A Rendezvous Had Been Arranged On A
Known Portion Of The River; The Other Expedition Was To Start In Seven
Days; And, According To Our Programme, If All Went Well, We Should Meet On
The Tenth, Or On The Eleventh Day At Furthest.
The sea-breeze was blowing steadily, cresting the tiny waves which sparkled
in the hot sun as they broke into foam, and under its grateful coolness we
glided comfortably along, with a flowing sheet.
The bar at the mouth of
the Macalister was eighteen miles distant, and we hoped to cross it about
sunset, when the breeze would have dropped, and the passage through the
surf would be readily distinguishable; but our plans were completely upset
by one of the troopers espying smoke issuing from the scrub on a small
creek, that entered the bay about half-way between the town and the
Macalister.
"We had better have a look in here," said Dunmore, "there is no knowing
where we may stumble on some information."
Accordingly, the helm was put up, and we ran into the mouth of the inlet,
with the wind right aft. Beaching the boat on the soft sand, we sprang
out, and advanced cautiously in the direction of the smoke, but, after
several minutes of scrambling, we reached the fire only to find it
deserted, its original proprietors having seen our sudden alteration of
course, and sought the safety of the dense bush, where further search would
have been useless.
"Now that we are on shore," said Dunmore, "let us make a billy full of tea;
it won't take long. Here, you boys, get 'em like 'it waddy to make 'em
fire."
The troopers and Lizzie dispersed in quest of fuel; Ferdinand walking up
the bank of the creek, where he was soon lost to sight. A loud coo-eh from
that direction soon brought us to the spot from whence it issued, and we
found the boy staring at several pieces of timber sticking out of the sand.
"Big fellow canoe been sit down here," he said, on our approach, and
examining the protruding stumps, we soon saw enough to convince us that the
boy was right, and that we were in the presence of a vessel, wrecked, or
abandoned, Heaven only knows how many years ago. With our hands, with pint
pots, with a spade we had brought with us - mindful of the difficulty we
had experienced in finding a resting-place for poor Cato - with every
utensil, in fact, that ingenuity could devise, we set to work clearing away
the sand that had accumulated round the old ribs. Suddenly, the tin rim of
one of the pots gave back a ringing sound, as if it had struck against
metal, and in less than a minute, a much rusted cannon-shot was exposed to
view, and passed round from hand to hand. It was of small size, weighing,
perhaps, five pounds, though its dimensions were evidently much decreased
by the wasting action of damp.
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