best night gear, and the party wrapped themselves each in a warm flax
mantle, and protected by native superstition, slept quietly inside the
inclosure, on the warm ground, still violating with the violence of the
internal ebullition.
CHAPTER XIV A BOLD STRATAGEM
NEXT day, February 17th, the sun’s first rays awoke the sleepers of the
Maunganamu. The Maories had long since been astir, coming and going at
the foot of the mountain, without leaving their line of observation.
Furious clamor broke out when they saw the Europeans leave the sacred
place they had profaned.
Each of the party glanced first at the neighboring mountains, and at
the deep valleys still drowned in mist, and over Lake Taupo, which the
morning breeze ruffled slightly. And then all clustered round Paganel
eager to hear his project.
Paganel soon satisfied their curiosity. “My friends,” said he, “my
plan has one great recommendation; if it does not accomplish all that
I anticipate, we shall be no worse off than we are at present. But it
must, it will succeed.”
“And what is it?” asked McNabbs.
“It is this,” replied Paganel, “the superstition of the natives has
made this mountain a refuge for us, and we must take advantage of
their superstition to escape. If I can persuade Kai-Koumou that we have
expiated our profanation, that the wrath of the Deity has fallen on
us: in a word, that we have died a terrible death, do you think he will
leave the plateau of Maunganamu to return to his village?”
“Not a doubt of it,” said Glenarvan.
“And what is the horrible death you refer to?” asked Lady Helena.
“The death of the sacrilegious, my friends,” replied Paganel. “The
avenging flames are under our feet. Let us open a way for them!”
“What! make a volcano!” cried John Mangles.
“Yes, an impromptu volcano, whose fury we can regulate. There are plenty
of vapors ready to hand, and subterranean fires ready to issue forth. We
can have an eruption ready to order.”
“An excellent idea, Paganel; well conceived,” said the Major.
“You understand,” replied the geographer, “we are to pretend to fall
victims to the flames of the Maori Pluto, and to disappear spiritually
into the tomb of Kara-Tete. And stay there three, four, even five days
if necessary--that is to say, till the savages are convinced that we
have perished, and abandon their watch.”
“But,” said Miss Grant, “suppose they wish to be sure of our punishment,
and climb up here to see?”
“No, my dear Mary,” returned Paganel. “They will not do that. The
mountain is tabooed, and if it devoured its sacrilegious intruders, it
would only be more inviolably tabooed.”
“It is really a very clever plan,” said Glenarvan. “There is only one
chance against it; that is, if the savages prolong their watch at the
foot of Maunganamu, we may run short of provisions. But if we play our
game well there is not much fear of that.”
“And when shall we try this last chance?” asked Lady Helena.
“To-night,” rejoined Paganel, “when the darkness is the deepest.”
“Agreed,” said McNabbs; “Paganel, you are a genius! and I, who seldom
get up an enthusiasm, I answer for the success of your plan. Oh! those
villains! They shall have a little miracle that will put off their
conversion for another century. I hope the missionaries will forgive
us.”
The project of Paganel was therefore adopted, and certainly with the
superstitious ideas of the Maories there seemed good ground for hope.
But brilliant as the idea might be, the difficulty was in the -modus
operandi-. The volcano might devour the bold schemers, who offered it
a crater. Could they control and direct the eruption when they had
succeeded in letting loose its vapor and flames, and lava streams? The
entire cone might be engulfed. It was meddling with phenomena of which
nature herself has the absolute monopoly.
Paganel had thought of all this; but he intended to act prudently and
without pushing things to extremes. An appearance would be enough to
dupe the Maories, and there was no need for the terrible realities of an
eruption.
How long that day seemed. Each one of the party inwardly counted the
hours. All was made ready for flight. The oudoupa provisions were
divided and formed very portable packets. Some mats and firearms
completed their light equipment, all of which they took from the tomb
of the chief. It is needless to say that their preparations were made
within the inclosure, and that they were unseen by the savages.
At six o’clock the steward served up a refreshing meal. Where or when
they would eat in the valleys of the Ranges no one could foretell. So
that they had to take in supplies for the future. The principal dish was
composed of half a dozen rats, caught by Wilson and stewed. Lady Helena
and Mary Grant obstinately refused to taste this game, which is highly
esteemed by the natives; but the men enjoyed it like the real Maories.
The meat was excellent and savory, and the six devourers were devoured
down to the bones.
The evening twilight came on. The sun went down in a stormy-looking bank
of clouds. A few flashes of lightning glanced across the horizon and
distant thunder pealed through the darkened sky.
Paganel welcomed the storm, which was a valuable aid to his plans, and
completed his program. The savages are superstitiously affected by the
great phenomena of nature. The New Zealanders think that thunder is the
angry voice of Noui-Atoua, and lightning the fierce gleam of his eyes.
Thus their deity was coming personally to chastise the violators of the
taboo.
At eight o’clock, the summit of the Maunganamu was lost in portentous
darkness. The sky would supply a black background for the blaze which
Paganel was about to throw on it. The Maories could no longer see their
prisoners; and this was the moment for action. Speed was necessary.
Glenarvan, Paganel, McNabbs, Robert, the steward, and the two sailors,
all lent a hand.
The spot for the crater was chosen thirty paces from Kara-Tete’s tomb.
It was important to keep the oudoupa intact, for if it disappeared, the
taboo of the mountain would be nullified. At the spot mentioned Paganel
had noticed an enormous block of stone, round which the vapors played
with a certain degree of intensity. This block covered a small natural
crater hollowed in the cone, and by its own weight prevented the egress
of the subterranean fire. If they could move it from its socket, the
vapors and the lava would issue by the disencumbered opening.
The workers used as levers some posts taken from the interior of the
oudoupa, and they plied their tools vigorously against the rocky mass.
Under their united efforts the stone soon moved. They made a little
trench so that it might roll down the inclined plane. As they gradually
raised it, the vibrations under foot became more distinct. Dull roarings
of flame and the whistling sound of a furnace ran along under the thin
crust. The intrepid la-borers, veritable Cyclops handling Earth’s fires,
worked in silence; soon some fissures and jets of steam warned them that
their place was growing dangerous. But a crowning effort moved the mass
which rolled down and disappeared. Immediately the thin crust gave way.
A column of fire rushed to the sky with loud detonations, while streams
of boiling water and lava flowed toward the native camp and the lower
valleys.
All the cone trembled as if it was about to plunge into a fathomless
gulf.
Glenarvan and his companions had barely time to get out of the way; they
fled to the enclosure of the oudoupa, not without having been sprinkled
with water at 220 degrees. This water at first spread a smell like soup,
which soon changed into a strong odor of sulphur.
Then the mud, the lava, the volcanic stones, all spouted forth in
a torrent. Streams of fire furrowed the sides of Maunganamu. The
neighboring mountains were lit up by the glare; the dark valleys were
also filled with dazzling light.
All the savages had risen, howling under the pain inflicted by the
burning lava, which was bubbling and foaming in the midst of their camp.
Those whom the liquid fire had not touched fled to the surrounding
hills; then turned, and gazed in terror at this fearful phenomenon, this
volcano in which the anger of their deity would swallow up the profane
intruders on the sacred mountain. Now and then, when the roar of the
eruption became less violent, their cry was heard:
“Taboo! taboo! taboo!”
An enormous quantity of vapors, heated stones and lava was escaping
by this crater of Maunganamu. It was not a mere geyser like those that
girdle round Mount Hecla, in Iceland, it was itself a Hecla. All this
volcanic commotion was confined till then in the envelope of the cone,
because the safety valve of Tangariro was enough for its expansion; but
when this new issue was afforded, it rushed forth fiercely, and by the
laws of equilibrium, the other eruptions in the island must on that
night have lost their usual intensity.
An hour after this volcano burst upon the world, broad streams of lava
were running down its sides. Legions of rats came out of their holes,
and fled from the scene.
All night long, and fanned by the tempest in the upper sky, the crater
never ceased to pour forth its torrents with a violence that alarmed
Glenarvan. The eruption was breaking away the edges of the opening. The
prisoners, hidden behind the inclosure of stakes, watched the fearful
progress of the phenomenon.
Morning came. The fury of the volcano had not slackened. Thick yellowish
fumes were mixed with the flames; the lava torrents wound their
serpentine course in every direction.
Glenarvan watched with a beating heart, looking from all the interstices
of the palisaded enclosure, and observed the movements in the native
camp.
The Maories had fled to the neighboring ledges, out of the reach of the
volcano. Some corpses which lay at the foot of the cone, were charred by
the fire. Further off toward the “pah,” the lava had reached a group
of twenty huts, which were still smoking. The Maories, forming here
and there groups, contemplated the canopied summit of Maunganamu with
religious awe.
Kai-Koumou approached in the midst of his warriors, and Glenarvan
recognized him. The chief advanced to the foot of the hill, on the side
untouched by the lava, but he did not ascend the first ledge.
Standing there, with his arms stretched out like an exerciser, he made
some grimaces, whose meaning was obvious to the prisoners. As Paganel
had foreseen, Kai-Koumou launched on the avenging mountain a more
rigorous taboo.
Soon after the natives left their positions and followed the winding
paths that led toward the pah.
“They are going!” exclaimed Glenarvan. “They have left their posts! God
be praised! Our stratagem has succeeded! My dear Lady Helena, my brave
friends, we are all dead and buried! But this evening when night comes,
we shall rise and leave our tomb, and fly these barbarous tribes!”
It would be difficult to conceive of the joy that pervaded the oudoupa.
Hope had regained the mastery in all hearts. The intrepid travelers
forgot the past, forgot the future, to enjoy the present delight! And
yet the task before them was not an easy one--to gain some European
outpost in the midst of this unknown country. But Kai-Koumou once off
their track, they thought themselves safe from all the savages in New
Zealand.
A whole day had to elapse before they could make a start, and they
employed it in arranging a plan of flight. Paganel had treasured up his
map of New Zealand, and on it could trace out the best roads.
After discussion, the fugitives resolved to make for the Bay of Plenty,
towards the east. The region was unknown, but apparently desert. The
travelers, who from their past experience, had learned to make light of
physical difficulties, feared nothing but meeting Maories. At any
cost they wanted to avoid them and gain the east coast, where the
missionaries had several stations. That part of the country had hitherto
escaped the horrors of war, and the natives were not in the habit of
scouring the country.
As to the distance that separated Lake Taupo from the Bay of Plenty,
they calculated it about a hundred miles. Ten days’ march at ten miles a
day, could be done, not without fatigue, but none of the party gave that
a thought. If they could only reach the mission stations they could rest
there while waiting for a favorable opportunity to get to Auckland, for
that was the point they desired to reach.
This question settled, they resumed their watch of the native
proceedings, and continued so doing till evening fell. Not a solitary
native remained at the foot of the mountain, and when darkness set in
over the Taupo valleys, not a fire indicated the presence of the Maories
at the base. The road was free.
At nine o’clock, the night being unusually dark, Glenarvan gave the
order to start. His companions and he, armed and equipped at the expense
of Kara-Tete, began cautiously to descend the slopes of Maunganamu, John
Mangles and Wilson leading the way, eyes and ears on the alert. They
stopped at the slightest sound, they started at every passing cloud.
They slid rather than walked down the spur, that their figures might
be lost in the dark mass of the mountain. At two hundred feet below the
summit, John Mangles and his sailors reached the dangerous ridge that
had been so obstinately defended by the natives. If by ill luck the
Maories, more cunning than the fugitives, had only pretended to retreat;
if they were not really duped by the volcanic phenomenon, this was the
spot where their presence would be betrayed. Glenarvan could not but
shudder, in spite of his confidence, and in spite of the jokes of
Paganel. The fate of the whole party would hang in the balance for the
ten minutes required to pass along that ridge. He felt the beating of
Lady Helena’s heart, as she clung to his arm.
He had no thought of turning back. Neither had John. The young captain,
followed closely by the whole party, and protected by the intense
darkness, crept along the ridge, stopping when some loose stone rolled
to the bottom. If the savages were still in the ambush below, these
unusual sounds might provoke from both sides a dangerous fusillade.
But speed was impossible in their serpent-like progress down this
sloping crest. When John Mangles had reached the lowest point, he was
scarcely twenty-five feet from the plateau, where the natives were
encamped the night before, and then the ridge rose again pretty steeply
toward a wood for about a quarter of a mile.
All this lower part was crossed without molestation, and they commenced
the ascent in silence. The clump of bush was invisible, though they
knew it was there, and but for the possibility of an ambush, Glenarvan
counted on being safe when the party arrived at that point. But he
observed that after this point, they were no longer protected by the
taboo. The ascending ridge belonged not to Maunganamu, but to the
mountain system of the eastern side of Lake Taupo, so that they had not
only pistol shots, but hand-to-hand fighting to fear. For ten minutes,
the little band ascended by insensible degrees toward the higher
table-land. John could not discern the dark wood, but he knew it ought
to be within two hundred feet. Suddenly he stopped; almost retreated. He
fancied he heard something in the darkness; his stoppage interrupted the
march of those behind.
He remained motionless long enough to alarm his companions. They waited
with unspeakable anxiety, wondering if they were doomed to retrace their
steps, and return to the summit of Maunganamu.
But John, finding that the noise was not repeated, resumed the ascent of
the narrow path of the ridge. Soon they perceived the shadowy outline of
the wood showing faintly through the darkness. A few steps more and they
were hid from sight in the thick foliage of the trees.
CHAPTER XV FROM PERIL TO SAFETY
THE night favored their escape, and prudence urged them to lose no time
in getting away from the fatal neighborhood of Lake Taupo. Paganel took
the post of leader, and his wonderful instinct shone out anew in this
difficult mountain journey. His nyctalopia was a great advantage, his
cat-like sight enabling him to distinguish the smallest object in the
deepest gloom.
For three hours they walked on without halting along the far-reaching
slope of the eastern side. Paganel kept a little to the southeast, in
order to make use of a narrow passage between the Kaimanawa and the
Wahiti Ranges, through which the road from Hawkes’ Bay to Auckland
passes. Once through that gorge, his plan was to keep off the road,
and, under the shelter of the high ranges, march to the coast across the
inhabited regions of the province.
At nine o’clock in the morning, they had made twelve miles in twelve
hours. The courageous women could not be pressed further, and, besides,
the locality was suitable for camping. The fugitives had reached the
pass that separates the two chains. Paganel, map in hand, made a loop
toward the northeast, and at ten o’clock the little party reached a sort
of redan, formed by a projecting rock.
The provisions were brought out, and justice was done to their meal.
Mary Grant and the Major, who had not thought highly of the edible fern
till then, now ate of it heartily.
The halt lasted till two o’clock in the afternoon, then they resumed
their journey; and in the evening they stopped eight miles from the
mountains, and required no persuasion to sleep in the open air.
Next day was one of serious difficulties. Their route lay across this
wondrous region of volcanic lakes, geysers, and solfataras, which
extended to the east of the Wahiti Ranges. It is a country more pleasant
for the eye to ramble over, than for the limbs. Every quarter of a mile
they had to turn aside or go around for some obstacle, and thus incurred
great fatigue; but what a strange sight met their eyes! What infinite
variety nature lavishes on her great panoramas!
On this vast extent of twenty miles square, the subterranean forces had
a field for the display of all their varied effects. Salt springs, of
singular transparency, peopled by myriads of insects, sprang up from
thickets of tea-tree scrub. They diffused a powerful odor of burnt
powder, and scattered on the ground a white sediment like dazzling snow.
The limpid waters were nearly at boiling point, while some neighboring
springs spread out like sheets of glass. Gigantic tree-ferns grew beside
them, in conditions analogous to those of the Silurian vegetation.
On every side jets of water rose like park fountains, out of a sea of
vapor; some of them continuous, others intermittent, as if a capricious
Pluto controlled their movements. They rose like an amphitheater on
natural terraces; their waters gradually flowed together under folds of
white smoke, and corroding the edges of the semi-transparent steps
of this gigantic staircase. They fed whole lakes with their boiling
torrents.
Farther still, beyond the hot springs and tumultuous geysers, came the
solfataras. The ground looked as if covered with large pustules. These
were slumbering craters full of cracks and fissures from which rose
various gases. The air was saturated with the acrid and unpleasant
odor of sulphurous acid. The ground was encrusted with sulphur
and crystalline concretions. All this incalculable wealth had been
accumulating for centuries, and if the sulphur beds of Sicily should
ever be exhausted, it is here, in this little known district of New
Zealand, that supplies must be sought.
The fatigue in traveling in such a country as this will be best
understood. Camping was very difficult, and the sportsmen of the party
shot nothing worthy of Olbinett’s skill; so that they had generally to
content themselves with fern and sweet potato--a poor diet which was
scarcely sufficient to recruit the exhausted strength of the little
party, who were all anxious to escape from this barren region.
But four days at least must elapse before they could hope to leave it.
On February 23, at a distance of fifty miles from Maunganamu, Glenarvan
called a halt, and camped at the foot of a nameless mountain, marked on
Paganel’s map. The wooded plains stretched away from sight, and great
forests appeared on the horizon.
That day McNabbs and Robert killed three kiwis, which filled the chief
place on their table, not for long, however, for in a few moments they
were all consumed from the beaks to the claws.
At dessert, between the potatoes and sweet potatoes, Paganel moved a
resolution which was carried with enthusiasm. He proposed to give the
name of Glenarvan to this unnamed mountain, which rose 3,000 feet high,
and then was lost in the clouds, and he printed carefully on his map the
name of the Scottish nobleman.
It would be idle to narrate all the monotonous and uninteresting
details of the rest of the journey. Only two or three occurrences of any
importance took place on the way from the lakes to the Pacific Ocean.
The march was all day long across forests and plains. John took
observations of the sun and stars. Neither heat nor rain increased the
discomfort of the journey, but the travelers were so reduced by the
trials they had undergone, that they made very slow progress; and they
longed to arrive at the mission station.
They still chatted, but the conversation had ceased to be general.
The little party broke up into groups, attracted to each other, not by
narrow sympathies, but by a more personal communion of ideas.
Glenarvan generally walked alone; his mind seemed to recur to his
unfortunate crew, as he drew nearer to the sea. He apparently lost sight
of the dangers which lay before them on their way to Auckland, in the
thought of his massacred men; the horrible picture haunted him.
Harry Grant was never spoken of; they were no longer in a position to
make any effort on his behalf. If his name was uttered at all, it was
between his daughter and John Mangles.
John had never reminded Mary of what she had said to him on that last
night at Ware-Atoua. He was too wise to take advantage of a word spoken
in a moment of despair. When he mentioned Captain Grant, John always
spoke of further search. He assured Mary that Lord Glenarvan would
re-embark in the enterprise. He persistently returned to the fact that
the authenticity of the document was indisputable, and that therefore
Harry Grant was somewhere to be found, and that they would find him, if
they had to try all over the world. Mary drank in his words, and she and
John, united by the same thought, cherished the same hope. Often Lady
Helena joined in the conversation; but she did not participate in their
illusions, though she refrained from chilling their enthusiasm.
McNabbs, Robert, Wilson, and Mulrady kept up their hunting parties,
without going far from the rest, and each one furnished his QUOTA of
game.
Paganel, arrayed in his flax mat, kept himself aloof, in a silent and
pensive mood.
And yet, it is only justice to say, in spite of the general rule that,
in the midst of trials, dangers, fatigues, and privations, the most
amiable dispositions become ruffled and embittered, all our travelers
were united, devoted, ready to die for one another.
On the 25th of February, their progress was stopped by a river which
answered to the Wakari on Paganel’s map, and was easily forded. For two
days plains of low scrub succeeded each other without interruption. Half
the distance from Lake Taupo to the coast had been traversed without
accident, though not without fatigue.
Then the scene changed to immense and interminable forests, which
reminded them of Australia, but here the kauri took the place of the
eucalyptus. Although their enthusiasm had been incessantly called forth
during their four months’ journey, Glenarvan and his companions were
compelled to admire and wonder at those gigantic pines, worthy rivals of
the Cedars of Lebanon, and the “Mammoth trees” of California. The kauris
measured a hundred feet high, before the ramification of the branches.
They grew in isolated clumps, and the forest was not composed of trees,
but of innumerable groups of trees, which spread their green canopies in
the air two hundred feet from the ground.
Some of these pines, still young, about a hundred years old, resembled
the red pine of Europe. They had a dark crown surmounted by a dark
conical shoot. Their older brethren, five or six hundred years of age,
formed great green pavilions supported on the inextricable network of
their branches. These patriarchs of the New Zealand forest measured
fifty yards in circumference, and the united arms of all the travelers
could not embrace the giant trunk.
For three days the little party made their way under these vast arches,
over a clayey soil which the foot of man had never trod. They knew this
by the quantity of resinous gum that lay in heaps at the foot of the
trees, and which would have lasted for native exportation many years.
The sportsmen found whole coveys of the kiwi, which are scarce in
districts frequented by the Maories; the native dogs drive them away to
the shelter of these inaccessible forests. They were an abundant source
of nourishing food to our travelers.
Paganel also had the good fortune to espy, in a thicket, a pair of
gigantic birds; his instinct as a naturalist was awakened. He called his
companions, and in spite of their fatigue, the Major, Robert, and he set
off on the track of these animals.
His curiosity was excusable, for he had recognized, or thought he
had recognized, these birds as “moas” belonging to the species of
“dinornis,” which many naturalists class with the extinct birds. This,
if Paganel was right, would confirm the opinion of Dr. Hochstetter and
other travelers on the present existence of the wingless giants of New
Zealand.
These moas which Paganel was chasing, the contemporaries of the
Megatherium and the Pterodactyles, must have been eighteen feet
high. They were huge ostriches, timid too, for they fled with extreme
rapidity. But no shot could stay their course. After a few minutes of
chase, these fleet-footed moas disappeared among the tall trees, and the
sportsmen lost their powder and their pains.
That evening, March 1, Glenarvan and his companions, emerging at last
from the immense kauri-forest, camped at the foot of Mount Ikirangi,
whose summit rose five thousand five hundred feet into the air. At this
point they had traveled a hundred miles from Maunganamu, and the
shore was still thirty miles away. John Mangles had calculated on
accomplishing the whole journey in ten days, but he did not foresee the
physical difficulties of the country.
On the whole, owing to the circuits, the obstacles, and the imperfect
observations, the journey had been extended by fully one-fifth, and now
that they had reached Mount Ikirangi, they were quite worn out.
Two long days of walking were still to be accomplished, during which
time all their activity and vigilance would be required, for their way
was through a district often frequented by the natives. The little party
conquered their weariness, and set out next morning at daybreak.
Between Mount Ikirangi which was left to the right, and Mount Hardy
whose summit rose on the left to a height of 3,700 feet, the journey was
very trying; for about ten miles the bush was a tangle of “supple-jack,”
a kind of flexible rope, appropriately called “stifling-creeper,” that
caught the feet at every step. For two days, they had to cut their
way with an ax through this thousand-headed hydra. Hunting became
impossible, and the sportsmen failed in their accustomed tribute. The
provisions were almost exhausted, and there was no means of renewing
them; their thirst was increasing by fatigue, and there was no water
wherewith to quench it.
The sufferings of Glenarvan and his party became terrible, and for the
first time their moral energy threatened to give way. They no longer
walked, they dragged themselves along, soulless bodies, animated only
by the instinct of self-preservation which survives every other feeling,
and in this melancholy plight they reached Point Lottin on the shores of
the Pacific.
Here they saw several deserted huts, the ruins of a village lately
destroyed by the war, abandoned fields, and everywhere signs of pillage
and incendiary fires.
They were toiling painfully along the shore, when they saw, at a
distance of about a mile, a band of natives, who rushed toward them
brandishing their weapons. Glenarvan, hemmed in by the sea, could not
fly, and summoning all his remaining strength he was about to meet the
attack, when John Mangles cried:
“A boat! a boat!”
And there, twenty paces off, a canoe with six oars lay on the beach. To
launch it, jump in and fly from the dangerous shore, was only a minute’s
work. John Mangles, McNabbs, Wilson and Mulrady took the oars; Glenarvan
the helm; the two women, Robert and Olbinett stretched themselves beside
him. In ten minutes the canoe was a quarter of a mile from the shore.
The sea was calm. The fugitives were silent. But John, who did not
want to get too far from land, was about to give the order to go up the
coast, when he suddenly stopped rowing.
He saw three canoes coming out from behind Point Lottin and evidently
about to give chase.
“Out to sea! Out to sea!” he exclaimed. “Better to drown if we must!”
The canoe went fast under her four rowers. For half an hour she kept
her distance; but the poor exhausted fellows grew weaker, and the three
pursuing boats began to gain sensibly on them. At this moment, scarcely
two miles lay between them. It was impossible to avoid the attack of the
natives, who were already preparing to fire their long guns.
What was Glenarvan about?--standing up in the stern he was looking
toward the horizon for some chimerical help. What did he hope for? What
did he wish? Had he a presentiment?
In a moment his eyes gleamed, his hand pointed out into the distance.
“A ship! a ship!” he cried. “My friends, row! row hard!”
Not one of the rowers turned his head--not an oar-stroke must be lost.
Paganel alone rose, and turned his telescope to the point indicated.
“Yes,” said he, “a ship! a steamer! they are under full steam! they are
coming to us! Found now, brave comrades!”
The fugitives summoned new energy, and for another half hour, keeping
their distance, they rowed with hasty strokes. The steamer came nearer
and nearer. They made out her two masts, bare of sails, and the great
volumes of black smoke. Glenarvan, handing the tiller to Robert, seized
Paganel’s glass, and watched the movements of the steamer.
John Mangles and his companions were lost in wonder when they saw
Glenarvan’s features contract and grow pale, and the glass drop from his
hands. One word explained it.
“The DUNCAN!” exclaimed Glenarvan. “The DUNCAN, and the convicts!”
“The DUNCAN!” cried John, letting go his oar and rising.
“Yes, death on all sides!” murmured Glenarvan, crushed by despair.
It was indeed the yacht, they could not mistake her--the yacht and her
bandit crew!
The major could scarcely restrain himself from cursing their destiny.
The canoe was meantime standing still. Where should they go? Whither
fly? What choice was there between the convicts and the savages?
A shot was fired from the nearest of the native boats, and the ball
struck Wilson’s oar.
A few strokes then carried the canoe nearer to the DUNCAN.
The yacht was coming down at full speed, and was not more than half a
mile off.
John Mangles, between two enemies, did not know what to advise, whither
to fly! The two poor ladies on their knees, prayed in their agony.
The savages kept up a running fire, and shots were raining round the
canoe, when suddenly a loud report was heard, and a ball from the
yacht’s cannon passed over their heads, and now the boat remained
motionless between the DUNCAN and the native canoes.
John Mangles, frenzied with despair, seized his ax. He was about to
scuttle the boat and sink it with his unfortunate companions, when a cry
from Robert arrested his arm.
“Tom Austin! Tom Austin!” the lad shouted. “He is on board! I see him!
He knows us! He is waving his hat.”
The ax hung useless in John’s hand.
A second ball whistled over his head, and cut in two the nearest of the
three native boats, while a loud hurrah burst forth on board the DUNCAN.
The savages took flight, fled and regained the shore.
“Come on, Tom, come on!” cried John Mangles in a joyous voice.
And a few minutes after, the ten fugitives, how, they knew not, were all
safe on board the DUNCAN.
CHAPTER XVI WHY THE “DUNCAN” WENT TO NEW ZEALAND
IT would be vain to attempt to depict the feelings of Glenarvan and his
friends when the songs of old Scotia fell on their ears. The moment they
set foot on the deck of the DUNCAN, the piper blew his bagpipes, and
commenced the national pibroch of the Malcolm clan, while loud hurrahs
rent the air.
Glenarvan and his whole party, even the Major himself, were crying and
embracing each other. They were delirious with joy. The geographer was
absolutely mad. He frisked about, telescope in hand, pointing it at the
last canoe approaching the shore.
But at the sight of Glenarvan and his companions, with their clothing in
rags, and thin, haggard faces, bearing marks of horrible sufferings,
the crew ceased their noisy demonstrations. These were specters who had
returned--not the bright, adventurous travelers who had left the yacht
three months before, so full of hope! Chance, and chance only, had
brought them back to the deck of the yacht they never thought to see
again. And in what a state of exhaustion and feebleness. But before
thinking of fatigue, or attending to the imperious demands of hunger and
thirst, Glenarvan questioned Tom Austin about his being on this coast.
Why had the DUNCAN come to the eastern coast of New Zealand? How was
it not in the hands of Ben Joyce? By what providential fatality had God
brought them in the track of the fugitives?
Why? how? and for what purpose? Tom was stormed with questions on all
sides. The old sailor did not know which to listen to first, and at last
resolved to hear nobody but Glenarvan, and to answer nobody but him.
“But the convicts?” inquired Glenarvan. “What did you do with them?”
“The convicts?” replied Tom, with the air of a man who does not in the
least understand what he is being asked.
“Yes, the wretches who attacked the yacht.”
“What yacht? Your Honor’s?”
“Why, of course, Tom. The DUNCAN, and Ben Joyce, who came on board.”
“I don’t know this Ben Joyce, and have never seen him.”
“Never seen him!” exclaimed Paganel, stupefied at the old sailor’s
replies. “Then pray tell me, Tom, how it is that the DUNCAN is cruising
at this moment on the coast of New Zealand?”
But if Glenarvan and his friends were totally at a loss to understand
the bewilderment of the old sailor, what was their amazement when he
replied in a calm voice:
“The DUNCAN is cruising here by your Honor’s orders.”
“By my orders?” cried Glenarvan.
“Yes, my Lord. I only acted in obedience to the instructions sent in
your letter of January fourteenth.”
“My letter! my letter!” exclaimed Glenarvan.
The ten travelers pressed closer round Tom Austin, devouring him with
their eyes. The letter dated from Snowy River had reached the DUNCAN,
then.
“Let us come to explanations, pray, for it seems to me I am dreaming.
You received a letter, Tom?”
“Yes, a letter from your Honor.”
“At Melbourne?”
“At Melbourne, just as our repairs were completed.”
“And this letter?”
“It was not written by you, but bore your signature, my Lord.”
“Just so; my letter was brought by a convict called Ben Joyce.”
“No, by a sailor called Ayrton, a quartermaster on the BRITANNIA.”
“Yes, Ayrton or Ben Joyce, one and the same individual. Well, and what
were the contents of this letter?”
“It contained orders to leave Melbourne without delay, and go and cruise
on the eastern coast of--”
“Australia!” said Glenarvan with such vehemence that the old sailor was
somewhat disconcerted.
“Of Australia?” repeated Tom, opening his eyes. “No, but New Zealand.”
“Australia, Tom! Australia!” they all cried with one voice.
Austin’s head began to feel in a whirl. Glenarvan spoke with such
assurance that he thought after all he must have made a mistake in
reading the letter. Could a faithful, exact old servant like himself
have been guilty of such a thing! He turned red and looked quite
disturbed.
“Never mind, Tom,” said Lady Helena. “God so willed it.”
“But, no, madam, pardon me,” replied old Tom. “No, it is impossible, I
was not mistaken. Ayrton read the letter as I did, and it was he, on the
contrary, who wished to bring me to the Australian coast.”
“Ayrton!” cried Glenarvan.
“Yes, Ayrton himself. He insisted it was a mistake: that you meant to
order me to Twofold Bay.”
“Have you the letter still, Tom?” asked the Major, extremely interested
in this mystery.
“Yes, Mr. McNabbs,” replied Austin. “I’ll go and fetch it.”
He ran at once to his cabin in the forecastle. During his momentary
absence they gazed at each other in silence, all but the Major, who
crossed his arms and said:
“Well, now, Paganel, you must own this would be going a little too far.”
“What?” growled Paganel, looking like a gigantic note of interrogation,
with his spectacles on his forehead and his stooping back.
Austin returned directly with the letter written by Paganel and signed
by Glenarvan.
“Will your Honor read it?” he said, handing it to him.
Glenarvan took the letter and read as follows:
“Order to Tom Austin to put out to sea without delay, and to take the
Duncan, by latitude 37 degrees to the eastern coast of New Zealand!”
“New Zealand!” cried Paganel, leaping up.
And he seized the letter from Glenarvan, rubbed his eyes, pushed down
his spectacles on his nose, and read it for himself.
“New Zealand!” he repeated in an indescribable tone, letting the order
slip between his fingers.
That same moment he felt a hand laid on his shoulder, and turning round
found himself face to face with the Major, who said in a grave tone:
“Well, my good Paganel, after all, it is a lucky thing you did not send
the DUNCAN to Cochin China!”
This pleasantry finished the poor geographer. The crew burst out into
loud Homeric laughter. Paganel ran about like a madman, seized his head
with both hands and tore his hair. He neither knew what he was doing nor
what he wanted to do. He rushed down the poop stairs mechanically and
paced the deck, nodding to himself and going straight before without aim
or object till he reached the forecastle. There his feet got entangled
in a coil of rope. He stumbled and fell, accidentally catching hold of a
rope with both hands in his fall.
Suddenly a tremendous explosion was heard. The forecastle gun had gone
off, riddling the quiet calm of the waves with a volley of small shot.
The unfortunate Paganel had caught hold of the cord of the loaded gun.
The geographer was thrown down the forecastle ladder and disappeared
below.
A cry of terror succeeded the surprise produced by the explosion.
Everybody thought something terrible must have happened. The sailors
rushed between decks and lifted up Paganel, almost bent double. The
geographer uttered no sound.
They carried his long body onto the poop. His companions were in
despair. The Major, who was always the surgeon on great occasions, began
to strip the unfortunate that he might dress his wounds; but he had
scarcely put his hands on the dying man when he started up as if touched
by an electrical machine.
“Never! never!” he exclaimed, and pulling his ragged coat tightly round
him, he began buttoning it up in a strangely excited manner.
“But, Paganel,” began the Major.
“No, I tell you!”
“I must examine--”
“You shall not examine.”
“You may perhaps have broken--” continued McNabbs.
“Yes,” continued Paganel, getting up on his long legs, “but what I have
broken the carpenter can mend.”
“What is it, then?”
“There.”
Bursts of laughter from the crew greeted this speech. Paganel’s friends
were quite reassured about him now. They were satisfied that he had come
off safe and sound from his adventure with the forecastle gun.
“At any rate,” thought the Major, “the geographer is wonderfully
bashful.”
But now Paganel was recovered a little, he had to reply to a question he
could not escape.
“Now, Paganel,” said Glenarvan, “tell us frankly all about it. I own
that your blunder was providential. It is sure and certain that but for
you the DUNCAN would have fallen into the hands of the convicts; but for
you we should have been recaptured by the Maories. But for my sake tell
me by what supernatural aberration of mind you were induced to write New
Zealand instead of Australia?”
“Well, upon my oath,” said Paganel, “it is--”
But the same instant his eyes fell on Mary and Robert Grant, and he
stopped short and then went on:
“What would you have me say, my dear Glenarvan? I am mad, I am an idiot,
an incorrigible fellow, and I shall live and die the most terrible
absent man. I can’t change my skin.”
“Unless you get flayed alive.”
“Get flayed alive!” cried the geographer, with a furious look. “Is that
a personal allusion?”
“An allusion to what?” asked McNabbs, quietly. This was all that passed.
The mystery of the DUNCAN’S presence on the coast was explained, and
all that the travelers thought about now was to get back to their
comfortable cabins, and to have breakfast.
However, Glenarvan and John Mangles stayed behind with Tom Austin after
the others had retired. They wished to put some further questions to
him.
“Now, then, old Austin,” said Glenarvan, “tell me, didn’t it strike you
as strange to be ordered to go and cruise on the coast of New Zealand?”
“Yes, your Honor,” replied Tom. “I was very much surprised, but it is
not my custom to discuss any orders I receive, and I obeyed. Could I
do otherwise? If some catastrophe had occurred through not carrying out
your injunctions to the letter, should not I have been to blame? Would
you have acted differently, captain?”
“No, Tom,” replied John Mangles.
“But what did you think?” asked Glenarvan.
“I thought, your Honor, that in the interest of Harry Grant, it was
necessary to go where I was told to go. I thought that in consequence of
fresh arrangements, you were to sail over to New Zealand, and that I was
to wait for you on the east coast of the island. Moreover, on leaving
Melbourne, I kept our destination a secret, and the crew only knew it
when we were right out at sea, and the Australian continent was finally
out of sight. But one circumstance occurred which greatly perplexed me.”
“What was it, Tom?” asked Glenarvan.
“Just this, that when the quartermaster of the BRITANNIA heard our
destination--”
“Ayrton!” cried Glenarvan. “Then he is on board?”
“Yes, your Honor.”
“Ayrton here?” repeated Glenarvan, looking at John Mangles.
“God has so willed!” said the young captain.
In an instant, like lightning, Ayrton’s conduct, his long-planned
treachery, Glenarvan’s wound, Mulrady’s assassination, the sufferings of
the expedition in the marshes of the Snowy River, the whole past life of
the miscreant, flashed before the eyes of the two men. And now, by the
strangest concourse of events, the convict was in their power.
“Where is he?” asked Glenarvan eagerly.
“In a cabin in the forecastle, and under guard.”
“Why was he imprisoned?”
“Because when Ayrton heard the vessel was going to New Zealand, he was
in a fury; because he tried to force me to alter the course of the ship;
because he threatened me; and, last of all, because he incited my men
to mutiny. I saw clearly he was a dangerous individual, and I must take
precautions against him.”
“And since then?”
“Since then he has remained in his cabin without attempting to go out.”
“That’s well, Tom.”
Just at this moment Glenarvan and John Mangles were summoned to the
saloon where breakfast, which they so sorely needed, was awaiting them.
They seated themselves at the table and spoke no more of Ayrton.
But after the meal was over, and the guests were refreshed and
invigorated, and they all went upon deck, Glenarvan acquainted them with
the fact of the quartermaster’s presence on board, and at the same time
announced his intention of having him brought before them.
“May I beg to be excused from being present at his examination?” said
Lady Helena. “I confess, dear Edward, it would be extremely painful for
me to see the wretched man.”
“He must be confronted with us, Helena,” replied Lord Glenarvan; “I beg
you will stay. Ben Joyce must see all his victims face to face.”
Lady Helena yielded to his wish. Mary Grant sat beside her, near
Glenarvan. All the others formed a group round them, the whole party
that had been compromised so seriously by the treachery of the convict.
The crew of the yacht, without understanding the gravity of the
situation, kept profound silence.
“Bring Ayrton here,” said Glenarvan.
CHAPTER XVII AYRTON’S OBSTINACY
AYRTON came. He crossed the deck with a confident tread, and mounted
the steps to the poop. His eyes were gloomy, his teeth set, his fists
clenched convulsively. His appearance betrayed neither effrontery nor
timidity. When he found himself in the presence of Lord Glenarvan he
folded his arms and awaited the questions calmly and silently.
“Ayrton,” said Glenarvan, “here we are then, you and us, on this very
DUNCAN that you wished to deliver into the hands of the convicts of Ben
Joyce.”
The lips of the quartermaster trembled slightly and a quick flush
suffused his impassive features. Not the flush of remorse, but of shame
at failure. On this yacht which he thought he was to command as master,
he was a prisoner, and his fate was about to be decided in a few
seconds.
However, he made no reply. Glenarvan waited patiently. But Ayrton
persisted in keeping absolute silence.
“Speak, Ayrton, what have you to say?” resumed Glenarvan.
Ayrton hesitated, the wrinkles in his forehead deepened, and at length
he said in calm voice:
“I have nothing to say, my Lord. I have been fool enough to allow myself
to be caught. Act as you please.”
,
1
,
,
2
,
,
3
.
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
,
,
’
12
.
,
13
,
.
14
15
.
16
17
,
18
,
,
19
.
20
.
21
22
.
«
,
»
,
«
23
;
24
,
.
25
,
.
»
26
27
«
?
»
.
28
29
«
,
»
,
«
30
,
31
.
-
32
,
33
:
,
,
34
?
»
35
36
«
,
»
.
37
38
«
?
»
.
39
40
«
,
,
»
.
«
41
.
!
»
42
43
«
!
!
»
.
44
45
«
,
,
.
46
,
.
47
.
»
48
49
«
,
;
,
»
.
50
51
«
,
»
,
«
52
,
53
-
.
,
,
54
-
-
,
55
,
.
»
56
57
«
,
»
,
«
,
58
?
»
59
60
«
,
,
»
.
«
.
61
,
,
62
.
»
63
64
«
,
»
.
«
65
;
,
66
,
.
67
.
»
68
69
«
?
»
.
70
71
«
-
,
»
,
«
.
»
72
73
«
,
»
;
«
,
!
,
74
,
.
!
75
!
76
.
77
.
»
78
79
,
80
.
81
,
-
82
-
.
,
83
.
84
,
?
85
.
86
.
87
88
;
89
.
90
,
91
.
92
93
.
94
.
.
95
.
96
,
97
.
98
,
.
99
100
’
.
101
.
102
.
103
,
.
104
,
105
;
.
106
,
107
.
108
109
.
-
110
.
111
.
112
113
,
,
114
.
115
.
116
-
,
.
117
118
.
119
120
’
,
121
.
122
.
123
;
.
.
124
,
,
,
,
,
,
125
.
126
127
-
’
.
128
,
,
129
.
130
,
131
.
132
,
133
.
,
134
.
135
136
137
,
.
138
.
139
.
140
,
.
141
142
.
-
,
’
,
143
;
144
.
145
.
.
146
,
147
148
.
149
150
151
.
152
153
;
154
,
155
.
,
156
.
157
158
,
,
,
159
.
.
160
;
161
.
162
163
,
164
,
.
165
166
167
;
,
,
168
169
.
,
170
,
:
171
172
«
!
!
!
»
173
174
,
175
.
176
,
,
.
177
,
178
;
179
,
,
180
,
181
.
182
183
,
184
.
,
185
.
186
187
,
,
188
189
.
.
190
,
,
191
.
192
193
.
.
194
;
195
.
196
197
,
198
,
199
.
200
201
,
202
.
,
203
.
«
,
»
204
,
.
,
205
,
206
.
207
208
-
,
209
.
,
210
,
.
211
212
,
,
213
,
.
214
,
-
215
.
216
217
218
.
219
220
«
!
»
.
«
!
221
!
!
,
222
,
!
,
223
,
!
»
224
225
.
226
.
227
,
,
!
228
-
-
229
.
-
230
,
231
.
232
233
,
234
.
235
,
.
236
237
,
,
238
.
,
.
239
,
,
240
,
.
241
,
242
.
243
,
244
.
245
246
,
247
.
’
248
,
,
,
249
.
250
,
251
.
252
253
,
254
,
.
255
,
256
,
257
.
.
258
259
’
,
,
260
.
,
261
-
,
,
262
,
.
263
,
.
264
,
265
.
266
,
267
.
268
,
,
;
269
,
270
.
271
,
,
272
.
273
.
274
’
,
.
275
276
.
.
,
277
,
278
,
,
279
.
,
280
.
281
282
-
283
.
,
284
-
,
285
,
286
.
287
288
,
289
.
,
290
,
,
291
.
292
,
293
.
,
294
,
295
,
-
-
.
,
296
297
-
.
,
298
.
;
.
299
;
300
.
301
302
.
303
,
304
,
.
305
306
,
,
307
.
308
.
309
.
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
,
318
.
319
,
320
.
,
321
-
322
.
323
324
-
325
.
,
326
327
,
’
328
.
,
,
329
,
,
330
.
331
332
’
,
333
.
,
,
,
334
.
335
.
,
,
336
,
’
337
,
.
338
339
,
.
340
,
341
,
.
342
343
’
,
344
;
345
,
.
346
347
.
348
,
,
,
349
.
350
,
.
351
,
352
;
!
353
!
354
355
,
356
.
,
357
,
,
358
-
.
359
,
.
360
,
361
.
-
362
,
.
363
364
,
365
;
,
,
366
.
367
;
368
,
-
369
.
370
.
371
372
,
,
373
.
.
374
375
.
376
.
377
.
378
,
379
,
,
380
,
.
381
382
383
.
,
384
’
;
385
-
-
386
387
,
.
388
389
.
390
,
,
391
,
,
392
’
.
,
393
.
394
395
,
396
,
,
,
397
.
398
399
,
,
400
.
401
,
,
,
402
,
403
.
404
405
406
.
407
.
408
.
409
.
410
,
411
,
;
412
.
413
414
,
.
415
,
,
416
,
.
417
418
;
419
,
.
420
,
421
;
.
422
423
;
424
.
,
425
.
426
427
428
-
.
429
.
,
430
.
431
-
.
432
,
433
,
,
434
.
,
435
,
,
.
436
;
437
,
.
438
439
,
,
,
,
440
,
441
.
442
443
,
,
,
444
.
445
446
,
,
,
447
,
,
,
,
448
,
449
,
,
.
450
451
,
452
’
,
.
453
.
454
455
,
.
456
457
,
458
,
459
.
460
’
,
461
,
462
,
«
»
.
463
,
.
464
,
,
465
,
466
.
467
468
,
,
,
469
.
470
.
,
,
471
472
.
473
,
474
.
475
476
,
477
.
478
479
,
.
480
481
,
482
;
483
.
484
.
485
486
,
,
487
;
.
488
,
,
,
,
489
.
490
491
,
,
492
,
«
»
493
«
,
»
.
,
494
,
.
495
496
.
497
498
,
499
,
500
.
,
,
501
.
.
502
,
-
,
503
.
504
505
,
,
,
506
-
,
,
507
.
508
,
509
.
510
,
511
.
512
513
,
,
,
514
,
-
,
515
,
.
516
517
,
518
,
519
.
520
,
.
521
522
,
523
,
,
524
;
«
-
,
»
525
,
«
-
,
»
526
.
,
527
-
.
528
,
.
529
,
530
;
,
531
.
532
533
,
534
.
535
,
,
,
536
-
,
537
538
.
539
540
,
541
,
,
542
.
543
544
,
,
545
,
,
546
.
,
,
547
,
548
,
:
549
550
«
!
!
»
551
552
,
,
.
553
,
,
’
554
.
,
,
;
555
;
,
556
.
.
557
.
.
,
558
,
559
,
.
560
561
562
.
563
564
«
!
!
»
.
«
!
»
565
566
.
567
;
,
568
.
,
569
.
570
,
.
571
572
?
-
-
573
.
?
574
?
?
575
576
,
.
577
578
«
!
!
»
.
«
,
!
!
»
579
580
-
-
-
.
581
,
.
582
583
«
,
»
,
«
!
!
!
584
!
,
!
»
585
586
,
,
587
,
.
588
.
,
,
589
.
,
,
590
’
,
.
591
592
593
’
,
594
.
.
595
596
«
!
»
.
«
,
!
»
597
598
«
!
»
,
.
599
600
«
,
!
»
,
.
601
602
,
-
-
603
!
604
605
.
606
607
.
?
608
?
?
609
610
,
611
’
.
612
613
.
614
615
,
616
.
617
618
,
,
,
619
!
,
.
620
621
,
622
,
,
623
’
,
624
.
625
626
,
,
.
627
,
628
.
629
630
«
!
!
»
.
«
!
!
631
!
.
»
632
633
’
.
634
635
,
636
,
.
637
638
,
.
639
640
«
,
,
!
»
.
641
642
,
,
,
,
643
.
644
645
646
647
648
«
»
649
650
651
652
.
653
,
,
654
,
655
.
656
657
,
,
658
.
.
659
.
,
,
660
.
661
662
,
663
,
,
,
,
664
.
665
-
-
,
666
,
!
,
,
667
668
.
.
669
,
670
,
.
671
672
?
673
?
674
?
675
676
?
?
?
677
.
,
678
,
.
679
680
«
?
»
.
«
?
»
681
682
«
?
»
,
683
.
684
685
«
,
.
»
686
687
«
?
’
?
»
688
689
«
,
,
.
,
,
.
»
690
691
«
’
,
.
»
692
693
«
!
»
,
’
694
.
«
,
,
695
?
»
696
697
698
,
699
:
700
701
«
’
.
»
702
703
«
?
»
.
704
705
«
,
.
706
.
»
707
708
«
!
!
»
.
709
710
,
711
.
,
712
.
713
714
«
,
,
.
715
,
?
»
716
717
«
,
.
»
718
719
«
?
»
720
721
«
,
.
»
722
723
«
?
»
724
725
«
,
,
.
»
726
727
«
;
.
»
728
729
«
,
,
.
»
730
731
«
,
,
.
,
732
?
»
733
734
«
,
735
-
-
»
736
737
«
!
»
738
.
739
740
«
?
»
,
.
«
,
.
»
741
742
«
,
!
!
»
.
743
744
’
.
745
746
.
,
747
!
748
.
749
750
«
,
,
»
.
«
.
»
751
752
«
,
,
,
,
»
.
«
,
,
753
.
,
,
754
,
.
»
755
756
«
!
»
.
757
758
«
,
.
:
759
.
»
760
761
«
,
?
»
,
762
.
763
764
«
,
.
,
»
.
«
’
.
»
765
766
.
767
,
,
768
:
769
770
«
,
,
,
.
»
771
772
«
?
»
,
,
773
.
774
775
776
.
777
778
«
?
»
,
.
779
780
:
781
782
«
,
783
,
!
»
784
785
«
!
»
,
.
786
787
,
,
788
,
.
789
790
«
!
»
,
791
.
792
793
,
794
,
:
795
796
«
,
,
,
797
!
»
798
799
.
800
.
,
801
.
802
.
803
,
804
.
805
.
,
806
.
807
808
.
809
,
.
810
.
811
812
.
813
814
.
815
.
816
,
.
817
.
818
819
.
820
.
,
,
821
;
822
823
.
824
825
«
!
!
»
,
826
,
.
827
828
«
,
,
»
.
829
830
«
,
!
»
831
832
«
-
-
»
833
834
«
.
»
835
836
«
-
-
»
.
837
838
«
,
»
,
,
«
839
.
»
840
841
«
,
?
»
842
843
«
.
»
844
845
.
’
846
.
847
.
848
849
«
,
»
,
«
850
.
»
851
852
,
853
.
854
855
«
,
,
»
,
«
.
856
.
857
;
858
.
859
860
?
»
861
862
«
,
,
»
,
«
-
-
»
863
864
,
865
:
866
867
«
,
?
,
,
868
,
869
.
’
.
»
870
871
«
.
»
872
873
«
!
»
,
.
«
874
?
»
875
876
«
?
»
,
.
.
877
’
,
878
879
,
.
880
881
,
882
.
883
.
884
885
«
,
,
,
»
,
«
,
’
886
?
»
887
888
«
,
,
»
.
«
,
889
,
.
890
?
891
,
?
892
,
?
»
893
894
«
,
,
»
.
895
896
«
?
»
.
897
898
«
,
,
,
899
.
900
,
,
901
.
,
902
,
,
903
,
904
.
.
»
905
906
«
,
?
»
.
907
908
«
,
909
-
-
»
910
911
«
!
»
.
«
?
»
912
913
«
,
.
»
914
915
«
?
»
,
.
916
917
«
!
»
.
918
919
,
,
’
,
-
920
,
’
,
’
,
921
,
922
,
.
,
923
,
.
924
925
«
?
»
.
926
927
«
,
.
»
928
929
«
?
»
930
931
«
,
932
;
;
933
;
,
,
934
.
,
935
.
»
936
937
«
?
»
938
939
«
.
»
940
941
«
’
,
.
»
942
943
944
,
,
.
945
.
946
947
,
948
,
,
949
’
,
950
.
951
952
«
?
»
953
.
«
,
,
954
.
»
955
956
«
,
,
»
;
«
957
.
.
»
958
959
.
,
960
.
,
961
.
962
,
963
,
.
964
965
«
,
»
.
966
967
968
969
970
’
971
972
973
.
,
974
.
,
,
975
.
976
.
977
.
978
979
«
,
»
,
«
,
,
980
981
.
»
982
983
984
.
,
985
.
,
986
,
987
.
988
989
,
.
.
990
.
991
992
«
,
,
?
»
.
993
994
,
,
995
:
996
997
«
,
.
998
.
.
»
999
1000