CHAPTER X
AN ACCIDENT
THE next day, the 24th of December, they started at
daybreak. The heat was already considerable, but not
unbearable, and the road was smooth and good, and allowed the cavalcade to make
speedy progress. In the
evening they camped on the banks of the White Lake, the
waters of which are brackish and undrinkable.
Jacques Paganel was obliged to own that the name of
this lake was a complete misnomer, for the waters were no
more white than the Black Sea is black, or the Red Sea
red, or the Yellow River yellow, or the Blue Mountains
blue. However, he argued and disputed the point with all
the amour propre of a geographer, but his reasoning made
no impression.
M. Olbinett prepared the evening meal with his accustomed punctuality,
and after this was dispatched, the travelers disposed themselves for the night
in the wagon and
in the tent, and were soon sleeping soundly, notwithstanding the melancholy
howling of the "dingoes," the jackals
of Australia.
A magnificent plain, thickly covered with chrysanthemums, stretched out
beyond the lake, and Glenarvan and
his friends would gladly have explored its beauties when
they awoke next morning, but they had to start. As far
as the eye could reach, nothing was visible but one stretch
of prairie, enameled with flower, in all the freshness and
abundance of spring. The blue flowers of the slenderleaved flax, combined with
the bright hues of the scarlet
acanthus, a flower peculiar to the country.
A few cassowaries were bounding over the plain, but it
was impossible to get near them. The Major was fortunate enough, however, to hit
one very rare animal with a
ball in the leg. This was the jabiru, a species which is
fast disappearing, the gigantic crane of the English colonies. This winged
creature was five feet high, and his
wide, conical, extremely pointed beak, measured eighteen
inches in length. The violet and purple tints of his head
contrasted vividly with the glossy green of his neck, and
the dazzling whiteness of his throat, and the bright red of
his long legs. Nature seems to have exhausted in its favor
all the primitive colors on her palette.
Great admiration was bestowed on this bird, and the
Major's spoil would have borne the honors of the day, had
not Robert come across an animal a few miles further on,
and bravely killed it. It was a shapeless creature, half
porcupine, half ant-eater, a sort of unfinished animal belonging to the first
stage of creation. A long glutinous
extensible tongue hung out of his jaws in search of the
ants, which formed its principal food.
"It is an echidna," said Paganel. "Have you ever
seen such a creature?"
"It is horrible," replied Glenarvan.
"Horrible enough, but curious, and, what's more, peculiar to Australia.
One might search for it in vain in
any other part of the world."
Naturally enough, the geographer wished to preserve
this interesting specimen of monotremata, and wanted to
stow it away in the luggage; but M. Olbinett resented the
idea so indignantly, that the savant was obliged to abandon his project.
About four o'clock in the afternoon, John Mangles descried an enormous
column of smoke about three miles
off, gradually overspreading the whole horizon. What
could be the cause of this phenomenon? Paganel was inclined to think it was some
description of meteor, and his
lively imagination was already in search of an explanation,
when Ayrton cut short all his conjectures summarily, by
announcing that the cloud of dust was caused by a drove
of cattle on the road.
The quartermaster proved right, for as the cloud came
nearer, quite a chorus of bleatings and neighings, and bellowings escaped from
it, mingled with the loud tones of a
human voice, in the shape of cries, and whistles, and vociferations.
Presently a man came out of the cloud. This was the
leader-in-chief of the four-footed army. Glenarvan advanced toward him, and
friendly relations were speedily
established between them. The leader, or to give him his
proper designation, the stock-keeper, was part owner of
the drove. His name was Sam Machell, and he was on his
way from the eastern provinces to Portland Bay.
The drove numbered 12,075 head in all, or l,000 bullocks, 11,000 sheep,
and 75 horses. All these had been
bought in the Blue Mountains in a poor, lean condition,
and were going to be fatted up on the rich pasture lands
of Southern Australia, and sold again at a great profit.
Sam Machell expected to get £2 on each bullock, and 10s.
on every sheep, which would bring him in £3,750. This
was doing good business; but what patience and energy
were required to conduct such a restive, stubborn lot to
their destination, and what fatigues must have to be endured. Truly the gain was
hardly earned.
Sam Machell told his history in a few words, while the
drove continued their march among the groves of mimosas.
Lady Helena and Mary and the rest of the party seated
themselves under the shade of a wide-spreading gum-tree,
and listened to his recital.
It was seven months since Sam Machell had started. He
had gone at the rate of ten miles a day, and his interminable journey would last
three months longer. His assistants in the laborious task comprised twenty dogs
and
thirty men, five of whom were blacks, and very serviceable
in tracking up any strayed beasts. Six wagons made the
rear-guard. All the men were armed with stockwhips, the
handles of which are eighteen inches long, and the lash nine
feet, and they move about among the ranks, bringing
refractory animals back into order, while the dogs, the
light cavalry of the regiment, preserved discipline in the
wings.
The travelers were struck with the admirable arrangement of the drove.
The different stock were kept apart,
for wild sheep and bullocks would not have got on together at all. The bullocks
would never have grazed
where the sheep had passed along, and consequently they
had to go first, divided into two battalions. Five regiments of sheep followed,
in charge of twenty men, and last
of all came the horses.
Sam Machell drew the attention of his auditors to the
fact that the real guides of the drove were neither the men
nor the dogs, but the oxen themselves, beasts of superior
intelligence, recognized as leaders by their congenitors.
They advanced in front with perfect gravity, choosing the
best route by instinct, and fully alive to their claim to respect. Indeed, they
were obliged to be studied and humored in everything, for the whole drove obeyed
them
implicitly. If they took it into their heads to stop, it was a
matter of necessity to yield to their good pleasure, for not
a single animal would move a step till these leaders gave
the signal to set off.
Sundry details, added by the stock-keeper, completed the
history of this expedition, worthy of being written, if not
commended by Xenophon himself. As long as the troop
marched over the plains it was well enough, there was little
difficulty or fatigue. The animals fed as they went along,
and slaked their thirst at the numerous creeks that watered the plains, sleeping
at night and making good progress in the day, always obedient and tractable to
the dogs.
But when they had to go through great forests and groves
of eucalyptus and mimosas, the difficulties increased.
Platoons, battalions and regiments got all mixed together or
scattered, and it was a work of time to collect them again.
Should a "leader" unfortunately go astray, he had to be
found, cost what it might, on pain of a general disbandment, and the blacks were
often long days in quest
of him, before their search was successful. During the
heavy rains the lazy beasts refused to stir, and when violent
storms chanced to occur, the creatures became almost
mad with terror, and were seized with a wild, disorderly
panic.
However, by dint of energy and ambition, the stockkeeper triumphed over
these difficulties, incessantly renewed though they were. He kept steadily on;
mile after
mile of plains and woods, and mountains, lay behind. But
in addition to all his other qualities, there was one higher
than all that he specially needed when they came to rivers.
This was patience — patience that could stand any trial, and
not only could hold out for hours and days, but for weeks.
The stock-keeper would be himself forced to wait on the
banks of a stream that might have been crossed at once.
There was nothing to hinder but the obstinacy of the herd.
The bullocks would taste the water and turn back. The
sheep fled in all directions, afraid to brave the liquid element. The stock-keeper hoped when night came he might
manage them better, but they still refused to go forward.
The rams were dragged in by force, but the sheep would
not follow. They tried what thirst would do, by keeping
them without drink for several days, but when they were
brought to the river again, they simply quenched their
thirst, and declined a more intimate acquaintance with the
water. The next expedient employed was to carry all the
lambs over, hoping the mothers would be drawn after them,
moved by their cries. But the lambs might bleat as pitifully as they liked, the
mothers never stirred. Sometimes
this state of affairs would last a whole month, and the stockkeeper would be
driven to his wits' end by his bleating, bellowing, neighing army. Then all of a
sudden, one fine
day, without rhyme or reason, a detachment would take it
into their heads to make a start across, and the only difficulty now was to keep
the whole herd from rushing helterskelter after them. The wildest confusion set
in among
the ranks, and numbers of the animals were drowned in
the passage.
Such was the narrative of Sam Machell. During its
recital, a considerable part of the troop had filed past in
good order. It was time for him to return to his place at
their head, that he might be able to choose the best pasturage. Taking leave of
Lord Glenarvan, he sprang on a
capital horse of the native breed, that one of his men held
waiting for him, and after shaking hands cordially with
everybody all round, took his departure. A few minutes
later, nothing was visible of the stock-keeper and his troop
but a cloud of dust.
The wagon resumed its course in the opposite direction,
and did not stop again till they halted for the night at the
foot of Mount Talbot.
Paganel made the judicious observation that it was the
25th of December, the Christmas Day so dear to English
hearts. But the steward had not forgotten it, and an appetizing meal was soon
ready under the tent, for which he
deserved and received warm compliments from the guests.
Indeed, M. Olbinett had quite excelled himself on this occasion. He produced
from his stores such an array of European dishes as is seldom seen in the
Australian desert.
Reindeer hams, slices of salt beef, smoked salmon, oat
cakes, and barley meal scones; tea ad libitum, and whisky
in abundance, and several bottles of port, composed this
astonishing meal. The little party might have thought
themselves in the grand dining-hall of Malcolm Castle, in
the heart of the Highlands of Scotland.
The next day, at 11 A. M., the wagon reached the banks
of the Wimerra on the 143d meridian.
The river, half a mile in width, wound its limpid course
between tall rows of gum-trees and acacias. Magnificent
specimens of the myrtacea, among others, the metrosideros
speciosa, fifteen feet high, with long drooping branches,
adorned with red flowers. Thousands of birds, the lories,
and greenfinches, and gold-winged pigeons, not to speak of
the noisy paroquets, flew about in the green branches. Below, on the bosom of
the water, were a couple of shy and
unapproachable black swans. This rara avis of the Australian rivers soon
disappeared among the windings of the
Wimerra, which water the charming landscape in the most
capricious manner.
The wagon stopped on a grassy bank, the long fringes
of which dipped in the rapid current. There was neither
raft nor bridge, but cross over they must. Ayrton looked
about for a practicable ford. About a quarter of a mile
up the water seemed shallower, and it was here they determined to try to pass
over. The soundings in different
parts showed a depth of three feet only, so that the wagon
might safely enough venture.
"I suppose there is no other way of fording the river?"
said Glenarvan to the quartermaster.
"No, my Lord; but the passage does not seem dangerous. We shall manage
it."
"Shall Lady Glenarvan and Miss Grant get out of the
wagon?"
"Not at all. My bullocks are surefooted, and you may
rely on me for keeping them straight."
"Very well, Ayrton; I can trust you."
The horsemen surrounded the ponderous vehicle, and
all stepped boldly into the current. Generally, when wagons have to ford rivers,
they have empty casks slung all
round them, to keep them floating on the water; but they
had no such swimming belt with them on this occasion, and
they could only depend on the sagacity of the animals and
the prudence of Ayrton, who directed the team. The Major and the two sailors
were some feet in advance. Glenarvan and John Mangles went at the sides of the
wagon,
ready to lend any assistance the fair travelers might require, and Paganel and
Robert brought up the rear.
All went well till they reached the middle of the Wimerra,
but then the hollow deepened, and the water rose to the middle of the wheels.
The bullocks were in danger of losing
their footing, and dragging with them the oscillating vehicle. Ayrton devoted
himself to his task courageously.
He jumped into the water, and hanging on by the bullocks'
horns, dragged them back into the right course.
Suddenly the wagon made a jolt that it was impossible
to prevent; a crack was heard, and the vehicle began to
lean over in a most precarious manner. The water now
rose to the ladies' feet; the whole concern began to float,
though John Mangles and Lord Glenarvan hung on to the
side. It was an anxious moment.
Fortunately a vigorous effort drove the wagon toward
the opposite shore, and the bank began to slope upward, so
that the horses and bullocks were able to regain their footing, and soon the
whole party found themselves on the
other side, glad enough, though wet enough too.
The fore part of the wagon, however, was broken by
the jolt, and Glenarvan's horse had lost a shoe.
This was an accident that needed to be promptly repaired. They looked at
each other hardly knowing what
to do, till Ayrton proposed he should go to Black Point
Station, twenty miles further north, and bring back a
blacksmith with him.
"Yes, go, my good fellow," said Glenarvan. "How
long will it take you to get there and back?"
"About fifteen hours," replied Ayrton, "but not longer."
"Start at once, then, and we will camp here, on the
banks of the Wimerra, till you return."