Jules Verne For Children: 16 Incredible Tales of Mystery, Courage & Adventure (Illustrated Edition). Jules Verne
accident had occurred in the night, to the express train which left Melbourne at 11:45 in the evening. About a quarter past three in the morning, twenty-five minutes after leaving Castlemaine, it arrived at Camden Bridge, where the terrible disaster befell. The passengers and guards of the last and only remaining carriage at once tried to obtain help. But the telegraph, whose posts were lying on the ground, could not be worked. It was three hours before the authorities from Castlemaine reached the scene of the accident, and it was six o’clock in the morning when the salvage party was organized, under the direction of Mr. Mitchell, the surveyor-general of the colony, and a detachment of police, commanded by an inspector. The squatters and their “hands” lent their aid, and directed their efforts first to extinguishing the fire which raged in the ruined heap with unconquerable violence. A few unrecognizable bodies lay on the slope of the embankment, but from that blazing mass no living thing could be saved. The fire had done its work too speedily. Of the passengers ten only survived—those in the last carriage. The railway authorities sent a locomotive to bring them back to Castlemaine.
Lord Glenarvan, having introduced himself to the surveyor-general, entered into conversation with him and the inspector of police. The latter was a tall, thin man, imperturbably cool, and, whatever he may have felt, allowed no trace of it to appear on his features. He contemplated this calamity as a mathematician does a problem; he was seeking to solve it, and to find the unknown; and when Glenarvan observed, “This is a great misfortune,” he quietly replied, “Better than that, my Lord.”
“Better than that?” cried Glenarvan. “I do not understand you.”
“It is better than a misfortune, it is a crime!” he replied, in the same quiet tone.
Glenarvan looked inquiringly at Mr. Mitchell for a solution. “Yes, my Lord,” replied the surveyor-general, “our inquiries have resulted in the conclusion that the catastrophe is the result of a crime. The last luggage-van has been robbed. The surviving passengers were attacked by a gang of five or six villains. The bridge was intentionally opened, and not left open by the negligence of the guard; and connecting with this fact the guard’s disappearance, we may conclude that the wretched fellow was an accomplice of these ruffians.”
The police-officer shook his head at this inference.
“You do not agree with me?” said Mr. Mitchell.
“No, not as to the complicity of the guard.”
“Well, but granting that complicity, we may attribute the crime to the natives who haunt the Murray. Without him the blacks could never have opened a swing-bridge; they know nothing of its mechanism.”
“Exactly so,” said the police-inspector.
“Well,” added Mr. Mitchell, “we have the evidence of a boatman whose boat passed Camden Bridge at 10:40 P. M., that the bridge was properly shut after he passed.”
“True.”
“Well, after that I cannot see any doubt as to the complicity of the guard.”
The police-officer shook his head gently, but continuously.
“Then you don’t attribute the crime to the natives?”
“Not at all.”
“To whom then?”
Just at this moment a noise was heard from about half a mile up the river. A crowd had gathered, and quickly increased. They soon reached the station, and in their midst were two men carrying a corpse. It was the body of the guard, quite cold, stabbed to the heart. The murderers had no doubt hoped, by dragging their victim to a distance, that the police would be put on a wrong scent in their first inquiries. This discovery, at any rate, justified the doubts of the police-inspector. The poor blacks had had no hand in the matter.
“Those who dealt that blow,” said he, “were already well used to this little instrument”; and so saying he produced a pair of “darbies,” a kind of handcuff made of a double ring of iron secured by a lock. “I shall soon have the pleasure of presenting them with these bracelets as a New Year’s gift.”
“Then you suspect—”
“Some folks who came out free in Her Majesty’s ships.”
“What! convicts?” cried Paganel, who recognized the formula employed in the Australian colonies.
“I thought,” said Glenarvan, “convicts had no right in the province of Victoria.”
“Bah!” said the inspector, “if they have no right, they take it! They escape sometimes, and, if I am not greatly mistaken, this lot have come straight from Perth, and, take my word for it, they will soon be there again.”
Mr. Mitchell nodded acquiescence in the words of the police-inspector. At this moment the wagon arrived at the level crossing of the railway. Glenarvan wished to spare the ladies the horrible spectacle at Camden Bridge. He took courteous leave of the surveyor-general, and made a sign to the rest to follow him. “There is no reason,” said he, “for delaying our journey.”
When they reached the wagon, Glenarvan merely mentioned to Lady Helena that there had been a railway accident, without a hint of the crime that had played so great a part in it; neither did he make mention of the presence of a band of convicts in the neighborhood, reserving that piece of information solely for Ayrton’s ear. The little procession now crossed the railway some two hundred yards below the bridge, and then resumed their eastward course.
CHAPTER XII
Toline of the Lachlan
ABOUT two miles from the railway, the plain terminated in a range of low hills, and it was not long before the wagon entered a succession of narrow gorges and capricious windings, out of which it emerged into a most charming region, where grand trees, not closely planted, but in scattered groups, were growing with absolutely tropical luxuriance. As the party drove on they stumbled upon a little native boy lying fast asleep beneath the shade of a magnificent banksia. He was dressed in European garb, and seemed about eight years of age. There was no mistaking the characteristic features of his race; the crisped hair, the nearly black skin, the flattened nose, the thick lips, the unusual length of the arms, immediately classed him among the aborigines of the interior. But a degree of intelligence appeared in his face that showed some educational influences must have been at work on his savage, untamed nature.
Lady Helena, whose interest was greatly excited by this spectacle, got out of the wagon, followed by Mary, and presently the whole company surrounded the peaceful little sleeper. “Poor child!” said Mary Grant. “Is he lost, I wonder, in this desert?”
“I suppose,” said Lady Helena, “he has come a long way to visit this part. No doubt some he loves are here.”
“But he can’t be left here,” added Robert. “We must—”
His compassionate sentence remained unfinished, for, just at that moment the child turned over in his sleep, and, to the extreme surprise of everybody, there was a large label on his shoulders, on which the following was written:
TOLINE. To be conducted to Echuca. Care of Jeffries Smith, Railway Porter. Prepaid.
“That’s the English all over!” exclaimed Paganel. “They send off a child just as they would luggage, and book him like a parcel. I heard it was done, certainly; but I could not believe it before.”
“Poor child!” said Lady Helena. “Could he have been in the train that got off the line at Camden Bridge? Perhaps his parents are killed, and he is left alone in the world!”
“I don’t think so, madam,” replied John Mangles. “That card rather goes to prove he was traveling alone.”
“He is waking up!” said Mary.
And so he was. His eyes slowly opened and then closed