Lost Lenore: The Adventures of a Rolling Stone

In the morning, after eating our breakfast – which in Sydney is the most important meal of the day – my companion and I walked out into the streets. We soon parted company – each taking a different direction, since each had his own affairs to attend to.

I proceeded direct to the house where I had left my sister, two years before. I was both surprised, and disappointed, at not finding her there; and perceiving that the house was no longer a milliner’s shop.

I inquired for the people who formerly occupied the premises; but could learn nothing of them.

“I am justly served,” thought I, “I should have corresponded with my sister; and this disappointment could not have happened.”

My relatives had been lost to me once. That should have been a warning. I should have taken precautions against a recurrence of this misfortune. Instead of doing so, I had led Martha to believe, that I had gone back to England; and during my absence had never written to her. I now perceived how foolishly I had acted; and felt as if I deserved never to see my sister again.

I should have been more deeply aggrieved by my conduct, but that I still entertained the hope of being able to find her.

Sydney was not a large city; and if my sister was still within its limits, there was no reason why I should not discover her whereabouts – especially with the energy and perseverance I determined to make use of in the search.

This search I lost no time in instituting. I turned into the next street – though rather mechanically than otherwise: for I was still undecided as to how I should act.

All at once I remembered, that the woman, with whom Martha had gone into partnership, was a Mrs Green. I remembered, too, hearing Mrs Green say, that she had resided in Sydney for several years. Some one, therefore, should know her; and, if she could be found, it was natural to infer, that I should learn something of Martha.

While sauntering along the street, into which I had entered, my eye fell upon a little shop, which bore the sign of a milliner over the window. That should be the place for me to commence my inquiries. I entered the shop, where I saw standing behind a counter the worst-looking woman I had ever beheld. She was not ugly, from having a positively hideous face, or ill-formed features; but rather from the spirit that gave expression to both. It was a combination of wicked passions – comprising self-esteem, insolence, avarice, and everything that makes human nature despicable. The woman was dressed in a style that seemed to say: “vanity for sale.”

I asked her, if she could give me any intelligence of a Mrs Green, who formerly kept a milliner’s shop in the next street.

A disgusting grin suddenly spread over the features of the woman, as she promptly replied, “Yes; Mrs Green was chased out of Sydney over a year ago. She thought to smash my business; but she got smashed herself.”

“Can you tell me where she is to be found?” I inquired.

“Yes. She saw it wasn’t no use to try to carry on business against me; and she’s hooked it to Melbourne.”

“There was a young woman with her, named Martha Stone,” I continued, “can you tell me where she is?”

“Yes. She’s another beauty. I am not at all astonished at young men inquirin’ for her. Don’t think I am, mister. I’ve kept that lady from starving for the last six months; and I’m about tired of it, I can tell you. This is a nice world we live in, sure enough. What might you be wantin’ with Miss Stone?”

“I wish to know where she is to be found – nothing more,” I answered.

“Certainly. You wish to know where she is! Of course you do. Why not?” said the disgusting creature, in a tone, and with a significant leer, that I have ever since been vainly endeavouring to forget. “What right have you to think, that I should know where any such a person lives?” continued the woman. “I wish you to understand, sir, that I am a lady.”

I should certainly never have thought it, without being told; but, not the least grateful for the information, I answered:

“You say, that you know where Miss Stone is to be found. I am her brother, and wish to find her.”

“Oh! that’s it, is it?” retorted the woman with a look of evident disappointment. Then, turning round, and forcing her neck someway up a narrow staircase, she screamed out, “Susan! Susan!”

Soon after, a very young girl – apparently half-starved – made her appearance at the bottom of the stairs.

“Susan,” said the only woman I ever hated at first sight, “tell this man, where Miss Stone lives.”

There was something not so bad in the creature after all; and I began to fancy, I had been wronging her.

“Please, sir,” said Susan, pointing with outstretched arm towards one of the sides of the shop, “go up this street, till you come to the baker’s shop; then turn round this way, and go on till you pass the public-house with the picture of the horse on it; then turn that way, and go on till you come to where the house was burnt down; cross the street there, and go on to the house where they sell lollies; go by that, and at the turning beyond go this way until you come to the house with the green window blinds – ”

“That will do,” I exclaimed. “I don’t want to lose my senses, as well as my sister. Can you tell me, Susan, the name of the street, and the number of the house, in which Miss Stone resides?”

“No, sir, thank you,” answered Susan.

“Can you go there – if this lady will give you leave?”

“Yes, sir, if you please,” said the girl, glancing timidly at her mistress.

I thought the mistress would refuse; and even hoped she would. Anxious as I was to find my sister, I did not like to receive even so slight a favour from one whom I had hated with so very little exertion.

The woman, contrary to my expectations, consented to the child’s going out to show me the way; and I am so uncharitable as to believe, that her consent was given with the hope that, in finding my sister, I should meet with some chagrin!

I followed Susan through the streets, until we came to a dirty, wretched suburb of the city, where the girl pointed out a house, and told me to knock at the door.

Giving the poor little slavey half-a-crown, I sent her away; and, the next minute, my sister was sobbing in my arms.

Everything in the room proclaimed her to be in the greatest poverty. Strange that I did not regret it; but, on the contrary, was gratified by the appearance of her destitution! It was proof that she was still virtuous and honest. Moreover, I fancied she would now be the more willing to accept the protection, I had come to offer her. She was under the impression, that I had just returned from England. When I undeceived her on this point, she seemed much grieved, that I had been so long in the colonies, without letting her know it.

I soon learnt from her the simple story of her life, since our last parting. At the time she had joined Mrs Green in business, the latter was deeply in debt; and, in about three months after, all the stock in the little shop was sold off to meet Mrs Green’s liabilities. Their business was broken up; and Mrs Green had gone to Melbourne – as her rival had stated. Martha had obtained employment in two or three milliner’s establishments in the city; and, as she blushingly told me, had good reasons for leaving them all.

She was now making a sort of livelihood, by working for anyone who chanced to have sewing to give her; and was obtaining occasional, but ill paid employment, from the lady who had assisted me in finding her.

“Oh, Rowland!” said Martha, “that woman is the worst that ever lived. She never lets me have a piece of sewing, at a price that will allow me more than bread and water, and yet I have been obliged to take it from her, because I cannot get enough sewing elsewhere. I often work from six o’clock in the morning till ten at night – when I can get anything to do; and yet I’ve often been very, very hungry. I’m sure it is as bad here, as the stories I’ve heard about poor sempstresses in London. Ah, brother! Good girls are not wanted in this place. People seem only to care for those who are bad; and while they have everything they wish, girls like me must live as you see I’ve been doing. Oh, Rowland! is it not a cruel world?”

I was much gratified at hearing my sister talk in this manner: for each word was evidence, that she had been leading an honourable life; and, moreover, her despondency led me to believe: that she would no longer oppose my projects, as she had previously done.

It was all for the best, that she had not done as I wished her two years before. Had she then consented to returning with me to England, I should have gone thither – notwithstanding my disappointment about Lenore. By doing so, I should have missed meeting my brother – besides I should have lost the opportunity of making above fifteen hundred pounds – which I had gathered on the gold-fields of Victoria.

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty.

My Sister still Obstinate

I had been some little time in my sister’s company, before telling her of my intentions regarding her. I had allowed her to indulge in such conjectures about my designs, as the circumstances might suggest.

“I am very glad, Rowland,” said she, “that you have made up your mind to stay in the colonies. I hope you will live in Sydney. Oh! we would be so happy! You have come to stay here, have you not? Say yes, brother; and make me happy! Say you will not leave me any more?”

“I do not wish to leave you, dear sister,” said I; “and I hope that you have now learnt a lesson, that will make you willing to accept the offer I am going to make you. I have come, Martha, to take you with me to Melbourne.”

“What reason can you have, for wishing me to go to Melbourne? It cannot be a better place than Sydney?”

“Are you still unwilling to leave Sydney?” I asked, with a painful presentiment, that I was once more to be baulked in my design of making my poor sister happy.

“Brother,” she replied, “I am not willing to go to Melbourne. I don’t wish to leave Sydney – at least, not yet.”

“Would you not like to see your brother William?” I asked.

“What! William! dear little Willie! Have you heard of him, Rowland? Do you know where he is?”

“Yes. He is in Melbourne; and very anxious to see you. I have come to take you to him. Will you go?”

“I must see William – my long-lost brother William! I must see him. How came you to find him, Rowland? Tell me all about it. Why did he not come here along with you?”

“We met by mere chance – on the diggings of Victoria; and, hearing me called Rowland, he asked my other name. We then recognised one another. Little Willie – as you call him – is now a tall, fine-looking young man. Next week he is going to be married to a beautiful girl. I have come to take you to the wedding. Will you go, Martha?”

“I don’t know. I must see brother William. What shall I do? What shall I do? I cannot leave Sydney.”

“Martha,” said I, “I am your brother; and am willing to assist you in any manner possible. I am older than you; and we have no parents. I have the right to some authority over you; and now demand the reason, why you are not willing to go with me to Melbourne?”

My sister remained silent.

“Give me a straightforward answer,” I cried in a tone that partook of command. “Tell me why you will not go?”

“Oh, brother! – because – because I am waiting here for some one – one who has promised – to return to me.”

“A man, of course?”

“Yes, yes – a man – a true man, Rowland.”

“Where has he gone; and how long is it, since you have seen him?” I asked, unable to conceal my indignant sorrow.

“He went to the diggings in Victoria, a little more than two years ago. Before going, he told me to wait, until he should come back; and then he would marry me.”

“Martha! is it possible that this is your only reason for not going with me?”

“It is – my only one – I cannot go. I must wait for him!”

“Then you are as foolish, as our poor mother was in waiting for Mr Leary. The man who promised to return and marry you, has probably forgotten both his promise and you, long before this. Very likely he has married some other. I thought you had more sense, than to believe every idle word spoken by idle tongues. The man for whom you are making yourself miserable, would laugh at your simplicity, if he only knew of it. He has probably forgotten your name. Cease to think of him, dear sister; and make both yourself, and your brothers, happy!”

“Do not call me a fool, Rowland – do not think me one! I know I should be, if I was waiting for any common man; but the one I love is not a common man. He promised to return; and unless he dies, I am sure he will keep his word. I know it would be folly to have trusted most men as I’ve done him; but he’s not like others. I shall yet be happy. To wait for him is but my duty; do not urge me to neglect it.”

“Oh, Martha! our poor mother thought about Mr Leary, just as you do about this man. She thought him true to her – the best husband in the world! You may be as much mistaken as she was. I advise you to think no more of him, but go with me. Look around you! See the wretched state in which you are living! Leave it for a happy home, with those who will truly love you.”

“Do not talk to me so, Rowland, or you will drive me mad. I wish to go with you, and wish to see William; but I cannot, and must not leave Sydney!”

It was evident to me, that my sister was afflicted with the same delusion, that had enslaved our mother even unto death; and, with much regret, I became conscious of the folly of trying to induce her to act in a rational manner. I saw that common sense, reason, persuasion, or threats, would all be alike unavailing to obtain compliance with my wishes. The little I had seen of her sex, had impressed me with the belief that no woman ever exhibited such blind faith and full confidence in a man worthy of the least regard; and I was willing to stake my existence, that my sister’s lover was a fellow of no principle – some low blackguard of a similar stamp to the late Mr Leary. I could not suppose him to be quite so bad as Leary: for that to me would have appeared impossible.

I was greatly chagrined to think my kind intentions towards Martha should be thwarted by her folly. I was even angry. Perhaps it was unmanly in me to be so. My sister was unfortunate. No doubt she had been deluded; and could not help her misfortune. She was more an object for pity than anger; but I was angry, and could not restrain myself from showing it. Conscious of my upright and disinterested regard for her, I could not help thinking it ungrateful of her, thus to oppose my designs for her welfare.

“Martha,” said I, “I ask you once more to go with me. By doing so, you will fulfil a sister’s duty as well as seek your own welfare. Reject my offer now, and it will never be made again: for we shall part for ever, I will leave you to the misery, you seem not only to desire, but deserve.”

“Rowland! Rowland!” exclaimed she, throwing her arms around my neck, “I cannot part from you thus. Do not leave me. You must not – you must not!”

“Will you go with me?” I asked, too much excited to listen patiently to her entreaties.

“Rowland, do not ask me! May heaven help me; I cannot go!”

“Then, farewell!” I cried, “farewell for ever!” and as I uttered the parting speech, I tore myself from her embrace, and hurried half frantic out of the room.

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty One.

My Sister’s Sweetheart

On leaving the house, my soul was stirred by conflicting emotions. I was wild with disappointment, sorrow and indignation.

It was wrong to part with my poor sister in such fashion; and my conscience told me so, before I had proceeded two hundred yards along the street. I should at least have given her some money, to relieve her from the extreme necessity which she was evidently in.

A moment’s reflection, as I stopped in the street, told me it was my duty to do this, if nothing more.

I thought of sending her a few pounds after getting back to the hotel. Then succeeded the reflection, that to do so would be more trouble, than to turn back, and give it to her myself. This thought decided me to return to the house, and see her once more. I retraced my steps; and again knocked at the door.

For some moments there was no answer; and I knocked again. I waited for nearly two minutes; and still there was no sign of my summons being answered.

I was on the point of bursting in the door, when it was opened by a man, whose huge frame almost filled the entrance from jamb to jamb. It was the Elephant! The truth instantly flashed upon my mind. It was for him my sister had been waiting! She – was the sempstress for whom he had been toiling – the young girl spoken of in his story – she, whom he had said, he was going to return and marry!

Martha had flung herself into a chair; and appeared insensible.

I cannot remember that either Olliphant or I spoke on seeing one another. Each was too much surprised at meeting the other. And yet neither of us thought, there was anything strange in the circumstance. Let those, who can, explain the singularity of our sentiments at that encounter. I cannot, and therefore shall not make the attempt. The attention of both of us was soon called to Martha, who had recovered consciousness.

“I thank God!” she cried out addressing me, “I thank God, Rowland, you have returned. You see, he has come back!” she continued, placing her hand on the broad shoulder of ‘the Elephant.’ “I knew he would. I told you he was certain to come; and that it was not possible for him to deceive me. This is my brother, Alex,” she added, turning to Olliphant. “He wanted me to leave you; but don’t blame him: for he did not know you, as I did. I’ve seen hard times, Alex; but the joy of this moment more than repays me for all.”

It was some time before Olliphant and I had an opportunity of communicating with each other: for Martha seemed determined that no one should have anything to say but herself.

“What fools we have been!” exclaimed Olliphant, as soon as his sweetheart gave him a chance of speaking. “Had you told me that your name was Stone, and that you had a sister in Sydney, how much more pleasure we should have had in one another’s society! You have nearly missed finding your brother; and either you or I have nearly lost your sister by keeping your name a secret. I know that for a man to talk to others of his family affairs is not strict etiquette; but the rules of that are often made by those who are only respected because they are unknown; or rather, because nothing concerning them can be told to their credit.”

“You and I have been friends,” continued the Elephant, still addressing his discourse to me. “Why should we have cared for etiquette? We ought to have acted independently of its requirements. Depend upon it, that open-hearted candour is ever preferable to secrecy.”

I assured Olliphant, that I was convinced of the truth of this doctrine by late events; and that it was also my belief, an honest man has very little on his mind that need be concealed from his acquaintances.

The scene that followed was one of unalloyed happiness. It ended in the determination – that we should all three at once proceed to Melbourne; and that Olliphant and Martha should be married at the same time that my brother was to be united to Miss Morell.

It was ludicrous to witness the change, that had suddenly taken place in the sentiments of Martha. She no longer offered the slightest objection to leaving Sydney; but on the contrary, declared herself delighted at the prospect of going to Melbourne – a place, she said, she had been long desirous of seeing!

During the evening, the little slavey, Sarah, came over from the milliner’s shop, with a bundle of sewing materials – which Martha was required to make up immediately.

“Tell your mistress,” said Martha, “that I cannot afford to do any more work for her: for she does not pay me enough for it. Tell her, that I hope she will not be much disappointed; but that I really cannot sew any more for her. Will you tell her that?”

“Yes, thank you!” said Sarah, “but I don’t think she’ll be much disappointed: for she said she did not think you would do any more work now; and she only sent it to see.”

We had enough to talk about that evening. Olliphant had been acquainted with our poor mother; and expressed much regret that she had died so unhappily.

We all had explanations to make; and Olliphant and I listened with equal interest to a long recital of my sister’s struggle to maintain herself, and to an explanation of her sorrow at being unable to comply with my request, when I had entreated her to leave Sydney.

This confession was as pleasant to me as to the Elephant; but perhaps still pleasanter was it for him to hear that, during his long absence, she had never felt a doubt about his returning, and that such a suspicion had never remained for an instant in her mind.

As events had turned out, I could not regret that my sister had been, what I had too rashly termed foolish; and that her faith in Olliphant’s promise had remained unshaken under such strong temptations, as those to which she had been subjected.

She had proved herself worthy of a good husband; and there was no one, whom I should have preferred seeing her united to, before the man, for whom she had so long and patiently waited.

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty Two.

At Sea

On the third day after my arrival in Sydney, I started back for Melbourne, in the steamer “Warratah,” accompanied by Olliphant and Martha.

On arriving at Melbourne, my sister was taken to the residence of Mrs Morell, where she had the pleasure of meeting her brother William; and making the acquaintance of her future sister-in-law.

Sarah Morell and Martha became warm friends upon sight; and on the evening of our return, a more happy party, than the one assembled in Mrs Morell’s cottage, could not have been found in the colony.

At intervals, a thought of my own life-long disappointment would flash across my mind; but the sight of so many happy faces around me, would soon restore me to a feeling of tranquil contentment.

Next day, preparations were made for the double marriage, which took place shortly after.

The occasion was not marked by any grand ceremonial display – such as I have often witnessed at the “weddings” of lucky gold-diggers. All the arrangements were conducted with the same sense of propriety and taste, that appeared to have guided the previous conduct of the principal parties concerned.

My brother’s honeymoon tour, was to be a voyage in the first ship that should sail for England. As I did not much like the idea of separating from him so soon; and, having no great desire to return to the diggings, I resolved to accompany him.

Olliphant and Martha only remained in Melbourne, until they should see us off, when they intended returning to Sydney to reside permanently in that city. The Elephant had gathered gold enough to set him up in some respectable business; and it was but natural he should prefer New South Wales – his native country – to any other. I knew that to my sister, all places were now alike; so long as she should be with her husband.

I do not much like travelling in a ship, where there is a large number of passengers. It is something like going out for a walk, along a street crowded with people. When there are many passengers in a vessel, there are likely to be some of a very disagreeable disposition, that will be sure to make itself manifest during the voyage. Moreover, in a crowded ship, the regulations require to be more rigidly enforced – thus rendering the passage more irksome to all. There is much greater freedom of action, and generally more amusement, on board a ship carrying only a limited number of passengers. For this reason, we took passage in the first cabin of a small vessel – where we knew there would be only about twenty others besides ourselves.

The ship was bound direct for the port of London; the captain, whose name was Nowell, was to all appearance a gentleman; the accommodation, as regarded room and other necessary requirements, was satisfactory; and we set sail, with every prospect of a pleasant voyage.

As Captain Nowell was a man of sociable inclinings, he soon became a favourite with all his passengers. Between him and myself an intimacy arose; and I passed much of my time in his company – either at chess, or in talking about subjects connected with his calling, which I had not altogether forgotten. He appeared to take an interest in my future welfare; so much so, as frequently to converse with me on the subject of my getting married.