CHAPTER I.
"What sport shall we devise, here in this garden,
To drive away the heavy thought of care?"
Richard II., Act 3, Sc. 4.
Three days after that to which we brought down our narrative in the last chapter the morning broke calmly and serenely over the wooded wastes of the bush; and while the pleasant zephyr of the morning tempered the rays of the sun, as he sped his course to the zenith, a happy party of equestrians might have been seen cantering by the bridle path between Strawberry Hill and Brompton. That party consisted of our friends, Mrs., Miss, and Tom Rainsfield, and the Fergusons, accompanied by their black boy Joey. The van was led by the first named lady, accompanied by William Ferguson, while the others followed riding two abreast, having paired off in a manner most congenial to themselves. The rear was brought up by Joey and William's dogs, who coursed through the bush in seeming delight at the prospect of wearing off a little of the rust that had grown on them from their late inertness.
They had ridden for nearly four hours when they slackened their speed a little as the noon-day sun became more powerful; while, at that moment, they came to a beautiful little spot where a grassy slope terminated in a lagoon, whose waters appeared to the travellers clear and refreshingly cool. Here Mrs. Rainsfield drew up her horse, and proposed a halt for tiffin; which being generally assented to, the party dismounted. The bridles of their horses being each fastened round a tree, some refreshments were produced by Tom from his valise; and the friends sat down in a shady spot on the green sward, and partook with that hearty zest that can only be appreciated by those who have been similarly situated.
When perfectly refreshed they proceeded on their way, and arrived at Brompton before the close of the evening. There they were hospitably received by Mr. and Mrs. Smithers, and very graciously by Bob, who was all urbanity for the occasion. They found several of the guests had also arrived, those, who like themselves had arrived from a long distance; and the house then was as much a scene of gaiety as if it had been the grand reunion itself. The evening passed pleasantly enough; but, our object being more particularly to picture to the reader the fêtes of the following day, we will draw a veil over the company for the night, and introduce them again on the morning.
The morning in due time came; and was simply a repetition of those common to a Queensland summer. A cloudless sky spanned the horizon, in which the sun had a tropical brilliancy, without the scorching power incidental to most sunny climes. The air was genial and salubrious, and the balmy breeze bore on its placid wings the aroma of the surrounding acacia and mimosa. It was such a day as poets love to picture, but which, to the incredulous matter of fact denizens of "foggy England," a description only generates a confirmed and unqualified pyrrhonism. With all the exercise, however, of the scepticism of our friends in the "old country," it, nevertheless, does not diminish the lustre of such glorious sunshine as, we again repeat, is to be found nowhere in such tolerant perfection as in Queensland, and which marked the morning to which we allude. Perhaps the weather was a little warmer than usual, and the atmosphere drier; rather more so, in fact, than the settlers desired, for their rivers and creeks were getting low, and many were desiring rain to refresh their grass, and refill their water-holes and courses. However, such desideratum had no consideration with the party assembled at Brompton, whose sport at the time they seemed determined nothing should mar.
The great fête of the day was to be the races; and it was then that the agrarian beauties of Brompton showed to advantage. It may be remembered in an early chapter of our story we gave a cursory sketch of the station, but in the event of its topography having escaped the memory of the reader, we will again partially repeat the description. For some considerable distance down the bank of the Gibson river the land was almost perfectly level, and unusually free from timber. It was fenced off into paddocks of considerable size. Towards the centre of one of these was a swamp, from which the surrounding ground had just sufficient rise to constitute it the reservoir for the drainage of the land; while towards the river, and immediately on the bank, the land rose in a little knoll. Here then was a naturally formed race course; and, by the erection of a few posts, a course was marked out that for amenity, level, turf, and convenience of sight, it would be difficult to surpass.
Towards eleven o'clock nearly all the expected guests having arrived, and the ground became a lively scene as the gay and well-mounted equestrians cantered in laughing and merry groups backwards and forwards; some few, more exhilarated or pedantic than the rest, trying the course and the mettle of their steeds. The guests of the Smitherses were not the only ones who had congregated to witness the sport. Other visitors of a more plebeian character, and self-invited, were there; all those within a circuit of some thirty miles, who by any possibility could obtain release from their work, had camped themselves in the neighbourhood to be spectators. The company had ridden over the ground, and had dispersed in all directions; when the horses "entered to run," decorated with their party-coloured rosettes, and led by their respective riders carrying their saddles, were descried coming on to the course; and speedily the scattered parties converged to the knoll we have mentioned, and which now served for a grand stand.
The horses approached the post; and the necessary preliminaries having been gone through, they assumed their places; when the few of the spectative portion of the company, who still remained in the way, speedily retired, responsive to the call of "clear the course;" and, after the usual amount of "false starts," the signal was given that was unanimously acted upon, and away went the horses.