316 NATURAL DEPRAVITY. much water. Peter go to mountain, find plenty water, plenty white fellow, plenty gun, knife. Kill white man, kill bad fellow Wilkins." 66 "She's reet! I'll uphold her," said Wilkins. Depend on 't Peter's heared of some bushrangers out ower yonder, and he'll want to join 'em.. We'se have to keep clear of their track, master. Just look round ye, what chance should we have again a lot of them desp❜rate rogues, wi' guns in their hands, and blood in their hearts; and when they 're fairly set on, them blacks is as bad; they reckon nought of a dozen lives to get haud on a gun.” "Whither shall we flee?" cried Mr. Mayburn, in a distracted tone. "Speak, Margaret - Arthur- and you, my good man, who, steeped in evil, had yet strength given you to turn away from it, guide and save us! Alas! it is but too true; man, civilized or savage, preserves his innate and original depravity. There is none good; no, not one.' Men have spoken of the simple and pure life of the desert; we see what it is in truth." "Yes, dear papa," said Margaret, we must bid adieu to the fallacious dreams of poetry, the romance of that golden age when men were virtuous because they were ignorant. These are men to whom the temptations of the world are unknown; men who have never looked on the brilliant decorations of vice; yet they are harsh, cruel, selfish, and faithless. Is this truly human nature, papa ?" "I fear, my child, it is too truly human nature," answered Mr. Mayburn,-" fallen, degraded, unredeemed human nature. Well does a great and wise writer on the natural depravity of man picture the ignorant sav age as a compound of pride and indolence, and selfishness, and cunning and cruelty; full of a revenge which nothing could satiate, of a ferocity which nothing could soften; strangers to the most amiable sensibilities of nature.' Then what weight of sin must rest on the souls of those who, having been taught the way of truth themselves, take advantage of the frailty of humanity to lead these heathens into the gulf of crime. Woe to those men who know the best, and yet the worst pursue.' While they watched the gradual disappearance of their enemies, the rain ceased, and Jenny summoned the party to the enjoyment of tea to their dry biscuit, before they resumed their journey, the prospect of which was still unpromising. "We must now, defying all the threatened deserts, go on towards the south," said Arthur, "and evade, if we possibly can, our implacable and inveterate pursuers. The temptation to cross the eastern mountains is great, but I fear, Wilkins, we should hardly be safe, even in the rear of such dangerous company." "Nay, nay! Mr. Arthur, keep out of their way," said Wilkins. "Ye heared what Baldabella said about their going to rondessvowse ower yonder wi' them roguish bush-rangers; and I see no sense in running into t' thick on 'em." "Certainly not, Wilkins," answered Arthur. "Then we will decide on a route due south. So, forward, my brave men, and let us carefully carry away the water we have preserved, for I fear much we have not yet passed the wilderness." 27* CHAPTER XXIV. The Dry Wilderness. Despair. - The Coming-down of the Wa ters. - The Discomfited Savages. - Hunger and Thirst. Footsteps in the Mud. A Pond. -The Valley of Promise. - The The Talegalla and its Nest. The River to the South. Ir was indeed on a wilderness they now entered, where low entangled brushwood spread as far as the eye could extend, unvaried by the appearance of a single tree rising above it; and as they toiled through or over this perplexing ground, carrying the bark sledge, which it was impossible to draw over the bush, they were often deceived by the sight of a line of tall reeds, the border of the bed of some river, now wholly dry, or merely muddy with the rain of the previous day. They saw no animals, except two or three emus, which swiftly fled from pursuit; and they were too eager to escape from the dry desert to waste time in the chase. For two days, successive morning suns showed them the same trackless and unwatered heaths spread before them; then the water was exhausted, and they turned away with loathing from the dry bread and potatoes. Slowly and languidly they dragged on their weary way, still watching and hoping in vain. Another day of suffering dawned on them; and now the scorching air, the dry food, the fatigue, and the consuming thirst overcame them one after another, and before evening Mr. Mayburn said, "Let us lie down here, Arthur. God has chosen, in His wisdom, to put this termination ( 318 ) DESPAIR. 319 Nature is exhausted; let us lie down to our efforts. "God "Not so, my dear father," answered Arthur. wills that we should be active, and strive to surmount difficulties, or He would not have bestowed on us the bounteous gifts of thought and action. Margaret, I know your faith and resolution; encourage my father." "You look to me in vain, my dear brother," said Margaret. "I am unable to think or to move. Save our beloved father, and leave me beneath these bushes to die. I feel that death must be near at hand." "I beseech you to rally your energy, my darling Meggie," said her brother, in a broken voice. "Surely, after the rain that fell yesterday, we must soon find some pools. We must not be so weak as to remain here, with our pursuers so near to us, and drought and death around us. Let us try at least to cross this muddy and deceitful gorge, and be thankful; for remember, my dear sister, if this had been now a foaming river, we should have been unable to ford it, and must have been lost in this desert." Margaret was too weak to reply, and Arthur, lifting her with difficulty in his enfeebled arms, descended the banks, and crossed the wide bed of a river which was scarcely moist enough to leave the traces of his footsteps. Wilkins and Jack supported Mr. Mayburn across, and the rest languidly followed. They crawled slowly up the rocky banks of the opposite side, which were covered with thick scrubby bushes; and then beneath a spreading acacia, they sat down to rest a few moments, and endeavored to nerve themselves to endurance and exertion. "Surely, Wilkins," said Arthur, "that lofty line of 320 THE RETURNING FOE. mountains which we can still see at the east, though so distant, ought to supply springs and streams to these plains, and there must be water at no great distance. You and I are pretty stout; can we not leave these feeble folks here, and go on to search for some relief for them?" "Look yonder, Mr. Arthur," answered Wilkins, "just atween us and them mountains, and say if we ought to leave 'em behind us." Arthur beheld with dismay, at about a mile's distance, a dark mass moving over the bare plain. He saw that the savages were returning, and even his firm heart failed, for here was no shelter no hope of escape. He remained struck dumb for a minute; then he whispered to his brothers the dreadful fact, adding, "They must be nearer than they appear to be, for I surely hear them as well as see them. Certainly, some sound breaks the stillness of this solitary desert. It must be the murmur of many voices." "It seems to me like men felling wood," said Jack. "It is more like the blessed sound of water," said O'Brien, springing up. Still the mass of figures, though now more defined and plainly recognized to be the savage host, approached slowly; and they could not produce the strange rumor, which momentarily grew louder, crackling, tearing, roaring, like the mighty elephant, forcing its way through the thicket. All the party now heard in trembling fear this unaccountable phenomenon, and the weeping women knelt down to pray for aid amidst accumulated distresses. 66 Father," murmured the almost unconscious Margaret, "I smell water. Oh, give me some, or I die." |