“If you know the country you are just the man I want, and can quickly repay me, and place me in your debt also,” I observed. “I want a guide through the country, and some one who knows the nature of the land, to help me in choosing a farm.”
“Just the thing I should like,” he exclaimed, jumping at the proposal; “I’m a free man, and can go where I like.”
I judged from this that he had not always been free. Our entertainers did not seem over well pleased at his so readily accepting my proposal. Still they treated us civilly, and we had no cause to complain. They brought us some sacks full of dry grass, which they spread on the floor, with some kangaroo skins to cover us; in those days sheep skins were rare. We lay down, commending ourselves to God, and felt as secure among convicts, with the possibility of a visit from the bush-rangers, as we had done in our tight little craft in the middle of the ocean.
We were on foot before daybreak, and with Jacob Rawdon as our guide, set out, as soon as we had taken some food, on our journey. Our host and his wife were evidently displeased at his leaving them.
After we had got to a distance I asked him why this was. “The reason is that I had become well-nigh their slave,” he answered. “They paid me my wages in rum, which I drank mostly, or exchanged at a great loss for necessaries, and so you see that I am not a shilling the richer than I was when I first began to work for myself. Still I hope to be able to repay you, and it will be a great satisfaction to me to do so.”
I did not doubt him, and had heard enough about the people I was likely to meet to know that it would not do to question him too closely as to why he had come to the country. I observed that he was frequently downcast, and that an expression of grief passed over his countenance; indeed, from several things he said, I felt great hopes that, whatever had been his errors, he was resolved to turn from them and to lead a new life. Under this belief I spoke seriously to him, and reminded him that he could not go on in his own strength, that the best man alive could not; and that if he would do right he must seek for aid from God the Father, through the influence of the Holy Spirit, trusting entirely and alone to the perfect sacrifice of Christ. He listened attentively. The doctrine seemed entirely new to him, but he did not in any way appear inclined to reject it. He walked on by my side, often silent, now and then he made a remark. His voice faltered. I saw that he was in tears. “Can God pardon such a vile, mad sinner as I have been?” he asked at length.
“If you are looking to Christ as the Lamb slain for you, you are pardoned, completely, entirely,” I answered; “though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow in God’s sight.”
His step became elastic; a brightness spread over his countenance. “I see it, I see it, but I would not have believed it,” I heard him saying to himself.
I cannot describe all the incidents of our journey.
One painful sight was a road-gang of convicts chained by the legs. They were certainly a villainous-looking set, mostly doubly convicted felons. Despair was depicted in the countenances of many. Jacob told me that he had known several who had been guilty of murder, that they might be hanged, and as they thought put out of their misery; others had committed suicide. Yet these men were once joyous, bright-cheeked, innocent little boys, the pride of their parents. Some had grown into manhood before they fell into open sin, though many probably were born among scenes of vice, ignorant even of the name of virtue or religion. “Still, debased as they are, all have souls to be saved,” I thought to myself, and I resolved that, though I could do those poor wretches no good, I would do my best to improve the convicts assigned to me as servants.