### Chapter XV
The Australian and New Zealand Gazette

On January 2nd, at sunrise, the travellers left the gold regions and Talbot County behind them. The hooves of their horses trod the dusty trails of Dalhousie County. A few hours later they forded the Colban and the Caupaspe rivers at 144° 35′ and 144° 45′ of longitude. Half of their journey was now done. In another fortnight, if all continued to go well, the little troop would reach the shores of Twofold Bay.

They were all in good health. Paganel’s promises of the hygienic qualities of the climate were realized. There was little or no humidity, and the heat was quite bearable. Neither horses nor oxen could complain of it. Nor could the people.

The order of the march had been changed in one respect since Camden Bridge. The criminal catastrophe at the railway made Ayrton take some precautions which had previously been thought unnecessary. The hunters never lost sight of the wagon, and whenever they camped, someone was always placed on watch. Morning and evening the firearms were primed afresh. It was certain that a band of criminals was prowling about the country, and though there was no cause for immediate fear, it was good to be ready for whatever might happen.

Needless to say, these precautions were taken without the knowledge of Lady Helena and Mary Grant, as Lord Glenarvan did not wish to alarm them.

These were sensible precautions. Imprudence or even negligence could be costly. Glenarvan was also not alone in worrying about the state of things. In isolated villages and stations, the inhabitants and the squatters prepared carefully against any attack or surprise. Houses were closed at nightfall. Dogs, let loose inside the fences, barked at the slightest approach. Shepherds on horseback gathering their numerous flocks together at nightfall did so with rifles slung from their saddles. The news of the crime committed at Camden Bridge motivated this excess of precaution, and many a colonist, who until then had been sleeping with open doors and windows, locked himself in with care at dusk.

The administration of the province displayed zeal and caution. Detachments of local police were sent to the countryside. The movement of the mail was especially assured. Previously, the mail coaches ran the highways without escort. On this day, as Glenarvan and his troop were crossing the road from Kilmore to Heathcoate, the mail dashed by, the speed of its horses, raising a whirlwind of dust. But as quickly as it had dashed by, Glenarvan caught sight of the rifles of the policemen gleaming at its doors. One might have fancied themselves back in those lawless times when the discovery of the first gold fields deluged the Australian continent with the scum of Europe.

One mile after crossing the Kilmore road, the wagon sank under a mass of giant trees, and for the first time since Cape Bernouilli, the travellers entered one of those forests which cover vast swathes of Australia.

A cry of admiration escaped the travellers at the sight of two hundred foot tall eucalyptus trees, whose fungous bark was up to five inches thick. The trunks, twenty feet in circumference, and furrowed by the dribble of an odorous resin, rose one hundred and fifty feet above the ground. Not a branch, not a twig, not a stray shoot, not even a knot, altered their profile. They could not have come out smoother had they been turned on a lathe. There were hundreds of exactly matched columns. They bloomed at an enormous height in capitals of forking branches, garnished at their extremities with alternating leaves. At the axils of these leaves hung solitary flowers whose calyx was an inverted urn.

Horses, oxen, and wagon could easily pass between these widely spaced and arranged trees

The air circulated freely under this evergreen ceiling. Incessant ventilation drank the moisture from the soil. Horses, oxen, and wagon could easily pass between these widely spaced trees, arranged like the pickets of a managed coppice. This was neither like a densely-packed wood choked up with brambles, nor a virgin forest barricaded with the trunks of fallen trees, and overgrown with inextricable tangles of creepers, where only iron and fire could open up a track for the pioneers. A grassy carpet at the foot of the trees and a sheet of greenery at their summit, bounded long perspectives of bold pillars. There was little shade; a peculiar light, as if the rays came through a thin veil, dappled the ground with sharply reflected lights and darks, created a peculiar spectacle rich in novel effects. The forests of the Oceanic continent do not in the least resemble the forests of the New World, and the eucalyptus, the Tara of the aborigines, belonging to the family of Myrtaceae, the different varieties of which can hardly be enumerated, is the tree par excellence of Australian flora.

That the shade is not deep, nor the darkness profound, under these green domes, was the result of a curious anomaly in the arrangement of the trees' leaves. They do not offer their broad faces to the sunlight, only their sharp edges. The eye only sees profiles in this singular foliage. So the sun’s rays slant through them to the ground, as if through the open slats of a shutter.

Everyone was surprised at this circumstance, and wondered what could be the cause of it. The question was naturally put to Paganel, who was never at a loss for an answer.

“What astonishes me here is not the oddness of nature,” he said. “Nature knows what she is about, but botanists don’t always know what she is saying. Nature made no mistake in giving this peculiar foliage to the trees, but men have erred in calling them ‘eucalyptus.’”

“What does the word mean?” asked Mary Grant.

“It comes from εύ καλύπτω meaning ‘I cover well.’ We took care to commit the mistake in Greek, that it might not be so self-evident, for anyone can see that the eucalyptus covers badly.”1

“Granted, my dear Paganel,” said Glenarvan. “But now tell us why the leaves are growing like this?”

“For a purely physical reason, my friends,” said Paganel, “and one that you will easily understand. In this land, where the air is dry, the rains are rare, and the ground is parched, the trees lack neither wind nor sun. Moisture is lacking, so sap is lacking too. Hence these narrow leaves, which seek to defend themselves against the light, and to preserve themselves from too much evaporation. This is why they present their profile and not their face to the sun’s rays. There is nothing more intelligent than a leaf.”

“And nothing more selfish,” said the Major. “They think only of themselves, and not at all of travellers.”

Everyone was inclined agree with MacNabbs, except Paganel, who, while wiping his brow, congratulated himself on walking under shadeless trees. This disposition of foliage was regrettable, however. The journey through these forests was often long and difficult, since nothing protected the traveller against the heat of the day.

The wagon continued to roll along through interminable rows of eucalyptus all day. They met neither quadruped nor native. A few cockatoos lived in the tops of the trees, but at such a height they could scarcely be distinguished, and their babble was reduced to an imperceptible murmur. Sometimes a flock of parakeets flew along a distant alley, and animated it for an instant with bright colours, but otherwise, solemn silence reigned in this vast green temple. The footsteps of the horses, a few words exchanged with each other by the riders, the squeaking of the wheels, and from time to time a cry from Ayrton to stir up his lazy team, were the only sounds which disturbed this immense solitude.

They camped at the foot of some eucalyptus

When night came they camped at the foot of some eucalyptus which bore the marks of a fairly recent fire. They looked like tall factory chimneys, for the flame had completely hollowed out their central cores. With the thick bark still covering them, they looked none the worse. However, this bad habit of squatters or natives will eventually destroy these magnificent trees, and they will disappear like the cedars of Lebanon. Four century old trees, that were burned for the sake of a camp fire.

Olbinett, acting on Paganel’s advice, lit his fire to prepare supper in one of these tubular trunks. He immediately obtained a considerable draft, and the smoke was lost in the dark foliage above. The requisite precautions were taken for the night, with Ayrton, Mulrady, Wilson, and John Mangles keeping watch in turns, until sunrise.

The endless forest multiplied its long symmetrical avenues throughout the day of January 3rd. It seemed as if it was never going to end. But the ranks of trees began to thin toward evening, and a few miles away, in a small plain, a group of regular houses appeared.

“Seymour!” said Paganel. “This is the last town we come to in the province of Victoria.”

“Is it important?” asked Lady Helena.

“Madame, it is a simple parish,” said Paganel. “It is on its way to becoming a municipality.”

“Will we find a suitable hotel?” asked Glenarvan.

“I hope so,” said Paganel.

“Well, let’s go into town, for our valiant ladies will not be sorry, I fancy, to have a good night’s rest.”

“My dear Edward, Mary and I agree, but only on the condition that it will not cause any inconvenience or delay.”

“Not at all,” replied Lord Glenarvan. “Our oxen are tired. Besides, we will start tomorrow at daybreak.”

It was nine o’clock; the moon was setting, and its oblique rays were drowned in the mist. It was gradually growing dark when the whole troop entered the wide streets of Seymour under the guidance of Paganel, who always seemed to know what he had never seen. But his instinct guided him well, and he walked straight to Campbell’s North British Hotel.

Horses and oxen were taken to the stable, the wagon parked, and the passengers conducted to comfortable rooms. At ten o’clock the guests were seated at a table, on which Olbinett threw the glance of a master. Paganel came in from rambling about the town with Robert, and recounted his nocturnal impression in a very laconic manner. He had not seen anything.

And yet a less distracted man would have noticed a strange stir in the streets of Seymour. Groups were forming here and there, which constantly grew larger. People were standing about the doors of their houses talking something over with grave, anxious faces. Newspapers were being read aloud, commented upon, and discussed. These symptoms could not have escaped the least attentive observer; but Paganel noticed nothing.

The Major, without going so far as even leaving the hotel, was soon aware of the fears which preoccupied the little town. Ten minutes of conversation with Dickson, the loquacious landlord, made him completely acquainted with the actual state of affairs.

But he did not say a word. Only when supper was over, and Lady Glenarvan, Mary, and Robert Grant had retired to their rooms, did the Major detain his companions a little, and said “The perpetrators of the crime on the Sandhurst Railway are known.”

“And are they arrested?” asked Ayrton quickly.

“No,” replied MacNabbs, without apparently noticing the eagerness of the quartermaster — a very justified eagerness, under the circumstances.

“Too bad,” said Ayrton.

“Well,” said Glenarvan. “Who are the authors of the crime?”

“Read.” The Major offered Glenarvan a copy of the Australian and New Zealand Gazette, “And you will see that the police inspector was not mistaken.”

Glenarvan read aloud the following passage:

Sydney, January 2, 1866.

It will be remembered that, on the night of the 29th of last December, there was an accident at Camden Bridge, five miles beyond the station at Castlemaine, on the railway from Melbourne to Sandhurst. The 11:45 night express, running along at full speed, was precipitated into the Loddon River.

Camden Bridge had been left open.

The numerous robberies committed after the accident, and the corpse of the guard found half a mile from Camden Bridge, proved that this catastrophe was the result of a crime.

The conclusion of the coroner’s inquest is that this crime must be attributed to the band of convicts which escaped six months ago from the Penitentiary at Perth, Western Australia, just as they were about to be transferred to Norfolk Island.2

These convicts number twenty-nine; they are commanded by a certain Ben Joyce, a criminal of the most dangerous class, who has been in Australia for a few months, we do not know by what ship, and who has hitherto succeeded in evading the hands of justice.

The inhabitants of towns, colonists, and squatters at stations, are hereby cautioned to be on their guard, and to communicate to the Surveyor General any information that may aid his search.

J. P. Mitchell, S.G.

When Glenarvan had finished reading this article, MacNabbs turned to the geographer, and said “You see, Paganel, there may be convicts in Australia.”

“Escapees, that is evident,” said Paganel. “But not regularly transported criminals. These people do not have the right to be here.”

“Well, they are here, at any rate,” said Glenarvan. “But I do not suppose that their presence can change our plans and stop our journey. What do you think, John?”

John Mangles did not reply immediately; he hesitated between the pain it would cause the two children to abandon the search, and the fear of compromising the expedition.

“If Lady Glenarvan and Miss Grant were not with us,” he said, “I would care very little about these wretches.”

Glenarvan understood this, and added “It goes without saying that it is not a question of giving up our task; but perhaps it would be prudent, for the sake of our companions, to rejoin the Duncan at Melbourne, and proceed with our search for traces of Harry Grant on the eastern coast. What do you think, MacNabbs?”

“Before giving my opinion,” said the Major, “I should like to know Ayrton’s.”

At this direct appeal, the quartermaster turned to Glenarvan. “I think we are a hundred miles3 from Melbourne, and that the danger, if it exists, is as great on the southern road as on the eastern road. Both are little frequented, whichever one we take. Besides, I do not think that thirty criminals can frighten eight well-armed, and resolute men. So barring better advice, I would go forward.”

“Well spoken, Ayrton,” said Paganel. “By continuing we may also come across the traces of Captain Grant. In turning south, we turn our backs to them. So I think as you do, and these escapees from Perth are of no account to men of good heart!”

With this, the proposal to change nothing in the program of the trip was put to the vote and passed unanimously.

“Just one thing, My Lord,” said Ayrton, when they were about to separate.

“Yes, Ayrton.”

“Wouldn’t it be advisable to send orders to the Duncan to meet us at the coast?”

“What’s the point?” said John Mangles. “There will be time enough to send for her when we reach Twofold Bay. If any unexpected event should oblige us to go to Melbourne, we might be sorry not to find the Duncan there. Besides, she cannot be repaired yet. Therefore, I think it would be better to wait.”

“All right,” said Ayrton, and didn’t press the issue.

Next day the little troop, armed and ready for whatever might happen, left Seymour. Half an hour later, they returned to the eucalyptus forest which reappeared to the east. Glenarvan would have preferred travelling in open country. A plain is less conducive for ambushes and snares than a thick wood. But they had no choice, and the wagon wended its way through the big monotonous trees all day long. In the evening, after having crossed the northern frontier of Anglesey County, they crossed the 146th meridian, and camped on the borders of the Murray district.

1. The eucalyptus’ Greek name describes its operculum, or cap, that covers its flowers, not the shade of its leaves — DAS

2. Norfolk Island is an island east of Australia, where the government holds recidivist and incorrigible convicts. They are subject to special supervision.

Norfolk Island ceased being used as a penal colony in 1856, 10 years before the events of this story. — DAS

3. Verne has Ayrton say that they are two hundred miles from Melbourne. The actual straight line distance is about sixty miles. Even taking a very round about route, such as backtracking to Castlemaine, and then taking the railway to Melbourne, wouldn't add up to much more than one hundred miles, and most of that could be done sitting on a train.