A \ B \ C \ D \ E \ F \ G \ H \ I \ J \ K \ L \ M \ N \ O \ P \ R \ S \ T \ U \ V \ W \Z

The Gold Hunter's Adventures by William H. Thomes

W >> William H. Thomes >> The Gold Hunter\'s Adventures




"We are strangers," he said, taking her sunburnt hand between his rough
palms, and looking at her as tenderly as though she had been his sister;
"we are strangers, but there is not a man present but will shed his
blood in your defence; and while we have strength there is no fear of
your suffering. Have confidence in us, and explain how this dreadful
affair happened."

He waited patiently for an answer, but some few minutes passed before
she could repress her sobs, which commenced anew at the sound of his
voice. At length she raised her head, brushed back the heavy masses of
hair which partly screened her face, and with an uncertain voice
replied,--

"I thank you for your offers of assistance, and accept them; for what
can I do alone in this desert without friends? My troubles are so
unexpected that if I do not appear grateful, attribute it to a want of
realization of the dreadful scenes through which I have passed since
yesterday. My husband--"

She threw herself upon his corpse again, and for a while her grief
recommenced with all its former violence. Smith soothed and comforted
her, and gradually was enabled to draw all the facts connected with the
murder from her unwilling lips.

"It is ten days since we arrived at Melbourne," she went on to say; "my
husband thought that we had better leave our two children at the city
with some friends, who were passengers in the same ship with ourselves,
until he had settled upon what occupation he should pursue. He had a
strong desire to try his luck at the mines, and as we had a little money
left after reaching this country, he invested it in buying a cart and
horse, and a few articles which were needed on the route. I was very
reluctant to part with my children, but I now perceive that it was for
the best; for it is probable that the little dears would have shared the
fate of their father, had they travelled with us. The chief object of
our visit to this country, however, was not so much a desire for wealth,
as the thought of meeting a parent whom I have been separated from since
I was a child."

She paused for a moment, and buried her face in her hands, as though
reluctant to proceed. Smith and I exchanged glances of surprise, while
the woman continued her rambling story.

"I am almost ashamed to say that my father was transported to Australia
for life; but he was innocent of the charge against him, and it has
since been made manifest; but government refuse to give him his liberty,
and he is still a convict."

"What was the charge upon which he was convicted?" asked Smith, with
breathless anxiety.

The woman hung her head and remained silent; and Smith was obliged to
repeat his question before he obtained an answer. His pertinacity seemed
cruel, but he had an object in view.

"He was charged with the death of my mother," she answered, her voice
stifled with tears.

"And your name before you were married was--"

"Mary Ogleton."

"It is the same," muttered Smith; but instead of revealing the good news
to her, he waited to hear the balance of her history since leaving
Melbourne. A few soothing words, and she continued,--

"Ten months since we had letters from my father, strongly urging us to
come to him, as he thought my husband would make a better living here
than in England. We were the more inclined to follow his advice, as the
letters contained drafts for money to help us pay our passage, which we
otherwise should not have been enabled to have done."

"Tell us about your journey since leaving the city," cried Smith, "for
we already know your history before that period."

She looked surprised, and continued,--

"Father wrote us that he was tending a flock of sheep on the road
leading to Ballarat, and that he could not leave his station even for a
day; but we were to write him if we intended coming, and he would have a
friend on the lookout for us. We answered his letter, saying that we
should embark on board of the first ship that sailed for Australia; but
when we reached port we found none to welcome us; and it was only after
diligent inquiries that we learned where he was located. Yesterday,
about noon, we thought that we must be near his home; and on inquiring
of a man that we met, he said that he knew him well, and would conduct
us to his hut. By his advice, we left the road which we had travelled
for four days, and struck across the prairie. I did not like the
appearance of our guide, and expressed my fears to my husband; but he
laughed at me, and placed implicit confidence in all that the stranger
said."

"What sort of looking man was your guide?" asked Smith.

"A dark-featured man, with long black beard, tall, and strongly framed.
Upon his forehead was a large scar, that looked as though recently
inflicted. I noticed him particularly, because I mistrusted him the
instant he offered to act as our guide."

"It was Black Darnley," cried Smith, in reply to my interrogation; "the
villain--he shall yet suffer for his treachery."

"That was the name by which his companions addressed him," cried the
woman, who overheard Smith's remark.

The convict encouraged her to continue her narrative, and motioned Fred
and myself to remain silent.

"He led us to the bank of this ravine, and said that we must here
abandon our team, and walk a few miles to father's hut. My husband
refused to follow his advice in that respect, and while Darnley was
urging him to do so, our dog, which had faithfully remained with us
since we left England, started in pursuit of a strange animal that
bounded along the prairie faster than the hound could run. We all became
interested in the chase, and when we lost sight of dog and animal, I
looked up and found five rough men close beside me. I started with
surprise; but before my husband could say a word, or use the gun which
he carried, Darnley discharged a pistol full at his breast, and he fell
dead. I remember nothing more, or, if I do, I pray to God that I may
soon forget it, or else join my husband in heaven. Were I childless, I
would dash my head against these rough stones, and so end my days."

As she finished her story, she bowed her head upon her husband's cold
bosom, and her tears flowed fast and freely, while her frame shook as
though she was laboring under an attack of ague.

"Listen to me," said Smith, at length, laying his hand upon her arm to
attract her attention: "we have a long journey before us, and time is
precious; but we will lose a day for the purpose of restoring you to
your father. Trust me, I know him, and if you think you can walk a few
miles, a few hours from now will see you in his arms."

"I am strong now," she said, rising, as though the news had given her
new life.

"Then lean on me, and I will assist you up this bank. Courage--remember
you live for your children and parent now."

As Smith offered his strong arm, she accepted it; but a sudden thought
took possession of her mind, and she quitted his side and once more
threw herself upon the body of her husband.

"I cannot leave him," she shrieked, clasping her arms around his neck,
and pressing her head upon his bosom. "He has been my only friend for
years; he did not despise me when he knew that my parent was a convict;
he has loved me, and is the father of my children. Let me remain with
him, and die upon his breast."

"This is madness," Fred cried, impatiently.

"Hush," said Smith. "Consider what the poor thing has suffered, and
treat her gently as a sister."

The stout convict, whose heart had been strongly touched by her story
and deep love, raised her in his arms, soothed her, spoke words of
comfort to her, and promised if she would but leave the spot, that the
body of her husband should soon follow her, and be buried in a
Christian-like manner.

She listened like one who did not comprehend his meaning, and all the
time that he was talking, her eyes were fixed upon the pale face of her
husband, as though she expected each moment to hear his voice, and see
him start to his feet, and open his arms for her protection.

With gentle force we urged her away from the distressing sight, and
when, after long labor, we had gained the bank of the ravine, we found
that the poor woman was nearly unconscious, and hardly capable of
moving.

"Where now?" I asked of Smith, as we carried her along.

"To the hut of Ogleton," he cried; "and then, if I mistake not, we shall
have work before us."

"What kind of work?" asked Fred, who was carrying the rifles, and the
sharp axe of the convict.

"The work of revenge," cried Smith, solemnly.

"I am ready for it," exclaimed Fred, brandishing his rifle; "God only
grant us all strength to perform it."

And as we staggered along the prairie with our burden, the dark clouds
in the east broke away, and revealed the glowing tints of the rising
sun; and a hundred bright-plumed birds darted through the air, awakening
the solitude of that vast plain with their shrill calls, and each cry
seemed to say, "Revenge! revenge!"




CHAPTER VII.

BLACK DARNLEY'S VILLANY.--THE CONVICT STOCKMAN.


A brighter sun never shone upon the barren plains and fertile valleys of
Australia, than that which appeared above the horizon on the morning
after the murder and deed of violence committed by Black Darnley and his
gang of bushrangers. Our party had not closed their eyes in sleep during
the night, yet not one of us felt the least fatigue or desire to rest,
until the woman, who was under our protection, had been placed beneath
the shelter of her father's roof, humble as it was, and removed from all
society and scenes of civilization.

As we supported the unhappy woman towards the habitation of the convict,
and spoke words of encouragement which fell upon listless ears, we
thought of a parent's love, and how strong it must exist in the heart of
that old man, who had grown morose under his wrongs, yet still clung to
the recollection of his child, and fancied her a girl, instead of a
full-grown woman, and the mother of a family.

We had no doubt that her reception by her father would be warm; but we
dreaded to know how he would deport himself upon the news of the harsh
treatment which she had received being explained to him. He was
represented to us by Smith as a man of quick passions--bold and
fearless, or he would never have accepted the situation to which he was
attached--surrounded, as he was, with dangerous neighbors--convicts, who
cared no more about shedding the blood of a man than they did for the
lamb which they slaughtered when hungry--wild beasts, who prowled around
the fields at night, and skulked near during the day, and who, if urged
by starvation, would attack the shepherds, provided they interposed
between them and their prey.

This was the kind of man that was to be told that his daughter had
suffered at the hands of men whom he had spoken with weekly for months,
and who respected him only because they knew him to be no coward, and a
convict like themselves.

Our walk across the prairie was slow and laborious. We were compelled to
govern our pace with that of the woman, and as she was half-dead with
grief, and insensible to our words of encouragement, we concluded to let
her cry without hindrance on our part, and only hoped that our wagon
might escape pillage during our long absence.

It was about nine o'clock when we reached the place where we were camped
the night before. The wagon remained where we had left it; but it needed
no tongue to tell that it had been visited, while we were away, and that
a portion of the load was removed. Boxes of goods were overturned, and
tops wrenched off, bales were cut open, and their contents scattered
upon the ground; and, upon a near examination, we found that the
impudent robbers had used our dishes to feast from, and that there were
still smoking brands upon the fire where they had boiled their coffee,
as though they knew we should be absent all night, and had plenty of
time to enjoy themselves before our return.

For a few minutes, after Smith had seen the havoc which the bushrangers
had made with his cargo, he seemed to need as much comforting as the
unfortunate female under his charge. But he was a man, and had seen too
much of the world's trials to get discouraged, so he proceeded to gather
up his goods in the most philosophical manner, although an occasional
oath did escape him as he missed some article of value which he knew
could not be replaced except in Melbourne.

While Smith was occupied with his cargo Fred and myself proceeded to
cook breakfast, a meal which we stood very much in need of, considering
the labors of the night; but before we did so, our female friend was
placed upon blankets and screened from the hot sun. She refused all
offers of nourishment, and would not drink even a cup of strong tea
which we proffered her. Coffee, we unfortunately had none, as the
bushrangers had taken a fancy to the few pounds which were on the cart,
and carried it with them, rejecting with seeming contempt the green
leaves of China, of which there was a large box undisturbed.

Even the flesh of the kangaroo which we had hung upon the limb of a tree
was saved; but our store of salt pork was gone, also the few vegetables,
worth almost their weight in gold at the mines, which had been treasured
until we should arrive at our destination.

Fred uttered a curse when he found that there was not a single potato
left; but, after he had vented his displeasure, he applied his energies
to the matter before him with all his usual determination.

Fred's clothing and my own, contained in one small canvas bag, was gone,
and we stood in all that we owned. That did not distress us, however,
for we were not likely to go into society where a change of dress was
expected, but we did growl when we found that the scamps had carried off
all our powder, excepting what our flasks contained.

"Whose work is this?" asked Fred, who was broiling a piece of kangaroo
on a stick, and in a very artistic manner, for the purpose of tempting
the poor woman's appetite.

Smith, to whom the question was addressed, straightened his stout form,
and held up a number of flannel shirts, which he was taking to the mines
on a venture. They had been cut with knives in the most wanton manner,
and hardly a square inch had escaped.

"There is evidence enough of the perpetrator," replied Smith, pointing
to the holes.

"Well, who is he?" cried Fred, sprinkling a little salt upon the burning
flesh.

"There is but one gang of bushrangers in these parts who inflict wanton
injury upon the goods of carriers. That gang is Darnley's!"

"And yet you pardoned him once when he was in your power," I said.

"True; and had I been here my cargo would have escaped molestation. He
little thought that he was injuring me. I will do him the justice of
saying that."

"He and his gang should be swept from the face of the earth," cried
Fred, who, having cooked and seasoned the meat to his satisfaction, now
approached the woman, who was lying upon a blanket, apparently
unconscious of what was going on around her.

He had but uttered the words when she started to her feet, grasped his
arm with a vehemence utterly at variance with her previous docility, and
exclaimed,--

"You are right, Kill the monster! Kill him, for he is unfit to live.
Kill him, for he has wronged an unprotected woman, and committed
outrages that will condemn him to eternal punishment in the next world."

She released her grasp of Fred and fell to the ground, where she sat
rocking her body to and fro, uttering moans of anguish. But she no
longer shed tears, and her eyes looked wild and threatening, as though
her troubles had affected her reason.

"Who talks of killing?" cried a deep voice. "That is God's prerogative,
not man's nor vain woman's."

We started, and turning saw that the convict stockman had approached us
unawares, and was leaning on his long gun, keenly scanning the features
of the unfortunate woman.

"There are some crimes which God designs man to punish," answered Smith,
desisting from his occupation of gathering up his traps. "I think that
the scoundrels who robbed my team deserve hanging, and I don't want to
wait until they are dead to know that they are receiving punishment in
the next world."

"The world to come is one of darkness to us mortals, and who can pierce
its blackness. But God has promised light, and behold the angel of the
Lord will reveal all things, for so sayeth the Book of all books."

"I don't know what you mean," replied Smith, who had listened
attentively to the wild, rambling speech of the convict without
comprehending its import; "but this I do know, that I would mash the
heads of the bushrangers who robbed my cart, if they were within the
reach of my axe."

"Trust in God for vengeance, for to him does it belong," exclaimed the
convict, drawing a dirty looking and well-thumbed Testament from his
pocket, and turning over leaf after leaf as though seeking for a
particular chapter.

"We must get him to put up his book, or he'll read from now till
sundown," cried Smith, with visible alarm at the idea of being compelled
to listen.

"Here is an unfortunate woman that needs your assistance," said Smith,
laying a hand upon the old man's arm, and calling his attention to his
child.

"Does she need spiritual assistance, or only food for the body? Her
looks are like those of a person who has been suffering."

"She has suffered much within twenty-four hours, and her only friend now
is that dog that keeps so close to her."

"Let her be comforted," the convict cried, approaching her; "if her
sorrow is ever so deep, it can be healed."

He closed his book as he spoke and approached his child, who sat with
downcast eyes, and apparently unconscious of his presence.

"Daughter," he began; but at the sound of his voice so near, she raised
her eyes hastily, and on her face could be seen the emotions and
struggles to recollect where she had before heard his tones. She
pressed her hand to her forehead as though forcing memory to reveal its
secret, but suddenly the truth was revealed to her.

"Father," she cried, starting to her feet, and throwing her arms around
that white-headed man's neck, venerable before his time. "Father! O God,
is it you?"

She laid her aching head upon his bosom, and, with her arms around his
neck, shed tears as freely as she did the day that she was separated
from him, as she thought, forever.

The convict staggered back, and would have fallen, had not Fred's strong
arm supported him. He glanced from face to face as though trying to read
the meaning of the surprise, and then he turned his looks upon his
daughter.

"Mary," he cried, after pushing the hair from her forehead, "can it,
indeed, be my child--has the little girl whom I left in England grown to
be a woman!"

He held her close in his embrace as though he feared that something
would happen to prevent his seeing her again. He kissed the tears from
her cheeks, and begged her to be calm, and to tell him about her voyage,
and lastly to speak about her husband and children.

Her sobs were her only response. He grew impatient at her refusal to
answer his interrogations, and then suspicions of foul play entered his
imagination.

"There has been some wrong done you," he cried, appealing to his
daughter.

She answered with tears and moans.

"Speak, and tell me who has dared to injure you," he cried vehemently.
"Was it your husband?"

His brow grew threatening and black, as he put the question.

There was no reply, but his daughter clung to his neck with a more
convulsive grasp, as though she feared to lose her parent also.

He glanced from Smith to Fred, and from the latter to myself, as though
debating whether we were the guilty party.

"Tell me," he cried, lifting her head from his shoulder, and seeking to
get a glimpse of her face, "who has wronged you?"

There was no response. He placed her gently upon the blankets, and then
with a face that was livid with rage, grasped his musket which had
fallen to the ground.

"Which of you has dared to do this?" he asked, and the ominous click of
the lock of the gun proved that he was in earnest, and that all of his
worst passions were aroused.

No one answered. I looked towards Smith, expecting to hear him explain
every thing; but, to my surprise, he was silent; evidently too much
astonished at the unexpected turn which the affair had assumed, to
speak.

My look was misconstrued by the indignant convict, for before I could
speak, the long gun was levelled at the breast of Smith, and in another
moment all his hopes and fears would have been at an end, had not his
child started up and rushed towards him.

"Not him!" she shouted, wildly. "O God, not him!"

He dropped the muzzle of his gun, but his fierce eyes still glared from
Fred to me.

"Which of these two?"

He indicated us with a motion of the hand that held the gun, and looked
in his child's face for confirmation.

"Neither, father--so help me Heaven, neither. Without the aid of these
friends I should have perished."

He dropped the muzzle of the gun, and each of us felt thankful as he did
so, for we had witnessed the accuracy of his aim the day before, and
while the muzzle of the musket was pointed towards us, one of our lives
was not worth insuring.

"You are tired and distressed," the convict said, addressing his
daughter with a degree of tenderness that I thought wonderful after his
late outbreak.

"My head," she murmured, "feels as though it would burst; while my heart
is broken already."

"Rest a while, until I confer with your new-found friends, and then you
shall accompany me to my home. It is a hut, but it is all I have to
shelter you."

It was singular to witness how soon the recluse had once more become an
active man of the world, and for a while forgotten his Bible and
religious fanaticism.

"Tell me all that has happened," the convict said, motioning for us
three to follow him a short distance from his daughter, so that our
conversation could not be overheard by her.

Smith related the strange visit of the hound, and his leading us to the
scene of the murder--our finding his child in an insensible
condition--the story of her wrongs, and our surprise at finding that she
was in search of him. He listened with clinched teeth, and only
interrupted the narrative with groans of rage and anguish. When he knew
all, we waited to see what course he would pursue.

To our surprise, he did not speak, but turned away as though about to
seek his home.

"Stay one moment," cried Smith, laying his hand upon his shoulder.

"Well," cried the convict, impatiently.

"What do you propose to do?" we asked.

"Are you Americans, and ask that question?" he demanded.

"You think of seeking Black Darnley?" Smith continued.

"I do."

"Alone?"

"Alone."

"You shall not," cried Smith, with sudden energy. "You are no match for
him and his gang."

"My daughter's injury must be avenged. I go alone to consummate it."

"Stay until to-morrow, and we will accompany you," Fred and myself cried
with one accord.

The convict hesitated for a moment, then suddenly extended his hands,
and while he wrung ours, promised a compliance. The next instant he had
lifted his daughter in his arms, and was walking with the burden towards
his hut.

We saw no more of him until towards night, and then he was in front of
the hut cleaning his long, heavy musket.




CHAPTER VIII.

AN EXPEDITION.--A FIGHT WITH BUSHRANGERS.--DEATH OF BLACK DARNLEY.


"I don't like the expedition," said Smith, pettishly, as he saw Fred and
myself examining our powder-flasks and counting bullets.

"Then stay here and await our return," cried Fred, bluntly, looking up
from his work.

Smith moved uneasily, muttered something in an under tone, felt the edge
of his constant companion, a heavy axe, and then replied,--

"If you two harum-scarum youngsters are determined to get your throats
cut, I don't see but that I shall have to be near at hand. But I tell
you it is bad business, and none but crazy men would think of
penetrating that dark forest in search of bushrangers."

"You wouldn't let that old man go alone, would you?" we asked.

"No; but then--"

He stopped a moment, as though to collect his thoughts, and pettishly
exclaimed,--

"D---- it, you are going in search of the worst gang on the island.
Black Darnley is equal to all three of us in a personal encounter."

"But suppose we kept him at bay, and tried the effect of rifle shot?" I
asked, holding up a short, heavy, instrument, carrying about twenty-five
to a pound.

"The rifle looks like a true one, and I know that you boys can shoot,
but suppose that you didn't get the chance?"

"Then we must trust to luck," answered Fred, coolly.

"I'm no great hand at bush-fighting," replied Smith; "but we have joined
our fortunes for a trip to the mines, and I'm not the man to desert you
at the time of need."

"Then you'll go?" we asked.

"Yes; if I get killed it matters not much."

In half an hour we were ready; each man carried a small knapsack,
containing a few cakes of bread and the remains of the kangaroo, while
Smith provided himself with a small bottle, the contents of which he
kept a profound secret.

Copyright (c) 2007. bestextbooks.com. All rights reserved.

P. L. Simmonds - "The Commercial Products of the Vegetable Kingdom"

Various - "Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 103, August 20, 1892"

R. G. - "The Third And Last Part Of Conny Catching. (1592)"

Anonymous - "A Queens Delight"