Chapter Nineteen.
Homeward Bound.
It was a month after the return of Jacob and his party from the diggings that Frank, Jacob, and Captain Merryweather met on board the Sabrina at Port Adelaide.
“So, Jacob, my boy,” cried the captain; “why, how you’re grown! Colonial life agrees with you. I should hardly have known you. And you’re coming home in the old ship. I’m heartily glad of it; that is, supposing you’re the same lad as when you sailed with me before. I mean, as stanch an abstainer.”
“Ay, that he is,” said Frank warmly.
“And you too, Mr Oldfield?”
“Well, I am at present,” replied the other, colouring; “and I hope to continue so.”
“Ah, then, I suppose you’ve never signed the pledge.”
“No; more’s the pity.”
“Oh, Mayster Frank,” interposed Jacob, “you promised me, when you were so ill, as you’d sign when you got better.”
“And so I will; but it’s no use signing for the first time now, when I’m going home in a total abstinence ship. I’ll join some society at home. Our good rector’s, for instance. Yes; I’ll join his, and my name and example will be really of some use then.”
“Excuse me, Mr Oldfield, pressing you on the subject, but I hope you’ll allow me the privilege of an old friend,” said the captain. “I feel so very strongly on the matter. I’ve seen so very much mischief done from putting off; and if a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth doing at once; take my advice—‘There’s no time like the present;’ ‘Never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day;’ these are two good proverbs. I’ve found them of immense value in my line of life.”
“Yes; they’re very good proverbs, no doubt,” said Frank, laughing; “but there are some as good, perhaps, on the other side, though you won’t think so; for instance, ‘Second thoughts are best,’ and ‘Better late than never.’”
“True, Mr Oldfield; but ‘late’ often runs into never.”
Frank made a gay, evasive reply, and turned hastily away, leaving Jacob to arrange some matters in his cabin, while he went himself on shore.
He was loitering about among the warehouses till Jacob should join him, when a figure which seemed familiar to him approached, in earnest conversation with another man, but he could not see the face of either distinctly. After a while they parted, and the man whom he seemed to recognise was left alone, and turned towards him. But could it really be? Dare he believe his eyes? Yes; there could be no mistake, it was indeed Juniper Graves. That rather reckless character was, however, much more spruce in his appearance, and better dressed, than when in Frank Oldfield’s service. There was an assumption of the fine gentleman about him, which made him look ludicrously contemptible, and had Frank not been roused to furious indignation at the sight of him, he could hardly have refrained from a violent outburst of merriment at the absurd airs and graces of his former servant. As it was, breathless with wrath, his eyes flashing, and his face in a crimson glow, he rushed upon the object of his just resentment, and, seizing him by the collar, exclaimed in a voice of suppressed passion,—
“You—you confounded scoundrel! you rascally thief! So I’ve caught you at last. I’ll make very short work with you, you ungrateful villain.”
Then he paused for a moment, and shaking him violently, added,—
“What have you to say for yourself, why I shouldn’t hand you over at once to the police?”
Nothing could be more whimsically striking than the contrast between Juniper Graves’ grand and jaunty bearing a moment before, and his present utter crawling abjectness. He became white with terror, and looked the very picture of impotent cowardice. But this was but for a minute; then his self-possession returned to him. He felt that, if his master gave him over immediately in charge to the police, everything was lost; but if he could only get a hearing for a few minutes, before any further step was taken, he was persuaded that he could manage to stem the torrent that was bearing against him, especially as, fortunately for him, Frank Oldfield and himself were alone. His first object, therefore, was to gain time.
“Oh, Mr Frank, Mr Frank!” he cried beseechingly, “spare me—spare me—you don’t know all—you’re labouring under a great misapplication; if you only knew all, you’d think very indifferently of me.”
“That’s just what I do now,” said the other, smiling in spite of himself. Juniper saw the smile. He was satisfied that his case was not hopeless.
“Pray, Mr Frank,” he said humbly and softly, “pray do take your hand off my coat; there’s no need, sir—I shan’t try to escape, sir—I’ll follow you as impressively as a lamb—only give me time, and I’ll explain all.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Frank; “do you mean to tell me that you’ll explain back my fifty pounds into my pocket again?”
“Yes, sir, and more besides, if you’ll only be patient and hear me. Thank you, sir. If you’ll just step in here, sir, I hope to be able to explain all to your satisfaction.”
They entered a little office connected with a weighing-machine, which happened to be vacant at the time.
“Now, mind,” said Frank Oldfield, when they were shut in alone, “I’ll have a straightforward statement, without any prevarication, or I give you over at once into custody. If you can’t clear yourself, and I don’t see how you possibly can, there’s the jail before you, the only place you’re fit for.”
“I’m quite aware, sir, that appearances are against me,” said the other meekly; “but, Mr Frank, you’ll not refuse to listen to your old servant, that’s devoted himself so faithfully to you and yours in England, and came across the seas just because he couldn’t abide to be separated from you any longer.”
“Come, sir,” said Frank Oldfield sternly; “I’m not to be talked over in this way. You weren’t so very anxious to avoid separation when you left me on a sick-bed, and made off with my fifty pounds. Come, sir, give me your explanation, as you call it, at once, and without any nonsense about your faithfulness to me and mine, or I shall put the prison-door between you and me, and that’ll be a separation you’ll not get over so easily.”
“But you haven’t heard me, sir; you haven’t heard all. You don’t know what I have to say in attenuation of my offence.”
“I mayn’t have heard all, Juniper, but I’ve both heard and seen about you a great deal more than I like; so let me warn you again, I must have a plain, straightforward statement. What have you done with my money, and how can you justify your abandoning me in my illness?”
“Ah! Mr Frank, you little know me—you little know what’s in my heart. You little know how every pulse reverberates with deepest affection. But I’ll go to the point, sir, at once;” for Frank began to exhibit signs of impatience. “When I saw you was getting ill, sir, and not able to care for yourself, I says to myself, ‘I must ride off for a doctor. But what’ll my poor master do while I’m gone? he’s no power to help himself, and if any stranger should come in—and who knows it mightn’t be one of these bushrangers!—he’d be sure to take advantage of him and steal his money while he lay helpless.’ So says I to myself again, ‘I think I’ll risk it. I know it’ll look awkward,’—but there’s nothing like a good conscience, when you know you haven’t meant to do wrong. ‘I’ll just take the money with me, and keep it safe for him till I get back.’ Nay, please, Mr Frank, hear me out. Well, I took the fifty pounds, I don’t deny it; it may have been an error in judgment, but we’re all of us infallible beings. I rode off to find a doctor, but no doctor could I find; but I met a young bushman, who said he’d get some one to look after you till I could return.”
“And why didn’t you return; and how came you to want two horses to fetch the doctor with?” asked Frank impatiently.
“Ah! dear sir, don’t be severe with me till you know all. I took both the horses for the same reason that I took the money. I was afraid a stranger might come while I was away, perhaps a bushranger, and the very first thing he’d have laid his hands on would have been the horse.”
“Well; and why didn’t you come back?”
“I did try, sir, to come back, but I missed my road, and made many fruitful efforts to regain my lost track. At last, after I’d tried, and tried, and tried again, I gave up in despair, and I should have perished in the scowling wilderness if I hadn’t met with a party going to the diggings. Then the thought crossed my mind, ‘I’ll go and dig for gold; if I succeed, I’ll show my dear master that I’m no slave to Mammoth, but I’ll lay down my spoils at his feet; and if I fail, I cannot help it.’ Well, sir, I went and dug with a good will. I prospered. I came back to look for my dear master, but I could not find him—he was evacuated. At last I heard that you were going to England, Mr Frank, and I said to myself; ‘I’ll go too. I’ll pay my own passage. I’ll be the dear young master’s devoted servant, and he shall see by my unwearied intentions that I never really could have meant to do him wrong.’”
“And do you really think me such a fool as to believe all this?” asked Frank contemptuously.
“Yes, sir; I do hope you will, sir,” was the reply of Juniper. “There, sir,” he added, “I’ll give you the best proof that I’m not the rogue you took me for. Please, sir, to read what’s on that packet, and then open it.”
Frank took from his hands a heavy parcel, on which was clearly written, “F Oldfield, Esquire; from Juniper Graves.” He opened it. It contained six ten-pound notes and a leather bag full of nuggets.
“There, sir,” said Juniper, triumphantly, “you can tell that this is no got-up thing. I’ve had no time to write these words on the paper since you collared me. I’ve carried it about just as it is for weeks, as you may plainly see by looking at the cover of it, till I could give it into your own hands.”
It was clear, certainly, that the paper had been folded and directed some considerable time back, as was manifest from the marks of wear and rubbing which it exhibited. Frank was staggered.
“Really, Juniper,” he said, “I don’t know what to think, I can’t deny that this packet has been made up for me before our present meeting, and it has all the appearance of having been some considerable time just as it now is. It certainly looks as if you didn’t mean to rob me, as you’ve paid me, I should think, nearly double what you took. Of course, I don’t want that. I shall not take more than my fifty pounds.”
“Oh, sir, do take the rest, as some amends for the anxiety I’ve caused you by my foolish act, in taking charge of your money in the way I did without your knowledge or permission. It was wrong, and I oughtn’t to have done it; but I meant it for the best. And oh, dear master, do think the best of me. I never did mean to harm you; and I’m ready to go with you now from the Pole to the Antipathies.”
“No, Juniper, I shall only take my own,” said his master; and he restored him one of the ten-pound notes and the nuggets, which Juniper accepted with apparent reluctance.
“So far,” said Frank Oldfield, “let bygones be bygones. I trust that you’ll not make any more such awkward mistakes.”
“You’re satisfied then, sir?” asked Graves.
“Yes, so far as my money is concerned. But there’s a graver charge against you still. Jacob Poole has informed me, and asserts it most positively, that you stole into his tent at the diggings and tried to murder him.”
“Well, did I ever!” exclaimed Juniper, holding up both his hands in amazement. “I really think, sir, that young man can’t be quite right in his head. Me try to murder him! why, I’ve never set eyes on him since the day he spoke so impertinently to me at the cottage. Me murder him! what can the poor, silly young man be thinking of. It’s all his fancy, sir; merely congestion of the brain, sir, I assure you; nothing but congestion of the brain.”
“It may be so,” replied Frank; “but here he comes himself; let us hear what he has to say on the subject.”
They both stepped out into the open air as Jacob Poole came up.
Poor Jacob, had he seen the “father of lies” himself walking with his master, he could hardly have been more astounded. He rubbed his eyes, and stared hard again at Frank and his companion, to assure himself that he was not mistaken or dreaming. No; there could be no doubt of it. Frank Oldfield was there, and Juniper Graves was as clearly there; and it was equally plain that there was more of confidence than of distrust in his master’s manner towards the robber and intended murderer. What could it all mean?
“Come here, Jacob,” said Frank. “I see you look rather aghast, and I don’t wonder; but perhaps you may find that Juniper Graves here is not quite so black as we have thought him. He acknowledges that he took my fifty pounds, but he says he never meant to keep it; and that he missed his way in looking for a doctor, and afterwards joined a party at the diggings.”
“Well, Mayster Frank?” said Jacob, with a look of strong incredulity.
“Ah, I see you don’t believe it, and I own it don’t sound very likely; but then, you see, he has given me a proof of his wish not to wrong me; for—look here, Jacob—he has returned me my fifty pounds, and wanted me to take another ten pounds, and some nuggets besides, his own hard earnings at the diggings; only, of course, I wouldn’t have them.”
“Indeed, mayster,” replied Jacob, with a dry cough of disbelief; and glancing at Juniper, who had assumed, and was endeavouring to keep up on his cunning countenance, an appearance of injured virtue.
“Yes, indeed, Jacob,” said his master; “and we mustn’t be too hard upon him. He did wrong, no doubt, and he has made the best amends he could. If he had been a thorough rogue, he never would have cared to seek me out and return me my money with large interest. And, what’s more, he’s coming over to England in the same ship with us; not as my servant, but paying his own passage, just for the sake of being near me. That doesn’t look like a thoroughly guilty conscience.”
“Coming home in the same vessel with us!” cried Jacob, in utter astonishment and dismay. “Coming home in the same vessel!”
“Yes, Mr Poole,” said Juniper, stepping forward, and speaking with an air of loftiness and injured innocence; “and, pray, why not coming home in the same vessel? What have you to say against it, I should like to know? Am I to ask your leave in what ship I shall cross the brawny deep? Have you a conclusive right to the company of our master?—for he is mine as well as yours till he himself banishes me irresolutely from his presence.”
“You shall not sail in the same vessel with us, if I can hinder it, as sure as my name’s Jacob Poole,” said the other.
“And how can you hinder it, Mr Poole, I should like you to tell me? I ask nobody’s favour. I’ve paid my passage-money. I suppose my brass, as you wulgarly call it, is as good as any other man’s.”
“Well,” said Jacob, “I’ll just tell you what it is. You’ll have to clear up another matter afore you can start for England. You’ll have to tell the magistrate how it was as you crept into my tent at the diggings, and tried to stick your knife into me. What do you say to that, Mr Juniper Graves?”
Just the very slightest tremor passed through Juniper’s limbs, and the faintest tinge of paleness came over his countenance at this question, but he was himself again in a moment.
“Really,” he exclaimed, “it’s enough to throw a man off his balance, and deprive him of his jurisprudence, to have such shocking charges brought against him. But I should like, sir, to ask this Mr Poole a question or two, as he’s so ready to accuse me of all sorts of crimes; he don’t suppose that I’m going to take him for judge, jury, and witnesses, without having a little shifting of the evidence.”
“Well, of course, it’s only fair that you should ask him for proof;” said Frank.
“Come, then, Mr Poole,” said Juniper, in a fierce swaggering tone, “just tell me how you can prove that I ever tried to murder you? Pooh! it’s easy enough to talk about tents; and knives, and such things, but how can you prove it that I ever tried to murder you? a likely thing, indeed.”
“Prove it!” exclaimed Jacob, evidently a little at fault.
“Yes, prove it. Do you think I’m going to have my character sworn away on such unsubstantial hallucinations? Tell me, first, what time of the day did it happen?”
“It didn’t happen in the day at all, as you know well enough.”
“Was it dark?”
“Yes.”
“Could you see who it was as tried to murder you, as you say?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know it was me?”
“I hit the scoundrel with my spade,” said Jacob, indignantly, “and made him sing out, and I knowed it were your voice; I should have knowed it among a thousand.”
“And that’s all your proof,” said the other, sneeringly. “You knowed my voice.”
“Ay,” replied Jacob; “and I left my mark on you too. There’s a scar on your hand. I haven’t a doubt that’s it.”
“Can you prove it?” asked the other, triumphantly. “A scar, indeed! Do you think scars are such uncommon things with men as works hard at the diggings, that you can swear to one scar? A precious likely story!”
“Ah, but I saw you myself.”
“When?”
“At two of the preachings.”
“Preachings! and what then? I didn’t try and murder you at the preachings, did I? But are you sure it was me, after all, as you saw at the preachings?”
“Quite.”
“How was I dressed? Was the person you took for me just the same as me? Had he the same coloured hair—smooth face, like me?”
“I’ll tell you plain truth,” said Jacob, warmly; “it were you. I’m as sure as I’m here it were you; but you’d blacked your sandy hair, and growed a beard on your lip.”
“Well, I never!” cried the other, in a heat of virtuous indignation. “Here’s a man as wants to make out I tried to murder him; but when I asks him to prove it, all he says is, he couldn’t see me do it, that he heard my voice, that I’ve got a scar on my hand, that he saw me twice at some preachings, but it wasn’t me neither; it wasn’t my hair, it wasn’t my beard, and yet he’s sure it was me. Here’s pretty sort of evidence to swear away a man’s life on. Why, I wonder, young man, you ain’t ashamed to look me in the face after such a string of tergiversations.”
“I think, Jacob,” said his master, “you’d better say no more about it. It’s plain you’ve no legal proof against Juniper; you may be mistaken, after all. Let us take the charitable side, and forget what’s past. There, shake hands; and as we’re to be all fellow-voyagers, let us all be friends.”
But Jacob drew back.
“No, mayster; I’ll not grip the hand of any man, if my heart cannot go with it. Time’ll show. By your leave, I’ll go and get the dog-cart ready; for I suppose you’ll be going back to Adelaide directly?”
His master nodding assent, Jacob went to fetch the vehicle, and on his return found his master in earnest conversation with Juniper.
“Good-bye, then, Juniper, till we meet next Thursday on board the Sabrina,” he cried.
“Good-bye, sir; and many thanks for your kindness.”
Jacob, of course, uttered no word of farewell; but just looking round for an instant, he saw Juniper’s eyes fixed on him with such a look of deadly, savage hatred, as assured him—though he needed no such assurance—that his intended murderer was really there.
“I think, Jacob, you’re rather hard on Juniper,” said his master, as they drove along. “He has done wrong; but I am persuaded he has still a strong attachment to me, and I really cannot think he can have been the person who tried to murder you. Why should you think it, Jacob? He’s never done you any harm before.”
“Mr Frank, you must excuse me; but I’m sure I’m not mistaken. He’s always hated me ever since the day I spoke out my mind to you at the cottage. Take my word for it, Mr Frank, he’s no love for you; he only wants to make a tool of you, just to serve his own purposes.”
“Nay, nay, Jacob, my good fellow; not so fast. He cannot be so utterly selfish, or he never would have offered me the extra ten-pound note and the nuggets, over and above the fifty pounds, if he hadn’t really a love for me, and a true sorrow for what he has done wrong.”
“I cannot see that,” was the reply. “Of course, he knowed he was likely to meet you when he came to Adelaide; and he was pretty sure what’d happen if you gave him in charge to the police. He knowed well enough they wouldn’t listen to his tale; so, just to keep clear of the prison, he gave you the money, and made up his story just to save hisself. He knowed fast enough as you’d never take more nor your fifty pounds.”
“Ah, but Jacob,” said his master, “you’re wrong there. He had made up the parcel, nuggets and all, and directed it to me long before he saw me. Don’t that show that he intended it all for me, whether he met me or no?”
“Not a bit of it, Mr Frank,” replied Jacob, bluntly. “He knowed precious well how to play his game. I’ll be bound there’s summat wrong about his getting this gold; I’ll ne’er believe he dug it up hisself. I shouldn’t wonder if he hasn’t robbed some poor chap as has worked hard for it; and now he wants to get out of the colony as fast as he can afore he’s found out. And, in course, he’s been carrying this brass lapped up a long time, just in case you should light on him at any time, and he might seem to have a proper tale to tell. But you may be right sure, Mr Frank, as you’d ne’er have seen a penny of it if he could only have got clear out of the colony without coming across yourself.”
“You’re not very charitable, Jacob, I think,” said his master; “but it may be as you say. And yet, why should he be so anxious to go out in the same ship with me? If he wanted to keep his money to himself; why didn’t he keep close till the Sabrina was gone, and then sail by the next vessel?”
“Perhaps he did mean it, Mr Frank, only you happened to light on him.”
“No, that cannot be, for he says he has paid for his own passage.”
“Then, if that’s a true tale,” said the other, “I’ll be bound he’s not done it with any good meaning for you or me. I shall keep both my eyes well open, or he’ll be too much for me. And as for you, Mr Frank, oh, don’t listen to him, or he’ll hook all your brass as he’s given you out of your pocket again, or he’ll lead you back to the drink if he can.”
Frank coloured, and looked troubled, and turned the conversation to another subject.
At last the day of sailing came. The Sabrina, taken in tow by a steam-tug, soon made her way to Holdfast Bay, where she was to lie at anchor till Saturday morning. Hubert and his uncle accompanied Frank Oldfield thus far, and then returned in the steam-tug. Before they parted, Hubert had a long conversation with his friend in his cabin. His last words were of Mary, and Frank’s one special temptation; and they separated with a fervent grasp, and eyes brimming with tears. Yet in neither of their hearts was there hope. Hubert felt that his friend had not satisfied him that he really meant utterly and for ever to renounce strong drink; and Frank felt that he had withheld any positive promise so to abstain, because he knew that the deep-rooted purpose of his heart was to resume the indulgence which would be his ruin, body and soul.
And where was Juniper? No one saw him on deck; and yet assuredly he was on board the vessel, for Jacob had seen him come up the side.
Saturday morning, and a fine favourable wind. Up comes the anchor—the Sabrina bends to the breeze—away they go! Kangaroo Island is reached and passed. Then emerges Juniper Graves from his cabin between decks, and smiles as he looks around him. All is safe now.
The Sabrina had been gone ten days, when a weary, downcast-looking man entered Mr Abraham Oliphant’s office.
“Your name ain’t Oliphant, is it?” he asked, doggedly.
“Yes, it is,” said Hubert, whom he was addressing.
The man got up, and stared steadily at him for a minute.
“It ain’t him!” he muttered to himself.
Hubert was inclined at first to be amused; but there was something in the man’s manner that checked his merriment.
“You want my uncle, perhaps,” he said.
Mr Abraham Oliphant came at his nephew’s summons. The man, who had all the appearance of a returned digger, shook his head.
“You’ve neither on you been to the diggings, I reckon?”
“No; we have neither of us been,” said the merchant.
“Are there any of your name as has been?” asked the other.
“None; I can answer for it,” was the reply. “My sons have none of them been; and we, with my nephew here, are all the Oliphants in this colony. No Oliphant has been to the diggings from South Australia.”
The man sighed deeply.
“Can you make anything out o’ that?” he asked, handing a piece of soiled paper to Mr Oliphant. “I can’t read myself, but you can read it.”
The merchant took the piece of paper and examined it. It had once been part of an envelope, but had been torn and rolled up to light a pipe, and one end, where it had been used, was burned. The words left on it were all incomplete, except the names “Oliphant” and “Australia.” What was left was as follows:—
yes,
Oliphant,
delaide,
th Australia.
Both uncle and nephew scrutinised it attentively. At last Hubert said,—
“I can tell now who this belonged to.”
“Who?” cried the man, eagerly.
“Why, to one Juniper Graves, a servant of Mr Frank Oldfield’s. He chose to take upon himself to have his letters from England directed to the care of my uncle, and this is one of the envelopes.”
“And where is he? Can you tell me where I can find him?” cried the digger, in great excitement.
“I’m afraid you’ll not find him at all, my friend,” replied the merchant, “for he left the colony in the Sabrina for England ten days ago.”
The effect of this announcement on the poor man was tremendous. He uttered a violent imprecation, stamped furiously on the ground, while he ground his teeth together. Then he sat down, and covered his face with his hands in mute despair.
“I fear there has been some foul play,” said Mr Oliphant to his nephew.
“Foul play!” cried the unfortunate digger, starting up furiously. “I’ll tell you what it is. Yon rascal’s been and robbed me of all as I got by my hard labour; and now he’s got clean off. But I’ll follow him, and have the law of him, if I work my passage home for it.”
“I’ve always had a suspicion that the fellow had not come honestly by his gains,” said Hubert.
“And why didn’t you stop him? Why didn’t you have him taken up on suspicion?” exclaimed the other bitterly.
“I had no grounds for doing so,” replied Hubert. “He might have come honestly by his money for anything I knew to the contrary. There was nothing to show that he had not been successful, as many other diggers have been.”
“Successful!” cried the poor man. “Ay, he’s been successful in making a precious fool of me.”
“Tell us how it happened,” said Mr Oliphant.
“Why, you see, gentlemen, my mates and me had done very well; and they was for going to Melbourne with what they’d got, but I was for stopping to get a little more. Well, I was all alone, and a little fidgetty like for fear of getting robbed, when one evening I sees a sandy-haired chap near my tent as didn’t look much used to hard work; so I has a bit o’ talk with him. He seemed a greenish sort of piece, and I thought as p’raps I might just make use of him, and keep him for company’s sake. So he and I agreed to be mates; he was to do the lighter work, and I was to do the hard digging, and keep the biggest share of what we got. So we chummed together; and he seemed a mighty pleasant sort of a cove for a bit. He was always a-talking, and had his mouth full o’ big words. I never said nothing about what I’d got afore, and he never seemed to care to ask me. But it were all his deepness. One night he pulls out a pack of cards, and says, ‘Let’s have a game. Only for love,’ says he, when he saw me look a little shyly at him. ‘I’m not a gambler,’ says he; ‘I never plays for money.’ So we has a game and a pipe together, and he pulls out a little flask of spirits, and we got very cheerful. But I was careful not to take too much that night. However, the rum set my tongue loose, and I let out something about having more gold than he knowed of. I was mighty vexed, however, next day, when I remembered what I’d said. But he never said a word about it, but looked werry innocent. A few nights arterwards we gets drinking and smoking again. Then he took a little too much himself. I knowed it, because next day he was axing me if I’d see’d anything of an envelope as he’d lost. I told him ‘no;’ but the real fact was, he’d twisted it up to light his pipe with, and I’d picked up the bit as he threw away, and put it in my pocket. I didn’t think anything about it then; but next day, when he made a great fuss about it, and the day after too, I said to myself; ‘I’ll keep the bit of paper; maybe summat’ll turn up from it one of these days.’ So I took it out of my pocket when he were not by, and stowed it away where I knew he couldn’t find it. But I shall weary you, gentlemen, with my long story. Well, the long and short of it was just this. He managed to keep the spirit-bottle full, and got me jolly well drunk one night; and then I’ve no doubt I told him all he wanted to know about my gold, for I know no more nor the man in the moon what I said to him. I asked him next day what I’d been talking about; and he said I was very close, and wouldn’t let out anything. Well, it seems there was a strong party leaving the diggings a day or so arter; but it was kept very snug. Jemmy Thomson—that was what my new mate called himself to me—had managed to hear of it, and got leave to join ’em. So, the night afore they went, he gets me into a regular talk about the old country, and tells me all sorts of queer stories, and keeps filling my pannikin with grog till I was so beastly drunk that I knew nothing of what had happened till it was late the next morning. Then I found he was off. He’d taken every nugget I’d got, and some bank-notes too, as I’d stowed away in a safe place. The party had started afore daybreak; and nobody knowed which way they’d gone, for they’d got off very secret. I was like one mad, you may be sure, when I discovered what he’d been and done. I took the bit of paper with me, and managed somehow to get to Melbourne. I tried to find him out; some only laughed at me. I went to the police; they couldn’t do nothing for me—some on ’em told me it served me right for getting drunk. Then I went to a minister; and he was very kind, and made all sorts of inquiries for me. He said he’d reason to believe as Jemmy Thomson—as the rascal called himself—was not in Melbourne. And then he looked at my paper. ‘Call on me to-morrow,’ says he. And so I did. Then he says, ‘There’s no Oliphant here as I can find out; but there’s a Mr Abraham Oliphant, a merchant, in Adelaide. This letter’s been to him; you’d better see him.’ So I’ve come here overland with a party; and now I must try my hand at summat or starve, for I shall never see my money nor the villain as stole it no more.”
Mr Oliphant was truly sorry for the unfortunate man, and bade him take heart, promising to find him employment if he was willing to stick to his work and be sober. The man was thankful for the offer, and worked for a few weeks, but he was still all athirst for the gold, and, as soon as he could purchase the necessary tools, set out again for the diggings, with an earnest caution from Mr Oliphant to keep from the drink if he would not suffer a repetition of his loss and misery.
And thus it was that Juniper Graves had acquired his ill-gotten wealth. Having ascertained that a party was returning to South Australia, he joined himself to them, and got safe off with his stolen gold. As Jacob Poole had surmised, he had made up the packet of notes with the nuggets, that, should he happen to fall in with his master, he might be able to pacify him, and so prepare the way for regaining his favour and his own hold upon him. He felt quite sure, from what he knew of Frank Oldfield’s generous character, that he never would take more than the fifty pounds, and he was aware that unless he made unhesitating restitution of that sum, he was in danger of losing all, and of being thrown into prison. And now he was anxious to leave the colony as soon as possible, that he might put the sea between himself and the man he had robbed; and, having ascertained that Frank Oldfield and Jacob Poole were returning to England in the Sabrina, he took his passage in the same vessel, partly with the view of getting his young master once more into his power, and partly in the hope of finding an opportunity of wreaking his vengeance on Jacob Poole. Therefore he was determined to leave no stone unturned to regain his influence over Frank, for his object was to use him for his own purposes both during and after the voyage. To this end his first great aim would be to cause, if possible, an estrangement between Jacob and his master. He also hoped to do his rival—as he considered Jacob—some injury of a serious kind, without exposing himself to detection. So far he had succeeded. All had prospered to his utmost wishes; and, as the shores of Kangaroo Island faded from the view of the voyagers, he hugged himself in secret and said,—
“Bravo, Juniper!—bravo! You’ve managed it to a T. Ah, Mr Jacob Poole! I’ll make your master’s cabin too hot to hold you afore any of us is a month older.”