Babes in the Bush

‘I am not so imaginative as to expect to live on mountains and sunsets, and I must confess it will take me a long time to become accustomed to the want of nearly all the pleasures of life, but I suppose I shall manage to bear up my share of the family burdens.’

‘You have always done so hitherto, my dear,’ said Mrs. Effingham; ‘but you are not fond of putting forward your good deeds – hardly sufficiently so, as I tell you.’

‘Some one has run away with Beatrice’s share of vanity,’ said Rosamond. ‘But we must not stay talking all the morning. I am chief butler, and shall have to be chief baker too, perhaps, some day. I must break up the meeting, as every one has apparently breakfasted.’

‘And I must have a serious business conversation with your father and Wilfred,’ said Mr. Sternworth. ‘Where is the study – the library, I mean? Not furnished yet! Well, suppose we adjourn to the ex-drawing-room. It’s a spacious apartment, where the late tenant, a practical man, used to store his maize. There is a deal table, for I put it there myself. Guy, you may as well ask Dick Evans to show you the most likely place for wild-fowl. Better bring chairs, Wilfred. We are going to have a “sederunt,” as they say in Scotland.’

CHAPTER IV

MR HENRY O’DESMOND OF BADAJOS

‘Now, Howard, my young friend!’ said the worthy man, as they settled themselves at a small table, near a noble mantelpiece of Australian gray marble, curiously marked with the imprints of the fossil encrinite, ‘I address you as I used to do in our army days, for, with regard to money matters, I feel sure you are as young as ever. In the first place, I must render an account of my stewardship. Observe, here is the conveyance to you and your heirs for ever of the estate of Warbrok, a Crown grant to Colonel Rupert Falkland Warleigh, late of Her Majesty’s 80th Regiment, dated as far back as 1805, comprising 5174 acres, 1 rood, 3 perches, by him devised in equal shares to his sons – Randal, Clement, and Hubert. It was not entailed, as were most of the early grants. They fell away from the traditions of the family, and lived reckless, dissipated lives. Their education was neglected – perhaps not the best example exhibited to them by the old Colonel – he was always a gentleman though – what wonder the poor boys went wrong? They came to be called the “Wild Warleighs of Warbrok.” At last the end came. Hopelessly in debt, they were forced to sell. Here are their signatures, duly attested. Your purchase money, at the rate of 10s. per acre – a low price, but ready money was very scarce in the colony at the time – amounted to £2587:5s., mentioned as the consideration. Out of your draft for £3000 remained, therefore, £412:15s.; expenses and necessary farm work done, with wages to Dick Evans and his wife, have amounted to £62:7s. This includes the ploughing and sowing of a paddock – a field you would call it – of 20 acres of wheat, as the season had to be availed of. I hand you a deposit receipt for £350:8s., lodged to your credit in the Bank of New Holland, at Yass, where I advise you to place the rest of your capital, and I thereby wash my hands of you, pecuniarily, for the present.’

‘My dear old friend,’ said Effingham, ‘it is not for the first time that you have pulled me through a difficulty, though never before did we face one like this. But how comes it that I have money to receive? I thought the draft of £3000 would barely suffice to pay for the estate.’

‘You must know that I transacted this piece of business through a solicitor, a shrewd man of business, who kept my counsel, making no sign until the property was put up to auction. The terms being cash, he had a decided advantage, and it was not known until after the sale, for whom he had purchased. So the Warleighs having retired, we must see what the Effinghams will make of it.’

‘There will be no riotous living, at any rate,’ said Wilfred; ‘and now, as you have done with the Governor, please advise me as to our future course. I am the duly-appointed overseer – I believe that is the proper title – and intend to begin work this very day.’

‘Couldn’t do better. We may as well call Dick Evans into council. He was hired by me at 18s. per week, with board and lodging. For this wage he engaged to give his own and wife’s services, also those of his team and waggon. The wages are under the ordinary rate, but he explained that his horses would get fat here, and that he liked being employed on a place like Warbrok, and under an ex-officer in Her Majesty’s service. I should continue the engagement for a few months, at all events; you will find him most useful.’

‘Up to this time he has been simply perfect,’ said Wilfred. ‘It’s a pleasure to look at such an active worker – so respectful, too, in his manner.’

‘Our experience of the Light Infantry man, Howard,’ said Mr. Sternworth, ‘must prevent us from fully endorsing Wilfred’s opinion, but Dick Evans is a good man; at all country work better, indeed, than most of his class. Let us hear what he says.’

Probably anticipating some such summons he was not far off, having returned from showing Guy a flock of wild-fowl. He walked into the room and, saluting, stood at ease, as if such a thing as a chair had never been by him encountered in the whole course of existence.

‘Corporal Evans! – pshaw! that is, Dick,’ said the worthy ex-military priest, ‘I have sent for you to speak to Captain Effingham, and Mr. Wilfred, who is to be farm manager and stock overseer. I have told them that you are the very man for the place, when you behave yourself.’ Here the keen grey eyes looked somewhat sternly at Mr. Evans, who put on a look of mild surprise. ‘Are you willing to hire for six months at the same rate of wages, with two rations, at which I engaged you? You will work your team, I know, reasonably; and Mrs. Evans will wash and help the ladies in any way she can?’

‘Well, Mr. Chaplain, the wages is not too high,’ replied Evans, ‘but I like the place, and my horses knows the run, and does well here. You know I like to serve a gentleman, ’specially one that’s been in the service. I’ll stay on at the same rate for six months.’

‘Well, that’s settled. Now, let us have a talk about requirements. How to use the grass to the best advantage?’

‘There’s no better place in the country-side for dairying,’ said Dick, addressing himself to his clerical employer, as alone capable of understanding the bearings of the case; ‘it’s a wonderful fine season, and there’s a deal of grass going to waste. There’s stray cattle between here and the other end of the lake as will want nothing better than to clear it all off, as they’re used to do, if we’re soft enough to let ’em. Many a good pick they’ve had over these Warbrok flats, and they naturally looks for it again, ’specially as there’s a new gentleman come as don’t know the ways of the country. Now, what I should do, if I was the master, would be to buy two or three hundred mixed cattle – there’s a plenty for sale just now about Yass – and start a dairy. We might make as much butter between now and Christmas as would pay middlin’ well, and keep other people’s cattle from coming on the place and eating us out of house and home, in a manner of speakin’.’

‘Good idea, Richard,’ said Mr. Sternworth; ‘but how about the yard and cowshed? It’s nearly all down, and half-rotten. Mr. Effingham doesn’t want to engage fencers and splitters, and have all the country coming here for employment.’

‘There’s no call for that, sir,’ said the many-sided veteran. ‘I had a look at the yard this morning. If I had a man to help me for a fortnight I’ll be bound to make it cattle-proof with a load of posts and rails, that I could run out myself, only we want a maul and wedges.’

‘I’ll be your man,’ said Wilfred, ‘if that’s all that’s necessary. I may as well learn a trade without delay. Andrew can help, too, I daresay.’

‘He’s not much account,’ quoth Dick disdainfully. ‘He thinks he knows too much already. These new hands – no offence to you, sir – is more in the way than anything else. But if you’ll buckle to, sir, we’ll soon make a show.’

‘I know a stock agent who can get the exact cattle you want,’ said Mr. Sternworth. ‘He told me that Mr. O’Desmond had a hundred young cows and heifers for sale. They are known to be a fine breed of cattle.’

‘The best in the country,’ said Dick. ‘Old Harry O’Desmond never had any but right down good horses, cattle, and sheep at Badajos, and if we give a little more for them at the start it will be money saved in the end. He’s the man to give us an extra good pick, when he knows they’re for an officer and a gentleman.’

‘Our friend Richard has aristocratic notions, you observe,’ said the parson, smiling. ‘But Harry O’Desmond is just the man to act as he says. You will do well to treat with him.’

‘Only too happy,’ said Effingham. ‘Everything arranges itself with surprising ease, with your aid. Is this kind of settling made easy to go on for ever? It was almost a pity we took the voyage at all. You might have made our fortunes, it seems to me, as a form of recreation, and left us to receive the profits in England.’

‘And how am I to be paid, you heedless voluptuary, may I ask, if not by the presence of your charming family? Since I’ve seen them I wouldn’t have had the colony lose them for twice the value of the investment. Besides, seriously, if the seasons change or a decline takes place in the stock market you’ll need all your brains and Wilfred’s to keep the ship afloat. Never lose sight of the fact that this is an uncertain land, with a more uncertain climate.’

‘It’s all right if you don’t overstock, sir,’ spoke the practical Richard. ‘But Mr. Sternworth’s right. I mind the ’27 drought well. We was forced to live upon kangaroo soup, rice, and maize meal, with marshmallers and “fat hen” for a little salad. But they say the climate’s changed like, and myster than it used to be.’

‘Climates never change in their normal conditions,’ said Sternworth positively. ‘Any assertion to the contrary is absurd. What has been will be again. Let us make such provision as we can against droughts and other disasters, and leave the rest to Providence, which has favoured this land and its inhabitants so far.’

‘The fences seem dilapidated. Ought they not to be repaired at once?’ said Wilfred.

‘By degrees, all in good time,’ said the old gentleman testily. ‘We must not go deeply into “improvements,” as they are called here, lest they run away with our money at the commencement of affairs. Dick will explain to you that the cattle can be kept in bounds without fencing for a time. And now I feel half a farmer and half an exhausted parson. So I think I must refresh myself with another look at the lady part of the establishment, have a mouthful of lunch, and start for home.’

‘It’s a murder you didn’t take to farming, sir, like Parson Rocker,’ said Dick, with sincere regret in his tones. ‘You’d ha’ showed ’em whether sojer officers can’t make money, though the folks here don’t think so.’

‘I have my own work, Richard,’ said the old gentlemen. ‘It may be that there is occasionally rather more of the church militant about me than is prudent. But the town and neighbourhood of Yass will be the better for old Harley Sternworth’s labours before we say farewell to one another.’

‘I can now leave you all with perfect confidence,’ he said after lunch, as Dick Evans brought Roanoke and the dogcart to the door. ‘The next time I come I must bring an old friend to pay his respects, but that will not be till the furniture has arrived. I foresee you will make astonishing changes, and turn The Chase into the show mansion of the district. I must bring you some of my “Souvenirs de Malmaison” and “Madame Charles.” “The Cloth of Gold” and others I see you have. I am prouder of my roses than of my sermons, I think. I don’t know which require most care in pruning. Good-bye, my dear friends!’

The roan tossed his head, and set off at such a pace along the grass-grown track which led to the main ‘down the country’ road, as the highway from Yass to Sydney was provincially termed, that it was easy to see he had been making a calculation as to the homeward route. The girls looked after the fast-receding vehicle for a while before recommencing their household tasks. Howard Effingham and his wife walked to and fro along the pleasant sun-protected colonnade of the south verandah. When they separated, little had been said which was free from praise of their tried friend, or from thankfulness to the Almighty Disposer of events, who had shown them His mercy in the day of need.

This eventful colloquy concluded, settled daily employment commenced for all the denizens of The Chase. They rose early, and each one attended to the duties allotted by special arrangement. Breakfast over, Wilfred shouldered an axe and marched off with Dick Evans to some forest tree, to be converted into posts and rails for the fast-recovering dairy-yard.

Andrew had betaken himself to the renovation of the orchard and garden with grateful persistence, as he recalled his earlier feats at the English home of the family, duly thankful for the opportunity of exercising his energies in a direction wherein he could show himself capable.

‘It’s gra-and soil,’ he was pleased to observe, ‘and I hae nae doot whatever that I shall be able to grow maist unco-omon vegetables, gin I had some food – that is, manure – to gie the puir things. The trees are sair negleckit and disjaskit, but they’ll come round wi’ care and the knife. The spring is a thocht advanced, as that auld carle Evans has gi’en me to understand. I winna say he’s no auld farrand wi’ a’ the “bush” ways, as they ca’ them, but he’s an awfu’ slave o’ Satan wi’ his tongue – just fearsome. But gin ye’ll put me a fence round this bit park, Maister Wilfred, I’ll show yon folks here that auld Andrew Cargill can grow prize kail in baith hemispheres.’

‘We are going to split some palings before we are done,’ said Wilfred, smiling at the old man’s rounding off of his sentence. ‘Then we’ll pull this old fence down and take in more ground, so that you may exercise your landscape gardening talent.’

‘This bit garden will keep my body employed and my thochts frae unprofitable wanderings, brawly, during this season o’ inexperience. Ye see, Maister Wilfred, it wadna become me, as a pairson o’ reflection, to da-ash presumptuously into a’ matters o’ practice, but they canna haud me to obsairve and gather up the ootcome of thae bush maitters, and bide my time a wee, till the day comes when I can take my place at the laird’s right hand ance mair.’

‘No one will be better pleased than I shall be, Andrew,’ said Wilfred, heartily grasping the hand of his faithful servitor. ‘I’ll no deny that he kens maist things befitting a dweller in the wilderness. The de’il’s aye guid at gifts to his ain folk. But, wae’s me, he’s lightsome and profane abune a’ belief.’

The great event of the year, after all, was the arrival of the drays with the heavy luggage and the furniture reserved from sale.

Joy and thankfulness all too deep for words greeted the welcome wains, promptly unladen, and their inestimable contents brought into the shelter of the wide verandah before unpacking.

‘I never could have believed,’ said Mrs. Effingham, ‘that anything in Australia could have had the power to afford me so much pleasure. The refurnishing of our house at The Chase never produced half such pleasure as I now feel at the prospect of seeing the old tables and chairs, the sideboard, and my dear old davenport again.’

‘And the piano!’ cried Annabel. ‘What a luxury to us, who have been tuneless and songless all these months! Even the morning “scales” would have been better than nothing. I shall really go in for steady practising – I know I never did before. There is nothing like being starved a little.’

‘Starving seems to agree with you in a bodily sense,’ said Rosamond, ‘if I may judge from certain alterations of dresses. But you are right in believing that it gives a wonderful relish for mental food. Look at these two lovely boxes of books. The library was sold, but here are many of our old favourites. How I shall enjoy seeing their faces again!’

‘I am certain Jeanie must have stolen a quantity of things after the sale,’ asserted Beatrice, who had been examining the externals of the packages; ‘bedding and curtains, and every kind of thing likely to be useful. I expect my room will be so like the one at the old Chase that I shall never find out the difference of a morning, till I go downstairs and see the verandahs.’

‘There are no verandahs in England,’ said Guy, who was one of the ‘fatigue party,’ as Dick expressed it. ‘They ought to take a hint from the colonies – stunning places they make on a wet day, or a hot one, I can tell you.’

‘Where shall we tek this sideboard, mem?’ said Dick Evans, with his ultra-respectful, family-servant intonation.

‘Into the dining-room, of course,’ screamed the delighted Annabel. ‘Why, every room in the house will be furnished more or less; it will be quite a palace.’

Willing hands abounded, Mr. Evans in person superintending the opening of the cases, taking care to draw nails in order to fit the boards for future usefulness, so that, very shortly, the whole English shipment was transferred to its final Australian resting-place.

Robinson Crusoe, when he had made the last successful raft-passage and transhipment from the Guinea trader before she went down, could not have been more grateful than our deported friends when the litter and the cases and Dick and Andrew were cleared off, and they were free to gloat over their precious property.

How different the rooms looked! There was an air of comfort and refinement about the well-preserved furniture which was inexpressibly comforting to the ex-dwellers in tents. The large rooms looked perhaps a shade too bare, but in warm climates an Indian non-obtrusion of upholstering is thought becoming. The well-remembered tones of the piano, which glorified an unoccupied corner of the drawing-room, echoed through that spacious apartment, now provided with a carpet almost as good as new, which Jeanie’s provident care had abstracted from the schoolroom at The Chase. The dear old round table was there, ‘out of mother’s morning-room; the engravings from father’s study, particularly those favourite ones of “The fighting Temeraire” and “Talavera” – all were here. When the climbers grew up over the verandah pillars, shading the front windows with the purple masses of the wistaria, there might be a prettier room in Sydney, but in the bush they were sure it was unsurpassed.’

Nor were Andrew and Jeanie devoid of personal interest in the arrival of the treasure-waggons. Certain garden tools and agricultural implements, dear to Andrew’s practical soul, now gladdened his eyes, also a collection of carefully packed seeds. Besides all these, a rigorously select list of necessaries in good order and preservation, once the pride of his snug cottage, came to hand. For days after this arrival of the Lares and Penates, the work of rearrangement proceeded unceasingly. Mrs. Effingham and Rosamond placed and replaced each article in every conceivable position. Annabel played and sang unremittingly. Jeanie rubbed and polished, with such anxious solicitude, that table and chair, wardrobe and sideboard, shone like new mahogany. Beatrice had possessed herself of the bookcase, and after her morning share of housekeeping work was performed, read, save at dinner, without stopping until it was time to go for that evening walk which the sisters never omitted.

Once it fell upon a day that a gentleman rode up in leisurely fashion towards the entrance gate. He was descried before he came within a hundred yards, and some trepidation ensued while the question was considered as to who should take his horse, and how that valuable animal should be provided for.

Mr. Effingham, Guy, and Wilfred were away at the stock-yard, which by this time was reported to be nearly in a state of efficiency. Andrew had disappeared temporarily. The gentleman, for such plainly was his rank, was a stalwart, distinguished-looking personage, sitting squarely, and with something of military pose in his saddle. He was mounted upon a handsome, carefully-groomed hackney. He reined up at the dilapidated garden fence, and after looking about and seeing no appearance of an entrance gate, as indeed that portal had been long blocked up by rails, gathered up his reins, and clearing the two-railed fence with practised ease, rode along the grass-grown path to the front door of the house. At the same moment Dick Evans, who had just arrived with a load of palings, appeared from the rear, and took his horse.

The stranger briskly dismounted, and knocked at the hall door with the air of a man who was thoroughly acquainted with the locale. He bowed low to Mrs. Effingham who opened it.

‘Permit me to make myself known as Henry O’Desmond, one of your neighbours, my dear madam,’ said he, with the high-bred air of a man of the world of fashion, who possesses also the advantage of being an Irishman. ‘I presume I am addressing Mrs. Effingham. I have anticipated the proper time for paying my respects; but there has been a matter of business named by my agent, in which I hope to be able to serve Captain Effingham. He is quite well, I trust?’

Mrs. Effingham explained that her husband had been perfectly well that morning; furthermore, if Mr. O’Desmond would give them the pleasure of his company to lunch, he would be enabled to make his acquaintance.

That gentleman bowed with an air of heartfelt gratitude, and asserted that it would give him the sincerest gratification to have such an opportunity of meeting Captain Effingham, to which he had looked forward, since hearing of the good fortune that was about to befall the district, from his respected friend the Rev. Mr. Sternworth.

Being introduced to the young ladies, Mr. O’Desmond, a handsome, well-preserved man, promptly demonstrated that he was capable of entertaining himself and them until his host should think fit to arrive. Indeed, when Mrs. Effingham, who had left the room for reasons connected with the repast, returned, having captured her husband, and superintended his toilet, she found her daughters and their guest considerably advanced in acquaintance.

‘Oh, papa,’ said Annabel, ‘Mr. O’Desmond says there’s such a lovely view about ten miles from here – a ravine full of ferns, actually full of them; and a waterfall – a real one! It is called Fern-tree Gorge; and he has invited us all to a picnic there some day.’

‘Very happy to make Mr. O’Desmond’s acquaintance,’ said Effingham, advancing with a recollection of old days strong upon him. ‘We are hardly aware yet in what consists the proper proportion of work and play in Australia; and in how much of the latter struggling colonists can indulge. We shall be very grateful for information on the subject.’

‘And right welcome you are, my dear sir, to both, especially to the latter. They’ll tell you that Harry O’Desmond is not unacquainted with work during the twenty years he has spent in this wild country. But for fun and recreation he’ll turn his back on no man living.’

‘Here is my lieutenant, and eldest son; permit me to introduce him. He is burning to distinguish himself in the practical line.’

‘Then he couldn’t have a better drill instructor than my old acquaintance, Dick Evans – wonderfully clever in all bush work, and scrupulous after his own fashion. But, see here now, I came partly to talk about cows, till the young ladies put business clean out of my head. I’m told you want to buy cattle, Mr. Wilfred; if you’ll mount your horse and take old Dick with you to-morrow morning, he’ll show you the way to Badajos, and I’ll pick you the best hundred cows this day in the country.’

This was held to be an excellent arrangement, and lunch being now proclaimed, a temporary cessation of all but society talk took place. Every one being in the highest spirits, it was quite a brilliant symposium. It was a novel luxury to be again in the society of a pleasant stranger, well read, travelled, and constitutionally agreeable. O’Desmond sketched with humour and spirit the characteristic points of their nearest neighbours; slightly satirised the local celebrities in their chief town of Yass; and finally departed, having earned for himself the reputation of an agreeable, well-bred personage; a perfect miracle of a neighbour, when ill-hap might have made him equally near and unchangeably disagreeable.