Fa?rie Queene.
N
EXT morning, when Claude wandered into the supper-room of the previous night, he found a couple of fat, comely1 young native women, in short, light-coloured frocks, relaying the cloth upon the table for a second or late breakfast.
One of these girls on seeing Claude toddles2 up to him, and explains, in the ridiculous jargon3 she has been taught to consider English, that Mr. Giles and the young ladies have already partaken of breakfast and gone out.
“What name?” she adds briefly6, bringing her 253 beautiful eyes and smiling features to bear upon Claude with awkward suddenness as she puts her question.
In reply Angland bashfully but carefully explains to the gins how his name is usually pronounced by himself and friends; but the girls only grin in return with their pearly rows of teeth, as if they are the victims of suppressed mirth. They are evidently highly amused, and even retail7 some joke to the diminutive8 Lucy, who, seeing that something out of the ordinary is going on, has popped her little black head in at the door to listen.
“What name, Marmie?” the smiling “lubras” repeat in chorus.
Whilst Claude stands puzzling over the mystic meaning of the dark fair ones before him, Mr. Cummercropper enters the room, and nodding to our hero—and thereby9 losing his eyeglass for a few seconds—proceeds to tediously deliver the same message Angland has already received. Claude waits till the ?sthetical station storekeeper has finished, and then begs him to enlighten him as to the meaning of the laughing girls.
“Ha! ha!” chuckles10 Mr. Cummercropper out of the depths of his high collar. “Bai Joave! not bad, by any means. They don’t want to know your name. Picked that much up long ago. ‘What name?’ means, in this part of the globe, ‘Which will you have, coffee, tea, or cocoa, for breakfast?’ Don’t it, Dina?”
Dina grins a comprehensive smile, and nods her brilliantly beturbaned head in reply to the query11; and, obtaining a satisfactory answer at last to her254 oft-repeated question, trots12 her buxom13 little figure away into the kitchen. After breakfast Claude spends his morning in trying to learn something of Billy; but he is almost entirely14 unsuccessful, as the blacks about the station are strangely reticent15. The disappearance16 of his late uncle’s servant is very annoying to Angland, and our young friend is really puzzled to know what steps he had better take next. Claude has a lonely lunch, for none of the station folk are yet returned, and Mr. Cummercropper has descended17 from the art student to the “rational” storekeeper, and has started off in a buggy and pair with a load of “rations” for a far-off out-station; and then, getting a “boy” to fetch his horse in from the paddock, he canters over to an out-station, where he left his miner friend and the two boys the night before.
“Well, lad, thou hast not been successful in thy work,” says old Williams, Claude’s digger companion as he observes that young man’s disappointed face. “And that I were right to camp here I’ll show ye. There’s nowt save ourselves here, for they’re out must’ring ‘weaners.’ So coome inside out of the sun, and I’ll tell thee news o’ Billy.”
Claude watches his lively purchase, Joe, hobble the horse, and then follows Williams into the two-roomed shanty18, which is honoured by the name of an “out-station house.” It is merely a roughly-built hut, with walls of gum-tree slabs19 laid one upon another, and a roof formed of sheets of brown gum-tree bark. The studs of the building, also the rafters and purlieus, are ingeniously kept in position by neatly20 fastened strips of “green hide” (raw leather), and the hard grey floor and colossal21 chimney-place are composed of the 255 remains22 of a number of ant-hills that have been pounded up for the purpose. The material of which these hills are built is a kind of papier maché, consisting of wood-fibre and clay, and is in much request amongst northern settlers for various structural23 purposes. The termites24, or “white ants,” sometimes raise their many-coned mounds25 to a height of from twelve to fifteen feet, and these “spires and steeples,” with the absence of dead tree-stems upon the ground,—another sign of the presence of these insects,—are two of the most characteristic features of the open bush country of Northern Queensland.
Williams squats27 down on his hams, bush-fashion, in front of the yawning fireplace, where a camp-oven, suspended over the grey embers, is frizzling forth28 the vapoury flavour of “salt-junk,” and after lighting29 his pipe proceeds to tell Claude what he has found out from the stockmen. This, to condense the lengthened30 yarn31 of the old miner, is just what Billy related of himself, in our presence, to the old “hatter” Weevil in the lonely jungle cave.
“He’ll coome back here, I tell ye. For note ye, lad, he camped as long as he could at Murdaro, till they made him clear.”
“Yes, I believe he was waiting there for me,” responds Claude.
“Now, mind ye,” continues the digger, gesticulating with his maize-cob pipe, “mind ye make every nigger round know that yer wants to find Billy, and ye’ll hear of him soon, like enough. Now the more ye gets known here the safer fur ye, so wait here till the men get back. Ye can pitch ’em a song after supper and ride home with the head stock-keeper. He’ll be256 going up to ‘Government House’ to-night. Moon rises ’bout nine.”
Half an hour before sundown a dust cloud that has been slowly travelling for the last two hours across the plain, in the direction of the out-station, reaches its destination. It is now seen to be caused by the feet of a small “mob” (herd32) of cows and unbranded calves33. These, after much yelling and an accompanying—
“Running fire of stockwhips,
are at last forced down a funnel-shaped lane between two wide fences, called “wings,” into the receiving yard of a large stockyard near the house.
Not long afterwards the head stock-keeper and his two white stockmen appear; and the former, after being introduced to Claude, and having indulged in a very necessary wash, sets the example, which is soon followed by the other men, of proceeding35 to work upon the evening meal. This is placed upon the table by two dark-skinned nymphs, whose airy costume consists chiefly of one old shirt and a pair of smiles between them.
The position these girls occupy in an establishment where all are bachelors may be guessed, and Claude learns, before the meal is over, that they are under the “protection” of the white stockmen, having been “run down” for this purpose some months previously36.
“Run away!” laughs one of the stockmen, skilfully37 supplying his mouth with gravy38 by means of his knife-blade, as he repeats a question put to him by Angland before answering it. “Run away! No, I 257 rayther think as ’ow Nancy was the last gal39 as will ever try that game agin. The black beggars know what they’ll get for trying the speeling racket here. Short and sharp’s our motter on this here station,” the speaker adds, as his savoury knife-point disappears half down his gullet.
Upon Claude expressing a wish to hear about Nancy’s ultimate fate, the men become reticent; but Claude learns afterwards on good authority that the unfortunate girl was overtaken whilst attempting to return to her tribe, and was flogged to death before the other native station-hands, “pour encourager les autres.”
After the whites have done their meal, the black stockmen are handed their “rations,” which consist of the broken viands40 from the table, and such pieces of “junk” as have become tainted41. The whole amount does not seem very much for the eight “boys” after their hard day’s work in the saddle, and when they have further sub-divided it with their relatives at the black camp close by, their earnings42 for the day must appear very small indeed.
Selfishness is unknown between relations amongst aborigines. There is no meum et tuum. A hunter’s spoil or a “boy’s” earnings are given away immediately upon his return to camp; and the individual who has obtained the good things generally keeps less than his own proper share, being complimented upon this by the women in a low chant or grace during the eating or cooking of the food.
It seems probable, however, that if the right of purchasing their liberty was permitted to the station blacks, and each “boy” was allowed his peculium,258 as instituted by Justinian, the first anti-slavery emperor of Rome, this unselfish division of each day’s wage would soon become out of fashion. It is, perhaps, in order to encourage this virtuous43 practice of their station slaves that the Australian squatters have never followed the example set them by the ancient Romans.
The head stock-keeper, whose name is Lythe, but who is generally known upon the station as “the Squire,” is a very different kind of man to his two stockmen. These individuals belong to a much lower type of humanity, and are apparently45 without any education whatever, save a superficial knowledge of horses and cattle.
Born of good parentage in an English “racing county,” Lythe is a fair average sample of a certain class of men not very uncommon46 in up-country Australia. Life’s chessboard has been with him an alternating record of white, glowing triumphs, and black disgrace of wild, feverish47 saturnalia and rough toiling48 at the hardest kinds of colonial work. A wild boyhood, a wilder time at Sandhurst, a meteoric49 existence as Cornet in a lance regiment,—with the attendant scintilla50 of champagne51 suppers, racehorses, and couturières,—and then he slipped on to a “black square” and became a “rouseabout” on an Australian run. Presently he rises again, by making for himself a bit of a name as a successful “overlander” or cattle-drover, and, becoming rich, moves “on to the white.” He is a squatter44, takes up-country, loses all, and then becomes an irreclaimable tippler. “Black square” again, and here he is, working hard to “knock up” another cheque,—a well-educated, useful 259 member of society when free from liquor; a wild, quarrelsome savage52 from the time he reaches the first “grog-shanty” on his way “down south,” till he returns “dead broke” to “knock up another cheque” at the station.
Claude’s hosts at the little out-station—who, like most Australian colonists53, are as hospitably54 minded as their means will allow them to be—do all they can to render his visit to their rough home as agreeable as possible. They even indulge him with a few bush songs, whilst the after-supper pipe is being smoked. One of these, sung in a voice gruff and husky with shouting to the cattle all day, to the air of a well-known nautical55 ditty, is descriptive of the first “taking up” of the Never Never Land, and has a taking chorus, concluding thus:—
“Then sing, my boys, yo! ho!
O’er desert plains we go
To the far Barcoo,
Where they eat Ngardoo,
A thousand miles away.”
At nine o’clock “the Squire” and Claude say good-bye to the others, and mounting their horses, which have been brought up to the house across the dewy, moonlit pastures by a pair of attendant sprites, proceed leisurely56 in the direction of the head-station.
Around the riders stretches the tranquil57 indigo58 and silver glory of a marvellous phantasmagoria, painted by earth’s cold-faced satellite. And accustomed to the softer beauties of a New Zealand moonlight night, Claude cannot help exclaiming to his companion upon the strange, phantom-like appearance that all the 260 familiar objects around him appear to have put on beneath the argent rays. Even that most unpoetical object, the stockyard, where the imprisoned59 cattle are roaring impatient of restraint, seems, with its horrid60 carcase gallows61, all dressed with a silvery, mystic robe of light, as if transformed into a spectre castle, filled with moaning, long-horned beings of another world.
“Yes, that is so,” returns Claude’s companion, when our young friend has remarked the curious features of the scene before him. “What you notice is just what is the chief characteristic of an Australian moonlight scene. The only real poet Australia’s ever had was Lindsay Gordon. He was an Englishman, by-the-bye, and he has the same sort of weird62 touch running through all his poems. But it isn’t so much to my mind,”—the speaker rubs his chin thoughtfully,—“it isn’t that the moonlight is different here to what it is elsewhere, I fancy, so much as it is that Nature herself puts on an outlandishly-awful, God-forsaken, ghastly kind of rig-out, when left to herself in these wilds.”
“That’s very true,” responds Claude, looking at the dreary63 scene of broken sandstone cliff and dead forest through which their horses are picking their way.
“Now, really, Mr. Angland, what a devilish nightmare of a place this ‘outside’ country is. Look at those ghostly, white-stemmed gums. I’ve heard those trees groan65 like dying men when there was hardly a breath of air moving. Why, there! you can hear them for yourself now. And, like all their kind, at midday they cast no shadow; and therefore might261 well be considered bewitched, if we went by the old standard of ancient European justice, that considered this infringement66 of the natural laws the very earmark of Satan’s cattle. Look at our deserts, our old volcanoes, our fishes that run about on the shore like mice, our rivers of sand, and—but we need not go farther than our wild animals. What artist—Griset, Doré, or any one else—ever conceived a more impish brute67 than the dingo, or a more startling caricature of a deer with grasshopper’s legs than we find in the kangaroo?”
The dree wail68 of some neighbouring dingoes upon the distant hills comes as a sort of unearthly murmur69 of acquiescence70, as the speaker closes his remarks.
“Why, really,” remarks Claude, laughing quietly, “now that you point it out, there is really something curiously71 nightmare-like about Australian nature.” He adds after a pause, “You would be a grand hand at telling a ghost story.”
The two men canter over a smooth piece of country in silence; and when their horses have again come within easy speaking distance, “the Squire” asks Claude if he would like to hear a ghost yarn.
“I’m touchy72, rather,” goes on “the Squire,” “on the subject of this the only ghost that I have ever seen; and I give you warning you mustn’t scoff73 at me for believing in it. I haven’t told any one about it since,—well, it don’t matter when. You’re not in a hurry to get to the station, I suppose?”
But his companion does not hear the reply to his question, for as he loosens the flood-gates of his262 memory there rushes vividly75 before his mind a long-forgotten scene, like a weird picture from a magic lantern, shutting out all external things,—a scene of moonlit rock and dark, gloomy trees, of sleeping cattle, of wild and awful midnight terror.
But it is only for an instant. Then he pulls himself together, and half unconsciously lifts his hand to wipe away the cold dew that even the memory of that fearful night has called forth upon his brow.
“You must know then,” commences “the Squire,” after the manner of Master Tommie in “Sandford and Merton,” “that, like most new chums in Australia, I wandered about a good deal over this great, sunburnt island before ever I settled down as head stock-keeper at Murdaro. During part of that time I followed the calling of an overlander. An ‘overlander,’ Mr. Angland,—for, as you haven’t any of the breed in New Zealand, I’ll explain what that is,—is Queensland-English for a long-distance drover; and a rough, hard life it generally is. Cattle have to be taken long distances to market sometimes from these ‘up-country’ runs. I have taken several mobs of ‘fats’ (fat bullocks) from the Never Never Land to Sydney,—a distance of about fifteen hundred miles.
“Now, when my story begins I was ‘boss’ of a road-party taking fat cattle down to Sydney from Contolbin station on the Lachlan. In fine weather, when there’s plenty of grass or herbage, and water every twenty miles or so, a drover has rather a jolly time of it, after he’s trained the cattle to camp properly, take it altogether: an open-air life, with just enough exercise to make him enjoy his ‘tucker’ (food). But, like most lines of life, there are more 263 bitters than sweets connected with the ‘overlanding’ profession. Sometimes there’s no water for forty, fifty, perhaps ninety miles at a stretch,—for instance, on the Birdsville and Kopperamana track,—and keeping awake for days and nights together, you must push on (with the sun at 120° in the shade, sometimes) taking your cattle, at their own pace, along the Parakelia-covered sand-hills till the next water-hole is reached. And at other times there is too much water, and it is a case of swimming rivers every few miles, or else sitting down for a stream to run by for a few weeks,—riding through mud, sleeping on mud, drinking mud, and eating it too, for the matter of that, for weeks at a time. I’ve done that at the Wyndham crossing of the Cooper more than once. But on the particular trip I am going to refer to, the weather was more what you, as an Englishman, will understand better than most Australians, for it had been snowing hard for several nights in succession upon the Swollowie Mountains, over which our road, from Orange to Bathhurst, lay, and the air was almost as cold and chilly76 as it ever is in the old country.
“I never shall forget the sight that poor old Sanko, one of my native boys, was when he came off the middle watch, the first night we reached the high country. Sanko was a ‘white-haired boy’ when he came off watch to call me that morning, and no mistake about it, although his waving locks and beard had been as black as night the day before.
“No, Mr. Angland, he hadn’t seen a ghost! You’re a bit too fast.
“But he had seen something strange to him, and 264 that was a fall of snow. And when he poked77 his head in at the door of the ‘fly’ (tent) and called me, his good-humoured, hairy face was white with snow crystals. He really gave me a kind of ‘skeer,’ as our American cousins call it, for a moment. He looked like the apparition78 of some one I had known in life. I thought I was dreaming at first; and I had had fever a little while before, and was still rather weak from its effects. I mention this because the scare Sanko gave me may have made a more lasting79 impression upon me than I thought at the time, and had something to do with what happened the next night. All I did at the time, however, was to tell Sanko not to call the next watch, as the cattle would not shift in the snow. And rolling myself up in my blankets, I was soon asleep again.
“One of the greatest hardships of cattle droving is the watching necessary at night. All sorts of things may occur to frighten them; and when that does happen, off they rush, a resistless flood of mad animals, into the darkness, breaking each other’s necks and legs, and the remainder getting lost. Cows that want to return to where they dropped a calf80 will sometimes start a mob. The cunning brutes81 will watch you as you ride past them on your ‘night horse’ on your way round the mob, and then slink off into the shadows, and be miles back along the track by daylight. A thunderstorm is also a frightful82 cause of mobs stampeding. But the worst thing to be dreaded83 by the drover is a deliberate attempt to frighten the cattle by cattle-thieves, or ‘duffers,’ as we call them, who used in my time—there’s little of it done now, I believe—sometimes to steal the 265 larger part of a travelling herd by this means. Well, the plan of these midnight robbers is to watch till your horses have wandered a bit from the camp, and then, getting amongst them, slip their hobbles and drive them quietly away. Then, knowing you can do nothing to stop them, the rascals84 proceed to startle the cattle by shouting, a gun-shot, or some such means; and you are lucky if you get half your horses, let alone half your cattle, back again.
“It is necessary to tell you all this in order that you may understand my ghost tale.
“These mountains we were coming to, as I knew, had been the scene of several exploits of this kind, and it made me anxious to get through by daylight. There was a very rough lot of Cornish miners working on the hills, in the Icely goldmines; and, rightly or wrongly, we drovers mostly used to put these midnight stampedes down to these ‘Cousin Jacks85.’ But some of the older cattle-men upon the road, and all the inhabitants of the (then) sparsely86 peopled district, declared that these occurrences were due to no human interference. They said that the gorge88 in the mountains, that I should have to pass through to-morrow with my cattle, was haunted by the spirit of a murdered man, whose corpse89 was ‘planted’ where he had fallen many years since, with the knife of a treacherous90 mate still sticking in his ribs91. It was this deceased gentleman’s nightly constitutionals that were supposed to account for the various disastrous92 rushes of mobs of cattle in the mountain glen during past years. I had often heard it used as an argument, in favour of those who upheld the spectre-theory, that the camp horses had been found still 266 hobbled after these rushes,—an oversight93 of which no experienced ‘cattle-duffer’ would be guilty. Well, I felt rather anxious about the matter, but as I had arranged my stages so as to camp at the foot of the ranges that night, I thought I should be able to push on over the fatal pass before the next sun went down.
“You may imagine my annoyance94 then, on the morning when Sanko poked his ‘frosty paw’ into my tent, to discover that the snow would delay our progress for some hours. The creeks95 would be ‘big’ till midday, and there were several reasons why I could not camp another night where I was. I determined97, therefore, to push on and try my luck.
“The sun blazed out, and the white, patchwork98 mantle99 on the blue-grey hills disappeared as if by magic. But the Fates were against us. First our horses did not turn up till late; then the cows we had with us kept on getting bogged100 in the muddy billabongs, and had to be hauled out. And what with one delay and another, I saw the sunset redden the cliffs before us as we crossed Chamber’s Creek96 and entered the pass, and knew that I must camp my cattle there for the night, and no help for it.
“Leaving my men to bring on the cattle and horses, I pricked101 my spurs into my steed’s sides, and made him scramble102 up the stony103 track; and, after half an hour’s search, found a good place to camp the cattle in a narrow part of the gorge, between two cliffs of gnarled and distorted rock. There was plenty of long grass, and the melting snow had left puddles104 of water all round amongst the rocks, that in the evening light looked like so many pools of blood.
267
“Soon the cattle arrived, and I was glad to see that, tired with their scramble up the mountain-side, they were evidently contented105 with their camp, and seemed likely to remain quiet all night.
“‘Not so bad after all,’ I said to myself, as I rode back to our campfire, after seeing the cattle safely put on camp.
“But the words were hardly out of my mouth when I noticed, in the twilight106, a little fence of rough-split shingles107, up against the cliff, exactly opposite the cattle. It was the grave of the murdered man. I knew it from having had it so often described to me. We must be then located exactly on the spot where, six years before, a mob of cattle had suddenly been seized with maddening terror, and stampeding over the drover’s camp, killing108 two men in their wild rush, had been lost entirely from that day to this.
“Well, there was no help for it, so I turned my horse’s head from the solitary109 corner in the rocks and rode on towards our fire. Was it fancy or what? I know not, but as I left the grave behind me I heard a sound like a low moan. It was followed by a low, plaintive110 cry overhead, in the air.
“‘Well, this is a creepy kind of place,’ I thought to myself, ‘but I won’t tell the other fellows my fears, but just double the watches to-night.’
“I saw at a glance, however, on reaching the camp, that my four white companions had evidently learned of the close proximity111 of the grave, and knew the history connected with it. And the black ‘boys’ had, contrary to custom, made their fire close to ours, a change that I thought it policy not to notice.
“‘Now then, Sanko,’ said I to that worthy112, after 268 supper, ‘you and Merrilie sit down alonger yarraman (horses) till I come.’
“The two ‘boys’ went off unwillingly113 enough,—another unusual thing that I, also, pretended not to observe. Then, knowing that no one would attempt to interfere87 with the cattle for an hour or two, I lay down by the blazing mulga-branches for a short nap, before sitting up for the rest of the night.
“I had not been asleep ten minutes, I suppose, before I woke to find Sanko tumbling off his horse by my side in his hurry to speak to me, and could see he was in a great state of terror about something.
“‘Mine no like it sit down longer horses,’ he grumbled114, gaspingly,—his eyes rolling excitedly, as he turned his head right and left over his shoulders, as if in fear of something behind him. ‘Too much the devil-devil all about. Him yabba-yabba, and make it the walk about longer minga (grave) longer white beggar. Mine no like um.’
“I saw that it would be useless to try and get him to go back alone, and there was evidently something that required watching. I, therefore, sent all the whites and blacks off to guard the horses, keeping one of the former with me to mind the cattle. Telling the latter to follow me ‘when he was girthed-up,’ I left him by the fire, and commenced to ride slowly round the cattle, who were mostly lying down and contentedly115 chewing their cud-suppers. The silver light of a true Australian Alpine116 starlit night made the bare cliffs above stand out on either hand with an almost phosphorescent contrast to the dark indigo shadows at their feet. One could almost imagine that the rugged117 rocks had absorbed a certain amount of sunlight 269 during the preceding day, and were now themselves light-giving in a small degree,—after the fashion of those life-buoys that I’m told they cover now with a sort of luminous118 paint. The light of our camp-fire warmed to colour a few projecting rocks and the trunks of the smooth, white-stemmed gums, and now and then the soft, purring sound of far-off falling water came up the glen; no other sound but from the chewing cattle, and all was quiet so far.
“Suddenly my horse stopped short, with outstretched neck and pricked ears; then suddenly wheeling round would have dashed into the middle of the cattle, if I had not checked him in time. I could not see anything to frighten him, and the cattle were not alarmed; they, happily, apparently saw nothing strange. Then I noticed that we were close to the grave. It was in deep shadow, but I could not look at it comfortably over my shoulder, and, do what I could, my trembling night-horse would not face in that direction.
“There was nothing for it; so, as I could not finish my patrol in that direction, I turned and rode round the cattle the other way. By the fire, on my return to the camp, I found my fellow-watcher Charley.
“‘Look here, boss,’ he said excitedly, ‘there’s some beggar trying to duff the cattle, and make them string this way, so I thought I’d wait here till you returned.’
“‘Did you see any one?’ I asked.
“‘Well, I believe as how I did; but this moke got that skeered, and well—I didn’t know how many there might be, and——’
“It was no time to expostulate with Charley for his cowardice119 and negligence120, so simply saying ‘Follow 270 me!’ I turned and rode towards the grave. The place seemed awfully121 weird in the starlight, and you could make out little besides the white-backed cattle here and there amongst the shadowy trees, and the great pile of rocks towering upwards122 on either hand. The air was very cold and my feet felt dead against the icy stirrup-irons. As before, I could not get my horse to pass in front of the grave; that was now in such deep shadow that nought123 of it could be seen.
“Charley’s horse would not come so near as mine, and both of them trembled and snorted with terror; and every moment tried to wheel round and escape from the awful Something that they were watching.
“We sat in our saddles and listened, but there were no sounds but from the reposing124 cattle, and the squeaking125, here and there, of the branches overhead, rubbing one upon another, as a passing breeze swept sighing by.
“Presently the horses became less excited; then, for the first time that night, I was able to get my animal past the grave. I rode round the cattle followed by Charley.
“‘You’re right, there are duffers about,’ I said; and, telling him to keep a sharp look-out till I returned, I hurried off, as fast as the darkness would allow, and, finding the men looking after the horses, presently returned with one of them. We all watched together for an hour; and then hearing nothing I ‘turned in,’ telling the men to call me when the morning star rose. They did so, and fearfully cold it was when I turned out. I was very glad to hear the watchers report that nothing had happened to disturb the cattle.
271
“‘Them blessed duffers hev found as ’ow we’re too wide awake fur em,’ said one of the men,—who, I found out afterwards, had slept nearly all through his watch.
“I felt now that the risk of losing my cattle was over for that night, at any rate, and, mounting, rode down to them. Nothing disturbed the first part of my lonely watch; and I rode round the cattle more asleep than awake, I confess, for half an hour or so, when my steed, this time a very steady old night-horse, suddenly showed signs of uneasiness, and I found we were by the grave again.
“I pulled up, and, sitting firm with both hands on the reins126 and head thrust forward, listened intently. The pale light of the morning star was creeping over the face of the tall rocks. Its light would soon penetrate127 the shadows at their foot, and reveal the something in the darksome corner of the cliffs.
“All of a sudden there was a little rattle128, as of tumbling pebbles129, in front of me; and then the sound as of a sack or heavy piece of drapery being dragged over the low split-shingle fence that I knew was there, but could not see. A moment more, and a low, hollow moan came from just where the grave was situated130.
“I bit my lip to make sure I was awake, and then, straining my eyes into the darkness, I could just distinguish something, what I could not make out, moving slowly towards me from the shadows.
“My horse swerved131 round just at this moment, and when I got him back to his old position nought could I see. I confess I was really alarmed now. Old stories of ghosts and wraiths132, which I had been 272 accustomed to consider so much childish rubbish, rushed through my brain, do what I would to keep calm. I pulled myself together, however, sufficiently133 to determine to wait and see the up-shot of it all. Then the thought struck me that it might only be duffers after all, and nothing supernatural; and I could not overcome the idea that some one was aiming a gun at me in the darkness in front. I rode back once more to the camp-fire, and by that time felt pluckier again, and was thoroughly134 ashamed of myself. I then took up my position before the grave, determined to find out, single-handed, the cause of all the trouble.
“The blessed star of morning had risen fast since my last visit, and I could now see the outline of the tumble-down fence around the lonely resting-place of the murdered bushman. My horse was trembling as before, but with spur and knee I got him to within thirty feet of the grave.
“The starlight crept more and more into the mysterious corner. I sat and waited.
“Then suddenly I felt my hair raise the ‘cabbage-tree’ upon my head, and my skin broke into a cold sweat, for there I could see a curious something lying upon the mound26, a something that had not been there last evening. Every moment the light grew stronger, and I sat in a helpless state of terror as I became aware of the figure of a man sitting on the grave, with awful, sorrowful face turned towards me, and bright, unearthly eyes looking into mine.
“The apparition was that of a man below the average height, and was apparently wrapped round, as far as I could make out, in a grey, soft, filmy kind of cloak. It was the rotten remains of the blanket in273 which he had been buried. He moved not, but sat in awful silence gazing into my very soul.
“My horse trembled violently, but remained rooted to the spot. Then the figure rose slowly, and with eyes still fixed135 on mine began creeping, or rather gliding136, noiselessly towards me.
“Oh, horror! I tried to shout; I could not. My tongue was dry and useless. The awful figure came slowly, slowly on. It was crouching137 now as if to spring upon me. Oh, heavens! Would nothing save me from that fearful, ghastly face, those awful eyes, that came nearer, nearer mine?
“There I sat in a kind of trance, watching the thing as it silently approached.
“Then suddenly an awful cry of agony burst forth close by my side; and from the air above, and from the dark wood behind, moans, groans138, and hysterical139 bursts of laughter, shrill140 and blood-curdling, came in thick and bewildering succession.
“I nearly fainted. And, as the figure came on, and reached a spot where the early morning light fell upon it, I saw that it was a little, harmless animal of the sloth141 species, called a bear by Australian settlers. Others of its kind were barking and groaning142 their curious morning cries all round me upon the branches.”
“The Squire” having terminated his story, Claude expressed his appreciation143 of its merits, and then the two men cantered their horses the remainder of the way to the station.
Here, after bidding his companion “Good-night,” young Angland discovers that it is long past eleven o’clock; and a black boy, who runs out to take his274 horse, informs him that the young ladies have retired144 to rest, also that Mr. Giles has not yet returned home.
So, after partaking of some supper which lies waiting his appearance upon the dining-room table, Angland goes out on to the verandah, feeling somehow more inclined for a thoughtful half-hour with a Manilla, beneath the stars, than to go to bed at once.
He sits there puffing145, thinking first of Billy, then of Glory, and lastly of “the Squire’s” ghostly experiences.
“Spot,” he calls presently to the fox-terrier, who was sitting near him, in the flood of light that streams forth from the hall door, when he first lighted his cigar. “Spot, I wonder how you’d behave, if you saw a ghost?”
Spot, however, instead of prancing146 up to be petted, as he usually does when strangers take any notice of him, pays no attention to Claude’s remark. So the smoker147 lazily turns his head round to see if the dog is still there. There stands Spot, having been apparently disturbed by something, looking down towards the dark end of the verandah, with his knowing little head cocked on one side.
“I wonder what he sees,” thinks Claude; “the cat, I suppose.” But turning his eyes in the direction of the dog’s inquiring gaze, the young man becomes grimly aware of the fact that he and the dog are not alone upon the shadowy portico148. Seated in one of the great cane-chairs, his widely opening eyes descry149 a dimly visible figure. It remains silent and motionless.
Claude has studied Professor Huxley’s “Physiology,” 275 and remembers the celebrated150 case of the plucky151 “Mrs. A.” and her spectral152 annoyances153. But notwithstanding all this, on seeing the unexpected apparition near him, the young man exhibits one of those interesting automatic actions, attributable to what scientists, we believe, call “spontaneous activity,”—in other words, sits up with a start.
But before Angland has time to investigate matters, or even indulge, were he so minded, in any of those eye-ball-pressing experiments recommended by dry fact physiologists154 to all wraith-pestered persons, Spot had taken the initiative, and with perfect success.
He runs forward, wagging his tail, and jumps up against the chair in which is seated the mysterious figure.
“Oh my!” exclaims a musical girl’s voice, the tones of which make Claude’s heart beat as blithely155 as an excursion steamer’s paddle-wheel.
“Wherever——Oh! Spot, is that you? Why, you quite frightened me, I declare.”
Then the sound of a dear little yawn is heard in the darkness, and soon afterwards Miss Glory Giles makes her appearance, and on seeing Claude motions to him to be quiet and refrain from speaking.
“Oh, Mr. Angland, I’ve been waiting up to see you, and I really believe I’ve been asleep,” whispers the young lady. “Here, come with me. Be as quiet as you can; for goodness’ sake, don’t let her hear us.”
Claude rises obediently; and, overcome with surprise, is unresistingly led out into the darkness on to the dried-up lawn in front of the house by his charming escort.
“Oh! hide that horrid light of your cigar, please,” 276 Glory suddenly exclaims, in a low, excited voice. “Somebody might see us. It’s too dreadful to think of.”
Then, with her warm, balmy breath fanning her admirer’s cheek and her little hands clutching at his arm, she pants out to Claude the story of the intercepted156 letter.
“I’ve never liked her,” Glory exclaims with pretty anger, as she finishes her account of the discovery of her cousin’s plot; “but she’s dreadfully clever and strong-minded, and poor papa couldn’t get on without her, I do believe. But read this paper: it’s a copy of the letter. She did not sign it. Ain’t she cute? Meet me at the new stable before breakfast to-morrow; I go there every morning to see my mare64 Coryphée groomed157. But I mustn’t wait. Good-night!”
The little figure flits away like a fairy ghost into the darkness—silently as a moth—and is gone.
When Claude presently opens the paper that Miss Giles has given him in his own room, he finds the following words scratched upon it in pencil, in a school-girl’s unformed hand:—
Copy of Her Letter.
“ Burn this directly you have read it. He is here, and is on the eve of discovering all. Send him the message we agreed upon at once; to-morrow, if possible to arrange matters so soon. Delay is dangerous. Burn this NOW. ”
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1
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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2
toddles
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| v.（幼儿等）东倒西歪地走( toddle的第三人称单数 )；蹒跚行走；溜达；散步 | |
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3
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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4
bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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5
gory
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| adj.流血的；残酷的 | |
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6
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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7
retail
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| v./n.零售；adv.以零售价格 | |
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8
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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9
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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10
chuckles
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的名词复数 ) | |
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11
query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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12
trots
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| 小跑，急走( trot的名词复数 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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13
buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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14
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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15
reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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16
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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17
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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18
shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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19
slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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20
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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21
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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22
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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23
structural
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| adj.构造的，组织的，建筑（用）的 | |
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24
termites
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| n.白蚁( termite的名词复数 ) | |
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25
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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26
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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27
squats
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| n.蹲坐，蹲姿( squat的名词复数 )；被擅自占用的建筑物v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的第三人称单数 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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28
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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29
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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30
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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32
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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33
calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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34
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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35
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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36
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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37
skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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38
gravy
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| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
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39
gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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40
viands
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| n.食品，食物 | |
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41
tainted
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| adj.腐坏的；污染的；沾污的；感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 )；使污染；败坏；被污染，腐坏，败坏 | |
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42
earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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43
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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44
squatter
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| n.擅自占地者 | |
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45
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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46
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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47
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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48
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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49
meteoric
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| adj.流星的，转瞬即逝的，突然的 | |
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50
scintilla
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| n.极少，微粒 | |
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51
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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52
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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53
colonists
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| n.殖民地开拓者，移民，殖民地居民( colonist的名词复数 ) | |
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54
hospitably
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| 亲切地，招待周到地，善于款待地 | |
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55
nautical
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| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
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56
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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57
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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58
indigo
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| n.靛青，靛蓝 | |
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59
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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61
gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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62
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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63
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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64
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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65
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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66
infringement
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| n.违反；侵权 | |
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67
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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68
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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69
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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70
acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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71
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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72
touchy
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| adj.易怒的；棘手的 | |
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73
scoff
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| n.嘲笑，笑柄，愚弄；v.嘲笑，嘲弄，愚弄，狼吞虎咽 | |
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74
assents
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| 同意，赞同( assent的名词复数 ) | |
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75
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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76
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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77
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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78
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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79
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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80
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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81
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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82
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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83
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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84
rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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85
jacks
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| n.抓子游戏；千斤顶( jack的名词复数 )；（电）插孔；[电子学]插座；放弃 | |
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86
sparsely
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| adv.稀疏地；稀少地；不足地；贫乏地 | |
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87
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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88
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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89
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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90
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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91
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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92
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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93
oversight
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| n.勘漏，失察，疏忽 | |
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94
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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95
creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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96
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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97
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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98
patchwork
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| n.混杂物；拼缝物 | |
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99
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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100
bogged
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| adj.陷于泥沼的v.（使）陷入泥沼， （使）陷入困境( bog的过去式和过去分词 )；妨碍，阻碍 | |
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101
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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102
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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103
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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104
puddles
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| n.水坑， （尤指道路上的）雨水坑( puddle的名词复数 ) | |
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105
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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106
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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107
shingles
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| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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108
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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109
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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110
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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111
proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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112
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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113
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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114
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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115
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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116
alpine
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| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
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117
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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118
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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119
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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120
negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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121
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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122
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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123
nought
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| n.／adj.无，零 | |
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124
reposing
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的现在分词 ) | |
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125
squeaking
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的现在分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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126
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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127
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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128
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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129
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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130
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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131
swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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132
wraiths
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| n.幽灵( wraith的名词复数 )；（传说中人在将死或死后不久的）显形阴魂 | |
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133
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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134
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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135
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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136
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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137
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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138
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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139
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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140
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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141
sloth
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| n.[动]树懒；懒惰，懒散 | |
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142
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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143
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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144
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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145
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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146
prancing
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
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147
smoker
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| n.吸烟者，吸烟车厢，吸烟室 | |
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148
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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149
descry
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| v.远远看到；发现；责备 | |
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150
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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151
plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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152
spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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153
annoyances
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| n.恼怒( annoyance的名词复数 )；烦恼；打扰；使人烦恼的事 | |
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154
physiologists
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| n.生理学者( physiologist的名词复数 )；生理学( physiology的名词复数 )；生理机能 | |
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155
blithely
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| adv.欢乐地，快活地，无挂虑地 | |
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156
intercepted
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| 拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 )； 截住； 截击； 拦阻 | |
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157
groomed
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| v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的过去式和过去分词 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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