An Exile's Romance, or realities of Australian life

Front matter

AN EXILE'S EOMANCE "P. REALITIES OF AUSTRALIAN LIFE. EV ARTHUR KEYSER. AUTHOR OP "DOLLARS OR SENSE," " SO ENGLISH," AND " OUR CRUISE TO NEW GUINEA." LONDON : VIZETELLY &* CO., 42, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. 1887. CONTENTS. Chapter. faoe I. A Little Gamble 7 II. Two Friends 27 III. Good-bye 34 IV. Currendore 44 V. A Fight 56 VI. The Sailor's Home 72 VII. A Hide 81 VIII. The Wallaby Drive 90 IX. Missing 100 X. Jim Atkins' Picnic 106 XI. The Wool-shed ... . 120 XII. " The Next Merry Meeting " . . . . 129 XIII. A Journey to Sydney 151 XIV. On Board the Flagship 162 XV. Randwick Races 173 XVI. A Close Finish 186 XVII. News from Europe 197 XVIII. New Caledonia 207 XIX. The Prisons CONTENTS. 6 Chapter. page XX. Among Convicts 227 XXI. An Escape 238 XXII. A Cannibal Dance ■ 258 XXIII. A Feathered King 266 XXIV.

A Password 280 XXV. Lieut. The Hon. Cyril Danesbury, R.N. . 290 XXVI. Paris and London 305 XXVII. The Melbourne Club 312 XXVIII. The Melbourne Cup 320 XXIX. The Ball 331 XXX. Face to Face 339 XXXI. A Lonely Life 352 XXXII. An Awful Fate 364 XXXIII. Harmless Fictions 377 XXXIV. A Kangaroo Hunt AN EXILE'S ROMANCE

Chapter I

A LITTLE GAMBLE. "Well those were harmless pleasures enough, For I hold him worse than an ass Who shakes his head at a nich in the post, Or a quick thing over the grass — Go for yourself and go to win, And you can't very well go wrong. Gad, if I'd only stuck to that I'd be singing a different song. " As to the one I'm singing, It's pretty well known to all, We knew too much, but not quite enough And so we went to the wall ; While those who cared not if the work was done How dirty their hands might be, Went up on our shoulders and kicked us down, When they got to the top of the tree." — Gordon. " J I AKE a pull, old chap," said James Duncombe I in a whisper, to his neighbor, " I am sure you don't realize how you are plunging. You have lost a tremendous lump already." "All the more reason," answered Arthur Dacre, in the same tone, " all the more reason for a plunge.

Must get it back, you know." "Pshaw, chucking good money after bad. All Englishmen are vile gamblers, and you are no exception to the rule. Look at onr friend M. Jules Dau rent, he lost fifty quid and then stopped, saying, "j'ai la deveine, I will keep myself for another night." " Yes, that's all very well for a chap who is as cold blooded as a frog, but I can't do that. When I lose, I like to get it back, or at any rate try to. Aud I've lost a pot of money in these rooms already ; it's neck or nothing this time." " Then you'll leave here with nothing, old boy," said his friend, " one doesn't get round the cards by just wishing to, and if Crœsus himself followed up a run of bad luck, it would break him." "Oh, that's rot," answered Arthur, hastily, " you're one of the superstitious crowd who believe in all sorts of silly little theories.

No, I'm going to play again. That spectacled old count can't keep on winning all night, it isn't in the law of probabilities." " Can't he," replied Duncombe. " You'll find out he's a stayer in the end I fear. And what's more, he knows how to back his luck, and plank it down when he's winning. That man's no fool." The two speakers, who were helping themselves to refreshment from the sideboard, had just risen from a game of baccarat where very high play was going on. Joe Darvell had been giving a little dinner in his rooms, and as a not unnatural sequence, some one had suggested " a game of cards." The suggestion was acted upon, and baccarat for mild stakes began ; but as is usually the case on these occasions, the stakes grew and grew, till by degrees the sums for wliich this party were playing had become pretty round and solid.

Joe Darvell was one of the most popular men about town. His dinners were A. 1. That alone would be sufficient to account for the above mentioned popularity ; but added to this, there was the very great probability of being able to get a " little gam ble " in his rooms after the dinners were done. Also, one always met good fellows there, fellows one knew, though sometimes, as to-night, for instance, there might occasionally be amongst the company a chap or two whom one hadn't seen before ; but these were foreigners, people who had been civil to Joe in Paris, or Brussels, and whom he was anxious to entertain in return. Joe Darvell didn't play much himself ; in fact, he didn't care for it, he said, it didn't amuse him. And sometimes he would add that he thought it a rotten cut-throating business for a lot of pals to sit down and try to win each other's money.

But as the other fel lows always wanted to play after dinner, they might do as they liked ; it wasn't for him to stop them, and of course he joined in for sociability's sake. But on one point he was firm, nothing would persuade him to risk any big sum himself. If other fellows liked to " gamble," — well, they weren't children, and they could please themselves, but he wasn't going to waste his money in such a foolish, reckless manner. Arthur Dacre and Joe Darvell were great friends ; the former had dined with Joe several times lately, and each time, after insisting on a game, had, much to his host's regret, gone away a heavy loser on the night. The dinner this evening was principally in con sequence of Arthur having come to beg Joe to get those fellows together again, so that he might have his revenge.

Reluctantly, Darvell had consented, and allowed himself to be persuaded into a course of action of wliich he disapproved, for he was good nature per sonified, and felt unable to refuse his friend anything it was in his power to do. Therefore, Arthur gained his point and the dinner had been given ; and a good one it had been pronounced by the appreciative guests. And now here they were, far into the small hours of the morning, about ten of them, playing for stakes, higher, far higher, than the host by any means ap proved. And his friend Arthur Dacre, to please whom the dinner had been given, was the principal loser at the table ; in fact, the only big loser among them all. "While the packs were being broken and shuffled for a fresh deal, Duncombe had taken the opportunity of getting in a word of remonstrance with Arthur Dacre, but with what result we have already seen.

At that moment the host himself came up, and lent his persuasion to that of Dnncombe's. " Dear old boy " he said, " do please knock off. Yon have lost quite enough for one night, and besides which, think of me ; the game is in my rooms, and if you go on plunging like you are now doing, you may lose a pretty big sum before you know where you are. And if you won't consider yourself, just reflect how it may affect me." " Oh, you're all right," laughed Arthur, a little unpleasantly, " don't you worry about me ; other peo ple's misfortunes are tolerably easy to bear ; I shan't sing out or make a fuss, even if I lose all I've got don't you fret." Joe's kind face looked pained. "That's not like you, Arthur," he said, "you must know that I only spoke of myself, so as to see if feel ing for others couldn't have any effect upon you, as you don't seem to have any feelings for yourself."

"Sorry, old chap," replied Arthur, "didn't mean to be nasty ; of course, I know you're the best fellow in the world, but I can't give in. I've lost a devil of a lot, and I'm going to get it back. So here goes." And he moved once more towards the table. Joe sighed, and he and Duncombe exchanged looks as though to assure each other that they both felt con vinced their friend had taken leave of his senses. Then they too resumed their respective seats. Arthur Dacre, the young man supposed for the moment to have taken leave of his senses, was per haps not at any time pre-eminently conspicuous for his share of wisdom, but he had a frank, open face, and an habitual smile which always looked the very sign of a kind, trustful, easy-going nature, while his clear, bright blue eyes seemed to reflect to view, the good-will of the heart within.

But at this moment they were bright with excitement, though the face itself was as cool as ever, and even the same kindly smile played about his lips. A man may control his features, and by strength of will crush down feelings he may desire to conceal, but eyes will ever tell a tale, and betray something of what is passing within, behind that outward mask of calm. This is not a very happy moment to select for introducing Arthur Dacre to my readers, and I fear it will not be easy for anyone to feel much sympathy for a young man who, though he appear pleasant to behold, is yet in the act of wasting such gifts of nature as he may possess, absorbed in the occupation of los ing his money, with feverish impetuosity, in the small hours of the morning. But such things are, and if any interest can be felt for a young man in the position which I descr be, then am I certain, that as his subsequent story is related, you will not fail to evince a kindly patience, and listen to the fate of one whom chance or folly sent adrift upon the broad surface of the world.

We have doubtless, most of ns, been forced to appear at moments when we might have rather wished to retire to brush ourselves up for the occasion, but we were not able to do so, and could only make the best of a bad job, while trusting that our present appearance might not, after all, tell against us, and ardently hope that those eyes wliich saw us, might not judge in haste, but reserve their opinion until some occasion in the future. Thus, I too trust you will withhold your judgment upon Arthur Dacre, who, as you see, is not a perfect man. Were he a very Apollo in appearance, and possessed of a nature which knew no guile, then I should not now be writing his history. I could not. I have never met a per fect man. Arthur Dacre is a type with which I am familiar, and such as he is will I describe him to you.

Joe Darvell, the host, was, as I have said, one of the most popular of London men. He had a manner a delightful manner. There is a charm in some men's manner which immediately attracts. This charm Joe possessed in an eminent degree. Also he was ever ready to help a pal, always ready to give up to another, or put himself out to render a good turn. What wonder that he was popular ? Added to which he had, or seemed to have, lots of money, particularly ready money, so that fivers and tenners, sometimes even " ponies " were always forthcoming to help those in distress. And some London men, some who hold their heads the highest, wear .the biggest buttonholes, and even ride the freest stepping hacks, are oft-times in distress. Why, I have known men borrow a fiver, " just one fiver " when almost at their wits' end for money.

One sovereign of this will go for a drive in the " smartest " hansom that can be procured, wherein the " distressed one " will show himself " got up," or as the Americans say " gotten up " to the very nines. Another sovereign goes in entertaining a friend at dinner at the club ; another in stalls at the play. There is skill in these matters, or rather in these sovereigns. And it is necessary that they should be laid out so as to produce the greatest possible idea of ready money with the least possible amount of expense. Many of these " fivers " had Joe disbursed. Again, I say, no wonder he was popular — but this is all outside of my story, we must go back to the card table. The packs are made ; the party is seated, and M. le Comte de Deauville is saying " Messieurs faites vos jeux." The game as I said, was baccarat.

Now, for fear of boring those people who have never played this game, I will not here describe it, but content my self with saying that it is a game wherein money can be lost or won with very great rapidity. Those who have played the game and know all about it will, I am sure, agree with me that this is so. But the game is a fascinating one, and I believe that it is this very rapidity which fascinates, for, if yon lose, it is comfort ing to feel that only one moment will elapse before you have a chance of retrieving your fortune, while, if you win, you are equally eager to continue a^ng such a pleasant golden road. Therefore, rapidity suits both parties, " Ceux qui gagnent et ceux qui per dent." The Count was having a run of luck, the bank seemed quite undefeated, and the banker was backing his luck, playing la banque ouverte so that the punters might plunge their best against him.

And they did plunge. Charlie Gawtry was staking fifties a shot, while Ar thur Dacre, his face unmoved, but his eyes wearing an eager, anxious look, was going " centuries." Now this sort of sum mounts up, especially as there was nothing to counter-balance it on the winning side, for when the bank lost, Arthur invariably left his stake down, in the h .pes of landing the " coup de trois," that is, if he doubled his hundred he left two hundred for the next deal ; if that were doubled, he left the stake won and the original stake, four hundred, for his next shot. This was the coup he had endeavored to win, but luck was against the table, and the hun dreds were invariably raked into the bank. At the conclusion of the deal, someone suggested the bank being put np to auction, but there was a general out cry against this.

Was the Comte willing to continue la banque ouverte ? " Mais oui," said that gentleman. Then the individual who had ventured to suggest an auction was silenced, for surely it was better fun to punt against an unlimited capital than against a wretched four or five hundred pounds, wliich someone else might be willing to put up for a bank. " Mais ga serait un mesquin jeu" cried M. Dau rent, who had all this time remained spectator ; and " how on earth are we to get our money back at that kind of bank V demanded one of the heaviest losers : to which the original speaker would most probably have' desired to reply that it didn't matter to him whether the plungers got tlieir money back or not, but refrained. People who lose their money at cards are, as a rule, the most selfish of mankind, for they are apt to consider that their losses are equally interesting, and of quite as much moment to others as they are to themselves.

The bank remained ouverte — that is, without limit, also it continued to win. At the end of it, the pun ters appeared to have had enough ; someone proposed leaving off for the night, and the host warmly seconded the motion. The Comte was tired too, and it was very little use anyone else attempting a fiddling little bank after that giant game. So it was universally agreed to stop. When counting up his losses, Arthur Dacre found that he had dropped somewhere about fifteen thousand pounds, for when his I. O. U.'s and cheques came in, he found they amounted to this very decent total. The week before, he had lost six thousand pounds ; the week before that, four thousand ; and sometime previous he had started his ill-luck with a series of losses amounting to eight thousand pounds. Therefore to-night about finished him, though he did not say so.

He had jestingly told his friend that to-night meant neck or nothing. It was true ; he now had nothing, for when he had paid up, there was little more than nothing left. Though others also had lost pretty freely, there were many to sympathize with Arthur ; their own losses dwarfed beside such a sum. But they agreed he was a splendid sportsman ; he took his ill luck so well, and went about, now it was over, smiling and laughing, apparently the gayest of them all. And this gaiety was not altogether put on either. There is a certain relief when the battle is over and the worst is known. Then can one up and face it like a man ; the foe is there, the danger real, not now the time to quail, rather smile and be glad at the prospect of a fight, and the end of a torture which brings with it a certainty, however unwelcome, or un alluring that certainty may be.

It is when the torture is going on, when the best or the worst may happen, either of the two at each moment as it passes by — this is trial, this is hard ; and if a man smile then, or go unmoved through such a time, it is because bodily sensation has been conquered by mind, while his nerves lie quelled by strength of spirit. No merit in smiling after wards ; any fool can smile with relief. But Arthur Dacre is not a fool, for had he not 6miled all along, though all along aware that what he was doing was folly, mad folly, and that mad folly his own free will, nay more, his own free will in the teeth of the advice of his friends. Such being the case, it may be supposed that pride alone would make him take the blows with smiles upon his face, and come up once more beaming, for another tussle with fortune and the cards.

He wa not proud of what he was doing, far from it. In his heart of hearts he was very much ashamed, bnt the mad fit was on him, a dogged English bulldog tenac ity made him go obstinately on, flying in the face of fortune. He had lost his money ; he would get it back. Thus he argued within himself ; but surely he was not likely to cry out for pity while worsted in a con test of which he was ashamed, or attract attention to his actions by demanding sympathy in his losses. And yet how many do this. How many men gamble and plunge, then as they get deeper and deeper into the mire, cry aloud for others to take note of their misfortune. Poor, weak aud foolish fools, if they only knew how beneath contempt such conduct does appear. '21 At any rate, Arthur Dacre, on this present occa sion, came as well out of such an ignoble contest as under the circumstances was possible.

It is true there was nothing much to brag about, he had engaged in a low kind of war, but the bad action of which he had been guilty was done with as good grace as a bad action could be done. And now it was over, he was able to be as cheerful, as anyone there present. " Don' t trouble, my boy," he said to Darvell, as that gentleman began to condole " it's all in the for tune of war, and someone must lose, and also some one must win. I'm glad you got hold of something," turning to George Duncombe, for whom he was writing a cheque for his sliare of the spoil. But the larg est cheques of all went to Bill Travers and Moris. le Comte. "Let me congratulate you on your hick," he said to those two gentlemen, with a smile, who, as they took the welcome cheques expressed their sorrow at beinoobliged to rob him to such an extent.

"Have another drink, anyone?" said the host. And then as he poured out a brandy and soda, " Arthur, here's to better luck next time." "There'll be no next time for me, Joe," he answered, "enough's as good as a feast. I've had my revenge, and that's finished it. But I want to say a word to you to-morrow, or rather to-day, old boy, if I can. Shall I come round at two o' clock ? Will you be in ?" "Yes, certainly," answered Darvell, looking rather puzzled, " what can I do for yon. I fear if it is about to-night, your figures are too big for me to be of any use." "Oh, it's not that sort of thing," said Arthur hastily, " I can pay all they've shot me for, but it's something more important still." "All right, then," replied Joe, in his kindest man ner, " two o'clock I'll be here, and ready to do any thing you may wish."

" Now, goodnight. Goodnight, everyone," said Arthur, in a louder tone to the general company, ' bonsoir, messieurs," turning to the two Frenchmen who were saying something polite about hoping he would conquer fortune in the end and have better luck next time. " And here's to our next merry meeting," added M. Daurent, lifting his glass to his lips in parting salute, "next time we meet may you have meilleure chance." And as the door closed this was the last speech which Arthur heard that night. Next time they met — ah, that would be a strange meeting in a strange land, and as to the meilleure chance — well, it is early days to discuss that now. Once outside in the street, Arthur walked a little way, and then stood still, and taking off his hat, bared his head, hot and throbbing yet, to the cool night air.

Then he said "whew," a prolonged drawn-out "whew" which conveyed volumes of meaning, when he supplemented this remark by saying out loud, " Well, I've been, and gone, and done it — Oh, it's almost more than I can bear." and for one moment his voice shook as though he would break down, bemoan his fate, let his nerves give way and cry over his misfortune like a woman. "No," he cried, "what am I thinking of?" and like a great Newfoundland dog, he gave himself a shake. " By Jove," he went on, " I verily believe I was going to be false to my own pet philosophy, and cry over spilt milk. No, never. Arthur Dacre ; you're a man. you've been foolish, d — d foolish, but don't add to your folly. ' When things are at tlieir worst, then misfortune will mend.' ' There is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.' Ha, ha," and he gave a rather hysterical laugh, " its a lowish tide, this, but I'll take it anyhow. ' Needs must, &c.' Well," and he ran his fingers through his hair as he walked slowly down the street.

" It's no use bothering about it, I'm cleaned out, and I am not the first one to whom it has hap pened. But still that doesn't make it any the pleas anter," ho thought. " It would scarcely comfort an eel to inform it that it wasn't the first who had lost its skin in the painful manner peculiar to that class of fish. But still, one must say these things, just to argue with one's self, as it were," he went on in rapid thought. "Ah, well, I must go. There's no help for it. Seek the seclusion of far Australia, and leave the world and all its follies behind. But, oh, can I leave Edie ? That will be a wrench indeed. Why must I leave her ?" he asked himself, fiercely. " Why ? Because I'm a pauper," came the self-answered reply, "a wretched pauper — pauperized by gambling. Fool, fool, that I have been.

Edie, I have lost you, lost your love. To-night I staked it on those accursed cards, and those accursed cards, they robbed me of my all. Oh, why did I do it, why ?" and here the poor young man came to a stand still beneath a lamp post, and for the second time showed symptoms of breaking down. " Oh, it is hard lines, that I should have had such luck. I couldn't marry on what I had, as I have lost so much, and so to night I went for the gloves, and my love is lost to me forever. Oh, Edie," he con tinued, thinking half aloud, as he wandered on down the deserted streets. " Oh, Edie, we shall have to part." There was something very pathetic about this little drama, had one only been there to see. This young man alone in the desert of London streets, for the London streets at four in the morning are a desert indeed, walking along those silent thorough fares, apparently the only living things beside him self, an occasional policeman, or the noiseless prowling cats.

This tall, well-dressed young man, strolling home at that hour, as though he had come fresh from some scene of dissipation and revelry, you would most probably have put down to be one of the many gay butterflies who had been passing the night in boisterous pleasure ; now weariedly seeking his bed, on which to sleep off all recollection of such feverish amusement. How you would wrong him. How dangerous it is to judge by appearance. From a scene of dissipa tion he came, it is true, but his thoughts were not there, nor did he look forward to the forgetfulness of sleep, for his heart was full within him. You saw in him a man ruined and beggared by a long course of folly, which had terminated only a few minutes ago, and as he went, as you perhaps thought, gaily, down the street, he was reaping the very bitterness of self reproach, the harvest of what he himself had sown, while making up his mind to leave his country and his home, and what was more than either, the renouncement of his love. Poor fellow, don't be too hard upon him ; if he has sinned, is his punishment not sufficiently severe ?

Chapter II. Two Friends

' Across the trackless seas I go, No matter when or where, And few my future lot will know, And fewer still will care. My hopes are gone, my time is spent, I little heed their loss, And if I cannot feel content, I cannot feel remorse." — Gordon. THE same morning, true to his word, Arthur Dacre appeared at his friend's rooms looking as fresh and as bright as though a few hours ago he had not left them after a night of feverish excitement. And as one looked upon that pretty little room, with its innumerable ornaments and knicknacks, each in its own place, tidy and well arranged — they too bore no trace of last night's work — and you would have scarcely credited that only so recently they had been silent witnesses of such recklessness and folly. Jog Darvell, himself, was silting there, looking as cheerful as a 6and-boy.

"Halloa, Arthur, old chap," he cried, as his friend entered the room, " you are punctual my boy. Never really expected you — awfully glad you've turned np though. Have a weed ?" " Thanks," said Arthur, taking the proffered cigar, and thoughtfully biting off the end, " I had to be punctual, I had so much to do," " Really," and Joe opened his eyes, " fancy Arthur Dacre with so much to do." " Yes, " continued that individual, calmly striking a matcti, and speaking in the intervals allowed him by his attention which was concentrated upon the light ing of his cigar, " you see I am going to the other end of the world in a day or two, and when a chap does that kind of thing, — well," and here he puffed vigorously at his weed to make it draw, " you know a chap has lots to do." " I should think a chap had," answered Darvell, looking at his friend in astonishment, " but why are you that chap ?"

"Oh, well, you see," replied Arthur, "I've been going it a bit too strong, and I am cleaned out." " Not so bad as that, I hope." " Fact," was the reply, " last night finished me, did me off roundly, neatly and well. By-the-by, Joe, who is that Comte who collared so much of the spoil ? Known him long ?" " Yes — no — not very," answered the other, " met him in Paris, great swell over there, did me well, put me up for a couple of clubs, and seemed to know every one ; but why do you ask ?" "Oh, curiosity only, he has such luck, that's all. I envy him, and I always like to know something about a chap who makes me do that." "What, you don't mean to imply anything be yond your words, Arthur, surely? Yon don't mean to insinuate that he isn't square. If yon do, my boy, you must be mad. I assure you the Comte was introduced to me by one of the best known men in Paris, in London too, for that matter, and I'd as soon suspect myself of cheating as a fellow whom I have always found so square and above board as that.