Frank Oldfield / Lost and Found

by Theodore P. Wilson

Jacob Poole had no objections to make; so in a few days the four young men had crossed the Murray, and were on their way to the gold-fields.

It is not necessary to describe in detail the history of the party from Tanindie during their stay at the diggings, but one or two scenes must be introduced which will further our story.

It was a calm Sabbath evening; the click of the pick, the rattle of the cradle, the splashing of the water-buckets—all were still. Outwardly the day had been kept strictly as a day of rest by all. Beneath a tall tree stood, in the dress of a minister of the gospel, a middle-aged but grey-headed man. A rough stool served him for a seat, and a few upturned buckets, supporting some loose planks, were appropriated to the few women and children, while the men stood behind these in various attitudes, but all very attentive; for in such a congregation as this there were none but willing listeners. Those who had no mind to the preaching simply pleased themselves, and stayed away. After the singing of a hymn, given out two lines at a time, for the minister alone possessed a hymn-book, a fervent prayer was offered up by the good man, at the commencement of which almost all the little company sank gently on their knees. A few stood, but all remained bareheaded till its conclusion. Then he drew forth his pocket Bible, and read the first chapter of the First Epistle of Peter, and took from it as his text the third, fourth, and fifth verses: “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you, who are kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.”

From these words he addressed his earnestly attentive congregation in the simplest language, but every word came from the heart, and made his hearers feel that he was not standing himself on one side, and bidding them go forward, but was beckoning to them to follow along the path on which he was already going before them. He spoke of the uncertainty of life, and they knew that he spoke the truth; for many who had come there to search for gold had been cut off in the midst of their labours. He spoke of the uncertainty of earthly gain and prosperity, and they knew that he spoke the truth; for many who had left home, and had sold all to come to these diggings, had returned beggars. He spoke of the emptiness of the earthly compared with the fulness of the heavenly inheritance, and bid them set eternity against time, the riches of heaven against the gold of the earth, the house of glory against their shifting tents, the rest of a home with God against their present wanderings, and many a sigh and tear escaped from lips and eyes that seldom spoke or looked except for earthly things. And then he told them of the blood of Christ that was shed for their souls, and must be infinitely more precious than corruptible silver or gold, and urged them never to rest satisfied till they could feel that they were truly the children of God and followers of Jesus; for what would it profit them if they gained the whole world and lost their own souls? Lastly, he pleaded with them to lose no time, but to come at once just as they were, and not any of them to hang back through fear or doubt; for the love of Jesus Christ was deep enough to swallow up the sins of them all, and was, like himself, “the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.” The simple service concluded with another hymn and prayer, and then all dispersed, silent and thoughtful. On Jacob Poole, who had been one of the congregation, the sermon of the good minister made a deep impression. He had often heard the gospel preached before, but it had never hitherto come home to his heart as a personal concern, as it did now. There was to him a reality about it such as he had never understood before. His heart was yearning for something; he felt that the gospel was that something, that it could satisfy his heart’s cravings. All through the service, but for about half a minute, he had kept his eyes fixed on the preacher. He withdrew them for that half minute to glance round at a man who brushed past him and walked on. As he turned, the man averted his face. He thought it was a face not altogether strange to him, and yet he could not recall where he had seen it. But his eyes returned to the preacher, and other thoughts occupied his mind and heart. During the rest of that week he was ill at ease. Many thoughts came crowding in upon him as he worked vigorously in the hole assigned to him. Hitherto he had believed men sinners in the gross, and himself as bad but not worse than the general average. Now he began to know that he was really himself a sinner, whose transgressions of God’s holy laws would bring upon him eternal death, unless he sought and found the only refuge. But was the gospel message really for him? Would Jesus, whom he had so long reverenced, yet never hitherto really loved, be still willing to receive him? He waited impatiently for the return of the Sabbath. It came at last, and Christ’s ambassador was at his old place under the tree with words full of love and encouragement. At the end of his sermon, before retiring, he said,—

“If there is any one of you, my dear hearers, who is in any way troubled in conscience, or for any other reason would wish any conversation with me on religious subjects, I shall be only too happy to talk with him now in my tent.”

No one spoke, and the good man went his way. But in a little while Jacob Poole followed him, and asked to be allowed to speak with him for a few minutes. He entered the minister’s tent with a distressed and anxious countenance; but when he came away from the interview in which he had unburdened his sorrows, and laid open all his difficulties, there was a bright and happy look on his features, which spoke of a mind stayed on God and a heart at peace. Just as he was leaving the minister’s tent, a swift, quiet step came behind him; he turned very quickly, and again his eyes fell on the same countenance which he had seen when a person brushed by him at the previous Sunday’s service. Another moment, and the man had vanished in the dusk. Again he was puzzled. He could not at all remember where he had seen that face, and yet certainly he had seen it before. There was something forbidding and malicious in it, and a sort of dread crept over him. And yet he could not tell why he should fear. However, he resolved to be on his guard, for strange things had often happened at the diggings, and there were men prowling about the colony who would care nothing about shedding blood, if they could secure thereby the gains of a successful digger. He said nothing, however, to his companions; for it seemed an absurd thing to trouble them with his vague impressions and misgivings, especially as the man who had thus twice been near him had done nothing more than approach him and pass on.

It was some ten days later, and violent winds with heavy rains had driven the most ardent diggers early to their tents. Jacob was revolving in his mind what he had heard at the last Sunday’s preaching, and thoughts of home, and duties left undone there, made him very sad. Then he thought of his young master at Tanindie, and wondered how he was progressing, and whether he would at length really take the one decided step and become a pledged abstainer. Thus he mused on, till the twilight melted rapidly into darkness. Then, having lifted up his heart to God in prayer, he threw himself down on his bed. But he could not sleep, though weary enough with the exhausting labours of many days. Suddenly he half raised himself; he thought he heard a strange noise like some one breathing not far from his head. Then the wind, which had lulled for a second or two, resumed its violence, and flapped the canvas of his tent backwards and forwards. Again he lay down, but shortly afterwards thought he heard the breathing again—or was he only deceiving himself? It was difficult to hear anything else distinctly for the noise made by the flapping of the tent and the creaking of its supports. Still, he did not feel easy. And now in the dusk it seemed to him that the lower part of the folds of the tent near his bed’s head moved in a peculiar manner, such as the wind could not cause. Without rising, he silently and cautiously rolled himself over from the bed till he could lay his hand on a large rug;—this he quietly folded up, and, creeping back, laid it in his own place on the bed itself. Then, drawing himself round noiselessly, he lay at full-length on the ground, at right angles to the bed, with his face not far from the bolster. Not a sound, except the flapping and creaking of the tent, was heard for some time, till Jacob, feigning to be asleep, began to breathe hard, and then to snore louder and louder. Suddenly he was aware that the canvas was lifted slowly a few feet from where he was stretched along. He continued, however, still to breathe hard, as one in a deep sleep. Another moment, and a man was stealthily raising himself to his knees inside the tent. Then the intruder raised his arm. Jacob, concealed by a fold of the tent, could just make out that the man’s hand grasped some weapon. The next instant there was a plunge downward of the hand, and a suppressed exclamation of surprise. But Jacob waited to see and hear no more. Catching up a spade, which he knew was close by, he aimed a furious blow at the intended assassin. He did not, however, fully reach his mark—the blow fell partly short, yet not altogether; there was a cry of pain and terror, and then the murderous intruder rushed from the tent, and made his escape, before Jacob could recover his balance, which he had lost in the violence of his stroke. And now conjecture and suspicion were changed to certainty. He could not doubt whose was the voice that uttered that cry; it was too hateful to him ever to be forgotten; he was now sure that his surmises were true, and that the man whom he had twice seen so near him was the same who had just been attempting his life, and was none other than Juniper Graves. He must have blackened his hair and cultivated a moustache, which would account for Jacob’s being puzzled to identify him. As soon as he could recover from his surprise, Jacob armed himself with a revolver, and cautiously examined the ground outside his tent, thinking that perhaps his enemy might be lurking about, or might have been disabled by the blow of his spade.

“I’m certain I marked the villain,” he said to himself. “I’m sure, by the way he hollered out, he’s got summat with him as he’ll remember me by.” But all was still, except the howling of the wind and the pattering and splashing of the driving rain. Then he made his way to the large tent which the brothers, his companions, all occupied in common. He told his story, which, of course, excited both the sympathy and indignation of his hearers. But what was to be done?

“No use looking for him to-night,” said one; “he’s bolted off far enough by this time, you may depend on’t. As good look for a black fellow in the Murray reeds, as search for this precious scoundrel in the dark. Here; one of us’ll come and share your tent to-night, and to-morrow we’ll raise a hue and cry.”

But hue and cry were raised in vain. Juniper Graves, if he were the culprit, was gone, and had left no trace behind. Nothing more was seen or heard of him; no such person was to be found at the diggings, and no one seemed to know anything about him. So Jacob was left in peace till the three months were gone, and then returned to Tanindie, the party having met with rather more than average good fortune.