The Betrayal of John Fordham

by B. L. Farjeon

[CHAPTER XXIII.]

It is not pertinent to my story to dwell at any length upon my Australian experiences. As I am not writing for literary purposes, brief allusion to them will suffice.

I went out steerage in a sailing vessel, and was brought into contact with new phases of life and adventure. Had I been less anxious about myself and those connected with me, I should have found ample scope for contemplation and study in these novel pictures of human life and struggle; and even as it was, they frequently afforded me a healthy diversion from my own private cares. My time on board was chiefly occupied upon a diary which I subsequently sent home to Ellen, and being written for her I took pains to make it interesting. It interested me too, and I was amused at the importance with which trivial incidents were insensibly invested. I was, it is true, subject to fits of depression, but the salt breezes, the rough life, the open air, the alternations of storm and sunshine, invigorated me, and helped to shake them off. I had with me, besides, an infallible charm in the portraits of Ellen and our child, which I wore close to my heart. Whenever I gazed upon these pictures Ellen's words recurred to me: "Dear love, dear love, I am thinking of you," and hope bloomed like a flower within me.

At home I had given little thought to the special groove in which I should strive to obtain a livelihood in the Colonies. I was ready and willing to undertake any kind of work, but I was certainly not prepared for the difficulties I encountered. The market was crowded with unemployed labor; on all sides I heard the cry of hard times, and yet money seemed to be abundant. Surely, thought I, there must be some place for me, a man of education, in this great city, but this very quality of education seemed to stop the way. Gentlemen were at a discount; bone and muscle were the staple, despite the fact that bone and muscle were striking against capital. The wages rejected by rough workingmen I should have been glad to accept, and had I been a bricklayer, a carpenter, or a stonemason, I should soon have been in a situation; having no special trade to back me, I went to the wall. After weeks of vain endeavor, I determined to go up country and see what I could do on the goldfields. I could wield a pick if I could do nothing else.

I had lived very sparingly, but my little store of money was dwindling fast, and would, even with extreme frugality, be exhausted in a month or two. No time, therefore, to lose in idleness. To the goldfields I set my face, tramping it alone through the bush, seeking employment on the way, which I did not obtain. The golden days of the Colonies were over, and the familiar and magic cry of "Rush, O!" was seldom heard. Still, gold was being dug from the earth, and nuggets were as much my property as any man's—if I could only get on the track of them. I did not. For me Tom Tiddler's ground was nearly barren, the few pennyweights of gold I managed to extract from alluvial soil being scarcely sufficient to provide me with the commonest necessaries. Strangely enough, certain qualities which should have served me in good stead tended rather to retard me, and indeed made me unpopular with the class I mixed with. For instance, my sobriety. I was frequently invited to drink, and my steady refusal was regarded with disfavor, occasionally with contempt. Lucky diggers celebrate their good fortune by "going on the spree," and standing treat to one and all. No inducement could prevail upon me to join them; I held aloof from them, and they showed their feelings by refusing to associate with me. I regretted this the more because as a rule they were a set of free-hearted men, whose instincts were generous, if not exactly prudent. The consequence was that I made no friends, which did not help me in the battle I was waging. In this fight for fortune my greatest consolation was derived from Ellen's letters. Every month I received from my lawyer, through the Melbourne Post Office, a packet containing Ellen's letters, and one from himself upon business matters. His communications were brief. There was nothing of importance to report concerning my wife; her allowance was drawn regularly, and there was no improvement in her habits; Maxwell had called several times, and on one occasion would not depart without an interview, which was granted. He expressed anxiety about my welfare, and made efforts to ascertain where I was; the information not being supplied he retired, after indulging in mysterious threats—as to which, my lawyer said, I need not be in the least degree alarmed.

Ellen's letters were longer, and I need hardly say I read them again and again with delight. Not in one of them was to be found a complaining word; instinctively she always took the bright and cheerful view, and I knew that for my sake she would make light of crosses. How did her letters run? She was happy and in good health; she was comfortable in her lodgings, and the landlady was kindness itself; our child was wonderfully well, and was growing "so big" that I would hardly know him; his eyes were more beautiful than ever; everybody noticed them, everybody fell in love with him; it made her so proud to see people look admiringly at him, and "you would not believe the notice he takes of things"; he had learned already to lisp "mamma" and "papa;" and he sent his love to his dear papa, and a thousand, thousand kisses; she had obtained some needlework by which she was earning a few shillings a week, "not that through your great kindness we have not enough to live upon, but I want to put something by for a rainy day;" I was to be sure not to order her to give up the work, because she had too much idle time on her hands, and the hours flew by more quickly when she was fully employed; "when my needle is in my hand my thoughts are always on baby's dear father, and I am wondering what he is doing at that precise moment—but indeed, my love, you are never out of my thoughts;" and so on, and so on. Not a detail of her domestic life which she believed would afford me pleasure was omitted, "and I hope I am not worrying you by speaking of these small matters, but it is such a pleasure to me; I write every night when baby is asleep and my work is done." The tender expressions of concern for my welfare were inexpressibly comforting to me. In my lonely tent I saw with my mind's eye the dear woman in her London lodging sitting pen in hand at her labor of love, with baby asleep in his little crib, and everything in the humble room clean and sweet and orderly, and I thanked God she was happy and well.

Things went from bad to worse with me. Driven by necessity I wandered from place to place, and there seemed to be no rest for the sole of my foot. When I plied my pick on the goldfields I worked as "a hatter," by which is meant a man who works singlehanded. I spent weeks and weeks prospecting for gold and finding none. Bad luck dogged me wherever I went, whatever I undertook. I had a reasonable longing for money—for the sake of my dear Ellen and my boy, and once I missed a great fortune.

I had been compelled to part with all my belongings except a short-handled pick. All my other tools were gone, and tent and blankets as well; not a shilling in my pockets, but happily the best part of a cake of cavendish and a cutty. No man knows the comfort that lies in a pipe of tobacco as a bushman does; it has sustained the courage of many a man in as desperate a plight as I was in on that day. I had started in the early morning for a cattle station where I had heard there was the chance of a job, and towards evening found that I had missed my way. Had there been such twilight as we enjoy in England there would have been time to get into the right track, but in Australia night treads close upon the shadows of evening. It was not the first time I had been "bushed," and I accepted the position as cheerfully as my circumstances would permit. The night was fine, the sky was filled with stars, the air was sweet and warm. I had camped out under more favorable conditions, but I made the best of this, comforting myself with the reflection that I had only a few hours to wait before I obtained a meal at the cattle station I had missed. Meanwhile I smoked my pipe, and soon afterwards fell asleep upon a bed of dry leaves.

I was up with the sun, and was about to resume my search for the lost track when my eyes fell upon a range of hills studded with quartz. I thought of the stories I had heard of rich reefs being accidentally discovered by men who had lost their way in the bush, and considered that it was as likely to happen to me as to another. It is true I was hungry, but I could hold on a bit longer, and I determined to spend an hour or two in prospecting. So to it I went, selecting the most likely-looking hill, on the uppermost ridge of which rested a huge boulder of quartz, which a vivid imagination might have converted into the fantastic image of a human monster. Detaching some pieces of stone from the base of this boulder I saw fine specks of gold in them in sufficient quantity to give promise of a paying reef. The specks were so finely distributed that they could only be won by the aid of fire, water, and quicksilver, and the pulverizing stamps of a crushing machine. The discovery was therefore valueless to me in its power to relieve my present necessities, but I marked the spot and determined to return to it when my circumstances were more favorable to the opening of a new reef.

I reached the cattle station in the evening, and to my disappointment learned that there was no work for me. The kind-hearted people on the station gave me a plentiful supper and a shake-down, and when I rose the next morning to continue my wanderings I was not allowed to depart empty-handed. The life I led in the Colonies was rough and hard, but it was studded with stars of human kindness which I can never forget.