Volume Three—Chapter Two.
Farrell and His Wife, Once More.
Three weeks “prospecting,” at Slaty Creek, convinced me that it was not the place for a gold-digger to make his fortune, without the severest labour; and for this reason, I left it—returning to Ballarat.
On arriving at the latter place, I went to see my old Californian acquaintance, Farrell. The instant I set eyes on him, and he on me, his features plainly proclaimed that he had something to tell me, which he deemed very amusing.
“Farrell,” said I, “you are working a rich claim; I see fortune written on your face.”
“Nothing of the kind,” he answered; “I have just finished a tolerable spell of digging, it is true; and shall start for home to-morrow. But it ain’t that; I have better news still.”
“Better news? What can it be!”
“I’ve seen Foster, and my wife. Ha! ha! they’ve been living in sight of my tent for the last four months; and I never knew they were there until two days ago!”
“Then you have seen Foster?”
“Certainly, I have!”
“What did you do to him?”
“Nothing. Fate is giving me all the revenge I want; and I would not interfere with her designs—not for the world. In saying that Foster is the most miserable object I’ve seen for many years. I speak only the truth. He has a rheumatic fever, and hasn’t been able to stir out of his tent for six weeks. He will probably never go out of it again—that is, alive. Now, I call that fun; isn’t it?”
“Not much for Foster, I should think. But how came you to find them?”
“I was in my tent, one morning, when I heard a woman talking to my partner, who happened to be outside just by the door. The woman was wanting to get some washing to do. She said, that her husband had been a long time ill; and that they hadn’t a shilling to live upon. I thought her voice sounded familiar to me; and, taking a peep out of the tent, I saw at once it was my runaway wife! I waited till she walked away; and then, slipping out, I followed her to her own tent. She went inside, without seeing me; and then I stepped in after her, and stood quietly surveying the guilty pair.
“My wife went off into a fit of ‘highstrikes,’ while Foster lay trembling, like a craven, expecting every moment to be killed. ‘Don’t be frightened,’ said I, ‘I haven’t the slightest intention to put you out of your misery. I like revenge too well for that. You have some more trouble to see yet, I hope; and I’m not going to do anything that might hinder you from seeing it.
“I waited till my wife became sufficiently composed to comprehend what was going on; and then, after thanking her for the kindness she had done me—by relieving me of all further trouble with her—I bid them ‘good day,’ and walked off, leaving them to reflect upon the interview.
“To-day, I have just been to visit them again; and the want and misery, they appear to be suffering, gave me no little pleasure. They looked as though they had not had a morsel to eat for a week; and I could not see a scrap—of either bread or meat—in their tent.
“I told them, not to give themselves any further uneasiness, on my account, for I wasn’t going to molest them any more. ‘I’ve made a little fortune here,’ said I, ‘and intend starting for New York State to-morrow. Have you any message to send to your friends?’ I asked of Foster. The poor devil could not, or would not, make me a reply. ‘Have you, Mary,’ said I, turning to my wife. She could only answer with sobs. ‘It is a miserable, wretched life, at the best, on these diggings,’ I remarked. I am going to leave it, and once more seek happiness in my native land. Excuse me, Mr Foster, and you, Mrs F., for not helping you in your distress. I know that there is an All-wise Creator, who will reward both of you, as your conduct deserves; and it would be presumptuous in me to take any of the work out of his hands. I leave you here, with full confidence in the belief, that divine justice will be impartially administered to all.
“Now that was what I call good talking,—what do you say?”
“Very good, indeed,” I answered. “But are you really going to leave them in that manner?”
“Certainly, I am. I never intend to see either of them again. When I was coming away from their tent, my wife followed me out, went down on her knees, and piteously entreated me to aid her, in returning to her parents. She declared, that she never knew my worth, until she had foolishly lost me; and that she now loved me more than ever she had done—my little finger, more than Foster’s whole body—which it would not have been difficult to make me believe. She said, she would not ask me to let her live with me again; but, that if I would give her money to return home, she would pass the remainder of her days in praying for me.
“No, Mary,” said I, “do not think so unjustly of me, as to suppose I could do that. I love you too well, to stand in the way of your receiving the reward you have deserved; and, besides, you should not desert Forter, whom you have followed so far—now that the poor fellow is in affliction. My affection for you is too sincere, to think of allowing you to commit so great a wrong?
“Having delivered this exordium, I turned and left her. Now that is what I call revenge. What’s your opinion?”
“What is revenge to one man, may not be to another,” was my answer. “If it pleases you to act so, of course, I have nothing to say against it.”
“And what would you do?”
“I should give the woman some money, enough to enable her to return to her parents. As for the man, I should leave him to his fate.”
“Then you would act very foolishly,—as I would, if I followed your advice. The woman having got home, would be there to annoy me. I wish to go back to my native place; and be happy there for the rest of my days. How could that be—living along side a wife who had so disgraced me?”
I could say nothing more to dissuade Farrell from his purpose; and we parted company—he shortly after starting for Melbourne, to take passage for New York.
The after-fate of his faithless wife, and her wretched paramour, some other must record: for, from that hour, I never heard of either of them again.