passengers, both ladies and gentlemen, got into the long boat and were
rowed ashore. They stepped out on a beach covered with fine black sand,
the impalpable DEBRIS of the calcined rocks of the island.
Tristan d’Acunha is the capital of the group, and consists of a little
village, lying in the heart of the bay, and watered by a noisy, rapid
stream. It contained about fifty houses, tolerably clean, and disposed
with geometrical regularity. Behind this miniature town there lay 1,500
hectares of meadow land, bounded by an embankment of lava. Above this
embankment, the conical peak rose 7,000 feet high.
Lord Glenarvan was received by a governor supplied from the English
colony at the Cape. He inquired at once respecting Harry Grant and the
BRITANNIA, and found the names entirely unknown. The Tristan d’Acunha
Isles are out of the route of ships, and consequently little frequented.
Since the wreck of the -Blendon Hall- in 1821, on the rocks of
Inaccessible Island, two vessels have stranded on the chief island--the
PRIMANGUET in 1845, and the three-mast American, PHILADELPHIA, in 1857.
These three events comprise the whole catalogue of maritime disasters in
the annals of the Acunhas.
Lord Glenarvan did not expect to glean any information, and only asked
by the way of duty. He even sent the boats to make the circuit of the
island, the entire extent of which was not more than seventeen miles at
most.
In the interim the passengers walked about the village. The population
does not exceed 150 inhabitants, and consists of English and Americans,
married to negroes and Cape Hottentots, who might bear away the palm
for ugliness. The children of these heterogeneous households are very
disagreeable compounds of Saxon stiffness and African blackness.
It was nearly nightfall before the party returned to the yacht,
chattering and admiring the natural riches displayed on all sides, for
even close to the streets of the capital, fields of wheat and maize were
waving, and crops of vegetables, imported forty years before; and in the
environs of the village, herds of cattle and sheep were feeding.
The boats returned to the DUNCAN about the same time as Lord Glenarvan.
They had made the circuit of the entire island in a few hours, but
without coming across the least trace of the BRITANNIA. The only result
of this voyage of circumnavigation was to strike out the name of Isle
Tristan from the program of search.
CHAPTER III CAPE TOWN AND M. VIOT
As John Mangles intended to put in at the Cape of Good Hope for coals,
he was obliged to deviate a little from the 37th parallel, and go two
degrees north. In less than six days he cleared the thirteen hundred
miles which separate the point of Africa from Tristan d’Acunha, and
on the 24th of November, at 3 P. M. the Table Mountain was sighted. At
eight o’clock they entered the bay, and cast anchor in the port of Cape
Town. They sailed away next morning at daybreak.
Between the Cape and Amsterdam Island there is a distance of 2,900
miles, but with a good sea and favoring breeze, this was only a ten
day’s voyage. The elements were now no longer at war with the travelers,
as on their journey across the Pampas--air and water seemed in league
to help them forward.
“Ah! the sea! the sea!” exclaimed Paganel, “it is the field -par
excellence- for the exercise of human energies, and the ship is the true
vehicle of civilization. Think, my friends, if the globe had been only
an immense continent, the thousandth part of it would still be unknown
to us, even in this nineteenth century. See how it is in the interior
of great countries. In the steppes of Siberia, in the plains of Central
Asia, in the deserts of Africa, in the prairies of America, in the
immense wilds of Australia, in the icy solitudes of the Poles, man
scarcely dares to venture; the most daring shrinks back, the most
courageous succumbs. They cannot penetrate them; the means of transport
are insufficient, and the heat and disease, and savage disposition of
the natives, are impassable obstacles. Twenty miles of desert separate
men more than five hundred miles of ocean.”
Paganel spoke with such warmth that even the Major had nothing to say
against this panegyric of the ocean. Indeed, if the finding of Harry
Grant had involved following a parallel across continents instead of
oceans, the enterprise could not have been attempted; but the sea was
there ready to carry the travelers from one country to another, and
on the 6th of December, at the first streak of day, they saw a fresh
mountain apparently emerging from the bosom of the waves.
This was Amsterdam Island, situated in 37 degrees 47 minutes latitude
and 77 degrees 24 minutes longitude, the high cone of which in clear
weather is visible fifty miles off. At eight o’clock, its form,
indistinct though it still was, seemed almost a reproduction of
Teneriffe.
“And consequently it must resemble Tristan d’Acunha,” observed
Glenarvan.
“A very wise conclusion,” said Paganel, “according to the
geometrographic axiom that two islands resembling a third must have a
common likeness. I will only add that, like Tristan d’Acunha, Amsterdam
Island is equally rich in seals and Robinsons.”
“There are Robinsons everywhere, then?” said Lady Helena.
“Indeed, Madam,” replied Paganel, “I know few islands without some
tale of the kind appertaining to them, and the romance of your immortal
countryman, Daniel Defoe, has been often enough realized before his
day.”
“Monsieur Paganel,” said Mary, “may I ask you a question?”
“Two if you like, my dear young lady, and I promise to answer them.”
“Well, then, I want to know if you would be very much frightened at the
idea of being cast away alone on a desert island.”
“I?” exclaimed Paganel.
“Come now, my good fellow,” said the Major, “don’t go and tell us that
it is your most cherished desire.”
“I don’t pretend it is that, but still, after all, such an adventure
would not be very unpleasant to me. I should begin a new life; I should
hunt and fish; I should choose a grotto for my domicile in Winter and a
tree in Summer. I should make storehouses for my harvests: in one word,
I should colonize my island.”
“All by yourself?”
“All by myself if I was obliged. Besides, are we ever obliged? Cannot
one find friends among the animals, and choose some tame kid or eloquent
parrot or amiable monkey? And if a lucky chance should send one a
companion like the faithful Friday, what more is needed? Two friends on
a rock, there is happiness. Suppose now, the Major and I--”
“Thank you,” replied the Major, interrupting him; “I have no inclination
in that line, and should make a very poor Robinson Crusoe.”
“My dear Monsieur Paganel,” said Lady Helena, “you are letting your
imagination run away with you, as usual. But the dream is very different
from the reality. You are thinking of an imaginary Robinson’s life,
thrown on a picked island and treated like a spoiled child by nature.
You only see the sunny side.”
“What, madam! You don’t believe a man could be happy on a desert
island?”
“I do not. Man is made for society and not for solitude, and solitude
can only engender despair. It is a question of time. At the outset it is
quite possible that material wants and the very necessities of existence
may engross the poor shipwrecked fellow, just snatched from the waves;
but afterward, when he feels himself alone, far from his fellow men,
without any hope of seeing country and friends again, what must he
think, what must he suffer? His little island is all his world. The
whole human race is shut up in himself, and when death comes, which
utter loneliness will make terrible, he will be like the last man on the
last day of the world. Believe me, Monsieur Paganel, such a man is not
to be envied.”
Paganel gave in, though regretfully, to the arguments of Lady Helena,
and still kept up a discussion on the advantages and disadvantages of
Isolation, till the very moment the DUNCAN dropped anchor about a mile
off Amsterdam Island.
This lonely group in the Indian Ocean consists of two distinct islands,
thirty-three miles apart, and situated exactly on the meridian of the
Indian peninsula. To the north is Amsterdam Island, and to the south St.
Paul; but they have been often confounded by geographers and navigators.
At the time of the DUNCAN’S visit to the island, the population
consisted of three people, a Frenchman and two mulattoes, all three
employed by the merchant proprietor. Paganel was delighted to shake
hands with a countryman in the person of good old Monsieur Viot. He
was far advanced in years, but did the honors of the place with much
politeness. It was a happy day for him when these kindly strangers
touched at his island, for St. Peter’s was only frequented by
seal-fishers, and now and then a whaler, the crews of which are usually
rough, coarse men.
M. Viot presented his subjects, the two mulattoes. They composed the
whole living population of the island, except a few wild boars in the
interior and myriads of penguins. The little house where the three
solitary men lived was in the heart of a natural bay on the southeast,
formed by the crumbling away of a portion of the mountain.
Twice over in the early part of the century, Amsterdam Island became the
country of deserted sailors, providentially saved from misery and death;
but since these events no vessel had been lost on its coast. Had any
shipwreck occurred, some fragments must have been thrown on the sandy
shore, and any poor sufferers from it would have found their way to M.
Viot’s fishing-huts. The old man had been long on the island, and had
never been called upon to exercise such hospitality. Of the BRITANNIA
and Captain Grant he knew nothing, but he was certain that the disaster
had not happened on Amsterdam Island, nor on the islet called St. Paul,
for whalers and fishing-vessels went there constantly, and must have
heard of it.
Glenarvan was neither surprised nor vexed at the reply; indeed, his
object in asking was rather to establish the fact that Captain Grant had
not been there than that he had. This done, they were ready to proceed
on their voyage next day.
They rambled about the island till evening, as its appearance was very
inviting. Its FAUNA and FLORA, however, were poor in the extreme. The
only specimens of quadrupeds, birds, fish and cetacea were a few wild
boars, stormy petrels, albatrosses, perch and seals. Here and there
thermal springs and chalybeate waters escaped from the black lava, and
thin dark vapors rose above the volcanic soil. Some of these springs
were very hot. John Mangles held his thermometer in one of them, and
found the temperature was 176 degrees Fahrenheit. Fish caught in the sea
a few yards off, cooked in five minutes in these all but boiling waters,
a fact which made Paganel resolve not to attempt to bathe in them.
Toward evening, after a long promenade, Glenarvan and his party bade
adieu to the good old M. Viot, and returned to the yacht, wishing him
all the happiness possible on his desert island, and receiving in return
the old man’s blessing on their expedition.
CHAPTER IV A WAGER AND HOW DECIDED
ON the 7th of December, at three A. M., the DUNCAN lay puffing out her
smoke in the little harbor ready to start, and a few minutes afterward
the anchor was lifted, and the screw set in motion. By eight o’clock,
when the passengers came on deck, the Amsterdam Island had almost
disappeared from view behind the mists of the horizon. This was the last
halting-place on the route, and nothing now was between them and the
Australian coast but three thousand miles’ distance. Should the west
wind continue but a dozen days longer, and the sea remain favorable, the
yacht would have reached the end of her voyage.
Mary Grant and her brother could not gaze without emotion at the waves
through which the DUNCAN was speeding her course, when they thought that
these very same waves must have dashed against the prow of the BRITANNIA
but a few days before her shipwreck. Here, perhaps, Captain Grant,
with a disabled ship and diminished crew, had struggled against the
tremendous hurricanes of the Indian Ocean, and felt himself driven
toward the coast with irresistible force. The Captain pointed out to
Mary the different currents on the ship’s chart, and explained to her
their constant direction. Among others there was one running straight to
the Australian continent, and its action is equally felt in the Atlantic
and Pacific. It was doubtless against this that the BRITANNIA, dismasted
and rudderless, had been unable to contend, and consequently been dashed
against the coast, and broken in pieces.
A difficulty about this, however, presented itself. The last
intelligence of Captain Grant was from Callao on the 30th of May, 1862,
as appeared in the -Mercantile and Shipping Gazette-. “How then was
it possible that on the 7th of June, only eight days after leaving
the shores of Peru, that the BRITANNIA could have found herself in the
Indian Ocean?” But to this, Paganel, who was consulted on the subject,
found a very plausible solution.
It was one evening, about six days after their leaving Amsterdam Island,
when they were all chatting together on the poop, that the above-named
difficulty was stated by Glenarvan. Paganel made no reply, but went
and fetched the document. After perusing it, he still remained silent,
simply shrugging his shoulders, as if ashamed of troubling himself about
such a trifle.
“Come, my good friend,” said Glenarvan, “at least give us an answer.”
“No,” replied Paganel, “I’ll merely ask a question for Captain John to
answer.”
“And what is it, Monsieur Paganel?” said John Mangles.
“Could a quick ship make the distance in a month over that part of the
Pacific Ocean which lies between America and Australia?”
“Yes, by making two hundred miles in twenty-four hours.”
“Would that be an extraordinary rate of speed?”
“Not at all; sailing clippers often go faster.”
“Well, then, instead of ‘7 June’ on this document, suppose that one
figure has been destroyed by the sea-water, and read ‘17 June’ or ‘27
June,’ and all is explained.”
“That’s to say,” replied Lady Helena, “that between the 31st of May and
the 27th of June--”
“Captain Grant could have crossed the Pacific and found himself in the
Indian Ocean.”
Paganel’s theory met with universal acceptance.
“That’s one more point cleared up,” said Glenarvan. “Thanks to our
friend, all that remains to be done now is to get to Australia, and look
out for traces of the wreck on the western coast.”
“Or the eastern?” said John Mangles.
“Indeed, John, you may be right, for there is nothing in the document to
indicate which shore was the scene of the catastrophe, and both points
of the continent crossed by the 37th parallel, must, therefore, be
explored.”
“Then, my Lord, it is doubtful, after all,” said Mary.
“Oh no, Miss Mary,” John Mangles hastened to reply, seeing the young
girl’s apprehension. “His Lordship will please to consider that if
Captain Grant had gained the shore on the east of Australia, he would
almost immediately have found refuge and assistance. The whole of that
coast is English, we might say, peopled with colonists. The crew of
the BRITANNIA could not have gone ten miles without meeting a
fellow-countryman.”
“I am quite of your opinion, Captain John,” said Paganel. “On the
eastern coast Harry Grant would not only have found an English colony
easily, but he would certainly have met with some means of transport
back to Europe.”
“And he would not have found the same resources on the side we are
making for?” asked Lady Helena.
“No, madam,” replied Paganel; “it is a desert coast, with no
communication between it and Melbourne or Adelaide. If the BRITANNIA was
wrecked on those rocky shores, she was as much cut off from all chance
of help as if she had been lost on the inhospitable shores of Africa.”
“But what has become of my father there, then, all these two years?”
asked Mary Grant.
“My dear Mary,” replied Paganel, “you have not the least doubt, have
you, that Captain Grant reached the Australian continent after his
shipwreck?”
“No, Monsieur Paganel.”
“Well, granting that, what became of him? The suppositions we might make
are not numerous. They are confined to three. Either Harry Grant and his
companions have found their way to the English colonies, or they have
fallen into the hands of the natives, or they are lost in the immense
wilds of Australia.”
“Go on, Paganel,” said Lord Glenarvan, as the learned Frenchman made a
pause.
“The first hypothesis I reject, then, to begin with, for Harry Grant
could not have reached the English colonies, or long ago he would have
been back with his children in the good town of Dundee.”
“Poor father,” murmured Mary, “away from us for two whole years.”
“Hush, Mary,” said Robert, “Monsieur Paganel will tell us.”
“Alas! my boy, I cannot. All that I affirm is, that Captain Grant is in
the hands of the natives.”
“But these natives,” said Lady Helena, hastily, “are they--”
“Reassure yourself, madam,” said Paganel, divining her thoughts.
“The aborigines of Australia are low enough in the scale of human
intelligence, and most degraded and uncivilized, but they are mild
and gentle in disposition, and not sanguinary like their New Zealand
neighbors. Though they may be prisoners, their lives have never been
threatened, you may be sure. All travelers are unanimous in declaring
that the Australian natives abhor shedding blood, and many a time
they have found in them faithful allies in repelling the attacks of
evil-disposed convicts far more cruelly inclined.”
“You hear what Monsieur Paganel tells us, Mary,” said Lady Helena
turning to the young girl. “If your father is in the hands of the
natives, which seems probable from the document, we shall find him.”
“And what if he is lost in that immense country?” asked Mary.
“Well, we’ll find him still,” exclaimed Paganel, in a confident tone.
“Won’t we, friends?”
“Most certainly,” replied Glenarvan; and anxious to give a less gloomy
turn to the conversation, he added--
“But I won’t admit the supposition of his being lost, not for an
instant.”
“Neither will I,” said Paganel.
“Is Australia a big place?” inquired Robert.
“Australia, my boy, is about as large as four-fifths of Europe. It has
somewhere about 775,000 HECTARES.”
“So much as that?” said the Major.
“Yes, McNabbs, almost to a yard’s breadth. Don’t you think now it has a
right to be called a continent?”
“I do, certainly.”
“I may add,” continued the SAVANT, “that there are but few accounts
of travelers being lost in this immense country. Indeed, I believe
Leichardt is the only one of whose fate we are ignorant, and some
time before my departure I learned from the Geographical Society that
Mcintyre had strong hopes of having discovered traces of him.”
“The whole of Australia, then, is not yet explored?” asked Lady Helena.
“No, madam, but very little of it. This continent is not much better
known than the interior of Africa, and yet it is from no lack of
enterprising travelers. From 1606 to 1862, more than fifty have been
engaged in exploring along the coast and in the interior.”
“Oh, fifty!” exclaimed McNabbs incredulously.
“No, no,” objected the Major; “that is going too far.”
“And I might go farther, McNabbs,” replied the geographer, impatient of
contradiction.
“Yes, McNabbs, quite that number.”
“Farther still, Paganel.”
“If you doubt me, I can give you the names.”
“Oh, oh,” said the Major, coolly. “That’s just like you SAVANTS. You
stick at nothing.”
“Major, will you bet your Purdy-Moore rifle against my telescope?”
“Why not, Paganel, if it would give you any pleasure.”
“Done, Major!” exclaimed Paganel. “You may say good-by to your rifle,
for it will never shoot another chamois or fox unless I lend it to you,
which I shall always be happy to do, by the by.”
“And whenever you require the use of your telescope, Paganel, I shall be
equally obliging,” replied the Major, gravely.
“Let us begin, then; and ladies and gentlemen, you shall be our jury.
Robert, you must keep count.”
This was agreed upon, and Paganel forthwith commenced.
“Mnemosyne! Goddess of Memory, chaste mother of the Muses!” he
exclaimed, “inspire thy faithful servant and fervent worshiper! Two
hundred and fifty-eight years ago, my friends, Australia was unknown.
Strong suspicions were entertained of the existence of a great southern
continent. In the library of your British Museum, Glenarvan, there are
two charts, the date of which is 1550, which mention a country south
of Asia, called by the Portuguese Great Java. But these charts are not
sufficiently authentic. In the seventeenth century, in 1606, Quiros,
a Spanish navigator, discovered a country which he named Australia de
Espiritu Santo. Some authors imagine that this was the New Hebrides
group, and not Australia. I am not going to discuss the question,
however. Count Quiros, Robert, and let us pass on to another.”
“ONE,” said Robert.
“In that same year, Louis Vas de Torres, the second in command of the
fleet of Quiros, pushed further south. But it is to Theodore Hertoge, a
Dutchman, that the honor of the great discovery belongs. He touched
the western coast of Australia in 25 degrees latitude, and called it
Eendracht, after his vessel. From this time navigators increased. In
1618, Zeachen discovered the northern parts of the coast, and called
them Arnheim and Diemen. In 1618, Jan Edels went along the western
coast, and christened it by his own name. In 1622, Leuwin went down as
far as the cape which became his namesake.” And so Paganel continued
with name after name until his hearers cried for mercy.
“Stop, Paganel,” said Glenarvan, laughing heartily, “don’t quite crush
poor McNabbs. Be generous; he owns he is vanquished.”
“And what about the rifle?” asked the geographer, triumphantly.
“It is yours, Paganel,” replied the Major, “and I am very sorry for it;
but your memory might gain an armory by such feats.”
“It is certainly impossible to be better acquainted with Australia; not
the least name, not even the most trifling fact--”
“As to the most trifling fact, I don’t know about that,” said the Major,
shaking his head.
“What do you mean, McNabbs?” exclaimed Paganel.
“Simply that perhaps all the incidents connected with the discovery of
Australia may not be known to you.”
“Just fancy,” retorted Paganel, throwing back his head proudly.
“Come now. If I name one fact you don’t know, will you give me back my
rifle?” said McNabbs.
“On the spot, Major.”
“Very well, it’s a bargain, then.”
“Yes, a bargain; that’s settled.”
“All right. Well now, Paganel, do you know how it is that Australia does
not belong to France?”
“But it seems to me--”
“Or, at any rate, do you know what’s the reason the English give?” asked
the Major.
“No,” replied Paganel, with an air of vexation.
“Just because Captain Baudin, who was by no means a timid man, was so
afraid in 1802, of the croaking of the Australian frogs, that he raised
his anchor with all possible speed, and quitted the coast, never to
return.”
“What!” exclaimed Paganel. “Do they actually give that version of it in
England? But it is just a bad joke.”
“Bad enough, certainly, but still it is history in the United Kingdom.”
“It’s an insult!” exclaimed the patriotic geographer; “and they relate
that gravely?”
“I must own it is the case,” replied Glenarvan, amidst a general
outburst of laughter. “Do you mean to say you have never heard of it
before?”
“Never! But I protest against it. Besides, the English call us
‘frog-eaters.’ Now, in general, people are not afraid of what they eat.”
“It is said, though, for all that,” replied McNabbs. So the Major kept
his famous rifle after all.
CHAPTER V THE STORM ON THE INDIAN OCEAN
Two days after this conversation, John Mangles announced that the DUNCAN
was in longitude 113 degrees 37 minutes, and the passengers found on
consulting the chart that consequently Cape Bernouilli could not be more
than five degrees off. They must be sailing then in that part of the
Indian Ocean which washed the Australian continent, and in four days
might hope to see Cape Bernouilli appear on the horizon.
Hitherto the yacht had been favored by a strong westerly breeze, but now
there were evident signs that a calm was impending, and on the 13th
of December the wind fell entirely; as the sailors say, there was not
enough to fill a cap.
There was no saying how long this state of the atmosphere might last.
But for the powerful propeller the yacht would have been obliged to lie
motionless as a log. The young captain was very much annoyed, however,
at the prospect of emptying his coal-bunkers, for he had covered his
ship with canvas, intending to take advantage of the slightest breeze.
“After all, though,” said Glenarvan, with whom he was talking over the
subject, “it is better to have no wind than a contrary one.”
“Your Lordship is right,” replied John Mangles; “but the fact is these
sudden calms bring change of weather, and this is why I dread them. We
are close on the trade winds, and if we get them ever so little in our
teeth, it will delay us greatly.”
“Well, John, what if it does? It will only make our voyage a little
longer.”
“Yes, if it does not bring a storm with it.”
“Do you mean to say you think we are going to have bad weather?” replied
Glenarvan, examining the sky, which from horizon to zenith seemed
absolutely cloudless.
“I do,” returned the captain. “I may say so to your Lordship, but I
should not like to alarm Lady Glenarvan or Miss Grant.”
“You are acting wisely; but what makes you uneasy?”
“Sure indications of a storm. Don’t trust, my Lord, to the appearance of
the sky. Nothing is more deceitful. For the last two days the barometer
has been falling in a most ominous manner, and is now at 27 degrees.
This is a warning I dare not neglect, for there is nothing I dread more
than storms in the Southern Seas; I have had a taste of them already.
The vapors which become condensed in the immense glaciers at the
South Pole produce a current of air of extreme violence. This causes
a struggle between the polar and equatorial winds, which results in
cyclones, tornadoes, and all those multiplied varieties of tempest
against which a ship is no match.”
“Well, John,” said Glenarvan, “the DUNCAN is a good ship, and her
captain is a brave sailor. Let the storm come, we’ll meet it!”
John Mangles remained on deck the whole night, for though as yet the
sky was still unclouded, he had such faith in his weather-glass, that
he took every precaution that prudence could suggest. About 11 P. M. the
sky began to darken in the south, and the crew were called up, and all
the sails hauled in, except the foresail, brigantine, top-sail, and
jib-boom. At midnight the wind freshened, and before long the cracking
of the masts, and the rattling of the cordage, and groaning of the
timbers, awakened the passengers, who speedily made their appearance on
deck--at least Paganel, Glenarvan, the Major and Robert.
“Is it the hurricane?” asked Glenarvan quietly.
“Not yet,” replied the captain; “but it is close at hand.”
And he went on giving his orders to the men, and doing his best to make
ready for the storm, standing, like an officer commanding a breach, with
his face to the wind, and his gaze fixed on the troubled sky. The glass
had fallen to 26 degrees, and the hand pointed to tempest.
It was one o’clock in the morning when Lady Helena and Miss Grant
ventured upstairs on deck. But they no sooner made their appearance
than the captain hurried toward them, and begged them to go below again
immediately. The waves were already beginning to dash over the side of
the ship, and the sea might any moment sweep right over her from stem
to stern. The noise of the warring elements was so great that his words
were scarcely audible, but Lady Helena took advantage of a sudden lull
to ask if there was any danger.
“None whatever,” replied John Mangles; “but you cannot remain on deck,
madam, no more can Miss Mary.”
The ladies could not disobey an order that seemed almost an entreaty,
and they returned to their cabin. At the same moment the wind redoubled
its fury, making the masts bend beneath the weight of the sails, and
completely lifting up the yacht.
“Haul up the foresail!” shouted the captain. “Lower the topsail and
jib-boom!”
Glenarvan and his companions stood silently gazing at the struggle
between their good ship and the waves, lost in wondering and
half-terrified admiration at the spectacle.
Just then, a dull hissing was heard above the noise of the elements.
The steam was escaping violently, not by the funnel, but from the
safety-valves of the boiler; the alarm whistle sounded unnaturally loud,
and the yacht made a frightful pitch, overturning Wilson, who was at
the wheel, by an unexpected blow from the tiller. The DUNCAN no longer
obeyed the helm.
“What is the matter?” cried the captain, rushing on the bridge.
“The ship is heeling over on her side,” replied Wilson.
“The engine! the engine!” shouted the engineer.
Away rushed John to the engine-room. A cloud of steam filled the room.
The pistons were motionless in their cylinders, and they were apparently
powerless, and the engine-driver, fearing for his boilers, was letting
off the steam.
“What’s wrong?” asked the captain.
“The propeller is bent or entangled,” was the reply. “It’s not acting at
all.”
“Can’t you extricate it?”
“It is impossible.”
An accident like this could not be remedied, and John’s only resource
was to fall back on his sails, and seek to make an auxiliary of his most
powerful enemy, the wind. He went up again on deck, and after explaining
in a few words to Lord Glenarvan how things stood, begged him to retire
to his cabin, with the rest of the passengers. But Glenarvan wished to
remain above.
“No, your Lordship,” said the captain in a firm tone, “I must be alone
with my men. Go into the saloon. The vessel will have a hard fight with
the waves, and they would sweep you over without mercy.”
“But we might be a help.”
“Go in, my Lord, go in. I must indeed insist on it. There are times when
I must be master on board, and retire you must.”
Their situation must indeed be desperate for John Mangles to speak in
such authoritative language. Glenarvan was wise enough to understand
this, and felt he must set an example in obedience. He therefore quitted
the deck immediately with his three companions, and rejoined the
ladies, who were anxiously watching the DENOUEMENT of this war with the
elements.
“He’s an energetic fellow, this brave John of mine!” said Lord
Glenarvan, as he entered the saloon.
“That he is,” replied Paganel. “He reminds me of your great
Shakespeare’s boatswain in the ‘Tempest,’ who says to the king on board:
‘Hence! What care these roarers for the name of king? To cabin! Silence!
Trouble us not.’”
However, John Mangles did not lose a second in extricating his ship
from the peril in which she was placed by the condition of her screw
propeller. He resolved to rely on the mainsail for keeping in the right
route as far as possible, and to brace the yards obliquely, so as not to
present a direct front to the storm. The yacht turned about like a swift
horse that feels the spur, and presented a broadside to the billows. The
only question was, how long would she hold out with so little sail, and
what sail could resist such violence for any length of time. The great
advantage of keeping up the mainsail was that it presented to the waves
only the most solid portions of the yacht, and kept her in the right
course. Still it involved some peril, for the vessel might get engulfed
between the waves, and not be able to raise herself. But Mangles felt
there was no alternative, and all he could do was to keep the crew
ready to alter the sail at any moment, and stay in the shrouds himself
watching the tempest.
The remainder of the night was spent in this manner, and it was hoped
that morning would bring a calm. But this was a delusive hope. At 8 A.
M. the wind had increased to a hurricane.
John said nothing, but he trembled for his ship, and those on board.
The DUNCAN made a frightful plunge forward, and for an instant the
men thought she would never rise again. Already they had seized their
hatchets to cut away the shrouds from the mainmast, but the next minute
the sails were torn away by the tempest, and had flown off like gigantic
albatrosses.
The yacht had risen once more, but she found herself at the mercy of
the waves entirely now, with nothing to steady or direct her, and was
so fearfully pitched and tossed about that every moment the captain
expected the masts would break short off. John had no resource but to
put up a forestaysail, and run before the gale. But this was no easy
task. Twenty times over he had all his work to begin again, and it was
3 P. M. before his attempt succeeded. A mere shred of canvas though
it was, it was enough to drive the DUNCAN forward with inconceivable
rapidity to the northeast, of course in the same direction as the
hurricane. Swiftness was their only chance of safety. Sometimes she
would get in advance of the waves which carried her along, and cutting
through them with her sharp prow, bury herself in their depths. At
others, she would keep pace with them, and make such enormous leaps that
there was imminent danger of her being pitched over on her side, and
then again, every now and then the storm-driven sea would out-distance
the yacht, and the angry billows would sweep over the deck from stem to
stern with tremendous violence.
In this alarming situation and amid dreadful alternations of hope and
despair, the 12th of December passed away, and the ensuing night, John
Mangles never left his post, not even to take food. Though his impassive
face betrayed no symptoms of fear, he was tortured with anxiety, and his
steady gaze was fixed on the north, as if trying to pierce through the
thick mists that enshrouded it.
There was, indeed, great cause for fear. The DUNCAN was out of her
course, and rushing toward the Australian coast with a speed which
nothing could lessen. To John Mangles it seemed as if a thunderbolt
were driving them along. Every instant he expected the yacht would dash
against some rock, for he reckoned the coast could not be more than
twelve miles off, and better far be in mid ocean exposed to all its fury
than too near land.
John Mangles went to find Glenarvan, and had a private talk with him
about their situation, telling him frankly the true state of affairs,
stating the case with all the coolness of a sailor prepared for anything
and everything and he wound up by saying he might, perhaps, be obliged
to cast the yacht on shore.
“To save the lives of those on board, my Lord,” he added.
“Do it then, John,” replied Lord Glenarvan.
“And Lady Helena, Miss Grant?”
“I will tell them at the last moment when all hope of keeping out at sea
is over. You will let me know?”
“I will, my Lord.”
Glenarvan rejoined his companions, who felt they were in imminent
danger, though no word was spoken on the subject. Both ladies displayed
great courage, fully equal to any of the party. Paganel descanted in
the most inopportune manner about the direction of atmospheric currents,
making interesting comparisons, between tornadoes, cyclones, and
rectilinear tempests. The Major calmly awaited the end with the fatalism
of a Mussulman.
About eleven o’clock, the hurricane appeared to decrease slightly. The
damp mist began to clear away, and a sudden gleam of light revealed a
low-lying shore about six miles distant. They were driving right down on
it. Enormous breakers fifty feet high were dashing over it, and the fact
of their height showed John there must be solid ground before they could
make such a rebound.
“Those are sand-banks,” he said to Austin.
“I think they are,” replied the mate.
“We are in God’s hands,” said John. “If we cannot find any opening for
the yacht, and if she doesn’t find the way in herself, we are lost.”
“The tide is high at present, it is just possible we may ride over those
sand-banks.”
“But just see those breakers. What ship could stand them. Let us invoke
divine aid, Austin!”
Meanwhile the DUNCAN was speeding on at a frightful rate. Soon she was
within two miles of the sand-banks, which were still veiled from time to
time in thick mist. But John fancied he could see beyond the breakers
a quiet basin, where the DUNCAN would be in comparative safety. But how
could she reach it?
All the passengers were summoned on deck, for now that the hour of
shipwreck was at hand, the captain did not wish anyone to be shut up in
his cabin.
“John!” said Glenarvan in a low voice to the captain, “I will try to
save my wife or perish with her. I put Miss Grant in your charge.”
“Yes, my Lord,” replied John Mangles, raising Glenarvan’s hand to his
moistened eyes.
The yacht was only a few cables’ lengths from the sandbanks. The tide
was high, and no doubt there was abundance of water to float the ship
over the dangerous bar; but these terrific breakers alternately lifting
her up and then leaving her almost dry, would infallibly make her graze
the sand-banks.
Was there no means of calming this angry sea? A last expedient struck
the captain. “The oil, my lads!” he exclaimed. “Bring the oil here!”
The crew caught at the idea immediately; this was a plan that had been
successfully tried already. The fury of the waves had been allayed
before this time by covering them with a sheet of oil. Its effect is
immediate, but very temporary. The moment after a ship has passed over
the smooth surface, the sea redoubles its violence, and woe to the bark
that follows. The casks of seal-oil were forthwith hauled up, for danger
seemed to have given the men double strength. A few hatchet blows soon
knocked in the heads, and they were then hung over the larboard and
starboard.
“Be ready!” shouted John, looking out for a favorable moment.
In twenty seconds the yacht reached the bar. Now was the time. “Pour
out!” cried the captain, “and God prosper it!”
The barrels were turned upside down, and instantly a sheet of oil
covered the whole surface of the water. The billows fell as if by magic,
the whole foaming sea seemed leveled, and the DUNCAN flew over its
tranquil bosom into a quiet basin beyond the formidable bar; but almost
the same minute the ocean burst forth again with all its fury, and the
towering breakers dashed over the bar with increased violence.
CHAPTER VI A HOSPITABLE COLONIST
THE captain’s first care was to anchor his vessel securely. He found
excellent moorage in five fathoms’ depth of water, with a solid bottom
of hard granite, which afforded a firm hold. There was no danger now of
either being driven away or stranded at low water. After so many hours
of danger, the DUNCAN found herself in a sort of creek, sheltered by a
high circular point from the winds outside in the open sea.
Lord Glenarvan grasped John Mangles’ hand, and simply said: “Thank you,
John.”
This was all, but John felt it ample recompense. Glenarvan kept to
himself the secret of his anxiety, and neither Lady Helena, nor Mary,
nor Robert suspected the grave perils they had just escaped.
One important fact had to be ascertained. On what part of the coast had
the tempest thrown them? How far must they go to regain the parallel.
At what distance S. W. was Cape Bernouilli? This was soon determined by
taking the position of the ship, and it was found that she had scarcely
deviated two degrees from the route. They were in longitude 36 degrees
12 minutes, and latitude 32 degrees 67 minutes, at Cape Catastrophe,
three hundred miles from Cape Bernouilli. The nearest port was Adelaide,
the Capital of Southern Australia.
Could the DUNCAN be repaired there? This was the question. The extent
of the injuries must first be ascertained, and in order to do this he
ordered some of the men to dive down below the stern. Their report
was that one of the branches of the screw was bent, and had got jammed
against the stern post, which of course prevented all possibility of
rotation. This was a serious damage, so serious as to require more
skilful workmen than could be found in Adelaide.
After mature reflection, Lord Glenarvan and John Mangles came to the
determination to sail round the Australian coast, stopping at Cape
Bernouilli, and continuing their route south as far as Melbourne,
where the DUNCAN could speedily be put right. This effected, they would
proceed to cruise along the eastern coast to complete their search for
the BRITANNIA.
This decision was unanimously approved, and it was agreed that they
should start with the first fair wind. They had not to wait long for
the same night the hurricane had ceased entirely, and there was only a
manageable breeze from the S. W. Preparations for sailing were instantly
commenced, and at four o’clock in the morning the crew lifted the
anchors, and got under way with fresh canvas outspread, and a wind
blowing right for the Australian shores.
Two hours afterward Cape Catastrophe was out of sight. In the evening
they doubled Cape Borda, and came alongside Kangaroo Island. This is the
largest of the Australian islands, and a great hiding place for runaway
convicts. Its appearance was enchanting. The stratified rocks on the
shore were richly carpeted with verdure, and innumerable kangaroos were
jumping over the woods and plains, just as at the time of its discovery
in 1802. Next day, boats were sent ashore to examine the coast minutely,
as they were now on the 36th parallel, and between that and the 38th
Glenarvan wished to leave no part unexplored.
The boats had hard, rough work of it now, but the men never complained.
Glenarvan and his inseparable companion, Paganel, and young Robert
generally accompanied them. But all this painstaking exploration came
to nothing. Not a trace of the shipwreck could be seen anywhere. The
Australian shores revealed no more than the Patagonian. However, it was
not time yet to lose hope altogether, for they had not reached the exact
point indicated by the document.
On the 20th of December, they arrived off Cape Bernouilli, which
terminates Lacepede Bay, and yet not a vestige of the BRITANNIA had been
discovered. Still this was not surprising, as it was two years since the
occurrence of the catastrophe, and the sea might, and indeed must, have
scattered and destroyed whatever fragments of the brig had remained.
Besides, the natives who scent a wreck as the vultures do a dead body,
would have pounced upon it and carried off the smaller DEBRIS. There was
no doubt whatever Harry Grant and his companions had been made prisoners
the moment the waves threw them on the shore, and been dragged away into
the interior of the continent.
But if so, what becomes of Paganel’s ingenious hypothesis about the
document? viz., that it had been thrown into a river and carried by a
current into the sea. That was a plausible enough theory in Patagonia,
but not in the part of Australia intersected by the 37th parallel.
Besides the Patagonian rivers, the Rio Colorado and the Rio Negro, flow
into the sea along deserted solitudes, uninhabited and uninhabitable;
while, on the contrary, the principal rivers of Australia--the Murray,
the Yarrow, the Torrens, the Darling--all connected with each other,
throw themselves into the ocean by well-frequented routes, and their
mouths are ports of great activity. What likelihood, consequently, would
there be that a fragile bottle would ever find its way along such busy
thoroughfares right out into the Indian Ocean?
Paganel himself saw the impossibility of it, and confessed to the Major,
who raised a discussion on the subject, that his hypothesis would be
altogether illogical in Australia. It was evident that the degrees given
related to the place where the BRITANNIA was actually shipwrecked and
not the place of captivity, and that the bottle therefore had been
thrown into the sea on the western coast of the continent.
However, as Glenarvan justly remarked, this did not alter the fact
of Captain Grant’s captivity in the least degree, though there was no
reason now for prosecuting the search for him along the 37th parallel,
more than any other. It followed, consequently, that if no traces of the
BRITANNIA were discovered at Cape Bernouilli, the only thing to be done
was to return to Europe. Lord Glenarvan would have been unsuccessful,
but he would have done his duty courageously and conscientiously.
But the young Grants did not feel disheartened. They had long since said
to themselves that the question of their father’s deliverance was about
to be finally settled. Irrevocably, indeed, they might consider it, for
as Paganel had judiciously demonstrated, if the wreck had occurred on
the eastern side, the survivors would have found their way back to their
own country long since.
“Hope on! Hope on, Mary!” said Lady Helena to the young girl, as they
neared the shore; “God’s hand will still lead us.”
“Yes, Miss Mary,” said Captain John. “Man’s extremity is God’s
opportunity. When one way is hedged up another is sure to open.”
“God grant it,” replied Mary.
Land was quite close now. The cape ran out two miles into the sea, and
terminated in a gentle slope, and the boat glided easily into a sort
of natural creek between coral banks in a state of formation, which in
course of time would be a belt of coral reefs round the southern
point of the Australian coast. Even now they were quite sufficiently
formidable to destroy the keel of a ship, and the BRITANNIA might likely
enough have been dashed to pieces on them.
The passengers landed without the least difficulty on an absolutely
desert shore. Cliffs composed of beds of strata made a coast line sixty
to eighty feet high, which it would have been difficult to scale without
ladders or cramp-irons. John Mangles happened to discover a natural
breach about half a mile south. Part of the cliff had been partially
beaten down, no doubt, by the sea in some equinoctial gale. Through this
opening the whole party passed and reached the top of the cliff by a
pretty steep path. Robert climbed like a young cat, and was the first on
the summit, to the despair of Paganel, who was quite ashamed to see his
long legs, forty years old, out-distanced by a young urchin of twelve.
However, he was far ahead of the Major, who gave himself no concern on
the subject.
They were all soon assembled on the lofty crags, and from this elevation
could command a view of the whole plain below. It appeared entirely
uncultivated, and covered with shrubs and bushes. Glenarvan thought it
resembled some glens in the lowlands of Scotland, and Paganel fancied
it like some barren parts of Britanny. But along the coast the country
appeared to be inhabited, and significant signs of industry revealed the
presence of civilized men, not savages.
“A mill!” exclaimed Robert.
And, sure enough, in the distance the long sails of a mill appeared,
apparently about three miles off.
“It certainly is a windmill,” said Paganel, after examining the object
in question through his telescope.
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