Chapter XLI. A Startling Discovery

It was a frightful night. At 2 AM the rain began to fall in torrents from the stormy clouds, and continued till daybreak. The tent became an insufficient shelter. Glenarvan and his companions took refuge in the wagon; they did not sleep.

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.

Glenarvan’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 the stiff clay. The forepart 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 task still more difficult.”

“Let us be quick, then,” replied Ayrton.

Glenarvan, his two sailors, John Mangles, and Ayrton went off at once into the wood, where the animals had passed the night. Ayrton was astonished not to discover the horses and bullocks where he had left them the preceding night. They could not have wandered far with the 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 endeavors, and Glenarvan was about to go back to the wagon, when a neigh struck on his ear, and immediately after a bellow.

“They are there!” cried John Mangles, slipping between the tall bushes. Glenarvan, Mulrady, and Ayrton darted after him.

Two bullocks and three horses lay stretched on the ground, struck down like the rest. Their bodies were already cold, and a flock of ravens were watching the unexpected prey. Glenarvan and his party gazed at each other.

“So,” said Glenarvan, 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 Mangles, “these two animals, by making short journeys, would be able to take us to the coast; so we must get the vehicle out.”

“We will try, John,” replied Glenarvan. “Let us go back now.”

Ayrton removed the hobbles from the bullock and Mulrady from the horse, and they began to return to the encampment. In half an hour they rejoined Paganel, and McNabbs, and the ladies, and told them of this fresh disaster.

“Upon my honor, Ayrton,” the Major could not help saying, “it is a pity that you hadn’t had the shoeing of all our beasts.”

“Why, sir?” asked Ayrton.

“Because out of all our horses only the one your blacksmith had in his hands has escaped the common fate.”

“That’s true,” said John Mangles. “It’s strange it happens so.”

“A mere chance, and nothing more,” replied the quartermaster, looking firmly at the Major.

Major McNabbs bit his lips. Glenarvan and the rest waited, but the Major was silent, and went up to the wagon, which Ayrton was examining.

“What was he going to say, Mangles?” asked Glenarvan.

“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. “McNabbs must have suspicions about Ayrton.”

“Suspicions!” exclaimed Paganel, shrugging his shoulders.

“And what can they be?” asked Glenarvan. “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 Mangles; “but still, what could the Major mean?”

“Does he suppose him acting in concert with the convicts?” asked Paganel, imprudently.

“What convicts?” said Miss Grant.

“Monsieur Paganel is making a mistake,” replied John Mangles, instantly. “He knows very well there are no convicts in the province of Victoria.”

“Ah, that is true,” returned Paganel. “Convicts! Who ever heard of convicts in Australia?”

Glenarvan and John Mangles went toward the wagon. They found Ayrton and the two sailors doing their best to get it out of the deep ruts, and the bullock and horse, yoked together, were straining every muscle. Wilson and Mulrady were pushing the wheels, and the quartermaster urging on the team with voice and goad; but the heavy vehicle did not stir.

Glenarvan stopped Ayrton by saying:

“Enough, Ayrton, enough. We need the strength of our remaining horse and bullock. If we continue our journey on foot, the one animal can carry the ladies and the other the provisions.”

“Very well, my Lord,” replied the quartermaster.

“Now, friends,” added Glenarvan, “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 Paganel informed them that the expedition had been stopped on the 37th parallel, in longitude 147 degrees 53”.

“What is the exact longitude of Twofold Bay?” asked Glenarvan.

“One hundred and fifty degrees,” replied Paganel; “two degrees seven minutes distant from this, and that is equal to seventy-five miles.”

“And Melbourne is?”

“Two hundred miles off at least.”

“Very good. Our position being then settled, what is best to do?”

The response was to get to the coast without delay. Lady Helena and Mary Grant undertook to go five miles a day.

“And the Duncan?” asked Ayrton. “Don’t you think it advisable to send for it to come to the bay?”

“What do you think, John?” said Glenarvan.

“I don’t think your lordship should be in any hurry about it,” replied the young 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 Glenarvan.

“My Lord, you are going to traverse the most difficult portion of Victoria; plains covered with scrub, where is no beaten track and no stations.”

Ayrton had spoken in a firm tone, and Paganel nodded his head in token of his agreement in opinion with 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 at this time of the year, and it is a fatality against which I am powerless.”

“Is this Snowy River wide?” asked Lady Helena.

“Wide and deep, Madam,” replied Ayrton; “a mile wide, with an impetuous current.”

“I think, my Lord, that a month hence, unless some help arrives, we shall find ourselves still on the banks of the Snowy.”

“Well, then, have you any better plan to propose?” said John Mangles, somewhat impatiently.

“Yes, that the Duncan should leave Melbourne, and go to the east coast.”

“Oh, always the same story! And how could its presence at the bay help us?”

Ayrton waited an instant before answering, and then said:

“I have no wish to obtrude my opinions. What I do is for our common good.” And he crossed his arms and was silent.

“That is no reply, Ayrton,” said Glenarvan. “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 stay here. It is here we must wait till help comes, and this help can only come from the Duncan. Let us camp 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.

“Meantime,” continued Ayrton, “either the river will get lower, and allow us to ford it, or we shall have time to make a canoe. This is the plan I submit for your Lordship’s approval.”

“Well, Ayrton,” replied Glenarvan, “your plan is worthy of serious consideration. The worst thing about it is the delay it would cause; but it would save us great fatigue, and perhaps danger. What do you think of it, friends?”

“What do you think, McNabbs?” asked Lady Helena. “Since the beginning of the discussion you have been only a listener.”

“Since you ask my advice,” said the Major, “I will give it you frankly. I think Ayrton has spoken wisely and well, and I side with him.”

That was unexpected, 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 McNabbs had come over to his opinion, Glenarvan 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 encamp here, on the banks of the river Snowy, till we can get some means of conveyance.”

“Yes,” replied John Mangles, “if our messenger can get across the Snowy when we cannot.”

All eyes were turned on the quartermaster, who said: “The messenger will not cross the river.”

“Indeed!” said John Mangles.

“He will simply go back to the road which leads straight to Melbourne.”

“Go two hundred and fifty miles on foot!” cried the young Captain.

“On horseback,” replied Ayrton. “There is one horse at present. It will only be an affair of four days. Allow the Duncan two days more to get to the bay and twenty 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 Mangles.

“Now, then, friends,” said Glenarvan, “who wants to carry our instructions to Melbourne?”

Wilson and Mulrady, and also Paganel, John Mangles and Robert instantly offered their services. But Ayrton, who had been silent till that moment, now said:

“With your Honor’s permission I will go myself. I know the country. I can go through where another would stick. I ask then 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 in Twofold Bay.”

“That’s well spoken,” replied Glenarvan. “You are a clever, daring fellow, and you will succeed. Well, go, Ayrton, 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 John Mangles caught the look.

Glenarvan wrote his letter for Tom Austin. He ordered his chief officer to repair without delay to Twofold Bay. He introduced the quartermaster to him as a man worthy of all confidence. On arriving at the coast, Tom was to dispatch a detachment of sailors from the yacht under his orders.

Glenarvan was just at this part of his letter, when McNabbs, 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 Glenarvan.

“It is a mistake,” replied the Major quietly. “He pronounces it Ayrton, but he writes it Ben Joyce!”