"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'!"
CHAPTER XLI.
THE PLOT UNVEILED.
The sound of the name of Ben Joyce fell upon the party like a thunderbolt. Ayrton suddenly sprang to his feet. In his hand was a revolver. A report was heard; and Glenarvan fell, struck by a bullet.
Before Captain Mangles and the sailors recovered from the surprise into which this unexpected turn of affairs had thrown them, the audacious convict had escaped, and joined his band, scattered along the edge of the wood of gum-trees.
The tent did not offer a sufficient shelter against the bullets, and it was clearly necessary to beat a retreat. Glenarvan, who was but slightly injured, had risen.
"To the cart! to the cart!" cried Captain Mangles, as he hurried on Lady Helena and Mary Grant, who were soon in safety behind its stout sides.
The captain, the major, Paganel, and the sailors then seized their rifles, and stood ready to repel the convicts. Glenarvan and Robert had joined the ladies, while Olbinett hastened to the common defence.
These events had transpired with the rapidity of lightning. Captain Mangles attentively watched the edge of the wood; but the reports suddenly ceased on the arrival of Ben Joyce, and a profound silence succeeded the noisy fusillade. A few wreaths of white smoke were still curling up between the branches of the gum-trees, but the tall tufts of gastrolobium were motionless and all signs of attack had disappeared.
The major and Captain Mangles extended their examinations as far as the great trees. The place was abandoned. Numerous footprints were seen, and a few half-burnt cartridges smoked on the ground. The major, like a prudent man, extinguished them, for a spark was enough to kindle a formidable conflagration in this forest of dry trees.
"The convicts have disappeared," said Captain Mangles.
"Yes," replied the major; "and this disappearance alarms me. I should prefer to meet them face to face. It is better to encounter a tiger in the open plain than a serpent in the grass. Let us search these bushes around the cart."
The major and captain scoured the surrounding country. But from the edge of the wood to the banks of the Snowy they did not meet with a single convict. Ben Joyce's band seemed to have flown away, like a flock of mischievous birds. This disappearance was too strange to inspire a perfect security. They therefore resolved to keep on the watch. The cart, which was a really immovable fortress, became the centre of the encampment, and two men kept guard, relieving each other every hour.
Lady Helena and Mary Grant's first care had been to dress Glenarvan's wound. At the very moment that her husband fell, from Ben Joyce's bullet, in her terror she had rushed towards him. Then, controlling her emotion, this courageous woman had assisted Glenarvan to the cart. Here the shoulder of the wounded man was laid bare, and the major perceived that the ball had lacerated the flesh, causing no other injury. Neither bones nor large muscles seemed affected. The wound bled considerably, but Glenarvan, by moving the fingers of his hand and fore-arm, encouraged his friends to expect a favorable result. When his wound was dressed, he no longer desired any attention, and explanations followed. The travelers, except Wilson and Mulready, who were keeping guard outside, had taken seats as well as possible in the cart, and the major was requested to speak.
Before beginning his story, he informed Lady Helena of the escape of a band of convicts from Perth, their appearance in the province of Victoria, and their complicity in the railway disaster. He gave her the number of the Australian and New Zealand Gazette purchased at Seymour, and added that the police had set a price on the head of Ben Joyce, a formidable bandit, whom eighteen months of crime had given a wide-spread notoriety.
But how had MacNabb recognized this Ben Joyce in the quartermaster Ayrton? Here was the mystery that all wished to solve; and the major explained.
Since the day of his meeting with Ayrton he had suspected him. Two or three almost insignificant circumstances, a glance exchanged between the quartermaster and the farrier at Wimerra River, Ayrton's hesitation to pass through the towns and villages, his strong wish to order the Duncan to the coast, the strange death of the animals confided to his care, and, finally, a want of frankness in his actions,—all these facts, gradually noticed, had roused the major's suspicions.
However, he could form no direct accusation until the events that had transpired the preceding night. Gliding between the tall clumps of shrubbery, as was related in the previous chapter, he approached near the suspicious shadows that had attracted his attention half a mile from the encampment. The phosphorescent plants cast their pale rays through the darkness. Three men were examining some tracks on the ground, and among them he recognized the farrier of Black Point Station.
"Here they are," said one.
"Yes," replied another, "here is the trefoil of the hoofs again."
"It has been like this since leaving the Wimerra."
"All the horses are dead."
"The poison is not far away."
"There is enough here to settle an entire troop of cavalry. This gastrolobium is a useful plant."
"Then they were silent," added MacNabb, "and departed. I wanted to know more: I followed them. The conversation soon began again. 'A cunning man, this Ben Joyce,' said the farrier; 'a famous quartermaster, with his invented shipwreck. If his plan succeeds, it will be a stroke of fortune. Devilish Ayrton! Call him Ben Joyce, for he has well earned his name.' These rascals then left the wood of gum-trees. I knew what I wished, and returned to the encampment with the certainty that all the convicts in Australia are not reformed, in spite of Paganel's arguments."
"Then," said Glenarvan, whose face was pale with anger, "Ayrton has brought us here to rob and assassinate us?"
"Yes," replied the major.
"And, since leaving the Wimerra, his band has followed and watched us, waiting for a favorable opportunity?"
"Yes."
"But this wretch is not, then, a sailor of the Britannia? He has stolen his name and contract?"
All eyes were turned towards MacNabb, who must have considered this matter.
"These," replied he, in his calm voice, "are the proofs that can be derived from this obscure state of affairs. In my opinion this man's real name is Ayrton. Ben Joyce is his fighting title. It is certain that he knows Harry Grant, and has been quartermaster on board the Britannia. These facts, proved already by the precise details given by Ayrton, are still further corroborated by the conversation of the convicts that I have related. Let us not, therefore, be led astray by vain conjectures, but only be certain that Ayrton is Ben Joyce, a sailor of the Britannia, now chief of a band of convicts."
The major's explanation was accepted as conclusive.
"Now," replied Glenarvan, "will you tell me how and why Harry Grant's quartermaster is in Australia?"
"How, I do not know," said MacNabb; "and the police declare they know no more than I on the subject. Why, it is also impossible for me to say. Here is a mystery that the future will explain."
"The police do not even know the identity of Ayrton and Ben Joyce," said Captain Mangles.
"You are right, John," replied the major; "and such information would be likely to facilitate their search."
"This unfortunate, then," remarked Lady Helena, "intruded into O'Moore's farm with a criminal intention?"
"There is no doubt of it," continued MacNabb. "He was meditating some hostile attack upon the Irishman, when a better opportunity was offered. Chance threw us in his way. He heard Glenarvan's story of the shipwreck, and, like a bold man, he promptly decided to take part in the expedition. At the Wimerra he communicated with one of his friends, the farrier of Black Point, and thus left distinguishable traces of our course. His band followed us. A poisonous plant enabled him to gradually kill our oxen and horses. Then, at the proper moment, he entangled us in the marshes of the Snowy, and surrendered us to the convicts he commanded."
Everything possible had been said concerning Ben Joyce. His past had just been reviewed by the major, and the wretch appeared as he was,—a bold and formidable criminal. His intentions had been clearly proved, and required, on the part of Glenarvan, extreme vigilance. Fortunately, there was less to fear from the detected bandit than the secret traitor.
But one serious fact appeared from this explanation. No one had yet thought of it; only Mary Grant, disregarding the past, looked forward to the future. Captain Mangles first saw her pale and disconsolate. He understood what was passing in her mind.
"Miss Mary!" cried he, "you are weeping!"
"What is the matter, my child?" asked Lady Helena.
"My father, madam, my father!" replied the young girl.
She could not continue. But a sudden revelation dawned on the mind of each. They comprehended Mary's grief, why the tears flowed from her eyes, why the name of her father rose to her lips.
The discovery of Ayrton's treachery destroyed all hope. The convict, to entice Glenarvan on, had invented a shipwreck. In their conversation, overheard by MacNabb, his accomplices had clearly confessed it. The Britannia had never been wrecked on the reefs of Twofold Bay! Harry Grant had never set foot on the Australian continent!
For the second time an erroneous interpretation of the document had set the searchers of the Britannia on a false trail. All, in the face of this situation and the grief of the two children, preserved a mournful silence. Who then could have found words of hope? Robert wept in his sister's arms. Paganel murmured, in a voice of despair,—
"Ah, unlucky document! You can boast of having sorely puzzled the brains of a dozen brave people!"
And the worthy geographer was fairly furious against himself, and frantically beat his forehead.
In the mean time Glenarvan had joined Mulready and Wilson, who were on guard without. A deep silence reigned on the plain lying between the wood and the river. Heavy clouds covered the vault of the sky. In this deadened and torpid atmosphere the least sound would have been clearly transmitted; but nothing was heard. Ben Joyce and his band must have fled to a considerable distance; for flocks of birds that sported on the low branches of the trees, several kangaroos peacefully browsing on the young shoots, and a pair of cassowaries, whose unsuspecting heads were thrust between the tall bushes, proved that the presence of man did not disturb these peaceful solitudes.
"You have not seen nor heard anything for an hour?" inquired Glenarvan of the two sailors.
"Nothing, my lord," replied Wilson. "The convicts must be several miles away."
"They cannot have been in sufficient force to attack us," added Mulready. "This Ben Joyce probably intended to recruit some bandits, like himself, among the bushrangers that wander at the foot of the Alps."
"Very likely, Mulready," replied Glenarvan. "These rascals are cowards. They know we are well armed, and are perhaps waiting for darkness to commence their attack. We must redouble our vigilance at nightfall. If we could only leave this marshy plain and pursue our journey towards the coast! But the swollen waters of the river bar our progress. I would pay its weight in gold for a raft that would transport us to the other side!"
"Why," said Wilson, "does not your lordship give us the order to construct this raft? There is plenty of wood."
"No, Wilson," answered Glenarvan; "this Snowy is not a river, it is an impassable torrent."
At this moment Captain Mangles, the major, and Paganel joined Glenarvan. They had been to examine the Snowy. The waters, swollen by the recent rains, had risen a foot above low-water mark, and formed an impetuous current. It was impossible to venture upon this roaring deluge, these rushing floods, broken into a thousand eddies by the depressions of the river-bed. Captain Mangles declared that the passage was impracticable.
"But," added he, "we ought not to remain here without making any attempt. What we wished to do before Ayrton's treason is still more necessary now."
"What do you say, captain?" asked Glenarvan.
"I say that assistance is needed; and since we cannot go to Twofold Bay, we must go to Melbourne. One horse is left. Let your lordship give him to me, and I will go."
"But it is a perilous venture, John," said Glenarvan. "Aside from the dangers of this journey of two hundred miles across an unknown country, all the roads may be guarded by Ben Joyce's accomplices."
"I know it, my lord; but I know, too, that our situation cannot be prolonged. Ayrton only asked eight days' absence to bring back the crew of the Duncan. But I will return in six days to the banks of the Snowy. What are your lordship's orders?"
"Before Glenarvan speaks," said Paganel, "I must make a remark. It is well that one of us should go to Melbourne, but not that these dangers should be incurred by Captain Mangles. He is the captain of the Duncan, and must not, therefore, expose himself. Allow me to go in his place."
"Well said," replied the major; "but why should it be you, Paganel?"
"Are we not here?" cried Wilson and Mulready.
"And do you believe," continued MacNabb, "that I am afraid to make a journey of two hundred miles on horseback?"
"My friends," said Glenarvan, "if one of us is to go to Melbourne, let fate decide. Paganel, write our names——"
"Not yours at least, my lord," insisted Captain Mangles.
"And why?" asked Glenarvan.
"Separate you from Lady Helena, when your wound is not yet healed?"
"Glenarvan," interposed Paganel, "you cannot leave the encampment."
"No," resumed the major; "your place is here. Edward, you must not go."
"There are dangers to incur," replied Glenarvan; "and I will not leave my part to others. Write, Paganel; let my name be mingled with those of my companions, and Heaven grant that it may be the first drawn."
All yielded to this wish; and Glenarvan's name was added to the others. They then proceeded to draw, and the lot fell upon Mulready. The brave sailor uttered a cry of joy.
"My lord, I am ready to go," said he.
Glenarvan clasped his hand, and then turned towards the cart, leaving the major and Captain Mangles to guard the encampment. Lady Helena was at once informed of the decision taken to send a messenger to Melbourne, and of the result of the drawing by lot. She spoke words to Mulready that went to the heart of that noble sailor. They knew that he was brave, intelligent, hardy, and persevering. The lot could not have fallen better.
It was decided that Mulready should depart at eight o'clock, after the short twilight. Wilson charged himself with getting the horse ready. He took the precaution to change the tell-tale shoe that he wore on his left foot, and to replace it by one belonging to the horses that had died in the night. The convicts could not now track Mulready, or follow him, unless mounted.
While Wilson was occupied with these arrangements, Glenarvan was preparing the letter designed for Tom Austin; but his wounded arm disabled him, and he asked Paganel to write for him. The geographer, who seemed absorbed in one idea, was oblivious to what was passing around him. It must be confessed that Paganel, in all this succession of sad misfortunes, thought only of his false interpretation of the document. He turned the words about in every way to draw from them a new meaning, and remained wrapt in these meditations. Thus he did not hear Glenarvan's request, and the latter was forced to repeat it.
"Very well," replied Paganel; "I am ready."
So saying, he mechanically produced his note-book. He tore out a blank page, and then, with his pencil in his hand, made ready to write. Glenarvan began to dictate the following instructions:
"Order for Tom Austin to put to sea, and bring the Duncan——"
Paganel had just finished this last word when his eyes fell upon the number of the Australian and New Zealand Gazette that lay upon the ground. The paper, being folded, only allowed him to see the two last syllables of its title. His pencil stopped, and he seemed to completely forget Glenarvan and his letter.
"Well, Paganel?" said Glenarvan.
"Ah!" continued the geographer, uttering a cry.
"What is the matter?" asked the major.
"Nothing! nothing!" replied Paganel. Then, in a lower tone, he repeated: "Aland! aland! aland!"
He had risen; he had seized the paper. He shook it, seeking to repress words ready to escape his lips. Lady Helena, Mary, Robert, and Glenarvan gazed at him without understanding this inexplicable agitation. Paganel was like a man whom a sudden frenzy has seized. But this state of nervous excitation did not last. He gradually grew calm. The joy that gleamed in his eyes died away, and, resuming his place, he said, in a quiet tone:
"When you wish, my lord, I am at your disposal."
Glenarvan continued the dictation of his letter, which was distinctly worded as follows:
"Order for Tom Austin to put to sea, and bring the Duncan to the eastern coast of Australia."
"Australia?" cried Paganel. "Ah, yes, Australia!"
The letter was now finished, and presented to Glenarvan for his signature, who, although affected by his recent wound, acquitted himself as well as possible of this formality. The note was then folded and sealed, while Paganel, with a hand that still trembled from excitement, wrote the following address:
"Tom Austin,
"Mate of the Yacht Duncan,
"Melbourne."
Thereupon he left the cart, gesticulating, and repeating these incomprehensible words:
"Aland! aland! Zealand!"
CHAPTER XLII.
FOUR DAYS OF ANGUISH.
The rest of the day passed without any other incident. Everything was ready for the departure of Mulready, who was happy to give his master this proof of his devotion.
Paganel had regained his coolness and accustomed manners. His look still indicated an uneasy state of mind, but he appeared decided to keep his secret. He had doubtless strong reasons for acting thus, for the major overheard him repeating these words, like a man who is struggling with himself:
"No, no! they would not believe me! And, besides what use is it? It is too late!"
"Adieu, my lord," said he, in a calm voice, and soon disappeared by a path along the edge of the wood.
This resolution taken, he occupied himself with giving Mulready the necessary directions for reaching Melbourne, and, with the map before him, marked out his course. All the trails of the prairie converged towards the Lucknow road, which, after extending straight southward to the coast, suddenly turned in the direction towards Melbourne. It was simply necessary to follow this, and not attempt to cross the unknown country. Mulready could not, therefore, go astray. As for dangers, they lay only a few miles beyond the encampment, where Ben Joyce and his band were probably lying in wait. This point once passed, Mulready was sure he could easily distance the convicts and accomplish his important mission.
At six o'clock supper was eaten in common. A heavy rain was falling. The tent no longer afforded sufficient shelter, and each had taken refuge in the cart, which was a safe retreat. The sticky clay held it in its place as firm as a fort on its foundations. The fire-arms consisted of seven rifles and seven revolvers, and thus enabled them to sustain a long siege, for neither ammunition nor provisions were wanting. In six days the Duncan would anchor in Twofold Bay. Twenty-four hours after, her crew would reach the opposite bank of the river; and, if the passage was not then practicable, at least the convicts would be compelled to retreat before superior forces. But, first of all, it was necessary that Mulready should succeed in his enterprise.
At eight o'clock the darkness became intense. It was the time to start. The horse was brought out. His feet had been muffled; as an additional precaution, and made no sound. The animal seemed fatigued, but upon his surefootedness and endurance depended the safety of all. The major advised the sailor to spare his beast as soon as he was out of reach of the convicts. It was better to lose half a day and reach his destination safely. Captain Mangles gave him a revolver, which he had loaded with the greatest care. Mulready mounted.
"Here is the letter which you are to take to Tom Austin," said Glenarvan. "Let him not lose an hour, but start for Twofold Bay; and, if he does not find us there, if we have not crossed the river, let him come to us without delay. Now go, my brave sailor, and may God guide you!"
Glenarvan, Lady Helena, Mary Grant, all clasped Mulready's hand. This departure on a dark and stormy night, over a road beset with dangers, across the unknown stretches of a desert, would have appalled a heart less courageous than that of the sailor.
"Adieu, my lord," said he, in a calm voice, and soon disappeared by a path along the edge of the wood.
At that moment the tempest redoubled its violence. The lofty branches of the trees shook dismally in the darkness. You could hear the fall of the dry twigs on the drenched earth. More than one giant tree, whose sap was gone, but which had stood till then, fell during this terrible hurricane. The wind roared amid the cracking of the trees and mingled its mournful sounds with the rushing of the river. The heavy clouds that chased across the sky poured forth masses of mist, while a dismal darkness increased still more the horrors of the night.
The travelers, after Mulready's departure, ensconced themselves in the cart. Lady Helena, Mary Grant, Glenarvan, and Paganel occupied the front compartment, which had been made water-tight. In the rear part Olbinett, Wilson, and Robert had found a sufficient shelter, while the major and Captain Mangles were on guard without. This precaution was necessary, for an attack by the convicts was easy and possible.
These two faithful guardians, therefore, took turns and philosophically received the blasts that blew sharply in their faces. They strove to pierce with their eyes the shades so favorable for an ambuscade, for the ear could detect nothing amid the din of the storm, the roaring of the wind, the rattling of the branches, the fall of trees, and the rushing of the impetuous waters.
In the mean time there were several lulls in the fury of the tempest, the wind ceasing as if to take breath. The river only moaned adown the motionless reeds and the black curtain of the gum-trees, and the silence seemed more profound during these momentary rests. The major and Captain Mangles now listened attentively. During one of these intervals a sharp whistle reached their ears.
The captain hastened to the major. "Did you hear anything?" asked he.
"Yes," replied MacNabb. "Was it a man or an animal?"
"A man," said the captain.
They both listened again. The mysterious whistle was suddenly repeated, and something like a report followed it, but almost inaudibly, for the storm just then broke forth with renewed violence. They could not hear themselves talk, and took their stations to leeward of the cart.
At this moment the leathern curtains were raised, and Glenarvan joined his two companions. He likewise had heard the suspicious whistle, and the report.
"From what direction?" he asked.
"Yonder," said the captain, pointing to the dark line, towards which Mulready had gone.
"How far?"
"The wind carried it," was the reply. "It must be three miles distant at least."
"Let us go!" said Glenarvan, throwing his rifle over his shoulder.
"No," interposed the major; "it is a decoy to entice us away from the cart."
"But if Mulready has fallen beneath the shots of these wretches!" continued Glenarvan, seizing MacNabb's hand.
"We shall know to-morrow," replied the latter, firmly determined to prevent Glenarvan from committing a useless imprudence.
"You cannot leave the encampment, my lord," said Captain Mangles; "I will go alone."
"No!" cried MacNabb, with energy. "Will you have us, then, perish singly, diminish our numbers, and be left to the mercy of these criminals? If Mulready has been their victim, it is a calamity that we must not repeat a second time. He has gone according to lot. If the lot had chosen me, I should have gone like him, but should neither have asked nor expected any assistance."
In restraining Glenarvan and Captain Mangles the major was right from every point of view. To attempt to reach the sailor, to go on such a dark night to meet the convicts, ambuscaded in some coppice, was useless madness. Glenarvan's little party did not number enough men to sacrifice any more.
However, Glenarvan seemed unwilling to yield to these reasons. His hand played nervously with his rifle. He walked to and fro around the cart; he listened to the least sound; he strove to pierce the dismal obscurity. The thought that one of his friends was mortally wounded, helplessly abandoned, calling in vain upon those for whose sake he had sacrificed himself, tortured him. MacNabb feared that he should not succeed in restraining him, that Glenarvan, carried away by his feelings, would cast himself into the power of Ben Joyce.
"Edward," said he, "be calm; listen to a friend; think of Lady Helena, Mary Grant, all who remain! Besides, where will you go? Where find Mulready? He was attacked two miles distant at least. On what road? What path take?"
At this very moment, as if in answer to the major, a cry of distress was heard.
"Listen!" said Glenarvan.
The cry came from the very direction whence the report had sounded, but less than a quarter of a mile distant. Glenarvan, pushing back MacNabb, was advancing along the path, when, not far from the cart, these words were uttered:
"Help! help!"
It was a plaintive and despairing voice. Captain Mangles and the major rushed towards it. In a few moments they perceived, on the edge of the coppice, a human form that was dragging itself along and groaning piteously. It was Mulready, wounded and half dead. When his companions raised him, they felt their hands dabbling in blood. The rain now increased, and the wind howled through the branches of the dead trees. In the midst of these terrific gusts, Glenarvan, the major, and the captain bore the body of Mulready.
On arriving at the cart, Paganel, Robert, Wilson, and Olbinett came out, and Lady Helena gave up her room to the poor sailor. The major took off Mulready's vest, wet with blood and rain. He discovered the wound. It was a poniard stab, which the unfortunate had received in his right side.
MacNabb dressed it skillfully. Whether the weapon had reached the vital parts, he could not say. A stream of bright-red blood spurted forth, while the paleness and the swoon of the wounded man proved that he had been seriously injured. The major accordingly placed upon the opening of the wound, after first washing it with fresh water, a thick wad of tinder, and then a few layers of lint, confined by a bandage, and thus succeeded in stopping the hemorrhage. The patient was then laid on his side, his head and breast raised, and Lady Helena gave him a refreshing draught.
At the end of a quarter of an hour, the wounded man, who had been motionless till then, made a movement. His eyes half opened, his lips murmured disconnected words, and the major, putting down his ear, heard him say:
"My lord—the letter—Ben Joyce——"
The major repeated these words, and glanced at his companions. What did Mulready mean? Ben Joyce had attacked the sailor, but why? Was it not simply for the purpose of preventing him from reaching the Duncan? This letter—Glenarvan examined the sailor's pockets. The letter addressed to Tom Austin was gone.
The night passed in anxiety and anguish. They feared every moment that the wounded man would die. A burning fever consumed him. Lady Helena and Mary Grant, as though his sisters, did not leave him; never was patient better nursed, or by more tender hands.
Day appeared. The rain had ceased. Heavy clouds still rolled along the vault of the sky, and the earth was strewn with the fragments of branches. The clay, soaked by floods of water, had yielded; and the sides of the cart became unsteady, but sank no deeper.
Captain Mangles, Paganel, and Glenarvan took a tour of exploration around the camp. They traversed the path still marked with blood, but found no trace of Ben Joyce or his band. They went to the place where the attack had been made. Here two corpses lay on the ground, shot by Mulready. One was the farrier of Black Point. His face, which had mortified, was a horrible sight.
Glenarvan did not pursue his investigations farther, prudence forbidding. He therefore returned to the cart, much alarmed by the seriousness of the situation.
"We cannot think of sending another messenger to Melbourne," said he.
"But we must," replied Captain Mangles; "and I will make the attempt, since my sailor has failed."
"No, John. You have not even a horse to carry you these two hundred miles."
Indeed, Mulready's horse, the only one that remained, had not reappeared. Had he fallen beneath the shots of the murderers? Was he running wild over the desert? Had the convicts captured him?
In the midst of these terrific gusts, Glenarvan, the major, and the captain bore the body of Mulready.
"Whatever happens," continued Glenarvan, "we will separate no more. Let us wait eight or fifteen days, till the waters of the river resume their natural level. We will then reach Twofold Bay by short journeys, and from there send to the Duncan by a surer way the order to sail for the coast."
"This is the only feasible plan," replied Paganel.
"Well, then, my friends," resumed Glenarvan, "no more separation! A man risks too much to venture alone across this desert, infested with bandits. And now may God save our poor sailor and protect ourselves!"
Glenarvan was right in both resolves, first to forbid any single attempt to cross the plains, and next to wait patiently on the banks of the river for a practicable passage. Scarcely thirty-five miles separated them from Delegete, the first frontier town of New South Wales, where they would find means of reaching Twofold Bay. From this point he could telegraph his orders to the Duncan.
These measures were wise, but they had been adopted rather tardily. If they had not sent Mulready with the letter, what misfortunes would have been avoided, not to speak of the attack upon the sailor!
On arriving at the camp, Glenarvan found his companions less anxious; they seemed to have regained hope.
"He is better!" cried Robert, running to meet him.
"Mulready?"
"Yes, Edward," replied Lady Helena. "A reaction has taken place. The major is more encouraged. Our sailor will live."
"Where is MacNabb?" asked Glenarvan.
"With him. Mulready wished to speak with him. We must not disturb them."
Indeed, within an hour the wounded man had rallied from his swoon, and the fever had diminished. But the sailor's first care, on recovering memory and speech was to ask for Lord Glenarvan, or, in his absence, the major MacNabb, seeing him so feeble, would have forbidden all conversation; but Mulready insisted with such energy that he was forced to yield. The interview had already lasted some time, and they were only waiting for the major's report.
Soon the curtains of the cart moved, and he appeared. He joined his friends at the foot of a gum-tree. His face, usually so calm, betokened a serious anxiety. When his eyes encountered Lady Helena and the young girl, they expressed a deep sadness. Glenarvan questioned him, and learned what the sailor had related.
On leaving the encampment, Mulready had followed one of the paths indicated by Paganel. He hastened, as much at least as the darkness of the night permitted him. According to his estimate, he had traveled a distance of about two miles, when several men—five, he thought—sprang to his horse's head. The animal reared. Mulready seized his revolver and fired. He thought that two of his assailants fell. By the flash of the report, he recognized Ben Joyce, but that was all. He had not time to fully discharge his weapon. A violent blow was struck upon his right side, which brought him to the ground. However, he had not yet lost consciousness. The assassins believed him dead. He felt them search him. Then a conversation ensued. "I have the letter," said one of them. "Give it to me," replied Ben Joyce; "and now the Duncan is ours!"
At this point in the story Glenarvan could not restrain a cry.
MacNabb continued: