‘I really believe it would; and if I were a young man to-morrow it’s the very thing that I would go in for. We have not explored a tenth part of the boundless—I say boundless—pasture lands of this continent. No doubt there are millions of acres untouched, as good as we have ever occupied.’
‘But are they not so far off as to be valueless?’
‘No land that will carry sheep or cattle, or grow grain, can be valueless in Australia for the next century to come. And with the increase of population, all outer territories will assume a positive value as soon as the present depression is over.’
While in Yass, Wilfred consulted their good friend and adviser, Mr. Sternworth, who had indeed, by letter, when not able to visit them personally, not ceased to cheer and console during the disheartening season.
‘This is a time of trial, my dear Wilfred,’ he said, ‘that calls out the best qualities of a man, in the shape of courage, faith, and self-denial. It is the day of adversity, when we are warned not to faint. I can fully enter into your distress and anxiety, while seeing the daily loss and failure of all upon which you depended for support. It is doubly hard for you, after a term of success and progress. But we must have faith—unwavering faith—in the Supreme Ruler of events, and doubt not—doubt not for one moment, my boy—but that we shall issue unharmed and rejoicing out of this tribulation.’
Among their neighbours, unusual preparations were made to lighten the impending calamity. Unnecessary labourers were discharged. The daily work of the stations was, in great measure, done by the proprietors. The Teviots were the only domestic retainers at Benmohr; they, of course, and Dick Evans were a part of the very composition of the establishments, and not to be dispensed with. The D’Oyleys discharged their cook and stock-rider, performing these necessary duties by turns, week alternate.
Fred Churbett retained his married couple and stock-rider, declaring that he would die like a gentleman; that he could pay his way for two years more; after which, if times did not mend, he would burn the place down, commit suicide decently, and leave the onus on destiny. He could not cook, neither would he wash clothes. He would be as obstinate as the weather.
O’Desmond made full preparations for a migration in spring, if the weather continued dry and no rain fell in September. There would be a slight spring of grass then, rain or no rain. He would take advantage of it, to depart, like a patriarch of old, not exactly with his camels and she-asses, but with his cattle and brood mares, his sheep and his oxen, his men-servants and his maid-servants—well perhaps not the latter, but everything necessary to give a flavour of true colonisation to the movement. And he travelled in good style, with such observances and ceremony as surrounded Harry O’Desmond in all that he did, and made him the wonder and admiration of less favoured individuals.
He had his waggonette and four-in-hand, the horses of which, corn-fed at the commencement, would, after they got on to the grasses of the great interior levels, fare well and indeed fatten on the journey. A roomy tent, as also a smaller one for his body-servant, cook, and kitchen utensils, shielded him and his necessaries from the weather. Portable bath and dining-table, couch, and toilette requisites were available at shortest notice; while a groom led his favourite hackney, upon which he mounted whenever he desired to explore a mountain peak or an unknown valley. The cottage was handed over to the charge of the gardener and his wife, old servants of the establishment. And finally, the long-expected rain not appearing in September, he departed, like a Spanish conquistador of old, to return with tales of wondrous regions, of dusky slaves, of gold, of feather-crowned Caciques, and palm-fanned isles, or to leave his whitening bones upon mountain summit or lonely beach.
It was believed among his old friends that Harry O’Desmond would either return successful, with hardly-won territory attached to his name, or that he would journey on over the great desert, which was supposed then to form the interior of the continent, until return was hopeless.