Other formats

    TEI XML file   ePub eBook file  

Connect

    mail icontwitter iconBlogspot iconrss icon

A South-Sea Siren

Chapter XVI

page break

Chapter XVI

Eureka, I have found it! the object of our personal solicitude, the greatest problem of philosophy—the secret of happiness. Hurrah! Yes, I have come across him at last! The one I have diligently sought for far and wide, in the busy haunts of men, in refined society, in academies, in the wilderness, in the retreats of solitude, in the Old as well as the New World. For certain I have got him this time—A Contented Man!’

Thus soliloquised Raleigh as he followed his friend Mr Archibald Bland towards the rustic cabin. Bland he had often previously met, but never before had he found him out. That individual now came upon him as a rare discovery, almost as a revelation.

The highest aspiration of the philosophical mind is towards absolute equanimity, and Archibald Bland had attained to that sublime state; he had overcome the world, and planed serenely in an atmosphere of his own.

Yet he was not much to look at; nobody would have thought it.

There he stood, to all appearances, a commonplace, unassuming sort of man; a chubby face, of middle height and middle age, plump and placid, with a face like the full moon, beaming with cheerful inanity, impassible and yet benign. An habitual smile played on his broad features, his voice was mild, his temper unruffled, his manners always the same, his dress unvaried. He treated all men alike; himself, he never changed; he was a walking symbol of stability.

He was a man who was never known to be elated or depressed, hurried or flurried, too early or too late; for he kept his own time, and followed his own sweet will, untrammelled with engagements or obligations of any sort. He pryed into nobody's private affairs, nor confided his own to any one. He lived by himself and to himself; he neither drank, nor smoked, nor swore; he had no vices.

On the present occasion he strolled leisurely along, carrying on his arm a basket, which he had filled with dry cow-dung, to be used as fuel. It had afforded him healthy and pleasurable exercise collecting it, and it saved him the expense of firewood. His countenance was as fresh and rosy as the morn, and as he courteously invited Raleigh into his humble domicile to partake of a frugal luncheon, he displayed all page 175 the bluff urbanity of a country squire, doing the honours of his ancestral hall.

The house looked for all the world like two sentry boxes standing abreast. It comprised two exceedingly small compartments, each with a separate roof, and a chimney between them. The inside was furnished in the most primitive style, but was scrupulously clean. A few sporting prints and rough water-colours adorned the walls; on one small shelf there was his Bible, a Shakespeare, and a few stray volumes of standard authors and agricultural works, on another was ranged a china tea set; a frying pan hung by the fireplace, and a black kettle stood on the hearth, with a little camp-oven by its side. A diminutive table, with a vase of sweet smelling flowers, occupied the centre of the room.

The other apartment, no bigger than a ship's cabin, contained a stretcher-bed, a chest of drawers, and a couple of chairs; this was his dormitory.

Raleigh was pressed to make himself quite at home, and to partake of a cup of tea, with fried eggs and bacon, and some fresh baked scones, with butter. Bland being solely on hospitable thoughts intent, busied himself about the room, and officiated both as cook and waiter.

Raleigh complied with relish, while mentally contemplating his host with keen interest.

‘I really do believe,’ he remarked impressively, ‘that you are a happy man.’

Bland, who was a man of few words, merely turned his broadly smiling face to the speaker, and nodded assent.

‘You seem,’ continued Raleigh, with a glow of enthusiasm, ‘to be perfectly contented with your lot.’

“I am what I seem,” replied the other, calmly. ‘I have all I want.’

‘That is such an extraordinary circumstance,’ pursued the guest, ‘such an almost unique experience in this fretful and dissatisfied world, that you will perhaps excuse me if I ask you for a few words of information concerning this blissful mode of existence. Of all instruction there is surely none so valuable, as upon the art of making oneself happy.’

‘It is very simple in practice,’ quietly observed the chubby host, as he threw a few handfuls of his collected fuel on to the fire.

A gust of wind blew some of the smoke from this material into the room, which created an unpleasant effluvia.

‘I must confess,’ remarked Raleigh, with a grimace, ‘that much as I admire the domestic and internal economy of your household, yet I should object to that stuff for cooking purposes.’

page 176

‘The fumes are rather unpleasant at times,’ Bland replied in his placid way, ‘but they are not injurious to health. The blacks in Australia always put lumps of dry cow-dung on their fires, and sleep in the smoke to keep away the mosquitoes. It saves me a lot of firewood, which is an expensive item here. One has to make some sacrifices to economy, you know.’

‘I suppose so,’ remarked the other, contemplatively, ‘and yet you seem to do very well.’

‘I do as I like, which is the main thing,’ answered the contented man, with a smile that rippled all over his phlegmatic countenance. ‘I am my own master, and a very considerate one too.

I have no wife to bother my life,
No lover to prove untrue.

I have no cares, no worries, no duns. I don't even keep my old clock going, as you see, for time is of no consequence.’

‘Then, by Jove, you are fortunate,’ exclaimed Raleigh, hastily, with a lively recollection of the events of the previous twenty-four hours. ‘You never lose a whole day by any chance, do you?’

‘Hardly as much as that at one go,’ replied the other, laughing, ‘for I have an almanack and keep a diary, but it wouldn't in the least matter if I were to drop out a whole week.’

‘But doesn't the work of your farm necessitate constant attention, and some regular labour?’

‘Nothing beyond what I am inclined to give it. I am relieved from all drudgery. I have no daily duties. I will tell you how I manage. I have a forty-acre allotment all fenced in. Half of it is under cultivation; the other portion, which is laid down in grass, I keep as a paddock for my horses and the cow. I keep two draught mares, which I let out to a neighbouring farmer, a reliable man, for several months in the year in return for the work of ploughing, harrowing, and sowing my field, which he does. It is an exchange which costs me nothing, and by which I get all the cultivation of the ground done without payment. I only pay a trifle for the harvesting, and help at it myself, as I like the work. Then I send the produce to the Sunnydowns Store, receiving in exchange what groceries and provisions I require. There is generally a small balance to my credit which I lodge in the bank—a provision for a rainy day. Then a boy from the adjoining dairy farm comes here to milk my cow morning and evening; it used to be a girl, but I found it objectionable, in some respects, to page 177 have a young female about the premises, so I discharged the milkmaid, and insisted on a boy to do the work.’

‘A wise precaution!’ muttered Raleigh, approvingly. ‘One can't be too careful. Don't I know it.’

‘My cow is a regular beauty,’ continued the other, ‘and gives over four gallons of milk a day, which is a great deal more than I need for myself, so I dispose of the balance to my neighbour in return for butter and cheese, with occasionally a flitch of bacon added, or leg of mutton, when he kills on the farm. So you see it is all in the primitive style of barter. I rarely receive or pay in money, and often I don't handle a silver coin for weeks together. I am not put to any expense, I have no rent to pay. When so inclined I do a little in the patch of a kitchen garden, which yields me vegetables, or some pruning and weeding, in the orchard, that gives a good supply of fruit, much of which I exchange for jam. What I do about the place affords me healthy exercise and needful occupation. I do no hard work, but I potter about.’

‘Excellent arrangement, capital!’ exclaimed Raleigh; ‘but tell me how do you spend the remainder of your time? How do you occupy your leisure? What are your amusements?’

‘Oh! I am never at a loss for something to do; I never feel dull. I generally take a stroll round my little property the first thing of a morning; inspect the fences, and have a look at my cattle. I have my old imported mare Bess, a thorough-bred, which has dropped me some valuable foals. Then there is the draught stock, my cow, and several heifers: I am very fond of animals and they are very fond of me, and follow me about all over the paddock. We are quite a happy family, I assure you. My dogs—that fine retriever and the water-spaniel—are great chums of mine, and like Robinson Crusoe I have also a cat and a parrot. “Pretty Poll! Pretty Poll!”’ he cried out to the bird that was perched on the back door, while his fat sides shook with good-humoured laughter. “Polly and I have many a chat together; and can't she swear, if she is put out! She didn't get that from me. Then she takes us all off, and even imitates the hens cackling, so like that I have run outside with a basket to collect the eggs.’ Another laugh. ‘Of an afternoon,’ he continued, more sedately, ‘I sometimes take a walk on the downs, meet some of my neighbours, and have a yarn with them over the fence. We talk about the weather and the crops, or the doings—or rather misdoings—of the shire council; or I take a ride on Bess, and on market days go to the township. In the summer I go every day for a bathe in the creek, and during the season I am often out duck-shooting. It is our only sport page 178 here, and not much of it either, but it affords me excellent diversion.’

‘But don't you feel lonely at times? Have you no intimates and callers?’

‘Oh! I know a few people about, but I don't exchange visits, unless with old Fenman; he is quite a chum, who drops in occasionally to crack a joke or lament his troubles. A good old buffer! We knew one another intimately at home. He is verging on seventy, but can't by any means bring himself to take life easily as I do. Always in the deuce of a stew about something or other. Very indignant with the world in general, and when everything else fails denouncing the weather. Then he is always in a fix for money although he makes much more than I do, and terribly anxious about his affairs and prospects. I tell him he will end by worrying himself into an early grave, and have many a good laugh at his expense. But he takes it all in excellent part, and laughs heartily too when his fury is exhausted.’

‘I know old Fenman well,’ said Raleigh; ‘quite a character, and as good as gold; but is he your only companion?’

I am my own companion, dear boy, and we get on very well together, never falling out by any chance or being bored in such good company,’ replied the other, with a broad grin.

‘Believe me, it is the best plan.’

‘The settlers round about are decent sort of people and very hospitable. I am often invited to their houses, but I make a point of not going into society. Not good enough! It means a lot of trouble, and very little for it. There is all the bother and expense of dressing and keeping up appearances, which I detest. Then I have very little in common with these good people. I abhor the smell of whisky. I don't smoke. I object to cards; I am not intent on business or bargains and money-grubbing, which is all they think of; I can't manage small chat with the ladies or baby-talk with the infants. I fear I should be a wet-blanket on their company, and return home thoroughly bored with the entertainment, whereas I am perfectly contented as I am.’

There was something positively provoking about his complacent assumption of superiority to the world in all its petty ways, this absolute indifference to the requirements of conventionality, which grated on Raleigh's susceptibilities; or was it not, more likely, a certain similitude to his own insouciance and stoical pretensions that irritated him? A man—in particular a philosopher—doesn't like to see his favourite pose paraded by another.

The anchorite of Sunnydowns looked askance at the recluse of Mount Pleasance; he thought Mr Archibald Bland too happy by half, too chubby, too cheery, too chirpy. His pretended serenity of mind page 179 savoured of affectation, and his self-sufficiency was put down to conceit.

‘But surely you have some unsatisfied aspirations?’ he remarked, testily. ‘Some ambition to enlarge your sphere of action, to do something, to get on in the world, as the saying is; to better your condition?

‘How could that be,’ replied the other, with genial complacency, ‘when I have already all I want?’

‘But at least you might acquire knowledge, gain experience, improve your mind?’

‘You can't improve on happiness, and I am happy,’ he answered, with overflowing cheerfulness.

Raleigh collapsed.

‘You are unconquerable in logic,’ he remarked good-humouredly, after a pause. ‘Unfortunately, few men can live strictly up to a logical conclusion. Most of us act frequently against our known interests, and even our convictions; we let go the substance for the shadow, we nurse illusions knowing them to be such, sacrifice present enjoyment for doubtful future advantages, and generally strive for the unattainable. How have you managed to escape all these troubles and disappointments? How have you steered clear of the vicissitudes of life? Is it by superior wisdom, a happy instinct, or mere good luck?’

‘I have suffered more from the vicissitudes of the world than most men,’ replied Bland, with a more serious expression on his placid face. ‘I have lost more than most men ever had, or that I shall ever get again, for I was brought up to the notion that I should inherit an ample competence on the paternal estate, with a good social position, and all the benefits and enjoyment of a country life, to which I was passionately attached. My father held a very respectable position in the country, was a magistrate, entertained lavishly, and was a keen sportsman. I was brought up for a country squire, was sent to a public school, and afterwards to college, just for the name of the thing, for I never learnt anything there. I was not given a profession or ever led to believe that I should have some day to earn my own living. I kept a couple of hunters, and my greatest delight was in following the hounds, and in the recreations of a country gentleman. Then we had some terrible reverses, and the failure of the North England Bank involved us in ruin. I did not know the extent of the loss, however, until after my father's death, when the frightful discovery burst suddenly upon me that I was a pauper; left absolutely without the means of support, or without the slightest prospect of being able to provide for myself. My mother had died some years previously; my page 180 only sister—brothers I had none—was left with a small allowance which had been settled upon her, but I had to give up almost everything to the creditors. A few hundred pounds in cash, a scanty outfit, and my favourite mare, was all that was left me—not enough to have supported me in the ordinary way for a twelvemonth. There was nothing then for me to do but to emigrate at once. I fixed upon New Zealand, and here I came, in about as helpless, friendless, and deplorable a condition as can well be imagined. But I had fully made up my mind as to the course of action to be adopted—it was a plan devised, indeed, under necessity, but thoroughly matured by reflection, and I have never deviated from it. I spent a couple of months wandering about the colony in search of a suitable site; then I settled on this spot, took up my forty acres, and squatted contentedly down to live upon it. I found it rough fare for the first two years, I assure you, nor was the prospect encouraging. I could expect no return from the land for some time, my paltry capital was well nigh exhausted, and I had barely enough to subsist upon. Indeed, I never could have believed before upon how little a man can exist, until I experimented in my own person. For a whole year I verily believe my living expenses did not exceed sixpence a day. You laugh, yet it is a fact, and I don't look much the worse for it now. I built myself the first half of this cabin—the second room has been added since, and now I am contemplating some further additions to the establishment. I got my land fenced in, and twenty acres ploughed and sown. I started a garden, I planted trees, I bought a cow, and gradually got things under way, without ever exceeding my means or owing a penny.’

‘Might you not have supplemented your income, during that terrible pinch, from other sources?’ inquired Raleigh.

‘I might, perhaps, by going into some sort of service, but I would not sacrifice my independence, and I am glad of it. An influential man in town, who had known me in the good old times, and heard of my straitened circumstances, did get me the offer of a clerkship, at starvation pay, in some Government office, but I declined it with many thanks. No! I was determined to fight it out on my own bit of ground, and, although not without considerable privation, I have triumphed. Now, I am in clover.’

Chacun à son gout,’ remarked the other, with a shrug of the shoulders. ‘You are easily satisfied, but I fear it would not suit me.’

‘You cannot know until you have tried.’

‘I did try, in a way,’ said Raleigh, moodily. ‘On my first arrival in the Colony I shook myself free from all restrictions and conventionalities, went to taste the liberty of the bush, and to live according to page 181 nature. I buried myself in a shepherd's hut; I tasted the sweets of solitude, and was able to indulge in divine contemplation to my heart's content. And a miserable time I had of it. I shall not repeat the experiment.’

‘Just like you!’ cried Bland, with a broad smile of amiable condescension. ‘Always flying to extremes! Overdoing the thing with a vengeance! Learn that it is in the happy mean that wisdom lies; be temperate in all things. Such a life as you led would have killed me; it was abject slavery. How different are the conditions of my life? I have an absolute independence to begin with. I have a little property which is all my own, and to which I am much attached. I beautify and improve it to my taste. I have a competence which is amply sufficient for my wants, and I can follow all my inclinations without let or hindrance. Nor am I buried in dreary solitude, but surrounded by a decent lot of people, with whom I have not much in common, it is true, but whose neighbourhood is agreeable to me. What more could you want?’

‘It is not in human nature to be satisfied,’ expostulated Raleigh, argumentatively. ‘You have no business to be contented; it is wrong, deplorable, and contrary to divine law. If every one was to sit down complacently, as you do, to enjoy existence on the humblest competence, what would become of the colony? Where would be our boasted progress? Why, it would go to pot! Why do people work, and worry, and bustle, and wear themselves out if they could rest satisfied with a moderate sufficiency? Look at these hardy pioneers breaking their necks in a desperate attempt to push through to the West Coast; look at the miserable roughing it in the back blocks; look at the numbers of enterprising men who sacrifice their lives, or, at least, ruin their health, and generally lose their money in these rash ventures. Are they all fools for their pains? According to you they must be.’

Mr Archibald Bland was highly tickled at this tirade, especially proceeding from such a quarter; he shook with suppressed laughter, and his eyes twinkled with merriment.

‘This is really good—coming from you; why don't you clinch the sermon with a text?’

‘That would be easy enough,’ continued the other, with mock solemnity. ‘Is it not written—“In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread”? Now you don't perspire enough, Mr Bland, d——me, if you do.’

‘No, not while I can get others to sweat for me, I admit. I do that by proxy.’

page 182

‘And then,” pursued Raleigh with increased animation in voice and manner, ‘under your principles and rule of condition let me ask, what would become of the women?

At the mere mention of the fair sex the chubby man's face fell, he blushed a bright rose, and seemed uneasy. It was evidently a subject he would sooner have avoided—a delicate subject.

‘I have every respect for the ladies,’ he answered briefly, ‘but I keep clear of them; they are compromising.’

‘They certainly are that,’ said the other, rather nervously, ‘but still—we cannot very well get on without them, can we?’

‘I do.’ was the laconic reply, with heightened colour.

‘Are you opposed to the marriage state, then?’

‘By no means, although I always give out that I am a non-marrying man, for additional security,’ remarked Bland, with a quizzical look. ‘I hold with an old Irish servant of ours at home, who used to say—she had lived a great part of her life with the priests—“Thim that marries does well: thim that laves it be does better”.’

‘And yet,” pursued Raleigh, ‘although I myself have earned the name of being quite a rabid bachelor, I cannot but think, at times, that man was not made to pass away his existence in single blessedness; that the companionship of a gentle helpmate and family surroundings are best for his moral condition and happiness, beside providing for the comfort and support of his old age. It seems more the life that was intended for us by nature.’

Archibald Bland laughed outright.

‘I never asked Dame Nature her intentions,’ he exclaimed merrily; ‘but I know something practical about the conditions of the society in which we live. We must adapt ourselves, dear boy, to circumstances, and make the best of them. Marriage, you must admit, involves a great risk, and a wise man is naturally cautious at staking so much in a lottery; but, apart from all that, I cannot afford to marry, even if I wished it ever so much. I haven't the means to support a wife, much less to bring up a family, in my sphere of life. That settles it.’

‘The only way, then,’ suggested Raleigh, ‘would be to sink to a lower sphere.’

‘In which I should be entirely out of my own proper element, and only bring degradation on those depending on me,’ continued the other, more seriously. ‘As a bachelor I am independent, I can do as I like, I can snap my fingers at society, and society thinks none the worse of me on that account. I can go about in the meanest attire, and be seen at menial work without forfeiting any one's respect, I maintain my birthright as a gentleman, and I find myself everywhere page 183 received as such. But as a married man I should stand upon quite a different footing. The married man, for the sake of his wife, must keep up some sort of appearances, or else let her suffer every species of neglect and privation. It is a serious matter for the poor woman, although it may be a light one for us men. Then there are the children to consider.’

‘So that really the working people round about are the better off?’

‘Undoubtedly, in some respects. In the case of a young farm labourer, in possession of my bit of ground, he would be much the better off for being married—would save money by it. With some buxom country girl for a wife, strong and willing to do all the housework, attend to the dairy, and even lend a hand in the field on a pinch, or take in washing to earn a trifle at slack times, she would not only minister to his creature comforts, but increase his income. As to the other kind of increase, which generally follows, why half a dozen more or less doesn't seem to matter much to such people. The children are dragged up anyhow, left to run about bare-footed, fed on porridge and potatoes, made to mind one another, and to make themselves useful at an early age. They get a little schooling at the public expense during the week, and are tidied up for church on Sundays. They grow up a family of strapping girls, that are sent out to service, and sturdy boys who work on the farm. Quite an idyllic picture of its kind, and a profitable investment to boot. Who wouldn't be a jolly bumpkin?’

‘I suppose you are right,’ observed Raleigh. ‘What would drag one of us down to misery and want would make the working man the happier and all the richer.’

‘I should rather think so,’ continued the other, in quite a jaunty style; ‘I live in the heart of a highly procreative community, and ought to know. The population makes good show to double within five years from local sources of supply only. Under the circumstances I feel entirely relieved from any moral obligation to contribute to so satisfactory a result. The cry is, “The more the merrier”, and there are many families of a dozen in the neighbourhood, while there is one old couple not far off that boast of twenty children. They are quite a curiosity. The old man is as proud as Punch of his achievement, and evidently considers himself the champion patriarch of the district, and a benefactor to his country. I am told that his greatest delight of a Sunday morning is to range all his progeny in a row, side by side, according to height, against the wall. They extend across the whole width of the house, rising in steps from three feet nothing to six feet two. A glorious prospect! The old woman wears well, and is rather page 184 grieved, I believe, that she has at last come to the end of the series. I am also told that this numerous flock does fairly well, and keeps the old people going. That is as it should be.’

Mr Archibald Bland here paused, wiped the perspiration from his brow, and tried to compose his expansive features from the strain of much smiling. He had not delivered himself of such an outburst for years, but evidently the matter had been on his mind, and he was glad to pass it off to a sympathising listener. Then his fat and jovial face fell to a graver complexion as he continued, in a more subdued tone—

‘But now, alter the social condition of the parties, and see how the picture changes with it; the pitiable exhibition of grinding penury, seedy clothes, humbled pride, and galling destitution of all the little comforts and indulgences which are so necessary to the enjoyment of refined life. There's Mansfield, for instance—a typical example, close at hand, of broken-down respectability! It makes my heart ache to pass by his house, and yet the man is a decent fellow who works hard, and his poor little struggling wife denies herself everything, and makes desperate efforts to keep up some wretched attempt at appearances, for the sake of her girls, poor thing! They talk much of genteel poverty at home, why it is luxury to “cockatoo” gentility in the bush. I know of no harder fate. Imagine taking a young lady of gentle birth and bringing-up, nurtured in comfort and refinement, to inhabit such a cabin as this, with all the washing, and scrubbing and menial work to do. Shocking! They talk of a bachelor leading a selfish life. It is quite the other way—he practises self-denial. It is the man who, to gratify his inclinations, and without the means to keep a wife, drags some helpless woman through the mire and subjects her to a lifelong drudgery—it is he who is the Egotist. He has much to answer for—something to suffer, too!’

The last sentence was uttered with a complacent wink that showed that Mr Archibald Bland had not much sympathy with that form of egotism.

‘All this,’ exclaimed Raleigh, ‘should only be an incentive to every man to work hard and improve his position, so as to enable him to live in comfort and to support a family. You should extend your operations.’

‘Which signifies going beyond my means and getting into debt. I should risk my little all for doubtful results, and certainly sacrifice my independence and peace of mind. Besides, I am not energetic. I find that enterprise here generally means working like a galley slave for the benefit of the bank that finds the capital and gobbles up the page 185 lot in the end. How many gentleman farmers are there in the whole country who have succeeded? You might count them on your fingers.’

Raleigh burst out laughing. ‘I give you best,’ he cried. ‘I clearly perceive that you have thought the whole matter out, considered it in all its bearings, analysed the position and arrived at a prudent conclusion. You apply your philosophy to practical things, and study yourself.’

‘You are wrong there,’ replied the other seriously. ‘On the contrary, I am happiest when I take life as it is without reflecting much upon it. Let well alone, I say. I am in my element, free and cheerful with ease and content; I envy no man, and I am not indebted to any one. Therefore I am happy, but if you keep on persuading me that I ought to be dissatisfied, you will, perhaps, end in making me so.’

‘I beg your pardon!’ said the guest, he rose to go. ‘I had no wish to disturb your peace of mind. I was only fishing for information; moreover, I agree with you on most points. What is your last word of advice?’

Mr Archibald Bland's beaming smile once more lit up his broad face, as he grasped his friend warmly by the hand. ‘Do like me,’ he said, ‘attach yourself to the land, and become a producer.’