Tom Hungerford. A STORY OF THE EARLY DAYS OF THE OTAGO GOLDFIELDS.

Tuapeka Times, Volume V, Issue 262, 6 February 1873, Page 7

Tom Hungerford. A STORY OF THE EARLY DAYS OF THE OTAGO GOLDFIELDS.

By William Baldwin.

Chaptee XIX. — Conclusion. Some fifteen or sixteen months have elapsed since the taking place of those events recorded in the last chapter. And on the whole, as far as concerns the principal personages of this story at least, they have not been uninteresting months ; at all events, sufficient interest attaches to them to render a few brief words of explanation necessary. This explanation made, my task is finished. When parting from her last, we left Nelly JFitzherbert, it may be remembered, in sore straits and dire distress of mind and body, lying at death's door in the delirium of fever, past all hopes of recovery, to all outward seeming. But she did recover. At the last moment, when the malady had reached a crisis, and the flickering lamp had all but sunk for ever, a change for the better had taken place, and thenceforward her youth and good constitution had stood her in good stead. But notwithstanding her youth and constitution, her recovery was very slow and very gradual; a matter of weeks and months; consuming the last dying days of summer, and running far on towards- the end of departing autumn. At last, however, as far as bodily strength was concerned, the girl appeared her old self again, moving about the house strong and active as ever. But ah me! so sadly changed. No longer the bright, cheerful, saucy girl we remember her; but crushed, and cowed, and humbled in mind and spirit. Day and night her mind dwelt on the past. She was full of that one great temptation of her life, that had been thrown in her way and unresisted, and all other thoughts were swallowed up by this one, that she had given her love to one man when that love belonged to another. She never attempted to plead to herself anything in the way of excuse. The temptation had been sore and grievous ; but she never admitted this to herself, never even so much as thought of it. It never crossed her mind iv the way of excuse that Tom Hungerford was kind, and ploasant, and attentive; that, as her brother's bosom companion and warm friend, ho had ever been greeted with a hearty welcome, free to come and go whenever he chose, and make his soft speeches without let or hindrance ; that he had saved her life at the risk of his own, and won her girl's heart unknown and unthought of by her. And though at an earlier period she did feel sore with her lover, James Stevenson, telling herself tbat he had neglected her, and was not bearing himself as a lover should do, writing her, on the few occasions that he did write, short, brief, unloverlike letters, at the period I am now referring to no trace or racollection of the sorenesß remained. She thought not of all this now. She thought of nothing but that she had fallen from her lofty pedestal, and, grovelling in the dust, repented in the sackcloth and ashes of a sorrowstricken heart. Ah me! it is grievously bitter when we first lose our good opinion of ourselves ; and exceedingly grievous is the bitterness when we come to look upon ourselres as unworthy the regard of all good men and women. To this pass had Nelly Eitzherbert come in the first days of her convalesence. And afterwards, when these days of convalesence had passed, news was brought her that distressed her sorely, and smote her to the very heart's core. News was brought her of the fall of Mere-Mere, and with this news came tidings tbat her lover was no more. Poor James Stevenson ! Like many another brave fellow, he had met his death on Mere-Mere's stricken field on that fell day when Maori pluck, and Maori courage, and Maori daring, setting at defiance English discipline, English generalship, and English bravery, held their own for hours and hours, disputing fiercely, hand to hand, every inch of ground that was won from them. The keen, sharp tomahawk, flashing through the air in lightning circles, had beaten down sword and guard, and crushed his head in its irresistable swoop. For many and many a. long day she grieved for him sadly, sorrowfully, keenly, with a grief all the keener because of the wrong she felt — could not but feel — she had done him. There had been, during his lifetime, one little small ray of comfort amidst the darkness of her soul, in that she had told herself, nay sworn to herself, in words of serious, solemn, import, that she would strive her lifelong to make him amends — living for him, and him only, the life of a loving, honest, dutiful wife. But now this small solitary ray of comfort was snatched from her, and from the depths of the darkness, despair, and anguish that filled her heart, like Job of old, she prayed that she miglit die and be at rest. She had never once seen Tom Hungerford since her recovery — had iiever -once thought of him, I was going to add, but any such addition on my part would be incorrect, seeing that she had thought of him, and that often — ! could not help thinking of him, in fact; but her thoughts of him were of the *, very briefest. She had come to watch herself carefully, and, by the exercise |

of much mental control, had gone far to wean him from her thoughts. Meanwhile, Tom Hungerford had rosumed his duties. He, too, had his own share of suffering to bear, for the blow had been keenly felt by him. But, we know,, blows of the kind never fall so keenly upon men as they do upon women ; at all events their keenness is less enduring. The force of the buffet may indeed cause a man, in the first flush of his agony, to reel and stagger and clutch at the nearest support at hand to prevent his falling ; but as a rule he seldom does fall, no matter how forcible the buffet may have been. But it is not so with women. They fall prone in the dust without clutching at anything that might break the force of the fall. Then, again, when a man has pulled himself together, there is always something or another to turn his hand to — some resource or another to distract his attention, and prevent his feeding on his own thoughts — that most poisonous of all thoughts on which a mind diseased can feed itself. Tom Hungerford was peculiarly fortunate at this unhappy period of his life, in that he had onerous duties to perform, and he was wise enough to avail himself of his good fortune, giving himself up wholly to their performance. He worked away incessantly day after day. He never before got through more business ; no, not even in tho earlier days of Waitahuna. This business, we need scarcely say, was for the most part quite unnecessary, made specially for the occasion ; but he himself was quite unconscious! of this. Nay, inindeed on more, than one occasion he told Henry Eitzherbert it was unaccountable this increase of his work. Neither Henry nor Tim Dwyer could understand him. Tim especially was sorely puzzled. And he had a hard time of it, too, had poor Tim. Tom Hungerford was so snappish and irritable, and altogether unreasonable, that Tim scarcely dared approach him. " Begor, Mick," said the poor fellow one evening to his friend Mickey Murphy, the big Connemara man, " Misther Tom bates me inthirely. I don't know from Adam what's come over him of late, for he ain't hisself at all, at all." But after a time all this disappeared, and Tom's old ways came back to him. I am afraid the news of poor James Stevenson's death had something to do with this change, at all events the change became apparent about the time this news reached him. Naturally, and as a matter of course, he now began to look forward more hopefully. In that old popular ballad, " Roy's wife," we may remember Johnny, the discarded swain, uses himself the following words of comfort : — But Roy, he's older thrice than T, Perhaps, his days may na' be niony ; Sine when the carl is dead and gane, She then may turn her thoughts on Johnny. Now it is needless to say no such comfort as this had ever occurred to Tom Hungerford. He had never seen James Stevenson, never known him, nor heard of him until his name was mentioned by Nelly Eitzherbert as her accepted lover. Since then he had in his heart envied him, and hated him ; but unlike the discarded Johnny, he had never speculated on the possibility of his death. But now that this lover was dead, the probability of her turning her thoughts on him, Tom Hungerford, rose up strong within him, and gave him food for much speculation. At all events she was free again, and he might now venture to tell her his tale of love without impropriety, or the fear of calling down upon his head her wrath and anger. Any telling of the kind must, of course, be a matter of time, still the telling might be i honestly made, aye and successfully made to. Then, too, some little time after, another equally important event as | regards his future life befell him. It happened in this way. One day he was called away to hold an inquest on the body of a young man who had lost his way in a snow storm, on the ranges, and perished. The dead man - was no other than that Delany whose connexion with the Burgess Kelly gang, has been already referred to in the courae of this narrative. It was this unfortunate young fellow, it may be remembered, who had instigated the gang to murder Tom Hungerford, instigating them to do so for reasons which I promised should be explained at a later stage of this story. The production at the inquest of some documents found on his body, makes this the fitting time, perhaps, for the offering of such explanation. Erorn these^documents it appeared that the name of the deceased was not Delany, but Buckley. He was, in fact, a son of Mr. Cornelius Buckley, the ci-devant agent, and present proprietor of the Hungerford property of Anahogue. One of these documents was a letter in the elder Buckley's handwriting. And well Tom recognised that handwriting as he read the letter over. And there was his own name too. He was to be carefully watched, and his actions reported from time to time to the writer. And etop what was this. "As long as he lives, in fact, we can never expect peace .or- quietness ; and it ia only in the .event of his death that we can call the place our own." Why, this meant imStf many words that he was to be put out of- the- way. Then followed a paragraph giving the son authority to draw upon the writer for any sum of money he might require ;

and was requested.in conclusion to destroy the letter when he had read it. Tom placed the letter carefully aside and proceeded with the inquest. The only portion of the proceedings of any interest to us, as far as this narrative is concerned, was Tim Dwyer's evidence. Tim swore that the dead man was the one he had seen in conversation with Burgess and Kelly at the Q-olden Age that night when he overheard Tom's name mentioned, and his death darkly hinted at. As Tom rode homewards that evening in company with Tim Dwyer, the whole thing began to dawn upon both of them. They now began to see why Tom had been stuck up, and the fate that awaited him at the hands of these miscreants, but for their opportune capture. With this letter, in his possession, the attempt made upon his life, and the connexion of young Buckley with this attempt, he felt that his claim to the property was irresistible. Ho felt that under the circumstances, the elder Buckley would never face the exposure of a public trial. He would "have starred home at once, were it not for Nelly. But he would not, he told himself, leave her under existing circumstances ; no, not though twenty such properties were at stake. What was this property, what was his very life itself without her warm love and joyous sunny smile ? And so be waited and waited ; and at last visited the station once more, avowedly to bid the family good-bye, but iv reality to tell his love to the girl again. Will he succeed in his mission, will his tale of love be listened to ? Well, yes ; I think so. If not upon this occasion, upon some future one at all events. In the course of a year or two, Henry Eitzherbert became a Gold fields Commissioner, or Warden, as the appointment cam# to be called in after days. Some time afterwards he was returned to the Assembly. When I last had the pleasure of meeting my friend Henry, there was some talk of Ms getting married, and he mentioned to me on that occasion that he had some intention of giving the world his experiences of political life, under the title of Henry Eitzherberfc, the goldfields member. I cannot say whether he will carry out his intention or no ; but should he do so, I have no doubt we will learn something further of Tom Hungerford's movements, as well as of other personages of this story. Tim Dwyer is looking forward anxiously to his return to his old home. He has, thanks to Tom's care, laid by a few hundred pounds, and looks forward to his snug farm ; and a certain bright, wholesome, buxom lass, a farmer's daughter of his acquaintance, who occupies a warm corner of his heart, will, he thinks, make that farm all the more comfortable. I hope she will make poor honest Tim as happy as he deserves to be. My task is finished, the play is played, the actors have fretted and strutted their brief hour upon the stage, and will henceforward be heard no more. They file by you, my clear reader, in making their exit, and addressing you in the words of the ancient gladiators when bending low before the the throne of Imperial Csesar, " Aye Ceesar, salutant te morituri" pass out into oblivion.