Rolf Boldrewood
Babes in the Bush
Mr. Sternworth, with Rosamond beside him, was questioning Hamilton about the spiritual welfare of the infant settlement of Melbourne; promising, moreover, a handsome subscription to St. James’s, the new Church of England, at that time in course of erection. Gerald O’More, with Fred Churbett and Neil Barrington, was having an animated, not to say noisy, conversation with Annabel. Peals of laughter, of which a large proportion was contributed by the young lady, were the first sounds that met his ear upon entering the room. All seemed so capable of mutual entertainment, without his aid, countenance, or company, that he was sensible of a soupçon of pique as he surveyed the festive scene.
However, he cordially welcomed Miss Fane and her father to The Chase, mentally remarking that he had never seen that young lady look so well before, or had thought her half so handsome. Her response did much to clear his brow and banish from his heart all unworthy feelings. The steadfast gaze was frank and kindly as of yore. She appeared unaffectedly pleased to see him again.
‘You know you belong to the band of heroes whom we have felt so proud to honour upon their return,’ she said. ‘Papa has a famous classical parallel, I know, for your exploits and safe arrival at Lake William. He did explain it to me, but I have forgotten. Mr. Sternworth, what is it?’
‘Never mind, Vera,’ replied the old gentleman, ‘I never talk Latin in the presence of young ladies. I can always find something more amusing to say. You must sing us those new songs you brought from Sydney. That would be more appropriate, wouldn’t it, Mrs. Effingham?’
‘I don’t know much Latin, you unkind old godfather, but what I do know I am not in the least ashamed of.’
‘Argyll’s making the pace pretty good, isn’t he, Fred,’ remarked Neil Barrington, ‘with that nice Miss Fane? She’s the only “model girl” I ever took to. I’m her humble slave and adorer. But I never expected to have the great MacCallum More for my rival. Did you ever see him hard hit before, Fred?’
‘Never, on the word of a gentleman-pioneer,’ rejoined Mr. Churbett. ‘It’s this exploration, new country, perils-of-the-wilderness business that has done it. “None but the brave deserve the fair.” We are the brave, sir, in this fortunate instance. We have solved the mystery of the unconquered Bogongs. We have gazed at the ocean outlets of the Great Lakes. We have proved ourselves to be the manner of men that found empires. Under the circumstances heroes always hastened to contract matrimonial alliances. Cortez did it. Dunois did it. William of Argyll is perilously near the Great Hazard. And I, Frederick de Churbett, am hugely minded to do likewise, if that confounded Irishman would only leave off his nonsense and let a fellow get a word in edgeways.’
Mr. Churbett had reason for complaint, inasmuch as Gerald O’More, when his national gallantry was kindled to action, appeared determined to permit ‘no rival near the throne,’ as he successively devoted himself to Annabel, Rosamond, and Miss Fane, or indeed occasionally kept all engaged in conversation and entertainment at the self-same time. It became difficult to discover, for a while, so rapid as well as brilliant were his evolutions, whom he intended to honour with his exclusive admiration. At length, however, those who were in the position of calm spectators had no doubt but that Annabel, with whom he kept up a ceaseless flow of badinage and raillery, was the real attraction. If so, he was likely to find a rival in the sarcastic Ardmillan, with whom he had more than once bade fair to pass from jest to earnest. For the cooler Scot was in the habit of waiting until he saw his antagonist upon the horns of a dilemma, or luring him on to the confines of a manifest absurdity. This he would explode, blowing his rival’s argument into the air, and graciously explaining his triumph to the surrounding fair.
Such was the satisfaction which filled the heart of Mrs. Effingham, that but for the absence of her husband and daughter she would certainly have gone the daring length of giving a party. But the absence of her husband was, to the conscience of the matron, an insuperable objection. No amount of specious argument or passionate appeal could alter her determination.
‘My dears, it would be wrong,’ she quietly replied, in answer to Annabel’s entreaty and Rosamond’s sober statement that there could not be any objection on the point of etiquette. ‘Suppose anything should happen to your father or Beatrice about the time – travelling is so very uncertain – we should never have another happy moment.’
So the project, much to Annabel’s openly expressed and Rosamond’s inwardly felt disappointment, was given up. However, Mrs. Effingham relented so far as to say that, although her principles forbade her to give a party, there could be nothing indecorous in asking their friends to dine with them on Christmas Day, when the time for dear Guy’s departure for the station would, alas! be drawing nigh.
This was a grand concession, and all kinds of preparations were made for the celebration of the festival. In the meanwhile, as there was next to nothing doing on any of the stations, what between riding-parties, chance visits, special arrivals for the purpose of bringing over new books or new music, it seemed as if The Chase had been changed into the caravanserai of the district. It would have been difficult to tell whether the neighbours lived more of their time with the Effinghams or at their own stations.
During this exciting season Wilfred Effingham was commencing to experience the elaborated torture of seeing the woman he now discovered to be his chief exemplar made love to by another man, apparently with prospects of success. When he set himself to work seriously to please, William Argyll was rarely known to fail. The restless spirit was stilled. The uncontrollable temper was lulled, like the wave of a summer sea. All the powers of a rare intellect, the stores of a cultivated mind, were displayed. Brave, athletic, of a striking personal appearance, if not regularly handsome, he was a man to whom few women could refuse interest, whom none could scorn. Besides all this, he was the heir to a fine estate in his native land.
When, therefore, day by day, he devoted himself in almost exclusive attendance to the appropriation of Miss Fane, keeping close to her bridle-rein in all excursions, monopolising her in the evenings, and holding æsthetic talks, in which she apparently took equal interest, the general conclusion arrived at was that Miss Fane was only awaiting a decorous interval to capitulate in due form.
Yet Wilfred was constrained to confess that however much he may have deserved such punishment, there was no change in her manner towards him. When he touched upon any of their old subjects of debate, he found she had not forgotten the points on which they had agreed or differed, and was ready, as of old, to maintain her opinions.
She seemed pleased to linger over reminiscences of those days and the confidences then made.
‘Nobody would know Black Mountain now,’ she said. ‘Since we have grown rich, comparatively speaking, from “the providential rise in the price of store cattle” (as one auctioneer called it), papa has indulged me by making all kinds of additions, and I suppose we must say improvements – new fences, new furniture, new stables, plants in the garden, books in the library. Money is the latter-day magician certainly.’
‘And you are proportionately happier, of course,’ said Wilfred.
‘Frankly,’ said Miss Fane, ‘I am, just at present. I feel like one of Napoleon’s generals, who were ennobled and enriched after having risen from the ranks. No doubt they enjoyed their new dignities immensely. If they didn’t, their wives did. I won’t say we were roturiers, but we were very, very poor. And it is so nice now to think we can dress as well as other people, and have the ordinary small luxuries of our position, without troubling about the everlasting ways and means.’
‘We are much alike in our experiences,’ answered Wilfred. ‘We should soon have been absolutely ruined – the ways and means would have simply been obliterated.’
‘I suppose so; but I never could believe in the poverty of any of you Lake William people. You seemed to have everything you could possibly want. The best part of our present good fortune is, that the boys are at a good school, while papa can buy as many new books as he can coax me, in mercy to his eyesight, to let him read. So I can say that we are quite happy.’
‘I wonder you don’t think of going to Europe. Dr. Fane could easily sell at a high price now; and then, fancy “the kingdoms of the earth and the glory of them.”’
‘You are quoting the Tempter, which is not quite respectful to me – for once; but there is a reason why papa cannot bear the thought of leaving our dear, lonely old home. My poor mother was buried there, and his heart with her. For me, I have from childhood imbibed his feelings for the place of her grave.’
Rosamond here approached, and carried off her friend upon some mission of feminine importance. Wilfred, feeling that the conversation had taken a direction of melancholy which he could not fathom or adequately respond to, rejoined his other guests. But he could not help dwelling upon the fact that his conversations with Miss Fane seemed so utterly different from those with any other woman. Before the first sentences were well exchanged, one or other apparently struck the keynote, which awakened sympathetic chords, again vibrating amid harmonious echoes and semi-tones.
To complete the universal jubilation, Mr. O’Desmond, in acknowledgment of the interest which the inhabitants of the district had shown in his safe return, announced his intention of giving an entertainment at Badajos on New Year’s Day, at which amusements would be provided for his humbler neighbours as well as for the gentry of the district. He had ridden over to The Chase, and entreated Mrs. Effingham’s advice as to decorations and dispositions. It was to be a very grand affair. No one who knew O’Desmond doubted but that, having undertaken such a project, he would carry it out with elaborate completeness. So that, among the young people and general population of the district, the Badajos Revels were looked forward to with intense expectation.
‘What will the general plan of arrangement be?’ said Fred Churbett to Hamilton. ‘Something in the Elizabethan style, with giants, salvage-men, and dwarfs, speeches and poetical addresses to the Queen of the land, whoever she may be? Anyhow, he is going to spend a lot of money about it. I hear the preparations are tremendous.’
‘In that case it will form a telling relief to the general lack of variety in these affairs,’ said Hamilton. ‘Every one has made such a heap of money now, that it hardly matters what is spent, in reason. We shall have to turn to hard work again in January. I wonder whether the old boy has fallen in love, like everybody else, and is going to make his proposals with what he considers to be “befitting accessories.”’
‘Shouldn’t wonder at all,’ said Fred. ‘It appears to me that we are beginning to enter upon a phase of existence worthy of Boccaccio, without the plague – and the – perhaps unreserved narratives. It certainly is the realm of Faerye at present. The turning out into the world of fact will come rather hard upon some of us.’
So matters passed on, materially unchanged, until the actual arrival of Christmas Day, on which sacred commemoration Mr. Sternworth, who had been temporarily relieved by the Dean of Goulburn, stayed with them at The Chase for a week, and performed services to a reasonable-sized congregation in the dining-room, which was completely filled by the family, with friends and humble neighbours. On the evening before, too, which invested the service with additional feelings of hope and thankfulness, most satisfactory letters had been received from India. Mr. Effingham told how —
‘The Colonel was recovering rapidly. His medical attendant advised a visit of at least two years to Europe. As the cold weather season had set in, he might take his passage. Beatrice and he were to be married before he left. He (Mr. Effingham) would sail for Australia directly the ceremony was over. Indeed, he was tired of India, and now that the Colonel, poor fellow, was recovering, would have been bored to death had it not been for his menagerie. Then followed a list of profitable and unprofitable beasts, birds, and even fishes, which, if he could transport successfully to The Chase, would make him a happy man for the rest of his life. People might say he was amusing himself, but the profits of some of his ventures would in days to come be enormous. For instance, take the Cashmere goats, of which he had succeeded in getting a small flock. The fine hair or “pushta,” combed from near the skin, in contrast to the coarse outer fleece, was worth a guinea a pound. A shawl manufactured from it sold for a fabulous sum. These animals would thrive (he felt certain) in Australia; and then what would be the consequence? Why, the merino industry would be dwarfed by it – positively dwarfed!’
The family of this sanguine gentleman did not go the whole length of his conclusions, having found that some unexpected factor commonly interfered with the arithmetical working out of his projects. But they were delighted to think they should shortly see his face again. And Beatrice was to receive the reward of her unchanged love and devotion! She would have, dear girl, a lifelong claim to care for the health and happiness of him whom she had, as the Surgeon-General averred, ‘raised up from the dead.’
Files of Indian papers showed that on every side honours and decorations had been heaped upon the gallant and now fortunate soldier. Here was one of the mildest extracts —
‘Colonel Glendinning, V.C., has been made a Companion of the Bath. He will probably be knighted. But will the country tolerate this tardy and barren honour? Of his stamp are the men who have more than once saved India. If the present Government, instead of making promotions at the bidding of parliamentary interest, would appoint a proved leader as Commander-in-Chief, Hindostan might be tranquil once more and Russia overawed.’
CHAPTER XXVII
THE DUEL IN THE SNOW
Just before the commencement of the stupendous festivities of Badajos, a letter arrived, by which the parson was informed that Mr. Rockley, having business at Yass, had resolved to run up from Port Phillip and see them all. Mr. St. Maur, who had an equally good excuse, would accompany him.
This was looked upon as either a wondrous coincidence or a piece of pure, unadulterated good luck. When the hearty and sympathetic accents of William Rockley were once more heard among them, everybody was as pleased as if he, personally, had been asked to welcome a rich uncle from India.
‘I never dreamed of seeing St. Maur in these parts,’ said Neil Barrington. ‘He’s such a tremendous swell in Melbourne that I doubted his recognising us again. What business can he possibly have up here?’
‘Perhaps he is unwilling to risk a disappointment at the game which will be lost or won before January, “for want of a heart to play,”’ said Ardmillan. ‘He may follow suit, like others of this worshipful company. Hearts are trumps this deal, unless I mistake greatly.’
‘Didn’t we hear that he had been left money, or made a fortune by town allotments down there? Anyhow he’s going home, I believe; so this will be his last visit to Yass for some time.’
‘If we make money at the pace which we have been going for the last year, we shall all be able to go home,’ pronounced Ardmillan. ‘Yet, after all the pleasant days that we have seen here and at Benmohr, the thought is painful. This influx of capital will break up our jolly society more completely than the drought. In that case we should have had to cling to a sinking ship, or take to the boats; now, the vessel is being paid off, and the crew scattered to the four winds.’
‘Sic transit,’ echoed Neil lugubriously. ‘I forget the rest; but wherever we go, and however well lined our pockets may be, it is a chance if we are half as happy again in our lives as we have been in this jolly old district.’
Christmas had come and gone. The Badajos Revels were imminent. Rockley and St. Maur had declared for remaining until they were over, in despite of presumably pressing engagements.
‘I believe old Harry O’Desmond would have made a personal matter of it if we had left him in the lurch,’ said Mr. Rockley. ‘He spoke rather stiffly, St. Maur, when you said all Melbourne was waiting to know the result of our deputation to the Governor-General, and that they would be loth to take the excuse of a country picnic.’
‘The old boy’s face was grim,’ said St. Maur; ‘but I had made up my mind to remain. I like to poke him up – he is so serious and stately. But we should not have quarrelled about such a trifle.’
In the meantime, terrific preparations were made for the fête; one to be long remembered in the neighbourhood. O’Desmond’s magnificence of idea had only been held down, like most men of his race and nature, by the compulsion of circumstances. Now, he had resolved to give a free rein to his taste and imagination. It was outlined, in his mind, as a recognition of the enthusiasm which had greeted his return to the district in which he had lived so long. This had touched him to the heart. Habitually repressive of emotion, he would show them, in this form, how he demonstrated the feelings to which he denied utterance.
In his carefully considered programme, he had by no means restricted himself to a single day or to the stereotyped gaieties of music and the dance. On this sole and exemplary occasion, the traditional glories of Castle Desmond would be faintly recalled, the profuse, imperial hospitalities of which had lent their share to his present sojourn near the plains of Yass. Several days were to be devoted to the reception of all comers. Each was to have its special recreation; to include picnics and private theatricals, with dresses and costumes from a metropolitan establishment. A dinner to the gentry, tradespeople, and yeomen of the district; to be followed by a grand costume ball in a building constructed for the purpose, to which all ‘the county’ would be invited.
‘What a truly magnificent idea!’ said Rosamond Effingham, a short time before the opening day, as they all sat in the verandah at The Chase, after lunch and a hard morning’s work at preparations. ‘But will not our good friend and neighbour ruin himself?’
‘Bred in the bone,’ said Gerald O’More. ‘Godfrey O’Desmond, this man’s great-grandfather, gave an entertainment which put a mortgage on the property from that day to this. Had a real lake of claret, I believe. Regular marble basin, you know. Gold and silver cups of the Renaissance, held in the hands of fauns, nymphs, and satyrs – that kind of thing – hogsheads emptied in every morning. Everything wonderful, rich, and more extravagant than a dream. Nobody went to bed for a fortnight, they say. Hounds met as usual. A score of duels – half-a-dozen men left on the sod. County asleep for a year afterwards.’
‘The estate never raised its head again, anyhow,’ said Mr. Rockley, ‘and no wonder. An extravagant, dissolute, murdering old scoundrel, as they say old Godfrey was, that deserved seven years in the county gaol for ruining his descendants and debauching the whole country-side. And do you believe me, when I mentioned as much to old Harry one day, he was deuced stiff about it; said we could not understand the duties of a man of position in those days. I believe now, on my solemn word, that he’d be just as bad, this day, if he got the chance. I daren’t say another word to him, and I’ve known him these twenty years.’
‘Let us hope there won’t be so much claret consumed,’ said Miss Fane. ‘I believe deep drinking is no longer fashionable. I should be grieved if Mr. O’Desmond did anything to injure his fortune. It may be only a temporary aberration (to which all Irishmen are subject, Mr. O’More), and then our small world will go on much as before.’
‘If we could induce a sufficient number of Australian ladies to colonise Ireland,’ said O’More, bowing, ‘as prudent and as fascinating as Miss Fane,’ he continued, with a look at Annabel, ‘we might hope to change the national character. It only wants a dash of moderation to make it perfect. But we may trust to O’Desmond’s colonial experience to save him from ruin.’
Thus the last hours of the fortunate, still-remembered year of 1840 passed away. A veritable jubilee, when the land rejoiced, and but few of the inhabitants of Australia found cause for woe. Great were the anxious speculations, however, as to weather. In a fête champêtre, everything depends upon that capricious department. And this being ‘a first-class season,’ unvarying cloudlessness could by no means be predicted.
The malign divinities must have been appeased by the sacrifices of the drought. A calm and beauteous summer morn, warm, but tempered by the south sea-breeze, bid the children of the Great South Land greeting.
The New Year opened radiantly as a season of joy and consolation. The whole district was astir from earliest hours; the preparations for the momentous experiences of the day were utterly indescribable, save by a Homeric Company of Bards (limited).
As the sun rose higher,
From Highland, Lowland, Border, Isle,
How shall I name their separate style,
Each chief of rank and fame,
with his ‘following,’ appeared before the outer gates of Badajos, where such a number were gathered as would almost have sufficed to storm the historic citadel, in the breach of which Captain O’Desmond had fallen, and from which the estate had been named.
The first day had been allotted to a liberally rendered lawn party, which was to include almost the whole available population of town and district, invited by public proclamation as well as by special invitation. Indeed, it had been notified through the press that, on New Year’s Day, Mr. O’Desmond would be ‘at home’ prepared to receive all his friends who desired to personally congratulate him upon his return from the interior.
Never was there such a muster before, since the first gum-tree was felled, within sight of Yass Plains. An uninterrupted procession wound its way steadily on from the town, from all the country roads, down gullies, and across flats and marshes. Every farm sent its representative. So did every shop in the town, every station in the district. Not a woman in the land had apparently remained at home. Who minded the infant children on the 1st of January 1840 will always remain an unsolved mystery.
The arrangements had been carefully considered by a past-master of organisation; and they did not break down under the unprecedented strain. As the horsemen and horsewomen, tax-carts, dog-carts, carriages, tandems, waggons and bullock-drays even, arrived at the outer gate, they were met by ready servitors, who directed them, through a cunningly devised system of separate lanes, to temporarily constructed enclosures, where they were enabled to unharness and otherwise dispose of their draught animals and vehicles.
Sheds covered with that invaluable material the bark of the eucalyptus had been erected, and hay provided, as for the stabling of a regiment of cavalry; while small paddocks, well watered and with grass ‘up to their eyes’ (as the stock-riders expressed it), suited admirably those not over-particular rovers, who, having turned loose their nags, placed their saddles and bridles in a place of security, and thus disembarrassed themselves of anxiety for the day.
When these arrangements had been satisfactorily made, they were guided towards the river-meadow, on a slope overlooking which the homestead and outbuildings were situated. Here was clustered an encampment of tents and booths, of every size and shape, and apparently devoted to as many various classes of amusement and recreation.
The short grass of the river flat, as it was generally called, was admirably adapted for the present purposes and intentions. The propitious season, with its frequent showers, had furnished a fair imitation of English turf, both in verdure and in thickness of sward, the latter quality much assisted by the stud flock of the famed Badajos merinoes.
The concluding day of the memorable Badajos Revels, the unrivalled and immortal performance, had arrived. The last act was about to be called on. All the arrangements had been more than successful. The sports and pastimes had gone through without hitch or contention. The populace was enthusiastic in praise of the liberality which had ministered so lavishly to their amusement. The aristocracy were no less unanimous in their approbation. That battues, the picnics, the costume ball, had been, beyond all description, delightful, fascinating, well carried out, in such perfect taste – extraordinary good form – intoxicating – heavenly – utterly, indescribably delicious; the adjectives and superlatives varying with the age, position, sex, or character of the speaker.
And now the modern miracle-play was to finish with a presentment, unique and marvellous beyond belief. The main body of guests and revellers had departed soon after daylight. ‘Conclamatum est, Poculatum est,’ said a young Irish priest. ‘I shall have to go into “retreat” if Father Mahony gets word of me at the ball. Wasn’t I Lord Edward Fitzgerald to the life? But I durstn’t stay away an hour longer from my flock.’ Many were the half-repentant, homeward-bound wayfarers who held similar opinions. And the continuous passage of the fords of the Yass River might have suggested to the Scots, by birth or extraction, King James’ army after Flodden —
Tweed’s echoes heard the ceaseless plash,
While many a broken band,
Disordered through her currents dash,
To gain the Scottish land.
There was not, it is true, such need for haste, but the pace at which the shallower fords were taken might have suggested it.
However, a considerable proportion of the house parties and guests of the neighbouring families, with such of the townspeople and others whose time was not specially valuable, remained for the closing spectacle. Much curiosity was aroused as to the nature of it.
‘Perhaps you can unfold the mystery of this duel which we are all taking about,’ said Annabel to St. Maur, with whom she had been discussing the costumes of the ball.
‘I happen to be in O’Desmond’s confidence,’ he replied; ‘so we may exchange secrets. Many years ago, in Paris, he fell across an old picture representing a fatal duel between Masks, after a ball. So he pitched upon it for representation, as a striking if rather weird interlude.’
‘What a strange idea! How unreal and horrible. Fancy any of the people here going out to fight a duel. Is any one killed?’
‘Of course, or there wouldn’t be half the interest. He proposes to dress the characters exactly like those in the picture, and, indeed, brought up the costumes from town with him. Your brother, by a coincidence, adopted one – that of a Red Indian. It will do for his second.’
‘Thoroughly French, at any rate, and only for the perfect safety of the thing would be horrible to look at. However, we must do whatever Mr. O’Desmond tells us, for years to come. I shall be too sleepy to be much shocked, that’s one thing. But what are they to fight with? Rapiers?’
‘With foils, which, of course you know, are the same in appearance, only with a button on the end which prevents danger from a thrust.’
‘Wilfred, my boy!’ had said O’Desmond, making a progress through the ball-room on the preceding night, ‘you look in that Huron dress as if you had neglected to scalp an enemy, and were grieving over the omission. Do the ladies know those odd-looking pieces of brown leather on the breast fringe are real scalps? I see they are. You will get no one to dance with you. But my errand is a selfish one. You will make a principal man in that “Duel after the Masquerade” which I have set my heart upon getting up to-morrow.’
‘But in this dress?’
‘My dear fellow, that is the very thing. Curiously, one of the actors in that weird duel scene is dressed as a Huron or Cherokee. You know Indian arms and legends, even names, were fashionable in Paris when Chateaubriand made every one weep with his Atala and Chactas? You could not have been more accurately dressed, and you will lay me under lasting obligation by taking the foils with Argyll, and investing your second with this dress.’
‘With Argyll!’ echoed Wilfred with an accent of surprise.
‘I know he is called the surest fencer in our small world, but I always thought you more than his match. He never, to my mind, liked your thrust in tierce.’
‘You are right,’ said Wilfred. ‘Grisier thought me perfect in that. I shall meet him with pleasure. If only to show him – Bah! I am getting so infected with the spirit of your Masquerade that one would think it a real duel. Command me, however.’
‘A thousand thanks. Not later than three to-morrow afternoon. The ladies will not forgive us if we are not punctual.’
From Wilfred Effingham’s expression of relief one might have thought that he had received good tidings. Yet, what was it after all – what could it lead to? A mock duel; a mere fencing match. What was there to clear his visage and lighten his heart in such a game as this?
A trifle, doubtless. But William Argyll was to be his antagonist. Towards him he had been unconsciously nurturing a causeless resentment, which threatened to drift into hatred. Argyll was sunning himself daily (he thought) in the smiles of Vera Fane, pleased with the position and confident of success. And though she, from time to time, regarded Wilfred with glances of such kindly regard that he was well-nigh tempted to confess his past sins and his present love, he had resolutely kept aloof.
Why should he court repulse, and only be more hopelessly humiliated? Did not all say – could he not see – that Miss Fane was merely waiting for Argyll’s challenge to the citadel of her heart to own its conquest and surrender?
