CHAPTER XII.

"All those rivers That fed her veins with warm and crimson streams Frozen and dried up; if these be signs of death, Then is she dead.... But I will be true E'en to her dust and ashes."

DECKER.

Mr. Rainsfield pursued his way homewards little anticipating the sight that awaited him on his arrival; but, owing to the heavy state of the roads from the saturation of the ground, he was only enabled to travel slowly. Consequently he perceived the flood coming down the Gibson long before he reached the crossing-place of the Wombi; and, knowing that there would be no use attempting a passage there, since the bridge had been swept away, he at once struck off for the Dingo Plains to get over by the upper crossing-place. By making this detour it was near morning before he approached the station.

Upon his reaching home he at once went to the stable and attended to his horse, the first consideration of a bushman, and then bent his steps to the house, feeling an unaccountable sensation of awe, which the pervading solitude and death-like stillness inspired him with. This feeling he was ashamed to indulge in, and tried to banish it from his mind and deceive his conscience by attempting to whistle a lively air, while he submitted his right boot to a playful castigation with his riding-whip. All these stratagems, however, proved futile: a gloom had settled upon him which he could not shake off, and he hastened his steps to his dwelling with his heart in a perturbation that gave place to the most fearful apprehensions as he perceived the house open to free ingress. The truth at once burst upon him with overwhelming force, and he rushed like one demented into the room where he had expected to meet the embrace of his wife, but only to witness her mutilated remains surrounded by those of her children. He gazed upon their forms for some minutes in the uncertain light with a sad, though calm and almost stoical cast of countenance; and then, kneeling by the side of his wife's body, he parted her clotted hair from off her brow, which he stooped down and kissed, and, while dashing a scalding tear from his eye, thus apostrophised the fane of the departed spirit:

"And was it for this I left you, my darling Mary, to seek for you protection, and obtain assistance to drive the disturbers of our happiness from the land? Oh! that I could but have foreseen this, to have either preserved you and our poor little innocents, or perished while I shielded your heart with my breast. Curses on my cruel fate, and the blinding fancies of security which led me away from your side. Oh, Mary, Mary! more dear to me than life, to have lost you thus, butchered! by a set of ruthless savages, consumes my very heart. But you shall be revenged. By heaven! you shall." And, springing to his feet with clenched fists, and gazing into space as the whole expression of his countenance changed, he continued:

"What is life to me now, deprived of all the ties that bound me to this earth? It shall be devoted to the cause of vengeance; and here, Mary! in the presence of your spirit, and in the sight of my Maker, I swear to be revenged upon all the blacks in this country; never shall one cross my path alive. I'll spare neither their old nor their young. I'll hunt them from their dens, like the vermin that they are. They shall be made to bite the dust. Their bodies shall rot, and their bones bleach in the sun. Never shall they rest until they are wholly exterminated, or my strength and life fail me; and I swear that so long as one black remains of all their race my vengeance shall not be satisfied. Hear me, Mary! while I pray to God for the strength of Hercules, and the age of Methuselah, that I may be a terror to their species, and they may learn to curse the day when first they tasted the blood of mine. And oh, Mary! if thou seest me from the portals of that abode where the eternal dwell, look down upon me and commend my work, help my weak arm; encourage my drooping spirit; be a light to beacon my path in the remainder of my gloomy passage through this world; and let not the cup of vengeance be removed from the lips of thy foul murderers until they have tasted of the very dregs. So now, my angel wife! my once fond and loving but now lost wife! sacrificed through thy husband's folly and neglect, if vengeance is sweet to thee thy spirit shall be appeased; for henceforth my name shall be one to strike dismay into the souls of blacks throughout the land. So help me God!"

Having uttered this fearful oath, and calling down the aid of his Maker to assist him in its performance, Rainsfield left the room and the house a broken-hearted man; re-saddled his horse, which he mounted, and went he knew not whither. His state was truly piteous; his better and softer nature was in perpetual warfare with his fiendish feelings, which prompted nothing but a thirst for vengeance. The memory of his wife, and the sudden shock occasioned by her loss and fearful death, had at first subdued the evil passions of the mortal; and he had gazed upon the placid features of the corpse with a calm and settled grief. But as he awoke to a plainer perception of the horrors of the event, and what must have been the sufferings of his defenceless family, with the brutality of their hellish assailants, all softer feelings evanished before the sterner one revenge; which in the one moment of decision he determined should be the sole object of his future life. In this frame of mind he left his home, that had so lately been smiling and happy but now gloomy, bloody, and to be shunned; for he felt to dwell under that roof again was impossible. His home for the future would be under the canopy of heaven, and his life that of the avenger. Thus he left the house, misfortune having so overcome his reason that he had no idea of further inspection of the building, possibly believing that all had met with the same fate, not even to glance into the room of Eleanor; and he wandered forth absorbed in grief, without any definite notion of where he was to go, or how he was to dispose of the bodies.

Towards noon of the following day he entered the township of Alma, and his horse stopping instinctively before the door of the "Woolpack" inn, he alighted; and allowed the animal to be taken from him while he mechanically entered the house. The news of the massacre had already spread through the country, while the thousand tongues of mercurial gossip had imparted to the original tragedy as many phases of horror as imagination could possibly invent. The fearful occurrence had arrested the attention, and absorbed all the interest of the residents of Alma; and they were in several knots in deep and earnest conclave, discussing the bloody event, as they saw the chief sufferer approaching their town.

The loudest declamation, and the deepest uttered anathemas against the natives, were in an instant checked. The earnestly asseverated opinion, that the lives of the settlers would be perpetually in danger, unless the blacks were speedily exterminated,--the noisy declaration of some bold patriot, as he expressed his determination to declare eternal warfare against the savages, and even to enter upon the crusade single-handed if no one would lend him aid; with the faint voice of some more philanthropic polemic, who attempted to check the stream of exuberant passion, by palliating without defending (on the plea of retribution) the horrible murder,--were all hushed, and gave place to a heartfelt though silent sympathy as Mr. Rainsfield rode into the town. And even after he was lost to their vision, by ensconsure in the "Woolpack," their conversations were resumed in a lower cadence, lest (even at a distance at which their most stentorian utterances could hardly have been distinguishable) the nature of their conversation should strike his ear and recall the subject of his grief.

The news had reached them that morning by Joey when he arrived post-haste for the doctor. He had been fortunate in finding the resident son of Galen at home; and, obeying the injunctions of his master, had delivered his message, and returned with him immediately. Short as had been his stay it was quite long enough to enable the inhabitants to elicit from him the facts of which the reader is acquainted. They learnt with some degree of satisfaction that one of the family still retained life, and would possibly be able, at some time, to recount the circumstances of the massacre. Thus, in the presence of so much to engender the feeling of compassion, a morbid curiosity to learn all the details of horror seized upon the minds of the good people of Alma. But such is the nature of man; selfishness reigns supreme, and shines forth in all his motions and actions.

When Joey returned with the doctor he deviated from the beaten track, to cross the Wombi by the upper fords; thinking that his companion might object to the more dangerous one of the lower. Rainsfield, on the contrary, in his journey, never dreaming of dangers or difficulties, had taken the lower; hence the parties had missed one another. This caused the gossips of Alma to wonder greatly what had brought him away from his house; especially as they had heard that he had been absent at the time of the outrage, and must have since visited the scene, and met the doctor and messenger on the road. But they were unacquainted with the circumstance that had prevented the meeting, and they were destined, at least at that time, to remain in ignorance; for the landlord of the inn to whom they had recourse, rough and unfeeling as he appeared, had too much respect for the grief of his visitor to attempt obtaining any information from him.

The landlord, without enquiring from him if he would take any meal, prepared the table for a repast, and placed on it some edibles, with a bottle of brandy and some water. Then, without uttering a syllable, he left the room and the sorrow-stricken man to an uninterrupted solitude. Rainsfield sat for some time gazing fixedly on the viands before him without attempting or desiring to partake of them; retaining an unaltered position on each occasion that he was surveyed by the sympathising host through the key-hole of the door. In this state he might have remained, until exhausted nature had induced a return to consciousness, had not his attention been attracted by the arrival of an extensive cavalcade at the door of the inn. Glancing his eye languidly over the features of the riders as they were dismounting he instantly recognised amongst the group the person and voice of Bob Smithers; and the object of the party was at once made apparent.

New life was at once infused into his veins; the blood once more mantled his cheek, and fire was imparted to his eye, as he, with compressed lip and determined visage, leapt from his seat and strode to the doorway.

"Show those gentlemen in here, landlord," he said, addressing that individual, as he was ushering the newly-arrived travellers into a separate room.

"I thought, sir, you would prefer to be alone," replied the landlord, "so I was going to let you have the parlour to yourself."

"Never mind, let them come in here," replied Rainsfield.

The party by this time had entered the room they were shown to, so the landlord turned to them, and said:

"If you would like to step into the other room, gents, you will find it more comfortable; there is only one other gent there, perhaps you know him," he continued in an under tone, "it is Mr. Rainsfield."

A low murmur ran through the party at the mention of the name, though it was unheard by Rainsfield himself, he having turned again into the parlour. The name of Rainsfield was repeated by them all in a tone of voice that unmistakeably indicated a sorrowful compassion. They were all squatters in the district and friends of Smithers, who had collected them to go to the assistance of their neighbour for his protection against the aborigines. They had heard as they came along the fearful news of the massacre, and had accelerated their speed to arrive on the scene of action as soon as possible, in the hope of finding some of the family living, or being in time to afford some assistance, either in the preservation of their lives, the protection of their property, or the chastisement of their murderers.

Smithers instantly proposed to join Mr. Rainsfield, and at once adjourned to the other room, followed by his companions; and, as he entered and advanced with extended hand, but without venturing to speak, Rainsfield grasped the proffered token of friendship, while he said: "Too late, Smithers! too late! except for revenge, and that is all I hope to live for."

"And in which we can now only serve you," replied his companion. "But we will organize some plan of operation; we count fifteen now, and are sufficient to be irresistible to the whole tribe of blacks. In the meantime let the landlord prepare dinner, and then we will discuss matters quietly. I think you know all our friends here?"

The form of introduction being gone through where the parties were not acquainted, and the shaking of hands where they were, the necessary instructions were given to the landlord to prepare something for the company, and they fell into a desultory conversation previous to entering upon their plans. It is not our intention to weary the reader with a verbose report of the initiatory proceedings of the party, and will therefore merely state that they formed themselves into a mutual protection society, with the professed object of combining to repel the encroachments of the blacks, though in reality to hunt them down like dogs. For the furtherance of this scheme they bound themselves by stringent oaths to let none escape them, but to kill all they should come across. Each individual swore to take active part in the process of destruction so as to make all equally implicated. They vowed, by the most solemn obligations, never to make any disclosure that would criminate any of the society; while, before any neophyte could be admitted within the periphery of their mysterious bonds, it was determined he should be subjected to an ordeal that would protect the members from the possibility of any disclosure that would cause their amenability to the law.

In the course of conversation with the landlord Smithers learnt that one of the family (which his informant could not tell him) was still living, and that a messenger, supposed from Fern Vale, had come over that morning for the doctor. Smithers communicated this to Rainsfield, who then remembered for the first time that he had not visited the room of Eleanor, and therefore inferred that it must be she, he having had too clear a demonstration of the total absence of life in the bodies of his wife and children. This he mentioned to Smithers, and they both agreed that Eleanor must have been discovered by some of the Fergusons, who had removed her to their own house, and sent for the doctor. They therefore determined to adhere to their original plan of starting early on the following morning, after taking a night's rest where they were, it being needed by most of the party as well as by their horses.

On the following morning they were early on the road, so that few saw them leave the township. But though nothing had been said by any of the Society respecting the object of their journey it was pretty shrewdly guessed at, if not positively known, by most of the inhabitants; and it was evident to them no body of men, armed with rifles and revolvers, could be travelling to the scene of a murderous outrage with any peaceable intent. The sympathies, however, of most went with them; and even though some of their number had been disposed in simple argument to feel for the blacks, none dared to incur public opprobrium by making any representations of the supposed hostilities to official quarters. The Society itself proceeded on its way very quietly, its members being mostly absorbed in sketching out, mentally, plans of the campaign on which they were entering, so that the journey was almost entirely performed in silence.

When they reached the station its appearance was quite desolate; no signs of life were perceptible, and the stillness of death spread around its influence, which was sensibly felt by all. The house was closed to all ingress, and on the door was nailed a card bearing the words: "Let Mr. Rainsfield proceed to Fern Vale the instant on his arrival." Rainsfield read the sentence, and at once guessed the import; he perceived that when the murder had been discovered by the Fergusons they had removed the bodies thither, if possible, to await his arrival before interment; and he determined to go on at once, though, before departing, he desired once more to gaze upon the rooms through which the steps of his wife and the merry voices of his children had so lately resounded, but which were now tenantless, desolate, and bloody. An entrance was effected by a back window, and the party admitted; when great was the surprise of Mr. Rainsfield to find no sign or vestige of the fearful crime that had there so lately been committed. He read in all this the kind hand of his neighbours, and his heart smote him in the midst of his grief for the manner in which he had behaved to young Ferguson. To his friends he pointed out with a melancholy precision the spots where he had found the various bodies, described their position and their mutilated condition, and then wandered through the rooms with an abstracted air conjuring in his imagination the scenes that were passed, never more to return, and peopling them in his fancy with those loved forms whose spirits had fled to the source from whence they sprang.

His friends did not attempt to interrupt the gratification of this melancholy pleasure, but allowed him to be the first to propose a retreat, which, when he did, they were ready to agree to. The whole party then left the house to proceed to Fern Vale; and while they are on the road we will precede them and take a momentary glance at the doings there, both at the exact period of our narrative and also retrospectively for a few hours.

John Ferguson, when he bore the all but lifeless body of Eleanor into his own house, arrested the volatile reception of his sister with an expression of countenance that betokened deep sorrow. To the poor girl the look was unaccountable; she had only risen the instant her brother had arrived, and had heard nothing of his approach; consequently she was a little surprised at his presence. But when she was about to rush into his embrace his manner appalled her, while she was equally surprised at the singular burden he carried in his arms, for in the manner in which he had enveloped the body of Eleanor the form was undefinable. John, however, saved his sister the necessity of any questioning, by saying:

"Don't ask me any questions at present that will require any explanation of the cause of my unexpected appearance with this almost lifeless form. Lead the way to your room, Kate, for I must place it under your charge; and I can assure you it requires your tenderest care. I have already sent for a doctor, and expect him here in the course of the day."

The astonished girl preceded her brother to her room, and, as John laid his burden gently on his sister's bed, he uncovered the face and disclosed to the vision of Kate the pallid features of the unconscious Eleanor.

"Oh, John! dear John! tell me what is the meaning of this! what fearful thing has happened?" Kate passionately exclaimed.

"A dreadful event, Kate, as you may imagine," replied her brother, "by my bearing that dear creature in such a state, and bringing her here to be ministered to by you. She is now destitute of friends; but I cannot tell you more at present, your nerves could not sustain the recital of the horrors of the tale. I know that I need not ask you to bestow upon Eleanor your utmost attention and most affectionate sympathy; but I must caution you, should she return to consciousness, to make no allusion to the circumstances of her misfortune; nor do you attempt to elicit anything from her; rather try to soothe and calm her troubled spirit."

"Oh, poor dear Eleanor! what cruel fate has put you in this awful predicament?" cried Kate, when she burst into tears and buried her face in the clothes by the side of her friend.

In the meantime John left the room, and, proceeding to the kitchen, he requested their female servant to go to the assistance of her mistress. Here he found the servants who had escaped from the massacre at Strawberry Hill relating to the astonished and horrified listeners as much of the fearful outrage as they had witnessed, and what they imagined to be the conclusion. But their narrative, though dreadful, was not a tithe of the reality. He next sought his brother, to whom he related the sad events, and commissioned him to break the tale to Kate in as mild a way as possible. Then he informed him that he had left the sheep at the Wombi and suggested that he and some of the men should go over and assist the fellows that were with them, as they would necessarily be short-handed, especially for the portion of the flock that had not crossed the river. He then hastily partook of some refreshment, and taking a few of his own men, and the servants and those who had escaped from Strawberry Hill, he returned to that station to remove, if possible, the signs of the outrage, and bring the bodies of the victims to his own place; so that if Rainsfield should have heard of the circumstance before his arrival he would not be maddened by a sight of the murderous destruction.

The house was speedily cleansed of all vestiges of blood. Similar stains were removed from the corpses. The house was arranged in order, and closed up, and the party left it as John affixed to the door the card we have already noticed. The cavalcade moved slowly from the deserted mansion, and, as it proceeded on its way with its load of inert mortality, it was overtaken by the doctor and Joey from Alma. To the latter, in a few words, he gave directions, and left him to follow with the bodies, while he and the doctor pushed on.

In the meantime Eleanor had at frequent intervals opened her eyes and gazed vacantly on all the objects around her, including even the face of her friend, whom she never for an instant appeared to recognise. To Kate's tender soothing attempts she took no heed; but on each occasion, with a faint sigh and shudder, relapsed into her former torpor. This state continued until the arrival of the doctor, who, though he did not express his fears, entertained serious apprehensions for her life; and afterwards communicated to John his alarm, that, though her corporeal system might recover, the shock to her nerves had been so great that he feared her mind might give way and either become impaired or totally demented. He recommended her room to be kept dark, and as cool and as quiet as possible; and during her waking intervals, her mind to be as much diverted as could be. He then prescribed certain medicines, amongst them powerful soporifics, and Joey was instantly despatched, upon his arrival, to Alma to get them compounded, while the doctor remained by the patient to watch her malady.

On the following day Rainsfield presented himself at Fern Vale. Smithers could not be persuaded to approach the house; therefore he and his friends encamped themselves on the creek to wait until their companion's return. As Rainsfield approached the house he was met at the door by John Ferguson; and, as he felt the warm pressure of the young man's hand, it was only with an effort he prevented the tears from oozing from his eyes. John led him to the room where lay his family; and, leaving him for a few moments to his own silent meditations over their lifeless forms, walked out on the verandah, from whence he saw the party that had accompanied the bereaved man. He was for a minute wondering who they could be, and why they did not come up to the house, when he felt the touch of Mr. Rainsfield on his arm, who said to him:

"How much I owe you for this kindness my heart is too full to explain even if my words could utter it. But believe me so long as I live it shall be gratefully remembered. I had seen them a few hours before in all the horrors of their death. It was a sight to dry up the fountains of a kindly nature in any heart, and made me swear to live a life of perpetual vengeance."

"Ah, my dear sir," exclaimed John, "it is ever difficult to meet with resignation the chastisements of an all-wise Providence; but we should learn to look upon all His dispensations as tending to a beneficial end."

"I'll not pretend to argue with you," replied the other; "but my nature and feelings will not admit the embrace of such an immaculate creed. I must be avenged!"

John, in the then state of his companion's mind, did not attempt to impress the precept as he believed the thirst for vengeance would slacken as the poignancy of his grief wore off.

"And Eleanor," said Rainsfield; "what is her fate?"

A shade came over John's brow as he replied: "It is not yet decided. She is in a most dangerous state, and the doctor is now here attending her. He considers her case so precarious that he is remaining for some days to be constantly near in his watch for the turning-point which shall decide between life and death. I will ascertain if she can be seen;" and John left the spot.

Upon his return he led the way to her room; and, as Rainsfield followed him, he asked, "Why didn't you bring your friends up with you to the house?"

"They preferred stopping at a distance and awaiting my return," he replied.

"But you are not going to leave us immediately," exclaimed John; "and they cannot think of camping out there while we can make some sort of a shake-down here."

"I fear the presence of some of them at least would be objectionable to you," replied Rainsfield; "and I have no doubt they would prefer to remain where they are."

"Nonsense," cried John; "I could not think of permitting such a thing. May I ask who are those who would not accept of what hospitality I can offer them?"

"Smithers, Graham, and Brown," replied Rainsfield.

John ushered Rainsfield into the room where Eleanor lay still and motionless in a bed, at the side of which sat her watchful friend and nurse, who rose and left her seat as Rainsfield approached. He stood silently looking on the placid features of his cousin, which, but for the gentle heaving of the snowy linen that covered her breast, would have appeared as if inexorable death had already left the impress of his hand.

In the meantime John walked down to where the party of gentlemen lay stretched on the ground; and, addressing those whom he knew in a manner as if nothing had ever happened to mar the good feeling and fellowship that should have existed between them, invited the party up to the house. He prevented any refusal from Smithers (who could not dissemble his shame and mortification) by taking him cordially by the hand, and requesting that he would not give him the pain of a refusal, and of seeing him encamped with his friends within sight of his windows. He stated the accommodation he could afford them was not very commodious, but he would consider it unsocial if they did not accept it. The consequence of this appeal was that within a few minutes their horses were running in an adjoining paddock and they were all walking up together to the Fergusons' domicile.

The next day was devoted to the interment of the earthly remains of the victims of the Strawberry Hill massacre; and, as that beautifully sublime and solemn ritual of the Anglican Church was read by one of the party over the bodies they were lowering respectively in their rough and hastily-constructed encasements into that lodgment where the grim tyrant retains his grasp until the last trumpet shall summon the dead from the caverns of the earth; and, as the heavy clod resounded with a hollow dullness on the lids of the coffins, more than one eye was moistened, and more than one tear rolled its course down the cheek of some of the strongest minded of the manly group. The grave was speedily filled in, and the party returned to the house to partake of a repast; after which they took their departure.