Jules Verne For Children: 16 Incredible Tales of Mystery, Courage & Adventure (Illustrated Edition). Jules Verne
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young urchin of twelve. However, he was far ahead of the Major, who gave himself no concern on the subject.
They were all soon assembled on the lofty crags, and from this elevation could command a view of the whole plain below. It appeared entirely uncultivated, and covered with shrubs and bushes. Glenarvan thought it resembled some glens in the lowlands of Scotland, and Paganel fancied it like some barren parts of Britanny. But along the coast the country appeared to be inhabited, and significant signs of industry revealed the presence of civilized men, not savages.
“A mill!” exclaimed Robert.
And, sure enough, in the distance the long sails of a mill appeared, apparently about three miles off.
“It certainly is a windmill,” said Paganel, after examining the object in question through his telescope.
“Let us go to it, then,” said Glenarvan.
Away they started, and, after walking about half an hour, the country began to assume a new aspect, suddenly changing its sterility for cultivation. Instead of bushes, quick-set hedges met the eye, inclosing recent clearings. Several bullocks and about half a dozen horses were feeding in meadows, surrounded by acacias supplied from the vast plantations of Kangaroo Island. Gradually fields covered with cereals came in sight, whole acres covered with bristling ears of corn, hayricks in the shape of large beehives, blooming orchards, a fine garden worthy of Horace, in which the useful and agreeable were blended; then came sheds; commons wisely distributed, and last of all, a plain comfortable dwelling-house, crowned by a joyous-sounding mill, and fanned and shaded by its long sails as they kept constantly moving round.
Just at that moment a pleasant-faced man, about fifty years of age, came out of the house, warned, by the loud barking of four dogs, of the arrival of strangers. He was followed by five handsome strapping lads, his sons, and their mother, a fine tall woman. There was no mistaking the little group. This was a perfect type of the Irish colonist—a man who, weary of the miseries of his country, had come, with his family, to seek fortune and happiness beyond the seas.
Before Glenarvan and his party had time to reach the house and present themselves in due form, they heard the cordial words: “Strangers! welcome to the house of Paddy O’Moore!”
“You are Irish,” said Glenarvan, “if I am not mistaken,” warmly grasping the outstretched hand of the colonist.
“I was,” replied Paddy O’Moore, “but now I am Australian. Come in, gentlemen, whoever you may be, this house is yours.”
It was impossible not to accept an invitation given with such grace. Lady Helena and Mary Grant were led in by Mrs. O’Moore, while the gentlemen were assisted by his sturdy sons to disencumber themselves of their firearms.
An immense hall, light and airy, occupied the ground floor of the house, which was built of strong planks laid horizontally. A few wooden benches fastened against the gaily-colored walls, about ten stools, two oak chests on tin mugs, a large long table where twenty guests could sit comfortably, composed the furniture, which looked in perfect keeping with the solid house and robust inmates.
The noonday meal was spread; the soup tureen was smoking between roast beef and a leg of mutton, surrounded by large plates of olives, grapes, and oranges. The necessary was there and there was no lack of the superfluous. The host and hostess were so pleasant, and the big table, with its abundant fare, looked so inviting, that it would have been ungracious not to have seated themselves. The farm servants, on equal footing with their master, were already in their places to take their share of the meal. Paddy O’Moore pointed to the seats reserved for the strangers, and said to Glenarvan:
“I was waiting for you.”
“Waiting for us!” replied Glenarvan in a tone of surprise.
“I am always waiting for those who come,” said the Irishman; and then, in a solemn voice, while the family and domestics reverently stood, he repeated the BENEDICITE.
Dinner followed immediately, during which an animated conversation was kept up on all sides. From Scotch to Irish is but a handsbreadth. The Tweed, several fathoms wide, digs a deeper trench between Scotland and England than the twenty leagues of Irish Channel, which separates Old Caledonia from the Emerald Isle. Paddy O’Moore related his history. It was that of all emigrants driven by misfortune from their own country. Many come to seek fortunes who only find trouble and sorrow, and then they throw the blame on chance, and forget the true cause is their own idleness and vice and want of commonsense. Whoever is sober and industrious, honest and economical, gets on.
Such a one had been and was Paddy O’Moore. He left Dundalk, where he was starving, and came with his family to Australia, landed at Adelaide, where, refusing employment as a miner, he got engaged on a farm, and two months afterward commenced clearing ground on his own account.
The whole territory of South Australia is divided into lots, each containing eighty acres, and these are granted to colonists by the government. Any industrious man, by proper cultivation, can not only get a living out of his lot, but lay by pounds 80 a year.
Paddy O’Moore knew this. He profited by his own former experience, and laid by every penny he could till he had saved enough to purchase new lots. His family prospered, and his farm also. The Irish peasant became a landed proprietor, and though his little estate had only been under cultivation for two years, he had five hundred acres cleared by his own hands, and five hundred head of cattle. He was his own master, after having been a serf in Europe, and as independent as one can be in the freest country in the world.
His guests congratulated him heartily as he ended his narration; and Paddy O’Moore no doubt expected confidence for confidence, but he waited in vain. However, he was one of those discreet people who can say, “I tell you who I am, but I don’t ask who you are.” Glenarvan’s great object was to get information about the BRITANNIA, and like a man who goes right to the point, he began at once to interrogate O’Moore as to whether he had heard of the shipwreck.
The reply of the Irishman was not favorable; he had never heard the vessel mentioned. For two years, at least, no ship had been wrecked on that coast, neither above nor below the Cape. Now, the date of the catastrophe was within two years. He could, therefore, declare positively that the survivors of the wreck had not been thrown on that part of the western shore. Now, my Lord,” he added, “may I ask what interest you have in making the inquiry?”
This pointed question elicited in reply the whole history of the expedition. Glenarvan related the discovery of the document, and the various attempts that had been made to follow up the precise indications given of the whereabouts of the unfortunate captives; and he concluded his account by expressing his doubt whether they should ever find the Captain after all.
His dispirited tone made a painful impression on the minds of his auditors. Robert and Mary could not keep back their tears, and Paganel had not a word of hope or comfort to give them. John Mangles was grieved to the heart, though he, too, was beginning to yield to the feeling of hopelessness which had crept over the rest, when suddenly the whole party were electrified by hearing a voice exclaim: “My Lord, praise and thank God! if Captain Grant is alive, he is on this Australian continent.”
CHAPTER VII
The Quartermaster of the “Britannia”
THE surprise caused by these words cannot be described. Glenarvan sprang to his feet, and pushing back his seat, exclaimed: “Who spoke?”
“I did,” said one of the servants, at the far end of the table.
“You, Ayrton!” replied his master, not less bewildered than Glenarvan.
“Yes, it was I,” rejoined Ayrton in a firm tone, though somewhat agitated voice. “A Scotchman like yourself, my Lord, and one of the shipwrecked crew of the BRITANNIA.”
The effect of such a declaration may be imagined. Mary Grant fell