Stranger in Dixie

by James Fearn

  Changing the direction of the conversation, Patrick began to discuss American political influence in Australia. For all his rough and ready ways, he was really well informed about the broader issues and was delighted when John showed keen interest in his views.

  ‘Y’ know, it’s probably true that most o’ dose Americans came her for de gold, but I wouldn’t mind bettin’ that some of ’em had political reasons as well. I heard some of ’em predictin’ a classless Orstralia where everyone’s equal, ’an has a say in workin’ out ’ow dey are goin’ t’ live.’

  John pricked up his ears. This sounded like pure Chartism to him. The words of Richard Ironside on the Ecclesfield moor all those years ago flashed into his mind. He had a warm feeling about that night. Not only had Ironside inspired him with revolutionary ideas, but it was also there that he first sensed Anna’s affection for him. He would treasure those memories for years to come.

  ‘Y’ know, some of ’em even suggested that Orstralia might become another America, to be sure,’ he added. ‘But Oi reckon thart a British colony loike dis isn’t ready for thart kind o’ tinkin’ just yet.’

  ‘Have any of you heard of the Chartist Movement?’ John was addressing Patrick and the little group of drinkers that had gathered around them in the smoke-filled saloon. John’s question was greeted with blank looks.

  ‘Another round of drinks!’ called Patrick to the barman as John began to speak. ‘From what you’ve been saying, Patrick, it seems that the American thinking and English Chartism have quite a lot in common. They both aspire to a society where wealth and position don’t determine one’s progress in life. There’s a chance for everyone if you work hard.’

  John told them of the Ecclesfield rally and of the excellent support of the poor people of England particularly in the Midlands. His enthusiasm revealed that this young middle-class Yorkshireman had a real empathy with the downtrodden and neglected.

  ‘I don’t want to darmpen y’ enthusiasm, me boy, but Oi reckon it will be at least a hundred and fifty years before dat kind o’ system is ever put up as a serious way for this country. British colonialism has far too tight a grip at the moment,’ said Patrick with a look of resignation on his face. Little did he realise how accurate his prediction would prove to be.

  The Post Office building was no more than two hundred yards from the Eagle Tavern, but every time he had passed it, John had felt inclined to ignore what he had read in the Gazette. But his curiosity eventually got the better of him. Opening the letter, he found to his astonishment that it had been written by his elder brother, George.

  ‘Dear John,’ it read. ‘If by chance you should ever receive this letter, I want you to know that I am coming to Port Phillip and would like very much to meet you. I assume you are somewhere in that part of the world given your interest in the Van Diemen’s Land Company. I shall be staying at the Eagle Tavern in Melbourne from about the middle of March next year.’

  ‘When was it written?’ queried Anna.

  ‘It’s dated December 1851,’ replied John. ‘He could be here by now.’ George had given no reason for his journey, but John sensed that it was to be no idle visit.

  The couple made their way back to the Tavern and went straight to the reception counter. ‘Let me see’, said the innkeeper, consulting his register. ‘Yes, a Mr Oxley booked in two weeks ago. He’s out at the moment, but if you wait in the sitting room, you’ll see him come in when he returns for lunch.’

  While they waited, John and Anna discussed their wedding plans. ‘I should like our wedding to be held in St James Church,’ said John. ‘It’s that beautiful church with the strange tower. You remember, the one of the hill?’

  ‘Have you forgotten already? I gave you that idea yesterday,’ responded Anna. John looked a little sheepish. ‘Would you please write to my friend Mary, and ask her to be my maid?’ asked Anna. ‘She’ll keep our secret. I’m sure we can trust her. I wonder if I can make a wedding dress?’ Anna was skilled as a seamstress, having made all of her clothes and many of her mother’s over the last six years. The couple sat close and held hands as the prospect of a life together became more and more a reality.

  They were stopped short in their dreaming by the sight of a well-dressed young man who strode briskly through the door of the tavern and engaged the innkeeper in conversation. The innkeeper spoke briefly and pointed the direction of the sitting room. John instantly recognised his brother. His bright yellow waistcoat, brown frock coat, and waxed moustache gave him the suave air of a man of the world.

  ‘George!’ called John, rushing towards the desk. Turning to see, who had greeted him by name George caught sight of his younger brother. The two men embraced and held each other for at least a minute. Without saying a word, they thumped each other on the back in joyous reunion.

  Releasing his brother, John took Anna’s hand. ‘I’d like you to meet my friend, Anna O’Meara,’ said John. A look of stunned surprise enveloped George’s face as Anna stepped forward and offered him her hand.

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ said George warmly. ‘My sister, Eliza has told me a lot about you.’ Anna blushed shyly.

  ‘But why have you come to this part of the world, George?’ queried John. George did not answer immediately, but took them both by the arm and walked them back into the sitting room. John and Anna were puzzled by the sombre expression that had come over George’s face. ‘Father is dead, John. He died of a heart attack before Christmas,’ said George in serious voice. John stared blankly at his brother. Anna slipped her arm through his and drew him close to her. For several minutes, the three sat in silence while they pondered the sad and unexpected news.

  ‘Father, dead!’ John whispered the unbelievable word several times. This was the first time that death had touched his own family, and he was finding it hard to come to terms with it.

  ‘I can’t pretend that I got on well with the Old Boy,’ said John. ‘But he was my father. And how’s Mother?’ He spoke with deep concern for he loved his mother dearly and felt for her in her loneliness. ‘She was taking it well when I last saw her,’ said George.

  The three of them sat reminiscing for a while. Childhood memories were recounted and humorous occasions relived. Anna realised that families have lots in common whatever their station in life. Suddenly, changing the subject George looked at them. ‘And what are you two doing here? Eliza told me that your family had gone to Van Diemen’s Land, Anna.’

  ‘George, Anna and I are going to be married soon,’ said John with pride. ‘Will you be best man for me?’

  ‘Congratulations! I would be delighted, little brother. When’s the happy day?’

  John rose, walked across to the open window and turned to face George. ‘The truth of the matter is that we’ve eloped,’ he said resolutely.

  ‘Well done, little brother!’ responded George enthusiastically. ‘I love a bit of intrigue.’ Over lunch, John explained to George the desperation that had driven them to this course of action and outlined their hopes for the future. The brothers talked on for hours, so it seemed, about personal and family matters. John kept expressing his concern for his mother as if he was feeling guilty that he was not with her in her time of loneliness. He explained to George why he had settled in Australia under an assumed name and requested his support in the matter.

  The next morning the three of them made their way to St James to make wedding arrangements with the rector, Rev. John Stevens, BA. He was a kindly gentleman and agreed to publish the banns even though Anna had been born a Roman Catholic. He also agreed to conduct the marriage ceremony four weeks later, assuming there were no valid objections.

  For the next month, Anna worked long hours to make her wedding gown. She and John had bought the necessary materials at the draper’s shop in Collins Street. Now Anna’s thimbled fingers and keen eyes were applied to the urgent task. The skills she had learnt from her mother and had refin
ed on so many garments for other people were now at work on her most ambitious project—the creation of something beautiful and meaningful for herself.

  The wedding took place at midday on a cold July day at St James Church. Low in the clear north-eastern sky an anaemic sun shone down upon the bridal party as they made their way through the portals of the church.

  St James was a fine building of dark grey locally quarried limestone crowned with an impressive cupola. The viceregal box took pride of place among the galleries, which, together with the pews, was constructed of varnished cedar. A colourful window of stained glass behind the altar and a beautifully carved marble font, a gift of the governor, adorned the front of the church. A large bowl of white lilies near the organ console added to the atmosphere of serenity that pervaded this magnificent house of God.

  Anna looked exquisite in her white gown. It consisted of layer upon layer of white crinoline flounces. Her bonnet of white muslin was set off with a frill of rosebuds inside the brim, and she carried a small parasol decorated with ribbons. John was quite conservatively attired in a black frock coat and a crimson ‘osbaldiston’. The little bridal party of four, together with the rector and his wife, seemed lost in the great church.

  And so it was that John Francis and Anna O’Meara were united in holy matrimony according to the rites of the Church of England. John was the first to sign the register of marriages, and his brother, George witnessed his signature.

  ‘Sign here, Anna,’ said the rector, pointing to the appropriate place for Anna to sign. Anna looked embarrassed. ‘Just put a cross, Anna,’ whispered John. The rector’s wife put her arm lovingly around Anna as she made her mark on the register. John and Anna Francis had begun their life together in the young colony of Port Phillip.

  The rest of the wedding day was spent by the four young people in happy revelry around the town. They dined at a little eating place in the centre of town, which was conducted by an ex-convict. The meal was a fine wedding breakfast. George was feeling so magnanimous that he not only paid the bill but offered all of the patrons a glass of champagne to toast the newly weds.

  An evening at the Theatre Royal completed the happy day. They sat near the front of the theatre just three rows from the orchestra pit. The pungent fumes from the ‘crater’ proved too much for Mary whose bronchial condition could not cope with the putrid atmosphere. Leaving the theatre early, they bade each other ‘goodnight’ and retired early to their respective quarters.

  It was obvious that the rector’s wife was a woman of great care and concern. Having realised that the young couple had no permanent home of their own she had invited them to take up residence in the spare bedroom at the rectory when they were married. Anna and John were very grateful for the stability that this provided while John continued to search for permanent employment.

  Flopping on to the bed, which occupied a good part of the small room, John and Anna lay staring at the ceiling and talking over the events of their wedding day. Eventually, Anna rose and went to the bathroom to prepare for bed. John’s heartbeat quickened perceptibly as she returned some minutes later clad only in a revealing nightdress.

  In excited anticipation, John withdrew to the bathroom to change. When he returned Anna was sitting up in bed, and beckoned to him to join her in the space next to her. For a moment, they sat together nervously in silence. Gently, he turned towards her and raised his hand to touch her shoulder. The flimsy night gown slipped to reveal her soft white skin. With the gentlest of movements, John lowered his head and kissed her on the lips. His hand slowly moved to caress her breast, and he could feel her pounding heart within. Anna drew a quick breath as a surging wave of desire swept over her. She snuggled into his warm embrace and their moist lips met in a sensuous kiss. As their lips parted, the tip of her tongue brushed against his.

  John’s swirling emotions tossed him to and fro from love to lust and from lust to love. Here he was, holding in his arms not only the object of his passion, but also the focus of his greatest admiration and love—his dearest friend, Anna. He began to understand the emotions of the romantic poet. He began to feel what it means to worship a woman.

  With great care, he raised himself on top of her. He lifted her nightgown just a little and caressed her body tenderly. She felt his leg brush against hers, and they were lost in their rising passions. A whimper of pain slipped from her parted lips as their marriage was consummated. With a gasp of uncontrollable ecstasy, John fell exhausted into a deep sleep.

  They awoke at about seven o’clock, dressed and went down to breakfast. Rev. Stevens sat at the large table, reading the newspaper and sipping his tea.

  ‘Good morning, sir’ said John buoyantly. Anna smiled at the rector.

  ‘I trust you slept well,’ he inquired looking at John with a twinkle in his eye.

  Mrs Stevens entered the breakfast room, bearing a rack of toast. ‘Good Morning to you both,’ she said. She had been somewhat puzzled by Anna’s inability to sign her name despite her obvious intelligence. She invited Anna to join the literacy class, which she conducted twice a week at the church. Within a few months, Anna could read and write simple sentences and had a grasp of rudimentary arithmetic. She was so pleased at her new skill that she wrote a letter to her bridesmaid, Mary who had returned to Van Diemen’s Land.

  After honing her skills in cookery under the tutelage of the rector’s wife, Anna also became involved in the Temperance Movement, which was being established in Melbourne. The advocates of temperance were prolific in the production of pamphlets and tracts, attacking the evils of drink in this fledgling society. Temperance speakers thundered from the pulpit and street soapbox with an evangelistic zeal that Melbourne had never seen before. The powerful influence of the women in the community was constantly appealed to. In this regard, Anna was superb in her appeal to the younger married women who came in their hundreds to packed meetings at the Mechanics Institute Hall.

  Anna’s interest in these matters stemmed from her observations as a teenager in Ireland. She had seen at first hand the effect of too much whisky on the morale and spirit of the poor who were suffering from the ravages of famine and disease. She had seen the debauchery in the public houses of England where drunkenness and prostitution were common. She remembered a family of six children who starved to death because of the neglect of their dissolute parents. And here it was again. Many of Melbourne’s pubs were becoming cesspools of drunkenness and immorality, which were slowly eroding the spirit of the colony and its capacity to be productive.

  By this time, John had gained employment, driving a dray that took miners to the goldfields. As a consequence, he was often away from home for quite long periods at a time. On these occasions, he missed Anna greatly, and he was well prepared for the challenge that came to him from one of his passengers. He was an American who had arrived in Melbourne recently from California. Mort Clinton was a young man about John’s age with a shock of red hair and powerful forearms and shoulders, which were a legacy of his years on the California goldfields. Mort was smitten with the widespread disease of gold fever, which was highly contagious. His successes in America and the reports of gold strikes in Australia had attracted this adventurer to this new frontier. He was a man of action and bluster. A brief encounter with him made it perfectly obvious that he was not one to suffer fools gladly.

  ‘Why are y’ wastin’ y’re time on this ’ere dray? A young dude like you should be out there with the rest of ’em! There’s money to be made on them diggins, Man! Go get some y’rself!’

  Indeed, the reports of the recent gold strikes at Forest Creek made John wonder if Mort didn’t have a good point. But it would be one thing for men to subject themselves to such appalling living conditions, but quite another for women. It was no place for them. John was quite certain of that. The idea was out of the question.

  One day, when John had returned home from one of his long journeys to Mount Alexander,
he found Anna sitting quietly on the rectory veranda sewing. He bounded up to her and threw his arms around her in an ardent expression of his love and his relief at being home and away from the dangers of the bush tracks.

  As he held her tenderly Anna burst into tears. ‘Anna, my darling!’ said John. ‘What’s troubling you?’

  ‘John, I can’t bear the loneliness. Can I come with you next time?’

  ‘No, Anna. It’s no place for a woman,’ he responded assertively, dismissing her request out of hand.

  ‘But I hardly ever see you these days,’ she cried. ‘This is not good for us. Don’t you see that?’ Her tears cascaded down her cheeks and her body shook as she gave vent to her pent-up emotions.

  Many a man would have told his wife not to be foolish—that they had to face such difficulties if they were to establish themselves in their new country. But John was of a more sensitive temperament. He led Anna to the settee and sat her down with his arm around her shoulders.

  ‘Anna, my dear, I have taken you away from your parents. I have led you into a life of loneliness and hardship. Do you regret what we’ve done?’ he said softly. She turned towards him and threw her arms around him and cried bitterly. ‘Oh no, John, no! Whatever happens and wherever you go, I love you and want to be with you.’ The two sat weeping together sharing their distress.

  Mrs Stevens suddenly appeared on the veranda and, without seeing that John was sitting there too, said, ‘Anna, would you like to read the Morning Herald? I’ve finished with it. Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said as she realised that she had disturbed an intimate moment. She put the paper on the wicker table and left hurriedly.

  John glanced in the direction of the paper and caught sight of the headline: Record Gold Shipment. He snatched the paper from the table and read on.

  ‘Listen to this, Anna.’ The escort from Mount Alexander arrived in Melbourne town yesterday, bringing a record 19,726 ounces of gold. A further article told of the magnificent finds of gold at Mount Alexander near Forest Creek. It reported that one lucky fellow had made £3,000 in a few weeks. ‘Why that’s a fortune, Anna!’ he exclaimed in excited tones. He was beginning to show the classic symptoms of gold fever.