Frank Oldfield Part 16

"Oh, captain, I'm afraid you'll think I'm very ungrateful. I don't know which way to turn. You've been very good to me, and I couldn't for shame leave you. I'd be proud to serve you to the last day of my life.

But you seem to have fathomed my heart. I wish one half of me could go back with you, and the other half stay with Mr Oldfield. But I'll just leave it with yourselves to settle; only you mustn't think, captain, as I've forgotten all your kindness. I'm not that sort of chap."

"Not a bit, my lad, not a bit," replied the captain, cheerily; "I understand you perfectly. I want to do the best for you; and I don't think I can do better than launch you straight off, and let Mr Oldfield take you in tow; and if I'm spared to come another voyage here, and you should be unsettled, or want to go home again, why, I shall be right glad to have you, and to give you your wages too." And so it was settled, much to the satisfaction of Frank and the happiness of Jacob.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

ABRAHAM OLIPHANT.

"And so you're my nephew Hubert," said a tall, middle-aged gentleman, who had come on board as soon as the _Sabrina_ reached the port, and was now shaking Hubert warmly by the hand. "A hearty welcome to South Australia. Ah, I see; this is Mr Oldfield. My brother wrote to me about you. You're heartily welcome too, my young friend, for so I suppose I may call you. Well, you've come at a warm time of the year, and I hope we shall be able to give you a warm reception. And how did you leave your dear father, Hubert? You're very like him; the sight of your face brings back old times to me. And how are your brothers and sister? All well? That's right. Thank G.o.d for it. And now just put a few things together while I speak to the captain. I'll see that your baggage is cleared and sent up all right after you. My dog-cart's waiting, and will take your friend and yourself and what things you may want for a few days."

The speaker's manner was that of a man of good birth and education, with the peculiar tone of independence which characterises the old colonist.

Hubert and Frank both felt at their ease with him at once.

It was arranged that Jacob Poole should remain with Captain Merryweather for a few days, and should then join his new master in Adelaide. After a very hearty leave-taking with the captain, the young men and Mr Abraham Oliphant were soon on sh.o.r.e.

There was no railway from the port to the city in those days, but travellers were conveyed by coaches and port-carts, unless they were driven in some friend's carriage or other vehicle. Driving tandem was much the fashion, and it was in this way that Hubert and Frank were making their first journey inland.

"Now, my dear Hubert, and Mr Oldfield, jump in there; give me your bags; now we're all right;" and away they started.

The first mile or two of their journey was not particularly inviting.

They pa.s.sed through Albert Town, and through a flat country along a very dusty road, trees being few and far between. A mile farther on and they saw a group of natives coming towards them with at least half-a-dozen ragged looking dogs at their heels. The men were lounging along in a lordly sort of way, entirely at their ease; one old fellow, with a grizzly white beard and hair, leaning all his weight on the shoulders of a poor woman, whom he was using as a walking-stick. The other women were all heavily-laden, some with wood, and others with burdens of various sorts, their lords and masters condescending to carry nothing but a couple of light wooden spears, a waddy, or native club, and a boomerang.

"Poor creatures!" exclaimed Hubert; "what miserable specimens of humanity; indeed, they hardly look human at all."

"Ah," said his uncle, "there are some who are only too glad to declare that these poor creatures are only brutes, that they have no souls.

I've heard a man say he'd as soon shoot a native as a dingo; that is, a wild dog."

"But _you_ don't think so, dear uncle?"

"Think so! no indeed. Their intellects are sharp enough in some things.

Yes; it is very easy to take from them their lands, their kangaroo, and their emu, and then talk about their having no souls, just to excuse ourselves from doing anything for them in return. Why, those very men who will talk the most disparagingly of them, do not hesitate to make use of them; ay, and trust them too. They will employ them as shepherds, and even as mounted policemen. But let us stop a moment, and hear what they have to say."

He drew up, and the natives stopped also, grinning from ear to ear.

They were very dark, a dusky olive colour; the older ones were hideously ugly, and yet it was impossible not to be taken with the excessive good humour of their laughing faces.

"What name you?" cried the foremost to Mr Oliphant.

"Abraham," was the reply.

"Ah, very good Abraham," rejoined the native; "you give me copper, me call you gentleman."

"Them you piccaninnies?" asked one of the women, pointing to Hubert and Frank.

"No," said Mr Oliphant; "there--there are some coppers for you; you must do me some work for them when you come to my sit-down."

"Gammon," cried the black addressed; "me plenty lazy."

"A sensible fellow," cried Frank laughing, as they drove on; "he knows how to look after his own interests, clearly enough; surely such as these cannot be past teaching."

"No indeed," said the other; "we teach them evil fast enough; they learn our vices besides their own. You may be sure they drink when they can.

Ah, that curse of drunkenness! Did you think you had run away from it when you left England? Happy for you, Hubert, that you're an abstainer; and I suppose, Mr Oldfield, that you are one too."

"Not a pledged one," said Frank, colouring deeply, "but one in practice, I hope, nevertheless."

"Well, I tell you honestly that you'll find neither beer, wine, or spirits in my house. To everything else you are both heartily welcome.--Ah, that's not so pleasant," he exclaimed suddenly.

"Is there anything amiss?" asked Hubert.

"Oh, nothing serious!" was the reply; "only a little disagreeable; but we may perhaps escape it. We'll pull up for a moment. There; just look on a few hundred yards."

Ahead of them some little distance, in the centre of the road, a whirling current of air was making the dust revolve in a rapidly enlarging circle. As this circle widened it increased in substance, till at last it became a furious earth-spout, gathering sticks and leaves, and even larger things, into its vortex, and rising higher and higher in the air till it became a vast black moving column, making a strange rustling noise as it approached. Then it left the direct road, and rushed along near them, rising higher and higher in the air, and becoming less and less dense, till its base completely disappeared, and the column spent itself in a fine streak of sand some hundred feet or more above their heads.

"A pleasant escape," said Mr Oliphant; "we shouldn't have gained either in good looks or comfort if we had got into the thick of it."

"I should think not indeed," said Frank. "Do people often get into these whirlwinds, or earth-spouts, or whatever they should be called?"

"Sometimes they do," said the other, "and then the results are anything but agreeable. I have seen men go into them white--white jacket, white waistcoat, white trousers, white hat, and come out one universal brown-- brown jacket, waistcoat, trousers, hat, eyebrows, whiskers, all brown."

"Anything but pleasant indeed," said Hubert. "But do they ever do serious mischief?"

"Not very serious, as far as I know," replied his uncle. "Once I knew of a pastry-cook's man who was caught in one of these whirlwinds; he had a tray of tarts on his head, and the wind caught the tray, and whirled it off, tarts and all. But here we are at the 'Half-way house;' people commonly can't go many miles here without the drink. They fancy that, because we live in a country which is very hot in summer, we want more to drink; but it's just the reverse. Drink very little of anything in the specially hot days, and you'll not feel the want of it."

And now, after a further drive of three or four miles, the outskirts of the city of Adelaide were nearly reached, and the distant hills became more plainly visible.

"We shall cross the river by the ford at the back of the jail," said Mr Oliphant, "for there's very little water in the river now."

"And is this the river Torrens?" asked Hubert, with a slight tone of incredulity in his voice.

"You may well ask," replied his uncle, laughing. "Torrens is certainly an unfortunate name, for it leads a stranger naturally to look for a deep and impetuous stream. Some gentleman from Melbourne, when he first saw it, was highly incensed and disgusted, and exclaimed, 'Is this _crack in the earth_ your river Torrens?'"

"But I suppose," inquired Frank, "it is not always as shallow as now?"

"No indeed," said the other; "I've seen it many a time a real Torrens.

When it comes rushing down, swollen by numberless little streams from the hills, it will carry almost everything before it. Bridges, and strong ones too, it has swept away, and you may judge both of its violence and of the height to which it rises at such times, when I tell you that, when a flood has subsided, you may sometimes look up and see a dead horse sticking in the fork of a tree which had for a time been nearly under water. And I've often thought that the drink is like this stream; people will scarce credit at first that it can do so much mischief--it's only a little drop, or a gla.s.s or two, but the drop becomes a stream, and the gla.s.s a mighty river, and down goes all before it, money, home, love, character, peace, everything. But see, that's the jail on our left now. If there were more total abstainers, we shouldn't want such a costly building, nor so many policemen, as we do now. Here, as in the old country, the drink is at the bottom of nine- tenths of the crime. And now we're just coming up to the top of Hindley Street. Look down it; it's a busy street; you can see right away through Rundle Street, which is a continuation of it, to the Park Lands beyond. Now, just take a fact about the drinking habits of this colony.

You'll suppose, of course, that this street wants lighting at night.

Well; how is this done? We have no gas as yet; no doubt we shall have it by-and-by. Well, then, look along each side of the street, and you'll see ordinary lamps projecting from houses at tolerably regular intervals. These houses are all public-houses. Every publican is bound by law to keep a lamp burning outside his house every dark night; and these lamps light the street very creditably. I use the word 'creditably' simply in reference to the lighting; doesn't that speak volumes?"

"Yes, indeed," said Hubert; "I fear it tells of abundant crime and misery."

"It does. But we mustn't dwell on the dark side now, for I want this to be a bright day for us all. You see we've some nice shops in Hindley Street."

"Yes," said Frank; "but what a remarkable variety of style in the houses; there are no two of them, scarcely, alike in size, shape, or height. They remind me rather of a cla.s.s of boys in our dame school at home, where big and little boys, tidy and ragged, stand side by side in one long row."

"You are rather severe upon us," said Mr Oliphant laughing; "but we are gradually improving; there is, however, plenty of room yet for improvement, I allow."

And now they turned into King William Street, and drew up at the front of a large store.