CHAPTER XIII A WARNING
ON the 2d of January, at sunrise, the travelers forded the Colban and
the Caupespe rivers. The half of their journey was now accomplished. In
fifteen days more, should their journey continue to be prosperous, the
little party would reach Twofold Bay.
They were all in good health. All that Paganel said of the hygienic
qualities of the climate was realized. There was little or no humidity,
and the heat was quite bearable. Neither horses nor bullocks could
complain of it any more than human beings. The order of the march had
been changed in one respect since the affair of Camden Bridge. That
criminal catastrophe on the railway made Ayrton take sundry precautions,
which had hitherto been unnecessary. The hunters never lost sight of the
wagon, and whenever they camped, one was always placed on watch. Morning
and evening the firearms were primed afresh. It was certain that a gang
of ruffians was prowling about the country, and though there was no
cause for actual fear, it was well to be ready for whatever might
happen.
It need hardly be said these precautions were adopted without the
knowledge of Lady Helena and Mary Grant, as Lord Glenarvan did not wish
to alarm them.
They were by no means unnecessary, however, for any imprudence or
carelessness might have cost the travelers dear. Others beside Glenarvan
were on their guard. In lonely settlements and on stations, the
inhabitants and the squatters prepared carefully against any attack or
surprise. Houses are closed at nightfall; the dogs let loose inside
the fences, barked at the slightest sound. Not a single shepherd on
horseback gathered his numerous flocks together at close of day, without
having a carbine slung from his saddle.
The outrage at Camden Bridge was the reason for all this, and many a
colonist fastened himself in with bolts and bars now at dusk, who used
to sleep with open doors and windows.
The Government itself displayed zeal and prudence, especially in the
Post-office department. On this very day, just as Glenarvan and his
party were on their way from Kilmore to Heathcote, the mail dashed by
at full speed; but though the horses were at a gallop, Glenarvan caught
sight of the glittering weapons of the mounted police that rode by its
side, as they swept past in a cloud of dust. The travelers might have
fancied themselves back in those lawless times when the discovery of
the first gold-fields deluged the Australian continent with the scum of
Europe.
A mile beyond the road to Kilmore, the wagon, for the first time since
leaving Cape Bernouilli, struck into one of those forests of gigantic
trees which extend over a super-fices of several degrees. A cry of
admiration escaped the travelers at the sight of the eucalyptus trees,
two hundred feet high, with tough bark five inches thick. The trunks,
measuring twenty feet round, and furrowed with foamy streaks of an
odorous resin, rose one hundred and fifty feet above the soil. Not
a branch, not a twig, not a stray shoot, not even a knot, spoilt the
regularity of their outline. They could not have come out smoother from
the hands of a turner. They stood like pillars all molded exactly alike,
and could be counted by hundreds. At an enormous height they spread out
in chaplets of branches, rounded and adorned at their extremity with
alternate leaves. At the axle of these leaves solitary flowers drooped
down, the calyx of which resembles an inverted urn.
Under this leafy dome, which never lost its greenness, the air
circulated freely, and dried up the dampness of the ground. Horses,
cattle, and wagon could easily pass between the trees, for they were
standing in wide rows, and parceled out like a wood that was being
felled. This was neither like the densely-packed woods choked up with
brambles, nor the virgin forest barricaded with the trunks of fallen
trees, and overgrown with inextricable tangles of creepers, where only
iron and fire could open up a track. A grassy carpet at the foot of the
trees, and a canopy of verdure above, long perspectives of bold colors,
little shade, little freshness at all, a peculiar light, as if the rays
came through a thin veil, dappled lights and shades sharply reflected on
the ground, made up a whole, and constituted a peculiar spectacle rich
in novel effects. The forests of the Oceanic continent do not in the
least resemble the forests of the New World; and the Eucalyptus, the
“Tara” of the aborigines, belonging to the family of MYRTACEA, the
different varieties of which can hardly be enumerated, is the tree -par
excellence- of the Australian flora.
The reason of the shade not being deep, nor the darkness profound, under
these domes of verdure, was that these trees presented a curious anomaly
in the disposition of the leaves. Instead of presenting their broad
surface to the sunlight, only the side is turned. Only the profile of
the leaves is seen in this singular foliage. Consequently the sun’s
rays slant down them to the earth, as if through the open slants of a
Venetian blind.
Glenarvan expressed his surprise at this circumstance, and wondered
what could be the cause of it. Paganel, who was never at a loss for an
answer, immediately replied:
“What astonishes me is not the caprice of nature. She knows what she is
about, but botanists don’t always know what they are saying. Nature made
no mistake in giving this peculiar foliage to the tree, but men have
erred in calling them EUCALYPTUS.”
“What does the word mean?” asked Mary Grant.
“It comes from a Greek word, meaning I -cover well-. They took care to
commit the mistake in Greek, that it might not be so self-evident, for
anyone can see that the ecualyptus covers badly.”
“I agree with you there,” said Glenarvan; “but now tell us, Paganel, how
it is that the leaves grow in this fashion?”
“From a purely physical cause, friends,” said Paganel, “and one that you
will easily understand. In this country where the air is dry and rain
seldom falls, and the ground is parched, the trees have no need of
wind or sun. Moisture lacking, sap is lacking also. Hence these narrow
leaves, which seek to defend themselves against the light, and prevent
too great evaporation. This is why they present the profile and not the
face to the sun’s rays. There is nothing more intelligent than a leaf.”
“And nothing more selfish,” added the Major. “These only thought of
themselves, and not at all of travelers.”
Everyone inclined to the opinion of McNabbs except Paganel, who
congratulated himself on walking under shadeless trees, though all the
time he was wiping the perspiration from his forehead. However, this
disposition of foliage was certainly to be regretted, for the journey
through the forest was often long and painful, as the traveler had no
protection whatever against the sun’s fierce rays.
The whole of this day the wagon continued to roll along through
interminable rows of eucalyptus, without meeting either quadruped or
native. A few cockatoos lived in the tops of the trees, but at such a
height they could scarcely be distinguished, and their noisy chatter
was changed into an imperceptible murmur. Occasionally a swarm of
par-roquets flew along a distant path, and lighted it up for an instant
with gay colors; but otherwise, solemn silence reigned in this vast
green temple, and the tramp of the horses, a few words exchanged with
each other by the riders, the grinding noise of the wheels, and from
time to time a cry from Ayrton to stir up his lazy team, were the only
sounds which disturbed this immense solitude.
When night came they camped at the foot of some eucalyptus, which bore
marks of a comparatively recent fire. They looked like tall factory
chimneys, for the flame had completely hollowed them out their whole
length. With the thick bark still covering them, they looked none the
worse. However, this bad habit of squatters or natives will end in the
destruction of these magnificent trees, and they will disappear like the
cedars of Lebanon, those world monuments burnt by unlucky camp fires.
Olbinett, acting on Paganel’s advice, lighted his fire to prepare supper
in one of these tubular trunks. He found it drew capitally, and the
smoke was lost in the dark foliage above. The requisite precautions
were taken for the night, and Ayrton, Mulrady, Wilson and John Mangles
undertook in turn to keep watch until sunrise.
On the 3d of January, all day long, they came to nothing but the same
symmetrical avenues of trees; it seemed as if they never were going to
end. However, toward evening the ranks of trees began to thin, and on a
little plain a few miles off an assemblage of regular houses.
“Seymour!” cried Paganel; “that is the last town we come to in the
province of Victoria.”
“Is it an important one?” asked Lady Helena.
“It is a mere village, madam, but on the way to become a municipality.”
“Shall we find a respectable hotel there?” asked Glenarvan.
“I hope so,” replied Paganel.
“Very well; let us get on to the town, for our fair travelers, with all
their courage, will not be sorry, I fancy, to have a good night’s rest.”
“My dear Edward, Mary and I will accept it gladly, but only on the
condition that it will cause no delay, or take us the least out of the
road.”
“It will do neither,” replied Lord Glenarvan. “Besides, our bullocks are
fatigued, and we will start to-morrow at daybreak.”
It was now nine o’clock; the moon was just beginning to rise, but her
rays were only slanting yet, and lost in the mist. It was gradually
getting dark when the little party entered the wide streets of Seymour,
under Paganel’s guidance, who seemed always to know what he had
never seen; but his instinct led him right, and he walked straight to
Campbell’s North British Hotel.
The Major without even leaving the hotel, was soon aware that fear
absorbed the inhabitants of the little town. Ten minutes’ conversation
with Dickson, the loquacious landlord, made him completely acquainted
with the actual state of affairs; but he never breathed a word to any
one.
When supper was over, though, and Lady Glenarvan, and Mary, and Robert
had retired, the Major detained his companions a little, and said, “They
have found out the perpetrators of the crime on the Sandhurst railroad.”
“And are they arrested?” asked Ayrton, eagerly.
“No,” replied McNabbs, without apparently noticing the EMPRESSMENT of
the quartermaster--an EMPRESSMENT which, moreover, was reasonable enough
under the circumstances.
“So much the worse,” replied Ayrton.
“Well,” said Glenarvan, “who are the authors of the crime?”
“Read,” replied the Major, offering Glenarvan a copy of the -Australian
and New Zealand Gazette-, “and you will see that the inspector of the
police was not mistaken.”
Glenarvan read aloud the following message:
SYDNEY, Jan. 2, 1866.
It will be remembered that on the night of the 29th or 30th of last
December there was an accident at Camden Bridge, five miles beyond the
station at Castlemaine, on the railway from Melbourne to Sandhurst. The
night express, 11.45, dashing along at full speed, was precipitated into
the Loddon River.
Camden Bridge had been left open. The numerous robberies committed after
the accident, the body of the guard picked up about half a mile from
Camden Bridge, proved that this catastrophe was the result of a crime.
Indeed, the coroner’s inquest decided that the crime must be attributed
to the band of convicts which escaped six months ago from the
Penitentiary at Perth, Western Australia, just as they were about to be
transferred to Norfolk Island.
The gang numbers twenty-nine men; they are under the command of a
certain Ben Joyce, a criminal of the most dangerous class, who arrived
in Australia a few months ago, by what ship is not known, and who has
hitherto succeeded in evading the hands of justice.
The inhabitants of towns, colonists and squatters at stations, are
hereby cautioned to be on their guard, and to communicate to the
Surveyor-General any information that may aid his search. J. P.
MITCHELL, S. G.
When Glenarvan had finished reading this article, McNabbs turned to
the geographer and said, “You see, Paganel, there can be convicts in
Australia.”
“Escaped convicts, that is evident,” replied Paganel, “but not regularly
transported criminals. Those fellows have no business here.”
“Well, they are here, at any rate,” said Glenarvan; “but I don’t suppose
the fact need materially alter our arrangements. What do you think,
John?”
John Mangles did not reply immediately; he hesitated between the sorrow
it would cause the two children to give up the search, and the fear of
compromising the expedition.
“If Lady Glenarvan, and Miss Grant were not with us,” he said, “I should
not give myself much concern about these wretches.”
Glenarvan understood him and added, “Of course I need not say that it is
not a question of giving up our task; but would it perhaps be prudent,
for the sake of our companions, to rejoin the DUNCAN at Melbourne, and
proceed with our search for traces of Harry Grant on the eastern side.
What do you think of it, McNabbs?”
“Before I give my opinion,” replied the Major, “I should like to hear
Ayrton’s.”
At this direct appeal, the quartermaster looked at Glenarvan, and said,
“I think we are two hundred miles from Melbourne, and that the danger,
if it exists, is as great on the route to the south as on the route to
the east. Both are little frequented, and both will serve us. Besides,
I do not think that thirty scoundrels can frighten eight well-armed,
determined men. My advice, then, is to go forward.”
“And good advice too, Ayrton,” replied Paganel. “By going on we may come
across the traces of Captain Grant. In returning south, on the contrary,
we turn our backs to them. I think with you, then, and I don’t care
a snap for these escaped fellows. A brave man wouldn’t care a bit for
them!”
Upon this they agreed with the one voice to follow their original
programme.
“Just one thing, my Lord,” said Ayrton, when they were about to
separate.
“Say on, Ayrton.”
“Wouldn’t it be advisable to send orders to the DUNCAN to be at the
coast?”
“What good would that be,” replied John Mangles. “When we reach Twofold
Bay it will be time enough for that. If any unexpected event should
oblige us to go to Melbourne, we might be sorry not to find the DUNCAN
there. Besides, her injuries can not be repaired yet. For these reasons,
then, I think it would be better to wait.”
“All right,” said Ayrton, and forbore to press the matter further.
CHAPTER XIV WEALTH IN THE WILDERNESS
ON January 6, at 7 A. M., after a tranquil night passed in longitude
146 degrees 15”, the travelers continued their journey across the vast
district. They directed their course steadily toward the rising sun,
and made a straight line across the plain. Twice over they came upon
the traces of squatters going toward the north, and their different
footprints became confused, and Glenarvan’s horse no longer left on the
dust the Blackpoint mark, recognizable by its double shamrock.
The plain was furrowed in some places by fantastic winding creeks
surrounded by box, and whose waters were rather temporary than
permanent. They originated in the slopes of the Buffalo Ranges, a
chain of mountains of moderate height, the undulating line of which was
visible on the horizon. It was resolved to camp there the same night.
Ayrton goaded on his team, and after a journey of thirty-five miles, the
bullocks arrived, somewhat fatigued. The tent was pitched beneath the
great trees, and as night had drawn on supper was served as quickly as
possible, for all the party cared more for sleeping than eating, after
such a day’s march.
Paganel who had the first watch did not lie down, but shouldered his
rifle and walked up and down before the camp, to keep himself from going
to sleep. In spite of the absence of the moon, the night was almost
luminous with the light of the southern constellations. The SAVANT
amused himself with reading the great book of the firmament, a book
which is always open, and full of interest to those who can read it. The
profound silence of sleeping nature was only interrupted by the clanking
of the hobbles on the horses’ feet.
Paganel was engrossed in his astronomical meditations, and thinking more
about the celestial than the terrestrial world, when a distant sound
aroused him from his reverie. He listened attentively, and to his great
amaze, fancied he heard the sounds of a piano. He could not be mistaken,
for he distinctly heard chords struck.
“A piano in the wilds!” said Paganel to himself. “I can never believe it
is that.”
It certainly was very surprising, but Paganel found it easier to believe
it was some Australian bird imitating the sounds of a Pleyel or Erard,
as others do the sounds of a clock or mill. But at this very moment,
the notes of a clear ringing voice rose on the air. The PIANIST was
accompanied by singing. Still Paganel was unwilling to be convinced.
However, next minute he was forced to admit the fact, for there fell on
his ear the sublime strains of Mozart’s “Il mio tesoro tanto” from Don
Juan.
“Well, now,” said the geographer to himself, “let the Australian birds
be as queer as they may, and even granting the paroquets are the most
musical in the world, they can’t sing Mozart!”
He listened to the sublime inspiration of the great master to the
end. The effect of this soft melody on the still clear night was
indescribable. Paganel remained as if spellbound for a time; the voice
ceased and all was silence. When Wilson came to relieve the watch,
he found the geographer plunged into a deep reverie. Paganel made
no remark, however, to the sailor, but reserved his information for
Glenarvan in the morning, and went into the tent to bed.
Next day, they were all aroused from sleep by the sudden loud barking
of dogs, Glenarvan got up forthwith. Two magnificent pointers, admirable
specimens of English hunting dogs, were bounding in front of the little
wood, into which they had retreated at the approach of the travelers,
redoubling their clamor.
“There is some station in this desert, then,” said Glenarvan, “and
hunters too, for these are regular setters.”
Paganel was just about to recount his nocturnal experiences, when two
young men appeared, mounted on horses of the most perfect breed, true
“hunters.”
The two gentlemen dressed in elegant hunting costume, stopped at the
sight of the little group camping in gipsy fashion. They looked as if
they wondered what could bring an armed party there, but when they saw
the ladies get out of the wagon, they dismounted instantly, and went
toward them hat in hand. Lord Glenarvan came to meet them, and, as a
stranger, announced his name and rank.
The gentlemen bowed, and the elder of them said, “My Lord, will not
these ladies and yourself and friends honor us by resting a little
beneath our roof?”
“Mr.--,” began Glenarvan.
“Michael and Sandy Patterson are our names, proprietors of Hottam
Station. Our house is scarcely a quarter of a mile distant.”
“Gentlemen,” replied Glenarvan, “I should not like to abuse such
kindly-offered hospitality.”
“My Lord,” returned Michael Patterson, “by accepting it you will confer
a favor on poor exiles, who will be only too happy to do the honors of
the wilds.”
Glenarvan bowed in token of acquiescence.
“Sir,” said Paganel, addressing Michael Patterson, “if it is not an
impudent question, may I ask whether it was you that sung an air from
the divine Mozart last night?”
“It was, sir,” replied the stranger, “and my cousin Sandy accompanied
me.”
“Well, sir,” replied Paganel, holding out his hand to the young man,
“receive the sincere compliments of a Frenchman, who is a passionate
admirer of this music.”
Michael grasped his hand cordially, and then pointing out the road to
take, set off, accompanied by the ladies and Lord Glenarvan and his
friends, for the station. The horses and the camp were left to the care
of Ayrton and the sailors.
Hottam Station was truly a magnificent establishment, kept as
scrupulously in order as an English park. Immense meadows, enclosed
in gray fences, stretched away out of sight. In these, thousands
of bullocks and millions of sheep were grazing, tended by numerous
shepherds, and still more numerous dogs. The crack of the stock-whip
mingled continually with the barking of the “collies” and the bellowing
and bleating of the cattle and sheep.
Toward the east there was a boundary of myalls and gum-trees, beyond
which rose Mount Hottam, its imposing peak towering 7,500 feet high.
Long avenues of green trees were visible on all sides. Here and there
was a thick clump of “grass trees,” tall bushes ten feet high, like the
dwarf palm, quite lost in their crown of long narrow leaves. The air
was balmy and odorous with the perfume of scented laurels, whose white
blossoms, now in full bloom, distilled on the breeze the finest aromatic
perfume.
To these charming groups of native trees were added transplantations
from European climates. The peach, pear, and apple trees were there,
the fig, the orange, and even the oak, to the rapturous delight of the
travelers, who greeted them with loud hurrahs! But astonished as the
travelers were to find themselves walking beneath the shadow of the
trees of their own native land, they were still more so at the sight of
the birds that flew about in the branches--the “satin bird,” with its
silky plumage, and the “king-honeysuckers,” with their plumage of gold
and black velvet.
For the first time, too, they saw here the “Lyre” bird, the tail of
which resembles in form the graceful instrument of Orpheus. It flew
about among the tree ferns, and when its tail struck the branches, they
were almost surprised not to hear the harmonious strains that inspired
Amphion to rebuild the walls of Thebes. Paganel had a great desire to
play on it.
However, Lord Glenarvan was not satisfied with admiring the fairy-like
wonders of this oasis, improvised in the Australian desert. He was
listening to the history of the young gentlemen. In England, in the
midst of civilized countries, the new comer acquaints his host whence
he comes and whither he is going; but here, by a refinement of delicacy,
Michael and Sandy Patterson thought it a duty to make themselves known
to the strangers who were about to receive their hospitality.
Michael and Sandy Patterson were the sons of London bankers. When they
were twenty years of age, the head of their family said, “Here are some
thousands, young men. Go to a distant colony; and start some useful
settlement there. Learn to know life by labor. If you succeed, so much
the better. If you fail, it won’t matter much. We shall not regret the
money which makes you men.”
The two young men obeyed. They chose the colony of Victoria in
Australia, as the field for sowing the paternal bank-notes, and had
no reason to repent the selection. At the end of three years the
establishment was flourishing. In Victoria, New South Wales, and
Southern Australia, there are more than three thousand stations, some
belonging to squatters who rear cattle, and others to settlers who
farm the ground. Till the arrival of the two Pattersons, the largest
establishment of this sort was that of Mr. Jamieson, which covered an
area of seventy-five miles, with a frontage of about eight miles along
the Peron, one of the affluents of the Darling.
Now Hottam Station bore the palm for business and extent. The young men
were both squatters and settlers. They managed their immense property
with rare ability and uncommon energy.
The station was far removed from the chief towns in the midst of the
unfrequented districts of the Murray. It occupied a long wide space
of five leagues in extent, lying between the Buffalo Ranges and Mount
Hottam. At the two angles north of this vast quadrilateral, Mount
Aberdeen rose on the left, and the peaks of High Barven on the right.
Winding, beautiful streams were not wanting, thanks to the creeks and
affluents of the Oven’s River, which throws itself at the north into the
bed of the Murray. Consequently they were equally successful in
cattle breeding and farming. Ten thousand acres of ground, admirably
cultivated, produced harvests of native productions and exotics, and
several millions of animals fattened in the fertile pastures. The
products of Hottam Station fetched the very highest price in the markets
of Castlemaine and Melbourne.
Michael and Sandy Patterson had just concluded these details of their
busy life, when their dwelling came in sight, at the extremity of the
avenue of the oaks.
It was a charming house, built of wood and brick, hidden in groves
of emerophilis. Nothing at all, however, belonging to a station
was visible--neither sheds, nor stables, nor cart-houses. All these
out-buildings, a perfect village, comprising more than twenty huts and
houses, were about a quarter of a mile off in the heart of a little
valley. Electric communication was established between this village and
the master’s house, which, far removed from all noise, seemed buried in
a forest of exotic trees.
At Sandy Patterson’s bidding, a sumptuous breakfast was served in less
than a quarter of an hour. The wines and viands were of the finest
quality; but what pleased the guests most of all in the midst of these
refinements of opulence, was the joy of the young squatters in offering
them this splendid hospitality.
It was not long before they were told the history of the expedition,
and had their liveliest interest awakened for its success. They spoke
hopefully to the young Grants, and Michael said: “Harry Grant has
evidently fallen into the hands of natives, since he has not turned up
at any of the settlements on the coast. He knows his position exactly,
as the document proves, and the reason he did not reach some English
colony is that he must have been taken prisoner by the savages the
moment he landed!”
“That is precisely what befell his quartermaster, Ayrton,” said John
Mangles.
“But you, gentlemen, then, have never heard the catastrophe of the
BRITANNIA, mentioned?” inquired Lady Helena.
“Never, Madam,” replied Michael.
“And what treatment, in your opinion, has Captain Grant met with among
the natives?”
“The Australians are not cruel, Madam,” replied the young squatter, “and
Miss Grant may be easy on that score. There have been many instances
of the gentleness of their nature, and some Europeans have lived a long
time among them without having the least cause to complain of their
brutality.”
“King, among others, the sole survivor of the Burke expedition,” put in
Paganel.
“And not only that bold explorer,” returned Sandy, “but also an English
soldier named Buckley, who deserted at Port Philip in 1803, and who was
welcomed by the natives, and lived thirty-three years among them.”
“And more recently,” added Michael, “one of the last numbers of the
AUSTRALASIA informs us that a certain Morrilli has just been restored
to his countrymen after sixteen years of slavery. His story is exactly
similar to the captain’s, for it was at the very time of his shipwreck
in the PRUVIENNE, in 1846, that he was made prisoner by the natives, and
dragged away into the interior of the continent. I therefore think you
have reason to hope still.”
The young squatter’s words caused great joy to his auditors. They
completely corroborated the opinions of Paganel and Ayrton.
The conversation turned on the convicts after the ladies had left the
table. The squatters had heard of the catastrophe at Camden Bridge, but
felt no uneasiness about the escaped gang. It was not a station, with
more than a hundred men on it, that they would dare to attack. Besides,
they would never go into the deserts of the Murray, where they could
find no booty, nor near the colonies of New South Wales, where the roads
were too well watched. Ayrton had said this too.
Glenarvan could not refuse the request of his amiable hosts, to spend
the whole day at the station. It was twelve hours’ delay, but also
twelve hours’ rest, and both horses and bullocks would be the better
for the comfortable quarters they would find there. This was accordingly
agreed upon, and the young squatters sketched out a programme of the
day’s amusements, which was adopted eagerly.
At noon, seven vigorous hunters were before the door. An elegant brake
was intended for the ladies, in which the coachman could exhibit
his skill in driving four-in-hand. The cavalcade set off preceded
by huntsmen, and armed with first-rate rifles, followed by a pack of
pointers barking joyously as they bounded through the bushes. For four
hours the hunting party wandered through the paths and avenues of the
park, which was as large as a small German state. The Reuiss-Schleitz,
or Saxe-Coburg Gotha, would have gone inside it comfortably. Few people
were to be met in it certainly, but sheep in abundance. As for game,
there was a complete preserve awaiting the hunters. The noisy reports of
guns were soon heard on all sides. Little Robert did wonders in
company with Major McNabbs. The daring boy, in spite of his sister’s
injunctions, was always in front, and the first to fire. But John
Mangles promised to watch over him, and Mary felt less uneasy.
During this BATTUE they killed certain animals peculiar to the country,
the very names of which were unknown to Paganel; among others the
“wombat” and the “bandicoot.” The wombat is an herbivorous animal, which
burrows in the ground like a badger. It is as large as a sheep, and the
flesh is excellent.
The bandicoot is a species of marsupial animal which could outwit the
European fox, and give him lessons in pillaging poultry yards. It was
a repulsive-looking animal, a foot and a half long, but, as Paganel
chanced to kill it, of course he thought it charming.
“An adorable creature,” he called it.
But the most interesting event of the day, by far, was the kangaroo
hunt. About four o’clock, the dogs roused a troop of these curious
marsupials. The little ones retreated precipitately into the maternal
pouch, and all the troop decamped in file. Nothing could be more
astonishing than the enormous bounds of the kangaroo. The hind legs
of the animal are twice as long as the front ones, and unbend like a
spring. At the head of the flying troop was a male five feet high, a
magnificent specimen of the -macropus giganteus-, an “old man,” as the
bushmen say.
For four or five miles the chase was vigorously pursued. The kangaroos
showed no signs of weariness, and the dogs, who had reason enough to
fear their strong paws and sharp nails, did not care to approach them.
But at last, worn out with the race, the troop stopped, and the “old
man” leaned against the trunk of a tree, ready to defend himself. One
of the pointers, carried away by excitement, went up to him. Next
minute the unfortunate beast leaped into the air, and fell down again
completely ripped up.
The whole pack, indeed, would have had little chance with these powerful
marsupia. They had to dispatch the fellow with rifles. Nothing but balls
could bring down the gigantic animal.
Just at this moment, Robert was well nigh the victim of his own
imprudence. To make sure of his aim, he had approached too near the
kangaroo, and the animal leaped upon him immediately. Robert gave a loud
cry and fell. Mary Grant saw it all from the brake, and in an agony of
terror, speechless and almost unable even to see, stretched out her arms
toward her little brother. No one dared to fire, for fear of wounding
the child.
But John Mangles opened his hunting knife, and at the risk of being
ripped up himself, sprang at the animal, and plunged it into his heart.
The beast dropped forward, and Robert rose unhurt. Next minute he was in
his sister’s arms.
“Thank you, Mr. John, thank you!” she said, holding out her hand to the
young captain.
“I had pledged myself for his safety,” was all John said, taking her
trembling fingers into his own.
This occurrence ended the sport. The band of marsupia had disappeared
after the death of their leader. The hunting party returned home,
bringing their game with them. It was then six o’clock. A magnificent
dinner was ready. Among other things, there was one dish that was a
great success. It was kangaroo-tail soup, prepared in the native manner.
Next morning very early, they took leave of the young squatters, with
hearty thanks and a positive promise from them of a visit to Malcolm
Castle when they should return to Europe.
Then the wagon began to move away, round the foot of Mount Hottam, and
soon the hospitable dwelling disappeared from the sight of the travelers
like some brief vision which had come and gone.
For five miles further, the horses were still treading the station
lands. It was not till nine o’clock that they had passed the last fence,
and entered the almost unknown districts of the province of Victoria.
CHAPTER XV SUSPICIOUS OCCURRENCES
AN immense barrier lay across the route to the southeast. It was the
Australian Alps, a vast fortification, the fantastic curtain of which
extended 1,500 miles, and pierced the clouds at the height of 4,000
feet.
The cloudy sky only allowed the heat to reach the ground through a
close veil of mist. The temperature was just bearable, but the road
was toilsome from its uneven character. The extumescences on the plain
became more and more marked. Several mounds planted with green young
gum trees appeared here and there. Further on these protuberances rising
sharply, formed the first steps of the great Alps. From this time their
course was a continual ascent, as was soon evident in the strain it made
on the bullocks to drag along the cumbrous wagon. Their yoke creaked,
they breathed heavily, and the muscles of their houghs were stretched as
if they would burst. The planks of the vehicle groaned at the unexpected
jolts, which Ayrton with all his skill could not prevent. The ladies
bore their share of discomfort bravely.
John Mangles and his two sailors acted as scouts, and went about a
hundred steps in advance. They found out practical paths, or passes,
indeed they might be called, for these projections of the ground were
like so many rocks, between which the wagon had to steer carefully. It
required absolute navigation to find a safe way over the billowy region.
It was a difficult and often perilous task. Many a time Wilson’s hatchet
was obliged to open a passage through thick tangles of shrubs. The damp
argillaceous soil gave way under their feet. The route was indefinitely
prolonged owing to the insurmountable obstacles, huge blocks of granite,
deep ravines, suspected lagoons, which obliged them to make a thousand
detours. When night came they found they had only gone over half a
degree. They camped at the foot of the Alps, on the banks of the creek
of Cobongra, on the edge of a little plain, covered with little shrubs
four feet high, with bright red leaves which gladdened the eye.
“We shall have hard work to get over,” said Glenarvan, looking at the
chain of mountains, the outlines of which were fast fading away in
the deepening darkness. “The very name Alps gives plenty of room for
reflection.”
“It is not quite so big as it sounds, my dear Glenarvan. Don’t suppose
you have a whole Switzerland to traverse. In Australia there are the
Grampians, the Pyrenees, the Alps, the Blue Mountains, as in Europe
and America, but in miniature. This simply implies either that the
imagination of geographers is not infinite, or that their vocabulary of
proper names is very poor.”
“Then these Australian Alps,” said Lord Glenarvan, “are--”
“Mere pocket mountains,” put in Paganel; “we shall get over them without
knowing it.”
“Speak for yourself,” said the Major. “It would certainly take a very
absent man who could cross over a chain of mountains and not know it.”
“Absent! But I am not an absent man now. I appeal to the ladies. Since
ever I set foot on the Australian continent, have I been once at fault?
Can you reproach me with a single blunder?”
“Not one. Monsieur Paganel,” said Mary Grant. “You are now the most
perfect of men.”
“Too perfect,” added Lady Helena, laughing; “your blunders suited you
admirably.”
“Didn’t they, Madam? If I have no faults now, I shall soon get like
everybody else. I hope then I shall make some outrageous mistake before
long, which will give you a good laugh. You see, unless I make mistakes,
it seems to me I fail in my vocation.”
Next day, the 9th of January, notwithstanding the assurances of the
confident geographer, it was not without great difficulty that the
little troop made its way through the Alpine pass. They were obliged
to go at a venture, and enter the depths of narrow gorges without any
certainty of an outlet. Ayrton would doubtless have found himself very
much embarrassed if a little inn, a miserable public house, had not
suddenly presented itself.
“My goodness!” cried Paganel, “the landlord of this inn won’t make his
fortune in a place like this. What is the use of it here?”
“To give us the information we want about the route,” replied Glenarvan.
“Let us go in.”
Glenarvan, followed by Ayrton, entered the inn forthwith. The
landlord of the “Bush Inn,” as it was called, was a coarse man with
an ill-tempered face, who must have considered himself his principal
customer for the gin, brandy and whisky he had to sell. He seldom saw
any one but the squatters and rovers. He answered all the questions put
to him in a surly tone. But his replies sufficed to make the route clear
to Ayrton, and that was all that was wanted. Glenarvan rewarded him with
a handful of silver for his trouble, and was about to leave the tavern,
when a placard against the wall arrested his attention.
It was a police notice, and announcing the escape of the convicts from
Perth, and offering a reward for the capture of Ben Joyce of pounds 100
sterling.
“He’s a fellow that’s worth hanging, and no mistake,” said Glenarvan to
the quartermaster.
“And worth capturing still more. But what a sum to offer! He is not
worth it!”
“I don’t feel very sure of the innkeeper though, in spite of the
notice,” said Glenarvan.
“No more do I,” replied Ayrton.
They went back to the wagon, toward the point where the route to Lucknow
stopped. A narrow path wound away from this which led across the chain
in a slanting direction. They had commenced the ascent.
It was hard work. More than once both the ladies and gentlemen had to
get down and walk. They were obliged to help to push round the wheels
of the heavy vehicle, and to support it frequently in dangerous
declivities, to unharness the bullocks when the team could not go well
round sharp turnings, prop up the wagon when it threatened to roll back,
and more than once Ayrton had to reinforce his bullocks by harnessing
the horses, although they were tired out already with dragging
themselves along.
Whether it was this prolonged fatigue, or from some other cause
altogether, was not known, but one of the horses sank suddenly, without
the slightest symptom of illness. It was Mulrady’s horse that fell, and
on attempting to pull it up, the animal was found to be dead. Ayrton
examined it immediately, but was quite at a loss to account for the
disaster.
“The beast must have broken some blood vessels,” said Glenarvan.
“Evidently,” replied Ayrton.
“Take my horse, Mulrady,” added Glenarvan. “I will join Lady Helena in
the wagon.”
Mulrady obeyed, and the little party continued their fatiguing ascent,
leaving the carcass of the dead animal to the ravens.
The Australian Alps are of no great thickness, and the base is not more
than eight miles wide. Consequently if the pass chosen by Ayrton came
out on the eastern side, they might hope to get over the high barrier
within forty-eight hours more. The difficulty of the route would then be
surmounted, and they would only have to get to the sea.
During the 18th the travelers reached the top-most point of the pass,
about 2,000 feet high. They found themselves on an open plateau, with
nothing to intercept the view. Toward the north the quiet waters of Lake
Omco, all alive with aquatic birds, and beyond this lay the vast plains
of the Murray. To the south were the wide spreading plains of Gippsland,
with its abundant gold-fields and tall forests. There nature was still
mistress of the products and water, and great trees where the woodman’s
ax was as yet unknown, and the squatters, then five in number, could not
struggle against her. It seemed as if this chain of the Alps separated
two different countries, one of which had retained its primitive
wildness. The sun went down, and a few solitary rays piercing the
rosy clouds, lighted up the Murray district, leaving Gippsland in
deep shadow, as if night had suddenly fallen on the whole region. The
contrast was presented very vividly to the spectators placed between
these two countries so divided, and some emotion filled the minds of the
travelers, as they contemplated the almost unknown district they were
about to traverse right to the frontiers of Victoria.
They camped on the plateau that night, and next day the descent
commenced. It was tolerably rapid. A hailstorm of extreme violence
assailed the travelers, and obliged them to seek a shelter among the
rocks. It was not hail-stones, but regular lumps of ice, as large as
one’s hand, which fell from the stormy clouds. A waterspout could not
have come down with more violence, and sundry big bruises warned Paganel
and Robert to retreat. The wagon was riddled in several places, and few
coverings would have held out against those sharp icicles, some of which
had fastened themselves into the trunks of the trees. It was impossible
to go on till this tremendous shower was over, unless the travelers
wished to be stoned. It lasted about an hour, and then the march
commenced anew over slanting rocks still slippery after the hail.
Toward evening the wagon, very much shaken and disjointed in several
parts, but still standing firm on its wooden disks, came down the last
slopes of the Alps, among great isolated pines. The passage ended in the
plains of Gippsland. The chain of the Alps was safely passed, and the
usual arrangements were made for the nightly encampment.
On the 21st, at daybreak, the journey was resumed with an ardor which
never relaxed. Everyone was eager to reach the goal--that is to say
the Pacific Ocean--at that part where the wreck of the BRITANNIA had
occurred. Nothing could be done in the lonely wilds of Gippsland, and
Ayrton urged Lord Glenarvan to send orders at once for the DUNCAN to
repair to the coast, in order to have at hand all means of research. He
thought it would certainly be advisable to take advantage of the Lucknow
route to Melbourne. If they waited it would be difficult to find any way
of direct communication with the capital.
This advice seemed good, and Paganel recommended that they should act
upon it. He also thought that the presence of the yacht would be very
useful, and he added, that if the Lucknow road was once passed, it would
be impossible to communicate with Melbourne.
Glenarvan was undecided what to do, and perhaps he would have yielded
to Ayrton’s arguments, if the Major had not combated this decision
vigorously. He maintained that the presence of Ayrton was necessary to
the expedition, that he would know the country about the coast, and
that if any chance should put them on the track of Harry Grant, the
quartermaster would be better able to follow it up than any one else,
and, finally, that he alone could point out the exact spot where the
shipwreck occurred.
McNabbs voted therefore for the continuation of the voyage, without
making the least change in their programme. John Mangles was of the same
opinion. The young captain said even that orders would reach the DUNCAN
more easily from Twofold Bay, than if a message was sent two hundred
miles over a wild country.
His counsel prevailed. It was decided that they should wait till they
came to Twofold Bay. The Major watched Ayrton narrowly, and noticed his
disappointed look. But he said nothing, keeping his observations, as
usual, to himself.
The plains which lay at the foot of the Australian Alps were level,
but slightly inclined toward the east. Great clumps of mimosas and
eucalyptus, and various odorous gum-trees, broke the uniform monotony
here and there. The -gastrolobium grandiflorum- covered the ground, with
its bushes covered with gay flowers. Several unimportant creeks, mere
streams full of little rushes, and half covered up with orchids, often
interrupted the route. They had to ford these. Flocks of bustards and
emus fled at the approach of the travelers. Below the shrubs, kangaroos
were leaping and springing like dancing jacks. But the hunters of the
party were not thinking much of the sport, and the horses little needed
any additional fatigue.
Moreover, a sultry heat oppressed the plain. The atmosphere was
completely saturated with electricity, and its influence was felt by men
and beasts. They just dragged themselves along, and cared for nothing
else. The silence was only interrupted by the cries of Ayrton urging on
his burdened team.
From noon to two o’clock they went through a curious forest of ferns,
which would have excited the admiration of less weary travelers. These
plants in full flower measured thirty feet in height. Horses and riders
passed easily beneath their drooping leaves, and sometimes the spurs
would clash against the woody stems. Beneath these immovable parasols
there was a refreshing coolness which every one appreciated. Jacques
Paganel, always demonstrative, gave such deep sighs of satisfaction that
the paroquets and cockatoos flew out in alarm, making a deafening chorus
of noisy chatter.
The geographer was going on with his sighs and jubilations with the
utmost coolness, when his companions suddenly saw him reel forward, and
he and his horse fell down in a lump. Was it giddiness, or worse
still, suffocation, caused by the high temperature? They ran to him,
exclaiming: “Paganel! Paganel! what is the matter?”
“Just this. I have no horse, now!” he replied, disengaging his feet from
the stirrups.
“What! your horse?”
“Dead like Mulrady’s, as if a thunderbolt had struck him.”
Glenarvan, John Mangles, and Wilson examined the animal; and found
Paganel was right. His horse had been suddenly struck dead.
“That is strange,” said John.
“Very strange, truly,” muttered the Major.
Glenarvan was greatly disturbed by this fresh accident. He could not get
a fresh horse in the desert, and if an epidemic was going to seize their
steeds, they would be seriously embarrassed how to proceed.
Before the close of the day, it seemed as if the word epidemic was
really going to be justified. A third horse, Wilson’s, fell dead, and
what was, perhaps equally disastrous, one of the bullocks also. The
means of traction and transport were now reduced to three bullocks and
four horses.
The situation became grave. The unmounted horsemen might walk, of
course, as many squatters had done already; but if they abandoned the
wagon, what would the ladies do? Could they go over the one hundred and
twenty miles which lay between them and Twofold Bay? John Mangles and
Lord Glenarvan examined the surviving horses with great uneasiness, but
there was not the slightest symptom of illness or feebleness in them.
The animals were in perfect health, and bravely bearing the fatigues
of the voyage. This somewhat reassured Glenarvan, and made him hope the
malady would strike no more victims. Ayrton agreed with him, but was
unable to find the least solution of the mystery.
They went on again, the wagon serving, from time to time, as a house
of rest for the pedestrians. In the evening, after a march of only ten
miles, the signal to halt was given, and the tent pitched. The night
passed without inconvenience beneath a vast mass of bushy ferns, under
which enormous bats, properly called flying foxes, were flapping about.
The next day’s journey was good; there were no new calamities. The
health of the expedition remained satisfactory; horses and cattle did
their task cheerily. Lady Helena’s drawing-room was very lively, thanks
to the number of visitors. M. Olbinett busied himself in passing round
refreshments which were very acceptable in such hot weather. Half a
barrel of Scotch ale was sent in bodily. Barclay and Co. was declared to
be the greatest man in Great Britain, even above Wellington, who could
never have manufactured such good beer. This was a Scotch estimate.
Jacques Paganel drank largely, and discoursed still more -de omni re
scibili-.
A day so well commenced seemed as if it could not but end well; they had
gone fifteen good miles, and managed to get over a pretty hilly district
where the soil was reddish. There was every reason to hope they might
camp that same night on the banks of the Snowy River, an important river
which throws itself into the Pacific, south of Victoria.
Already the wheels of the wagon were making deep ruts on the wide
plains, covered with blackish alluvium, as it passed on between tufts of
luxuriant grass and fresh fields of gastrolobium. As evening came on, a
white mist on the horizon marked the course of the Snowy River. Several
additional miles were got over, and a forest of tall trees came in sight
at a bend of the road, behind a gentle eminence. Ayrton turned his team
a little toward the great trunks, lost in shadow, and he had got to the
skirts of the wood, about half-a-mile from the river, when the wagon
suddenly sank up to the middle of the wheels.
“Stop!” he called out to the horsemen following him.
“What is wrong?” inquired Glenarvan.
“We have stuck in the mud,” replied Ayrton.
He tried to stimulate the bullocks to a fresh effort by voice and goad,
but the animals were buried half-way up their legs, and could not stir.
“Let us camp here,” suggested John Mangles.
“It would certainly be the best place,” said Ayrton. “We shall see by
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