe a word about the defunct,) 
 merely replied with an arch smile — ' I'll be hanged if I did not say 
 so ; I'll be hanged if I did not guess as much — well, well, I'm glad to 
 see you, my boy ; stay as long as you like, and make your life happy. 
 You shan't be a doctor — you shall be a farmer, that's what you shall 
 be.' Thus did the good-natured old gentleman pour oil into my 
 wounds, and ale down my throat, and I grew more and more comfort- 
 able every day, and almost forgot my melancholy affair altogether, 
 when, lo ! one morning after I had been about a week or ten days in 
 my retreat, I was struck dumb by hearing my uncle read in the Weekly 
 Times the following : — ' Suspicious Death. — One of the most singular 
 circumstances we have ever had the painful duty to record occurred on 
 
 Friday last, in the town of — . From what we can learn, a pauper 
 
 from the workhouse at left early in the day for the house of 
 
 Dr. , to get, as he said at parting, a painful tooth extracted. 
 
 He had been absent several hours, when the doctor himself came to the 
 workhouse, requesting a bier might be sent, as the man lay dead in his 
 surgery. The doctor could give no account how he came by his death, 
 as his assistant was at the time absent; but he supposes the man must 
 have expired in a fit. What makes the case more singular is, the body 
 appeared to have recently had a tooth extracted, as the mouth was half 
 choked with blood, and a large grinder and the tooth-keys lay by the 
 side of it on the floor. The circumstance has quite disturbed the tov/n, 
 from the mystery that hangs over it. The assistant, who, it appears, 
 must be acquainted ^ith the fact, has not since been heard of. A jury 
 will sit upon the body to-morrow, (last Monday,) when, we trust, this 
 singular and suspicious event may be properly accounted for.' Upon 
 
 H
 
 50 
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 hearing this, my knees tottered and rapped hard one against the other ; 
 the cold sweat of guilt oozed upon my brow ; the piece of food I was 
 masticating stuck fast in my convulsed throat ; the room swam round : 
 I remember no more. Upon recovering again the use of my facul- 
 ties, I found myself stretched upon a bed, my face swimming in 
 vinegar, and all my relations around the bed. Yes, there they were, 
 every one with their strained eyes fixed full and inquiringly upon me. 
 I lost all command, and as I sank once more upon the pillow, I cried 
 out in agony, ' I am the wretch ! '
 
 CHAPTER IX, 
 
 " I will not ask where thou liest now, 
 Nor gaze upon the spot: 
 There flowers or weeds at will may grow, 
 So I behold them not."— Byron. 
 
 " What is there in this world that exceeds the pangs of a guilty con- 
 science ? Every revolving minute seems surcharged with misery ; the 
 day hurries to its close in a sombre shroud, and the night comes upon 
 us loaded with troubles ; sleep is at once denied the unhappy wretch, 
 and he dozes like a watchful dog, starting ever and anon as his ago- 
 nised brain conjures up, with all its attendant horrors, the approach of 
 some direful event. 
 
 " In this dreadful situation was I, when I was for a period relieved 
 by the intervention of fever — during the delirium of which I disclosed 
 at once every particular relating to the horrible deed which haunted me 
 day and night. I looked upon myself as a murderer ; L even went so 
 far as to contemplate but, oh! I dare not think of those demoni- 
 acal thoughts which I then so greedily encouraged. To add to my 
 anguish, I received a letter from one upon whom, above all others, 
 I had anchored my every hope — and now, having discovered my re- 
 treat, she — even she, my adorable Clarissa, was amongst — ay, even 
 the very first to hurl a dagger into the wounds of a prostrate friend. 
 ' She had heard all,' she said, ' and the suspicion that fell upon me — my 
 flight, my mysterious hiding-place, my conduct — all together told her 
 but too plainly that the tongue that whispered my guilt breathed no 
 lie. She advised me to fly that country whose laws I had so outraged.
 
 52 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 or at once acknowledge my crime, and surrender myself to the offended 
 justice of the land.' 
 
 " Rendered furious by such ingratitude on the part of one, above all 
 others, I " Here the feelings of the speaker were unable to con- 
 tinue the narrative ; he held his handkerchief to his face, and in an 
 instant was in the solitude of his cabin below. 
 
 " Well, I certainly never heard anything to come up to that !" cried 
 Mr. Turkey. 
 
 *' It's a dreadful tale !" was echoed arou.nd, as they gazed one upon 
 the other, and found that the melancholy youth had departed. 
 
 "It's one of the toughest yarns I ever heard," said the Captain. 
 *' So he actually either poisoned the fellow, or frightened him to death, 
 that 's certain — one of the two ; and they are both bad enough — there 's 
 not a pin to choose. I 've sailed the sea a many years, but I don't know 
 I ever carried out before — a — a — Well, I'm very sorry for the poor 
 fellow — he is but a lad, and it was the man's own fault trusting him." 
 
 " Ah, there you are right," interrupted Mr. Turkey ; " there. Cap- 
 tain, you 're right : I 've no notion having bones wrenched out of my 
 skviU by any bungler that chooses to put the corkscrew on them. 
 Drawing teeth is an operation some people very much resort to : the 
 least cold, pain, throbbing o' the gums — oh, off to some old wife, and 
 show your valour — out with him ! out with the tusk, and half your 
 jaw ! as if one's teeth, like mushrooms, spring up in one night, and fit 
 for plucking in the morning ; as one of the poets tells us — Byron, I 
 think, ode the Memory don't serve — but here it is : — 
 
 ' Thou, form'd to eat, and be despised, and die. 
 Even as the beasts (teeth) that perish.' 
 
 And in the self-same canto, the poet actually recommends ' a whetstone 
 for the teeth ;' which to me is confirmation strong, that that illustrious 
 defunct bard was entirely of my opine, that a tooth placed in our gums 
 by Providence should there remain, as a man says when he marries, 
 ' for better, for worse ;' and, in my opinion, it 's a species of sacrilege 
 to force the ivories from their proper homes, and unfeelingly tear them 
 from the tender and fostering embrace of the aflectionate gums. I have 
 spoken."
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 53 
 
 " At all events, Mr. Turkey," said Mr. Reiinie, " when it is neces- 
 sary to one's own comfort to have a tooth extracted, you of course 
 would submit ? We cannot be restless night after night, and foodless 
 day after day, for the sake of nursing a vile old stump which is utterly 
 useless, and whose room would be better than his company." 
 
 " No — no extraction ! not a thought of it, Mr. Rennie, till we have 
 soothed the discontented member by every means in our power — by 
 opium, by blisters on the scruff of our necks and behind our ears — at 
 the same time gallons of salts, nitric acid, scoring the gums like pork 
 for roasting, and even then not resorting to the screw till you have 
 thrust a red-hot poker into the very vitals of the offender. I can con- 
 ceive anything of a horrible nature, but of all horror of horrors is the 
 wrenching out one's grinders ! Oh, thou poor Jew that refused to lend 
 King John thy money ! — oh, thou hapless son of Israel ! — and a tooth 
 of thine — thy invaluable ivory to be dragged from thy miserable jaw, 
 one after another, one after another, — thou couldst not endure it — no ! 
 lover as thou wast of thy gold — it was not equal to 'bone of thy bone,' 
 in thy just estimation of jewellery. No ! no tooth-drawing — the very 
 rack before it. I'd turn a Mussulman to-morrow, rather than lose a 
 tooth to-night." 
 
 " I think," cried the Captain, " your remedies are worse than the 
 disease. But list — the bell strikes eight, and the Steward telegraphs 
 the supper, where we will find occupation for our respected grinders, 
 and over a brimming bowl of punch drink ' May we never lose a 
 grinder,' and better success to our unfortunate passenger."
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " The orb of day 
 In Southern climes o'er ocean's waveless field 
 Sinks, sweetly smiling ; not the faintest breath 
 Steals o'er th' unruffled deep : the clouds of eve 
 Reflect unmoved the lingering beam of day, 
 And Vesper's image on the Western main 
 Is beautifully still."— Queen Mab. 
 
 " How beautiful indeed are the clouds of a tropical clime, ever varying, 
 flashing, wonderful ! Gorgeously the banners of vapour float over the 
 bosom of the sleepy sea — and morning comes, and with it such a flood 
 of light gilding, dazzling the eye of the stranger, who finds, by the 
 magnificent kaleidoscope of the heavens, that indeed he is in the land 
 of the sun. The very sea has changed its robe of blue, and mocks the 
 sky in the varied glories that it assumes. Now does it heave its 
 heavy breast ; slowly and solemnly, one mighty wave chaseth another, 
 over fields of purple, of orange, of crimson, of ebony, till in the dis- 
 tance the glittering silver line of day lies twinkling in intolerable radi- 
 ancy as a fringe to the dazzling shroud that, for a moment, hides the 
 coming of the mighty king of day. Then all is one flood — one beam 
 of overwhelming gold ; and the boneta and the finny tribe, who hail the 
 approach of morn, gambol their burnished bodies in the light. Bound- 
 ing now with gossamer wings, glad, careless, and free, in flocks hurry 
 over the ripple caused by the dashing ship, the bright little beings of 
 the sun, the flying-fish ; and the chameleon-like dolphin is ever and 
 anon exposing his charms to the intruder of the waste, that to him is 
 without a bound. All is life within that vast expanse of sea ; but 
 solitarily pursues her way the lonely bark : not a living thing that
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 55 
 
 acknowledgeth the shore is around her ; her march is over the unfa- 
 thomable gulf — she is a being charged with life, a solitary spot inha- 
 bited by those who have no sympathy with the strange animals that 
 are gambolling around them — whose home is on a gaping grave, and 
 whose safety — whose life — depends entirely upon the wind, and her 
 fickle sister, the sleeping lion, upon whose mane they dare to play, and 
 within whose jaws they dare to call their home. Such is man ; he 
 beards the very tempest — in the whirl, the crash of elements, his weak 
 voice is heard triumphant ! and the storm that hurls the daring sea- 
 bird from the sky, he leads a captive ; and his eye is turned upon the 
 reddening glare of the angry heavens-: — he bares his head to the burst- 
 ing of the fearful peal, and he gazes with a calm eye upon the turbu- 
 lence that is raging around him — the only living thing on earth at 
 peace in the dreadful war of Heaven !" 
 
 " I have heard your rhapsody, Mr. Blair," said Mr. Rennie as he 
 familiarly tapped that gentleman upon the shoulder, — " I have heard 
 it all through : doubtless you expected to harangue but those unhappy 
 hens in the coop ? Well, I argue with you, it is glorious to behold the 
 scenes that every hour has in store for us. As poor Turkey often says, 
 'it's a beautiful world !' Look, my friend, at those albicores ; with 
 what annoying speed they dart around the prow of the vessel ! We 
 cannot be sailing at a less speed than nine knots an hour, and yet see 
 how rapidly they wheel and sport, and turn and caper — now aloft, then 
 going like an arrow through the waves. How beautiful ! and what a 
 treat it is to behold even a living thing to relieve the interminable 
 watery wilderness, that is so almost inanimate around !" 
 
 " True, Rennie ; but there are many beauties to contemplate — 
 many rare and curious things are here that those who journey not 
 beyond their native Isle can have but a faint conception of. For 
 instance, there is the Cape pigeon — there he flies, dipping his variegated 
 wings into the wave, as he captures some unwary fry ; there he flies — 
 a thousand long miles have his dappled pinions borne him from the 
 shore ; his home is indeed upon the waters — his resting-place is the 
 hollow and the brow of the ever-restless sea. He seems alone in his 
 occupation, all-absorbed in the search of his morning meal. But no ! 
 I descry far in the distance his little mate ; gay and gladsome is her
 
 56 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 bosom — no doubt happy in the companion who shares with her the 
 tempest and the cahn. — And here comes whirling round us, as if to 
 examine what and who we are that dare intrude upon his dominions — 
 here comes, skimming the air with his enormous sails, the huge 
 albatross. Look at him, Rennie ! — how he turns his great black eye 
 upon us, and how near us he skims, determined as it were to ascertain 
 the very name of the vessel and the colour of its inhabitants. Well, he 
 is indeed a magnificent fellow, and I shall take the first opportunity of 
 fishing for him : the Captain tells me they are easily taken with a long 
 line and a pork bait. 
 
 " After all, to a mind at peace with itself, I have never yet known an 
 instance where satisfaction and contentment may not be extracted from 
 circumstances apparently quite adverse to anything approaching tran- 
 quillity. Even in this crowded vessel, the time has slipped hastily away, 
 and nearly one-half of the tedious passage has been passed. Then, again, 
 there will be a great novelty in our visit to the Cape. I certainly shall 
 make the best of my time there, as I am anxious to inake a few ob- 
 servations upon the present state of that Colony. Perhaps, Rennie, 
 you may join me in a little expedition of discovery — what say you?" 
 
 " I shall do so, Blair, with great pleasure. I am of opinion, it is a 
 Colony whose real merits have been very much neglected, and shall be 
 glad to ascertain how far advantageous it would be to a settler, as in 
 the event of not succeeding according to my wishes in Australia, the 
 chances are that the Cape might induce me to turn my steps toward it. 
 But, as the patient Turkey says, ' we shall see.' " 
 
 *• May I ask you, Rennie, if you have already purchased land in 
 Australia?" 
 
 " Yes, Blair, I have done so — I have purchased to the extent of five 
 hundred acres." 
 
 " In what part is it situate ?" 
 
 " As it is not at present surveyed, I am not prepared to answer that 
 question; but I am led to understand it will be situated on the banks 
 of a river. I have already sent out my son to select it, as you may not 
 be aware, and I have instructed him to choose it as follows : — Firstly, 
 with a moderate growth of timber ; secondly (or rather I should have 
 said, firstly), as near a river as may be, if possible on the banks of one) ;
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 57 
 
 and thirdly, as near the site of the proposed town as he can. I have 
 ordered him, when various lands are surveyed, to forthwith make his 
 selection, and establish himself and party by the erection of a comfort- 
 able habitation, so that in the event of our arrival we may at once have 
 a tolerable place of refuge. He has taken out with him for that pur- 
 pose the frame of a very good roomy house, and I expect to find him 
 comfortably ensconced within it by the time of our arrival." 
 " Have you any agricultural implements with you, Rennie?" 
 " Oh yes, 1 have a very large assortment. I have been at great 
 pains in endeavouring to get the best and most approved — my ploughs 
 are mostly upon the Scotch principle, light and handy — for I am deter- 
 mined, as soon as we are safely landed, to commence ojierations with 
 some spirit." 
 
 " Well, I agree with you, it will be a great satisfaction when one has 
 actually made a beginning. I shall indeed rejoice to see my herds and 
 my flocks, my crops and my garden. I am quite a devotee to a patri- 
 archal life, and cannot tolerate the false refinement and the galling 
 armour one is obliged to wear in the stupid monotony of fashionable 
 society ; and I feel myself more than happy when I refiect that the possi- 
 bility is, we may not be very distant neighbours — for then we can 
 render each other mutual assistance, which, I conceive, will occasion- 
 ally be in demand." 
 
 " I can assure you, Blair, my desire is yours ; few things would give 
 myself and family more satisfaction. I presume, Blair, that the young 
 ladies are not altogether pleased at the Australian expedition — what 
 say they ?" 
 
 " You have mistaken them, Rennie. So far from feeling any regret 
 at leaving the follies of the ball, the morning twaddle, and the sense- 
 less tea-parties behind them, I am happy to say their only regret was 
 the dear and tried friends that are occasionally to be found in this mot- 
 ley world — found too often at the very period when necessity demands 
 we must leave them for ever behind. My girls are educated entirely 
 under a mother's care — they have never been under the discipline of a 
 stranger's hand ; neither have their young minds been directed into 
 impure channels by associating in public seminaries with those whose 
 dispositions are trifling and worthless, and whose bosoms arc too often 
 
 I
 
 58 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 found not to be softened by the assembly of a school, but hardened into 
 ridiculous manners, and educated utterly false in their views of the 
 world. How often, Ronnie, is the heart of the parent racked with 
 grief, when, after years of expense and anxiety, the tenderly-loved girl 
 of their bosoms, having at length completed her education in the public 
 schools — how often then, sir, has the cruel sting of disappointment been 
 sent deep into their vitals when they have beheld the beautiful idol of 
 their souls, in all the loveliness of youth — at a period when she is to 
 be launched upon the rough world, totally ignorant of its ways, dis- 
 tracted with false ideas, a prey to every petty disappointment — stand- 
 ing alone, as she does, gazing upon life as it really is ; ignorant, totally 
 ignorant, of what constitutes the real foundation of happiness— a know- 
 ledge of and a readiness to meet the common-place events, the every- 
 day routine, of a bustling, a selfish world." 
 
 " That, Blair," replied Rennie, " is a philosophy seldom attained by 
 gay young maidens ; but certainly the way you have pursued in keep- 
 ing them clear of the frivolities of a public school will do much for 
 them, particularly when a mother's eye is ever upon them ; and, as you 
 observe, a correct knowledge of what the world affords may be, under 
 such circumstances, more efficiently imparted. I am myself no advo- 
 cate for your finishing schools, your romances, and your love-sick 
 swains, and haunted castles ; they pollute the heart, and too often, 
 instead of sending forth a valuable member of society, we see nothing 
 but a flighty waxwork doll, full of imagination, music and dance, but 
 absolutely above the world in which she is destined to move — and so 
 much so in one instance that came to my knowledge in the person of 
 a relation of mine, that she threw herself into a fatal disease by her 
 abstinence, considering it to be actually derogatory to be seen in the 
 fact of eating. Now I mention her, 1 may just finish her history. 
 This lady — the Miss Belinda — in one of her abstinence fits reduced 
 herself to such a passing shade, that medical advice was called in. The 
 doctor recommended change of air. The beautiful girl — for she was 
 an attenuated beauty — was forthwith removed to a respectable farmer's 
 in the country. There she, like Ophelia, culled the flowers, the pan- 
 sies, and the willow ; she also directed her attention to the sheep— and 
 from the sheep (oh ! tell it not in Gath !) to the gay young shepherd !
 
 THR EMIGRANT. 59 
 
 — -Oh, romance ! oh, rocks, brigands, and caves ! — and oh, sweet, tune- 
 ful, gentle Colin, and thy still gentler lambkins ! Where are you, Colin ? 
 let the groves answer, and the hills echo it — where are you, and where 
 is the mistress of the humble cot, the miserable Belinda?" 
 
 " So ended her romance, I presume," said Mr. Blair ; " no doubt 
 she died of a broken heart ? " 
 
 " No, Blair, she lives yet : the husband has been advanced by some 
 secret benevolent individual to the rank of toll-gate keeper ; and the 
 very last time I had occasion to ride through that part of the country, 
 I had the shock to see the unhappy woman washing in a little orchard, 
 by the side of the toll-house ; and she held up a hand, bleeding at the 
 wrist, to me for my toll. I knew it was Belinda, but she knew me 
 not. I hastily threw a crown to a little blue-eyed urchin, who had 
 thrust forth his curly flaxen head to look at the traveller ; this at once 
 surprised the mother, whom I left standing like a statue, straining her 
 large blue eyes at the unaccountable generosity of the stranger. ' Poor 
 thing !' thought I ; ' thou who wert once too delicate for the very 
 balmy South to blow upon, art now exposed to the rudeness of every 
 blast ; and those long and taper fingers, that have swept the keys 
 whiter than the ivory of thy piano, enchanting all beholders — where 
 are they now ? The muslin brocade has fled from that snowy bosom — 
 the plain red kerchief is there now, and the herden apron tight em- 
 braces that slender waist, which bends to thy irksome task as a reed 
 that a tempest hath broken. May I see her misery no more ! It was 
 a stab, Blair, I did not very readily get over," 
 
 " Does her husband treat her kindly ?" inquired Mr. B. 
 
 " Of that," continued Rennie, " I know but little. However, on dit 
 that he is a kind, harmless clown — extremely uncouth, as a matter of 
 course, being totally without education, except the little that his un- 
 happy v^ife has taught him. Ignorance in the present age (abounding, 
 as it does, with the means of knowledge) is a positive crime ; and, in 
 my code of criminal law, I would insert, ' And be it enacted, that on 
 and after the 1st day of Januaty next, all youths who shall be above 
 the age of ten years, and discovered totally unable to read and write,, 
 shall be considered at the disposal of Government, and may be draughted 
 into such regiments or ships as may be thought necessary,' — where the
 
 60 
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 schoolmaster might be found at home ; and that therein, in considera- 
 tion of their education, they should be compelled to serve till the age 
 of twenty-one — thus making something, as it were, out of nothing ; 
 for, in spite of what men may preach about a little learning being a 
 dangerous thing, I maintain the force of the adage, that * half a loaf is 
 better than no bread.' Ignorance, being too often the parent of crimes, 
 should be made accountable for her progeny, by the very same law and 
 jury who condemned the trumpeter to death, negativing his plea that 
 he fought not, neither slew he any man — but the Judge advanced the 
 fact, above all he was the greater criminal, by being the cause of others 
 fighting." 
 
 " I think, Rennie," cried Mr. Blair, as he turned from the mainmast, 
 against which he had been leaning, — ** I think you have reason well 
 on your side ; but it will be yet some years ere the little lever of the 
 schoolmaster can heave from its low position, to any favourable eleva- 
 tion, the ponderous mass of ignorance that benights the rural districts."
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " Thou whose spell can raise the dead, 
 Bid the prophet's form appear — 
 Samuel, raise thy buried head ; 
 King, behold the phantom seer!"-— Saul. 
 
 "All the fat 's i' the fire ! here 's something to talk about — now for it! 
 who's to blame ? — there 's a secret, find it out !" Thus violently ejacu- 
 lated Mr. Turkey, as he hastily bounded upon the quarter-deck. 
 " There, gentlemen," continued he in an agitated tone, addressing 
 some passengers who were listlessly promenading, — " there, my fellow- 
 wanderers — policies of life insurance are at a premium ; who brings 
 such to the market ? I'm a purchaser at any price. — Misfortunes never 
 come alone — four this morning, and two last night : here 's a list — 
 ecoute ! Imprimis — The jars of London pickled cabbage for the use of 
 the would-be scorbutic, friends, turns out to be all brine and parings of 
 leather! — yea, briny as the very wave that washes yon lee scuppers, — 
 and tough ! ay, tough as my grandmother's pocket ! Gentlemen, elon- 
 gate not the visage. No. 2 — The water is nearly spent, and what little 
 remains stinks — ay, most foully savours, as Don Quixote said to San- 
 cho — Yes, the Don to the Sqviire — memory serves — ' Sancho, thou 
 savourest,' — that 's Spanish for stink. Notre aqua Thamcsiensis est 
 impuris, abominalis, — that's pure and unadulterated Latin — memory 
 serves. Note the third — The tripe is defunct ! last bit in the bucket 
 to-day ; so, gentlemen, you will get no more of that delectable viscera 
 for thy abominable viscera — at which you find yourselves in no worse 
 a situation than the illustrious Queen Bess herself, of ale-drinking,
 
 62 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 herring-eating memory. Hear what one of her poets laureate sung to 
 the Royal ear — beats Southey hollow : — 
 
 i ' An thou shalt feed from choicest 
 That ever queen hath seen, 
 Thou shalt not eat no tryi)es, 
 For they be seldom clean. ' 
 
 So lament not thy deprivation, 
 
 But list, ye landsmen, all to me ; 
 Messmates ! hear from brother sailor 
 
 In what a pretty mess we be. 
 
 Yonder pig who is poking his long and mangy snout betwixt those 
 forbidding bars, ate up the last murphy yesterday ! — absolute fact, 
 however dire to tell. Now for another note — The black cook swallowed 
 the last bottle of ale, to his own cheek, this very morning at six a.m. : 
 I took an observation of him through the grating. Now for note the 
 last, but not the least — Miss P. has just decided not to allow the 
 addresses of the gentleman who last evening mistook her cabin for his 
 own! — Now," cried Turkey, as he caught the form of the Doctor 
 gliding past, — " now. Doctor, I have emptied my budget ; what have 
 you to say ?" 
 
 " I'll tell you what I have to say — that I would recommend you all 
 taking a good active dose of physic, and take care not to go near the 
 long-boat ; for the typhus fever has broke out amongst us, and the ship 
 is so crowded, I must make that my hospital, and throw a sail over it." 
 
 " The typhus fever !" simultaneously exclaimed all ; " God preserve 
 us ! And to make the long-boat an hospital ! Why, already there are 
 four oxen and twenty sheep in it!" 
 
 "That does not alter the necessity of the case. I must have the 
 stern-sheets and the bows : and I herewith forbid any and all of you 
 from holding any intercourse with the infected. I am going to tar, 
 smoke, and limewash the interior of all the cabins, and shall be glad of 
 any of you idlers' assistance." 
 
 This announcement of the Doctor struck the whole band motionless ; 
 for he was a man generally of few words, and it was to be feared, in 
 this instance at least, that he had not exaggerated the danger. He was
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 63 
 
 overheard to remark to the Captain, " When a fever breaks out in a 
 crowded vessel like this, its effects are awful. I have known, out of 
 two hundred emigrants, no less than eighty of them carried oif by fever 
 ere they reached Sydney: and I can further add, that a friend of mine, 
 a surgeon, lost seventy out of a hundred and twenty ; and upon his 
 arrival in Sydney Cove, he was ordered back with his ship-load of the 
 dying to Sydney Heads, where tents were erected on shore for them, 
 and where medical men came down from town to assist them — three of 
 whom, as well as my poor friend, took the fever and died. And fur- 
 thermore, the mischief does not end here — the ship is infected for years 
 after, and if employed again in the same service, ten chances to one of 
 her escaping the plague, more raging and terrible than before. That, 
 sir, you may not be disposed to imagine I am exceeding the fact, I will 
 relate an incident. 
 
 " A vessel called the ' Lady M'Nab' sailed from England to South 
 Australia. The fever overtook them on the Line — it swept off a third 
 of that melancholy crew, and continued to rage with unabated fury till 
 their arrival at the Cape, Here they went to the hospital on shore — 
 those, of course, who could afford it, purchasing better accommoda- 
 tions — remaining there three weeks ; and, after purifying the ship, the 
 remnant once more embarked — and once more did the fever resume his 
 throne of skulls. Day after day the mournful bell summoned the 
 unhappy people to the gangway to commit a fellow-mortal to the deep. 
 From the saddening effect which this created upon the minds of the few 
 who remained in health, the dead were thrown overboard in the secret 
 hour of midnight. 
 
 " The moving scenes of that dread ship would appear to have ended 
 with her destination. Not so ! — six months after that, I was upon the 
 Eastern seas — we were driving before the wind nine knots — when a 
 vessel, which we had as it were all of a sudden observed standins: across 
 our bows, hoisted telegraph. As we became able to distinguish the 
 colours, we referred to the code of signals, and there we made out the 
 question ' Have you a doctor on board V We backed the main-yard as 
 we approached, and hoisted in reply * Yes.' Up went their flags again 
 — ' 9078'—' What 's that ? 9078 ?'— ' We will send our boat immedi- 
 ately for him.' The boat came alongside, and I and one or two curious
 
 64 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 passengers boarded the bark. It was tbe ' Lady M'Nab,' on her return 
 voyage from Sydney, and she was full of fever! The Captain's young 
 and beautiful wife, whom he had recently married at Sydney, was lying 
 in a hopeless state, and at least a dozen of the crew. The Captain 
 informed me that they had had the vessel fumigated, limed and fresh 
 painted, and yet the lurking seeds of that insidious malady were not 
 destroyed." 
 
 *' Then, Doctor," inquired the Captain, " would the infection never 
 
 be destroyed V 
 
 " Wiry, yes — after a length of time ; but that vessel should be for- 
 bidden to carry out emigrants on her succeeding voyage. The invi- 
 sible agent so much to be dreaded lurks in every cranny. If the seeds 
 of the plague are brought thousands of miles in a morsel of cotton or 
 an old garment, why should not a ship or a cabin, where the breath 
 and exhalations from the diseased would saturate every plank, and 
 emit, in spite of all precautions, the miasma or infective agent, until it 
 became by time innocuous?" 
 
 "But what can be done, Doctor?" inquired the Captain; "our 
 vessel is so crowded." 
 
 " True, it is horribly crowded. I myself protested in no measured 
 terms, ere we started, upon the very wickedness of so cramming the 
 people together like herrings in a cask ; but I joined the ship too late 
 to make any very sensible alterations, though I certainly unshipped a 
 dozen. I am of opinion, the captain of a ship should be himself made 
 answerable, and that an agent properly conversant with the matter 
 should examine every emigrant ship before she sails for her destination. 
 This is not denied a stage-coach whose journey is twenty miles, but is 
 withheld from a lonely ship v/hose passengers are in helpless hundreds, 
 and whose journey is the antipodes." 
 
 " We must make the best of it. Doctor," said the Captain. 
 
 " Yes, that is cool and comfortable philosophy — we must certainly 
 endeavour, by every means in our power, to arrest the fiend who me- 
 naces us ; but it is of no avail straining medical knowledge to its utmost, 
 and being also provided with a superabundance of drugs to assist in the 
 combat, if we with open eyes see unconcerned the mischief, ere we 
 start, that is certain to befal us : medicine should be employed to pre-
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 65 
 
 vent disease, as well as to arrest it. But however, as it is, we must 
 not necessarily alarm the minds of the passengers ; for fortitude is as 
 useful when threatened with the approach of disease, as it is in war 
 when we find ourselves suddenly surrounded hy our enemies. — Now, 
 Captain, to our tasks, and success attend us! We will attempt to 
 destroy the germ of the hudding dragon." 
 
 "Who heard anything?" exclaimed Turkey as he drew in a long 
 breath. " My wig, but here is a pretty kettle of fish ! — The Doctor 
 talks of fortitude — guarding against disease ! All diseases proceed 
 from a disarranged stomach. Now hear my logic : — It is the duty of 
 every man to guard against disease. To arrange the stomach, is to 
 fortify against all diseases. Erc/o — steward, bring me a strong glass of 
 brandy-and-water. I will instantly * attempt to destroy the germ of the 
 budding dragon !' " 
 
 K
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " The bastions of the storm, when through the sky 
 The spirits of the tempest thunder'd by, 
 
 beneath the lash 
 
 Of the wind's scourge, foam'd like a wounded thing, 
 And the incessant hail with stony crash 
 Plough'd up the waters, and the flagging wing 
 Of the roused cormorant in the lightning's flash 
 Look'd like the wreck of some wind-wandering 
 Fragment of inky thunder-smoke." — Witch of Atlas. 
 
 The voyagers had hitherto journeyed in peace — the winds, upon the 
 whole, had been what they could have most sanguinely expected, and 
 they all began to entertain hopes that the high lands of the Cape would 
 in a short period be announced from the mast-head. Preparations had 
 been for some time past in real earnest commenced. The steerage 
 passengers had performed, as if by general consent, " a most glorious 
 wash;" not a morsel of linen the size of one's handkerchief had escaped 
 the universal ablution. The fit seemed not confined to the steerase 
 alone, but it broke out with equal manifestations of violence amidships : 
 universal war to the very suds was declared against the dusty and the 
 stained — not an inch of the spare rigging was left unoccupied by the 
 motley array of blue and brown, and various-coloured things. There 
 they were, fluttering and flying, flapping, curling, twisting, in attitudes 
 never to be performed when inhabited by the living trunk : bloated, 
 headless bodies struck out their tenantless arms at the invisible anta- 
 gonist, or challenged each other, like knights of yore, to the tilt, and 
 appeared to the speculative observer to be the resurrection of the good 
 old times when 
 
 " 'Twas a glorious sight to see 
 The charge of the Cliristian chivalry."
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 07 
 
 Shirt challenged shirt, and jpusted together ; under-waistcoat chal- 
 lenged pantaloon, and red niglitcap flourished his tassel over an ig- 
 nobler knight of the garter. Thus went on all things, animate and 
 inanimate ; all was life and activity. 
 
 Various were the bets made at this period, and numerous were the 
 guesses, the hopes, and the suppositions. Little knots were seen in 
 various parts of the " Ocean Queen," in deep and solemn discourse, 
 upon the change in the water — the bit of sea-weed which had been 
 discovered as it floated past — and, above all, some birds flitting under 
 the stern, pronounced by the wise ones as swallows. All wore the 
 aspect of a period soon arriving, when they might stretch their listless 
 legs ashore. Alas for human hopes — the shortsightedness of that 
 arrogant biped man ! He noted not that small red spot in the heavens, 
 such as the Prophet saw, "no larger than a man's hand;" but that 
 unnoted speck on the cerulean bosom of the sky was the car upon 
 which rode the monarch of the storm. lie came in silence — he rolled 
 above the waves ; the very wind crouched before him and was still, 
 and the sea turned pale at his approach. The startled bird, with his 
 wing of might, dashed like a meteor before him, and sounded his cry of 
 alarm, that echoed o'er the else silent w^aste ; the petrel darted around 
 the scarcely-moving bark with unwonted restlessness ; and the sails of 
 the vessel, as if unwilling to contest the coming blast, shivered as in 
 agony at his impetuous career. 
 
 The voice of the Captain — the answering pipe of the Boatswain — 
 summoned all men to their duty. The deck was crowded with life ; 
 and there was hurrying to and fro, and the scarce-audible whisper 
 which one man breathed to his fellow as he turned his eye to the 
 murky canopy that had spread like a magie carpet over his head. 
 One instant more ! and the sea rushed with the violence of a cataract 
 over all — howling and boiling, — sweeping all in its course — whipped 
 up in an instant, as if by an enchanter's wand. All which had been 
 silent as the tomb was now mantling in violence — in overwhelming 
 passion — around. The yell of the aftVighted birds, made visibly larger 
 by the lightning's flash — the tremendous flappings of the mighty sails 
 as they endeavoured to break like an infuriated lion from his lashings — ■ 
 the sidelonff and terrific manui'v in which the vessel tore amid the- bi!-
 
 68 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 lows — and, above all, the awful peals of thunder that boomed and 
 rolled around them — were overpowering and bewildering in the ex- 
 treme. The passengers, driven below by the fury of the breaking sea, 
 that ever and anon swept like a supercharged torrent over the deck, 
 had not only to contend with the tempest that threatened momentarily 
 to engulf them in the yawning chasms that opened around them, but 
 the vessel, driving and rolling as she was, first one gunwale under and 
 then the other, precluded the possibility of any position but absolutely 
 lying at full length ; and then their lives and limbs were in imminent 
 danger, amidst the rushing and crashing of trunks, chairs, tables, and 
 every portable article, broken loose from their moorings, and dashing 
 across the cabin in horrible — in appalling confusion. 
 
 The suddenness of this storm was only equalled by its violence. 
 Not a solitary thing in that tempest-beaten bark was at rest. The 
 rolling, the heaving, and the trembling of the vessel's timbers, as she 
 pitched into a hollow sea, or was struck by a gigantic wave, produced 
 a dizziness, a cloud, upon the minds of the passengers below, that 
 though uncertain for a moment as to whether the next wave would not 
 engulf them, yet there was not to be heard a solitary voice giving 
 utterance to grief. The darkness that necessarily reigned below made 
 it impossible for any one, at the risk of their life and limbs, to remain 
 an instant in the main cabin ; therefore every one sought shelter for 
 himself, in the best manner he was able, in his own cabin, gazing with 
 bewildered senses upon the carnage reigning around him. On deck the 
 wildness of the scene defies the description of the pen : wave after wave 
 was raising its huge body, chasing, overwhelming its fellow, whilst 
 the fiery sky gleamed upon the whole, tinting all around with a lurid 
 red. The ship, although with scarce a sail upon her masts, flew over 
 the waters, plunging, boimding, roaring along, as a huge monster in 
 the extremity of madness. Four men were lashed to the helm, which 
 had as now no mastery over her turbulent subject. No voice could be 
 heard, from the blasts that bellowed through the overstrained rigging. 
 Each shroud had assumed, from tension, the appearance of a bar of 
 iron ; and as the wind rushed upon it, a sound was given forth as from 
 the bass of a trumpet. The thunder joined its awful voice to the ter- 
 rible din ; and the forked lightning flashed upon the dishevelled locks
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 69 
 
 and upturned eyeballs of the seamen, giving them for a moment the 
 ghastly appearance of beings from another world. 
 
 The sea had increased every minute, and was at this time making 
 a clean breach over the ship. One tremendous wave came, leaping 
 and bounding over his fellows, as a giant sent at once to arrest the 
 further career of the all-tottering and uncommandable bark. The Cap- 
 tain's experienced eye saw the huge sea coming fierce and impetuous 
 to the attack : he had scarcely time to pass a rope round his waist and 
 waive his hand to the men at the helm, when the ship was struck. 
 For an instant the wild bark was arrested in her flight. The boiling, 
 the hissing sea was above, below, and around her ; she was fairly 
 entombed — all were for an awful space, brief as it was, buried in the 
 ocean's womb. The gallant vessel, however, was stunned — not slain ; 
 and again she feebly renewed the unequal fight, and gallantly once 
 more presented her bosom to the enemy. 
 
 Soon as the eye was enabled to distinguish the results of that woful 
 sea — whilst yet a perfect river was rushing waist-deep over the deck, 
 they discovered, to their horror, that the long-boat, and all that it con- 
 tained, was washed away : but, hanging half through one of the lee 
 port-holes, appeared jammed, as it were, the body of some one. The 
 Captain unwound his faithful rope, and staggered to the assistance of 
 the precariously-situated individual. By main force he attempted to 
 extricate the body, which was that of a female firmly wedged between 
 the carriage of a gun and the open port. A sailor in the rigging hastily 
 darted to the rescue, when they succeeded at length in drawing forth 
 a woman whose fingers Avere spasmodically holding by the hair an 
 infant. 
 
 The woman, upon being released from her perilous condition, and 
 seeing who was by her side, faintly uttered, " Captain, I thank God 
 I have saved the child ; but the mother is gone !" 
 
 The unknown woman and surviving child were hurried at once into 
 the forecastle, for there was no time to lose, as at this moment, and 
 close to where they stood, the main topmast came down with a tre- 
 mendous crash, and the heavens appeared, if possible, more dismal and 
 foreboding than ever.
 
 70 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 Whilst heaving overboard the remaining guns, and what other en- 
 cumbrances remained upon the deck, there was heard amid the roar of 
 the storm the sudden booming of a gun ! The Captain hastened into 
 the rigging, and there, far — too far for him to make out distinctly what 
 vessel or of what kind she was — but certainly there, with apparently 
 but the stump of a mast standing, lay, rolling and plunging, the huge 
 hulk of some unfortunate vessel, which had evidently exhibited, with- 
 out the dreadful signal-firing of the gun, that she was in the last stage 
 of distress. 
 
 The vessel lay far out to windward, and it was only when lightning 
 lent its fierce glare that the tossing and unguidable hull could be dis- 
 covered. Minute after minute the distress-gun boomed through the din 
 arovmd, till suddenly it ceased. The Captain strained his eyes to the 
 spot where he last saw the vessel : the lightning blazed fiercely as 
 before, firing up the whole horizon, but no mortal eye ever gazed again 
 upon that unhappy ship — no mortal ear shuddered henceforth at the 
 boom of her signal-gun. 
 
 As the Captain descended from the shrouds, a voice close to his ear 
 eagerly inquired, " Is she gone down?" 
 
 The Captain turned his eye round to look at the inquirer. It was 
 the same female whom he had rescued from such imminent peril : she 
 was swaddled up in a seaman's dreadnought, and her head was bound 
 round with an old oilskin south-wester. 
 
 " Who tied you there ?" asked the Captain, seeing that his inquirer 
 was firmly lashed to the windward belaying-pins. 
 
 " Is the ship foundered?" again in a tone of intense anxiety de- 
 manded the female. 
 
 " She most certainly has," answered the Captain. " But who are 
 you, and what is your object in braving this awful hurricane ? This is 
 no place for women ! your life is in momentary danger. Get you at 
 once into a place of safety ; you may meet with an accident that will 
 send you after the vessel you so foolishly inquire about, if you don't 
 take better care of yourself." 
 
 " I can afford to lose my life, for I have already this day saved one 
 perhaps of more vnlue tlian my own. But, at all events, whilst this
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 71 
 
 storm continues I shall keep the deck ; and if the vessel makes her 
 last plunge, I at least shall go down with my eyes open. Here it is 
 my determination to remain." 
 
 " As you please," said the Captain, hurrying his way aft; " women 
 will have their own way."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " ' What if thine eye be beautifully brieht, 
 E'en as the eagle's ? yet thy rugged back, 
 And flatten'd head, and legs are dusky black : 
 Thy mouth — oh ! close it, for I dread the sight. 
 
 Go' 
 
 ' Oh, why reproach my lot ?' 
 A voice replied, low murm'ring from the flood : 
 ' A purpose I may serve, to thee unknown.' " 
 
 The tempest continued its force unabated till toward the close of the 
 second day, when the wind began gradually to die away, and the sea 
 sunk rapidly into a state of repose. Now might be seen emerging one 
 after the other, from the crowded cabins to the deck, the delighted 
 passengers, exulting that the danger was over. 
 
 *' Well," cried one above the rest, as he poked his red-nightcapped 
 head up the companion, " Well, thank God for all things ! we've had a 
 precious shaking ! Talk of tossing a fellow in a blanket — it's nothing 
 to the d — d tossing, tumbling, rolling, bumping, bending, cringing, 
 headaching, shin- skinning, back-steaming, that I've undergone the 
 last sixty hours. Not one morsel of animal food has entered my pre- 
 cious mouth, except a blind and diseased cockroach, that doubtless 
 fell into it in a fit as he was crawling over ; not a morsel else — no, not 
 even the crack of a biscuit. You might lie on your bone-shaken back, 
 and bawl out ' Steward ! Steward, I say, for the honour of the Virgin, 
 bring me a bite ! for the love you bear St. Peter, bring me just a 
 morsel of biscuit, if it's only the size of a nutmeg, and the very least 
 drop of rum to saturate the same ;' — no ! not he, — you might implore 
 the infidel by all the names in the calendar, he moved not ; though 
 I'd the melancholy satisfaction to see him in the distance, clearing the
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 73 
 
 dust out of his own pipes with a pleasant touch of solitude I longed 
 to invade. Well, as I used to hear my respected grandmother say, 
 after giving me some rhubarb and senna tea, whilst the nasty yellow 
 mess still hung thick upon my lips — ' Now laugh, Toby, and suck 
 your plum; it's all over.' But stay! where's the long-boat? and where's 
 the cook's galley, that should stand here, if memory serves ? Where 
 be the swine, and the sheep, and the oxen ?" 
 
 ** They are all gone, Mr. Turkey, to Davy's locker ; and thank your 
 lucky stars you ain't gone arter 'em ! I can just tell you as how it 
 war as near as a toucher," said a sailor, in answer to Mr. Turkey ; for 
 we find it was our old lively friend, who was one of the first upon the 
 scene of the conflict. 
 
 " And is the cook gone to see old Davy?" pursued Turkey. 
 
 " No," rejoined the seaman, " he ain't exactly gone, sir ; he's a sort of 
 chap as holds on by the skin of his teeth. Cooks at sea are like post- 
 boys ashore ; it's reckoned a sight quite out o' the common order o' 
 things to see a dead un of either on 'em. I've heerd in my time, 
 •when I was aboard the ' Thimiping Sally,' as we called her — I've heerd 
 a rummish go or two about what you call the cooks — we call 'em the 
 doctors, 'case they docters us inwards, arout which there'd be no 
 employ for the t'other docter, you know, Mr. Turkey, except he wanted 
 just to try his fist in the amabotomy, don't they call it ? But the sea- 
 cook never cocks his toe, ony under most exasperated circumstances. 
 The black covey aboard the * Thumping Sally' made believe, off the 
 coast o' Africa, that he was a dead un ! The docter said as how he was 
 as dead as a marlin-spike. I went to look at hijn — as in course we all 
 did, reckoning it a sight we didn't see every watch. Well — we all, the 
 starboard watch, went to look at him as he lay upon the grating ; and 
 the mate chalks on the slate — * 10 p. m. Died Wappy Dumpo, the 
 Cook ;' he puts it in large letters — I seed him do it. Well, when we'd 
 all seen him, the boatsun says to me, says he, * Bob,' says he, * this is 
 the thirty-seventh year I've sailed the brine, and I'm blow'd if ever I 
 seen a dead cook afore — I never did, by G — d !' said he : ' I've heerd tell 
 on 'em, but never believed it.' Well, he says to the sailmaker, * Sail- 
 maker,' says he, ' when are you a-going to stitch u]) poor old Wappy 
 
 L
 
 74 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 Dumpo ? ' ' I a' got the yarn for that very job,' says he, ' and I'm a- 
 going just at it,' says he. Well, in course we slewed round to lend a 
 hand — it was getting devilish dark, and we wanted him overboard 
 afore the morning, for corpses won't keep long in those 'ere latitudes. 
 Well, sailmaker kneels down, and we just helps Dumpo's carcase com- 
 fortably into his hammock. It was a most uncommon short un, that 
 same hammock, and wouldn't kiver his legs ; so as we must in course 
 shot the body, and we allais shots the stern, we sews up the shot under 
 his great ugly hoofs ; (Lord ! what sprawling feet that fellow had, to be 
 sure !) Well then, stitch after stitch went on, till we could see no fur- 
 ther : according-ly, I fetches the glim ; — that 'ere being done, and all 
 ready for launching, the mate comes aft to lend us a hand. We gets the 
 grating fairly o' the leward gun carriage, — then on from there, by might 
 and main, right to the top of the gangway. Well, there he rested as 
 on a balance, like a man as you may a' seen jumping in a sack at a 
 country fair. Dumpo's hammock war sewed tight under his chin, and 
 his great black curly head (I think I see it now) lolling out of the 
 sack. Up climbs the mate and the sailmaker, just to see him go 
 down, — it's allais a sight as makes impression on me. * Up with the 
 glim,' says the mate ; ' and when I say Three, let go. One — two !' I held 
 up the glim at that moment as the mate cries ' Two,' just over the corpse, 
 so as to let the light fall plump on his face. Thinks I, ' I'll take a last 
 look at poor Dumpo.' The mate screamed out, afore I could turn my 
 quid ' He's alive, by G — d !' The carpenter and sailmaker fell one over 
 the t'other on to the deck ; and the black going over, seized the lanthorn 
 with his teeth, and arter him it went like a ball of fire hissing into the sea. 
 Arter that I remember no more, till we was all four having some grog 
 on the capstan. ' Did you see that. Bill V says the mate to the sail- 
 maker. * I did that,' says he, shaking his head. ' And so did I !' 
 ' And so did I !' echoed the t'other two. Myself had nearly lost my 
 faculties ; I couldn't tell what I had seen, till I felt the grog reviving 
 within me. And then I ups and says, says I, ' And I'm d — d if I didn't 
 see it too : just as I held up the glim,' says I, ' and the mate was singing 
 out. One — two, I'm blessed if the cook didn't wink at us ; I seen his 
 great white eye, actilly like a cotton ball, just afore he snapped at the glim.'
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 75 
 
 I shall never forget it — he was a murdered man ! I often think of that 
 event ; it war one of no every-day occurrence ; catch me ever lend a 
 hand again to swamp a sea-cook — I wouldn't, by G — d, for Greenwich ! 
 It's wilful murder — that's what it is." 
 
 Mr. Turkey took a most violent pinch of snuff, and " Boh," the re- 
 later of the terrible " ewent," slewed his enormous quid from port to 
 starboard ; and, as he turned a parting glimpse upon Turkey, and gave 
 the satisfactory hitch to his nether man, he poked his thumb know- 
 ingly over his shoulder, and, with an accompanying nod of the head, 
 roared out, " Mr. Turkey wants the cook !" 
 
 But that functionary was too busy at that time to lose a moment; 
 and, notwithstanding he heard the summons most audibly, as he should, 
 he contented himself with shouting out, 
 
 "And him can say, him cook wery glad o' turkey! him fine ham 
 West-failure to marry him to, ha ! ha ! Cook wcry glad storm ober, 
 but wish him let galley alone; knock him all in lee-scupper, and bust 
 him copper's ribs in like old buckets. It was no good to repent — all 
 is gone, and sorree is not for me." 
 
 ( Cook sings from his broken galley. J 
 " I knew by de moke, dat so gracefully cuU'd, 
 AhoLe de geen ems, dat a cottage was nee, 
 And I say, if dere's peace to be foun in dis wold, 
 
 A hat dat is umle mit ope for it bee. 
 Ebry leap was at est, and I ha'd not a soun. 
 But him woodpecka tappin de ollow beet tee. 
 Ebry leap," &c. 
 
 *' Well," soliloquised Turkey, " to think of that melancholy .looking, 
 doubly-dyed piece of ebony chaunting a love ditty ! It's a beautiful 
 world!" 
 
 At tliis juncture, a voice of complaint was heard, loud and deep. 
 The 'bewailer was vainly endeavouring to achieve some object appa- 
 rently very difficult to effect. What it was, the following may serve 
 to show : — 
 
 " If I'd a' bin only to a' know'd what sort of a woyage was a-going 
 to fall to my lot, I'd a' set up a razor-grinding — (click, click) — machine.
 
 76 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 I am not one of those sort of beings as likes this infernal sort of a — 
 (click, click). Well, now, hang me stiff if I can — (click). Every- 
 thing in this world seems to go wrong. Not one bit of bakker have I 
 had in my pipe this three days ; and now — (click, click) — I'm spifli- 
 cated if 1 can get a light. Ah, ah ! what, my old friend, Ochus 
 Moss ! Is that you 1 All alive — alive oh ! Good ! Let's bakker, 
 Moss." 
 
 " Yes, Turkey, my friend, it's myself — or a precious good imita- 
 tion." 
 
 " And here you see me, in the most horrid trim I ever was in my 
 whole course. This shaking us all up together, like pills in a box, 
 don't suit my notion of quiet. And, what's the worst on it, for the 
 soul on me can I get a light ! Been pelting and digging into this old 
 steel till I am ready to break out in a flare myself, and all to no 
 purpose. Fire ain't in it /" 
 
 " Here, friend Moss — here's a lucifer." 
 
 " The devil there is ! " ejaculated Moss, seizing the profiered 
 box of Turkey. " Now, I say, this is as it ought to be. Here, 
 Turkey, here's my bakky ; let's blow a cloud. Where did you stow 
 yourself during the ' three glorious days,' as the parley-voos have it ?" 
 inquired Mr. Moss of his fellow-smoker, as the two worthies seated 
 themselves upon a cask. 
 
 " Why, Moss, that's a question I can hardly tell. I was stowed 
 away in a horrid predicament." 
 
 " Ah, ah ! that's good. So was I. And the worst of it was — this 
 — the worst of it was — (puff, puff) Well, now, I'm — (puff) — I'm 
 
 " Hush, Moss !" cried Turkey, holding his hand open toward the 
 irritated smoker. " Don't anathemise !" 
 
 " Don't anatomise ! do you say ? Is't not enough to make a parson 
 anatomise, when his pipe's flue 's bunged up, and, for the vig on him, 
 he can't get no vent ? I thought of having just a quiet whiff, and 
 here am I, flint and steel, tooth and nail, at it for half an hour, till I 
 steam like a cowcumber bed ; and when I do get a spark on the top 
 of my weed, here I am again, blowing and flai)ping my cheeks together
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 77 
 
 like an old pair o' bellows : sometimes my pipe draws like a pump- 
 sucker ; then, again, it takes a fit, and is as tight-plugged as a man's 
 nose when he's a-got the snuffles. Blow the pipe ! if it ain't enough to 
 exasperate a bishop !" 
 
 "Patience, friend Ochus !" quietly said Mr. Turkey. *' Don't put 
 your pipe out! Here, take this blade of bamboo, and give it a radical 
 reform; that's all the pipe wants — a thorough turn out, and a search 
 into all its secret crannies. You have not paid that attention to it 
 which was necessary ; and if you have not a keen eye upon all things, 
 and give them a regular scouring out now and again, abuses will creep 
 into them, in spite of all your confidence." 
 
 " Good, my learned Turkey !" said Moss, as he complacently blew 
 forth a cloud that enveloped himself and friend. *' Good ! I say ; 
 what a thing it is to be blessed with that 'ere ready kind of comfortable 
 doctrine ! I've poked out the rubbish that was, day after day, accumu- 
 latin, and now there's nothing the matter wi' the pipe ; it ony wanted 
 a stir up with a proper sort of poker, — not too stiff an' headstrong, for 
 that would a' broke afore it entered ; not too soft and bendable, for 
 that wouldn't a' searched out the proper depth ; but a middle sort of 
 thing, just like that bit o' bamboo — strong, yet the first to bend at the 
 proper time; stiff", and poking just where it war wanted. Come, that's 
 a good idear. Have you, Mister T., heerd anything particlar awful 
 durin the storm ?" inquired Mr. Moss. 
 
 " Not very particular yet," replied Turkey ; '* but we lost a woman 
 when the long-boat was washed away — the cattle, you know, &c, &c. 
 But as the poor wretch of a woman was in the last stage of typhus 
 fever, I look upon it rather as a blessing than otherwise. But the 
 most curious part of that affair is, some cock-and-bull story the steward 
 has got by the tail, about the child of the woman going after her into 
 the sea, "when a mennaid instantly snatched the child up, and, as the 
 ship lurched, placed it safely aboard again, not a bit the worse I The 
 steward says, the carpenter and Bill Bobstay actually had a yarn with 
 the mermaid, when she inquired what latitude she was in, bid them 
 good voyage, and, after flourishing her looking-glass at them, dived 
 after the woman I Steward says it's a positive fact."
 
 78 
 
 Tllli EMIGRANT. 
 
 " God bless us and save us !" cried Moss, taking his pipe from his 
 mouth and staring wildly at Turkey. " A mermaid, ay ? Now we'll 
 soon prove wether that's a lie or no, for I'll just go and ax to see the 
 young un, cos 1 knows that war in the boat." 
 
 So saying. Moss jerked himself off the pork-cask, and, with a de- 
 termined air, strode off to properly " inwestigate " the matter. He 
 had not been long absent, when he came hurrying along the deck, his 
 eyes fixed full on Turkey, and his pipe flourishing in his left hand, 
 whilst he stretched forth the clenched fist of his right. And no sooner 
 was he within the hearing of Turkey, than he thundered out — 
 
 " Consternation bully me, if it ain't a fact ! I've actually seen the 
 balchin!" 
 
 " Seen the what. Moss ?" 
 
 "Why, the little balch young un. By my old boots !" continued 
 Moss, vehemently striking his thigh, " by my old boots ! if this don't 
 cap Dolly ! Well, come, I have heerd strange things in my time ! 
 Poor Abraham Barlow, of the ' Three Balls,' used to say strange 
 things : how he once seen a woman dressed as a widow, and three 
 orphins, come straight into his shop one night as he sat balancing his 
 books ; and how the widow's cheeks looked like withered parchment, 
 and her eyes sunk deep into the sockets, twinkling fiery upon her bony 
 young uns. She makes straight up to a shelf, without taking the least 
 notice of Barlow ; takes down off it, without any ceremony, a wariety 
 of articles : there was a box o' dice, a pari necklace, and some rings, all 
 of which, one arter the t'other, she swallowed, till it come to the three 
 dice, one of which she guv to each of her bantlings, which they, arter 
 the fashion of the old un, directly bolted. Barlow saw'd it all, clear as 
 possible eyes could see ; but he couldn't utter a word. He looked 
 firm at 'em, too. The door didn't seem to open for 'em to go out, but 
 they, he says, deliberately walked throucjh it. He heerd a faint 
 rustling, like silk, as they cut off; but he couldn't get his jaw to wag, 
 else he says he wanted to hoot arter 'em. What's the strangest part on 
 it all is, the next morning arter he told me on it, we both went to look 
 at the shelf, and, bottle me off if there wam't all the dollop, dice and 
 all, as comfortable as ever ! We couldn't make nothing on it ; but it
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 79 
 
 wery much bothered poor Barlow. He allais talks on the widow when 
 he gets rather smoky. But this mermaid consarn quite bemistificates 
 me — I carn't get over this !" 
 
 " Well, Moss," interrupted Turkey, " you see, however, that it's a 
 positive fact ; and there's the evidence of the child's being alive to prove 
 it. The mermaid gave it the captain through the porthole." 
 
 " Well — I wonder if the child had a caul or not, what's often sold in 
 the Times paper ; if not, I never heerd tell o' such a miraculous thing 
 afore," said Moss, — " never in all my born days. It's the rummest go 
 I ever did hear tell on. Bottle me oif, if it ain't ! I'm rigler corked !"
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " Yes— from the sepulchre we'll gather flowers, 
 
 Then feast like spirits in their promised bowers."— The Island. 
 
 "Susan, child, bring nie my writing-desk. Thank you. Did you ever 
 hear the last letter I received from my unfortunate Charles, Susan ? " 
 
 " Never marm, — but I vv^ill be obliged to yer, if so be, marm, you 
 would read me a bit of it ; for this terrible shipwreck as we are all 
 undergoing takes away my complete senses — except those as wants to 
 be comforted." 
 
 " Sit, child, upon that sofa — or lie upon it, Susan ; never mind me — 
 you will be more comfortable reclining. You know the dreadful charge 
 laid to him Susan, and the horrid verdict given against him ? " 
 
 " Ay, faith do I, marm," sighed Susan. " Do I ? Yes, too well — 
 he's anone guilty, no more than I am — not he, it ain't in his noble 
 nature. Oh Lord I — it's dreadful to think on." 
 
 " Susan," interrupted the lady, who was half leaning, half sitting 
 upon a settee, holding the letter in her hand, " he is as innocent of that 
 dreadful crime as an angel sitting by the throne of the Almighty. 
 However, time will do him justice — hear the letter. 
 
 "My dearest, my unhappy Pauline, — 
 "You have heard ere this the fatal termination of my trial. lam con- 
 demned to exile ; — yes, the jury of my fellow-countrymen, upon the evidence 
 adduced (all, as you are aware, circumstantial), have pronounced me guilty. 
 I am as innocent of that foul and savage crime as thou art. You will have 
 read in the public prints parts of my defence — and so certain was I of imme- 
 diate release, that I had employed no counsel, and prepared no speech ; I 
 trusted alone to my heart to hurl the foul stigma from my bosom. You will
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 81 
 
 perceive that I have failed — only for a time. Well it is for me that my parents 
 exist not, to mourn over the misfortunes of their child; the world holds but 
 one — my adoi'able Pauline, that is interested in the fate of the oppressed, the 
 above all others unhappy, Charles. I have already suffered two months' incar- 
 ceration, the expiration of which, I bitterly remember, was to have been to me 
 the day when I entered terrestrial happiness. Yon will call to mind — it was 
 
 fixed upon as O heavens! what a change ! Whei-e art thou now, O my 
 
 beloved Pauline? Think upon the guiltless, the anguished, outraged bosom of 
 thy poor Charles, and he who was to have been thy happy husband is branded 
 with the accursed stain of " 
 
 " Susan, Susan, Su " 
 
 " Oh, my poor afflicted missus, don't you read any more. Ah ! she's 
 gone — fainted as dead as a stone. Poor unhappy thing ! wliat am I to 
 do ? I daren't call any one into this 'ere state-room. Ah ! she gives 
 a spasm sigh ! Come, now, dear lady, smell this bottle. — Thank God, 
 you are — yes, you are better now !" 
 
 " WTiere am 1 ?"— 
 
 " You are in your cabin, my dear. Yes, here you are : I am Susan — 
 your poor friend Susan — don't you know me ? Lean your dear head 
 against my bussum. There. — God bless me ! how scalding hot her 
 tears be !" 
 
 " There — thank you, Susan, I am better, much better, now." (She 
 heaved a deep sigh.) " I have been thinking of that " 
 
 ** Never mind, dearest missus — we shall hear of its all beins; richt 
 the very first letter — you shall live to hear it all found out. I myself 
 will finely kick up my heels afore long — I mean to have a roaring 
 gallop some of these days, and it won't be long first. Comfort, dear 
 lady — comfort ! our eyes are not made for tears, but for smiling. We 
 are pretty near the land, they do say ; and I know there 's no cause 
 for miserable imhappiness many weeks longer. Bitter partings makes 
 the sweetest meetings — exactly as the sourest, worsest apples makes 
 the sweetest, bestest cider. I'll encourage none on't ! There the tear- 
 drops stand .now on your eyelashes like the dew on the hedge of 
 a hautum morning. Shake 'em off", and let's hear no more letter- 
 reading : you know, dear marm, better than I do, it 's all fiddle- 
 sticks!" 
 
 M
 
 82 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 *' Susan! my tried, my good and valued friend, thy kind heart would 
 fain console all the woes that beset me, and lighten the care that presses 
 heavy on my heart; — Susan, come hither — didst thou ever feel 
 love?" 
 
 " Why, really, marm, that 's a — that 's a — ahem ! — that 's a " 
 
 ** I do not ask you as your confessor — no ! my curiosity is not that 
 of impertinence, neither am I anxious to possess the secrets of your 
 bosom. If, Susan, you have ever felt joy in the presence of one being, 
 that became sorrow when that being departed ; if you have listened to 
 one peculiar voice above the crowd that surrounded you ; if you have 
 dwelt upon words that have been uttered by one mouth in preference 
 to that crowd, and found in them a sweetness that no other lips could 
 utter ; and if your heart bounds, when certain eyes seem to meet your 
 own, with a thrill that awakens but to those eyes alone ; — and, further- 
 more, if when you found that the cruel tongue of slander had selected 
 that certain one as a victim, your heart swelled too big for your bosom 
 as each malignant lie drove like a red-hot dart into your inmost heart, 
 and your very brain throbbed as it would split its tenement ; — then, 
 Susan, I say you have loved — you have felt the pangs of love ! and as 
 the battle thickens, that would oppose a host, to the heart that is 
 attracted by a consciousness it has met its fellow, and worthy of its 
 warmth, so rises the soul of woman to enter willingly the conflict, and 
 towers like a mighty conqueror, at length, when the weak and defeated 
 body is unable to pursue any longer the unequal fight. Susan, men 
 know not the depth of woman's love ; alas I it is too often the phoenix 
 that arises from a heart already laid in ashes, 
 
 " I have lately gazed upon the boiling passion of the sea — I have 
 seen its rage sweep furiously upon the helplessness of man, and I 
 thoiight. How like is this to what daily in our petty round of life we 
 are dooiTied to behold ! I compared our lone and tempest-beaten bark 
 to a solitary being upon the waste of life. I saw the helpless vessel, 
 scarcely sufficient in strength to contend with one rude wave, when 
 another, as if determined upon her destruction, rolled fiercer than ever 
 to arrest her — to swallow her to oblivion — to dance over her tomb, and 
 bound rejoicing along for another victim ! — Friendship, Susan, too often
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 S3 
 
 is the gilded wave, that rises higher to the noonday sun, and appears 
 
 to wear to the casual observer a crown of gold. We fancy we could 
 
 lay our hand upon his burnished brow — we sail in a sea of gladness ! 
 
 'Tis Eve ! and the sun has sunk from his career in the high heavens, 
 
 and things begin to wear the hue of night. Then may we strain our 
 
 eyes in vain for the mid-day crest of gold that glided beside us — all 
 
 around us is enshrouded in darkness, and 'tis in the distance we then 
 
 discern the brightness that, like an ignis fatuus, is but shining to delude 
 
 its other confiding victims." 
 
 " Dear lady, do not sigh. Why should you wring your hands and 
 
 sigh ?" 
 
 " Did I then sigh? Ah no, 'twas not a sigh- 
 It was the wreck'd heart's hard convulsive agony 
 That cheated respiration's proper play. 
 Sad heart ! but little joy e'er shared with thee ; 
 And that where most thou build'st in sunnier day 
 Lies prostrate now— is barren, desolate ! 
 Beat on — beat on ; I know not when thou 'It cease : 
 To me the import 's little— all is gone ! 
 I scatter ashes where my flowers have been, 
 And bow my throbbing temples to the dust. 
 
 What sound of revelry is that I hear ? Susan, open my cabin door — 
 I am in need of a little mirth. — Hark ! it is seamen singing in chorus. 
 List — how joyful it sounds ! List !" 
 
 (Sailors singing on decfc.) 
 " The storm is o'er, and soon the shore 
 So welcome we shall see : 
 Om- hearts are light, our sliip is tight, 
 And flies like an eagle free — 
 ( Chorus.) And flies hke an eagle free !" &c. &c. 
 
 " A sailor's life is calm and strife — 
 Pass the can when the storm is o'er. 
 Here 's absent friends !— my love ! my wife ! 
 And three cheers for Old Albion's shore — 
 (Chorus.) And three cheers for Old Albion's shore— 
 Three cheers for Old Albion's shore ! " 
 
 " Susan, that hath done me more good (making no discompliment 
 to your abilities) than any sermon you could preach me. Good night — 
 I need you no longer ; that one song has entirely recovered me."
 
 84 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 As soon as Susan found herself alone in her cabin, she gave way to 
 the following soliloquy : — 
 
 " It 's a certain thing that my poor dear missus is all but gone at 
 times. Ony think of her striking out into such phantasm agories about 
 them sailors singin ! And then, again, her coming out and bringing 
 me by main force from that comfortable fireside at home, to meet with 
 disaster and shipwreck as we a' done — and all to find out that poor 
 lad ! They've a-shaved his head long afore this ; and if so be as we 
 should find him in any o' these outlandish countries, we shouldn't 
 know him. And a thousand to half-a-dozen if ever we get on to any 
 land at all again ! We been pretty nigh two months now knocking 
 about these wild seas, and I see nothing o' the shape o' land — not I. 
 I am a no opinion about that man turning round that wheel thingum- 
 bob, as he calls it, and pretending to take us hundreds upon hundreds 
 of miles by a little bit of printed paper as he 's got in that little box 
 afore him, about as big as the crown of his hat. I don't at all like the 
 arspect of things, though I don't like to frighten the poor thing quite 
 out of her senses — and I believe they are nearly upon the start, else 
 what could make her steal out o' bed and force her way on deck, and 
 aclilly stop there durin all that awful tempest, when I lay afrit to a cold 
 sweat in my bed, expectin every moment was our last ? There she was, 
 all that outrageous shipwrack ! and the very next time I clapped my 
 eyes upon her, if she wasn't disguised in somebody's old leather-skin 
 dustman's hat, and a old jacket on her as I wouldn't a' picked up with 
 a pair a tongs ! And what was all that agin about the child ? — she 
 told me, when I was taking off" those horrid clothes, she'd saved a child 
 from almost instant death ! It 's all past my comprehension, and I am 
 more afeard than ever that she is gone entirely wrong, and isn't compost 
 luentust. But be that as it may, she doesn't seem at all to care about 
 our having been shipwracked, but told me it was a sight which she 
 wanted to gaze on for ever, and said as how she wanted to be a sea- 
 gull ! I can see, after all, that I'm the fool most to blame, to follow 
 a poor deluded young girl, when perhaps a loonattic assylus would 
 have done us both good for a time. Howsomever, now I am here, and 
 have took upon myself this uncommon queer place, I '11 follow her 
 wherever she 's a mind to go, so long as she is rationable, and see how
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 85 
 
 it turns out arter all. But I expect, if we escape another shipwrack, 
 we shall be all parched up on the desert of Arabe among the savage 
 Philistines, or some of those Pharisees ; and they do tell me they live 
 entirely on the flesh of dragons, and white folks, as they catch in traps. 
 I don't at all like this sort of prospect. Oh ! if my poor dear mother, 
 and dear old Mary Webb down in the village, could only but know 
 how I'm a-travelling these forrin countries, and how we've been cast 
 away, they'd a never believe it wor possible. 
 
 •' For my part, I can't make it out at all, how people ever can come 
 out again on this great heaving sea when once they a' been ashore. I 
 should think if once Miss Pauline, poor dear, finds out her young 
 gentleman, they'll never venture over the sea again. But really, among 
 folks o' their standing, there's a no knowing what they won't be at ; 
 they never seem at all quiet, unless they be a-fiying about some forrin 
 country. I know Mr. Charles, although he's a-got, or had, a great 
 estate that his uncle left him, he couldn't stay at it — not he. There 
 war that great fine house, and greenhousen, and lawns, and woods, 
 and fish-ponds ; but all wouldn't do, he must start off into some forrin 
 parts. They do say as how he went to those parts where they grow 
 bakker and snufF ; but home he comes agin, arter the lapse of two or 
 three years, as brown as my father, wot worked in the fields. Now, 
 afore he went, I thought him a very fine, handsome fellor, as any you 
 may see in a day's march. His hair was just the sort of colour for me, 
 a darkish brown, and it had a-used to be brushed out in a kind of curl 
 over his ears. I remember as Sally Webb had a-used to say, she 
 wished she had a lock on it. Then his great dark eyes used to look 
 at you as mild and as pensive as a young maid's. When he met us, 
 he always had a smile upon his count'nance, and a nod for us, accom- 
 panied with, * Have you seen Mrs. Beer, the housekeeper, to-day ?' 
 But when he comes from his forrin snuff countries, I didn't know him, 
 he had so altered. His hair was hanging flopping about his shoulders, 
 and he had a great blue shawl round his neck, that seemed to swallow 
 half his head. And then his uncommon queer coats, and his hat, 
 all together, with his brown sunburnt face, nobody didn't know him till 
 lie spoke to 'em ; and then they could hardly believe as it wor him.
 
 86 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 They said it was the forrin way o' dressing ; and all people as had 
 seen the battle of Waterloo common, wor obleeged to have their hair 
 in long streams about 'em for a long time arter, as a pennance for their 
 curiosity ! Well, I '11 just compose myself to a nap ; though 'tis 
 extraordinary how one can, considering what a little plank keeps that 
 outrageous bellerin sea from besmotherin me in my sleep. Railly,. 
 people, afore they start on forrin travel, haven't the least idear what 
 wonderful stuff they're made on!"
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " How calm, how beautiful comes on 
 The stilly hour, when storms are gone ; 
 When warring winds have died away. 
 And clouds, beneath the glancing ray, 
 Melt off, and leave the land and sea 
 Sleeping in bright tranquillity ! 
 ■«***«* 
 And ev'n that swell the tempest leaves, 
 Is like the full and silent heaves 
 Of lovers' hearts, when newly blest — 
 Too newly to be quite at rest!"— Lalla Rookh. 
 
 " Who could believe that this sleepy, gently-undulating field of oily- 
 looking sea could rouse himself up, and drive this huge and lazy bark, 
 like a cork, upon his crest? — Captain, do you think the calm will 
 last ?" 
 
 " I think it will, Mr. Blair. At any rate, it will allow us rather 
 more time than necessary to repair our damage. The bill of mortality 
 among the live stock is rather serious, sir. I don't imagine we can 
 muster above three pigs and half-a-dozen fowls ; so we shall not be 
 entertained with much variety on the cuddy-table till we do make 
 land. How far do you reckon, sir," continued the Captain to Mr. 
 Blair — " how far from the land do you imagine we are ? Come, now, 
 let's hear thee guess." 
 
 " Why, after the terrible battering of that storm (certainly a period 
 in my life I shall ever remember), and going at the rate we sometimes 
 did, then deducting the lying-to and so forth — perhaps, considering 
 all things, in a rough, landsman's guess, say five hundred miles." 
 
 " I am happy to inform you," said the Captain, " you are two hun- 
 dred over the mark. Two days' fair wind, and I will land you on the 
 jetty at Cape Town."
 
 88 ' THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 *' You will ! Then, for once in my life, I '11 exhibit signs of super- 
 stition, and whistle for wind !" said Mr. Blair, laughing, as the Captain 
 forthwith commenced his shrill, plaintive chirrui^, so peculiar to seamen 
 when they are offering at the shrine to propitiate the fickle Boreas. At 
 this moment the Doctor appearing amidst them, joined in the laugh with 
 Mr. Blair at the expense of the Captain's credulity, who nevertheless 
 persevered in his whistling for wind with the utmost gravity. 
 
 " I wanted to see you, Doctor," said Mr. Blair, " and to ask you a 
 question, if you will be so kind as to answer it. Here it is. What is the 
 matter with the youth whom we all call the melancholy gentleman ? 
 We have not seen him these three weeks, and we know you are daily 
 in attendance upon him. May I learn the solution of the mystery ?" 
 
 " I '11 tell you, sir, the secret, for it is of no moment to inform you 
 upon that point," answered the Doctor. " The poor young man, as he 
 told us all, by accident poisoned a pauper. He fled to his relatives, 
 from excitement had the brain-fever, got better, and, I suspect, fell in 
 love with his cousin. Uncle ordered him off. He went away in the 
 dead of the night, and retreated into Wales, where he appears to have 
 lingered out a most miserable period ; first, tormented by a knowledge 
 of his crime ; secondly, the fear of retributive justice overtaking him ; 
 thirdly, the affair of the heart with his cousin, who, it appears, from 
 what he tells me, loves him tenderly ; and, lastly, some letter he re- 
 ceived—from what I can make out, a former love — recommending him 
 to fly the country. All this weighs upon a very sensitive mind, and 
 has produced such a dejection of spirits as to throw him into a com- 
 pletely desponding state ; so much so, that I scarcely think, unless 
 some great change takes place, his life will be of very great con- 
 tinuance." 
 
 " Poor young fellow !" said Mr. Blair ; " I 'm extremely sorry 
 for him." 
 
 " So am I," cried the Doctor. " But medicine is of little use ' to a 
 mind diseased ;' and, travel where we will, we cannot fly from con- 
 science, nor the reproaches of our heart. If he were to be hung for 
 giving his patient too much physic, and if all doctors who commit that 
 error in judgment were to suffer likewise, I fear that there would be 
 more executions than in the days of the famous Jeffries himself."
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 89 
 
 Blair joined in the laugh with the Doctor, and both agreed that the 
 melancholy case of the melancholy youth was a very melancholy case 
 indeed. 
 
 " Well, Misses Blair," said the Doctor, turning round to those ladies 
 as they appeared with their embroidery on deck, "how did you like the 
 cradling we got the other night ? Did you not call to mind the song 
 of Mr. Tagg in the play, where he sings — 
 
 *' Peaceful slumbering on the ocean, 
 Seamen fear no danger nigh ; 
 The winds and waves, in troubled motion, 
 Soothe them with a lullaby"? 
 
 " No, indeed, Doctor. I, for one, was in no humour either for re- 
 peating plays, or venturing one thought upon Mr. Tagg. I had the 
 greatest difficulty to prevent myself rolling out on to the floor, and I 
 believe that Emily " 
 
 " Fie, sister ! I know what you were about to say. Doctor, don't 
 pay any attention to Emily's jokes about me. I assure you, we were 
 all in a pitiable condition, and scarcely knew whether we should not 
 very suddenly find ourselves on the way to the bottom." 
 
 Thus spoke the younger Miss Blair, and at once betrayed, by her 
 manner of alluding to the subject, that the horrors of that night were 
 still vividly before her. 
 
 " Well — but — " observed the Doctor, " have you not heard of the 
 heroine of the after-starboard cabin?" 
 
 " No !" exclaimed the two ladies in a breath ; " what of her ?" 
 
 " Why," continued the Doctor, " the whole of that terrible night, and 
 the major part of the following day, she was lashed in the windward 
 rigging ! — she was there at the moment, most critical to us all, when 
 that awful sea struck us, and which carried away the long-boat and all 
 that was in it ! " 
 
 " Surely, Doctor, you are not in earnest ! " 
 
 " Indeed, ladies, but I am. She saw all that terrific scene; and it 
 appears that the infant which my poor fever patient insisted upon 
 nursing, was swept, by the force of that same wave which hurried its 
 mother to eternity, to the lee porthole, where for a moment, during the 
 lurch of the ship and back draught of water, it lay half out and half 
 
 N
 
 90 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 aboard. That moment, in spite of the torrent still surging on deck, the 
 heroine seized — cast loose her bonds, and was by the returning wave 
 enabled to grasp the child by its hair as it disappeared through the port- 
 hole. Here is the Captain, who, with the greatest difficulty, saved the 
 brave young lady from falling a victim to her noble cause." 
 
 " Doctor," cried the ladies in a breath, " you overwhelm us with 
 astonishment !" 
 
 Here the Captain assured them that the Doctor had detailed the 
 whole of the facts ; which the Captain further illustrated by describing 
 the manner of the rescue, and his ignorance at the time, and even till 
 very recently, who the female could be that was thus braving the fierce- 
 ness of the tempest. 
 
 "And is the child still living?" inquired Mr. Blair. 
 
 " It is ; and the distracted father is waiting the first opportunity to 
 offer up his blessing to the preserver of, now, his only hope." 
 
 " Was she a young person that had the misfortune to be washed 
 away?" asked Miss Blair. 
 
 " She was," answered the Captain, '* but nineteen ; and this infant 
 that had so narrow an escape, was her first and her last. The unfor- 
 tunate husband has been almost frantic since his bereavement ; but I 
 have assured him that everything shall be done that lies in my power 
 to, at least, mitigate his distress. The whole of the passengers in the 
 steerage have entered deeply into his sorrow, and I am glad to find by 
 the Doctor's account, he is gradually composing himself to bear the 
 cruel bereavement he has sustained." 
 
 " If, Captain," interrupted Mr. Blair, " you were of opinion that a 
 small pecuniary offer might in any way be acceptable to him, I will, in 
 the event of our wishes meeting the poor fellow's approval, put my 
 name down for two guineas, and my wife and girls will subscribe a 
 similar sum," 
 
 "In that case, Mr. Blair," said the Captain, "I will undertake to 
 say at once, that such a proceeding on the part of the passengers would, 
 at least, show that there was a sympathy reigning in the bosoms of all 
 for the grievous affiiction that has so suddenly blasted his hopes. I 
 will join the list with two guineas also, and the subscription list shall be 
 left upon the cabin-table for further signatures. I shall be too happy to
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 91 
 
 communicate aught to the poor man capable of alleviating his grief. I 
 have every reason to believe that he is a very worthy person." 
 
 " Do you hear some one singing a ridiculous song, Miss Blair ? " in- 
 quired the Doctor. 
 
 " Yes. I heard the same voice singing in the very midst of the 
 tempest, and notwithstanding the terror that naturally seized us, I and 
 Emily laughed most heartily : it's the same voice — I know it well — I 
 often hear it — I believe the gentleman *ith the very low-crowned hat 
 is the party. Is it true ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is, Miss Blair. His name is Turkey — he is a most extraor- 
 dinary being. I cannot make anything out of his history. He is a 
 person possessing a liberal, if not a classical education, and, what 
 Shakspeare says of Yorick — ' he is a fellow of infinite jest, and wont to 
 set the table in a roar.' Pray what was the song you heard him sing- 
 ing during the storm?" 
 
 " I heard him sing several," answered Miss Blair. " One, I recollect, 
 made me convulsed with laughter. The first verse that he sung, evi- 
 dently as he lay in his berth to himself, began — 
 
 " 'There was a little woman, as I've heard tell — 
 Fal lal, tal lal, lal lal le— 
 And she went to market—' 
 
 and so forth ; but the ridiculous manner in which he sang it, and the 
 idea that he alone should have such absurd thoughts crowdinij his brain 
 when all around was no doubt wretched in the extreme — he must 
 indeed be an original ! " 
 
 " He is, Miss Blair," said the Doctor, " a perfect original ! But there 
 — there he comes upon deck — that's the man, with the low-crowned 
 hat over that bushy occiput of his. Just hark ! he has no sooner 
 knocked that little-crowned thing tighter upon his head than he 
 thrusts his hands into his pockets, and begins to banter the poor 
 butcher." 
 
 " Wei], Mr. Butcher, so you're alive after the blow, are you ? You 
 look as blooming as ever. When shall you cut the throats of the two 
 pigs as died of fright ? — you know." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Turkey ! Them pigs is overboard long ago."
 
 92 
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 ** No such thing ; you're going to send them up for our dinner to-day, 
 the cook says, and that's the way you always manage. Do you expect 
 to go to heaven ? I believe that storm was all through having you 
 aboard. Did you ever read about the whale swallowing Jonas ?" 
 " No, sir ; was he a butcher ?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed was he, and was throw'd overboard for serving the 
 passengers of an emigrant ship with pigs as died in a south-wester." 
 
 *' Bless my life! there ought to be a hact a Parliament against such 
 doings. When a pig looks rather fusty, I sticks him, just to save his 
 life, but never has nothing to do wi' 'im arter death." 
 
 " Sinner, was that last pig alive when you cut his throat?" roared 
 Mr. Turkey to the astonished butcher. 
 
 " Why, he, sir, (scratching his head) — he, sir, was pretty nearly gone ; 
 but you know, sir, we mustn't be very particlar, as times is," stam- 
 mered forth that surprised functionary. 
 
 " Well, I can just tell you this, master butcher, that I am a man 
 that consults and understands the stars, and they have told me, it 
 was not the pork being hung up in the moonshine, as you made 'em 
 believe, but you, you unpunished swine mutilater and emigrant 
 poisoner — you that stuck it, and cut it up, four hours after it had died 
 of the unwholesome pig disease — the allbristle alboneus. You'll have 
 to answer for it before you die! — mark my words, you ragged-capped old 
 sinner! you can't cheat us without selling your horrid black soul to the 
 old un ! — mark those words ! " 
 
 Here the lecture was interrupted by the appearance of Mr. Moss, 
 who, with Mr. Turkey, walked forward to the forecastle to indulge, as 
 the latter said, in the philosophy of the pipe. 
 
 " Never did I," said Miss Blair, " hear that person's match ; he does 
 not appear ever at a loss." 
 
 " No, indeed," said the captain ; " he is the life and soul of the in- 
 termediates, and is, by universal consent, the chairman of the party. 
 I believe verily they could not exist without him, and he is universally 
 esteemed for his kind manners, and he is always in a good humour — a 
 great recommendation at sea, as well as on shore. I certainly should 
 like to be acquainted with his history," 
 
 " And I believe," said Mr. Blair to the ladies, " that so should 
 we all."
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 93 
 
 •' What kind of a place," inquired Mr. Blair of the Captain, " is the 
 Cape for living ?" 
 
 "It 's very cheap, sir — very cheaj) indeed ; you can live for a sum 
 there that would put a man, if he were obliged to subsist upon it in 
 England, very much to his straits : in fact, I do not think he could 
 manage it at all — he would be famished." 
 
 " Talking of cheap living, here comes Rennie ; he lived some time 
 in the Channel Islands — let's hear what he says of those parts. Rennie, 
 my boy, we were just discussing the merits of various places of resort 
 for cheap living. The Captain tells us the Cape is very reasonable, and 
 I happening to recollect that you lived some time in Jersey, would you 
 have the goodness just to give us a chapter of your experience in those 
 matters ?" 
 
 " With great pleasure, gentlemen," said Mr. Rennie, " I shall do so -, 
 I will give you the entire history of the time I spent in the Channel 
 Islands, as really very few persons seem at all acquainted with them ; 
 and those few who believe they are so, are very frequently in the dark 
 upon points that most immediately concern them, and what in a super- 
 ficial view of the thing may entirely be overlooked."
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " He said— (I only give the heads)— he said, 
 He meant no harm in scribbling ; 'twas his way 
 Upon all topics." — Vision of Judgment. 
 
 *' I WENT to the Channel Islands twelve months since, last Novemher. 
 That, you are aware, is some months ago. However, they are exactly 
 the same at the present. My avowed object in migrating thither was 
 retrenchment, or economy, just as we like to call.it. I directed my 
 steps toward St. Helier's, Isle of Jersey. There, with the M'hole of my 
 family, I landed, after great difficulty ; for when one disembarks from 
 the steamer in the Bay of St. Aubin (especially if it be low water), one 
 has to bundle, pack and package, into a cart that is frequently ankle- 
 deep in water. When we arrived at the pier end, it was literally one 
 mass of human vampires, who, the moment they descried us, sent forth 
 the most deafening yells — (of welcome no doubt). They consisted of 
 idlers, porters, and touters for hotels. We landed on the bottomost 
 step (of some sixty odd), to essay our arrival on the pier. In the 
 midst of this deafening discord of, 'No. 24, sir; I'm the man!' — 
 ' British Hotel, sir !'— ' The London !'— ' Hotel de Paris !'— ' No. 63, 
 sir; here's my badge!' — '42, sir!' — '55!' — '64, sir!' — 'I'll carry 
 your baggage !' — ' No. 102, sir !' — ' The gemman spoke to nie first !' — 
 'No, he didn't; he spoke to me!' — 'No. 84, sir!' — 'That's your 
 umbrella !' — in the midst of it all, half dislocated in our joints by the 
 stormy passage we had experienced, did we fairly, at the risk of our 
 lives, enter the concentrated square of these roaring, ramping, ungo- 
 vernable cannibals. I was shocked ; and we stood in the very midst 
 of these clamorous vultures, bewildered and helpless. In the mean 
 time, one man, ' No. 64 !' was off, full speed, with my carpet-bag ;
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 95 
 
 ' 94 !' full charge with my portmanteau ; and myself, with my afflicted 
 family, struck dumb with amazement at the turmoil and uproar that 
 was raging around us. Willing to make a start, at any price, from this 
 maniac mob, 1 roared out, in my despair, for a coach, and ordered the 
 _ coachman to drive me a slow shilling's worth, whilst I in some measure 
 resolved upon the means I would pursue. I found that myself and wife 
 had, in our confusion, collected as many cards of hotels, lodging-houses, 
 &c. &c., as we could grasp, and we stared at each other for some time 
 ere w-e could give utterance to our astonishment. I broke the charm 
 by a hearty laugh, and we became quite tranquil ere we were de- 
 posited at the Hotel de Paris (at that time, the Royal Yacht Club Hotel, 
 but it has since been renamed). Finding ourselves once more at liberty 
 to breathe freely, I despatched sundry waiters (boots inclusive) in search 
 of my scattered baggage, all of which (with the exception of my most 
 valuable portmanteau, of which I never afterwards heard) reappeared. 
 Eh bien ! I remained at the hotel some fortnight or more, during 
 which time I performed the grand tour of the island, and verily believe 
 travelled over every ' grande route ' therein. Did you ever land at 
 Jersey ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Well, in that case, as it's a most tantalising calm, I'll give you a 
 short account of its interior. It is a small island, as you may not be 
 aware, intersected by innumerable small lanes, or gutters, which are 
 fenced in by banks of earth some six feet, more or less, in height. 
 These channels — for it may not be advanced that they are roads — 
 branch and rebranch, as the fibres in a spider's web. The labyrinth 
 at Woodstock, I feel confident, is not to be named against them as a 
 puzzle. After you have blundered your weary way over these rough- 
 shod roads, vainly stretching your human neck to the length of a 
 camel's in the hope of getting a glimpse at the surrounding country, 
 you find, to your astonishment, that the more you endeavour to get 
 out of the mud, the further you get into the mire ! You can see 
 neither above nor around you, for a sort of scrubby tree, a very humble 
 apology for the oak, shakes its boughs, very affectionately, overhead, 
 precluding the impertinent rays of the sun, who fruitlessly endeavours 
 to drink up the bog and everlasting moisture that reigns in these un-
 
 96 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 wholesome alleys. After wearying yourself, first down this gutter, 
 anon pursuing that, which both lead to a field about the square of a 
 Turkey carpet, we return and essay the first lucky wight Providence 
 throws in our way. He (ten to one) is a Jerseyman ; and, in his 
 delectable patois, answers your plain question by something that sounds 
 to your gaping ear like ' John's no toper.' — ' Parlez-vous Fran^ais V — 
 * Oui.' — ' Est-ce ici le chemin qui conduit a St. Brelade ?' Then, as 
 you list to hear the welcome direction, again the sound breaks the 
 silence, and ' John's no toper,' accompanied by an incomprehensible, 
 ' Voo knit pardons — la bun shimar !' Well, you by this time find you 
 are in the land of the lost tribes, and, with a bitter grin, you bow off" 
 your questionably-shaped friend, and pursue your route, as doubtful 
 as Vasco de Gama's when he found himself in this our present latitude 
 some few summers agone. All hail, at length, to the swinging sign of 
 an hospitable public ! wherein yoa rush, in a state more to be con- 
 ceived than described. The first moment you draw your breath, you 
 exclaim, ' Thank the Fates, I'm saved ! A glass ! Parlez-vous 
 Anglais?' — 'Yes, sir.' — 'Thank the Fates! A glass of your very 
 best bran dy-and- water !' You swallow it instanter ; and, as your 
 courage as instanter rises, venture to inquire your latitude ! You have 
 the satisfaction of learning, that you are still in Jersey, and two miles 
 further off' St. Brelade than when you started from your hotel. You 
 proceed, however, nothing daunted, on your journey, and anon arrive 
 at a tov/er, hoisted upon a mound, reminding you at once of your 
 position. You are on the site of the grave of the hero who slew the 
 dragon ! You are, in fact, at Prince's Tower ; and you find that six- 
 pence admitteth those, who dine not at its base, to its summit. As 
 you ascend, winding through its cozy little closets, various are the 
 tete-a-tetes you so unholily disturb. But to the top you are bent — to 
 the top you must go ; the sixpence is paid, and ' Moses must see the 
 show.' Arrived, and taking the necessary respiration, you, as a pre- 
 cautionary measure, rub your eyes. Now ! open and behold — your 
 old grandmother's orchard, seen from the top of the pigsty ! A forest of 
 unpruned, moss-o'ergrown apple trees, in the tanglement of an Indian 
 jungle, amidst which are to be seen two or three melancholy cows, 
 martingaled, as they, ' the natives,' call it — that being interpreted,
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 97 
 
 signifies, tying the miserable animal's head to his foot ; so, being thus 
 bound to a stake, like the martyrs of old, fully accounts for the milk 
 in the cocoa-nut ! This is the much-vaunted view in this much- 
 vaunted island, 
 
 Where often meet the patriot crew, 
 Who drink to cheat the revenue ! 
 
 From this point the roads branch off at all angles. The sterile coast 
 of Normandy lies before one, in the extreme distance, like an old 
 blanket stretched to bleach in the sun ; whilst the sea surrounding 
 this ' Queen of the Isles' is studded with beautiful black rocks, that 
 bristle around, ' like quills upon the fretful porcupine;' or, speaking 
 more correctly, as it regards their actual appearance, like the warts on 
 
 the back of a Surinam toad ! You will say, comparisons are . 
 
 I know that ; but I like a simile, though it be not altogether homely. 
 On the shore you will behold numbers engaged (wise souls) in raking 
 up carefully the bits of sea-weed torn off in the storm ; with these 
 they manure their land, and also dry for fuel ; but they apjDear to 
 have little faith in aught else save their magic vraic. This, then, is 
 a summary of this romantic isle — as romantic, certainly, as hedge-rows 
 upon dirt-mounds, and stunted old apple-trees, with neck-cramped 
 cows in baby enclosures, can make it. But here I had determined 
 upon remaining twelve months, come what would on't ; so, forthwith, 
 having seen the island, and read every ticket in every window, and 
 every advertisement in every paper, I at last fixed upon a cot, in a 
 place designated by the pious name of St. Saviour's Road." 
 
 " What arrangement did you make with the landlord ?" inquired 
 Mr. Blair. " I am rather interested in the question, on account of a 
 friend of mine who is there." 
 
 " My landlord, who gloried in the appellation of Twentevillan, in- 
 formed me that it was customary in the island to take houses by the 
 year or half-year. I was anxious for the latter plan, which he refused, 
 saying he would let Ids house only for the year. Hereupon, finding 
 no other so likely to suit me, I entered into a written agreement, and, 
 as I was a comparative stranger, volunteered a quarter's rent in ad- 
 vance, which he accepted — for you must bear in mind, the house was 
 
 o
 
 98 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 furnished. These preliminaries being adjusted, I and my family fairly 
 established ourselves, and forthwith I planted the garden. Now comes 
 the beauty of Jersey. I was one evening, after I had possibly been 
 settled in my new mansion a week, reclining in my chair, and, to use 
 the words of Turkey, thinking ' what a beautiful world it was,' when 
 rat-tat-tat is heard at my door. The servants being in the garden, I 
 hastened to open it. There, behold Mr. Twentevillan and another 
 gentleman. 'Walk in,' quoth I. ' Enter, Messieurs. To what may 
 I be indebted for the honour of this visit V cried I. — ' This,' answered 
 the strange gentleman, holding forth a sheet of paper. — ' Wliat may it 
 be ?' I inquired. — * Read, sir,' gruffly echoed the strange gentleman. — 
 ' B. Rennie, Esq., debtor to A. Twentevillan, £30 sterling. What 
 for ?' I demanded. — * For rent, sir.' — *' I owe none ! I have been here 
 but a week, and have already paid ten pounds.' — ' It's the law of the 
 island, sir,' continued the strange worthy ; ' and unless you pay it, J, 
 who am the sheriff's officer, conduct you forthwith to the College /' — 
 ' College !' cried I. ' What mean you, sir V — ' It's the scientific name 
 for limbo, sir ; and that's Latin for the cage, the gaol, the jug, the 
 mustard-pot. I know not what the English calls it.' — ' I am thunder- 
 struck !' I exclaimed, looking I knew not whither. — ' Are you ?' re- 
 tui-ned the stranger ; * then, if you don't settle that bill, I'll be your 
 conductor .' that's all ;' and the villain bent, and swayed himself on my 
 chair, and winked at the Satan who stood at his elbow in a most divert- 
 ing manner. I grew furious at the insults heaped upon me, and 
 ordered the landlord to explain what could be the meaning of all this. 
 He coolly replied by asking me a question — ' Have you,' said he, 
 ' taken my house for twelve months?' — ' I have.' — ' You, then, have 
 only paid for one quarter V — ' In advance I paid that, sir.' — 'You owe 
 me thirty pounds sterling — British ! British ! British ! V II have it.'' — 
 I bit my lips till they bled, as I heard the sheriff's officer hum to him- 
 self, ' He knows not the law of this Normandy Isle.' ' Am I your 
 prisoner?' I inquired. — ' You air ! you air!' — 'Then let me walk in 
 yovir respectable company to my nearest friend. I presume I am not 
 to be handcuffed V — ' It entirely depends upon circumstances, that 'ere.' 
 Unknowing what I did, I rushed out of the house, pursued by these 
 two demons, and found myself, in a state of agitg,tion I cannot describe,.
 
 THE EMIGRANT. " 90 
 
 in the parlour of one of my only friends — for I knew but two in the 
 island. I briefly, as far as my excited and outraged feelings would 
 allow me, explained all that I knew of the matter. My friend, who 
 was somewhat more acquainted with the laws of the island than a 
 stranger like myself, after reading the bill that was tendered of my 
 debts, observed to the sheriff's officer, 'If I understand this matter, 
 you have, at the instance of the landlord, arrested this gentleman for 
 the payment of the remainder of his rent?' — ' Yes, that is exactly the 
 case.' — 'And,' continued my friend, ' if he pays it not, ' you will convey 
 him hence to gaol ?' — ' We shall do so.' — ' Do you not rather demand 
 security than the payment?' — 'He has already been told the debt is 
 owing.' — ' That, Mr. Officer, is no answer. You have summoned 
 my friend for a debt, you maintain. This man demands, as full acquital 
 for the use of his furnished house for twelve months, the sum of thirty 
 pounds. Am I to understand such is your demand ?' — ' We demand 
 security for that sum, if he refuses to pay it.' — ' Then I will be his 
 bondsman to any amount. You have your answer.' — ' No, no, we 
 ain't ; not so fast, Mr. What-'e-call-'im. Have you any land in the 
 
 island V — ' No, thank God, not an inch ; but I ' ' Then we 
 
 won't take your bail. Your worthy friend,' pointing to me, ' must give 
 personal security. Come, sirry ; no time to be lost.' 
 
 Here we were more bewildered than ever. But not being, on the one 
 hand, disposed for a gaol, or, on the other, to satisfy so unheard-of a de- 
 mand, we, as a matter of certainty, beat up the quarters of our remaining 
 friend. He — a private gentleman, residing with his family, solely as a 
 matter of health — was equally astounded at the information we afforded 
 him. Surely his bail could not be refused ! Enter the messieurs to 
 his drawing-room. ' Surely,' quoth he, ' this is a most monstrous and 
 unheard-of outrage ! But the rights of the subject, and the laws which 
 
 are acknowledged between man and ' ' That's nothing to the 
 
 pint. Will you stand bail for Mr. Rennie?' — 'Undoubtedly I will. 
 What is the amount?' — 'Thirty pounds.' — 'I will pay it, if Mr. Rennie 
 requires.' — ' No, my friend,' cried I, ' that is the last thing we have at 
 issue.' — ' Then I offer my bail.' — ' Where is your land in Jersey V 
 inquired the sheriff's hound, in an underhanded tone ; ' where is it V — 
 ' I have no land in Jersey,' quoth my friend. ' I am prepared to -'
 
 100 
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 — ' Come, no more gammon ; you won't do ; your bail, mister, won't 
 go down. I'm not a-going to be marched all round St. Helier's to fish 
 
 bail for the man. We been to two already, and they are both ' 
 
 'Scoundrel!' cried my enraged friend, 'if you dare open your un- 
 hallowed mouth in my house to reprobate men who Begone, 
 
 sir ! I myself will see that justice is done, although such persons as 
 yourself and your worthy employer may be better versed in the infamy 
 of Norman law than ourselves. Lead ! We are prepared to follow. 
 And let it be to the gaol, at your peril !' 
 
 Our justly-excited indignation drew forth a silent sneer from the Philis- 
 tines, in whose hands we found we undoubtedly were ; and, in a state be- 
 tween rage and astonishment, we proceeded on our route towards the gaol. 
 I was resolute not to discharge so infamous a demand, and needed not the 
 seconding of my friends, On the other hand, however valiant I might 
 be in resisting to my utmost such an outrageous extortion, yet I could 
 not but remember that my poor wife at home would be in an agony of 
 suspense, wondering at my sudden departure ; as, even Avhen I was 
 arrested, the dinner was going to table, and two hours had already 
 elapsed. Towards the gaol, however, we went; and I had made up my 
 mind that, for the first time in my life, 1 was about to taste its sweets, 
 and meditate upon the uncertainty of human things. Onwards we 
 swept, at a rapid pace. I strode along, with the sheriff's bloodhound 
 behind me, with as proud a step as my boiling brain would allow. As 
 we drew near to the lane that led at once to the gloomy portals, one of 
 my friends recollected his banker resided thereabout. We stopped at 
 his door. He was at home. The matter was duly explained to him, 
 ' And does he want to borrow the money ? ' inquired that gentleman. — 
 * No, no,' answered we in a breath ; ' we want bail.' — ' Then I will be- 
 come bail,' turning to Garnutus, the Jew landlord. ' I, sir, know you 
 of old. This is not the first of your infamous tricks upon strangers. 
 In this instance, I am happy to say the vulture is disappointed of his 
 prey. Would it had been the case in most instances antecedent to this, 
 where yoiu- rapacity has been but too often gratified ! There, sir ; I 
 am bail. Pollute not my house any longer by your infamous presence. 
 There's the door, sir ; make use of it. And as to you, Mr. Officer, 
 your conduct in this insulting outrage shall be sufficiently exposed.'
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 101 
 
 Thus matters were, to my great satisfaction, comfortably arranged. I 
 thanked the banker most heartily for his disinterested kindness, with- 
 out which, incarceration was my immediate doom. He told us it was 
 a too frequent practice amongst the unprincipled of this island, to let 
 their houses furnished for a term of years, and, the moment the unlucky 
 tenant had taken possession, pounce upon him for the whole sum ! And 
 this, he said, was actually the island law ! — The moment we had taken 
 leave of our friend the banker, I was beginning, in loud terms, to ex- 
 press my joy that matters had been so settled, and that now T could 
 rejoin my family, and explain my unpleasant adventure — outside the 
 walls of a gaol, when, lo ! the two rascals again seized me, and demanded 
 eighteen and sixpence for my arrest ! This was beyond all my philo- 
 sophy, and I was about at once to try the weight of my fist upon my 
 tormentors. * Hold!' cried my friend ; 'strike not — not for the world ! 
 Refrain. Calm yourself. Let us return to the bank.' I swallowed 
 my bitter pill, and suffered myself again to be conducted to the banker's. 
 This fresh imposition was pronounced by him illegal. ' Let them,' 
 cried he, ' put you in prison if they dare !' Once more in the street, 
 1 found all my hopes blasted ; and towards the gaol we again bent our 
 steps — I being more determined than ever to resist this extortion, 
 above all others. We actually arrived at the prison gates, and I myself 
 was officious enough to ring the porter's bell. There was I ! and my 
 friends witnesses to the vile scene playing off at my expense. The 
 porter opened the lodge gate, and I then, with a loud voice, cried out, 
 ' Porter, bear you Avitness to what is about to be done. Now then, 
 scoundrels !' addressing the worthies, 'here am I, ready to enter these 
 gates ; and, mark me, if once you force me over that threshold, if 
 there's justice to be got on earth, I'll make the remembrance of this 
 monstrous deed tingle for life through your accursed veins!' To this 
 my impassioned speech, the vulture, in the most lady-like accent, and 
 with a drawing-room bow, breathed out, ' We will kindly waive the 
 paltry sum, rather than you should be put to the least inconvenience ! 
 Goodnight!' and away the two worthies marched, arm-in-arm, with 
 the most diabolical sneer upon their countenances I ever remember to 
 have beheld. Well, the porter shut his gates, and I found myself still 
 outside. I now was as desirous for the gaol as I had before been
 
 102 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 anxious to avoid it. The deep injustice and insult, heaped, as they had 
 been, the last three hours upon me, had quite disturbed the proper 
 arrangement of my thoughts •, and it was not till I found myself once 
 more in the presence of my wondering family, that I was fully assured 
 that I was still at liberty." 
 
 " But," inquired Mr. Blair, " surely such fiendish laws do not exist 
 to this day ?" 
 
 " To this very hour, sir," replied Mr. Rennie. " If you were to go 
 to Jersey to-morrow, you are under Norman laws ; and the language 
 used in courts nicknamed justice, is a Norman patois French. And, 
 furthermore, in illustration of the beauty of Jersey laws : I meet a 
 stranger in the street — a sheriff's officer happening to be at hand — and 
 say to the officer, ' Ask that person if he is prepared to pay B. Rennie 
 fifty pounds. If he refuses, put him in gaol.' The man of course re- 
 plies, ' I do not know B. Rennie. I do not owe any such man fifty 
 pounds. I shall, of course, not pay it.' — ' Then, sir, you go to gaol, 
 and will remain there till your case comes before the court.' And he 
 does go to gaol, and there he lies till his case does appear ; and he 
 cannot help himself, nor get any redress. I knew a scoundrel in Jersey 
 who owed a person residing in Southampton eighty pounds. The 
 creditor heard the debtor had come to Jersey : he pursued him to 
 Jersey to obtain the money. The debtor happened to be at the pier- 
 head, when his eye saw there his friend the creditor land from the 
 packet, — come, doubtless, to hunt him up. He dogged the gentleman 
 to an hotel, fetched the officer, and served upon him a hilt for the eighty 
 pounds, at the suit of Mr. A. The sheriff' found Mr. B. at breakfast, 
 and asking if his name were Mr. B., and having a reply in the affirma- 
 tive, he handed him the demand. The astonished Mr. B. looked at it, 
 and, recovering a little from his surprise, cried out, ' Why, odzounds ! 
 the man owes me the money, not I him ! I am come over to-day by 
 the packet on purpose to get it. Ha ! ha ! this is a capital joke !' — 
 ' You will not find it one, sir. Are you prepared, sir,' demanded the 
 sheriff, 'to pay that money?' — ' Undoubtedly not!' roared Mr. B. 
 ' I tell you the scoundrel owes it me! Pretty thing, indeed ! Ha ! ha ! 
 That's rich !' — ' Will you find hail that the amount is paid V pursued 
 the sheriff'. — ' I tell you, sir, the boot 's on the wrong leg ; the knave
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 103 
 
 owes me the money, and I have left my business, and put myself to 
 great expense and inconvenience, to come here to recover it ; and as 
 soon as I have swallowed this muffin, I shall be off and find him. I 
 must return by the next packet. Ha! ha! that's fat ! Me owe it? 
 Ha ! ha 1' — ' I will wait, sir,' gravely replied the sheriff, ' till you have 
 finished your meal ; and then, sir, as you will neither pa^ the money nor 
 find hail, I must fulfil my instructions, painful as they may be. You 
 must consider yourself my prisoner.' — Imagine the surprise, the disgust, 
 the indignation, that seized upon the infuriated creditor as he found 
 himself actually in durance ! And there, in spite of all his ravings 
 about his innocence and the infernal mistake, he remained for three long 
 weeks, till he was brought up to the Hall ; and, no one appearing against 
 him, he was discharged ; for his rascally debtor had, as you perceive, 
 caused him to be unjustly arrested and confined, in order to allow him- 
 self a clear exit to France, which he effected. And there was no re- 
 dress for the poor creditor ; so he quietly went to his home at South- 
 ampton, after suffering his three weeks' imprisonment in Jersey, minus 
 his eighty pounds, and rejoicing that he was at length out of that d — d 
 infernal place." 
 
 " Monstrous ! Mr. Rennie," cried the Captain ; " vile beyond any- 
 thing I ever before heard, and yet ludicrous. Who can refrain a 
 laugh, when we picture the poor old gentleman's visage, as he sat 
 quietly munching his muffin ? Who cannot conjure up his look of 
 bewilderment when the sheriff announced that, unless he paid the 
 money, he was in custody ? Surely, Mr. Rennie, all their laws cannot 
 be founded upon such grounds as that a man's bare word shall be 
 capable of depriving a fellow-being of liberty ? Horrid to think on !" 
 
 " The laws are abominable. Here is another illustration of them. 
 Suppose you were to purchase a house, say for £800 ; you, of course, 
 imagine that it is for your family after you — that all is your own after 
 paying the stipulated price, &c. &c. Now, fancy, after you have 
 enjoyed your property some ten years, and nearly forgot from whom 
 you purchased it, a man one day pops in upon you, and briefly asks, 
 whether you will take upon yourself to pay Mr. C.'s debts. ' Not I,' 
 you answer ; ' not a penny of the man's debts. Wliat is he to me?' — 
 ' You gave him £800 for this house V — ' Assuredly : I have the re-
 
 104 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 ceipt. What then V — ' He, sir, has become a bankioipt. If you do not 
 discharge his debts, this house will be con&idered still his property, 
 resold, and divided for benefit of creditors ! ' " 
 
 " Murder !" roared the Captain. " God preserve me from Jersey !" 
 
 " But have they no good lavirs, that redeem these attrocities ?" in- 
 quired Mr. Blair. 
 
 " Yes," answered Rennie ; " this, for instance, is an excellent one : 
 A man ro])s your house ; he is discovered, and proves to be an English- 
 man ; he is tried, convicted, and the sentence of the court is, ' That he 
 be transported (the prisoner) for the space of seven years.' The sentence 
 is just. But to what place is he transported 1 By the first steamer 
 that departs, he goes to the Jersey penal settlement, vulgarly called 
 Southampton ! Or, if he prove a Frenchman, he goes for his term of 
 banishment to the nearest French port, generally St. Male's. And 
 should the villain have the hardihood to show his condemned face in 
 Jersey before the expiration of his sentence, he is reshipped for the 
 settlement again, with a further punishment of three years added for his 
 impudence." 
 
 The Captain, and all who heard this, broke forth into an uncon- 
 trollable fit of laughter, in which Mr. Rennie heartily joined. 
 
 " But I understand," said Blair, " that the islands are admirable for 
 one thing — they have no pauper population." 
 
 " No ; how can they, when, the moment a man becomes chargeable, 
 he becomes also a criminal, and they forthwith transport him for seven 
 years ?" 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! It's too absurd. But, Rennie, is not living very cheap 
 there ? else why go so many half-pays, &c. &c., there to reside ?" 
 
 " Living is not cheap. Beef is sevenpence to eightpence per pound ; 
 very indifferent mutton, sixpence to sevenpence; veal execrable, pork 
 good at sixpence, which I esteem the best meat in the island, being all 
 parsnip-fed. The spirits are all cheap and good ; but the wines are 
 abominable. There is more what is called port made in Jersey, than 
 ever is pressed out in Oporto ; and it is most execrable. Unless you 
 get your wines from the Docks, as most Jersey wine-lovers do, it is im- 
 possible to obtain a good glass in any of the islands ; it's a nasty com- 
 pound, unworthy the name of wine. I consider it a great mistake to
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 105 
 
 esteem the Channel Islands cheap places of residence. Men with large 
 families will save in their grocery and in their spirits ; bvit the high 
 rent for houses (though there be no taxes) is a great drawback. And, 
 strange to say, fish is very scarce in Jersey, and, as a matter of course, 
 very dear. And the society, if it may so be called, you may find as 
 good, or better — I won't say where !" 
 
 " But what are its amusements, Mr. Rennie ?" inquired the Doctor, 
 who had joined the group. 
 
 " A donkey-race once a-year ; visiting the market, and carrying 
 home a string of sand-eels once a-day : a tea-party and scandal every 
 evening; cards, and drinking, to fill up the interstices ; — such is life in 
 monotonous Jersey." 
 
 " But the climate, Mr. Rennie ? Let us hear all the particulars, 
 now we are about it," jocosely said the Doctor. 
 
 " The climate, sir, is hot in summer. Rain, rain, rain ! and most 
 cutable fog, all the winter, producing, from its unwholesome moisture, 
 fevers, rheumatism, catarrh, diseases of the glands (and particularly 
 inflammation of the throat), with, as a natural concomitant to warmth 
 and wet, toothache, headache, bilious attacks innumerable and unen- 
 durable ! The mildew grew upon my walls in St. Saviour's Road 
 (even where I kept a roasting fire), to use a little exaggeration, fit for 
 the reaper's sickle. I have left Jersey. I wx-nt there with doubting 
 as to its economy, I quitted it with a conviction it was not cheap. I 
 suffered a banishment in a pent-up island, like Napoleon the Wretched. 
 And my conclusion of this long yarn is, let no man, if he can live upon 
 a continent, seek a water-encompassed speck in the ocean as the 
 summum bonum of human bliss. And, above all, have a care of those 
 isles which are blessed with the sway of the Norman laws !"
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 " But who can view the ripen'd rose, nor seek 
 To wear it ? Who can curiously behold 
 The snioothness and the sheen of beauty's cheek, 
 Nor feel the heart can never all grow old ?"— Byron. 
 
 "Land on the starboard bow!" sings out the look-out man from 
 the mast-head. What a iovful sound ! what mascic in those few 
 words ! " Land on the starboard bow! " was echoed through the ship 
 from mouth to mouth with the velocity of lightning. In an instant the 
 people of all grades were seen pothering (as Turkey called it) up the 
 various outlets from below to the deck, and every eye was strained to its 
 uttiermost powers to rest for a moment upon so v/elcome a sight. 
 "Where is it ?" cries one. " There it is." " Ah, I see it I — no — yes." 
 " There, look straight over the star-board anchor fluke." " Oh, ay ! is 
 that land? Yes, I see it, thank God! Where's Bob Short and his 
 fiddle ? " 
 
 Now every one made himself believe that he had seen the land, which 
 from the deck at that stage of the proceedings was an impossibility ; 
 but it serves to show how the mind can cheat itself into the belief of 
 the, existence of things that are desirable. The land was not seen even 
 from the main-top for a long half-hour after all had declared from the 
 deck they had seen it ; and when to the accustomed eye of the seaman 
 it did from thence appear, it was but as the very shadow of a mist. But 
 the ship dashed on, as if jianting for the long-toiled-for haven, and the 
 rising sim, as he sprang higher and higher into the cloudless heavens, 
 showed plainly from the deck, to the most unpractised eye, a dark -blue 
 and steady hammock in the horizon. Yes, there it lay, in all its majesty, 
 the sleeping lion of the Cape of Storms ! What jov now burnished every
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 107 
 
 face ! — what gazing — what comments upon this, to most of the wanderers, 
 terra incog. ! Even Susan — that infidel upon all marine matters, now 
 embraced the true faith of the compass — and that worthy individual 
 might be seen ever and anon diving with vuiwonted energy into the 
 cabin from the deck, to communicate the news to her mistress, as it 
 momentarily grew more and more important. At length, Susan had 
 for the last time ascended alone, for with her now came a form that was 
 but seldom seen upon the deck of the " Ocean Queen." And as this rare 
 sight to the eyes of all ascended the poop ladder, the Captain might be 
 seen, with the utmost gallantry and attention, arranging a comfortable 
 seat for the lady in the white veil. What passed between the fairy 
 form and the Captain we are not prepared to say ; but the lady shortly 
 threw aside her veil, as she walked to the leeward shrouds to examine 
 through the Captain's telescope the wished-for land. Then did the 
 eyes of Mr. Turkey (who had from the first moment she appeared on 
 deck intently watched her) rest upon her face, and as we were sitting- 
 near enough that gentleman to hear his remarks, we will put thcrii in 
 the rotation as he uttered them. (Enter the lady from her cabin to the 
 quarter-deck.) Turkey catches the first glimpse of hev — soliloquises 
 to himself — " ' Now Hafed sees the fire divine.' This is a vision I 
 have long wished to bless my eyes. That envious veil ! — oh, tear that 
 odious veil away ! I can gaze upon the sun and not groAV blind, and, 
 thou beautifuUy-ankled cherub ! I saw thy ankle as thou didst as- 
 cend. That officious Captain — see — ah, the telescope ! — she does ren^iOve 
 the veil ! — now life or death — or ophthalmia — I'll venture a gaze upon 
 the spirit of the storm." 
 
 He rushes to the lee main chain, and is interrupted by jMoss, who 
 implores him not to commit /e/o de se upon himself. 
 
 " Silence, Moss. Bag thy unwelcome head. Retreat ! — thy scalded, 
 gooseberry-looking eyes may not meet the glare of this great light." 
 
 " What is the man arter? " cried Moss, peeping anxiously at Turkey, 
 as that gentleman was endeavouring to get a full gaze at the object of 
 his curiosity. " Is the man gone actilly out of his mind? Art gone 
 crazy, Toby ? Come inside the vessel, you great oaf; you'll be over- 
 board ! — and then who's I to have a pipe wi' ? "
 
 108 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 "Moss!" roared Turkey, " turn thy October, cabbage-looking head 
 towards the poop, and tell me what thou seest," 
 
 Moss wheels round and discovers the lady. "By Gum !" cries he 
 over the side to Turkey in a half-whisper — " By Gum ! there is a 
 beauty, old codger ! Who may she be ? " 
 
 " Avaunt, Ochus Moss! Let me get inside, ere I'm unable to sup- 
 port my own weight. I've this moment had a two-edged dagger run 
 through my inmost liver ! " 
 
 "A two-edged dagger run o' your liver!" ejaculated Mr. Moss. 
 " Why, who's a-done it ? " 
 
 " Moss, let's instantly liquor." 
 
 "With all my heart." 
 
 They disappear from the deck to Moss's cabin ; Turkey all the way 
 nmttering to himself — " If there ever was upon this world's surface a 
 paragon, I'm the man who have just seen it. Bundle down, Moss, 
 with those thick shins of yours; I'm in a fainting state ! 
 
 ' The god of love once more has shot his fires 
 Into my soul, and my whole heart receives him.' " 
 
 In the mean time, the vessel was rapidly pursuing her course. The 
 high-lands of Southern Africa grew into gigantic shapes ; one after the 
 other appeared, till the Table Mountain stood out boldly from amongst 
 his fellows, proclaiming to the voyagers that at his base lay the wished- 
 for object of their thoughts — the quiet little metropolis of Southern 
 Africa, What a pretty group had now assembled upon the poop of 
 the vessel ! The awning was spread to ward off the beams of the gor- 
 geous sun, whose rays can only be known in their true beauty by those 
 who have left the bleak North far, very far, behind them. In these 
 glorious climes the unpolluted atmosphere is so clear, so thin, so trans- 
 parent, so elastic and full of electricity, that existence alone is a 
 positive blessing ; and when, above all other considerations, after a 
 weary voyage, we can turn our eyes upon the glad and laughing earth, 
 the excitement is such that the voyager forgets his troubles, and the 
 world seems suddenly to open before him in a brilliance he had hi- 
 therto not conceived.
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 109 
 
 " You have not," said Miss Blair to Pauline, — " you have not been 
 miich upon deck during the voyage. We fear you have not been 
 blessed with good health ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear, I have," answered Pauline, " been far better in my health 
 than I could possibly have expected. At the best I am but a fragile 
 weed, and cannot depend a long time upon perfect convalescence ; but 
 the sea air has wonderfully renovated a frame naturally weak, and I am 
 surprised at my own gay feelings." 
 
 " But, were you not rash in exposing yourself to the fury of that 
 terrible storm, love ? We are told you were upon deck during the 
 principal part of that awful night." 
 
 " True, dear Miss Blair, such is the fact ; my curiosity got the mas- 
 tery of my discretion. Thank Heaven, I was not there, as I expected, 
 idly to gaze upon that war of elements." 
 
 " You saved a child, did you not ?" inquired Miss Blair. 
 " Yes. I had but a short time before employed a seaman to lash me 
 to the rigging, immediately opposite the ill-fated long-boat, when the 
 most tremendous wave in an instant overwhelmed us. I was for the 
 space of half a minute prostrate upon a gun-carriage that was near to 
 me, and totally submersed. Upon the sea rolling away over my head, 
 and being once more able to use my eyes, I had the horror of be- 
 holding the long-boat plunge headlong into the sea — it had been swept 
 as a chip of wood from the deck. Whilst my eyes were rivetted upon 
 the dreadful sight, a child was surged close to my feet : notwithstanding 
 the violent rolling of the vessel, I unbound myself, and had just seized 
 the receding infant by its hair, when the returning wave swept us nearly 
 through the port-hole. At that critical juncture I still retained suffi- 
 cient presence of mind to hold firmly the child, feeling that relief was 
 undoubtedly at hand, as a violent gripe at both my ankles testified. 
 We were by the kindness of the Captain safely brought on board again, 
 and the infant, I am happy to say, still lives to add some comfort to 
 the widowed and else childless father." 
 
 " It was indeed a noble deed, love," said Miss Blair. " But tell 
 me, what object had you for remaining, or even going upon deck, in so 
 dangerous a storm ?" 
 
 "Simply, Miss Blair," replied Pauline, " that I cnild not resist it.
 
 110 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 You will scarcely credit how the passion of the elements invaded, and 
 was partaken of, by my soul. I felt a superhuman strength, an exalted 
 being of a superior nature. It was one of the most delightful nights I 
 ever passed. Had you but witnessed how the sea yawned, and beheld 
 how one mad mass of furious water dashed over another, turning all to 
 a mantle of dancing snow, and how wildly we tore through the black 
 abyss, one moment soaring toward the black canopy overhead, and 
 then diving, as it were, into the very caverns that opened in a thousand 
 dark forms around us ! and, amidst all this, the music of the blast, as 
 it screamed in unearthly concert through the ropes, was what I never 
 could have conceived, nor ever felt, till either our vessel or the genius 
 of the storm had sunk at once to their slumbers !" 
 
 " It was an act of daring," said the Doctor, " worthy one of the 
 heroines of ancient Rome. I am rejoiced that worse consequences did 
 not come of the adventure. Had the long-boat swerved a little to 
 windward, you would have been crushed to the flatness of a plank. 
 You had a very narrow escape, too, lady, when the topmast came 
 down upon the deck." 
 
 " True, sir, I had ; one of the large blocks fell close to my feet : but 
 it is all past ; and behold, ladies, what a splendid prospect is here ! 
 Let us turn from the contemplation of Nature in her angry moods to 
 the brighter side of the question, and behold the extraordinary scene 
 before us." 
 
 "Already, Miss," said the Captain, pointing his glass for the eye of 
 Pauline, — " already you may observe the tablecloth spread upon the 
 mountain, a preparation denoting an entertainment for those travellers 
 who are a little behind us. I trust, ladies, we may have the plea- 
 sure of ascending that mountain. I can assure you — I who have 
 several times been on its summit, that the view from thence is most 
 glorious !" 
 
 " It must be very high. Captain. What is the height, are you 
 aware ?" inquired Miss Blair. 
 
 " It is above the level of Table Bay three thousand five hundred and 
 eighty-two feet ; and though it looks so diminutive at this distance, 
 it contains a plain on its top of no less than ten acres. You certainly, 
 ladies, nuist perform the ' grand tour' ere you leave the Cape, which
 
 THE EMIGRANT. Ill 
 
 is commenced by slaying the great lion Constantia, then travelling to 
 Wyneberg, doing the town and Green Point, and crowning all by 
 ascending the mountain ; the whole forming a very interesting and 
 nevcr-to-be-repented week's employment. Now, ladies, I leave the 
 Doctor the felicity of entertaining you ; I must see that the wee bit of 
 iron is all ready to lower away — we require some tough metal some- 
 times in this country. We shall slip into the Bay like a swan. 
 Adieu." 
 
 " There, ladies," cried the Doctor, " there's the lighthouse. What 
 a curious castellated-looking object it is ! IIow boldly the white-wash 
 throws it out from that burnt and barren hill behind it ! See, there 
 is the hull of the ' William' East Indiaman ; she is high and dry on the 
 rocks ; she was drifted on the shore in a storm, and soon went to 
 pieces, but the crew escaped. Now, pray turn your eyes to the foot of 
 those burnt Sienna-looking hummocks, and there behold the beautiful 
 villas of the Cape gentry. See what dark foliage surrounds them, and 
 how glaringly white the little square palaces are ; they are indeed little 
 earthly paradises, as you will find, all nestling in a bed of flowers that 
 would slay an English gardener to behold. How rapidly we round 
 Green Point ! There it is ! a long, green slip of land, running at the 
 base of those hills — that's where the Cape equestrians take the air." 
 
 " Back the main-yard !" 
 
 " What's the meaning of that, I wonder ?" cried the Doctor. " Oh ! 
 here's the health-boat coming oif. Now, then, I must be busy. 
 Ladies, as the gallant Captain said, adieu — pour le present.'' 
 
 " Bless me," said Miss Blair, as the boat from the shore approached, 
 " what an uncouth-looking crew ! Do behold, Emily ! Miss, dear, 
 do look !" 
 
 " Indeed," said Pauline, "they are rather oM^re and sun-dried-looking 
 personages. That gentleman at the stern, with that enormous hat, 
 under which he seems buried alive, I consider the most unique indi- 
 vidual I ever beheld. Ah ! I see, he is a man of colour. It is a strange 
 scene. Now, then, we shall see the health-officer. That must be 
 the wight, doubtless, Miss Blair — that gentleman with the broad-brimmed 
 I straw hat ; for surely none of the others can be medical men ?" 
 
 Miss Blair laughingly said, " The speculation of Pauline must prove
 
 112 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 correct, else the gentlemen of the gold-headed cane had sadly degene- 
 rated in these Southern climes." 
 
 " Stand by the man-ropes there !" cried the Captain. 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir !" and the seamen sprung to hand the little gentleman 
 in the boat (for he proved to be extremely diminutive) all the assistance 
 they could, w^hilst, nimbly as he might, up the side of the vessel 
 bounded the Doctor. 
 
 No sooner was he on deck, than a grand flourish of his neat straw 
 hat, and a most graceful bow to the ladies on the poop, followed by — 
 
 " What ship ?" 
 
 '* Ocean Queen." 
 
 " How many days out ?" 
 
 " Seventy." 
 
 " What port ?" 
 
 " Avistralia." 
 
 " Any sick ?" 
 
 " None." 
 
 " Any Doctor ? " 
 
 " Yes. This way, sir. Pray step into the cuddy." 
 
 The two learned Doctors and the Captain speedily and comfortably 
 were seated at the cuddy table, where the necessary formula being pre- 
 pared, the little strange Doctor tossed off a bumper of sherry, tucked 
 the MS. in his fob — then "Stand by the man-ropes — the bow," and 
 away over the wave skimmed the important man of medicine, and away 
 round sv.ung the yards again. 
 
 But one short half-hour, and not a ripple was upon the face of the 
 sea. The " Ocean Queen" had thundered out her huge anchor ; vari- 
 ous little skiffs with fruits and flowers were making their offerings of 
 welcome around her, whilst the busy hum wafted by the perfumed 
 breeze from the shore pronounced to the glad voyagers that, after all 
 their troubles, at length they were calmly at rest. 
 
 J
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 " He little dreamt, when he set out, 
 'Of running such a rig."— -John Gilpin. 
 
 " Oh, it 's a beautiful world ! and here we are all for the shore ! Oh, 
 it 's a glorious sight ! Now for the seeing what we shall see. It 's a 
 most wonderful planet, this same oblate-spheroid ! — What think ye, sirs? 
 I 've got on one of my very best under ones — red-and-white stripe ! 
 Old fumbling Moss! lend 's a pair of top-boots and white corduroys. 
 Oh, it 's a most grape-eating and wine-drinking country ! Hang it for 
 me ! where 's this vile old Fumthoam ? where is the man of boots ? 
 Here we all are — first boat actually landed, and I passing the best of 
 my sunny existence in waiting for Sir Ochus Moss ! — Sir Ochus !" 
 
 " Holloa, Mr. Turkey ! I '11 be with you in the twinkling of a bed- 
 post." 
 
 *' Your carriage stops the way, friend Ochus !" 
 
 " Does it so ? Just get in it, Mister Turkey, and tell the driver to 
 go and get a pot of half-and-half — or all half, if you can afford it him, 
 
 that 's a generous Blow me ! it 's a hot country ! — Here I qjn 
 
 on deck at last ! Well, it does look beautiful ! — my wig, but it does. 
 So that 's the town, eh ? Well, blow me, it puts me in mind wery much 
 of a box of dominoes all arranged agin a green baize tablecloth — don't 
 it, Turkey ? Well, it 's a rum sight ! and the lots of boots ! — Look 
 here, Toby ! here 's a fellow a actilly holding up for us cowcumbers and 
 lobsters. Blow me, if it ain't a dish wot I'm mighty fond on ! — Ain't 
 that feller a black, pig-eyed looking schemer ? — Well, it certainly is a 
 rum go, this ! Just look, Turkey, at the emigrants, how bedizened 
 they all be! And how do you like my kick— these boots? — eh, Mr. 
 
 Q
 
 114 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 Turkey ? D'ye think I look anything like a (eyeing his nether 
 
 encasements) — anything like a " 
 
 " Yes, redoubtable Moss, very like a whale." 
 
 " A whale, Mr. Turkey ! — what ! a fish 1 — look fishy, did you say, 
 Mr. Turkey?" 
 
 " No, most ever-to-be-renowned Moss." 
 
 " A whale is not a fish — you are a giant!" 
 
 "It ain't a fish, and I'm a giant! Well, then, come, let's just 
 bundle our coi-pses into this 'ere crinkum-crankum alongside. Arter 
 you, Mr. Turkey : what are you a-looking at ?" 
 
 " Silence, thou forlorn hope ! There 's Venus de' Medici ; let me 
 have one glance at that aquiline nose and those superabundant ringlets, 
 and then I'll " 
 
 " Here 's a feller, Turkey, wants thrippence for a water-melon ; will 
 you have a shy at it ?" 
 
 " Oh, thou unreclaimable dross, Ochus Moss ! Thou hast no more 
 soul than a gridiron : always belly — thou art all paunch ! Come, 
 trundle those out-of-all-Heroding boots of thine over the side : I long 
 for the shore." 
 
 " Ditto, old Methodist parson. I '11 have something to talk about as 
 soon as I plant my precious hoofs on that brown country. I'll bring 
 about as heavy a pound of bakker aboard when I come back, wot has 
 been up this blessed ship's side a one fine while, I know." 
 
 " Come, sit thou down," impatiently cried Mr. Turkey, as his old 
 fat friend stood rocking and rolling the boat almost gunwhale under, — 
 " sit down. Moss, and just turn your unworthy eyes once again upon 
 that lovely form in white muslin that is looking at us from the poop ; 
 and when you have done so, here is my penknife — cut your gristle." 
 
 " What ! cut my windpipe for the sake of a woman in white muslin ! 
 Pooh ! Ha, ha ! — Turkey, I wouldn't cut " 
 
 " Silence, Moss ! don't let it out ! Look at her, Moss — her eye- 
 brovv^s beautifully pencilled, arched over those drooping, plaintive lids ! 
 and " 
 
 " By Gum ! Turkey, don't bother me about people's eyebrows, 
 when I'm a-landing in a forrin country ! — Look at this little gimlet- 
 eye-holed looking codger abaft — ain't he a native !"
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 115 
 
 "There! she descends in a chair!" exclaimed Turkey, holding his 
 hand to his eye. " There ! she is coming ashore. I dare not bring 
 myself to open my unworthy lips to such a celestial being ; but I will 
 see her land. I will — I certainly will watch to what part she bends 
 her steps. I see the Captain is with her; and that bullet-headed, 
 curly-wigged old Sukey, too, has just brought herself to an anchor in 
 the bows ! Smite me, but Fm resolved ! " 
 
 Thus did Mr. Turkey rhapsodise, as the Malay crew with rapidity 
 neared the shore ; and his companion, the unsophisticated Moss, as 
 Turkey jocosely termed him, gave vent ever and anon to his delighted 
 feelings as the beauties of the scenery every instant unfolded them- 
 selves. The boat containing them at length pulled up alongside the 
 wooden pier, and those in the boat immediately essayed a landing — 
 not without some trifling mishap, as poor Moss, in his anxiety to step 
 out of the boat, missed the pier-step, and was instantly up to his mid- 
 dle, before the boatmen covild seize him. This little incident caused a 
 roar of laughter from the idlers who had assembled at the jetty to wit- 
 ness the strangers, and very much disconcerted Moss, who had not only 
 to undergo the misery of being quizzed by every worthless fellow, but, 
 when he did actually mount the pier, he found that, his boots being 
 full of water, at every step he took the liquid gushed out at the tops, 
 to the vast diversion of a set of youngsters who, after witnessing his 
 accident, had assembled around to see him walk. This was not to be 
 endured ; so, whilst his friend Turkey was watching the ladies' boat 
 making for the pier, Moss availed himself of the opportunity to take off 
 his boot and empty the obnoxious contents. Whilst he is so engaged, 
 we may turn our attention to the ladies, who, with Messrs. Blair and 
 Rennie, the Captain and Doctor, had just arrived at the pier-ladder. 
 Mr. Turkey rushed down the steps, held out his hand, and in the most 
 gallant manner possible handed out the ladies. Pauline came last, with 
 the exception of Susan, who, from her perturbation and the anxious 
 eyes she continually turned upon the Hottentots on the pier, was nearly 
 falling a victim to the same unpleasant fate which had so distressed 
 ISIr. Moss. 
 
 All out in safety and on the pier, Mr. Turkey entered the boat and 
 brought out aeveral articles belonging to the ladies — amongst which
 
 116 
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 was a bouquet belonging to Pauline, which when about to present to 
 its owner, he politely prefaced by saying, that " most beautiful flowers 
 had been seen in Africa, but he much doubted if that sunny clime 
 could produce anything capable of rivalling those flowers which he had 
 the honour to travel with from the North." 
 
 Pauline and the Misses Blair smiled very goodhumouredly as Turkey 
 delivered, with the greatest gravity, that high-flown compliment, and, 
 as he took off" his hat, wished them much pleasure in their cruise 
 ashore. Then turning a wistful eye at the gay group, as they quickly 
 bent their course to the town, Turkey exclaimed, " The Cape will now 
 see what England can produce."* 
 
 " Mister !" said a black, touching the shoulder of Turkey, and 
 arousing him from his meditations, " is you anyting to do wid dat fat 
 old massa dat step into de sea?" 
 
 " Why ?" inquired Turkey. 
 
 ** He say him want your penknife." 
 
 As Mr. Turkey wended his way towards the spot where he had left 
 Moss, he saw that a crowd had assembled, and were giving way to the 
 most uproarious merriment. As he drew nearer, he could plainly dis- 
 tinguish the voice of Mr. Moss ; and upon looking over the shoulders 
 of the people, he saw that gentleman, with one bootless leg, sitting on 
 a soap-chest, and straining every muscle to get off" his remaining boot, 
 or even to restore it to its proper position. The big veins stood out 
 upon Moss's forehead, vexed as he was, on the one hand, by his refrac- 
 tory boots — goaded and irritated, on the other, by a mob who had 
 congregated to bait him and enjoy his discomfiture. The sight was too 
 ludicrous for Turkey to withstand, and as he looked at his enraged 
 friend tugging and cursing at intervals, he felt himself unable to resist 
 partaking, in common with the crowd, of so rich a treat at Moss's 
 expense. 
 
 ""Where is that d — d Turkey?" cried he, staring about him in 
 agony ; " where is the fellow ? Blow the boots ! d — n Africa I [roars 
 of laughter;] cus the country ! I can't get the boots — neither on 
 
 * " A sight might thaw old Priam's frozen age, 
 And warm cv'n Nestor into amorous rage."
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 117 
 
 nor — off. [Renewed laughter.] I can't go barelegged, like a hover- 
 grown Scotch wench, into the town. [Another tremendous tug at the 
 offending leathers.] — Where's Turkey? I'm uncorked — quite he- 
 skumbered ! Where is that man ? I'm in a dreadful sweat, and my 
 feet swell up like a man wot 's hung at Newgate : they 're actilly 
 throttled with this wet leather. [Laughter ; the delighted crowd still 
 crying out, ' As him was once more.'] You black, unearthly scara- 
 mouches !"—" You John Bull!"— "Bull, am I? Wait till I've got 
 'em off, one way or t'other ; I'm blowed if I don't gore you! I'll soon 
 touch some of yer up in the bunt !" 
 
 Thus did the vmhappy man rave and scold, tug and moralise, by 
 turns, till Turkey, unable to see the poor fellow in such a trim any 
 longer, rushed to the rescue, and with his penknife opened the seams 
 of his tight boot, so as to enable Moss to get a fair start — which he 
 instantly did, tucking the unlucky boots under his arm : and in this 
 manner (Moss deploring his unlucky mishap, and Turkey soliloquising 
 on his Venus de' Medici) did the two gentlemen enter Cape Town. 
 
 Mr. Turkey found that the ludicrous picture of his friend drew down 
 the gibes of every wag as they proceeded ; and a goodly number who 
 had witnessed the whole of the exhibition still followed at a short dis- 
 tance, unwilling, as it appeared, to lose any part of the fun, — for 
 assuredly it had diminished not one iota in interest from the moment 
 the unlucky wight had miscalculated his footing. To behold a short, 
 thick-set man, with a large fat face unusually red with heat and excite- 
 ment — to witness him, in a dashing blue coat, yellow vest, and white 
 tights, carrying a huge walking-stick in one hand and his broad- 
 brimmed hat in the other, whilst an enormous pair of top-boots were 
 tenaciously held, wet as they were, under his arm, as in a vice — and, 
 above all, to hear his maledictions vipon the country, and all it con- 
 tained, as each step he took among the hot sand scorched his unpro- 
 tected feet, — was, even to Turkey himself, who sincerely pitied him, a 
 most side-shaking spectacle. 
 
 " I tell you what it is," cried Moss, " I can tramp no further ! 
 Here's a pretty pickle I'm in ! Oh, if my poor old master Abraham 
 Barlow could but clap his eye on me now ! And am I to walk up to 
 my knees in sand ? I 'm blistered now up to my very calfs ! Is there
 
 118 
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 no possible moans of Stop, Turkey ; I 've trod on a bottle ! 
 
 and, ob Lord ! I must sit down a minute on this old bancbor !" 
 
 Tbe miserable Moss tbrew bimself down to examine bis stockings : 
 but as no blood appeared, Turkey assured bim 'twas all imagination, 
 and urged bim to try to travel a bit further, where he could distinguish 
 the sign of a " public." Moss, hearing this welcome intelligence, 
 endeavoured to rise, when — 
 
 " Turkey !" roared he ; " what — why, what the devil ails me now? 
 I can't stir a peg ! Odds bobs ! if I ain't a sat down on a dab of 
 pitch ! and" (sagely applying his hand to the hinder part of his tights) 
 — "and, blow me, if I ain't regularly burked ! Look here, Toby!" 
 (turning himself round, and exhibiting a most unfortunate surface of 
 that adhesive material.) 
 
 At this unforeseen calamity, Moss renewed his lamentations, and 
 Turkey gave full vent to the hilarity he could no longer restrain. 
 Moss hobbled along after the convulsed Toby, and was enabled shortly 
 to get a seat in a bullock- waggon — in which vehicle, drawn by a team 
 of fourteen oxen, and surrounded by as many laughing rogues of boys 
 who had been noisy witnesses of his distresses, did Mr. Moss arrive at 
 the inn where his companion had already taken up his quarters.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 "And thus 1 am absorb'd— and this is life."-CHiLDE Harold. 
 
 " It 's a very pretty place, this same Cape Town," said Mr. Rennie to 
 Mr. Blair, as those two gentlemen Avere promenading the streets the 
 evening of the day after their arrival. " But I must say, the mosquitoes 
 in the night, blowing their abominable trumpets, and digging their 
 wonderfully poisonous little trunks into all parts of one's body, is any- 
 thing but a recommendation to it." 
 
 " Had yovir bed not any mosquito-curtains ?" inquired Mr. Blair. 
 
 " No. What are they ?" 
 
 " They are simply a thin kind of gauze, drawn so tight round the 
 bedposts as to effectually keep * the vexatious intruders away.' You 
 must speak about some. But if you are already bitten, I wovild 
 recommend," continued Mr. B., " a solution of opium, — it allays the 
 irritation ; and, perhaps, a cooling quart of salts might assist the 
 operation." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" laughingly replied Mr. Rennie. "The opiate I am 
 willing to try ; but as for the salts — no, friend, no !" 
 
 " Look, Rennie, what fine streets ! The houses are all, you see, 
 in the square, neat, Dutch style, — roomy, of course, for the climate. 
 I cannot, hov/ever, admire the colouring of most of the houses in hot 
 countries — of a glaring white. It certainly may be said to reflect the 
 heat ; but it is painful to the eye." 
 
 "And yet," interrupted his companion, "how pretty they look ! 
 Now, just turn your eye up this comfortable and clean-looking street,- 
 with its rows of three and four-storied square houses, with their little 
 platform-looking buildings in the front of them, and all shaded by the
 
 120 THE EMIGRANT, 
 
 beautiful waving acacia. And, above all, look at Mynheer von Dunk 
 himself, sitting there in the shade, smoking his canaster, and, beyond 
 all doubt, quaffing his Schiedam. What a picture of Oriental indo- 
 lence !" 
 
 " No doubt," said Blair, " that is what may be at once reckoned 
 an illustration of the Eastern saying, ' I will sit upon the carpet o) 
 resignation, and smoke the pipe of patience.' And if that greasy- 
 looking worthy does not personify both resignation and patience in his 
 very look, I am at a loss to conceive what does. How mechanically 
 the automaton opens and shuts his heavy-lidded eyes, as though even 
 the labour of winking were too much for him ! But, bless me, niy 
 friend, look what a lovely creature hands him his glass !" 
 
 " So she is — a very sylph ! And * To what vile uses may we not 
 return !' to think of her occupation being the handing of Dutch gin to 
 
 a I won't call ugly names. Let's be gone. And, with your 
 
 leave, we will adjourn to some hotel or other, where we may refresh 
 ourselves with a bottle of what in Britain we call ' Cape nastiness.' Let 
 us try the prophet in his own country." 
 
 " With all my heart, friend ; let us crack a bottle, and judge for 
 ourselves. Yonder's the ' London Hotel,' — let 's patronise it." 
 
 " Just turn your eye, Rennie, upon these enormous oak trees grow- 
 ing before the door," said Mr. Blair, as they were in the act of entering 
 the hotel ; " and, above all, look what an amazing size the acorns are ! 
 at the very least, double the size of English ones." 
 
 " They are indeed, Blair," said Mr. Rennie, " beautiful trees, and 
 very fine acorns. Come, let's be doing." 
 
 The bell being rung, and the waiter making his appearance, a bottle 
 of the best Cape growth was ordered — to be a white wine. It was 
 speedily produced, and pronounced by the gentlemen to be excellent — 
 little inferior to the best Madeira. 
 
 " But how is it," said they, one to the other, " that the stuff we get 
 in England is of such a vile and decidedly earthy and unpleasant 
 flavour ?" 
 
 That, as a puzzle, served to amuse, till Blair observed, that " possibly 
 it might be Madeira palmed upon them as Cape, to flatter the wine- 
 growing properties of the Colony. But," continued he, " we shall find
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 121 
 
 out the secret at Biirchcirs this evening. I expect he will produce a 
 sample of his very best." 
 
 " No doubt he will," added Mr. Rennie ; " he is a very liberal man, 
 and should keep some of the best in the place. He has resided here 
 long enough to know how to obtain it." 
 
 "What a strangely old-fashioned room this is! Look at the oak 
 wainscoting, how it is rubbed and polished ! and even the floor is of 
 the same material, and equally burnished." 
 
 " I'll just carry a thought into execution, Blair," said Rennie, rising 
 and pulling the bell. " Oh, waiter, bring in a few grapes." 
 
 «' Yes, sir." 
 
 " Well done, my friend. Here they are. Well, to be sure, these 
 are fine fellows ! Why, this bunch must weigh, at the least, four 
 pounds ; and every individual grape the size of a pigeon's egg ! 
 Surely these grow upon a land ovei'flowing with milk and honey, oil 
 and wine !" 
 
 " Why, indeed, Blair, one would think so ; but they do not quite 
 come up to the bunch that the two men who discovered the promised 
 land carried between them on a pole !" 
 
 " No ; but, Rennie, we will substitute this bottle of wine for the 
 pole the two worthies used with their grapes, and I doubt not, by its 
 assistance, we shall be able to carry off a bunch ourselves I Now for 
 a treat ! Transparent ! you can see every seed ! What a glorious 
 thing in a hot clime is the grape !" 
 
 " No sooner, we hear," said Rennie, " was Noah out of his ark, than 
 he planted a vineyard." 
 
 " That shows your ancient learning," quoth Blair, " and Noah's 
 sharpness ; but he was certainly too much of the bacchanal, neverthe- 
 less — he indulged, it is to be feared, too deeply in his potations." 
 
 " Ah, poor old gentleman ! he was doubtless so glad to get 
 over his voyage, like us," said Rennie, " that he desired a little 
 of the divine juice in rather larger doses than ordinary. Let us be 
 merciful !" 
 
 " Ay, true ; charity covers many sins. It is to be regretted there 
 is so little of that estimable commodity in the market. There seems 
 an vmaccoun table malignant disposition in some persons, raking up 
 
 u
 
 \22 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 even the ashes of the illustrious dead to feed their hyena appetites, or 
 upon any hit of frail humanity their unsparing talons may bring to 
 light. — Come, my friend, let us jog. We shall just have time for a 
 walk through the parade adjoining, and off for a quiet dish of tea with 
 our old friend Burchell. What 's to pay, waiter ?" 
 " One shilling, gentlemen." 
 Exit Mr. Rennie. 
 
 Blair, turning to the waiter, " And here is an extra sixpence for 
 yourself, my friend." 
 
 This, trifling as it may appear, was a most important sum, and 
 Sambo looked at it with a proper feeling ere he deposited it in that 
 depth of solitude, far from all its fellows, his pocket— very soon, too 
 soon, alas ! doubtless, to be driven a wanderer again over the earth. 
 Sixpences, their fourpenny cousins, or mighty grandfathers of the 
 crown royal, are not kept long in the custody of the thoughtless coloured 
 race ; they are too much given toward the enjoyment of the present 
 moment — or may, with some show of truth, be said ever to prefer a 
 mirror to a telescope. 
 
 " The curfew toll'd the knell of parting day," and found, seated 
 around the hospitable board of the merchant Burchell, most of our old 
 friends, with the exception of Moss and Turkey, who, report said, had 
 been seen that very morning setting out upon an equestrian trip, ac- 
 companied by a Hottentot rider. We should also have said that 
 Pauline was not present, that young lady having been conveyed, 
 immediately upon her arrival, to Sir Benjamin Briscoe's, the Go- 
 vernor. 
 
 '* And how. Miss Blairs and ladies all, do you like our town ? Do 
 you see any objects worthy your admiration ?" inquired Mr. Burchell, 
 rubbing his hands, and preparing for quite a romantic burst of senti- 
 ment in its favour. 
 
 Nor was he altogether disappointed ; for the ladies, with one voice, 
 gave verdict in its favour : it was " A love of a town ! So full of 
 varietv — what with the most extraordinary teams of eighteen or 
 twenty bullocks, with their branching horns of size immense, dragging, 
 in lengthened pairs, a light covered waggon that one of those strong 
 animals certainly appeared able to draw himself; and then the
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 1^3 
 
 Hottentot driver, -with his terrible twenty-feet-long whip, and his 
 funnel-shajjed hat — his whooping, whipping, and galloping this un- 
 couth team at frightful speed round a sharp corner, — and all performed 
 by that giant of a whip ! — That single feature of Cape Town can never 
 be sufficiently admired. It would sadly puzzle some of our London 
 beaux to guide a team of twenty oxen, without reins, at full gallop 
 through a town, and only be allowed the Hottentot whip !" 
 
 " Indeed, Miss Blair," said Mr. Burchell, " you are perfectly right. 
 The waggon with its paraphernalia is the first thing that strikes the 
 stranger ; its wonderful team of cattle, and their unusual size, to say 
 nothing of their expanding horns. But you must know, ladies, that, 
 light as that waggon appears, it is extremely strong ; and I very much 
 question if any other very different kind would answer the country. I 
 admit it looks ungainly ; but it is not so : it is easily manageable, 
 either ascending or descending the most fearful passes, which they so 
 frequently have to travel. A curious sight was recently exhibited at a 
 place near here, called Hottentot Hollow, where engineer Mitchell had 
 constructed an easy road up the mountain, which had used to occupy 
 the farmers many weary hours in its ascent, and cause them vast 
 delay and inconvenience, not to name danger. This road being finish- 
 ed, a certain day was named for its opening for general travel. The 
 Governor and suite went in state. It was quite a holiday for us. And 
 when we arrived, we discovered a ci'owd of farmers, with their waggons 
 all arranged strictly in line, with gaily-caparisoned and sprightly nags, 
 ready for the start iip the pass. The word v/as given, and away went 
 the boors, shouting, cracking their whips, an.d galloping furiously, in 
 an incredibly short time, to the sunnnit, amidst the cheers and gun- 
 firing of the delighted spectators." 
 
 " It must have been a curious sight," said Mr. Blair, " and one re- 
 flecting much honour upon the engineer, and promising vast benefit to 
 the Colony." 
 
 " Indeed it does, sir," answered Mr. Burchell. " If we could only 
 get now, what is talked of very sanguinely — a railroad across the sand 
 flats, from Cape Town to Stellenbosch — that would be our next grand 
 move on the board." 
 
 " It certainly is time that the Colonists roused themselves, so much
 
 124 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 still depends upon their utmost exertions. It is of little avail friends 
 of the Colony labouring at home, if their endeavours are not seconded 
 hy those whose interest they are slaving to serve. But it is to he 
 lamented that your glorious Colony should have ever been placed 
 under the hands of such despots as Somerset — a man of stern, jealous, 
 wayward, and uncompromising disposition. His determined hostility 
 to the freedom, and even establishment, of the press in South Africa, 
 went a vast way towards enlightening the Colonists what kind of man 
 the all-blasting " family influence" had forced down the throats of the 
 else happy inhabitants. Giving a Colony, be it old or young, a bad 
 Governor, is at once to \iproot — if an old Colony — a vast deal of 
 what has been done, and to blight the promising buds, and scatter them 
 to the wind, of what would, with proper care, have produced valuable 
 fruit : if the Colony be in an infant state, and has the infliction of 
 that dreaded incubus, an inefficient head-piece, it may, to use a homely 
 comparison, be likened to a clock without a mainspring, a ship without 
 a rudder or compass. There are more of the seeds of good or evil 
 belonging to a Governor, than people at home dream of in their 
 philosophy." 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Blair," replied Mr. Burchell, " the truth of your 
 remarks is very apparent. We have suffered a vast deal in consequence 
 of the errors and imbecility of our rulers ; but we hope — and it is but 
 a faint one — that such short-sighted policy may be speedily amended, 
 and that men of absolute talent may be in future placed amongst us. 
 We want an energetic man of business, who will see with his oicn eyes 
 and hear with his own cars, and not stoop to such degrading and petty 
 favouritism, which in weak and wavering minds is a very certain 
 attendant, ever pregnant with injury and ruin. We care not v^ho a 
 man's grandmother might have been, so that he himself be an Emjlish- 
 man, possessing an English heart, and will turn a patriotic eye to the 
 struggles of his fellow-countrymen.- Such a man was the ever-to-be- 
 remembered Earl of Caledon, whose wise, beneficent, and philan- 
 thropic exertions have been the admiration of every one who has had 
 the happiness, as a Colonist, to experience them. His Lordship's 
 impartial and firm administration of the laws, his Christian-like con- 
 duct towards the unfcr'.unatc natives, and the numerous and untiring
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 125 
 
 efforts he made to ameliorate the social condition of those entrusted to 
 his sway, evince the workings of no ordinary mind, and exhibit what is 
 too rarely found in men of his office — a hearty benevolence, and desire 
 to succour the meanest of his people." 
 
 " How long, sir," inquired Mr. Rennie, " did that nobleman govern?" 
 
 "His Lordship," returned Mr. Burchell, " held the government of 
 ':he Cape from 1807 to 1811, and then returned to bless by his pre- 
 sence his native place, Caledon. What a difference between that real 
 man, and that terrible fellow (that, gentlemen, is my distinction) — that 
 terrible fellow Somerset ! We have no reason, thank God, to dread the 
 return of those fearful times when our freedom or slavery was at the 
 caprice of a tyrant. A Legislative Assembly will furnish to the histo- 
 rian more ample and interesting domestic details than a pure or mixed 
 despotism, however enlightened, can ever yield." 
 
 " A truce," laughingly interrupted Miss Blair, — " a truce to you, 
 gentlemen, and your discussion upon old women ! A Governor of a 
 Province or a Colony, or whatever he governs, has from time immemo- 
 rial (including the illustrious Sancho Panza himself) been but an 
 elderly lady! My opinion of all Governors and all M.P.s is alike — 
 simply to benefit, on the one hand, Self and Co., and, on the other, to 
 gratify a little harmless ambition. — Pray, Mr. Burchell, where is there 
 a nice ride? The Captain wants a jaunt to the top of Table Mountain, 
 and I want to go there too ; but my giddy sister wants a gallop over 
 the flowers : we learn you have lovely flowers ?" 
 
 " I believe. Miss Blair," replied Mr. Burchell, "our flowers and our 
 Truits are unrivalled. An indifferent assortment of the latter are to be 
 '"ound in my garden ; but the glorious flowers — the scores of species of 
 
 jlossoming heaths, — the — the I tell you, Miss Blair, I cannot 
 
 recapitulate the thousands we possess. Imagine the contents of ten 
 thousand English greenhouses in their best season planted thickly 
 together, a balmy ajr around, and cloudless sky, as you now experi- 
 ence, overhead — and fancy yourself on a fleet barb, bounding, like a 
 startled deer, over their fragrant heads, — and then you may conceive 
 slightly what our spring-time scatters upon our plains." 
 
 " And are we to see no flowers now ? are we too kite, sir ?" ejacu- 
 lated Miss Eniilv.
 
 126 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 " No, dear lady ; you will still see many glories, but recollect, this 
 month of February, beautiful as it is, is our autumn, and the children 
 of the sun have mostly put on a livery becoming the sober season ; but 
 I hope, at your leisure, to produce a very large bouquet for you, even 
 if I am reduced to the necessity of filling up with a few aloe blossoms." 
 " Thank you, Mr. Burchell. I fear those centurions of Albion, who 
 are so very chary of showing us their beauties, might possibly be rather 
 too unwieldy ; not but that I should enjoy the exhibition, after your 
 collecting such a bouquet," smilingly observed Miss Blair. 
 
 ** Now, Miss Blair," said the Doctor, who had enjoyed the recent 
 sally of the gigantic aloe bouquet, — " Now," said he, " have you any 
 wish to speculate in a few cigars V 
 
 " Cigars !" exclaimed the ladies. " What ! for our private use ?" 
 "Ha, ha! what next. Doctor?" cried the Captain. "Are you 
 going to introduce Spanish customs amongst us?" 
 
 " I'll tell the ladies my reason for asking. When I was a younger 
 
 man than 1 am now " 
 
 " Hem ! Beg pardon. Doctor : you were saying — when you were 
 a younger man !" jestingly said Mr. Rennie. 
 
 " Just so," resumed the Doctor — " I had the happiness to receive 
 from a young lady, as a gift, a box of cigars. I thought little of it at 
 the time. There were a thousand in the box ; I smoked several every 
 day — they proved delicious ! Whenever I smoked one of those fra- 
 grant and soothing weeds, my mind, however disturbed it had been at 
 the present minute, began gradually, step by step, lower and lower, to 
 arrive at its wonted serenity ; then, as I puffed, unconscious of my 
 past feelings, my mind imperceptibly began to dwell upon the present, 
 — my single and forlorn state — my utter friendlessness — a sort of half 
 a body — a perceptible and eternal lack of something ; then, as my 
 cigar burned lower and lower, and its balmy and continued influence 
 grew soothing and more soothing still, my mind stole a march, and the 
 naked future stood before me ! I saw a lone figure still walking along 
 the rough valley of life, and still, in the horizon, the same unvaried 
 sterility — all unsocial, cheerless, and lone. My cigar still burned ; the 
 ashes, hanging by me, as they did, .to the very last grasp, at length 
 fell ; it was to me a sort of Corporal Trim dropped hid hat,' a memento
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 127 
 
 mori prophetic of my end. I was now totally alone ; the vital spark 
 I had fled from my favourite cigar — its last graceful curl of smoke turned 
 as with a parting kiss upon my bent and thoughtful head, and dis- 
 solved like a dream away in the singing zephyr. I stole meditatively 
 to my box of cigars, more sensible, every step, of my forlorn condi- 
 tion. 1 was in the act of taking another weed from the box, when the 
 ■ thought flashed as a courier past all others, and I candidly demanded, 
 Who gave me these cigars ? — ' Who?' cried I, asking the empty winds, 
 > and startled Echo mocked me. ' Yes !' cried I, brightening up like an 
 April sky as the delicious thought lit up my very soul, ' Helen gave 
 me these cigars! I will in return offer her — what less? — my heart !' 
 Big with the joyful thought, I hastened to her home, smoking even 
 other four to soothe the excitement of delicious dreams that now reigned 
 triumphant in my bosom. The fourth cigar opened me the valley of 
 life again ; but, lo ! no longer was the road of rock and precipice — no 
 longer I saw the solitary man wending his weary way ; no — all was 
 changed, — flowers, beautiful flowers, nodded a welcome around, songs 
 of birds carolled in rivalry of music on every waving tree, and I beheld 
 a youth and maiden tripping in the midst, and the most comfortable 
 old pair sitting, surrounded by innumerable children, waiting for them, 
 'neath a woodbined cottage porch, in the distance. My soil was fire ! 
 my heart grew and panted with unusual might. I was at Helen's door ! 
 She was at home. I flew into her presence — there was a man with her ! 
 I cried out, in the strength of my love, ' Helen !' She moved slowly 
 toward me, — the angel moved slowly to the door — it flew open to her 
 gentle touch. I was outside. She tripped lightly from my side a 
 moment, and I heard her own sweet lips shout into the very ears of the 
 strange man, * Are you not nearly choked ? Throw up the window ! 
 Oh gracious! how unbearably that puppy stinks of tobacco-smoke!' 
 I rushed, like a cannon-ball, I knew not whither. — I dashed the hated 
 cigars, box and all that belonged to them, upon the floor of my deso- 
 late room ; I danced the Indian war-whoop upon their scattered and 
 hated fibres — and I am still alive !" 
 
 The conclusion of the Doctor's Story drew forth much laughter and 
 applause. Mr. Burchell, who had dwelt upon it from its commence- 
 ment with the most earnest attention, was convulsed with laughter at
 
 128 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 its conclusion. The evening whiled agreeably away. A plan was 
 proposed and duly arranged for performing a visit to the top of Table 
 Mountain, the first opportunity. Mr. Burchell had oiFered his vine- 
 yard for the use of the emigrants, who were to be landed for a run- 
 ashore to-morrow, and all was gay, — the ladies expressing their deter- 
 mination to visit Mr. Burchell frequently during their stay, and that 
 gentleman goodnaturedly assuring them that he had many a treat in 
 store, esjiecially the aloe bouquet. The gentlemen quaffed another and 
 still another parting-glass, pronouncing it very much improving upon 
 acquaintance ; whilst the lone Doctor gave way to his ruminations, and 
 sallied forth smoking, at the very least computation, according to Miss 
 Blair, his four-and-twentieth cigar !
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " All things are here of tlwm."—CHiLDE Harold. 
 
 " Now, dear Pauline," said Lady Briscoe, as they were sitting in the 
 orange-bower in the garden of the Government House, — " Now, dear, 
 do let me hear a little of your romance. I cannot bear to gaze upon you, 
 love, and to think that in so young and fragile a creature, the worm — 
 the canker-worm — should be gnawing in fatal secret the promising 
 flower. You little imagine, love, that I have been expecting you some 
 time back. Lord B. said, the probability was you would honour me 
 with a visit ; and at the receijit of his first letter, I merely imagined that 
 you were about to be married, and that the envied man was upon some 
 out-of-the-way errand going to bring you to the Cape : but his Lord- 
 ship's second letter, saying you were actually about to depart, and with- 
 out any allusion to a gentleman, caused me a good deal of speculation. 
 'Now, my dear, you are here, absolutely alone, and not going to remain 
 with me, as I fondly indulged the hope, but proceeding to the Australian 
 Colonies ! I am sure, love, you will readily excuse my freedom of 
 remark, but really — to see — to consider — it appears to me a romance 
 in real life : and then you are so pensive, so lone in your habits, I could 
 almost guess what is really the foundation of all this. — But no, dear 
 Pauline, I cannot bear to see you weep ; be assured that you are too 
 dear to me. I fear I have been so unfortunate as to cause you pain. 
 Be assured I shall never forgive myself if I have offended you. I will 
 never more allude to the subject. I am but too happy to enjoy your 
 visit, short as it appears it will be." 
 
 " Dear lady," gently said Pauline, looking upon her friend through 
 a starting tear, and warmly pressing lier hand, " you will, I am sure, 
 
 9
 
 130 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 forgive me ; you have not given me pain — it is I that have caused 
 uneasiness in your generous bosom, possibly by my rashness. To 
 whom could I confide the secret of my bosom — to whom indeed! — 
 more worthy than dear Lady Briscoe ? Pardon the erring weakness of 
 your sex, and look down upon me with forgiveness. I fear I have 
 erred in my decision ; but it has been an error of judgment, not of the 
 heart. Listen to me with tenderness, my mother's friend, and pity my 
 unhappy condition. — I was engaged to a gentleman in our adjoining 
 county — I fear we only loved too deeply ; the day was already ap- 
 pointed for our marriage — every arrangement had been made, and — " 
 
 " Compose yourself, dear," kindly said Lady Briscoe. 
 
 " — And," continued Pauline, " as the time drew nigh, we were 
 never a day without being in each other's company. It was late one 
 evening, Charles (that was his name) was returning to a gentleman's 
 house in the neighbourhood, when, in crossing a meadow, the night 
 being very dark, he stumbled upon something which lay in his path. 
 He stooped down to examine what it was : it was the body of a man ! 
 Charles felt the face — it was w^arm ; he endeavoured to raise the body 
 by main strength, when he was seized by the throat, and received a 
 terrible cut with a knife on the back of his head. Charles instantly 
 released hold of the man, and hastened to the nearest cottage for assist- 
 ance. It was a tavern, and several persons were in it drinking. The 
 whole party, upon hearing the alarm, instantly with lanthorns repaired 
 to the meadow. There they found the man just in the same part where 
 Charles had left him. He was not quite dead, but had a most fearful 
 gash on his forehead, which was bleeding profusely. Upon one of the 
 party inquiring who did the deed, the man faintly gurgled, ' Him — 
 it was him !' alluding, as it appeared to all, to my unfortunate Charles. 
 The wounded man was instantly conveyed to the tavern, when parties 
 were despatched for a doctor. The doctor soon arrived, and Charles, 
 in his presence, demanded of the dying man whether it was he who 
 wounded him ; to which the man, in his last gasp, uttered, ' Yes.' 
 Hereupon the doctor took down the evidence ; and Charles, in his con- 
 fusion, endeavoured to relate what had happened : but he was too 
 bewildered with the awful charge laid to him, to make himself appear 
 innocent, and the bloody state of his hands and clothes from his con-
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 131 
 
 tact with the unfortunate deceased — not to mention the gash at the 
 back of his neck, which the dying man had evidently made under the 
 delusion that Charles was one of his murderers, — these circumstances 
 went against poor Charles ; but one weighed far heavier than all the 
 rest against him, and that was, the man who had been thus brutally 
 deprived of life was a gamekeeper, residing upon a neighbouring estate, 
 with whom poor Charles had had, unfortunately, some recent dispute. 
 All this being stated, taken down, and sworn to in presence of the doc- 
 tor, that functionary handed my poor dear innocent Charles into the 
 custody of the police. The crime with which he was charged did not 
 admit of bail, and the Assizes hurrying rapidly on, he was arraigned as 
 a murderer at the bar. ' ■ 
 
 •' During this awful period, I, in common with his friends, felt but 
 little fear that his innocence would be immediately established. He 
 employed no counsel, trusting to the innocence of his heart to acquit 
 him. What, then, was our horror — who can paint the blow that was 
 in store for us ! — after a long trial, and a vast store of circumstantial 
 evidence, the Jury pronounced him Guilty ; and the Judge, in com- 
 menting upon the enormity of his crime, told him his life would be 
 spared in consideration of his youth and the former good character he 
 had borne ; but he implored him to exercise the remainder of those 
 days it should please a merciful God to allow him to live, in supplica- 
 tion in prayer, as an atonement for his great sin ; and he (the Judge) 
 would not advise him to entertain the slightest hope of remaining in 
 this country — he must be transported for life. 
 
 *' On hearing this dreadful sentence, Charles, with a loud and un- 
 trembling voice, thus spoke : — ' My Lord, and Gentlemen of the Jury, 
 I have been arraigned and convicted by my countrymen of committing 
 -one of the foulest crimes with which it is possible to stain humanity. 
 I have already told you how I unfortunately became mixed up in this 
 matter. I have stood before you unassisted by advice or Counsel. 
 I am as innocent, even now after you have thought it your conscien- 
 tious duty to convict me — I am as free from the stain of that man's 
 death — as my Judge who now occupies his seat before me. I am guilt- 
 less in the eyes of God — I am proud even in my misfortunes, and 
 triumph over my unhappy fate. My intentions to the murdered man
 
 132 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 were those of succour ; I did what every man under such circumstances 
 would have done, and I am branded with the infamy of his destroyer ! 
 My hard case I leave to the justice of my God, feeling fully assured 
 that He will rise up a defender of the innocent, a pronduncer to short- 
 sighted man that my penalty was unjust, and that which I must now 
 bear as a foul crime upon my heart was its best endeavours to aid the 
 unfortunate. Gentlemen, for your patience I thank you — I am re- 
 signed.' " 
 
 '* And has he left the country ?" inquired Lady B. 
 
 " He has been gone now three months, to some part of Australasia, 
 but I know not whither." 
 
 " And you are " 
 
 " You have guessed, dear Lady Briscoe : I am travelling to endea- 
 vour if, by being near him in his exile, I can relieve the horrors which 
 must necessarily crowd upon his existence." 
 
 "Noble Pauline!" exclaimed Lady Briscoe, " be assured Sir Ben- 
 jamin shall know of this. Dear girl, let me haste to his apartment — 
 not a moment shall be lost. Don't give way to despair : trust in a 
 wise and good Providence ; He will see justice done — rely on His 
 mercy," said Lady Briscoe, kissing Pauline fervently. " There now, 
 dear — I will fly to Sir Benjamin, and you run about among the 
 flowers ; and don't give way to despair — it 's too monstrously unjust to 
 stand the test of truth. There, now — adieu ! run away among the 
 flowers." 
 
 Pauline did not run among the flowers, as the amiable Lady Briscoe 
 would have had her : for though she felt herself much relieved, now 
 that she had a sharer in her troubles, and one who would enlist so 
 powerful a friend as Sir Benjamin in her cause, she yet sat quietly in 
 the waterfall bower at the bottom of the garden, and mused upon her 
 fate, and the fate of one she held still dearer, and wondered when and 
 where she should see him, till she at length caught herself hum- 
 
 mmg- 
 
 Ah ! whither fled now, dearest love ? 
 
 In what clime rovest thou? 
 The hand of Him who rules above 
 
 Shower blessings on thy brow !
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 133 
 
 Beneath a bower of Indian trees 
 
 Pauline lone sitteth now : 
 Her prayers to Heaven load the breeze, 
 
 For blessings on thy brow." 
 
 " Well done, Lady Pauline !" said Lady Briscoe as she came skip- 
 ping to the bower ; " that was indeed a pretty ditty. But I have just 
 seen Sir Benjamin, and he is in a pretty way about such a conviction ! 
 { ' Why not move heaven and earth for a fresh trial ?' says he. He 
 remembers, a short time ago, reading an account of the whole transac- 
 tion in the papers, with the editor's severe censures upon the \injust 
 verdict. He will have some conversation with you about it after 
 dinner ; but he is now reading over again the evidence, &c. &c., and 
 as there is a ship sails to-night for Australia, there will be a letter des- 
 patched by her from Sir Benjamin to the Governor of Sydney. Hope 
 for the best, Pauly, — hope for the best ! Come, now, for a romp among 
 the flowers. Here are my little grandchildren. — Come, run to Miss 
 Pauline. Now, little urchins, scamper about ; but don't go near the 
 waterfall, to get your little trotters wet. Come now, then, away ! 
 There 's old Sambo Jack — tell him to gather some pretty flowers. 
 There, away you run !"
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " The mom is up again— the dewy morn, 
 With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom. 
 Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, 
 And living as if earth contain'd no tomb, 
 And glowing into day. We may resume 
 The march." Childe Harold. 
 
 The morning of the 13th of February came in blushing over the hills : 
 the tide sung its matin roundelay o'er the pebbly beach — the shepherd 
 was chaunting his early song to his now liberated fold, and the freshness 
 of morning scattered forth his summons to the flowers, at whose approach 
 they shook off the crystal tear of eve, and welcomed their god with 
 incense and with smiles. Beautiful is an African morn — ay, beautiful 
 as the eye can behold. Still, soft, and plaintively it steals upon us ; 
 delight is in every tree, and gladsomeness is the pervading soul of the 
 landscape. 
 
 At early dawn all are busy at Cape Town : the waggon winds its 
 way from the interior to the market, laden with luscious fruits, and the 
 trader, with his merchandise, is arranging to be busy. The market is 
 all bustle, and lively sallies ring among the light-hearted inhabitants of 
 that exhilarating clime. Down the long and acacia-fringed street, what 
 numbers in their varied costume we behold ! Amidst the crowd, a 
 troop of elegantly-caparisoned steeds are being led by their grooms to 
 
 the residence of Ah ! as we thought, they are paraded opposite 
 
 the house of Mr. Burchell. Our friends whom we met the other even- 
 ing at that gentleman's are about to enjoy a pic-nic upon the summit 
 of Table Mountain. Our horse is among the group, and 
 " Away, away to the mountain's brow!"
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 135 
 
 " Like to have been first, after all,'" jokingly said Mr. Burcliell, as 
 he rose to welcome us to the d^jetiner a la fourchelte. " Well, still in 
 good time — it 's a glorious time for starting !" 
 
 " Now," said Mr. Blair, " let me ask, what is the order of the 
 day?" 
 
 "I believe," said Mr. Burchell, "we mount our nags, which it is 
 quite time had arrived." 
 
 " They are so, sir." 
 
 " Well, in that case we are. Ladies, give the word — off!" 
 
 " We are all ready, Mr. Burchell." 
 
 " Now then, ladies and gentlemen, please to follow me." 
 
 The whole party, consisting of no less than nine individuals, mounted 
 their steeds, and set off at a pleasant canter for the base of the moun- 
 tain. 
 
 " I am delighted to have the happiness, Miss Blair," said a gentle- 
 man who was keeping a brisk trot by the side of that lady's Arab, as 
 she cantered gaily along, — " I am delighted to have the happiness of 
 such a day before me, — I had not the remotest idea that such joy was 
 in store for me. I am too happy ! — far too overjoyed with my friend 
 Burchell's kindness in allowing me an opportunity of joining so de- 
 lightful a party." 
 
 " 1 hope, sir," answered Miss Blair, •* that the trip will not be found 
 too difficult. The ascent is reported as extremely dangerous, particu- 
 larly on horseback." 
 
 " I am quite unprepared to inform you. Miss Blair, as to its facility 
 of ascent, when either on horseback or on foot, this being my first visit; 
 but, I trust, as the day is so unusually favourable at this season, we 
 shall have the happiness to reach the summit without either much fatigue 
 or difficulty," said the stranger, who having been already introduced to 
 Miss Blair, we will, with the reader's kind permission, introduce to 
 them. Gentle reader, Mr. Clinton ! — Mr. Clinton, gentle reader ! 
 
 "I am resolved, Mr. Clinton," said Miss Blair, " to ascend the moun- 
 tain as far as it is at all consistent with safety on horseback, for I am 
 no very great advocate for fatigue." 
 
 " You are of the same school of philosophy as myself," remarked 
 Mr. Clinton : "in so warm and lovely a clime as this, much physical
 
 136 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 exertion were unnecessary. We are, I perceive, arrived at our first stage. 
 Will you, Miss Blair, allow me to assist you in descending ?" 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Clinton. We have enjoyed a most exhilarating 
 ride." 
 
 " I am truly gratified to hear you say so. Miss Blair ; it affords me 
 additional happiness." 
 
 " I am sure, Mr, Clinton, you are very polite," gaily said Miss Blair. 
 
 Mr. Clinton bowed very low. 
 
 " Well, now," cried Mr. Burchell, " here we are so far — come, that 
 is something towards it, and here we must quit our nags, unless some 
 of us find courage to ride as far the top, which has been done, but it is 
 far from a desirable undertaking. For my own part, I shall commence 
 the tramping forthwith, and give my horse a holiday ; but any thinking 
 they dare venture a little further, why now 's the time." 
 
 This speech having by that gentleman been duly impressed upon his 
 auditory, they all, with the exception of Miss Blair, agreed to abandon 
 the steeds. The whole party now set forward with considerable vigour, 
 and half an hour's march brought them upon the rough, rocky, unplea- 
 sant part of the ascent ; and here it was, after a delay of some minutes, 
 Miss Blair also dismounted. The party proceeded with what rapidity 
 they might : sometimes the route lay round a shelving mountain, or 
 along the verge of a precipice, where there was not room for two animals 
 to pass, and down whose fearful chasms it was impossible for some of 
 the party to venture a look. 
 
 " This is an extremely dangerous expedition," said Mr. Burchell, 
 " unless we pay the strictest attention to the appearance of the weather. 
 Numbers of travellers have, from their sole inattention to this one grand 
 point (which any common-place inhabitant of the town can, from re- 
 peated observation, truly predict,) been dashed to atoms, from merely 
 making one false step when enveloped in fog. Now yesterday was a 
 day of this dangerous kind ; and had any one started yesterday morning 
 (and the weather to a stranger looked fine as to-day), the result would 
 have been, they must have remained upon the mountain amidst the wild 
 animals till this morning, or else risked their necks in the descent. For 
 you see," continued he, " one step in the fog would, in the place we 
 have just passed, send a man a hundred fathoms into a gulf; and who
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 137 
 
 could say what became of him ? Scarcely a year passes but we hear 
 either of the actual missing, or the thoughtless, who have been nearly 
 famished up here in a fog." 
 
 Thus did Mr. Burchell illustrate the mountain as the party continued 
 to climb. Some of the ladies were frequently heard to " breathe the 
 soft impeachment" of fatigue, but Mr. Burchell would not hear of it ; 
 he assured them the view from the top would lull to oblivion the sense 
 of all fatigue, and actually cure any one of confirmed chronic rheuma- 
 tism. At length, after several sandy prophecies that the summit would 
 never be reached, Mr. Rennie was heard shouting from the desired 
 spot : a few minutes elapsed, and they were all welcomed to the top, by 
 two gentlemen little to be imagined in that situation. These worthies 
 were no other than the illustrious Mr. Moss and Tobias Turkey, Esq. 
 — extremely glad to see them arrive, the latter, on behalf of self and 
 Moss, could assure them. 
 
 Mr. Burchell, finding they were from the same vessel, kindly invited 
 them to join the picnic, which the servants having been forwarded with 
 some two hours' start, was already beside a most cheering fire, for it 
 was, after cooling a little from their clamber, found to be rather chilly. 
 
 Before the party had finished their refreshment, Mr. Blair inquired of 
 Mr. Turkey how long since he had arrived. 
 
 Before Mr. Turkey had time to answer the question, Mr. Moss, who 
 happened to overhear it, notwithstanding his mouth was expanded 
 with the whole quarter of a fowl, ejaculated at the top of his voice — 
 " How long have we been here ? — we been here all the blessed night, 
 I'm corked if we ain't — all the live-long night, amidst all the venemous 
 beasts, as played up old gooseberry about us, like so many mad bulls 
 a dancing the cow's courrant. Turkey advised me to buy a pair o' 
 shoes, cos my top-boots a pinch'd me, and I lost one a coming up, and 
 the heel come off the t'other." 
 
 " Bless me ! " cried Mr. Burchell, for every one else, even Turkey 
 himself, was upon the broad laugh ; " Bless me I why you have indeed 
 been unlucky, but you should certainly have asked advice before you 
 started!" 
 
 "Ax'd advice before I started!" quoth Moss, taking the leg-bone 
 of a duck from his masticators : " why I did, sir. T ax'd Mr, Turkey 
 
 T
 
 138 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 what we had better do, and he said, ' Take lots of bakker ; and that's the 
 only blessed thhig, with the exception of this" — thrusting the aforesaid 
 bone again to the mill — " beautiful fowl, (I never et a finer,) I've 
 tasted since yesterday forenoon. Ax Mr. Turkey if it ain't." 
 
 The serious air that always sat upon the fat and somewhat Listonic 
 face of Moss, rendered his most common-place observations ludicrous ; 
 and Moss was a most good-tempered fellow, though a little pettish : he 
 furthermore, in his unpolished way, had an agreeable store of humour 
 and independence. It was for these agreeable qualities that Turkey so 
 much enjoyed his society, and Turkey has often been heard, when 
 alluding to his partiality for Moss, to exclaim, he was a citoyen du 
 mondc — " a man with whom one might without outrage comfortably 
 cotton ; in fact, he was the quaint Moss — the unsophisticated Moss." 
 It is no marvel, then, if the careless Turkey should have led him right 
 or wrong up to the mountain on an uncongenial day, for Moss j)laced 
 the utmost consequence on all which Turkey uttered, and for his sim- 
 plicity was what Turkey called " sold," which, we are led to understand, 
 when it is interpreted, meaneth — he was deceived, cheated, disap- 
 pointed, and in such wise. 
 
 We will, whilst the party are enjoying the lunch the keen mountain 
 air has rendered so acceptable, hear Moss's account of his adventures, 
 especially as the ladies have just invited him so to do. "Well," said 
 Moss, " I'll tell you the upshot on it with all the pleasure o' life, for I 
 am indebted to you all for a most comfortable blow — a — hem ! — dinner, 
 and so" (helping himself to three parts of a tumbler of wine, and coolly 
 tossing it off) " here goes ! Turkey says to me — says he, ' Moss, it's a 
 no use waddling up one street and down the t'other ; let's have a bit of 
 a show-off in the country,' says he ; ' let's hire a couple of tits.' I, in 
 course, says ' Well — that's according to my creed — let's have a sight 
 whilst we are in this here place, and stretch our limbs a bit.' Well, we 
 gets the proper machinery to work, a hos apiece for ourselfs, and one 
 for the darky wot v/as our outrider. This goes off all uncommon well, 
 to my thinking; but, lo and behold yer! when Mr. Snowball gets us 
 just to that 'ere place where we most wanted the bosses — ' Come ! ' says 
 the varmint, ' now,' says he, * you will exercise your own hoofs the rest 
 of the journey, a whilst I waits in this inn for your comin down again.'
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 139 
 
 Hearing this here, I declared open war ; but that jihilosopher there as 
 sits munching his mutton" (pointing to Turkey) " says, ' Well, I s'pose it's 
 the custom of the country.' ' Da — hem ! hang the custom of the coun- 
 try !' says I, nat'rally outrageous at the ideer ; 'who's a going to frubbish 
 up a matter of five bob for a ride, and then be forced to pad the hoof 
 arter all ? That's as bad,' says I, 'as riding in a sedan cheer, with his 
 bottom out ;' but all my logick was of no avail, so off I rolls, outrageous 
 corky, as you're all ready to swear. I, moreover, has the misfortune 
 in bouncing off in such a mortal hurry to split my b — hem ! — Well, I 
 bundles arter Turkey, who wor trudging on smoking his weed as com- 
 fortable as who but him. Seeing he took matters a that un, I held my 
 peas and lit my bakker, and in this way, arter some most orrifying 
 chinks which we looked at as we passed 'em, we ascended the roof. ' If 
 memory serves,' says Turkey to me, ' you a got a bottle of rum in 
 bond.' * In course, I have,' says I, ' else you didn't catch me so near 
 heaven as this.' Well, we munches a bun apiece, swigs the whole of 
 the rum, smokes our bakker, and falls asleep, both on us, as sound as a 
 church : when we come to ourselves there was a fog overhead, and all 
 around as thick as peasoujj, and we were as wet as a couple pound of 
 tripe. ' What is to be performed, Turkey ?' says I, ' Let's liquor,' 
 says he. 'Where's it to come from?' says I. 'Out of your pocket,' 
 says he. ' We emptied the last drop,' says I, ' and the bottle's broke.' 
 * In consequence of that event,' says Turkey, ' we be flummoxed.' 
 ' That's exactly as I suspects,' says I. So without further more ado, I 
 rolls myself into a hole in the rock like a hedgehog, and Turkey bun- 
 dles in by the side on me. He went to sleep in the crack of a grindle- 
 stone ; but I couldn't sleep a wink from the horrified howls, bellerings, 
 and whistlings in every direction. Howsomever, toward morning I did 
 get a wink or two ; but Turkey never woke till the sun was far up, and 
 then swore he would not descend till nearly night in consequence of the 
 view. I'm stiff and mortified in all my jints, and got the ear-ache into 
 the bargin, from listening to those horrid infernal dev — hem ! — things 
 wot surrounded us. — Ain't that the solid facts, Turkey ?" 
 
 " Never passed such a da — dreadful night since my cradle ! — never ! — 
 bottle me off if I did." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Burchell, after a hearty laugh at poor Moss and
 
 140 TIIK EMIGRANT. 
 
 his troubles, " let us hope you have been partially repaid for all you 
 have endured by the view from the mountain ? " , 
 
 " It is a view ! " cried Moss. " My eyes never rested upon the 
 like." 
 
 " I think now," said Miss Blair, " I cannot remain any longer without 
 looking at it, since Mr. Moss speaks so highly of it." 
 
 " I'll show you, Miss, with much pleasure," said Moss, " where I 
 and Turkey considers it the best spot, and what Turkey calls the 
 " glorious coo-die." 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Moss," said Miss Blair, rising 
 and following him, as in fact did the major part of the visitors. 
 
 Moss marched with a proud step to nearly the edge of the south-west 
 precipice, which at once unfolded all the panorama of Cape Town, Table 
 Bay, the Devil's Mountain — in front the country all round Wyne Bay, 
 and Constantia on the right, and the mighty Atlantic, uniting itself to 
 the vast Indian Ocean, to their left. *' Ain't this a glorious coo-die ?" 
 cried Moss, folding his arms like the statue of Napoleon. 
 
 *' Indeed," cried Miss Blair, " it is, Mr. Moss, one of the most mag- 
 nificent scenes I have ever beheld ! " 
 
 "Allow rne, mademoiselle," said Mr. Turkey, "to draw your atten- 
 tion to the streets of Cape Town ; they appear like net-work — how 
 delicately they are pencilled ! The fishermen, Miss, if you direct your 
 eye to the beach, appear moving upon the glowing sand like ' the poor 
 beetle that we tread upon,' Yes, memory serves — you are now 
 4,000 feet above them, and well may we exclaim with the immortal 
 William — 
 
 ' How fearful 
 And dizzy 'tis to cast one's eyes so low ! 
 The fishermen that walk upon the beacli 
 Appear like mice : and yon tall anchoring bark 
 Diminish'd to her cock. 
 
 The murinui'ing surge 
 That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes. 
 Cannot be heard so high.' " 
 
 " You have a spark of the celestial fire ! " said Mr. Clinton, who had 
 been intensely listening to Mr. Turkey. 
 
 " I have that envied spark you speak of," quoth Turkey, making a
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 141 
 
 low bow. " That spark hath managed one way or t'other to burn the 
 bottom of my pocket out, su- ; which same, thanks to the aforesaid spark, 
 k may aptly be compared to an awkward meshed net : the small fry im- 
 pudently slip through, and the large ones visit not the seas in which it 
 is cast. But a truce of pockets — it is but a thrice-told tale. Depend 
 upon it, sir, the man who ' stole the royal diadem' and put it in his 
 pocket, was a soulless wight — ' a radical of shreds and patches.' " 
 
 " What is the population of Cape Town, Mr. Clinton?" said Miss 
 Blair, taking her glass from her eye, and addressing that gentleman, 
 who produced the Cape Pocket-book, from which he read — " ' In 1831-2, 
 the census was, of free persons, white and coloured, males 6,410, fe- 
 males 6,949 ; of slaves, males 2,921, females 2,906. Total — males, 
 9,331, females 9,855, making in the grand total 19,186. But I should 
 presume at the present moment the population is about 25,000. I 
 merely conjecture that from the increase by immigration and otherwise." 
 
 " Bless me, to behold it I " exclaimed Miss Blair, looking at Cape 
 Town through her glass. " Who could imagine that in that small 
 speck were congregated four-and-twenty thousand soiils ? and as they 
 look so contemptible from this our trifling altitude, so must our great 
 globe itself from the throne of its Maker ! " 
 
 " And yet," said Mr. Turkey, " what an important atom is man ! — 
 how he swells, and blows, and fumes, and frets ! — how he, like the fly 
 who sat upon the axle of the carriage, related by ^sop — Yes, 
 memory serves — how he cries aloud, Great Heavens ! what a dust I 
 make ! " 
 
 " And what fantastic tricks," cried Miss Blair, *' he plays before that 
 great Heaven ! " 
 
 " Indeed does he," continued Mr. Turkey ; " and it makes, no 
 doubt it does, the angels in a melting mood." 
 
 " I do not think that is exactly the text," said Mr. Clinton to 
 Turkey. 
 
 "Fous avez raison, monsieur,'' replied Turkey ; " that is the sermon." 
 
 The day was beginning to wane, and at the sound of Mr. Burchell's 
 little silver bugle the party, in the shortest possible time, found them- 
 selves seated once more upon the grass ; and that good-humoured gen- 
 tleman, as he passed round the champagne, cried out for his toast —
 
 142 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 "Gentlemen, God bless the ladies!" and "God bless the ladies!" 
 went the round. Turkey, being never at a loss for mischief, insisted 
 upon the propriety of Moss returning thanks on their behalf; at which, 
 Moss seeing all eyes fixed full upon himself, was induced to believe 
 such was the fact, — therefore, without further ado, Moss, with the most 
 solemn and important face, thus spoke : — 
 
 " Gentlemen, by honouring the ladies you honour us all. I am 
 very proud to have the job to return thanks for 'em. From my earliest 
 days as I can call to mind, 1 was a most uncommon fellow arter — 
 hem ! — I — I — I feel myself quite flummoxed — hem ! — when I think 
 on 'em ! " 
 
 Moss sat down amid the most tremendous cheering, and Turkey, who 
 had led Moss into his difficulty, now was the first to laugh at and 
 banter him, which he did with an unsparing hand. The ladies, how- 
 ever, seeing the goodness of Moss's intention, assured him they were 
 proud in having so gallant and powerful a champion. — "And thus they 
 passed the merry time ! " 
 
 "All mounted?" cried Mr. Burchell, after they had descended the 
 rocky parts without accident. " There, Tom, get oiF your horse," 
 speaking to a domestic, " and let that gentleman who has lost his shoe 
 mount; and run and get a nag from the inn for the other gentleman." 
 
 These matters being satisfactorily arranged, the whole party, at the 
 invitation of Mr. Burchell, galloped across the plain to dine with him. 
 How they passed the evening, and what took place, is it not written in 
 the following chapter ?
 
 CHAPTER XXI r. 
 
 " O wine ! thou hast a charm for me, 
 Such charm as poets only see." 
 
 Bacchanalian Song. 
 
 The party arrived happily at Mr. Burchell's, every individual being 
 highly delighted with the expedition to the mountain, not even except- 
 ing the unfortunate Moss himself, vi^ho had, upon his arrival in town, 
 heen restored to perfect tranquillity by the purchase of another pair of 
 " understandings," as he was pleased to call them ; but, in this instance, 
 he would neither have boots nor shoes, but a kind of mongrel half-boot 
 or ankle-jack. Thus, sporting these, and taking the precaution of 
 calling at a perruquier's to have what little hair he had operated upon 
 by the artist's curling instruments, Mr. Moss, with a dignified air, 
 entered the hospitable mansion of Mr. Burchell. 
 
 Mr. Clinton handed in to the dining-room Miss Blair ; the Doctor 
 was honoured with the arm of the mamma — the Captain, Mrs. Burchell ; 
 Mr. Rennie handed in Miss Emily ; Mr. Turkey was observed arm-in- 
 arm with a- lady we have not the pleasure of knowing — Mr. Moss solus; 
 and the other parties we were not introduced to marched in good order 
 to the scene of action. 
 
 It was an excellent dinner, and the wine was, like the wit, sparkling. 
 The dessert drew forth universal admiration ; all were gay, the adven- 
 tures of the day created much discourse, and Moss was frequently called 
 upon " to illustrate the mountain." Nothing was wanting to add to 
 the festivities of the day. 
 
 The dinner being duly discussed — the wine, the dessert, and other 
 etceteras, — the ladies retired for a walk in the garden, and were speedily 
 followed by two or three gentlemen, among whom were Messrs. Turkey
 
 114 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 and Moss. Whilst these parties are enjoying the delightful evening in 
 Mr. Burchell's lovely garden, let us remain a short time longer at the 
 table, in order that we may collect as much information as we pos- 
 sibly can, in case we may in after-life turn our thoughts upon settling 
 in Southern Africa. Let us inquire as indefatigably as our friend Blair, 
 and learn what prospects it affords us ; for already we are enraptured 
 with the climate. Mr. Blair is in the act of speaking : — 
 
 " You were observing, Mr. Burchell, the great want the Colony 
 labours under as regards efficient labour. What advantages are there 
 held out to the poor artisan, for instance ?" 
 
 ** If you send vis here a turner, let us say, we will give him from £3 
 to £3 10s. a week : I have known, very lately, £4 given. A black- 
 smith would stand a similar chance ; as also wheelwrights, carpenters, 
 joiners, and other of those useful handicrafts. Any man, in fact, having 
 a trade, — unless it be a most unmanly one indeed, such as a weaver, — 
 might do marvellously well in Cape Town ; and whilst we offer him 
 these advantages, Vv'e do not deprive him of the reward of his industry-, 
 by taxing him to support the idle and disorderly. Here, indeed, we 
 cannot have healthy beggars or stalwart paupers : a child may earn his 
 very milk. The most stupid clown that ever cried 'Whoa!' to his 
 more intellectual horse in Britain, we would be thankful for here, and 
 give him very satisfactory wages, with board and lodging. Meat is 
 often Igd, to 2d. per lb., and that of excellent quality ; and vegetables 
 are abundant. It is to be lamented that the tide of Emigration — or, 
 rather, the fashion of Emigration — should not make a run to the Cape. 
 The passage is but a six weeks' one from England ; and if it were 
 double that time, what is such a trifle, when you are about it, in com- 
 parison to the advantageous results ? Men are poured in countless 
 swarms upon the already overcharged British Americas and United 
 States, and hundreds weekly are returning ruined and disappointed. 
 Let me ask, who ever returned from the Cape a complainer, or unre- 
 warded according to his merit ? Here the emigrant has no impene- 
 trable forest to contend with before he can sow a yard of land or erect 
 his hut. Here we have no terrible winter to oppose — 30 or 40 degrees 
 below zero, and bounding up in the summer to 120 or 130. We are 
 free from those fearful evils ; the mighty oceans which surround us 
 
 I
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 145 
 
 prevent those effects, and ensure us a most temperate and delightful 
 dime — such as if any other zone may have the happiness to hoast, 
 
 i cannot exceed. A man may take outdoor exercise lightly clad, here, at 
 any season of the year. And let me ask any right-thinking man, what 
 single circumstance can atone in comfort, or be such a grand material 
 in our happiness, as a glorious clime ? None, that I know of. We are 
 
 , exhilarated and gay — neither perish by snow, nor grill by intense heat. 
 
 I " Many individuals, who only look at the surface of things, have 
 called this Colony a land of arid deserts. Let such men look at our 
 returns, before they utter to the world such a naked falsehood. I will 
 merely take sheep, for instance, in a few districts : — In Stellenbosch, 
 there are no less than 130,000 ; in Worcester, 200,000 ; Swellendam, 
 100,000; George, 24,000; Uitenhage, 100,000; Albany, 100,000. 
 These are only, as you are well aware, but a part of our Colonial dis- 
 tricts ; the others are in equal proportion. Now reckoning one-fifteenth 
 of these as of Merino blood, it proves that we are a wealthy race, to 
 say nothing of the vast herds of oxen, horses, pigs, goats, &c., that we 
 possess. Our wine-trade in the immediate vicinity of Cape Town does 
 not answer, in spite of all we can do. We can produce very good wine, 
 but, perhaps, the clayey nature of the soil may be against us, to say 
 nothing of the want of protection and patronage — nay, even difficulties, 
 thrown as much as possible in our way by the Government. Cape 
 wines have formerly had in general a peculiar raciness, which much 
 injured their sale in European markets ; this was owing to the avidity 
 of the wine-growers, who attended more to quantity than quality. To 
 say we cannot grow wine fit to be drunk, is to libel us, and that most 
 grossly. Pray, gentlemen, what is your opinion of that wine before 
 
 you?" 
 
 " For my part," said Mr. Blair, " I consider this equal to that pro- 
 duced in any part of the world." 
 
 " And I," cried Mr. Rennie, " never drank any Madeira superior in 
 richness and mellowness to this in my life." 
 
 The Captain, who, with the Doctor, had returned to the charge of 
 the Pontac, pronounced it equal to Burgundy. And our humble selves, 
 who, in our quiet way, were drinking, hearing, and saying nothing, 
 
 u
 
 146 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 considered it the best proof of our thoughts upon its merits,, to deliber- 
 ately empty our bottle. 
 
 " Good !" said Mr. Burchell ; " that wine was grown upon my own 
 estate, about three miles from this, which, if your time permitted, I 
 should be happy to show you." 
 
 "I observe," said Mr. Blair, "you grow your grapes here as in 
 Normandy, on small bush vines ; not, as in some parts of the Continent, 
 and in Madeira also, on trellises." 
 
 *' Very few on trellises, sir, and those more for ornament about our 
 dwellings. A total reduction in our duties is what ought to take place ; 
 so that a man in England might have a bottle of light, exhilarating 
 wine before him, instead of the sleepy, bilious, eternally-presented 
 beer, followed in most cases by the injurious spirit. England, in bene- 
 fiting our Colony by that wise enactment respecting the abolition of 
 the duty, would confer a Teal boon upon the middling, and even lower 
 classes : we would gladly take your wares in exchange for our wine, 
 and thank you into the bargain. In 1834 we sent you, even hard as 
 the case is, double the amount you got from your dearly-beloved France, 
 which was, of our own brewing, 54,600 gallons ! What think you now 
 of our Cape rotgut, as some persons politely name it ? And we would, 
 and could, send you an incalculable supply ; but you won't let us." 
 
 " What think you, Mr. Burchell, of the Eastern Districts — will they 
 be enabled to carry competition with you?" inquired the Doctor. 
 
 " They will most likely beat us, sir," answered Mr. Burchell ; " for 
 the fine limestone knolls of Albany will rear a finer-flavoured grape 
 than, as I before remarked, our clayey soil will permit us. But I 
 recommend them, there, rather to send their brains wool-gathering ; 
 a subject with which I am but indifferently acquainted. But, lo ! here 
 is our Albany friend, Mr. Clinton, and he will give us a hint or two 
 concerning that country." 
 
 "With pleasure, gentlemen," said Mr. Clinton, " as far as I am able. 
 Was it wool of which you were speaking?" 
 
 " Just so. How much wool did you muster last year for the English 
 market ? " 
 
 " We sent upwards of ten thousand pounds' worth, and are increasing 

 
 THE EMIGRANT. 147 
 
 most surprisingly every year ; for we have spared no expense in the 
 importation of Saxon and Merino rams, both from England and New 
 South Wales." 
 
 " Your climate — is it the same as the Cape Town District?" inquired 
 Mr. Rennie. 
 
 " It may be several shades nearer the English, but the fineness of it 
 requires no winter provender for sheep ; and the numerous Salsola 
 plants, which flourish all over our beautiful park-like downs, entirely 
 prevent the fluke or rot. I consider Albany quite a pastoral country. 
 Wine would succeed well, as is evidenced by some of us every year : 
 but we are," said he, laughing, " rather more sheepish at present than 
 otherwise." 
 
 I " Pray," inquired Mr. Blair, " if it is not too intrusive, for what sum 
 might a gentleman establish himself comfortably as a sheep-farmer in 
 Albany, supposing him to possess a tolerably respectable farm of his 
 own ?" 
 
 "Why, sir," answered Mr. Clinton, smiling, "we talk very large 
 
 I when we mention our estates, but very small when we are about to 
 settle for them — that is, as it regards the quantity of land necessary for 
 
 I your operations on the one hand, and the small sum necessary for its 
 purchase on the other. Thus, land in Albany, according to circum- 
 stances, varies from Is. 6d. to 20s. : the average price for good farms 
 is 4s. 6d. or 5s. Suppose you purchased a good full-sized farm, and 
 began like a patriarch of old, say a farm of 6,000 acres, at Is. 6d. per 
 acre, £450 purchases it, payable in three instalments — the last instal- 
 
 E ment at the end of the second year. The Government transfer duty 
 
 I upon it is £4 per cent., and most easily effected, vdthout the least fear of 
 
 ' purchasing a mortgaged farm, as is too often the case with the American 
 
 r land- sharks." 
 
 I " Pray, sir," inquired Mr. Blair, " what stock of sheep do you reckon 
 for such a farm ? " 
 
 "Say, sir, 3,000 native ewes, at 2s., £300; introduce 40 Saxon 
 rams amongst them, at £12 each, £480 more ; or, if you did not wish 
 to wait patiently for the proper crop, purchase at once a flock of half 
 or three-quarter Merino bloods, varying from 3s. 6d. to 15s. each." 
 " Are horses and oxen dear ? "
 
 14-8 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 "No, sir; horses vary from £4 to £10; cows, from £2 to £5. A 
 man with such a farm, and such a stock upon it, cannot fail to thrive." 
 
 " But you have the rust in your wheat I " said Mr. Blair. 
 
 "It is a kind of periodical disease, and has not appeared several 
 years. The best wheat in Mark Lane has been from the Cape." 
 
 '* Well, sir, you give me a most encouraging account of the Colony : 
 I half regret that I am going any further. Pray what did your wool 
 fetch at the last London sales ? " inquired Mr. Blair. 
 
 "We sent, sir, 1,121 bales, which was considered very much below 
 the average quantity, as well as quality ; but it realised, i. e. best, from 
 Is. 3d. to Is. 5d. Now, spurred on as we are by the perseverance of 
 our Australian friends, we devote annually more attention to the picking 
 and washing, and I am much mistaken if our Southern lands will not 
 in a few years kick the Continent out of the market." 
 
 " I am, sure, sir, we are very much indebted to you for your 
 kindness." 
 
 " Gentlemen," said a servant entering at the moment, " the ladies 
 wait tea."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 " So let us welcome peaceful evening in."— Cowper. 
 
 It is ever a most pleasing sight to behold a cheerful tea-table, with all 
 its paraphernalia of hissing urn, smoking muffins, plates of toast, 
 biscuit, cake, and other delightful attendants, — and to see all this sur- 
 rounded by a group of happy, comfortable-looking faces, nicely assorted, 
 about to indulge in that ever-to-be-lauded beverage, which " cheers 
 but not inebriates" — it is altogether, we affirm, take it " all and all," 
 ever a pleasing spectacle. 
 
 Upon this occasion, nothing was wanting to support its general 
 character. The table groaned under its pile of confectionery, and 
 hundreds of round-headed Chinese laughed from every side of basin 
 and cup, as if expressing their satisfaction in finding themselves in such 
 very good company. Mrs. Burchell at once established herself in the 
 onerous office of dealing out, with liberal hand, the fragrant cup. Mr. 
 Turkey sat, with the most easy grace imaginable, on her left, rendering 
 that lady, ever and anon, any little service that lay in his power ; 
 whilst our old friend Moss was stationed beside a lady of the African 
 tinge, to whom he was detailing, in scarcely audible voice, " how he 
 took off them 'ere tight boots, and how he rode through the town, draw'd 
 by twenty bullocks, in a waggon." Mr. Blair sat beside Mr. Burchell ; 
 and the other gentlemen, whom we had not the honour of knowing, 
 were very nicely distributed, male and female, round the board, forming, 
 as Moss would have echoed Turkey, " a grand coo-die." 
 
 It has ever been a subject of remark with us, and no doubt with 
 many others, by what fits and starts conversation is (particularly 
 amongst the English) carried on. At once there will be the most 
 fearful burst of eloquence from every individual assembled, reuderuig
 
 150 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 each inaudible, seeing that all are orators : — Presto ! and a dead and 
 unbroken silence reigns, — unless some philanthropist, willing to show 
 signs of animation, and anxious to keep all the faculties from repose, 
 suddenly, and with shrill and echoing sound, forces a volume of air 
 down his nasal promontory, varying the notes, as the piper plays his 
 bagpipes, sometimes by jerking his elbow to spur the bellows, and 
 again by the delicate exercise of his digits. So it was, as it might be 
 assured, upon this occasion. Just as they were all seated, a profound 
 calm ! some looking at the carpet, as if deej^ly engaged in finding out 
 the vicissitudes of the pattern ; others watched the wonders of Provi- 
 dence, that could cause a musquito to fly singing from a candle with 
 his legs singed off. Moss amused himself by a trick which seemed 
 highly to amuse several of the company ; he contrived to place his 
 thick, fat, sausage-looking fingers closely together, and, by at the same 
 time approximating his wrists, he caused his two dumpy thumbs to 
 gambol and summerset over each other, as if he were endeavouring to 
 mesmerise himself, to the great delight of all who beheld him, as well 
 as evidently to his own great satisfaction. 
 
 The first cup of tea had been duly deposited in each lady and 
 gentleman's hand, as they formed rather more than a semicircle round 
 ihejire (for " Burchell insisted," so Mrs. B. said, "upon having a fire") ; 
 the first section of muffin was already in the wane — the tea and the 
 mufiin are gone — Mrs. Burchell turneth the tap of the urn into the tea- 
 pot again, hut not until she has put some more tea into the aforesaid, 
 which caused Moss to whisper the dark lady, " was a decided improve- 
 ment, he conceived, to the English way of doing business." 
 
 What was there in that cup of tea ? what magic did the mufiin pos- 
 sess ? Is there aught in a few dried and shrivelled-looking autumn 
 refuse, and a dash of hot water upon it, that can account for the won- 
 ders it produces ? Is it electricity? is it galvanism? or what can it be? 
 We give it up, but merely state facts as they occurred. No sooner was 
 the first cup of tea emptied, than 
 
 " A change came o'er the spirit of the dream " — 
 
 all were vociferous, not one voice remained silent. Mr. Clinton, near 
 whom our lone selves happened to sit, was the only one who talked 
 
 I
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 151 
 
 within compass ; him we could scarcely hear, and for that very reason 
 applied our tympanum closer to him, that we might not lose any of his 
 valuahle information. 
 
 The first words that gentleman breathed to Miss Blair were, " I hope 
 you do not feel the effects of your exertions to-day. Miss Blair," 
 
 " Not in the least, I thank you, Mr. Clinton : I am remarkably 
 strong, capable of a vast deal of fatigue." 
 
 " You appear to look even all the better for it ; though I was much 
 concerned, at owe period of the ascent, to see you look quite over- 
 done." 
 
 " I rather felt the climbing, I must say." 
 
 " But," continued Mr. Clinton, " I could not but remark how care- 
 less you were of those precipices — those paralysing chasms which have 
 prevented most ladies from passing them : in fact, there are but few 
 ladies who attempt the ascent ; and out of those few, very, very small 
 is the number who have the strength and resolution to gain the sum- 
 mit. I was delighted to see you and your dear sister exhibit those 
 traits of valour ever found accompanying the most tender-hearted, the 
 most angelic of women." 
 
 Miss Blair slightly blushed, and faintly uttered, as she pressed the 
 cambric to her lips, and slightly coughed — " I am sure, Mr. Clinton, 
 you are very flattering," 
 
 Mr. Clinton proceeded, in a still softer key — '* Not at all. Miss 
 Blair ; it was the remark of all the party. I am the humble instru- 
 ment to apprise you, that you possess gifts rare and invaluable in a 
 woman, — the gifts of being beautiful, without being " 
 
 " Mr. Clinton !— Mr. Clinton !— Mr. Clinton ! " 
 
 " I beg pardon, who addressed me ?" 
 
 " / did,'^ said Mr. Burchell. " Mr. Blair wishes to know if pigs 
 thrive well in Albany ? " 
 
 Mr. Clinton was inclined to laugh, but seeing how anxiously Mr. 
 Blair was looking at him for an answer, 'returned — " Very well indeed ! 
 — they prove valuable stock," 
 
 " Then, I presume you came from Albany ? " said Miss Blair, in- 
 quiringly, to Mr. C. 
 
 " Yes, Miss, I do. I have a grazing farm there ; and I wish your
 
 152 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 papa had thought proper to direct his steps to that lovely and pro- 
 mising country, in preference to proceeding — " 
 
 " I rather regret myself he did not also," said Miss Blair ; " I am 
 fond of Africa." 
 
 "Are you so?" ejaculated Mr. Clinton, with a suddenness that 
 startled the lady he was addressing. Then sinking his voice to low 
 G in alto, he uttered, " Thank God ! she loves Africa ! — Are you fond," 
 said he, raising his voice into the still hardly audible, — " are you fond 
 of — I was going to ask were you fond of flowers ?" 
 
 " Passionately." 
 
 " Albany is spangled over every hill and plain. Are you an admirer 
 of park scenery?" 
 
 "Of all things." 
 
 " And dells, and mountains, and Nature in her pristine robes ? I 
 have no doubt you are !" 
 
 " I am very — perhaps rather too — romantic." 
 
 " Then you certainly must — " 
 
 " Mr. Clinton ! Mr. Clinton !" 
 
 " What gentleman calls ?" 
 
 " Do you not feed the pigs principally upon maize ? " inquired 
 Mr. Burchell, again interrupting the vexed Clinton. 
 
 "Yes, we do, sir; it grows luxuriantly, and answers well. — I was 
 about to say, Miss, that a mind cultivated like yours, with a soul 
 capable of enjoying Nature's glorious works, — that it were indeed pity 
 you should — " 
 
 "Mr. Clinton!" . 
 
 " Now, sir." 
 
 " What may be the general price of good milch cows ?" 
 
 " About fifty shillings, sir." 
 
 " I was about to say, Miss Blair, that it grieves me when I look 
 upon you, and consider — " 
 
 " Mr. Clinton!" cried the persevering Burchell, " what's the average 
 milk a good cow gives ?" 
 
 Mr. Clinton, in a low voice, to Miss Blair, said, "I'll be hanged if 
 I'll hear him this time ! — I was about to say — " 
 
 " Come, gentlemen!" said Mr. Moss, — " come, gentlemen, some of
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 153 
 
 yer'l favour the ladies with a song. Come, Mr. Burchell, set the game 
 agoin ! — the tea-tackle's all cleared away. Come, Turkey, tip us a 
 stave ! What 's the good o' yer sitting mum-chance, like a collier 
 waiting for his turn to come up the shaft ? Let the ladies hear you 
 pipe that jolly stave about * Yer harp and lute wor all o' the store;' 
 or any on 'em — we're not partickler, air we?" 
 
 This sudden and determined sally on the part of Mr. Moss quite 
 disorganised the conversation and ideas of the whole party, and Moss 
 was delighted to find the room resounding with laughter. Amongst 
 the rest, Turkey vied with Mr, Burchell, as to who could laugh the 
 heartiest. Moss was not like a nervous M.P. to be put down by a 
 laugh as hearty as ever any " Moss the Second" raised in Parliament; 
 on the contrary, he interpreted it as the result of his masterly wit, and 
 ■ forthwith became inexorable for a song — no matter to him who the 
 vocalist might be, he resolutely maintained that the ladies "wouldn't 
 be pacified arout one." He valiantly challenged Miss Burchell, Blair, 
 and all in succession, without effect ; and in his despair (as was much to 
 be dreaded) he actually prepared to sing himself, and had commenced, 
 in Stentorian voice, " Oh ! the cooling curds and cream," when Mr. 
 Turkey quieted the tempest by assuring him that before the company 
 broke up, he himself would endeavour to please Mr. Moss and the 
 company by a song. 
 
 Thus assured, Mr. Moss remained for a considerable period a quiet 
 listener — merely touching the lady on his left with his elbow, and softly 
 ■saying, " You'll have it just now, only keep yer ears open." 
 
 Mr. Clinton found himself so continually applied to for information 
 ■concerning his District, that he was unable fox one minute together to 
 hold converse with Miss Blair; so after apologising to her, and saying 
 with marked emphasis, it was her papa that he was going to talk with, 
 he crossed the room and joined that gentleman, 
 
 Mr. Burchell was just observing, " The Hottentots have been the 
 most ill-treated, unjustly-stigmatised people under the sun. They 
 have, in the first instance, been deprived, without ceremony and by the 
 most barbarous means, of their country ; they have been hunted, like 
 the hyena, from their homes ; they have been shot down, entrapped, 
 
 X
 
 154 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 and mutilated in countless hordes — oppressed by a relentless and igno- 
 rant savage, more sanguinary and terrible in his nature than the ' lion 
 of the land ;' they have been swept by violence from the earth, and are 
 no longer a nation. And now — even now, at this enlightened period, 
 there can be found men who brand them with every infamous epithet, 
 and even have the audacity to proclaim that their total annihilation could 
 not be considered in any other light to the Colony than a blessing ! 
 Let such as these behold the valuable ranks of indefatigable and easily - 
 disciplined Hottentot soldiers, that are of such incalculable benefit on 
 our frontiers. Let them look to the Kat River Settlement, where, some 
 years ago, 3,000 of them were stationed as settlers, each with his plot 
 of land — let them behold that crimeless community, where, in a 
 population as mentioned, no conviction took place for six years, — and 
 let them see what crops that supposed soulless and worthless vagrant 
 can produce! Look what a patient, trustworthy herdsman he makes. 
 As a waggoner, where can be found his equal ? Let us not look over 
 the injuries he has endured, and the little stimulus he has had (save the 
 thong) to exertion, before we pronounce that he is unable to exercise 
 his limbs or his thoughts for his own or his master's benefit, or before 
 we pronounce ' vacuum sine mente popellum.' A man's disposition 
 may be easily changed by treatment, as may that of any other animal. 
 The spirit may be fired with noble ambition by kind and proper beha- 
 viour, or it may degenerate into brutal apathy by the heavy curse that 
 weighs down the neck of the slave. The cowardly, the iron-ruled lion 
 of your exhibitions, suflfering the utmost indignities, and patiently sub- 
 mitting, is not the same animal we catch a glimpse of occasionally lurk- 
 ing round our sheep craals : the one is crushed until his nature forsakes 
 him, and the other, like the pastoral Hottentot of old, is the free, the 
 bounding king of the wilderness." 
 
 " I quite agree with you in your observations, Mr. Burchell," said 
 Mr. Clinton ; " the Hottentot is a valuable adjunct to the Colony, and 
 possesses many traits in his character worthy the imitation of those 
 white rascals who libel him. He is patient, innocent, sober, and faith- 
 ful ; and if he is fond of sleep, I plead guilty to the same indictment. 
 Certainly, in intellect, in form, and Colonial value, the Bushman throws
 
 THE EMIGRANT. " 155 
 
 him far into the shade ; but let lis civilise him by degrees in the arts, 
 and then see what we shall make of him : he will be a slow, but sure 
 pupil." 
 
 " From what little information I can collect," said Mr. Turkey, who 
 had been paying the strictest attention to all that had been said upon 
 the subject, " it would appear that the Missionaries have met with but 
 little success in their gigantic undertakings in Southern Africa. I 
 imagine they began where they should have left off." 
 
 " There is much truth, sir," replied Mr. Burchell, " in your observa- 
 tion ; but they have made, according to appearance, many sincere con- 
 verts : not but what it appears iiTational to attempt explaining Chris- 
 tianity to men whose minds are unable to comprehend the benefit of 
 agi-iculture." 
 
 "At all events, geography is much indebted to them," said Mr. Tur- 
 key. " They have extended our knowledge of South Africa much ; and 
 it is to be hoped they may see the propriety of first civilising the 
 savage, before they open to his bewildering brain such startling truths, 
 and such, to him, totally incomprehensible mysteries, as the Divine 
 Revelation." 
 
 " I believe, sir," said Mr. Burchell, " that system is now more gene- 
 rally pursued. The mind is in some measure prepared before the good 
 seed is sown. One of the greatest difficulties under which the Mis- 
 sionaries have had to labour, has been their having to address a people 
 whose language has not been reduced to any written standard. That 
 difficulty has at length been overcome, and a grammar and dictionary 
 of their language has been published by the indefatigable Mr. Boyce : 
 this will render for the future the study of the language comparatively 
 easy." 
 
 " Have you any periodical literature ?" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Turkey ; we have a monthly journal, and several news- 
 papers. The taste for periodical literary productions is very nuich 
 upon the increase amongst the Dutch, Altogether, I think we are at 
 length in the right track, if we take Jupiter's advice to the countryman, 
 and put our shoulders to the wheel." 
 
 The wine had again been sparkling on the board, and tlie luscious
 
 i5Q - THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 fruit, mostly gathered by Mrs. Burchell herself from her garden, was 
 in the highest state of perfection. 
 
 " You see," said Mr. Clinton to Miss Blair, by whose side he had 
 again discovered himself — " you see what we can produce in this country, 
 and with very little attention and expense." 
 
 " I do indeed, sir, and am quite delighted ; the figs are the finest I 
 ever saw," replied Miss Blair. 
 
 Mr. Clinton continued, — " I have a very large and productive gar- 
 den ; but — it wants the fair hand of woman to train up the tendrils 
 that are drooping alone for her presence. I would I could see that 
 speedily effected. But I am doomed to disappointment ! I never see 
 a lovely form, and begin to bless the fortune that has at length deigned 
 to hear my prayer, but away she has fled ! I never look upon your 
 happy countenance, but I think of the hated bark at anchor in Table 
 Bay, that is impatient to bear you from my sight. Yes," said he 
 mournfully, *' I am a doomed man ! — 
 
 ' And ever thus, from childhood's hour, 
 I 've seen my fondest hopes decay : 
 I never loved a tree or flower, 
 But it was first to fade away.* 
 
 And now — even now, I am but a moment in bliss, ere everything again 
 must be toni from me ! The Captain tells me, you sail the day after 
 
 to-monow ! Would that I was but, happier, far happier had it 
 
 been for me had we never met ! I shall stand upon the mountain alone, 
 and watch you as you sail farther and still farther away. You will 
 fade like a setting star in the mists of the horizon, and Clinton will 
 return melancholy to his deserted — his cheerless home !" 
 
 " Mr. Clinton ! Mister Clinton !" 
 
 " What gentleman calls ?" 
 
 " I do," cried Moss. " Come, Turkey won't sing ! He 's uncom- 
 monly out of his usual good manners. This lady here as sits by me 
 says as how she 's actilly a-dying for a song. Mr. Burchell, come ! If 
 nobody won't oblige the ladies, never let it be said that Ochus Moss, of 
 Marl'bun, forgot himself! — Ilcm ! hem ! Here goes ! —
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 157 
 
 ' Oh ! the cooling curds and cream ! 
 Oh ! the coo' " 
 
 " Stop, Mr, Moss — stop, sir ; Miss Blair will kindly favour us with 
 a song," cried Mr. Clinton, rising, and handing that lady to the 
 piano. 
 
 " Come, that 's better nor bargained for," said Moss. " Come, now, 
 this is a treat !" 
 
 Mr. Clinton turned over the leaves of the music-book, and Miss 
 Blair selected the following, which she sang very sweetly and wi th 
 exquisite taste : — 
 
 " Hark, hark ! 'tis the song of the fisherman bold — 
 He is off to the sea, and his cargo is sold ; 
 In the blue Dardanelles he soon will be, 
 And blithe goes his boat o'er the moonlit sea. 
 
 There's a maid on the shore still lingering stands — 
 But happy she '11 rove o'er the hardening sands, 
 
 For the fisherman's wife she has promised to be. 
 And soon he 'II return from the moonlit sea." 
 
 A shout of deafening applause and violent clapping of hands broke 
 forth from Mr. Moss the moment Miss Blair left the piano. He de- 
 clared—" Never in all my bom days did ever my ears get drunk afore 
 with music. By gum ! now, bottle — Hem ! Well, did ye hear that, 
 Mister Turkey ? Mister Burchell, did yer ? I say, ma'm, did yer 
 keep yer ears open ?" 
 
 Every one was as delighted as Mr. Moss was with Miss Blair's 
 singing, and paid her a very high compliment. When, in course of con- 
 versation, it came out that Miss B. herself was the fair authoress of the 
 composition, Mr. Clinton sat motionless, and made no sign. 
 
 So and in such manner did the evening, as all evenings will, whether 
 passed happily or enshrouded in sorrow, flit rapidly away. The bell 
 tolled one — they heard the solemn knell, and thought differently from 
 that unhappy poet Young, and still maintained that 
 
 " 'Twere wiviise in man to give Time tongue."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 " Thus the dark tale which history doth unfold, 
 I knew." Shelley. 
 
 " Now, Pauline, I hope thy little panting heart is more at rest. You 
 hear what Sir Ben says — that there can be no doubt of your finding 
 him at the Sydney Barracks, and that the probability is, he will be 
 employed as a clerk. You hear, he condemns loudly the glaring in- 
 justice of the sentence. Convicting a man upon circumstantial evidence, 
 he maintains, (unless it be most extraordinarily strong,) is one of the 
 blots upon our legislation. Many hundreds, no doubt, have been the 
 utterly innocent that have fallen victims to these, too often unjust, 
 circumstantial appearances. It is a beautiful feature in our benign law, 
 that if there exist a doubt, the prisoner shall be entitled to it. Besides, 
 Sir Ben observes, that even admitting Mr. Charles to have slain the 
 man, he might have met him in the meadow by accident — the grudge 
 or ill-feeling rankling from their quarrel or disj)ute might, in that lonely 
 hour of night, have broken out fiercely again, and from words to blows 
 is not even a step ; these blows are dealt, especially in the dark, at 
 random, and I suspect the wranglers are not particular upon what part 
 they fall, so that they take effect and ' tell ' upon their adversary. The 
 man in this brawl might have received the blow upon his skull from 
 Charles's stick (for I hear it was proved he had one) that caused his 
 death. Then, it is nothing more, in Sir Ben's and my opinion, than 
 manslaughter. But, unhappily, you had a severe judge — an old and 
 impatient man, fatigued with the length of the previous Circuit, irri- 
 tated by disease, and aggravated by the length of the trial. Sir Ben 
 knows the man, and calls him ' Jeffries Secundus.' Be that as it may, 
 I repeat, you were very unhappy in your judge — his charge to the
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 159 
 
 jury was shameful ; aud I fear it is too often the case with a judge, to 
 bias the minds of a jury iu his address to them : he forgets that he is 
 placed there as a judge, not -d juryman. What business was it of his to 
 recommend ' that the jury pay strict attention to their important duty, 
 which duty ivonld not he discharged to the country unless they found 
 the 'prisoner guilty'' ? Of course, little could be expected from so mer- 
 ciful a recommendation ; for too often the jury is drafted from busy, 
 ignorant men, who are empanneled against their will, and kept shut up 
 in that box hour after hour, not attending to the quibbles of law in 
 which they have no interest, and with which they are heartily dis- 
 gusted. Their pounds-shillings-and-pence affairs are in possession of 
 their minds, and not the cross-examination of witnesses by tedious 
 counsel ; and it is too frequently only when a sentence is about to be 
 passed, and the judge gives his gratuitous and uncalled-for 'kick of the 
 beam,' that the jury are aroused from their slumbers ! Be this true 
 only to a certain extent, I shall ever consider a judge's interference with 
 the minds of a jury as a work, to say the least of it, of supererogation." 
 
 Thus did Lady Briscoe harangue Pauline, who, " poor thing," as her 
 amiable friend called her, was entirely of Sir Benjamin's opinion, that 
 the trial was infamously conducted ; that the judge more infamously 
 gave a foial bias to the jviry ; and, lastly, and most infamous of all, 
 to transport for life, upon such a jumble of improbabilities and far- 
 fetched inconsistencies, poor Chai-les — it entirely bewildered Pauline's 
 imagination with the enormity of the offence the judge had committed ; 
 but it very much relieved her mind to learn, that, after all her journey- 
 ing, she should at last see him, and that probably before any great lapse 
 of time. 
 
 Lady Briscoe skipped playfully upon the lawn with her favourite 
 little grandchildren, and Pauline retired to her study, where she could 
 turn over all she had heard, and feast upon the opinion of the dear old 
 Sir Benjamin. However, she was not to indulge the golden thoughts, 
 for when she had fairly entered her room, there sat Susan, and, above 
 all occupations, was engaged writing a letter ! The novelty of such a 
 sight entirely drove all melancholy ideas from the mind of Pauline ; 
 and, as she stood with the door in her hand, and saw the unwieldy 
 form of Susan spread half over the table, her huge, round, red arm,
 
 160 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 holding at full length a long quill — and, above all, heard her, with 
 her nose close upon the paper, spelling, most erroneously and ridicul- 
 ously, letter after letter as they appeared in perfect Sanscrit characters 
 upon the page — was too irresistible, and Pauline did what she had not 
 done for a long time before" — she laughed loud and heartily. Susan, 
 thus interrupted so unseasonably in her studies, turned round her 
 blushing face to reconnoitre the intruder ; and when she saw that her 
 mistress had caught her in the very fact, and taking free liberty with 
 her desk, ink, and paper, her confusion knew no bounds. She broke 
 out into a thousand apologies.-— 
 
 " Well, I never ! To think of missus catching me on the hop ! 
 Well, I 'm very ashamed ! Well, it 's the fust time — I 'm sure. Well, 
 I never did ! " 
 
 She was soon consoled by Pauline saying, " Never mind, Susan, I 
 will take a walk in the garden : proceed with your epistle — don't make 
 any apologies. There, you are welcome." 
 
 " Well, now, that is kind, dear ma'am ;— but I 'm terribly flvim- 
 bustered about the spellin the words ; would you have the kindness to 
 hear if I have made 'em out intelligent ? " standing up and offering the 
 manuscript to Pauline, who bade Susan read the letter ; but Susan, 
 though she had but just composed it, found herself unequal to the task, 
 (something similar to ourselves, when we had, in days of yore, written 
 a Latin exercise, and, after all, could not for the life of us make any 
 account of it.) Her mistress, seeing her predicament, took the letter, 
 and deciphered as follows : — 
 
 " Deer Molly, 
 " Since I seed yer i ev bin sheepwracked twice, and throwd up a mony 
 times — hif you did but see the cuntrees wot i see, yude bles yerself — here we 
 are in the deserts of Hafriker, amung all men of culler, and big bee ives on 
 thair heds ; you wud stair like a throttled rat if you coud but clap your eis on 
 em — one hevening i was a workin out, and one on em cums up to me and sais, 
 
 sais be, i like you for a feller — in course i up an sais, get out, you black 
 
 nigger — but i repentid arterwards, cos he was not black, but a broun culler, 
 and by all menes a hansum feller, an bis teeth is like hiverry, they be — he as 
 found out were i liv, and cums every day arter me— i do not think they air 
 such a bludthusty set of filistines as the fokes mek beleve; its ony them as 
 
 aint traviled and suffird sliecpwrack as ses as they is Well, on thusday i 
 
 works out agin, thinkiu within myself if i shud mete him agin i wud spake to
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 161 
 
 him; and so i did mete him, and i did spake to him, and he sais, sais 
 he " 
 
 Here the manuscript became so completely unintelligible, that Pau- 
 line, notwithstanding her eager curiosity to proceed, could not decipher 
 the remainder of the contents, and was obliged to give up the task in 
 despair, and leave Susan to complete the epistle in her own style. 
 
 ******
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 " Rosy red the hills appear 
 With the light of morning, 
 Beauteous clouds in ether clear 
 All the East adorning." Montgomery. 
 
 Glad broke the morning of the 10th, and the blue peter waved from 
 the mast of the " Ocean Queen," reflecting upon the bosom of the 
 placid bay — a signal to those lingerers on shore not to be mistaken. 
 The wind, gentle as it was, scarcely perceptible, like a maiden's sigh, 
 curled up a ripple that seemed lazily moving toward Australia's shores. 
 Numerous now the little skiffs employing their farewell hour in crowd- 
 ing upon the almost surfeited crew another and still another basket of 
 fruit from the shore, lazily now over the side of the vessel taking a 
 parting look of that land which had been to them, whilst they revelled 
 upon it, a kind, a delightful, a happy shore. And now many among 
 them for ever had left it — the friends and the flowers that a brief inti- 
 macy had endeared to them were to disappear shortly from their view ; 
 and though the morning was gay and came rejoicing over the eastern 
 hills, yet where is the heart that feels not a pang at parting, and where 
 is the eye that refuses one tributary tear to the land — to the friends — 
 that, in all human probability, we are to behold no more ? If such a 
 one there be, let him pursue his lonely, his unenvied, his miserable 
 career, whilst we ourselves will heave a heavy sigh, and breathe a 
 hearty " God bless you!" as we unwillingly turn our eyes to the hori- 
 zon, that will shortly hide all from our sight. M 
 
 The last boat of the steerage emigrants had reached the vessel — her 
 first gun was fired — her sails hung lazily, flapping the masts — the mate . 
 gave the word, ** Shorten in the cable," and all was prepared for the 
 
 
 i
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 163 
 
 sea. The voice of the seamen in their rude chorus echoed over the 
 bay, and struck the unwilling ear of more than one of the passengers 
 that were about to depart. On the pier, waiting for their father, stood 
 the Misses Blair : — Miss Emily was watching intently the process of 
 unloading a barge alongside, full of Indian commodities ; and Miss 
 Blair stood in conversation with Mr. Clinton, upon whose arm she had 
 hung in her progress to the pier. 
 
 " There she lies, beautiful as a swan, but hateful to me as the Sty- 
 gian stream," breathed Mr. Clinton, as a tear trembled on his eyelid. 
 " Yes, there she lies ! Heaven be propitious to thee, thou gallant bark, 
 and let thee land in safety thy thrice-precious charge ! — And you really 
 will, dearest Miss Blair — you have promised me one line, that I may 
 be happy, and learn you have arrived safely ?" 
 
 '* I have done so, Mr. Clinton ; and I assure you, you may depend 
 upon that promise, which shall, if 1 live, be faithfully fulfilled." 
 
 " Thank you, thank you, a thousand times ! Now will I give way 
 to joy — now is a load removed from my soul. Thank you — thank 
 you !" And Clinton smiled as he sharply to himself repeated the words. 
 
 Miss Blair stole a glance at his face, and she saw the big round tear 
 rolling slowly down his sunburnt cheek ; and his eye looked glassy, as 
 another was filling to overflowing the lid. She then felt more than 
 language the most refined or pen the most fertile could depict ; it spoke 
 in silent but impressive language that her fate was not indiff'erent to 
 Clinton, and as so she dwelt upon the pleasing thought. A sigh 
 swelled her bosom, and demanded escape ; she struggled hard to hold 
 it longer captive — but her very struggling weakened the walls of its 
 prison, and it was gone ! Clinton heard that sigh ; it awoke him from 
 his dream — it fell upon his ear, and it took up its seat upon his heart. 
 That single sigh, that had filled one bosom to overflowing, now had 
 entered another — had dethroned the reigning powers of the soul, and 
 established itself sole monarch upon the agitated heart of Clinton. 
 Who shall dare to assert that love demands words 1 No ! there is the 
 spirit of love in the inaudible zephyr that fans the evening lake ; there 
 is love written visibly on the tablet of the unspotted lily ; and there is 
 love in the roar, in the howl of the storm. His throne ! who shall say 
 but he occupies the heart 1 His language ! who shall assert that it flies
 
 ID^ THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 not from the petals of a flower? He is an intelligible sprite, but 
 changeable and difficult of access ; but when once the silken clue is 
 found that leads to his retreat, oh ! forsake it not till you have bound 
 his wings ; and, oh ! above all, treat the captive with gentleness, and 
 feed him upon the most besilken of flowers — 
 
 " For, oh ! if rude storms chance to sever 
 His silken bonds, he 's gone for ever," 
 
 We may dwell no more upon this celestial subject. Our home is 
 yonder vessel, that lies laughing in the sun upon the gentle bosom of 
 the deep, beckoning us not to delay, for she has already prepared her 
 wings to fly with us gallantly over the singing wave. 
 
 We are once more upon thy snowy deck, thou " Queen of the 
 Ocean !" Once more we forsake the flowery shore, and are prepared to 
 ride upon thee, bounding over many an unfathomed mile of sea. Away ! 
 
 " Let go the mainsail ! starboard !" 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir." 
 
 " Keep your eye well on the compass there. Where are you taking 
 us to ? Starboard a little." 
 
 " Starboard it is, sir." 
 
 " Luff"— keep your luff"." 
 
 " Ay, ay ; luff" it is, sir." 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, here we are ; beautiful day — wind just upon the 
 quarter, jibbing round aft. Mr. Wilson, get the larboard stunsails on 
 her ; let 's make her walk the water. Heave the log there, you boy ! 
 Pipe all hands to grog ; give 'em extra dose." 
 
 " Thus fairly oflf," said Mr. Blair to Turkey, who stood, with his 
 hands in his pockets, intently gazing upon the shore. 
 
 " 1 'm looking at this boat pulling away with such vigour." 
 
 " So am T, sir," said a lady wrapt in a cloak, who proved to be 
 Miss Blair. " By the glass, I can see some one waving a handkerchief 
 towards us; I'll inform the Captain. — Captain! look at this boat 
 pulling at such a tremendous rate after us." 
 
 "Where's the glass?" 
 
 The Captain had no sooner applied the glass to his eye, than he gave 
 the word, *' Back the main-yard. Here 's somebody left behind. God 
 
 I
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 165 
 
 bless us ! how provoking to lose a minute, such wind as this, from the 
 carelessness of some foolish bodies !" 
 
 The boat continued approaching the vessel with great rapidity, and 
 a person was distinctly seen sitting in the stern sheets actively employed 
 in waving a handkerchief, and immediately on her right a man waving, 
 with all his endeavours, his hat. As the party drew near enough to be 
 distinguished clearly who they were who so nearly escaped losing their 
 passage, it proved to be Susan and Moss, who sat with their eyes upon 
 full stretch, and their mouths loudly vociferating, in the utmost dread 
 that they should even yet be left behind. 
 
 As soon as the boat was alongside, Susan was swung up in the bight 
 of a rope, and Moss was not long in following her example. 
 
 "Well," said the Captain, " you are here. — Square the yards, Mr, 
 Mate. — Well, sir, and my lady, it was a touch and go, your game : one 
 more five minutes, and you would have toiled after us, like Time after 
 Shakspeare, in vain." 
 
 " Should we? Well, thank God for all things ! here we are," cried 
 Moss, eyeing himself and companion in trouble with the greatest satis- 
 faction. "Where's Mr. Turkey? Well, Captain, it was a near go — 
 I was in a mortal state — I quite felt funkified — well, it was a narrow 
 go, by gum ! Well, bottle me, this poor ooman is in a terrible way, by 
 gum ! Where 's Turkey ? " 
 
 " Here I am. Moss ; never thought of seeing you again — had fairly 
 took leave of you ! What upon earth delayed you ?" 
 
 " Why, God bless you, nothing under heaven delayed me/ I was ready 
 to come aboard many 's the long hour ago ; but toddling down upon the 
 pier and axing if anybody had clapt eyes on yer, I was told not to be in 
 the least hurry, for the Captain wouldn't be aboard till arternoon ; and 
 
 so seeing this good ooraan in close and comfortable confab with a 
 
 but I mustn't tell tales out of school. Seeing that and hearing this, I 
 made myself quite cozy, and had a quiet pipe upon a barrel on the jetty, 
 when, to my outrageous surprise, I'm blowed if T didn't see the ship 
 actilly off! 'By gum ! shouts T, ' Mother Thingumy, we be flumniuxed, 
 anyhow.' I roared out foi a boat, and there being ony one, they had 
 the howdaciousness to ax me £5 for the go. Seeing as how not a minute 
 wor to be lost, I couldn't stand wriggliii wi' 'em about the matter ; but
 
 IGG THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 says I to Mrs. Thingumbob, ' If you pays half, I'll pay the t'other;' so 
 that being agreed, we pulled off, and I'm blessed if the fellers ain't 
 earned their money. Bottle me off, if they ain't had a most outrageous 
 sweater ! I seen Mr. Burchell and Mr. Clinton in a boat returning to 
 the shore, and they told us if we didn't pull like bricks we shouldn't 
 never get aboard. Lord ! if you'd a-heard Mrs. Thingumy, as is just 
 cut down into the cabin — if you'd a-heard how she soaped over a poor 
 darky on the pier, you wouldn't a-grudge the fifty shillin. And if you'd 
 a-seed him — a great, tall, ugly, saucer-eyed hottenpot — tear the knotty 
 wool in handfuls off his head, and dance the devil's tattoo, when we went 
 off — Bottle me ! it was a refreshing sight, and I couldn't help a-turning 
 my eye to it, notwithstanding I expected I was regularly corked. I 
 took the liberty of halluding to it, when I made certain you'd backed 
 the yards, and axed how ever she could think of sitting in the sun so 
 close to that stinking Pole weasal ? Lord! if you'd a-been worthy tu 
 a-heerd her — it unvarnish'd her altogether, and she did read me a 
 lectur. 'What !' she says, ' call Mr. Ceaser a stinkin Pole weasal ! — 
 you unmannerly bull-beef ! — he is your betters, you Dutch butter-fir- 
 kin ! — you sack of grains ! — you nasty himperrance ! ' Oh, it was a 
 grand coodie ! — blow me if it warn't. Come, now I am aboard, let's 
 bakker. Have you likkered ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 '• Well, come foller me. Let's likker. Oh, I shall never forget 
 Mister Ceaser !" 
 
 Rapidly ploughed along the main that buoyant craft, dashing the 
 foam hissing around her. Gradually the high lands of Africa faded 
 into a sombre blue, till, from a rough, well-defined outline, they became, 
 ere the sun had dipped his lower limb in the burnished wave, but as a 
 speck upon the bosom of the ocean. 
 
 We shall not dwell upon the adventures that befel our voyagers in 
 their passage from the Cape to their arrival off the Australian coast ; 
 nothing of moment, but a trifling storm, having interrupted the serenity 
 of the voyage. Messrs. Blair and Rennie often seriously discussed t!ie 
 merits of Southern Africa, and were very much surprised that its merits 
 were not more generally known than is really the case in Britain — such 
 a comparatively short voyage, to the one to Australia, its extreme
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 1G7 
 
 cheapness, the salubrity and beauty of its unmatched clime, and above 
 all, the certainty that man in its towns, or its rural districts, may find 
 speedy and continuous employment at a rate of wages (if he be a la- 
 bourer or artisan) at an advance upon the English prices equal to the 
 double. And taken in the light of a home, for gentlemen of small 
 means, who are naturally anxious to improve them and provide for a 
 rising family, there's no spot upon earth's wide field where less capital, 
 with a small amount of labour, is necessary to ensure satisfactory re- 
 turns, than the Colony of Southern Africa.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 " That night we anchor'd in a woody bay."— Shelley. 
 
 The high, abrupt coast of Australia was seen early on the morning of 
 the third, and one week's very strong sailing from that time brought 
 them fairly into the entrance of Investigator Straits. On their left were 
 several small, cheerless-looking, uninhabited islands ; and skirting their 
 right lay the Isle of Kangaroo, so named by Flinders in 1800, on 
 account of the numbers of those animals with which at that time it 
 abounded. As several of the passengers were destined for the town of 
 Kingscote, the Doctor and five others requested permission from the 
 Captain to land at this interesting point, and walk across the island to 
 the settlement of Kingscote, Nepean Bay. The extremely beautiful 
 and shrubbery-like appearance of the isle filled the little party with 
 emotions of joy, as they for the first time set their feet upon the soil of 
 Australia. Their friends remaining in the ship gave them a hearty 
 huzza at parting; and many were the eyes strained toward the little 
 sandy-beached bay, where the adventurers were busy upon a pyramid 
 of shells to commemorate the spot of their landing. The ship hastily 
 bounded along, and soon the Doctor and his little band were lost to the 
 view. We shall leave them now to their fate. They are well victualled 
 with as much beef and pork as they can carry, and several of the party 
 are provided with excellent fire-arms, by which means, doubtless, in 
 their march through the island, they are destined to become intimately 
 acquainted with a few of the bounding game. They are also provided with 
 selections from the Travels of a Captain upon the island, who, having 
 penetrated some dozen miles into the interior, thought it of sufficient 
 importance, upon his arrival in England, to make known to the world
 
 THE EMIGRANT, 169 
 
 his daring and his discoveries! In the commencement of this vast 
 acquisition to our geographical knowledge, the enlightened and adven- 
 turous gentleman tells us, that " having determined upon proceeding 
 as far as possible into the interior, one fine morning," (as mornings 
 mostly are in Kangaroo Island,) " he departed. Passing through," says 
 he, "a belt or jungle which surrounds the whole island, we came upon 
 beautiful and vast plains abounding with kangaroos and emus." Upon 
 the strength of this inviting information, our friend the Doctor and his 
 companions have departed, and no doubt by this time are fairly through 
 the " belt of thick jungle," and blazing away at the kangaroos and 
 emus. We shall, however, leave them to their pleasure and pursue our 
 course. 
 
 As the ship gallantly rounds Point Marsden, Nepean Bay at once 
 unfolds itself ; and having kept a good offing from the ugly sand-spit 
 which encircles it more than half-way across, we at once delight our 
 eyes by beholding in the distance the little white cottages of Kingscote 
 peeping above the green trees, and we are assured that our weary 
 voyaging is about to be brought to a close. There lies the town of 
 Kingscote, Kangaroo Island — there it quietly sleeps at the foot of the 
 hill, garnished by the evergreen and variegated with the crimson bush 
 of the plentiful Fuchsia — there it lies, and the solitary gun from the 
 sandy shore bellows his welcome ; the ensign of England is waving 
 free, and a boat full of the inhabitants pulling rapidly over the bay 
 to give us, no doubt, a hearty welcome. All is excitement : not 
 that there is anything very promising in the appearance of Kan- 
 garoo Island ; on the contrary, it is decidedly forbidding, unsocial, 
 cheerless. But where is the man who has been " cribbed, cabined, and 
 confined" in a vessel some 120 days, but would hail even the sterile 
 Island of Ascension as a paradise ? Where is the weary merchant of 
 the herbless Sahara, who does not in his mind at the moment imagine 
 an oasis to be the most perfectly beautiful patch of earth under the sun? 
 So it is with us all when we see a tree, or a field, after the endless 
 monotonous view that has been so long unbroken of sea and sky ; and 
 when we again hear the birds sing, and the kine low, and gaze upon 
 the thin blue smoke as it curls up from the white " cottage near a 
 wood," we wonder that men can be found, who could actually possess 
 
 z
 
 170 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 the like, and leave it to pass their existence in beating about the seas ! 
 We leave the ship with a very different feeling to what, when about the 
 midst of our voyage, we had contemplated — then all was hateful : the 
 very name palled on the ear, and every rope, and connexion with it, was 
 viewed with disgust. Now, when we have put into the boat alongside 
 our last trunk — when the crowd of faces has departed, and honest Jack, 
 in his neat shore-going habiliments, smokes his peaceable pipe, as he 
 paces unmolested the spacious and snowy deck, — now, we say, the scene 
 is entirely changed : we are standing upon ground where we have no 
 further business ; we are absolute intruders, and as we hold forth our 
 hands to take a parting, friendly shake of the honest Captain, we are 
 possessed of a desire to linger. We are surprised at this feeling, but 
 there is a spell in old associations, old familiar faces, companions of our 
 travels night and day, in every clime, in the calm and the storm, 
 faithful watchers ! whilst we, and all that were dear to us, heedlessly 
 slept — pacers of the midnight watch in the wind, in the teeth of the 
 storm — and they have guided us safe over such a vast, and, to the 
 reflective mind, bewildering body of ocean ! and brought us into 
 a calm, sunny, little, quiet water, encircled by evergreens and blos- 
 soms, in the very remotest region of the earth. Who then could look 
 upon those fellow-travellers, in all probability for the last time, without 
 emotion ? All was now passed — the giddy storm and the sickening 
 calm. We had turned our eye once more upon the faithful seamen, and 
 our feet rested upon soil 120 days and nights' journey from the land that 
 has nurtured our fathers. 
 
 As Messrs. Blair, Rennie, and in fact all of the cabin passengers and 
 most of the intermediate, were not to remain at Kingscote, it required 
 but little delay, and the day following the vessel's arrival, she once 
 more up anchor, and in seven hours from leaving Kingscote she was at 
 the entrance of " Sixteen-mile Creek," leading to the town of Adelaide. 
 As we would rather the reader should learn the opinion of the gentle- 
 men on board in preference to our own, we will lay before him all the 
 discourse that appears to bear upon the subject which Messrs. Eennie 
 and Blair are now discussing. 
 
 " Certainly, Rennie, we cannot judge of a country from its coast 
 scenery. If that were to be the standard in this instance, I should say
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 171 
 
 a more uninviting, barren, bleak, and desolate land could not disgust 
 the eye." 
 
 " True, Blair, it is far from coming up to my expectations even in its 
 coast scenery. As far as I have yet seen, it has not much of the pic- 
 turesque : all of the interior I could discern from the maintops as we 
 sailed along the coast from Blackstair Passage, Kangaroo Island, is 
 naked, brown, and cheerless; the herbage seems of a dusky, blackish 
 green — and the gum-trees (if they are gums ?) are of the colour of an 
 old dingy laurustinus, that one may sometimes see in mourning for its 
 lot, in some smoky corner of a City churchyard." 
 
 " Well, let 's say no more about it, Rennie. But what means all this 
 tacking and twisting about here ? — Captain, what does this tacking 
 so often mean ?" 
 
 " Why, sir, at the mouth of the ' Sixteen-mile Creek,' as the Colon- 
 ists call it, there is a field of sand, which has but one very narrow chan- 
 nel through it that will admit of a vessel's passage. — Here, boy ! bring 
 the lead aft. Jump into the main-chains. — There ! now look, gentle- 
 men, there ! ' Quarter less three.' Now listen from the jolly-boat — 
 ' And a half one.' There, gentlemen — there 's hardly a fathom of water, 
 half a cable's length, starboard and port of us." 
 
 " Well, but. Captain, this is no recommendation to Port Adelaide." 
 " Certainly not, Mr. Blair. But people who are determined to make 
 a port on a map, whether Nature has assisted or not, are like the hungry 
 man whose steak fell from the gridiron to the ground ; they don't stand 
 nice about a bit of sand ! — But, gentlemen, excuse me at present." 
 
 " Well, but, I say, Turkey ! just look at this wibble-wabbiinf. 
 How do you account for this here kind of ' round the world to Ripon?' 
 We 've more bother to get up that ditch yonder — if we be a-going up 
 it — than we had to get here all the way from the Nore — Mowed if we 
 ain't !" 
 
 " This shallow, Uncle Moss!" replied Turkey. 
 
 " What's shaller? — we tom-fools, the sawneys as calls it a port, or 
 the water ? Bother me ! I a been where I never was in my life afore : 
 I been up the riggin. They tied me in it till I forked out a bottle of 
 rum — by gum did they — actilly crucified me in the riggin ! I should 
 have holler'd out, but did not like to expose to yer my sitivation, for
 
 172 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 yer to larf at ; but when I was up, I could see nothing mighty tempt- 
 ing for a dairymaid. I didn't see any of the farmers on farrerd rub 
 their hands in hextacy. Howsomever, time will prove. — Hello ! bump ! 
 what's that?" 
 
 " Back the main-yards. — There, she's off again. — Square away." 
 
 " I suppose by that, Moss," said Turkey, " we've kissed the bottom." 
 
 " S'pose us have," returned Moss ; " but now we are actilly in this 
 canal — it 's the City Canal, ony not so wide. And look here ! all the 
 sailors is out in boats a-towin on us. Bottle me if it ain't a pleasant 
 sight ! Just behold what a reg'lar regiment of pelicans of the wilder- 
 ness — Ha, ha ! Well, ony look at 'em on that sandbank, blow their 
 himperence ! And there 's black cormorants among 'em : them is the 
 clergy, no doubt — Ha, ha! Well! smother me! and ony look for 
 gulls ! It 's a Methodist meetin — a grand field-day. Well ! it 's never 
 been my lot to see the like." 
 
 " Just direct your attention. Moss, to those wattle bushes that grow 
 beside this canal, or creek, or what it is. Tell me what you see." 
 
 " Tell you what I see ? Why, a mortal lot of poll-parrots, and 
 cockatoos, and so forth. God bless me ! if I'd a ony had just that quiet 
 little tea-party snug in London, couldn't I have turned 'em to some 
 account ! — Hello ! bump again ! Summut the matter !" 
 
 " It 's only a dead tree," cried Turkey as he looked over the side. 
 
 "Well!" said Moss, "has I a paid my footin, and no haccident 
 happened for my pains, I '11 mount the rostrum again, and have another 
 look over these scrubby bushes ; for blow me if anything 's to be seen 
 a both sides this ditch but them ugly wattle bushes !" 
 
 Moss, as he concluded his speech, with, for him, great celerity as- 
 cended the rigging, and his report was listened to by us as well as by 
 Mr. Turkey. 
 
 " I can see," cried he from the cross-trees of the mizen, — " I can see 
 nothing on God's earth but an eternal swamp of these gum wattles ; 
 they seern to grow out of duck pools — and there 's hundreds of thou- 
 sands of them little pools, linked and knitted together by channels, and 
 
 over all a matting of them d d gums ; and in the distance I can 
 
 see the Malvern Hills~I 'm blowed if I can't ! Well, come, that ain't 
 so bad!"
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 173 
 
 Five or six hours' pulling — for their progress was slow up the creek, 
 owing to their several times grounding — brought the vessel to an anchor 
 safely alongside the " Tarn o' Shanter," which was at Port Adelaide 
 undergoing repair, having had the misfortune to break her back in her 
 passage up the creek. The anchor for the last time being fairly dropped, 
 and all hands piped to grog, the passengers, after passing the last night 
 aboard the " Ocean Queen," prepared to march across the plain to 
 Adelaide on the morrow.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 "There was not, on that day, a speck to stain 
 The azure heaven ; the blessed sun, alone, 
 In unapproachable divinity, 
 Career'd, rejoicing in his fields of light." 
 
 SOUTHEY. 
 
 Mr. Blair was stirring early : his family were all ready for the inarch 
 as soon as the sun had appeared to cast his earliest ray upon the brow 
 of Mount Lofty, at the base of which the town of Adelaide may be 
 found. Mr. Rennie and family were not wanting in diligence ; they 
 very speedily appeared at the breakfast-table in marching order. 
 
 The morning meal being discussed, the Captain lowered the boat, 
 and the two gentlemen, with their families, were landed at length upon 
 the soil of their adopted country. Mr. Rennie was somewhat surprised 
 that his son, who must have heard of the arrival of the ship, did not, as 
 had been arranged, meet him at the landing-place, with a horse and 
 cart, and at once convey his parents to the site he had chosen. But 
 this arrangement not taking place as had been expected, Messrs. Blair 
 and Rennie, with their wives, daughters, and domestics, set forth in a 
 body for the town of Adelaide. It was a seven miles' walk over the 
 plain ; but the luxury of having the green grass and the buttercups 
 once again under their feet made the journey appear even far too 
 trifling ; they felt as though they could have walked on till the sun 
 set, and never revel sufficiently in the delight they experienced. Every 
 object around them bore a novel aspect : the green trees — the flocks of 
 white cockatoos, as they flitted, and screamed, from tree to tree — and, 
 above all, the appearance of groups of the natives in nudus nat., was 
 what certainly announced that indeed they were in another land. 
 
 Few things are calculated more to shock the eye of civilised man,
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 175 
 
 than when he beholds, for the first time, the wild unclad savage of the 
 untilled waste bounding along, with his proud and easy step, past him, 
 unconscious of the outrage he is offering in his nakedness to his more 
 refined brother ; and when the eyes of Blair and Rennie first looked 
 upon a group of stalwart natives, whose full dress was a war-club — 
 and when they found that these very unfigleaved noblesse of the land 
 were about to form their escort to the town of Adelaide — their confu- 
 sion knew no bounds. The savage, on the other hand, showed his 
 white teeth to the blushing strangers, in the satisfaction and pride of his 
 heart " that the white man should so love his country as to come, on 
 the wings of a great bird, from the big waters, to live with his tribe." 
 However the " Colossus of Literature," the great Johnson, may have 
 advocated, or held in doubtful balance, the happiness of the untutored 
 barbarian over that of his well-educated white brother of the town, yet 
 had that great uncouth possessed experience instead of trusting to iina- 
 ginatioti for his guide, the probability is, his advocacy for the Bush and 
 its independent beauties had been but feeble indeed. 
 
 Not knowing the natives, unacquainted with their manners and cus- 
 toms, the mortified gentlemen marched on in indignant silence, with 
 their denuded attendants. It was in vain they made a feint to turn 
 out of the waggon-path — their officious friends immediately clamoured 
 forth their error, and, by physical persuasion, escorted them once more 
 into the trail of the Adelaide cattle. Blair turned his eye upon his 
 daughters — they were veiled, and walking close behind him, their eyes 
 fixed steadily upon the ground ; whilst Rennie gave his outraged feel- 
 ings vent by striding along at a tremendous pace with Mrs. Rennie on 
 his arm. 
 
 How vain to attempt outwalking the savage I Unencumbered as 
 they were, they bounded gracefully along, silent in their footsteps as 
 the grave, but making up with a vengeance for it by their almost un- 
 ceasing garrulity. In vain did Mr. Blair frown upon them, as they 
 approached him, one after the other, announcing the names in which 
 they gloried, and which cognomens, having been frequently given to 
 them by some inebriated son of Neptune, were generally, though highly 
 sonorous, anything but desirable to learn. 
 
 In this manner did the emigrants proceed toward Adelaide ; Rennie
 
 176 
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 I 
 
 turning his head toward his friend occasionally to remark upon the 
 landscape, which certainly from the Creek Port, or landing-place, to 
 Adelaide, is one of the most promising pieces of land anywhere to be 
 seen. The party travelled over a vast flat meadow, or plain, of several 
 miles in diameter and longitude. This was belted, or, as it were, par- 
 titioned off, by a spinney of gum-trees, some twenty or thirty yards 
 wide, skirting round another plain of the same dimensions as the for- 
 mer, and clothed with tufted but excellent grass for cattle. Here also 
 flourished the buttercup and the daisy. Though the latter differs in 
 some measure from the "day's eye" in our fatherland, yet there it lies, 
 to the casual observer, the same little, 
 
 " Wee modest crimson- tipped flower," 
 
 conjuring up, with its golden friend, all the delightful associations of 
 our childhood, when we 
 
 " Gather'd a nosegay of gay wild flowers." J 
 
 There it all lay pictured before them. The emigrant saw at once | 
 that the country possessed at least a few remembrances of the dear land 
 he had deserted. 
 
 '• Where shall you put up ?" inquired Blair of his friend. 
 
 " I shall see. They told me, at the Port, there was an excellent 
 hotel in Clarendon Square — or a comfortable one, but not quite so 
 stylish, at the corner of Bath Street, Upper Parade. We must be ruled 
 by circumstances. I have been looking out for the River Torrens this 
 last half-hour — we must be close upon it, surely." 
 
 " De Ribber Torren," cried one of their sable attendants ; " dat 
 him !" pointing to a country brook. 
 
 " No, no," cried Rennie ; " Adelaide River Torrens." 
 
 " Dat him," again replied the black, enlisting his black neighbour in 
 the cause ; " dat is Ribber Torren." — And so, to the astonishment of 
 the gentlemen, it proved. 
 
 " What !" cried Blair in amazement ; " this narrow, shallow link of 
 stagnant, petty ponds, the River Torrens ! Madness ! Rennie, it is 
 impossible! — And where is Adelaide?" gasped he to the same intc-lli- 
 gent black. 
 
 " Dat Abbeled !" pointing to a collection of indescribable buildings.
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 177 
 
 " That!'' echoed Rennie. 
 
 " Dat Abbeled," again quietly replied the native. 
 
 A few more steps, and they were in the midst of their countrymen. 
 
 "Where," inquired the wonder-stricken Blair, of a person who was 
 passing, — " where is the Hotel de Bellevue ?" 
 
 " This is it," replied the stranger, pointing to a thatched reed- built 
 hut. 
 
 " But it is," replied the almost-petrified Rennie, — " it is in Claren- 
 don Square !" 
 
 " This is Clarendon Square," quietly replied the stranger, as he 
 thrust his hands in his breeches pockets and went whistling carelessly 
 away. 
 
 And there, sure enough, nailed upon a dead gum-tree, did their 
 eyes read the following : — " Hotel de Bellevue, by Humphrey Webb 
 from London. Good Liquors." 
 
 Blair rushed with his wife into the hut ; and Rennie, with equal 
 rapidity, followed his example. As Blair and his daughters sat upon 
 a bench round one side of the hut, and Rennie and his wife composed 
 themselves upon a chest on the other, Blair distinctly, and with much 
 emphasis, uttered between his teeth to Rennie, " We are now in Aus- 
 tralia !" and Rennie placed his elbows on his knees, and, as he looked 
 under the brim of his hat, across the rough, dirty table, to his friend, 
 replied, "Yes, Blair!" 
 
 2 A
 
 CHAPTER XXVIIL 
 
 " Sua cuique quum sit anima cogitatio, 
 Colorqixe privus." Ph^^dr. Prol. 
 
 " Every man has his particular way of thinking and acting." 
 
 We shall not dwell upon the observations made upon the town and 
 
 environs of Adelaide by Mr. Blair and his friend at this stage of the 
 
 proceedings. A man just arrived in a new country may feel that he 
 
 has been most grossly disappointed in each and every idea he so fondly 
 
 conceived and pertinaciously clung to, when he actually arrives at the 
 
 spot of earth to which all his thoughts, his poetical imagery, have so 
 
 long tended. He then finds he is obliged to undeceive himself ; for his 
 
 faculties being but limited, and happening (to treat the matter perhaps 
 
 too irrelevantly) to be odd, it is certain, when they are all demanded to 
 
 vote, there must be a majority ; and so it was upon this occasion with 
 
 our friends. They had talked of its delightful climate, its unbounded 
 
 freedom, its evergreen trees, its game, its seas teeming with the finny 
 
 tribe, and, above all, a race of independent countrymen building up 
 
 their neat little verandahed cottages, in so luxurious a land — it was the 
 
 long-looked-for El Dorado, it was the Happy Valley of Abyssinia. 
 
 They had so read of it, so dwelt upon it — it was so eternally their 
 
 theme, that to find themselves actually upon it, and not to realise their 
 
 sanguine expectations, — to behold themselves at once surrounded by a 
 
 dirtv race of naked savages on the one hand — a slovenly, rude, un- 
 
 courteous crew of their own countrymen on the other, — was indeed too 
 
 shocking. They were possessed of introductions to the Governor ; 
 
 where did he hold his Court? — "in a melancholy brick barn." True, 
 
 they could not, in common sense, expect palaces to rise instantane-
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 179 
 
 ously from the earth, like the gourd of the prophet ; but they actually 
 did expect wonders — magic — a different world, more refined, more 
 beautiful, and they did not find it. They had stepped up to the middle 
 of their legs in the mud at the Port — they had been accompanied by a 
 swarm of disgustingly-naked savages to the town ; and that town was 
 a chaos, an unconnected assortment of rude, ungainly, uncomfortable- 
 looking huts and wigwams ! Then how can we wonder at their disap- 
 pointment? Gentlemen nursed in the lap of luxury picture to them- 
 selves luxurious ideas, as a natural consequence, and know not, neither 
 can they understand when they are told, what the interpretation of the 
 Colonial phrase "roughing it" means. They will tell you at once, 
 " Oh ! we don't want cream in our tea — we can do very well without 
 buttered toast !" Their ideas run upon such trifles as these ; but when 
 they actually land, pack and package, as our friends have done, they 
 are struck to the earth with astonishment and chagrin. 
 
 Blair and Rennie were gentlemen of education and means ; and 
 though they were determined to apply their uttermost strength to the 
 achievement of their desires — peace and a comfortable independence, 
 still, with all their education, as yet they were mere children in wis- 
 dom : though possessing much knowledge, and the knowledge they did 
 possess being of course upon this point entirely theoretical, they had 
 the painful schooling of applying it to experience and the walks of 
 common life. The tale of Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia, to which we 
 have before had occasion to allude, is a charming story, and carries the 
 enraptured reader in imagination into the most delightful situations on 
 earth possible for the mind of man to conceive. That tale was founded 
 upon a certain valley in Abyssinia, which Mr. Salt, when Consul of 
 Egypt,«Fisited, and he was overcome with surprise at its beggarly as- 
 pect. " To be sure," said he, " the valley is surrounded with hills; 
 but had I not dwelt with such rapture upon the admirable tale, and 
 conjured up before me the pleasing circumstances connected with it, 
 I should have passed through it without regret, and possibly without 
 any particular remark." We will not swear to the fidelity of our quo- 
 tation, as we quote from memory ; but such is the meaning we bear 
 with us of the passage. And it is in every-day life, and occurs in 
 every hour of the day, that a charm is thrown over certain objects,
 
 180 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 impossible for sober reason to dissipate — to expose. Let any one who 
 has read the " Arabian Nights" (and who has not?) find himself in the 
 city of Bagdad : will not he then experience all the glow of old read- 
 ings, and will not every inch of ground be imprinted with the glory, 
 the marvellous splendour and eccentricities, of the ever-to-be-renowned 
 Sultaun Haroun al Raschid ? And, to bring our feelings nearer to the 
 sill of our own doors, let us review the unuprootable prejudices of child- 
 hood, that endear us to a swamp, to a barren mountain, a heath, a 
 smoky part of an unhealthy town ; and let us call to mind how ex- 
 tremely difficult it is to eradicate from our minds, that that spot is 
 certainly one of the most lovely upon earth. We are torn from it in 
 our youth, when our mind has dwelt upon no other, and we are dis- 
 tressed ; we exclaim, in our sorrow, " Where, upon the wide world, is 
 to be found its equal?" and the tear — ay, many is the tear in secret 
 that falls, with a blessing, an offering of love at its shrine. And years 
 roll on ; we have been bandied about the world — we have seen its 
 beauties, and we have beheld its uncovered miseries ; again shall we 
 stand upon the threshold of our earlier days, and exclaim, " What is 
 this to me ?" The lake that formerly we sighed for has now degene- 
 rated to a swampy pond ; our village upon the border of the common, 
 where 
 
 " Oft at eve the heifer stray 'd," 
 
 appears to us now in reality but an insignificant, uninviting hamlet ; 
 and the halo that clung so tenaciously around every stile, house, or 
 tree, having been by the rough world dispersed, they stand forth in 
 their real character, and are loved no more. 
 
 " But perhaps" (says the late South African Colonist, Mr. Pringle) 
 " a portion of this sanguine spirit, however liable to disappointment, is 
 necessary, after all, to tear men from the ties of country and kindred, 
 and from old habits far harder to sever, in many cases, than those ties, 
 and to bear them forward with courageous hearts to encounter the toils 
 and privations of a new settlement in a strange and distant clime. 
 There is, moreover, a certain charm in adventurous enterprise, that few 
 are so apathetical as to be utter strangers to, but which to bold and 
 buoyant spirits is altogether irresistible, and which never fails to array
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 181 
 
 in the most fascinating colours whatever is connected with the undertaking 
 they happen to have embarked in." 
 
 We were calmly turning over the foregoing thoughts in our mind, as 
 we sat in the South Australian hotel beside our friends, when we were 
 interrupted in our reverie by the joyous voice of some apparent baccha- 
 nal, singing, as it were with all his heart, a ditty, of which our ear 
 caught the following : — 
 
 " Oh ! the cooling curds and cream ! 
 Charming, cooling curds and cream! 
 What joys with them can compare? 
 When the zephyrs 
 Fan the heifers 
 In the meadows, love is there. 
 Oh! the coo ■ 
 
 Come, I'm blowed ! I cannot wag another step; let's just come to a 
 
 stand-still, whilst I Pooh! bless me, I'm a reg'lar corked! Pooh! 
 
 bottle me ! — " 
 
 We readily imagined who was the vocalist ; nor were we deceived, 
 for upon leaving the hut and turning our eyes a little to the left of a 
 bush that grew near, we there beheld our fat friend the " unsophisti- 
 cated" Moss himself. There he was, seated upon the stump of an old 
 gum-tree, with his hat off, and fiercely fanning his red and fiery coun- 
 tenance with his handkerchief. Around him had collected some score 
 of the aborigines, whom Moss was occasionally addressing in strains 
 proportionate to his wind. Turkey, in his quiet way, was, as usual, 
 bantering his companion, and assuring him that he had a most valu- 
 able visage for the airing of damp newspapers, — of which Moss, in 
 his excitement, took no notice. The crowd of natives had so tho- 
 roughly captivated the attention of Moss, that he could think of nothing 
 else ; but, unhappily for those uncivilised sons of Adam, they did not 
 understand the language in which the " unsophisticated" addressed 
 them, thereby losing vast amount of edification. Ourselves, ever 
 anxious to contemplate life in all its ramifications, were more than 
 solicitous to learn what effect the new country might have upon Moss ; 
 but, to our astonishment, he scarcely remarked it, his observations 
 being principally in allusion to his own prowess in being able to walk 
 " the distance."
 
 182 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 " Blow me !" cried he, " I've seen the time I couldn't^have done it 
 and in the blaze of the sun ! Well, come, oily o' the joint yet ! Look 
 at these codgers ! — pooh ! well, they'd much ado to keep their shins 
 wagging after me, I'm sworn ! Pooh ! My wig, here at last, eh ! 
 Turkey, come, who carries the likker ?" 
 
 " Why, you see, Moss, here is the hotel : behold ! there is the sign 
 on the tree." 
 
 " Well ! I'm spiflicated if there ain't the— what is it? ' Ho-tel the 
 Belly-view !' What next, I wonder ? No need of such a sign, I'm 
 sure, in these Sans-clout countries, howsomever. Well, I'm corked, 
 arter that ! I never would have had such a confounded himperent sign 
 as that, if it was in Australia : ' Hotel Bel ' " 
 
 " Look, Moss, there is a native fight !" 
 
 " So there is ! Aye, whoop ! God forgive me, but he struck the 
 man o' the poll with his besom stale! — it's a mortal mercy it dain't 
 knock his batter out. Aye, who-oo-oop ! there'll be murder done!" 
 cried Moss, holding up both legs and hands, and appealing to Turkey ; 
 " there '11 be murder done, Turkey !" 
 
 '* Can't help it. Moss." 
 
 " Well, they seem to have enough on it— pooh ! — let 's go into this 
 
 Hotel Belly and get something for that argin. I observe he stitches 
 
 on to his nasty signboard, ' Good Liquor' — let's enter." 
 
 At these words, Turkey and Moss moved towards the door of the 
 hotel ; but it having been already filled by the parties before noticed, 
 Moss and his companion contented themselves upon a log outside the 
 hut, and in the straggling shade of the ragged gum-tree. 
 
 " Two bottles of porter!" cried Moss, handing one to Turkey, and 
 attacking the other with great earnestness, which he emptied at a 
 draught. Turkey followed his example, and both the gentlemen pro- 
 nounced the liquor capital. 
 
 " Riglar Guinness," said Moss, smacking his lips. "Waiter! two 
 more bottles !" These followed their brethren with nearly similar 
 speed, and Moss was enshrouded in a vision of delight. " Well, it's a 
 glorious country arter all, this Australia ! — glorious country — ain't it, 
 Turkey ? " 
 
 " Tell you more about it this day week, Moss," quietly replied 
 T urkey as he lit his cigar.
 
 THE EMIGRANT, 183 
 
 " Well, don't let it be said we didn't patronise Hotel Belly — Waiter! 
 another pair of them Guinnesses." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Things went on swimmingly with Moss : he was delighted with the 
 country and all he saw, till the time came when he called for the porter 
 bill ; it ran thus — " To six bottles xxx porter, at 2s. 6d. a bottle, 15s," 
 Moss laid down his pipe, took hold of the bill with both hands, and 
 opened his eyes to their widest stretch. 
 
 " Fifteen bob ! " breathed he at length to Turkey — " Fifteen bob 
 for the swiggle ! What a tarnation country ! Well, I am corked ! 
 Howsomever, let 's toddle,"
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 " Poor wretch, I pity thee ; yet stay a while." 
 
 The Cenci. 
 
 As the Hotel de Bellevue was one of the best in the town, and one of 
 the largest, for the host could muster no less than two beds, having 
 also the peculiar advantage of being both in the same chamber, Mr. 
 Rennie and his lady went to the Crown Hotel,- at a very short distance 
 from the Bellevue, leaving the Blairs in entire poseession of that 
 hostelry. 
 
 Whilst we leave that family actively employed in arranging their 
 dormitory at the hotel, let us take a turn with our friend Rennie, who 
 was in a state of great excitement concerning his son. It will be re- 
 membered that Mr. Rennie had sent his son out as a pioneer some 
 months previous to his own sailing ; that he expected, upon his arrival, 
 to find a comfortable house erected, having sent out the frame of one 
 by his son. Now Rennie having arrived, and not finding his son at 
 the Port as agreed upon, sallied forth in search of him ; and, as we 
 were anxious to learn ourselves what had prevented the youth from 
 following out his instructions, we accompanied Rennie. 
 
 The first place we went to was the Bank, and that certainly was the 
 best house we had hitherto seen. It was a half-brick and half-board 
 built house, with a shingled roof, and had the appearance of possessing 
 much comfort. The banker, to whom Mr. Rennie had introductions, in- 
 vited us into his parlour, and the matter concerning the son of Rennie 
 being explained, the banker said — " I perfectly recollect some months 
 ago a youth calling upon me and telling me his name was Rennie — 
 that he expected his father &c. out — but that he himself could not re- 
 main, owing to the exhaustion of his funds ; and," continued the 
 
 I
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 18,) 
 
 banker, rising from his chair and opening a side desk, " if I recollect, 
 he left a letter here for his father. Ay, here it is." The banker at 
 that moment being reqxiired, Mr. Rennie read to his wife the following 
 epistle ; — 
 
 "My dear Father, 
 "I arrived at Adelaide after 110 days' passage from England, all well, and 
 got everything on shore. I had them all brought from tlie ship up to this 
 place, which cost me £24 18s. I was anxious at once to proceed to your 
 farm, but was told that it was not survej'ed, and that it would be a long time 
 before it was. I did not know what to do. As I expected you out every week, 
 T went to the shore every day. I heard a ship had been seen, and frequently 
 hired a cart and bullocks to bring you from the Port. My lodgings came very 
 high, as meat is Is, 6d. a pound, and I found all my money was nearly gone. 
 Not knowing what to do, I sold the house for £4 — [hei-e Rennie dropt the 
 letter upon his knees, and uttered, ' Great God ! it cost me forty pounds in 
 England !'J — and then, as the man wouldn't keep the ploughs and implements 
 in his store on the beach at Holdfast Bay, where they were landed, unless I 
 paid him £6 for their warehouse room and expense landing, which I could 
 not do, he turned them all outside, and there they lie on the sand, next to 
 M'Dougall's Store. As I found week after week went on and you did not 
 come, and ray money being all gone, I was determined to do something ; so I 
 left all my trunks, and the tool-chests, and everything, at Mrs. Crahem's, at 
 No. 10, Koyal Circus, Adelaide, where you will find them safe, and she will 
 let you have them all right by paying her my bill, £11 10s. I took a berth in 
 the Peggy, brig, on a voyage to Sydney. I am to get 2s. 6d. a-week, and wait 
 in the cabin, for I did not know what else to do. Now, my dear father and 
 mothei-, and all friends, hoping you will get all the things safe when you all 
 land, 
 
 " I remain 
 
 " Yoin- affectionate Son, 
 
 "Arthur Rennie, 
 
 " P.S. — The blue chest slipped its lashings when it was being slung into the 
 long-boat, and fell into the sea. I s'pose it was rather too full, for it sunk." 
 
 When Mr. Rennie had read the letter, his visage changed, and he 
 fixed his full eye steadily but vacantly upon the wall ; and Mrs. Ren- 
 nie, unable to bear up against the bitter disappointment, gave way to a 
 flood of tears. However, there was no time to be wasted in sorrow : 
 Rennie, after a few minutes' consultation with the banker, was provided 
 with tliat gentleman's horse, and was soon upon the direct route to 
 Holdfast Bay. There, upon the sea-beach, broken, rusty, and half- 
 
 2 B
 
 186 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 buried in sand, lay the very implements which had caused him in 
 Britain such an infinity of expense and trouble. His beautifully- 
 modelled harrows, rollers, and ploughs, the pride of his heart, were there, 
 a wreck and a ruin. It was useless to attempt raising them^ut of the 
 sand till he had a place at once to remove them to, and, as yet, he 
 knew not where that might be. True, he had five hundred acres of 
 land in the settlement ; but he knew no more where his allotment 
 might fall than the beadle of Cork ! — if there be such a functionary in 
 that famous city. Rennie gazed upon his hapless instruments, and 
 remounting his nag, bounded once more speedily over the plain, re- 
 solving to communicate with Blair, and advise with him upon the steps 
 proper to be taken in this emergency. 
 
 We were present at the consultation, and after hearing all the pros 
 and C071S, and weighing well the advice of the banker, with one or two 
 others, to whom Blair had in the mean time applied, the result of our 
 cogitations was the propriety of Rennie's remaining jjro tern, in Adelaide, 
 and the wisdom manifest in Mr. Blair forthwith becoming a squatter. 
 These very important matters being duly arranged, the whole of the 
 party sallied forth to survey their town acres, and to set about forthwith 
 getting reed huts upon the same. Labourers were, with some difficulty, 
 obtained to erect the edifices ; but reed-cutters were soon pouring in 
 their bundles from the bed of the Torrens, upon the site of the intended 
 mansion, which gave something like the appearance of a start to the 
 emigrants. Blair was not long in the purchase of a pair of bullocks, 
 for which he paid £60, and a cart, obtained with great difficulty, for 
 £40. These matters so far were, except the price, satisfactory. 
 Now all that was wanting on the part of Blair was a horse and two 
 domestics : the former he obtained at Adelaide — a Cape barb, for 
 £72 ; and the latter he selected from the passengers of the " Ocean 
 Queen," male and female — or we might as well have said at once, man 
 and wife, for they were so. 
 
 Leaving, then, for the present, Messrs. Blair and Rennie, return 
 we once more to the past, and ascertain how far our respected friends 
 the emigrants get forward. A great difficulty had arisen amongst 
 them respecting the transmission of their baggage from the Port to 
 the town ; the sum of five shillings being demanded on every thirty
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 187 
 
 pounds weight (which ourselves paid upon all our luggage, viz., 
 a small carpet bag). Now, as many of these unthinking and unadvised 
 wights had, in their affection for old English associations, cumbered 
 themselves with chairs, tables, go-carts, washing dollies, clock-cases, 
 grindstones, tubs, buckets, tinker's ware, and other useful, but extremely- 
 difficult, travelling companions, it became a scene of no ordinary 
 interest to behold these motley assortments, as boat-load after boat- 
 load was discharged in beautiful disorder upon the boggy, low bank of 
 the creek. Every step one hundred yards in-shore from the boat to the 
 pile of confusion was midleg deep in mud ; and as Jack sweated and 
 cursed under a table or trunk, he sunk deeper and deeper still in the 
 bog till he approached somewhere in the vicinity of chaos, when down 
 with a d — n and a crash went all that he bore. In vain did the frantic 
 rustic implore him to be careful of his odds and ends ; in vain did his 
 anxious wife wheedle out — " That's a dear crittur, do pray be mindful 
 of that 'ere ! — do ! that 's a good John." Eloquence was unheard ; the 
 ruthless son of the storm was stern as Boreas, and he proceeded, amidst 
 blessings and cursings, of no ordinary loudness and depth, to empty the 
 barge. 
 
 In the course of three days all the property belonging to the emi- 
 grants was on the bog, we cannot call it shore, for it was not, as our 
 Wellingtons, the same we wore in Holland, could testify were they not 
 long ago defunct. And upon the bog, as we maintain it was, lay this 
 heterogenous, this rich assortment — let any one imagine it. We have 
 beheld in the High Street of Auld Reekie, and our eyes have been 
 regaled with the same in the ever-to-be-renowned and picturesque 
 Grass Market, a miniature heap, a medley of the like nature. In the 
 former situation, they were the goods of some unfortunate being who 
 could not satisfy the legal demands of his ruthless landlord ; and in the 
 latter, the heap of chattels under the self-same hammer of those who 
 had no further use for them : but all this was but as a candle to the sun. 
 The group of spectators that surrounded them were quiet, idle, and 
 mostly uninterested. They merely listened to the sweet voice of the 
 auctioneer as he pointed out the comfort of " an old arm-chair," or 
 dwelt with much feeling upon " the old oak table :" but on the Adelaide 
 bog every soul was, as the French term it, " assisting ;" every voice was
 
 188 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 screwed to its highest pitch — not a being was there hut had his eye 
 upon all his worldly goods. There was such mounting the heaps — 
 such might and main used in the dragging forth from the very bottom 
 of the pile article after article, as its hunting, ferreting master had the 
 joy to discover it. It was a wooden Waterloo ! and legs and arms 
 were knocked off, bodies galloped over, and heads mercilessly lost, 
 with the same praiseworthy indifference as in that glorious passage of 
 arms I 
 
 And Moss was there, and Turkey. And Moss saw his trunk ! and it 
 was sticking end up in the slough, like a duck when she dives in shallow 
 water; and Moss blasphemed and was " regularly corked !" and Tur- 
 key was vociferous, but it was all of no avail. The philosophic bore it 
 with stoical indifference, and the wise made the best of a bad bargain. 
 
 We will not dwell longer upon this half-ludicrous and a//-painful 
 scene (if we dare associate such a medley of ideas), but simply remark 
 that upon the beach for several days fires were burning, and they were 
 lit and fed with the chair, the table, the box, the basket; and the ashes 
 of that fire had not ceased to moulder when the scene of the conflict 
 was deserted, and the back of the last emigrant had been turned upon 
 the field of the Battle of the Creek.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 " How vainly seek 
 The selfish for that happiness denied 
 To aught but virtue !" 
 
 Queen Mab. 
 
 At daylight on the morning of Tuesday, a cart loaded with furniture, 
 drawn by two oxen, and accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Bhiir, the two 
 Miss Blairs, and the domestics, might have been seen slowly winding 
 its way along the grassy plain that lies to the east of the town of 
 Adelaide. Mrs. Blair was mounted upon a horse, and the Miss Blairs 
 were hanging upon the arms of their father. In this manner did the 
 cortege proceed in search of a proper field for the pastoral designs of 
 Mr. Blair, Nothing of importance happened during the journey of the 
 day, and as the sun was yet two hours high in the heavens, the party 
 halted to erect their tent for the night, and prepare for their evening 
 meal. It was on the slope of a grassy knoll where Mr. Blair had 
 selected for the site of his encampment: around them was one continvious 
 forest of huge gum-trees, giving to the mind of an Englishman some- 
 thing of the beautiful resemblance of a park of a noble in his blessed 
 isle. Before — behind — around — nothing enlivened the solitude : the 
 same wild appearance of landscape, far as the eye might range ; forests 
 of the brown, the melancholy (at all times) looking gum, but it was at 
 present a novelty. It was the first day's march in a terra incog. It 
 was strange — it was exciting — and the whole party were in high spirits. 
 Blair busied himself in the erection of a " bower" (in polite discourse) 
 for the habitation of their domestics, but which in rude Colonial phrase- 
 ology is yclept a " break wind ;" but we prefer calling it a bower, 
 rather than use the other flatulent appellation, though it was neither of 
 roses, " nor was it by Bendcmeer's Stream," but it was a leafy bower of
 
 190 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 the spicy gum, and the wattle bird " sung o'er it all the eve long." A 
 fire was kindled in a short time, and steaks were frizzling away upon 
 "Cobbett;" the cloth was laid upon the virgin turf; the horse was 
 tethered to a gum, and the oxen were allowed to roam at large. Whilst 
 the dinner was preparing by the matronly hand of Mrs. Blair, the young 
 ladies lent what assistance they might in arraying the interior of the 
 bell tent ; all was snug and wore an air of pic-nic comfort. The steaks 
 were done — beautifully done, with the gravy in them, and each 
 individual. Job and his wife (the servant's name was Job) inclusive, 
 took a steak upon a good cutting of bread, and it was all very snug 
 — very snug and enviable. 
 
 Mr. Blair worked away with his huge pocket-knife, and vowed he 
 never relished anything to equal that steak. " And all around," quoth 
 he, '* how free, independent, happy ! Mild — the wind blows as mild as 
 the gentle North can make it ; and have you no more steaks. Dame 
 Blair?" 
 
 " None, Blair ; but here is a famous piece of cheese." 
 
 " Good ! my provident and well-beloved spouse. Now, concerning 
 the wine, what is our allowance upon this occasion ?" 
 
 " Here is a bottle of port, Blair — Job, bring hither the water-jar — 
 And here is a flask of brandy ! " replied Mrs. Blair. 
 
 " Now, that were thoughtful, Dame Blair. Let us drink," cried 
 Blair, (pouring out a horn of wine,) — "let us drink health, happiness, 
 fortune to the dear friends we have left behind, and God bless them ! 
 Job, take a horn of wine for thee and thy wife." 
 
 And the whole party quaffed a hearty draught to the hearts that 
 were now so many leagues away. The meal being ended, Job and his 
 master proceeded, axe in hand, in search of a supply of firewood : they 
 had not to wander far — they were in the depth of the forest — a bounti- 
 ful supply was therefore soon obtained for the evening fire, and as they 
 sat thus happily around the cheerfully- burning logs, Mr. Blair begged 
 of his daughter (Miss B.) to sing the Gipsy's Song. That young lady 
 immediately, and with great feeling, sang the following : —
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 191 
 
 THE GIPSY'S SONG. 
 
 I SEEK ray retreat in the lane, 
 
 'Neath the shade spreading-forest am I ; 
 My moments untainted by pain, 
 
 Far from com-ts and from cities I fly. 
 
 The breath of the flatterer ne'er 
 
 Was listen'd, was welcomed by me; 
 I sing with the birds of the air, 
 
 As the birds I am happy and free. 
 
 My heart it is given to one — 
 
 Though a rover, to me ever near ; 
 And the pomp-showing cities we shun, 
 
 For the lane by the forest so near. 
 
 The cowslips that nod by the stream. 
 
 Are the pearls that my love brings to me ; 
 
 On the bright sunny bank I may dream, 
 And awaking am happy and free. 
 
 'J'hen, keep, ye proud sons of the town, 
 Vaunted pleasures, and heartless they be ; 
 
 My love 's wove an evergreen crown, 
 And care is a stranger to me. 
 
 And after a comfortable tin of tea, the whole party sank to their slum- 
 bers with the setting of the sun. 
 
 They were disturbed several times during the night by the yells of 
 the wild-dog, who, like the jackal of India, commenced his lone cry : 
 he, to use musical phrases, performed a solo, and then the whole pack 
 joined in the long-drawn horrible chorus. This strange and sleep- 
 killing serenade did the pack at intervals resume during the whole of 
 that long night, and it was scarcely dawn when Mr. Blair waked Job 
 to trim the already-flittering embers. Blair walked round his lone 
 camp in the silence of that early hour, when even the bird had not yet 
 moved his sleepy head from beneath his wing — every leaf was motion- 
 less, and the cattle in a dingle in the distance were lying at rest. It 
 was a calm and placid scene, soothing the feelings into a kind of deli- 
 cious melancholy, when the mind seems unburdened of all its worldly
 
 192 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 cares, and we breathe as an infant in his first gambols among the 
 flowers. 
 
 Miss Blair was speedily at her task. The kettle was swung after 
 the manner of those Oriental vagrants so easily discovered in the peace- 
 ful green lanes of merry England, and all was in comfortable array for 
 the morning meal. It was a curious sight to look upon : she who had 
 as hitherto never soiled her white and taper fingers, now with ease and 
 readiness entered into the spirit of a gipsy life, with the readiness of 
 one who had served an apprenticeship to the houseless tribe. Mrs. 
 Blair and Emily laughed when they saw how thoroughly absorbed 
 Miss B. was in her new occupation. The napkin was, as before, laid 
 upon the turf; but there was arrayed a light chest on one side, with its 
 cups, saucers, and dejeune paraphernalia, near which two logs of wood 
 were placed as seats for mamma and papa, whilst the pillows of the night 
 
 " contrived a double debt to pay — 
 
 A pillo'v by night, and a cushion all day." 
 
 Again the gridiron was in request, and the rashers of Westphalia sent 
 aloft a grateful perfume on the morning air. The little party sat hap- 
 pily around their blazing fire, and once more in the bosom of the 
 wilderness did they enjoy their comfortable meal. 
 
 The great object of Mr. Blair in his expedition was to select a suit- 
 able range of pasturage without encroaching upon the " squatting" of 
 any other grazier, and with, above all things, that great and indispen- 
 sable adjunct, a supply of water. The former difficulty is easily over- 
 come; but the latter, the finding a never-failing spring, not so readily. 
 It was Mr. Blair's intention to proceed northward until he discovered 
 this great, to him, sine qua iion ; and it was not till he had accomplished 
 his third day's journey that it was effected. 
 
 The appearance of the situation which he had selected as his home 
 was this : — At the foot of a range of hills, nearly devoid of verdure, a 
 long and undulating plain stretched, almost without a tree, a day's 
 walk (in circuit) to the banks of a river, or, as Australian rivers mostly 
 are, chain of ponds. This river, or rivulet, took its rise in the moun- 
 tains to which we have alluded, springing its clear and limpid crystal 
 from rock to rock, till it became swollen in the course of a few miles
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 193 
 
 into a wide but almost stagnant collection of pools. The course of the 
 stream was marked by an enormous row of gums, that seemed to the 
 fanciful mind in age almost coeval with the mountains themselves. On 
 the banks of this rivulet, and near the base of the hills, was a little 
 grove of the gum and the grass tree, and in this grove did Mr. Blair 
 purpose to erect his temporary dwelling. It was considered bj)- all the 
 party a beautiful spot, and the flourishing herbage that grew around 
 spoke in language to Blair and Job, that this was, without doubt, the 
 place to commence their pastoral pursuits. The bell-tent was pitched 
 in the grove of gum trees, a hut was erected for Job near the banks of 
 the rivulet, and all the party set to work with much spirit to establish 
 trheraselves comfortably in the situation they had chosen. The most 
 important part of the business was, the immediate erection of a suitable 
 protection for the perishable articles ; and it was not without much 
 labour that Job and his master at length had the satisfaction of finding 
 all their property safe under their curiously-constructed shed. 
 
 Mr. Blair having so far satisfactorily arranged matters, the next, and 
 perhaps all-important affair, was the purchase of a flock of sheep ; this 
 was effected for him by an agent at Adelaide. They were a flock of 
 700, of the half-cross Merino, principally from Hobart Town ; and Mr. 
 Blair paid for them the sum of £1,000. These matters being arranged, 
 two shepherds and an extra farm-servant being engaged, Mr. Blair 
 found himself at length fairly launched on the sea of wool-growing 
 enterprise. 
 
 2 C
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 " Nay, gather not that filbert, Nicholas, 
 There is a maggot there ! " 
 
 SOUTHEY. 
 
 Once again we turn our thoughts upon the " Ocean Queen." She had 
 remained at anchor in the creek during the whole time we had heen 
 absent, and having discharged the whole of the emigrants and what little 
 cargo she possessed for South Australia, she was again observed with her 
 blue peter flying free at her mast-head. Pauline had remained during 
 the whole time on board, merely taking a walk on shore for a few hours 
 daily, accompanied by Susan, and she was, as may be imagined, anxious 
 to depart. Susan had spent an entire day at Adelaide, and the descrip- 
 tion she gave of that famous town may possibly be not unentertaining. 
 She had just returned to the ship, having had a great favour conferred 
 upon her — a seat in a bullock-cart ; she had just taken off her bonnet, 
 and was overflowing with news. — " Dear missus,"' said she, "la seen 
 the town of Addlehed. Such a town ! — we was an hour and three- 
 quarters a-getting from this place, going full jumble all the way, and 
 the carter told me as how he was a-going to put up at the sign of the 
 Elefunt and Cassel, in Duke Street, Clarendon Square. As we went 
 along, I suppose we might a got about .1 matter of a mile from this 
 place, when ! — (here Susan was much embarrassed) — when some gen- 
 tlemen of colour came from behind a frlish. I suppose they must 
 a been bathing ; but what can you think. Miss Pauline, when I tell yer 
 they hadn't a one raossel of garment on 'em ? — not a bit the size of a 
 lady's modesty-piece ! " 
 
 " Well, never mind, Susan ; we care not to dwell upon those matters ; 
 did you see the town ?" said Pauline. 
 
 " Oh ! bless you, ma'am, it makes me laugh when I think on it ! The
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 195 
 
 Elefunt and Cassel, Duke Street, Clarendon Square — ha ! — ha ! — ha ! — 
 why, it's a nasty, filthy, wishy-washy, little pig-sty, built of straw, in 
 a place where the cart-ruts be a yard deep, and there ain't another 
 dwelling a-near it. The very next inn is about one hundred yards ofi", 
 and built of the same materil, old rushes, and roofed wi' bark, which 
 they have a manner of peeling off the trees, like one peels a horange, 
 and then setting it upright it forms part of a house, in general the 
 kitchen ; and then the town is swarming with those people of colour, 
 and there 's none on 'em got a mossel of bre ! " 
 
 " Never mind, Susan; don't trouble yourself to describe them," said 
 Pauline. " About the town ? you were describing the town." 
 
 " Well, ma'am, fancy one hundred and fifty sorts of housen, some 
 square, some round ; some built of reeds, others of mud ; some all 
 boards, others tents ; and again, here and there a goodish-looking box 
 enough — and they are building a church actilly. Here the folks seem to 
 ave nothing upon God's earth to do but walk about in groups, like peo- 
 ple at 'lections. I met elegant ladies and fine Bond-Street gentlemen 
 cutting about there as knowing as could be, and I watched 'em into such 
 a shabby hut ! your barn at home, in the Twelve-acre Close, is the best- 
 looking house of 'em all at Addlehed. But a gentleman told me not to 
 make any remarks about the matter at this time, but to wait a year or 
 two, and I should soon see a shifting of the scene. I up and told him 
 I wouldn't wait a week in such a concern, but would go, please God, as 
 soon as I could, with possible speed. And that 's what they call the 
 emigrunt's land, is it ? — and they leave Lunnun and all England to 
 come and live in this Elefunt and Cassel, Addlehed, do they. Miss ? 
 Well, God keep me from ever emigrunting, I say — that 's what I say ! 
 For why, the bullock-driver told me he got 3s. 6d. a-day ; but then 
 he naturally says, says he, 'Meals, from Is. 3d. to Is. 6d. a-day, and 
 no wegeatables at any price :' then he sais, says he, 'What's the odds? 
 I can't get any the forrurder.' ' In course you can't,' says 1 ; and I 
 know he can't neither, whatsomever he may say. I met also a lot of 
 our emigrunts, and some on 'em hadn't a place to put their heads in. 
 I called to mind the Holy Scripture, about the foxes having holes ; for 
 it appears that those cunning varmint have the howdaciousness to get 
 all the holes at Addlehed, and charge a main of money to let anybody
 
 196 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 put their heads in 'em. God keep me from South Horstralie, if this is 
 it, I say." 
 
 " Well, but, Susan," said Pauline, " from what I read in the last 
 Colonial Gazettes, I should be inclined to say that the lower order of 
 emigrants were doing well. I read several letters written by labouring 
 people to their friends at home, speaking highly of the Colony and its 
 situation." 
 
 " So you might, ma'am ; but did you never read about Mr. Dr. 
 Thingumie's pills, and Mr. Dr. the other's sarve, — how he brought out 
 hair on a man's head as had been bald as a bladder of lard from his 
 childhood, and how the hair curled all over his shoulders like a Charles 
 the Seventh's wig? I a read hundreds of 'em in my time. Whenever 
 I gets hold of a paper, 1 aliss fust reads deaths and marriages, and then 
 all the advertisements. Them 's my politics. And I never picked up 
 one arout seeing in it, how mortal thankful somebody was has had lost 
 his bunnions, or gained his hair, or had his " 
 
 " Well, it may possibly be true in some degree, Susan. I placed 
 credit in them as genuine productions." 
 
 " So did I, ma'am, till I a been to the town ; but then I'm unspec- 
 tacled. The wagginer told me, that many 's the letter in them papers, 
 inviting fathers and mothers, and so on, out to this wonderful place, 
 when the man as wrote 'em as been a horfin for years, and is living at 
 that very moment in a Mile-End garret, and never was out of Lunnun 
 in his life !" 
 
 " Ah! you judge harshly, Susan," replied Pauline. 
 
 " Perhaps you think so, ma'am ; but, in that case, do you just try to 
 walk to town to-morrow — it's ony seven miles — and then judge for — " 
 
 " What ! is it seven miles, SusaiT?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, seven from here." 
 
 " That 's quite far enough off for a seaport town, to my thinking, 
 Susan : but I have little interest in these matters, and as we sail for 
 Sydney to-morrow at dawn, I shall not have the opportunity. There, 
 now, see that all is ready for sea in my cabin." 
 
 The vessel was now fully prepared for the sea. The pilot came on 
 board early in the morning, and every seaman was at his duty. The 
 Captain was walking to and fro on the quarter-deck whilst the anchor 
 
 I
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 197 
 
 was weighed. But who is this tliat we behold watching so intently the 
 operations of the seamen ? — who is that genteelly-dressed individual 
 who smoketh his cigar in such enviable mood upon the sacred precincts 
 of the binnacle ? who can he be ? Astonishment seizes us ; it is — it is 
 the same ! He has disappeared suddenly from our view. But we could 
 not be mistaken. Wherefore voyages he, and whither is he bound ? 
 But the vessel has fished her anchor, and rapidly is moving toward the 
 ocean. Still, we marvel what he can do on board; and it puzzleth our 
 philosophy to divine what can be the cause of his voyaging to Sydney. 
 
 Rapidly did the "Ocean Qneen" approach the disemboguement of 
 the creek : but two short hours, and she was again with every stitch of 
 canvass expanded on her way toward Sydney. Still, the same specu- 
 lations possessed us, and we cried aloud, " Wherefore departs that mys- 
 terious man ? or why does he quit so suddenly the Southern Australian 
 shores? We were bewildered ; all our imaginations were collected and 
 strained to their utmost, but still we made no progress into the secret of 
 what induced Tobias Turkey to instantly quit Adelaide for Sydney. 
 
 We cannot at present enter further into this mysterious subject, but 
 we may enlighten our patient readers by the following piece of informa- 
 tion : — that a letter had been received on board, directed to Ralph 
 Brampton Bilston, Esq. ; and that this aforesaid gentleman happened 
 to be on board, and was no other than our unhappy and unfortunate 
 friend the melancholy gentleman. The purport of the letter was this — 
 for we saw it, and we, from frequent readings, quote pretty perfectly 
 from memory. 
 
 " Sir, — Tt will doubtless very much relieve your mind (should you be so for- 
 tunate as to get this letter) to inform you that the presumed cause of your flight 
 is now a hale, hearty man. The pauper to whom you administered the opiate 
 gave signs of returning animation on tlie following morning, and by the time 
 the Jury had assembled, was enabled to convince them that his was at least 
 not a case either of accidental death or wilful murder. We (your unhappy 
 parent and myself) have vainly endeavoured to discover your retreat; but 
 hearing you had fled to vSouth Australia, we have conjointly written this letter. 
 " Your very suicere friend Stephen Howsle, and your affectionate 
 and almost heartbroken father Archibald Bilston. 
 
 " P.S. — You will be enabled to draw at any of the Australian banks for the 
 sum of £100, which we hope you will avail yourself of inunediately you receive 
 this, and make us all happy by your ])resence. 
 
 " P. P.S. —A certain young lady joii!? fervently in our prayer."
 
 198 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 The joy which seized upon the mind of the melancholy youth — or, 
 as we may now call him, Mr. Bilston — knew no bounds. Pale and 
 wan as his face generally was, it was now lit up with the rose of appa- 
 rently luxuriant health. He capered about the deck from one person to 
 another, proclaiming his good fortune, and giving to each astonished 
 listener a brief account of what had befallen him. Pauline entered into 
 his joy with all her soul, and Susan was busy in relating to her mistress 
 all the particulars. Turkey eyed the youth with silent surprise ; but 
 when he knew the real cause of his joy, he was among the first to con- 
 gratulate him, and recommend his instant return to his afflicted friends. 
 This, he assured all the party, he was determined to do, upon the 
 arrival of the vessel at Sydney. But excessive joy, like excessive grief, 
 is more than our delicate network of nerves is at all times able to bear : 
 the overjoyed youth was taken ill, and delirium had firm footing upon 
 his brain. There was now no doctor on board — none who understood 
 the mysteries of chirurgery ; but the case was desperate, and demanded 
 immediate relief. 
 
 " Have you any lancets, Captain ?" inquired Turkey. 
 
 " None." 
 
 " Have you a penknife ? " 
 
 *' Yes, here is one," said the Captain, producing it. 
 
 " Ay," cried Turkey, " but it is a square-pointed one, and will not 
 enter a vein. Fetch me a razor. Captain." 
 
 " But, Mr. Turkey, are you aware of the nature of the office you 
 impose upon yourself?" asked the Captain. 
 
 " Yes, sir : life or death is the nature of my office. I can plainly 
 perceive, that unless this man is immediately bled, he will go raving 
 mad. Look at his flushed and bloated face. Quick, sir, a razor if you 
 please." 
 
 The Captain darted away for the instrument, whilst Turkey unloosed 
 the youth's cravat, and bound up the vein of his arm. 
 
 " Look, sir," continued Turkey, pointing to the vein, " there is no 
 mistaking it ; it swells up thicker than my finger." 
 
 At this instant, Turkey gently pressed the point of the razor upon 
 the tight and almost bursting vein, and immediately the dark blood 
 spirted up, literally sprinkling the party who had assembled around.
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 199 
 
 "Let him bleed a couple of minutes by your watch, Captain. Ah ! 
 he swoons ! That is a sign, sir, that he has bled enough. Now we 
 will bind up his arm, and let him sleep. Poor fellow, the good news 
 was too much for him." 
 
 And as soon as the steward raised his head high upon his pillow, the 
 Captain and Turkey, being of opinion nothing more at present could 
 be done, went upon deck. The wind was blowing free upon the 
 quarter, the glorious constellation of the Southern Cross was shining 
 with its wonted brilliancy, and all was serene and lovely upon the 
 surface of the scarcely-heaving waters. 
 
 " List, Captain ! What is that I hear ? By Heavens ! 'tis list ! 
 
 'tis " 
 
 (A voice singing to a guitar. ) 
 " 'Twere vain to strike thy sadden'd strings, 
 My lone, my sweet guitar ; 
 Thy voice no more its music flings 
 O'er hearts that beat afar. 
 
 Then let thy notes of sadness tell 
 
 Unto the wild, wild sea — 
 Let sorrow's voice thy bosom swell, 
 
 And I will echo thee." 
 
 " It is the lady in the cabin ! Did you ever liear anything so sweet ? 
 How it was mellowed by the water ! Hark ! " 
 
 " I dare not sumnn n from thy breast. 
 
 Or gladness from thee sweep: 
 
 No, sorrow's song befits thee best. 
 
 And I may with thee weep." 
 
 ** Captain, is it not the lady from the cabin who sings that enchant- 
 ing air l 
 
 " It is, Mr. Turkey." 
 
 " Then I have lived to hear an angel," said Turkey, sitting down 
 pensively upon the poop.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIf. 
 
 " In the brown desert's weary way, 
 Mid toil and thirst's consuming sway, 
 All there, aneath the shade he lay 
 Of the wayfaring tree." 
 
 HowiTT. 
 
 We will now revert to the fortunes of Mr. Blair, whom we left snugly 
 ensconced in his tent in the grove of gums. His sheep and the 
 shepherds had safely arrived, together with sundry barrels of salt beef, 
 pork, sacks of flour, and other necessaries ; all these were safely 
 housed under the barn already spoken of, and the shepherds, having 
 driven their flocks to the pasture, prepared, by mutual assistance, to 
 erect themselves huts. All this had gone on very smoothly. The 
 grazing-grounds were unlimited, and his shepherds had huts already a 
 distance of fourteen miles from his tent. It was truly gratifying to 
 Blair, as he rode forth in the freshness of morning, to behold how peace- 
 ful and happy was everything around him. The very birds, from their 
 unacquaintance with man, hopped carelessly upon the boughs within 
 reach of his hand ; others, as if merely to indulge their curiosity, would 
 follow close to him, chattering to each other, as if to remark upon his 
 wonderful appearance, or attempt explanation amongst themselves as 
 to what uncouth animal he could be. 
 
 Blair was delighted. " Am I not," said he to himself as he one 
 morn thus rode forth, — " Am 1 not free as the very wind of heaven ? and 
 am I not following out the happy pursuits of our forefathers, the most 
 pleasing and natural to man, the rearing of flocks and herds, and the 
 cultivation of the fruits of the earth ? How diff"erent is my enviable 
 lot to those pent-up, wan, unhealthy, and unnaturally-employed beings 
 in the turmoil, the selfishness of a great city ! Here, the wind that I 
 inhale has roamed, pure as the ocean-wave, for thousands upon thou-
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 201 
 
 sands of miles, and has neither been tainted nor respired. Here are 
 the beautiful little children of the wilderness, that ' are born to blush 
 unseen ;' and here the utmost magnificence reigns in the gigantic pro- 
 ductions of the earth. Here grows the tiny flower, and here also 
 flourisheth the mighty eucalyptus. What situation can possibly be more 
 delightful to the reflective mind ? What can equal the impressive and 
 holy solitude of these unpeopled wastes ? To me this is the happiest 
 
 period of my life Great God ! what is that ? I am wounded ! " 
 
 It was too true. A band of natives had been dodging the solitary 
 man, till a favourable opportunity occurred of his getting more among 
 the trees ; and then, with certain aim, they threw their terrible spear. 
 Blair turned half round upon his saddle ; a long sixteen-feet spear had 
 entered the fleshy part of his arm, and, ere he could extract it, another 
 struck his hat, knocking it off" his head ; a third and a fourth flew past 
 him, and a fifth entered the saddle. There was no time to be lost ; he 
 put spurs to his horse, as he gazed wildly around him ; not a living 
 being could he discern — nothing but the black, burnt stumps, scattered 
 here and there in the forest, that bore any resemblance to a native. 
 However, there were numbers scattered around, for as he galloped, or 
 rather flew along at the utmost speed of his fleet steed, the long spears 
 whizzed past in all directions, and he frequently, to avoid them, lay his 
 whole length upon the neck of his horse. Heedless whither he flew, 
 scarce daring to raise his head, upon the foaming horse he bounded 
 along like a wild deer ; and Blair, scarcely knowing what he did, still 
 pressed the sharp rowels of his spurs against the bleeding flank of his 
 courser. Away, away ! many a mile of ground had in short time been 
 passed by the aff'righted man ; and now he turned his quick and sus- 
 picious eye upon the trunk of every tree, not knowing whether a native 
 might not be concealed behind it. At length, his horse, fatigued and 
 winded by his wild career, stopped to take breath, and Blair then dis- 
 mounted, took off" his coat and examined his arm. The spear had 
 passed clean through the fleshy part of it, and slightly wounded his 
 side ; but the wound had bled but little, and he entirely stopped it by 
 bandaging it up with his handkerchief. But whilst he was so doing, it 
 had suddenly become stiff", and he could not bend his elbow-joint. 
 The horrid thought now flashed across his mind, that the point of tlic 
 
 2 D
 
 202 
 
 THE r MIGRANT. 
 
 spear was poisoned. He knew not what to do ; and when the dreadful 
 idea struck him, it alnaost deprived him of his strength, and his knees 
 tottered one against the other. Could he but wash the wound, it would 
 be of service ; but he was in the midst of a sandy plain, and there was 
 not even a blade of grass. What could he do ? How truly is necessity 
 the mother of invention ! He unbound his arm, and from the foaminf^ 
 sides of his steed did he collect the brine, with which he bathed his 
 wound ; and the thought of this possibly removing the poison, if there 
 had been any, wonderfully refreshed him — he bound his arm once more 
 in confidence and hope. 
 
 But now another difficulty arose — where was he ? He never recol- 
 lected seeing this sandy plain before, he must retrace his horse's steps : 
 this thought consoled him at the moment. But the plain was of great 
 extent, and evening would rapidly appear ; he must demand extraor- 
 dinary exertion from his steed — but his steed was lame, for not till now 
 did Blair observe the head of a spear in the horse's fore fetlock, and 
 not till the horse had rested a moment did he feel it. Blair had "-reat 
 difficulty in extracting the fish-hook barbs from the gristly part they 
 had entered,^ the intense pain causing the horse to start and kick vio- 
 lently ; at length, however, the spear-head was extracted, and Blair 
 washed the wound in the same liquor with which he had bathed his own. 
 He now found, to his horror, that the horse could neither carry him, nor 
 get out of a foot's pace — it was a dreadful discovery, especially as Blair 
 at the part where he was could not distinguish the hills under which his 
 family were living. The idea entered his mind of ascending a tree — he 
 approached the first gum in his way with that determination, only to be 
 disappointed ! — the gum-tree has no lower branches, if it be any height, 
 and is of such amazing girth as to preclude any but a native with 
 his hatchet from ascending ; and even if his wounded arm had permitted 
 him to use the exertion of ascending to the topmost bough, he could 
 clearly see from where he stood it would be of no avail, as the trees 
 were within a foot or two of the same height; so that if the thin waving 
 branches had borne him to the uttermost leaf, he could only have beheld 
 the crown of the neighbouring gum. It was a most heart-overpowering 
 situation to be placed in, for all Blair's former habits had totally unfitted 
 him for any emergency ; and when he found himself alone, wounded,
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 203 
 
 with his horse also latne, in the unvarying wilderness — and when he 
 felt his burning thirst, caused by his exertions, the heat, and the irrita- 
 tion of his wound — and, above all, when he reflected that he was lost, 
 unarmed, and every moment, every step, might bring him again into 
 the midst of the natives, he was unmanned. Turning these thoughts 
 over in his mind and gazing anxiously at the sun, he found that but 
 three hours remained of light by which he could travel ; and then to be 
 missing from his family at night would cause such a shock to Mrs. Blair, 
 in the delicate state in which she then was, as to be productive of dread- 
 ful, if not fatal consequences. As these maddening thoughts rushed 
 upon his brain one after the other, he was unable to proceed ; he looked 
 wildly around him — to the right, to the left — he strained his eye in 
 every point — all was strange ! — totally unknown ! He turned his eye 
 upon his poor jaded horse, whose head was hanging down, with his 
 tongue lolling out, parched up with his exertion and the blaze of the 
 fervid day, and Blair could bear it no longer — he sat himself down upon 
 the sand, and burst into a flood of tears. Let any one who has not 
 felt the utter loneliness of the heart caused by the dread solitude of the 
 unpeopled wilderness, forbear to marvel that a husband, a father, could 
 weep when he found himself totally lost, and at the mercy of a savage 
 horde, more fierce than the prowling tiger of the jungle : but weeping, 
 though it might appear of no avail, was actually of much benefit — he 
 was strengthened, and the overcharged brain had found the true safety- 
 valve — a tear. Throwing the bridle over the neck of his tired animal, 
 Blair walked rapidly forward : his horse, as if seized with the same pre- 
 sentiment of evil as his master, kept close to him, and in this manner 
 did Blair travel for the space of another hour. 
 
 By this time, the evening shadows gave him warning, that unless he 
 were nearer home than circumstances permitted him to hope, he must 
 pass the night in the wilderness ; and to do so was one of the most 
 dreaded events the mind of Blair could comprehend. Not that he had 
 any childish fears; on the contrary, he was a man of powerful nerves: 
 but the shock his absence would cause to his family, who so looked 
 upon every moment he was away, became to him unbearable. Some- 
 times, in his desperation, he would run a few yards ; but the sultry eve 
 rendered it impossible violent exercise could be of long duration. His
 
 201' THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 thirst, too, was intense, and to relieve it he in vain chewed the sapless 
 leaves of the plants around. They were, without exception, of a hot, 
 astringent property, and parched his tongue without affording any re- 
 lief. Unahle to proceed, not knowing what to do, he sat down once 
 more in despair at the foot of a tree. Ail around was silent — not even 
 the rustle of a leaf disturbed the solitude ; one vast forest of the same 
 sombre-looking and similar trees spread out on all sides — a monotonous 
 scene, such as imagination were almost unable to picture. It appeared 
 almost a struggle of nature how alike each tree might be to its fellow ; 
 not a bush was allowed to appear on either side — all was one immense 
 regularly-planted plain, and nothing was around that solitary man but 
 gum-tree after gum-tree — an eternal labyrinth. 
 
 What could he do ? The sun was on the point of setting, and twi- 
 light in those climes is but of short duration. He dared not proceed, 
 for the wood seemed at every step to close around him. To the left he 
 could not stir, for that, to his thinking, led to where the natives most 
 probably were lurking, disappointed, as they had been, of their prey. 
 To the right he would fain have pursued his weary way ; but though 
 the mind had hitherto had the mastery and ruled imperatively over the 
 body, yet flesh and blood yielded to the agitation — the tumult of the 
 soul, and refused their office ; and there upon the barren earth laid he 
 down his aching head. 
 
 The sun sank in all his splendour, and darkness began rapidly to 
 enshroud the world. From the fatigue he had undergone, he soon — 
 as it were, in an instant — fell asleep, and it was not till the midnight 
 watch that the horrors of his situation became again revealed to him. 
 Once awake, he was unable to procure further sleep ; and he sat, cold 
 and damp as he was, saturated with the chilly dew, meditating upon his 
 forlorn condition. 
 
 That weary, dreadful night being at length passed, the dim grey 
 streak of day became more and more visible, peering over the forest, 
 and Blair arose, cramped and shivering. His first care was to look 
 after his horse ; but in the darkness, in his search after pasturage, he 
 had strayed. Blair searched diligently around the neighbourhood of his 
 last night's resting-place, but he found him not ; he called aloud his 
 name at intervals, and it reverberated through the lone forest, but no
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 205 
 
 horse answered the call. That which the animal had often obeyed, he 
 would answer no more ; he was lost in the maze, and time was too 
 precious to waste in the hopeless pursuit. 
 
 Hunger and raging thirst were the guests of Blair, and his distress at 
 the loss of his horse almost rendered him senseless. Collecting what 
 little philosophy was left him, he set off for the point of the rising sun, 
 and most determinedly proceeded through the trees for the space of 
 three hours, when he calculated that he had walked in that time up-? 
 wards of ten miles. The face of the country began to assume a different 
 aspect : the trees were of more stunted growth and were much scarcer 
 than formerly — the thick-tufted grass also made its appearance, and the 
 birds began to flutter from tree to tree across the prairie. Blair now 
 was flushed with hope, and his heart beat with joy when he beheld, in 
 the distance, eminences rearing their blue heads in bold outline against 
 the bluer sky. Notwithstanding the distance at which they appeared, 
 Blair now assured himself that had he but his horse, he could have gal- 
 loped home in a few minutes. However, as it was, he was cheerful, 
 and forgot his thirst, which had hitherto been almost intolerable, and 
 he bounded along barefoot over the plains gaily (for his boots, with his 
 extraordinary exertion, had blistered his feet). 
 
 Three hours' hard walking brought him to the foot of the hills. 
 " And now," said he, as he rested upon a rock preparatory to the 
 ascent, — " now, when I am once upon the summit, I shall behold the 
 smoke curling from the tent of my dear family." As thus he spoke, 
 unable as it were to delay another moment, he began the toilsome 
 ascent — which, owing to the hope that spurred him on, he was enabled 
 to accomplish in half an hour. Not daring to turn his eyes as he 
 ascended, lest he should encounter disappointment, he looked neither 
 to the right nor to the left till he threw himself on the rocks of the 
 summit ; and then, to his affliction, did he behold many other such 
 hills peering upon all parts of the horizon, and all in appearance so 
 nearly resembling each other, that for the life of him could he detect in 
 their monotonous features aught in one diff"ering from the other. 
 
 This was a dreadful shock to Blair ; but now he could not again ease 
 his bosom with a tear, for the fountain was dried up, and his wild eye 
 had forgotten its tender office. In vain he roamed his eagle sight over
 
 306 THE EMIGRANT, 
 
 the landscape ; all was solemn, silent, and strange — he could not rest 
 upon one thing which had occupied his attention before. Still, he had 
 a share of hope left ; and thus girdled, he descended the hill with a 
 determination of proceeding in a direction where he fancied he beheld 
 a grassy plain. 
 
 How long he pursued his walk, or how far on that dreadful day he 
 travelled, is not known — it was the evening of the third day when the 
 hapless man was discovered lying upon his face at the foot of a tree in 
 the wild. His lips were swollen, blue and cracked, and his tongue 
 protruded from his mouth, black and horny ; his eyes were open and 
 of glassy brightness, and his limbs were contracted and firmly set. 
 
 It appeared that the absence of Mr. Blair, so early as the noon of the 
 day on which he departed, had alarmed Mrs. Blair ; and this feeling 
 increased till evening was setting in, when she despatched Job to the 
 Shepherds' Station to see if his master were there, — and if not, Job was 
 instructed, with the shepherds, to proceed in quest of him. It is need- 
 less to say, their search was unrewarded till the evening of the third 
 day, when, just as they were about to return hopeless of finding their 
 unhappy master, they stumbled upon him. 
 
 Job instantly was at the top of his speed toward the tent to announce 
 the event; but having departed in such mad haste, he was unable to 
 say whether his master were dead or alive. This dreadful dilemma took 
 a fearful hold upon the imagination of Mrs. Blair, who read in Job's 
 confusion the death of her husband ! But it was not so ; for although 
 all but dead, the shepherds recovered him. They kindled a fire, and 
 chafed his cold and shrunken limbs, and they poured cordials down his 
 parched throat — so that by the time Job returned with the cart con- 
 taining all the family, Mr. Blair was enabled to relate what had 
 befallen him. 
 
 The invalid was, as soon as might be, removed to the mattress in the 
 cart, and the whole party set out on their return to the tent. The spot 
 where the wanderer was found was about seven miles distant from his 
 home, and his not being able to reach it he accounted for by his becom- 
 ing totally blind. Dizziness had seized him on the third morning 
 when he awoke, and increased upon him till about noon, when his eye- 
 sight became entirely lost ; and not doubting but his end was near, he
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 207 
 
 commended himself and his family, on his knees, to his Maker ; and he 
 imagines that, whilst in that act, he pitched, void of all recollection, 
 upon his face, being the position in which he was discovered. He 
 described minutely the agonies he endured, principally from thirst — how 
 in vain he searched even for a pebble to retain in his mouth, and thus 
 stimulate the salivary glands. No, not one could he find — not a 
 succulent herb wherefrom he could derive the least moisture. The hot 
 sun beat down fiercely upon his head, and his arm became stiff and 
 utterly useless, on the close of the second day. In this deplorable 
 condition did he wander hour after hour, till, as we have described, he 
 became unable to proceed. 
 
 Mrs. Blair had caused piles of wood every night to be kindled upon 
 the brow of the neighbouring hill, and wondered how it was that this 
 had not been seen. But it appears that Blair had seen, not only this, 
 but several scores of fires burning around him ; and, instead of their 
 proving an attraction, he invariably avoided them, considering them, 
 as they really mostly were, the encampments of the various tribes of 
 natives, to approach which was to meet certain and speedy death. 
 
 It will readily be imagined what a state of mind Mrs. Blair was in 
 during the three terrible days of her unfortunate husband's absence. 
 She at intervals herself discharged pieces of musketry; whilst her 
 daughters were the live-long night employed upon the mountain top, 
 feeding the fire that was to catch the eye of their unhappy father. 
 
 The effect of the anxiety and fatigue upon the young ladies vanished 
 when once more they saw him who was so dear restored to their arms. 
 They had youth on their side, and the memory of their troubles was all 
 that was left them. Not so their mother ; she was in a situation of 
 itself dangerous at her years, and the agitation consequent upon this 
 event, when she had in her despair prayed Heaven to have mercy on 
 the widow, produced a serious illness, and the ushering into the world a 
 cherub that could partake not of its troubles. 
 
 Blair had rallied wonderfully, and, from being the patient, the pain- 
 ful duty of nurse now devolved upon him. Job was despatched to the 
 Settlement, in company with a shepherd, in search of medical assist- 
 ance, whilst the young ladies, to the best of their power, attended to 
 the wants of their afflicted parent. The scene was of a most distressing
 
 508 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 description, for madness had seized upon the senses of Mrs. Blair, and 
 she raved but of her husband, and frantically exclaimed that the natives 
 had slain him in the wilderness. Day after day whiled away, and Job 
 returned, but with him no doctor. There were but two in the town, 
 and it was impossible they could be absent so long a time as the journey 
 required. They, however, sent medicines, with instructions ; but they 
 availed not. 
 
 This unhappy state of things continued for some weeks : at one time 
 the patient rallied wonderfully and was enabled to take a little exercise, 
 and Blair then encouraged hopes that all would speedily be well ; but 
 she defeated those sanguine expectations day after day, and the better she 
 had been one day, the worse she was sure to be the next. This continued 
 till all hope of saving her life appears to have deserted Blair. His dearly- 
 beloved partner grew dangerous at liberty, and he was obliged to con- 
 trive a strait waistcoat to prevent her injuring herself, or any member 
 of the family. Thus was she growing daily more furious, and uttering, 
 whenever poor Blair appeared, the most awful maledictions on his head ; 
 then her disease from raging madness took a plaintive turn, and she 
 would sit upon the bedstead hour after hour, singing the most soothing 
 airs, and entreating her daughters to join in the chorus. Poor girls ! 
 they indeed were not capable, amidst the horrors that surrounded them, 
 of acquiescing in the desire of their unhappy mother. Week after week 
 passed on — she continued about the same, varying only in the phantasies 
 of her troubled brain ; she was reduced by her sleepless nights and restless 
 days to a mere skeleton, but still she would, in her struggles to free 
 herself from her restraint, exhibit the most wonderful strength. Nature 
 could stand the contest no longer, and poor Blair on the morning of the 
 20th of May gave his blessing upon his motherless children. " Now, 
 my dear children," said he, " God has in his wisdom deprived me of 
 the partner of my bosom, the sharer of my sorrows, the fountain of all 
 my joys — your beloved mother ! She is gone ! and we, my children, are 
 now alone. Let us bear up as well as we may against the dreadful blow 
 that has fallen upon us, and let us not wickedly reproach the wonderful 
 deeds of the Almighty. The storm has passed over our heads — it has 
 robbed us of all that made the world dear to us ; it has passed, and we 
 are poor indeed, for it could take nought else that was so dear to our
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 209 
 
 souls. We will now console ourselves, that we can lose no more. You, 
 my tender plants, as yet know not the mightiness of the cruel blow that 
 has fallen upon your heads. I am now your only parent, and I look 
 upon you now as the apples of my eyes — the only tender link that binds 
 me to this desert earth : but I cannot repair your-incalculable loss — 
 the tenderness of a mother's heart no earthly care can atone for. Bow 
 your heads, my dear girls, humbly before your Creator ; your mother 
 has passed from the troubles of this world, to be blessed by a just — a 
 most merciful God." 
 
 At the foot of a large and dark-coloured granite rock, from near whose 
 mighty base issues the spring that supplies the else barren desert, is a 
 circular belt of the evergreen mimosa. In the centre of that grove rises 
 a plain stone, bearing the inscription — " Miriam Blair. Died 20th May, 
 18—, aged 43." 
 
 The remainder of the little band removed from the terrible scene of 
 their sorrows to a distant part of the wild, and bore up against their 
 troubles with the fortified bosom of those whose hopes are placed in a 
 better world. 
 
 The sheep of Blair thrived and did well ; but he was occasionally 
 very much troubled with the natives, who, upon more than one occasion, 
 surrounded his fold, and, after spearing the shepherd, killed a number of 
 the sheep in mere wantonness. These deeds of marauding were only 
 arrested by one of the shepherds shooting a native in the very act of 
 spearing his sheep ; which severe deed for some time after deterred, on 
 the part of the aborigines, any further attempt at robbery. The wild- 
 dog, too, who hunts in packs upon the same principle as the fox-hound, 
 made sad havoc amongst any of the straggling fold, and Blair computed 
 that he lost, at least, three sheep a month by their depredations. Blair 
 had ploughed and sowed five acres of wheat, but which, owing to the 
 extreme drought (he probably having sowed it a month too late), 
 merely ran to straw ; his other minor seeds, sowed on the banks of the 
 rivulet, he had the satisfaction to see thrive — and with the shearing of 
 his flock, and the housing of the little pulse he had reaped, passed away, 
 agreeably occupied, the latter months of the first year of the persevering 
 but afflicted Blair. 
 
 2 E
 
 CHAPTER XXXUl. 
 
 " It is strange 
 That this poor wretch should pride him in his woe, 
 Take pleasure in his abjectness, and hug 
 The scorpion that consumes him." 
 
 Queen Mab. 
 
 While poor Blair was struggling against his " sea of troubles " at his 
 sheep-station, his friend Rennie was walking to and fro in a state of 
 perfect indolence, but extreme anxiety concerning his location. As we 
 are in possession of a copy of a letter sent to his friend Blair (shortly 
 after the death of Mrs. B.), we will at once lay it before our readers, 
 that we may learn the reason of Rennie's inactivity. 
 
 " Mt dear Blair, — 
 " The melancholy intelligence of dear Mrs. B.'s decease reached us on the 
 2Tth May. I need not tell you, iiiy dear friend, how sensibly we enter into 
 your loss. I trust she is removed to a better world, for here we have one day 
 after another but a succession of troubles. I have been, ever since you left me, 
 in the vain expectation of having my allotment surveyed; but — will you believe 
 it? — though I have been here nearly twelve months, I imderstand the sur- 
 veyors are not likely to arrive before the expiration of another such period j 
 whilst here am I in this Adelaide, living at a most expensive rate, be as eco- 
 nomical as I can, with nothing that I can turn my band to, but, on the contrary, 
 my idleness is of the most perfect kind, — the trouble of shaving amongst us 
 here has become quite out of the question, and a many of us are perfect pards. 
 We certainly enjoy the dolcefar niente, if men ever did. Now, this is a most 
 unlooked-for and ruinous state of matters. All my ready money, with which 
 I bad expected to purchase flocks for my farm, I am expending upon house- 
 keeping, idly, in Adelaide. What can I do? I am driven almost to despera- 
 tion. But there are scores of us here in the same predicament ; and it cer- 
 tainly is some satisfaction to have companions in the matter — and far from 
 unpleasant to reflect, that there are other wiseacres in the trap as well as one-
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 211 
 
 self. What could indiw^e us to run open-mouthed and bite at the bare hook, 
 I know not ; but I assure you that it sticks tightly in most of our gullets. 
 Between you and I and a certain untalkative personage, I am beginning to 
 open my eyes, and unbind my tongue ; for though, as you saw, there is a patch 
 of good land upon which Adelaide is situate, and there is also a little dribbling 
 stream 'drags its slow length along,' but, Blair, call to mind the entrance to 
 the harbour— the tacking, and twisting, and sounding — the bother we had to 
 get into the creek ! And then, don't you remember the bumping ceremony 
 we underwent in getting up that same gut of water? We have had no less 
 than three vessels severely injured by this means since you left; and as you 
 may call to mind, the ' Tam o' Shanter,' which lay in the ' port,' well, or rather 
 not tvell, for she managed to get out of the creek, after a vast deal of trouble 
 and expense, only to become a total wreck off Hobart Town. Then, again, 
 look at us, seven miles from that creek ! How do you think we strangle that 
 difficulty? Why, we are going to cut a canal, or lay a rail, that 's what we 
 are going to do ! We people at Adelaide don't stand upon trifles. And 
 though a many folk, who have more impudence than your humble servant, 
 dare tell us to our very faces that we are a set of humbugs, and that our 
 Colony is a Government bubble, and was selected by a short-sighted old 
 woman ! yet we are not obliged to either listen to them or allow their opinions 
 to circulate at home, so long as we can raise the wind for a few puffing adver- 
 tisements, and ' letters from a gentleman long resident in the Colony 1' 
 
 " I have been upon a cruise to Port Phillip since I saw you — have seen that 
 famous port — and it is a famous port, and good land to boot, and a good fresh- 
 water river ; but they have got the same vile principle there which is ruining 
 half the land : you will know to what I allude, — the system of selling springs, 
 ponds, both sides of a stream, and so forth, playing the devil at once with that 
 part where no water can be reached, which sooner or later will be discovered. 
 Port Phillip is taking the shine out of poor dear Adelaide; but we 'name it 
 not in Gath,' neither do we ' publish it in the streets of Ramoth Gilead.' We 
 are, nevertheless, rather jealous of a place yclept Port Lincoln, which people 
 who are fond of making proselytes to their own opinions would fain have us 
 believe possesses an excellent and capacious harbour. My friend Captain 
 Charles Spencer has just returned from a visit to it. He describes it as a safe, 
 and, in every respect, convenient harbour; and the land around, he telleth 
 me, is a rich loam, when one arrives a short distance from the shore. But we 
 people of Adelaide place no confidence in the report of a rum-and-water 
 drinking merchant captain. What can he know aboyt land fit for agriculture 
 or sheep-farming ? Preposterous ! 
 
 " Well, my friend, I am happy to tell you all our compagnons de voyage, the 
 emigrants, are doing pretty well, having a//, I believe, got employment; but 
 they complain bitterly about the high price of eatables, which you know as 
 well as I, to my cost, is extremely dear. 
 
 " I know not how your weather is in the interior, but the thermometer is 
 often 125 to 130. But we have had little comparative sickness, save a touch
 
 212 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 or two of fever, which has carried off more or less of us. Generally speaking, 
 we are a healthy community. The natives bother us very much. They are 
 a troublesome, lazy set of miscreants, and I should like to see them either 
 forced to work, or to quit the Colony, for their nature is the most devilish I 
 ever could conceive. No gratitude — all self! Feed them up, fat as house 
 lamb, and the first time they catch you out of the hearing of help, they will 
 make their waddies acquainted with your pate, if they imagine they can escape 
 detection. We muster seven murders committed by them recently. Pray, 
 my good fellow, have an eye to them. By making a severe example of one 
 rascal, you will save yourself a vast amount of trouble. 
 
 " My son returned from Sydney all well. The young rogue looks all the 
 better for it. — Now, my dear friend, adieu. Wishing you every success in 
 your exertions, and sincerely sharing your great loss, believe me, with love 
 to the Miss B.s, 
 
 " Yours very heartily, 
 
 "W. H. Rennie. 
 
 " P.*?.— You recollect that oddity. Moss ? He has set up a public ! and calls 
 it ' The Roaring Lion, by Ochus Moss, from Marelebon, London. Good 
 Licquor and Tobacco.' — Report says his eccentricities and good-humour draw 
 abundance of custom. 
 
 "Adieu." 
 
 A short time after the death of her mother, Miss Blair, according to 
 her promise, despatched the following letter to Mr. Clinton : — 
 
 " My dear Sir,— " Mimosa Station. 
 
 " In the fulfilment of my promise, I now, after much delay, send you a 
 letter. We have, since we arrived at this place, had vast difiiculties to en- 
 comiter, and numerous unexpected troubles, day after day, crowded upon us. 
 The mightiest has been the loss of our dear mamma. The cause of her death 
 was intense anxiety, engendered by my dear father's getting lost in the woods, 
 where he wandered for sixty hours without food or water, and was then found 
 by us almost in a dying state ; in fact, life was ebbing so fast, that possibly 
 another twenty minutes and he had ceased to exist. This terrible shock upon 
 the feelings of dear mamma, in the delicate state in which she was, produced 
 very distressing illness, which, accompanied by dehrium, remained upon her 
 till she was reduced to a mere shade. We lost her on the 20th May. You 
 may readily imagine, dear sir, the state of our feehngs, and excuse my not 
 writing before. Our dear father has lost one shepherd (speared) and forty 
 sheep by the natives, and other michances, principally the wild-dog. We are 
 BOW 3 short distance from the spot where we buried dear mamma. Papa
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 213 
 
 desires me to say liis crops yielded very fair, and his wool answered his ex- 
 pectations. 
 
 " Relative to the important aiFair of which you wished me to consider, I am 
 at present unable to give you any definitive reply. The severe loss we have 
 sustained has paralysed us ; and to leave my dear father, would be the last 
 thing could enter my mind at the present. 
 
 " Hoping everything prospers with you, and desiring to accept Emily and 
 papa's compliments, 
 
 " I remain, 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 " Sincerely your friend, 
 
 "Ada Blair."
 
 ' 
 
 CHAPTER XXX iV. 
 
 " Behold, the Fairy cried, 
 Pahnyra's ruined palaces !" 
 
 Queen Mab. 
 
 Return we to the fortunes of Pauline. The good ship " Ocean 
 Queen," after eight days' run, dropped her anchor in Sydney Cove. 
 Pauline vas speedily on shore, and, at the recommendation of the 
 Captain, established herself at the Mitre Hotel, George Street, whither 
 Susan, the same evening she landed with her mistress, repaired. The 
 feelings of Pauline at the thought of being in the very same town with 
 her beloved Charles were those of ecstasy, and she fell on her knees in 
 her room to return thanks to the Ruler of all things, who had brought 
 her safely so many thousand miles. Whilst Pauline was still in the 
 attitude of prayer, Susan tapped at the door — she had brought a note 
 for Pauline. Pauline bade her come in ; and, having looked at the 
 direction, which was in an unknown hand, she opened the letter. The 
 contents ran thus : — 
 
 " Dearest Lady, — 
 " From the circumstance of being a fellow-passenger with you from our dear 
 native country to the antipodes, I make bold to intrude upon you this letter. 
 There is a mystery, dear lady, attached to you — the rude world may know it 
 not. Far be it from my heart to seek that which is in thy bosom hidden. My 
 object in thus addressing you is this — My time is now unemployed. There are 
 often little services we can render unto each other. The world is so consti- 
 tuted, that we have often n.eed of the assistance of our fellows, surtout pour le 
 voyageur. If, then, lady, the services of an humble individual may at any 
 time prove useful to you, they are at your command, and 1 am made happy. 
 
 " Madam, I have the honour to be, 
 
 " Your very humble servant, 
 
 " Tobias Turkey."
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 215 
 
 Pauline was amazed at the receipt of the note, and returned forthwith 
 the following answer : — 
 
 "The lady to whom Tobias Turkey, Esq., did the honour to address himself, 
 tendering his services, is ver}' much obliged to that gentleman. Should she 
 have occasion for those services, she will (under great obligations to T. Turkey, 
 Esq.) avail herself of them." 
 
 Susan was despatched to the post with the note, and Pauline sat- 
 down to ruminate upon the difficulties which surrounded her. Was 
 she to go to the barracks ? No ; that might not be seemly. Could 
 she commission Susan to go and search the book of prisoners' names ? 
 No ; Susan could scarcely read. What was to be done ? She would 
 cause Susan to station herself every morning at the prisoners' barrack- 
 yard to see them all muster, and then, if he were there, she would 
 
 forthwith No, she should not have patience for that proceeding ; 
 
 she would write a letter at once to the Governor, enclosing her own 
 note of introduction from the Governor of the Cape, This thought 
 she had no sooner conceived than it was acted upon, and Susan was 
 again on her way to the post. 
 
 Pauline threw herself upon the sofa, and gave way to the most 
 nleasing reveries. 
 
 " I shall soon see my adorable Charles ! Poor, ill-treated Charles, 
 if thou didst but know that thy Pauline was here !" and Pauline's eyes 
 filled with tears of joy as she dwelt upon the fact of her actually being 
 in the same town, breathing the same air, as he whom she so fondly 
 loved. 
 
 " I should like to see the prisoners' barracks! " cried Pauline aloud to 
 herself, starting from the sofa and looking out of the window. " I will 
 certainly go and see the prisoners' barracks." 
 
 Susan entered the room at the moment, and Pauline said, 
 
 " Inquire, Susan, how far this is from the No ! Put your bonnet 
 
 on, Susan, and bring mine, and my walking pelisse." 
 
 " My bonnet is on, ma'am." 
 
 " Well, so much the better ; run — my pelisse. I will see the pri- 
 soners' barracks ! " 
 
 Pauline was soon in walking costume ; and, in a few minutes, they
 
 216 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 might have been seen tripping along George Street, on their way to 
 some bye-lane, where Susan might, without suspicion, inquire which 
 was the way. 
 
 Turkey was smoking his cigar out of the balcony window, when he 
 discovered Pauline and Susan issue from the hotel. To throw away 
 his cigar and pop on his hat, was the work of an instant. Turkey was 
 also in the street; and on the sunny side walked he, Pauline and Susan 
 walking in the shade. They turned down a bye-lane, and Turkey 
 turned down also, still keeping a couple of hundred yards behind them. 
 Susan stopped to speak to a person in the street — it was an old woman. 
 Susan and her mistress took the first street to the right. Turkey met 
 the old woman, and inquired of her if she had not met a lady and 
 servant pass now in the street ? 
 
 " Yes," replied the old dame ; " I have. They 're just a-turned 
 down Betson Street, there," pointing to it. 
 
 "Did they ask you any questions?" inquired Turkey, eyeing the 
 woman pleasantly. 
 
 " Ony axed me which was the way to the prisoners' barracks," re- 
 plied she, passing away. 
 
 " Thank you," said Turkey. " Oh, oh ! I smell a rat ! I smell the 
 breath of an Englishman in those barracks. Oh, oh !" 
 
 Turkey kept the same measured distance as he had done hitherto. 
 Pauline and Susan continued their march down one street and up an- 
 other, till the large, square, brick-built barracks crowned the summit 
 of a hill, at the foot of which they were. 
 
 Pauline pointed out to Susan what she saw, and Susan said, " that 
 couldn't be barracks ; that must be a charity workhouse ! " But a 
 passer-by being appealed to by Susan, at once assured her that that 
 building was no other than the prisoners' barracks. 
 
 By this time Pauline had approached close to its large folding doors, 
 which at that moment opened, and out issued a gang of convicts, dressed 
 in yellow and brown, the most grotesque yet melancholy-looking set of 
 beings the eye could rest upon. Their sickly, hopeless visages — the 
 very readable despair which was written on each gloomy brow, bespoke 
 their utter abjectness. No sooner had the first body of some two 
 hundred issued forth, than they were followed by a long gang of other
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 217 
 
 prisoners, dressed in coarse grey, linked by their wrists two-and-two to 
 an enormous chain, which passed down the centre of the gang. Every 
 one of these hapless beings carried either a pickaxe or shovel — they 
 were going to relieve a gang upon the roads. As the brim-full eye of 
 Pauline rested upon the condemned and spiritless-looking host, guarded 
 as they were by the bayoneted soldiery, her heart was ready to burst 
 within her. She turned away sickening at the sight, for she knew not 
 whether the innocent one whom she so loved might not be among those 
 miserable men. 
 
 She was roused from her thoughts by Susan, who said she had just 
 inquired of a soldier if Charles was in the barracks — he said he did not 
 believe there was one of that name. 
 
 " Oh, I would give the world if I knew !" cried Pauline, wiping a 
 tear from her eye. 
 
 At this moment, Turkey came near to Pauline, and, taking off his 
 hat, inquired politely if there was anything connected with that esta- 
 blishment she was interested in ? If so, as he was about to enter it, he 
 would be very happy to perform any duty in his power. 
 
 "Are you not, sir, Mr. Turkey ?" inquired Pauline, her face flush- 
 ing of a deep and burning crimson as she spoke. 
 
 " That, madam, is my name," replied Turkey, bowing very low. 
 
 " Then, sir," resumed Pauline, " you are the gentleman who was so 
 polite as to offer me his services?" 
 
 " The same, madam ; your most obedient servant." 
 
 Pauline knew not what to do. She was dying to hear if Charles was 
 confined within those walls, and yet she could not trust his name from 
 her lips. Besides, Turkey, who appeared a gentleman, would wonder 
 what upon earth a young gentlewoman could have to interest her in a 
 prisoners' barracks ! Pauline at length mustered courage enough to 
 say to Mr. Turkey, who stood beside her with his hat still in hand — 
 
 " Thank you, sir, very much. Mr. Turkey — I — a friend You 
 
 are remaining at the Mitre ?" 
 
 Turkey bowed. 
 
 " I will possibly trouble you with a little commission, if you will be 
 so very kind as to execute it." 
 
 2f
 
 218 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure, madam." Turkey bowed once more 
 very low and departed. 
 
 Susan called a coach that happened to be passing, and Pauline once 
 more soon found herself upon the sofa at the Mitre, cogitating what 
 would be the better way of finding whether Charles was in the barracks 
 or not, for Turkey appeared resolute for employment some way or the 
 other, and she therefore resolved to trust him with the all-important 
 name on the morrow. 
 
 Susan, who was a faithful correspondent to her dear friend Mary 
 Webb, hearing that a vessel sailed for England in the evening, could 
 not miss so good an opportunity ; accordingly the following epistle was 
 directed to that excellent personage : — 
 
 " Dear Molly, 
 " I am at Bottomy Bay — lord less yer, yoiil say, where shal you get to next, 
 I wunder ! — i am just under Lunnun Bridge; that is, if they bored a hole thro 
 the earth at that place with a long pole, the pint on it would come out in the 
 market-place at Bottomy. — i spose that why its called Bottomy, cos its the 
 bottom or hind parts of the earth. Its a mortal qurous country, but plenti of 
 folks and housen, and gin-housen — and four men in the stocks, i seed em all 
 a -sittin a-smokin together — and my dear Missis and me went to see the pri- 
 soners barrocks, and the conviks ; its a horrid site — they are all chained to- 
 gether like honions hanging up in a growsers shop-door, and they do look out- 
 ragous pitiful, i expect they teeches some on em trades, when they are once 
 out in these contries, for i seen a main on em wi pickaxes and shovels on their 
 showlders^and as a gentleman of the name of Turkey was standin near me, 
 he whispers. Them be the grave-diggers ! Theres a no knowing what games 
 they get up to, not there. Now for all i bin I'ound the world — and many peo- 
 ple still will have it that it is round, arter all, as far as ever i could see it was 
 as mortal flat as your mangle-boards — and i believe it is too ; else, look you 
 here, we folks at Bottomy wud be walking just like flies on a sealing, if it war 
 the case; but we dont — i find no difference in anebodys gate whatsumever: 
 it wud be a shameful site to see wimen walking on their beds, with their eels 
 up in the hair; but you may tak my word it aint so — we are as desent here as 
 at poor deer old England ; i wunder when it will be mj^ lot to set my blessed 
 fut on it again — for my part, i dont see we get a mossel the farruder in the 
 Mississis affair. About my gentleman in Hafricker — i shal sho you a letter he 
 sent to the post-hoffice at Sidney, Bottomy Bay, when i cum back— it is half 
 ritten in the Hafricken tung, which to them as understand it is rekkond equal 
 to the lattin. He begins it — Mies deer lub, wens i spred harts on youre bus- 
 sums, member poor me at de Cap towne, my hart lubs — spred me harts on
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 219 
 
 yoiire bussura. That is all that i can dissolve at this present — the rest is wrote 
 in the Hafricken timg, which i spose he thought i was lerned in ; but it menes 
 how he adoovs me, no dout, and he shawl never forget nie in his thorts. He 
 had a very feelin hart, but it wouldn't a done for me to a had him — he had no 
 monee, and had lost his place ; else he was in a good sitivation, and was, he 
 told me, doing very well^tho I found out artervvards he was ony a apprentise; 
 but the fust of men be apprentises, you know. — I slial now conclude this pistul, 
 hoping you do not enjoy bad helth. Adew. 
 
 "Your faithful frend, 
 
 " Susan Peebles.".
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 " Nothing lovelier can be found 
 In woman, than to study household good, 
 And good works in her husband to promote." 
 
 Milton. 
 
 The affairs of Mr. Rennie at Adelaide were not improved. His land 
 lay still unsurveyed ; and at last, in his desperation, whilst he had a 
 little money left, he purchased a small flock of sheep, and, like his 
 friend Blair, became a squatter. 
 
 Blair, in the mean time, continued to thrive ; his wheat-crop this 
 time promised well, and his sheep bore excellent wool. But Blair had 
 never been the same man since the death of his beloved wife. He 
 often expressed his determination of quitting the wilderness and return- 
 ing to England ; but an event which happened at this juncture at once 
 changed his views, and created an unusual stir in his quiet dwelling. 
 This was no less than the arrival of Mr. Clinton, from Albany, South 
 Africa, That gentleman, upon the receipt of Miss Blair's letter, lost 
 no time in setting out for Australia ; and here he had arrived, at 
 Mimosa Station, ofiering his hand and heart for the acceptance of his 
 beloved Ada. It was the wish of Mr. Clinton, in the event of his 
 views meeting the approval of Mr. Blair, that the latter gentleman 
 should dispose of most of his sheep, and, with a few of the most select, 
 purchase a farm in Albany. There was one at this present time, 
 adjoining that possessed by Mr. Clinton, which that gentleman assured 
 Mr. Blair was amongst the best in the Colony for fineness of herbage 
 and abundance of water. Mr. Blair saw no objection to the happiness
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 221 
 
 of Clinton, if his daughter's affections were so placed. Miss Blair 
 tremblingly answered, that Mr. Clinton was a gentleman it was impos- 
 sible not to love, and, for her part, she was only too happy to become 
 his wife, and share his fortunes in the valleys of South Africa. 
 
 The arrangements for the wedding were not very easily managed, 
 as it was agreed that the first ship sailing for the Cape after the cere- 
 mony should convey the whole of the party, and Mr. Blair had to find 
 a customer for his sheep. He at once directed a letter to his friend 
 Rennie, offering him his improved station, together with his outbuild- 
 ings, homestead, &c. &c. ; and, by the same bearer, received an answer 
 to the effect that if Blair would allow him six months' credit, he would 
 purchase what sheep he might wish to dispose of, and would be happy 
 at once to enter the station. These matters were satisfactorily arranged 
 between the two friends, and Rennie was forthwith installed at the 
 Mimosa, which for a few days he left in charge of his servants, in 
 order to be present at the wedding of Miss Blair at Adelaide. That 
 ceremony was conducted in a style of considerable splendour, as it had 
 been the very first ever celebrated in that town or country. Every 
 inhabitant of the place forthwith appeared vdth a white favour ; and 
 as Mr. Moss was presented with a pipe of good wine, brought pur- 
 posely for the event from the Cape by Clinton, that worthy and un- 
 sophisticated host was enabled to dispose of it at a very low figure and 
 great profit. 
 
 On that ever-to-be-remembered day, the " Roaring Lion" was the 
 centre of attraction ; from it the bride and bridegroom, with their 
 retinue, walked to the church, and at it, on their return, under a large 
 bower of evergreens erected by Moss for the occasion, did the happy 
 party partake of a splendid dejeune a la fourehette. All was gaiety. 
 A ball in front of the " Roaring Lion" took place in the evening, 
 at which Moss himself "assisted," till he vowed himself " reglar 
 blowed." 
 
 In the course of a week from these festivities, a vessel left the port, 
 calling at the Cape, and in her departed Mr. and Miss Blair, and the 
 happy, very happy Mr. and Mrs. Clinton. 
 
 It will be interesting to state, that after a few short weeks had elapsed.
 
 222 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 the whole party found themselves comfortably established at Mr. Clin- 
 ton's farm in Albany. Mr. Blair purchased the adjoining farm, where 
 he has now a fine flock of 2,000 merinos grazing. Miss Emily had 
 not been long in Albany, ere a neighbouring gentleman, an English emi- 
 grant, "proposed" and was accepted ; so that in one of the most delight- 
 ful climates in the world, and in one of the sweetest of its valleys, 
 dwells the happy and contented little nucleus of Blair,
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 " My task is done ; my song hath ceased ; my theme 
 
 Has died into an echo ; it is fit 
 
 The spell should break of this protracted dream. 
 
 The torch shall be extinguish'd which has lit 
 
 The midnight lamp-— and what is writ, is writ : 
 
 Would it were worthier ! " 
 
 Childe Harold, 
 
 Pauline had prepared the note for Mr. Turkey, and it lay ready for 
 him when he called in the morning. His first care was, upon his arrival 
 at the prisoners' barracks, to inquire for the prisoners' book. This he 
 carefully looked over. The arrivals of the present year contained not 
 the name of Charles Augustus Eustace. He proceeded thence to the 
 Governor's Office, and having stated his cause, he was answered that if 
 he would leave his name and address, the station of the convict should 
 be ascertained for him — the probability was that he might have been 
 landed at Hobart Town. 
 
 With this sad, unsatisfactory news, did Turkey return to the Mitre. 
 He was ushered into the presence of Pauline, and there informed her 
 the result of his mission, adding, that from the circumstance of the name 
 not being upon the prisoners' number book, there could be very little 
 doubt of his being at the present time at Hobart Town. He therefore 
 advised Pauline, without delay, to despatch a letter to the Governor of 
 the Gaol at Hobart Town, instituting the necessary inquiries. " But, 
 lady," said he, " if I can be of the least service in taking ship for that 
 Colony, 1 will willingly leave Sydney at the first opportunity." 
 
 Pauline thanked him with tears in her eyes, but replied that she
 
 224 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 would write to Hobart Town as soon as she had had an answer from a 
 quarter to which she had made application. Again she thanked Mr. 
 Turkey, and that gentleman repeated his assurances "that anything 
 he could do to forward her wishes, he should consider himself supremely 
 happy in performing." 
 
 When Mr. Turkey had departed, Pauline said to Susan, " You see, 
 dear Susan, what disappointments I am doomed to experience ! Poor 
 Charles I am destined never more to see ! No doubt, in that hideous 
 garb, Susan, he is dragging out his miserable existence — and I, not 
 being enabled to discover him, cannot soothe his sorrows, nor con- 
 tribute, by my being near, to lighten his grief. Poor, unhappy youth ! 
 cut off in the midst of promised years, and to live in the crowd, and to 
 be clothed in the garb of those wretched outcasts I saw issue from the 
 barracks — Oh ! Susan, may you never experience what it is to feel the 
 pangs of hope deferred ! I will, however, as soon as I have waited 
 upon the Governor, depart for Hobart Town ; for if he lives, I am de- 
 tennined to see him, and, if possible, lighten, by sharing, his sorrows ; 
 if he is dead, I will shed my heart's tears on his grave. — What knock 
 is that, Susan ? Open the door." 
 
 '"Tis a letter, ma'am." 
 
 Pauline took the letter from the maid, and hastily breaking the seal, 
 read as follows : — 
 
 "Lady Barnham presents her kindest regards to Miss Somerville. Lady 
 Barnham will be most happy to see Miss Somerville at dinner this evening- 
 She has something to communicate of a pleasant nature. 
 
 "Government House, 2 p.m." 
 
 Pauline read the note several times over, and dwelt with much asto- 
 nishment upon the " something to communicate of a pleasant nature." 
 " Susan, did you hear? Lady Barnham has something to communicate 
 of a pleasant nature." 
 
 '' Has got summut to communicate of a plesunt natur, has her ? Then, 
 oh, come let us be joyful, joyful, joy ! "
 
 THJi EMIGRANT. 225 
 
 "Susan!" cried Pauline, half reproachfully, "do not give way to 
 such ridiculous — • — ! " 
 
 " But, dear Miss Pauline, I know Lady Barnham wouldn't have said 
 that 'ere — not those hidentical words, if there hadn't been good luck in 
 store ; so I'll maintain it through thick and thin — there 's corn in Egypt 
 yet, I know there is." 
 
 " Well, Susan, you are a comforter," said Pauline, smiling ; " I trust 
 you are a prophet also ! But, see, it is already nearly four o'clock. 
 Run, Susan, I must immediately prepare myself." 
 
 Susan was always a very active body ; but when the present occasion 
 — when her warm heart expected good news about to befal her mistress, 
 her agility knew no bounds — she was too nimble, and in her anxiety to 
 be extra rapid she caused much delay by confusing matters. But 
 Pauline at length was dressed, and, for the first time since she had left 
 England, she threw the chain, to which was attached the portrait of 
 Charles, around her neck. Susan made bold to look at it. " Oh ! " 
 quoth she, " it is the very spit on him — the very picture ! — if it wor 
 him hisself, it couldn't be more like him! — there 's his laughing dumple 
 in his chin, and his hair curled over his ears as exact as he wears it. 
 Lord bless him ! I wonder what 's become on it ; they never could 
 have the heart to put him in that cock-a-dooleing kind of 3'^allcr and 
 black, I'm sure." 
 
 " God forbid ! Susan," ejaculated Pauline, with a deep sigh, return- 
 ing the miniature to her bosom. " There, run, Susan, here is the coach ; 
 put on your bonnet — we must away." 
 
 Lady Barnham met Pauline at the entrance of the Government 
 House, and conducted her to her chamber. 
 
 " I am delighted you are come," said she. " I shall give you a 
 little agreeable surprise after dinner. I received the letter from my 
 dear Lady Briscoe, and have been ever since deeply interested about 
 you. But there," observing Pauline's countenance change, " don't be 
 surprised. I meant to call myself upon you to-day, but have been 
 troubled with a slight headache ; but it 's all past now, and I am de- 
 lighted to see you." 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you, dear Lady Barnliam," said Pauline 
 
 2 G
 
 226 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 gently, almost inclined to burst into tears, " for the interest you take 
 in my happiness." 
 
 " Well, come now, dear. Sir Thomas has returned, and he waits to 
 have a chat with you. Come, love, let us descend to the drawing- 
 room." 
 
 Lady Barnham seized the trembling hand of Pauline, and conducted 
 her at once into the room. Sir Thomas rose to salute her. Extending 
 his hand, and conducting her to an easy-chair by the side of the fire, 
 he said — 
 
 " And so I have at length the happiness to see Miss Somerville ? 
 Well, I am indeed delighted, and I shall crown my joy by telling you 
 some good news anon." 
 
 " Oh, do !" cried Pauline, almost forgetting where she was, and to 
 whom she spoke ; " Oh, do, dear sir, communicate all you know ! " 
 
 '* About what, my child ? " laughingly inquired Sir Thomas. 
 
 Pauline blushed ; and as the recollection of her impassioned speech 
 flew across her mind, her brow became of the deepest crimson. 
 
 " I know all about it," continued the Governor ; " and I may as 
 well tell you, as I see I shall have no sinecure of it till I do — Eh ! sly- 
 boots ! But I don't question Lady B. has taken all the gilt off my 
 laurels ! " 
 
 " No, dear, I have not," said that lady, smiling ; " but I was very 
 near it — T could barely refrain." 
 
 Pauline's eyes were riveted upon Sir Thomas — every moment was an 
 hour. The Governor provokingly wriggled about his chair, and rubbed 
 the arms of it. 
 
 '• What know you, dear Sir Thomas, about the unhappy man Charles 
 Eustace ? " cried Pauline with unusual energy. 
 
 " He lives, lady ! " ejaculated the Governor. 
 
 " Thank God ! " breathed Pauline. 
 
 " The man 's hung who committed the murder ! His companions 
 betrayed him. Charles Eustace had not yet landed when I received 
 the information. He is free and untainted as ever. And — " the door 
 opening at the moment — " he is here ! " 
 
 The next moment, and Pauline was locked senseless in his arms.
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 227 
 
 To describe the scene that followed is not In our feeble power. The 
 old Governor and his lady were both affected to tears, and Pauline was 
 unable to believe all that had transpired in the last few minutes, till 
 nature flew to her relief in the discharge of a flood of tears. 
 
 Charles was much about the same as when she had parted from him, 
 heartbroken, in England. He described, with astonishing gaiety of 
 manner, the sorrows and privations that he had endured these last six 
 months ; merely saying, that it was quite a medicine to him. He was 
 too happy in England, and it was necessary he should see both sides of 
 life. He now hoped, that as he had patiently borne the darkness, so 
 might he, with tenfold pleasure, enjoy the light which, in his adorable 
 Pauline, had again burst upon him. 
 
 The evening was far too short for all that had to be heard and told. 
 In that happy night, all troubles were forgotten. The Governor de- 
 clared, that never since the days when he and Lady B. discoursed on 
 tender matters, did he ever feel so delighted. 
 
 Three short weeks had scarcely passed away, when we had the 
 happiness to join the wedding party at breakfast at Sir Thamas Barn- 
 ham's, to hail the Honourable Mr. and Mrs. Eustace. 
 
 The fine vessel " Duke of Grafton " bore to their native country the 
 happy pair, accompanied by the faithful Susan, who expressed a wish 
 to land once more at the Cape of Good Hope; but the vessel not touch- 
 ing there, the last day of the fourth month from their departure from 
 -ydney found them at the entrance of the Channel. Landing at South- 
 ampton, they were not long in reaching their homes, where we have 
 every reason to believe that, if there be a happy one, the mansion of the 
 Eustaces shall claim the denomination. 
 
 Little else remains to be told. The faithful Susan was suitably re- 
 warded for all the trouble and " sheepwracks " she had undergone. 
 The gardener, who often dwelt with enamoured ears upon her adventures 
 " by flood and field," not to mention the Cape, made her an offer of 
 his hand, and there, in a little thatched cottage in Eustace grounds, 
 with roses and honeysuckles entwined around, may often be seen the 
 worthy and comfortable pair. Mary Webb had her pound and a lialf of 
 tea delivered by her faithful friend quite safe, and heard the whole 
 " particklers."
 
 228 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 Our South Australian friends thrived as well as most persons do in 
 those Colonies ; they endured patiently a little privation and disappoint- 
 ment, in the hopes of better times. The poor Doctor and his party, 
 who landed at Kangaroo Island to walk across it to the Settlement, did 
 not find the Captain's Guide-Book correct, not meeting with either 
 kangaroo or emu ; and after enduring dreadful hardships and the loss 
 of two of their companions, overcome by fatigue and hunger, at 
 length reached Kingscote. Moss flourished with his " Roaring Lion," 
 and was generally respected ; whilst our friend Turkey, " the wan- 
 derer," remained at Sydney, a clerk in a Government office — a situ- 
 ation obtained for him by Mr. Eustace. He told us, that it was never 
 more his intention to return to England ; he was very happy at Sydney, 
 and had not the slightest wish to run the unnecessary risk of returning, 
 and, " if memory served," probably experiencing a trial for bigamy. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 ARAB I N; 
 
 OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A COLONIST. 
 
 BY THOS. M'COMBIE, ESQ., 
 
 Editor of the Port Phillip Gazelle, and Author of "Australian Sketches," in" HXmvuovAs's 
 Colonial Magaziue," and "Tail's Magazine," &c. &c. 
 
 " May be conimeuded for soine agreeable sketching of character, and some 
 useful infoi-mation." — Atheticeum. 
 
 " This work, we doubt not, will attract a goodly share of the attention of the 
 public. The tale is simple, but interesting ; the characters are well sketched ; 
 •the adventures, without being unnatural, are striking, antl tend to chain the 
 attention of tlie reader ; and the various descriptions of Australian society and 
 ' life in the bush ' convey a truth-like portrait of life in that outlandish part of 
 the world. Mr. M'Combie is evidently a man of much observation, and one 
 who can turn his talent to the best account. "^ — Aberdeen Herald. 
 
 " Vigorous and life-like pictures of Australian scenes." — Northern Star. 
 
 " A plot full of interest, and a variety of lively characters to rivet the reader's 
 attention and carry him on with impatience to the sequel. The book possesses 
 a charm which we may look for in vain in works of pure fiction. 'J'lie work is 
 written in a popular and pleasing style, and full of incident and adventure." — 
 Colonial Magazine. 
 
 " From his connexion with the periodical press in New South Wales, Mr. 
 M'Combie has been enabled to gather together much curious information re- 
 lating to the humbler livers in the Bush and elsewhere in that Colony, and has 
 contributed entertaining papers about them to ' Simmonds's Colonial Maga- 
 zine,' 'Tait's Magazine,' and other publications. Collected, they make a 
 very characteristic volume, in which we read of many things generally \m- 
 noticed in more systematic productions, such as adventures among log-huts, 
 and descriptions of the habits of the ])oorer sctthi-s, their little rogueries, and 
 occasionally more serious offences. We may therefore say, that there is a new 
 scene for these domestic and internal concerns, which, as they differ from our 
 home affairs of a similar kind, may divert an idle hour with the variorum of 
 wandering life." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 THE BEST AND MOST RECENT WORK ON NEW ZEALAND. 
 
 One Vol. demy 8vo., price 8s. 
 
 NEW ZEALAND AND ITS AFFAIRS; 
 
 Forming a Complete History of the Colony. 
 BY DR. MARTIN, 
 
 Late a Member of the Legislative Council, and Magistrate of the Colony. 
 
 " A very interesting and elaborate work. The letters in this book are well 
 written and instructive, and the narrative contains a great deal to excite 
 
 astonishment Few books upon Colonial matters contain more useful 
 
 information. ' ' — Morning Advertiser. 
 
 " This woi-k is replete with interest and novelty. The history of New 
 Zealand is copiously narrated ; its government measiu-es recorded ; the settle- 
 ments graphically pourlrayed, and the aborigines and settlers sketched both
 
 New Colonial JForks, published by Simmonds ^' Ward. 
 
 amusiuglj- and cleverly. Dr. Martin's hook will be found to have great claims 
 upon the reading public. The following extract (being an account of the chief 
 Heki) will be read with redoubled interest." — Church and State Gazette. 
 
 " jJr. Martni's book appears at a period which will command for it a patient 
 and careful perusal. He brings to bear upon it the local experience of five 
 years' residence, coupled with the advantages of an educated and intelligent 
 mind. As the editor of a nev/spaper in Auckland and a member of Governor 
 Fitz Roy's Council, he is necessarily well informed on all that relates to the 
 liistory, progress, and politics of the colony." — Colonial Magazbie. 
 
 One Vol. post 8vo., price 6s. 
 
 AGRICOLA'S LETTERS ON SUGAR-FARMING 
 
 IN JAMAICA. 
 BY W. F. WHITEHOUSE, ESQ. 
 
 Demy 12mo., price 5s. 
 
 FRANCIS TAMO; THE INDIAN GIRL; 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 BY A COLONIST OF NEW BRUNSWICK. 
 
 THE EGYPTIAN TRAVELLING COMPANION, 
 
 FOR OVERLAND PASSENGERS TO INDIA. 
 BY E. N OLD EN. Price 2s. 
 
 THE COLONIAL MAGAZINE, 
 
 Vols. L to IX. Half-bound, 12s. each. 
 
 COLONIAL REFORM; 
 
 BRING A COMPREHENSIVE PLAN FOR THE MANAGEMENT OF 
 THE BRITISH COLONIES, IN A LETTER TO SIR ROBERT PEEL. 
 
 BY THOMAS M'COMBIE. Price Is. 
 
 A few copies of tlie 
 
 JOURNAL OF THE AGRICULTURAL AND HORTI- 
 CULTURAL SOCIETY OF WESTERN AUSTRALIA, 
 
 Vol. I., price 3s, are still on hand. 
 Also copies of the 
 
 ROYAL SOUTH AUSTRALIAN ALMANAC, 
 
 Full of useful statistical information relating to the Colony. Price 5s.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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 Form L9-50to-4,'61(B8994s4)444
 
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