Читать книгу Helen Adair - Becke Louis - Страница 4

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As the girl walked slowly down the path, the outline of which could now only be discerned by the light of the stars, Captain Lathom’s collie dog came running after her, and thrust his cold nose against her hand with a whine of satisfaction. In his affections Helen came next to his master, and he knew that she understood him when he so often sat on the verandah steps, whining, and gazing wistfully down the path after “the captain” when the latter had told him with unaffected sternness to stay with his mistress, though to his mistress poor Russ was generally “an odious creature,” who would insist on following his master about the house whenever he was at home.

“Come, Russ. We shall have a whole hour or more to ourselves.”

The dog leaped ahead, and plunged into the underscrub in search of paddymelons or bandicoots, or some predatory iguana stealing through the thick carpet of dry leaves towards the settlers’ fowl-houses.

The road to the wharf led in a straight line from the commandant’s house, and showed like a riband of white through the dark vista of lofty trees on each side. It was ankle deep in soft powdery dust, still warm to even the booted foot from the rays of a scorching Australian sun. At the verge of the bank, however, the dust ended, and gave place to a wide “corduroyed” path of rounded saplings, neatly levelled with a filling of small stones. Here, too, the prospect, even at night, was decidedly pleasant, for the vegetation was dense and luxurious, and nearly all the trees growing near the water had their trunks enwrapped in masses of creepers—wild convolvulus, mulberry, and the climbing date, the sub-acid fruit of which were locally called “black-puddings,” and the air was filled with the rich perfume of many flowers and plants, for there is no truth in the so often quoted statement that in Australia the flowers “are without smell and the birds without song.”

At the foot of the corduroyed road was the little jetty, and as Helen stepped down the bank she saw the figure of Tim Doyle, an old “lifer.” He was engaged in lighting a lantern that was placed on one of the jetty bollards.

“Good evening, miss,” he said, in a rich Irish brogue. “Sure, an’ I was just afther wondering if ye’d be coming down the night.”

He limped—for he was very lame—towards her, carrying an empty box in one hand, and set it down for her to sit on.

“Thank you, Tim. It is a beautiful night, is it not?”

“It is that!” and the old man sat down on the wharf beside the girl and clasped his hands around his knees. A short clay pipe was in his mouth, and she could see that it was empty.

“Isn’t your pipe alight, Tim?”

“It is not. Sorra a bit of tibaccy have I seen this God’s blessed day.”

Helen laughed softly as she put her hand in her pocket and drew out a piece of strong rich twist tobacco.

“I did not forget you, Tim.”

Captain Lathom always left a little pile of tobacco on the store-room shelves when he went to Sydney, and knew that Helen would distribute it wisely.

Tim took it eagerly and pressed it ecstatically to his nose. Then he delved his hand into the pocket of his coarse canvas jumper, drew out his knife, cut some tobacco, quickly filled his pipe, and lit it carefully with a long ill-smelling, sulphurous wooden match, which he took from a round, green paper box. He puffed with silent content for a few minutes, then took the pipe from his mouth and gazed up into the girl’s face, and at the same moment the dog Russ came up and coiled himself contentedly at Helen’s feet.

“ ’Tis the black spot of sorrow I see in your eye to-night,” he said, with an inquiring and timid inflection in his husky old voice, as he looked into her face.

“I am a little tired, Tim; that is all. But I did not think I was showing it in my face.”

“ ’Tis your eyes, dear. Sure an’ it’s mesilf that knows whin they are dulled wid sorrow, or bright wid joy.”

“There is not much joy in my life, Tim. Neither is there in yours.”

“Thrue, darlin’. But it’s God’s will, and there’s a hivin above us.”

Helen sighed. “Yes, Tim; I try to think of that. But I often wish that I were dead.”

“Sure, dear, ye are but a slip of a girl yet, and death is a long way off from ye. ’Tis only an ould wreck like meself that should be thinkin’ of death.”

“You have had a hard life, Tim.” She put out her hand, and placed it softly on the old man’s head.

“A hard, bitther, cruel life, dear. An’ yet I niver did any wan in God’s wurruld any harm. An’ see me now! Just fifty-five years it is since I first saw the sun shinin’ bright on the water av Carlingford Lough, and heard the swate blating of the mountain sheep on Slieve Foy. God help me, but it’s happy I’d be to-night av I cud but wanst more see my mother’s bit av a cabin jist above the ould castle that bloody King John built in the days of Noah, or beyant, for that matter, for ’tis a terrible ould place.”

Helen made no remark in reply, and Tim gazed wistfully upwards to her face. She knew the places of which he spoke, and yet, often as he had tried to get her to speak of her native land, she either quickly changed the subject or relapsed into silence.

“Listen, Tim,” she said, raising her hand; “I think I can hear the boat coming.”

The old man bent forward. “Aye, ’tis the boat, shure enough. She’s just the other side av the long point, an’ will be here in another quarter av an hour.”

The point to which he referred stretched out from the left bank of the creek, and was within two miles of the junction with the river, which entered the Pacific many miles away at the Port of Newcastle, or Port Hunter as it was more generally known. Although there was a very good dray road along the river bank to the seaport, most of the settlers used boats as means of transport for their supplies, except after heavy rains, when such an enormous volume of water rushed seawards that it was quite impossible for boats or sailing vessels to make headway against it, and steamships were unknown in those days in the Southern Seas.

“I can see her light now, Tim,” said Helen presently.

“It is, sure enough, miss;” and the old fellow hobbled off to the shore end of the jetty, where a bell was suspended from a post. He rang it loudly, and in a few minutes voices were heard, as the settlers came down the bank, and then a measured tramp, tramp, sounded on the corduroyed path, as Sergeant Rush and some of his men marched down to meet the commandant. Helen herself, having no wish to be detained on the jetty by some of the gossiping women who had come with their husbands to await the boat, slipped quietly away to one side, and sat down on the bank at a spot which gave her a good view.

“Keep quiet, Russ,” she said to the collie, who could now hear his master’s deep voice talking to the men in the boat, and was straining at her detaining hand on his collar; “you must wait till he gets out of the boat.”

The boat was heavy and deeply laden with stores and supplies for the small garrison and the prisoners, as well as with some goods for some of the settlers; she was manned partly by soldiers and partly by good-conduct prisoners. Captain Lathom was the first to step out, his uniform soiled and crumpled.

“Good evening, Sergeant,” he said, returning Rush’s salute, as he stood beside the lighted lamp. “Get the boat unloaded as soon as possible. She is leaking considerably, and I fear some of the meal may have become wetted. Then let the crew have their supper and turn in. We have had a very long and hard pull, for there has not been a breath of wind since we started. How is Mr. Willet?”

“Still confined to his bed, sir.”

Something like a frown passed over Lathom’s face, but he made no remark. Lieutenant Willet’s continued attacks of indisposition were becoming somewhat too frequent to please his superior, who surmised, correctly enough, that they were largely brought about by Mr. Willet’s inherent laziness and aversion to any exercise not immediately connected with the performance of his military duties.

“There, Russ; you may go now,” said Helen to the dog, as she saw Captain Lathom coming towards her. He was walking slowly and somewhat wearily, for he was quite as tired as his boat’s crew, with the long day on the river under a fierce sun.

The dog shot off from Helen’s side, and in another instant was leaping upon his master, uttering short, sharp barks of delight, and then running round him in circles.

“Well, Russ, old fellow, how are you? Now, there, that will do, and don’t make such a noise.”

At the top of the rise he caught sight of Helen standing by the side of the path. “Is that you, Helen?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Mrs. Lathom quite well?” He never said “Your mistress” to her when he spoke of his wife, and for this simple consideration she was not ungrateful.

“She has been complaining of the heat, sir, and says she has not been feeling well all day, sir.”

Lathom nodded. “It has been a terribly hot day, indeed.” He paused a moment or two. “Do you not want to go down to the boat, Helen?”

“No, sir, unless there is anything I can bring to the house for Mrs. Lathom.”

“Oh, there is no need for you to do that. Old Tim will bring up everything that is wanted to-night.” Then he added, in his usual kindly tone, “I thought that you might like to talk to some of the settlers.”

“No, thank you, sir,” she replied, as she fell back a little.

He nodded good-naturedly, and stepped out along the dusty road, and a few minutes later entered the house. His wife was awaiting him on the verandah.

“It has been such a dreadful day, Fred,” she said, as he bent down and kissed her. “I am so glad you have come back. The heat has made me feel quite faint.”

He made some sympathising remark, and then sat down wearily.

“You look tired,” she said.

“I am—very tired, Ida. Shall I have time for a plunge in the creek before dinner?”

Mrs. Lathom smiled an assent. “Of course. Dinner will not be ready for half an hour yet.”

Lathom went inside the bedroom, took his towels and a change of thin clothing, and followed by the still excited Russ, slipped out into the starlight, and took his way along the same narrow winding path that had been traversed earlier in the day by his wife and Helen.