A STORY OF OLD SYDNEY.

Press, Volume LIV, Issue 9668, 5 March 1897, Page 2

A STORY OF OLD SYDNEY.

"Weekly Press and Referee."*

By Jans Ebskink.

_Tie past comes to mc in the night; Old voices in the morning light. My home is in a deep bay in the beautiful haibour of Sydney. My father chose the place for its beauty and its seclusion, when all around was virgin bush and all beyond was water, still and sparkling, as it lies before mc now in the sunshine of this glorious summer day. The dwelling is a long, low cottage, with a wide verandah around three sides, and a wealth of tropical creepers and English roses embowering it. And here in this rosy bower what have I* to tell?

For I am declin'd Into the vale ot years.

It is an old woman's tale of long ago,

I was twelve years old when my mother and I entered Sydney Heads in the good ship .Mermaid, after a six months' voyage from London.

My father came alongside in a rowing boat, took ns from the ship, and landed us in tbis lovely bay.

I was very young when he left us, oh bo sadly, in onr English home. Years passed before my mother was induced to follow him to the wild, unknown shores of Sydney.

"This is your home, Hester," he said to my mother, as he led us from the boat to the house.

"May it be a very happy one," she replied.

" God grant it," was echoed in our hearts, and with this benediction we entered our new home and began our strange life in Australia.

The house was small—it has been added to since—but it was cosy and picturesque. My father had made it as much like home as possible with the small resources at hand, and with the necessary requirements for a hot climate. It was airy, with large windows and deep verandah for shade. The household consisted of two men. They had helped to build the house and plant the garden, and were generally useful and devoted to my father.

One of them, Bonville, whom we always called Bonnie, was a tall, sad looking man, with refined aad delicate features, gentle in

speech and manner, educated and well read, but very taciturn and quiet.

The other man, Joe, had been a sailor — he loved water and boats, and all that -pertained to them. He could handle a craft in a stiff breeze, never lost his head, we were always safe with Joe when there was a good swell and rolling sea coming through the Heads, and the boat running for our sheltered bay. Joe was a curious character, always talking aloud, arguing with himself. He held prolonged conversations with some inner self, usually one accusing, tbe other excusing, as if conscience, at some critical time in his life, had been tardy in pricking or had cot pricked at all, and was therefore constantly reprimanded by Joe for the consequences, which in some way affected our poor Joe very sorrowfully.

Bonnie and Joe were very opposite people, but they lived happily together in a hut built of slabs, near to the house. Bonnie had a great many books, chiefly old classics and histories ancient and modern, neatly arranged on shelves round the walls of the hut. He always carried a book in his pocket, and when opportunity occurred he read aloud.

The harbour was my schoolroom, Bonnie's books my teachers. Every headland, every bay, island, and rock seemed to be peopled with Greek and Roman warriors; the scene around associated with the descriptions I read of ancient cities and mighty battles. I had my castles, my fortresses, my battlefields all represented in my beloved Sydney Harbour, which was all the beautiful world to mc.

It was a quiet home, hidden away for so many years in the bush, in this lovely but very sequestered bay. Now gay steamers bring holiday-makers into our quiet retreat, and they probably look and wonder who lives in this solitary abode. If they only knew all we could tell of life, and death, and love • of the spirits that still hover round and inhabit this little nook and quiet bay, where noble lives were lived, they would know how alive this solitary place is. The lonely place is where the spirit has nothing in common with its surroundings. It may be crowded with men and women but we know them not, they are strangers, farther from us than our spirit friends. And so father and mother, Bonnie, and Joe and the others come to mc now, as I sit in the sunshine looking at the dear bay and its blue water, and the garden where every tree and shrub speaks of them, and every flower speaks of God, the All-Father.

Every morning early father and his men went out to fish—this was recreation and a source of wealth. Money was scarce in those early days of the colony, and our fish was sold or bartered by Joe.

I was their frequent companion in the fishing expeditions, and was taught the art of steering the boat by my father, who was proud of his pupil's attainments, and used to boast that Missey—for so he called me— could handle a boat with great skill.

When the wind was fair we sailed with our fish for Sydney ; Joe carried it on shore, placing the most choice in a separate basket for Government House. Father usually landed and transacted any business he required, while Joe sold or exchanged the fish for necessaries required at home. Bonnie and I stayed in the boat at the landing place, and out of his pocket would come the lesson book. Many a delightful hour we passed, reclining under the awning. On a bright still day does the sun over shine more brightly, or the sky ever look so blue in any part of the world as it does on a clear day in Australia ? The gentle lapping of the water under our keel, and Bonnie's sonorous voice reading .Milton, Byron, Walter Scott—such reading is not heard or known in these busy days. Modern novels, magazines, illustrated papers, occupy all the reading time of most people. How privilieged I was. My schoolroom out in the open, God's beautiful world around mc, fresh air to. breathe; rocks, trees and water everywhere; my lessons so charmingly realistic; my mind stored with the grand and great thoughts of the early writers in this wonderful nineteenth century.

I had no companionship or society except that of my father's strangely composed household. I had never landed in Sydney and had only seen it from tbe water as we sailed, or from the boat lying'at the landing place, then called The Rocks. Father and Bonnie, by books and conversation, had taught mc their philosophy, and Isaw*the world through their spectacles, and I was content and happy. Sol grew to young womanhood.

Is it strange that I have left all that the English home and its surroundings offer to mc, to end my days in the sunshine and beauty of my beloved Australian home, and to gather with my latest perceptions the inspirations that first awoke my soul ?

During these years my dear mother seemed to droop and to fade. Her beautiful spirit, grew, and expanded, and shed a sweetness, almost a glory all around ; but the body that contained the unfolding spirit visibly faded. Such developments are not uncommon in the history of human life.

One memorable day stands out clear and distinct in these early recollections.

It was a hot bright morning; all nature seemed smiling, calm and peaceful. I was reading "Paradise Lost" aloud to my mother, who was reclining in a low chair on the verandah. My father had gone in the boat with Joe to Sydney, to bring someone to help mc to nurse mother. Bonnie was weeding a small bed of roses at the edge of the verandah, occasionally • stopping to explain or correct my reading. A more peaceful scene can scarcely be imagined. I looked up from my book and felt the inspiration of nature, the bright sun, the blue sky, the clear atmosphere, the still water in the bay lapping gently on the shore, the rocks so picturesquely coloured and shaped, a feature so beautiful in every bay and headland in Sydney Harbour, the heaths and wild Sowers, the bright-leaved shrubs, every bough, and stem, and twig standing out clearly in relief in the sunshine and brilliant blue of the sky. My happy young spirit was in harmony with nature's mood that day. But as a storm suddenly changes the face of nature so was our peaceful happy day quickly turned to one of sorrow and dismay.

A man on horse-back appeared on the opposite - shore. He beckoned and made signs that he wished to communicate with us as speedily as possible. Our small boat was lying on the beach, where Joe had been newly painting it before he had. started for Sydney with father in the cutter. Bonnie lost no time in pulling across. Mother and I watched him, and the excited stranger parleying and gesticulating oh the shore. Then Bonnie and he unsaddled the horse, entered the boat, and returned to us. As they walked up the little incline through the garden, from the shore to. the cottage, I noticed they were still talking excitedly ; and, turning to my mother, I saw she was very pale and agitated.

As they drew near Bonnie said'" Madam,' so he always called mother, " it is with very great reluctance I have brought this man to disturb you, but he has something important to say, and I beg you to hear him, and if you can, forgive, and consent to the plan he proposes. Speak for yourself man," turning to him.

The stranger was trembling with fear and emotion. My mother shaded her sweet face with her hands as if she could not bear to

look at him, and said softly " speak.' Bonnie said, " Shall Missey retire." Mother replied, "No, she is old enough now to know our life's secret and sorrow ; has this man come to make the wrong right ? No other pretext could he have for forcing himself upon us—speak, man, and tell the truth to those who have bitterly suffered your untruth."

He replied : " I have no time to lose, and yet I find it hard to speak. lam running a desperate race ; playing a dangerous game ; wishing to make that wrong right. It was the cause of my committing a more deadly crime for which I am now suffering the penalty. I was transported for life to this country • if I can get back to England I can prove the wrong I did your hus--band. Since I met him in Sydney I have been haunted with remorse for the false swearing that implicated him. I have at last formed a scheme to escape, with the one object of proving your husband an innocent man. This I can and will do, and then thankfully give myself up and return in chains. My life now is hell on earth. Aid mc lady I beg, aid mc, for the sake of your child, I ask no mercy for myself. The remembrance of your sorrowful face, the look you gave mc on that day when I swore he was guilty has never left mc. I have dreamed of it at night, it has burned into my brain by day, my meat and my drink have been embittered, and verily my life ha 3 become a hell." "Your scheme! What is it?" said mother. " My death is announced in this morning's Herald, an effigy of my body is laid out, and on view at my house in George Street. People are invited into.the dark chamber to set Tine, lying there dressed for the grave, il'iave trusty friends, and they have arranged all, and the funeral to-morrow. I am believed to be a dead man. There is a barque, bound for England, beating up the harbour; if I can be put on board at the Heads, lam safe. If I can get outside that gaol wall," he said loudly, and shaking his trembling fist at the Heads, " I shall be safe to arrive in due time, where I can prove the truth, and make atonement for the deep wrong 1 have done."

He was weak, and trembling violently with emotion, which also overcame us all. Then my mother found words, and said quietly, " Can it be done, Bonnie ?"

" It will be a risk," replied Bonnie, " but one well worth running."

" What do you propose?"

"That I, with Missey's help to steer the boat, take him to the Heads and wait the ship there," said Bonnie.

It was a still, calm day, with a very gentle fair wind blowing. The barque was slowly sailing towards the Heads as we emerged in our little boat from the bay. The captain evidently expected us, and with little difficulty, and no enquiries, our passenger was soon on board.

When my father returned that evening from Sydney, bringing with him Hetty Davis, he found mother .in a strangely nervous and excited condition. It had been decided between us that father should not be told tho strange adventure of the day. That night the Angel of Life and the Angel Death entered our. home. A baby boy came, my beloved mother went. The following days and weeks were a blank in my life. It seemed as if the sun had gone arid we were left bewildered, groping about in the darkness. Ah, this beautiful world, sometimes ifc is all gladness and sunshine, and heaven itself lies not far off; and then it changes suddenly and is dark and sorrowful, and clouds shut out the light. ■ - .

/ liature has. been my playfellow and my ; teacher in a solitary chttdhood," rib# she refused to bo my comforter. A sense of the indifference of nature lay heavy upon mc. The aun seemed to mock mc with its brightness. I hated to look at the smiling earth and the water that had always made mc want to dance in unison. All now so joyous, and I so sad. ; ni. Where did you come from baby'dear 7 Out of the everywhere into here. But how did you come to us you dear ? , God thought about you and so I am here. After some weeks I suddenly awoke to realities when Betty Davis placed the "baby brother in my arms. The warm, nestling, helpless little child appealed to my human heart. My first comfort came from a divine call to love; and then nature smiled for mc once more. The sun peeped from under the cloud, I could look at my lost Paradise again, at the beautiful solitudes of nature

with all her wealth of sunshine and flower 3, rocks, trees and restless sea dancing under artd refreshing the blue sky as in a mirror.

It all happened so* many years ago, and yet now, when I, an old woman, look out on this' glorious bay, shining as of yore, I remember the inspiration of that hour when the helpless babe awoke my grief-stricken heart to life and love. My father, at all times a sad and impenetrable.man, was now more so than ever. He evidently liked my companionship and sought my society ; but we wandered about together in silence. He seldom spoke, but there was an unmistakable sympathy between us and we were happier in being near each other.

The wee boy grew and became the pet of the house, Hetty Davis was his devoted nurse, and Joe the patient and willing slave of both.

A year after my mother died a letter came to my father which surprised him, and was the cause of a great change in our life. Bonnie and I were with him in the boat when.,he opened the letter—-"From a man," he said, '.'whom I saw lying dead in George street, Sydney, and he writes to mc from Carlisle, England," and, " Oh Bonnie— Missey—ray child—if your mother were only alive to-day 1 He has proved my innocence. God be.thanked.! She, oh she never wanted proof, she knew I was an innocent man. Bonnie, what shall I do? Can it be true, as this man writes, that you and Missey put him on board a ship at the Heads, that very day, when I, passing his shop in George street, was invited to see his dead body? And I saw it there. And I forgave him then all-the bitter wrong he" had done. Mine enemy lying low, as I believed, and his spirit in the presence of a just God. I came home and told her I was able to forgive. And she left mc only a few hours later, and I was glad her gentle spirit knew I would forgive. And now—it bewilders mc to think of it—all the world shall know I am innocent—hear it, my girl, hear it. I have suffered unjustly, but there is justice in heaven and on earth."

I -had never seen my father so deeply moved before. His words and the expression of his face made mc tremble, and tears were in Bonnie's eyes. I realised now all the sorrow and suffering that my mother had shared when I was a merry child. I understood the reason for our quiet solitary life in this sweet, deep bay in Sydney Harbour where my mother and I were sheltered from the cruel .world. I knew now the cause of her gently fading ; away. The sorrow had been too heavy a burden for her to bear when other hardens came. And this was the world and its surroundings for mc.. This, the story of the life into which I was born. Is it after all an easy matter to wear away the life or the liberty of our fellow man? And what more, crushing them to suffer, the innocent for the guilty, the just for the unjust? The mystery of is

filled my young spirit with wonder and sadness.

Another letter had to be opene-1; this was from my aged grandfather. He had believed my father guilty, and now no word > could express his remorse when his son's innocence had been proved, he, in his turn begged my father's forgiveness. A note closened from the family lawyer told my father that the emotion, caused by the news being too abruptly spoken, had given my grandfather a shock from which he never recovered, and that- now the estate was waiting my father's arrival and possession. That night I lay sleepless, listening to my father's footsteps as he walked his room, and wondering at all tbe great changes that now must come to us.

In the morning father told us what he had resolved. He and I were to go to England as soon as possible. The baby boy was too young for so long a voyage. Joe and Hetty were to be married and stay with the child. "Bonnie, what do you intend to do?" said my father."

" Wait here until you aud Missey come back." Poor Bonnie, he "waited here," but we came back too late. Hetty and Joe told us "he never held up his head after the master and missey left." They tended him carefully until a few weeks before the end, when he decided to go to the hospital, and there our faithful Bonnie and his sorrows found rest. Joe and Hetty had their sad histories too ; they were drawn together by a bond of mutual sympathy and suffering.

Hetty's tale is written in Adam Bede, and those who have felt interest —and they are many—in George Eliott's Hetty, may think of her, after all her desolate troubles, surrounded by loving hearts, in one of the most charming places in God's beautiful world, Deep Bay in Sydney Harbour.

My father and I reached England safely after a long voyage in an old-fashioned sailing ship. Those voyages were monotonous, but much more quiet and comfortable than in the modern steamer. But the world is noisy and in a hurry now.

My strange education was to be finished by observation in travel and by mixing with the society of men and women. In England we saw many old friends and received warm congratulations, none more hearty than from the judge who had tried father. Father never settled in the Old Country, he longed for the warmth and sunshine of our Sydney home. He and 1 returned, leaving the boy, who had joined us in England, to be educated. With some difference we resumed our old life, we were more sociable and enjoyed the visits of friends, and I stayed in Sydney and have become as fond of the dear old city as I am of its glorious harbour.

Beforo my father died my brother returned to us, and father had the pleasure of hearing him make his maiden speech in the Legislative Assembly, where he was for many years a useful member.

I am an old woman now, and many I have loved are gone from earth, but with all losses I never lose my love and delight in this sweet home in Sydney Harbour, where the love and worship of nature was so early implanted in mc, and whence I hope to go *• from Nature up to Nature's God."