Chapter XLIV. Helpless and Hopeless

It was not a time for despair, but action. The bridge at Kemple Pier was destroyed, but they had to cross the Snowy River and reach Twofold Bay before Ben Joyce and his gang, so, instead of wasting time in empty words, the next day (the 16th of January) John Mangles and Glenarvan went down to examine the river, and arrange for the passage over.

The waters rushed on with indescribable fury. It would be risking life to battle with them. Glenarvan stood gazing with folded arms and downcast face.

And they both returned to the camp. The day passed in the most intense anxiety. Ten times Lord Glenarvan went to look at the river, trying to invent some bold way of getting over; but in vain. During these long wasted hours, Lady Helena, under the Major’s advice, was nursing Mulrady with the utmost skill. The sailor felt a throb of returning life. McNabbs affirmed that no vital part was injured. The wound once closed and the hemorrhage stopped. The poor fellow’s greatest trouble was the delay his condition might cause Glenarvan. Lady Helena and the Major vainly tried to calm him, and preached patience.

John Mangles constructed a canoe in the Australian manner, with large sheets of bark. These sheets were kept together by bars of wood, and formed a very fragile boat. The captain and the sailor made a trial trip in it during the day. Soon they were upside down, and nearly paid with their lives for the dangerous experiment.

Thus passed the 19th and 20th of January. The Major and Glenarvan went five miles up the river in search of a favorable passage, but everywhere they found the same roaring, rushing, impetuous torrent.

All hope of saving the Duncan was now at an end. Five days had elapsed since the departure of Ben Joyce. The yacht must be at this moment at the coast, and in the hands of the convicts.

On the morning of the 21st, Paganel announced that the water was already lower.

“What does it matter now?” said Glenarvan. “It is too late!”

“That is no reason for our staying longer here,” said the Major.

“Certainly not,” replied John Mangles. “Perhaps tomorrow the river may be practicable.”

“And will that save my unhappy men?” cried Glenarvan.

“Will your Lordship listen to me?” returned John Mangles. “I know Tom Austin. He would execute your orders, and set out as soon as departure was possible. But who knows whether the Duncan was ready and its injury repaired on the arrival of Ben Joyce. And suppose the yacht could not go to sea; suppose there was a delay of a day, or two days.”

“You are right, John,” replied Glenarvan. “We must get to Twofold Bay; we are only thirty-five miles from Delegete.”

“Yes,” added Paganel, “and that’s a town where we shall find means of conveyance. Who knows whether we shan’t arrive in time to prevent a catastrophe.”

“Let us start,” cried Glenarvan.

They made a rude but solid raft with the trunks. It was a long task, and the day had gone before the work was ended. It was completed next morning.

By this time the waters had visibly diminished; the torrent had once more become a river, though a very rapid one. At half-past twelve, they embarked provisions enough for a couple of days. The remainder was left with the wagon and the tent. At one o’clock, they all seated themselves on the raft.

The raft had reached the middle of the river, about half a mile from the starting point. Here the current was extremely strong. John and Wilson seized their oars, and managed to push it in an oblique direction. This brought them nearer to the left shore. The raft, after a passage of more than half an hour, struck against the steep bank of the opposite shore. The shock was so violent that the logs became disunited, the cords broke, and the water bubbled up between. The travelers dragged out Mulrady and the two dripping ladies.

Everyone was safe; but the provisions and firearms, except the carbine of the Major, went drifting down with the debris of the raft.

The river was crossed. The little company found themselves almost without provisions, thirty-five miles from Delegete, in the midst of the unknown deserts of the Victoria frontier. The territory was entirely uninhabited, unless by ferocious bandits.

What a sad spectacle, and how lamentably was this expedition to end which had commenced so well. They were no longer in search of Harry Grant. This continent, where he was not, and never had been, threatened to prove fatal to those who sought him. The first day passed silently and painfully.

In the evening, after a journey of only five miles, they camped under the trees. The small store of provisions saved from the raft composed the evening meal. But all they had to depend upon now was the Major’s carbine.

This fatal region was only a desert, unfrequented even by animals. Fortunately, Robert discovered a bustard’s nest with a dozen of large eggs in it, which Olbinett cooked. These, with a few roots, were all the breakfast of the 22d.

The route now became extremely difficult.

On the 23d the weary but still energetic travelers started off again. They crossed the long prairies. That morning there was not even a question of breakfast. Not only hunger, but thirst began to assail the travelers. Glenarvan and his friends could only go half a mile an hour. Should this lack of food and water continue till evening, they would all sink on the road, never to rise again.

The only food they could find was the same as the natives were forced to subsist upon. Paganel discovered a plant whose excellent properties had been frequently described by one of his colleagues in the Geographical Society. They crushed it and made a sort of flour. There was a great abundance of this plant growing in the district, so that they were sure of food for several days.

The next day, the 24th, Mulrady was able to walk part of the way. The town of Delegete was not more than ten miles off, and that evening they camped in longitude 140 degrees.

Next morning they started at daybreak. At 11 AM Delegete came in sight in the county of Wellesley, and fifty miles from Twofold Bay.

Means of conveyance were quickly procured here. Hope returned to Glenarvan as they approached the coast. Perhaps they might get there before the arrival of the Duncan.

At noon, after a comfortable meal, all the travelers installed in a mail-coach, drawn by five strong horses, left Delegete at a gallop. They did not lose a minute in changing horses, which took place every ten miles. All that day, and night, too, they traveled on at the rate of six miles an hour.

In the morning at sunrise, they approached to the Indian Ocean. But they saw nothing. Sky and earth mingled in the same horizon.

One hope still remained. Perhaps Tom Austin had thought it his duty to cast anchor in Twofold Bay, for the sea was heavy. “To Eden!” cried Glenarvan.

In Eden, Glenarvan, John Mangles, and Paganel got out of the coach, and rushed to the custom-house, to inquire about the arrival of vessels within the last few days.

No ship had touched the bay for a week.

“Perhaps the yacht has not started,” Glenarvan said. “Perhaps we have arrived first.”

John Mangles shook his head. He knew Tom Austin.

A quarter of an hour afterward a telegram was sent to the syndicate of shipbrokers in Melbourne. At 2 PM the following telegraphic reply was received:

“Lord Glenarvan, Eden.

Twofold Bay.

The Duncan left on the 16th current. Destination unknown. J. Andrews, S. B.”

The telegram dropped from Glenarvan’s hands.

There was no doubt now. The good, honest Scotch yacht was now a pirate ship in the hands of Ben Joyce!

So ended this journey across Australia. All trace of Captain Grant and his shipwrecked men seemed to be lost.

Chapter XLV. A Rough Captain

Toward what quarter of the world should they direct their endeavors? How were they to explore new countries? The Duncan was no longer available, and even an immediate return to their own land was out of the question.

Mary Grant at this crisis never uttered the name of her father.

“The English authorities must be informed,” said John Mangles; “of the fate of the Duncan. But do not despair. I will either find Captain Grant or perish in the attempt!”

Mary gave her hand to the young captain, as if to ratify the treaty.

During that day, their departure was finally arranged; they resolved to reach Melbourne without delay. Next day John went to inquire about the ships ready to sail. He expected to find frequent communication between Eden and Victoria.

He was disappointed; ships were scarce. Three or four vessels were anchored in Twofold Bay; none of them was bound for Melbourne, nor Sydney, at any of which ports Glenarvan would have found ships loading for England.

Under these circumstances, what was to be done? After reflection and discussion, Glenarvan had nearly decided to follow the coast road to Sydney, when Paganel made an unexpected proposition.

The geographer had visited Twofold Bay on his own account, and was aware that there were no means of transport for Sydney or Melbourne. But of the three vessels one was loading for Auckland, the capital of the northern island of New Zealand. Paganel’s proposal was to take the ship and get to Auckland, whence it would be easy to return to Europe.

By a singular coincidence Auckland is situated on the self-same parallel—the thirty-seventh—which the explorers had followed.

John Mangles supported Paganel’s proposal. It was hopeless to await the problematical arrival of a vessel in Twofold Bay.

It was a brig of 150 tons. The captain received his visitors gruffly enough. With a coarse, red face, thick hands, and a broken nose, blind of an eye, and his lips stained with the pipe, the captain was a sadly brutal looking person. But they had no choice.

“What do you want?” asked the captain, when the strangers stepped on the poop of his ship.

“The captain,” answered John Mangles.

“I am the captain,” said Halley. “What else do you want?”

“Your ship is loading for Auckland, I believe?”

“Yes. What else?”

“When does it sail?”

“Tomorrow at the mid-day tide. What else?”

“Does it take passengers?”

“That depends on who the passengers are. What else?”

“What else?”

“Yes. How many are there?”

“Nine; two of them are ladies.”

“I have no cabins.”

“We will manage with such space as may be left at their disposal.”

“What else?”

“Do you agree?” said John Mangles.

“We’ll see,” said the captain. “What would you pay?”

“What do you ask?” replied John.

“Fifty pounds. But passage only,”

“Yes, passage only.”

“Food extra.”

“Extra.”

“Agreed. And now,” said the captain, putting out his hand, “what about the deposit money?”

“Here is half of the passage-money, twenty-five pounds,” said Mangles, counting out the sum to him.

“All aboard tomorrow,” said he, “before noon. Whether or no, I weigh anchor.”

“We will be punctual.”

Glenarvan, the Major, Robert, Paganel, and John Mangles left the ship.

Lady Helena and Mary Grant were delighted to hear that their departure was arranged for tomorrow.

The wanderers passed their last evening sadly enough. Their thoughts recalled all the misfortunes they had encountered in this country.

Paganel was full of feverish agitation. John Mangles felt that the geographer was hesitating whether to speak or not to speak.

“Mr. Paganel,” said John, “you have a secret.”

“Not at all,” answered the geographer.