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Authors: William Stuart Long
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there was, ma’am—me an’ Mr. Henry, three convict lads, an’
three abos. An’ we hadn’t no maps nor roads to follow in them days. Took us four months, it did, but we got “em to Adelaide.
Over eight hundred head o” cattle
an’ a flock o’ nigh on the same number o’
fat wethers, an’ they all was in good condition when we drove “em into the township!”
“And he’s never tired of boasting about it, are you, Noah?” Sarah accused indulgently.
“Course not, Mrs. Osborne, ma’am,” the old stockman answered, unabashed. “No more’n Mr. Henry, when there’s new folk to listen.” He eyed Jenny curiously, and then, as William finished tethering his horse and came striding over to them, his faded blue eyes lit up. “Ain’t that the gentleman they was writin” about in the Sydney newspapers? Him that rode in the cavalry charge in the Crimea an’ lost his arm?”
Sarah Osborne performed the introductions with easy grace, and, when the old man shambled off to greet her husband, she said, lowering her voice, “He’s a great character, old Noah. Like Henry, that daring drive to South Australia was the foundation of his fortune, and at one time he owned as much land as we did. Sad to say, however, he has only a few acres left now… . Sunday is the only day when the poor old fellow is sober. Well, I can hear the organ. We had better go in. Girls-was She turned to call to the two pretty daughters who had accompanied them in the dray, both of whom were chatting to friends. “It’s time we went in … your aunt Marshall is playing the organ voluntary, and she’s always upset if we’re late for it. Put Benjy’s hat straight, would you please, Judy dear? And make sure he has his collection money.”
“I do have it, Mama,” her youngest son protested indignantly, displaying a bright new penny in his small, grubby paw. “And why do I have to wear my hat when I only have to take it off in the church?”
“Because it is seemly,” Sarah told him. “Your papa is wearing his, isn’t he? And so is Colonel De Lancey. Be a good boy and do as I bid you.”
With her family mustered into an orderly procession, servants bringing up the rear, Sarah Osborne took her husband’s arm and led the way into the small, stone-built church. It was cool and dark inside, the wooden pews and rush-matted upright chairs swiftly filling, and, directed to a seat at William’s side, Jenny smiled at him before dropping to her knees in brief and silent prayer.
The organist-a thin, gray-haired woman in sober black, evidently a relative of
Sarah’s-turned in her seat to acknowledge the arrival of the Osborne party with a brisk, approving nod and then launched into a spirited rendering of the Old Hundredth, which brought the congregation to their feet.
The rector of Dapto, also black-robed and gray-haired, made his entrance as the organ recital came to an end and, in a pleasantly accented Scottish voice, began the familiar service of
William Stuart Long
Morning Prayer with an exhortation to the assembled worshipers to seek forgiveness for their sins.
“Dearly beloved brethren, the Scripture moveth us in sundry places to acknowledge and confess our manifold sins and wickedness and that we should not dissemble nor cloak them before the face of Almighty God our Heavenly Father … but confess them with an humble, lowly, penitent, and obedient heart, to the end that we may obtain forgiveness of the same by His infinite goodness and mercy. …”
My heart is obedient,
Jenny thought.
For all I dread the prospect of leaving Australia and going to India, I will go, because that is what William my husband asks of me. Yet I am afraid, and with each day that passes I am more reluctant and my fears grow.
She sank again to her knees, very conscious of William’s tall, imposing person at her side, as the rector declaimed, “We have erred and strayed from thy ways like lost sheep. We have followed too much the devices and
three abos. An’ we hadn’t no maps nor roads to follow in them days. Took us four months, it did, but we got “em to Adelaide.
Over eight hundred head o” cattle
an’ a flock o’ nigh on the same number o’
fat wethers, an’ they all was in good condition when we drove “em into the township!”
“And he’s never tired of boasting about it, are you, Noah?” Sarah accused indulgently.
“Course not, Mrs. Osborne, ma’am,” the old stockman answered, unabashed. “No more’n Mr. Henry, when there’s new folk to listen.” He eyed Jenny curiously, and then, as William finished tethering his horse and came striding over to them, his faded blue eyes lit up. “Ain’t that the gentleman they was writin” about in the Sydney newspapers? Him that rode in the cavalry charge in the Crimea an’ lost his arm?”
Sarah Osborne performed the introductions with easy grace, and, when the old man shambled off to greet her husband, she said, lowering her voice, “He’s a great character, old Noah. Like Henry, that daring drive to South Australia was the foundation of his fortune, and at one time he owned as much land as we did. Sad to say, however, he has only a few acres left now… . Sunday is the only day when the poor old fellow is sober. Well, I can hear the organ. We had better go in. Girls-was She turned to call to the two pretty daughters who had accompanied them in the dray, both of whom were chatting to friends. “It’s time we went in … your aunt Marshall is playing the organ voluntary, and she’s always upset if we’re late for it. Put Benjy’s hat straight, would you please, Judy dear? And make sure he has his collection money.”
“I do have it, Mama,” her youngest son protested indignantly, displaying a bright new penny in his small, grubby paw. “And why do I have to wear my hat when I only have to take it off in the church?”
“Because it is seemly,” Sarah told him. “Your papa is wearing his, isn’t he? And so is Colonel De Lancey. Be a good boy and do as I bid you.”
With her family mustered into an orderly procession, servants bringing up the rear, Sarah Osborne took her husband’s arm and led the way into the small, stone-built church. It was cool and dark inside, the wooden pews and rush-matted upright chairs swiftly filling, and, directed to a seat at William’s side, Jenny smiled at him before dropping to her knees in brief and silent prayer.
The organist-a thin, gray-haired woman in sober black, evidently a relative of
Sarah’s-turned in her seat to acknowledge the arrival of the Osborne party with a brisk, approving nod and then launched into a spirited rendering of the Old Hundredth, which brought the congregation to their feet.
The rector of Dapto, also black-robed and gray-haired, made his entrance as the organ recital came to an end and, in a pleasantly accented Scottish voice, began the familiar service of
William Stuart Long
Morning Prayer with an exhortation to the assembled worshipers to seek forgiveness for their sins.
“Dearly beloved brethren, the Scripture moveth us in sundry places to acknowledge and confess our manifold sins and wickedness and that we should not dissemble nor cloak them before the face of Almighty God our Heavenly Father … but confess them with an humble, lowly, penitent, and obedient heart, to the end that we may obtain forgiveness of the same by His infinite goodness and mercy. …”
My heart is obedient,
Jenny thought.
For all I dread the prospect of leaving Australia and going to India, I will go, because that is what William my husband asks of me. Yet I am afraid, and with each day that passes I am more reluctant and my fears grow.
She sank again to her knees, very conscious of William’s tall, imposing person at her side, as the rector declaimed, “We have erred and strayed from thy ways like lost sheep. We have followed too much the devices and
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