now it’s beginning.”
Louder peals of thunder interrupted this inopportune conversation, the
violence increasing with the noise till the whole atmosphere seemed to
vibrate with rapid oscillations.
The incessant flashes of lightning took various forms. Some darted down
perpendicularly from the sky five or six times in the same place in
succession. Others would have excited the interest of a SAVANT to the
highest degree, for though Arago, in his curious statistics, only cites
two examples of forked lightning, it was visible here hundreds of times.
Some of the flashes branched out in a thousand different directions,
making coralliform zigzags, and threw out wonderful jets of arborescent
light.
Soon the whole sky from east to north seemed supported by a phosphoric
band of intense brilliancy. This kept increasing by degrees till it
overspread the entire horizon, kindling the clouds which were faithfully
mirrored in the waters as if they were masses of combustible material,
beneath, and presented the appearance of an immense globe of fire, the
center of which was the OMBU.
Glenarvan and his companions gazed silently at this terrifying
spectacle. They could not make their voices heard, but the sheets of
white light which enwrapped them every now and then, revealed the face
of one and another, sometimes the calm features of the Major, sometimes
the eager, curious glance of Paganel, or the energetic face of
Glenarvan, and at others, the scared eyes of the terrified Robert, and
the careless looks of the sailors, investing them with a weird, spectral
aspect.
However, as yet, no rain had fallen, and the wind had not risen in the
least. But this state of things was of short duration; before long the
cataracts of the sky burst forth, and came down in vertical streams. As
the large drops fell splashing into the lake, fiery sparks seemed to fly
out from the illuminated surface.
Was the rain the FINALE of the storm? If so, Glenarvan and his
companions would escape scot free, except for a few vigorous douche
baths. No. At the very height of this struggle of the electric forces of
the atmosphere, a large ball of fire appeared suddenly at the extremity
of the horizontal parent branch, as thick as a man’s wrist, and
surrounded with black smoke. This ball, after turning round and round
for a few seconds, burst like a bombshell, and with so much noise
that the explosion was distinctly audible above the general FRACAS. A
sulphurous smoke filled the air, and complete silence reigned till the
voice of Tom Austin was heard shouting:
“The tree is on fire.”
Tom was right. In a moment, as if some fireworks were being ignited, the
flame ran along the west side of the OMBU; the dead wood and nests of
dried grass, and the whole sap, which was of a spongy texture, supplied
food for its devouring activity.
The wind had risen now and fanned the flame. It was time to flee,
and Glenarvan and his party hurried away to the eastern side of their
refuge, which was meantime untouched by the fire. They were all silent,
troubled, and terrified, as they watched branch after branch shrivel,
and crack, and writhe in the flame like living serpents, and then
drop into the swollen torrent, still red and gleaming, as it was borne
swiftly along on the rapid current. The flames sometimes rose to
a prodigious height, and seemed almost lost in the atmosphere, and
sometimes, beaten down by the hurricane, closely enveloped the OMBU
like a robe of Nessus. Terror seized the entire group. They were almost
suffocated with smoke, and scorched with the unbearable heat, for the
conflagration had already reached the lower branches on their side of
the OMBU. To extinguish it or check its progress was impossible; and
they saw themselves irrevocably condemned to a torturing death, like the
victims of Hindoo divinities.
At last, their situation was absolutely intolerable. Of the two deaths
staring them in the face, they had better choose the less cruel.
“To the water!” exclaimed Glenarvan.
Wilson, who was nearest the flames, had already plunged into the lake,
but next minute he screamed out in the most violent terror:
“Help! Help!”
Austin rushed toward him, and with the assistance of the Major, dragged
him up again on the tree.
“What’s the matter?” they asked.
“Alligators! alligators!” replied Wilson.
The whole foot of the tree appeared to be surrounded by these formidable
animals of the Saurian order. By the glare of the flames, they were
immediately recognized by Paganel, as the ferocious species peculiar to
America, called CAIMANS in the Spanish territories. About ten of them
were there, lashing the water with their powerful tails, and attacking
the OMBU with the long teeth of their lower jaw.
At this sight the unfortunate men gave themselves up to be lost.
A frightful death was in store for them, since they must either be
devoured by the fire or by the caimans. Even the Major said, in a calm
voice:
“This is the beginning of the end, now.”
There are circumstances in which men are powerless, when the unchained
elements can only be combated by other elements. Glenarvan gazed with
haggard looks at the fire and water leagued against him, hardly knowing
what deliverance to implore from Heaven.
The violence of the storm had abated, but it had developed in the
atmosphere a considerable quantity of vapors, to which electricity
was about to communicate immense force. An enormous water-spout was
gradually forming in the south--a cone of thick mists, but with the
point at the bottom, and base at the top, linking together the turbulent
water and the angry clouds. This meteor soon began to move forward,
turning over and over on itself with dizzy rapidity, and sweeping up
into its center a column of water from the lake, while its gyratory
motions made all the surrounding currents of air rush toward it.
A few seconds more, and the gigantic water-spout threw itself on the
OMBU, and caught it up in its whirl. The tree shook to its roots.
Glenarvan could fancy the caimans’ teeth were tearing it up from the
soil; for as he and his companions held on, each clinging firmly to the
other, they felt the towering OMBU give way, and the next minute it
fell right over with a terrible hissing noise, as the flaming branches
touched the foaming water.
It was the work of an instant. Already the water-spout had passed, to
carry on its destructive work elsewhere. It seemed to empty the lake in
its passage, by continually drawing up the water into itself.
The OMBU now began to drift rapidly along, impelled by wind and current.
All the caimans had taken their departure, except one that was crawling
over the upturned roots, and coming toward the poor refugees with wide
open jaws. But Mulrady, seizing hold of a branch that was half-burned
off, struck the monster such a tremendous blow, that it fell back into
the torrent and disappeared, lashing the water with its formidable tail.
Glenarvan and his companions being thus delivered from the voracious
SAURIANS, stationed themselves on the branches windward of the
conflagration, while the OMBU sailed along like a blazing fire-ship
through the dark night, the flames spreading themselves round like sails
before the breath of the hurricane.
CHAPTER XXVI THE RETURN ON BOARD
FOR two hours the OMBU navigated the immense lake without reaching
-terra firma-. The flames which were devouring it had gradually died
out. The chief danger of their frightful passage was thus removed, and
the Major went the length of saying, that he should not be surprised if
they were saved after all.
The direction of the current remained unchanged, always running from
southwest to northeast. Profound darkness had again set in, only
illumined here and there by a parting flash of lightning. The storm was
nearly over. The rain had given place to light mists, which a breath
of wind dispersed, and the heavy masses of cloud had separated, and now
streaked the sky in long bands.
The OMBU was borne onward so rapidly by the impetuous torrent, that
anyone might have supposed some powerful locomotive engine was hidden in
its trunk. It seemed likely enough they might continue drifting in this
way for days. About three o’clock in the morning, however, the Major
noticed that the roots were beginning to graze the ground occasionally,
and by sounding the depth of the water with a long branch, Tom Austin
found that they were getting on rising ground. Twenty minutes afterward,
the OMBU stopped short with a violent jolt.
“Land! land!” shouted Paganel, in a ringing tone.
The extremity of the calcined bough had struck some hillock, and never
were sailors more glad; the rock to them was the port.
Already Robert and Wilson had leaped on to the solid plateau with a
loud, joyful hurrah! when a well-known whistle was heard. The gallop of
a horse resounded over the plain, and the tall form of Thalcave emerged
from the darkness.
“Thalcave! Thalcave!” they all cried with one voice.
“Amigos!” replied the Patagonian, who had been waiting for the travelers
here in the same place where the current had landed himself.
As he spoke he lifted up Robert in his arms, and hugged him to his
breast, never imagining that Paganel was hanging on to him. A general
and hearty hand-shaking followed, and everyone rejoiced at seeing their
faithful guide again. Then the Patagonian led the way into the HANGAR of
a deserted ESTANCIA, where there was a good, blazing fire to warm them,
and a substantial meal of fine, juicy slices of venison soon broiling,
of which they did not leave a crumb. When their minds had calmed down
a little, and they were able to reflect on the dangers they had come
through from flood, and fire, and alligators, they could scarcely
believe they had escaped.
Thalcave, in a few words, gave Paganel an account of himself since they
parted, entirely ascribing his deliverance to his intrepid horse. Then
Paganel tried to make him understand their new interpretation of the
document, and the consequent hopes they were indulging. Whether the
Indian actually understood his ingenious hypothesis was a question; but
he saw that they were glad and confident, and that was enough for him.
As can easily be imagined, after their compulsory rest on the OMBU, the
travelers were up betimes and ready to start. At eight o’clock they
set off. No means of transport being procurable so far south, they were
compelled to walk. However, it was not more than forty miles now that
they had to go, and Thaouka would not refuse to give a lift occasionally
to a tired pedestrian, or even to a couple at a pinch. In thirty-six
hours they might reach the shores of the Atlantic.
The low-lying tract of marshy ground, still under water, soon lay
behind them, as Thalcave led them upward to the higher plains. Here
the Argentine territory resumed its monotonous aspect. A few clumps of
trees, planted by European hands, might chance to be visible among the
pasturage, but quite as rarely as in Tandil and Tapalquem Sierras. The
native trees are only found on the edge of long prairies and about Cape
Corrientes.
Next day, though still fifteen miles distant, the proximity of the ocean
was sensibly felt. The VIRAZON, a peculiar wind, which blows regularly
half of the day and night, bent down the heads of the tall grasses.
Thinly planted woods rose to view, and small tree-like mimosas, bushes
of acacia, and tufts of CURRA-MANTEL. Here and there, shining like
pieces of broken glass, were salinous lagoons, which increased the
difficulty of the journey as the travelers had to wind round them to
get past. They pushed on as quickly as possible, hoping to reach Lake
Salado, on the shores of the ocean, the same day; and at 8 P. M., when
they found themselves in front of the sand hills two hundred feet high,
which skirt the coast, they were all tolerably tired. But when the long
murmur of the distant ocean fell on their ears, the exhausted men forgot
their fatigue, and ran up the sandhills with surprising agility. But it
was getting quite dark already, and their eager gaze could discover
no traces of the DUNCAN on the gloomy expanse of water that met their
sight.
“But she is there, for all that,” exclaimed Glenarvan, “waiting for us,
and running alongside.”
“We shall see her to-morrow,” replied McNabbs.
Tom Austin hailed the invisible yacht, but there was no response. The
wind was very high and the sea rough. The clouds were scudding along
from the west, and the spray of the waves dashed up even to the
sand-hills. It was little wonder, then, if the man on the look-out could
neither hear nor make himself heard, supposing the DUNCAN were there.
There was no shelter on the coast for her, neither bay nor cove, nor
port; not so much as a creek. The shore was composed of sand-banks which
ran out into the sea, and were more dangerous to approach than
rocky shoals. The sand-banks irritate the waves, and make the sea so
particularly rough, that in heavy weather vessels that run aground there
are invariably dashed to pieces.
Though, then, the DUNCAN would keep far away from such a coast, John
Mangles is a prudent captain to get near. Tom Austin, however, was of
the opinion that she would be able to keep five miles out.
The Major advised his impatient relative to restrain himself to
circumstances. Since there was no means of dissipating the darkness,
what was the use of straining his eyes by vainly endeavoring to pierce
through it.
He set to work immediately to prepare the night’s encampment beneath the
shelter of the sand-hills; the last provisions supplied the last meal,
and afterward, each, following the Major’s example, scooped out a hole
in the sand, which made a comfortable enough bed, and then covered
himself with the soft material up to his chin, and fell into a heavy
sleep.
But Glenarvan kept watch. There was still a stiff breeze of wind, and
the ocean had not recovered its equilibrium after the recent storm. The
waves, at all times tumultuous, now broke over the sand-banks with a
noise like thunder. Glenarvan could not rest, knowing the DUNCAN was
so near him. As to supposing she had not arrived at the appointed
rendezvous, that was out of the question. Glenarvan had left the Bay
of Talcahuano on the 14th of October, and arrived on the shores of the
Atlantic on the 12th of November. He had taken thirty days to cross
Chili, the Cordilleras, the Pampas, and the Argentine plains, giving the
DUNCAN ample time to double Cape Horn, and arrive on the opposite side.
For such a fast runner there were no impediments. Certainly the storm
had been very violent, and its fury must have been terrible on such a
vast battlefield as the Atlantic, but the yacht was a good ship, and
the captain was a good sailor. He was bound to be there, and he would be
there.
These reflections, however, did not calm Glenarvan. When the heart
and the reason are struggling, it is generally the heart that wins the
mastery. The laird of Malcolm Castle felt the presence of loved ones
about him in the darkness as he wandered up and down the lonely strand.
He gazed, and listened, and even fancied he caught occasional glimpses
of a faint light.
“I am not mistaken,” he said to himself; “I saw a ship’s light, one of
the lights on the DUNCAN! Oh! why can’t I see in the dark?”
All at once the thought rushed across him that Paganel said he was a
nyctalope, and could see at night. He must go and wake him.
The learned geographer was sleeping as sound as a mole. A strong arm
pulled him up out of the sand and made him call out:
“Who goes there?”
“It is I, Paganel.”
“Who?”
“Glenarvan. Come, I need your eyes.”
“My eyes,” replied Paganel, rubbing them vigorously.
“Yes, I need your eyes to make out the DUNCAN in this darkness, so
come.”
“Confound the nyctalopia!” said Paganel, inwardly, though delighted to
be of any service to his friend.
He got up and shook his stiffened limbs, and stretching and yawning as
most people do when roused from sleep, followed Glenarvan to the beach.
Glenarvan begged him to examine the distant horizon across the sea,
which he did most conscientiously for some minutes.
“Well, do you see nothing?” asked Glenarvan.
“Not a thing. Even a cat couldn’t see two steps before her.”
“Look for a red light or a green one--her larboard or starboard light.”
“I see neither a red nor a green light, all is pitch dark,” replied
Paganel, his eyes involuntarily beginning to close.
For half an hour he followed his impatient friend, mechanically letting
his head frequently drop on his chest, and raising it again with a
start. At last he neither answered nor spoke, and he reeled about like a
drunken man. Glenarvan looked at him, and found he was sound asleep!
Without attempting to wake him, he took his arm, led him back to his
hole, and buried him again comfortably.
At dawn next morning, all the slumberers started to their feet and
rushed to the shore, shouting “Hurrah, hurrah!” as Lord Glenarvan’s loud
cry, “The DUNCAN, the DUNCAN!” broke upon his ear.
There she was, five miles out, her courses carefully reefed, and her
steam half up. Her smoke was lost in the morning mist. The sea was so
violent that a vessel of her tonnage could not have ventured safely
nearer the sand-banks.
Glenarvan, by the aid of Paganel’s telescope, closely observed the
movements of the yacht. It was evident that John Mangles had not
perceived his passengers, for he continued his course as before.
But at this very moment Thalcave fired his carbine in the direction of
the yacht. They listened and looked, but no signal of recognition was
returned. A second and a third time the Indian fired, awakening the
echoes among the sand-hills.
At last a white smoke was seen issuing from the side of the yacht.
“They see us!” exclaimed Glenarvan. “That’s the cannon of the DUNCAN.”
A few seconds, and the heavy boom of the cannon came across the water
and died away on the shore. The sails were instantly altered, and the
steam got up, so as to get as near the coast as possible.
Presently, through the glass, they saw a boat lowered.
“Lady Helena will not be able to come,” said Tom Austin. “It is too
rough.”
“Nor John Mangles,” added McNabbs; “he cannot leave the ship.”
“My sister, my sister!” cried Robert, stretching out his arms toward the
yacht, which was now rolling violently.
“Oh, how I wish I could get on board!” said Glenarvan.
“Patience, Edward! you will be there in a couple of hours,” replied the
Major.
Two hours! But it was impossible for a boat--a six-oared one--to come
and go in a shorter space of time.
Glenarvan went back to Thalcave, who stood beside Thaouka, with his arms
crossed, looking quietly at the troubled waves.
Glenarvan took his hand, and pointing to the yacht, said: “Come!”
The Indian gently shook his head.
“Come, friend,” repeated Glenarvan.
“No,” said Thalcave, gently. “Here is Thaouka, and there--the Pampas,”
he added, embracing with a passionate gesture the wide-stretching
prairies.
Glenarvan understood his refusal. He knew that the Indian would never
forsake the prairie, where the bones of his fathers were whitening, and
he knew the religious attachment of these sons of the desert for their
native land. He did not urge Thalcave longer, therefore, but simply
pressed his hand. Nor could he find it in his heart to insist, when the
Indian, smiling as usual, would not accept the price of his services,
pushing back the money, and saying:
“For the sake of friendship.”
Glenarvan could not reply; but he wished at least, to leave the brave
fellow some souvenir of his European friends. What was there to give,
however? Arms, horses, everything had been destroyed in the unfortunate
inundation, and his friends were no richer than himself.
He was quite at a loss how to show his recognition of the
disinterestedness of this noble guide, when a happy thought struck
him. He had an exquisite portrait of Lady Helena in his pocket, a
CHEF-D’OEUVRE of Lawrence. This he drew out, and offered to Thalcave,
simply saying:
“My wife.”
The Indian gazed at it with a softened eye, and said:
“Good and beautiful.”
Then Robert, and Paganel, and the Major, and the rest, exchanged
touching farewells with the faithful Patagonian. Thalcave embraced them
each, and pressed them to his broad chest. Paganel made him accept a map
of South America and the two oceans, which he had often seen the Indian
looking at with interest. It was the most precious thing the geographer
possessed. As for Robert, he had only caresses to bestow, and these he
lavished on his friend, not forgetting to give a share to Thaouka.
The boat from the DUNCAN was now fast approaching, and in another minute
had glided into a narrow channel between the sand-banks, and run ashore.
“My wife?” were Glenarvan’s first words.
“My sister?” said Robert.
“Lady Helena and Miss Grant are waiting for you on board,” replied the
coxswain; “but lose no time your honor, we have not a minute, for the
tide is beginning to ebb already.”
The last kindly adieux were spoken, and Thalcave accompanied his friends
to the boat, which had been pushed back into the water. Just as Robert
was going to step in, the Indian took him in his arms, and gazed
tenderly into his face. Then he said:
“Now go. You are a man.”
“Good-by, good-by, friend!” said Glenarvan, once more.
“Shall we never see each other again?” Paganel called out.
“-Quien sabe?-” (Who knows?) replied Thalcave, lifting his arms toward
heaven.
These were the Indian’s last words, dying away on the breeze, as the
boat receded gradually from the shore. For a long time, his dark,
motionless SILHOUETTE stood out against the sky, through the white,
dashing spray of the waves. Then by degrees his tall form began to
diminish in size, till at last his friends of a day lost sight of him
altogether.
An hour afterward Robert was the first to leap on board the DUNCAN. He
flung his arms round Mary’s neck, amid the loud, joyous hurrahs of the
crew on the yacht.
Thus the journey across South America was accomplished, the given line
of march being scrupulously adhered to throughout.
Neither mountains nor rivers had made the travelers change their course;
and though they had not had to encounter any ill-will from men, their
generous intrepidity had been often enough roughly put to the proof by
the fury of the unchained elements.
END OF BOOK ONE
*****
IN SEARCH OF THE CASTAWAYS
OR THE CHILDREN OF CAPTAIN GRANT
AUSTRALIA
[page intentionally blank]
CHAPTER I A NEW DESTINATION
FOR the first few moments the joy of reunion completely filled the
hearts. Lord Glenarvan had taken care that the ill-success of their
expedition should not throw a gloom over the pleasure of meeting, his
very first words being:
“Cheer up, friends, cheer up! Captain Grant is not with us, but we have
a certainty of finding him!”
Only such an assurance as this would have restored hope to those on
board the DUNCAN. Lady Helena and Mary Grant had been sorely tried by
the suspense, as they stood on the poop waiting for the arrival of the
boat, and trying to count the number of its passengers. Alternate hope
and fear agitated the bosom of poor Mary. Sometimes she fancied she
could see her father, Harry Grant, and sometimes she gave way to
despair. Her heart throbbed violently; she could not speak, and indeed
could scarcely stand. Lady Helena put her arm round her waist to support
her, but the captain, John Mangles, who stood close beside them spoke no
encouraging word, for his practiced eye saw plainly that the captain was
not there.
“He is there! He is coming! Oh, father!” exclaimed the young girl. But
as the boat came nearer, her illusion was dispelled; all hope forsook
her, and she would have sunk in despair, but for the reassuring voice of
Glenarvan.
After their mutual embraces were over, Lady Helena, and Mary Grant,
and John Mangles, were informed of the principal incidents of the
expedition, and especially of the new interpretation of the document,
due to the sagacity of Jacques Paganel. His Lordship also spoke in the
most eulogistic terms of Robert, of whom Mary might well be proud. His
courage and devotion, and the dangers he had run, were all shown up in
strong relief by his patron, till the modest boy did not know which
way to look, and was obliged to hide his burning cheeks in his sister’s
arms.
“No need to blush, Robert,” said John Mangles. “Your conduct has been
worthy of your name.” And he leaned over the boy and pressed his lips on
his cheek, still wet with Mary’s tears.
The Major and Paganel, it need hardly be said, came in for their due
share of welcome, and Lady Helena only regretted she could not shake
hands with the brave and generous Thalcave. McNabbs soon slipped away
to his cabin, and began to shave himself as coolly and composedly as
possible; while Paganel flew here and there, like a bee sipping the
sweets of compliments and smiles. He wanted to embrace everyone on board
the yacht, and beginning with Lady Helena and Mary Grant, wound up
with M. Olbinett, the steward, who could only acknowledge so polite an
attention by announcing that breakfast was ready.
“Breakfast!” exclaimed Paganel.
“Yes, Monsieur Paganel.”
“A real breakfast, on a real table, with a cloth and napkins?”
“Certainly, Monsieur Paganel.”
“And we shall neither have CHARQUI, nor hard eggs, nor fillets of
ostrich?”
“Oh, Monsieur,” said Olbinett in an aggrieved tone.
“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, my friend,” said the geographer
smiling. “But for a month that has been our usual bill of fare, and when
we dined we stretched ourselves full length on the ground, unless we
sat astride on the trees. Consequently, the meal you have just announced
seemed to me like a dream, or fiction, or chimera.”
“Well, Monsieur Paganel, come along and let us prove its reality,” said
Lady Helena, who could not help laughing.
“Take my arm,” replied the gallant geographer.
“Has his Lordship any orders to give me about the DUNCAN?” asked John
Mangles.
“After breakfast, John,” replied Glenarvan, “we’ll discuss the program
of our new expedition -en famille-.”
M. Olbinett’s breakfast seemed quite a FETE to the hungry guests. It
was pronounced excellent, and even superior to the festivities of the
Pampas. Paganel was helped twice to each dish, through “absence of
mind,” he said.
This unlucky word reminded Lady Helena of the amiable Frenchman’s
propensity, and made her ask if he had ever fallen into his old habits
while they were away. The Major and Glenarvan exchanged smiling glances,
and Paganel burst out laughing, and protested on his honor that he would
never be caught tripping again once more during the whole voyage. After
this prelude, he gave an amusing recital of his disastrous mistake in
learning Spanish, and his profound study of Camoens. “After all,” he
added, “it’s an ill wind that blows nobody good, and I don’t regret the
mistake.”
“Why not, my worthy friend?” asked the Major.
“Because I not only know Spanish, but Portuguese. I can speak two
languages instead of one.”
“Upon my word, I never thought of that,” said McNabbs. “My compliments,
Paganel--my sincere compliments.”
But Paganel was too busily engaged with his knife and fork to lose a
single mouthful, though he did his best to eat and talk at the same
time. He was so much taken up with his plate, however, that one little
fact quite escaped his observation, though Glenarvan noticed it at once.
This was, that John Mangles had grown particularly attentive to Mary
Grant. A significant glance from Lady Helena told him, moreover, how
affairs stood, and inspired him with affectionate sympathy for the young
lovers; but nothing of this was apparent in his manner to John, for his
next question was what sort of a voyage he had made.
“We could not have had a better; but I must apprise your Lordship that I
did not go through the Straits of Magellan again.”
“What! you doubled Cape Horn, and I was not there!” exclaimed Paganel.
“Hang yourself!” said the Major.
“Selfish fellow! you advise me to do that because you want my rope,”
retorted the geographer.
“Well, you see, my dear Paganel, unless you have the gift of ubiquity
you can’t be in two places at once. While you were scouring the pampas
you could not be doubling Cape Horn.”
“That doesn’t prevent my regretting it,” replied Paganel.
Here the subject dropped, and John continued his account of his voyage.
On arriving at Cape Pilares he had found the winds dead against him, and
therefore made for the south, coasting along the Desolation Isle, and
after going as far as the sixty-seventh degree southern latitude, had
doubled Cape Horn, passed by Terra del Fuego and the Straits of
Lemaire, keeping close to the Patagonian shore. At Cape Corrientes they
encountered the terrible storm which had handled the travelers across
the pampas so roughly, but the yacht had borne it bravely, and for the
last three days had stood right out to sea, till the welcome
signal-gun of the expedition was heard announcing the arrival of the
anxiously-looked-for party. “It was only justice,” the captain added,
“that he should mention the intrepid bearing of Lady Helena and Mary
Grant throughout the whole hurricane. They had not shown the least fear,
unless for their friends, who might possibly be exposed to the fury of
the tempest.”
After John Mangles had finished his narrative, Glenarvan turned to Mary
and said; “My dear Miss Mary, the captain has been doing homage to your
noble qualities, and I am glad to think you are not unhappy on board his
ship.”
“How could I be?” replied Mary naively, looking at Lady Helena, and at
the young captain too, likely enough.
“Oh, my sister is very fond of you, Mr. John, and so am I,” exclaimed
Robert.
“And so am I of you, my dear boy,” returned the captain, a little
abashed by Robert’s innocent avowal, which had kindled a faint blush on
Mary’s cheek. Then he managed to turn the conversation to safer topics
by saying: “And now that your Lordship has heard all about the doings of
the DUNCAN, perhaps you will give us some details of your own journey,
and tell us more about the exploits of our young hero.”
Nothing could be more agreeable than such a recital to Lady Helena and
Mary Grant; and accordingly Lord Glenarvan hastened to satisfy their
curiosity--going over incident by incident, the entire march from
one ocean to another, the pass of the Andes, the earthquake, the
disappearance of Robert, his capture by the condor, Thalcave’s
providential shot, the episode of the red wolves, the devotion of
the young lad, Sergeant Manuel, the inundations, the caimans, the
waterspout, the night on the Atlantic shore--all these details, amusing
or terrible, excited by turns laughter and horror in the listeners.
Often and often Robert came in for caresses from his sister and Lady
Helena. Never was a boy so much embraced, or by such enthusiastic
friends.
“And now, friends,” added Lord Glenarvan, when he had finished his
narrative, “we must think of the present. The past is gone, but the
future is ours. Let us come back to Captain Harry Grant.”
As soon as breakfast was over they all went into Lord Glenarvan’s
private cabin and seated themselves round a table covered with charts
and plans, to talk over the matter fully.
“My dear Helena,” said Lord Glenarvan, “I told you, when we came on
board a little while ago, that though we had not brought back Captain
Grant, our hope of finding him was stronger than ever. The result of
our journey across America is this: We have reached the conviction,
or rather absolute certainty, that the shipwreck never occurred on the
shores of the Atlantic nor Pacific. The natural inference is that,
as far as regards Patagonia, our interpretation of the document was
erroneous. Most fortunately, our friend Paganel, in a happy moment of
inspiration, discovered the mistake. He has proved clearly that we have
been on the wrong track, and so explained the document that all doubt
whatever is removed from our minds. However, as the document is in
French, I will ask Paganel to go over it for your benefit.”
The learned geographer, thus called upon, executed his task in the
most convincing manner, descanting on the syllables GONIE and INDI, and
extracting AUSTRALIA out of AUSTRAL. He pointed out that Captain Grant,
on leaving the coast of Peru to return to Europe, might have been
carried away with his disabled ship by the southern currents of the
Pacific right to the shores of Australia, and his hypotheses were so
ingenious and his deductions so subtle that even the matter-of-fact
John Mangles, a difficult judge, and most unlikely to be led away by any
flights of imagination, was completely satisfied.
At the conclusion of Paganel’s dissertation, Glenarvan announced that
the DUNCAN would sail immediately for Australia.
But before the decisive orders were given, McNabbs asked for a few
minutes’ hearing.
“Say away, McNabbs,” replied Glenarvan.
“I have no intention of weakening the arguments of my friend Paganel,
and still less of refuting them. I consider them wise and weighty, and
deserving our attention, and think them justly entitled to form the
basis of our future researches. But still I should like them to
be submitted to a final examination, in order to make their worth
incontestable and uncontested.”
“Go on, Major,” said Paganel; “I am ready to answer all your questions.”
“They are simple enough, as you will see. Five months ago, when we left
the Clyde, we had studied these same documents, and their interpretation
then appeared quite plain. No other coast but the western coast of
Patagonia could possibly, we thought, have been the scene of the
shipwreck. We had not even the shadow of a doubt on the subject.”
“That’s true,” replied Glenarvan.
“A little later,” continued the Major, “when a providential fit of
absence of mind came over Paganel, and brought him on board the yacht,
the documents were submitted to him and he approved our plan of search
most unreservedly.”
“I do not deny it,” said Paganel.
“And yet we were mistaken,” resumed the Major.
“Yes, we were mistaken,” returned Paganel; “but it is only human to make
a mistake, while to persist in it, a man must be a fool.”
“Stop, Paganel, don’t excite yourself; I don’t mean to say that we
should prolong our search in America.”
“What is it, then, that you want?” asked Glenarvan.
“A confession, nothing more. A confession that Australia now as
evidently appears to be the theater of the shipwreck of the BRITANNIA as
America did before.”
“We confess it willingly,” replied Paganel.
“Very well, then, since that is the case, my advice is not to let your
imagination rely on successive and contradictory evidence. Who knows
whether after Australia some other country may not appear with equal
certainty to be the place, and we may have to recommence our search?”
Glenarvan and Paganel looked at each other silently, struck by the
justice of these remarks.
“I should like you, therefore,” continued the Major, “before we actually
start for Australia, to make one more examination of the documents.
Here they are, and here are the charts. Let us take up each point in
succession through which the 37th parallel passes, and see if we come
across any other country which would agree with the precise indications
of the document.”
“Nothing can be more easily and quickly done,” replied Paganel; “for
countries are not very numerous in this latitude, happily.”
“Well, look,” said the Major, displaying an English planisphere on the
plan of Mercator’s Chart, and presenting the appearance of a terrestrial
globe.
He placed it before Lady Helena, and then they all stood round, so as to
be able to follow the argument of Paganel.
“As I have said already,” resumed the learned geographer, “after having
crossed South America, the 37th degree of latitude cuts the islands of
Tristan d’Acunha. Now I maintain that none of the words of the document
could relate to these islands.”
The documents were examined with the most minute care, and the
conclusion unanimously reached was that these islands were entirely out
of the question.
“Let us go on then,” resumed Paganel. “After leaving the Atlantic, we
pass two degrees below the Cape of Good Hope, and into the Indian Ocean.
Only one group of islands is found on this route, the Amsterdam Isles.
Now, then, we must examine these as we did the Tristan d’Acunha group.”
After a close survey, the Amsterdam Isles were rejected in their turn.
Not a single word, or part of a word, French, English or German, could
apply to this group in the Indian Ocean.
“Now we come to Australia,” continued Paganel.
“The 37th parallel touches this continent at Cape Bernouilli, and leaves
it at Twofold Bay. You will agree with me that, without straining the
text, the English word STRA and the French one AUSTRAL may relate to
Australia. The thing is too plain to need proof.”
The conclusion of Paganel met with unanimous approval; every probability
was in his favor.
“And where is the next point?” asked McNabbs.
“That is easily answered. After leaving Twofold Bay, we cross an arm of
the sea which extends to New Zealand. Here I must call your attention
to the fact that the French word CONTIN means a continent, irrefragably.
Captain Grant could not, then, have found refuge in New Zealand, which
is only an island. However that may be though, examine and compare, and
go over and over each word, and see if, by any possibility, they can be
made to fit this new country.”
“In no way whatever,” replied John Mangles, after a minute investigation
of the documents and the planisphere.
“No,” chimed in all the rest, and even the Major himself, “it cannot
apply to New Zealand.”
“Now,” went on Paganel, “in all this immense space between this large
island and the American coast, there is only one solitary barren little
island crossed by the 37th parallel.”
“And what is its name,” asked the Major.
“Here it is, marked in the map. It is Maria Theresa--a name of which
there is not a single trace in either of the three documents.”
“Not the slightest,” said Glenarvan.
“I leave you, then, my friends, to decide whether all these
probabilities, not to say certainties, are not in favor of the
Australian continent.”
“Evidently,” replied the captain and all the others.
“Well, then, John,” said Glenarvan, “the next question is, have you
provisions and coal enough?”
“Yes, your honor, I took in an ample store at Talcahuano, and, besides,
we can easily replenish our stock of coal at Cape Town.”
“Well, then, give orders.”
“Let me make one more observation,” interrupted McNabbs.
“Go on then.”
“Whatever likelihood of success Australia may offer us, wouldn’t it be
advisable to stop a day or two at the Tristan d’Acunha Isles and the
Amsterdam? They lie in our route, and would not take us the least out of
the way. Then we should be able to ascertain if the BRITANNIA had left
any traces of her shipwreck there?”
“Incredulous Major!” exclaimed Paganel, “he still sticks to his idea.”
“I stick to this any way, that I don’t want to have to retrace our
steps, supposing that Australia should disappoint our sanguine hopes.”
“It seems to me a good precaution,” replied Glenarvan.
“And I’m not the one to dissuade you from it,” returned Paganel; “quite
the contrary.”
“Steer straight for Tristan d’Acunha.”
“Immediately, your Honor,” replied the captain, going on deck, while
Robert and Mary Grant overwhelmed Lord Glenarvan with their grateful
thanks.
Shortly after, the DUNCAN had left the American coast, and was running
eastward, her sharp keel rapidly cutting her way through the waves of
the Atlantic Ocean.
CHAPTER II TRISTAN D’ACUNHA AND THE ISLE OF AMSTERDAM
IF the yacht had followed the line of the equator, the 196 degrees which
separate Australia from America, or, more correctly, Cape Bernouilli
from Cape Corrientes, would have been equal to 11,760 geographical
miles; but along the 37th parallel these same degrees, owing to the form
of the earth, only represent 9,480 miles. From the American coast to
Tristan d’Acunha is reckoned 2,100 miles--a distance which John Mangles
hoped to clear in ten days, if east winds did not retard the motion of
the yacht. But he was not long uneasy on that score, for toward evening
the breeze sensibly lulled and then changed altogether, giving the
DUNCAN a fair field on a calm sea for displaying her incomparable
qualities as a sailor.
The passengers had fallen back into their ordinary ship life, and it
hardly seemed as if they really could have been absent a whole month.
Instead of the Pacific, the Atlantic stretched itself out before them,
and there was scarcely a shade of difference in the waves of the two
oceans. The elements, after having handled them so roughly, seemed now
disposed to favor them to the utmost. The sea was tranquil, and the
wind kept in the right quarter, so that the yacht could spread all her
canvas, and lend its aid, if needed to the indefatigable steam stored up
in the boiler.
Under such conditions, the voyage was safely and rapidly accomplished.
Their confidence increased as they found themselves nearer the
Australian coast. They began to talk of Captain Grant as if the yacht
were going to take him on board at a given port. His cabin was got
ready, and berths for the men. This cabin was next to the famous -number
six-, which Paganel had taken possession of instead of the one he had
booked on the SCOTIA. It had been till now occupied by M. Olbinett, who
vacated it for the expected guest. Mary took great delight in arranging
it with her own hands, and adorning it for the reception of the loved
inmate.
The learned geographer kept himself closely shut up. He was working away
from morning till night at a work entitled “Sublime Impressions of a
Geographer in the Argentine Pampas,” and they could hear him repeating
elegant periods aloud before committing them to the white pages of his
day-book; and more than once, unfaithful to Clio, the muse of history,
he invoked in his transports the divine Calliope, the muse of epic
poetry.
Paganel made no secret of it either. The chaste daughters of Apollo
willingly left the slopes of Helicon and Parnassus at his call. Lady
Helena paid him sincere compliments on his mythological visitants, and
so did the Major, though he could not forbear adding:
“But mind no fits of absence of mind, my dear Paganel; and if you take a
fancy to learn Australian, don’t go and study it in a Chinese grammar.”
Things went on perfectly smoothly on board. Lady Helena and Lord
Glenarvan found leisure to watch John Mangles’ growing attachment to
Mary Grant. There was nothing to be said against it, and, indeed, since
John remained silent, it was best to take no notice of it.
“What will Captain Grant think?” Lord Glenarvan asked his wife one day.
“He’ll think John is worthy of Mary, my dear Edward, and he’ll think
right.”
Meanwhile, the yacht was making rapid progress. Five days after losing
sight of Cape Corrientes, on the 16th of November, they fell in with
fine westerly breezes, and the DUNCAN might almost have dispensed with
her screw altogether, for she flew over the water like a bird, spreading
all her sails to catch the breeze, as if she were running a race with
the Royal Thames Club yachts.
Next day, the ocean appeared covered with immense seaweeds, looking like
a great pond choked up with the DEBRIS of trees and plants torn off the
neighboring continents. Commander Murray had specially pointed them out
to the attention of navigators. The DUNCAN appeared to glide over a
long prairie, which Paganel justly compared to the Pampas, and her speed
slackened a little.
Twenty-four hours after, at break of day, the man on the look-out was
heard calling out, “Land ahead!”
“In what direction?” asked Tom Austin, who was on watch.
“Leeward!” was the reply.
This exciting cry brought everyone speedily on deck. Soon a telescope
made its appearance, followed by Jacques Paganel. The learned geographer
pointed the instrument in the direction indicated, but could see nothing
that resembled land.
“Look in the clouds,” said John Mangles.
“Ah, now I do see a sort of peak, but very indistinctly.”
“It is Tristan d’Acunha,” replied John Mangles.
“Then, if my memory serves me right, we must be eighty miles from it,
for the peak of Tristan, seven thousand feet high, is visible at that
distance.”
“That’s it, precisely.”
Some hours later, the sharp, lofty crags of the group of islands stood
out clearly on the horizon. The conical peak of Tristan looked black
against the bright sky, which seemed all ablaze with the splendor of the
rising sun. Soon the principal island stood out from the rocky mass, at
the summit of a triangle inclining toward the northeast.
Tristan d’Acunha is situated in 37 degrees 8’ of southern latitude,
and 10 degrees 44’ of longitude west of the meridian at Greenwich.
Inaccessible Island is eighteen miles to the southwest and Nightingale
Island is ten miles to the southeast, and this completes the little
solitary group of islets in the Atlantic Ocean. Toward noon, the two
principal landmarks, by which the group is recognized were sighted, and
at 3 P. M. the DUNCAN entered Falmouth Bay in Tristan d’Acunha.
Several whaling vessels were lying quietly at anchor there, for the
coast abounds in seals and other marine animals.
John Mangle’s first care was to find good anchorage, and then all the
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