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Chapter VI.

Early next day he left Sheehan's, and turning inland, followed the bush track in the direction of Dilmanstown, intending to make that township before night. About mid-day he reached the north bank of the Teramakau. Here an unexpected obstacle presented itself. The river was in high flood, and though the fresh appeared to be abating, a glance was sufficient to show that for that day at least it was quite unfordable. Having no tent with him, he began to look round in quest of a suitable spot in which to erect a temporary shelter for the night, when the sound of a rough, hearty voice fell upon his ear “Stuck up, mate! no crossin' the ole creek this day, I reckon. Guess we'll have to ‘bide a wee,’ as the song says.”

As the speaker emerged from a clump of undergrowth, Alick recognised the tall, lanky form of “Californy Jack,” a whilom acquaintance of Canvastown.

“I've crossed the Teremakau more'n fifty times just about this yere spot, so me and the old river's kinder friendly you see. As a gin'ral rule, she's safe enough; but when she's sorter got her back up, travellin' in a hurry, like—tearin' along at the rate o' knots like she is to-day—cartin' down big tumblin' dabs o' timber like ‘gators on the warpath, she'll stan’ no darned liberties; she's got to be treated with all doo respeck, you bet.”

“Lucky job I met you, Jack. I wasn't quite sure about the exact lay of the ford.”

“Thunder alive! is it you Alick? How the devil are you? Tarnation, man! I wouldn't have known you from a grampus. Come along this way; we'll have the billy biled direc'ly.” Going into the bush a short distance, they entered a snug little clearing, where Jack, who had arrived on the scene two hours before, had already fixed his fly, page 41 and proceeded to make things comfortable. Here, they soon started a fire, “biled the billy” and over a pannikin of hot tea and a slice of damper began to make each other acquainted with their respective luck since leaving Canvastown. Jack was a strong wiry fellow about forty years of age. Originally a Laneashire lad, he had acquired the adjectival appellation “Californy” from his having spent a considerable portion of his life on the diggings of the Golden State. Since landing in Hokitika, now some five or six years ago, he had become universally known as one of the luckiest, good naturedest, most determinedly spendthrift diggers on the Coast.

On leaving California, he had made a trip home to England, the happy-go-lucky possessor of some four thousand pounds. The bulk of this money he invested in the purchase of a hotel in the suburbs of B,—installing therein as host, Elisha, his elder brother and only near relative; with the design, as he said, of making a man of him. Elisha, who was a married man with a family, and a totally different stamp of being from Jack,—the one brother being as niggardly as the other was lavish—readily took charge of the business; and Jack, with the remainder of his money, set about giving the trade of the house a “proper start.” Every morning he would station himself at the door, inviting inside, and freely shouting for all that came along. Not content with that, he engaged a German band and an Italian with a couple of dancing bears to come and give a performance now and then in front of the house. Soon a promiscuous crowd of idlers would gather round, and when by-and-by the strains of the band subsided, and the clumsy gyrations of the bears came to a halt, Jack would in the most effusive manner, announce his readiness to stand drinks for all hands. The hanger-on of the market place, the thirsty way-farer, the public house loafer, the seedy, broken-down swell, the “free and independent” out of a job, the young and the old, the halt and the blind, all—all were welcome to partake of his bounty in the shape of drinks.

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“Come along boys, don't be bashful; step inside and give it a name. What's yours? an' yours? an' yours? Speak out; anything you like an' nothin' to pay; this is the house that Jack built; ha, ha, ha!—go it lads.”

Having shouted for them to their heart's content, and made them all “comfortably” drunk, he would dismiss them with a “glad to see you again” sort of air, and after a short interval proceed to collect another batch. Naturally enough, while Jack's cash lasted, the hotel did a roaring trade, and Elisha, who was complete master of the situation, throve apace. But everything comes to an end, and in a surprisingly short space of time, Jack reached his bottom dollar and—the end of his tether.

Blithely bowing to the inevitable, he, for a consideration of fifty pounds, made over the fee simple of the place to his brother, and sailed for New Zealand. Directly after reaching Dunedin, he made his way to the Coast, where he started afresh on the diggings with every faith in himself and his “luck.” Nor did his usual good fortune desert him. Wherever there was a claim turning out specially rich dirt, or offering special facilities for profitably working the more ordinary wash, Jack was sure to be “on the job.” If his party took up a piece of abandoned ground which the previous owners had thrown up in despair; ten to one, a payable lead would be struck directly. If the claim was particularly good, and all at once the wash run out to nothing at all, it was usually found that Jack had sold out just prior to the disaster.

And all this without any apparent cunning on his part, but simply owing to his having what was generally allowed to be the “d—I's own luck;” said euphonious expression being synonymous with superlatively good fortune. But Jack profited nothing by the uniform smiles of Dame Fortune; for every spurt of work was followed by a “burst” corresponding in length and magnitude with the degree of success that had attended his venture. Nor was he in the least what was called a “selfish swiper.” He could page 43 never thoroughly enjoy a spree unless he was surrounded by a mob of friends. Sorry friends they were, too, for the most part, consisting generally of the roustabouts, dead-beats, and stone-broke gamblers that constitute the usual rag-tag and bob-tail of mining centres. On his visits to the town with gold in his pocket, these would rally round him with the most affectionate solicitude, and stick by him, while his money lasted, with a trustful constancy that was positively touching. Nor would they forsake his company till the last shilling was gone, and the smiles of Boniface gave place to a steadfast business-like gravity. Then would they disappear as if by magic, leaving Jack by himself to slowly suffer a recovery; and brace himself up for another spell of industry.

On the present occasion, he was on his way to Dilmans-town to deplore, under the auspices of Bacchus, the death of one of his mates. His claim, about ten miles distant, was on a steep terrace; and was worked by means of a short, blind tunnel. Despite the presence of immense numbers of huge boulders, which hindered their operations at every turn, the ground was paying remarkably well, the gold being coarse and fairly plentiful. But one morning, a boulder, under which “Cockney Bill” was crouching in the act of fixing some timber supports, fell from the roof, and Bill was crushed into a shapeless mass!

All work on the claim was, of course, suspended; nor was it likely to be resumed for a week or more, But, while the rest of the party elected to remain in camp, Jack determined that a proper regard for the memory of poor Bill imperatively called for a visit to town, and this with the usual consequences fully in view, said consequences being, in fact, an essential part of the respect due to the occasion. In no other way, as it seemed to him, could he fittingly express his sorrow, or pay adequate tribute to the worth of his deceased mate.

Alick took occasion to earnestly remonstrate with him, pointing out the folly of these constantly recurring page 44 fuddling bouts; and the conversation which ensued lasted far into the night. Lying there under the fly on their bed of dry fern, the busy mosquitoes rendering sleep impossible, they kept up the argument with considerable vigour. While Jack was willing to admit that his past behaviour was not altogether creditable, and even that he sometimes had serious thoughts of turning over a new leaf; yet—“What's the good o' gold, anyway,” he would say, “if a man can't get some fun out o' the darned stuff.” Finally he was fain to confess that Alick had “the right end o' the stick.” Speaking generally, he guessed he had better “shet off steam;” but, as regarded his present purpose, he was immovable. Bill's death was altogether too sad an occurrence to be passed over in dull uninteresting sobriety “No use talkin',” said he; “when a man's chum get's squashed by his side, suthin's got to be done. ‘Taint right that yon should mouch along quiet like as if nothin’ onusual had happened; it's clean agin human natur'; leastaways, it's agin mine”—and there, perforce, the matter rested.

The following morning, the fresh had gone down, and the river, here about two hundred yards wide, appeared to have shrunk to something like its normal volume. Still the water was suspiciously muddy, and running at a tremendous pace. Jack, whose judgment on such matters was really valuable, declared that she wanted six hours yet “to kinder settle down, an' ease off like,” before she could be safely tackled.

Among our West Coast rivers, all of them more or less treacherous, the Teremakau has long had an exceptionally evil reputation. And if the numbers of its victims were known, the list would no doubt be sufficiently formidable to justify the feeling of distrust with which, before the present era of bridges, it was universally regarded. Many an adventurous digger, many a hardy bush-man, many a weary plodding packer, has terminated his career in its turbid waters. For a great part of its length, its bed consists of shifting shingle, with here and there a mighty page 45 boulder, round whose ponderous base the flood waters twist and whirl with mad velocity. It frequently happens that some great tree, its foundation sapped and hollowed by the insidious current, falls headlong into the flood, and tossing about in its rapid voyaging, gets jammed between a boulder and the bank of the river. Soon, its branches intercepting the rolling shingle and floating debris, a temporary obstruction is formed. Then, when a fresh comes down, the river, swerving from the impediment, bores furiously into the opposite bank; here scooping out great pools, and there, a little lower down, building up fresh and constantly varying shingle spits.

Thus, the impetuous torrent being compelled to spend its fury at ever-changing angles, the configuration of its bed is subject to extensive alterations with each recurring flood. Woe to the belated swagger who, secure in the confidence arising from past experience, incautiously attempts to ford the stream where often before perhaps he has crossed with ease and safety. Suddenly, he steps from comparatively shallow water into an unsuspected hole, and in a moment is swept away by the remorseless current, to be afterwards found (if not sepulchered by the shifting shingle) lying on some gravelly shallow, a bruised and battered corpse!

It was late in the afternoon before Jack decided that they might safely attempt the ford; but even then, he reckoned there was need for the utmost care. His instructions to Alick who, as the less experienced man, was willing to follow his lead, might be briefly summarised thus:—Keep your feet well down, take short steps, and be sure that one foot is firmly planted before you lift the other. Then with their swags securely strapped on their heads, and holding between them a stout sapling by means of which they could oppose their united strength to the current, the two men entered the river and began to move slowly ahead.

I may here explain, for the benefit of the uninitiated, that the practice of using a sapling in this way, when page 46 parties of men are crossing dangerous rivers, is quite a common one, A spar is cut sufficiently long for all hands to hold on by, and as they make their way across keeping in line with the rush of the water, the man up stream acts as a kind of breakwater for those below, while he in his turn is assisted by bearing on the sapling held rigidly in position by the others In this way, too, the serious results of individual slips are in great measure avoided.

The water was icy cold, and by the time they reached the middle of the river, their teeth were chattering and their limbs benumbed. Though the water so far had not been more than waist-high, yet such was the force of it that it required strong, continuous exertion to enable them to maintain their footing. Just a little way ahead, the peculiar motion of the water, to Jack's experienced eye, indieated greater depth. “She's worse than I expected by a darned long sight,” he said, as nerving themselves for extra effort, they slowly and cautiously advanced. Now the water rises to their shoulders, and they are sore bestead to preserve their balance. “Steady mate, steady!” cried Jack, as Alick stumbled, swung half round, and with difficulty recovering himself, left Jack slightly in advance. “Steady—steady—stea — God!” with the exclamation on his lips, he suddenly sank in a hole, and at the same moment letting go the sapling, he threw up his hands and was caught in the deadly swirl. Spinning helplessly round and round, he was borne swiftly from the view of his horror-stricken companion. An instant later, lower down the stream, there was the flash of an upturned arm, a momentary break on the surface of the whirling flood, and Jack disappeared, nevermore to be seen of men!

Scarce had Alick time to realise the frightful peril of his situation ere the treacherous shingle on the edge of the pool gave way beneath his feet, and he felt himself sinking. Ere the waters closed over his head, he gathered all his strength, and making a desperate bound forward, battled page 47 bravely for a moment in a vain attempt to reach the shallower water beyond. But the feat was more than mortal power could accomplish. It was his last conscious struggle! Quickly the current gained the mastery and——

* * * * *

Three days later, about a mile lower down the river, a group of prospectors stood on a low shingle-spit gazing pityingly on the dead body of a man. Not even his most intimate friends could have recognised in that unsightly object the form and face of Alick Spencer. Yet he it was, alas! That swollen, disfigured shape, the mouth and eyes filled with river sand, the poor stiffened fingers still clutching the broken sapling, comprised all that was mortal of hapless Alick. The hoping, fearing, trusting, despairing, ever-vainly-endeavouring heart is still.

All his attempts to get on in the world have ended so!

What shall we say, reader? Was this poor, broken life of his altogether a failure, think you? Truly, from the point of view of worldly success, we must so pronounce it; nor is there any possible consideration to mitigate the force of the verdict.

If our brief appearance on the world's stage be followed by utter extinction; if all our views of life must be rigidly bounded by death; if we may not look beyond for a fuller life in which the cruel inequalities of the present will be redressed, in which the fearful moral enigmas which beset us here will be resolved in a clearer light, you may take it as my mature conviction that there is neither truth nor justice in the universe of God. Not only this man's life, but yours, mine, every man's, is hopelessly blank, utterly destitute of all permanent significance. Nay, more; from the morning on which the first conscious man trod the surface of this planet, to the coming night in which it will, like its accompanying satellite, circle in space, an airless, waterless waste, the whole sum of human existence, with all its pulsing pleasures, with all its rending pains, can amount to nothing more than a meaningless farce—a mere sardonic wrinkle on the passionless face of Time.