The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 19 November 1914, Page 3

The Storyteller

(By John Boyle O’Reilly.)

MOONDYNE

BOOK FIFTH. THE VALLEY OF THE YASSE. I. • . „ * ALICE WALMSLEY’S NEW HOME. , The little town .pf Fremantle, with its imposing centre, the great stone prison, is built on the shore, within the angle formed by the broad Swan River as it flows calmly into -the calm sea. At its mouth, the Swan is about two miles wide. The water is shallow, and as clear as crystal, showing, from the high banks* the brown stones and the patches of white sand on the bottom. The only ripple ever seen on its face, except sin the rainy season, is the graceful curve that follows the stately motion of the black swans, which have made the beautiful river* their home, and have given it its name. . One mile above the mouth of the river, where the gloomy cliff hangs over the stream, are situated the terrible stone-quarries of Fremantle, where the-chain? gang works. Many a time, from the edge, of the overhanging cliff, a dark mass had been seen to plunge into the river, which is very deep at this point. After this, there was one link missing in the chains at night, and there was little stir made and few questions "disked. Not one swimmer in a thousand could cross a mile of water with fifty pounds of iron chained to his ankles. For ten miles above Fremantle, the Swan winds in and out among the low hills and the wooded valleys. Its course is like a dream of peace. There is never a stone in its bed great enough to break the surface into a whirl or ripple. Its water turns no busy wheels. Along its banks are seen no thriving homesteads. Here and there, in the shallows, a black man, with upraised spear, stands still as an ebony statue, while his wives and children sit upon the shaded .rocks on the shore, and silently 'watch his skilful fishing. Presently, without a quiver of warning, the statue moves its arm, the long spear is driven under water like a flash, and is raised to bear ashore its prize of a wide-backed plaice. Along the wooded banks, the kangaroo nibbles the fresh grass, and the bright-skinned carpet-snake dives into the pleasant water, that has become almost his second home. .s' , On a lovely bend of the river, ten miles from its mouth, stands the little city of Perth, the capital of . the Penal Colony, and the residence of the governor. It is a pretty town to-day, of four or five thousand people; it was much smaller at the date of our story. The main building, as in all West Australian towns, is the prison; the second is the official residence, a very spacious and sightly mansion. Just outside the town, on a slope of exquisite lawn, running down to the river, stood a long, low building, within a high enclosure. This was the Convent of the Sisters of Mercy, where the children of the colony were educated. v In the porch of the convent one evening, some two weeks after the arrival of the Houguemont, sat Alice .Walmsley, Sister Cecilia, and two growing girls from the convent school. ‘Yes,’ said Alice, in answer to some remark of the nun, ‘ this is, indeed, a scene of utter rest. ‘ But,’ she added, sadly, ‘ it is not so for most of those .who see what we see. There is no rest for— ’ : - ' ■ • The wicked, Alice,’ said one of the school-girls, the .daughter of a free settler. ‘ Neither, should there be.' "Why do you always pity the convicts _so ? One would think you ought to hate them.’ •- The other girl stood beside Alice’s chair, touching her soft hair with her hand in a caressing manner. . :

>jrV-'• i - ’ ,-f. ' • ;•■ • ’ ‘Alice couldn’t hate ©vein the convicts,’ she,said, r bending ’to smile in Alice’s 1 face. ■ ;•* It was evident that the loving nature was fully alive, and sending out already its tendrils to draw toward- it everything within its reach. . Sister Cecilia smiled kindly r as she heard the girls, and saw their expressions of love for Alice. She, however, changed the subject. -;■ ? ■ : 'V ‘ Mr. Wyville’s yacht, with Hamerton and Mr. Sheridan, will return from Adelaide next week,’ she said to Alice. ‘ Here is the report in the Freemantle Herald:’ . % ■ c AAlice turned her head as if interested in the news. Sister Cecilia continued reading. • • . v * And then they will start for Mr. Wyville’s home in the Yasse.’ .V : ■ : ' , • Alice silently sank back ,in her chair. Her eyes slowly withdrew from the newspaper in her friend’s hand, and settled far away on the other side of the Swan, in a waking dreamand a dream that was not content. A few moments later she rose, and said she would walk home early that evening. . ‘You like your new home and friends?’ said Sister Cecilia, not trying to detain her, though the girls did. -‘I thought it would be pleasanter and more natural to you than our monotonous convent life.’ ‘ They are very kind,’ said Alice; ‘and I love to work in the dairy among the children. It reminds me of my . own dear old home in England.’ r She said the words without pain, though her eyes filled with 1 tears.' &K: ‘My good Alice.!’' said Sister Cecilia, taking her face between her hands in the old way; ‘ I am so happy to hear you say that. Come, girls, let us walk to Mr. Little’s farm with Alice.’. > With characteristic wisdom and kindness, Sister Cecilia had obtained for Alice, shortly after their arrival, a home in a rich settler’s family. Her mind, so recently freed from the enforced vacancy, became instantly filled with new interests, and her life' -at. once took root in,the new country. . . When she had been settled so for about a fortnight, and was becoming accustomed to the new routine, she received a letter from Will Sheridan. She knew'it was from him; but she did not open it among the children. When her duties for the day were done, she walked down toward the convent, which was only half a mile away; but when she came to the tall rocks beside the river, where she was utterly alone, she opened and read the letter. It was a simple and direct note, saying ' Good-bye for a time,’ that he'was going to to leave the crew of the convict ship there; but he should call on her, * for the old time’s sake,’ when he returned. !. _ Alice read the letter many times, and between each reading , her eyes rested on the placid river. Once before, she had been haunted with the last words of his letter, * Yours faithfully’ ; and now she repeated and repeated the on© sentence that was not prosaic— ‘ I will com© for the old time’s sake.’ A few weeks later she received a letter from him, written in Adelaide, telling her of the voyage, ' and stating the time of their probable return to Fremantle. Alice could not help the recurring thought that he was thinking of her. . : -A-A' •; One day, at dinner, Mr. Little spoke to her about the voyage. _ . A ‘ You brought us back a man we wanted in this colony. Miss Walmsley, ’ he said ; ‘ the man who. has made the country worth living in.’ .‘Mr. Wyville—-yes,’ said Alice, confidently; ‘he could ill be spared from any country.’ No, I don’t mean Wyville; I mean Mr. Sheridan Agent Sheridan we call him.’' ; ‘ Yes, sir,’.said Alice, her eyes lowered to, the table. ; . ’ - ; * He’s the cleverest man that ever cam© to this colony,’ said/the well-meaning farmer; ‘ I hope he’ll get married, and settle down here for life.’ A,r v; Ve V A ' *O, ‘ Sam, whom could he marry in the .West? There is no one her©,’ said the farmer’s wife. Vvr A A

.' Nonsense,’ said Mr. Little; ‘there’s the governor’s daughter for "one, and there are plenty;-, more, >.. And don't you know,, the governor is going to give Mr. Sheridan a grand dinner, in . the name of the Colony, j when be comes back from Adelaide?!. . __ ' Throughout the dinner Alice was .. particularly?/; attentive to the children, and did not eat; much herself. : ‘ Mr. Wyville is coming here to-morrow,’ said Mr. Little, presently. ‘He wants to buy that meadow below the convent, to put up another school. He’s a good man that, too. Miss \Valmsley ; but the ■ other man knows the needs of this colony, and- has taught them to us.’' """ A.-. .■ VJ- ’• V ‘Mr. rWyvilleAs; a man whose whole life seems given to benefit others,’ said Alice, quite heartily; and she joined the conversation in his praise, telling many incidents of his care, for the prisoners on the journey. But, though Farmer Little again - and again returned to the praise of Sheridan, who was his man of men, Alice sat silent at these times, and earnestly attended to the wants of the children. v- 11. : . ' SOONER OR LATER, A MAN MUST FACE ‘ ' ... HIS SINS. - The inn where Draper had taken up his residence, known, as ‘The Red Hand,’ was one of the common taverns of the country, the customers of which were almost entirely of the bond class, ticket-of-leave men, working as teamsters or wood-cutters, with a slight sprinkling of the lowest type of free settler. The main purpose of every man who frequented the place was to drink strong liquor, mostly gin and brandy. The house existed only for this, though its-sign ran : ‘ Good Victuals and Drink.for Man and'Beast.’ But whateverfood was eaten or sleep taken there was simply a means toward longer and deeper , drinking. v,, • •Champagne, too, was by no means unknown. Indeed, it was known to have been swilled from stable buckets, free to all comers to the house. This was when a crowd of sandalwood-cutters or mahogany sawyers had come in from the bush to draw their money for a year, or* perhaps two or three years\ work. These rough fellows, released from the loneliness of the forest, their pockets crammed with money, ran riot in their 'rude but generous prodigality. „ There was no other way to have a wild turn. In a free country, men who have honest money and want to spend it may do as they please. But; in Western Australia, the free-handed, and, for the time, wealthy ticket-of man, can only drink and treat with drink, taking care that neither he nor his companionsare noisy or violent or otherwise ostentatious. The first sign of disturbance is terribly checked by the police! iV Draper’s introduction to this strange company was most favorable to him. He was known to be the captain of the convict ship; and every frequenter of ‘ The Red Hand ’ was ready to treat ? him with respect. , . This is one- of the unexpected purities of convict life : > it never . loses its respect for honor and honesty. r. ‘ But Draper had no power to keep this respect. In the first place, he did not believe in its existencedie was too shallow and mean of nature to think that these rugged fellows were other than vicious rascals all through, who sheered at morality. He felt a sense of relief as- soon as he found himself among them, as if he had at last escaped from the necessity of keeping up a pretence of honesty or any other virtue. A. 1 . Acting under this conviction. Draper let loose his real nature in the convicts’ tavern. He did not drink very deeply, because *ho was not able but he talked endlessly. _ He joined group after group of carousing wood-cutters, keeping up a stream.' of , ribaldry and depravity, until, after - a , few : days’ . experience, the’ roughest convicts in the place looked at him with disappointment and aversion. • , ;v.7 .. .Then a rumor crept to the inn,, a story that was left behind by the sailors .of .the Ilouguemont, ; of-Har-riet’s confession bn' board ship, exposing the heartless villany of Draper, ; When this news became current at

the • inn, the ticket-of-leave men regarded Draper with stern faces, and no man spoke to him or drank with him. 4 -* - - - ; One evening he approached a group 'of familiar loungers, making some ingratiatory remark. ; - No one answered, but all conversation ceased, the men sitting in grim silence over their -glasses. ' -VC . ‘ Why, mates, you’re Quakers,’ said Draper, -rallying them. V - . .. ‘We’re no mates -of yours,’ growled a big fellow with a mahogany face. And vie don’t want- to be,’ said a slighter' and . younger man, with pronounced emphasis. ‘ Why, what’s the matter asked Draper, in a surprised and injured tone. ‘ Have I done anything to Offend. you fellows? Have I unconsciously said something to hurt your feelings by alluding to your: ’ ‘Shut up, you miserable rat,’ cried one ,of the convicts, starting to his feet indignantly; * you couldn’t hurt our feelings by any of your -sneaking allusions. We’re not afraid to hear nor say what we are ; but we have just found, out what you are, and we want you never to speak to us again. Do you understand ? We are men, though we are convicts, and we only want to talk to men; but you are a cowardly hound.’ Draper’s jaw had fallen as he listened; but he backed from the table, and gained confidence as he remembered that these men were wholly at the mercy of the police, and would not dare go any further. • ‘ You are an insolent jail-bird,’ he said to -the speaker ; ‘ 3711 see to you within an hour, At this, one of the men who sat at the end of the table nearest Draper leant toward’him, and taking his glass from the table, cast its contents into his face. . ‘Get out!’ he said; and .without noticing him further, the ticket-of-leave men resumed their conviviality. ' ._ .. . ........ . Burning with wrath, Draper left the tavern, and walked rapidly down the street toward' the ' police station. As he left the inn, a tall man, who had sat at a side table unnoticed, rose and followed him. Half way down the street he overtook him. : ,v -' , ‘Hello, Preacher,!’ said Draper, giving a sideglance of dislike at the man, and increasing his speed to pass him. But Mr. Haggett, for it was he, easily kept by his shoulder, and evidently meant to stay there. ‘Hello, Pilferer!’ retorted Haggett, with a movement of the lip that was expressive and astonishing.- % Draper slackened his pace at once, but he did not stop. He glanced furtively at Haggett, wondering what he meant. - Haggett ploughed along, but said no more. ‘ What title was that you gave me asker Draper, plucking courage as he thought of the friendlessness of the timid Scripture-reader. ‘ You addressed me .by my past profession,’ answered Haggett, looking straight ahead, ‘and I called you by your present one.’ ‘ What do you mean, you miserable -’ Mr. Haggett’s bony hand on .Draper’s collar closed the query with a grip of prodigious power and suggestiveness. . Haggett then let him go, making. no further reference to the interrupted offence. ‘ You’re going to report “those men at the tavern, are .you ?’. asked Haggett. v; , * I am—the scoundrels. I’ll teach them to respect a free man.’ i. .‘.Why are they not free men ?’ v * Why Because they’re convicted robbers and murderers, and— — ’ . V x . . ' ‘Yes; because they were found out. Well., I’ll go with you to the station, and have another thief discovered.’ ; .‘ What do you- mean?’ asked Draper, standing on road; ‘is that a threat?’ 'I , 4i ‘ I mean that those men in the tavern are drinking wine stolen from the Hduguemont,. and sold to the inn-keeper by—- person who had charge of it.’ , ;V V ’ Draper’s dry lips came together, and. opened again, v several 1 times, „ but he did not speak. JHe was suffering agonies in this series of defeats and exposures. He shuddered again at the terrible thought that some unseen and -powerful hand was playing against him.

Mr. Reader, ;he said at last, holding 'out his hand with a sickly smile, t have I ■ offended you or injured you - . ■ j'Z ■ ’ : Haggett looked at the proffered hand until it. fell back to . Draper’s ■ side. JCf - * , . 5 - ‘ Yes,’ he answered, ‘ a person like you offends and injures all decent people.’ ? ;iy ! : - Without a pretence of resentment, the crestfallen Draper retraced his steps towards the tavern. Mr. Haggett stood and watched him. On his way, Draper resolved to leave Fremantle that evening; and ride to Perth, where he would live much more quietly than he had done here. He saw the mistake he had made, and he would not repeat it. ;V- % ,• : - , ■ - ; He quietly asked the landlord for his bill, and gave directions for his trunks to be forwarded next day. He asked if he could have a horse that night. ‘ Certainly,’ said the landlord, an ex-convict himself ‘.but you must show me your pass.’ ‘ What pass? I’m a free man.’ ' . ‘O, I’m not supposed to know what you are,’ said the -landlord; ‘only I’m not allowed to let horses to * strangers without seeing their passes.’ • ‘ Who grants these passes ?’ ‘The Comptroller-General, and he is at Perth. But he’ll be here in a day or two.’ - ' Draper cursed between his-teeth as he turned away. A. short man, in a blue coat with brass buttons, who had heard this conversation, addressed him as he passed the bar, ' . ‘ There ain’t no fear of your getting lost, Captain Draper. They take better care of a man here than we used to in Walton-le-Dale.’ Draper stared at the speaker as if he saw an apparition. There, before him, with a smile that had no kindness for him, was Officer Lodge, who had known him since boyhood. His amazement was complete; he had not seen Ben Lodge on the voyage,' the latter having quietly avoided his eye. ‘ Why, old friend,’ he said, holding out his hand with a joyful lower-face, ‘what brings you here?’ Instead of taking his hand, .Ben Lodge took his v glass a’ hale ’ from the counter and looked steadily at Draper. ' ■ ‘ That’s the foulest hand that ever belonged to ■ Walton,’ said the old man. ■; ; Draper vias about,to pass on, with a * pshaw.,’ when ' Ben Lodge stopped him with a word. ‘ Maybe you wouldn’t want to. go to Perth so bad if you knew who was there.’ ‘Who is there ~; s‘ Alice Walmsley—free and happy, thank Heaven! 4 Do you want to see her?’ Draper stepped close to the old man with a deadly scowl. . ‘ ‘Be careful,’ he hissed, stealing his hand toward Ben’s throat, ‘ or ’ . A long black hand seized Draper’s fingers as they moved in their stealthy threat, and twisted them almost from the sockets; and, standing at his shoulder. Draper found a naked bushman, holding a spear. It was • Ngarra-jil, whom he did not recognise in his native costume, which, by the way, at first, too, had greatly shocked and disappointed Officer Lodge and Mr. HaggPtt. ' * : , ‘ There’s some one else from Walton will be in Perth -by-and-by,’ continued Ben Lodge, with a smile atrDraper’s discomfiture; and let me tell you beforehand, Samuel Draper, if he lays eyes on you in that .’ere town, you’ll be sorry you didn’t die of the black wom.it.’ . ; fe ' •" ' . ■ *; ■- ■- ,7 • Without a look to either side Draper strode from the tavern, and walked toward a hillv within the town, which he climbed. He sat him down on the summit, amid the rough and dry salt-grass.. He was shaken to the place where his soul might have been. He felt that he could not move -tongue nor hand without discovery. The cunning that had become almost intellectual from long use was worthless as chaff. His life recoiled on him like a hissing snake, -and bit him horribly. Before his death, he was being judged and put in hell.

He sat hidden in the salt-glass, among the vermin of the hill, until the night'had long fallen. The stars had come out in beautiful clearness; but he did not see them. He only saw the flame of the sins that had found him out, as .they burned in their : places along his baleful career. - When the sea-wind cam© in, damp and heavy, and made him cough, :; for his chest ' was weak, he rose and crept down toward the tavern, to spend the remaining hours of the night on his bed of torture. . ■■ ■ ■ - - - (To be continued.)