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Chapter II.

As morning breaks the station is fully aroused. From adjacent hills the sound of voices can be heard, and the loud barking of dogs re-echoes around. The dewy mist is torn from the mountain tops, and droops into hollows or slides down the valleys, revealing glimpses of distant scenery brightening in the first glow of sunrise.

A mob of cattle can be noticed slowly trooping down a rocky ridge, while bleating flocks of sheep, let loose from their confinement, are rapidly spreading forth over the downs and circling with white lines the mountain spurs. From the kitchen chimney a thin column of smoke streams upwards into the clear frosty air, while below the pump in the back yard presents a scene of much animation. It is the public lavatory of the establishment, and around it a group of station hands are performing their ablutions amidst noise and laughter. A lot of sturdy, hairy, sunburnt fellows, some of them stripped to the waist, dabbling and splashing in the cold sparkling stream, which one of page 38the men is pumping into a wooden trough. A huge towel, many yards in length, is seemingly public property, for it is passed from hand to hand, and does service all round.

The mob of cattle, mostly composed of working bullocks, is now seen approaching the stock-yard; they are led by an enormous grey steer that trots steadily along the beaten track. The rest follow tumultuous, some frisky or shy, others wild and lowering. They tramp heavily as they go, splashing through muddy pools, now turning fiercely on the dogs, now rushing violently onwards before the sharp cracks of the stock-whips. The old and broken-in beasts of burden enter sullenly into the enclosure, but some of the young and wilder cattle hold back and turn on their drivers. They stare around, sniff the air, bellow, and spurn the ground; the pastures in the distance tempt them: then suddenly, with one common impulse, they dart forward—tossing, bounding, roaring, in a headlong rush for liberty.

Now begins an exciting chase. Down upon them, like hawks swooping on their prey, the stockmen dash past in hot pursuit. The horses, trained to their work and roused to sudden excitement, require neither rein nor spur, and the principal care of each rider is to keep his seat as he scampers madly across country.

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There they go at racing speed, tail on end! Over hill and dale, down rocky spurs, up rugged banks, bounding over fences, dodging round stumps and pitfalls, floundering through swamps, the long stock-whips circling in the air and resounding through the gullies with loud reports.

The runaways are soon overtaken; the cavalcade comes thundering back again, and amidst yells and oaths, the furious barking of the dogs, and the cracking of the whips, the refractory cattle are flogged into the stock-yard.

The bullock drivers now go about their work, yoking up the teams, dragging forth the heavy drays, and assisting one another in loading up.

Breakfast is announced, and once more the kitchen is filled with a motley crowd. There is not much variety in the fare. 'Tis mutton boiled, or mutton baked, or mutton chops fried in the pan; bread or damper, and black tea. Every one is intent on his daily task. The shepherds are planning a general muster of their flocks, which will take them far away over wild and rugged country; two of the bullock drivers start upon a long journey to town, their drays laden with bales of wool, to bring back a stock of provisions; others have to carry stores and rations to the distant out-stations, or to bring in loads of fire-page 40wood. The stockmen have their rounds to go, the working-men their various rough jobs to perform. But amidst all this bustle and diversity there is one subject of general concern, one sad topic of general discourse. The poor injured Dan had not shown any signs of returning consciousness; he lay in the same precarious state, and those sorrowing mates of his who had kept watch all night by the side of his stretcher could only shake their heads and murmur dismal forebodings. Rough, ragged, rowdy were most of these men; uncouth their appearance, boorish their manners, blunt their speech, but they were not devoid of kindly sentiment, not destitute of generous impulses. From this rude society the softening influence of woman was absent, the refining effects of culture and civilisation were lacking, but a warm heart of fellowship remained; the ties of manly sympathy were not wanting. In times of trouble, in the hour of danger, kind words were spoken, brave acts were done.

Poor Dan! His joyous voice was heard no more; his beaming face was absent; his lively rattle was silenced now. He lay but a few yards off from the noisy crowd, but he heard them not. Several of his rough mates crept sadly round the outhouse and peered cautiously into the darkened room; they page 41stepped on tip-toe, and conversed by signs and whispers as if afraid to wake him. Needless precaution!

"He will never wake no more," blurted out friend Ted, and his voice carried a miserable conviction to every breast.

"Those the Gods love die young," muttered Rainon. "I often wish I was dead."

The men dispersed on their several ways, and Billy, the cook, began clearing the table to set about his daily routine.

Doctor Valentine was up early, visited the patient, and strolled about the homestead with his friend Raleigh. There was little to attract a fervid imagination in the bleak and desolate scenery around. A cluster of bare huts, without shelter or verdure; the naked timber fences, with the stench of sheep-yards; the howling of dogs, and everywhere the look of isolation and dreariness.

"I have been in many places," remarked the Doctor, "I have wandered in many lands, and have had to 'rough it' too, but for a howling wilderness this beats all."

"Chacun a son goût," replied Raleigh. "Mrs. Dale calls it a sylvan scene; she talks of it as her 'highland home,' and quotes extensively from 'The page 42Lady of the Lake,' in illustration of its natural beauties."

"You have no lake, that I am aware of; and where are the beauties?"

"Oh, that's a matter of detail. We have torrents, with plenty of gorges—gorgeous scenery, therefore. Mr. Dale, who is not poetical, you know, can yet indulge in glowing sentiment over a landscape that will carry a sheep to the acre—that's his idea of scenic beauty. Stead will tell you that the run pays; that it affords good shelter, and is free from scab—what more could you want?"

"And civilised human beings can be found to inhabit such a desolate waste?" inquired the Doctor.

"Civilised human beings—especially if true-hearted Britons—will go wherever money is to be made," replied Raleigh. "But the uncivilised predominate here. The fine arts, my dear Val, are at a heavy discount, the state of polite learning is at a low ebb. What does thrive is sheep. They yield over 4 lbs. of greasy wool per head, and some 80 per cent, increase. That's good enough. And, of course, where sheep thrive, their masters thrive also. Our 'mutton lords,' as we call them, prosper and get fat, without much exertion, either physical or mental. They can lie on their backs while the wool grows. As for the page 43labouring-classes here, they are a mixed lot. There are some industrious and thrifty men amongst them who stick to work, save money, and get on. I know several Scotch shepherds who are plodding along, and on the fair road to become squatters some day. There are thousands of farm labourers in this country who will be independent farmers at no distant date. This has been called a 'working man's paradise,' and so it is for the lucky ones. In the meantime, they don't live—they vegetate. But here, 'up-country,' we have mostly a roving population of tramps, topers, and outcasts. Drunken wretches, many of them, who are only human while banished in these deserts, out of reach of their cursed drink. Lazy hounds, also, who loaf about, and are quite useless for constant steady work. Then there is the whole ragged regiment of 'poor devils, who wander about the country, homeless, aimless, hopeless—often deserving of a better fate."

"Why," exclaimed Dr. Valentine, "according to our clever friend, Mrs. Wylde, this ragged regiment you talk about is quite a corps d'élite—men of birth and education who have broken away from the restraints and restrictions of Old World society for Nature and freedom! She took a trip into the interior not long ago, and came back delighted with all she had heard and seen. Quite a romance. Roughing page 44it was charming, like a succession of picnics; camping out was a new sensation, 'awfully nice;' but the most startling surprises were afforded by the people she met on her travels. You drop across a shepherd on his beat, but, instead of some country lout staring at vacancy, you meet quite a bucolic swell, a lisping Damon from one of last century's pastorals, arrayed in the humble garment of a blue smock, but gracefully reciting from a pocket Horace and addressing his faithful collie in classic verse."

"In dog Latin, I should say. But what about the nymph Cloe? She is absent from the sylvan scene."

"Yes; that's the weak point in the arrangement. You enter the log hut of some sawyers, and you are met at the door by a man in the garb of a labourer but with the address of a perfect gentleman. He bears on his face a scar which he received in the trenches before Sebastopol while in command of a battery. Captain Grapeshot, lately the most gallant officer in the service, now the best top-sawyer in the country. His mate, who politely offers you a three-legged wooden stool with all the grace of a drawing-room dandy, is an 'Honourable' no less, and could entertain you with fashionable scandal of the tip-top set. Another personage, of a graver aspect, who is down on his knees by the fireplace kneading a damper, and page 45who laughingly explains the process to you with scientific minuteness, is a gold medalist, and, but for the unfortunate breaking down of his health through over-study, he would be one of the big guns of the present day. And so on.

"Mrs. Wylde came to a station not a hundred miles off," continued the Doctor, "but the young man who advanced towards her to hold her horse had such a distingué air that she could not for a moment mistake him for a groom. In the few flashes of conversation she had with him on alighting she discovered that he must be a perfect judge of a horse, for he took in all the points of her steed at a glance, and expatiated on them with the air of a connoisseur. She since ascertained that he is quite a sporting man, an intimate friend of noble turfites at home, and a man of mark."

"That's Jim Flash, I'll be bound!" exclaimed Raleigh.

"Our vivacious friend was much struck with the haut ton of the working population she met. These gentlemen pioneers, notwithstanding their soft hands and refined tastes, could vie in strength, energy, and endurance with the strongest of labouring men,—beat them on their own ground, sir!"

"Oh yes, just as the 'curled darlings' of the Crimea page 46carried off the palm of bravery and dash, and took the shine out of the grim old warriors."

"On this same station," continued Doctor Valentine, "the storekeeper was a Doctor of Law, the cook was by profession a chemist, there was an army captain and two middies among the shepherds, and a couple of the bullock-drivers were clergymen's sons; they, as usual, turned out the biggest scamps of the lot. But the most distinguished party on the run was a philosopher. The latter," the speaker added, with a roguish look at his companion, "was reported to be a man of vast erudition for his age, who spoke half a dozen languages that nobody could understand, who could argue the point against all comers, but who never knew his own mind, and who could keep count of everything but his sheep. A man concerning whom the greatest wonder was how the devil he got there."

"Your fair friend," remarked Raleigh, with a laugh, "is a person of a very lively imagination. She requires it all to find much entertainment in these God-forsaken parts. I am very glad that she enjoyed her exploration so much. First impressions are often charming where a better acquaintance is not attractive. Let her stop at that, and not repeat the dose."

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"But it's true enough, isn't it, that you have a legion of swells knocking about?"

"It's quite correct that a large number of well-bred and educated men have immigrated here of late, and many of them are to be found in all sorts of places and positions. The more the pity. It's a monstrous fallacy to suppose that men of refinement and education are adapted for this rough life, or that under any ordinary conditions they are likely to succeed in it. They can exist in a way, because labour is so scarce here that men totally unfitted for manual work may yet obtain some sort of employment which in more populated countries would be denied them. But it is a miserable existence. A mistake from every point of view. A waste of energy."

"You are not singular in your experience?" inquired the Doctor.

"Not at all. The ship I came out in brought about a dozen passengers of this class. We had medical students who had abandoned their profession in the same mad hallucination for 'freedom and the bush.' Lawyers' clerks who had kicked over musty old rolls in anticipation of much more exciting pastimes on the wild prairie. There was a whole lot of university fellows—a few with a degree, most of them without one. They were in great spirits, and page 48partook largely of the same while on board. They had imbibed also great notions concerning the 'dignity of labour,' they were prepared to do anything and everything, and they quite longed for the opportunity of handling a pick and shovel. They were all sick of the restraints and conventionalities of civilised life, and their young hearts panted for freedom, the rifle, and the bowie knife. Poor dupes! I have no right to laugh at them, for I was just such another d——d fool myself. Only with me no silly expectations prevailed. It was not with a view to getting on in the world, but to get away from the world—a craving for change—a morbid disgust for conventional life—that brought me out."

"And what became of this gallant crew?"

"God knows! They have drifted far and wide. Several have really taken to the bush, and are sweating at the saw, or buried alive in some lonely den. Many are loafing about, anxious enough to work if they knew how. Every sheep station has a few of these hangers-on. People don't know what to do with them. They are despised by the working men as 'broken-down swells,' they are considered out of place in the kitchen, and a nuisance in the parlour. Then some go stock-driving—a hard life that soon tells on them—hardships, constant exposure, and the page 49demon drink, carry off ever so many. They vanish from the scene—they disappear, nobody knows where, nobody cares.

"When I was last in town I came across one of the medical students. He hadn't taken to the wild prairie, or been stalking the hostile Maories, as he had fondly hoped, but had drifted very low, and was strumming on a piano in a drinking saloon, playing accompaniments to bawdy songs. The poor beggar got his board and lodging in return for this performance.

"On my way back here I ran against another shipmate—the Honourable Alexander Fitz-Smithe. I didn't know him again. He was covered with bristles, and was the roughest, dirtiest, and shabbiest of a whole gang of cattle-drivers. As I passed by he called out, 'There's no life like the wowdy.' I gave a start, for I recognised the voice and the drawl. So we shook hands and liquored up, and he told me his adventures. He was the most languid swell on board; wore kid gloves, and rolled his R's in the most approved Dundreary style, but he has sadly deteriorated since. When we landed at the port the prefix of 'Honourable' brought him ever so much attention. He was almost toadied. The colonial gentry worship a lord, and the scion of a noble house page 50had to be lionised accordingly. He was whisked off to the club, invited out, and trotted about for a few months. When it was discovered, however, that he had no money, these gushing attentions soon ceased. The poor fellow was really anxious to earn an honest living—he was not afraid of work—but what could he do? He had no profession or clerical training, no knowledge of any sort of useful business. A few influential people, out of respect for the aristocracy, exerted themselves and got him the offer of a post in the Customs at £100 a year; but the Honourable Alexander couldn't see his way to live like a gentleman on that. Then, as he had served in the army, he was offered the appointment of Assistant Deputy Adjutant-General in the newly formed militia force, at rather less screw, but with the distinction of a cocked hat and feathers. The hon. scion of a noble house had to decline this also—his income wouldn't run it. Lately he has succeeded in getting into the mounted police. All his friends have cut him; but as he is fond of horse exercise, and as he will be sent off into the interior, I should consider him in clover."

"Do I understand," remarked the Doctor, "that these unfortunate people came out merely on the chance of getting something to do, without preparation, or means, or suitable training?"

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"Das ist so. From what I could learn, not one of them had any definite prospects, but a few had relatives out here. How many conscientious, but stupid and ill-advised parents there are in England, who consider that when they have given their sons a good education their parental responsibilities cease. A boy is sent to a public school; he then takes a turn at college, and he may possibly be allowed a tour on the Continent just to give him a little polishing up. The lad is then informed that it is high time he took his flight from the family nest. He has received what they are pleased to call 'a good English education,' and has been brought up on sound religious principles. He can ride, shoot, and play cricket, therefore he must be fit to make his way in the world. New Zealand is a prosperous British colony, and has the advantage of being a long way off. His father—the autocrat—decides for New Zealand, and finds the passage money; his gushing mother weeps, and provides an ample outfit; his pious aunts supply him with prayer-books and tracts; and a kind old uncle gives him his blessing with a fifty pound note. The young man is started on his life-journey rejoicing. What is to become of him is another matter. But as this occurs sixteen thousand miles from home it is of no great consequence. 'Out of sight, out of mind;' he can page 52sink or swim, or he may drift down the stream. If he were a cad and illiterate he might stand a chance of getting on, but being a gentleman and educated he is almost irretrievably damned."

"Dick!" exclaimed the Doctor, "this is one of your glaring paradoxes. No man can be the worse off for being well educated."

"I know better. I am speaking in all seriousness. Of course education is an elastic term. I am not alluding to the three R's, or to technical training. When I speak of a highly-educated young man you know what I mean. That young man, if he is called upon to make his way in the world unaided and alone, is much to be pitied. His boasted education will be of no use to him. Indeed, it will be a positive disadvantage—an impediment to his success in life. It will not add to his happiness either, but tend to increase his sufferings, to sharpen his disappointments, to embitter his trials. He would do much better without it. Education, as commonly understood, is a fraud—a miserable delusion."

"If it is only a question of 'getting on' in the world, you may be right. The hard-headed, selfish, pushing, practical man has the best of it. Education does not tend to money-grubbing. But surely you, my philosopher, will admit that there are other and page 53much more noble pursuits in life. Education, if it does nothing else, will teach a man to think."

"To think! 'Ay, there's the rub!' And what advantage is it to a man that he should think? To think—about what? About his present existence—its aims, its vanities, its mysteries, its end? A quoi bon? Your thinker will be none the wiser, but a much sadder man for all his thinking. Or would you have him cogitate concerning his future life—the hereafter? Alas! the more we gaze and reflect on that prospect the more misty it becomes, until it tends to vanish altogether. The only result of thinking is to unsettle our faith. No! to think is a mistake. The wise man only thinks about his daily pursuits; the happy man does not think at all.

"Ask yourself, my dear Val, whether you have not often longed to stifle thought—to fly from it—to find some sphere beyond thought, as the greatest happiness."

Doctor Valentine seemed lost in a reverie. There was a long pause. Then he remarked, in a dreary sort of way, "I remember the last Christmas I spent at home. I met on the previous day two of my best friends—my old chum Will Rainbow, a bright, versatile man, with whom I had gone through many a spree, and Robert Stanley, one of the most page 54intelligent and brilliant fellows I have ever known, and of whom great things were expected, but never realised. We met in Regent Street, and we conferred gravely together as to how we should spend our Christmas. Several suggestions were made but immediately discarded. There was nothing to see; there was nothing to be done. At last Stanley had a happy thought. 'Let us meet,' he said, 'at Bill's rooms, and we will all get drunk.' This brilliant idea was adopted unanimously. Next day, at the appointed time, we met at Rainbow's chambers, and took our places round the table with becoming gravity. It was a serious bout. We didn't talk, for our object was to get drunk, so we passed the bottle round, and in due course we all got drunk. And that is how I spent my last Christmas in the old country."

"A fitting commentary upon my text," remarked Raleigh.

"Doctor! Doctor! he's a coming round!" cried Billy the cook, as he reached them breathless. "I've been a dodging hall round the shop to find you; he's a coming round."

"All right, my man! Lead the way and we will follow."

As the Doctor and Raleigh entered the low-roofed hut the old man and the ragged Irish boy stood up page 55to receive them with evident signs of hopeful anticipation, for a change had come over the patient—he had moved restlessly on the bed and had murmured a few sounds. The good news had spread already, and several of the station hands had left their work about the place to come trudging up and to cluster near the hut; while Billy the cook stood respectfully at the door to watch proceedings, and to impart early intelligence to his anxious mates.

The light of day revealed all the nakedness of the squalid hovel, with its rugged mud walls, its creased and blackened calico ceiling, that hung like a dismal pall overhead, and the dusty stone floor. A piece of white blind had been nailed across the window-opening in the place of glass, and on this screen the bright morning sun glowed, and its rays could be felt although not seen.

The Doctor took his seat at the foot of the stretcher, Raleigh stood at one side, and the manager entered the room gently and watched in silence. The breathing of the sufferer had grown louder, and his pulsations could be distinctly heard; he sighed and moved, and shuddered like one waking from a fevered dream. And then, in the warm subdued light, his eyes opened drowsily and he gazed around, vacantly at first. A gleam of intelligence lit up the page 56pale countenance; he recognised his surroundings; he lived again! To Raleigh, who bent towards him with moistened eye and quivering lip, he smiled—a soft, sad smile that had a look of melancholy farewell about it. And then he turned his glance towards the manager, who advanced to the bedside with outstretched hand, as if to welcome him back to this world again.

But the sad look which poor Dan gave seemed to say, "I return but to bid you good-bye;" his earnest appealing glance wished to impart some message—to convey some request which he could not utter, for although his lips moved, they made no sound.

Mr. Stead spoke a few cheery words, told him how glad they were to see him conscious again, and how they all wished him a speedy recovery. But the sound of the voice seemed to jar on the mournful silence of the room; it brought forth no response. And in that short moment the light of intelligence that brightened the sufferer's face seemed to pass away; the features lost their radiance, and the eyes shone with a far-off look, yet still he smiled.

Alone the Doctor was unmoved; he scanned the prostrate form with his dark, earnest, and piercing gaze—intent on the symptoms, not the man—but he made no sign.

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A dark cloud passed before the sun; the warm bright glow which had filled the room faded suddenly away, and a sensation of gloom and chilliness followed. The sufferer's eyes grew dim; the pulsations of his heart became fainter; his head fell back, and a slight tremor shook his limbs.

Then the grieved spectators knew that they were witnessing the last flicker in the flame of life, the last throb of a departing spirit. A few more pulsations; a trembling in the shattered frame, and the eye-lids dropped softly, shutting out the light of day for ever; and the soul broke loose from its earthly tenement, leaving its last impression on the mortal features—a look of happy and eternal repose.

"It is all over," said the Doctor; "he is dead."