The Recollections of Geoffrey Hamlyn

Front matter

RECOLLECTIONS OF GEOFFRY HAMLYN. VOL. P1U.NTED TiY Tt. (TT.AY. LONDON THE EECOLLECTIONS OF GEOFFRY HAMLYN. BY HENRY KINGSLEY. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. II. tabritoje : MACMILLAN AND CO. AND 23, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON. 1859. The right of Translation is reserved. VI CONTENTS.

CHAPTER VII. PAGE IN WHICH MARY HAWKER LOSES ONE OF HER OLDEST

SWEETHEARTS . 98

Chapter I. The Fibst Puff Of The South Wind

A new heaven and a new earth! Tier beyond tier, height above height, the great wooded ranges go rolling away westward, till on the lofty sky-line they are crowned with a gleam of everlasting snow. To the east ward they sink down, breaking into isolated forests, fringed peaks, and rock-crowned eminences, till with rapidly straightening lines they disappear gradually into broad grey plains, beyond wliich the Southern Ocean is visible by the white reflection cast upon the sky. All creation is new and strange. The trees, sur passing in size the largest English oaks, are of a species we have never seen before. The graceful VOL. II. B shrubs, the bright-coloured flowers, ay, the very grass itself, are of species unknown in Europe ; while flaming lories and brilliant parroquets fly whistling, not unmusically, through the gloomy forest, and over head in the higher fields of air, still lit up by the last rays of the sun, countless cockatoos wheel and scream in noisy joy, as we may see the gulls do about an English headland.

To the northward a great glen, sinking suddenly from the saddle on which we stand, stretches away in long vista, until it joins a broader valley, through wliich we can dimly see a full-fed river -winding along in gleaming reaches, through level meadow land, inter spersed with clumps of timber. We are in Australia. Three hundred and fifty miles south of Sydney, on the great watershed which diA-ides the Belloury from the Maryburnong, since better knoAvn as the SnoAvy-river of Gipps-land. As the sun Avas going down on the scene I have been describing, James Stockbridge and I, Geoffry Hamlyn, reined up our horses on the ridge above-mentioned, and gazed down the long gully wliich lay stretched at our feet. Only the tallest trees stood with their higher boughs glowing with the gold of the departing day, and we stood undetermined Avhich route to pursue, and half inclined to camp at the next waterhole we should see.

We had lost some cattle, and among others a valuable imported bull, Avhich we were very anxious to recoATer. For five days Ave had been passing on from run to run, making inquiries without success, and were now fifty long miles from home in a southerly direction. We were beyond the bounds of all settlement ; the last station we had been at was twenty miles to the north of us, and the occupiers of it, as they had told us the night before, had only taken up their country about ten weeks, and Avere as yet the furthest pioneers to the southward. At this time Stockbridge and I had been settled in our new home about two years, and were beginning to get comfortable and contented. We had had but little trouble with the blacks, and, having taken possession of a fine piece of country, were flourishing and well to do.

We had never heard from home but once, and that was from Tom Troubridge, soon after our departure, teding us that if wre succeeded he should follow, for that the old place seemed changed now we were gone. We had neither of us left any near relations behind us, and already we began to think that we were cut off for ever from old acquaintances and associations, and were beginning to be resigned to it. Let us return to where he and I Avere standing alone in the forest. I dismounted to set right some strap or another, and, instead of getting on my horse again at once, stood leaning against him, looking at the prospect, glad to ease my legs for a time, for they were cramped Avith many hours' riding. b2 Stockbridge sat in his saddle immoveable and silent as a statue, and when I looked in his face I saw that his heart had travelled further than his eye could reach, and that he was looking far beyond the horizon that bounded his earthly vision, away to the pleasant old home which was home to us no longer.

" Jim," said I, " I wonder what is going on at Drumston now? " " I wonder," he said softly. A pause. Below us, in the A-alley, a mob of jackasses were shouting and laughing uproariously, and a magpie was chanting his noble vesper hymn from a lofty tree. " Jim," 1 began again, " do you ever think of poor little Mary now ? " " Yes, old boy, I do," he replied ; " I can't help it ; I was tliinking of her then — I am always thinking of her, and, what's more, I always shall be. Don't think me a fool, old friend, but I love that girl as well now as ever I did. I wonder if she has married that fellow Hawker?" " I fear there is but little doubt of it," I said; " try to forget her, James. Get in a rage with her, and be proud about it; you'll make all your life unhappy if you don't." He laughed. "That's all very well, Jeff, but it's easier said than done. — Do you hear that ?

There are cattle down the gully." There was some noise in the air, beside the evening rustle of the south wind among the tree-tops. Now it sounded like a far-off hubbub of Avaters, now swelled up harmonious, like the booming of cathedral bells across some rich old English A-alley on a still summer's afternoon. " There are cattle down there, certainly," I said, " and a very large number of them ; they are not ours, depend upon it : there are men with them, too, or they would not make so much noise. Can it be the blacks driving them off from the strangers we stayed with last night, do you think ? If so, we had best look out for ourselves." " Blacks could hardly manage such a large mob as there are there," said James. " I'll tell you what I think it is, old Jeff; it's some new chums going to cross the watershed, and look for new country to the south.

If so, let us go down and meet them : they will camp down by the river yonder." James was right. All doubt about what the new comers were was solved before we reached the river, for we could hear the rapid detonation of the stock whips loud above the lowing of the cattle ; so we sat and watched them debouche from the forest into the broad river meadows in the gathering gloom : saw the scene so venerable and ancient, so seldom seen in the Old World — the patriarchs moving into the desert with all their Avealth, to find new pasture-ground. A simple primitive action, the first and simplest act of colonization, yet producing such great results on the history of the world, as did the parting of Lot and Abraham in times gone by. First came the cattle lowing loudly, some trying to stop and graze on the rich pasture after their long day's travel, some heading noisily towards the river, now beginning to steam with the rising evening mist.

Now a lordly bull, followed closely by two favourite heifers, Avoidd try to take matters into his own hands, and cut out a route for himself, but is soon driven ignoniiniously back in a lumbering gallop by a quick-eyed stockman. Noav a silly calf takes it into his head to go for a small excursion up the range, fodowed, of course, by his doting mother, and has to be headed in again, not with out muttered wrath and lowerings of the head from madame. Behind the cattle came horsemen, some six or seven in number, and last, four drays, bearing the household gods, came crawling up the pass. We had time to notice that there were women on the foremost dray, when it became evident that the party intended camping in a turn of the river just below. One man kicked his feet out of the stirrups, and, sitting loosely in his saddle, prepared to watch the cattle for the first few hours till he w-as relieved.

Another lit a fire against a fallen tree, and while the bulloek-driArers Avere busy unyoking their beasts, and the Avomen were clambering from the dray, two of the horsemen separated from the others, and came forward to meet us. Both of them I saw AA-ere men of A-ast stature. One rode upright, with a military seat, while his companion had his feet out of his stirrups, and rode loosely, as if tired Avith his journey. Further than this, I could distin guish nothing in the darkening twilight ; but, looking at James, I saivthat heAvas eagerly scanning the strangers, w-ith elevated eyebroiv and opened lips. Ere I could speak to him, he had dashed forward with a shout, and w-hen I came up with him,Avondering, I found myself shaking hands, talking and laughing, everything in fact short of crying, with Major Buckley and Thomas Troubridge."

" Range up alongside here, Jeff, you rascal," said Tom, " and let me get a fair hug at you. What do you think of this for a lark ; eh ? — to meet you out here, all pro miscuous, in the forest, like Prince Arthur ! We could not go out of oui' way to see you, though Ave knew Avhere you were located, for Ave must hurry on and get a piece of country we have been told of on the next river. We are going to settle doAvn close by you, you see. We'll make a new Drumston in the wilderness." " This is a happy meeting, indeed, old Tom," I said, as we rode towards the drays, after the Major and James. " We shall haA-e happy times, now we have got some of our old friends round us. Who is come with you? How is Mrs. Buckley? " " Mrs. Buckley is as well as ever, and as handsome. My pretty little cousin, Mary Hawker, and old Miss Thornton, are w-ith us; the poor old Vicar is dead."

"Mary Hawker with you?" I said. "And her husband, Tom ? " " Hardly, old friend. We travel in better company," said he. " George Hawker is transported for life." " Alas! poor Mary," I answered. "And what for?" " Coining," he ansAvered. " I'll tell you the story another time. To-night let us rejoice." I could not but watch James, who was riding before us, to see how he would take this news. The Major, I saw, was telling him all about it, but James seemed to take it quite quietly, only nodding his head as the other went on. I knew how he would feel for his old love, and I turned and said to Troubridge — " Jim will be very sorry to hear of this. I wish she had married him." " That's AA-hat we all say," said Tom. " I am sorry for poor Jim. He is about the best man I know, take him all in all. If that fellow were to die, she might have him yet, Hamlyn."

We reached the drays. There sat Mrs. Buckley on a log, a noble, happy matron, laughing at her son as he toddled about, busy gathering sticks for the fire. Beside her was Mary, paler and older-looking than when we had seen her last, with her child upon her lap, looking sad and Avorn. But a sadder sight for me Avas old Miss Thornton, silent and frightened, glancing uneasily round, as though expecting some new horror. No child for her to cling to and strive for. No husband to watch for and anticipate every wish. A poor, timid, nervous old maid, thrown adrift in her old age upon a strange sea of anomalous wonders. Every old favourite prejudice torn up by the roots. All old formulas of life scattered to the winds ! She told me in confidence that evening that she had been in sad trouble all day.

At dinner-time, some naked blacks had come up to the dray, and had frightened and shocked her. Then the dray had been nearly upset, and her hat crushed among the trees. A favourite and precious bag, which never left her, had been dropped in the water; and her Prayer-book, a parting gift from Lady Kate, had been utterly spoiled. A hundred petty annoyances and griefs, which Mary barely remarked, and which brave Mrs. Buckley, in her strong determination of folloAving her lord to the ends of the earth, and of being as much help and as little incumbrance to him as she could, had laughed at, were to her great misfortunes. Why, the very fact, as she told me, of sitting on the top of a swinging jolting dray Avas enough to keep her in a continual state of agony and terror, so that when she alit at night, and sat down, she could not help weeping, silently, dreading lest any one should see her.

Suddenly, Mary was by her side, kneeling doAvn. " Aunt," she said, " dearest aunt, don't break down. It is all my wicked fault. You will break my heart, auntie dear, if you cry like that. Why did ever I bring you on this hideous journey ? " " How could I leave you in your trouble, my love? " said Miss Thornton. " You did right to come, my love. We are among old friends. We have come too far for trouble to reach us. We shall soon have a happy home again now, and all will be well." So she, who needed so much comforting herself, courageously dried her tears and comforted Maiy. And when we reached the drays, she was sitting -with her hands folded before her in serene misery. " Mary," said the Major, " here are two old friends." He had no time to say more, for she, recognising Jim, sprang up, and, running to him, burst into hysterical weeping.

"Oh, my good old friend!" she cried; "oh, my dear old friend ! Oh, to meet you here in this lonely wilderness ! Oh, James, my kind old brother ! " I saw how his big heart yearned to comfort his old sweetheart in her distress. Not a selfish thought found place with him. He could only see his old love injured and abandoned, and nought more. " Mary," he said, " what happiness to see you among all your old friends come to live among us again ! It is almost too good to believe in. Believe me, you Avill get to like this country as well as old Devon soon, though it looks so strange just now. And what a noble boy, too ! We will make him the best bushman in the country Avhen he is old enough." So he took the child of his rival to his bosom, and when the innocent little face looked into his, he would see no likeness to George Hawker there.

He only saw the mother's countenance as he knew her as a child years gone by. " Is nobody going to notice me or my boy, I wonder?" said Mrs. Buckley. " Come here immediately, Mr. Stockbridge, before we quarrel." In a very short time all our party were restored to their equanimity, and were laying down plans for pleasant meetings hereafter. And long after the women had gone to bed in the drays, and the moon was riding high in the heavens, James and myself, Troubridge and the Major, sat before the fire ; and we heard, for the first time, of all that had gone on since we left England, and of all poor Mary's troubles. Then each man rolled himself in his blanket, and slept soundly under the rustling forest-boughs. In the bright cool morning, ere the sun was up, and the belated opossum had run back to his home in the hollow log, James and I were afoot, looking after our horses.

We walked silently side by side for a few minutes, until he turned and said :— " Jeff, old fellow, of course you will go on with them, and stay until they are settled ? " "Jim, old fellow," I replied, " of course you will go on with them, and stay till they are settled?" He pondered a few moments, and then said, " Well, Avhy not ? I suppose she can be to me still what she ahvays was? Yes, I will go with them." When we returned to the dray we found them ail astir, preparing for a start. Mrs. Buckley, with her gown tucked up, was preparing breakfast, as if she had been used to the thing all her life. She had an imperial sort of way of manœuvring a frying-pan, wliich did one good to see. It is my belief, that if that woman had been called upon to groom a horse, she'd have done it in a ladylike way.

While James Avent among the party to announce his intention of going on with them, I had an opportunity of looking at the son and heir of all the Buckleys. He was a sturdy, handsome child about five years old, and was now standing apart from the others, watching a bullock-driver yoking-up his beast. I am very fond of children, and take great interest in studying their cha racters ; so I stood, not unamused, behind this young ster, as he stood looking with awe and astonishment at the man, as he managed the great, formidable beasts, and brought each one into his place ; not, however, without more oaths than one would care to repeat. Suddenly, the child, turning and seeing me behind him, came back, and took my hand. " Why is he so angry with them?" the child asked at once. " Why does he talk to them like that ?

" "He is SAvearing at them," I said, "to make them stand in their places." " But they don't understand him," said the boy. " That black and Avhite one Avould haA-e gone where he wanted it in a minute ; but it couldn't understand, you know ; so he hit it over the nose. Why don't he find out how they talk to one another ? Then he'd manage them much better. He is very cruel." " He does not know any better," I said. " Come with me and get some flowers." "Wid you take me up?" he said;" I musn't run about for fear of snakes." I took him up, and we went to gather flowers. " Your name is Samuel Buckley, I think," said I " How did you know that ? " " I remember you when you were a baby," I said. " I hope you may grow to be as good a man as your father, my lad. See, there is mamma calling for us." " And how far south are you going, Major?"

I asked at breakfast. " No further than we can help," said the Major. " I stayed a night with my old friend Captain Brent wood, by the way ; and there I found a man who kneAV of some unoccupied country doAvn here, which he had seen in some bush expedition. We found the ground he mentioned taken up; but he says there is equally good on the next river. I have bought him and his information." " We saw good country away to the south yesterday," I said. " But are you wise to trust this man? Do you know anything about him? " " Brentwood has known him these ten years, and trusts him entirely ; though, I believe, he has been a convict. If you are determined to come with us, Stock bridge, I will call him up and examine him about the route. William Lee, just step here a moment." A swarthy and very powerfully built man came up.

No other than the man I have spoken of under that name before. He was quite unknown either to James or myself, although, as he told us afterwards, he had recognised us at once, but kept out of our siglit as much as possible, till by the Major's summons he was forced to come forward. " What route to-day, William ?" asked the Major. " South and by east across the range. We ought to get doAvn to the river by night if w-e're lucky." So, while the drays were getting under way, the Major, Tom, James, and 'myself rode up to the saddle where ive had stood the night before, and gazed south east across the broad prospect, in the direction that the wanderers were to go. " That," said the Major, " to the right there must be the great glen out of which the river comes ; and there, please God, we will rest our weary bodies and build our house.

Odd, isn't it, that I should have been saved from shot and shell Avhen so many better men were put away in the trench, to come and end my days in a place like this? Well, I think we shall have a pleasant life of it, watching the cattle spread further across the plains year after year, and seeing the boy grow up to be a good man. At all events, for weal or woe, I have said good bye to old England, for ever and a day." The cattle were past, and the drays had arrived at where we stood. With many a hearty farewell, having given a promise to come over and spend Christmas-day with them, I turned my horse's head homewards and went on my sohtary way.

Chapter II

I HIRE A NEW HORSEBREAKER. I MUST leave them to go their way toAvards their new home, and folloAV my own fortunes a httle, for that afternoon I met with an adventure quite trifling indeed, but which is not altogether Avithout interest in this story. I rode on till high noon, till having crossed the valley of the Belloury, and followed up one of its tributary creeks, I had come on to the water system of anofher main river, and the rapid widening of the gully whose course I was pursuing assured me that I could not be far from the main stream itself. At length I entered a broad flat, intersected by a deep and tortuous creek, and here I determined to camp till the noon-day heat was past, before I continued my journey, calculating that I could easily reach home the next day. Having watered my horse, I turned him loose for a graze, and, making such a dinner as was possible under the circumstances, I lit a pipe and lay down on the long grass, under the flowering wattle-trees, smoking and watching the manœuvres of a little tortoise, who was dis~ porting himself in the waterhole before me.

Getting tired of that I lay back on the grass, and Avatched the green leaves waving and shivering against the clear blue sky, given up entirely to the greatest of human enjoyments — the after dinner-pipe, the pipe of peace. Which is the pleasantest pipe in the day ? We used to say at home that a man should smoke but four pipes a-day: the matutinal, another I don't specify, the post-prandial, and the symposial or convivial, Avhich last may be infi nitely subdivided, according to the quantity of drink taken. But in Australia this division won't obtain, particularly when you are on the tamp. Just when you wake from a dreamless sleep beneath the forest boughs, as the east begins to blaze, and the magpie gets musical, you dash to the embers of last night's fire, and after blowing many fire-sticks find one which is alight, and proceed to send abroad on the morning breeze the scent of last night's dottle.

Then, when breakfast is over and the horses are caught up and saddled, and you are jogging across the plain, with the friend of your heart beside you, tha burnt incense once more goes up, and conversation is unnecessary. At ten o'clock when you cross the creek (you always cross a creek about ten if you are in a good country) , you halt and smoke. So after dinner in the lazy noon-tide, one or perhaps two pipes are necessaiy, Avith, perhaps, another about four in the afternoon, and last, and perhaps best of all, are the three or four you smoke before the fire at night, when the day is dying VOL. II. C and the opossums are beginning to chatter in the twi light. So that you find that a fig of Barret's twist, seventeen to the pound, is gone in the mere hours of day-light Avithout counting such a casualty as waking up cold in the night, and going at it again.

So I lay on my back dreaming, wondering why a locust who was in full screech close by, took the trouble to make that terrible row when it was so hot, and hoping that his sides might be sore with the exertion, when to my great astonishment I heard the sound of feet brushing through the grass towards me. " Black fellow," I said to myself; but no, those were shodden feet that swept along so wearily. I raised myself on my elbow, with my hand on my pistol, and reconnoitred. There approached me from down the creek a man. hardly reaching the middle size, lean and active-looking, narroAv in the flanks, thin in the jaws, his knees well apart ; Avith a keen bright eye in his head; his clothes looked as if they had belonged to ten different men ; and his gait was heavy, and his face red, as if from a long hurried walk ; but I said at once, " Here comes a riding man, at all events, be it for peace or war."

" Good day, lad," said I. " Good day, sir." " You're rather off the tracks for a foot-mau ;" said I. " Are you looking for your horse ? " " Deuce a horse have I got to my name, sir, — have you got a feed of anything? I'm nigh starved." " Ay, surely : the tea's cold ; put it on the embers and warm it a bit ; here's beef, and damper too, plenty." I lit another pipe and watched his meal. I like feeding a real hungry man ; it's almost as good as eating one self — sometimes better. When the edge of his appetite was taken off he began to talk ; he said first — " Got a station anywheres about here, sir? " No, I'm Hamlyn of the Durnongs, away by Maneroo." "Oh! ay; I know you, sir; which way have you come this morning ? " " Southward ; I crossed the Belloury about seA-en o'clock." " That, indeed ! You haven't seen anything of three bullock drays and a mob of cattle going south?"

" Yes ! I camped with such a lot last night ! " " Not Major Buckley's lot?" " The same." " And how far were they on ?" " They crossed the range at daylight this morning; — they're thirty miles away by now." He threw his hat on the ground with an oath : "I shall never catch them up. I daren't cross that range on foot into the new country, and those black devils lurking round. He shouldn't have left me hke that ; — ad my own fault, though, for staying behind ! No, no, he's true enough — all my own fault. But I wouldn't have left him C2 so, neither; but, perhaps, he don't think I'm so far behind." I saw that the man was in earnest, for his eyes were swimming; — he w-as too dry for tears; but though he looked a desperate scamp, I couldn't help pitying him and saying, — " You seem vexed you couldn't catch them up ; were you going along with the Major, then ?

" " No, sir ; I wasn't hired with him ; but an old mate of mine, Bill Lee, is gone along with him to show him some countiy, and I was going to stick to him and see if the Major would take me ; Ave haA-en't been parted for many years, not Bill and I haven't ; and the worst of it is, that he'll think I've slipped away from him, instead of following him fifty mile on foot to catch him. Well ! it can't be helped noiv ; I must look round and get a job somew-here till I get a chance to join him. Were you traA-elling with them, sir ? " " No, I'm after some cattle I've lost ; a fine imported bull, too, — Averse luck ! We'll never see him again, I'm afraid, and if I do find them how I am to get them home single handed, I don't know." " Do you mean, a short-horned Durham bull with a key brand ? Why, if that's him, I can lay you on to him at once ; he's up at Jamieson's, here to the west.

I was staying at Watson's last night, and one of Jamieson's men staid in the hut — a young hand; and, talking about beasts, he said that there Avas a fine short-horned bull come on to their run with a mob of heifers and cows, and they couldn't make out who they belonged to ; they were all different brands." "That's our lot for a thousand," says I; "a lotos store cattle we bought this year from the Hunter, and haven't branded yet, — more shame to us." " If you could get a horse and saddle from Jamieson's, sir," said he, "I could give you a hand home with them : I'd like to get a job somehow, and I'm well used to cattle." "Done with you," said I; "Jamieson's isn't ten miles from here, and we can do that to-night if wre look sharp. Come along, my lad." So I caught up the horse, and away we went.