Lost Lenore Part 38

"What!" I exclaimed, "Lenore Hyland--married?"

"Yes. Have you not heard of it? She married the captain of a ship in the Australia trade, who, after the marriage, took her and her mother to London."

"Are you sure--that--that--you cannot be mistaken?" I asked, gasping for breath.

"Yes, quite sure," replied Mason. "What's the matter? you don't appear to be pleased at it?"

"Oh nothing--nothing. But what reason have you for thinking she is married?" I asked, trying to appear indifferent.

"Only that I heard so. Besides, I saw her at the Captain's house in London where I called on business. I had some notion of going a voyage with him."

"But are you sure the person you saw was Lenore--the daughter of Captain Hyland?"

"Certainly. How could I be mistaken? You know I was at Captain Hyland's house several times, and saw her there--to say nothing of that scene we had with Adkins, when we were all in Liverpool together. I could not be mistaken: for I spoke to her the time I was at her house in London. She was married about two years before to the captain of the Australian ship--a man old enough to be her father."

What reason had I to doubt Mason's word? None.

I went ash.o.r.e with a soul-sickening sensation, that caused me to wish myself as free from the cares of this life, as the mother I had lately lowered into her grave.

How dark seemed the world!

The sun seemed no longer shining, to give light; but only to warm my woe.

The beacon that had been guiding my actions so brightly and well, had become suddenly extinguished; and I was left in a night of sorrow, as dark, as I should have deserved, had my great love been for crime instead of Lenore!

What had I done to be cursed with this, the greatest, misfortune Fate can bestow?

Where was my reward for the wear of body and soul, through long years of toil, and with that conscientious and steadfast spirit, the wise tell us, must surely win? What had _I_ won? Only an immortal woe!

Thenceforth was I to be in truth, a "Rolling Stone," for the only attraction that could have bound me to one place, or to anything--even to life itself--had for ever departed from my soul.

The world before me seemed not the one through which I had been hitherto straying. I seemed to have fallen from some bright field of manly strife, down, far down, into a dark and dreary land--there to wander friendless, unheeded and unloved, vainly seeking for something, I knew not what, and without the hope, or even the desire of finding it!

I could not blame Lenore. She had broken no faith with me: none had been plighted between us. I had not even talked to her of love.

Had she promised to await my return--had she ever confessed any affection for me--some indignation, or contempt for her perfidy, might have arisen to rescue me from my fearful reflections.

But I was denied even this slight source of consolation. There was nothing for which I could blame her--nothing to aid me in conquering the hopeless pa.s.sion, that still burned within my soul.

I had been a fool to build such a vast superstructure of hope on a foundation so flimsy and fanciful.

It had fallen; and every faculty of my mind seemed crushed amid the ruins.

In one way only was I fortunate. I was in a land where gold fields of extraordinary richness, had been discovered; and I knew, that there is no occupation followed by man--calculated to so much concentrate his thoughts upon the present, and abstract them from the past--as that of gold hunting.

Join a new rush to the gold fields, all ye who are weary in soul, and sorrow-laden, and the past will soon sink unheeded under the excitement of the present.

I knew that this was the very thing I now required; and, from the moment of receiving the unwelcome tidings communicated by Mason, I relinquished all thought of returning to Liverpool.

I did not tell my sister Martha of this sudden change in my designs; but, requesting her not to write, until she should first hear from me, I bade her farewell--leaving her in great grief, at my departure.

Twenty-four hours after, I was pa.s.sing out of the harbour of Sydney--in a steamer bound for the city of Melbourne.

Volume Two, Chapter XX.

THE VICTORIA DIGGINGS.

My pa.s.sage from Sydney to Melbourne, was made in the steamer "Shamrock,"

and, after landing on the sh.o.r.e of Port Philip, I tried to believe myself free from all that could attract my thoughts to other lands.

I endeavoured to fancy myself once more a youth--with everything to win, and nothing to lose.

The scenes I encountered in the young colony, favoured my efforts; and after a time, I began to take an interest in much that was transpiring around me.

I could not very well do otherwise: since, to a great deal I saw in Melbourne, my attention was called, in a most disagreeable manner.

Never had I been amongst so large a population, where society was in so uncivilised a condition. The number of men and women encountered in the streets in a state of beastly intoxication--the number of both s.e.xes, to be seen with black eyes, and other evidences, that told of many a mutual "misunderstanding,"--the horridly profane language issuing out of the public-houses, as you pa.s.sed them--in short, everything that met either the eye or ear of the stranger, proclaimed to him, in a sense not to be mistaken, that Melbourne must be the abode of a depraved people. There, for the first time in my life, I saw men allowed to take their seats at the breakfast tables of an hotel, while in a state of staggering intoxication!

With much that was disgusting to witness, there were some spectacles that were rather amusing. A majority of the men seen walking the streets--or encountered in the bar-rooms of public-houses--carried grand riding whips; and a great many wore glittering spurs--who had never been upon the back of horse!

The hotel keepers of Melbourne did not care for the custom of respectable people, just landed in the colony; but preferred the patronage of men from the mines--diggers who would deposit with them, the proceeds of their labour, in bags of gold dust; and remain drunk, until told there was but five pounds of the deposit left--just enough to carry them back to the diggings!

I am not speaking of Melbourne at the present time; but the Melbourne of ten years ago. It is now a fine city, where a part of all the world's produce may be obtained for a reasonable price. Most of the inhabitants of the Melbourne of 1853--owing to the facility of acquiring the means-- have long since killed themselves off by drink and dissipation; and a population of more respectable citizens, from the mother country, now supply their places.

I made but a short stay in this colonial Gomorrah. Disgusted with the city, and everything in it, a few days after my arrival, I started off for the McIvor diggings.

I travelled in company with several others, who were going to the same place--to which we had "chartered" a horse and dray for carrying our "swags."

One of my travelling companions was drunk, the night before leaving Melbourne; and, in consequence, could eat no breakfast on the morning when we were about to start. He had neglected to provide himself with food for the journey; and depended on getting his meals at eating-houses along the road.

Before the day was over, he had become very hungry; but would not accept of any food offered him by the others.

"No thank'ee," he would say, when asked to have something. "I'll wait.

We shall stop at a coffee-house before night; and I'll make it a caution to the man as keeps it. I'll eat all before me. My word! but I'll make it a warning to him, whoever he be. He'll not want to keep a coffee-house any longer."

This curious threat was repeated several times during the day; and we all expected, when evening should arrive, to see something wonderful in the way of consuming provisions.

We at length reached the coffee-house, where we intended to stay for the night; and called for our dinners. When told to sit down, we did so; and there was placed before us a shoulder of mutton, from which, as was evident by the havoc made upon it, several hungry men had already dined.

A loaf, baked in the ashes--known in the colonies as a "damper"--some tea, in which had been boiled a little sugar, some salt, and a pickle bottle with some dirty vinegar in it, were the concomitants of the shoulder, or "knuckle" of mutton. I had sate down to many such meals before; and was therefore in no way disappointed. But the man who had been all day without eating seemed to be very differently affected.

According to custom, he had to prepay his four shillings, before taking his seat at the table; and on seeing what he was to get for his money, he seemed rather chagrined.

"My word!" cried he; "I did say that I'd make it a warning to the landlord; but my word!--he's made it a warning to me. I sate down hungry, but I shall get up starving."

None of us could reasonably doubt the truth, thus naively enunciated by our travelling companion.

After reaching the diggings at McIvor, I entered into partnership with one of the men, who had travelled with me from Melbourne. We purchased a tent and tools; and at once set to work to gather gold.