IT WAS not the time to despair, but to act. If Kemple Pier bridge was destroyed, they must cross the Snowy at all events, and reach Twofold Bay before Ben Joyce’s band. They lost no time, therefore, in vain words; but the next day Captain Mangles and Glenarvan went to examine the river, preparatory to a passage.
The tumultuous waters, swollen by the rains, had not subsided. They whirled along with indescribable fury. It was certain death to brave this torrent. Glenarvan, with folded arms and lowered head, stood motionless.
“Do you wish me to try to swim to the opposite bank?” asked Captain Mangles.
“No, John,” replied Glenarvan, seizing the bold young man by the hand; “let us wait.”
They both returned to the encampment. The day was passed in the most lively anxiety. Ten times did Glenarvan return to the river. He sought to contrive some bold plan of crossing it, but in vain. It would not have been more impassable if a torrent of lava had flowed between its banks.
During these long hours of delay, Lady Helena, with the major’s assistance, bestowed upon Mulready the most skillful care. The sailor felt that he was returning to life. MacNabb ventured to affirm that no vital organ had been injured, the loss of blood sufficiently explained the patient’s weakness. Thus, as soon as his wound was healed and the hemorrhage stopped, only time and rest were needed for his complete restoration. Lady Helena had insisted upon his occupying her end of the cart. Mulready felt greatly honored. His greatest anxiety was in the thought that his condition might delay Glenarvan, and he forced them to promise that they would leave him at the camp in charge of Wilson, as soon as the river became fordable.
Unfortunately, this was not possible, either that day or the next. At seeing himself thus detained, Glenarvan despaired. Lady Helena and the major tried in vain to pacify and exhort him to patience. Patience! when, at that moment perhaps, Ben Joyce was going on board the yacht, when the Duncan was weighing anchor and steaming towards that fatal coast, to which every hour brought her nearer!
Captain Mangles felt at heart all Glenarvan’s anguish, and, as he wished to overcome the difficulty at all hazards, he constructed a canoe in the Australian fashion, with large pieces of the bark of the gum-trees. These slabs, which were very light, were held together by wooden cross-bars, and formed a very frail craft.
The captain and the sailor tried the canoe. All that skill, strength, or courage could do they did. But scarcely were they in the current, when they capsized and narrowly escaped with their lives. The boat was drawn into the eddies and disappeared. Captain Mangles and Wilson had not advanced ten yards into the river, which was swollen by the rains and melting snows till it was now a mile in breadth.
Two days were wasted in this way. The major and Glenarvan went five miles up stream without finding a practicable ford. Everywhere was the same impetuosity, the same tumultuous rush of water; all the southern slopes of the mountains had poured their liquid torrents into this single stream. They were forced, therefore, to give up any hope of saving the Duncan. Five days had passed since Ben Joyce’s departure, the yacht was probably that very moment at the coast, in the hands of the convicts.
However, this state of things could not last long. Indeed, on the morning of the third day, Paganel perceived that the waters were beginning to subside. He reported to Glenarvan the result of his observations.
“What does it matter now?” replied Glenarvan; “it is too late!”
“That is no reason for prolonging our stay at the encampment,” replied the major.
“Certainly not,” said Captain Mangles; “to-morrow, perhaps, it will be possible to cross.”
“But will that save my unfortunate crew?” cried Glenarvan.
“Listen to me, my lord,” continued Captain Mangles. “I know Tom Austin. He was to execute your orders, and start as soon as his departure was possible. Who knows whether the Duncan was ready, or her injuries repaired, on the arrival of Ben Joyce at Melbourne? Supposing the yacht could not put to sea, and suffered one or two days of delay?”
“You are right, John,” replied Glenarvan. “We must reach Twofold Bay. We are only thirty-five miles from Delegete.”
“Yes,” said Paganel, “and in that town we shall find rapid means of conveyance. Who knows whether we shall not arrive in time to prevent this calamity?”
“Let us start!” cried Glenarvan.
Captain Mangles and Wilson at once occupied themselves in constructing a raft of large dimensions. Experience had proved that pieces of bark could not resist the violence of the torrent. The captain cut down several gum-trees, of which he made a rude but substantial raft. It was a tedious task, and that day ended before the work was completed; but the next day it was finished.
The waters had now considerably subsided. The torrent had become a river again, with a rapid current. However, with proper management, the captain hoped to reach the opposite bank.
At noon they put on board as much provisions as each could carry for two days’ travel. The rest was abandoned with the cart and the tent. Mulready was well enough to be moved; he was recovering rapidly.
Each took his place on the raft, which was moored to the bank. Captain Mangles had arranged on the starboard side, and confided to Wilson, a kind of oar to sustain the raft against the current, and prevent its drifting. As for himself, he stood at the stern, and steered by means of a clumsy rudder. Lady Helena and Mary Grant occupied the centre of the raft near Mulready. Glenarvan, the major, Paganel, and Robert surrounded them, ready to lend assistance.
“Are we ready, Wilson?” asked Captain Mangles.
“Yes, captain,” replied the sailor, seizing his oar with a firm hand.
“Attention, and bear up against the current.”
Captain Mangles unmoored the raft, and with one push launched it into the current of the river. All went well for some time, and Wilson resisted the leeway. But soon the craft was drawn into the eddies, and turned round and round, so that neither oar nor rudder could keep it in a straight course. In spite of their efforts, they were soon placed in a position where it was impossible to use the oars.
They were forced to be passive; there was no means of preventing this gyratory motion. They were whirled about with a giddy rapidity, and sent out of their course. The captain, with pale face and set teeth, stood and gazed at the eddying water.
However, the raft was entangled in the midst of the river, half a mile below where they started. The current here was very strong, and, as it broke the eddies, it lessened the whirling motion. The captain and Wilson resumed their oars, and succeeded in propelling the craft in an oblique direction. In this way they approached nearer the left bank, and were only a few yards distant, when Wilson’s oar broke. The raft, no longer sustained against the current, was carried down stream. The captain endeavored to prevent it, at the risk of breaking his rudder, and Wilson with bleeding hands assisted him.
At last they succeeded, and the raft, after a voyage of more than half an hour, ran upon the steeply-sloping bank. The shock was violent; the timbers were thrown apart, the ropes broken, and the foaming water came through. The travelers had only time to cling to the bushes that hung over the stream. They extricated Mulready and the two ladies, who were half drenched. In short, everybody was saved; but the greater part of the provisions and arms, except the major’s rifle, were swept away with the fragments of the raft.
The river was crossed, but the little party were without resources, thirty-five miles from Delegete, in the midst of these untrodden deserts. They resolved to start without delay. Mulready saw that he would cause trouble, and desired to remain behind, even alone, and wait for aid from Delegete. But Glenarvan refused. He could not reach the town before three days. If the Duncan had left Melbourne several days before, what mattered a delay of a few hours?
“No, my friend,” said he; “I will not abandon any one. We will make a litter, and take turns in carrying you.”
The litter was made of branches covered with leaves, and upon this Mulready was placed. Glenarvan wished to be the first to bear the sailor, and, seizing one end of the litter and Wilson the other, they started.
What a sad sight! and how disastrously this journey, so well begun, had ended! They were no longer going in search of Captain Grant. This continent—where he was not, nor had ever been—threatened to be fatal to those who were seeking traces of him, and perhaps new discouragements still awaited them.
The first day passed silently and painfully. Every ten minutes they took turns in carrying the litter. All the sailor’s companions uncomplainingly imposed upon themselves this duty, which was made still more arduous by the great heat.
At evening, after accomplishing only five miles, they encamped under a group of gum-trees. The rest of the provisions that had escaped the shipwreck furnished the evening meal. They must hereafter rely on the major’s rifle; but he found no opportunity to fire a single shot. Fortunately, Robert found a nest of bustards, containing a dozen large eggs, which Olbinett cooked in the hot ashes. In addition to these embarrassments, their way became very difficult. The sandy plains were bristling with thorny plants that tore their garments and lacerated their limbs. The courageous ladies, however, did not complain, but valiantly advanced, setting the example, and encouraging each other by a word or a look.
On the third day Mulready traveled part of the way on foot. His wound had entirely healed. The town of Delegete was only ten miles distant, and at evening they encamped on the very frontiers of New South Wales.
A fine and penetrating rain had been falling for several hours, and all shelter would have failed, if Captain Mangles had not fortunately discovered a ruined and abandoned sawyer’s hut. They were obliged to content themselves with this miserable hovel of branches and thatch. Wilson attempted to kindle a fire to prepare the food, and accordingly collected some dead wood that strewed the ground. But when he attempted to light the fuel he did not succeed; the great quantity of aluminous material that it contained prevented combustion. It was, therefore, necessary to dispense with fire and food, and sleep in wet garments, while the birds, hidden in the lofty branches, seemed to mock these unfortunate travelers.
However, Glenarvan and his friends were approaching the end of their sufferings; and it was time. The two ladies exerted themselves heroically, but their strength was failing every hour. They dragged themselves along, they no longer walked.
The next day they started at daybreak, and at eleven o’clock Delegete came in sight, fifty miles from Twofold Bay. Here means of conveyance were quickly obtained. Feeling himself so near the coast, hope returned to Glenarvan’s heart; perhaps there had been some slight delay, and he would arrive before the Duncan! In twenty-four hours he would reach the bay!
At noon, after a comforting repast, all the travelers took their seats in a mail-coach, and left Delegete at the full speed of five strong horses. The postilions, stimulated by the promise of a large reward, drove them along at a rapid rate, over a well-kept road. No time was lost in changing horses, and it seemed as if Glenarvan had inspired all with his own intense eagerness.
All day and all night they traveled with the same swiftness, and at sunrise the next morning a low murmur announced the proximity of the Indian Ocean. It was necessary, however, to pass around the bay to gain that part of the coast where Tom Austin was to meet the travelers.
When the sea appeared, all eyes quickly surveyed the wide expanse. Was the Duncan there, by a miracle of Providence, as she had been discerned before by some of them on the Argentine coast? Nothing was seen; sky and water mingled in an unbroken horizon; not a sail brightened the vast extent of ocean.
One hope still remained. Perhaps Tom Austin had thought it best to cast anchor in Twofold Bay, as the sea was rough and a vessel could not be moored in safety near such shores.
“To Eden!” said Glenarvan.
The mail-coach at once took the road to the right, which ran along the edge of the bay, and proceeded towards the little town of Eden, only five miles distant. The postilions stopped not far from the light that guarded the entrance to the harbor. Several ships were anchored in the roadstead, but none displayed the flag of Malcolm Castle.
Glenarvan, Captain Mangles, and Paganel alighted immediately, and hastened to the custom-house. Here they questioned the employees, and consulted the latest arrivals. No vessel had entered the bay for a week.
“She may not have started!” cried Glenarvan, who would not despair. “Perhaps we have arrived before her!”
Captain Mangles shook his head. He knew Tom Austin; his mate would never have delayed so long to execute an order.
“I will know what this means,” said Glenarvan. “Certainty is better than doubt.”
Fifteen minutes later a telegram was sent to the ship-brokers of Melbourne, and the travelers repaired to the Victoria Hotel. Not long after an answer was delivered to Lord Glenarvan. It read as follows:
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“Lord Glenarvan, “Duncan started on the 18th instant for some unknown destination.” |
The dispatch fell from Glenarvan’s hands. There was no more doubt! The honest Scotch yacht, in Ben Joyce’s hands, had become a pirate-vessel!
Thus ended their search in Australia, begun under such favorable auspices. The traces of Captain Grant and his shipwrecked sailors seemed irrecoverably lost. This failure had cost the lives of an entire crew. Lord Glenarvan was crushed by the blow, and this courageous searcher, whom the leagued elements had failed to deter, was now baffled by the malice of men.