He did not desire to alarm the
others, should affairs turn out ill, as indeed they did.
'O God, we are all lost!' This was the wail for Sir George's ears, as the
spade made it clear that the food-stuffs, with a trifling salvage, had
been uprooted and scattered by the storm. It was almost the pronouncing
of a sentence of death upon the party, having regard to the desert
country which surrounded them, and their distance from civilisation.
'I hadn't an hour to lose,' Sir George realised, 'so back we hurried to
the main camp and I delivered the news, counselling calmness and courage.
I added my decision that we must endeavour to make Perth in the whale
boats we had with us. It was a forlorn chance.'
The boats strained in a boisterous sea, and ultimately flung the voyagers
ashore, three hundred miles, in a direct line, from Perth. Never were men
given a harder tramp than across those miles, so parched and barren that
they hardly echoed the koo-ee of a native. Yet there was no succour, no
hostel, unless they could be covered.
For a little while fair progress was made, then strength declined through
want of food and water. Sir George Grey sought courage and consolation in
the dog-eared New Testament which he had in his knapsack. The hymns his
mother had taught him came back into his head and heart, true comforters.
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