The Storyteller.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXV, Issue 38, 21 January 1898, Page 21

The Storyteller.

* FATHER HEGARTY'S RIDE.

A BUSH STORY.

(By Father Bunbuby, in the Catholic Press.)

There are those living still who remember the days when the now wood-blocked streets of Sydney were adorned in no artificiality or beauty, save that given to them by the bullock teams, that, urged by whips and oaths, slowly wended their way onwards, bearing their heavy burdens they knew not nor cared not whither. There are more living, however, who remember when the far inland bush was a dreary, interminable solitude in which one might wander for days, perhaps for weeks, without meeting a human being or discovering a trace of the presence of any civilising influence.

Those who were sent out here, however, when this country was a penal settlement, for the crime of having loved Ireland " not wisely but too well," and others from the slums of English cities for having loved strong drinks and their neighbour's property in exactly the same manner, and the more fortunate few who came with them to govern and tyrannise most cruelly over them gradually began to discover and to send home reports that gold was in abundance, and that Australia was a land of promise, in which everyone might be wealthy, and might revel in all the pleasures and luxuries of life. Wherever there are possibilities of wealth thither will population tend as to a natural centre : for money is ever to the human heart what the North Pole is to the magnet. Where the carcass is there also will the eagles be gathered, and where the shining metal abounds men and women, with their vices, vanities and follies will not be far distant. So every ship brought for years its living freight of human beings to Australia, some impelled by feverish thirst for gold, some driven by the cruel exactions of inhuman land* lords, and not a few trying to escape from themselves ; trying like Childe Harold " to fling forgetfulness around them," amid the new and varied scenes of a young and marvellous country. In one of the emigrant ships sailing from London, and carrying the lives and fortunes of many an adventurer, and would-be possessor of fortune, there was a passenger, whose manner and bearing, even without the aid of his dress — which was that of a priest — attracted him for general respect ; while, during the progress of the voyage his manly heroic nature, his readiness of resource, his bright, unfailing wit, his delicate politeness and refinement of manner, and his inexhaustible fund of information, on every subject relating to Bea or land won him the love and friendship of everyone on board. The power of his strong individuality was felt -and acknowledged, and while he had all the gentleness of a child, the strongest and the rowdiest unconsciously felt that he was one with whom no rude liberties could with impunity be taken. The coarse jest remained unuttered in his presence, the ribald, licentious song was left unsung, and from the burly captain down to the lowest menial and passenger in the ship, all recognised the superior power of his will, and in their own simple way paid homage to the sovereignty of intellect and learning, beautified and adorned by virtue and refinement. The priest was Father Hegarty, to whose able and zealous administrations, and to the influence which he wielded over the Catholic people of this colony, our young Church owes much of its prestige, strength and promise. He was descended from one of those grand old Irish Catholic families, who preserved, amidst the wreck of their fortunes, effected by bad laws and landlord greed, sufficient not alone to keep them above indigence and want, but also to give their children the advantages of the highest education. Neither unjust laws or tyranny of the worst kind could rob these generous high-minded people of their family pride, their lofty independence of character, their innate courtesy and refinement, and their inflexible devotion to the faith of their Fathers. Young Hegarty inherited the best of his family traditions, to Which he added an intellect of the widest range, and a marvellous power of acquiring and retaining knowledge.

When he first entered school his progress in studies astonished his friends, and as Catholic Emancipation some years before had been reluctantly conceded by the English Parliament, the highest secular positions seemed not beyond his reach. Early, however, his young mind looked out upon the world, and early also his young heart learned to shrink from it and despise it. To the delight of his Catholic parents he announced his intention of becoming a priest, and he proceeded to one of the best schools of Rome to prepare himself for the fitting discharge of the sacred duties of the ministry. He had there every opportunity of strengthening his vocation. He trod daily over the dust of dead and forgotten heroes, and walked over the crumbling mass of ruins that was once the dazzling home of the Imperial Caesars — in which the proudest and greatest of men, and the most beautiful of women, in the midst of all that could minister to the taste and the senses, fretted their idle hour on life's stage — the victims of the very worst of human vices. " Vanity of vanities " he insensibly uttered every time he gazed on the dismal ruins of what was once the hrilliant scene of life, health, elegance, artistic genius and unbounded human ambition. Raising himself from the contemplation of these things he turned and saw the Cross flashing in the sunlight from the peerless dome of St. Peter's, " earth's grandest shrine," and he felt with the author of the Imitation of Christ that in the Cross alone "is salvation, is safety, is protection from our enemies," and so he determined to make the Cross his way of life — to part forever with his parents and friends, and the land that he loved, as dearly as his life, and to proceed, after bis ordination, to Australia, where he had heard many poor Catholic exiles were living without the consolations of religion, or without one to break for them the Bread of Life. And so we found him on the ship which was slowly progressing over milea of ocean towards Sydney's beautiful harbour.

After four months weary sailing he reached Sydney, and as there were no pnblio buildings to be admired, and even if there were, as he had no desire to admire them, as soon as possible he proceeded up country to commence his labours. Few will ever know the hardships that the pioneer priests, like Father Hegarty, had to endure, the trials and obstacles they had to surmount, and the faith that must have been necessary to carry them triumphantly through it all — to banish sadness and despair, and to keep ever before them the great truth expressed by St. Paul that the suffer* ings of this life were not to be compared to the glory to be revealed to us after death. One of the hardest trials of Father Hegarty's was the want of books and of people of his own high standard of education and of literary taste with whom he might exohange the tides of thought and feeling that ever welled up in his great soul. He was an ardent admirer of the Greek and Latin classios, and after the Sacred Scriptures he was wont to recall passages in them, learned in the enthusiasm of his boyhood, calculated to gite him strength and courage. Often when he had no other home but his saddle and no companion but his horse, spent with long, arduous rides, seeking out his people to instruct them and minister to them the Sacraments, he buoyed himself up with the philosophy of Horace, who, in writing to his friend Dellius, remarked that the certainty of death should keep sensible men from undue elation or depression of mind :—: — " iEquam memento Rebus in arduis Servare mentem, Non secus in bonis Ab ineolenti temperatam Laetitia, moriture Delli." " Friend Dellius ! a tranquil mind Whate'er the luck in life you find Remember keep ; For though we laugh, or fret in gloom, We're marching onwards to the tomb To death's long sleep."

The years passed on, and the devoted priest, unceasing in his labours, and unflagging in his zeal, found ever his joy and consolation in the thought that his life was the highest blessing to so many of his exiled countrymen, and in their warm-hearted affection for their revered Sog garth Ar»on. Time had commenced to set its inevitable seal upon him. The treacherous streaks of silver white were stealing rapidly through his hair, and the furrowed wrinkles were clustered thickly on his brow, but his zeal showed no signs of diminution, and his mind expanded with the passing years, and with them too his desire to spend himself for his people's souls increased.

It was the day before the eve of Christmas, just forty years ago. He had returned to his little weatherboard cottage that people were accustomed to call the " Presbytery." For weeks in preparation for the great feast of the Incarnation, he had been away holding " stations," riding sometimes fifty and sixty miles, under a scorching sun, to find a few Catholics to celebrate for them the Holy Sacrifice of Mass, to hear their confessions, and to minister to them Holy Communion, He was glad to be back to his little home, and had arranged for Masses on Christmas Day in his little chapel. He had conned over the day's portion of the breviary, and was deeply buried in the powerful passages in which Homer describes the destruction of Troy, when he heard the sound of a horse being urged at fullspeed approaching.

" It is a sick call," he concluded, and he was right.

James Murphy, whose little hut lay forty miles away, had met with an accident, and the hours he had to spend in this world were numbered. There was no time to lose. Two fresh horses were instantly procured, and as fast as whip and spur could impel them, they rushed through the bush in the direction of the dying man's home. The sun was setting as they started on their long ride, and the heat was stifling, and seemed to presage almost an earthquake. After an hour's furious riding, just as night was coming on, they encountered a fence, and as there was not a second to lose, and as Father Hegarty was as skilful in the saddle as he was in detecting the beauties of Virgil or Horace, he decided to make the horse clear it. Whether, however, it was higher than he anticipated, or whether it was too dark to measure the distance from which the horse might safely spring, the priest in a second was conscious of only a terrifio crash, and of a heavy fall to the ground. For a moment he was senseless, and his companion thought him in the condition in which they had feared to find the man they were approaching — dead.

He was but stunned, and in a few moments recovered consciousness, and to their mutual delight found that he was suffering from no injuries more serious than a few bruises on his body and a slight cut on his face. He had no time to trouble about these — but at once sought his horse to continue their journey — the fine animal was lying with his neck broken on the ground. The priest had to mount at once on his companion's horse sending him back walking to the nearest dwelling-place to find either a bed or the means of following him later on, and though not familiar with the bush track he was to take he trusted in Providence to guide him, alone as he now was, and resumed his journey.

After about another hour's ride the darkness had become intense, a fierce flash of lightning followed by a terrific thunder* storm filled him with anxiety and alarm as foreboding a rainstorm and his probable detention for the night in the bush. Nor was his alarm vain, for in a short time the rain came pouring down in torrents, and progress onward became impossible. He might as well have been riding through a cave underground were it not that his path was at intervals brilliantly illuminated by the fearful lightning flashes. He submitted to the inevitable, dismounted, and determined to wait the dawn of morning before prosecuting his journey. He commended the dying man to the mercy of God, and prayed long and earnestly that his life might be spared till he would reach him the following day. He essayed to light a fire — but in vain. Fierce

gusts of wind were now howling through the trees, and piteous plaints and cries from the terrified animals of the woods were the only sounds that blended with the raging of the storm. It was a fearful night. A heart less stout than that of Father Hegarty's might well have been crushed with fear and dread.

The horse which he had fastened to a tree plunged and foamed to be free, as if conscious" that the spirits of evil were riding on the storm. Sleep or shelter the priest could hope to have none, and so he anxiously paced up and down, conscious that the eternal fate of a soul was depending on the issue of the warring elements of nature. The hours passed on, hours that seemed the length of years, but past midnight the storm began to abate, the rain had spent its fury and in a short time the moon appeared in the heavens, the beacon and harbinger of hope.

The pale light, however, only tended to make his situation more despirate, for it disclosed to him that he had lost the track and that every step he might take now might bring him only further from his destination. To remain there, however, was unbearable. He would go on and trust to chance to bring him right. His way through the tangled bush was a martyrdom. Boughs struck him in the face, and the heavy underwood tore his own and the horse's legs. He was reduced to the brink of despair. His own experience recalled to him the many who had lost their way in the bush, and who had perished of want and hunger, and of whom nothing was found years afterwards but their whitened bones. He remembered the dying man, and the thought gave him courage. He would push on as long as his strength did not fail him.

He had not advanced more than half a mile, filled with conflicting thoughts and emotions, when the words " 0 God 1 O God 1" were borne to him through the bush. In a moment they were repeated, followed by agonising, piercing cries. Horror-stricken, pale with terror, and suspecting some ghaßtly murder, he rapidly advanced in the direction of the sound, and soon came upon a little bark hut. A rude light burning within showed the form of a frantic female at the door, tearing her dishevelled hair, and uttering piercing cries for help.

The priest rushed forward and into the house. A strange and wonderful sight awaited him. An old man was lying on a wretched apology for a bed in the agony of death, crying out with his feeble voice : " Bring me a priest ! Bring me a priest 1" The woman at the door was his wife, and for days since the fatal sickness that was hurrying him to his grave had seized upon him he had been clamouring for a priest. She had no means of sending for one, as she did not know, if she left him for a moment, he might die in her absence. So she kept rushing from his bedside to the door shouting for help and assistance, but none came. Imagine then the joy of herself and of her dying husband when they saw at that unexpected hour the priest enter. They thought he was an angel in human shape.

They had not seen a priest for years, and the poor man's dying bed was rendered awful by the recollection of many a dark and foul deed that he had perpetrated when he first came to Australia. He never, amidst all his crimes, lost his faith, and so, were he the possessor of millions, he would have gladly given them to be reconciled to God before the impending stroke of death had fallen.

His confession was soon heard, and he received the last Sacraments of the Church with emotions, in which sorrow for his crimes, and gratitude to God for His mercy were contending for the mastery. Copious tears that watered his rude pillow, and that brightened his pallid dying face, bore eloquent testimony to the sincerity of his convertion. The good Father forgot all his fatigue, and the fearful experiences of the night, in the intensity of the joy he felt in being the agent, miraculously sent by God, for the salvation of the departing soul. Nothing so beautiful in the sight of angels or men as true sincere repentance.

" The fruitless showers of worldly woe Fall dark to earth, and never rise, While tears that Ironi repentance flow In bright exhalemeut reach the skies."

He knew that angels were gathering up the tears of the dying man in that lowly hut to place them in the eternal scales against his life's crime, and he knew that they would preponderate. The end had come, and kissing the crucifix and pronouncing the sacred names so dear to the Christian heart he breathed his last in the priest's arms.

'Twas now morn. The traces of the nights' storm were visible only in the brightness, freshness and gladness of all Nature. The birds were up and singing merrily and sweetly ; the kangaroo bounded joyously through the woods, all unconscious that the angels of God had been passing there that night. Father Hegarty, however, had no time to indulge in reverie or meditation. He had still to visit the man who had sent for him the previous evening, and he feared lest the chain of events that brought salvation to the man who had just clostd his eyes in death might prove the other's eternal ruin. Having enquired the route from the now desolate and aged widow he was quickly in the saddle, and with anxious mind was rapidly covering the distance that lay between him and the object of his thoughts. Arrived at the house at last he entered to find the doctor before him, who announced to him the glad tidings that the patient was not nearly so injured as had been anticipated, and his complete recovery was a matter only of a few weeks. The weary and exhausted priest knelt down and thanked, with fervent gratitude, the "Giver of all good gifts," for the miraculous and wonderful issue of his trials within the past 14 or 15 hours. The want of food, the thorough soaking he had endured, and the awful strain on his nervous system, together with the heavy fall off his horse when crossing the fence the evening before, proved too severe a tax on his energy, and he completely collapsed. The doctor dreaded an attack of fever and had him c mveyed to bed, alter which he dressed the wound on his face and his bruises, and applied everything tbat he thought the circumstances required.

In a few minutes the priest fell into a sound sleep and the doctor's fears were at rest. He saw that his patients only complaint

was exhaustion, and that when he awoke he would be all right. So it was. Past midday he awoke, and with difficulty recollecting where he was and recalling the events of the night, he quickly arose and prepared himself for his journey homewards. The morrow was Christmas Day, and he could not dream of permitting the great solemnity to pass without celebrating the Holy Sacrifice and affording his people an opportunity of participating in the sacred mysteries. After a substantial repast, he was once more on horseback, riding rapidly in the direction of the Presbytery. Nothingserious happened to him on his return. He met with a few solitary swagmen, who reverently saluted him, and passed on, testifying to the love the people of all classes had for the good priest. It was late at night when he reached his modest dwelling, but not too late to partake of some badly-needed refreshments, after which he sought equally as badly-needed a repose.

Next day was the great feast of 'Xinas. Father Hegarty was astir early, cordially greeting the people, who had come, many of them, from long distances, to early Mass. When he ascended the altar, they felt that something strange must have had recently occured to him, for never before did they witness such intense earnestness of manner, and such inspired solemnity of devotion. He seemed, like Moses on the mountain, to be speaking face to face with the Most High. It was when he commenced to preach, however, that they understood how profoundly his soul had been moved. In words of superhuman eloquence he explained to them the mercy and love of God that induced Him to submit to the lowly poverty of the stable of Bethlehem. They had often listened with admiration and compunction to his preaching before, but now his every sentence seemed to them a Revelation, and their fast-flowing tears were their glowing tribute to the force and efficacy of his words.

He is now sleeping the sleep of the just, and his soul is enjoying the reward promised to those who gave their lives to the faithful fulfillment of duty. He lived, however, years after the event we have narrated, and he was accustomed to repeat over and over again, that he never in his life spent so happy a Christmas as on that memorable occasion.