The Honourable Arnold Banneret, as for years he had been styled, was able to combat them by reflecting that, at any rate, he had played a man’s part in life, at first with moderate, then with exceptional success. He had sons wherewith to meet his enemies in the gate. There was little doubt—he thanked God—of their courage and intelligence. Why then this dark hour, these depressing doubts?
As a corrective, he proceeded at once to the office of the P. & O. Company, and took his passage for London. After securing the requisite number of comfortable cabins in the _Lhassa_—the latest addition to the fleet of noble liners which, since their introduction by the great Association of ship-owners, has enabled Australian colonists to travel with speed and economy, with comfort, even luxury—he returned to lunch at Redgrove, with spirits considerably improved, and in a frame of mind more nearly akin to that in which he was accustomed to prepare for a long overland journey in the days of ‘long ago.’ ‘How strange it is,’ he told himself, ‘that on the eve of an important voyage, or undertaking, a feeling of doubt and depression should so often manifest itself. One involuntarily recalls the presentiments which came true—of shipwreck, of hurricane, fire, or mutiny, following the gloom and almost despairing prevision of disaster. Of the numberless successful undertakings and fortunate voyages no record is kept. “Fears of the brave and follies of the wise” are not far to seek in the connection.’
Sir Walter Scott, in success most modest, in adversity truly undaunted, even he owns to an unreasonable cloud of doubt and irresolution, including a ghostly murmur, ‘Do not go, Walter,’ which he solemnly affirms to, and that nearly led him to give up an expedition which afterwards turned out to be most beneficial, fortunate, and even marked by distinguished adventures.
The eventful day, fortunately fine, came at last. It was in the opening week of March—the first month of the southern autumn, mild with clear skies, cool bracing nights and mornings. The winds in that halcyon time were still: the north wind no longer swept across the plains of the inmost desert, bringing burning heat, dust-storms, and wrathful cyclones in its track to the cities of the coast.