Strange Luck.

New Zealand Mail, 3 December 1896, Page 15

Strange Luck.

BY J. H. KIRBY.

A STORY OF WESTRALIA*

(Specially written for the Neiv Zealand Mail J HEGINALD ASHE had just taken his medical degree at Home, and had come to Sydney, knowing nothing of colonial life. He bore letters of introduction to several persons of position, to one especially, an old practitioner, a college fx-iend of his father, who welcomed him and adopted him professionally as his assistant. The young fellow was thus thrown into the midst of Sydney life, and in the course of a few months he saw a good deal. One night he was called to see a dying man, who occupied a veritable ‘ shanty * off Macquarrie street. Making his way quickly through this strange, unsavoury quarter he found the place, and on knocking at the door he was admitted by an old woman.

4 Does Tom Burton live here ?’ he asked

4 He does, sir, he does/ replied the old woman, 4 but it is not long that he will live here, for God is taking him away. Are you the doctor, sir ?’ 4 I am the doctor, my good woman,’ answered the visitor, who began to realise that this grey old woman was the repository of love and faith. The fire had died out of her. Only grey ashes remained ; but there was that in her steadfast eye and her firm face that 4 Time’s effacing finger’ had been powerless to destroy. There was no need for words. The face was a map; the map of a life pilgrim’s route.

4 Come in sir,’ she said. And the doctor stepped in. It was only a three-roomed house, and it was oh! so scantily furnished. Opening the bedroom door with a very gentle hand the poor old woman ushered the doctor in and brought him face to face with his patient. The patient was a gaunt greybeard, with dreamy eyes and a face cf beautiful expression; but there lay upon it the mysterious mark of Death the grey pallor and the far-off look that the Destroyer lightly places upon his victim before he puts forth his hand to seize. With infinite tenderness the woman, bending down, whispered, 4 Here’s the doctor, Tom, dear.’

The eyes, over whose brightness the glaze was slowly stealing, turned to the visitor, and rested upon him for a moment with a faint flash of courteous welcome. Then they travelled to the laithful old face that hung above the bed, and filled with a soft, regretful expression. ‘ Leave me with the doctor, Mary, for a few moments, please, darling.’

The old woman choked down the sob that rose within her, and left the room. ‘ Doctor, shut the door!’ exclaimed the dying man, with sudden energy. The doctor complied, and the patient painfully raised himself in the bed, and a flash of fire returned to his eyes and his cheeks began to glow. The dying man was making one last effort to ward off Death's ‘icy fingers’ and to get rid of something which lay heavy on his mind. ‘ Take this wallet from under my pillow now,’ said the dying man in a ringing voice. His face was transfigured. The gauzy veil of Death was rent asunder, and the face was revealed with the fire and brightness and beauty of a past day. Still the same far-away look in the eyes, that one always sees in the face of a prospector. ‘ Give it to me,’ he cried, as the doctor took the wallet out from under the pillow. And he clutched it eagerly, tremblingly; and opening it, drew out a paper which he unfolded hastily, his eyes glittering and his cheeks flushing the while.

‘ Read it, doctor,’ he cried, And the doctor read :

I Thomas Burton, being of sound mind, and knowing my end is near, do make this statement, which should have the effect of a will, so far as my dear wife is concerned. When I lost my fortune through my folly, ten years ago, I journeyed towards the West, determined to achieve something —or die. From Adelaide I made my way towards Perth, where I fell in with grey old diggers who babbled of untold gold in the fur-oif desert, and 1 resolved that I would try my luck in the sandy waste. With the scanty means that remained to me, I purchased two camels and got an Afghan to join me in the quest. Painfully we toiled on. Leaving beautiful Northam, we began our pilgrimage over the desert, and never did travellers on the sand encounter more hardship. One camel I rode, the other carried provisions, tools, &c., and we plodded on day after day. I nearly went mad. The stately Afghan spoke no English, and hi* dark face became intolerable to me. The cold-lipped stolid camels steppod along in their monotonous way, and my eyes, wandering from them, restod only upon a vast expanse of sand, relieved mournfully by clusters of salt bush and thin timber. No sound broke the silence, no song of birds or hum of life enlivened the awful stillness. My eyes wandered eagerly over the -waste for indications of auriferous stone, but it was many a long day before I was rewarded with anything gladdening. On we toiled. Weary, jaded and thirsting, we used to welcome the close of day, at first. But soon we came to a region where water was not, and our sufferings were unspeakable. We had a supply of water-bags, which we had filled at Coolgardie, and while these lasted we were able to endure life. But they gave out after a time, and then our lot was hard indeed. Night after night when we halted and tethered our camels, we wearily took down from the pack-camel’s saddle the food. The Afghan ate and drank apart, and I was alone. And many a night it happened that we had no taste of water. The great rocks of granite sometimes yielded i soakage,’ but more often they were dry, and then the night was filled with horror.

*Mr Kirby’s story arrived too late to be included jn the prize competition.

Those who have never experienced thirst are unacquainted with torture.

But there remains in my mind the memory of the evenings—those balmy evenings that one only sees in Western Australia ! The dry heat of the air seems to subside gradually, the sky grows bluer as the moon, the glorious moon, slowly mounts to her throne and sheds her serene light over the vast expanse of silence.

I held on my way. I think my mind grew feeble. I know the want of water and the wretched food caused me to contract ‘ barcoo rot/ and I became to myself a loathsome object. One day the camels suddenly quickened their steps and held up their stolid heads and pressed forward with unusual rapidity. ‘Allah!’ exclaimed the Afghan; and looking ahead I espied a sheet of water glistening in the sunlight. How we pressed forward ! It w'as an hour before we reached the border of the little lake, and then we flung ourselves down and prepared to enjoy a welcome draught. We unloaded the camels and made our camp for the night. The water was brackish and such as w r e should not drink, but we now drank it eagerly ; and the patient beasts in their systematic way filled their exhausted cisterns. Well, after five weeks of weary travelling we came one day upon a splendid outcrop ; and weak as I was I bounded off my camel and rushed to the mass of stone that rose above the waste. Stone! Such stone ! I never saw or dreamt of the like before. But a night of horx-or succeeded the day of joy. I retained presence of mind enough, luckily, to take an observation, as I did daily, from old sea-going experience, and this is the position of the find Long. 120, lat. 3U ; on the border of the deepest and vastest desert of the continent, beside a hill a mile from a great salt lake. Some day people will know the hidden wealth of the West. I know this claim of mine, 800 miles beyond Coolgardie, is of fabulous richness. But I must relate my strange and sad experience. It was afternoon when we camped. The Afghan bad turned the camels loose and was preparing a ‘ doss ’ for himself when the sound of jabbering voices fell upon our ears, and I realised that a band of natives was at hand. A screen of timber and undergrowth hid them from view, and we did not know when a spear might strike us or the camels. The Afghan was on the alert at once, and his racial instinct was awake in a moment. Seizing his rifle he flew to my side, and, his eyes flashing, he pointed to the revolver which hung at his belt, and his eyes ran hastily over me as if to see whether I too was ready. We were both armed with rifle and revolver, and we stood together awaiting the assault. Hamet looking on me with the glance of courage and fidelity that marks the Afghan, put his hand on my shoulder in token of eternal faithfulness, and I grasped his, looking into his steady eyes to assure him of my reciprocation of his high sentiment ; and then in an instant a spear sped through the air and transfixed him. He staggered a moment and fired his rifle into the scrub. A hideous yell denoted that a ‘ blackbird ’ had been hit, and then a dozen yelling savages emerged from cover. Hamet tided to raise himself and fire his revolver, but fell back in anguish, and I, standing over him, had to face the savages. Five went down before my rifle and revolver and the rest took to flight. Then I turned my attention to Hamet. Luckily my water-bag was not empty and I cooled his fevered lips and did all I could for him. I withdrew the spear, but I could not stop the haemorrhage, and in the course of the night my solitary companion passed away. What a dreadful night it was ! The silence and the vastness oppressed me, and, as the moonlight fell upon the motionless figure of my dead Afghan, my heart grew heavy, and I felt myself more than ever alone. In the morning I dug a grave and buried Hamet, retaining all his simple belongings in order to give them to his brother in Coolgardie. I remained a week on this spot, and before I left I rudely pegged off the area where lay the stone and its precious contents. Then I turned southward and bogan the weary journey home. What I suffered from solitude, thirst and the ‘ barcoo rot ’ no tongue can tell: And when at length the roofs of Coolgardie came in view I was hardly able to totter along. I had grown sick of the camel, and used to walk nearly all day.

\Vell, after a spell I came down East, and got to Sydney a month ago. My wife thought I was dead, and got quite a scare when I returned. I have been a prospector all my life, but I never did any good for myself. This time I have, I know, but just at the moment of success lam called away. To you who read this, I say go to the place and verify my words, and if you can dispose of the claim, give half the money to my wife, and retain the other yourself.

The doctor read the foregoing carefully, the dying man watching him intently the while.

‘ Well, doctor,’ he said, ‘will you undertake it ? You’re a new chum, but you’ll find the prize worth winning.’ ‘ I’ll do it,’ answered the young surgeon. The other motioned him to put the paper into his pocket, and sank back exhausted. In half an hour life had ebbed away, the eyes Lad become fixed and glassy. With a gentle, peaceful smile on his face, his sinewy hand clasped in that of his faithful wife, the old prospector passed away into the Unknown.

It was a jovial party that left Coolgardie a month after this occurrence, arid our doctor was one of them. He and two Euglish financial agents and half a dozen miners of experience, with a train of twenty-five camels and three Afghans, made up quite a cavalcade. The patient pack camels laj beside the footpaths and were loaded up, and one bright beautiful morning the party set forth towards the desert. The compass and sextant were in continual use, and the party were well equipped. There was the usual scarcity of water, of course, and the consumption of ‘ tinned dog ’ had the usual effect upon the blood ; but patiently they plodded on, and finally reached the ground. Here they spent some daya, and satisfied themselves of the richness and extent of the area.

Thirty thousand pounds was the price agreed upon by the syndicate agents, and on their return to civilisation that amount was duly handed ov9r to the doctor, who lost no time in seeking the poor old widow. But when he went to the little house in Sydney he was informed that only a week after her husband’s death she too had passed away. She did not appear one day, and the neighbours made their way in, and found the poor creature lying dead on tfle bed where the old prospector had

lain, holding in her hand a portrait of him when he was a gay and strapping youth. And thus he who had striven and sought in vain for years for a golden reward had been taken away just as his hopes were going to be realised; and his partner in life had followed him very quickly. Reginald Ashe strove by every means to find the next of kin of the deceased, but never succeeded. They had led very reserved lives, and had been nearly always 4 on the wallaby/ and when their little taper was extinguished nobody noticed it. Nobody knew them, and Doctor Reginald Ashe thus became the possessor of a fortune, went Home, bought a practice, married, and became a fashionable and popular physician. Not seldom when he is being whirled along in his brougham does his mind travel back to that mean old house in Sydney, the strange bizarre scenes of Coolgardie, the toilsome march across the great desert of the West, and the far away claim, which accident had placed in his way, by which his fortune had been so strangely made.