‘We are pretty far south,’ said Wilfred; ‘in somewhere about latitude 37—no great distance from the sea. That accounts for the climate. You can see by the blacks’ miamis, which are substantial and covered with thatch, that a different kind of dwelling-place is necessary, even for the aboriginals. You will have to build good warm huts, I fancy, or the winter gales and sleet-storms will perish you.’
‘You let me alone for that!’ said the ardent youngster. ‘We shall have lots of time to work, as soon as the cattle are broken in and the working bullocks get strong. Our drays must come by sea; but sledges are all right for drawing split stuff. I shall build on that bluff above the lake. We can keep a good look-out there for the blacks, that they don’t come sneaking up by day or night. Oh, how jolly it all is! If I could forget about dear old Hubert, I should be perfectly happy.’
‘I suppose we shall have to choose a site for the township.’
‘Township!’ said Guy. ‘What do we want with a beastly township? Two public-houses and a blacksmith’s shop to begin with! The next thing will be that they will petition the Government to survey some land and cut it up in farms.’
‘Well, that’s true,’ assented Wilfred, smiling at his impetuosity; ‘but we must not be altogether selfish. Remember, there is a good landlocked harbour and a deep anchorage. A township is morally certain to be formed, and we may as well take the initiative. Besides, we promised Rockley to let him know if there was any opening for a mercantile speculation.’
‘That alters the matter,’ said Guy. ‘I would black old Billy’s boots if he was short of a valet—not to mention kind Mrs. Rockley, whom all the fellows would walk barefoot to serve. I may be mistaken, but you’re rather sweet upon Christabel, ain’t you? I’m not in the marrying line myself, but I don’t know a prettier girl anywhere.’
‘Pooh! don’t talk nonsense, there’s a good fellow,’ said Wilfred with a dignified air. ‘There are miles of matters to be thought about before anybody—dark or fair. But you are right in your feelings about Rockley and his dear, kind wife, which makes me proud of my junior partner. We shall want somebody to buy and sell for us, to order our stores, etc.; and as nothing can come from Sydney on wheels, we shall have to get them from that new settlement they call Port Phillip, that we heard at the “Snowy” they were making such a talk about. We can’t escape a town; and as there is bound to be a chief merchant, we had better elect our own King William to that high office and dignity.’
‘With all my heart,’ said Guy; ‘only you frightened me at first, talking about a town. We haven’t come all this way—through those hungry forests and terrible cold rivers, not to mention the blacks—to be crowded out of our runs, for farmers.’
‘You needn’t be alarmed, Guy. Remember, this district is a very large one. You will have twenty years’ squatting tenure, you may be sure, before an acre of your land is sold.’
Guy was correct in his anticipations of the probability of there being water-carriage before long. The surplus hands, who were paid off and sent back to New South Wales, talked largely, as is their wont, about the wonderful new district. Port Phillip, just settled, had a staff of adventurers on hand, ready for any kind of enterprise. Within a few weeks a brig, with a reasonable supply of passengers, did actually arrive at the little roadstead, which had already been dignified with the title of The Port. There was the usual assortment of alert individuals that invariably turn up at the last new and promising settlement in Australia,—land speculators, storekeepers, gentlemen of no particular calling, waifs and strays, artisans and contractors. But among the babel of strange tongues resounded one familiar voice, the resonant cheery tones of which soon made themselves heard, to the great astonishment and equal joy of such of the wayfarers as had assembled at the disembarkation. Their old and tried friend, Mr. William Rockley, once more greeted them in the flesh.