Chapter XXXIX. Wealth in the Wilderness

On January 6, at 7 AM, after a tranquil night passed in longitude 146 degrees 15”, the travelers continued their journey across the vast district. They directed their course steadily toward the rising sun, and made a straight line across the plain.

The plain was furrowed in some places by fantastic winding creeks. It was resolved to camp there the same night. The tent was pitched beneath the great trees.

Paganel who had the first watch did not lie down, but walked up and down before the camp, to keep himself from going to sleep. He was engrossed in his astronomical meditations, and thinking more about the celestial than the terrestrial world, when a distant sound aroused him from his reverie. He listened attentively, and to his great amaze, fancied he heard the sounds of a piano.

“A piano in the wilds!” said Paganel to himself. “I can never believe it!”

It certainly was very surprising. But at this very moment, his ear heard the sublime strains of Mozart.

“Well, now,” said the geographer to himself, “the Australian birds are the most musical in the world, but they can’t sing Mozart!”

The effect of this soft melody on the still clear night was indescribable. Paganel remained as if spellbound for a time; the voice ceased and all was silence.

Next day, they were all aroused from sleep by the sudden loud barking of dogs, Glenarvan got up forthwith. Two magnificent pointers were bounding in front of the little wood, into which they had retreated at the approach of the travelers.

“There is some station in this desert, then,” said Glenarvan, “and hunters too.”

Paganel was just about to recount his nocturnal experiences, when two young men appeared, mounted on horses. The two gentlemen dressed in elegant hunting costume, stopped at the sight of the little group camping. They looked as if they wondered what could bring an armed party there, but when they saw the ladies get out of the wagon, they dismounted instantly, and went toward them hat in hand. Lord Glenarvan came to meet them.

The gentlemen bowed, and the elder of them said, “My Lord, will not these ladies and yourself and friends honor us by resting a little beneath our roof?”

“Mr.—” began Glenarvan.

“Michael and Sandy Patterson are our names, proprietors of Hottam Station. Our house is scarcely a quarter of a mile distant.”

Glenarvan bowed.

“Sir,” said Paganel, addressing Michael Patterson, “if it is not an impudent question, may I ask whether it was you that sung an air from the divine Mozart last night?”

“It was, sir,” replied the stranger, “and my cousin Sandy accompanied me.”

“Well, sir,” replied Paganel, holding out his hand to the young man, “receive the sincere compliments of a Frenchman, who is a passionate admirer of this music.”

Michael grasped his hand cordially, and then pointing out the road to take, set off, accompanied by the ladies and Lord Glenarvan and his friends, for the station. The horses and the camp were left to the care of Ayrton and the sailors.

Hottam Station was truly a magnificent establishment. 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.

Michael and Sandy Patterson were the sons of London bankers. When they were twenty years of age, the head of their family said, “Here are some thousands, young men. Go to a distant colony; and start some useful settlement there. Learn to know life by labor. If you succeed, so much the better. If you fail, it won’t matter much. We shall not regret the money which makes you men.”

The two young men obeyed. They chose the colony of Victoria in Australia, as the field for sowing the paternal banknotes, and had no reason to repent the selection. At the end of three years the establishment was flourishing.

Now Hottam Station bore the palm for business and extent. The young men were both squatters and settlers. They managed their immense property with rare ability and uncommon energy.

It was not long before they were told the history of the expedition. They spoke hopefully to the young Grants, and Michael said: “Harry Grant has evidently fallen into the hands of natives. He knows his position exactly, as the document proves, and the reason he did not reach some English colony is that he must have been taken prisoner by the savages the moment he landed!”

“That is precisely what befell his quartermaster, Ayrton,” said John Mangles.

“But you, gentlemen, then, have never heard the catastrophe of the Britannia, mentioned?” inquired Lady Helena.

“Never, Madam,” replied Michael.

“And what treatment, in your opinion, has Captain Grant met with among the natives?”

“The Australians are not cruel, Madam,” replied the young squatter, “and Miss Grant may be easy on that score.”

The young squatter’s words caused great joy to his auditors. They completely corroborated the opinions of Paganel and Ayrton.

Chapter XL. Suspicious Occurrences

An immense barrier lay across the route to the southeast. It was a vast fortification, the fantastic curtain of which extended 1,500 miles, and pierced the clouds at the height of 4,000 feet.

The cloudy sky only allowed the heat to reach the ground through a close veil of mist. The temperature was just bearable, but the road was toilsome.

John Mangles and his two sailors went about a hundred steps in advance. They found out practical paths, or passes.

It was a difficult and often perilous task. Many times Wilson’s hatchet opened a passage through thick tangles of shrubs. When night came they found they had only gone over half a degree. They camped at the foot of the mountains, on the edge of a little plain, covered with little shrubs four feet high, with bright red leaves which gladdened the eye.

Next day, the 9th of January it was not without great difficulty that the little troop made its way through the pass. A narrow path wound away. They had commenced the ascent.

It was hard work. More than once both the ladies and gentlemen had to get down and walk. They were obliged to help to push round the wheels of the heavy vehicle, and to support it frequently in dangerous declivities.

Whether it was this prolonged fatigue, or from some other cause altogether, was not known, but one of the horses sank suddenly, without the slightest symptom of illness. It was Mulrady’s horse that fell, and on attempting to pull it up, the animal was found to be dead. Ayrton examined it immediately.

“The beast must have broken some blood vessels,” said Glenarvan.

“Evidently,” replied Ayrton.

“Take my horse, Mulrady,” added Glenarvan. “I will join Lady Helena in the wagon.”

Mulrady obeyed, and the little party continued their fatiguing ascent, leaving the carcass of the dead animal to the ravens.

During the 18th the travelers reached the top-most point of the pass, about 2,000 feet high. They found themselves on an open plateau. It seemed as if this chain of the mountains separated two different countries, one of which had retained its primitive wildness. The sun went down, and a few solitary rays piercing the rosy clouds.

They camped on the plateau that night, and next day the descent commenced. It was tolerably rapid. Toward evening the wagon, very much shaken and disjointed in several parts, but still standing firm on its wooden disks, came down the last slopes, among great isolated pines. The passage ended. The chain was safely passed, and the usual arrangements were made for the nightly encampment.

On the 21st, at daybreak, the journey was resumed with an ardor which never relaxed. Everyone was eager to reach the goal—that is to say the Pacific Ocean—at that part where the wreck of the Britannia had occurred. Nothing could be done in the lonely wilds, and Ayrton urged Lord Glenarvan to send orders at once for the Duncan to repair to the coast, in order to have at hand all means of research. But Glenarvan refused to do so.

The Major watched Ayrton narrowly, and noticed his disappointed look. But he said nothing, keeping his observations, as usual, to himself.

From noon to two o’clock they went through a curious forest of ferns. These plants in full flower measured thirty feet in height. Horses and riders passed easily beneath their drooping leaves, and sometimes the spurs would clash against the woody stems. Beneath these immovable parasols there was a refreshing coolness which every one appreciated. Jacques Paganel gave such deep sighs of satisfaction that the paroquets and cockatoos flew out in.

The geographer was going on with his sighs, when his companions suddenly saw him reel forward, and he and his horse fell down in a lump. Was it giddiness, or worse still, suffocation, caused by the high temperature? They ran to him, exclaiming: “Paganel! Paganel! What is the matter?”

“Just this. I have no horse, now!” he replied, disengaging his feet from the stirrups.

“What! Your horse?”

“Dead like Mulrady’s, as if a thunderbolt had struck him.”

Glenarvan, John Mangles, and Wilson examined the animal; and found Paganel was right. His horse had been suddenly struck dead.

“That is strange,” said John.

“Very strange, truly,” muttered the Major.

Glenarvan was greatly disturbed by this fresh accident. He could not get a fresh horse in the desert.

Soon a third horse, Wilson’s, fell dead, and what was, perhaps equally disastrous, one of the bullocks also. The means of traction and transport were now reduced to three bullocks and four horses.

The situation became grave. The unmounted horsemen might walk, of course, as many squatters had done already; but if they abandoned the wagon, what would the ladies do? Could they go over the one hundred and twenty miles which lay between them and Twofold Bay? John Mangles and Lord Glenarvan examined the surviving horses with great uneasiness, but there was not the slightest symptom of illness or feebleness in them. The animals were in perfect health, and bravely bearing the fatigues of the voyage. This somewhat reassured Glenarvan, and made him hope the malady would strike no more victims. Ayrton agreed with him, but was unable to find the least solution of the mystery.

They went on again, the wagon serving, from time to time, as a house of rest for the pedestrians. In the evening, after a march of only ten miles, the signal to halt was given, and the tent pitched. The night passed without inconvenience beneath a vast mass of bushy ferns.

The next day’s journey was good; there were no new calamities. The health of the expedition remained satisfactory; horses and cattle did their task cheerily.

A day so well commenced seemed as if it could not but end well; they had gone fifteen good miles. There was every reason to hope they might camp that same night on the banks of the important river which throws itself into the Pacific, south of Victoria.

As evening came on, a white mist on the horizon marked the course of the river. Suddenly the wagon sank up to the middle of the wheels.

“Stop!” Ayrton called out to the horsemen following him.

“What is wrong?” inquired Glenarvan.

“We have stuck in the mud,” replied Ayrton.

He tried to stimulate the bullocks to a fresh effort by voice and goad, but the animals were buried half-way up their legs, and could not stir.

“Let us camp here,” suggested John Mangles.

“It would certainly be the best place,” said Ayrton. “We shall see by daylight tomorrow how to get ourselves out.”

Arrangements were made for the night immediately. 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.

Gradually they all fell into a heavy sleep. There was not a breath of wind.

Towards eleven o’clock, after a wretched, heavy, unrefreshing sleep, the Major woke. His half-closed eyes were struck with a faint light running among the great trees. It glittered like a lake, and McNabbs thought at first it was the commencement of a fire.

He started up, and went toward 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 Major was going to waken Paganel, that he might see this phenomenon with his own eyes, when something occurred which arrested him. This phosphorescent light illumined the distance half a mile, and McNabbs saw a shadow pass across the edge of it. Were his eyes deceiving him? Was it some hallucination?

McNabbs lay down on the ground, and, after a close scrutiny, he could distinctly 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 wanted, and without the least hesitation, crept along, lying flat on the ground, completely hidden among the long grass.