First in the Field Part 13

"I'm glad of it," said the doctor drily, "for we rough it in the bush, and no mistake."

Nic lay down that night in his comfortable bedroom after a long look out of his window at the beautiful moonlit harbour, with its shipping bathed in the soft, silvery light, and a feeling of melancholy came over him.

He was sorry to leave frank-spoken, motherly Lady O'Hara, and the thought of going right away into the wilds, though fascinating, would inspire him with a shrinking feeling of awe.

For during the few days he had been ash.o.r.e he had picked up some information, and not always of the pleasantest nature. People about had not been backward in telling him that the blacks were rather fond of spearing people who entered the bush. They had some ugly stories, too, about tiger-snakes, which lay waiting for unwary pa.s.sers-by, and then struck them, the bite being so venomous that the sufferer would survive only a few hours at most, possibly only a few minutes.

There were other terrors and dangers, too, in the bush, they said; but when asked what, they shook their heads very strangely, as if the subject were not to be mentioned, for fear of ill befalling those who talked lightly. So one way and another Nic was pretty well primed, and consequently only slightly buoyed up by the knowledge that he was going to his real home, he fell asleep to dream of all kinds of mysterious horrors, among which was one that was terrible in the extreme. He was lost in the bush, and nothing was left for him to do but lie down and die; and the first part of this he had, he thought, just achieved, when a loud voice came out of the blackness and cried:

"Now, Nic, boy, it's time to get up. And I want you to see to the dogs.

They know you."

CHAPTER EIGHT.

TO THE BUSH.

For some moments Nic acted involuntarily as he scrambled on his clothes, feeling, as he did, in a confused way that it was his duty to dress, but why and wherefore, he had not the most remote idea.

It was cold and raw, and everything went wrong; and as he could not get himself quite dry, his shirt stuck to him and refused to go on. Those things which ought to have been in one place had got into another; and even when the cold water had thoroughly wakened him he did not get on very well, and felt ill-humoured, stupid, and out of sorts.

"It's so vexatious starting so soon," thought Nic, as lie thrust brush, comb, and nightshirt into the bag he had nearly packed over night; and at last he opened the door, just as his father called up the stairs:

"Come, Nic, my boy: they didn't teach you at school to be quick."

"Hush! you'll wake Lady O'Hara," protested the boy.

"I should be puzzled to," replied his father shortly. "Come in here."

"In here" meant the dining-room, where the first person he saw, by the light of the candles standing on the white breakfast-cloth, was their hostess.

Nic was quite awake now, and the last trace of ill-temper pa.s.sed away as he shook hands.

"I did not expect to see you this morning," he said.

"And did you think I was going to let old friends start without a comfortable breakfast? Why, it will be days, boy, before you get another."

"Days?" said Nic.

"To be sure, boy. There is no stage coach for you, and you'll have to keep with your waggon. These bullocks go about two miles an hour."

This was news to Nic, who had been imbued with some kind of notion that he was going to get home that same evening, and that was why his father had started so early.

Sir John entered the room directly after, and the meal was just as if it had been nine o'clock instead of four in the morning; so that the travellers were well prepared, when the doctor rose, to say good-bye, for the cracking of a stock whip and sundry e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns and apostrophes to the bullocks to "come on," and "get over," and "pull," were heard outside, where a couple of horses freshly brought round were stamping and pawing the dust, impatient to be off.

The dogs were hurried round from the stables--these being the two collies intended for the doctor--and after many frantic dashes at the horses, they were taken forward toward the waggon, where the bullocks were immediately driven into a state of commotion, and faced round to lower their horns and receive their enemies.

Finally, however, the two excited animals were safely chained to the back of the waggon, which started at once with a great deal of whip cracking and shouting on the part of Brookes, his fellow, Leather, being perfectly silent, and the black nowhere to be seen.

This start having been accomplished, the doctor returned with his son to say their final farewells to the governor and his lady.

"There, good-bye, Nic," cried the latter; "it's only a little way off you live. We think nothing of a few hundred miles here, and we shall be coming to see you, or you will us before very long. Are you a good horseman? That's a spirity-looking thing I see you're to ride."

Nic was nonplussed, and his father came to his help:

"Nic hasn't had time to practise much; he'll be a better rider next time he comes down to the front."

"That's right," cried Lady O'Hara. "There: goodbye, and bless you, my boy! Give my dear love to your mother, and tell her I shall want to steal you for a visit first time I come."

"I shall not be able to spare him," said the doctor, who had mounted, and now held the rein of the second horse. "Come, Nic, boy, up with you."

Nic nervously raised his foot to the stirrup, made a desperate spring as he clung to the pommel and cantle of the saddle, and somehow came down in his seat; but the horse started, and nearly threw him on to its neck.

"Steady!" cried the doctor sharply, as he held the rein firmly; and, nervous and startled, Nic shuffled back and nipped the saddle with all the force of which his knees were capable.

"Are you all right, boy?" cried the governor.

"Yes, sir," said Nic, as firmly as he could, though he was wondering how long it would be before he was all wrong.

"Good-bye, O'Hara," cried the doctor. "You will hear from me when I get home."

"Good-bye," cried the governor; and, leaning toward his old friend, he whispered:

"I'd take care: that boy can't ride a bit."

"I know," said the doctor. "Don't let him see that you do. Good-bye."

He touched his horse's sides, and the beautiful beast started to go off at a canter, but was checked instantly, to keep it in a walk, with the result that it began to fret and dance. Nic's lighter steed followed suit, and the boy's position grew moment by moment more desperate. Now he lost one stirrup, then the other; and it was only by getting a good grip of the pommel with one hand that he was able to stay on.

Finally, though, the horses were quieted down, and paced together in a walk, when the doctor said quietly:

"Why, Nic, it's a good thing that it is still dark. I'm afraid we should have had some remarks made if people had been about."

"I--I never said I could ride, father," said Nic, in a reproachful tone.

"I'm glad you did not, boy. It's a good thing that you have no spurs."

"Is it, father?"

"Of course," cried the doctor; "if you had, Sour Sorrel would have soon pitched you off."

"I'm very sorry, father," faltered Nic, who felt very miserable as well as uncomfortable. "Had I better get down and lead him?"

"If you feel so much afraid that you dare not stop on, my boy," said the doctor drily.

The dawn was coming, and Nic turned to glance at his father's thin, cleanly cut profile, to see that he was gazing straight before him towards where the waggon could be dimly seen in front.

"Well, are you?" continued the doctor, without turning his head.