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With the exception of O'Neil and Jones, who had already reached the diggings in their dreams, the whole crew, sixteen in all, levanted, leaving Captain Bunting to navigate the ship back to Old England as he best might. It is easier to conceive than to describe the feelings of the captain, when, on the following morning, he discovered that his crew had fled.
Her attention had been drawn to him because she very seldom met anyone at that hour, and because he had such an odd, peculiar look and manner. Mrs. Bunting, listening attentively, realised that it was very much from what this witness had said that the official description of The Avenger had been composed that description which had brought such comfort to her, Ellen Bunting's, soul.
Bunting was in a mood which seldom surprised her a mood to be pleased with anything and everything. Nay, more. When Bunting began to ask Joe Chandler about the last of those awful Avenger murders, she even listened with a certain languid interest to all he had to say.
"The Great Western came in last night about eleven, and has just been making a flourish past our windows; looking very grand, with four streamers of bunting, and one of smoke. Of course I do not yet know whether I have Letters by her, as if so they will have gone to Clifton first.
Where was the good of having been an upright, conscientious, self-respecting woman all her life long, if it only led to this utter, degrading poverty and wretchedness? She and Bunting were just past the age which gentlefolk think proper in a married couple seeking to enter service together, unless, that is, the wife happens to be a professed cook.
Bunting," said Walter, laughing at the evident ill-humour of his attendant. "Augh! indeed and no! I daren't a poor man like me go for to presume to be parsonal, unless I get hold of a poorer!" "Why, Bunting, you do not mean to say that you would be so ungenerous as to affront a man because he was poorer than you? fie!"
It was intensely dark, intensely quiet the darkest quietest hour of the night, when suddenly Mrs. Bunting was awakened from a deep, dreamless sleep by sounds at once unexpected and familiar. She knew at once what those sounds were. They were those made by Mr.
Bunting to walk up; and then see that you behave yourself as is decent in a house of mourning." "Ay-ay-sir. No fears of I, gentlemen. I can put on as grievous a look as the best on 'em, and if they wishes to see sorrow becomingly, and ship-shape, let them study my conduct and countenance. We has all seen dead men afore now, gentlemen, as we all knows.
At last, when she had quite finished, she looked up defiantly. "Haven't you anything better to do than to stare at me like that?" she said irritably. "Murder or no murder, I've got to get up! Go away do!" And Bunting went off into the next room. After he had gone, his wife lay back and closed her eyes. She tried to think of nothing.
Zack Bunting and his team, Davidson and his team, and his tall sons; Captain Armytage and Mr. Reginald; Jacques Dubois and another French Canadian; a couple of squatters from the other side of the lake; altogether two dozen men were assembled, with a fair proportion of oxen. It was a burning summer day: perhaps a hundred degrees in the sun at noon.
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