The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 21 May 1914, Page 5

The Storyteller

(By John Boyle O'Reilly.)

MOONDYNE

! BOOK FIRST. 1 THE GOLD MINE OF THE VASSE. ; ' ; . I. ' THE LAND OF THE RED LINE. Western Australia is a vast and unknown country, Almost mysterious in its solitude and unlikeness to any other" part of the earth. It is the greatest of the Australias in extent, and in many features the richest and loveliest. But the sister colonies of Victoria, New South •Wales, .and Queensland, are famous for their treasure of' gold.l*| Men' from' all lands have nocked thither to gather T riches. They care not for the slow labor of the farmer- or grazier. Let the weak and the old, the • coward and the dreamer,, prune the vine and dry the figs," and wait for ■the.jwheat to ripen. .Strong men must go to the trials-must set muscle against muscle, and brain against; brain in the mine and the market.• Men's lives are short; and unless they gather gold \" in the mass, how shall they wipe out the primal curse ■of poverty before the hand loses its skill and the heart _. ' its .strong desire? - _i . ; &■■ • -_\ J :■■■"' . : '""'- Western Australia is the Cinderella of ,the South.

v She has no gold like her sisters. To her was given the servile and. unhappy portion. The dregs of British society, were poured upon her .soil. The robber and the manslayer were sent thither. Her territory, was marked off with a lied Line. She has no markets for honest men, and no ports for honest ships. Her laws are not the laws of other countries, : but the terrible rules of the menagerie. Her ,citizens have no rights.they toil their lives out at heavy tasks/'but earn %> wages, nor own a vestige of right in the soil they till. It is a land of slaves and bondmenthe great-penal Colony of Great Britain. :. ' There is no gold in the Western Colony,' said the miners contemptuously; ' let the convicts keep the land —but let them observe our Red Line.' So the convicts took the defamed country, and lived and died there, and others were transported there from England to replace those who died, and every years the seething ships gave up their addition to the terrible population. In time the Western Colony came to be regarded as a plague-spot, where no man thought of going, and no man did go unless sent in irons. If the miners from Victoria and New South Wales, however, had visited the penal land some years after its establishment, they would have heard whispers of strange importrumors and questions of a great golden secret possessed by the Western Colony. No one could tell where the rumor began or on what it was based, except perhaps the certainty that gold was not uncommon among the natives of the colony, who had little or no intercourse with the aborigines of the goldyielding countries of the South and East. The belief seemed to hover in the air; and it settled with dazzling conviction- on the crude and abnormal minds of the criminal population. At their ' daily toil in the quarries or on the road parties, no rock was blasted nor tree uprooted that eager eyes did not hungrily scan the upturned earth. At night, when the tired wretches gathered round the camp-fire outside their prison hut, the dense mahogany forest closing weirdly round the white-clad group, still the undiscovered gold was the topic earnestly .discussed. And even the government officers and the few free settlers became after a time filled with the prevailing expectancy and disquiet. But years passed, and not an ounce of gold was discovered in the colony. The Government had offered rewards to settlers or ticket-of-leave men who would find the first nugget or gold-bearing rock; but' no claimant came forward. Still, there remained the tantalising factfor, in the course of years, fact it had grown to be— gold was to be found in the colony, and in abundance. The native bushmen were masters of the secret, but neither bribe nor torture could wring it from them. Terrible stories were whispered among the convicts, of attempts that had been made to force the natives to give up the precious secret. Gold was common amongst these bushmen. Armlets and anklets had been seen on men and women and some of their chief men, it was said, wore breast-plates and enormous chains of hammered gold. ■ . - .', ';' V ';,.V;-:^ At last the feeling in the West grew to' fever heat; and in 1848, the Governor of the Penal Colony-'issued a proclamation, copies of which were sent .by native runners to every settler and ticket-of-leave man, and were even surreptitiously distributed amongst the g miners on the other side of the Red Line.- '/:•- . This proclamation intensified the excitement.- It seemed to bring the mine nearer to\ every man' in the colony. It was a', formal admission that there really was a mine; 'it dispelled the Vague Uncertainty, and left ah immediate hunger or greed in "the minds of the population. } ■'.'-■ ■' --v ; -.'•.'. ■<■■/■ \"'~. The proclamation read as follows: —. '■■■■•' ; '0

But nothing came of it. Not an ounce of gold was ever taken from the earth. At last men began .to avoid the subject. They could not bear to be tantalized nor tortured by the splendid delusion. Some said there was no mine in the Vasse, and others that, if there were a mine, it was known only to a, few of the native chiefs, who dealt out the raw gold to their people. For eight years this magnificent reward had remained unclaimed, and now its terms were only recalled at the fires of the road-making convicts, or in the lonely slab-huts of the mahogany sawyers, who were all ticket-of-leave men. ,11. - ' THE CONVICT ROAD PARTY. It was a scorching day in midsummera few days before Christmas. Had there been.any moisture in the bush it would have steamed in the very heat. During the mid-day hours not a bird stirred among the mahogany and gum trees. On the flat tops of the low banksia the round heads of the white cockatoos could be seen in thousands, motionless as the trees themselves. Not a parrot had the vim to scream. The chirping insects were silent. Not a snake had courage to rustle his hard skin against the hot and dead bush-grass. The bright-eyed iguanas were in their holes. The mahogany sawyers had left their logs and were sleeping in the cool sand of their pits. Even the travelling ants had halted ,on their wonderful roads, and sought the shade of -a-bramble. All free things were at rest; but the penetrating click of the axe, heard far through the bush, and now and again a. harsh word of command, told that it was a land of bondmen. : : From daylight to dark, through the hot noon as steadily as in the cool evening, the convicts were at work on the —the »weary work that has no wages, no promotion, .no excitement* no variation for good or bad; except'stripes for the laggard. Along the verge of the Koagulup Swamp- of the greatest and dismalest of the wooded lakes of the country, its i black water deep enough to float a" man-of-wara party of convicts were making a government road. They were cutting their patient way into a forest only traversed before by the aborigine and the absconder.. r -.,. .. ; .....■.,.„ ► *% ;■/{: a! Before them in the bush, as in their lives," all was. dark ;: and unknowntangled 'underbrush, gloomy shadows, and noxious things. Behind them, clear and open, lay the straight road they had made—leading to and from the r prison. v<i, ;.t\r;.. ; >..>';•:'•']..,■ , iTieir* camp, composed of rough slab-huts, was some two hundred miles from the main prison of the

colony on the Swan River, at Fremantle, from which radiate all the roads made by the bondmen. , - .j? The primitive history of the colony is written for ever in its roads. There is in this penal labor a secret of value to be utilised more fully by a wiser civilisation. England sends- her criminals to take the brunt of the new land's hardship and danger—to prepare the way for honest life and labor. In every communitythere is either dangerous or degrading work to be done and who so fit to do it as those who have forfeited their liberty by breaking the law?* -_ The convicts were dressed in white trousers,, blue woollen shirt, and white hatevery article \stamped with England's private mark—the Broad Arrow. They were young men, healthy and strong, their faces, and bare arms burnt to the color of mahogany. Burglars, murderers, garotters, thievesdouble-dyed law-breakers every one—but, for all that, kind-hearted and manly fellows enough were among them. •. ' I tell you, mates,' said one, resting on his spade, ' this is going to be the end of Moondyne Joe. That firing in the swamp last night was his last fight.' 'I don't think it was Moondyne,' said another; 'he's at work in .the chain-gang at Fremantle; and there's no chance of escape there—- ' Sh-h!' interrupted the first speaker, a powerful, low-browed fellow named Dave Terrell, who acted as a sort of foreman to the gang. The warder in charge of the party was slowly walking past. "When he was out of hearing Dave continued, in a low but deeply earnest voice : ' I know it was Moondyne, mates. I saw him last night when I went to get the turtle's eggs. I met him face to face in the moonlight, beside the swamp.' Every man held his hand and breath with intense interest in the story. Some looked incredulous were shaken in doubt. , ' Did you speak to him?' asked one. ' Ay,' said Terrell, turning on him; 'why shouldn't I? Moondyne knew he had nothing to fear from me, and I had nothing to fear from him.' , ' What did you say to him?' asked another. ' Say ?—I stood an' looked at him for a minute, for his face had a white look in the moonlight, and then I walked up close to him, and I says—"Be you Moondyne. Joe, or his ghost?"' ' Ay?' said the gang with one breath. ' Ay, I said that, never fearing, for Moondyne Joe, dead or alive, would never harm a prisoner.' 'But what did he answer?' asked the eager crowd. ' He never said, a word; but he laid his finger on his lips, like this, and waved his hand as if he warned me to go back to the camp. I turned to go; then I looked back once, and he was standing just as I left him, 'but he was looking up at the sky, as if there was some'at in the moon that pleased him.' The convicts worked silently, each thinking on what he had heard. 'He migntn't ha' been afraid, though,' said lowbrowed Dave; I'd let them cut my tongue out before I'd sell the Moondyne.' ' . That's true,' said several of the gang, and many kind looks were given to Terrell. , A strong bond of sympathy, it was evident, existed between these men and the person of whom they spoke. - ■■ ■'., ''■):, A sound from the thick bush interrupted the conversation. The convicts looked up from their work,, and beheld a strange procession approaching from the direction of the swamp. It consisted of about a dozen or fifteen persons, most of whom were savages. In front rode two officers of the Convict Service,! a sergeant, and a private trooper, side by sidej\ with drawn swords; and between • their horses, manacled by the wrists to their stirrup-irons, walked a white man. ... 'Here they come,' hissed Terrell, with/ a .'bitter malediction, his : low brow wholly . disappearing into a terrible ridge above his eyes. ' They- haven't killed him,- after all. O, mates, what a pity it is to see a man like Moondyne in that plight.' , '••• '...,,..-•-'.' He's done for two or tin ree of 'em,' muttered

another, .in a tone of grim gratification. 'Look at the ■• loadsTbehind. 'I knew he wouldn't be taken this time . like a cornered cur.' Following the prisoner came a troop of ' natives,' as the aboriginal bushman are called, bearing three spearwood litters with the bodies of wounded men. A villainous-looking savage, mounted on a troop-horse, brought^ up the rear. His dress was like that of his pedestrian fellows, upon whom, however, he looked in disdain, —a short boka, or cloak of kangaroo-skin, and a belt of twisted fur cords round his naked body. In % addition, he had a police-trooper's old cap, and a ' heavy ' regulation ' revolver stuck in his belt. .This , was the tracker, the human bloodhound, i used by the troopers to follow the trail of absconding | prisoners. ; I When the troopers neared the convict-party, the 1 sergeant, a man. whose natural expression, whatever it | might have been,, was wholly obliterated by a frightful 5 scar across his face, asked for water. The natives 1 halted, and squatted silently in a group. The wounded I men moaned as the litters were lowered. * Dave Terrell brought the water. He handed a pannikin to the sergeant, and another to the private ■? trooper, and filled a third. ' Who's that for?' harshly demanded the sergeant. ' For Moondyne,' said the convict, approaching the I chained man, whose neck was stretched toward the t brimming cup. ....- . - .<■ ' Stand back, curse you!' said the sergeant, bringing his sword flat on the convict's back. - ' That scoundrel needs no water. He drinks blood.' fi There was a taunt in the tone, even beneath the brutality of the words. g Carry your pail to- those litters,' growled the sinister-looking sergeant, ' and keep your mouth closed, if you value your hide. There !' he said in a suppressed •voice, flinging the few drops he had left in the face of the manacled man, ' that's water enough for you, till you reach Bunburry prison to-morrow.' f; The face of the prisoner hardly changed. He gave 'one straight look into the sergeant's eyes, then turned away, and seemed to look far away through the bush. He was a remarkable being, as he stood there. In strength and proportion of body the man was magnificent— model for a gladiator. He was of middle height, young, but so stern and massively featured, and so browned and beaten by exposure, it was hard to determine his age. His clothing was only a few torn and bloody rags ; but he looked as if his natural garb were utter nakedness or the bushman's cloak, so loosely and carelessly hung the shreds of cloth on his bronzed body. A large, finely shaped head, with crisp, black hair and beard, a broad, square forehead, and an air. of power and self-command — was the prisoner, this was Moondyne Joe. Who or what was the man? An escaped convict. What had he been? Perhaps a robber or a mutineer, or maybe he had killed a man in the white heat of •passion; no one knew — one cared to know.

That question is never asked in the penal colony. No caste there. They have found bottom, where all stand equal. No envy there, no rivalry, no greed nor ambition, and no escape from companionship. They constitute the purest democracy on earth. The only distinction to be won—--that of being trustworthy, or selfish and false. The good man is he who is kind and true; the bad man is he who is capable of betraying a confederate. It may be the absence of the competitive elements of social life that accounts for the number of manly characters to be met among these outcasts. It is by no means in the superior strata of society that abound the strong, true natures, the men that may bo depended upon, the primitive rocks of humanity. The complexities of social life beget cunning and artificiality. Among penal convicts there is no ground for envy, ambition, or emulation; nothing to be gained by falsehood in any shape. But all this time the prisoner stands looking away into the bush, with the drops of insult trickling from his strong face. His self-command evidently irritated the brutal officer, who, perhaps, expected to hear him whine for better treatment. The sergeant dismounted to examine the handcuffs, and while doing so, looked into the man's face with a leer of cruel exultation. He drew no expression from the steady eyes of the prisoner. There was an old score to be settled between those men, and it was plain that each knew the metal of the other. ' I'll break that look,' said the sergeant between his teeth, but loud enough for the prisoner's ear 'curse you, I'll break it before we reach Fremantle.' Soon after he turned away, to look to the wounded men. While so engaged, the private trooper made a furtive sign to the convict with the pail; and he, keeping in shade of the horses, crept up and gave Moondyne a deep drink of the precious water. . The stern lines withdrew from the prisoner's mouth and forehead ; and as he gave the kindly trooper a glance of gratitude, there was something strangely gentle and winning in the face. The sergeant returned and mounted. The litters we're raised by the natives, and the party resumed their march, striking in on the new road that led to the prison. ' May the lightning split him,' hissed black-browed Dave,-after the sergeant. ' There's not an officer in the •colony will strike a prisoner without cause, except that coward* and he was a convict himself.' ' May the Lord help Moondyne Joe this day,' said another, 'for he's chained to the stirrup of the only •man living that hates him.' The sympathising gang looked after the party till they were hidden by a bend of the road ; but they were silent under the eye of their warder.

(To be continued.)