John Tincroft, bachelor and benedict

by George E. Sargent

All this was told to Walter Wilson by the infirm and easily alarmed host, who supplemented the recital of his troubles by inviting the stranger to remain at the station for at least a few days.

We have already intimated that Wilson had received a somewhat unfavourable impression concerning the owner of this station—principally, however, turning on his suspiciousness and want of hospitality to chance travellers. And it may be understood that the circumstances under which the greater part of his family had been swept off, might have accounted for his unwillingness to entertain strangers. On the present occasion, however, this unwillingness had given way to fear of another character; and he so earnestly made his request, that it would have been almost cruel in Wilson to refuse the favour asked. Though, at the same time, he was amused by the evident attempt to give the invitation the appearance of an offered favour.

"You see," said Mr. Sedley, in urging his plea, "the fellows who attacked my daughter are most likely hanging about in the bush not very far-off; and if you should fall into their hands, you will have no mercy shown to you. They are desperate men, as I know full well; and your having interrupted them in their designs of yesterday will have made you a marked man. It will not be safe for you to be travelling alone through the bush for days, and perhaps weeks, to come."

Walter thanked the old colonist for his concern on this account, but added that he was pretty well prepared to defend himself, if attacked. And he showed, what he had not produced on the field of action, one of those formidable tools, not then so common as they have since become—a six-barrelled revolver.

"I carry the lives of six men in my belt, you see, sir," said he, as the old gentleman handled the weapon curiously but cautiously. "I think," he added, "that this gives the odds in my favour against any three such scoundrels as those that were sent to the right-about yesterday—especially as they seemed to have no firearms."

Finding that this argument did not avail him, Mr. Sedley shifted his ground by acknowledging some apprehension that an attack might be made upon the station; "and now that Styles is in his present state, he would be of no use to me. As to myself, you see I am no fighting man; and the labourers about the station would take care not to endanger their lives to save my property nor my life either, even if they should not take part with the scoundrels. And then there is my daughter—"

Wilson cut short this plea by saying that it mattered little to him where he might be; and as to his own safety, or life even, he did not value it much—he had no particular reason to do so. And as he might be of some use where he was, he would remain, at any rate until the danger his host apprehended should have blown over. And so, therefore, it was finally arranged.

In the course of the day, the surgeon arrived and examined the wounded man, who was evidently sinking. The knife, as Styles himself had said, had done its work, and on the following day, it was manifest that he was dying. By this time, Helen Sedley had so far recovered from the effects of her alarm as to be able to resume her active and multiform duties. Among these were those devolving on her as the manager-general of the station; and another, of which I must now write a few words.

It is one of the great drawbacks, and one of the saddest features, properly looked at, of life in the bush (it was so in the days of which I write, and it is so now), that Sunday, with all its spiritual associations, is almost forgotten; it is looked upon, at best (with some exceptions), as a day of rest from physical toil. "God-forsaken" seems to be written on, at least, a large number of the wilderness homes which so-called Christians have planted. The isolated character of the settlements, or stations, or townships, and their distance apart, make it impossible for congregations of families to meet for weekly public worship; and except in those few instances in which the settler is under the influence of strong and abiding religious principle, the Bible is generally neglected, if it is possessed; and even a decent respect for the outward observance of family piety ceases to be paid. This the writer has been given to understand by those who ought to be better informed on the subject than himself. It would give him devout satisfaction to be convinced that the charge, as regards the present race of colonists, is unfounded—that a change for the better has taken place.

In the first years of the Sedleys' emigrant life, they had gradually sunk down from a form of religion, which it had been considered decent to keep up in the old country, to no religion at all in the new. It was not to be wondered at, for the form of godliness without the power is a dead thing, after all.