Babes in the Bush

‘Perhaps he is unwilling to risk a disappointment at the game which will be lost or won before January, “for want of a heart to play,”’ said Ardmillan. ‘He may follow suit, like others of this worshipful company. Hearts are trumps this deal, unless I mistake greatly.’

‘Didn’t we hear that he had been left money, or made a fortune by town allotments down there? Anyhow he’s going home, I believe; so this will be his last visit to Yass for some time.’

‘If we make money at the pace which we have been going for the last year, we shall all be able to go home,’ pronounced Ardmillan. ‘Yet, after all the pleasant days that we have seen here and at Benmohr, the thought is painful. This influx of capital will break up our jolly society more completely than the drought. In that case we should have had to cling to a sinking ship, or take to the boats; now, the vessel is being paid off, and the crew scattered to the four winds.’

‘Sic transit,’ echoed Neil lugubriously. ‘I forget the rest; but wherever we go, and however well lined our pockets may be, it is a chance if we are half as happy again in our lives as we have been in this jolly old district.’

Christmas had come and gone. The Badajos Revels were imminent. Rockley and St. Maur had declared for remaining until they were over, in despite of presumably pressing engagements.

‘I believe old Harry O’Desmond would have made a personal matter of it if we had left him in the lurch,’ said Mr. Rockley. ‘He spoke rather stiffly, St. Maur, when you said all Melbourne was waiting to know the result of our deputation to the Governor-General, and that they would be loth to take the excuse of a country picnic.’

‘The old boy’s face was grim,’ said St. Maur; ‘but I had made up my mind to remain. I like to poke him up – he is so serious and stately. But we should not have quarrelled about such a trifle.’

In the meantime, terrific preparations were made for the fête; one to be long remembered in the neighbourhood. O’Desmond’s magnificence of idea had only been held down, like most men of his race and nature, by the compulsion of circumstances. Now, he had resolved to give a free rein to his taste and imagination. It was outlined, in his mind, as a recognition of the enthusiasm which had greeted his return to the district in which he had lived so long. This had touched him to the heart. Habitually repressive of emotion, he would show them, in this form, how he demonstrated the feelings to which he denied utterance.

In his carefully considered programme, he had by no means restricted himself to a single day or to the stereotyped gaieties of music and the dance. On this sole and exemplary occasion, the traditional glories of Castle Desmond would be faintly recalled, the profuse, imperial hospitalities of which had lent their share to his present sojourn near the plains of Yass. Several days were to be devoted to the reception of all comers. Each was to have its special recreation; to include picnics and private theatricals, with dresses and costumes from a metropolitan establishment. A dinner to the gentry, tradespeople, and yeomen of the district; to be followed by a grand costume ball in a building constructed for the purpose, to which all ‘the county’ would be invited.

‘What a truly magnificent idea!’ said Rosamond Effingham, a short time before the opening day, as they all sat in the verandah at The Chase, after lunch and a hard morning’s work at preparations. ‘But will not our good friend and neighbour ruin himself?’

‘Bred in the bone,’ said Gerald O’More. ‘Godfrey O’Desmond, this man’s great-grandfather, gave an entertainment which put a mortgage on the property from that day to this. Had a real lake of claret, I believe. Regular marble basin, you know. Gold and silver cups of the Renaissance, held in the hands of fauns, nymphs, and satyrs – that kind of thing – hogsheads emptied in every morning. Everything wonderful, rich, and more extravagant than a dream. Nobody went to bed for a fortnight, they say. Hounds met as usual. A score of duels – half-a-dozen men left on the sod. County asleep for a year afterwards.’

‘The estate never raised its head again, anyhow,’ said Mr. Rockley, ‘and no wonder. An extravagant, dissolute, murdering old scoundrel, as they say old Godfrey was, that deserved seven years in the county gaol for ruining his descendants and debauching the whole country-side. And do you believe me, when I mentioned as much to old Harry one day, he was deuced stiff about it; said we could not understand the duties of a man of position in those days. I believe now, on my solemn word, that he’d be just as bad, this day, if he got the chance. I daren’t say another word to him, and I’ve known him these twenty years.’

‘Let us hope there won’t be so much claret consumed,’ said Miss Fane. ‘I believe deep drinking is no longer fashionable. I should be grieved if Mr. O’Desmond did anything to injure his fortune. It may be only a temporary aberration (to which all Irishmen are subject, Mr. O’More), and then our small world will go on much as before.’

‘If we could induce a sufficient number of Australian ladies to colonise Ireland,’ said O’More, bowing, ‘as prudent and as fascinating as Miss Fane,’ he continued, with a look at Annabel, ‘we might hope to change the national character. It only wants a dash of moderation to make it perfect. But we may trust to O’Desmond’s colonial experience to save him from ruin.’

Thus the last hours of the fortunate, still-remembered year of 1840 passed away. A veritable jubilee, when the land rejoiced, and but few of the inhabitants of Australia found cause for woe. Great were the anxious speculations, however, as to weather. In a fête champêtre, everything depends upon that capricious department. And this being ‘a first-class season,’ unvarying cloudlessness could by no means be predicted.

The malign divinities must have been appeased by the sacrifices of the drought. A calm and beauteous summer morn, warm, but tempered by the south sea-breeze, bid the children of the Great South Land greeting.

The New Year opened radiantly as a season of joy and consolation. The whole district was astir from earliest hours; the preparations for the momentous experiences of the day were utterly indescribable, save by a Homeric Company of Bards (limited).

As the sun rose higher,

From Highland, Lowland, Border, Isle,How shall I name their separate style,Each chief of rank and fame,

with his ‘following,’ appeared before the outer gates of Badajos, where such a number were gathered as would almost have sufficed to storm the historic citadel, in the breach of which Captain O’Desmond had fallen, and from which the estate had been named.

The first day had been allotted to a liberally rendered lawn party, which was to include almost the whole available population of town and district, invited by public proclamation as well as by special invitation. Indeed, it had been notified through the press that, on New Year’s Day, Mr. O’Desmond would be ‘at home’ prepared to receive all his friends who desired to personally congratulate him upon his return from the interior.

Never was there such a muster before, since the first gum-tree was felled, within sight of Yass Plains. An uninterrupted procession wound its way steadily on from the town, from all the country roads, down gullies, and across flats and marshes. Every farm sent its representative. So did every shop in the town, every station in the district. Not a woman in the land had apparently remained at home. Who minded the infant children on the 1st of January 1840 will always remain an unsolved mystery.

The arrangements had been carefully considered by a past-master of organisation; and they did not break down under the unprecedented strain. As the horsemen and horsewomen, tax-carts, dog-carts, carriages, tandems, waggons and bullock-drays even, arrived at the outer gate, they were met by ready servitors, who directed them, through a cunningly devised system of separate lanes, to temporarily constructed enclosures, where they were enabled to unharness and otherwise dispose of their draught animals and vehicles.

Sheds covered with that invaluable material the bark of the eucalyptus had been erected, and hay provided, as for the stabling of a regiment of cavalry; while small paddocks, well watered and with grass ‘up to their eyes’ (as the stock-riders expressed it), suited admirably those not over-particular rovers, who, having turned loose their nags, placed their saddles and bridles in a place of security, and thus disembarrassed themselves of anxiety for the day.

When these arrangements had been satisfactorily made, they were guided towards the river-meadow, on a slope overlooking which the homestead and outbuildings were situated. Here was clustered an encampment of tents and booths, of every size and shape, and apparently devoted to as many various classes of amusement and recreation.

The short grass of the river flat, as it was generally called, was admirably adapted for the present purposes and intentions. The propitious season, with its frequent showers, had furnished a fair imitation of English turf, both in verdure and in thickness of sward, the latter quality much assisted by the stud flock of the famed Badajos merinoes.

The concluding day of the memorable Badajos Revels, the unrivalled and immortal performance, had arrived. The last act was about to be called on. All the arrangements had been more than successful. The sports and pastimes had gone through without hitch or contention. The populace was enthusiastic in praise of the liberality which had ministered so lavishly to their amusement. The aristocracy were no less unanimous in their approbation. That battues, the picnics, the costume ball, had been, beyond all description, delightful, fascinating, well carried out, in such perfect taste – extraordinary good form – intoxicating – heavenly – utterly, indescribably delicious; the adjectives and superlatives varying with the age, position, sex, or character of the speaker.

And now the modern miracle-play was to finish with a presentment, unique and marvellous beyond belief. The main body of guests and revellers had departed soon after daylight. ‘Conclamatum est, Poculatum est,’ said a young Irish priest. ‘I shall have to go into “retreat” if Father Mahony gets word of me at the ball. Wasn’t I Lord Edward Fitzgerald to the life? But I durstn’t stay away an hour longer from my flock.’ Many were the half-repentant, homeward-bound wayfarers who held similar opinions. And the continuous passage of the fords of the Yass River might have suggested to the Scots, by birth or extraction, King James’ army after Flodden —

Tweed’s echoes heard the ceaseless plash,While many a broken band,Disordered through her currents dash,To gain the Scottish land.

There was not, it is true, such need for haste, but the pace at which the shallower fords were taken might have suggested it.

However, a considerable proportion of the house parties and guests of the neighbouring families, with such of the townspeople and others whose time was not specially valuable, remained for the closing spectacle. Much curiosity was aroused as to the nature of it.

‘Perhaps you can unfold the mystery of this duel which we are all taking about,’ said Annabel to St. Maur, with whom she had been discussing the costumes of the ball.

‘I happen to be in O’Desmond’s confidence,’ he replied; ‘so we may exchange secrets. Many years ago, in Paris, he fell across an old picture representing a fatal duel between Masks, after a ball. So he pitched upon it for representation, as a striking if rather weird interlude.’

‘What a strange idea! How unreal and horrible. Fancy any of the people here going out to fight a duel. Is any one killed?’

‘Of course, or there wouldn’t be half the interest. He proposes to dress the characters exactly like those in the picture, and, indeed, brought up the costumes from town with him. Your brother, by a coincidence, adopted one – that of a Red Indian. It will do for his second.’

‘Thoroughly French, at any rate, and only for the perfect safety of the thing would be horrible to look at. However, we must do whatever Mr. O’Desmond tells us, for years to come. I shall be too sleepy to be much shocked, that’s one thing. But what are they to fight with? Rapiers?’

‘With foils, which, of course you know, are the same in appearance, only with a button on the end which prevents danger from a thrust.’

‘Wilfred, my boy!’ had said O’Desmond, making a progress through the ball-room on the preceding night, ‘you look in that Huron dress as if you had neglected to scalp an enemy, and were grieving over the omission. Do the ladies know those odd-looking pieces of brown leather on the breast fringe are real scalps? I see they are. You will get no one to dance with you. But my errand is a selfish one. You will make a principal man in that “Duel after the Masquerade” which I have set my heart upon getting up to-morrow.’

‘But in this dress?’

‘My dear fellow, that is the very thing. Curiously, one of the actors in that weird duel scene is dressed as a Huron or Cherokee. You know Indian arms and legends, even names, were fashionable in Paris when Chateaubriand made every one weep with his Atala and Chactas? You could not have been more accurately dressed, and you will lay me under lasting obligation by taking the foils with Argyll, and investing your second with this dress.’

‘With Argyll!’ echoed Wilfred with an accent of surprise.

‘I know he is called the surest fencer in our small world, but I always thought you more than his match. He never, to my mind, liked your thrust in tierce.’

‘You are right,’ said Wilfred. ‘Grisier thought me perfect in that. I shall meet him with pleasure. If only to show him – Bah! I am getting so infected with the spirit of your Masquerade that one would think it a real duel. Command me, however.’

‘A thousand thanks. Not later than three to-morrow afternoon. The ladies will not forgive us if we are not punctual.’

From Wilfred Effingham’s expression of relief one might have thought that he had received good tidings. Yet, what was it after all – what could it lead to? A mock duel; a mere fencing match. What was there to clear his visage and lighten his heart in such a game as this?

A trifle, doubtless. But William Argyll was to be his antagonist. Towards him he had been unconsciously nurturing a causeless resentment, which threatened to drift into hatred. Argyll was sunning himself daily (he thought) in the smiles of Vera Fane, pleased with the position and confident of success. And though she, from time to time, regarded Wilfred with glances of such kindly regard that he was well-nigh tempted to confess his past sins and his present love, he had resolutely kept aloof.

Why should he court repulse, and only be more hopelessly humiliated? Did not all say – could he not see – that Miss Fane was merely waiting for Argyll’s challenge to the citadel of her heart to own its conquest and surrender?

The Benmohr people, who knew something of everything and did not suffer their knowledge to decay for lack of practice, were devoted to fencing. Their lumber-room was half an armoury, holding a great array of foils, wire masks, single-sticks, and boxing-gloves. With these and a little pistol practice the dulness of many a wet afternoon had been enlivened. Perhaps in their trials of skill those with the foils were most popular.

This was Argyll’s favourite pastime. A leading performer with all other weapons, he had a passion for fencing, for which his mountain-born activity pre-eminently fitted him. Effingham, a pupil of the celebrated Grisier, was thought to be nearly, if not quite his match. And more than once Argyll’s hasty temper had blazed out as Wilfred had ‘touched him’ with a succession of rapid hits, or sent the foil from his hand by one of the artifices of the fencing school. Now, however, a trial would be afforded, the issue of which would be final and decisive. To each the requisite notice had been given, and each had accepted the chances of the contest. No one in future would be able to assert that this or that man was the better swordsman.

A larger gathering took place at luncheon than could have been expected. Many were the reasons assigned for the punctuality with which all the ladies showed up. Fred Churbett, indeed, openly declared that the gladiator element was becoming dangerously developed, and that it would be soon necessary to shed blood in good earnest, to enjoy a decent reputation with the ladies of the land.

‘I saw O’Desmond’s people making astounding changes in the anterior of the amphitheatre, Miss Annabel, from my bedroom window this morning. I should not be surprised at the arena being changed to an African forest, with a live giraffe and a Lion Ride, after Freiligrath. Do you remember the doomed giraffe? How

With a roar the lion springsOn her back now. What a race-horse!’

‘I should not be surprised at anything,’ said Annabel. ‘Badajos is becoming an Enchanted Castle. How we shall endure our daily lives again, I can’t think. Every one is going home to-morrow, so perhaps the spell will be broken. Heigh-ho! When are we to be allowed to take our seats? I shall fall asleep if they put it off too long.’

‘At three o’clock precisely the herald’s horn will be blown, and we shall see what we shall see. I hope Argyll will be in a good temper, or terrible things may happen.’

‘What is this about Mr. Argyll’s temper?’ said Miss Fane. ‘Is he so much more ferocious than all the rest of you? I am sure that I have seen nothing of it.’

‘Only my nonsense, Miss Fane,’ said Fred, instantly retreating from his position. ‘The best-hearted, most generous fellow possible. Impetuous and high-spirited, you know. Highlanders and Irishmen – all the world, in fact, except that modern Roman, the Anglo-Saxon – are inclined to be choleric. Ha! there goes the bugle.’

All were ready, indeed impatient, for the commencement. Many acquaintances had indeed ridden out from Yass, and reinforced the spectators. Mr. Rockley had appeared at lunch – scarcely in the best of tempers – and had given vent to his opinion that it was quite time for this foolery to be over. Not that he made this suggestion to O’Desmond personally.

When the entrances were thrown open, and the spectators pressed into their seats with something of the impatience which in days of old seems to have characterised the frequenters of the amphitheatre, a cry of delighted surprise broke from the startled guests.

In order to reproduce the accessories of the imaginary conflict with fidelity of detail, O’Desmond has spared no trouble. The Bois de Boulogne had been simulated by the artifice of transplanting whole trees, especially those which more closely resembled European evergreens. These had been mingled with others stripped of their foliage, by which deciduous deception the illusion of a northern winter was preserved. A coating of milk-white river sand had been strewn over the arena, imparting the appearance of the snow, in which the now historical masqueraders fought their celebrated duel. By filling up the openings left for windows, and excluding the sun from the roof as much as possible, an approach to the dim light proper to a Parisian December morning was produced. As hackney-coaches appeared, one at either end of the arena, and driving in, took their stations under trees, preparatory to permitting their sensational fares to alight, the burst of applause both from those familiar with the original picture, and others who were overcome by the realism of the scene, was tremendous. And when forth stepped from one of the carriages a Red Huron Indian, and with stately steps took up his position as second, to so great and painful a pitch rose the excitement among the ladies that ‘the boldest held’ her ‘breath for a time.’

Pierrot now, with elastic springing gait, moved lightly forward towards his antagonist, a reckless Debardeur, who looked as if he had been dancing a veritable ‘Galop d’Enfer’ before he quitted the ‘Bal d’Opera.’ Each performed an elaborate salute as they took their ground. The seconds measured their swords punctiliously.

As the enthusiasm of the crowd broke forth in remark and exclamation, before the first passes were interchanged, Harry O’Desmond himself made his appearance among the ladies, and took his seat between Rosamond Effingham and Miss Fane, prepared to receive the shower of congratulations at once poured upon him.

‘Yes, I have taken a little trouble; but I am amply repaid, Miss Effingham, if I have succeeded in adding to the amusement of my lady friends. For those I have the honour to address’ – and here the gallant impresario looked as if the lady beside him had but to ask for a Sultan’s circlet, to have it tossed in her lap – ‘what sacrifices would I not make?’

‘Our distinguished host is becoming desperate,’ thought Rosamond. ‘I wonder who she is? I am nearly certain it is Vera Fane. He and the Doctor are great friends. Now I think of it, he said the other day that she was, with one exception, the pearl of the district. Mamma, too, has been hinting at something. A nice lady neighbour at Badajos would be indeed a treasure.’

‘What an exciting piece of sword-play this will be, Mr. O’Desmond,’ she said. ‘One cannot help thinking that there is something real about it. And I have an uneasy feeling that I cannot account for, such as I should call a presentiment, if all were not so perfectly safe. What do you say, Vera?’

‘I say it is a most astonishing picture of a real duel. I ought to enjoy it very much, only that, like you, I feel a depression such as I have never had before. Oh, now they are beginning! Really it is quite a relief.’

‘I must take a foil with the winner,’ said O’Desmond, ‘if you think it is so serious, just to see if I have forgotten my Parisian experiences. It reminds one of the Quartier Latin, and the students’ pipes – long hair and duels – daily matters of course. Ha! a wonderfully quick carte and counter-carte. There is something stirring in the clink of steel, all the world over, is there not, Miss Effingham?’

The pictured scene was accurately reproduced. Each man, with his second, fantastically arrayed. The nearer combatant, in his loose garb, had his sword-arm bared to the elbow, for the greater freedom required with the weapon. Four other men, picturesquely attired, were present. Of these, two stood near to him whose back was towards the part of the theatre where the Effinghams and Miss Fane were sitting.

The contest proceeded with curious similitude to an actual encounter. Attack and defence, feint and challenge, carte, tierce, ripeste, staccato, all the subtle and delicate manœuvres of which the rapier combat is susceptible, had been employed, to the wonder and admiration of the spectators.

It was evident, before they had exchanged a dozen passes, that the men were most evenly matched. Much doubt was expressed as to who would prove the victor.

Latterly, Wilfred, who, with equal tenacity and vigilance, had the cooler head, commenced to show by small but sure signs that he was gaining an advantage. Step by step he drew his antagonist nearer to him, and employing his favourite thrust, after a brilliant parry, touched him several times in succession. At each palpable hit the spectators gave a cheer, which evidently disturbed Argyll’s fiery temperament. He bit his lip, his brow contracted, but no token, excepting these and a burning spot on his cheek, showed the inward conflict. Suddenly he sprang forward with panther-like activity, and for one second Wilfred’s eye and hand were at fault, as, with a lightning lunge, Argyll delivered full upon his adversary’s chest a thrust, so like the real thing that, though the foil (as the spectators imagined) passed outside, the hilt of the mimic weapon rapped sharply, as if he had been run through the body. At the same moment he sank down, and was scarcely saved from falling, while Argyll, impatiently drawing back his weapon, threw it down and turned as if to leave the scene – half urged by his second – as was the successful combatant in the weird picture.

‘Why – how wonderfully our brave combatants have imitated the originals, Mr. O’Desmond?’ said Rosamond, with unfeigned admiration. ‘The Debardeur sinks slowly from the arms of his second to the ground; his sword-point strikes the earth; his comrade and the Capuchin bend over him. They act the confusion of a death-scene well. His antagonist casts down his blood-stained sword – why, it looks red – and hurries from the spot.’