Other men from the Highlands failed to win the smiles of fortune in Gippsland. At home, notwithstanding their tribal feuds, they held their own for two thousand years against the Roman and Saxon, the Dane and the Norman. Only one hundred and fifty years ago (it seems now almost incredible) they nearly scared the Hanoverian dynasty from the throne of England, and even yet, though scattered throughout the British Empire, they are neither a fallen nor a falling race.
Glengarry returned to his tent early, and then the buying and selling of the five hundred cows became the subject of conversation; the whisky circulated, and Long Mason observed that unfriendly looks began to be directed towards himself. He was an Englishman, a Southron, and it was a foul shame and dishonour that such as he should pay a Highland chief only twenty-seven shillings and sixpence for beasts that had cost ten pounds each. That was not the way in the good old days when the hardy men of the north descended from the mountains with broadsword and shield, lifted the cattle of the Saxon, and drove them to their homes in the glens.
The fervid temper of the Gael grew hotter at the thought of the rank injustice which had been done, and it was decided that Long Mason should be drowned in the inlet. He protested against the decision with vigour, and apparently with reason. He said:
"I did not buy the cattle at all. Glengarry sold them to Thacker and my brother in Sydney, and I only came over to take delivery of them. What wrong have I done?"
But the reasoning of the prosaic Englishman was thrown to the winds:
"Ye've done everything wrong. Ye should hae gin ten pund sterling apiece for the coos, and not twenty-sen and saxpence. It's a pity yer brither, and Thacker, and MacFarlane are no here the nicht, and we'd droon them, too."
Four strong men, shouting in Gaelic the war-cry of Sheriffmuir, "Revenge, revenge, revenge to-day, mourning to-morrow!" seized the long limbs of the unfortunate Mason, and in spite of his struggles bore him towards the beach. The water near the margin was shallow, so they waded in until it was deep enough for their purpose. There was a piercing cry, "Help! murder! murder!" John Campbell heard it, but it was not safe for a Campbell to stand between a Macdonnell and his revenge. However, Captain Davy and Pateley Jim came out of their huts to see what was the matter, and they waded after the Highlanders. Each seized a man by the collar and downhauled. There was a sudden whirlpool, a splashing and a spluttering, as all the five men went under and drank the brine.
"I think," said Pateley, "that will cool 'em a bit," and it did.
Long Mason was a university man, educated for the church, but before his ordination to the priesthood he had many other adventures and misfortunes. After being nearly drowned by the Highlanders he was placed in charge of Woodside station by his elder brother; he tried to mitigate the miseries of solitude with drink, but he did so too much and was turned adrift. He then made his way to New Zealand, and fought as a common soldier through the Heki war. Captain Patterson, of the schooner 'Eagle', met him at a New Zealand port. He was wearing a long, ragged old coat, such as soldiers wore, was out of employment, and in a state of starvation. The captain took pity on him, brought him back to Port Albert, and he became a shepherd on a station near Bairnsdale. While he was fighting the Maoris his brother had gone home, and had sent to Sydney money to pay his passage to England. But he could not be found, and the money was returned to London. At length Captain Bentley found out where he was, took him to Sydney, gave him an outfit, and paid his passage to England. Long Mason, honest man that he was, sent back the passage money, was ordained priest, obtained a living near London, and roamed no more.
He had a younger brother named Leonard Mason, who lived with Coady Buckley at Prospect, near the Ninety-Mile, and became a good bushman. In 1844 Leonard took up a station in North Gippsland adjoining the McLeod's run, but the Highlanders tried to drive him away by taking his cattle a long distance to a pound which had been established at Stratford. The McLeods and their men were too many for Leonard. He went to Melbourne to try if the law or the Government would give him any redress, but he could obtain no satisfaction. The continued impounding of his cattle meant ruin to him, and when he returned to Gippsland he found his hut burned down and his cattle gone on the way to the pound. He took a double-barrelled gun and went after them. He found them at Providence Ponds, which was a stopping place for drovers. Next morning he rose early, went to the stockyard with his gun, and waited till McDougall, who was manager for the McLeods, came out with his stockmen. When they approached the yard he said: