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:
“ ‘Now, you others,’ said Ben Joyce, ‘catch the horse. In two days I shall be on board the Duncan, and in six at Twofold Bay. There is the place of meeting. The lord’s party will be still fast in the marshes of the Snowy. Cross the river at Kemple Pier bridge, go to the coast, and wait for me. I will find means to bring you on board. With the crew once at sea, and a vessel like the Duncan, we shall be masters of the Indian Ocean.’ ‘Hurrah for Ben Joyce!’ cried the convicts. Mulready’s horse was then led up, and Ben Joyce disappeared at a gallop on the Lucknow road, while the band proceeded southeastward to the Snowy River. Mulready, although severely wounded, had strength to drag himself within two hundred paces of the encampment, where we picked him up almost dead. This,” added MacNabb, “is Mulready’s sad story. You understand now why the courageous sailor wished so much to speak.”
This revelation terrified all.
“Pirates! pirates!” cried Glenarvan. “My crew massacred, my Duncan in the hands of these bandits!”
“Yes, for Ben Joyce will surprise the vessel,” replied the major, “and then—”
“Well, we must reach the coast before these wretches,” said Paganel.
“But how cross the Snowy?” asked Wilson.
“Like them,” answered Glenarvan. “They will cross Kemple Pier bridge, and we will do the same.”
“But what will become of Mulready?” inquired Lady Helena.
“We will take turns in carrying him. Shall I give up my defenceless crew to Ben Joyce’s band?”
The plan of crossing Kemple Pier bridge was practicable, but perilous. The convicts might locate themselves at this point to defend it. It would be at least thirty against seven! But there are moments when we do not think of these things, when we must advance at all hazards.
“My lord,” said Captain Mangles, at length, “before risking our last chance, before venturing towards the bridge, it is prudent to reconnoitre it first. I will undertake this.”
“I will accompany you, captain,” replied Paganel.
This proposal was accepted, and the captain and Paganel prepared to start immediately. They were to follow along the bank of the river till they came to the place indicated by Ben Joyce, and keep out of sight of the convicts, who were probably lying in wait. These two courageous men accordingly, well furnished with arms and provisions, set out, and soon disappeared among the tall rushes of the river.
All day the little party waited for them. At evening they had not yet returned, and great fears were entertained. At last, about eleven o’clock, Wilson announced their approach. They arrived, worn out with the fatigues of a six-mile journey.
“The bridge? Is it there?” asked Glenarvan, rushing to meet them.
“Yes, a bridge of rushes,” said Captain Mangles. “The convicts passed, it is true, but—”
“But what?” cried Glenarvan, who foresaw a new calamity.
“They burned it after their passage,” replied Paganel.
XLIII
Helpless and Hopeless
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
