Читать книгу Bertha Shelley - Aubrey Burnage - Страница 11

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Maiden! with the meek, brown eyes,

In whose orbs a shadow lies

Like the dusk in evening skies!

Thou whose locks outshine the sun,

Golden tresses, wreathed in one,

As the braided streamlets run!

Standing, with reluctant feet,

Where the brook and river meet,

Womanhood and childhood fleet!

Gazing with a timid glance,

On the brooklet's swift advance,

On the river's wide expanse!

—LONGFELLOW.

Another four months, and the Southern Cross has given up her charge, and her mixed assortment of prisoners are penned in Hyde Park Barracks—the more desperate portion to be employed upon public works, the remainder to be assigned to various masters, and scattered broadcast among the settlements. From Sydney, the capital town of the young colony, we turn northward, and reach the scene of our future chapters—the Valley of the Hunter River. Situated several miles above the mouth of the river was an extensive cattle farm, the property of Walter Shelley, Esq. Our readers may recollect it as the scene of our late midnight visit. The owner of the estate had named it Field Place, after the birthplace of his illustrious namesake, the immortal poet Percy Bysshe Shelley.

Field Place was a large Government grant of some two thousand acres; and was surrounded by almost unlimited grazing land, the nearest neighbour being at least ten miles away. Mr. Shelley had been a military officer in a regiment Stationed in New South Wales; and on resigning his commission, and marrying the only daughter of one of the high colonial officials, he had received, as a free grant, this splendid estate. He had prospered beyond his most sanguine expectations, and now possessed some of the best sheep and cattle in the colony. There was nothing in his appearance or manner to lead a stranger to guess his original profession. He had completely merged the soldier into the cattle-farmer—or, in the expressive term of the colony, the squatter. Few of his comrades, who, like himself, had relinquished the sword for the plough and the stock whip, were so thoroughly successful—probably because they did not relinquish with it the fashionable indolence and indifference, that in times of peace are its usual accompaniment. It was his boast to possess the best flocks and herds, the least troublesome government servants; and—when business carried him to the neighboring village of Newcastle or Maitland, and he took a glass or so too much wine—the handsomest wife and daughter in the colony. The latter part of the boast, though, perhaps, only excusable on the plea that "when the wine is in the wit is out," was, nevertheless, as true as the former. Few matrons of thirty-six were as fair and comely as Mrs. Shelley, and Bertha—'tis seldom two such lilies are seen in a lifetime!

It was early morning, and before the stars had faded from the sky, the pride of Field Place was up and out, inhaling the invigorating air, and adding to the bloom upon her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes by the healthful exercise of walking. A young friend, the daughter of their next neighbour, and a girl of her own age, was expected on a visit that morning, and Bertha, accompanied by her father, was to ride out to meet her; and wishing to start directly after breakfast, she had gone down to a small paddock at the back of the stockyard where her pony was usually kept, to take him to the stable for his morning's feed. Snowflake never remembered receiving his corn at any other hands than hers; and guided by self-interest (what can we expect from men, when even horses are actuated by mercenary motives?) directly he heard her voice, singing as she came along, he trotted up to the slip-rails, and stood waiting impatiently for them to be taken down.

'Good morning, Master Snowflake,' she said, gaily, as she let him through. 'You must make haste over your breakfast, old fellow, or you'll lose it; for you have to take me for a ride directly I have finished mine! Come along!' The pony regarded her for a moment with his large grave eyes, as seriously as if he knew all about it, and then, without waiting for further parley, trotted off to the stable to lose no time in beginning. Bertha followed him, laughing at his hurry, and, having filled his bin with corn, left him to enjoy himself, while she got her own breakfast, and prepared for her ride. On the verandah she met her father returning from the huts, 'Well, pussy, ready for your ride this morning?' he said, smiling at her excitement. 'See those red clouds along the top of the hills to the east! Don't you think it will rain to-day?'

'Now, Papa,' she answered, gravely, holding up a finger in mock reproof, 'Don't you prophecy rain! It doesn't look more like a change, than it did when you went to Newcastle last week. Mind, I shall be ready in an hour, so don't keep me waiting,' and without staying for a reply, she hurried into the house. Her father followed, and found breakfast ready and his energetic little daughter busily engaged in cutting sandwiches for their lunch in the bush. 'I have some good news for you, Grace!' Mr. Shelley said, addressing his wife as he took his seat.

'Indeed, Walter,' replied the lady, looking up.

'May I guess, papa?' Bertha exclaimed, forgetting her hurry and laying down her knife.

Mr. Shelley looked at the bright, eager face, a roguish twinkle in his eyes. 'Yes, Bert, you may try; but you can't guess, so you had better give it up.'

'Is it a matter of great importance?'

'Yes!'

'Very great importance?'

'Yes!'

'Are we to have a new Governor?'

'No! It's of more importance than a doz'sn new Governors.'

'You have bought me the new saddle you promised?'

'Guess again, pussy! More important still!'

'We are not going to live in Sydney again?' Bertha asked, with a frightened look. The forest flower had no love for town life.

'No, it is something of even more importance yet. Do you give it up?'

Mrs. Shelley looked on with an amused smile upon her fair face, while her husband was teasing Bertha. With a sigh of relief at the escape from Sydney life, that young lady demurely 'gave it up.'

'You won't tell your visitor, Miss Blair!'

'No, papa!' this said eagerly; girls dearly love to be the keepers of secrets, though, as a rule, not very successful in keeping them unassisted.

'I found a hen's nest in the stockyard with a dozen eggs in it.'

'Oh, papa!' was all that Bertha could exclaim in her vexation and disappointment; and her father indulged in a hearty laugh at her evident annoyance.

'But to be serious, Grace,' he continued, turning to Mrs. Shelley, 'I was told by the overseer, just now, that another transport is in. He heard it yesterday from Mr. Drayton, who was passing on his way to Sydney. We want another hand or two; so I will start to-morrow for Sydney myself to try if I can procure a couple more. I dare say your father could select me a couple of respectable men from among the cargo—men sent out for some minor offence.'

'And try if you can get me a cook, Walter. I want another girl; the work is getting too much for Janet,' said Mrs. Shelley, handing her husband his tea.

Mr. Shelley agreed to attend to the request; and no more time was spent in talking, all being anxious to get through the breakfast, and about the business of the day; and before the sun was an hour high, Bertha and her father were mounted, and attended by a tame black-fellow upon one of the stock horses, cantered off to meet their expected guest. The road led through the beautiful valley, now along the bank of the broad Hunter, now among the trees of the park-like bush, far away from sight or sound of the river; through dark brushes and open forest it wound along—the musical note of the bell-bird falling upon the ear as they rode through the dense cedar groves, the homely song of the magpie as they emerged upon the open ground. They cantered along, the silent bush resounding to the joyous mirth of the merry light-hearted girl, as her father recited anecdote after anecdote of his youth, and of the many strange and amusing things he had witnessed in his campaigning days. As they reached the outskirts of the station they overtook the overseer riding along slowly, and attentively examining the road.

'Holloa, Davy, what's the matter now?' Mr. Shelley asked, as they reached his side.

Without looking up the overseer replied, 'Them infernal blackskins has been at the sheep again, Sir. Just after you left the stockyard this morning, Jack, the boy, came up, and reported twenty sheep missing from his flock. I sent him on with the rest, and went myself in search of the runaways.'

'Ah! Do you think you are on their trail?' Mr. Shelley enquired, as he dismounted, and stooped down to examine the path.

'Yes, Sir, I've got it as sure as a gun. They can't be far off; for the tracks are quite fresh,' replied Davy Collier, the overseer.

'Bale dat track belongin to jumbuc!' suggested Jerry the blackboy.

'Why, you black devil—I beg your pardon, Miss; black rascal, I mean,—the tracks are as clear as your pipeclay teeth!' exclaimed the overseer, eyeing Jerry suspiciously. 'Come, now, I believe you know more than you pretend to about these jumbucs. Where did other blackfeller take 'em?'

'Bale dat Jerry know, Daby,' answered Jerry with a look of injured innocence. 'Me tink it alonga dat scrub!' he continued, pointing in a direction at right angles to the track of the sheep.

'Well, what do you think, Davy?' Mr. Shelley asked, remounting his horse.

'That the darkies have taken them to the Broad Lagoon, where we may find them in a quarter of an hour, and that Jerry here is what I was lagged for—accessory before the fact,' replied Davy.

'You tink it jumbuc [sheep] go dat way?' asked Jerry, with a grin, pointing in the direction of the Broad Lagoon.

'Yes, you nigger, and very well you know it,' answered the overseer; but before he had concluded his complimentary affirmation, Jerry had put spurs to his horse, and was out of sight among the timber, following the trail at full speed.

'Well, you're a cute un!' soliloquized Darby Collier, looking after him. 'Will you ride with me after the sheep, Sir? It's not more than a mile to the black's camp on the Broad Lagoon!' he added, as he was about following in pursuit.

'I think we will, Davy. There's no danger, Bertha, the blacks are only some of our own tame ones.'

'Very well, papa; I'm not a bit afraid!' replied the adventurous young lady, feeling very like a heroine, at the prospect of riding to the rescue.

The three left the road and slowly followed the trail down a long slope, and through a natural gap in a brush, and found themselves upon a large plain, scantily timbered as an English park; but, before Bertha could express her delight at the beauty of the prospect she now beheld for the first time, Davy exclaimed 'Well, after this, I'll back a darky agin a Yankee for cuteness; blowed if I won't! Look there, sir, Jerry and half the tribe driving the missing sheep this way. I'll lay a crown they'll swear they just found them.'

And there, about half-way across the plain, were the truants with their dusky keepers, who were urging them along with great energy, probably wishing to put as much ground as possible between them and their camp, before they should meet 'Misser Selley.'

The overseer pressed forward at a gallop, and, before Bertha and her father could come up with them, he was in the midst of the jabbering crowd.

'Look here Daby, me make-a-light jumbuck! [find sheep.] What you give it me?' bawled a dignified old darky, who carried upon his breast a brazen advertisement of his kingly rank.

'Give it you this, you infernal old thief! What for you steal him jumbuc?' said the overseer sternly, and, showing the length of his heavy stockwhip. A perfect Babel of tongues joined in asserting their innocence, and protesting that they never steal him anything belongin to "Misser Selley,"—one old fellow asking in a tone of injured dignity, 'What for that jumbuc want to come along a blackfeller like a that?' The question delighted the sable crowd, who accepted it as unanswerable, and shouted 'Budgery, Euringa pialla [good Euringa talk] like a-that!' Flattered by the popular applause, Euringa essayed again. 'What for that murry gourri jumbuc yan [good fat sheep come] along a blackfeller?'

Before Davy could retort to the sophistry of the unbleached philosopher, Mr. Shelley and Bertha rode up.

'That murry budgery [very good] Missie Berta,' shouted a chorus of voices; for the 'budgery white piccaninny' was a great favorite among the blacks who visited the station.

'Missie Berta murry coula [very angry] belongin to blackfeller, when that man jumbuc like-a this,' said the overseer.

'Bale that Euringa, man jumbuc Missie Berta!' asserted the sophist.

'Bale that King Bony!' said the chief; 'Bale that me! bale that me!' shouted each a turn, anxious to retain the good graces of Missie Berta.

Jerry sat upon his horse and grinned in silence.

'Where did you make-a-light jumbuc, Jerry?' the overseer asked him abruptly.

'That King Bony and lot a blackfeller fetch him jumbuc back to station,' replied the cunning savage, gravely.

'Well, Davy, now that they are found, I will leave you and Jerry to drive them home; and we will continue our ride,' said Mr. Shelley, turning his horse's head towards the brush they had just crossed.

'Very well, sir,' returned Davy, heading the sheep for the gap.

Leaving the overseer to attend to the driving, Mr. Shelley and Bertha retraced their way through the brush to the road beyond; and after a brisk ride of a couple of hours met Mr. Blair and his daughter Edith.

'Here they are!' cried Bertha, excitedly, as her friend appeared in sight; and urging her pony to a gallop was soon at her side.

'O, I'm so glad you've come, Edith!' exclaimed the impetuous Bertha, as soon as the preliminary salutations were over. 'I was afraid you would disappoint me.'

'Mamma says I may stay with you for a fortnight,' replied Miss Edith; and Bertha fairly clapped her hands with delight. It was seldom indeed she had the pleasure of the company of a friend of her own age.

Miss Blair was a direct contrast to Bertha, though a very beautiful girl. Her eyes and hair were dark brown, and her manner gentle and retiring, while her companion was a very lily in complexion, and as impetuous and energetic as Edith was quiet and reserved, but in kindness of heart and sweetness of disposition they were well matched. Equal in beauty of character they were, though of different types of loveliness; equal in graces of person; and there are many who would prefer the brown eyes and delicate features of the gentle Edith to the more dazzling fairness of the light-hearted Bertha.

'By the right, wheel, Forward!' said Mr. Shelley, in a tone of playful command, at the same time turning his horse's head in the direction of home. The others followed his action, and they rode slowly back, the girls in advance laughing and chatting merrily as their ponies cantered along; and their fathers following, gravely canvassing the condition of the colony and other kindred topics.

'I hear, Shelley, that the bushrangers are away beyond the Wollombi, somewhere—in the direction of Windsor,' said Mr. Blair, after he and his companion had exhausted the land question, treatment of convicts, city gossip, and other usual items of conversation. 'Four of them were taken about three weeks ago and hanged. From what they said, it appears the gang is completely dispirited and disorganized, and it is the current opinion, in Sydney, that the survivors will be arrested and dispatched before long.'

'I hope so, Blair. However, we have no cause to complain; they never molested either of us,' replied Mr. Shelley.

'But that is no proof they would always be so considerate. However, we are safe now, or at least till there is another gang formed.'

'Bourke [Sir Richard Bourke, Governor] seems determined to stamp out the crime. All runaways are to be hung, without enquiry being made as to any actual deed of robbery.'

'Rather warm that! However, it is better to hang an incipient bushranger at once, than to wait till a dozen valuable lives are sacrificed.'

'Holloa? What's this? Sheep tracks?'

'Yes; my blacks walked off, last night, with a score of fat wethers; but the overseer got on their trail, and found them over by the broad lagoon yonder. The cunning rascals tried to persuade me they had found them, and were taking them home,' said Mr. Shelley, laughing at the recollection of the scene on the plain beyond the cedar bush.

'Don't tell me villainy is born of our artificial society, and that to be an unfettered son of the forest is to be all that is honest and noble,' exclaimed Mr. Blair, joining in the laugh. 'My experience is that our noble savage is as cunning and avaricious as his white brethren.'

'Look, Blair, our girls are nearly out of sight; we had better overtake them,' and, loosening rein, they set their horses into a gallop, and soon came up with the light-hearted pair, who were chatting away quite oblivious of all the world but themselves, the subject of their discussion at the moment being the relative merits of their respective ponies, Ruby and Snowflake.

'What o'clock is it, papa?' enquired Bertha, as the gentlemen rode up.

'About dinnertime, you think, eh?' answered Mr. Shelley, laughing. 'Riding appears to sharpen your appetite.'

'Not far from one, I should say,' suggested Mr. Blair, looking at the shadow under his horse's feet.

Mr. Shelley looked at his watch. 'You are not far out,' he said; 'it wants ten minutes. There is a creek [Australian synonyme for brook] about a quarter of a mile further on, where we may boil the tea for lunch. Canter on, girls.'

The girls cantered on (or rather their ponies did, which was all the same), and in about ten minutes the party had reached the creek, and dismounted. Mr. Blair hobbled the horses, while Mr. Shelley made the fire, and set down the quart-pots of water to boil; while waiting for which performance on part of the pots, the girls made an impromptu swing of a tough vine depending from the branches of a large gum tree; and enjoyed themselves immensely, their fathers beguiling the interval by discussing business topics.

'Oh, by-the-bye, how are you off for men?' asked Mr. Shelley, after they had satisfactorily settled a suit between two neighbours higher up the valley, that was being tried in Sydney. 'There is another transport in.'

'Is there? Well, I'm full handed at present,' replied Mr. Blair, throwing some more sticks upon the fire.

'I am going down to-morrow to get a general hand, and Mrs. S. wants a housemaid, or something of the sort, and had you required another man, I could have got him for you quicker, perhaps, than you could have procured him yourself. Fullerton manages these matters for me very expeditiously.'

'It is very convenient to have a friend at court,' said Mr. Blair; 'and if I had needed another hand, I would have been glad to avail myself of your kindness. O, I tell you what you may do—buy me a strong dray and a tarpaulin. Mine are both pretty well worn out. In fact, they were so when I got them.'

'I will execute that, and any other commission you entrust to me, with pleasure; and now that the water is boiling, call the girls, while I throw in the tea.'

Mr. Blair rose, and walked in the direction of the peals of ringing laughter that saluted his ear, and Mr. Shelly made the tea and took out of his saddle-bags the sandwiches Bertha had prepared.

'Papa is going to have a flower garden made in front of the house, Edith, and a summer house. Won't that be delightful?' said Bertha, pausing for a moment, from the exercise of swinging her friend. 'And that reminds me I must ask him to get the seeds and cuttings while he is in Sydney. He is going to-morrow.'

'I wish he would get some snowdrops, Bertha. Will you ask him to; they are such dear little things. Come peeping up directly the snow is off the ground! Oh, we love the snowdrop in England!' exclaimed Edith, with enthusiasm.

'England must be a beautiful country, Edith! I wonder whether I shall ever see it.'

Wonder on little lady; 'tis the hand of mercy that hides the future! Wonder on!

'I forgot that you are a native, Bertha, and can know nothing of our beautiful English spring,' said Edith.

'How old were you, Edith, when you came to Australia?' Bertha asked, rather envious of her companion's good fortune, in having seen more of the great world.

'Between twelve and thirteen; but young as I was, I remember, vividly, the beautiful, green meadows, dotted over with daisies and cowslips and little blue violets. The grass and trees there are a real bright green, not a browny-green as they are here. And then the sweet singing-birds, Bertha; they are not, perhaps, as lovely in form and colour as your parrots and lyre-birds, but oh, such sweet, such delightful singers!'

'Now, young ladies, come along,' shouted Mr. Blair from a distance—saving his legs at the expense of his lungs.

'Come along, Edith; "that cobbon pot belongin to boil," as our blackboy, Jerry, would say,' exclaimed the impetuous Bertha; and the bright pair abandoned their swing, and ran a race back to the fire.

Half-an-hour spent over their lunch in the bush, and the party were mounted again, and cantering homeward, under the smiling sun. Would that the sun could smile thus for ever—the dark cloud of care never obscuring its brightness!