"No, certainly not. I ought not to endanger the Duncan in the darkness, on a coast that is not familiar to me. I will keep a short distance from land, and to-morrow at daybreak we will send a boat ashore."
At eight o'clock Maria Theresa, although only five miles to windward, appeared like a lengthened shadow, scarcely visible. An hour later, quite a bright light, like a fire, blazed in the darkness. It was motionless and stationary.
"That would seem to indicate a volcano," said Paganel, watching it attentively.
"However," replied Captain Mangles, "at this distance we ought to hear the commotion that always accompanies an eruption, and yet the wind brings no sound to our ears."
"Indeed," observed Paganel, "this volcano glows, but does not speak. You might say that it throws out intermittent flashes like a lighthouse."
"You are right," continued Captain Mangles; "and yet we are not on the illuminated side. Ha!" cried he, "another fire! On the shore this time! See! it moves, it changes its place!"
He was not mistaken. A new light had appeared, that sometimes seemed to go out, and then all at once flash forth again.
"Is the island inhabited?" asked Glenarvan.
"Evidently, by savages," replied Paganel.
"Then we cannot abandon the quartermaster here."
"No," said the major; "that would be giving even savages too dangerous a present."
"We will seek some other deserted island," resumed Glenarvan, who could not help smiling at MacNabb's delicacy. "I promised Ayrton his life, and I will keep my promise."
"At all events, let us beware," added Paganel. "The New Zealanders have the barbarous custom of misleading ships by moving fires. The natives of Maria Theresa may understand this deception."
"Bear away a point," cried the captain to the sailor at the helm. "To-morrow, at sunrise, we shall know what is to be done."
At eleven o'clock the passengers and the captain retired to their cabins. At the bow the first watch was pacing the deck, while at the stern the helmsman was alone at his post.
In the stillness Mary and Robert Grant came on deck. The two children, leaning upon the railing, gazed sadly at the phosphorescent sea and the luminous wake of the yacht. Mary thought of Robert's future; Robert thought of his sister's; both thought of their father. Was that beloved parent still living? Yet must they give him up? But no, what would life be without him? What would become of them without his protection? What would have become of them already, except for the magnanimity of Lord and Lady Glenarvan?
The boy, taught by misfortune, divined the thoughts that were agitating his sister. He took her hand in his.
"Mary," said he, "we must never despair. Remember the lessons our father taught us. 'Courage compensates for everything in this world,' he said. Let us have that indomitable courage that overcomes all obstacles. Hitherto you have labored for me, my sister, but now I shall labor for you."
"Dear Robert!" replied the young girl.
"I must tell you one thing," continued he. "You will not be sorry, Mary?"
"Why should I be sorry, my child?"
"And you will let me do as I wish?"
"What do you mean?" asked she, anxiously.
"My sister, I shall be a sailor——!"
"And leave me?" cried the young girl, clasping her brother's hand.
"Yes, sister, I shall be a sailor, like my father, and like Captain John. Mary, my dear Mary, he has not lost all hope! You will have, like me, confidence in his devotion. He has promised that he will make me a thorough and efficient sailor, and we shall seek our father together. Say that you are willing, sister. What our father would have done for us it is our duty, or mine at least, to do for him. My life has but one object, to which it is wholly devoted,—to search always for him who would never have abandoned either of us. Dear Mary, how good our father was!"
"And so noble, so generous!" added Mary. "Do you know, Robert, that he was already one of the glories of our country, and would have ranked among its great men if fate had not arrested his course?"
"How well I know it!" answered Robert.
Mary pressed her brother to her heart, and the child felt tears dropping upon his forehead.
"Mary! Mary!" cried he, "it is in vain for them to speak, or to keep silent. I hope still, and shall always do so. A man like our father does not die till he has accomplished his purpose!"
Mary Grant could not reply; sobs choked her utterance. A thousand emotions agitated her soul at the thought that new attempts would be made to find her father, and that the young captain's devotion was boundless.
"Does Mr. John still hope?" asked she.
"Yes," replied Robert. "He is a brother who will never forsake us. I shall be a sailor, shall I not, sister,—a sailor to seek my father with him? Are you willing?"
"Yes," said Mary. "But must we be separated?"
"You will not be alone, Mary, I know. John has told me so. Lady Helena will not permit you to leave her. You are a woman, and can and ought to accept her benefits. To refuse them would be ungrateful. But a man, as my father has told me a hundred times, ought to make his own fortune."
"But what will become of our house at Dundee, so full of associations?"
"We will keep it, my sister. All that has been well arranged by our friend John and Lord Glenarvan, who will keep you at Malcolm Castle like a daughter. He said so to John, who told me. You will be at home there, and wait till John and I bring back our father. Ah, what a joyful day that will be!" cried Robert, whose face was radiant with enthusiasm.
"My brother, my child!" exclaimed Mary, "how happy our father would be if he could hear you! How much you resemble him, dear Robert! When you are a man you will be quite like him!"
"God grant it, Mary!" said Robert, glowing with holy and filial pride.
"But how shall we pay our debt to Lord and Lady Glenarvan?" continued Mary.
"Oh, that will not be difficult," answered Robert, with his boyish impulsiveness. "We will tell them how much we love and respect them, and we will show it to them by our actions."
"That is all we can do!" added the young girl, covering her brother's face with kisses; "and all that they will like, too!"
Then, relapsing into reveries, the two children of the captain gazed silently into the shadowy obscurity of the night. However, in fancy they still conversed, questioned, and answered each other. The sea rocked the ship in silence, and the phosphorescent waters glistened in the darkness.
But now a strange, a seemingly supernatural event took place. The brother and sister, by one of those magnetic attractions that mysteriously draw the souls of friends together, experienced at the same instant the same curious hallucination.
From the midst of these alternately brightening and darkening waves, they thought they heard a voice issue, whose depth of sadness stirred every fibre of their hearts.
"Help! help!" cried the voice.
"Mary," said Robert, "did you hear?"
And, raising their heads above the bulwarks, they both gazed searchingly into the misty shadows of the night. Yet there was nothing but the darkness stretching blankly before them.
"Robert," said Mary, pale with emotion, "I thought—yes, I thought like you."
At this moment another cry reached them, and this time the illusion was such that these words broke simultaneously from both their hearts:
"My father! my father!"
This was too much for Mary Grant. Overcome by emotion, she sank senseless into her brother's arms.
"Help!" cried Robert. "My sister! my father! help!"
The man at the helm hastened to Miss Grant's assistance, and after him the sailors of the watch, Captain Mangles, Lady Helena, and Lord Glenarvan, who had been suddenly awakened.
"My sister is dying, and my father is yonder!" exclaimed Robert, pointing to the waves.
No one understood his words.
"Yes," repeated he, "my father is yonder! I heard his voice, and Mary did too!"
Just then Mary Grant recovered consciousness, and, looking wildly around, cried:
"My father, my father is yonder!"
The unfortunate girl arose, and, leaning over the bulwark, would have thrown herself into the sea.
"My lord! Madam!" repeated she, clasping her hands, "I tell you my father is there! I declare to you that I heard his voice issue from the waves like a despairing wail, like a last adieu!"
Then her feelings overcame the poor girl, and she became insensible. They carried her to her cabin, and Lady Helena followed, to minister to her wants, while Robert kept repeating:
"My father! my father is there! I am sure of it, my lord!"
The witnesses of this sorrowful scene perceived at last that the two children had been the sport of an hallucination. But how undeceive their senses, which had been so strongly impressed? Glenarvan, however, attempted it, and taking Robert by the hand, said:
"You heard your father's voice, my dear boy?"
"Yes, my lord. Yonder, in the midst of the waves, he cried, 'Help! help!'"
"And you recognized the voice?"
"Did I recognize it? Oh, yes, I assure you! My sister heard and recognized it, too. How could both of us be deceived? My lord, let us go to his rescue. A boat! a boat!"
Glenarvan saw plainly that he could not undeceive the poor child. Still, he made a last attempt, and called the helmsman.
"Hawkins," asked he, "you were at the wheel when Miss Grant was so singularly affected?"
"Yes, my lord," replied Hawkins.
"And you did not see or hear anything?"
"Nothing."
"You see how it is, Robert."
"If it had been his father," answered the lad, with irrepressible energy, "he would not say so. It was my father, my lord! my father, my father——!"
Robert's voice was choked by a sob. Pale and speechless, he, too, like his sister, lost consciousness. Glenarvan had him carried to his bed, and the child, overcome by emotion, sank into a profound slumber.
"Poor orphans!" said Captain Mangles; "God tries them in a terrible way!"
"Yes," replied Glenarvan, "excessive grief has produced upon both at the same moment a similar effect."
"Upon both!" murmured Paganel. "That is strange!"
Then, leaning forward, after making a sign to keep still, he listened attentively. The silence was profound everywhere. Paganel called in a loud voice, but there was no answer.
"It is strange!" repeated the geographer, returning to his cabin; "an intimate sympathy of thought and grief does not suffice to explain this mystery."
Early the next morning the passengers (and among them were Robert and Mary, for it was impossible to restrain them) were assembled on deck. All wished to examine this land, which had been scarcely distinguishable the night before. The principal points of the island were eagerly scanned. The yacht coasted along about a mile from the shore, and the unassisted eye could easily discern the larger objects.
Suddenly Robert uttered a cry. He maintained that he saw two men running and gesticulating, while a third was waving a flag.
"Yes: the flag of England!" cried Captain Mangles, when he had used his glass.
"It is true!" said Paganel, turning quickly towards Robert.
"My lord!" exclaimed the boy, trembling with excitement,—"my lord, if you do not wish me to swim to the island, you will lower a boat! Ah, my lord, if you please, I do wish to be the first to land!"
No one knew what to say. Were there three men, shipwrecked sailors, Englishmen, on that island? All recalled the events of the night before, and thought of the voice heard by Robert and Mary. Perhaps, after all, they were not mistaken. A voice might have reached them. But could this voice be that of their father? No, alas, no! And each, thinking of the terrible disappointment that was probably in store, trembled lest this new trial would exceed their strength. But how restrain them? Lord Glenarvan had not the courage.
"Lower the boat!" cried he.
In a moment this was done; the two children, Glenarvan, Captain Mangles, and Paganel stepped into it, and six earnest and skilled oarsmen sped away towards the shore.
At ten yards therefrom, Mary uttered again the heart-rending cry:
"My father!"
A man was standing on the beach between two others. His form was tall and stout, while his weather-beaten yet pleasant countenance betrayed a strong resemblance to the features of Mary and Robert Grant. It was, indeed, the man whom the children had so often described. Their hearts had not deceived them. It was their father, it was Captain Grant!
He heard his daughter's cry, he opened his arms, and supported her fainting form.
CHAPTER LIX.
CAPTAIN GRANT'S STORY.
Joy does not kill, for the long lost father and his recovered children were soon rejoicing together and preparing to return to the yacht. But how can we depict that scene, so little looked for by any? Words are powerless.
As soon as he gained the deck, Harry Grant sank upon his knees. The pious Scotchman, on touching what was to him the soil of his country, wished, first of all, to thank God for his deliverance. Then, turning towards Lady Helena; Lord Glenarvan, and their companions, he thanked them in a voice broken by emotion. While on their way to the yacht, his children had briefly told him the story of the Duncan.
How great a debt of gratitude did he feel that he owed this noble woman and her companions! From Lord Glenarvan down to the lowest sailor, had not all struggled and suffered for him? Harry Grant expressed the feelings of thankfulness that overflowed his heart with so much simplicity and nobleness, and his manly countenance was illumined by so pure and sincere a sentiment, that all felt themselves repaid for the trials they had undergone. Even the imperturbable major's eye was wet with a tear that he could not repress. As for Paganel, he wept like a child who does not think of hiding his emotion.
Captain Grant could not cease gazing at his daughter. He found her beautiful and charming, and told her so again and again, appealing to Lady Helena as if to be assured that his fatherly love was not mistaken. Then, turning to his son, he cried rapturously:
"How he has grown! He is a man!"
He lavished upon these two beings, so dearly loved, the thousand expressions of love that had been unuttered during long years of absence. Robert introduced him successively to all his friends. All had alike proved their kindness and good wishes towards the two orphans. When Captain Mangles came to be introduced, he blushed like a young girl, and his voice trembled as he saluted Mary's father.
Lady Helena then told the story of the voyage, and made the captain proud of his son and daughter. He learned the exploits of the young hero, and how the boy had already repaid part of his obligation to Lord Glenarvan at the peril of his life. Captain Mangles' language to Mary and concerning her was so truly loving, that Harry Grant, who had been already informed on this point by Lady Helena, placed the hand of his daughter in that of the noble young captain, and, turning towards Lord and Lady Glenarvan, said:
"My lord and lady, join with me to bless our children!"
It was not long before Glenarvan related Ayrton's story to the captain, who confirmed the quartermaster's declaration in regard to his having been abandoned on the Australian coast.
"He is a shrewd and courageous man," added he; "but his passions have ruined him. May meditation and repentance lead him to better feelings!"
But before Ayrton was transferred to Tabor Island, Harry Grant wished to show his new friends the bounds of his habitation. He invited them to visit his house, and sit for once at his table. Glenarvan and his companions cordially accepted the invitation, and Robert and Mary were not a little desirous to see those haunts where their father had doubtless at times bewailed his fate. A boat was manned, and the whole party soon disembarked on the shores of the island.
A few hours sufficed to traverse Captain Grant's domain. It was in reality the summit of a submarine mountain, covered with basaltic rocks and volcanic fragments. When the shipwrecked seamen of the Britannia took refuge here, the hand of man began to control the development of nature's resources, and in two years and a half the captain and his companions had completely metamorphosed their island home.
The visitors at last reached the house, shaded by verdant gum-trees, while before its windows stretched the glorious sea, glittering in the rays of the sun. Harry Grant set his table in the shade, and all took seats around it. Some cold roast meat, some of the produce of the breadfruit-tree, several bowls of milk, two or three bunches of wild chicory, and pure, fresh water, formed the elements of the simple but healthful repast. Paganel was in ecstasies. It recalled his old idea of Robinson Crusoe.
"That rascal Ayrton will have no cause to complain," cried he in his enthusiasm. "The island is a paradise!"
"Yes," replied Harry Grant, "a paradise for three poor sailors whom Heaven sheltered here. But I regret that Maria Theresa is not a large and fertile island, with a river instead of a rivulet, and a harbor instead of a coast so exposed to the force of the waves."
"And why, captain?" asked Glenarvan.
"Because I would have laid here the foundation of that colony that I wish to present to Scotland."
"Ah!" said Glenarvan. "Then you have not abandoned the idea that has made you so popular in your native land?"
"No, my lord; and God has saved me, through your instrumentality, only to permit me to accomplish it. Our poor brothers of old Caledonia shall yet have another Scotland in the New World. Our dear country must possess in these seas a colony of her own, where she can find that independence and prosperity that are wanting in many European empires."
"That is well said, captain," replied Lady Helena. "It is a noble project, and worthy of a great heart. But this island——?"
"No, madam, it is a rock, only large enough to support a few colonists; while we need a vast territory, rich in all primitive treasures."
"Well, captain," cried Glenarvan, "the future is before us! Let us seek this land together!"
The hands of both men met in a warm clasp, as if to ratify this promise. All now wished to hear the story of the shipwrecked sailors of the Britannia during those two long years of solitude. Harry Grant accordingly hastened to satisfy the desires of his new friends, and began as follows:
"It was on the night of the 26th of June, 1862, that the Britannia, disabled by a six days' tempest, was wrecked on the rock of Maria Theresa. The sea was so high that to save anything was impossible, and all the crew perished except my two sailors, Bob Learce and Joe Bell, and myself; and we succeeded in reaching the coast after many struggles. The land that we thus reached was only a desert island, two miles wide and five long, with a few trees in the interior, some meadow land, and a spring of fresh water that, fortunately, has never ceased to flow. Alone with my two sailors, in this quarter of the globe, I did not despair, but, placing my confidence in God, engaged in a resolute struggle. Bob and Joe, my companions and friends in misfortune, energetically aided my efforts. We began, like Robinson Crusoe, by collecting the fragments of the vessel, some tools, a little powder, several weapons, and a bag of precious seeds. The first weeks were very toilsome, but soon hunting and fishing furnished us subsistence, for wild goats swarmed in the interior of the island, and marine animals abounded on its coast. Gradually our daily routine was regularly organized. I determined our exact situation by my instruments, which I had saved from the shipwreck. We were out of the regular course of ships, and could not be rescued except by a providential interposition. Although thinking of those who were dear to me, and whom I never expected to see again, still I accepted this trial with fortitude, and my most earnest prayers were for my two children. Meantime we labored resolutely. Much of the land was sown with the seeds taken from the Britannia; and potatoes, chicory, sorrel, and other vegetables improved and varied our daily food. We caught several goats, which were easily kept, and had milk and butter. The breadfruit-tree, which grew in the dry creeks, furnished us with a sort of nourishing bread, and the wants of life no longer gave us any alarm. We built a house out of the fragments of the Britannia, covered it with sails, carefully tarred, and under this shelter the rainy season was comfortably passed. Here many plans were discussed, and many dreams enjoyed, the best of which has just been realized! At first I thought of braving the sea in a boat made of the wreck of the vessel; but a vast distance separated us from the nearest land. No boat could have endured so long a voyage. I therefore abandoned my design, and no longer expected deliverance, except through a Divine interposition. Ah, my poor children, how many times, on the rocks of the coast, have we waited for ships at sea! During the entire period of our exile only two or three sails appeared on the horizon, and these soon to disappear again. Two years and a half passed thus. We no longer hoped, but still did not wholly despair. At last, yesterday afternoon, I had mounted the highest summit of the island, when I perceived a faint smoke in the west, which grew clearer, and I soon distinctly discerned a vessel that seemed to be coming towards us. But would she not avoid this island, which offered no landing-place? Ah, what a day of anguish, and how my heart throbbed! My companions kindled a fire on one of the peaks. Night came, but the ship gave no signal for approach. Deliverance was there, and should we see it vanish? I hesitated no longer. The darkness increased. The vessel might double the island during the night. I threw myself into the sea, to swim to her. Hope increased my strength. I beat the waves with almost superhuman energy, and approached the yacht. Scarcely thirty yards separated me, when she tacked. Then I uttered those despairing cries which my two children alone heard, for they were no illusion. I returned to the shore, exhausted and overcome by fatigue and emotion. It was a terrible night, this last one on the island. We believed ourselves forever abandoned, when, at daybreak, I perceived the yacht slowly coasting along the shores. Your boat was then lowered,—we were saved, and, thanks to the Divine goodness of Heaven, my dear children were there to stretch out their arms to me!"
Harry Grant's story was finished amid a fresh shower of kisses and caresses from Robert and Mary. The captain learned now, for the first time, that he owed his deliverance to that hieroglyphic document that, eight days after his shipwreck, he had inclosed in a bottle and confided to the mercy of the waves.
But what did Jacques Paganel think during this recital? The worthy geographer revolved the words of the document a thousand ways in his brain. He reviewed his three interpretations, which were all false. How had this island been indicated in these damaged papers? He could no longer restrain himself, but, seizing Harry Grant's hand, cried:
"Captain, will you tell me what your undecipherable document contained?"
At this request curiosity was general, for the long-sought clew to the mystery would now be given.
"Well, captain," said Paganel, "do you remember the exact words of the document?"
"Perfectly," replied Harry Grant; "and scarcely a day has passed but memory has recalled those words upon which our only hope hung."
"And what are they, captain?" inquired Glenarvan. "Tell us, for our curiosity is great."
"I am ready to satisfy you," continued Harry Grant; "but you know that, to increase the chances of success, I inclosed in the bottle three documents, written in three languages. Which one do you wish to hear?"
"They are not identical, then?" cried Paganel.
"Yes, almost to a word."
"Well, give us the French document," said Glenarvan. "This one was spared the most by the waves, and has served as the principal basis for our search."
"This is it, my lord, word for word," answered Harry Grant.
"'On the 27th June, 1862, the brig Britannia, of Glasgow, was lost 1500 leagues from Patagonia, in the southern hemisphere. Carried by the waves, two sailors and Captain Grant reached Tabor Island——'"
"Ha!" interrupted Paganel.
"'Here,'" resumed Harry Grant, "'continually a prey to a cruel destitution, they cast this document into the sea at longitude 153° and latitude 37° 11'. Come to their aid, or they are lost.'"
At the word "Tabor," Paganel had suddenly risen, and then, controlling himself no longer, he cried:
"How Tabor Island? It is Maria Theresa."
"Certainly, Mr. Paganel," replied Harry Grant; "Maria Theresa on the English and German, but Tabor on the French maps."
At this moment a vigorous blow descended upon Paganel's shoulder. Truth compels us to say that it was from the major, who now failed in his strict habits of propriety.
"A fine geographer you are!" said MacNabb, in a tone of badinage. "But no matter, since we have succeeded."
"No matter?" cried Paganel; "I ought never to have forgotten that twofold appellation! It is an unpardonable mistake, unworthy of the secretary of a Geographical Society. I am disgraced!"
When the meal was finished, Harry Grant put everything in order in his house. He took nothing away, for he was willing that the guilty convict should inherit his possessions.
They returned to the vessel; and, as he expected to sail the same day, Glenarvan gave orders for the quartermaster's landing. Ayrton was brought on deck, and found himself in the presence of Harry Grant.
"It is I, Ayrton," said he.
"Yes, captain," replied Ayrton, without betraying any astonishment at Harry Grant's appearance. "Well, I am not sorry to see you again in good health."
The passengers could see the quartermaster, with folded arms, standing motionless as a statue, on a rock, and gazing at the vessel.
"It seems, Ayrton, that I made a mistake in landing you on an inhabited coast."
"It seems so, captain."
"You will take my place on this desert island. May Heaven lead you to repentance!"
"May it be so," rejoined Ayrton, in a calm tone.
Then Glenarvan, addressing the quartermaster, said:
"Do you still adhere, Ayrton, to this determination to be abandoned?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Does Tabor Island suit you?"
"Perfectly."
"Now listen to my last words. You will be far removed from every land, and deprived of all communication with your fellow-men. Miracles are rare, and you will not probably remove from this island, where we leave you. You will be alone, under the eye of God, who reads the uttermost depths of all hearts; but you will not be lost, as was Captain Grant. However unworthy you may be of the remembrance of men, still they will remember you. I know where you are, and will never forget you."
"Thank you, my lord!" replied Ayrton, simply.
Such were the last words exchanged between Glenarvan and the quartermaster. The boat was ready, and Ayrton embarked. Captain Mangles had previously sent to the island several cases of preserved food, some clothes, tools, weapons, and a supply of powder and shot. The abandoned man could therefore employ his time to advantage. Nothing was wanting, not even books, foremost among which was a Bible.
The hour for separation had come. The crew and passengers stood on deck. More than one felt the heart strangely moved. Lady Helena and Mary Grant could not repress their emotion.
"Must it then be so?" inquired the young wife of her husband. "Must this unfortunate be abandoned?"
"He must, Helena," answered Glenarvan. "It is his punishment."
At this moment the boat, commanded by Captain Mangles, started. Ayrton raised his hat and gave a grave salute. Glenarvan and the crew returned this last farewell, as if to a man about to die, as he departed, in a profound silence.
On reaching the shore, Ayrton leaped upon the sand, and the boat returned. It was then four o'clock in the afternoon, and from the upper deck the passengers could see the quartermaster, with folded arms, standing motionless as a statue, on a rock, and gazing at the vessel.
"Shall we start, my lord?" asked Captain Mangles.
"Yes, John," replied Glenarvan, quickly, with more emotion than he wished to manifest.
"All right!" cried the captain to the engineer.
The steam hissed, the screw beat the waves, and at eight o'clock the last summits of Tabor Island disappeared in the shadows of the night.
CHAPTER LX.
PAGANEL'S LAST ENTANGLEMENT.
Eleven days after leaving Tabor Island the Duncan came in sight of the American coast, and anchored in Talcahuana Bay. Five months had elapsed since her departure from this port, during which time the travelers had made the circuit of the world on this thirty-seventh parallel. Their efforts had not been in vain, for they had found the shipwrecked survivors of the Britannia.
The Duncan, having taken in her necessary stores, skirted the coasts of Patagonia, doubled Cape Horn, and steamed across the Atlantic. The voyage was very uneventful. The yacht carried a full complement of happy people; there seemed to be no secrets on board.
A mystery, however, still perplexed MacNabb. Why did Paganel always keep hermetically incased in his clothes, and wear a comforter over his ears? The major longed to know the motive for this singular fancy. But in spite of his questions, hints, and suspicions, Paganel did not unbutton his coat.
At last, fifty-three days after leaving Talcahuana, Captain Mangles descried the lighthouse of Cape Clear. The vessel entered St. George's Channel, crossed the Irish Sea, and passed into the Frith of Clyde. At eleven o'clock they anchored at Dumbarton, and early in the afternoon the travelers reached Malcolm Castle, amidst the hurrahs of their tenantry and friends.
Thus it was that Harry Grant and his two companions were rescued, and that John Mangles married Mary Grant in the old cathedral of St. Mungo, where the Rev. Mr. Morton, who nine months before had prayed for the rescue of the father, now blessed the union of the daughter with one of his deliverers. It was arranged that Robert should be a sailor, like his father and brother-in-law, and that he should continue the contemplated project of the former, under the munificent patronage of Lord Glenarvan.
But was Jacques Paganel to die a bachelor? Certainly not; for, after his heroic exploits, the worthy geographer could not escape celebrity. His eccentricities (and his abilities) made him much talked of in Scotland. People seemed as though they could not show him enough attention.
Just at this time an amiable lady of thirty, none other than the major's cousin, a little eccentric herself, but still agreeable and charming, fell in love with the geographer's peculiarities. Paganel was far from being insensible to Miss Arabella's attractions, yet did not dare to declare his sentiments.
Early in the afternoon the travelers reached Malcolm Castle, amidst the hurrahs of their tenantry and friends.
The major accordingly undertook the part of Cupid's messenger between these two congenial hearts, and even told Paganel that marriage was "the last blunder" that he could commit. But the geographer was very much embarrassed, and, strangely enough, could not summon courage to speak for himself.
"Does not Miss Arabella please you?" MacNabb would say to him.
"Oh, major, she is charming!" cried Paganel,—"a thousand times too charming for me; and, if I must tell you, would please me better if she were less so. I should like to find a defect."
"Be easy," answered the major; "she has more than one. The most perfect woman always has her share. Well, then, Paganel, are you decided?"
"I do not dare."
"But, my learned friend, why do you hesitate?"
"I am unworthy of her!" was the geographer's invariable reply.
At last, one day, driven desperate by the irrepressible major, Paganel confessed to him, under the pledge of secrecy, a peculiarity that would facilitate his identification, if the police should ever be on his track!
"Bah!" exclaimed the major.
"It is as I tell you," persisted Paganel.
"What matter, my worthy friend?"
"Is that your opinion?"
"On the contrary, you are only more remarkable. This adds to your personal advantages. It makes you the inimitable individual of whom Arabella has dreamed."
And the major, preserving an imperturbable gravity, left Paganel a prey to the most acute anxiety.
A short interview took place between MacNabb and the lady, and fifteen weeks after a marriage was celebrated with great pomp in the chapel of Malcolm Castle.
The geographer's secret would doubtless have remained forever buried in the abysses of the unknown if the major had not told it to Glenarvan, who did not conceal it from Lady Helena, who communicated it to Mrs. Mangles. In short, it reached the ear of Mrs. Olbinett, and spread.
Jacques Paganel, during his three days' captivity among the Maoris, had been tattooed from head to foot, and bore on his breast the picture of an heraldic kiwi with outstretched wings, in the act of biting at his heart.
This was the only adventure of his great voyage for which Paganel could never be consoled or pardon the New Zealanders. In spite of the representations of his friends, he dared not go back to France, for fear of exposing the whole Geographical Society in his person to the jests and railleries of the caricaturists.
The return of Captain Grant to Scotland was welcomed as a cause for national rejoicing, and he became the popular man of old Caledonia. His son Robert has become a sailor like himself, and, under the patronage of Lord Glenarvan, has undertaken the plan of founding a Scottish colony on the shores washed by the Pacific Ocean.
THE END.
LIST OF PLATES
"Good," said Glenarvan, "wash the dirty thing and bring it into the cabin."—p. 13.
The fragments soon strewed the table, and several pieces of paper were perceived adhering to each other. Glenarvan drew them out carefully.—p. 17.
Dumbarton Castle.—p. 27.
"Please, madam, speak! I am strong against grief, and can hear all."—p. 33.
"My father, my poor father!" cried Mary Grant, throwing herself at the feet of Lord Glenarvan.—p. 41.
The Rev. Mr. Morton implored the blessing of Heaven, and commended the expedition to the care of Providence.—p. 52.
This man, tall, lank, and shriveled, might have been forty years old. He resembled a long, broad-headed nail, for his head was large and thick, his forehead high, his nose prominent, his mouth wide, and his chin blunt.—p. 57.
Paganel was grandiloquent. He spoke with a lofty animation, and was carried away in the rapid flight of imagination.—p. 65.
They could scarcely see the city, which was on an elevated plain in the form of a terrace, resting on volcanic rocks three hundred feet in height. The appearance of the island through this rainy curtain was misty.—p. 73.
Peak of Teneriffe.—p. 74.
Sometimes the tips of her yards would graze the branches of the beeches that hung over the waves.—p. 81
Port Famine.—p. 83.
In Concepcion—p. 86.
The mate, Tom Austin, Wilson, a powerful fellow, and Mulready, were the fortunate ones.—p. 92.
By means of a ford, they crossed the Rio Tubal, the mountains visible in the distance.—p. 100.
Two hours more of terrible exertion followed. They kept ascending, in order to reach the highest summit of this part of the mountain.—p. 108.
The internal rumblings, the din of the avalanche, the crash of the blocks of granite, and the whirlwinds of snow, rendered all communication with each other impossible.—p. 117.
The bird had raised him by his garments, and was now hovering in mid-air at least one hundred and fifty feet above the encampment. He had perceived the travelers, and was violently striving to escape with his heavy prey.—p. 125.
A man of lofty stature was standing, motionless, on one of the first ledges of the mountain. This individual had broad shoulders, and long hair tied with leathern thongs.—p. 132.
An important road—that from Carmen to Mendoza—distinguishable by the bones of such animals as mules, horses, sheep and oxen, whose remains were scattered by the birds of prey, and lay bleaching in the sun.—p. 144.
They set out at daybreak. The horses advanced at a brisk pace among the tufts of "paja-brava," a kind of grass that serves the Indians as a shelter during the storms.—p. 149.
"Poor father!" exclaimed Robert; "how he will thank you when you have found him!" And, so saying, he took his lordship's hand and pressed it to his lips.—p. 157.
Frightful howls resounded. The wolves, starting on the track of the horse, fled into the darkness with a terrible speed.—p. 173.
Arriving within range, Paganel fired a blank charge (for he would not needlessly destroy even a bird), and all the flamingoes flew away, while the geographer gazed at them attentively through his glasses.—p. 181.
In fact, they were a dozen young children and boys who were drilling very nicely. Their uniform consisted of a striped shirt confined at the waist by a leathern girdle.—p. 185.
"Ah, I am delighted! Welcome, welcome! I am almost a Frenchman," cried the commander, shaking the geographer's arm with rather painful violence.—p. 188.
More than once during the journey, the attention and interest of all, but especially of Paganel, were arrested by the curious illusion of the mirage.—p. 193.
"The flood! the flood!" replied Thalcave, spurring his horse towards the north.—p. 201.
A huge wave, forty feet high, overwhelmed the fugitives with a terrible roar. Men and beasts, everything, disappeared in a whirlpool of foam. A ponderous liquid mass engulfed them in its furious tide.—p. 205.
He turned his intelligent head towards his master, and, shaking his long mane, neighed for him beseechingly.—p. 208.
Glenarvan, Paganel, the major, Austin, and Mulready were seated astraddle, or dangling in the branches, according to their own inclinations.—p. 213.
A long body appeared. Paganel dangled from branch to branch. His hands could grasp nothing. Was he alive, or dead?—p. 217.
The hunt promised well, and gave hopes of culinary wonders.—p. 223.
However, the repast was as varied as it was delicate. The dried meat, the hard eggs, the broiled mojarras, and the roast sparrows and hilgueros, formed a repast which was long remembered.—p. 225.
They were agreed on this point, that it was necessary to have courage for every fortune, and be contented with a tree when one has neither palace nor cottage.—p. 229.
The incessant flashes assumed various forms. Some, darting perpendicularly towards the earth, were repeated five or six times in the same place; others spread in zigzag lines, and produced on the dark vault of the heavens astonishing jets of arborescent flame.—p. 233.
In a few moments the gigantic water-spout struck the ombu, and enveloped it in its watery folds.—p. 237.
The sound of a horse's hoofs was heard upon the plain, and the tall form of the Indian emerged from the darkness.—p. 241.
Glenarvan watched alone. He could not convince himself that the Duncan was so near him; but as for supposing that she had not arrived at her appointed rendezvous, it was impossible, for such a ship there were no delays.—p. 245.
They pushed off, and the boat was rapidly borne from the shore by the ebbing tide. For a long time the motionless outline of the Indian was seen through the foam of the waves.—p. 249.
Lady Helena and Mary Grant, while the boat was approaching the ship, had experienced all the anguish of suspense. From the deck they endeavored to count those who were returning.—p. 252.
"My object," said MacNabb, "is not to invalidate the arguments of my friend Paganel, still less to refute them."—p. 257.
At sunrise they saw the conical peak of Tristan, seemingly separated from all the rest of the rocky group.—p. 260.
A few hours of their united toil resulted in the death of a large number of seals who were "caught napping."—p. 261.
Our friends found a few voluntary exiles on the former island, who, by means of seal-fishing, eke out a scanty existence in this out-of-the-way spot.—p. 264.
Inasmuch as this was sufficient to cook fish, Paganel decided that it was not necessary for him to bathe here "geographically."—p. 265.
"Major," said Paganel, "will you wager your rifle against my telescope that I cannot name at least fifty Australian explorers?"—p. 268.
"Master Robert shall count for us." And forthwith the learned geographer opened his budget, and poured forth the history of the discovery of Australia.—p. 269.
Then, impelled by the hurricane, the billows outran her; they leaped over the taffrail, and the whole deck was swept with tremendous violence.—p. 276.
"Let go!" cried the young captain. The barrels were inverted, and from their sides streamed floods of oil.—p. 280.
As the boats containing the whole of the party were rowed ashore, they felt that the fate of their father would soon be probably decided.—p. 284.
A fair and comfortable locality, which the merry mill crowned with its pointed gable and caressed with the moving shadow of its sails.—p. 288.
He was a somewhat rough-looking, broad-shouldered man, of about forty-five.—p. 292.
"When I was washed from the forecastle, as I was hauling down the jib, the Britannia was driving towards the coast of Australia, which was not two cable-lengths distant."—p. 293.
When he came to himself, he was in the hands of the natives, who carried him into the interior of the country.—p. 296.
At last, exhausted and almost dead, he reached the hospitable dwelling of Mr. O'Moore, where his labor insured him a comfortable livelihood.—p. 297.
This business being settled, the party returned on board.—p. 305.
The vehicle was a cart twenty feet long and covered with an awning, the whole resting upon four wheels, without spokes, felloes, or tires.—p. 308.
Ayrton and Olbinett took their places respectively in front and in the rear part of the cart, while Glenarvan, the major, Paganel, Robert, Captain Mangles, and the two sailors, mounted their horses.—p. 312.
The "Mosquito Plains," whose very name describes them, and serves to tell of the tortures that our friends had to encounter.—p. 313.
Red-gum Station, the home and settlement of an emigrant engaged in the cattle-breeding which is the source of so much Australian wealth.—p. 316.
The major was skillful enough to shoot a very rare bird,—a "jabiru," or giant crane. This creature was five feet high; and its broad, black, sharp conical beak measured eighteen inches in length.—p. 317.
A crack was heard; the cart inclined at an alarming angle; the water reached the feet of the ladies, and the whole vehicle threatened to give way. It was an anxious moment.—p. 324.
After dinner the traveling party had, as if in anticipation, seated themselves at the foot of a magnificent banksia; the young moon was rising high into the heavens, lengthening the twilight, and prolonging it into the evening hour.—p. 325.
"When I am dead, place a pistol in my right hand, and leave me without burial." His forebodings were realized, and the next morning he died.—p. 328.
He beheld the waters of the Indian Ocean, and proudly unfurled the Australian flag from the topmost branch of the highest tree he could find.—p. 329.
A terrible accident had occurred, not a collision, but a running off the track and a fall into the river, which was filled with the fragments of cars and locomotives.—p. 333.
In the midst of the multitude two men were bearing a corpse. It was that of the guard, already cold. A poniard-thrust had pierced him to the heart.—p. 337.
A boy of eight years, with a notice pinned to the back of his jacket which read as follows: "Toliné, to be conducted to Echuca, care of Jeff Smith, Railway Porter. Prepaid."—p. 340.
Paganel and the others had now gathered round, and Toliné had to answer many a question. He came out of his examination very creditably.—p. 341.
In the streets, in connection with the strange sign-boards and announcements, the novel erections and purposes to which some of them were adapted, Paganel had a history and commentary for every one.—p. 344.
Here was the mineralogical museum, in which might be seen specimens illustrative of all the various ways in which the gold has been found.—p. 345.
Anon you might see him as in the illustration, when he had picked up a pebble and was sure that it was in itself so interesting as a mineralogical specimen that he must treasure it up for the Bank of France.—p. 348.
They were like so many columns exactly mated, and could be counted by hundreds.—p. 352.
At evening they encamped at the foot of some trees that bore the marks of a recent fire. They formed tall chimneys, as it were, for the flames had hollowed them out internally throughout their entire length.—p. 353.
Of these miserable beings there were about thirty, men, women, and children, dressed in ragged kangaroo-skins.—p. 360.
A sham fight, which lasted about ten minutes, the women urging on the combatants and pretending to mutilate those who fell in the fray.—p. 361.
Paganel did not lie down, but, rifle on shoulder, guarded the encampment, walking to and fro that he might the better resist sleep.—p. 364.
Here, for the first time, they saw the menure, or lyre-bird, whose tail has the form of the graceful instrument of Orpheus.—p. 368.
It was a charming house of wood and brick, surrounded by clusters of plants, and had the elegant form of a Swiss cottage.—p. 372.
Of all the sports of the day the most interesting was unquestionably a kangaroo hunt.—p. 376.
Not hailstones, but pieces of ice as large as one's hand, were precipitated from the angry clouds.—p. 380.
Early in the afternoon they passed through a curious forest of ferns. These arborescent plants, in full bloom, measured thirty feet in height.—p. 384.
Flashes of lightning, the dazzling forerunners of a coming storm, every now and then illumined the horizon.—p. 385.
He crouched down, and, after a long and attentive observation, distinctly perceived several men.—p. 388.
But the heavy vehicle did not stir. The clay, now dry, held it as if it had been cemented.—p. 393.
"If it please your lordship, I will go."—p. 397.
A report was heard; and Glenarvan fell, struck by a bullet.—p. 401.
A pair of cassowaries proved that the presence of man did not disturb these peaceful solitudes.—p. 408.
"Adieu, my lord," said he, in a calm voice, and soon disappeared by a path along the edge of the wood.—p. 413.
In the midst of these terrific gusts, Glenarvan, the major, and the captain bore the body of Mulready. The animal reared. Mulready seized his revolver and fired.—p. 420.
The animal reared, Mulready seized his revolver and fired.—p. 424.
However, the raft was entangled in the midst of the river, half a mile below where they started.—p. 429.
The two ladies exerted themselves heroically, but their strength was failing every hour. They dragged themselves along, they no longer walked.—p. 433.
It was a brig of two hundred and fifty tons, called the Macquarie, which traded between the different ports of Australia and New Zealand.—p. 437.
The landlord of Victoria Hotel furnished them with two horses, and they set out.—p. 441.
But on the next day seven canoes of the islanders attacked it most violently and suddenly, causing it to capsize.—p. 445.
It was on the sixth of October, 1769, that this navigator (Captain Cook) first landed on the shores.—p. 447.
Safe themselves, the French marksmen picked off the chief.—p. 450.
Day and night, heedless of the torrents of rain and the dashing spray of the sea, he remained on deck.—p. 452.
The sailor who was steering, and had been forcibly pushed aside, did not at all understand this sudden attack.—p. 456.
The mainmast went by the board with all its rigging, the brig heaved twice and was motionless, leaning over to starboard.—p. 460.
As the Macquarie lay over on her starboard beams, her opposite side was raised, and the defective seams were out of water.—p. 461.
They therefore anchored, half a cable's length distant, in ten fathoms of water.—p. 468.
The work was accordingly begun, and considerably advanced when night interrupted them.—p. 472.
Not long since, in the year 1864, one of these clergymen was seized by the chiefs and hung from the tree.—p. 473.
The yawl was drawn alongside.—p. 477.
Night approached. Already the sun's disk was disappearing beneath the horizon.—p. 480.
The ladies were carried in their companions' arms, and reached the shore without wetting a single fold of their garments.—p. 481.
While the fire served to dry their garments conversation beguiled the hours, as they lay or stood at ease.—p. 484.
Louper, with difficulty, managed to support himself on one of them.—p. 485.
These seals, with rounded heads, upturned look, expressive eyes, presented an appearance, almost a physiognomy, that was mild and wellnigh tender.—p. 488.
The New Zealand "kiwi," known to naturalists as the apteryx.—p. 489.
A boat might have been seen ascending the Waikato. It was a canoe seventy feet long and five broad.—p. 496.
At this point the river flowed between warm springs, and not a yard of firm earth could be seen.—p. 501.
At noon the whole fleet of boats entered Lake Taupo.—p. 504.
On their arrival, the captives were terribly impressed at sight of the heads that ornamented the stakes of the second inclosure.—p. 505.
Robert was scarcely within the hut before he climbed on Wilson's shoulders, and succeeded in thrusting his head through an opening.—p. 508.
At last his voice rose above the tumult. "Taboo! taboo!" cried he.—p. 513.
A terrible scene of cannibalism, which followed in all its horrible details.—p. 519.
The corpses, folded together, in a sitting posture, and tied in their clothes by a girdle of withes, were placed on this primitive bier.—p. 521.
First her husband, and then she, slid down the rope to the point where the perpendicular wall met the summit of the slope.—p. 529.
They saw, but were also seen.—p. 533.
"Be seated, my dear lord; breakfast is awaiting you."—p. 537.
The steward started back in terror.—p. 545.
The fugitives made themselves levers out of the stakes of the tomb.—p. 552.
An incandescent column poured forth towards the sky with loud explosions, while streams of boiling water and lava rolled towards the encampment of the natives.—p. 553.
On every side water-spouts, with spiral rings of vapor, spirted from the ground like the jets of a fountain.—p. 560.
A second ball whistled over their heads, and demolished the nearest of the three canoes.—p. 564.
As soon as they set foot on deck the bagpiper struck up a well remembered air, while hearty hurrahs welcomed the owner's return on board.—p. 568.
This sally finished the poor geographer.—p. 569.
Ayrton soon made his appearance. He crossed the deck with a confident step, and ascended the poop-stairs.—p. 576.
For an hour the two ladies were closeted with the quartermaster, but nothing resulted from this conference.—p. 580.
He contented himself with shrugging his shoulders, which so increased the rage of the crew, that nothing less than the intervention of the captain and his lordship could restrain them.—p. 581.
"Do you agree or not?"—p. 584.
The unfortunate girl arose, and, leaning over the bulwark, would have thrown herself into the sea.—p. 600.
A man was standing on the beach between two others. His form was tall and stout.—p. 604.
Harry Grant set his table in the shade, and all took seats around it.—p. 608.
The passengers could see the quartermaster, with folded arms, standing motionless as a statue, on a rock, and gazing at the vessel.—p. 613.
Early in the afternoon the travelers reached Malcolm Castle, amidst the hurrahs of their tenantry and friends.—p. 617.
Fifteen weeks after a marriage was celebrated with great pomp in the chapel of Malcolm Castle.—p. 619.