The Caxtons: A Family Picture Part 65

"Gallant Conduct of Ensign De Caxton! Promoted to a Lieutenancy on the Field!"

I wipe my eyes, and cry: "Thank Heaven,--it is my cousin!" Then new hand-shakings, new groups gather round. I feel taller by the head than I was before! We grumbling English, always quarrelling with each other,--the world not wide enough to hold us; and yet, when in the far land some bold deed is done by a countryman, how we feel that we are brothers; how our hearts warm to each other! What a letter I wrote home, and how joyously I went back to the Bush! The Will-o'-the-Wisp has attained to a cattle station of his own. I go fifty miles out of my way to tell him the news and give him the newspaper; for he knows now that his old master, Vivian, is a c.u.mberland man,--a Caxton.

Poor Will-o'-the-Wisp! The tea that night tasted uncommonly like whiskey-punch! Father Mathew, forgive us; but if you had been a c.u.mberland man, and heard the Will-o'-the-Wisp roaring out, "Blue Bonnets over the Borders," I think your tea, too, would not have come out of the--caddy!

CHAPTER V.

A great change has occurred in our household. Guy's father is dead,--his latter years cheered by the accounts of his son's steadiness and prosperity, and by the touching proofs thereof which Guy has exhibited; for he insisted on repaying to his father the old college debts and the advance of the L1,500, begging that the money might go towards his sister's portion. Now, after the old gentleman's death, the sister resolved to come out and live with her dear brother Guy. Another wing is built to the hut. Ambitious plans for a new stone house, to be commenced the following year, are entertained; and Guy has brought back from Adelaide not only a sister, but, to my utter astonishment, a wife, in the shape of a fair friend by whom the sister is accompanied.

The young lady did quite right to come to Australia if she wanted to be married. She was very pretty, and all the beaux in Adelaide were round her in a moment. Guy was in love the first day, in a rage with thirty rivals the next, in despair the third, put the question the fourth, and before the fifteenth was a married man, hastening back with a treasure, of which he fancied all the world was conspiring to rob him. His sister was quite as pretty as her friend, and she, too, had offers enough the moment she landed,--only she was romantic and fastidious; and I fancy Guy told her that "I was just made for her."

However, charming though she be,--with pretty blue eyes and her brother's frank smile,--I am not enchanted. I fancy she lost all chance of my heart by stepping across the yard in a pair of silk shoes. If I were to live in the Bush, give me a wife as a companion who can ride well, leap over a ditch, walk beside me when I go forth, gun in hand, for a shot at the kangaroos. But I dare not go on with the list of a Bush husband's requisites. This change, however, serves, for various reasons, to quicken my desire of return. Ten years have now elapsed, and I have already obtained a much larger fortune than I had calculated to make. Sorely to Guy's honest grief, I therefore wound up our affairs and dissolved partnership; for he had decided to pa.s.s his life in the colony,--and with his pretty wife, who has grown very fond of him, I don't wonder at it. Guy takes my share of the station and stock off my hands; and, all accounts squared between us, I bid farewell to the Bush.

Despite all the motives that drew my heart homeward, it was not without partic.i.p.ation in the sorrow of my old companions that I took leave of those I might never see again on this side the grave. The meanest man in my employ had grown a friend; and when those hard hands grasped mine, and from many a breast that once had waged fierce war with the world came the soft blessing to the Homeward-bound,--with a tender thought for the Old England that had been but a harsh stepmother to them,--I felt a choking sensation which I suspect is little known to the friendships of Mayfair and St. James's. I was forced to get off with a few broken words, when I had meant to part with a long speech,--perhaps the broken words pleased the audience better. Spurring away, I gained a little eminence and looked back. There were the poor faithful fellows gathered in a ring, watching me, their hats off, their hands shading their eyes from the sun. And Guy had thrown himself on the ground, and I heard his loud sobs distinctly. His wife was leaning over his shoulder, trying to soothe. Forgive him, fair helpmate; you will be all the world to him--to-morrow! And the blue-eyed sister, where was she? Had she no tears for the rough friend who laughed at the silk shoes, and taught her how to hold the reins and never fear that the old pony would run away with her? What matter? If the tears were shed, they were hidden tears.

No shame in them, fair Ellen! Since then thou hast wept happy tears over thy first-born,--those tears have long ago washed away all bitterness in the innocent memories of a girl's first fancy.

CHAPTER VI.

Dated From Adelaide.

Imagine my wonder! Uncle Jack has just been with me, and--But hear the dialogue.

Uncle Jack.--"So you are positively going back to that smoky, fusty Old England, just when you are on your high road to a plum,--a plum, sir, at least! They all say there is not a more rising young man in the colony.

I think Bullion would take you into partnership. What are you in such a hurry for?"

Pisistratus.--"To see my father and mother and Uncle Roland, and--" (was about to name some one else, but stops). "You see, my dear uncle, I came out solely with the idea of repairing my father's losses in that unfortunate speculation of 'The Capitalist'!"

Uncle Jack (coughs and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.es).--"That villain Peck!"

Pisistratus.--"And to have a few thousands to invest in poor Roland's acres. The object is achieved: why should I stay?"

Uncle Jack.--"A few paltry thousands, when in twenty years more, at the farthest, you would wallow in gold!"

Pisistratus.--"A man learns in the Bush how happy life can be with plenty of employment and very little money. I shall practise that lesson in England."

Uncle Jack.--"Your mind's made up?"

Pisistratus.--"And my place in the ship taken."

Uncle Jack.--"Then there's no more to be said." (Hums, haws, and examines his nails,--filbert-nails, not a speck on them. Then suddenly, and jerking up his head) "That 'Capitalist'! it has been on my conscience, nephew, ever since; and, somehow or other, since I have abandoned the cause of my fellow-creatures, I think I have cared more for my relations."

Pisistratus (smiling as he remembers his father's shrewd predictions thereon).--"Naturally, my dear uncle; any child who has thrown a stone into a pond knows that a circle disappears as it widens."

Uncle Jack.--"Very true,--I shall make a note of that, applicable to my next speech in defence of what they call the 'land monopoly.' Thank you,--stone, circle! [Jots down notes in his pocket-book.] But to return to the point: I am well off now, I have neither wife nor child, and I feel that I ought to bear my share in your father's loss,--it was our joint speculation. And your father--good, dear Austin!--paid my debts into the bargain. And how cheering the punch was that night, when your mother wanted to scold poor Jack! And the L300 Austin lent me when I left him: nephew, that was the remaking of me,--the acorn of the oak I have planted. So here they are [added Uncle Jack, with a heroical effort, and he extracted from the pocket-book bills for a sum between three and four thousand pounds]. There, it is done; and I shall sleep better for it!" With that Uncle Jack got up, and bolted out of the room.

Ought I to take the money? Why, I think yes,--it is but fair. Jack must be really rich, and can well spare the money; besides, if he wants it again, I know my father will let him have it. And, indeed, Jack caused the loss of the whole sum lost on "The Capitalist," etc.: and this is not quite the half of what my father paid away. But is it not fine in Uncle Jack? Well, my father was quite right in his milder estimate of Jack's scalene conformation, and it is hard to judge of a man when he is needy and down in the world. When one grafts one's ideas on one's neighbor's money, they are certainly not so grand as when they spring from one's own.

Uncle Jack (popping his head into the room).--"And, you see, you can double that money if you will just leave it in my hands for a couple of years,--you have no notion what I shall make of the Tibbets' Wheal!

Did I tell you? The German was quite right; I have been offered already seven times the sum which I gave for the land. But I am now looking out for a company: let me put you down for shares to the amount at least of those trumpery bills. Cent per cent,--I guarantee cent per cent!"

And Uncle Jack stretches out those famous smooth hands of his, with a tremulous motion of the ten eloquent fingers.

Pisistratus.--"Ah! my dear uncle, if you repent--"

Uncle Jack.--"Repent, when I offer you cent per cent, on my personal guarantee!"

Pisistratus (carefully putting the bills into his breast coat-pocket).--"Then if you don't repent, my dear uncle, allow me to shake you by the hand and say that I will not consent to lessen my esteem and admiration for the high principle which prompts this rest.i.tution, by confounding it with trading a.s.sociations of loans, interests, and copper-mines. And, you see, since this sum is paid to my father, I have no right to invest it without his permission."

Uncle Jack (with emotion). "'Esteem, admiration, high principle!'--these are pleasant words from you, nephew. [Then, shaking his head, and smiling] You sly dog! you are quite right; get the bills cashed at once.

And hark ye, sir, just keep out of my way, will you? And don't let me coax from you a farthing." Uncle Jack slams the door and rushes out.

Pisistratus draws the bills warily from his pocket, half suspecting they must already have turned into withered leaves, like fairy money; slowly convinces himself that the bills are good bills; and by lively gestures testifies his delight and astonishment. Scene changes.

PART XVIII.

CHAPTER I.

Adieu, thou beautiful land, Canaan of the exiles, and Ararat to many a shattered ark! Fair cradle of a race for whom the unbounded heritage of a future that no sage can conjecture, no prophet divine, lies afar in the golden promise--light of Time!--destined, perchance, from the sins and sorrows of a civilization struggling with its own elements of decay, to renew the youth of the world, and transmit the great soul of England through the cycles of Infinite Change. All climates that can best ripen the products of earth or form into various character and temper the different families of man is "rain influences" from the heaven that smiles so benignly on those who had once shrunk, ragged, from the wind, or scowled on the thankless sun. Here, the hard air of the chill Mother Isle,--there, the mild warmth of Italian autumns or the breathless glow of the tropics. And with the beams of every climate, glides subtle Hope.

Of her there, it may be said, as of Light itself, in those exquisite lines of a neglected poet,--

"Through the soft ways of heaven and air and sea, Which open all their pores to thee, Like a clear river thou dost glide.

All the world's bravery that delights our eyes Is but thy several liveries; Thou the rich dye on them bestowest; Thy nimble pencil paints the landscape as thou goest." (1)

Adieu, my kind nurse and sweet foster-mother,--a long and a last adieu!

Never had I left thee but for that louder voice of Nature which calls the child to the parent, and wooes us from the labors we love the best by the chime in the sabbath-bells of Home.

No one can tell how dear the memory of that wild Bush life becomes to him who has tried it with a fitting spirit. How often it haunts him in the commonplace of more civilized scenes! Its dangers, its risks, its sense of animal health, its bursts of adventure, its intervals of careless repose,--the fierce gallop through a very sea of wide, rolling plains; the still saunter, at night, through woods never changing their leaves, with the moon, clear as sunshine, stealing slant through their cl.u.s.ters of flowers. With what an effort we reconcile ourselves to the trite cares and vexed pleasures, "the quotidian ague of frigid impertinences," to which we return! How strong and black stands my pencil-mark in this pa.s.sage of the poet from whom I have just quoted before--!

"We are here among the vast and n.o.ble scenes of Nature,--we are there among the pitiful shifts of policy; we walk here in the light and open ways of the Divine Bounty,--we grope there in the dark and confused labyrinth of human malice." (2)

But I weary you, reader. The New World vanishes,--now a line, now a speck; let us turn away, with the face to the Old. Amongst my fellow-pa.s.sengers how many there are returning home disgusted, disappointed, impoverished, ruined, throwing themselves again on those unsuspecting poor friends who thought they had done with the luckless good-for-noughts forever. For don't let me deceive thee, reader, into supposing that every adventurer to Australia has the luck of Pisistratus. Indeed, though the poor laborer, and especially the poor operative from London and the great trading towns (who has generally more of the quick knack of learning,--the adaptable faculty,--required in a new colony, than the simple agricultural laborer), are pretty sure to succeed, the cla.s.s to which I belong is one in which failures are numerous and success the exception,--I mean young men with scholastic education and the habits of gentlemen; with small capital and sanguine hopes. But this, in ninety-nine times out of a hundred, is not the fault of the colony, but of the emigrants. It requires not so much intellect as a peculiar turn of intellect, and a fortunate combination of physical qualities, easy temper, and quick mother-wit, to make a small capitalist a prosperous Bushman. (3) And if you could see the sharks that swim round a man just dropped at Adelaide or Sydney, with one or two thousand pounds in his pocket! Hurry out of the towns as fast as you can, my young emigrant; turn a deaf ear, for the present at least, to all jobbers and speculators; make friends with some practised old Bushman; spend several months at his station before you hazard your capital; take with you a temper to bear everything and sigh for nothing; put your whole heart in what you are about; never call upon Hercules when your cart sticks in the rut,--and whether you feed sheep or breed cattle, your success is but a question of time.

But whatever I owed to Nature, I owed also something to Fortune. I bought my sheep at little more than 7s. each. When I left, none were worth less than 15s., and the fat sheep were worth L1. (4) I had an excellent shepherd, and my whole care, night and day, was the improvement of the flock. I was fortunate, too, in entering Australia before the system miscalled "The Wakefield" (5) had diminished the supply of labor and raised the price of land. When the change came (like most of those with large allotments and surplus capital), it greatly increased the value of my own property, though at the cost of a terrible blow on the general interests of the colony. I was lucky, too, in the additional venture of a cattle-station, and in the breed of horses and herds, which, in the five years devoted to that branch establishment, trebled the sum invested therein, exclusive of the advantageous sale of the station. (6) I was lucky, also, as I have stated, in the purchase and resale of lands, at Uncle Jack's recommendation. And, lastly, I left in time, and escaped a very disastrous crisis in colonial affairs, which I take the liberty of attributing entirely to the mischievous crotchets of theorists at home who want to set all clocks by Greenwich time, forgetting that it is morning in one part of the world at the time they are tolling the curfew in the other.

(1) Cowley: Ode to Light.

(2) Cowley on Town and Country. (Discourse on Agriculture.)

(3) How true are the following remarks:--

Action is the first great requisite of a colonist (that is, a pastoral or agricultural settler). With a young man, the tone of his mind is more important than his previous pursuits. I have known men of an active, energetic, contented disposition, with a good flow of animal spirits, who had been bred in luxury and refinement, succeed better than men bred as farmers who were always hankering after bread and beer, and market ordinaries of Old England... To be dreaming when you should be looking after your cattle is a terrible drawback... There are certain persons who, too lazy and too extravagant to succeed in Europe, sail for Australia under the idea that fortunes are to be made there by a sort of legerdemain, spend or lose their capital in a very short s.p.a.ce of time, and return to England to abuse the place, the people, and everything connected with colonization.--Sydney. Australian Handbook (admirable for its wisdom and compactness).