IT WAS a terrible night. At two o’clock in the morning the rain began to fall in torrents, which continued to pour from the stormy clouds till daylight. The tent was an insufficient shelter. Glenarvan and his companions took refuge in the cart, where they passed the time in conversing upon various subjects. The major, however, whose short absence no one had noticed, contented himself with listening in silence. The fury of the tempest gave them considerable uneasiness, since it might cause an inundation, by which the cart, fast in the mire, would be overwhelmed.
More than once Mulready, Ayrton, and Captain Mangles went to ascertain the height of the rushing waters, and returned drenched from head to foot.
At length day appeared. The rain ceased, but the rays of the sun failed to penetrate the thick veil of clouds. Large pools of muddy, yellowish water covered the ground. A warm vapor issued from the water-soaked earth and saturated the atmosphere with a sickly moisture.
Glenarvan, first of all, turned his attention to the cart. In his eyes, this was their main support. It was imbedded fast in the midst of a deep hollow of sticky clay. The fore wheels were almost entirely out of sight, and the hind ones were buried up to the hubs. It would be a very difficult matter to pull out the heavy vehicle, and would undoubtedly require the united strength of men, oxen, and horses.
“We must make haste,” said Captain Mangles. “If this clay dries, the work will be more difficult.”
Glenarvan, the two sailors, the captain, and Ayrton then entered the wood, where the animals had passed the night.
It was a tall forest of gloomy gum-trees. Nothing met the eye but dead trunks, widely separated, which had been destitute of their bark for centuries. Not a bird built its nest on these lofty skeletons; not a leaf trembled on the dry branches, that rattled together like a bundle of dry bones. Glenarvan, as he walked on, gazed at the leaden sky, against which the branches of the gum-trees were sharply defined. To Ayrton’s great astonishment, there was no trace of the horses and oxen in the place where he had left them. The fettered animals, however, could not have gone far.
They searched for them in the wood, but failed to find them. Ayrton then returned to the banks of the river, which was bordered by magnificent mimosas. He uttered a cry well known to his oxen, but there was no answer. The quartermaster seemed very anxious, and his companions glanced at each other in dismay.
An hour passed in a vain search, and Glenarvan was returning to the cart, which was at least a mile off, when a neigh fell upon his ear, followed almost immediately by a bellow.
“Here they are!” cried Captain Mangles, forcing his way between the tall tufts of the gastrolobium, which were high enough to conceal a whole herd.
Glenarvan, Mulready, and Ayrton rushed after him, and soon shared his astonishment. Two oxen and three horses lay upon the ground, stricken like the others. Their bodies were already cold, and a flock of hungry crows, croaking in the mimosas, waited for their unexpected prey.
Glenarvan and his friends gazed at each other, and Wilson did not suppress an oath that rose to his lips.
“What is the matter, Wilson?” said Lord Glenarvan, scarcely able to control himself. “We can do nothing. Ayrton, bring the ox and horse that are left. They must extricate us from the difficulty.”
“If the cart were once out of the mud,” replied Captain Mangles, “these two animals, by short journeys, could draw it to the coast. We must, therefore, at all events, release the clumsy vehicle.”
“We will try, John,” said Glenarvan. “Let us return to camp, for there must be anxiety at our long absence.”
Ayrton took charge of the ox, and Mulready of the horse, and the party returned along the winding banks of the river. Half an hour after, Paganel, MacNabb, Lady Helena, and Miss Grant were told the state of affairs.
“By my faith,” the major could not help exclaiming, “it is a pity, Ayrton, that you did not shoe all our animals on crossing the Wimerra.”
“Why so, sir?” asked Ayrton.
“Because of all our horses only the one you put into the hands of the farrier has escaped the common fate.”
“That is true,” said Captain Mangles; “and it is a singular coincidence!”
“A coincidence, and nothing more,” replied the quartermaster, gazing fixedly at the major.
MacNabb compressed his lips, as if he would repress the words ready to burst from them. Glenarvan, the captain, and Lady Helena seemed to expect that he would finish his sentence; but he remained silent, and walked towards the cart, which Ayrton was now examining.
“What did he mean?” inquired Glenarvan of Captain Mangles.
“I do not know,” replied the young captain. “However, the major is not the man to speak without cause.”
“No,” said Lady Helena; “Major MacNabb must have suspicions of Ayrton.”
“What suspicions?” asked Glenarvan. “Does he suppose him capable of killing our horses and oxen? For what purpose, pray? Are not Ayrton’s interests identical with ours?”
“You are right, my dear Edward,” said Lady Helena. “Besides, the quartermaster has given us, ever since the beginning of the journey, indubitable proofs of his devotion to our comfort.”
“True,” replied Captain Mangles. “But, then, what does the major’s remark mean? I must have an understanding.”
“Perhaps he thinks he is in league with these convicts?” remarked Paganel, imprudently.
“What convicts?” inquired Miss Grant.
“Monsieur Paganel is mistaken,” said Captain Mangles quickly: “he knows that there are no convicts in the province of Victoria.”
“Yes, yes, that is so,” eagerly replied Paganel, who would fain have retracted his words. “What could I have been thinking of? Convicts? Who ever heard of convicts in Australia? Moreover, as soon as they land, they make very honest people. The climate, you know, Miss Mary, the moral effect of the climate——”
In his desire to correct his blunder, the poor geographer became hopelessly involved. Lady Helena looked at him, wondering what had deprived him of his usual coolness; but, not wishing to embarrass him further, she retired with Mary to the tent, where Mr. Olbinett was engaged in preparing breakfast.
“I deserve to be transported myself,” said Paganel piteously.
“I think so,” replied Glenarvan.
Ayrton and the two sailors were still trying to extricate the cart. The ox and the horse, yoked side by side, were pulling with all their strength; the traces were stretched almost to breaking, and the bows threatened to give way to the strain. Wilson and Mulready pushed at the wheels, while the quartermaster, with voice and whip, urged on the ill-matched team. But the heavy vehicle did not stir. The clay, now dry, held it as if it had been cemented.
Captain Mangles wetted the clay to make it yield, but to no purpose: the cart was immovable. Unless the vehicle was taken to pieces, they must give up the idea of getting it out of the quagmire. As tools were wanting, of course they could not undertake such a task. Ayrton, however, who seemed determined to overcome the difficulty at any cost, was about to renew his exertions, when Lord Glenarvan stopped him.
“Enough, Ayrton! enough!” said he. “We must be careful of the ox and horse that remain. If we are to continue our journey on foot, one can carry the two ladies and the other the provisions. They may do us good service yet.”
“Very well, my lord,” replied the quartermaster, unyoking his exhausted animals.
“Now, my friends,” added Glenarvan, “let us return to camp, deliberate, consider our situation, know what our chances are, and come to a resolution.”
A few minutes after, the travelers were indemnifying themselves for their sleeplessness the past night by a good breakfast, and the discussion of their affairs began.
The first question was to determine the exact position of the encampment. Paganel was charged with this duty, and fulfilled it with his customary precision.
“How far are we from Twofold Bay?” asked Glenarvan.
“Seventy-five miles,” replied Paganel.
“And Melbourne is——?”
“Two hundred miles distant, at least.”
“Very well. Our position being determined,” continued Glenarvan, “what is it best to do?”
The answer was unanimous,—make for the coast without delay. Lady Helena and Mary Grant engaged to travel fifteen miles a day. The courageous women did not shrink from traversing the entire distance on foot, if necessary.
“But are we certain to find at the bay the resources that we need?” asked Glenarvan.
“Without doubt,” replied Paganel. “Eden is not a new municipality; and its harbor must have frequent communication with Melbourne. I even believe that thirty-five miles from here, at the parish of Delegete, we can obtain provisions and the means of conveyance.”
“And the Duncan?” asked Ayrton. “Do you not think it advisable to order her to the bay?”
“What say you, captain?” said Glenarvan.
“I do not think that there is any necessity for such a proceeding,” replied the young captain, after reflection. “There will be plenty of time to send your orders to Tom Austin and summon him to the coast.”
“That is quite true,” added Paganel.
“Besides,” continued Captain Mangles, “in four or five days we shall be at Eden.”
“Four or five days!” interposed Ayrton, shaking his head; “say fifteen or twenty, captain, if you do not wish to regret your error hereafter.”
“Fifteen or twenty days to make seventy-five miles!” exclaimed Glenarvan.
“At least, my lord. You will have to cross the most difficult portion of Victoria,—plains covered with underbrush, without any cleared roads, where it has been impossible to establish stations. You will have to travel with the hatchet or the torch in your hand; and, believe me, you will not advance rapidly.”
Ayrton’s tone was that of a man who is thoroughly acquainted with his subject. Paganel, towards whom questioning glances were turned, nodded approvingly at the words of the quartermaster.
“I acknowledge the difficulties,” said Captain Mangles, at length. “Well, in fifteen days, my lord, you can send your orders to the Duncan.”
“I may add,” resumed Ayrton, “that the principal obstacles do not proceed from the roughness of the journey. We must cross the Snowy, and, very probably, have to wait for the subsidence of the waters.”
“Wait!” cried the captain. “Can we not find a ford?”
“I think not,” replied Ayrton. “This morning I searched in vain for a practicable one. It is unusual to find a river so much swollen at this season; it is a fatality against which I am powerless.”
“This Snowy River is broad, then?” remarked Lady Glenarvan.
“Broad and deep, madam,” answered Ayrton; “a mile in breadth, with a strong current. A good swimmer could not cross it without danger.”
“Well, then, let us build a boat!” cried Robert, who was never at fault for a plan. “We can cut down a tree, hollow it out, embark, and the thing is done.”
“Good for the son of Captain Grant!” replied Paganel.
“The boy is right,” continued Captain Mangles. “We shall be forced to this. I therefore think it useless to waste our time in further discussions.”
“What do you think, Ayrton?” asked Glenarvan.
“I think, my lord, that if no assistance comes, in a month we shall still be detained on the banks of the Snowy.”
“But have you a better plan?” inquired Captain Mangles, somewhat impatiently.
“Yes; let the Duncan leave Melbourne, and sail to the eastern coast.”
“How can her presence in the bay assist us to arrive there?”
Ayrton meditated for a few moments, and then said, evasively:
“I do not wish to obtrude my opinion. What I do is for the interest of all, and I am disposed to start as soon as your lordship gives the signal for departure.”
Then he folded his arms.
“That is no answer, Ayrton,” continued Glenarvan. “Tell us your plan, and we will discuss it. What do you propose?”
In a calm and confident tone the quartermaster thereupon expressed himself as follows:
“I propose that we do not venture beyond the Snowy in our present destitute condition. We must wait for assistance in this very place, and this assistance can come only from the Duncan. Let us encamp here where provisions are not wanting, while one of us carries to Tom Austin the order to repair to Twofold Bay.”
This unexpected proposal was received with a murmur of astonishment, and Captain Mangles took no pains to conceal his aversion.
“In the mean time,” continued Ayrton, “either the waters of the Snowy will have subsided, which will enable us to find a practicable ford, or we shall have to resort to a boat, and shall have time to construct it. This, my lord, is the plan which I submit to your approval.”
“Very well, Ayrton,” replied Glenarvan; “your idea deserves to be seriously considered. Its greatest objection is the delay it will cause; but it spares us severe hardships, and perhaps real dangers. What do you think, friends?”
“Let us hear your advice, major,” said Lady Helena. “During the whole discussion you have contented yourself with listening simply.”
“Since you ask my opinion,” answered the major, “I will give it to you very frankly. Ayrton seems to me to have spoken like a wise and prudent man, and I advocate his proposition.”
This answer was rather unexpected; for hitherto MacNabb had always opposed Ayrton’s ideas on this subject. Ayrton, too, was surprised, and cast a quick glance at the major. Paganel, Lady Helena, and the sailors had been favorably disposed to the quartermaster’s project, and no longer hesitated after MacNabb’s declaration. Glenarvan, therefore, announced that Ayrton’s plan was adopted.
“And now, captain,” added he, “do you not think that prudence dictates this course, and that we should encamp on the banks of the river while waiting for the means of conveyance?”
“Yes,” replied Captain Mangles, “if the messenger succeeds in crossing the Snowy, which we cannot cross ourselves.”
All looked at the quartermaster, who smiled with the air of a man who knows perfectly well what he is about to do.
“The messenger will not cross the river,” said he.
“Ah!” cried Captain Mangles.
“He will strike the Lucknow road, which will take him direct to Melbourne.”
“Two hundred miles on foot!” exclaimed the captain.
“On horseback,” continued Ayrton. “There is one good horse left. It will be a journey of but four days. Add two days for the Duncan to reach the bay, twenty-four hours for the return to the encampment, and in a week the messenger will be back again with the crew.”
The major again nodded approvingly at these words, to the great astonishment of Captain Mangles. But the quartermaster’s proposition had gained all the votes, and the only question was how to execute this apparently well-conceived plan.
“Now, my friends,” said Glenarvan, “it remains only to choose our messenger. He will have a difficult and dangerous mission; that is certain. Who is willing to devote himself for his companions, and carry our instructions to Melbourne?”
Wilson, Mulready, Captain Mangles, Paganel, and Robert offered themselves immediately. The captain particularly insisted that this mission should be confided to him; but Ayrton, who had not yet finished, resumed the conversation, and said:
“If it please your lordship, I will go. I am acquainted with the country, and have often crossed more difficult regions. I can extricate myself where another would fail. I therefore claim, for the common welfare, the right to go to Melbourne. One word will place me on a good footing with your mate, and in six days I engage to bring the Duncan to Twofold Bay.”
“Well said!” replied Glenarvan. “You are a brave and intelligent man, Ayrton, and will succeed.”
The quartermaster was evidently more capable than any one else of fulfilling this difficult mission. Captain Mangles raised one final objection, that Ayrton’s presence was necessary to enable them to find traces of the Brittania or Captain Grant; but the major observed that they should remain encamped on the banks of the Snowy till the messenger’s return, that it was not proposed to resume the search without him, and that consequently his absence could be in no way prejudicial to their interests.
“Well then, Ayrton, start,” said Glenarvan. “Make haste, and return to the encampment by way of Eden.”
A gleam of satisfaction seemed to light up the eyes of the quartermaster. He turned his head to one side, though not so quickly but that Captain Mangles had intercepted his glance, and instinctively felt his suspicions increased.
The quartermaster made his preparations for departure, aided by the two sailors, one of whom attended to his horse, and the other to his provisions. Meantime Glenarvan wrote the letter designed for Tom Austin.
He ordered the mate of the Duncan to repair without delay to Twofold Bay, and recommended the quartermaster to him as a man in whom he could place entire confidence. As soon as he arrived at the bay, he was to send a detachment of sailors under the command of Ayrton.
He had just reached this part of his letter, when the major, who had been looking over his shoulder, asked him, in a singular tone, how he wrote the word Ayrton.
“As it is pronounced,” replied Glenarvan.
“That is a mistake,” said the major coolly. “It is pronounced Ayrton, but it is written ‘Ben Joyce’!”