Other formats

    Adobe Portable Document Format file (facsimile images)   TEI XML file   ePub eBook file  

Connect

    mail icontwitter iconBlogspot iconrss icon

The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 40

Chapter XXX. — The Journey Up

Chapter XXX.

The Journey Up.

Charley returned to the glen very late. He had stayed too long at the Willows. It must have been nine o'clock before he left, and he had a four hours' ride before him. It was a cold night, too, but the stars glittered brightly, and Prince carried him well along the road. Had he not been with his lady-love, all the evening—the remembrance of which would have to last him for longer than a few hours' ride? The doctor too appeared delighted to see him, and altogether he had passed a most pleasant day. On parting, he had told Kate not to be foolish, nor to think he was to be eaten up by the Maoris (although it was true that on the other coast some tribes of natives had become troublesome of late), but that some day he hoped to take her up to Terua and show her what sort of a place it was.—At which Kate blushed prettily, and Master Charley, I am sorry to say, did his best to effectually hide the blushes.

Doctor Goring very wisely left the young people to themselves, or rather attempted to do so by going into the surgery and making a determined attempt to make up his books. The worthy doctor, however, could not set his mind to the task, but fell into many reveries, and thought more of his daughter's happiness, perhaps, than of his books One thing is quite certain, that when his wife entered the room to see how he had got on, she found him in about the same position as when he started.

page 17

"You see, Jimmy," said be, apologetically, "I've been thinking,"—and then he told his wife of what he had been thinking, and the matter ended by Mrs. Goring helping him to make up the books—which, indeed, was her usual custom.

Charlie left Prince in the stable for the night. It was hardly fair to turn the horse out after pushing him along as he had done, and then went to bed. The next morning he and Philip caught the mail coach and drove into Hamilton.

"I suppose you will tell everybody that I went to Ashton," he had said to Mary, on parting. But Mary replied—"No, Charley, I shall not," so quietly, that he could not help observing to Philip, that "his cousin had grown quite solemn since he had last seen her."

Philip appeared to agree with him, and there the matter ended, for just then Lassie, in place of riding quietly on the top of the coach, made strenuous and determined attempts to hang herself over the side, which caused Philip to take her down and tie her up with Darkey underneath the coach. A couple of hours' drive took them without further accident into Hamilton, and Charley had barely time to see his friends and catch the steamer South.

"The sheep are up at the house," said he to Philip. "You must give a look at them occasionally. I shall be back on Friday with the bulls. Good-bye, old fellow," and the steamer was off.

So Philip looked up the sheep occasionally in a bowling green sort of paddock near the house, and passed one or two evenings with Mr. and Mrs. Easthorpe. He had partly got over his fit of the miserables since he had been at the Glen, and was looking forward to better prospects ahead. Something would turn up somewhere he felt certain, and to Mr. Easthorpe's surprise the ruined young man appeared cheerful enough. Luckily that gentleman was blissfully ignorant of the true ause of Philip's serenity.

"If you really think of practising your profession," Mrs. Easthorpe had said, "I shall send you some patients."

At which remark Mr. Easthorpe smiled quietly, and warned Philip not to rely too much upon his wife's patients, that is if he expected any fees out of them.

"I am sure Mr. Manning would prescribe for little Newell," replied Mrs. Easthorpe somewhat indignantly to her husband.

"No doubt he would," Mr. Easthorpe said; "but some of your patients are not so deserving as Newell. You remember Marshall?"

Mrs. Easthorpe appeared to be convinced of the truth of her husband's charge in Marshall's case, but not in Newell's; and she explained to Philip that Newell was an orphan whom the Benevolent Society, of which she was a member, had managed to get into the hospital whilst suffering under a temporary illness, and then had managed to keep him there so as to take him out of the hands of the police, there being no provision in Hamilton for the custody of orphans. The lad would either have had to go to gaol or to the Industrial Home, another name for a Reformatory, where he would have had to mix with extremely bad characters. The society had advertised and made enquiries for some benevolently disposed person to take charge of this waif and stray of humanity, the usual custom in such cases, but no person had answered the application. The Superintendent of Police kept an eye on the lad also (an orphan was one of his bête noirs, as he really did not know what to do with it); but Mrs. Easthorpe, by getting the boy into the hospital, evidently was master of the situation; and Philip, struck with the case, cordially promised to look after this patient at any rate.

"Yes, but tell Mr. Manning about Marshall," said Mr. Easthorpe.

"Well, my dear," replied his wife laughing, "Marshall was a lazy young fellow." And then the good little lady told Philip how she had been deceived by a lazy young scamp who had imposed upon her good nature, and who had travelled through the country from station to station for years, receiving his food, but never doing a hand's turn of work, and finally had brought himself up in Hamilton and imposed upon Mrs. Easthorpe, much to her husband's amusement.

Walking through the streets of Hamilton was rather wearisome just then to Philip, and he consequently kept away from the heart of the city. It is not pleasant to be reminded of our misfortunes, however well disposed the speakers may be. Philip could not help meeting with many men who were acquainted with page 18 the late sale of Apanui, and who stopped him, good naturedly enough, to commiserate upon the hardness of the Bank, and the severity of the crisis. Nor could he be cordial with Mr. Leighton, the Bank Manager, who in such cases as this thought it best to refrain from any expression of sympathy, but contented himself in Philip's case with enquiring as to what he intended to do. Old Mr. Borthwick came up as the two happened to be speaking—so Philip very shortly answered the question—and felt glad of the interruption.

On the Friday the steamer North brought Charley back with the cattle, and there was not too much time to spare to take the sheep down to the wharf. Philip much regretted Charley's punctual return, as Mary Easthorpe was to be back from the Glen that evening. But the tide waits for no man, and the steamer had to proceed on its journey. The sheep were put into some small pens on deck, near to the horse boxes, which contained the bulls. Darkey and Lassie were tied up alongside, and Charley had his valuable freight safely together under his eye.

Mr. Easthorpe came down to the steamer to have a look at his purchases, and to see how the old bull enjoyed the journey. That fine animal did not appear to recognize him in the circle of onlookers, but snorted a bit, and made a playful attempt to gore its new owner to death; whereupon he gave up scratching him, remarking to Charley "that he would find him a good bull for the few cows he had at Terua."

"Maitland would'nt send me a bad beast," continued Mr. Easthorpe, running his eye over the animal, "but I hardly know what to think of the young one."

"We cannot well tell how he will turn out yet awhile," observed Charley. "He is rather young"

"He will get used to the place," replied Mr. Easthorpe. And as it was necessary for him to express some sort of an opinion upon the merits of the animal (he was not a particular good judge of cattle) he hazarded the remark "that he thought the young bull was rather light behind." This was a safe opinion, especially as he could not well see the bull, and neither Charley nor Philip differed with him. The two animals were doubtless glad enough when the inspection was over, and the steamer again on its journey, for it was not pleasant to be pinched and poked about by a score of strange hands. But they had to put up with this, and as a reward received each a great bundle of freshly cut grass which Charley had brought down to the vessel. Luckily the weather was good and the sea pretty smooth. By the time Edgecombe was reached all the animals and their two new masters were on better terms of intimacy. True, Lassie became dreadfully sea-sick, but a few moments play of the hose, when the decks were washed down of a morning, soon knocked all that sort of thing out of her, and as soon as she got better, the extraordinary exhibits of affection, whenever Philip or Charley happened to stroll near to where she was tied up, was a sight to the other passengers. A sheep dog on board a coasting steamer is generally one of the most miserable, woe-begone sights, and fairly enough resembles a fish out of water. Only when its master goes near does it brighten up, and then almost begs to be let loose.

Charley and Philip meanwhile strolled the deck together, exchanging thoughts upon past events, and watching the other passengers. There happened to be a greater number than usual upon the steamer, and there was plenty of amusement in observing them. Nearly all the travelling in New Zealand is done by steamer, so people are more used to the sea than in other colonies, and enjoy themselves more when on board ship. Ladies are not so sea-sick (or if they are unwell they soon recover), and men not so unsocial. Intimacies are quickly struck up; as quickly to be broken. People come and go at each port, and one never knows whether the same person will be seated by one's side at table at the next meal as at the last. One class alone always appears the same, the noisy commercial traveller, full of fun and joke, and anecdote; the king of the smoking-room, and apparently the most cheerful of mortals under the most untoward of circumstances. His dreadfully sporting looking costume, heavy watch-chain, and heavier luggage, quickly proclaims the individual as one of the class, and his cheerful good humor usually supports his appearance. We do not say that his conversation is particularly bright or intellectual, but to a casual voyageur it is amusing enough. The evening before Edgecombe was reached, one or two of these passen- page 19 gers had decoyed the Captain into the smoking-room on deck, and the night being fine, but dark and cold, the invitation could not be resisted. True, the room contained a numerous company, and the atmosphere was dense with smoke, but the Captain managed to find a seat near Philip, and was soon bandying compliments in a quiet way with the noisy commercial men.

"Come, Captain," said one of them at last, who appeared to know him most intimately, "spin us a yarn. Tell us of the wreck of the William and Julia."

"Perhaps the gentlemen have heard it before," replied the Captain, looking round him with the air of a man ready to tell a story to a good circle of listeners.

"Not they," said his questioner, looking at Charley and Philip, and the other casual passengers, and answering for them, "so out with it man. We haven't heard that story for many a long day."

"Well, I will just take a look outside," said the Captain, and got up to see that the vessel was going her proper course. He was a quiet reserved sort of man, and had been for many years on the coast; thoroughly trustworthy, and well known as a careful master of a ship. His story is still in Charley and Philip's remembrance, and in after years, when Captain Wilson was lying "five fathoms deep" in the blue sea, they often thought of it. But this chapter is sufficiently long, and we will relate what the Captain said in a fresh one.