The Project Gutenberg eBook of In Search of the Castaways, by Jules Verne

Captain Mangles had but one resource,—to rig a storm-jib. He succeeded after several hours' labor, but it was not until three o'clock in the afternoon that the jib was hauled to the main-stay and set to the wind. With this piece of canvas the Duncan flew before the wind with inconceivable rapidity. It was necessary to keep up the greatest possible speed, for upon this alone depended her safety. Sometimes, outstripping the waves, she cut them with her slender prow and plunged beneath them, like an enormous sea-monster, while the water swept her deck from stem to stern. At other times her swiftness barely equaled that of the surges, her rudder lost all power, and she gave terrific lurches that threatened to capsize her. Then, impelled by the hurricane, the billows outran her; they leaped over the taffrail, and the whole deck was swept with tremendous violence.

The situation was indeed alarming. The captain would not leave his post for an instant. He was tortured by fears that his impassive face would not betray, and persistently sought to penetrate with his gaze the gathering gloom. And he had good cause for fear. The Duncan, driven out of her course, was running towards the Australian coast with a swiftness that nothing could arrest. He felt, too, as if by instinct, that a strong current was drawing him along. At every moment he feared the shock of a reef upon which the yacht would be dashed into a thousand pieces, and he calculated that the shore was not more than a dozen miles to leeward.

Finally he went in search of Lord Glenarvan, consulted with him in private, explained their actual situation, viewed it with the coolness of a sailor who is ready for any emergency, and ended by saying that he should be obliged perhaps to run the Duncan ashore.

"I will inform them only at the last moment, when all hope is gone of keeping at sea. You will tell me."

Glenarvan returned to the ladies, who, without knowing all the danger, felt it to be imminent. They displayed, however, a noble courage, equal at least to that of their companions. Paganel gave himself up to the most unreasonable theories concerning the direction of atmospheric currents, while the major awaited the end with the indifference of a Mussulman.

About eleven o'clock the hurricane seemed to moderate a little, the heavy mists were gradually dissipated, and through the openings the captain could see a low land at least six miles to leeward. He steered directly for it. Huge waves rolled to a prodigious height, and he knew that they must have a firm point of support to reach such an elevation.

"We are in the hands of God," continued the captain. "If He does not himself guide the Duncan over the bar, we are lost."

"But see the fury of those waves! What ship could resist them? God help us, my friend!"

Meantime the Duncan dashed towards the shore with terrible swiftness. Soon she was only two miles from the sand-bars. The mists still continued to conceal the land. Nevertheless Captain Mangles thought he perceived, beyond this foaming barrier, a tranquil haven, where the Duncan would be in comparative safety. But how to reach it?

He called the passengers on deck, for he did not wish, when the hour of shipwreck had come, that they should be confined in the cabin. Glenarvan and his companions gazed at the awful sea. Mary Grant grew pale.

"John," said Glenarvan in a low tone to the young captain, "I will try to save my wife, or will perish with her. Do you take charge of Miss Grant."

The Duncan was now only a few cable-lengths from the sand-bars. As it was high tide, there would doubtless have been sufficient water to enable the yacht to cross these dangerous shoals; but the enormous waves upon which she rose and fell would infallibly have wrecked her. Was there then any means of allaying these billows, of calming this tumultuous sea?

These words were quickly understood by all the crew. They were about to employ a method that sometimes succeeds. The fury of the sea can often be appeased by covering it with a sheet of oil, which floats on the surface and destroys the shock of the waters. The effect is instantaneous, but transient. As soon as a ship has crossed this treacherous sea, it redoubles its fury; and woe to those who would venture to follow.

The barrels containing the supply of seal-oil were hoisted into the forecastle by the crew, to whom the danger gave new strength. Here they were stove in with a blow of the hatchet, and suspended over the starboard rattlings.

In a few seconds the yacht reached the entrance to the pass, which was barred by a terrible line of foam.

The barrels were inverted, and from their sides streamed floods of oil. Immediately the unctuous liquid leveled the foaming surface of the sea, and the Duncan sailed on calm waters, and was soon in a quiet harbor beyond the terrible sand-bars; and then the ocean, released from its fetters, bounded after its escaped prey with indescribable fury.

"Let go!" cried the young captain. The barrels were inverted, and from their sides streamed floods of oil.

CHAPTER XXX.

A HOSPITABLE COLONIST.

The captain's first care was to secure anchorage. He moored the vessel in five fathoms of water. The bottom was good, a hard gravel, affording an excellent hold. There was no danger of drifting, or of stranding at low tide. The Duncan, after so many hours of peril, was now in a sort of creek sheltered by a high promontory from the fury of the wind.

And Captain Mangles felt himself fully rewarded by these simple words. Glenarvan kept to himself the secret of his anguish, and neither Lady Helena, Mary Grant, nor Robert suspected the magnitude of the perils they had just escaped.

One important point remained to be settled. On what part of the coast had the Duncan been cast by the storm? How could she regain her prescribed course? How far were they from Cape Bernouilli? Such were the first questions addressed to the captain, who at once took his bearings and noted his observations on the map. The Duncan had not deviated very far from her route. She was at Cape Catastrophe, on the southern coast of Australia, not three hundred miles from Cape Bernouilli.

But could the Duncan's injuries be repaired? This was the question to decide. The captain wished to know the extent of the damage. It was discovered, by diving, that a flange of the screw was bent and came in contact with the stern-post. Hence it was impossible for the screw to rotate. This injury was considered serious enough to necessitate going into dry-dock, which of course could not be done in their present locality.

Glenarvan and the captain, after mature reflection, resolved that the Duncan should follow the western shore, seeking traces of the Britannia, should stop at Cape Bernouilli, where further information could be obtained, and then continue southward to Melbourne, where her injuries could be repaired; and, as soon as this was done, that she should cruise along the eastern shores to finish the search.

This arrangement was approved, and Captain Mangles resolved to take advantage of the first favorable wind. He did not have to wait long. Towards evening the hurricane had entirely subsided, and a moderate breeze was blowing from the southwest. Preparations were made for getting under way; new sails were set, and at four o'clock in the morning the sailors heaved at the capstan, the anchor was weighed, and the Duncan, with all sails set, cruised close to windward along the coast.

They arrived at Cape Bernouilli without finding the least trace of the lost vessel. But this failure proved nothing. Indeed, during the two years since the shipwreck, the sea might have scattered or destroyed the fragments of the brig. Besides, the natives, who scent shipwrecks as a vulture does a corpse, might have carried away every vestige of it. Harry Grant and his two companions, therefore, without doubt, had been taken prisoners the moment the waves cast them ashore, and been carried into the interior of the country.

But here one of Paganel's ingenious suppositions failed. So long as they were in the Argentine territory, the geographer could rightly maintain that the latitude of the document referred to the place of captivity,—not to the scene of the shipwreck. Indeed, the great rivers of the Pampas and their numerous affluents could easily bear the document to the sea. In this part of Australia, on the contrary, few streams cross the thirty-seventh parallel, and the principal Australian rivers—the Murray, the Yara, the Torrens, and the Darling—either flow into each other, or empty into the ocean by mouths where navigation is active. What probability was there, then, that a fragile bottle could have descended these continually navigated waters, and reached the Indian Ocean? This consideration could not escape such sagacious minds. Paganel's supposition, plausible in Patagonia, was illogical in Australia. The geographer perceived this in a discussion on the subject with the major. It was clear that the latitude applied only to the place of shipwreck, and that consequently the bottle had been cast into the sea where the Britannia was wrecked,—on the western coast of Australia.

However, as Glenarvan justly observed, this interpretation did not preclude the possibility of Captain Grant's captivity, who, moreover, had intimated as much by the words "where they will be prisoners of the cruel Indians." But there was no more reason for seeking the prisoners on the thirty-seventh parallel than on any other.

This conclusion, after much discussion, was finally accepted, and it was decided that, if no traces of the Britannia were found at Cape Bernouilli, Lord Glenarvan should return to Europe, relinquishing all hope of finding the object of their search.

This resolution occasioned profound grief to the children of the lost captain. 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; irrevocably, we may say, for Paganel, in a former discussion, had clearly demonstrated that the shipwrecked seamen would have reached their country long ago, if their vessel had stranded on the other, the eastern coast.

"Hope! hope! never cease to hope!" said Lady Helena to the young girl seated beside her, as they approached the shore. "The hand of God will never fail us."

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.

"Yes, Miss Mary," said the captain; "when men have exhausted human resources, then Heaven interposes, and, by some unforeseen event, opens to them new ways."

The shore was now only a cable's length distant. The cape terminated in gentle declivities extending far out into the sea. The boat entered a small creek, between banks of coral in process of formation, which in time would form a chain of reefs along the southern coast of the island.

The passengers of the Duncan disembarked on a perfectly barren shore. Steep cliffs formed a lofty sea-wall, and it would have been difficult to scale this natural rampart without ladders or cramping-irons. Fortunately, the captain discovered a breach half a mile southward, caused by a partial crumbling of the cliffs. Probably the sea, during violent equinoctial storms, had beaten against this fragile barrier, and thus caused the fall of the upper portions of the mass.

Glenarvan and his companions entered this opening, and reached the summit of the cliffs by a very steep ascent. Robert climbed an abrupt declivity with the agility of a cat, and arrived first at the top, to the great chagrin of Paganel, who was quite mortified at seeing himself outstripped by a mere lad of twelve. However, he distanced the peaceable major; but that worthy was utterly indifferent to his defeat.

The little party surveyed the plain that stretched out beneath them. It was a vast, uncultivated tract, covered with bushes and brushwood, and was compared by Glenarvan to the glens of the Scottish lowlands, and by Paganel to the barren lands of Brittany. But though the country along the coast was evidently uninhabited, the presence of man, not the savage, but the civilized worker, was betokened by several substantial structures in the distance.

"It is indeed a mill," replied Paganel. "Here is a beacon as modest as it is useful, the sight of which delights my eyes."

"Yes, madam; and while one makes bread for the body, the other announces bread for the soul. In this respect they resemble each other."

They accordingly started. After half an hour's walk the soil assumed a new aspect. The transition from barren plains to cultivated fields was sudden. Instead of brushwood, quick-set hedges surrounded an inclosure freshly ploughed. Some cattle, and half a dozen horses, grazed in pastures encircled by acacias. Then fields of corn were reached, several acres of land bristling with the yellow ears, haycocks like great bee-hives, vineyards with blooming inclosures, a beautiful garden, where the useful and the ornamental mingled; in short, a fair and comfortable locality, which the merry mill crowned with its pointed gable and caressed with the moving shadow of its sails.

At this moment a man of about fifty, of prepossessing countenance, issued from the principal house, at the barking of three great dogs that announced the coming of the strangers. Five stout and handsome boys, his sons, accompanied by their mother, a tall, robust woman, followed him. This man, surrounded by his healthful family, in the midst of these new erections, in this almost virgin country, presented the perfect type of the colonist, who, endeavoring to better his lot, seeks his fortune and happiness beyond the seas.

Glenarvan and his friends had not yet introduced themselves, they had not had time to declare either their names or their rank, when these cordial words saluted them:—

"You are an Irishman?" said Glenarvan, taking the hand that the colonist offered him.

"I was," replied Mr. O'Moore. "Now I am an Australian. But come in, whoever you are, gentlemen; this house is at your service."

The invitation so hospitably given was accepted without ceremony. Lady Helena and Mary Grant, conducted by Mrs. O'Moore, entered the house, while the colonist's sons relieved the visitors of their fire-arms.

A large, cool, airy room occupied the ground-floor of the house, which was built of stout beams arranged horizontally. Several wooden benches, built into the walls, and painted in gay colors, ten stools, two oaken trunks, in which white china and jugs of polished pewter were arranged, and a long table, at which twenty people could be comfortably seated, constituted the furniture, worthy of the house and its hardy inhabitants.

Dinner was soon served. Dishes of soup smoked between roast beef and legs of mutton, flanked by large plates of olives, grapes, and oranges. The host and hostess had such an engaging air, and the fare was so tempting, so ample, and so abundantly furnished, that it would have been unbecoming not to accept this rural bounty. The domestics of the farm, the equals of their master, had already come to partake of the repast; and the host reserved the place of honor for the strangers.

Then, in a grave voice, while his household stood respectfully, he invoked a Divine blessing. Lady Helena was much affected by his perfect simplicity of manner, and a look from her husband told her that he likewise was touched by it.

A fair and comfortable locality, which the merry mill crowned with its pointed gable and caressed with the moving shadow of its sails.

Ample justice was done to the repast. The conversation was general. The colonist told his story. It was like that of most deserving and voluntary emigrants. Many go far to seek their fortunes, and find only sorrow and disaster; they accuse fate, forgetting to blame their ignorance, laziness, and vices. The man who is sober and persevering, economical and honest, is almost sure to succeed.

This had been the case with Mr. O'Moore. He had left Dundalk, where he was poor, and, emigrating with his family to Australia, had landed at Adelaide. At first he engaged in mining, but soon relinquished this for the less hazardous pursuits of the farmer, in which he had been successful beyond his highest anticipations. His agricultural knowledge was a great aid to him. He economized, and bought new lands with the profits of the first. His family flourished, as well as his farm. The Irish peasant had become a landed proprietor, and, although his establishment was only two years old, he owned at that moment five hundred acres of well-cultivated land and five hundred head of cattle, was his own master, and as independent as one can be even in the freest country in the world.

His guests congratulated him sincerely when his story was finished. He doubtless expected a similar confidence, but did not urge it. Glenarvan had an immediate interest in speaking of the Duncan, of his own presence at Cape Bernouilli, and of the search that they had pursued so perseveringly. But, like a man who considers the main object in view, he first questioned his host concerning the shipwreck of the Britannia.

The Irishman's answer was not cheering. He had never heard of the ship. No vessel had for some time been lost on the coast; and, as the shipwreck had occurred only two years before, he could affirm with absolute certainty that the sailors had not been cast on that part of the western shore.

"And now, my lord," added he, "may I be allowed to ask why you have inquired of me concerning this shipwreck?"

Glenarvan then told the story of the document, the voyage of the Duncan, and the attempts made to find Captain Grant. He confessed that his dearest hopes had been destroyed by Mr. O'Moore's discouraging information, and that he now despaired of ever finding the shipwrecked seamen of the Britannia.

These words produced a gloomy impression upon his hearers. Robert and Mary listened to them with tearful eyes. Paganel could not find a word of consolation or hope. Captain Mangles suffered a grief that he could not subdue. Despair was seizing upon the souls of the noble people whom the Duncan had vainly brought to these distant shores, when all at once a voice was heard:—

"My lord, praise and thank God! If Captain Grant is living, he is in Australia."

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE QUARTERMASTER OF THE BRITANNIA.

The astonishment that these words produced cannot be described. Glenarvan sprang to his feet, and, pushing back his chair, cried,—

"I," repeated Ayrton, in an excited but firm tone; "I, a Scotchman like yourself, my lord, one of the shipwrecked sailors of the Britannia!"

Mary Grant, half fainting with emotion, and overcome with happiness, sank into the arms of Lady Helena; while Captain Mangles, Robert, and Paganel went towards the man whom their host had called Ayrton.

He was a somewhat rough-looking, broad-shouldered man, of about forty-five, of more than medium height, and with piercing eyes sunk deeply beneath his projecting brows. His strength must have been unusual, even considering his stature, for he was all bone and sinew. His countenance, full of intelligence and energy, although the features were stern, prepossessed one in his favor. The sympathy that he elicited was still more increased by the traces of recent hardships imprinted upon his face. It was evident that he had suffered much, although he seemed a man able to brave, endure, and conquer suffering.

The travelers felt all this at first sight. Ayrton's appearance had interested them; and Glenarvan, acting as spokesman for all, pressed him with inquiries. This strange meeting had evidently produced a bewildering effect, and the first questions were, to some extent, without order.

"No; I did not know of the existence of such a document. The captain must have thrown it overboard after I was gone."

"I suppose he was lost, drowned, with the rest of the crew. I thought I was the sole survivor."

He was a somewhat rough-looking, broad-shouldered man, of about forty-five.

"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."

"No, my lord. I repeat that I thought he was buried in the waves or dashed upon the rocks. You say that perhaps he is still living."

This should have been the first question; but, in the excitement of the moment, Glenarvan, anxious to know where Captain Grant was, had not inquired where the Britannia was lost. From this point the conversation assumed a more definite form, and soon the details of the complicated story appeared clear and exact to the minds of Ayrton's hearers.

"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. The shipwreck, therefore, took place at that point."

"You see, then, my lord," added Ayrton, "that I was right in saying that, if Captain Grant still lives, you must seek him in Australia."

"And we will seek, find, and save him, my friend!" cried Paganel. "Ah, precious document!" added he, with perfect simplicity: "it must be confessed that you have fallen into the hands of very sagacious people."

No one noticed these flattering words of Paganel. Glenarvan, Lady Helena, Mary, and Robert had crowded around Ayrton, and eagerly clasped his hands. It seemed as if the presence of this man was a guarantee of the safety of Harry Grant. Since the sailor had escaped the dangers of shipwreck, why should not the captain be safe and sound? Ayrton repeated his declaration that if Captain Grant were living he must be in Australia. He answered with remarkable intelligence and clearness the many questions that were propounded to him. Miss Mary, while he spoke, held one of his hands in her own. This sailor had been a companion of her father, one of the shipwrecked survivors of the Britannia. He had lived with Harry Grant, had sailed the seas with him, had braved the same dangers! She could not withdraw her eyes from that weather-beaten face, and she wept with happiness.

Hitherto no one had thought of doubting the veracity of the quartermaster. Only the major, and perhaps Captain Mangles, questioned whether Ayrton's story merited entire confidence. This unexpected meeting might be suspicious. To be sure, Ayrton had mentioned facts and dates that agreed, and striking particulars. But details, however exact they may be, do not constitute a certainty; and generally, as we know, falsehood endeavors to strengthen itself by its preciseness. MacNabb, therefore, reserved his opinion.

As for Captain Mangles, his doubts did not stand long before the assertions of the sailor, and he considered him a real companion of Captain Grant when he heard him speak to the young girl of her father. Ayrton knew Mary and Robert perfectly. He had seen them at Glasgow on the departure of the Britannia. He remembered that they had been present at the farewell dinner given on board to the friends of the captain. Sheriff MacIntyre was one of the guests. Robert—scarcely ten years old—had been confided to the care of Dick Turner, the boatswain, but had escaped from him and climbed to the top-sail yard-arm.

When he came to himself, he was in the hands of the natives, who carried him into the interior of the country.

At last, exhausted and almost dead, he reached the hospitable dwelling of Mr. O'Moore, where his labor insured him a comfortable livelihood.

The quartermaster remembered, too, a thousand little circumstances to which he did not seem to attach so much importance as did Captain Mangles. When he stopped, Mary said, in her sweet voice,—

Ayrton acceded to the young girl's request. Glenarvan was reluctant to interrupt him, and yet many more important questions thronged his mind. But Lady Helena, pointing out to him Mary's joyful excitement, checked his inquiries.

The quartermaster now told the story of the Britannia and her voyage across the Pacific. During the period of a year Harry Grant landed at the principal ports of Oceanica, opposing unjustifiable captures, and often a victim to the hostility of unjust traders. He found, however, an important point on the western coast of Papua. Here the establishment of a Scottish colony appeared to him feasible, and its prosperity assured. After examining Papua, the Britannia sailed to Callao for provisions, and left that port on the 30th of May, 1862, to return to Europe by the way of the Indian Ocean and the Cape. Three weeks after her departure, a terrible tempest disabled her. It became necessary to cut away the masts. A leak was discovered in the hold, which they did not succeed in stopping. The crew were soon overtasked and exhausted. The pumps could not be worked. For eight days the vessel was at the mercy of the storm. There were six feet of water in her hold, and she gradually foundered. The boats had been washed overboard, and the crew had given themselves up for lost, when on the night of June 22nd, as Paganel had rightly interpreted, they descried the eastern coast of Australia. The vessel soon stranded. A violent shock was felt. At this moment Ayrton, borne by a wave, was cast into the midst of the breakers, and lost all consciousness. When he came to himself, he was in the hands of the natives, who carried him into the interior of the country. Since then he had heard nothing more of the Britannia, and naturally supposed that she had been wrecked, with all on board, on the dangerous reefs of Twofold Bay.

This was Ayrton's story, which elicited more than once exclamations of sympathy. The major could not justly doubt its correctness; and after this recital the quartermaster's own experiences possessed a more real interest. Indeed, thanks to the document, they no longer doubted that Captain Grant had survived the shipwreck with two of his sailors. From the fate of the one they could fairly conjecture that of the other.

Ayrton was invited to tell of his own adventures, which was soon and simply done. The shipwrecked sailor, prisoner of a native tribe, was carried into the interior regions watered by the Darling. Here he led a very wretched existence, because the tribe itself was miserable; but he was not maltreated. For two long years he endured a painful slavery. However, the hope of regaining his liberty sustained his courage. He watched for the least opportunity of escaping, although his flight would plunge him into the midst of innumerable perils. One night in October he eluded the vigilance of the natives, and took refuge in the depths of extensive forests. For a month, living on roots, edible ferns, and the gum of the mimosa, often overcome by despair, he wandered in those vast solitudes, with the sun as his guide by day and the stars by night. In this way he crossed marshes, rivers, mountains, in short, all that uninhabited portion of country that few travelers have explored. At last, exhausted and almost dead, he reached the hospitable dwelling of Mr. O'Moore, where his labor insured him a comfortable livelihood.

"And if Ayrton is pleased with me," said the Irish colonist, when the story was finished, "I cannot but be pleased with him. He is an honest and intelligent man, a good worker, and, if he chooses, this house shall long be at his service."

Ayrton thanked Mr. O'Moore, and waited for further questions. He probably thought, however, that the legitimate curiosity of his hearers ought to be satisfied. What could he say that had not been repeated a hundred times already? Glenarvan was, therefore, about to open the conversation on a new topic, to profit by the information received from Ayrton, when the major, addressing him, said:

But perceiving that a certain feeling of distrust, a doubt, however slight, had suggested this inquiry, he added,—

He immediately left the room in search of this authoritative document. During his absence, which lasted but a few moments, Mr. O'Moore said:

"My lord, I will answer for it that Ayrton is an honest man. During the two months that he has been in my employ, I have had no fault to find with him. I knew the story of his shipwreck and captivity. He is a true man, and worthy of your entire confidence."

Glenarvan was about to answer that he had never doubted Ayrton's honesty, when the latter returned and presented his contract. It was a paper signed by the owners of the Britannia and Captain Grant, whose writing Mary recognized immediately. It stated that "Tom Ayrton, able seaman, was engaged as quartermaster on board the brig Britannia of Glasgow." There was, therefore, no possible doubt of Ayrton's identity, for it would have been difficult to suppose that this contract could be in his hands and not belong to him.

"Now," said Glenarvan, "I appeal to you all for advice as to what is best to be done. Your advice, Ayrton, would be particularly valuable, and I should be much obliged if you would give it to us."

"I thank you, my lord, for the confidence you place in me, and hope to show myself worthy of it. I have some knowledge of the country, and of the customs of the natives; and, if I can be of use to you——"

"I think, like you," continued Ayrton, "that Captain Grant and his two sailors were saved from the shipwreck; but, since they have not reached the English possessions, since they have not reappeared, I doubt not that their fate was the same as my own, and that they are prisoners of the natives."

"You repeat, Mr. Ayrton, the arguments that I have already substantiated," said Paganel. "The shipwrecked seamen are evidently prisoners of the natives, as they feared. But ought we to suppose that, like you, they have been carried to the north?"

"It is quite likely, sir," replied Ayrton. "The hostile tribes would hardly remain in the neighborhood of the English provinces."

"This fact will complicate our search," said Glenarvan, quite disconcerted. "How shall we find the traces of the prisoners in the interior of so vast a continent?"

A prolonged silence followed this remark. Lady Helena frequently cast a questioning glance at her companions, but without eliciting a responsive sign. Paganel himself was silent, contrary to his custom. His usual ingenuity now failed him. Captain Mangles paced the room with long strides, as if he had been on the deck of his vessel, involved in some difficulty.

"And you, Mr. Ayrton," said Lady Helena, at length, to the quartermaster, "what would you do?"

"Madam," replied he, promptly, "I should re-embark on board the Duncan, and go straight to the place of the shipwreck. There I should act according to circumstances, or indications that chance might furnish."

"No; but they necessitate repairs which cannot be made on board. One of the flanges of the screw is bent, and this work can be done only at Melbourne."

"Yes; but, if the wind is contrary, it would take considerable time to reach Twofold Bay, and at any rate we should have to return to Melbourne."

"Well, let the yacht go to Melbourne," said Paganel, "and we will go without her to Twofold Bay."

"The Duncan will join us, or we will join her, according to circumstances. If Captain Grant is found during our journey, we will return together to Melbourne. If, on the contrary, we continue our search to the coast, the Duncan shall join us there. Who has any objections to make to this plan? Have you, major?"

"So practicable," said Paganel, "that I propose that Lady Helena and Miss Grant accompany us."

"Quite seriously, my lord. It is a journey of three hundred and fifty miles. At the rate of twelve miles a day it would last scarcely a month,—long enough to give time for repairing the Duncan."

"But the ferocious animals?" said Glenarvan, wishing to state all possible objections.

"There are no convicts in the southern provinces of Australia, but only in the eastern colonies."

"Mr. Paganel is perfectly right," said O'Moore; "they have all left the southern provinces. Since I have lived on this farm, I have not heard of one."

"You see, my friends," continued Paganel, "that there are few savages, no wild beasts, and no convicts. There are not many countries of Europe of which we could say as much. Well, is it agreed?"

CHAPTER XXXII.

PREPARATIONS FOR THE JOURNEY.

It was not Glenarvan's habit to lose time in adopting and executing a plan. As soon as Paganel's proposal was accepted, he at once resolved that the preparations for the journey should be completed as soon as possible.

And what was to be the result of this search? The existence of Harry Grant seemed to have become undeniable, which increased the probabilities of success. No one expected to find the captain exactly on the line of the thirty-seventh parallel; but perhaps they would come upon traces of him, and, at all events, their course would bring them straight to the scene of the shipwreck, which was the principal point.

Moreover, if Ayrton would consent to join the travelers, to guide them through the forests, and to the eastern coast, there was another chance of success. Glenarvan felt the importance of this arrangement, and was therefore particularly desirous of obtaining the services of Captain Grant's companion. He inquired of his host whether he was willing for him to propose to Ayrton to accompany them. Mr. O'Moore consented, though not without regret at losing so good an assistant.

The quartermaster did not answer immediately; he seemed to hesitate for a few moments, but finally, after reflecting, said:

"Yes, my lord, I will follow you; and, if I do not set you upon the track of Captain Grant, I will at least guide you to the place where his vessel was wrecked."

"At Melbourne, if we do not cross Australia; on the eastern coast, if our search is continued so far."

The quartermaster was heartily thanked by the travelers. Captain Grant's children lavished upon him their most grateful caresses. All were delighted at his decision, except the colonist, who would lose in him an intelligent and faithful assistant. But he understood the importance that Glenarvan attached to this new addition to his force, and was resigned. He had, moreover, engaged to furnish them with the means of conveyance for the journey, and, this business being settled, the party returned on board.