I felt I was a "gone coon" if I let this sort of thing go on; so I asked them what they were doing in Sydney, dined with them the same evening, and by that day week we had made up a picnic to Parramatta, where we could have the pleasure of a boat on the salt-water creek that people there call the Parramatta River, and could have a pleasant country ramble and a dinner out in the sunshine, with the thermometer at 85° in the shade, or thereabout—capital weather for plum-pudding; but we had plum-pudding and roast-beef, too, with iced champagne; the plum-pudding made beforehand and heated over a fire made of sticks in an iron skillet; the roast-beef cold, with Sydney pickle, and bottled beer from England, rather dearer than champagne, and, what was better than either, some Australian wine, made from the Reisling grape, and about as good as most of the hock we ever get in London.
Of course we had some delightful drives along the south shore to Port Jackson, and back to Sydney along the south-head road—a drive in which one may see most of the beauties of Sydney vegetation—the great Eucalyptus or blue gum trees, between the giant boles of which shine the glittering waters of the harbour; but there are a hundred healthy orchids, and wild flowers of varied vivid hues, though but few of them have any perfume. Parramatta is to Sydney what Richmond is to London, or what Versailles was to Paris; but it is less secluded than it once was, of course, and Cockatoo Island, once the penal settlement, is less unfrequented than the Isle of Portland, where English convicts work out their sentence. This, and Shark Island, are likely places enough to attract strangers, but Parramatta was our resort on this Christmas Eve. Nothing came of it, except that I found myself when I got back to the hotel at night, and had bidden good-bye only after there was no further pretext for staying for "another cigar," in the large, bare, cool room which Mr. Deane had hired as a sitting-room in a large house in Sydney. The drive home had been a merry and yet a melancholy—not a sentimental one; there was a good deal of twilight about, and there was laughing—but somehow, Mary Deane and I didn't seem to find much to laugh about—I didn't, I know, for she told me they were going away to Bathurst, and I think I heard a sob, I know I felt her hand tremble when I took it in mine, and it was lucky I had been used to driving a team, for to hold whip and reins in one hand might give a hard-mouthed boring horse a chance of going at his own pace down a gully.
However, before I said my final farewells it had been settled that I was to go with Mr. Deane and Mary as far as the Bathurst Plains, for I had a little business of my own in the Blue Mountain district. We were to start in a week, and I could scarcely believe that the whole affair was other than a dream, as I sat at the open window smoking till the pinky-gray dawn of Christmas Day broke over the scrubby garden of the hotel. I had been in a sort of dream, in which the form of Mary Deane was the chief figure, but there was another less pleasing shape, which came and went in my visions in a purposeless kind of way, one which I had seen that day lounging about the landing-stage, where he passed me first with a scowl and then with a muttered oath.
Now, I had first made his acquaintance in this wise.
One night as I was coming into Sydney, about a mile from the town I heard a sharp, sudden cry from the side of the road.
The cry came from a little "black fellow," who had been a sort of retainer of mine in the bush, and on the plains a bright active lad, as supple as a snake, and, as he used to say, the son of a chief. He was called Jacky Fishook, and was a very useful fellow out there, for he could follow a trail like a hound, could climb trees, kill game, and in fact had a good many of the savage accomplishments, and few, if any, of the vices of civilization—rather a rare thing among the natives. On my return to Sydney we had parted company, and Fishook had passed some of his time among his own people, and had also come into town now and then to work as a light porter, or do other odd jobs. The wants of the natives are few; and Jacky, unlike some of his people, did not drink rum or other spirits, so if he earned sixpence he was able to keep it. He it was who had given a shrill shout, and as I ran across a piece of waste ground to see what was the matter, I saw him crouching on the ground, while over him stood a big bully, whom I had before seen at the door of a low grog-shop; making a vicious cut at the "nigger" with a heavy stock-whip. He was a burly, powerful fellow, and, as Jacky was unarmed and only half clad, the cut of a thong like that was bad punishment. As soon as I appeared the Maori gave a yell of satisfaction. "You know Fishook, black-fellow, sar?" he screamed. "You know, sar, Jacky not take stink-water (the native word for rum), but he give no sixpence, sar; he make for carry big thing, sar." Jacky pointed to a huge bale of hides, or something of the kind, that had been pitched on the ground. Evidently the bully had insisted on the poor fellow carrying the burden for payment to be made in the shape of a glass of rum; and, discovering this, Jacky had refused to go further.
Again the whip was raised to strike, but I caught the uplifted arm, and with an oath the fellow turned on me, wrenched away his wrist, and came at me like a bull. There was nothing for it but to let him have it, and—excuse me, Bess; you know how you used to stand by when Willie and I had a set-to—I put in my left, and followed it up with a staggerer. He was not easily vanquished, however, though the blow drove him back three or four paces; and, before I could get within reach, he had snatched a pistol from his pocket. I was obliged to close with him, and his weight was against me. My only chance was to grip his wrist, or I should have a bullet in me. Luckily he was giddy, and one eye had begun to swell; so that I had his arm at the very moment he pulled the trigger, and the ball went somewhere into space. The tussle was a short one, for there came a quick patter of feet along the path, and two officers of the Sydney police came up.
"Hullo, Buffalo Jim!" cried one of them, "up to your tricks again. Look here, my fine fellow, if you once get into quad, you're not likely to come out for a while, for there's a pretty bit of evidence likely to be turned up when once we start. Just take yourself home, and we'll come along to see what's in that bundle. Now, then, up you come;" and in a second they had lifted the bundle on to the fellow's shoulder, and marched him on before them. "We saw it all before we came up, Mr. Grantley," said one of the men as he passed, "but I s'pose you won't charge him."
"No," said I. "He richly deserves all I gave him; but I don't want to be dangling for a week about the Sydney court-house."
As they went away, the fellow gave me an evil look. Jacky had vanished. Now, I had seen this big brute again while we were at Parramatta, and I was helping Mary out of the boat at the landing-stage. He had seen me, too, and turned away with a scowl and a muttered oath; but happening to glance round afterwards, I noticed that he was watching us from behind the corner of a fence. I forgot all about him for the rest of the day; but now, at night, his ugly face and bloated form intruded upon my dreams. I couldn't account for it; perhaps it was prevision.