Читать книгу The Gold Hunters' Adventures; Or, Life in Australia - William Henry Thomes - Страница 26

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The day after our return from the excursion in pursuit of bushrangers, the cattle were yoked together, and had been attached to the cart for an hour, before the convict issued from his hut.

Twice had Smith cracked his long whip, each time crushing large green flies that had alighted on the flank of the nearest ox, and yet the lash so lightly fell that not a hair of the animal was ruffled, or a particle of pain inflicted. I never understood the science of using a whip until I learned it upon the plains of Australia, and saw stockmen, with one wave of their weapon, cut chips of hide and quivering flesh from the panting sides of frightened or contrary cattle.

As the convict advanced to meet us, Smith rose from his seat with an expression of gratitude at the prospect of soon being enabled to move.

"Well," said Smith, speaking first, "you see we are ready to start, yet we could not go without bidding you good-by."

"I have much to thank you for," he said, his eyes cast to the ground as though fearful of looking up and exposing the weakness which oozed from them, and wet his long gray beard. "My child thanks you all for the promptness with which you have revenged her wrongs; and to these two Americans she says, that her prayers shall ever ascend for your safe return to your country, and that happiness may await you when you have rejoined the friends of your childhood."

"Can we bid her farewell, at parting?" asked Fred.

"If you wish it, yes," answered the convict: "but I have prayed with her all night, and have besought the Lord to strengthen her heart under this load of affliction. She is calm now, and when you speak do not allude to her bereavement, or recall yesterday's bloody tragedy."

As he ceased speaking, he returned to the hut, and emerged leading the widow. Her looks were much changed since we had seen her the day before. Weeping and fasting, and sleepless nights, and above all, the thoughts of her husband's sudden death, had so preyed upon her spirits that she seemed like another person.

"Here are the two Americans, child, who wish to bid you farewell," her father said, when he saw that she was disposed to pay no attention to us.

Twice did he speak before she comprehended him; and after she had placed her hands to her head, as though to recall a recollection of our features, a faint look of recognition came over her face, and her leaden eyes were lighted up with some such expression as we had seen the day before, when she asked if Black Darnley was dead.

"You are sure that he is dead?" she asked in a low whisper, seizing Fred by the arm, and gazing into his blank-looking face.

"Whom do you mean?" Fred inquired, evading her question.

"You know; Black Darnley—the wretch who killed my husband, and injured me. You look like him; but your face is not so black, and your hair is lighter. But you may have changed it for the purpose of deceiving and wronging me again. Ah, the more I look at you the firmer am I convinced that you are the wretch."

She pushed his arm away, and turned with flashing eyes upon her parent, speaking vehemently—

"You told me that Darnley was dead, and that my injuries were avenged; and yet you see him standing before you alive, and insulting me with infamous propositions. Have I no friend here to protect me?"

"We are all your friends," I replied, in a soothing tone.

"It is false! There is not a man here, or Black Darnley would not live to see another sun. Men, indeed? Ha, ha! my husband possesses more spirit than a dozen of you."

She folded her arms, and rocked her body to and fro, shaking her head, and muttering incoherent sentences, with her eyes fixed upon the ground intently, as though trying, amid the dirt, to discover the blood of her destroyer.

Poor Fred, who looked about as much like Black Darnley as the man in the moon, turned slightly red with mortification; and to this hour, an allusion to his wonderful likeness to the celebrated bushranger is sure to bring on a fit of the sulks that will last a day or two.

Fred retired as soon as he found that his presence irritated the unhappy woman, who, it was very evident, was slightly deranged by her accumulation of trouble.

"We are all friends here," I said, at length, "and are willing to do your bidding. See, here is your father; and do you think he would stand unmoved in the presence of a man who had wronged you. You must surely recollect my face. Look at me closely."

"Ah, I do remember you now," she cried.

"That's right," I said, encouragingly. "I thought you would know the man you had leaned upon and talked with on the night—"

Before I had a chance to finish my remarks, with a wild, mad cry, she sprang forward, and, with a movement like lightning, drew my bowie knife, which was stuck in a belt around my waist, and had not Smith intercepted the blow I should not now be writing sketches about my adventures.

In spite of his interference, however, the knife, sharp as a razor and ground to a point like a needle, fell upon my unprotected forehead and opened a gash two inches long, almost penetrating the brain. The hot blood blinded me for a moment as it gushed from the wound. I staggered back from the unexpected attack, but before the mad woman had an opportunity to repeat the blow, my faithful friend was by my side, and had wrenched the steel from her hand.

"Ha, ha!" she shrieked; "blood!—blood!—his blood flows freely, and I avenge my own wrongs. Look at him bleed!—'twas my hand that struck him, and now he'll die like a dog. I triumph—I—I—"

She could say no more, but fell back in convulsions. Smith caught her in his strong arms, and was about to bear her into the house, when he was interrupted by what appeared like so many apparitions.

Mounted upon strong, well-trained horses, were a dozen of the mounted police of Melbourne, who, during our interview with the convict's daughter, had stolen upon us unperceived, and had formed a circle in which we were the centre, to prevent an escape had we been so disposed. So quiet had they ridden, that it seemed as though they had sprung from the ground at the command of some genii of the lamp.

We did not form a very prepossessing group, and, at first, much less suspicious people than police officers would have imagined that something was wrong.

"Hello!" cried the man who appeared to command the squad, riding towards us; "what have we here—a wounded man and a dead woman. Whose work is this?"

"We can explain this to those having authority to ask," cried Fred, carelessly throwing his rifle across his arm; yet it was done in such a manner that the officer reined his horse back several paces, and shouted—

"Ready with your carbines, men!—we have fallen upon a gang of bushrangers."

I heard the ominous click of the locks of the guns, and cleared the blood from my eyes to get a view of our assailants.

"We are no bushrangers," shouted Smith, starting forward and fronting the officer. "You should know my face, lieutenant," he continued, to the man in command.

"Ah, Smith, is it you?" the lieutenant said, in a sort of patronizing way, and riding forward. "Put up your guns, men; we are not among bushrangers, I think." And in obedience to his command, the men slung the carbines at their backs, and rode forward.

"What is the matter with that fellow?" the officer of police asked, pointing to me.

"He was just injured by a knife, sir, in the hands of this woman, who has lost her reason," answered Smith, in the most obsequious manner.

"Lost her reason, hey," said the lieutenant, carelessly. "Then she has no business here; or rather I should say that no persons of sense would be here if they could help it."

The mounted troop laughed, as in duty bound, and even Smith suffered his features to relax in token of appreciation of the officer's facetiousness.

"Where are you two fellows from?" inquired the lieutenant, turning towards Fred and myself abruptly.

By this time I had bound up my head with a handkerchief, and wiped some of the blood from my face. The wound had nearly ceased bleeding, thanks to some lint which I always carried about me.

"Are you talking to me?" asked Fred, in a careless tone.

"To whom else?—speak!" cried the officer, impatiently.

"Perhaps you would not know where the place is located, even if I told you its name," replied Fred, with provoking indifference.

"I am the best judge of that," answered the lieutenant, turning red in the face.

"O, you are?" Fred laughed.

Smith, who had acted in a nervous manner ever since the conversation commenced, approached and whispered in Fred's ear—

"Speak civilly to him, or he may take you to Melbourne."

This, instead of having the desired effect on Fred, only rendered him the more impudent; for he didn't relish being called "fellow," even if he had on a flannel shirt.

"Will you tell me where you belong?" demanded the officer, angrily.

"O, certainly."

"Well, where?"

"Have you ever heard of such a place as Boston?" Fred asked.

"Yes—it is in England."

"Not the Boston that I mean," Fred exclaimed, drawing up his form to its full height. "I mean Boston near Bunker Hill."

A sudden change came over the lieutenant's face. The dark frown passed away, and a smile crossed his sunburnt countenance.

"You are Americans?" he asked, with an air of politeness.

"We claim that land as our home," Fred answered.

"I might have guessed as much, for you both carry an emblem of your country."

He pointed to our rifles and smiled. We saw that he was disposed to be rational, and therefore laid aside our reserve.

"There are but few of our people," I said, "but know how to handle these weapons; and it's rare that they venture into an unknown country without one for a companion."

"I think so; for I have met a number of Americans in Australia, and yet every one clings to his rifle. But, while we are talking, the woman is suffering. Maurice, assist to take her into the hut, and open a vein if you think it necessary."

The man addressed as Maurice gave his bridle to a companion and dismounted. The convict and the stranger raised her in their arms, and removed the unfortunate beneath the rude roof, where at least she could be screened from the sun.

"Well, Smith, what is there new in these parts?" inquired the lieutenant, carelessly. "Seen any thing of Black Darnley and his gang, lately? I understand that you have been seen conversing with him a number of times recently. Take care—I give you fair warning; if I report you, your ticket of leave is withdrawn."

"But you wouldn't do that?" cried Smith, his face showing the alarm which he felt at the threat.

"I don't know but that it will be my duty to do so before long," cried the officer, shaking his head like a petty tyrant, who wished to inspire fear.

"I have been two days on the road," he continued, "searching for his gang. If you can give me any information, Smith, that is of real value, why, perhaps—"

"But I can give information," cried Smith, who, awed by the great man's presence, appeared to have forgotten all about the death of Darnley.

"Ah! of the scamp's gang?" the officer asked, with eagerness.

"Where are they?" demanded the lieutenant, leading Smith one side.

"Six of them are dead—and with them, Black Darnley," cried Smith.

"You are trifling with me," said the officer, sternly.

"No—upon my word; but ask the Americans, they will tell you all."

"Is it so?" asked the policeman, turning towards us with an air entirely changed from that with which he had first addressed us.

We confirmed the report, and gave the particulars.

He listened to us with astonishment; and yet his wonder was not unmixed with admiration. I saw him try to suppress that feeling, but it would find vent, John Bull like, and with an oath he exclaimed—

"By G——! you Americans are a wonderful people. You seek adventures with as much gusto as a knight-errant of the olden times. If I had a dozen such as you two under my charge, I'd soon free this neighborhood of bushrangers."

"There would be but one difficulty," answered Fred, with a laugh.

"And pray what is that?" asked the lieutenant.

"Why, Yankees have a great desire to lead, instead of being led."

He drew us one side, so that his men could not overhear his remarks, and said—

"Of course you knew that a large reward was offered for the death of Darnley and his gang."

We reiterated our ignorance, and the officer looked at us in astonishment.

"Then let me give you joy—for you have completed one of the best day's work that you ever began. Give me the proof that Darnley and his gang are dead, and I will put you in the way of obtaining the reward."

"We did not sell our rifles for gold," replied Fred, "but to assist an old man to revenge his daughter's injuries. If you can serve Smith and the old convict, we will willingly forego all thoughts of a reward."

In a few words we stated the case, and put him in possession of the facts relative to our taking up arms. He listened to us patiently, and when we had finished, said—

"If you can give convincing proof that the gang of bushrangers has been broken up, I can certainly promise you a free, unconditional pardon for Smith and the stockman. But I must first see the bodies of the dead men, and have your certificate of the gallantry of the parties named."

"How can we manage that?" we asked.

"By delaying your journey, and accompanying me to the spot."

Fred and myself consulted for a moment and agreed to do so. A day or a week was nothing to us, if Smith could be made a free man. We called to him:—

"Smith," said Fred, "do you wish a pardon from government?"

The poor fellow flushed red in the face, and then the blood receded and left his cheeks pallid as death.

"If you wish a free and unconditional pardon, you must go with us back to the haunts of Darnley," Fred said.

The tears started to his eyes with delight, and for a moment he was incapable of motion; but in another second he bounded to the side of the cattle, and with nervous fingers was unhitching the yokes and turning the brutes loose upon the wide prairies, to feed upon the rank grasses which abounded on the sides of the stream.