“Let us go to it, then,” said Glenarvan.
Away they started, and, after walking about half an hour, the country
began to assume a new aspect, suddenly changing its sterility for
cultivation. Instead of bushes, quick-set hedges met the eye, inclosing
recent clearings. Several bullocks and about half a dozen horses
were feeding in meadows, surrounded by acacias supplied from the vast
plantations of Kangaroo Island. Gradually fields covered with cereals
came in sight, whole acres covered with bristling ears of corn,
hay-ricks in the shape of large bee-hives, blooming orchards, a fine
garden worthy of Horace, in which the useful and agreeable were blended;
then came sheds; commons wisely distributed, and last of all, a plain
comfortable dwelling-house, crowned by a joyous-sounding mill, and
fanned and shaded by its long sails as they kept constantly moving
round.
Just at that moment a pleasant-faced man, about fifty years of age,
came out of the house, warned, by the loud barking of four dogs, of the
arrival of strangers. He was followed by five handsome strapping lads,
his sons, and their mother, a fine tall woman. There was no mistaking
the little group. This was a perfect type of the Irish colonist--a man
who, weary of the miseries of his country, had come, with his family, to
seek fortune and happiness beyond the seas.
Before Glenarvan and his party had time to reach the house and present
themselves in due form, they heard the cordial words: “Strangers!
welcome to the house of Paddy O’Moore!”
“You are Irish,” said Glenarvan, “if I am not mistaken,” warmly grasping
the outstretched hand of the colonist.
“I was,” replied Paddy O’Moore, “but now I am Australian. Come in,
gentlemen, whoever you may be, this house is yours.”
It was impossible not to accept an invitation given with such grace.
Lady Helena and Mary Grant were led in by Mrs. O’Moore, while the
gentlemen were assisted by his sturdy sons to disencumber themselves of
their fire-arms.
An immense hall, light and airy, occupied the ground floor of the house,
which was built of strong planks laid horizontally. A few wooden benches
fastened against the gaily-colored walls, about ten stools, two oak
chests on tin mugs, a large long table where twenty guests could sit
comfortably, composed the furniture, which looked in perfect keeping
with the solid house and robust inmates.
The noonday meal was spread; the soup tureen was smoking between roast
beef and a leg of mutton, surrounded by large plates of olives, grapes,
and oranges. The necessary was there and there was no lack of the
superfluous. The host and hostess were so pleasant, and the big table,
with its abundant fare, looked so inviting, that it would have been
ungracious not to have seated themselves. The farm servants, on equal
footing with their master, were already in their places to take their
share of the meal. Paddy O’Moore pointed to the seats reserved for the
strangers, and said to Glenarvan:
“I was waiting for you.”
“Waiting for us!” replied Glenarvan in a tone of surprise.
“I am always waiting for those who come,” said the Irishman; and then,
in a solemn voice, while the family and domestics reverently stood, he
repeated the BENEDICITE.
Dinner followed immediately, during which an animated conversation was
kept up on all sides. From Scotch to Irish is but a handsbreadth. The
Tweed, several fathoms wide, digs a deeper trench between Scotland and
England than the twenty leagues of Irish Channel, which separates Old
Caledonia from the Emerald Isle. Paddy O’Moore related his history. It
was that of all emigrants driven by misfortune from their own country.
Many come to seek fortunes who only find trouble and sorrow, and then
they throw the blame on chance, and forget the true cause is their
own idleness and vice and want of commonsense. Whoever is sober and
industrious, honest and economical, gets on.
Such a one had been and was Paddy O’Moore. He left Dundalk, where he
was starving, and came with his family to Australia, landed at Adelaide,
where, refusing employment as a miner, he got engaged on a farm, and two
months afterward commenced clearing ground on his own account.
The whole territory of South Australia is divided into lots, each
containing eighty acres, and these are granted to colonists by the
government. Any industrious man, by proper cultivation, can not only get
a living out of his lot, but lay by pounds 80 a year.
Paddy O’Moore knew this. He profited by his own former experience, and
laid by every penny he could till he had saved enough to purchase new
lots. His family prospered, and his farm also. The Irish peasant became
a landed proprietor, and though his little estate had only been under
cultivation for two years, he had five hundred acres cleared by his own
hands, and five hundred head of cattle. He was his own master, after
having been a serf in Europe, and as independent as one can be in the
freest country in the world.
His guests congratulated him heartily as he ended his narration; and
Paddy O’Moore no doubt expected confidence for confidence, but he waited
in vain. However, he was one of those discreet people who can say,
“I tell you who I am, but I don’t ask who you are.” Glenarvan’s great
object was to get information about the BRITANNIA, and like a man who
goes right to the point, he began at once to interrogate O’Moore as to
whether he had heard of the shipwreck.
The reply of the Irishman was not favorable; he had never heard the
vessel mentioned. For two years, at least, no ship had been wrecked
on that coast, neither above nor below the Cape. Now, the date of
the catastrophe was within two years. He could, therefore, declare
positively that the survivors of the wreck had not been thrown on that
part of the western shore. “Now, my Lord,” he added, “may I ask what
interest you have in making the inquiry?”
This pointed question elicited in reply the whole history of the
expedition. Glenarvan related the discovery of the document, and the
various attempts that had been made to follow up the precise indications
given of the whereabouts of the unfortunate captives; and he concluded
his account by expressing his doubt whether they should ever find the
Captain after all.
His dispirited tone made a painful impression on the minds of his
auditors. Robert and Mary could not keep back their tears, and Paganel
had not a word of hope or comfort to give them. John Mangles was grieved
to the heart, though he, too, was beginning to yield to the feeling
of hopelessness which had crept over the rest, when suddenly the whole
party were electrified by hearing a voice exclaim: “My Lord, praise
and thank God! if Captain Grant is alive, he is on this Australian
continent.”
CHAPTER VII THE QUARTERMASTER OF THE “BRITANNIA”
THE surprise caused by these words cannot be described. Glenarvan sprang
to his feet, and pushing back his seat, exclaimed: “Who spoke?”
“I did,” said one of the servants, at the far end of the table.
“You, Ayrton!” replied his master, not less bewildered than Glenarvan.
“Yes, it was I,” rejoined Ayrton in a firm tone, though somewhat
agitated voice. “A Scotchman like yourself, my Lord, and one of the
shipwrecked crew of the BRITANNIA.”
The effect of such a declaration may be imagined. Mary Grant fell back,
half-fainting, in Lady Helena’s arms, overcome by joyful emotion, and
Robert, and Mangles, and Paganel started up and toward the man that
Paddy O’Moore had addressed as AYRTON. He was a coarse-looking fellow,
about forty-five years of age, with very bright eyes, though half-hidden
beneath thick, overhanging brows. In spite of extreme leanness there was
an air of unusual strength about him. He seemed all bone and nerves, or,
to use a Scotch expression, as if he had not wasted time in making fat.
He was broad-shouldered and of middle height, and though his features
were coarse, his face was so full of intelligence and energy and
decision, that he gave one a favorable impression. The interest he
excited was still further heightened by the marks of recent suffering
imprinted on his countenance. It was evident that he had endured long
and severe hardships, and that he had borne them bravely and come off
victor.
“You are one of the shipwrecked sailors of the BRITANNIA?” was
Glenarvan’s first question.
“Yes, my Lord; Captain Grant’s quartermaster.”
“And saved with him after the shipwreck?”
“No, my Lord, no. I was separated from him at that terrible moment, for
I was swept off the deck as the ship struck.”
“Then you are not one of the two sailors mentioned in the document?”
“No; I was not aware of the existence of the document. The captain must
have thrown it into the sea when I was no longer on board.”
“But the captain? What about the captain?”
“I believed he had perished; gone down with all his crew. I imagined
myself the sole survivor.”
“But you said just now, Captain Grant was living.”
“No, I said, ‘-if the captain is living-.’”
“And you added, ‘-he is on the Australian continent-.’”
“And, indeed, he cannot be anywhere else.”
“Then you don’t know where he is?”
“No, my Lord. I say again, I supposed he was buried beneath the waves,
or dashed to pieces against the rocks. It was from you I learned that he
was still alive.”
“What then do you know?”
“Simply this--if Captain Grant is alive, he is in Australia.”
“Where did the shipwreck occur?” asked Major McNabbs.
This should have been the first question, but in the excitement caused
by the unexpected incident, Glenarvan cared more to know where the
captain was, than where the BRITANNIA had been lost. After the Major’s
inquiry, however, Glenarvan’s examination proceeded more logically, and
before long all the details of the event stood out clearly before the
minds of the company.
To the question put by the Major, Ayrton replied:
“When I was swept off the forecastle, when I was hauling in the
jib-boom, the BRITANNIA was running right on the Australian coast. She
was not more than two cables’ length from it and consequently she must
have struck just there.”
“In latitude 37 degrees?” asked John Mangles.
“Yes, in latitude 37 degrees.”
“On the west coast?”
“No, on the east coast,” was the prompt reply.
“And at what date?”
“It was on the night of the 27th of June, 1862.”
“Exactly, just exactly,” exclaimed Glenarvan.
“You see, then, my Lord,” continued Ayrton, “I might justly say, -If
Captain Grant- is alive, he is on the Australian continent, and it is
useless looking for him anywhere else.”
“And we will look for him there, and find him too, and save him,”
exclaimed Paganel. “Ah, precious document,” he added, with perfect
NAIVETE, “you must own you have fallen into the hands of uncommonly
shrewd people.”
But, doubtless, nobody heard his flattering words, for Glenarvan and
Lady Helena, and Mary Grant, and Robert, were too much engrossed with
Ayrton to listen to anyone else. They pressed round him and grasped his
hands. It seemed as if this man’s presence was the sure pledge of
Harry Grant’s deliverance. If this sailor had escaped the perils of the
shipwreck, why should not the captain? Ayrton was quite sanguine as to
his existence; but on what part of the continent he was to be found,
that he could not say. The replies the man gave to the thousand
questions that assailed him on all sides were remarkably intelligent and
exact. All the while he spake, Mary held one of his hands in hers.
This sailor was a companion of her father’s, one of the crew of the
BRITANNIA. He had lived with Harry Grant, crossed the seas with him and
shared his dangers. Mary could not keep her eyes off his face, rough and
homely though it was, and she wept for joy.
Up to this time no one had ever thought of doubting either the veracity
or identity of the quartermaster; but the Major, and perhaps John
Mangles, now began to ask themselves if this Ayrton’s word was to
be absolutely believed. There was something suspicious about this
unexpected meeting. Certainly the man had mentioned facts and dates
which corresponded, and the minuteness of his details was most striking.
Still exactness of details was no positive proof. Indeed, it has
been noticed that a falsehood has sometimes gained ground by being
exceedingly particular in minutiae. McNabbs, therefore, prudently
refrained from committing himself by expressing any opinion.
John Mangles, however, was soon convinced when he heard Ayrton speak to
the young girl about her father. He knew Mary and Robert quite well. He
had seen them in Glasgow when the ship sailed. He remembered them at
the farewell breakfast given on board the BRITANNIA to the captain’s
friends, at which Sheriff Mcintyre was present. Robert, then a boy of
ten years old, had been given into his charge, and he ran away and tried
to climb the rigging.
“Yes, that I did, it is quite right,” said Robert.
He went on to mention several other trifling incidents, without
attaching the importance to them that John Mangles did, and when he
stopped Mary Grant said, in her soft voice: “Oh, go on, Mr. Ayrton, tell
us more about our father.”
The quartermaster did his best to satisfy the poor girl, and Glenarvan
did not interrupt him, though a score of questions far more important
crowded into his mind. Lady Helena made him look at Mary’s beaming face,
and the words he was about to utter remained unspoken.
Ayrton gave an account of the BRITANNIA’S voyage across the Pacific.
Mary knew most of it before, as news of the ship had come regularly up
to the month of May, 1862. In the course of the year Harry Grant had
touched at all the principal ports. He had been to the Hebrides, to New
Guinea, New Zealand, and New Caledonia, and had succeeded in finding an
important point on the western coast of Papua, where the establishment
of a Scotch colony seemed to him easy, and its prosperity certain.
A good port on the Molucca and Philippine route must attract ships,
especially when the opening of the Suez Canal would have supplanted the
Cape route. Harry Grant was one of those who appreciated the great work
of M. De Lesseps, and would not allow political rivalries to interfere
with international interests.
After reconnoitering Papua, the BRITANNIA went to provision herself at
Callao, and left that port on the 30th of May, 1862, to return to Europe
by the Indian Ocean and the Cape. Three weeks afterward, his vessel was
disabled by a fearful storm in which they were caught, and obliged to
cut away the masts. A leak sprang in the hold, and could not be stopped.
The crew were too exhausted to work the pumps, and for eight days the
BRITANNIA was tossed about in the hurricane like a shuttlecock. She had
six feet of water in her hold, and was gradually sinking. The boats had
been all carried away by the tempest; death stared them in the face,
when, on the night of the 22d of June, as Paganel had rightly supposed,
they came in sight of the eastern coast of Australia.
The ship soon neared the shore, and presently dashed violently against
it. Ayrton was swept off by a wave, and thrown among the breakers, where
he lost consciousness. When he recovered, he found himself in the hands
of natives, who dragged him away into the interior of the country.
Since that time he had never heard the BRITANNIA’s name mentioned, and
reasonably enough came to the conclusion that she had gone down with all
hands off the dangerous reefs of Twofold Bay.
This ended Ayrton’s recital, and more than once sorrowful exclamations
were evoked by the story. The Major could not, in common justice, doubt
its authenticity. The sailor was then asked to narrate his own personal
history, which was short and simple enough. He had been carried by a
tribe of natives four hundred miles north of the 37th parallel. He
spent a miserable existence there--not that he was ill-treated, but the
natives themselves lived miserably. He passed two long years of painful
slavery among them, but always cherished in his heart the hope of one
day regaining his freedom, and watching for the slightest opportunity
that might turn up, though he knew that his flight would be attended
with innumerable dangers.
At length one night in October, 1864, he managed to escape the vigilance
of the natives, and took refuge in the depths of immense forests. For
a whole month he subsisted on roots, edible ferns and mimosa gums,
wandering through vast solitudes, guiding himself by the sun during
the day and by the stars at night. He went on, though often almost
despairingly, through bogs and rivers, and across mountains, till he had
traversed the whole of the uninhabited part of the continent, where only
a few bold travelers have ventured; and at last, in an exhausted and
all but dying condition, he reached the hospitable dwelling of Paddy
O’Moore, where he said he had found a happy home in exchange for his
labor.
“And if Ayrton speaks well of me,” said the Irish settler, when the
narrative ended, “I have nothing but good to say of him. He is an
honest, intelligent fellow and a good worker; and as long as he pleases,
Paddy O’Moore’s house shall be his.”
Ayrton thanked him by a gesture, and waited silently for any fresh
question that might be put to him, though he thought to himself that he
surely must have satisfied all legitimate curiosity. What could remain
to be said that he had not said a hundred times already. Glenarvan
was just about to open a discussion about their future plan of action,
profiting by this rencontre with Ayrton, and by the information he had
given them, when Major McNabbs, addressing the sailor said, “You were
quartermaster, you say, on the BRITANNIA?”
“Yes,” replied Ayrton, without the least hesitation.
But as if conscious that a certain feeling of mistrust, however slight,
had prompted the inquiry, he added, “I have my shipping papers with me;
I saved them from the wreck.”
He left the room immediately to fetch his official document, and, though
hardly absent a minute, Paddy O’Moore managed to say, “My Lord, you
may trust Ayrton; I vouch for his being an honest man. He has been two
months now in my service, and I have never had once to find fault with
him. I knew all this story of his shipwreck and his captivity. He is a
true man, worthy of your entire confidence.”
Glenarvan was on the point of replying that he had never doubted his
good faith, when the man came in and brought his engagement written out
in due form. It was a paper signed by the shipowners and Captain Grant.
Mary recognized her father’s writing at once. It was to certify that
“Tom Ayrton, able-bodied seaman, was engaged as quartermaster on board
the three-mast vessel, the BRITANNIA, Glasgow.”
There could not possibly be the least doubt now of Ayrton’s identity,
for it would have been difficult to account for his possession of the
document if he were not the man named in it.
“Now then,” said Glenarvan, “I wish to ask everyone’s opinion as to what
is best to be done. Your advice, Ayrton, will be particularly valuable,
and I shall be much obliged if you would let us have it.”
After a few minutes’ thought, Ayrton replied--“I thank you, my Lord, for
the confidence you show towards me, and I hope to prove worthy of it. I
have some knowledge of the country, and the habits of the natives, and
if I can be of any service to you--”
“Most certainly you can,” interrupted Glenarvan.
“I think with you,” resumed Ayrton, “that the captain and his two
sailors have escaped alive from the wreck, but since they have not found
their way to the English settlement, nor been seen any where, I have
no doubt that their fate has been similar to my own, and that they are
prisoners in the hands of some of the native tribes.”
“That’s exactly what I have always argued,” said Paganel. “The
shipwrecked men were taken prisoners, as they feared. But must we
conclude without question that, like yourself, they have been dragged
away north of the 37th parallel?”
“I should suppose so, sir; for hostile tribes would hardly remain
anywhere near the districts under the British rule.”
“That will complicate our search,” said Glenarvan, somewhat
disconcerted. “How can we possibly find traces of the captives in the
heart of so vast a continent?”
No one replied, though Lady Helena’s questioning glances at her
companions seemed to press for an answer. Paganel even was silent. His
ingenuity for once was at fault. John Mangles paced the cabin with great
strides, as if he fancied himself on the deck of his ship, evidently
quite nonplussed.
“And you, Mr. Ayrton,” said Lady Helena at last, “what would you do?”
“Madam,” replied Ayrton, readily enough, “I should re-embark in the
DUNCAN, and go right to the scene of the catastrophe. There I should
be guided by circumstances, and by any chance indications we might
discover.”
“Very good,” returned Glenarvan; “but we must wait till the DUNCAN is
repaired.”
“Ah, she has been injured then?” said Ayrton.
“Yes,” replied Mangles.
“To any serious extent?”
“No; but such injuries as require more skilful workmanship than we have
on board. One of the branches of the screw is twisted, and we cannot get
it repaired nearer than Melbourne.”
“Well, let the ship go to Melbourne then,” said Paganel, “and we will go
without her to Twofold Bay.”
“And how?” asked Mangles.
“By crossing Australia as we crossed America, keeping along the 37th
parallel.”
“But the DUNCAN?” repeated Ayrton, as if particularly anxious on that
score.
“The DUNCAN can rejoin us, or we can rejoin her, as the case may be.
Should we discover Captain Grant in the course of our journey, we can
all return together to Melbourne. If we have to go on to the coast,
on the contrary, then the DUNCAN can come to us there. Who has any
objection to make? Have you, Major?”
“No, not if there is a practicable route across Australia.”
“So practicable, that I propose Lady Helena and Miss Grant should
accompany us.”
“Are you speaking seriously?” asked Glenarvan.
“Perfectly so, my Lord. It is a journey of 350 miles, not more. If we go
twelve miles a day it will barely take us a month, just long enough
to put the vessel in trim. If we had to cross the continent in a lower
latitude, at its wildest part, and traverse immense deserts, where
there is no water and where the heat is tropical, and go where the most
adventurous travelers have never yet ventured, that would be a different
matter. But the 37th parallel cuts only through the province of
Victoria, quite an English country, with roads and railways, and well
populated almost everywhere. It is a journey you might make, almost, in
a chaise, though a wagon would be better. It is a mere trip from London
to Edinburgh, nothing more.”
“What about wild beasts, though?” asked Glenarvan, anxious to go into
all the difficulties of the proposal.
“There are no wild beasts in Australia.”
“And how about the savages?”
“There are no savages in this latitude, and if there were, they are not
cruel, like the New Zealanders.”
“And the convicts?”
“There are no convicts in the southern provinces, only in the eastern
colonies. The province of Victoria not only refused to admit them, but
passed a law to prevent any ticket-of-leave men from other provinces
from entering her territories. This very year the Government threatened
to withdraw its subsidy from the Peninsular Company if their vessels
continued to take in coal in those western parts of Australia
where convicts are admitted. What! Don’t you know that, and you an
Englishman?”
“In the first place, I beg leave to say I am not an Englishman,” replied
Glenarvan.
“What M. Paganel says is perfectly correct,” said Paddy O’Moore. “Not
only the province of Victoria, but also Southern Australia, Queensland,
and even Tasmania, have agreed to expel convicts from their territories.
Ever since I have been on this farm, I have never heard of one in this
Province.”
“And I can speak for myself. I have never come across one.”
“You see then, friends,” went on Jacques Paganel, “there are few if
any savages, no ferocious animals, no convicts, and there are not many
countries of Europe for which you can say as much. Well, will you go?”
“What do you think, Helena?” asked Glenarvan.
“What we all think, dear Edward,” replied Lady Helena, turning toward
her companions; “let us be off at once.”
CHAPTER VIII PREPARATION FOR THE JOURNEY
GLENARVAN never lost much time between adopting an idea and carrying it
out. As soon as he consented to Paganel’s proposition, he gave immediate
orders to make arrangements for the journey with as little delay as
possible. The time of starting was fixed for the 22d of December, the
next day but one.
What results might not come out of this journey. The presence of Harry
Grant had become an indisputable fact, and the chances of finding him
had increased. Not that anyone expected to discover the captain exactly
on the 37th parallel, which they intended strictly to follow, but they
might come upon his track, and at all events, they were going to the
actual spot where the wreck had occurred. That was the principal point.
Besides, if Ayrton consented to join them and act as their guide through
the forests of the province of Victoria and right to the eastern coast,
they would have a fresh chance of success. Glenarvan was sensible of
this, and asked his host whether he would have any great objection to
his asking Ayrton to accompany them, for he felt particularly desirous
of securing the assistance of Harry Grant’s old companion.
Paddy O’Moore consented, though he would regret the loss of his
excellent servant.
“Well, then, Ayrton, will you come with us in our search expedition?”
Ayrton did not reply immediately. He even showed signs of hesitation;
but at last, after due reflection, said, “Yes, my Lord, I will go with
you, and if I can not take you to Captain Grant, I can at least take you
to the very place where his ship struck.”
“Thanks, Ayrton.”
“One question, my Lord.”
“Well?”
“Where will you meet the DUNCAN again?”
“At Melbourne, unless we traverse the whole continent from coast to
coast.”
“But the captain?”
“The captain will await my instructions in the port of Melbourne.”
“You may depend on me then, my Lord.”
“I will, Ayrton.”
The quartermaster was warmly thanked by the passengers of the DUNCAN,
and the children loaded him with caresses. Everyone rejoiced in his
decision except the Irishman, who lost in him an intelligent and
faithful helper. But Paddy understood the importance Glenarvan attached
to the presence of the man, and submitted. The whole party then returned
to the ship, after arranging a rendezvous with Ayrton, and ordering him
to procure the necessary means of conveyance across the country.
When John Mangles supported the proposition of Paganel, he took for
granted that he should accompany the expedition. He began to speak
to Glenarvan at once about it, and adduced all sorts of arguments to
advance his cause--his devotion to Lady Helena and his Lordship, how
useful could he be in organizing the party, and how useless on board
the DUNCAN; everything, in fact, but the main reason, and that he had no
need to bring forward.
“I’ll only ask you one question, John,” said Glenarvan. “Have you entire
confidence in your chief officer?”
“Absolute,” replied Mangles, “Tom Austin is a good sailor. He will
take the ship to her destination, see that the repairs are skilfully
executed, and bring her back on the appointed day. Tom is a slave to
duty and discipline. Never would he take it upon himself to alter or
retard the execution of an order. Your Lordship may rely on him as on
myself.”
“Very well then, John,” replied Glenarvan. “You shall go with us, for it
would be advisable,” he added, smiling, “that you should be there when
we find Mary Grant’s father.”
“Oh! your Lordship,” murmured John, turning pale. He could say no more,
but grasped Lord Glenarvan’s hand.
Next day, John Mangles and the ship’s carpenter, accompanied by sailors
carrying provisions, went back to Paddy O’Moore’s house to consult the
Irishman about the best method of transport. All the family met him,
ready to give their best help. Ayrton was there, and gave the benefit of
his experience.
On one point both he and Paddy agreed, that the journey should be made
in a bullock-wagon by the ladies, and that the gentlemen should ride on
horseback. Paddy could furnish both bullocks and vehicle. The vehicle
was a cart twenty feet long, covered over by a tilt, and resting on four
large wheels without spokes or felloes, or iron tires--in a word, plain
wooden discs. The front and hinder part were connected by means of a
rude mechanical contrivance, which did not allow of the vehicle turning
quickly. There was a pole in front thirty-five feet long, to which the
bullocks were to be yoked in couples. These animals were able to draw
both with head and neck, as their yoke was fastened on the nape of the
neck, and to this a collar was attached by an iron peg. It required
great skill to drive such a long, narrow, shaky concern, and to guide
such a team by a goad; but Ayrton had served his apprenticeship to it on
the Irishman’s farm, and Paddy could answer for his competency. The role
of conductor was therefore assigned to him.
There were no springs to the wagon, and, consequently, it was not likely
to be very comfortable; but, such as it was, they had to take it. But if
the rough construction could not be altered, John Mangles resolved that
the interior should be made as easy as possible. His first care was to
divide it into two compartments by a wooden partition. The back one
was intended for the provisions and luggage, and M. Olbinett’s portable
kitchen. The front was set apart especially for the ladies, and, under
the carpenter’s hands, was to be speedily converted into a comfortable
room, covered with a thick carpet, and fitted up with a toilet table
and two couches. Thick leather curtains shut in this apartment, and
protected the occupants from the chilliness of the nights. In case of
necessity, the gentlemen might shelter themselves here, when the violent
rains came on, but a tent was to be their usual resting-place when the
caravan camped for the night. John Mangles exercised all his ingenuity
in furnishing the small space with everything that the two ladies could
possibly require, and he succeeded so well, that neither Lady Helena nor
Mary had much reason to regret leaving their cosy cabins on board the
DUNCAN.
For the rest of the party, the preparations were soon made, for they
needed much less. Strong horses were provided for Lord Glenarvan,
Paganel, Robert Grant, McNabbs, and John Mangles; also for the two
sailors, Wilson and Mulrady, who were to accompany their captain.
Ayrton’s place was, of course, to be in front of the wagon, and M.
Olbinett, who did not much care for equitation, was to make room for
himself among the baggage. Horses and bullocks were grazing in the
Irishman’s meadows, ready to fetch at a moment’s notice.
After all arrangements were made, and the carpenter set to work, John
Mangles escorted the Irishman and his family back to the vessel, for
Paddy wished to return the visit of Lord Glenarvan. Ayrton thought
proper to go too, and about four o’clock the party came over the side of
the DUNCAN.
They were received with open arms. Glenarvan would not be outstripped in
politeness, and invited his visitors to stop and dine. His hospitality
was willingly accepted. Paddy was quite amazed at the splendor of the
saloon, and was loud in admiration of the fitting up of the cabins, and
the carpets and hangings, as well as of the polished maple-wood of the
upper deck. Ayrton’s approbation was much less hearty, for he considered
it mere costly superfluity.
But when he examined the yacht with a sailor’s eye, the quartermaster of
the BRITANNIA was as enthusiastic about it as Paddy. He went down into
the hold, inspected the screw department and the engine-room, examining
the engine thoroughly, and inquired about its power and consumption. He
explored the coal-bunkers, the store-room, the powder-store, and armory,
in which last he seemed to be particularly attracted by a cannon mounted
on the forecastle. Glenarvan saw he had to do with a man who understood
such matters, as was evident from his questions. Ayrton concluded his
investigations by a survey of the masts and rigging.
“You have a fine vessel, my Lord,” he said after his curiosity was
satisfied.
“A good one, and that is best,” replied Glenarvan.
“And what is her tonnage?”
“Two hundred and ten tons.”
“I don’t think I am far out,” continued Ayrton, “in judging her speed at
fifteen knots. I should say she could do that easily.”
“Say seventeen,” put in John Mangles, “and you’ve hit the mark.”
“Seventeen!” exclaimed the quartermaster. “Why, not a man-of-war--not
the best among them, I mean--could chase her!”
“Not one,” replied Mangles. “The DUNCAN is a regular racing yacht, and
would never let herself be beaten.”
“Even at sailing?” asked Ayrton.
“Even at sailing.”
“Well, my Lord, and you too, captain,” returned Ayrton, “allow a sailor
who knows what a ship is worth, to compliment you on yours.”
“Stay on board of her, then, Ayrton,” said Glenarvan; “it rests with
yourself to call it yours.”
“I will think of it, my Lord,” was all Ayrton’s reply.
Just then M. Olbinett came to announce dinner, and his Lordship repaired
with his guests to the saloon.
“That Ayrton is an intelligent man,” said Paganel to the Major.
“Too intelligent!” muttered McNabbs, who, without any apparent reason,
had taken a great dislike to the face and manners of the quartermaster.
During the dinner, Ayrton gave some interesting details about the
Australian continent, which he knew perfectly. He asked how many sailors
were going to accompany the expedition, and seemed astonished to hear
that only two were going. He advised Glenarvan to take all his best men,
and even urged him to do it, which advice, by the way, ought to have
removed the Major’s suspicion.
“But,” said Glenarvan, “our journey is not dangerous, is it?”
“Not at all,” replied Ayrton, quickly.
“Well then, we’ll have all the men we can on board. Hands will be wanted
to work the ship, and to help in the repairs. Besides, it is of the
utmost importance that she should meet us to the very day, at whatever
place may be ultimately selected. Consequently, we must not lessen her
crew.”
Ayrton said nothing more, as if convinced his Lordship was right.
When evening came, Scotch and Irish separated. Ayrton and Paddy O’Moore
and family returned home. Horses and wagons were to be ready the next
day, and eight o’clock in the morning was fixed for starting.
Lady Helena and Mary Grant soon made their preparations. They had less
to do than Jacques Paganel, for he spent half the night in arranging,
and wiping, and rubbing up the lenses of his telescope. Of course, next
morning he slept on till the Major’s stentorian voice roused him.
The luggage was already conveyed to the farm, thanks to John Mangles,
and a boat was waiting to take the passengers. They were soon seated,
and the young captain gave his final orders to Tom Austin, his chief
officer. He impressed upon him that he was to wait at Melbourne for Lord
Glenarvan’s commands, and to obey them scrupulously, whatever they might
be.
The old sailor told John he might rely on him, and, in the name of the
men, begged to offer his Lordship their best wishes for the success of
this new expedition.
A storm of hurrahs burst forth from the yacht as the boat rowed off. In
ten minutes the shore was reached, and a quarter of an hour afterward
the Irishman’s farm. All was ready. Lady Helena was enchanted with her
installation. The huge chariot, with its primitive wheels and massive
planks, pleased her particularly. The six bullocks, yoked in pairs, had
a patriarchal air about them which took her fancy. Ayrton, goad in hand,
stood waiting the orders of this new master.
“My word,” said Paganel, “this is a famous vehicle; it beats all the
mail-coaches in the world. I don’t know a better fashion of traveling
than in a mountebank’s caravan--a movable house, which goes or
stops wherever you please. What can one wish better? The Samaratians
understood that, and never traveled in any other way.”
“Monsieur Paganel,” said Lady Helena, “I hope I shall have the pleasure
of seeing you in my SALONS.”
“Assuredly, madam, I should count it an honor. Have you fixed the day?”
“I shall be at home every day to my friends,” replied Lady Helena; “and
you are--”
“The most devoted among them all,” interrupted Paganel, gaily.
These mutual compliments were interrupted by the arrival of the seven
horses, saddled and ready. They were brought by Paddy’s sons, and Lord
Glenarvan paid the sum stipulated for his various purchases, adding his
cordial thanks, which the worthy Irishman valued at least as much as his
golden guineas.
The signal was given to start, and Lady Helena and Mary took their
places in the reserved compartment. Ayrton seated himself in front, and
Olbinett scrambled in among the luggage. The rest of the party, well
armed with carbines and revolvers, mounted their horses. Ayrton gave
a peculiar cry, and his team set off. The wagon shook and the planks
creaked, and the axles grated in the naves of the wheels; and before
long the hospitable farm of the Irishman was out of sight.
CHAPTER IX A COUNTRY OF PARADOXES
IT was the 23d of December, 1864, a dull, damp, dreary month in the
northern hemisphere; but on the Australian continent it might be called
June. The hottest season of the year had already commenced, and the
sun’s rays were almost tropical, when Lord Glenarvan started on his new
expedition.
Most fortunately the 37th parallel did not cross the immense deserts,
inaccessible regions, which have cost many martyrs to science already.
Glenarvan could never have encountered them. He had only to do with the
southern part of Australia--viz., with a narrow portion of the province
of Adelaide, with the whole of Victoria, and with the top of the
reversed triangle which forms New South Wales.
It is scarcely sixty-two miles from Cape Bernouilli to the frontiers
of Victoria. It was not above a two days’ march, and Ayrton reckoned on
their sleeping next night at Apsley, the most westerly town of Victoria.
The commencement of a journey is always marked by ardor, both in the
horses and the horsemen. This is well enough in the horsemen, but if the
horses are to go far, their speed must be moderated and their strength
husbanded. It was, therefore, fixed that the average journey every day
should not be more than from twenty-five to thirty miles.
Besides, the pace of the horses must be regulated by the slower pace of
the bullocks, truly mechanical engines which lose in time what they gain
in power. The wagon, with its passengers and provisions, was the very
center of the caravan, the moving fortress. The horsemen might act as
scouts, but must never be far away from it.
As no special marching order had been agreed upon, everybody was at
liberty to follow his inclinations within certain limits. The hunters
could scour the plain, amiable folks could talk to the fair occupants
of the wagon, and philosophers could philosophize. Paganel, who was all
three combined, had to be and was everywhere at once.
The march across Adelaide presented nothing of any particular interest.
A succession of low hills rich in dust, a long stretch of what they call
in Australia “bush,” several prairies covered with a small prickly bush,
considered a great dainty by the ovine tribe, embraced many miles. Here
and there they noticed a species of sheep peculiar to New
Holland--sheep with pig’s heads, feeding between the posts of the
telegraph line recently made between Adelaide and the coast.
Up to this time there had been a singular resemblance in the country to
the monotonous plains of the Argentine Pampas. There was the same grassy
flat soil, the same sharply-defined horizon against the sky. McNabbs
declared they had never changed countries; but Paganel told him to wait,
and he would soon see a difference. And on the faith of this assurance
marvelous things were expected by the whole party.
In this fashion, after a march of sixty miles in two days, the caravan
reached the parish of Apsley, the first town in the Province of Victoria
in the Wimerra district.
The wagon was put up at the Crown Inn. Supper was soon smoking on the
table. It consisted solely of mutton served up in various ways.
They all ate heartily, but talked more than they ate, eagerly asking
Paganel questions about the wonders of the country they were just
beginning to traverse. The amiable geographer needed no pressing, and
told them first that this part of it was called Australia Felix.
“Wrongly named!” he continued. “It had better have been called rich,
for it is true of countries, as individuals, that riches do not make
happiness. Thanks to her gold mines, Australia has been abandoned to
wild devastating adventurers. You will come across them when we reach
the gold fields.”
“Is not the colony of Victoria of but a recent origin?” asked Lady
Glenarvan.
“Yes, madam, it only numbers thirty years of existence. It was on the
6th of June, 1835, on a Tuesday--”
“At a quarter past seven in the evening,” put in the Major, who
delighted in teasing the Frenchman about his precise dates.
“No, at ten minutes past seven,” replied the geographer, gravely, “that
Batman and Falckner first began a settlement at Port Phillip, the bay
on which the large city of Melbourne now stands. For fifteen years
the colony was part of New South Wales, and recognized Sydney as the
capital; but in 1851, she was declared independent, and took the name of
Victoria.”
“And has greatly increased in prosperity since then, I believe,” said
Glenarvan.
“Judge for yourself, my noble friend,” replied Paganel. “Here are the
numbers given by the last statistics; and let McNabbs say as he likes, I
know nothing more eloquent than statistics.”
“Go on,” said the Major.
“Well, then, in 1836, the colony of Port Phillip had 224 inhabitants.
To-day the province of Victoria numbers 550,000. Seven millions of
vines produce annually 121,000 gallons of wine. There are 103,000
horses spreading over the plains, and 675,272 horned cattle graze in her
wide-stretching pastures.”
“Is there not also a certain number of pigs?” inquired McNabbs.
“Yes, Major, 79,625.”
“And how many sheep?”
“7,115,943, McNabbs.”
“Including the one we are eating at this moment.”
“No, without counting that, since it is three parts devoured.”
“Bravo, Monsieur Paganel,” exclaimed Lady Helena, laughing heartily. “It
must be owned you are posted up in geographical questions, and my cousin
McNabbs need not try and find you tripping.”
“It is my calling, Madam, to know this sort of thing, and to give you
the benefit of my information when you please. You may therefore believe
me when I tell you that wonderful things are in store for you in this
strange country.”
“It does not look like it at present,” said McNabbs, on purpose to tease
Paganel.
“Just wait, impatient Major,” was his rejoinder. “You have hardly put
your foot on the frontier, when you turn round and abuse it. Well, I say
and say again, and will always maintain that this is the most curious
country on the earth. Its formation, and nature, and products, and
climate, and even its future disappearance have amazed, and are now
amazing, and will amaze, all the SAVANTS in the world. Think, my
friends, of a continent, the margin of which, instead of the center,
rose out of the waves originally like a gigantic ring, which encloses,
perhaps, in its center, a sea partly evaporated, the waves of which are
drying up daily; where humidity does not exist either in the air or in
the soil; where the trees lose their bark every year, instead of their
leaves; where the leaves present their sides to the sun and not
their face, and consequently give no shade; where the wood is often
incombustible, where good-sized stones are dissolved by the rain; where
the forests are low and the grasses gigantic; where the animals
are strange; where quadrupeds have beaks, like the echidna, or
ornithorhynchus, and naturalists have been obliged to create a special
order for them, called monotremes; where the kangaroos leap on unequal
legs, and sheep have pigs’ heads; where foxes fly about from tree
to tree; where the swans are black; where rats make nests; where
the bower-bird opens her reception-rooms to receive visits from her
feathered friends; where the birds astonish the imagination by the
variety of their notes and their aptness; where one bird serves for a
clock, and another makes a sound like a postilion cracking of a whip,
and a third imitates a knife-grinder, and a fourth the motion of a
pendulum; where one laughs when the sun rises, and another cries when
the sun sets! Oh, strange, illogical country, land of paradoxes and
anomalies, if ever there was one on earth--the learned botanist Grimard
was right when he said, ‘There is that Australia, a sort of parody,
or rather a defiance of universal laws in the face of the rest of the
world.’”
Paganel’s tirade was poured forth in the most impetuous manner, and
seemed as if it were never coming to an end. The eloquent secretary of
the Geographical Society was no longer master of himself. He went on and
on, gesticulating furiously, and brandishing his fork to the imminent
danger of his neighbors. But at last his voice was drowned in a thunder
of applause, and he managed to stop.
Certainly after such an enumeration of Australian peculiarities, he
might have been left in peace but the Major said in the coolest tone
possible: “And is that all, Paganel?”
“No, indeed not,” rejoined the Frenchman, with renewed vehemence.
“What!” exclaimed Lady Helena; “there are more wonders still in
Australia?”
“Yes, Madam, its climate. It is even stranger than its productions.”
“Is it possible?” they all said.
“I am not speaking of the hygienic qualities of the climate,” continued
Paganel, “rich as it is in oxygen and poor in azote. There are no damp
winds, because the trade winds blow regularly on the coasts, and most
diseases are unknown, from typhus to measles, and chronic affections.”
“Still, that is no small advantage,” said Glenarvan.
“No doubt; but I am not referring to that, but to one quality it has
which is incomparable.”
“And what is that?”
“You will never believe me.”
“Yes, we will,” exclaimed his auditors, their curiosity aroused by this
preamble.
“Well, it is--”
“It is what?”
“It is a moral regeneration.”
“A moral regeneration?”
“Yes,” replied the SAVANT, in a tone of conviction. “Here metals do not
get rust on them by exposure to the air, nor men. Here the pure, dry
atmosphere whitens everything rapidly, both linen and souls. The virtue
of the climate must have been well known in England when they determined
to send their criminals here to be reformed.”
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