Jules Verne For Children: 16 Incredible Tales of Mystery, Courage & Adventure (Illustrated Edition). Jules Verne
commencing his recital, he told Lady Helena about the escape of the convicts at Perth, and their appearance in Victoria; as also their complicity in the railway catastrophe. He handed her the Australian and New Zealand Gazette they had bought in Seymour, and added that a reward had been offered by the police for the apprehension of Ben Joyce, a redoubtable bandit, who had become a noted character during the last eighteen months, for doing deeds of villainy and crime.
But how had McNabbs found out that Ayrton and Ben Joyce were one and the same individual? This was the mystery to be unraveled, and the Major soon explained it.
Ever since their first meeting, McNabbs had felt an instinctive distrust of the quartermaster. Two or three insignificant facts, a hasty glance exchanged between him and the blacksmith at the Wimerra River, his unwillingness to cross towns and villages, his persistence about getting the DUNCAN summoned to the coast, the strange death of the animals entrusted to his care, and, lastly, a want of frankness in all his behavior—all these details combined had awakened the Major’s suspicions.
However, he could not have brought any direct accusation against him till the events of the preceding evening had occurred. He then told of his experience.
McNabbs, slipping between the tall shrubs, got within reach of the suspicious shadows he had noticed about half a mile away from the encampment. The phosphorescent furze emitted a faint light, by which he could discern three men examining marks on the ground, and one of the three was the blacksmith of Black Point.
“‘It is them!’ said one of the men. ‘Yes,’ replied another, ‘there is the trefoil on the mark of the horseshoe. It has been like that since the Wimerra.’ ‘All the horses are dead.’ ‘The poison is not far off.’ ‘There is enough to kill a regiment of cavalry.’ ‘A useful plant this gastrolobium.’
“I heard them say this to each other, and then they were quite silent; but I did not know enough yet, so I followed them. Soon the conversation began again. ‘He is a clever fellow, this Ben Joyce,’ said the blacksmith. ‘A capital quartermaster, with his invention of shipwreck.’ ‘If his project succeeds, it will be a stroke of fortune.’ ‘He is a very devil, is this Ayrton.’ ‘Call him Ben Joyce, for he has well earned his name.’ And then the scoundrels left the forest.
“I had all the information I wanted now, and came back to the camp quite convinced, begging Paganel’s pardon, that Australia does not reform criminals.”
This was all the Major’s story, and his companions sat silently thinking over it.
“Then Ayrton has dragged us here,” said Glenarvan, pale with anger, “on purpose to rob and assassinate us.”
“For nothing else,” replied the Major; “and ever since we left the Wimerra, his gang has been on our track and spying on us, waiting for a favorable opportunity.”
“Yes.”
“Then the wretch was never one of the sailors on the BRITANNIA; he had stolen the name of Ayrton and the shipping papers.”
They were all looking at McNabbs for an answer, for he must have put the question to himself already.
“There is no great certainty about the matter,” he replied, in his usual calm voice; “but in my opinion the man’s name is really Ayrton. Ben Joyce is his nom de guerre. It is an incontestible fact that he knew Harry Grant, and also that he was quartermaster on the BRITANNIA. These facts were proved by the minute details given us by Ayrton, and are corroborated by the conversation between the convicts, which I repeated to you. We need not lose ourselves in vain conjectures, but consider it as certain that Ben Joyce is Ayrton, and that Ayrton is Ben Joyce; that is to say, one of the crew of the BRITANNIA has turned leader of the convict gang.”
The explanations of McNabbs were accepted without discussion.
“Now, then,” said Glenarvan, “will you tell us how and why Harry Grant’s quartermaster comes to be in Australia?”
“How, I don’t know,” replied McNabbs; “and the police declare they are as ignorant on the subject as myself. Why, it is impossible to say; that is a mystery which the future may explain.”
“The police are not even aware of Ayrton’s identity with Ben Joyce,” said John Mangles.
“You are right, John,” replied the Major, “and this circumstance would throw light on their search.”
“Then, I suppose,” said Lady Helena, “the wicked wretch had got work on Paddy O’Moore’s farm with a criminal intent?”
“There is not the least doubt of it. He was planning some evil design against the Irishman, when a better chance presented itself. Chance led us into his presence. He heard Paganel’s story and all about the shipwreck, and the audacious fellow determined to act his part immediately. The expedition was decided on. At the Wimerra he found means of communicating with one of his gang, the blacksmith of Black Point, and left traces of our journey which might be easily recognized. The gang followed us. A poisonous plant enabled them gradually to kill our bullocks and horses. At the right moment he sunk us in the marshes of the Snowy, and gave us into the hands of his gang.”
Such was the history of Ben Joyce. The Major had shown him up in his character—a bold and formidable criminal. His manifestly evil designs called for the utmost vigilance on the part of Glenarvan. Happily the unmasked bandit was less to be feared than the traitor.
But one serious consequence must come out of this revelation; no one had thought of it yet except Mary Grant. John Mangles was the first to notice her pale, despairing face; he understood what was passing in her mind at a glance.
“Miss Mary! Miss Mary!” he cried; “you are crying!”
“Crying, my child!” said Lady Helena.
“My father, madam, my father!” replied the poor girl.
She could say no more, but the truth flashed on every mind. They all knew the cause of her grief, and why tears fell from her eyes and her father’s name came to her lips.
The discovery of Ayrton’s treachery had destroyed all hope; the convict had invented a shipwreck to entrap Glenarvan. In the conversation overheard by McNabbs, the convicts had plainly said that the BRITANNIA had never been wrecked on the rocks in Twofold Bay. Harry Grant had never set foot on the Australian continent!
A second time they had been sent on the wrong track by an erroneous interpretation of the document. Gloomy silence fell on the whole party at the sight of the children’s sorrow, and no one could find a cheering word to say. Robert was crying in his sister’s arms. Paganel muttered in a tone of vexation: “That unlucky document! It may boast of having half-crazed a dozen peoples’ wits!” The worthy geographer was in such a rage with himself, that he struck his forehead as if he would smash it in.
Glenarvan went out to Mulrady and Wilson, who were keeping watch. Profound silence reigned over the plain between the wood and the river. Ben Joyce and his band must be at considerable distance, for the atmosphere was in such a state of complete torpor that the slightest sound would have been heard. It was evident, from the flocks of birds on the lower branches of the trees, and the kangaroos feeding quietly on the young shoots, and a couple of emus whose confiding heads passed between the great clumps of bushes, that those peaceful solitudes were untroubled by the presence of human beings.
“You have neither seen nor heard anything for the last hour?” said Glenarvan to the two sailors.
“Nothing whatever, your honor,” replied Wilson. “The convicts must be miles away from here.”
“They were not in numbers enough to attack us, I suppose,” added Mulrady. “Ben Joyce will have gone to recruit his party, with some bandits like himself, among the bushrangers who may be lurking about the foot of the Alps.”
“That is probably the case, Mulrady,” replied Glenarvan. “The rascals are cowards; they know we are armed, and well armed too. Perhaps they are waiting for nightfall to commence the attack. We must redouble our watchfulness.