CHAPTER XIV
WEALTH IN THE WILDERNESS
ON January 6, at 7 A. M., after a tranquil night passed
in longitude 146° 15", the travelers continued their journey across the vast
district. They directed their course
steadily toward the rising sun, and made a straight line
across the plain. Twice over they came upon the traces
of squatters going toward the north, and their different
footprints became confused, and Glenarvan's horse no
longer left on the dust the Blackpoint mark, recognizable by
its double shamrock.
The plain was furrowed in some places by fantastic winding creeks
surrounded by box, and whose waters were
rather temporary than permanent. They originated in the
slopes of the Buffalo Ranges, a chain of mountains of
moderate height, the undulating line of which was visible
on the horizon. It was resolved to camp there the same
night. Ayrton goaded on his team, and after a journey
of thirty-five miles, the bullocks arrived, somewhat fatigued. The tent was
pitched beneath the great trees, and
as night had drawn on supper was served as quickly as possible, for all the
party cared more for sleeping than eating, after such a day's march.
Paganel who had the first watch did not lie down, but
shouldered his rifle and walked up and down before the
camp, to keep himself from going to sleep. In spite of the
absence of the moon, the night was almost luminous with
the light of the southern constellations. The savant
amused himself with reading the great book of the firmament, a book which is
always open, and full of interest to
those who can read it. The profound silence of sleeping
nature was only interrupted by the clanking of the hobbles
on the horses' feet.
Paganel was engrossed in his astronomical meditations,
and thinking more about the celestial than the terrestrial
world, when a distant sound aroused him from his reverie.
He listened attentively, and to his great amaze, fancied
he heard the sounds of a piano. He could not be mistaken,
for he distinctly heard chords struck.
"A piano in the wilds!" said Paganel to himself. "I
can never believe it is that."
It certainly was very surprising, but Paganel found it
easier to believe it was some Australian bird imitating the
sounds of a Pleyel or Erard, as others do the sounds of a
clock or mill. But at this very moment, the notes of a
clear ringing voice rose on the air. The pianist was accompanied by
singing. Still Paganel was unwilling to be
convinced. However, next minute he was forced to admit
the fact, for there fell on his ear the sublime strains of Mozart's "Il mio
tesoro tanto" from Don Juan.
"Well, now," said the geographer to himself, "let the
Australian birds be as queer as they may, and even granting the paroquets are
the most musical in the world, they
can't sing Mozart!"
He listened to the sublime inspiration of the great master
to the end. The effect of this soft melody on the still clear
night was indescribable. Paganel remained as if spellbound for a time; the voice
ceased and all was silence.
When Wilson came to relieve the watch, he found the geographer plunged into a
deep reverie. Paganel made no remark, however, to the sailor, but reserved his
information
for Glenarvan in the morning, and went into the tent to
bed.
Next day, they were all aroused from sleep by the sudden loud barking of
dogs, Glenarvan got up forthwith.
Two magnificent pointers, admirable specimens of English
hunting dogs, were bounding in front of the little wood,
into which they had retreated at the approach of the travelers, redoubling their
clamor.
"There is some station in this desert, then," said Glenarvan, "and
hunters too, for these are regular setters."
Paganel was just about to recount his nocturnal experiences, when two
young men appeared, mounted on horses
of the most perfect breed, true "hunters."
The two gentlemen dressed in elegant hunting costume,
stopped at the sight of the little group camping in gipsy
fashion. They looked as if they wondered what could
bring an armed party there, but when they saw the ladies
get out of the wagon, they dismounted instantly, and went
toward them hat in hand. Lord Glenarvan came to meet
them, and, as a stranger, announced his name and rank.
The gentlemen bowed, and the elder of them said, "My
Lord, will not these ladies and yourself and friends honor
us by resting a little beneath our roof?"
"Mr. —," began Glenarvan.
"Michael and Sandy Patterson are our names, proprietors of Hottam
Station. Our house is scarcely a quarter
of a mile distant."
"Gentlemen," replied Glenarvan, "I should not like to
abuse such kindly-offered hospitality."
"My Lord," returned Michael Patterson, "by accepting
it you will confer a favor on poor exiles, who will be only
too happy to do the honors of the wilds."
Glenarvan bowed in token of acquiescence.
"Sir," said Paganel, addressing Michael Patterson, "if
it is not an impudent question, may I ask whether it was
you that sung an air from the divine Mozart last night?"
"It was, sir," replied the stranger, "and my cousin
Sandy accompanied me."
"Well, sir," replied Paganel, holding out his hand to the
young man, "receive the sincere compliments of a Frenchman, who is a passionate
admirer of this music."
Michael grasped his hand cordially, and then pointing
out the road to take, set off, accompanied by the ladies and
Lord Glenarvan and his friends, for the station. The
horses and the camp were left to the care of Ayrton and
the sailors.
Hottam Station was truly a magnificent establishment,
kept as scrupulously in order as an English park. Immense meadows, enclosed in
gray fences, stretched away
out of sight. In these, thousands of bullocks and millions
of sheep were grazing, tended by numerous shepherds, and
still more numerous dogs. The crack of the stock-whip
mingled continually with the barking of the "collies" and
the bellowing and bleating of the cattle and sheep.
Toward the east there was a boundary of myalls and
gum-trees, beyond which rose Mount Hottam, its imposing peak towering 7,500 feet
high. Long avenues of green
trees were visible on all sides. Here and there was a thick
clump of "grass trees," tall bushes ten feet high, like the
dwarf palm, quite lost in their crown of long narrow
leaves. The air was balmy and odorous with the perfume
of scented laurels, whose white blossoms, now in full bloom,
distilled on the breeze the finest aromatic perfume.
To these charming groups of native trees were added
transplantations from European climates. The peach, pear,
and apple trees were there, the fig, the orange, and even the
oak, to the rapturous delight of the travelers, who greeted
them with loud hurrahs! But astonished as the travelers
were to find themselves walking beneath the shadow of the
trees of their own native land, they were still more so at the
sight of the birds that flew about in the branches — the "satin
bird," with its silky plumage, and the "king-honeysuckers,"
with their plumage of gold and black velvet.
For the first time, too, they saw here the "Lyre" bird,
the tail of which resembles in form the graceful instrument
of Orpheus. It flew about among the tree ferns, and when
its tail struck the branches, they were almost surprised not
to hear the harmonious strains that inspired Amphion to
rebuild the walls of Thebes. Paganel had a great desire
to play on it.
However, Lord Glenarvan was not satisfied with admiring the fairy-like
wonders of this oasis, improvised in
the Australian desert. He was listening to the history of
the young gentlemen. In England, in the midst of civilized countries, the new
comer acquaints his host whence he
comes and whither he is going; but here, by a refinement
of delicacy, Michael and Sandy Patterson thought it a duty
to make themselves known to the strangers who were about
to receive their hospitality.
Michael and Sandy Patterson were the sons of London
bankers. When they were twenty years of age, the head
of their family said, "Here are some thousands, young
men. Go to a distant colony; and start some useful settlement there. Learn to
know life by labor. If you succeed,
so much the better. If you fail, it won't matter much.
We shall not regret the money which makes you men."
The two young men obeyed. They chose the colony of
Victoria in Australia, as the field for sowing the paternal
bank-notes, and had no reason to repent the selection. At
the end of three years the establishment was flourishing.
In Victoria, New South Wales, and Southern Australia,
there are more than three thousand stations, some belonging to squatters who
rear cattle, and others to settlers who
farm the ground. Till the arrival of the two Pattersons,
the largest establishment of this sort was that of Mr.
Jamieson, which covered an area of seventy-five miles,
with a frontage of about eight miles along the Peron, one
of the affluents of the Darling.
Now Hottam Station bore the palm for business and extent. The young men
were both squatters and settlers.
They managed their immense property with rare ability
and uncommon energy.
The station was far removed from the chief towns in the
midst of the unfrequented districts of the Murray. It occupied a long wide space
of five leagues in extent, lying
between the Buffalo Ranges and Mount Hottam. At the
two angles north of this vast quadrilateral, Mount Aberdeen rose on the left,
and the peaks of High Barven on
the right. Winding, beautiful streams were not wanting,
thanks to the creeks and affluents of the Oven's River,
which throws itself at the north into the bed of the Murray.
Consequently they were equally successful in cattle breeding and farming. Ten
thousand acres of ground, admirably cultivated, produced harvests of native
productions and
exotics, and several millions of animals fattened in the
fertile pastures. The products of Hottam Station fetched
the very highest price in the markets of Castlemaine and
Melbourne.
Michael and Sandy Patterson had just concluded these
details of their busy life, when their dwelling came in sight,
at the extremity of the avenue of the oaks.
It was a charming house, built of wood and brick, hidden in groves of
emerophilis. Nothing at all, however, belonging to a station was visible —
neither sheds, nor stables,
nor cart-houses. All these out-buildings, a perfect village,
comprising more than twenty huts and houses, were about
a quarter of a mile off in the heart of a little valley. Electric communication
was established between this village and
the master's house, which, far removed from all noise,
seemed buried in a forest of exotic trees.
At Sandy Patterson's bidding, a sumptuous breakfast
was served in less than a quarter of an hour. The wines
and viands were of the finest quality; but what pleased the
guests most of all in the midst of these refinements of opulence, was the joy of
the young squatters in offering them
this splendid hospitality.
It was not long before they were told the history of the
expedition, and had their liveliest interest awakened for
its success. They spoke hopefully to the young Grants,
and Michael said: "Harry Grant has evidently fallen into
the hands of natives, since he has not turned up at any of
the settlements on the coast. He knows his position exactly, as the document
proves, and the reason he did not
reach some English colony is that he must have been taken prisoner by the
savages the moment he landed!"
"That is precisely what befell his quartermaster, Ayrton," said John
Mangles.
"But you, gentlemen, then, have never heard the catastrophe of the
Britannia, mentioned?" inquired Lady Helena.
"Never, Madam," replied Michael.
"And what treatment, in your opinion, has Captain
Grant met with among the natives?"
"The Australians are not cruel, Madam," replied the
young squatter, "and Miss Grant may be easy on that
score. There have been many instances of the gentleness
of their nature, and some Europeans have lived a long
time among them without having the least cause to complain of their brutality."
"King, among others, the sole survivor of the Burke
expedition," put in Paganel.
"And not only that bold explorer," returned Sandy,
"but also an English soldier named Buckley, who deserted
at Port Philip in 1803, and who was welcomed by the natives, and lived thirty-three years among them."
"And more recently," added Michael," one of the
last numbers of the Australasia informs us that a certain
Morrilli has just been restored to his countrymen after
sixteen years of slavery. His story is exactly similar to
the captain's, for it was at the very time of his shipwreck
in the Pruvienne, in 1846, that he was made prisoner by
the natives, and dragged away into the interior of the continent. I therefore
think you have reason to hope still."
The young squatter's words caused great joy to his auditors. They
completely corroborated the opinions of Paganel and Ayrton.
The conversation turned on the convicts after the ladies
had left the table. The squatters had heard of the catastrophe at Camden Bridge,
but felt no uneasiness about the
escaped gang. It was not a station, with more than a hundred men on it, that
they would dare to attack. Besides,
they would never go into the deserts of the Murray, where
they could find no booty, nor near the colonies of New
South Wales, where the roads were too well watched.
Ayrton had said this too.
Glenarvan could not refuse the request of his amiable
hosts, to spend the whole day at the station. It was twelve
hours' delay, but also twelve hours' rest, and both horses
and bullocks would be the better for the comfortable quarters they would find
there. This was accordingly agreed
upon, and the young squatters sketched out a programme
of the day's amusements, which was adopted eagerly.
At noon, seven vigorous hunters were before the door.
An elegant brake was intended for the ladies, in which the
coachman could exhibit his skill in driving four-in-hand.
The cavalcade set off preceded by huntsmen, and armed
with first-rate rifles, followed by a pack of pointers barking joyously as they
bounded through the bushes. For
four hours the hunting party wandered through the paths
and avenues of the park, which was as large as a small
German state. The Reuiss-Schleitz, or Saxe-Coburg
Gotha, would have gone inside it comfortably. Few people were to be met in it
certainly, but sheep in abundance.
As for game, there was a complete preserve awaiting the
hunters. The noisy reports of guns were soon heard on
all sides. Little Robert did wonders in company with Major McNabbs. The daring
boy, in spite of his sister's
injunctions, was always in front, and the first to fire. But
John Mangles promised to watch over him, and Mary felt
less uneasy.
During this battue they killed certain animals peculiar to
the country, the very names of which were unknown to
Paganel; among others the "wombat" and the "bandicoot." The wombat is an
herbivorous animal, which burrows in the ground like a badger. It is as large as
a sheep,
and the flesh is excellent.
The bandicoot is a species of marsupial animal which
could outwit the European fox, and give him lessons in
pillaging poultry yards. It was a repulsive-looking animal, a foot and a half
long, but, as Paganel chanced to
kill it, of course he thought it charming.
"An adorable creature," he called it.
But the most interesting event of the day, by far, was
the kangaroo hunt. About four o'clock, the dogs roused
a troop of these curious marsupials. The little ones retreated precipitately
into the maternal pouch, and all the
troop decamped in file. Nothing could be more astonishing than the enormous
bounds of the kangaroo. The hind
legs of the animal are twice as long as the front ones, and
unbend like a spring. At the head of the flying troop
was a male five feet high, a magnificent specimen of the
macropus giganteus, an "old man," as the bushmen say.
For four or five miles the chase was vigorously pursued.
The kangaroos showed no signs of weariness, and the dogs,
who had reason enough to fear their strong paws and
sharp nails, did not care to approach them. But at last,
worn out with the race, the troop stopped, and the "old
man" leaned against the trunk of a tree, ready to defend
himself. One of the pointers, carried away by excitement,
went up to him. Next minute the unfortunate beast leaped
into the air, and fell down again completely ripped up.
The whole pack, indeed, would have had little chance
with these powerful marsupia. They had to dispatch the
fellow with rifles. Nothing but balls could bring down the
gigantic animal.
Just at this moment, Robert was well nigh the victim of
his own imprudence. To make sure of his aim, he had
approached too near the kangaroo, and the animal leaped
upon him immediately. Robert gave a loud cry and fell.
Mary Grant saw it all from the brake, and in an agony of
terror, speechless and almost unable even to see, stretched
out her arms toward her little brother. No one dared to
fire, for fear of wounding the child.
But John Mangles opened his hunting knife, and at the
risk of being ripped up himself, sprang at the animal, and
plunged it into his heart. The beast dropped forward, and
Robert rose unhurt. Next minute he was in his sister's
arms.
"Thank you, Mr. John, thank you!" she said, holding
out her hand to the young captain.
"I had pledged myself for his safety," was all John
said, taking her trembling fingers into his own.
This occurrence ended the sport. The band of marsupia had disappeared
after the death of their leader. The
hunting party returned home, bringing their game with
them. It was then six o'clock. A magnificent dinner
was ready. Among other things, there was one dish that
was a great success. It was kangaroo-tail soup, prepared
in the native manner.
Next morning very early, they took leave of the young
squatters, with hearty thanks and a positive promise from
them of a visit to Malcolm Castle when they should return
to Europe.
Then the wagon began to move away, round the foot
of Mount Hottam, and soon the hospitable dwelling disappeared from the sight of
the travelers like some brief vision which had come and gone.
For five miles further, the horses were still treading the
station lands. It was not till nine o'clock that they had
passed the last fence, and entered the almost unknown districts of the province
of Victoria.