 Book 2, Chapter 14, of, in search of the castaways. Welles and the Wilderness On January the 6th, at 7 am, after a tranquil night passed in the longitude 146 degrees 15 minutes, 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 Glenderman's horse no longer left on the dust the black-point mark, recognizable by its double shamrock. The plain was furrowed in some places by fantastic winding creeks surrounded by bogs, 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 35 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 showed her 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 Fermanent, 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 of the horse's feet. Paganel was engrossed in his astronomical meditations, and thinking more about the celestial than the terrestrial world, when a disdain sound arose from 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 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 plale or a rod, as others do the sounds of a clock or a mill. But at this very moment the notes of a clear-ringing voice rose in the air. The pianist was accompanied by singing. So 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 Doan Joan. Well now, said the geographer to himself, let the Australian birds be as queer as they may, and even granting the periquets are the most musical in the world that can't sing Mozart. They listened to the sublime inspiration of the great master to the end. The effect of this soft melody on the steel-clear night was indescribable. Paganel remained as if spellbound for a time. The voice seized, and all was silent. 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 Glenarvon 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. Glenarvon 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 travellers, redoubling their climber. There is some station in this desert, then, said Glenarvon, and hunters, too, for these are regular setters. Paganel was just about to recount his not-turnal 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 site of the little group camping in gypsy 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 head in hand. Lord Glenarvon 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? After it began Glenarvon, Michal and Sandy Patterson are our names, proprietors of Hotham station. Our house is scarcely a quarter of a mile distant. Gentlemen replied Glenarvon, I should not like to abuse such kindly offered hospitality. My lord, returned Michal 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. Glenarvon bowed in token of acquiescence. Sir, said Paganel, addressing Michal Patterson, If it is not an impudent question, may I ask whether it was you that sang 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, he received the sincere compliments of a Frenchman, who is a passionate admirer of this music. Michal grasped his hand cordially, and then, pointing out the road to take, set off, accompanied by the ladies and Lord Glenarvon and his friends, for the station. The horses and the camp were left to the care of Ayrton and the sailors. Hotham 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-web 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 meadows and gum-trees, beyond which rose Mount Hotham, 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, 10 feet high, like the dwarf palm, quite lost in their crown of long, narrow leaves. The air was bowie 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 travellers, who greeted them with Lord Huraz. But astonished as the travellers were to find themselves walking beneath the shadow of the trees of their own native land, there were still more so at the sight of the birds that flew about in the branches. The satin bird with its suki plumage and the king honeysakas with their plumage of gold and black velvet. For the first time, too, they saw her the lyre bird, the tail of which resembles in form the graceful instrument of Orpheus. It flew about among the three 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 Glen-Erwin was not satisfied with admiring the fairy-like wonders of these oases, improvised in the Australian desert. He was listening to the history of the young gentlemen. In England and the midst of civilized countries, the newcomer acquaintance his host whence he comes and whither he is going. But here, by refinement of delicacy, Micheal and Sandy Patterson thought it a duty to make themselves known to the strangers who were about to receive their hospitality. Micheal 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. Start to know life by labor. If you succeed, so much is 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 feud for sewing the paternal banknotes 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. To the arrival of the two Pattersons, the largest establishment of this sort was that of Mr. Jimison, which covered an area of seventy-five miles, with a frontage of about eight miles along the Perrin, one of the affluence of the Darling. Now Hatham 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 Mooray. It occupied a long wide space of five leagues and extent, lying between the buffalo ranges and Mount Hatham. At the two angles north of this vast, quadrilateral, Mount Aberdeen rose on the left and the peaks of high barren on the right, winding beautiful streams were not wanting thanks to the creeks and affluence of the Owens River, which throws itself at the north into the bed of the Mooray. 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 Hatham Station fetched the very highest price in the markets of Castlemaine and Melbourne. Micheal and Sandy Patterson had just concluded these details of their busy life, when their dwelling came inside, and the extremity of the avenue of the Orcs. It was a charming house, built of wood and brick, hidden in grooves of emerald fillies. Nothing at all, however, belonging to a station was visible, neither sheds nor stables nor card houses. For all these outbuildings, 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 bidding, as some just breakfast was served in less than a quarter of an hour, the wines and vines were of the finest quality, but what pleased the guests more 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 lifeless interest awakened for its success. They spoke hopefully to the young grants, and Micheal 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 Jungle Mongols. But you gentlemen, then, have never heard the catastrophe of the Britannia mansion, inquired Lady Helena. Never, madame, replied Micheal. And what treatment, in your opinion, has Captain Grant met with among the natives? The Australians are not cruel, madame, 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 Berkeley, who deserted a Port Phillip in 1803, and who was welcomed by the natives and lived 33 years among them. And more recently, added Micheal, one of the last numbers of the Australasia, informs us that a certain Morilli has just been restored to his countrymen after 16 years of slavery. His story is exactly similar to the captain's, for it was at the very time of his shipwreck in the Bruvienne 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 led 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 Moray, where they could find no booty, nor near the colonies of the New South Wales, where the roads were too well watched. Ayrton had said this too. Glenoran could not refuse the request of his amiable host to spend the whole day at the station. It was still our delay, but also 12 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 program of the days at Musmans, which was adopted eagerly. At noon, seven vigorous hunters were before the door. An elegant break was intended for the ladies, in which the coachman could exhibit his skill in driving fore in hand. The cavalcade set off preceded by huntsmen and armed with first-ride 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 the small German state. The Royese Schleitz, or Sexkoburgotha, would have gone inside it comfortably. Few people were to be met in it certainly, but sheep in abundance. As per game, there was a complete preserve awaiting the hunters. The noisy reports of guns were soon heard in all sides. Little Robert did wonders in company with Major McNabs. The daring boy, in spite of his sister's injunctions, was always in front, and the first to fire, but John Mangels promised to watch over him, and Mary felt less uneasy. During this but-tube, there were killed certain animals peculiar to the country, the very names of which were unknown to Pagano. There were both others, the Fombat and the Bundicut. The Fombat is a herbivorous animal, which burrows in the ground like a badger. It is as large as a sheep, and the flesh is excellent. The Bundicut 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 Pagano 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 troupe of these curious marsupials. The little ones retreated precipitately into the maternal porch, and all the troupe 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 troupe was a male, five feet high, a magnificent specimen of the macropoose gigantos, 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. At last, worn out with the race, the troupe 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 marsupial. They had to dispatch the fellow with the 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 kangaroos, and the animal leaped upon him immediately. Robert gave out a loud cry and fell. Mary Grant saw it all from the break, 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 founting 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, ringing 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 hurty 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 Hortam, 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. And of Book 2, Chapter 14, Book 2, Chapter 15, of In Search of the Castaways. In Search of the Castaways, or the Children of Captain Grant, by Jules Verne. Book 2, Chapter 15, Suspicious Accurances 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 tallsome from its uneven character. The extant mist senses 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 cumbrose wagon. Their yoke creaked, their breathed heavily, and the muscles of their hooves were stretched as if they would burst. The planks of the vehicle groaned at the unexpected joats, which Ayrton with all his skill could not prevent. The ladys bore their share of discomfort bravely. Iron mangos 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, argillatious 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 Kobongra, 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 to the Glenarmen, 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 Glenarmen. Don't suppose you have a whole Switzerland to traverse. In Australia there are the Crampians, 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 Glewar van Aar, 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 unfolded? Can you reproach me with a single blunder? Not one once Europe are gone now, said Mary Grant. You are now the most perfect of men. Too perfect, added Lady Helena Loeffing, your blunders suit you admirably. Didn't they, madame? If I have no faults now, I shall soon get like everybody else. I hope that I shall make some outrageous mistake before long, which will give you a good love. 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 wager, and enter the depths of narrow gorges without any certainty of an outlet. Arton would doubtless have found himself very matched, embarrassed, if a little inn, a miserable public hose, 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 Glenarvon. Let us go in. Glenarvon, followed by Arton, 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 reply sufficed to make the route clear to Arton, and that was all that was wanted. Glenarvon 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 convict from Perth, and offering a reward for the capture of Ben Joyce of Pound's Hundred's turning. He is a fellow that's worth hanging, and no mistake, said Glenarvon 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, so, in spite of the notice, said Glenarvon. No more do I, replied Arton. They went back to the wagon, toward the point where the route to Lucknow stopped. The narrow path wound away from this, which led across the chain, in a slanting direction. They had hymenced 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 around 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 Arton 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 Mulreddy's horse that fell, and on attempting to pull it up the animal was found to be dead. Arton examined it immediately, but was quite at a loss to account for the disaster. The beast must have broken some blood vessels, said Glenarvon. Evidently replied Arton. Take my horse Mulreddy, added Glenarvon. I will join Lady Helena in the wagon. Mulreddy 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 Arton 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 eighteenths, the travelers reached the topmost point of the pass, about two thousand feet high. They found themselves on an open plateau, with nothing to intercept the view. Towards the north, the quiet waters of Lake Omko, all alive with aquatic birds and beyond, this lay the worst plains of the moray. To the south were the widespread plains of Gypseland, with its abundant gold fields and tall forests. Their nature was still mistress of the products and water, and great trees where the woodman's axe 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 entertained its primitive wildness. The sun went down, and a few solitary rays piercing rosy clouds lighted up the moray district, leaving Gypseland in deep shadow, as if night had suddenly fallen on the whole region. Their 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 districts they were about to traverse, right to the frontiers of Victoria. They camped on the plateau that night, and the next day the descent commenced. It was tolerably rapid. A hail storm of extreme violence assailed the travelers, and obliged them to seek a shelter among the rocks. It was not hailstones, 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 worn 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 shore 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 shake and disjointed in several parts, but still standing firm on its wooden discs 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 twenty-first, at daybreak, the journey was resumed with an ardour which never relaxed. Everyone was eager to reach the goal, that is to say the Pacific Ocean, and at that part where the wreck of the Britannia had occurred. Nothing could be done in the lonely wilds of Gippsland, and Ayrton urged Glenarvon 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. Glenarvon 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 anyone else, and finally, that he alone could point out the exact spot where the shipwreck occurred. McNab's voted therefore for the continuation of the voyage, without making the least change in their programme. John Mungles 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 200 miles over a wild country. His council prevailed. It was decided that they should wait till they come 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 planes which lay at the foot of the Australian Alps were level, but slightly inclined towards the east. Great clumps of mimosas and eucalyptus and various odorous gum trees broke the uniform monotony here and there. The gastrolobium grantiflorum 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 port these. Flocks of boosters and emus fled at the approach of the travellers. 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 sutri heat oppressed the plane. 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 varied travellers. These plants in full flower measured 30 feet in height. Horses and riders passed easily beneath their drooping leaves, and sometimes the spores would clash against the woody stems. Beneath these immovable parasols there was a refreshing coolness which everyone appreciated. Jacques Paganel, always demonstrative, gave such deep sighs of satisfaction that the parochets 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 Mulradis, as if a thunderbolt had struck him. Glenor won 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, mattered the major. Glenor 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 world 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 120 miles which lay between them and Twofold Bay? John Mangles and Lord Glenor won, 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 fatigue of the voyage. This somewhat reassured Glenor won and made him hope that Melody would strike no more victims. Arton 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 much of only 10 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 cheerly. Lady Helena's drawing room was very lively thanks to the number of visitors. Mr. Obenet busied himself in passing around refreshments which were very acceptable in such hot weather. Half a barrel of Scotch ale was sent in bodily. Barclay and Coe 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. Jack Spagano drank largely and discourse still more, the omniriscibili. A day so well commenced seemed as if it could not but end well. They had gone 15 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 rots on the wide plains, covered with blackish alluvium as it passed on between tufts of luxuriant grass and fresh fields of gastrolopium. 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 inside at the bend of the road behind a gentle eminence. Ayrton turned his team a little towards the Great Trunks, lost in shadow, and he had got to the scourge 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 horseman following him. What is wrong? inquired Glenirvan. We have stuck in the mud, replied Ayrton. He tried to stimulate the bullocks to a fresh effort by voice and goat, but the animals were buried half way up their legs and could not stir. Let us come here, suggested John Mangles. It would certainly be the best place, said Ayrton. We shall see by daylight tomorrow how to get ourselves out. Glenirvan acted on their advice and came to a halt. Night came on rapidly after a brief twilight, but the heat did not withdraw with the light. Stiffling vapors filled the air and occasionally bright flashes of lightning. The reflections of a distant storm lighted up the sky with a fury glare. Arrangements were made for the night immediately. They did the best they could with the sank wagon and the tent was pitched beneath the shelter of the great trees. And if the rain did not come, they had not much to complain about. Ayrton succeeded, though with some difficulty, in extricating the three bullocks. These courageous beasts were engulfed up to their flanks. The quartermaster turned them out with the four horses and allowed no one but himself to see up to their pesterage. He always executed his task wisely, and this evening Glenirvan noticed he redoubled his steer, for which he took occasion to sank him, the preservation of the tea being of supreme importance. Meantime the travelers were dispatching a hasty supper. Fatigue and heat destroyed appetite and sleep was needed more than food. Lady Helena and Miss Grant speedily bathed the company good night and retired. Their companions soon stretched themselves under the tent or outside under the trees, which is no great hardship in this salubrious climate. Gradually they all fell into a heavy sleep. The darkness deepened owing to a thick current of clouds which hour spread the sky. There was not a breath of wind. The silence of night was only interrupted by the cries of the morpog in the minor key, like the mournful cuckoos of Europe. Towards eleven o'clock after a wretched, heavy, under-freshing sleep, the major woke. His half-closed eyes were struck with a fine light running amongst the great trees. It looked like a white sheet and glittered like a lake, and McNabb thought at first it was the commencement of a fire. He started up and went towards the wood. But what was his surprise to perceive a purely natural phenomenon? Before him lay an immense bed of mushrooms which emitted a phosphorescent light, the luminous spores of the cryptograms shone in the darkness with intensity. The major, who had no selfishness about him, was going to wake in Paganel that he might see this phenomenon with his own eyes when something occurred which arrested him. This phosphorescent light illuminated the distance half a mile and McNabb's fancied he saw a shadow pass across the edge of it, where his eyes deceiving him. Was it some hallucination? McNabb's lay down on the ground and, after a close scrutiny, he could distantly see several men stooping down and lifting themselves up alternately as if they were looking on the ground for recent marks. The major resolved to find out what these fellows were about and, without the least hesitation or so much as a rose in his companions crept along, lying flat on the ground like a savage on the prairies, completely hidden amongst the long grass. End of Book 2, Chapter 15 Book 2, Chapter 16 of In Search of the Castaways This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Christine In Search of the Castaways, or the Children of Captain Grant by Jules Verne Book 2, Chapter 16 A Startling Discovery It was a frightful night. At 2 a.m. the rain began to fall in torrents from the stormy clouds and continued till daybreak. The tent became an insufficient shelter. Glenarvon and his companions took refuge in the wagon. They did not sleep, but talked of one thing and another. The major alone, whose brief absence has not been noticed, contended himself with being a silent listener. There was reason to fear that if the storm lasted longer, the snowy river would overflow its banks, which would be a very unlucky thing for the wagon, stuck fast as it was already in the soft ground. Already Ayrton and Mangles went several times to a certain height of the water and came back dripping from head to foot. At last day appeared the rain ceased, but sunlight could not break through the thick clouds. Large patches of yellowish water, muddy dirty ponds, indeed they were, covered the ground. A hot steam rose from the soaking earth and saturated the atmosphere with unhealthy humidity. Glenarvon's first concern was the wagon. This was the main thing in his eyes. They examined the ponderous vehicle and found it sunk in the mud in a deep hollow in a stiff clay. The four part had disappeared completely and the hind part up to the axle. It would be a hard job to get the heavy conveyance out and would need the united strength of men, bullocks and horses. At any rate we must make haste, said John Mangles. If the clay dries it will make our tasks still more difficult. Let us be quick then, replied Ayrton. Glenarvon, his two sailors, John Mangles and Ayrton went off at once into the wood where the animals had passed the night. It was a gloomy looking forest of tall gum trees, nothing but dead trees, with wide spaces between, which had been barked for ages, or rather skinned like the cork oak at harvest time. A weatherable network of bare branches was seen above 200 feet high in the air. Not a bird built its nest in these aerial skeletons, not a leaf trembled on the dry branches, which rattled together like bones. To what cataclysm is this panamanum to be attributed, so frequent in Australia? Entire forests struck dead by some epidemic, no one knows. Neither the oldest natives, nor their ancestors, who have lain along bird in the grooves of the dead, have ever seen them green. Glenarvon as he went along kept his eye fixed on the grey sky, on which the smallest branch of the gum trees were sharply defined. Ayrton was astonished not to discover the horses and bullocks where he had left them, the preceding night. They could not have wandered for with their hobbles on their legs. They looked over the wood but saw no signs of them, and Ayrton returned to the banks of the river, where magnificent mimosas were growing. He gave a cry well known to his team, but there was no reply. The quartermaster seemed uneasy, and his companions looked at him with disappointed faces. An hour had passed in vain endeavours, and Glenarvon was about to go back to the wagon, when a knife struck on his ear, and immediately after a bellow. They are there, cried John Mangels, slipping between the tall branches of Goster Lobbyu, which grew high enough to hide a whole flock. Glenarvon, more ready an ayrton, darted after him, and immediately shared his stupid faction at the spectacle which made their gaze. Two bullocks and three horses lay stretched on the ground, struck down like the rest. Their bodies were already cold, and a flock of half-starred-looking ravens, croaking among the mimosas, were watching the unexpected prey. Glenarvon and his party gazed at each other, and Wilson could not keep back the oaths that rose to his lips. What do you mean, Wilson, said Glenarvon, with difficulty controlling himself? Ayrton, bring away the bullock and the horse we have left. They will have to serve us now. If the wagon were not sunk in the mud, said John Mangels, these two animals, by making short journeys, would be able to take us to the coast. So we must get the vehicle out, coast what it may. We will try, John, replied Glenarvon. Let us go back now, and they will be uneasy at our long absence. Ayrton removed the hobbles from the bullock and more ready from the horse, and they began to return to the encampment, following the winding margin of the river. In half an hour they rejoined Paganel, and McNabs, and the ladies, and told them of this fresh disaster. Upon my honour, Ayrton, the Major could not help saying, it was a pity that you hadn't had the shooing of all our beasts when we forded the Vimara. Vicer asked Ayrton, because out of all our horses only the one new blacksmith, had in his hands, has escaped the common fate. That's true, said John Mangels, it's strange it happened so. A mere chance and nothing more, replied the quartermaster, looking firmly at the Major. Major McNabs bit his lips as if to keep back something he was about to say. Glenarvon and the rest waited for him to speak out his thoughts, but the Major was silent and went up to his wagon, which Ayrton was examining. What was he going to say, Mangels, asked Glenarvon. I don't know, replied the young captain, but the Major is not at all a man to speak without reason. No, John, said Lady Helena, McNabs must have suspicions about Ayrton. Suspicions! exclaimed Pagana, shrugging his shoulders. And what can they be? asked Glenarvon. Does he suppose him capable of having killed our horses and bullocks? And for what purpose? Is not Ayrton's interest identical with our own? You are right, dear Edward, said Lady Helena. And what is more, the quartermaster has given us incontestable proofs of his devotion ever since the commencement of the journey. Certainly he has, replied Mangels. But still, what could the Major mean? I wish he would speak his mind plainly out. Does he suppose him acting in concert with the convicts? asked Pagana imprudently. What convicts? said Miss Grant. Once in Europe Pagana is making a mistake, replied John Mangels instantly. He knows very well there are no convicts in the province of Victoria. Ah, that's true, returned Pagana, trying to get out of his unlucky speech. Whatever had I got in my head, convicts, whoever heard of convicts being in Australia. Besides, they would scarcely have disembarked before they would turn into good honest men. The climate you know, Miss Mary, the regenerative climate. Here the poor savants took fast, unable to get further, and took the wagon in the mud. Lady Helena looked at him in surprise, which quite deprived him of his remaining st. Freud. But seeing his embarrassment, she took Mary away to the side of the tent, where M. Albannet was laying out an elaborate breakfast. I deserved to be transported myself, said Pagana woefully. I think so, said Glenarvon. And after this grave reply, which completely overwhelmed the Vorsy geographer, Glenarvon and John Mangles went towards the wagon. They found Ayrton and the two sailors doing their best to get it out of the deep ruts, and the bull and horse, yawking together, were straining every muscle. Wilson and Mulrady were pushing the wheels, and the quartermeister urging on the team with voice and goat. But the heavy vehicle did not steer, the clay already dry, held it as firmly as if sealed by some hydraulic cement. John Mangles had the clay water to loosen it, but it was of no use. After renewed vigorous efforts men and animals stopped. Unless the vehicle was taken to pieces, it would be impossible to extricate it from the mud. But they had no tools for the purpose, and could not attempt such a task. However, Ayrton, who was for conquering this obstacle at all costs, was about to commence afresh when Glenarvon stopped him by saying, Enough, Ayrton, enough. We must husband the strength of our remaining horse and bullock. If we are obliged to continue our journey and food, the one animal can carry the ladies, and the other the provisions. They may thus still be of great service to us. Well, well, my lord, replied the quartermeister, yawking the exhausted beasts. Now, friends, added Glenarvon, let us return to the encampment and deliberately examine our situation, and determine on our course of action. After a tolerably good breakfast to make up for their bad night, the discussion was opened, and every one of the party was asked to give his opinion. The first point was to ascertain their exact position, and this was referred to Paganel, who informed them, with his customary rigorous accuracy, that the expedition had been stopped 37th parallel in longitude 147 degrees 53 minutes on the banks of the Snowy River. What is the exact longitude of twofold bay? asked Glenarvon. 150 degrees, replied Paganel. 2 degrees 7 minutes distant from this, and that is equal to 75 miles. And Melbourne is 200 miles off at least. Very good. Our position being then settled, what is the best to do? The response was unanimous to get to the coast without delay. Lady Helena and Mary Grant undertook to go 5 miles a day. The courageous ladies did not shrink, if necessary, from walking the whole distance between the Snowy River and twofold bay. You are a brave travelling companion, dear Helena, said Lord Glenarvon. But are we sure of finding at the bay all we want when we get there? Without the least doubt, replied Paganel. Eden is a municipality which already numbers many years in existence. Its port must have frequent communication with Melbourne. I suppose even at Delegate on the Victoria frontier 35 miles from here we might revectual our expedition and find fresh means of transport. And the Duncan, asked Ayrton, don't you think it advisable to send for her to come to the bay? What do you think, John? said Glenarvon. I don't think your lordship should be in any hurry about it, replied Euseium captain, after brief reflection. There will be time enough to give orders to Tom Austin and summon him to the coast. That's quite certain, added Paganel. You see, said John, in four or five days we shall reach Eden. Four or five days, repeated Ayrton, shaking his head. Say fifteen or twenty, captain, if you don't want to repent your mistake when it is too late. Fifteen or twenty days to go seventy-five miles, cried Glenarvon. At the least, my lord, you are going to traverse the most difficult portion of Victoria, a desert, where everything is wanting, the squatters say, plains covered with scrub, and no stations. You will have to walk hatchet torch in one hand, and believe me, that's not quick work. Ayrton had spoken in a firm tone, and Paganel, at whom all the others looked inquiringly, nodded his head in token of his agreement in opinion of the quartermaster. But John Mangles said, well, admitting these difficulties in fifteen days at most, your lordship can send orders to the Duncan. I have to add, said Ayrton, that the principal difficulties are not the obstacles in the road, but the snowy river has to be crossed, and most probably we must wait till the water goes down. Wait, cried John, is there no Ford? I think not, replied Ayrton. This morning I was looking for some practical crossing, but could not find any. It is unusual to meet with such a tumultuous river this time of the year, and it is a fatality against which I am powerless. Is the snowy river wide? asked Lady Helena. Wide and deep, madam, replied Ayrton, a mile wide, with an impetuous current. A good swimmer could not go over without danger. Let us build a boat, then, said Robert, who never stuck at anything. We have only to cut down a tree and hollow it out, and get in it. He is going ahead, this boy of Captain Grants, said Paganel. And he is right, returned John Mangels. We shall be forced to come to that, and I think it is useless to waste our time in idle discussion. What do you think of it, Ayrton? Asked Glenoron seriously. I think, my lord, that a month's hence unless some help arrives, we shall find ourselves still in peace. Well then, have you any better plan to propose, said John Mangels, somewhat impatiently? Yes, that the Duncan should leave Melbourne, and go to the east coast. Oh, always the same story! And how could her presence at the bay facilitate our means of getting there? Ayrton waited an instant before answering, and then said, rather evasively, I have no wish to up-trude you is for our common good, and I am ready to start the moment his owner gives the signal. And he crossed his arms, and was silent. That is no reply, Ayrton, said Glenoron. Tell us your plan, and we will discuss it. What is it you propose? Ayrton replied in a calm tone of assurance. I propose that we should not venture beyond the snowy in our present condition. It is here we must wait for our help comes, and this help can only come from the Duncan. Let us come here, where we have provisions, and let one of us take your orders to Tom Austin to go on to Twofold Bay. This unexpected proposition was greeted with astonishment, and by John Mangels with openly expressed opposition. Continued Ayrton, either the river will get lower and allow us to forward it, or we shall have time to make it canal. This is the plan I submit for your lordship's approval. Well, Ayrton, replied Glenoron, your plan is worthy of serious consideration. The worst thing about it is the delay it would cause, but it would save us a great fatigue and perhaps danger. What do you think of it, friends? Speak your mind, Mackenabs, said Lady Helena, since the beginning of the discussion you have been only a listener and very sparing of your words. Since you asked my advice, said the major, I will give it to you, frankly. I think Ayrton has spoken wisely and well, and I sighed with him. Such a reply was hardly looked for, as hitherto the major had been strongly opposed to Ayrton's project. Ayrton himself was surprised and gave a hasty glance at the major. However, Paganel, Lady Helena and the sailors were all of the same way of thinking, and since Mackenabs had come over to his opinion, Glenoron decided that the quartermaster's plan should be adopted in principle. And now, John, he added, don't you think yourself it would be prudent to end camp here on the banks of the River Snowy till we can get some means of convenience? Yes, replied John Mangels, if our messenger can get across the Snowy where we can't. All eyes were turned to the quartermaster who said, was the heir of a man who knew what he was about. The messenger will not cross the river. Indeed, said John Mangels, he will simply go back to the Lucknow Road which leads straight to Melbourne. Go 250 miles on foot, cried the young captain. On horseback, replied Ayrton, there is one horse sound enough at present. It will only be an affair of four days. Allow the Duncan two days more to get to the bay and 20 hours to get back to the camp. And in a week the messenger can be back with the entire crew of the vessel. The major nodded approvingly as Ayrton spoke to the profound astonishment of John Mangels. But as everyone was in favour of the plan, all there was to do was to carry it out as quickly as possible. Now then, friends, said Glenoron, we must settle who is to be our messenger. It will be a fatiguing, perilous mission. I would not conceal the fact from you. Who is disposed then to sacrifice himself for his companions and carry our instructions to Melbourne? Wilson and Mulready and also Paganel, John Mangels and Robert instantly offered their services. John particularly insisted that he should be interested with the business. But Ayrton, who had been silent until that moment, now said, with your honour's permission I will go myself. I am accustomed to all the country round. Many a time I have been across war's parts. I can go through where another would stick. I ask then for the good of all that I may be sent to Melbourne. A word from you will accredit me with your chief officer. And in six days I guarantee the Duncan shall be into full bay. That's well spoken, replied Glenarman. You are a clever, daring fellow and you will succeed. It was quite evident that Watermaster was the fittest man for the mission. All the rest withdrew from their competition. John Mangels made this one lost objection that the presence of Ayrton was necessary to discover traces of the Britannia or Harry Grant. But the manger justly observed that the expedition would remain in the banks of the snowy till the return of Ayrton. That they had no idea of resuming their search without him and that consequently his absence would not in the least prejudice the captain's interests. Well, go Ayrton, said Glenarman. Be as quick as you can and come back by Eden to our camp. A gleam of satisfaction shot across the quartermaster's face. He turned away his head but not before John Mangels caught the look and instinctively felt his odd distrust of Ayrton revive. The quartermaster made immediate preparations for departure assisted by the two sailors one of whom saw to the horse and the other to the provisions. Glenarman, meantime, wrote his letter to Tom Austin. He ordered his chief officer to repair without delay to two-fold bay. He introduced the quartermaster to him as a man of all confidence. On arriving at the coast Tom was to dispatch a detachment of sailors from the yacht under his orders. Glenarman was just at this part of his letter when McNabs, who was following him with his eyes, asked him in a singular tone how he wrote Ayrton's name. Why, as it is pronounced, of course replied Glenarman. It is a mistake, replied the major quietly. It is pronounced at Ayrton, but he writes it Ben Joyce. End of Book 2, Chapter 16 Book 2, Chapter 17 of In Search of the Castaways This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org In Search of the Castaways or The Children of Captain Grant by Jules Verne Book 2, Chapter 17 The Blood Unveiled The revelation of Tom Ayrton's name was like a clap of thunder. Ayrton had started up quickly and grasped his revolver. A report was heard and Glenarman fell wounded by a ball. Gunshots rinsed out at the same time outside. John Mangels and the sailors after their first surprise would have ceased Ben Joyce but the bold convict had already disappeared and rejoined his gang scattered among the gum trees. The tent was no shorter against the balls. It was necessary to beat a retreat. Glenarman was slightly wounded but could stand up. To the wagon, to the wagon, cried John Mangels, dragging Lady Helena and Mary Grant along who were soon in safety behind the thick curtains. John and the Major the sailors seized their caravans in readiness to repulse the convicts. Glenarman and Robert went in beside the ladies while all been at rush to the common defense. These events occurred with the rapidity of lightning. John Mangels watched the skirts of the wood attentionally. The reports had ceased suddenly on the arrival of Ben Joyce. Profound silence had succeeded the noisy fusillade. A few breaths of white smoke were still curling over the tops of the gum trees. The towed afts of gastrolobium were motionless. All signs of attack had disappeared. The Major and John Mangels examined the wood closely as far as the great trees. The place was abundant. Numerous footmarks were there and several half-burnt caps were lying smoking on the ground. The Major, like a prudent man, extinguished these carefully for a spark would be enough to kindle a tremendous conflagration in this forest of dry trees. The convicts have disappeared, said John Mangels. Yes, replied the Major, and the disappearance of them makes me uneasy. I prefer seeing them face to face. Better to meet a tiger on the plane than a serpent in the grass. Let us beat the bushes all round the wagon. The Major and John hunted all round the country, but there was not a convict to be seen from the edge of the wood right down to the river. Ben Joyce and his gang seemed to have flown away like a flock of marauding birds. It was too sudden a disappearance to let the travelers feel perfectly safe. Consequently, they resolved to keep a sharp lookout. The wagon, a regular fortress buried in mud, was made the center of the camp and two men mounted guard round it, who were relieved hour by hour. The first care of Lady Helena and Mary was to dress Glenorven's wound. Lady Helena rushed toward him in terror as he fell down struck by Ben Joyce's ball. Controlling her agony, the courageous woman helped her husband into the wagon. Then his shoulder was bared and the Major found on examination that the ball had only gone and there was no internal lesion. Neither bone nor muscle appeared to be injured. The wound bled profusely, but Glenorven could use his fingers and forearm. And consequently, there was no occasion for any uneasiness about the issue. As soon as his shoulder was dressed he would not allow any more fuss to be made about himself, but at once entered on the business in hand. All the party except Muldrade and Wilson, who were on guard, were brought into the wagon and the Major was asked to explain how this denouncement had come about. Before commencing his recital he told Lady Helena about the escape of the convicts at Perth and their appearance in Victoria and as also their complicity in the railway catastrophe. He handed here the Australian and New Zealand Gazette they had bought in Seymour and added that the reward had been offered by the police for the apprehension of Ben Joyce, a adoptable bandit who had become a noted character during the last 18 months for doing deeds of villainy and crime. But how had McNabs found out that Ayrton and Ben Joyce were one and the same individual? This was the mystery to be unraveled and the Major soon explained it. Ever since their first meeting McNabs had felt an instinctive distrust of the quartermaster. Two or three insignificant facts a hasty glance exchanged between him and the blacksmith at the Wimmer River, his unwillingness to cross towns and villages, his persistence about getting the dung and salmon to the coast, the strange death of the animals entrusted to his scare and lastly a want of frankness in all his behaviour. All these details combined had awakened the Major's suspicions. However he could not have brought any direct accusation against him till the events of the preceding evening had occurred. He then told of his experience. McNabs, sleeping between the tall shrubs got within reach of the suspicious shadows he had noticed about half a mile away from the encampment. The phosphorus and force emitted a faint light could discern three men examining marks on the ground and one of the three for the blacksmith of Blackpoint. It is them, said one of the men. Yes, replied another, there is a tree fall on the mark of the horseshoe. It has been like that since the Wimmera. All the horses are dead. The poison is not far off. There is enough to kill a regiment of cavalry, a useful plant as gastrolobium. I heard them say this to each other and then they were quite silent. But I did not know enough yet, so I followed them. Soon the conversation began again. He is a clever fellow, this Ben Joyce, said the blacksmith. A capital quartermaster with his invention of shiferek. If his project succeeds it will be a stroke of fortune. He is a very devil, is this Ayrton. Call him Ben Joyce for he has well earned his name. And then the scoundrel slapped the forest. I had all the information I wanted now and came back to the camp quite convinced, begging Paganel's pardon that Australia does not reform criminals. This was all the major story and his companions sat silently thinking over it. Then Ayrton has dragged us here, said Glenarvon, pale with anger, on purpose to rob and assassinate us. For nothing else replied the major and ever since we left the Wimmer his gang has been on our track and spying on us waiting for a favourable opportunity. Yes. Then the wretch was never one of the sailors on the Britannia. He had stolen the name of Ayrton and their shipping papers. They were all looking at McNab's for an answer for he must have put the question to himself already. There is no great certainty about the matter, he replied in his usual calm voice. But in my opinion the man's name is really Ayrton. Ben Joyce is his norm decur. It is an incontestable fact that he knew Harry Grant and also that he was quartermaster of the Britannia. These facts were proved by the minute details given us by Ayrton and are corroborated by the conversation between the convicts which I repeated to you. We need not lose ourselves in vain conjectures but consider it as certain that Ben Joyce is Ayrton and that Ayrton is Ben Joyce that is to say one of the crew of the Britannia has turned leader of the convict gang. The explanations of McNabb's were accepted without discussion. Now then, Sir Glenn Arvin will you tell us how and why Harry Grant's quartermaster comes to be in Australia? How? I don't know replied McNabb's and the police declare they are as ignorant on the subject as myself. Why? It is impossible to say that is a mystery which the future may explain. The police are not even aware of Ayrton's identity with Ben Joyce, said John Mangels. You are right, John, replied the major and this circumstance would throw light on their search. Then, I suppose, said Lady Helena, the vict wretch had got to work on Paddy Omur's farm with a criminal intent. There is not the least doubt of it. He was planning some evil design against the Irishman when a better chance presented itself. Chance led us into his presence. He heard Paganel's story and all about the shipwreck and the audacious fellow determined to act his part immediately. The expedition was decided on. At the Wimmera he found means of communicating with one of his gang, the blacksmith of Black Point, and left traces of our journey which might be easily recognized. The gang followed us. A poisonous plant enabled them gradually to kill our bullocks and horses. At the right moment he sunk us in the marshes of the snowy and gave us into the hands of his gang. Such was the history of Ben Joyce. The major had shown him up into his character, a bold and formidable criminal. His manifestly evil designs called for the utmost vigilance on the part of Glenarvon. Happily the unmasked bandit was less feared than the traitor. But one serious consequence must come out of this revelation. No one had thought of it yet except Mary Grant. John Mungles was the first to notice her pale, despairing face. He understood what was passing in her mind at a glance. Miss Mary, Miss Mary he cried. You are crying. Crying, my child, said Lady Helena. My father, madame, my father, replied the poor girl. She could say no more, but the truth flashed on every mind. They all knew the cause of her grief and why tears fell from her eyes and her father's name came to her lips. The discovery of Ayrton's treachery had destroyed all hope. The convict had invented a shipwreck to entrap Glenarvon. In the conversation overheard by McNabs, the convict had plainly said that the Britannia had never been wrecked on the rocks in twofold bay. Harry Grant had never set foot on the Australian continent. A second time they had been sent on the wrong track by an erroneous interpretation of the document. Gloomy silence fell on the whole party at the sight of the children's sorrow and no one could find a cheering word to say. Robert was crying in his sister's arms. Paganel muttered in a tone of vexation. That unlucky document it may boast of having half-crazed a dozen people's wits. The worthy geographer was in such a rage with himself that he struck his forehead as if he would smash it in. Glenarvon went out to Mulradi and Wilson who were keeping watch. Profound silence reigned over the plane in the wood and the river. Ben Joyce and his band must be at considerable distance for the atmosphere was in such a state of complete torpor that the slightest sound would have been heard. It was evident from the flocks of birds on the lower branches of the trees and the kangaroos feeding quietly on the young shoots and a couple of emus whose confiding heads passed between the great clumps of bushes that those peaceful solitudes were untroubled by the presence of human beings. You have neither seen nor heard anything for the last hour, said Glenarvon to the two sailors. Nothing whatever your honour, replied Wilson. The convicts must be miles away from here. They were nothing numbers enough to attack us I suppose, added Mulradi. Ben Joyce will have gone to recruit his party with some bandits like himself and other strangers who may be lurking about the foot of the Alps. That is probably the case, Mulradi, replied Glenarvon. The rascals are cowards. They know we are armed and well armed too. Perhaps they are waiting for nightfall to commence the attack. We must redouble our watchfulness. Oh, if we could only get out of this bog and down the coast but this swollen river bars our passage. I would pay its weight in gold for a raft which would carry us or to the other side. Why does not your honour give orders for a raft to be constructed? We have plenty of wood. No, Wilson replied Glenarvon. The snowy is not a river. It is an impossible torrent. John Mangles, the major and Paganel, just then came out of the wagon on purpose to examine the state of the river. They found it still so swollen by the heavy rain that the water was afoot above the level. It formed an impetuous current like the American rapids. To venture over that foaming current and that rushing flood broken into a thousand eddies and hollows and gulfs was impossible. John Mangles declared the passage impracticable. But we must not stay here, he added, but attempting anything. What we were going to do before Ayrton's treachery is still more necessary now. What do you mean, John? Ask Glenarvon. I mean that our need is urgent and that since we cannot go to Twofold Bay, we must go to Melbourne. We have still one horse. Give it to me, my lord, and I will go to Melbourne. But that will be a dangerous venture, John, said Glenarvon, not to speak of the perils of a journey of 200 miles over an unknown country. The road and the byways will be guarded by the accomplices of Ben Joyce. I know it, my lord, but I know also that things can't stay long as they are. Ayrton only asked a week's absence to fetch the crew of the Duncan, and I will be back to the snowy river in six days. Well, my lord, what are your commands? Before Glenarvon decides, said Paganel, I must make an observation that someone must go to Melbourne is evident, but that John Mangle should be the one to expose himself to the risk, cannot be. He is the captain of the Duncan and must be careful of his life. I will go instead. That is all very well, Paganel, said the major, but why should you be the one to go? Are we not here? said Morady and Wilson. And do you think, replied McNabs, that the journey of two hundred miles on horseback frightens me? Friends, said Glenarvon, one of us must go, so let it be decided by drawing lots, write all our names, Paganel. Not yours, my lord, said John Mangle's. And why not? What? Separate you from Lady Helena, and before your wound is healed, too? Glenarvon, said Paganel, you cannot leave the expedition. No, I did the major, your place is here, Edward, you ought not to go. Danger is involved in it, said Glenarvon, and I will take my share along with the rest, write the names, Paganel, and put mine among them, and I hope the lot may fall on me. His will was obeyed, the names were written, and the lots drawn. Fate fixed on Mulraddi. The brave sailor shouted hurrah! and said, my lord, I'm ready to start. Glenarvon pressed his hand, and then went back to the wagon, leaving John Mangle's and the major on watch. Lady Helena was informed of the determination to send a message to Melbourne, and that they had drawn lots who should go, and Mulraddi had been chosen. Lady Helena said a few kind words to the brave sailor, which went straight to his heart. Fate could hardly have chosen a better man, for he was not only brave and intelligent, but robust and superior to all fatigue. Mulraddi's departure was fixed for eight o'clock immediately after the short twilight. Wilson undertook to get the horse ready. He had a project in his head of changing the horses' left shoe for one of the horses that had died in the night. This would prevent the convicts from tracking Mulraddi, or following him, as they were not mounted. While Wilson was arranging this, Glenarvon got his letter ready for Tom Austin, but his wounded arm troubled him and he asked Paganel to write it for him. The savant was so absorbed in one fixed idea that he seemed hardly to know what he was about. In all this succession of vexations the document was always uppermost in Paganel's mind. He was always worrying himself about each word, trying to discover some new meaning and losing the wrong interpretation of it, and going over and over himself in perplexities. He did not hear Glenarvon when he first spoke, but on the request being made a second time, he said, ah, very well. I'm ready. When he spoke he was mechanically getting paper from his notebook. He tore a blank page off and sat down pencil in hand for write. Glenarvon began to dictate as follows, order to Tom Austin, chief officer, to get to sea without delay and bring the Duncan too. Paganel was just finishing the last word, when his eye chanced to fall on the Australian and New Zealand lying on the ground. The paper was so folded that only the last two syllables of the title were visible. Paganel's pencil stopped and he seemed to become oblivious of Glenarvon and the letter entirely, till his friends called out, come Paganel. Ah, said the geographer with a loud exclamation. What is the matter? asked the major. Nothing, nothing, Paganel. Then he muttered to himself, ah, land, ah, land, ah, land. He had got up and seized the newspaper. He shook it in his efforts to keep back the words that involuntarily rose to his lips. Lady Helena Mary, Robert and Glenarvon gazed at him in astonishment. At a loss to understand this unaccountable agitation, Paganel looked as if a sudden fit of insanity had come over him. But his excitement did not last. He became by a degree his calmer as a gleam of joy that shone in his eyes died away. He sat down again and said quietly, When you please, my lord, I'm ready. Glenarvon resumed his dictations at once and the letter was soon completed. It read as follows, Order to Tom Austin to go to sea without delay and take the Duncan to Melbourne by the 37th degree of latitude to the eastern coast of Australia. Of Australia, said Paganel, ah, yes, of Australia. Then he finished the letter and gave it to Glenarvon to sign, who went through the necessary formality as well as he could and closed and sealed the letter. Paganel, whose hand still trembled with emotion, directed at us. Tom Austin, chief officer on board the Yacht Duncan, Melbourne. Then he got up and went out of the wagon, gesticulating and repeating the incomprehensible words, ah, land, ah, land, ah, land. End of Book 2, Chapter 17 Book 2, Chapter 18 of In Search of the Customers This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Christine In Search of the Castaways or the Children of Captain Grant by Jules Verne Book 2, Chapter 18 Four Days of Anguish The rest of the day passed on without any further incident. All the preparations for Mulradi's journey were completed and the brave sailor rejoiced in being able to give his lordship this proof of devotion. Paganel had recovered his usual song Freud and manners. His look, indeed, betrayed his preoccupation but he seemed resolved to keep it secret. No doubt he had strong reasons for this course of action. For the major heard him repeating like a man struggling with himself. No, no, they would not believe it and besides what good would it be? It's too late. Having taken this resolution he busied himself with giving Mulradi the necessary directions for getting to Melbourne and showed him his way on the map. All the tracks, that is to say path through the prairie came out on the road to Loch Knoll. This road, after running right down to the coast, took a sudden bend in the direction of Melbourne. This was the route that must be followed steadily for it would not do to attempt a shortcut across an almost unknown country. Nothing consequently could be more simple. Mulradi could not lose his way. As to dangers, there were none after he had gone a few miles beyond the encampment out of the reach of Ben Joyce and his gang. Once past their hiding place Mulradi was certain of soon being able to out distance the convicts and execute his important mission successfully. At six o'clock they all dined together. The rain was falling in torrents. The tent was not protection enough and the whole party had to take refuge in the wagon. This was a shore refuge. The clay kept it firmly embedded in the soil like a fortress resting on the shore foundations. The arsenal was composed of seven carabines and seven revolvers and could stand a pretty long siege for they had plenty of ammunition and provisions. But before six days were over the Duncan would anchor in two-fold bay and 24 hours after her crew would reach the other shore of the snowy river and should the passage still remain impractical the convicts at any rate would be forced to retire before the increased strength but all depended on Mulradi's success in his perilous enterprise. At eight o'clock it got very dark. Now was the time to start. The horse-preparedful Mulradi was brought out his feet by way of extra precaution were wrapped round his clothes so that they could not make the least noise on the ground. The animals seemed tired and yet the safety of all depended on his strength and sure footedness. The major advised Mulradi to let him go gently as soon as he got past the convicts. Better delay half a day than not arrive safely. John Mangels gave his sailor a revolver which he had loaded with the utmost care. This is a formidable weapon in the hand of a man who does not tremble for six shoots fired in a few seconds would easily clear a road infested with criminals. Mulradi seated himself in the saddle ready to start. Here is the letter you are to give to Tom Austin, said Glenarvon. Don't let him lose an hour. He is to sail for two-fold bay at once and if he does not find a there if we have not managed to cross the snowy let him come on to us without delay. Now go my brave sailor and God be with you. He shook hands with him and bade him goodbye and so did Lady Helena and Mary Grant A more tomorrow's man than the sailor would have shrunk back a little from setting out on such a dark raining night on an errand so full of danger across vast unknown wilds but his far wells were calmly spoken and he speedily disappeared down a path which skirted the wood. At the same moment the gust of wind redoubled their violence the high branches of the ecoliptus clattered together noisily and both after both fell on the wet ground. More than one great tree with no living sap but still standing there too fell with a crash during the storm. The wind held amid the cracking wood and mingled its moans with the ominous roaring of the rain. The heavy clouds driving along towards the east hung on the ground like rays of vapor and deep cheerless gloom intensified the horrors of the night. The travelers went back into the wagon immediately after Mulradi had gone. Lady Helena, Mary Grant, Glenarvon and Paganel occupied the first compartment which had been hermetically closed. The second was occupied by Albionet, Wilson and Robert. The major and John Mangels were on duty outside. This precaution was necessary for an attack on the part of the convicts would be easy enough and therefore probable enough. The two facial guardians kept close watch bearing philosophically the rain and wind that beat on their faces. They tried to pierce through the darkness so favorable to ambushes for nothing could be heard but the noise of the tempest. The south of the wind the rattling branches falling trees and roaring of the unchained waters. At times the wind would cease for a few moments as if to take breath. Nothing was audible but the moan of the snowy river as it flowed between the motionless reeds and the dark curtain of gum trees. The silence seemed deeper in these momentary lulls and the major and John Mangels listened attentively. During one of these combs a sharp whistle reached them. John Mangels went hurriedly up to the major. You heard that? He asked. Mark Knaps, is it man or beast? A man replied John Mangels. And then both listened. The mysterious whistle was repeated and answered by a kind of report but almost indistinguishable for the storm was raging with renewed violence. Mark Knaps and John Mangels could not hear themselves speak. They went for comfort under the shelter of the wagon. At this moment the lesser curtains were raised Glenarvon rejoined his two companions. He too had heard this ill-boding whistle and the report which echoed under the tilt. Which way was it? Asked he. There, said John, pointing to the dark track in the direction taken by Mulradi. How far? The wind brought it as should sink three or four miles at least. Come, said Glenarvon, putting his gun on his shoulder. No, said the Major. It is a decoy to get us away from the wagon. But if Mulradi has even now fallen beneath the blows of these rascals, exclaimed Glenarvon, seizing Mark Knaps by the hand. We shall know by tomorrow, said the Major Cooley, determined to prevent Glenarvon from taking a step which was equally rushed and futile. You cannot leave the camp, my Lord, said John. I will go alone. You will do nothing of the kind, cried Mark Knaps, energetically. Do you want to have us killed one by one to diminish our force and put us at the mercy of these wretches? If Mulradi has fallen a victim to them, it is a misfortune that must not be repeated. Mulradi was sent chosen by chance. If the lot had fallen to me, I should have gone as he did. But I should neither have asked nor expected assistance. In restraining Glenarvon and John Mangels, the Major was right in every aspect of the case. To attempt to follow the sailor to run into the darkness of night among the convict in their leafy ambush was madness and more than that, it was useless. Glenarvon's party was not so numerous that it could afford to sacrifice another member of it. Still Glenarvon seemed as if he could not yield. His hand was always on his carabine. He wondered about the wagon and bent a listening ear to the faintest sound. This thought that one of his men was perhaps mortally wounded, abandoned to his fate, calling in vain on those for whose sake he had gone forth was a torture to him. McNambs was not sure that he should be able to restrain him, or if Glenarvon carried away by his feelings would not run into the arms of Ben Joyce. Edward, he said, Be calm, listen to me as a friend. Think of Lady Helena, of Mary Grant, of all who are left. And besides, where would you go? Where would you find Mulrady? He must have been attacked two miles off, in what direction? Which track would you follow? At that very moment, as if to answer the Major the rest was heard. Listen, said Glenarvon. The cry came from the same quarter as the report, but less than a quarter of a mile off. Glenarvon repulsing McNambs was already on the track. When at 300 paces from the wagon they heard the exclamation. Help! Help! The voice was plaintive and despairing. John Mangles and the Major sprang toward the spot. A few seconds after they perceived among the scrub a human form dragging itself along the ground and uttering mournful groans. It was Mulrady, wounded, apparently dying, and when his companions raised him they felt their hands bathed in blood. The rain came down with redoubled violence and the wind raged among the branches of the dead trees. In the pelting storm Glenarvon the Major and John Mangles saw the body of Mulrady. On their arrival everyone got up. Paganel, Robert, Wilson and Albinet left the wagon and Lady Helena gave up her compartment to poor Mulrady. The Major removed the poor fellow's flannel shirt which was dripping with blood and rain. He soon found the wound. It was a stab in the right side. McNambs stressed it with great skill. He could not tell whether the weapon touched any vital part. An intermittent jet of scarlet blood flowed from it. The patient's paleness and weakness showed that he was seriously injured. The Major washed the wound first with fresh water and then closed the orifice. After this he put on a thick pad of lead and then folds of scraped linen held firmly in place with a bandage. He succeeded in stopping the hemorrhage. He laid on his side with his head and chest well raised and Lady Helena succeeded in making him swallow a few drops of water. After about a quarter of an hour the wounded man, who till then had lain motionless, made a slight movement. His eyes unclosed, his lips muttered incoherent words and the Major, bending toward him heared him repeating the letter Ben Joyce. The Major repeated these words and looked at his companions. What did Moradi mean? Ben Joyce had been the attacking party of course, but why? Surely for the express purpose of intercepting him and preventing his arrival at the Duncan. This letter Glenarman searched Moradi's pockets. The letter addressed to Tom Austin was gone. The night wore away amid anxiety and distress. Every moment they feared would be for Moradi's last. He suffered from acute fever. The sisters of charity Lady Helena and Mary Grant never left him. Never was patient so well tended nor by such sympathetic hands. Day came and the rain had ceased. Great clouds filled the sky still. The ground was strewn with broken branches. The marley soil soaked by the torrents of rain had yielded still more. The approaches to the wagon became difficult but it could not sink any deeper. John Mangles Paganel and Glenarman went as soon as it was light enough to recognize her in the neighborhood of the encampment. They revisited the track which was still stained with blood. They saw no vestige of Ben Joyce nor of his band. They revisited as far as the scene of the attack. Here two corpses lay on the ground, struck down by Moradi's bullets. One was the blacksmith of Blackpoint. His face already changed by death with a dreadful spectacle. Glenarman searched no further. Prudence forbade him to wander from the camp. He returned to the wagon deeply absorbed by the critical position of affairs. We must not think of sending another messenger to Melbourne, said he. But we must, said John Mangles, and I must try to pass where my seller could not succeed. No John, it's out of the question. You have not even a horse for the journey which is full 200 miles. This was true for Moradi's horse the only one that remained had not returned. Had he fallen during the attack on his rider or was he straying in the bush or had the convicts carried him off? Come, but we'll, replied Glenarman. We will not separate again. Let us wait a week or a fortnight till the snowy falls to its normal level. We can send reach to Fort Bay by short stages and from there we can send on to the Duncan by a safer channel the order to meet us. That seems the only plan, said Paganel. There for my friends rejoined Glenarman. No more parting. It is too great a risk for one man to venture alone into a robber-hunted waste. And now may God save our poor sailor and protect the rest of us. Glenarman was right in both points. First, in prohibiting all isolated attempts and second, in deciding to wait till the passage of the snowy river was practicable. He was scarcely 30 miles from Delegate, the first frontier village of New South Wales where he would easily find the means of transport to Twofold Bay and from there he could telegraph to Melbourne his orders about the Duncan. These measures were wise, but how late? If Glenarman had not sent Malrady to Lucknow, what misfortunes would have been averted not to speak of the assassination of the sailor? When he reached the camp he found his companions in better spirits. They seemed more hopeful than before. He is better, he is better, cried Robert, running out to meet Lord Glenarman. Malrady? Yes, Edward, answered Lady Helena. A reaction has set in. The major is more confident. Our sailor will live. Where is McNabs? Asked Glenarman. With him Malrady wanted to speak to him and they must not be disturbed. He then learned that about an hour since this man had awakened from its lethargy and the fever had abated. But the first thing he did on recovering his memory and speech was to ask for Lord Glenarman or failing him the major. McNabs seeing him so weak would have forbidden any conversation but Malrady insisted with such energy that the major had to give in. The interview had already lost some minutes when Glenarman returned. There was nothing for it but to await the return of McNabs. Presently the leather curtains of the wagon moved and the major appeared. He rejoined his friends at the foot of a gum tree where the tent was placed. His face, usually so stolid showed that something disturbed him. When his eyes fell on Lady Helena and the young girl his glance was full of sorrow. Glenarman questioned him and extracted the following information. When he left the camp Malrady followed one of the paths indicated by Paganel. He made as good speed as the darkness of the night would allow. He reckoned that he had gone about two miles when several men five he thought sprang to his horse's head. The animal reared. Malrady seized his revolver and fired. He thought he saw two of his assailants fall. By the flush he recognized Benjois but that was all. He had not time to fire all the barrels. He felt a violent blow on his side and was thrown to the ground. Still he did not lose consciousness. The murderer thought he was dead. He felt them search his pockets and then heard one of them say I have the letter. Give it to me return Benjois and now the Duncan is ours. At this point of the story Glenarman could not help uttering a cry. My knaps continued Now you fellows added Benjois catch the horse in two days I shall be on board the Duncan and in six I shall reach Tufal Bay. This is to be there and devour. My lord and his party will be still stuck in the marshes of the Snowy River. Cross the river at the bridge of Kemple Rapier proceed to the coast and wait for me. I will easily manage to get you on board. Once at sea in a craft like the Duncan we shall be masters of the Indian Ocean. Hurrah for Benjois cried the convicts. Moradi's horse was brought and Benjois disappeared galloping on the Lucknow Road while the band took the road southeast of the Snowy River. Moradi though severely wounded had the strength to drag himself to within three hundred paces from the camp once we found him almost dead. There said McNabs is the history of Moradi and now you can understand why the brave fellow was so determined to speak. This revelation terrified Glenarvon and the rest of the party. Pirates, pirates cried Glenarvon. My crew massacred my Duncan in the hands of these bandits. Yes, for Benjois will surprise the ship said the major and then I must get to the coast first said Paganel. But how are we to cross the Snowy River said Wilson. As they will replied Glenarvon they are to cross at Campbell Pier bridge and so will we. But about Moradi asked Lady Helena. We will carry him, we will have relays. Can I leave my crew to the mercy of Benjois and his gang? To cross the Snowy River at Campbell Pier was practicable but dangerous. The convicts might entrench themselves at that point and defend it. There are at least 30 against 7. But there are moments when people do not deliberate or when they have no choice but to go on. My lord said John Mangels before we throw away our chance before venturing to this bridge we ought to reconnoiter and I will undertake it. I will go with you John said Paganel. This proposal was agreed to and John Mangels and Paganel prepared to start immediately. They were to follow the course of the Snowy River, follow its banks till they reach the place indicated by Benjois and especially they were to keep out of sight of the convicts who were probably scoring the bush. So the two brave comrades started well provisioned and well armed and were soon out of sight as they threaded their way amongst the tall reeds by the river. The rest anxiously awaited their return all day. Evening came and still the scouts did not return. They began to be seriously alarmed. At last toward 11 o'clock Wilson announced their arrival. Paganel and John Mangels were worn out with the fatigues of a 10 mile walk. Well, what about the bridge? Did you find it? Paganel asked Guglennarvon with impetuous eagerness. Yes, a bridge of supple jacks said John Mangels. The convicts passed over but what, said Guglennarvon, who forboded some new misfortune. They burned it after they passed, said Paganel.