THE LOST EXPLORERS

A STORY OF THE TRACKLESS DESERT

BY

ALEXANDER MACDONALD

F.R.G.S., F.R.S.G.S., F.R.C.I.

Author of "In Search of El Dorado" "The Trail of the Pioneer" "Pioneering in Klondike"

ILLUSTRATED BY ARTHUR H. BUCKLAND

BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED LONDON GLASGOW DUBLIN BOMBAY 1907

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Copyrighted in the United States, America by Blackie & Son, Limited

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DEDICATED TO B. B.

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PREFACE

In this work I have endeavoured to portray a phase of life in a far-away land, a land concerning which we have only too little knowledge at the present time, though it is one of our Empire's greatest colonies. I am aware that to make a book composed largely of real happenings—especially when one writes for the youth of the nation—is a somewhat unusual thing to do. In The Lost Explorers I have given a tale of gold-digging and of exploration—a tale, for the most part, of events that have actually happened. My characters are all drawn—however crudely—from life; my descriptions are those of one who has seen and felt in a similar environment. My boys in the story were real boys, and they dared and suffered and accomplished together. As for Mackay, he is still a power in the land, ready and willing always, as he said to his young companions, "to shed the light of his great knowledge abroad for the benefit of mankind in general".

The last few chapters of the book are based on an explorer's natural deductions. We all, who have forced a painful path over Central Australia's arid sands, hope—ay, believe—in the existence of a wonderful region in the vague mists of the Never Never Land. Perhaps the[Pg 6] very strenuousness of the wish brings about the belief. Who can say? My descriptions of the strange aborigines beyond the mystic mountains are not altogether fanciful. In my own wanderings I have encountered more than one tribe whose mental development was far in advance of that usually credited to the untutored savage of the great Island Continent. What I have written, I have written faithfully, and to the best of my ability. If The Lost Explorers gives pleasure to my readers, I shall indeed be more than content.

ALEXANDER MACDONALD.

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ILLUSTRATIONS

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THE LOST EXPLORERS

CHAPTER I A Momentous Decision

"I'm full up of this ceaseless grind, Jack," suddenly broke out Robert Wentworth, a tall, slenderly built young man of about eighteen years of age, throwing down the paper he had been reading with unnecessary energy.

Jack Armstrong aroused himself from a reverie, and looked up with an amused gleam in his grey eyes. He was a medium-sized, squarely built youth about two years the junior of the first speaker.

"I believe I have heard you say that before, Bob," he said; "but all the same you echo my sentiments exactly. Still, what can we do? Our munificent salaries do little more than pay for our board in these digs"—he waved his hand comprehensively around the little room which they shared together—"and consequently we haven't saved enough to buy our steam yacht yet!" He laughed with affected cheerfulness.

Wentworth's strong, studious-looking face clouded momentarily.

"That's all very well, Jack," he answered severely; "but you know that there is little chance of our present[Pg 12] positions improving to any extent. Engineering is good enough for the few; but I can plainly see that life is too short for us to make a fortune at the game. The fact is," he added, in a more moderate tone, "this country is too crowded for us, and too old. Everything is standardized so accurately that we are little more than machines; and we must exist on our paltry pittances, seeing nothing but grime and smoke and rain and fogs, until we become old and brain-sodden, with never a hope beyond the morrow. No, I am tired of it—absolutely full up of it." He picked up the discarded paper once more, and directed Armstrong's attention to a paragraph under the heading of General News, and this was what the younger man read—

"Mr. James Mackay, who was the only survivor of the ill-fated Bentley Exploring Expedition in Central Australia, arrived in the city last night, and is staying at the Central Hotel. It will be remembered that Mr. Bentley's party was massacred by the blacks some months ago, the only man escaping being Mr. Mackay, chief bushman to the expedition, who, fortunately, was not with the others when they were attacked. It is generally supposed that the unknown tracks in Western and Central Australia hold vast treasure of gold and gems in their keeping, and they provide the incentive which sends the explorer across these trackless wastes."

"So that's the country you would like to go to, Bob," he said quizzically, "where explorers get killed by the natives?"

"Not exactly," replied Wentworth; "but it attracts me all the same. My only uncle went out to Australia about ten years ago, and we never heard of him again; I[Pg 13] suppose that has given me an interest in the country, for I remember him well as one of the finest men one could wish to meet. Anyhow, there can be no gain without risk, Jack, and I have often thought of trying my luck at the goldfields in Australia, though I don't suppose there can be much danger from the natives where they are."

"But there is time enough yet," ventured Armstrong. "We are not so very old——"

"All the more reason," returned his companion, quickly, "that we should decide on our future while our brains are fresh. If we continue on in the same groove here, we'll get so accustomed to it that we won't want to leave it. No, Jack, I am in earnest. I have decided to get out of it."

"You can't get out of it without me, Bob," said Armstrong, quietly. "You know I go with you. We haven't been chums these two years for nothing. And," he added proudly, "I am as strong as most men, and able to take care of myself in any part of the world."

Wentworth laughed grimly. "We'll face it together, Jack," said he.

"And we'll carve our way in it successfully, too," cried the boy, enthusiastically, now completely won over. "Hurrah for Australia, the land of gold!"

They arose and clasped hands, Wentworth's face expressing determined resolve, Armstrong's shining with the light of eagerness and hope.

Robert Wentworth and Jack Armstrong were chums in the truest sense of the word. They had been attracted to each other from their first day of meeting, when Armstrong, whose father had just died leaving him an orphan, homeless and well-nigh penniless, arrived at the Clyde[Pg 14] Engineering Works, to take up the post secured for him by a thoughtful friend who understood the boy's independent spirit. Wentworth had by this time served a year at his profession, but had made few friends, being too reserved and distant by nature to please the other apprentices; indeed, these unthinking, though well-meaning, individuals had grown inclined to misconstrue his quiet demeanour, until they got a rude awakening. A few of the rowdier spirits had surrounded Armstrong during the luncheon hour of his first day among them, and were endeavouring to get as much fun as they could at the new-comer's expense; and he, poor fellow, fresh from his sad bereavement, was in no mood to appreciate their witticisms.

"Can't you let the youngster alone?" said Wentworth, approaching the group.

They turned in amazement at his interruption; and one of them, a thick-set, pugnacious lad, inquired contemptuously, if irrelevantly—

"Well, and what could you do, anyhow, Mr. Philosopher? I didn't think you would care to risk a fight."

"Didn't you?" came the cool response, as the young engineer calmly doffed his coat. "You will think differently in a few minutes."

And when he had polished off his antagonist in a scientific manner that delighted the hearts of the beholders, even the defeated champion could not forbear his tribute.

"You are too much for me, Wentworth," he said feelingly, when he had recovered himself. "But I think it was mighty mean of you deceiving us so long."

After that Wentworth and Armstrong were always together; a bond of sympathy had sprung up between them, and before long they were sharing the same room,[Pg 15] and were known as David and Jonathan by their engineering associates. Wentworth's history was none of the brightest. His father had been a sea captain, and though ten years had elapsed since he and his ship had gone to the bottom in the China seas, Bob's memory easily carried him back to their last parting; and he recalled how, childlike, he had volunteered to take care of his mother until the captain came back—and he never came back. The widowed mother, left with her two children—Bob, and his sister Lucy, two years younger than himself—knowing how the roaming nature of the father had been repeated in the son, sought a home as far away from the sea as possible, and did her utmost on the scanty income left her to give them both the best of education. But Bob, old beyond his years, knew more of his mother's struggle than she guessed, and at fourteen he quietly seized an

opportunity that offered, and apprenticed himself to the well-known firm of engineers already mentioned—and told his mother afterwards. And the discontent which he felt with his somewhat grimy surroundings, though hidden from his mother and sister, was often and often poured into the ears of his companion, whose sympathy was ever ready and sincere, and found culmination in the expression which opens this chapter.

And now that they had decided on a definite plan of action, they lost no time in carrying it into effect. So, a few days later, having called on their employer and explained their reasons for leaving his service, they directed their steps towards a general shipping office in order to procure full information concerning the vessels and routes of sailing to Australia.

When they entered the doorway there were no intending[Pg 16] voyagers engaging the attention of the clerk; but while Wentworth was making inquiries, some one entered and stood a little way behind the pair, and beguiled his time while he waited by whistling, most horribly out of tune, that familiar ballad, "Home, Sweet Home!"

"You can go to Australia by P. and O. or Orient Line, via the Suez Canal," the clerk reeled off glibly. "Or you may avoid the heat of the Red Sea by travelling round the Cape in a Shaw Savill, or New Zealand Shipping Company's boat. To what port do you wish to sail?"

"I think," said Bob, after a hurried consultation with Armstrong, "I think the port nearest the goldfields."

"That will be Melbourne," said the spruce shipping clerk, after some consideration. "Melbourne is the port for Ballarat."

"Go awa' and bile your held or study geography," came a gruff voice from behind. "You're an old fossil, you are, or you would ken that the laddies mean Western Australia. Ballarat has seen its day, but the West is still a land o' promise."

The two boys turned abruptly, while the clerk endeavoured to cough down his discomfiture. They saw beside them a burly middle-aged man with a deeply bronzed face, over which the shadow of a smile was stealing. Even at that moment, as they admitted afterwards, they both thought they had never seen a more kindly countenance, in spite of the grim lines around the mouth, which were only half concealed by a spiky red moustache. But immediately the interrupter saw the elder lad's face he started back as if shot, and a tremor seemed to run through his stalwart frame. "As like as twa peas," he[Pg 17] muttered hoarsely, and only Armstrong, who was close beside him, heard the words.

"And have ye decided to go out to Australia, my lads?" he inquired kindly, after a moment's pause. "Now, dinna get your backs up," he reproved mildly, as Wentworth seemed about to resent his interference, "I like you the better for your independence, but Australia's a place that is no very weel kent even at this period o' civilization, and maist certainly ye'll get nae reliable information from that wooden-heided mummy—ye'll pardon the gentle inseenuation," he said, with elaborate politeness, nodding to his victim behind the desk. "Now, I should ken Australia better than maist men," he continued, "an' it's my weakness that I should wish to shed my information abroad for the benefit o' mankind in general, but mair particularly"—here he laid a hand on each of the young men's shoulders—"would I like to assist young laddies like yoursel's wha are aboot to venture on so long a journey."

"We are obliged to you, sir," said Wentworth, gravely and distantly. "We certainly should like to know something of Australia."

"We would, indeed," supplemented Armstrong, impulsively holding out his hand.

The brawny Scot returned the grip; then, addressing himself more directly to Wentworth, said—

"I can see, my lad, that your head's screwed on the richt way, and I admire you for it; but you're a vera bad judge o' character, I'm thinkin', if ye canna distinguish between the spontaneous flow o' the milk o' human kindness, and the fause remarks o' an interested indiveedual. My name is Mackay," he concluded with dignity, "Big[Pg 18] Mackay they call me in Australia." He paused, and gazed searchingly at Wentworth. "Now," he added, and strangely enough there was no trace of the Doric in his language, "you may come and lunch with me at the Central if you wish, and I'll tell you about Australia, and if you prefer otherwise, why, there's no harm done."

He wheeled quickly and strode to the door, but the boys were by a common impulse at his side before he was half a dozen yards down the street.

"I am sorry if I appeared to doubt your good intentions, Mr. Mackay," said Wentworth, "but we are ignorant of the bigger world which you know so well, and kindnesses from strangers have not often come our way. But we have heard of you, sir; why, I believe it was through reading of you in the Herald some days ago that we decided to go to Australia."

The big man laughed good-naturedly. "You were quite right, my boy," said he, "but you may ken me better in future. It's no' so long since I was young mysel'," he concluded with a sigh.

By this time they were entering the hotel, and the boys were much impressed to observe the many tributes of respect which greeted their guide. Evidently his strange personality had become well known during his brief sojourn in the land of his fathers. Soon they were seated in the dining-room at a table conveniently remote from the others, and before the meal was finished Mackay was in possession of the lads' brief histories, and had been informed of their uncontrollable longing to get away to a new country.

"And your uncle went oot to Australia ten years ago?" he repeated musingly, when Wentworth told him his[Pg 19] story. "Well, well, Australia is a big country, and it's no likely ye'll meet him there. Why canna ye content yersel's where ye are?" he demanded brusquely.

"We can never hope for much if we remain here," argued Wentworth. "And we should like to have a chance——"

"Just so," gravely said Mackay, "just so, my young shavers. Well, I can tell ye this, some folk can do well in any part o' this wee planet, and others—and they are in the majority—are never much good. Energy and enterprise are what is wanted, and nae whining after hame——"

"I thought," interjected Armstrong, slyly, "that I heard you whistling 'Home, Sweet Home!' in the shipping office?"

Mackay beamed. "It's very kind of ye to say so," he replied. "Maist o' my acquaintances asseverate that my whustle is like a deein' dug's lament, an' no fit to be translated into any tune whatsoever. But, all the same, Jack, my man, that's a tune I can only whustle when I am at hame; it makes me think things are no' as meeserable as they seem. Why, you young scamps, a man should be at hame anywhere. As for me I'm maist at hame when I'm awa' from hame, which is what I call a paradoxical statement o' fact for ye to moralize on. Many years ago," he went on, "I sailed oot o' the Clyde as chief engineer on one o' the finest boats that was ever launched, but when I got to Australia and fell in touch wi' Bentley's exploring expedition, my good resolutions for a quiet ordinar' existence squelched oot o' me like the wind frae a punctured bicycle tyre. 'I want ye, Mac,' said Bentley, 'to cross the Never Never wi' me.' He had another rusty-heided Scotsman in his company, an auld friend o' mine, an' I said,[Pg 20] 'Well, if it's only to keep that

gorilla-faced Pharisee oot o' mischief, I'll come.' An'—an' I went, an' I've been living like an aboriginal ever since; an' now that I've come back to look at my ain country, I feel like a pelican in the wilderness. I came awa' to try and forget aboot things an'—an' it's no' possible."

Mackay ceased; his eyes seemed to gaze into the distance, and his good-humoured countenance for the moment became drawn and haggard. His eager listeners too, felt the spell of his sadness, and for some minutes there was a sympathetic silence; then Armstrong spoke. "Will you tell us about it, Mr. Mackay," he asked gently, and without a word of introduction the big man began his story—

"We were three months oot on our exploring journey into Central Australia, and had come through the usual amount o' hardships—suffering from want o' water, occasional skirmishes wi' the niggers, and other similar trifles, and at this time the Chief was considerin' that we had a good chance o' cuttin' through a maist promisin' lookin' tract o' country which had never before been reached. As it was, we were further into the heart o' Australia than any explorer had ever penetrated, and every one o' us was fu' o' enthusiasm aboot our prospects, and dreamed o' findin' a new Eldorado in this far back country we were enterin' upon. But one morning, when we were east o' the 125th longitude, one of the pack camels grew obstreperous, and broke away into the bush to the nor'-east. We couldn't afford to lose the cantankerous animal; besides, he carried a fair amount o' our stores on his back. To make a long story short, I volunteered to track him up and fetch him back. 'Don't go too far, Mac,'[Pg 21] said Bentley to me as I was starting out, 'I'm none too sure

of this district, there may be natives about.'

"But what did I care about a wheen niggers? 'Ye needna wait for me,' I shouted back, 'I'll fetch the beastie a' richt, and cut your trail afore you've travelled a dozen miles.'" Mackay stopped and sighed deeply.

"And what happened?" asked Wentworth and Armstrong almost with one breath.

"Heaven only knows, my lads. I never saw any of the party again. I tracked up Misery—that was the camel's name—but he took me a gey long travel, and it was late at night when I started to go back, but though I pushed hard to the south'ard until well into the next day, I couldna pick up a sign o' a track. A camel's pad is no easily missed, and though the ground was more broken and hilly than usual, I felt sure I couldna have crossed their route o' march. Back I went again, examining the ground maist carefully, then a' at once I got a sair shock. I came on a soft patch o' sand, and every bit o' it was marked wi' natives' footprints. I could see the marks o' their big, flat feet everywhere round aboot, and they telt me as plainly as if I had seen the niggers themselves that they had come in from the east, and had gone back over their ain tracks within the last half-dozen hours. I needna tell ye what I feared then. Though I hadna had a drink o' water nor a bite to eat since I left the camp, a' thought o' hunger or thirst left me, as I

traced the nigger tracks backwards to the west. They took me straight to our old camp where Misery had broken away, and what do you think I saw there?"

The boys shook their heads wonderingly.