



Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




The Gilpins, A Story of Early Days in Australia, by William H G
Kingston.

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The story opens with a couple of school-leavers discussing what they
will do with their lives.  One of the boys, a Gilpin, whose father is a
hard-working farmer, is determined to go along the same route, but in
Australia, as he and his brother have often dreamt of doing.

They reach Australia, and an incident on the Quay in Sydney, where they
save a family from destruction in a carriage whose horses have bolted,
makes them valuable friends, leading to an appointment as managers, or
overseers, of a cattle and sheep station somewhere out beyond the Blue
Mountains.  The previous manager had let the place get run down, and was
actually rather a crook.  Some of the other workers on the station were
as idle and crooked as he.  Not surprising as most of them had been sent
to Australia for some offence in England.  A few of the men were decent
enough.  There is such resentment among the idle men that they prevail
upon some aborigines to attack the buildings and set them on fire, a
plan which is foiled by one of the better workers.

Eventually the great Australian bubble bursts (the Australian economy is
always a bit overheated) and the Gilpins are ordered to slaughter the
cattle and sheep.  They discover a source of salt on the station, so
they are able to salt down some of the meat, which was otherwise going
to waste.

Using the opportunity of buying valuable stock cheaply, they acquire the
station and start the business again.  They rescue a drowning man, only
to find he is the other schoolboy in the conversation that starts the
book.  We will leave it to you to find out what his adventures had been.

It takes about 3.5 hours to read this book.

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THE GILPINS, A STORY OF EARLY DAYS IN AUSTRALIA, BY WILLIAM H G
KINGSTON.


CHAPTER ONE.

Arthur Gilpin and Mark Withers walked down the High Street, arm-in-arm,
on their return to their respective homes from the well-managed school
of Wallington.

They were among the head boys, and were on the point of leaving it to
enter on the work of active life, and make their way in the world.  They
had often of late discussed the important question--all-important, as it
seemed to them--"How are we to make our way--to gain wealth, influence,
our hearts' desires?"

"For my part, I cannot stand a plodding style of doing things," said
Mark.  "It is all very well for those without brains, but a fellow who
has a grain of sense in his head requires a more rapid way of making a
fortune.  Life is too short to be wasted in getting money.  I want to
have it to spend while I am young and can enjoy it."

Arthur was silent for some time.  At length he remarked, "It strikes me,
Mark, that the object of making money is that we may support ourselves
and families, and help those who are in distress.  My father often says
to James, and to me, and to the rest of us, `I don't want you, when you
enter business, to be thinking only how you can make money.  Do your
duty, and act liberally towards all men, and you will have a sufficiency
at all events, if not wealth.'"

"Oh! your father's old-fashioned notions won't do in the world, and
certainly won't suit me, that I can tell you," answered Mark, in a
scornful tone.

"My father is considered a sensible man.  What he preaches he practises;
and though he has a very large family, no one calls him a poor man,"
argued Arthur.  "He says that, considering how short life is, it cannot
be wise to spend the time, as many men do, in gathering up riches and
setting so high a value on them.  But here comes James!  Let us hear
what he has to say on the subject."

"Oh! of course, James has got the same notions from your father that you
have, and I am not going to be influenced by him," answered Withers.

James, however, was appealed to, and answered, "Even if we were to live
for ever in this world, I should agree with Arthur; for, from all I see
and hear, I am convinced that wealth cannot secure happiness; but as
this world is only a place of preparation for another, it is evident
folly to set one's heart upon what must be so soon parted with."

Withers made a gesture of impatience, exclaiming, "Come, come, I won't
stand any preaching, you know that; but we are old friends, and so I
don't want to quarrel about trifles, when we are so soon to separate!
You stick to your opinion, I will stick to mine, and we'll see who is
right at last."

"If this matter were a trifle I would not press it, but, because I am
sure that it is one of great importance, I do press it upon you most
earnestly, though, believe me, I am sorry to annoy you," said Arthur
Gilpin.

"Oh!  I dare say you mean well," answered Withers, in a contemptuous
tone.  "But don't bother me again on the subject, there's a good fellow.
You, James, are so above me, that I don't pretend to understand what
you mean."  Saying this with a condescending air, he shook hands with
the two brothers, and entered the house of his father, who was the
principal solicitor of the town.

The two Gilpins walked on towards their home.  Their father possessed a
small landed property, which he farmed himself.  He had a very numerous
family, and though hitherto he had been able to keep them together with
advantage, the time had arrived when some of them must go forth to
provide for themselves in the world.  James and Arthur had long turned
their thoughts towards Australia, for which part of the British
possessions they were preparing to take their departure.  Mr Gilpin, or
the squire, as he was called, was looked upon as an upright,
kind-hearted man.  He was sensible, well educated, and a true Christian;
and he brought up his children in the fear and admonition of the Lord.

A year passed by: a long sea voyage was over, and James and Arthur
Gilpin stood on the shores of Australia.  Two other brothers, with their
sisters, remained to help their father in his farm at home.  James and
Arthur had left England, stout of heart, and resolved to do their duty,
hoping to establish a comfortable home for themselves and for those who
might come after them.  Their ship lay close to the broad quay of the
magnificent capital of New South Wales.  They had scarcely been prepared
for the scene of beauty and grandeur which met their sight as they
entered Port Jackson, the harbour of Sydney, with its lofty and
picturesque shores, every available spot occupied by some ornamental
villa or building of greater pretension, numerous romantic inlets and
indentations running up towards the north; while the city itself
appeared extending far away inland with its broad, well-built streets,
its numberless churches, colleges, public schools, hospitals, banks,
government buildings, and other public and private edifices, too
numerous to be mentioned.

The Gilpins, as they were put on shore with their luggage, felt
themselves almost lost in that great city.  They were dressed in their
rough, every-day suits, and looked simple, hardworking country lads, and
younger than they really were.

Large as Sydney then was, it was still diminutive compared to what it
has since become.  Founded by criminals, it was unhappily as far
advanced in crime and wickedness as the oldest cities of the old world,
though efforts were being then made, as they have ever since continued
to be made, and, happily, not without some degree of success, to wipe
out the stain.  The two brothers stood for some time watching the
bustling scene before them.  Huge drays laden with bales of wool were
slowly moving along the quay towards the ships taking in cargo, while
porters, and carts, with ever-moving cranes overhead, were rapidly
unloading other vessels of miscellaneous commodities.  Irish, <DW64>,
Chinese, and Malay porters were running here and there; cabs and carts
were driving about, and other persons on foot and on horseback, mostly
in a hurry, evidently with business on their hands.  There were,
however, a few saunterers, and they were either almost naked black
aborigines, with lank hair, hideous countenances, and thin legs, or men
with their hands in their pockets, in threadbare coats and uncleaned
shoes, their countenances pale and dejected, and mostly marked by
intemperance.  Many of them were young, but there were some of all
ages--broken-down gentlemen, unprepared for colonial life, without
energy or perseverance, unable and still oftener unwilling to work.  The
brothers had not to inquire who they were.  Their history was written on
their foreheads.

"What shall we do next?" asked Arthur.

"I should like to get out of this place as soon as possible."

"So should I, indeed," said James; "but we must go to an inn for the
night, ascertain where labour is most wanted in the interior, and how
best to find our way there."

"You and I can scarcely carry our traps any way up those streets;
perhaps one or two of those poor fellows there would like to earn a
shilling by helping us," said Arthur, beckoning to some of the
above-mentioned idlers.

The first summoned walked away without noticing them, another stared, a
third exclaimed, "Egregious snob! what can he want?" and a fourth walked
up with his fists doubled, crying out in a furious tone, "How do you
dare to make faces at me, you young scoundrel?"

"Pardon me, sir," said James, quietly; "my brother made no faces at you.
We merely thought that you might be willing to assist in carrying our
luggage."

"I assist you in carrying your luggage!  A good joke!  But I see you are
not quite what I took you for; and if you'll stand a nobbler or two, I
don't mind calling a porter for you, and showing you to a slap-up inn to
suit you," said the man, his manner completely changing.  "You'll have
to pay the porter pretty handsomely, my new chums!  People don't work
for nothing in this country."

While they were hesitating about accepting the man's offer to get a
porter, thinking that there could be no harm in that, a country lad, Sam
Green by name, who had come out as a steerage passenger with them,
approached.  As soon as he saw them he ran up exclaiming--

"Oh, Master Gilpins, there's a chap been and run off wi' all my traps,
and I've not a rag left, but just what I stand in!"

Sam was, of course, glad enough to assist in carrying their luggage.
James apologised to the stranger, saying he would not trouble him.

"Not so fast, young chum!" exclaimed the man.  "You promised me a couple
of nobblers, and engaged me to call a porter.  I'm not going to let you
off so easily!  Down with the tin, or come and stand the treat!"

The Gilpins were rather more inclined to laugh at the man than to be
angry; certainly they had no intention of paying him.  Perhaps their
looks expressed this.  He was becoming more and more blustering, when a
cry from several people was heard; and looking up the street, an open
carriage with a pair of horses was seen dashing down towards the water
at a furious rate.  There was no coachman on the box, but that there was
some one in the carriage James discovered by seeing a shawl fluttering
from the side, and by hearing a piercing shriek, uttered apparently as
if then, for the first time, the lady had discovered the imminence of
her danger.  In a few seconds the carriage would have been dragged over
the quay and into water many fathoms deep.

"Stop the horses!  Fifty--a hundred--five hundred pounds to whoever will
do it!" shouted a man's voice from within.

Right and left the people were flying out of the way of the infuriated
steeds.  There was not manhood enough left apparently in the idle,
dissipated-looking loiterers who were standing near.  Two or three took
their hands out of their pockets and ran forward, but quickly returned
as the horses came galloping by them.  The young Gilpins heard the
gentleman's offer.

"We don't want that!" cried James.  "Come on, Arthur!"

They sprang towards the carriage, one on each side; and then turning,
ran in the direction it was going, grasping the head-stalls of the
animals as they passed, but allowing themselves to be carried on some
way, their weight however telling instantly on the galloping steeds.

Sam Green had remained standing by the luggage, having made up his mind
that the suspicious-looking stranger would decamp with it, if left
unguarded.  When, however, he saw that the horses, in spite of his young
friends' efforts, would drag the carriage over, unless stopped, he
started up, with his hands outstretched before him, uttering with
stentorian voice a true English "Woh! woho!" and then, with an arm from
which an ox would dislike to receive a blow, he seized the heads of the
horses, already trying to stop themselves, and forced them back from the
edge stones of the quay, which they had almost reached.  Undoubtedly the
horses had been broken in by a trainer from the old country: Sam Green's
"Woh! woho!" acted like magic; and the pacified though trembling animals
allowed themselves to be turned round, with their heads away from the
water.  While the elder Gilpin and Sam held them, Arthur ran to open the
door, that the lady and gentleman might alight.  The one was of middle
age, the other very young--father and daughter, Arthur surmised.

"My brave lads, you have nobly won the reward I promised," said the
gentleman, as he lifted out his daughter, who, pale and agitated, still,
by the expression of her countenance, showed the gratitude she felt.

"I am sure that my brother and I require no reward for doing our duty,"
answered Arthur, blushing as he spoke.  "Besides, without the aid of
that other lad, our fellow-passenger, we should probably have failed."

"What!  I took you for labouring youths, I beg your pardon," said the
gentleman, giving a glance of surprise at him.

"Our intention is to labour," said Arthur, unaffectedly.

"Ah! you have the stuff in you to command success," said the gentleman.
"But I must request you to accompany me for a short distance, as my
daughter prefers walking; and if I once lose sight of you in this
straggling city, I may not easily find you again."

"Thank you, sir," said Arthur; "we have our luggage with us, and must go
to an inn; but if you will favour me with your address, we will call on
you before we leave Sydney."

While they were speaking, the coachman, in consequence of whose
carelessness in letting go their heads the horses had run away, came up,
and released James and Sam.  Not a word of scolding was uttered--the
gentleman thought a moment.

"Here, Sykes, lift that luggage into the carriage, and drive these young
gentleman home; leave them there, and come back for Miss Fanny and me to
the club."

In vain the young Gilpins expostulated.

"I am a determined person, and will have it so," said the gentleman.

Before they looked round, Sam had stowed away their luggage in the
carriage, greatly to the disappointment of the bully, who had, it
seemed, been watching for an opportunity to make off with a portion.
The stranger then, almost against their will, forced them into it; and
writing a few lines on the leaf of a pocket-book, gave it to the
coachman.  "Come, my friend, you must go in also," he added, taking Sam
by the arm.

Sam drew back, and, touching his hat, exclaimed, "Noa, sir--noa, thank
ye.  It 'ud ne'er do for me to ride wi' the young squires; I know my
place better nor that."

A mob such as Sydney, of all British ports, perhaps, can alone produce,
had by this time collected round the carriage.  Sam's remark produced a
loud guffaw laugh from among them, and a variety of observations came
rattling down on him, such as "Go it, young Touch-my-hat; the nob will
pay you--he's a <DW65> with a white face.  I wonder where he was raised?
His mother was a dancing mistress--little doubt of that."

Sam's temper had been irritated from the loss of his property, which he
very naturally concluded had been stolen by some of his tormentors.  He
now looked as if he were going to give way to his temper.  Instead of so
doing, however, he turned calmly round with his double fist, and said
slowly, "I'll tell you what, young chaps, a man who respects himself
keeps his own place, and when he meets a gentleman he'd think himself
without manners nor character if he didn't touch his hat to him.  Did
any on ye ever see two gentlemen take off their hats