Outback Station

by Aaron Fletcher

  Newcomb took charge of the meeting, explaining that the company would be chartered for five years and would initially issue bank notes with a total face value of fifty percent over the capitalization. At the end of five years, if the Bank of England currency was still insufficient, the charter would be extended. During the charter, the bank would exchange available Bank of England currency for the bank notes on a one-for-one basis.

  "Naturally," he added, "little will be available for a long time. The object is to have only our notes in circulation so as to increase confidence in them. If there are no questions, I'll open the sales of stock."

  There were no questions, but the sales were slow. The nature of the investment was new and untried, and the men were reluctant to risk too much on it. Through tediously tracking the performance of similar companies in other places from scattered newspaper reports, Morton knew the profit potential was much greater than the risk, but he held back for the moment, waiting to see how much of the stock sold.

  Ibbets and some of the other men produced property deeds as security for the cheaper nonvoting shares and signed bank drafts to buy small blocks of the voting stock. A few, including James Macarthur and Howard Montague, bought larger amounts of the voting stock, some ranging as high as four hundred shares. The apprentices scribbled in ledgers and handed out certificates, the sales of the voting stock climbing toward two thousand shares, then it stopped.

  ''Come, come, gentlemen," Newcomb called. "We're still a bit short of the twenty thousand we need for capitalization, and the company won't be chartered until we have it. Who'll buy more of the voting stock?" Silence fell around the table as the men shook their heads firmly. Giles Newcomb turned to Morton. "Won't you buy some of the voting stock, Mr. Kerrick?"

  "Yes, I'll take a thousand shares."

  The impasse broken, a collective sigh rose, along with comments about the huge investment. Newcomb beamed happily. "Very well," he said, "and it appears that I'll be working for you, because you have the controlling interest. But I'll be pleased to do so, Mr. Kerrick."

  The company charter assured, more of the nonvoting stock was sold as Morton signed a bank draft and took his stock certificates. When the final details of the meeting were concluded, Montague, Macarthur, and others expressed their appreciation to Morton for his investment. The colonial secretary also thanked him gratefully, then left to inform the governor that the meeting had been successful and the company had been capitalized.

  As the apprentices brought in more wine for the men to celebrate the occasion, Morton left. Newcomb left with him and helped him on with his coat,

  promising to keep in close contact. Walking out into the rain and sleet, Morton returned to his office to continue with his other affairs as he waited to see how his investment in the company fared.

  The bank notes began circulating the next day, meeting with resistance among people to accept them. By the following day, a few shares in the company were being traded in the coffeehouses, selling at discounts up to thirty percent. Then, during the subsequent days, the bank notes began flowing on through the currency system, employers insisting that workers take them at face value, and then workers doing the same with merchants.

  After the new currency had replaced the few Bank of England notes circulating in Sydney, the reluctance to accept them faded. Company stock being traded in the coffeehouses climbed in price, the discount diminishing to ten percent. Giles Newcomb gradually began releasing more of the bank notes, increasing the amount in circulation until the flow of money through the bank had returned to its normal level before the currency crisis.

  When the bank director stopped releasing the notes, the total face value in circulation was several hundred percent of company capitalization. Rumors of that reached the coffeehouses, and trading in the stock immediately increased, the price of the shares climbing to a premium. On the day that his aunt and uncle left Sydney for Tibooburra Station, the value of Morton's shares had increased from ten to fifteen guineas each.

  Creighton came to the office alone, explaining that his wife was too distressed even to make her farewells. "She'll feel better once we set out," he speculated hopefully, close to tears himself. "We have a comfortable wagon to travel in, with ample supplies and everything we need."

  "The weather will soon be pleasant as well," Morton added. "There's no need for you to hurry, so it should be a pleasant journey, with new things to see on every side. Is there anything I can do for you?"

  "No, buying the house was a great help, because I could have done nothing without that money." He handed Morton keys on a ring and a stack of papers. "Those are the keys to the house and deeds on a few holdings. None of them are producing any revenues, of course, but I've signed them over to you in the event you can get a few guineas from them."

  "Very well, and thank you. I wish you the best of fortune, and please convey my regards to everyone at Tibooburra Station."

  Nodding and replying in a choked voice, Creighton shook hands with Morton. He made his farewells to the office staff, and as the apprentices wept, he left. Morton gave the keys and papers to the head clerk, telling him to hire someone to watch over the house.

  "I know of a gardener who is out of work, sir," the head clerk replied. "He's very reliable, and he'll be more than glad to live in the carriage house and watch over the place. What shall I do with these deeds?"

  Turning toward his office, Morton shrugged and told him to file them. Sitting at his desk, he resumed studying a balance sheet on cargo profits that he had been reading when his uncle had arrived. When he was done, he thought about looking at the deeds his uncle had given him. Then he dismissed them, reaching for other papers on his desk.

  During the following days, Morton missed his uncle and felt remorseful over what had happened. But his uncle had been out of step with the times and the inevitable had occurred. But Creighton had made the rounds of the coffeehouses daily, bringing back information he gleaned. Morton considered most of it useless, but wanting to maintain contact with developments in the town, he began spending an occasional hour or two in the coffeehouses.

  When the first quarterly dividend was paid by the joint-stock company, Morton received some twelve percent of his investment. The prospect of an annual return of about fifty percent more than satisfied him, but some of the investors wanted more. At a shareholders' meeting, they insisted that Giles Newcomb put more bank notes into circulation to increase the profits.

  The bank director replied in technical terms that few understood and none wanted to hear, and the clamor continued. Morton interrupted, bluntly explaining that if the bank notes became too plentiful, people would lose confidence in them, their value would plummet, and the company stock would become worthless. That ended the debate, Newcomb and the others who had understood the situation nodding to Morton in thanks.

  Later that same day, when Morton was in his office, the head clerk came in. He stopped in front of the desk, holding two papers, his diffident attitude indicating that they were controversial. "The man from the sheep station is here, sir," he said. "He brought these."

  "Sheep station? A man from Tibooburra Station?"

  "No, sir. The sheep station on the Murray River."

  Morton thought for a moment, then recalled the sheep station that his uncle had financed. "What does that have to do with me?"

  "You own it, sir," the head clerk replied uneasily. "The deed is among those that Mr. Hammond gave you and I filed away for you."

  Morton frowned, reaching for the papers, then looked at them in disbelief. One was a bank draft in the amount of thirty-six guineas for wool, the other a bill for a little under two hundred guineas for transporting the wool. "Is this meant to be a jest?" he demanded.

  "The man said that workers had to cut a track most of the way to get the wagon through," the head clerk explained hastily. "He said the transportation costs will be small next year, and the value of the wool should be much more. He's outside and wants to discuss it with you,
sir."

  Enraged, Morton snatched up the papers as he pushed his chair back and stood. He started to go out and order the man to get the people off the property, then send the deed to John Fitzroy for him to return ownership of the land to the colonial government. Then, as on each occasion when he lost his temper, a painful memory came to him from across the years.

  It was his mother's voice, castigating him for allowing his anger to rule him, the memory so acute that he could almost hear her. He responded to it, controlling his rage. When he did, he recalled the box of stones that had been in his office closet for almost a year.

  As he thought about the box, it occurred to him that if there were any mineral deposits on the land that could be of some future value, he might be able to sell the land instead of abandoning it. At least he would then recover the cost of transporting the wool. "Tell the man to come back tomorrow afternoon," he said, "and send an apprentice in here."

  The head clerk left, and Morton wrote a note to the chemist, James Boland. He asked Boland to test the stones for minerals of any value, and provide the results by the next morning. The apprentice came in, as Morton finished writing the note telling the chemist that if he was unable to test the stones for minerals, to inform the youth and to discard the box.

  The apprentice pocketed the note, then dragged the heavy box from the closet and lugged it out. Turning back to the papers on his desk, Morton noticed an invitation to join a group of investors who were forming a marine insurance company. In other places, the chartering of such companies had ended the common practice of shipping companies sharing risks through selling cargo shares, the major source of income for many investors. Always ready to change with the times, Morton studied the proposal closely.

  Soon after, the apprentice stood in the doorway and tapped on the jamb. "Sir, the man told me to tell you that he could do it," he said. "He also said it won't be very accurate with the means he has at hand, but he'll do his best and let you know tomorrow morning what he finds."

  Morton nodded, looking back down at the letter on the prospective insurance company and concentrating on it once more. Then he put it aside to study again later, and began looking through the other papers on his desk. At dusk, an apprentice came in to light the lamp on Morton's desk, the rest of the office staff leaving for the day. An hour later, the evening quiet was broken by the noise of the front door being hurriedly opened and then slammed closed.

  Quick, heavy footsteps crossed the outer office, and the apprentice asked the person the nature of his business. James Boland stood in the doorway, the youth right behind him, trying to stop him. Surprised and puzzled, Morton motioned the apprentice away and told the chemist to come in.

  The man's manner usually matched his studious appearance, but even in the dim light, he was obviously overwrought. Taking a rock from his pocket, he walked to the desk. "Gold," he said in a soft, trembling voice, placing the rock in front of Morton. "That is a piece of very rich gold ore, Mr. Kerrick."

  Controlling his abrupt surge of excitement from the stunning revelation, Morton sat back in his chair, thinking clearly and logically. His first reaction was skepticism. Not the slightest hint of precious metals had ever been found in Australia. "Are you quite sure?" he asked.

  "I'm positive!" Boland exclaimed in exhilaration, his face crimson and his eyes wild. "I'm telling you that it's"

  He broke off as Morton frowned, lifting his hand for silence, then pointing to the door. His feverish agitation changing to apprehension, the chemist tiptoed to the door and peered around the jamb at the apprentice in the outer office. Relaxing, he quietly walked back to the desk and sat in the chair beside it. "The boy heard nothing," he assured Morton softly, then he pointed to the rock. "There's no question that it's gold ore, Mr. Kerrick. I don't have the means for an accurate assay, but it's very rich."

  "Were all of the rocks gold ore?"

  "No, some contained a fair amount of silver, along with traces of tin, copper, and various other metals. There were four pieces of gold ore, and I crushed the other three to make the analysis. They contain traces of other metals, but a very high percentage of gold."

  Boland continued in a tense, exultant whisper, explaining that he had made different tests to insure he was correct, each one having positive results. As he listened, Morton pondered the development in relation to his interests as a whole. Gold ore at the sheep station was obviously an opportunity for vast wealth, but it also presented him with a dilemma.

  His shares in the joint-stock company now valued at twenty guineas each, he was looking forward to dividends of some five thousand guineas a year. However, at the first news of a gold strike, the currency crisis would immediately begin easing. Additionally, people preferred the solid feel of gold to paper. In the expectation of soon having gold, their confidence in the bank notes would fade, making them plunge in value.

  When that happened, his stock certificates would become nothing more than a thousand pieces of worthless paper. He was unable to extricate himself from the situation because he was heavily invested in the company. If he began selling his shares in any considerable quantity, it would raise questions and cause the value of the stock to fall.

  If the ore was present at the sheep station in a sufficient amount, the loss could be recovered, but that was too much of an assumption to risk such a large sum of money. Even attempting to find out how much there was would be too dangerous, the activity certain to start rumors flying. As he listened to the chemist, Morton decided to let the joint-stock company run its course, then investigate the potential of the gold ore.

  "Only a few ounces of gold for each ton of ore may mean millions," Boland continued in a jubilant whisper. "This will produce several ounces from each ton. I presume that it came from Tibooburra Station."

  Morton let the last comment stand, stroking his chin. "Unfortunately," he mused, "I don't own any part of Tibooburra Station. Making arrangements to exploit this will take time, perhaps several years."

  Boland sat back, speechless for a moment in shock and disappointment. "Several years?" he gasped. "But why wait? I tell you, there's a fortune where this ore came from, Mr. Kerrick, and we could"

  "Listen to me very carefully," Morton interrupted. "I didn't become wealthy by dashing into things without preparation. The equipment required will be expensive, and I'm heavily invested at the moment. If I start selling off investments rapidly to buy the equipment, others will find out what we're doing. We must avoid having others rush in, or any legal problems. Have you told anyone about this? Your wife, for example?"

  "No, sir," the chemist replied quietly. "I came straight here from my shop. No one else knows."

  "Then keep your lips sealed. When I'm ready to proceed, I'll put you on a substantial retainer, with a legal agreement to share in the profits. You know how to mine and process this ore, don't you?"

  "Absolutely, Mr. Kerrick. I'll need to brush up on details, but I'm familiar with mining and with processing various kinds of ore."

  "Then you're the logical choice for the job, and you have my word that it's yours. You must remain absolutely silent on this, as well as wait for up to five years. But that will be much better than proceeding now and losing it to others or having it taken by legal means, won't it?"

  Boland hesitated, then nodded emphatically. "Yes, of course, Mr. Kerrick," he agreed. "It would be insane to risk such enormous wealth. I'm fortunate to be involved in this with someone of your temperament and judgment rather than one who might be as rash as myself. I'll remain silent and I'll wait for as long as necessary."

  Satisfied that Boland would do as he said, Morton again assured him that he would receive an ample share of the profits. They talked for a short time longer, then the chemist shook hands with Morton and left, just as happy if much less excited than he had been upon his arrival.

  When Boland was gone, Morton thought about the danger that someone else would discover gold ore near the Murray River. Then he dismissed the possibility as very
remote. The vast majority of land sales had been to the west and north of Sydney while the land Creighton had chosen was to the south. Because it was completely unsettled, it was much cheaper. The station was isolated for the foreseeable future, and there were no other stations within many miles of it.

  Keeping it occupied was essential, however, and Morton decided to invest whatever was necessary in supplies and equipment to ensure that the people there remained content. He also decided to have them concentrate entirely on sheep and stop searching for other sources of revenue, because anyone who could recognize metal ores might become curious.

  After pondering all the factors involved, he was confident that the situation would remain stable until he was ready to proceed. He looked at the stone on his desk, finding it difficult to restrain his hopes from soaring wildly. Instead of wealth that eventually rivaled any in the colony, he could in time have a fortune equal to any in the world.

  At the same time, he might satisfy a yearning to achieve his goals, a longing that remained as strong as when he had first begun. Although he was wealthy and well-known in the town, he still felt as though success had eluded him. Something he was unable to define was still missing from his life. But if he could amass an immense fortune and world-wide fame, perhaps that inner need, whatever its nature, would be quenched.

  Sitting in the family parlor with her husband, her son, and his wife, Alexandra listened to Creighton and Martha talking about the hardships of their journey. Now that they had rested, cleaned up and changed clothes, and eaten dinner, their appearance was much less dismaying to Alexandra. But the years and stress had taken a heavy toll since she had last seen her brother. Both he and his wife looked very old and feeble.

  Even more than their physical condition, however, she was concerned about their mental and emotional state. They were very despondent, with a listless lack of concentration. Their attention wandering at times, they occasionally paused in conversation to think of a commonplace word, which made them seem even older. Alexandra knew it was a result of their upheaval and present lack of purpose in life, not age.