CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
LIFE AT THE STATION.
The late supper in the plain, homely room--where the table was ontrestles, the chairs were stools, and the arm-chairs ingeniously cut outof casks, the carpet sacking, and the hearthrug skins--and theperformance in the way of sleep on his arrival, interfered sadly withNic's night's rest.
It was an hour after his father's return before they all retired; and assoon as Nic was in his room he felt not the slightest inclination forbed. Everything was so new and fresh; the brilliant moonlight lit upthe tract outside with such grand effects that the first thing he didwas to take the home-made tallow candle out of its socket and hold itupside down till it was extinct, and then put it back.
The room was now all bright in one part, black shadow in the others; andhe was going to the open window to look out, but just then an ideastruck him, and he took up his gun, closed the pan, drew the flinthammer to half-cock, and proceeded to load. He carefully measured hischarge of powder in the top of the copper flask, and poured it into thebarrel, in happy unconsciousness that in the future ingenious peoplewould contrive not only guns that would open at the breech for acartridge containing in itself powder, shot, and explosive cap, to bethrust in with one movement, but magazine rifles that could be loadedfor many shots at once.
Then on the top of the powder he rammed down a neatly cut-out disk offelt, the ramrod, drawn from its loops and reversed, compressing the airin the barrel, driving the powder out through the touch-hole into thepan, and making a peculiar sound running in a kind of gamut: pash--pesh--pish--posh--poosh--push--pud--pod--por--with the wind all out andthe powder compressed hard down by the wad. Next a little cylindricalshovel full of shot was extracted from the belt, whose spring closed asthe measure was drawn out, and the shot trickled gently into the barrel,glistening in the moonlight like globules of quicksilver. Another wadwas rammed down; the pan opened and found full of the black grains, andthe ramrod replaced in its loops behind the barrel, the gun being stoodin the corner beside the bed ready for emergencies in that rough land.
Nic's next proceeding was to listen and find that the murmur of voicesheard beyond the partition had ceased, and he slipped off his shoes andstepped softly to the open window.
The flowers smelt deliciously in the cool, soft night air, and he lookedout, leaning his arms on the sill to realise more thoroughly that he wasin the place he had so often longed to see when he did a similar thingat the Friary in far-off Kent.
It seemed impossible, but it was true enough. His old schoolfellowsmight be looking out of the window now over the Kentish hills, but hewas divided from them by the whole thickness of the great globe. Theywere in the northern portion of the temperate zone; he, as he leanedout, was in the southern. They would be looking at the hills; he wasgazing at the rugged mountains. Then, too, it was just the oppositeseason to theirs--summer to their winter, winter to their summer.
"It's like a big puzzle," thought Nic. "I shan't understand it all tillI've made a globe. I wish I'd studied the big one at the Friary more.How strange it all seems!"
As he looked out, the place appeared very different. He had seen it inthe full sunshine; now, in the silence of the night, the trees glistenedin the moonlight as if frosted, and the shadows cast stood out black,sharp, and as if solid.
And how still and awful it all seemed! Not a sound,--yes, there was: animpatient stamp from somewhere on the other side of the house. He knewwhat that was, though: the horses were troubled by some night insect.There was another sound, too, as he listened--and another--and another.
He was wrong: there was no awful silence; the night, as his ears grewaccustomed to the sounds, was full of noises, which impressed himstrangely or the reverse as he was able to make them out or theyremained mysteries.
As he tried to pierce the distance, and his eyes wandered through thenetwork of light among the trees on the slopes which ran up toward themountains, his first thoughts were of blacks coming stealing along fromshelter to shelter, till close enough to rush forward to the attack uponthe station; and over and over again his excited imagination suggesteddark figures creeping slowly from bush to bush or from tree to tree.
Once or twice he felt certain that he saw a tall figure standing out inthe moonlight watching the house, but common sense soon suggested that asavage would not stand in so exposed a position, but would be in hiding.Then, too, as minutes passed on and he was able to see that the objectsdid not move, he became convinced that they were stumps of trees.
That sound, though, was peculiar, and it was repeated. It was a cough,and that was startling, just in the neighbourhood of the house. Butagain he was able to explain it, for he had heard that cough in thefields of Kent, and the feeling of awe and dread passed off; for he knewit was the very human cough of a sheep.
But that was no sheep--that peculiar croaking cry that was heard nowhere, now there, as if the utterer were dashing in all directions. Thatwas followed by a hollow trumpeting, and a short, harsh whistle, and astrange clanging sound from far away, while close at hand there was asoft, plaintive whistling and a subdued croak.
By degrees, though, as he listened, he was able to approximate to theorigin of these calls. Night-hawks, cranes, curlews, and frogs might,any of them, or all, be guilty; and some kind of cricket undoubtedlyproduced that regular stridulation, as of a piece of ivory drawn alongthe teeth of a metal comb.
Then there was a heavy booming buzz, as some great beetle swung by; andbeneath all, like a monotonous bass, came a deep roar, which could onlybe produced by falling water plunging down from on high into some rockybasin.
"What a place! what a wonderful place!" thought Nic, as he gazed out--perfectly sleepless now; and as he thought, the idea of wild beasts cameinto his head, for there was a deep-toned, bellowing roar, verysuggestive of tiger or lion, till it was answered by a distant lowing,and he knew that the first was the bellow of some huge bull, the latterthe distant cry of a bullock far up in the hills.
The time glided on. The white bed was no longer inviting, and he couldnot tear himself away from the window. At last, though, thinking thathe had better lie down for fear of being very tired next day, he reachedout his hand to draw in the casement, but kept it there, for a veryfamiliar sound now struck upon his ear: _Clap, clap, clap, clap_ ofwings, and then a thoroughly hearty old English cock-a-doodle-doo! andthe boy burst into a merry laugh.
"Go to sleep, you muddle-headed thing," he muttered. "Don't make thatnoise in the middle of the night.--They always do that at home when themoon shines."
But the cock-crow was answered from a distance, and there was the lowingof cows; chirping came from the trees, there was the piping of themagpie, and soon after the deep chuckle of a great kingfisher, followedby burst of; shrieks and jarring calls from a great tree; and itsuddenly struck the watcher that there was a pallid light shed fromsomewhere behind him.
"Why," he said half aloud, in a regular Hibernian spirit, "it'sto-morrow morning!"
Morning it was, coming on fast; and all thought of bed being now givenover, Nic began to put on his shoes.
"Lady O'Hara said things were all upside down here," he muttered; "but Ididn't know I was going to sleep in the daylight and sit up all night."
A few minutes' thought, however, took away his surprise at theapparently sudden advent of the dawn, for it was well on toward morningwhen the family had left the dining-room--that name being maintained;and now, feeling bright, cheery, and full of anticipations of what hehad to see in his new home, Nic had a wash and brush and hurried out, tofind that the business of the day had begun.
The first he encountered was Leather, who responded to his cheery goodmorning with a keen look and a surly nod, as he passed on, and went offfrom the shed he had left for the open field.
The next minute, as Nic went round the house, there was a tremendousburst of barking, and the two dogs charged at him so excitedly that onewent right over the other in collision; but they were up again directly,leapi
ng at him, careering round, snapping playfully at each other, andmadly showing their delight at meeting a familiar face in the strangehome.
"Hullo, old fellows!--good dogs, then!" cried Nic, lavishing hiscaresses on the excited beasts. "Down there! steady there! I'm not forbreakfast: don't eat me." The dogs sobered down and trotted beside him,each trying to walk with its sharp-pointed muzzle thrust into one of hishands.
"Chuckle, chuckle, chuckle," came from a great tree which sheltered oneside of the house, and the dogs looked up and barked.
"'Morning, young master," came in a harsh, cracked voice: "smartmorning. Here, you two: I'm just going to feed old Nibbler, and I'llgive you a share."
There was the rattle of a chain hard by, and a heavy bark, as a greatdog like a greyhound that had grown stout, came out of a kennel formedof a barrel laid on its side. The great beast looked at the two colliesand growled, while the latter set up the dense frills of hair abouttheir necks and showed their teeth.
"None o' that, now!" cried old Samson. "You three have got to befriends. You don't know Nibbler, Master Nicklas."
"Dominic," cried the boy.
"Ah, I allus forget. Missus has told me your name times enough, too. Ican allus recklect that there's a Nic in it. Hi, you, Nib, this here'sthe young master--young master! d'yer hear?"
The dog growled, but wagged its tail.
"We calls him Nibbler, sir; but he's a biter, and no mistake, ain't yer,old man? You ought to ha' had him with yer when them blacks comeyesterday. He don't mind spears and boomerangs, do you, Nib?"
The dog growled and showed its teeth.
"Pst, lad!--blackfellow."
The dog made a bound to the full extent of its chain, and uttered a deepbay.
"All right, Nib. Gone!" cried Samson, showing his yellow teeth."Breakfast."
The dog's manner changed directly.
"Come and pat him, Master Nico-de--Dick-o-me--I say, sir, hadn't Ibetter keep to Nic?"
"Yes, if you like," replied the boy, approaching the great dog, but onlyto be received with a low growl.
"Ah!" shouted Samson, "didn't I tell you this was young master comehome? Down!"
The dog threw itself on its side, blinked at him with one eye and raisedone paw deprecatingly, as it slowly rapped the ground with its long thintail.
"Now come and put your foot on his neck, sir, and pat his head. Don'tyou be afraid."
"I'm not going to be," said Nic; though he felt a little nervous, andthought of the consequences of a snap from those steel-trap jaws.
"That's right, sir. There--you'll be friends enough after this, Nibblerknows."
But Nibbler shook his head and growled, for the collies, afterprotesting, whining jealously at Nic's favours being bestowed upon astranger instead of upon them, barked again and came on steadily, as ifto attack the stranger.
"Down, down!" cried Nic; and they stopped.
"It's all right now; they shan't fight. Here, I'll show you. You ketchhold of this, sir."
Samson took an old pitchfork from where it stood in a corner, handed itto Nic, and then, somewhat to the boy's dismay, took hold of the bigdog's collar with both hands, and set it free by dragging the strap overits ears.
Then for a moment there were threatenings of a fight, but a shout fromSamson checked the turbulent spirit.
"Give Nib a rap over the head with that fork shaft if he don't mind you,sir. He's hard as iron, so you may hit sharp. Couldn't break you, Nib,eh?"
The dog looked up and uttered a short bark. "Here, Master Nic,"whispered the old man with a grin: "go closely to him and say sharply,`Kangaroo!'"
Nic did as he was told, and the dog gave a tremendous bound and stoodlooking wildly round, ending by running back with a deep-toned bark,looking up at him as much as to say, "Where?"
"Gone, Nib!" cried Samson. "Now follow the young master, and he'll giveyou some breakfast."
The little old fellow led the way, Nic followed, and the three dogs camebehind, Nibbler with a collie on either side, keeping up a low mutteringgrowl, which sounded like threats of what they would do if the big doginterfered with their master. To which Nibbler responded by somelanguage of his own, and leering looks to either side, as if in searchof spots where there was not so much hair when he began to nibble.
Samson stopped at the far end of the farthest shed, where there was alittle lean-to; and on raising a wooden latch and throwing open thedoor, there within hung half a sheep, with the skin on a peg, and achopping-block and a hatchet in the middle.
"Slaughterhouse, sir," said Samson, with a grin. "'Bliged to be our ownbutchers out here,--fishermen too. S'pose you'll ketch our fish now?Mind chopping off some o' that sheep while I hold it on the block?"
"I? No," said Nic.
"That's your sort!" said the man, lifting the half sheep from a hookfastened in the beam overhead. "Emmygrunts does anything. I want youto chop off that lyne, and then cut it in three bits for the dogs."
"Then you don't only give them bones?" said Nic.
"Gives dogs what we've got plenty on. It's mutton now. We don't wantthis to spyle. It was alive and well yes'day, but a couple o' dingoeshunted the pore thing down. Hi! Nib, what come o' them dingoes?"
"_R-r-r-r-ur_," snarled the big dog fiercely.
"Ay, you did, mate. He gave them dingo, sir. These wild dogs is one ofour biggest noosances after the sheep. Now, please chop straight. Welldone, sir! There's three. Take care. That chopper's very sharp. Nowthrough there and there. That's right. Three bits. I was going tobury half on it, for it won't keep mor'n two nights; but your two sheep,dogs'll help him. We'll feed 'em up a bit for two or three days, andthen starve 'em for two or three more to put it straight. Now then,sir, you stick the fork into they three bits, and you shall feed 'em,that'll clinch old Nibbler's making friends with you. See?"
Nic nodded.
"Look," said Samson: "he knows what I've been saying."
The dog, which was sitting watching, with a collie on either side--thelatter evidently in doubt as to whether the joints were intended for thehouse--gave a deep bark.
"Now give him the biggest bit, sir."
Nic stuck the fork in the piece of loin and held it out to the big dog,and it came and took it with a low muttering sound, wagging its tailslowly from side to side, while the collies grew excited, growled, andtossed up their heads to utter a protesting whine.
"Here, you, Nib, wait," cried Samson. "Give t'other two their bits,sir."
Nic served each collie, and then stared at what followed.
"Now then!" cried Samson, "take it out in the back and eat it. Showyour chums the way. Right off. No messing about nigh the house. Offwith you!"
The big dog uttered a low growl, and went off with its breakfast, thecollies following; all three looking decidedly comic with their jawsdistended.
"There you are, sir," said the old man, wiping the chopper verycarefully and then sticking it into the big clean block. "Seems a pity.Beautiful mutton. The brutes had only just pulled it down when Nib wason to 'em. Leather called me to see. It was half-hour's walk, andthere he was sitting by the sheep, and the two dead dingoes close by."
"Didn't he begin worrying it?" asked Nic.
"Him, sir? Nibbler worry a sheep? Not him. Why, I've seen him liedown and let the lambs play about him. I should like to ketch him atit. Not him, sir: I eddicated that dog. There ain't his like nowhere.Coming along o' me, Master Nic?"
"Yes: I want to see all about the place."
"That's right. Ah, you're a lucky one: it's all ready for you. When meand master come there was just nothing; and now see what it is. Lookwhat a garden we're getting. Here, Brooky! Did you bring in the cows?"
"Yes.--'Mornin', sir," said the man.
"'Morning. Tired after your journey?"
"Wonder if I warn't!" said the man. "I had everything to do. Look yehere, Sam: next time waggon goes up to town you'll come too, and so Itell the master."
&nb
sp; "What's the matter, matey?"
"Heverything. That there Leather's no good at all. I have to do allthe work, and I won't stand it."
"Why, I thought Leather did more than you," cried Nic. "I noticed it aswe came; but you always grumbled at him."
Samson showed his yellow teeth and chuckled.
"Don't you be sarcy, sir," growled Brookes; "and what are you crowin'at, old Sam? You needn't begin makin' a noise like a laughin' jackass.Something's going to be changed, or I goes to another station."
"Goin' now?" shouted Samson, as the man strode off angrily.
"Never you mind," growled Brookes; and he disappeared round a barn-likestructure.
"He's got his knife into Leather," said Samson, chuckling. "Strange,disagreeable sort o' chap, Brookes, sir. Leather's sour as Devon crabs;but I will say this on him: he do work, and work well. But yah! ahangel couldn't satisfy Bill Brookes. Reg'lar curds-and-whey sort o'fellow. But don't you stand none o' that, sir," continued the old manseriously. "You're young master: you let him have it for telling younot to be sarcy. He wouldn't ha' said it to me; and if you don't checkhim I shall tell the master. Bill Brookes wants to play first fiddlehere; but he can't and won't. I'm foreman; and if I've on'y got alittle body, Master Nic, I've got a will as big as Bill Brookes's, andbigger too. Now I'll go and feed the pigs."
This highly interesting piece of business was gone through, Samsonmixing up some meal and water, pouring it into the troughs, andbelabouring the greedy animals with the mealy stick.
"Take your feet out o' the stuff, will yer?" he roared. "They do makegood pork and bacon and ham, Master Nic, but they are about thesavagest, fiercest things I know. Fine pigs, though, ain't they? Comeon: I want to see if that chap's getting on with the milking."
Sam led the way to a shed with open side, where the black whom Nic hadseen on the previous day was busy milking; the thick, rich milk given byone of half a dozen beautifully clean cows descending in its doublestream, _quisk_--_whish_, and frothing up in the white pail.
"Take some in to White Mary soon," said Samson, and the man raised hisshining black face and grinned.
"I say, why do you say White Mary?" asked Nic, as they left thecow-shed. "Who's she?"
"Because you've got to talk to them blackfellows so's they canunderstand you, sir. White Mary's white woman to them. He's going totake the pails as he fills 'em in to Miss Janet: she sees to the dairy.And Miss Hilda, she's White Mary too, and so's your mar."
"Oh," said Nic thoughtfully. "Now then, I want to see the horses."
"Which? those on the run or in the stable?"
"On the run?"
"Yes. They're miles away, and you'd want to ride."
"Well, in the stable."
"This way, then; but won't you come and see my garden first? I've gotreal apple trees a-growing."
"I'll see the garden after. I want to look how Sour Sorrel is."
"Fresh as a daisy, sir."
"I want to feed him."
"You should have got up sooner, Mister Nic. I fed the horses more'nhour ago, and rubbed 'em down. Do you like Sorrel?" said Samson,showing his teeth.
"Like him!" cried Nic, with a voice intense in its appreciation.
"That's right, sir. I bred him speshly for you, Master Nic. He was tobe for you, and you won't ride him too hard, will you?"
"Why, it would be a sin!" cried Nic.
"Sin ain't half bad enough word for it, sir," cried the old man. "Anyone as'd hurt a horse with a temper like Sorrel, and such a willin'heart, ud do anything wicked, I don't care what it is. Why, I don'tbelieve even a lifer ud do that."
"What's a lifer?" asked Nic.
"Transported for life, sir."
"Oh yes, I remember now," said Nic, as they turned into the long woodenstable. "Ah, father! you up already?"
"'Morning, Nic, my boy. Oh yes, we are early birds here. Been roundthe farm?"
"Yes, some of it. He has been showing me."
"Well, do you think you can be content with our rough life?"
"Oh, I say, father!" cried Nic protestingly, "don't talk to me likethat! Like it? Everything seems too good. Why, I love it already."
"Don't be too enthusiastic, my boy," said the doctor, clapping him onthe shoulder. "It is not all bliss. See what a journey it is tocivilisation."
"Bother civilisation!" cried Nic. "That means me being away from homewith people who don't care for me."
"You should make people care for you," said the doctor gravely. "Ourfriendships depend much upon ourselves."
"But I wanted to come out, father."
"And you've come to where nearly all our neighbours are blacks--savages,and many of the others convicts, who are not merely blacks on thesurface, Nic. Well, we shall see how you get on. You may alter yourtone, my boy."
Nic said nothing, and the horses--six--were inspected.
"Janet and Hilda ride those two little mares, Nic," said the doctor;"and sometimes I get your mother to mount this old favourite, but notoften. The others are away grazing."
"You have plenty of horses, then?"
"Yes. They are a necessity here, where so many miles have to be covereda day. You think you will be contented here?"
"Of course, father."
"But you'll have to work, Nic."
"To be sure, father. I'm sure I shall like it."
"A great change from school, my boy."
"Yes, father; but it was a great change for you to come from your Londonpractice."
"So it was, Nic," said the doctor: "a greater change, perhaps, for I wasno longer young and sanguine. Greatest of all was the change for yourmother and sisters--leaving, as they did, all the pleasant comforts oflife, to be their own servants and stoop to all kinds of work. But theywere very good. They saw health was the great thing. Nic, boy, foronce let me refer to this seriously. I came out believing that I mightprolong my poor weary life a year. At the end of that year I thought Icould prolong it two more; and at the end of those three years I beganto be hopeful of living with those dear to me another three."
"And now, father, you are going to live to be a fine, healthy, heartyold man."
"Please God, Nic," said the doctor, reverently raising his hat,--"forthe sake of your mother and the girls."
"He might have said, `and for your sake too,'" thought Nic, as thedoctor walked away to pat one of the horses, returning directly after totalk in a bright cheery way.
"I'm glad you like the horses and the place, Nic," he said. "Yourmother and I were a little nervous about it being dull for you."
"Oh, I shan't be dull, father," cried the boy. "Not if you have a boy'shealthy appreciation of nature, Nic; and that I hope you have. No, youcan't be dull; there is too much to take your attention. It will be arougher education, but it is a grand healthy life--one like this out ina new land, to make a good simple natural home. People fear to come tosome of these places, because they say there's no doctor. I am adoctor, Nic."
"Yes, father; and I've heard say that you were a very clever one."
"I did my best, boy. But I was going to say I am a doctor, and savingfor an occasional accident, which nature would heal, I am like a fishout of water."
"Break-fast!" cried a merry, girlish voice; and Hilda, looking brightand eager, looked in at the stable door.
"Ah! here you are, Nic!" she cried. "What a shame! your first morning,and not been to say `how are you?' to mamma!"
Nic rushed by her before she had finished, and ran into the house, whereMrs Braydon was eagerly waiting to welcome him to the board.
"I needn't have been so apologetic," said the doctor drily, as he camein a minute later and took his place. "Here have I been preaching tothis boy about the hardships of our life, and our rough fare, and--humph! French ham, new-laid eggs, coffee, cream, honey, jam, hotbread-cakes, and--tut--tut--tut! My poor boy, I am so sorry there areno fried rolls. Can you make shift?"
"Yes, father," said Nic, laughing, as he
thought of school fare. "I'mgoing to try."
He did.
First in the Field: A Story of New South Wales Page 16
