Part 67 (1/2)

This by way of first volume: now comes his second:--

”Now, sir, I, although a Scotchman born, and naturally proud of being so, consider that until these wretched national distinctions between the three great nations are obliterated we shall never get on, sir; never. That the Scotch, sir, are physically and intellectually superior----”

”Physically and intellectually the devil,” burst in Tom. ”Pick out any dozen Scotchmen, and I'll find you a dozen Londoners who will fight them, or deal with them till they'd be glad to get over the borders again. As for the Devon and Cornish lads, find me a Scotchman who will put me on my back, and I'll write you a cheque for a hundred pounds, my boy. We English opened the trade of the world to your little two millions and a-half up in the north there; and you, being pretty well starved out at home, have had the shrewdness to take advantage of it; and now, by Jove, you try to speak small of the bridge that carried you over. What did you do towards licking the Spaniards; eh? And where would you be now, if they had not been licked in 1588, eh? Not in Australia, my boy! A Frenchman is conceited enough, but, by George, he can't hold a candle to a Scotchman.”

Tom spoke in a regular pa.s.sion; but there was some truth in what he said, I think. Burnside didn't like it, and merely saying, ”You interrupt me, sir,” went on to his third volume without a struggle.

”You are aware, ladies, that there has been a gang of bushrangers out to the north, headed by a miscreant, whom his companions call Touan, but whose real name is a mystery.”

Mrs. Buckley said, ”Yes;” and Tom glanced at Mary. She had grown as pale as death, and Tom said, ”Courage, cousin; don't be frightened at a name.”

”Well, sir,” continued Burnside, putting the forefinger and thumb of each hand together, as if he was making ”windows” with soapsuds, ”Captain Desborough has surprised that gang in a gully, sir, and,”

spreading his hands out right and left, ”obliterated them.”

”The devil!” said Tom, while the Doctor got up and stood beside Mary.

”Smashed them, sir,” continued Burnside; ”extinguished them utterly. He had six of his picked troopers with him, and they came on them suddenly and brought them to bay. You see, two troopers have been murdered lately, and so our men, when they got face to face with the cowardly hounds, broke discipline and wouldn't be held. They hardly fired a shot, but drew their sabres, and cut the dogs down almost to a man.

Three only out of twelve have been captured alive, and one of them is dying of a wound in the neck.” And, having finished, little Burnside folded his arms and stood in a military att.i.tude, with the air of a man who had done the thing himself, and was prepared to receive his meed of praise with modesty.

”Courage, Mary,” said Tom; ”don't be frightened at shadows.”--He felt something sticking in his throat, but spoke out nevertheless.

”And their redoubted captain,” he asked; ”what has become of him?”

”What, Touan himself?” said Burnside. ”Well, I am sorry to say that that chivalrous and high-minded gentleman was found neither among the dead nor the living. Not to mince, matters, sir, he has escaped.”

The Doctor saw Mary's face quiver, but she bore up bravely, and listened.

”Escaped, has he?” said Tom. ”And do they know anything about him?”

”Desborough, who told me this himself,” said Burnside, ”says no, that he is utterly puzzled. He had made sure of the arch-rascal himself; but, with that remarkable faculty of saving his own skin which he has exhibited on more than one occasion, he has got off for the time, with one companion.”

”A companion; eh?”

”Yes,” said Burnside, ”whereby hangs a bit of romance, if I may profane the word in speaking of such men. His companion is a young fellow, described as being more like a beautiful woman than a man, and bearing the most singular likeness in features to the great Captain Touan himself, who, as you have heard, is a handsome dog. In short, there is very little doubt that they are father and son.”

Tom thought to himself, ”Who on earth can this be? What son can George Hawker have, and we not know of it?” He turned to Burnside.

”What age is the young man you speak of?” he asked.

”Twenty, or thereabouts, by all description,” said the other.

Tom thought again: ”This gets very strange. He could have no son of that age got in Van Diemen's Land: it was eight years before he was free. It must be some one we know of. He had some byeblows in Devon, by all accounts. If this is one of them, how the deuce did he get here?”

But he could not think. We shall see presently who it was. Now we must leave these good folks for a time, and just step over to Garoopna, and see how affairs go there.

Chapter x.x.xIII