Dan.

New Zealand Mail, 3 December 1896, Page 10

Dan.

BY C.B. (Specially written for the New Zealand Mail.) SO old Dan is going to be married.’ ‘ What ?’ ‘ Old Dan—Dan Barnes, is going to be married.’ ‘ Who’s she ?’ ‘ Can’t you guess ?’ * Not Mercy Jones ?’ * You’re right.’ * Well, I never, just think of old Dan spliced to Mercy. Why he’s oldenough to he her father.’ > ‘Not a bit of it. Dan’s a young and hale man yet; though he’s over forty ; and Mercy is a steady lass, though she is only half his age.’ '‘ By all that’s lovely, I never thought she’d have him. I thought there must be something up, he has been in so often lately. He never came in from that old shanty of his until the last two or three months, but I never thought it was Mercy Jones.’ ‘Where were your eyes? After Betty Jordan ?’

‘ What’s that to you ?’ ‘ Nothing, my boy, nothing. You can have her. (Sotto voce). Carrots in soup is enough for me.’ ‘ We’ll give Dan a good send off when it comes off. When is it to be ?’

‘ Sunday, 1 believe.’ * That’s sharp.’ ' ‘ Well, you must think of the parson; he’s not often round.’

‘ Let’s get some of the other boys to go out and fix the old whare up.’ ‘ Right you are. I hear the wedding is to be in the evening. We might go out in the afternoon and be back in time.’ * Good. I’ll muster the boys.’ So the wedding was hurried up. All the women on the station, and there were not many of them, for it was far up country and out of the way, set to work to make the bride ready. The men did ditto for the bridegroom, but in a different way. His clothes did not matter much, but hers were the all-important part of the performance. As luck would have it there was a ‘ missus ’ at the head station and from her wardrobe something could be culled to deck the maiden out. We won’t go beyond the outward seeming, for nearly all she wore underneath was her own. With Jane’s skirt, Mary’s cuffs and collar, a blouse, &c. of the Missus’s, and ribbons from all quarters, Mercy was likely to be as swell a bride as had been turned out in that part of the world for many a long day. Dan Barnes was a shepherd whose hut —a room and a half and a lean-to —was situated right at the back of the run, in a picturesque valley at the foot of some high hills, clad with primceval bush which the civilising, bub picture-destroying, fire had not yet gone through. A fern-framed stream ran close past the hut. The men took the Sunday afternoon off to go and make things square out there. They rigged a sorb of double bed up in the half-room — half-room because the other half was the back of the living-room chimney. They gathered in a lot of firewood ; they stuffed up the broken panes in one of the windows with rag and anything else that came handy. There were only two windows to look after. What did the lean-to want with a window when you could open the back door and let the light in that way ? and if it rained from that quarter, the front door ; and you could see your hand at all events, which was saying a great deal. One knowing hand begged or ‘ bagged ’ a cock and couple of hens from the head station, and turned them loose to thrive and become the parents of a prosperous family. They tidied things up generally, and then went home rejoicing. The wedding camo off that evening, for the parson had to be off again at daylight to fetch his next stopping place. One hand turned up an old black coat and lent it to Dan. Dan was a short and thickset old boy, and the coat had been made for a long, thin man. It split down the back and under the arms a bit, but as long as Dan kept quiet that was all right. He wore riding breeches and boots, for he and his bride would have to ride home after the ceremony, and he had on a comparatively clean shirt. The attendant hands blacked or oiled their boots and brushed each other down with a harnessbrush to do honour to the Boss’ drawingroom, whero the ceremony was performed. The parson came in in his travelling surplice, which was rather crumpled from constant packing in a small valise. The ceremony went on all right till it came to the question, ‘Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together according to God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony ?’ Crack!

Master of the house, to himself (he was giving the bride away) -. ‘ That’s ons of those infernal youngsters snapping caps.’ Owner of Dan’s temporary coat: ‘Damn.’ Parson: ‘Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her in sickness and in health ’ Crack! '

Owner of that coat: ‘Oh, Lord !’ The master of the house looked at his wife, then turned his eyes towards the door and nodded as if to implore her to go out and stop those youngsters. She only shook her head. Dan’s back was towards her, and she could see that unfortunate coat- opening wider and wider down the back with spasmodic cracks. Parson : ‘ And, forsaking all other, keep thee only to her, so long as ye both shall live ?’ '

Dan: ‘I will, sir, indeed IJwill. Here, Bill, take this blooming coat; I can’t stand it any longer/

bah vreht through the rest of the cereBkmjr in his shirt-sleeves. Dan and his wife went home that night and started their married life happy and contented, determined to make the best of it, Dan was out all day looking after the sheep. Sometimes he got back to al2 o’clock dinner to meet a cheerful face, a tidy room and a plate or two of good whole some grub, which in his bachelor days he was not accustomed to. At first it was rather lonely for Mercy, but Mercy’s heart was big, and she threw what she could spare of it from Dan into making Dan s little home bright and cheery. Some of the boys came out on a Sunday afternoon or two, and fenced in a small piece of ground for her which she turned into a garden where hardy flowers of all colours bloomed and spread a pleasant fragrance round. It was a pretty, peaceful picture to see —Mercy standing at the front door watching for Dan’s return of an evening. It had been a dry winter, followed by a dry and windy spring, and Mercy had had to water her flowers with water carried from the creek near at hand. There were marks on the trunks of some of the trees which tradition said were caused by an old flood, but no hand now on the run ever remembered the creek being higher than its banks; although what looked like pieces of drift-wood here and there about the paddocks made some hands suspicious. Dan laughed at them. The whare had been put up for him when he went there ten years before and he had never seen the creek over its banks even in the wettest seasons.

One morning in early summer Dan turned out at what ought to have been sunrise, but there was no sun—that is, no sun to look at. A dim orange globe could just bo made out coming over the hills from the east, but all around was still black as night. Heavy ckmds hung over the valleys and a misty pall hid the hilltops. ‘ Hallo!’ said Dan, ‘ here’s the rain coming at last. I’m glad it s coming : we want it badly. Them paddocks are getting awful dry. Good-bye, lass, I sha’n’t be home till night. I must shift some sheep up to the Brocken paddocks.’

All that day the gloom held, but no rain fell. Ther9 was no wind. Now and then a moan as of distant storm echoed through the gulleys with a weird depi’essing sound. The night-pall never rose, but lay resting on the lower air, cutting the hill-tops off and marking a horizon line half way up their heights. Far away down south, down the lowest valley, could be seen one glint of light which served but to intensify the heavy gloom that weighed down nature in all other parts. Mercy’s spirits were depressed. Happily for herself she had the child of one of the other shepherds, a hearty little girl of ten or eleven, staying with her to keep her company ; and then she had Bob, a dog that some despairing lover had given her. Bob was a mongrel by breed but thoroughbred in heart and mind, one of those dogs that when you are lonely you can sit and talk to for hours, and who answers you with his tongue when his tail fails to express his feelings. Evening came and the dark day grew darker. It was nearly time for Dan to come home, and the three comrades sat or rolled outside the front door waiting for him. Mercy sat and knitted, for she could keep h6r eye on the quarter from which. Dan should come, while her fingers plied the needles deftly. Bob and Jenny, the small visitor, rolled over one another on the grass till the telepathic instinct of the dog made him know that Dan was coming. To convey the information to his mistress by a wag of his tail would be useless. She, poor ignorant ‘ human,’ knew not the nice gradations of tail wags, and might mistake a welcoming wag as a wag of joy at having rolled Jenny twice over with one vigorous bound. So be went to his mistress’s lap, placed his nose on the knitting wool and ‘ woofed.’ ‘ What is it old dog ? Is he coming ?’ ‘ Woof.’ ‘ls he getting near ? I can’t see him.’

‘ Woof, woof.’ ‘Very well. You go and meet him, and I’ll put the kettle on.’ By and by Dan came in, and soon had had his tea, and was sitting contentedly tired on a bench in front of the house, smoking a peaceful pipe beside his wife, while Bob and his human chum pursued their gambols undisturbed. Still that heavy pall hung overhead. The sun went down and the deep darkness became deeper, but as yet no rain fell.

‘ I say, lass,’ said Dan, ‘ this is to be a nasty one. 1 never saw a worse sky.’ ‘ Oh, Dan, what shall we do if the creek rises and floods us out ?’

4 Take to the hill at the back, my lass, and make the best of it. Great God, here it is!’

Ere the words were out that deadly pull was torn asunder by livid lightning. Rending it to tatters flashed streak after streak of flame. Down, fell heaven’s tears, big as hand-palm, hissing as they hit the hot, hard earth. First one, then two or three, then mighty in their numbers, down they poured as though nature’s heart had .broken. Pelting through them in the earthward race rushed big hailstones, which leaped back again from rock and tree trunk, and tore from the trees their lighter branches. Mercilessly they killed poor Mercy’s pretty flowers. Plash upon flash the lightning blazed through the dismal storm-gloom, till blinded eyos were closed in agony to shut it out, and the thunder roared in one continuous peal with deafening sound. And the wind rose, too, first moaning through the trees, then hurling itself against the hilltops, which shook as it struck them. Repulsed on high, it swept down the ravines, beating great trees to earth and scattering their branches tar away. Dan and his wife fled into the cottage to try and stop door and window and shut out tho pitiless light and sound and rain. Hopeless, for one mighty gust, sweeping all before it as it rushed down the nearest gully, hurled tho fragile roof into space

and levelled the walls to the ground. It was now one sheet of ghastly, blinding light and drenching rain, and the wild wind revelled in destruction. Trees that had stood the fury of ages of storm fell crashing, and the very rocks shook in their strong foundations before that mighty blast.

Crawling on hands and knees, Jenny strapped to his back with a hastily snatched 44 cloud ” that used to guard Mercy’s throat and bosom from the winter cold, Dan led the way to higher ground and Mercy crawled after him. Battered and bruised, wet to the skin and cold to the marrow of their bones they crept to a sheltering crag and sought refuge under its lee. The terrified dogs crept after them and huddled close, giving them happily some share of warmth. Hark! ’tis the sound of rushing waters, first faint in a pause of the thunder peals, then gaining strength each second as down the deep gullies those waters dashed, tearing from Earth’s breast the plants that nature planted there, and carrying with resistless force stones, rocks and trees before them and shouting back in rage to the heaven that gave them birth. So the night passed and so passed the storm. Dawn broke and where parched fields, dotted with sheep, twelve hours before wearied the eye with their monotony now lay a calm lake, save where the stream marked its own course with twinkling ripples. At the station house they were better prepared. They knew the storm was coming and made ready for it. From early in the afternoon all hands were busy covering hay ricks, fastening uncertain doors and roofs of sheds and making all things taut. Dan’s part of the run was the only low-lying one, and for the rest the sheep and cattle were on high ground and must stand the brunt as best they could. Indeed no one even thought of Dan in the hurried preparation to make matters close at hand safe, or if a thought of Dan passed through any minds it may be expressed in these words —

4 What of Dan ?’ * Oh, Dan’s all right. He has got the cosiest nook on all the run.’ ‘ But if the creek rises ?’

4 Bless your innocent heart, that creek never rose high yet and won’t rise now high enough to hurt Dan.’ There, too, after the storm broke the night was passed in watch and care. Ho eyes were closed in sleep and when dawn came and they had seen that all around was glistening with welcome rain, each turned to his task with the happy thought i hat the drought was over and that there would be ample feed for the stock. Tlio master of the house sent one hand out to see if Dan was all right and then all went to breakfast

e Here’s Bill riding back like blazes,’ said one youngster, as he pulled at his wellfilled pipe. ‘ What’s up ?’ 4 Dan’s whare is gone and the whole valley is a lake.’ Then haste was made and quick as thought, quick as the thought that struck every heart as with a flash, men mounted and were off.

No need for orders. They went and the orders came from one to the other as they hurried on.

‘You go by the up paddocks, and I’ll take the lower.’

‘You come straight down the valley and when we strike the flood you go to the left and I’ll go to the right.’ These were all the orders as they sped along, and, bright spot in human heart, each man who gave an order took the hardest task upon himself. They who first reached Dan and his, found Mercy and Jenny lying where they had fallen when they got to the friendly shelter of that crag. Dan’s coat was thrown over them, and Bob was lying close to their feet, giving them some little warmth, for the sleepless night in drenched clothes had left them benumbed and miserable. Dan was pacing up and down in front with his dogs, and it was the barking of the dogs as Dan cheered them up that guided the rescuing party to them. It was not long before Mercy with another coat or two wrapped round her was being carried in an improvised litter to the nearest spot that a dray could reach. There, sure enough, it was, with blankets and wraps in abundance, sent out by the thoughtful friends whose ‘ things ’ had helped to adorn Mercy at her wedding. Dan got a mount on a spare horse, and the party started homewards. But whore was Jenny ? Clasped in her father’s arms, she was riding home on a steady old horse, who picked his steps as though he knew he was carrying that which was dearest in life to the man who was warming her at his heart, and to the hat,loss, almost skirtless, woman who had ridden out to where her child was.

When they reached the house Mercy and Jenny were put to bed, and soon lost in sleep the horrors of the night. Dan, clad in garments of many shapes and sizes, principally those that did not lit him, as seemed to bo his fate, sat in the sun and dozed and smoked and recounted the adventures of the storm to anyone who chanced to pass. Mercy, of course, had to remain at the station house for some weeks, and then when Dan took her home again she found her new home was a nicely-furnished cottage on the top of a knoll, far above fear of floods. There she and Dan lived happy and contented, and had no more thrilling tale to tell the children who grew up around them than that of the night of the great storm.