The Recollections of Geoffrey Hamlyn is a Webnovel created by Henry Kingsley.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
I ran out, and met James in the verandah. “It’s all up,” I said. “Get the women and children into the river, and let the men go up to windward with the sheep-skins. [Note: Sheep-skins, on sticks, used for beating out the fire when in short gra.s.s.] I’ll get on horseback, and go out and see how the Morgans get on. That obstinate fellow will wish he had come in now.”
Morgan was a stockman of ours, who lived, with a wife and two children, about eight miles to the northward. We always thought it would have been better for him to move in, but he had put it off, and now the fire had taken us by surprise.
I rode away, dead-up wind. Our station had a few large trees about it, and then all was clear plain and short gra.s.s for two miles; after that came scrubby ranges, in an open glade of which the Morgans’ hut stood.
I feared, from the density of the smoke, that the fire had reached them already, but I thought it my duty to go and see, for I might meet them fleeing, and help them with the children.
I had seen many bush-fires, but never such a one as this. The wind was blowing a hurricane, and, when I had ridden about two miles into scrub, high enough to brush my horse’s belly, I began to get frightened. Still I persevered, against hope; the heat grew more fearful every moment; but I reflected that I had often ridden up close to a bush-fire, turned when I began to see the flame through the smoke, and cantered away from it easily.
Then it struck me that I had never yet seen a bushfire in such a hurricane as this. Then I remembered stories of men riding for their lives, and others of burnt horses and men found in the bush. And, now, I saw a sight which made me turn in good earnest.
I was in lofty timber, and, as I paused, I heard the mighty cracking of fire coming through the wood. At the same instant the blinding smoke burst into a million tongues of flackering flame, and I saw the fire–not where I had ever seen it before–not creeping along among the scrub–but up aloft, a hundred and fifty feet overhead. It had caught the dry bituminous tops of the higher boughs, and was flying along from tree-top to tree-top like lightning. Below, the wind was comparatively moderate, but, up there, it was travelling twenty miles an hour. I saw one tree ignite like gun-cotton, and then my heart grew small, and I turned and fled.
I rode as I never rode before. There were three miles to go ere I cleared the forest, and got among the short gra.s.s, where I could save myself–three miles! Ten minutes nearly of intolerable heat, blinding smoke, and mortal terror. Any death but this! Drowning were pleasant, glorious to sink down into the cool sparkling water. But, to be burnt alive! Fool that I was to venture so far! I would give all my money now to be naked and penniless, rolling about in a cool pleasant river.
The maddened, terrified horse, went like the wind, but not like the hurricane–that was too swift for us. The fire had outstripped us over-head, and I could see it dimly through the infernal choking reek, leaping and blazing a hundred yards before me, among the feathery foliage, devouring it, as the south wind devours the thunder clouds.
Then I could see nothing. Was I clear of the forest? Thank the Lord, yes–I was riding over gra.s.s.
I managed to pull up the horse, and as I did so, a mob of kangaroos blundered by, blinded, almost against me, noticing me no more in their terror than if I had been a stump or a stone. Soon the fire came hissing along through the gra.s.s scarcely six inches high, and I walked my horse through it; then I tumbled off on the blackened ground, and felt as if I should die.
I lay there on the hot black ground. My head felt like a block of stone, and my neck was stiff so that I could not move my head. My throat was swelled and dry as a sand-hill, and there was a roaring in my ears like a cataract. I thought of the cool waterfalls among the rocks far away in Devon. I thought of everything that was cold and pleasant, and then came into my head about Dives praying for a drop of water. I tried to get up, but could not, so lay down again with my head upon my arm.
It grew cooler, and the atmosphere was clearer. I got up, and, mounting my horse, turned homeward. Now I began to think about the station.
Could it have escaped? Impossible! The fire would fly a hundred yards or more such a day as this even in low plain. No, it must be gone!
There was a great roll in the plain between me and home, so that I could see nothing of our place–all around the country was black, without a trace of vegetation. Behind me were the smoking ruins of the forest I had escaped from, where now the burnt-out trees began to thunder down rapidly, and before, to the south, I could see the fire raging miles away.
So the station is burnt, then? No! For as I top the ridge, there it is before me, standing as of old–a bright oasis in the desert of burnt country round. Ay! the very hay-stack is safe! And the paddocks?–all right!–glory be to G.o.d!
I got home, and James came running to meet me.
“I was getting terribly frightened, old man,” said he. “I thought you were caught. Lord save us, you look ten years older than you did this morning!”
I tried to answer, but could not speak for drought. He ran and got me a great tumbler of claret-and-water; and, in the evening, having drunk about an imperial gallon of water, and taken afterwards some claret, I felt pretty well revived.
Men were sent out at once to see after the Morgans, and found them perfectly safe, but very much frightened; they had, however, saved their hut, for the fire had pa.s.sed before the wind had got to its full strength.
So we were delivered from the fire; but still no rain. All day, for the next month, the hot north wind would blow till five o’clock, and then a cool southerly breeze would come up and revive us; but still the heavens were dry, and our cattle died by hundreds.
On the eighteenth of March, we sat in the verandah looking still over the blackened unlovely prospect, but now cheerfully and with hope; for the eastern sky was piled up range beyond range with the scarlet and purple splendour of cloud-land, and, as darkness gathered, we saw the lightning, not twinkling and glimmering harmlessly about the horizon, as it had been all the summer, but falling sheer in violet-coloured rivers behind the dark curtain of rain that hung from the black edge of a teeming thunder-cloud.
We had asked our overseer in that night, being Sat.u.r.day, to drink with us; he sat very still, and talked but little, as was his wont. I slapped him on the back, and said:–
“Do you remember, Geordie, that m.u.f.f in Thalaba who chose the wrong cloud? He should have got you or me to choose for him; we wouldn’t have made a mistake, I know. We would have chosen such a one as yon glorious big-bellied fellow. See how grandly he comes growling up!”
“It’s just come,” said he, “without the praying for. When the fire came owre the hill the other day, I just put up a bit prayer to the Lord, that He’d spare the haystack, and He spared it. (I didna stop working, ye ken; I worked the harder; if ye dinna mean to work, ye should na pray.) But I never prayed for rain,–I didna, ye see, like to ask the Lord to upset all his gran’ laws of electricity and evaporation, just because it would suit us. I thocht He’d likely ken better than mysel.
Hech, sirs, but that chiel’s riding hard!”
A horseman appeared making for the station at full speed; when he was quite close, Jim called out, “By Jove, it is Doctor Mulhaus!” and we ran out into the yard to meet him.
Before any one had time to speak, he shouted out: “My dear boys, I’m so glad I am in time: we are going to see one of the grandest electrical disturbances it has ever been my lot to witness. I reined up just now to look, and I calculated that the southern point of explosion alone is discharging nine times in the minute. How is your barometer?”
“Haven’t looked, Doctor.”
“Careless fellow,” he replied, “you don’t deserve to have one.”
“Never mind, sir, we have got you safe and snug out of the thunderstorm. It is going to be very heavy I think. I only hope we will have plenty of rain.”
“Not much doubt of it,” said he. “Now, come into the verandah and let us watch the storm.”
We went and sat there; the highest peaks of the great cloud alps, lately brilliant red, were now cold silver grey, harshly defined against a faint crimson background, and we began to hear the thunder rolling and muttering. All else was deadly still and heavy.
“Mark the lightning!” said the Doctor; “that which is before the rain-wall is white, and that behind violetcoloured. Here comes the thundergust.”
A fierce blast of wind came hurrying on, carrying a cloud of dust and leaves before it. It shook the four corners of the house and pa.s.sed away. And now it was a fearful sight to see the rain-spouts pouring from the black edge of the lower cloud as from a pitcher, nearly overhead, and lit up by a continuous blaze of lightning: another blast of wind, now a few drops, and in ten minutes you could barely distinguish the thunder above the rattle of the rain on the shingles.
It warred and banged around us for an hour, so that we could hardly hear one another speak. At length the Doctor bawled,–
“We shall have a crack closer than any yet, you’ll see; we always have one particular one;–our atmosphere is not restored to its balance yet,–there!”
The curtains were drawn, and yet, for an instant, the room was as bright as day. Simultaneously there came a crack and an explosion, so loud and terrifying, that, used as I was to such an event, I involuntarily jumped up from my seat.
“Are you all right here?” said the Doctor; and, running out into the kitchen, shouted, “Any one hurt?”
The kitchen girl said that the lightning had run all down her back like cold water, and the housekeeper averred that she thought the thunder had taken the roof of the house off. So we soon perceived that nothing was the matter, and sat down again to our discourse, and our supper.
“Well,” began I, “here’s the rain come at last. In a fortnight there will be good gra.s.s again. We ought to start and get some store cattle.”
“But where?” replied James. “We shall have to go a long way for them; everyone will be wanting the same thing now. We must push a long way north, and make a depot somewhere westward. Then we can pick them up by sixes and sevens at a time. When shall we go?”
“The sooner the better.”
“I think I will come with you,” said the Doctor. “I have not been a journey for some time.”
“Your conversation, sir,” I said, “will shorten the journey by one-half”–which was sincerely said.
Away we went northward, with the mountains on our left, leaving snow-streaked Kosciusko nearly behind us, till a great pa.s.s, through the granite walls, opened to the westward, up which we turned, Mount Murray towering up the south. Soon we were on the Murrumbidgee, sweeping from side to side of his mountain valley in broad curves, sometimes rushing hoa.r.s.e, swollen by the late rains, under belts of high timber, and sometimes dividing broad meadows of rich gra.s.s, growing green once more under the invigorating hand of autumn. All nature had awakened from her deep summer sleep, the air was brisk and nimble, and seldom did three happier men ride on their way than James, the Doctor, and I.
Good Doctor! How he beguiled the way with his learning!–in ecstasies all the time, enjoying everything, animate or inanimate, as you or I would enjoy a new play or a new opera. How I envied him! He was like a man always reading a new and pleasant book. At first the stockmen rode behind, talking about beasts, and horses, and what not–often talking about nothing at all, but riding along utterly without thought, if such a thing could be. But soon I noticed they would draw up closer, and regard the Doctor with some sort of attention, till toward the evening of the second day, one of them, our old acquaintance, d.i.c.k, asked the Doctor a question, as to why, if I remember right, certain trees should grow in certain localities, and there only. The Doctor reined up alongside him directly, and in plain forcible language explained the matter: how that some plants required more of one sort of substance than another, and how they get it out of particular soils; and how, in the lapse of years, they had come to thrive best on the soil that suited them, and had got stunted and died out in other parts. “See,”
said he, “how the turkey holds to the plains, and the pheasant (lyrebird) to the scrub, because each one finds its food there. Trees cannot move; but by time, and by positively refusing to grow on unkindly soils, they arrange themselves in the localities which suit them best.”
So after this they rode with the Doctor always, both hearing him and asking him questions, and at last, won by his blunt kindliness, they grew to like and respect him in their way, even as we did.
So we fared on through bad weather and rough country, enjoying a journey which, but for him, would have been a mere trial of patience.
Northward ever, through forest and plain, over mountain and swamp, across sandstone, limestone, granite, and rich volcanic land, each marked distinctly by a varying vegetation. Sometimes we would camp out, but oftener managed to reach a station at night. We got well across the dry country between the Murrumbidgee and the Lachlan, now abounding with pools of water; and, having crossed the latter river, held on our course toward Croker’s Range, which we skirted; and, after having been about a fortnight out, arrived at the lowest station on the Macquarrie late in the afternoon.
This was our present destination. The owner was a friend of ours, who gave us a hearty welcome, and, on our inquiries as to store cattle, thought that we might pick up a good mob of them from one station or another. “We might,” said he, “make a depot for them, as we collected them, on some unoccupied land down the river. It was poor country, but there was gra.s.s enough to keep them alive. He would show us a good place, in a fork, where it was impossible to cross on two sides, and where they would be easily kept together; that was, if we liked to risk it.”
“Risk what?” we asked.
“Blacks,” said he. “They are mortal troublesome just now down the river. I thought we had quieted them, but they have been up to their old games lately, spearing cattle, and so on. I don’t like, in fact, to go too far down there alone. I don’t think they are Macquarrie blacks; I fancy they must have come up from the Darling, through the marshes.”