Missing Friends

The tea, of which I had yet a supply, was made, and then the feast began. I counselled him not to eat too much, but between the two of us there was scarcely anything left when we were both satisfied. Then he began to tell me his story, of which I can only give the general outlines as I have forgotten the details; but a more terrible tale of misery I had never heard, and any one who will fill in the picture for himself might easily understand that he must have suffered almost enough to justify him in lying down to die at last, when all hope seemed gone.

He said that travelling along he had been overtaken by the flood, and had camped by himself in a similar place to the one where I had been a prisoner, only with this difference—that he had had no tent. He had managed to keep a log on fire all the time, and had hung his blanket over a pole to form a fly, but of course he had been as wet all the time as if he had been hauled out of the sea. By the time the water went down he had eaten every scrap of provision he had, but had nevertheless reached this station about a fortnight since. Here, as already stated, they would neither sell nor give him anything. He could not cross the river to get into town, so, in a terrible condition from hunger, he had turned back in another direction, some twenty miles or more to where there was another small station. The country was all flooded on his way, and for five miles in one stretch he had waded through water to his shoulders, only being able to know the direction in which he wanted to go by following along a fence, the top of the posts of which were out of water. I forget how long it took him to reach this place, but when he did arrive there it was only to be told that he could get nothing. Being apparently the sort of man who would bend his neck to any stroke of misfortune, he had meekly turned away, he did not know himself whither, when by good luck as the issue proved, he had fainted when close to the house. A man had then come out and given him something to eat, besides a little to take with him, and had told him that twenty-five miles in another direction was a place where he could procure supplies. He had gone thither, but as the people there had proved but one degree more merciful than their neighbours, they had only kept him alive a couple of days, and then started him back here to where I found him. All his money was seven shillings. The squatter here, as already stated, would neither sell nor give him anything, and as he saw he could not cross the river for several days on foot, not being able to swim, he had laid himself down to die when I arrived on the scene. While he told me all this, he was gradually getting very sick. The sweat hung in large drops on his pale face, and he threw himself about writhing in agony. I need scarcely say, perhaps, that he had eaten with less moderation than he ought. I bustled about him, trying or wishing to do him good, but I did not know how. I was also very anxious for us both to be off, because I heard the squatter fire a gun in the yard, and I concluded that he had come back and that the old woman had told him what had happened perhaps, or most likely drawn on her imagination at the same time. As the bishop said when he saw a criminal on the road to the scaffold: "But for the grace of God, there go I." The reader of this truthful narrative may decide for himself who deserved hanging most—the squatter or I; but whatever the opinion may be, I had undoubtedly committed robbery under arms, and, in my opinion, the man who would see another die outside his door if he had it in his power to save him, might also add such small particulars to the tale as would make his case strong and interesting—especially as there was a lady in the case. I had doubtless committed a crime which, according both to the spirit and the letter of Queensland law as among the greatest for which a criminal is punished. Just imagine how the case might have appeared in court. There the old grey-bearded super, the worthy pioneer, and the interesting, inoffensive old lady, who in a fainting condition, would tell her horrible tales; here a fat, bouncing Crown Prosecutor; and lastly the two loafers in the dock, whom nobody knew or would have believed. As after events proved, the super was either too much of a gentleman or too much of a coward, as he neither came out and remonstrated with me nor prosecuted me afterwards.

Six weeks after this event happened I was an employer of over a dozen men, and as time went on I was looked upon as a rising man in that town toward which I was now going, and no one thought themselves too good to know me. Among my acquaintances was this same super. He did not at all recollect me from this adventure; but one day I reminded him, and told him what I thought about him.

Begging the reader's pardon for this digression, I will return to where we still sat in the road. While I, for the above-named reasons, perhaps not clearly defined in my mind, was anxious to be off, and my travelling companion was writhing with pain before me, an accident happened which I at the time thought one of the greatest possible misfortunes. My best horse—my saddle-horse—got drowned in the river. It came about in this way: ever since the flood the air had been thick with countless millions of sand-flies; it was so bad that one could scarcely exist unless when sitting with the head over a fire enveloped in smoke. The horses suffered fearfully from their attacks, and just then they both became as it were quite maddened, and galloped straight for the river. I managed to catch the one, but the other, as if it premeditated suicide, jumped right in, and being hobbled could not well drown just then, but was swept down the current and away. Next morning we had eaten all our provisions and were as hungry as ever. The river, however, was falling fast. I got on the one horse and tried the river in several places, but nowhere was it so low that the horse could walk across. I could get across myself on the horse, but it reared and bucked when the other man tried to climb on it too; as he could not ride he began his lamentations again, imploring me not to leave him behind. I had no idea of doing that, but it cost me not a little trouble to think out what was best to do. Unfortunately neither of us could swim, and as he was of very short stature, the river would have to fall until he could walk over almost dry-footed before he would dare to attempt it. I was a head taller than he, and as the day went on I kept walking in the river and trying it with a long pole to find the shallowest place. The current was very strong, but the water was falling fast, and tired out by my companion's lamentations and the whole misery of the situation, I told him that we would a couple of hours before sundown try to cross the river or die. It was a dangerous undertaking, because not only was the water still very deep, and I had only a general idea of it being fordable, but the current was so strong that I did not know whether I should be able to keep on my feet when I came to the deepest part. First of all I wrote a few words in pencil to the manager of the bank in which I had my money, telling him what to do with my account in case I should not claim it. After having put it into an envelope, because I always carried these things, I gave it to my fellow-traveller, and without letting him know what it contained, exacted from him a promise that he should post it in case I got drowned. It was the least he could do certainly, because as a reward I said he might have all the rest of my belongings, always supposing, of course, that I should have no further use for them. Then I helped him on to the horse, and told him just to sit still until he saw me safe on the other side, and that the horse would come to me when I called it as long as he did not pull it about. Having done all this, I took off all my clothes and strapped them on to the pack-saddle, and lifted the whole burden on to my head so as to give me extra weight. I also got a pole about fifteen feet in length to stand against, and then I faced the river. The river was not very broad—I should say about three chains. From the side where I was it gradually sloped towards its deepest part which was near the other side, and there was at least one chain in width where I did not exactly know the depth more than that the horse so far had had to swim across earlier in the day when I had tried it. The river was still falling every hour, and I was determined for both of us to get across then. I waded into the water, and it all went well until I came to the middle. Somehow I thought I must have got to shallower ground than where I had tried it before. The water rushed round my sides, and every time I had to lift the pole and put it forward it took me all my strength to do it. The last step forward had brought me into still deeper water, and my strength seemed exhausted—perhaps it would be more correct to say that to hold the pole in position and keep myself on my feet demanded as much force as I ever had. I seemed to stand dancing on the top of the big toe while I could feel with the other foot that it was still deeper in front of me. I pressed on the pole to keep me down, but I felt that I had neither strength nor pluck enough to shift it either forwards or backwards, nor even to keep standing where I was very long. Yet how tantalizing; in front of me, just another step, and I might grasp the boughs of a large tree hanging out over the water. And must I die there?

As in a panorama my whole life seemed to pass before me in review: At home—my schoolmates, I saw them all—then Hamburg—the emigrant ship—Thorkill—the gold-diggings—the South Seas—Brisbane—all along this miserable journey and back where I stood. I turned my head and looked behind me to where the Englishman sat on my horse. He laughed loud an unpleasant ha! ha! ha! ha! It was his way to cheer me on, but it jarred on my ear. My heart began to beat as if it would burst. Have you travelled so far, I thought, and have you seen and suffered so many things on purpose only to drown in this muggy stream? Never! I gathered myself together for a supreme effort. I threw the pole from me, rushed forward, rolled, lost the saddle, but grasped a bough, and the next moment I climbed up the other side, when I fainted for the first and only time in all my life. When I recovered the other man had come over and stood alongside of me with my horse. We intended to travel all night, so as to be in town as soon as possible, and my friend seemed quite gay at the prospect before us. Where we stood, however, was only on a sort of by-road, and I understood that the main road to – was a couple of miles distant. I, therefore, suggested to my companion that he should walk off as fast as he could, while I was pulling myself a little together, and that I would overtake him on the horse before it got dark. But—I had not got a stitch of clothes to put on! and I had to ask him to let me have some of his. Then he began to talk while he pulled his swag open. He had only two shirts and two pairs of breeches that he had paid fourteen shillings for in Liverpool, but of course I should have them. Were they worth ten shillings? Was the shirt worth five shillings? I would not get the like under eight shillings. If I thought it was too much, I might have the breeches he had on for five shillings.

I was completely amazed. Was this the man for whom I had risked my life, and as nearly as possible lost it? For whom—call it what you like—I had begged and taken by force at the station what I thought necessary to save his life? For whom I had lost my horse which had carried me so many hundred miles, and the saddle and all my clothes? Here I sat as naked as the day I was born, all to save his life, and my reward was to see him in front of me; but he had not perception enough to know that he owed me anything. The money I had—three or four pounds—I had on purpose taken out of the swag before I crossed the river, and given to him so that it might not be unnecessarily lost. I had, therefore, that, but I wondered whether he would give me any clothes without money if I had none, or whether, if so, I would have to force them from him. I asked him, and said, "What if I have no money?" "Oh, but you have," said he; "I saw in your purse you have plenty of money." Then I bought the clothes and paid him what he asked for his breeches, for which he had given fourteen shillings in Liverpool. I bought his shirt also for five shillings, and a dirty, nasty towel he had was thrown in as a present for me to wind round my head instead of a hat.

Then he went away quite happy, asking me not to be long behind, as he was to ride half-way on my horse, and I dressed myself in my new clothes. I did look a terrible picture. The breeches were six inches too short, the shirt would not button round my throat, I had neither socks nor boots—and then the towel as a turban round the head! The horse fairly snorted at me with terror. I sat where I was till it was nearly dark. I had no wish to see the other fellow any more. But I made a vow, never, if it was possible to avoid it, would I travel like this again. But I was in dejected spirits—not, I believe, so much for what money value I had lost, or for any fear that I could not put a stop to this sort of travelling about almost whenever I liked, but for the conduct of that man. As I rode along I kept saying to myself, "It shall be a valuable lesson." Still, I fear that that sort of lessons are generally more sad than valuable.

It was now all but dark, and when I had ridden so far as to make me wonder that there was no sign of the main road yet, I got off the horse and began to look closely at the track along which I had come. I then found that it was only a cattle track, and that the horse must have left the right road without my noticing it. Then I began to run the tracks of the horse back again. But the tracks were confusing, crossing and recrossing each other so much that I lost my cue, and by the time it was quite dark I stood in dense brigalow scrub and had to acknowledge myself lost. I tied the horse to a tree and sat down alongside. It was no use to walk about further before daylight. I had a general idea where the town was lying, but I knew there were no houses or people living between where I was and there. I was also afraid that if I did not strike the road I might pass the town within half a mile and not know it. As for making back for the river and station, that would be out of the question, because it would have made me no better off. But on the whole I was not afraid that I should be unable to find my way somewhere, the question was really—how long could I keep up without food? The idea occurred to me that I could at all events eat the horse as a last extremity, but I drove the thought away as soon as it came. To be there, and look up at the horse—my only friend—and to think that I intended to kill it, seemed to me both criminal and impossible. I sat the whole night smoking my pipe and waiting for the sun to rise so that I might take the bearings of the country, and make up my mind in which direction I would look for the road and town.

At sunrise I started, leading the horse after me, because it was no use now to follow the cattle tracks, and where I had to go was through the brigalow, where I had quite work enough to do in twining in and out among the trees and the brambles. As the day wore on I came into country a little more open, but yet I could not ride among the trees. The sun shone with terrible force, and the sand-flies followed us in clouds. There was a ringing sound in my ears. I kept arranging and rearranging the towel on my head; still, I feared that I had sunstroke, or that something serious was the matter with me. The air seemed full of phantoms—vicious-looking creatures. Then I saw a whole army of ladies and gentlemen riding past, jeering me and lolling out their tongues at me. I knew it was delusions, and I kept walking as fast and, as it proved, as straight as possible, but still I felt myself laughing, crying, and yelling at all these phantoms or at the unoffending horse.

"Shoeskin," cried I to the horse, "you old dog, do you know that it was to save you from hunger's dread that I went on this journey? And now you have enough to eat, while I must die of hunger! but to-night I will kill you—do you know that? Oh, Peter, Peter! is it not strange, so vicious as you have got to be? Holloa, is that a frying-pan over there on that log? So it is; and full of fried eggs and potatoes. Good luck. Look at him eating it all. Stop, you rascal! No, it is a woman. Do you call yourself a lady? You are no woman at all; only a devil. It is all devilry. Peter, take no notice." About noon I had a bath in a water-hole I came to, and ate some snails I found in the water. After that I felt somewhat better, and shortly after I came on to the road. I became quite collected in my mind at once, and jumping on to the horse tore away at full gallop for the town, which proved to be only five or six miles distant. As I came riding up the street at a sharp trot I knew myself to be quite sane, but I had a suspicion that I looked very much the other way with the towel round my head and the short tartan plaid breeches.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE END

With this John Gilpin's ride the present part of my adventures, which are contained in the manuscript I wrote to my father, comes to an end. So does practically what I care to publish. I have seen many ups and downs since then, but from this point in my narrative I could no longer lay claim to be a "missing friend." I am not a novel writer, and I could not continue the history of my life and still preserve my incognito unless I wrote fiction. As my object in publishing these papers is to give a faithful picture of Australian life, I should feel very doubtful of attaining the desired end. To the reader who has kindly followed me so far, I would say that he may believe that Australia is full of young men who, like myself at that time, travel about from place to place, and that similar scenes to those I have described happen every day in all parts of Queensland. If I have been able to rouse the reader's interest and sympathy with myself in these pages, I shall feel proud, and think that after all I did not travel and suffer so many hardships in vain.