"My yacht, my Duncan! She must be here, in these regions, plowing these seas, in that dreadful employment of a pirate. She is here, I tell you, John, on this course between Australia and New Zealand! I have a presentiment that we shall meet her!"

"God preserve us from such a meeting, my lord!"

"Why, John?"

"Your lordship forgets our situation. What could we do on this brig, if the Duncan should give us chase? We could not escape."

"Escape, John?"

"Yes, my lord. We should try in vain. We should be captured, at the mercy of the wretches. Ben Joyce has shown that he does not hesitate at a crime. I should sell my life dearly. We would defend ourselves to the last extremity. Well! But, then, think of Lady Helena and Mary Grant!"

"Poor women!" murmured Glenarvan. "John, my heart is broken, and sometimes I feel as if despair had invaded it. It seems to me as if new calamities awaited us, as if Heaven had decreed against us! I am afraid!"

"You, my lord?"

"Not for myself, John, but for those whom I love, and whom you love also."

"Take courage, my lord," replied the young captain. "We need no longer fear. The Macquarie is a poor sailer, but still she sails. Will Halley is a brutish creature; but I am here, and if the approach to the land seems to me dangerous I shall take the ship to sea again. Therefore from this quarter there is little or no danger. But as for meeting the Duncan, God preserve us, and enable us to escape!"

Captain Mangles was right. To encounter the Duncan would be fatal to the Macquarie, and this misfortune was to be feared in these retired seas, where pirates could roam without danger. However, that day, at least, the Duncan did not appear, and the sixth night since their departure from Twofold Bay arrived without Captain Mangles's fears being realized.

But that night was destined to be one of terror. Darkness set in almost instantaneously towards evening; the sky was very threatening. Even Will Halley, whose sense of danger was superior to the brutishness of intoxication, was startled by these warning signs. He left his cabin, rubbing his eyes and shaking his great red head. Then he drew a long breath, and examined the masts. The wind was fresh, and was blowing strong towards the New Zealand coast.

Captain Halley summoned his men, with many oaths, and ordered them to reef the top-sails. Captain Mangles approved in silence. He had given up remonstrating with this coarse seaman; but neither he nor Glenarvan left the deck.

Two hours passed. The sea grew more tempestuous, and the vessel received such severe shocks that it seemed as if her keel were grating on the sand. There was no unusual roughness, but yet this clumsy craft labored heavily, and the deck was deluged by the huge waves. The boat that hung in the larboard davits was swept overboard by a rising billow.

Captain Mangles could not help being anxious. Any other vessel would have mocked these surges; but with this heavy hulk they might well fear foundering, for the deck was flooded with every plunge, and the masses of water, not finding sufficient outlet by the scuppers, might submerge the ship. It would have been wise, as a preparation for any emergency, to cut away the waistcloth to facilitate the egress of the water; but Will Halley refused to take this precaution.

However, a greater danger threatened the Macquarie, and probably there was no longer time to prevent it. About half-past eleven Captain Mangles and Wilson, who were standing on the leeward side, were startled by an unusual sound. Their nautical instincts were roused, and the captain seized the sailor's hand.

"The surf!" said he.

"Yes," replied Wilson. "The sea is breaking on the reefs."

"Not more than two cable-lengths distant."

"Not more! The shore is here!"

Captain Mangles leaned over the railing, gazed at the dark waves, and cried:

"The sounding-lead, Wilson!"

The skipper, who was in the forecastle, did not seem to suspect his situation. Wilson grasped the sounding-line, which lay coiled in its pail, and rushed into the port-shrouds. He cast the lead; the rope slipped between his fingers; at the third knot it stopped.

"Three fathoms!" cried Wilson.

"We are on the breakers!" shouted the sober captain to the stupefied one.

Whether the former saw Halley shrug his shoulders or not is of little consequence. At all events, he rushed towards the wheel and crowded the helm hard alee, while Wilson, letting go the line, hauled upon the top-sail yard-arms to luff the ship. The sailor who was steering, and had been forcibly pushed aside, did not at all understand this sudden attack.

"To the port-yards! let loose the sails!" cried the young captain, managing so as to escape the reefs.

For half a minute, the starboard side of the brig grazed the rocks, and, in spite of the darkness, John perceived a roaring line of breakers that foamed a few yards from the ship.

At this moment Will Halley, becoming conscious of the imminent danger, lost his presence of mind. His sailors, who were scarcely sober, could not comprehend his orders. Moreover, his incoherent words and contradictory commands showed that this stupid drunkard's coolness had failed. He was surprised by the nearness of the land, which was only eight miles off, when he thought it thirty or forty. The currents had taken him unawares, and thrown him out of his ordinary course.

However, Captain Mangles's prompt management had rescued the brig from her peril; but he did not know his position. Perhaps he was inclosed by a chain of reefs. The wind blew fresh from the east, and at every pitch they might strike bottom.

The roar of the surf was soon redoubled, and it was necessary to luff still more. John crowded the helm down and braced farther to leeward. The breakers multiplied beneath the prow of the ship, and they were obliged to tack so as to put to sea. Would this manœuvre succeed with such an unsteady vessel, and under such reduced sail? It was uncertain, but as their only chance they must venture it.

"Hard alee!" cried Captain Mangles to Wilson.

The Macquarie began to approach the new line of reefs. Soon the water foamed above the submerged rocks. It was a moment of torturing suspense. The spray glittered on the crests of the waves. You would have thought a phosphorescent glow had suddenly illumined the water. Wilson and Mulready forced down the wheel with their whole weight.

Suddenly a shock was felt. The vessel had struck upon a rock. The bob-stays broke, and nearly overthrew the mainmast. Could they come about without any other injury? No; for all at once there was a calm, and the ship veered to windward again, and her movements suddenly ceased. A lofty wave seized and bore her forward towards the reefs, while she rolled heavily. The mainmast went by the board with all its rigging, the brig heaved twice and was motionless, leaning over to starboard. The pump-lights were shattered in pieces, and the passengers rushed to the deck; but the waves were sweeping it from one end to the other, and they could not remain without danger. Captain Mangles, knowing that the ship was firmly imbedded in the sand, besought them for their own sakes to go below again.

"The truth, John?" asked Glenarvan, faintly.

"The truth, my lord, is that we shall not founder. As for being destroyed by the sea, that is another question; but we have time to take counsel."

"Is it midnight?"

"Yes, my lord, and we must wait for daylight."

"Can we not put to sea in the boat?"

"In this storm and darkness it is impossible. And, moreover, where should we strike land?"

"Well, John, let us remain here till morning."

Meantime Will Halley was running about the deck like a madman. His sailors, who had recovered from their stupor, stove in a brandy-barrel and began to drink. Mangles foresaw that their drunkenness would lead to terrible scenes. The captain could not be relied upon to restrain them; the miserable man tore his hair and wrung his hands; he thought only of his cargo, which was not insured.

"I am ruined! I am lost!" cried he, running to and fro.

Captain Mangles scarcely thought of consoling him. He armed his companions, and all stood ready to repel the sailors, who were filling themselves with brandy, and cursing frightfully.

"The first of these wretches who approaches," said the major calmly, "I will shoot like a dog."

The sailors doubtless saw that the passengers were determined to keep them at bay, for, after a few attempts at plunder, they disappeared. Captain Mangles paid no more attention to these drunken men, but waited impatiently for day.

The ship was now absolutely immovable. The sea grew gradually calm, and the wind subsided. The hull could, therefore, hold out a few hours longer. At sunrise they would examine the shore. If it seemed easy to land, the yawl, now the only boat on board, would serve to transport the crew and passengers. It would require three trips, at least, to accomplish this, for there was room for only four persons. As for the gig, it had been swept overboard, during the storm, as before mentioned.

While reflecting on the dangers of his situation, the young captain, leaning against the binnacle, listened to the roar of the surf. He strove to pierce the dense darkness, and estimate how far he was from that desired yet dreaded coast. Breakers are frequently heard several leagues at sea. Could the frail cutter weather so long a voyage in her present shattered state?

While he was thinking thus, and longing for a little light in the gloomy sky, the ladies, relying upon his words, were reposing in their berths. The steadiness of the brig secured them several hours of rest. Glenarvan and the others, no longer hearing the cries of the drunken crew, refreshed themselves also by a hasty sleep, and, early in the morning, deep silence reigned on board this vessel, which had sunk to rest, as it were, upon her bed of sand.

About four o'clock the first light appeared in the east. The clouds were delicately tinged by the pale rays of the dawn. Captain Mangles came on deck. Along the horizon extended a curtain of mist. A few vague outlines floated in the vapors of the morning. A gentle swell still agitated the sea, and the outer waves were lost in the dense, motionless fog.

He waited. The light gradually brightened, and the horizon glowed with crimson hues. The misty curtain gradually enveloped the vast vault of the firmament. Black rocks emerged from the water. Then, a line was defined along a border of foam, and a luminous point kindled like a lighthouse at the summit of a peak against the still invisible disk of the rising sun.

"Land!" cried Captain Mangles.

His companions, awakened by his voice, rushed on deck, and gazed in silence at the coast that was seen on the horizon. Whether hospitable or fatal, it was to be their place of refuge.

"Where is that Halley?" asked Glenarvan.

"I do not know, my lord," replied Captain Mangles.

"And his sailors?"

"Disappeared, like himself."

"And like himself, doubtless, drunk," added MacNabb.

"Let us search for them," said Glenarvan; "we cannot abandon them on this vessel."

Mulready and Wilson went down to the bunks in the forecastle. The place was empty. They then visited between-decks, and the hold, but found neither Halley nor his sailors.

"What! nobody?" said Glenarvan.

"Have they fallen into the sea?" asked Paganel.

"Anything is possible," replied Captain Mangles, who cared little for their disappearance.

Then, turning towards the stern, he said,—

"To the boat!"

Wilson and Mulready followed, to assist in lowering it.

The yawl was gone!

CHAPTER XLVI.

VAIN EFFORTS.

Will Halley and his crew, taking advantage of the night and the passengers' sleep, had fled with the only boat left. They could not doubt it. This captain, who was in duty bound to be the last on board, had been the first to leave.

"The rascals have fled," said Captain Mangles. "Well, so much the better, my lord. We are spared so many disagreeable scenes."

"I agree with you," replied Glenarvan. "Besides, there is a better captain on board, yourself, and courageous seamen, your companions. Command us; we are ready to obey you."

All endorsed Glenarvan's words, and, ranged along the deck, they stood ready for the young captain's orders.

"What is to be done?" asked Glenarvan.

John cast a glance over the ocean, looked at the shattered masts of the brig, and, after a few moments' reflection, said:

"We have two ways, my lord, of extricating ourselves from this situation: either to raise the vessel and put her to sea, or reach the coast on a raft, which can be easily constructed."

"If the vessel can be raised, let us raise it," replied Glenarvan. "That is the best plan, is it not?"

"Yes, my lord; for, once ashore, what would become of us without means of transport?"

"Let us avoid the coast," added Paganel. "We must beware of New Zealand."

"All the more so, as we have gone considerably astray," continued Captain Mangles. "Halley's carelessness has carried us to the south, that is evident. At noon I will take an observation; and if, as I presume, we are below Auckland, I will try to sail the Macquarie up along the coast."

"But the injuries of the brig?" inquired Lady Helena.

"I do not think they are serious, madam," replied Captain Mangles. "I shall rig a jury-mast at the bows; and we shall sail slowly, it is true, but still we shall go where we wish. If, unfortunately, the hull is stove in, or if the ship cannot be extricated, we must gain the coast, and travel by land to Auckland."

"Let us examine the state of the vessel, then," said the major. "This is of the first importance."

Glenarvan, the captain, and Mulready opened the main scuttle, and went down into the hold. About two hundred tons of tanned hides were there, very badly stowed away; but they could draw them aside without much difficulty, by means of the main-stay tackling, and they at once threw overboard part of this ballast so as to lighten the ship.

After three hours of hard labor, they could see the bottom timbers. Two seams in the larboard planking had sprung open as far up as the channel wales. As the Macquarie lay over on her starboard beams, her opposite side was raised, and the defective seams were out of water. Wilson hastened, therefore, to tighten the joints with oakum, over which he carefully nailed a copper plate. On sounding they found less than two feet of water in the hold, which the pumps could easily exhaust, and thus relieve the ship. After his examination of the hull, the captain perceived that it had been little injured in stranding. It was probable that a part of the false keel would remain in the sand, but they could pass over it.

Wilson, after inspecting the interior of the brig, dived, in order to determine her position on the reef. The Macquarie was turned towards the northwest, and lay on a very shelving, slimy sand-bar. The lower end of her prow and two-thirds of her keel were deeply imbedded in the sand. The rest, as far as the stern, floated where the water was five fathoms deep. The rudder was not, therefore, confined, but worked freely. The captain considered it useless to lighten her, as he hoped they would be ready to make use of her at the earliest opportunity. The tides of the Pacific are not very strong, but he relied upon their influence to float the brig, which had stranded an hour before high water. The only point was to extricate her, which would be a long and painful task.

"To work!" cried the captain.

His improvised sailors were ready. He ordered them to reef the sails. The major, Robert, and Paganel, under Wilson's direction, climbed the maintop. The top-sail, swelled by the wind, would have prevented the extrication of the ship, and it was necessary to reef it, which was done as well as possible. At last, after much labor, severe to unaccustomed hands, the maintop-gallant was taken down. Young Robert, nimble as a cat, and bold as a cabin-boy, had rendered important services in this difficult operation.

It was now advisable to cast one anchor, perhaps two, at the stern of the vessel in the line of the keel. The effect of this would be to haul the Macquarie around into deep water. There is no difficulty in doing this when you have a boat, but here all the boats were gone, and something else must be supplied.

Glenarvan was familiar enough with the sea to understand the necessity of these arrangements. One anchor was to be cast to prevent the ship from stranding at low water.

"But what shall we do without a boat?" asked he of the captain.

"We will use the remains of the mizen-mast and the empty casks," was the reply. "It will be a difficult, but not impossible task, for the Macquarie's anchors are small. Once cast however, if they do not drag, I shall be encouraged."

"Very well, let us lose no time."

To accomplish their object, all were summoned on deck; each took part in the work. The rigging that still confined the mizen-mast was cut away, so that the maintop could be easily withdrawn. Out of this platform Captain Mangles designed to make a raft. He supported it by means of empty casks, and rendered it capable of carrying the anchors. A rudder was fastened to it, which enabled them to steer the concern.

This labor was half accomplished when the sun neared the meridian. The captain left Glenarvan to follow out his instructions, and turned his attention to determining his position, which was very important. Fortunately, he had found in Will Halley's cabin a Nautical Almanac and a sextant, with which he was able to take an observation. By consulting the map Paganel had bought at Eden, he saw that they had been wrecked at the mouth of Aotea Bay, above Cahua Point, on the shores of the province of Auckland. As the city was on the thirty-seventh parallel, the Macquarie had been carried a considerable distance out of her course. It was, therefore, necessary to sail northward to reach the capital of New Zealand.

"A journey of not more than twenty-five miles," said Glenarvan. "It is nothing."

"What is nothing at sea will be long and difficult on land," replied Paganel.

"Well, then," said Captain Mangles, "let us do all in our power to float the Macquarie."

This question being settled, their labors were resumed. It was high water, but they could not take advantage of it, since the anchors were not yet moored. Yet the captain watched the ship with some anxiety. Would she float with the tide? This point would soon be decided.

They waited. Several cracks were heard, caused either by a rising or starting of the keel. Great reliance had been placed upon the tide, but the brig did not stir.

The work was continued, and the raft was soon ready. The small anchor was put on board, and the captain and Wilson embarked, after mooring a small cable at the stern. The ebb-tide made them drift, and they therefore anchored, half a cable's length distant, in ten fathoms of water. The bottom afforded a firm hold.

The great anchor now remained. They lowered it with difficulty, transported it on the raft, and soon it was moored behind the other; the captain and his men returning to the vessel, and waiting for high water, which would be early in the morning. It was now six o'clock in the evening. The young captain complimented his sailors, and told Paganel that, with the aid of courage and good discipline, he might one day become quartermaster.

Meantime, Mr. Olbinett, after assisting in different operations, had returned to the kitchen, and prepared a very comforting and seasonable repast. The crew were tempted by a keen appetite, which was abundantly satisfied, and each felt himself invigorated for fresh exertions.

After dinner, Captain Mangles took a final precaution to insure the success of his experiment. He threw overboard a great part of the merchandise to lighten the brig; but the remainder of the ballast, the heavy spars, the spare yards, and a few tons of pig-iron, were carried to the stern, to aid by their weight in liberating the keel. Wilson and Mulready likewise rolled to the same place a number of casks filled with water. Midnight arrived before these labors were completed.

But at this hour the breeze subsided, and only a few capricious ripples stirred the surface of the water. Looking towards the horizon, the captain observed that the wind was changing from southwest to northwest. A sailor could not be mistaken in the peculiar arrangement and color of the clouds. He accordingly informed Glenarvan of these indications, and proposed to defer their work till the next day.

"And these are my reasons," said he. "First, we are very much fatigued, and all our strength is necessary to free the vessel. Then, when this is accomplished, how can we sail among the dangerous breakers, and in such profound darkness? Moreover, another reason induces me to wait. The wind promises to aid us, and I desire to profit by it, and am in hopes that it will drift the old hull out when the tide raises her. To-morrow, if I am not mistaken, the breeze will blow from the northwest. We will set the main-sails, and they will help to raise the brig."

These reasons were decisive. Glenarvan and Paganel, the most impatient on board, yielded, and the work was suspended.

The night passed favorably, and day appeared. Their captain's predictions were realized. The wind blew from the northwest, and continued to freshen. The crew were summoned. It was nine o'clock. Four hours were still to elapse before it would be high water, and that time was not lost. The laborers renewed their efforts with very good success.

Meantime the tide rose. The surface of the sea was agitated into ripples, and the points of the rocks gradually disappeared, like marine animals returning to their native element. The time for the final attempt approached. A feverish impatience thrilled all minds. No one spoke. Each gazed at the captain, and awaited his orders. He was leaning over the stern-railing, watching the water, and casting an uneasy glance towards the cables.

At last the tide reached its height. The experiment must now be made without delay. The main-sails were set, and the mast was bent with the force of the wind.

"To the windlass!" cried the captain.

Glenarvan, Mulready, and Robert on one side, and Paganel, the major, and Olbinett on the other, bore down upon the handles that moved the machine. At the same time the captain and Wilson added their efforts to those of their companions.

"Down! down!" cried the young captain; "all together!"

The cables were stretched taut under the powerful action of the windlass. The anchors held fast, and did not drag. But they must be quick, for high tide lasts only a few moments, and the water would not be long in lowering.

They redoubled their efforts. The wind blew violently, and forced the sails against the mast. A few tremors were felt in the hull, and the brig seemed on the point of rising. Perhaps a little more power would suffice to draw her from the sand.

"Helena! Mary!" cried Glenarvan.

The two ladies came and joined their efforts to those of their companions. A final crack was heard, but that was all! The experiment had failed. The tide was already beginning to ebb, and it was evident that, even with the aid of wind and tide, this insufficient crew could not float their ship.

As their first plan had failed, it was necessary to have recourse to the second without delay. It was plain that they could not raise the Macquarie, and that the only way was to abandon her. To wait on board for the uncertain arrival of assistance would have been folly and madness.

The captain therefore proposed to construct a raft strong enough to convey the passengers and a sufficient quantity of provisions to the New Zealand coast. It was not a time for discussion, but for action. The work was accordingly begun, and considerably advanced when night interrupted them.

In the evening, after supper, while Lady Helena and Mary Grant were reposing in their berths, Paganel and his friends conversed seriously as they paced the deck. The geographer had asked Captain Mangles whether the raft could not follow the coast as far as Auckland, instead of landing the passengers at once. The captain replied that it would be impossible with such a rude craft.

"And could we have done with the boat what we cannot do with the raft?"

"Yes, candidly speaking, we could," was the reply; "but with the necessity of sailing by day and anchoring by night."

"Then these wretches, who have abandoned us——"

"Oh," said Captain Mangles, "they were drunk, and in the profound darkness I fear they have paid for their cowardly desertion with their lives."

"So much the worse for them," continued Paganel; "and for us, too, as this boat would have been useful."

"What do you mean, Paganel?" said Glenarvan. "The raft will take us ashore."

"That is precisely what I would avoid," replied the geographer.

"What! can a journey of not more than twenty miles terrify us, after what has been done on the Pampas and in Australia?"

"My friends," resumed Paganel, "I do not doubt your courage, nor that of our fair companions. Twenty miles is nothing in any other country except New Zealand. Here, however, anything is better than venturing upon these treacherous shores."

"Anything is better than exposing yourself to certain death on a wrecked vessel," returned Captain Mangles.

"What have we to fear in New Zealand?" asked Glenarvan.

"The savages!" replied Paganel.

"The savages?" said Glenarvan. "Can we not avoid them by following the coast? Besides, an attack from a few wretches cannot intimidate ten well-armed and determined Europeans."

"It is not a question of wretches," rejoined Paganel. "The New Zealanders form terrible tribes that struggle against the English government, fight with invaders, frequently conquer them, and always eat them."

"Cannibals! cannibals!" cried Robert; and then he murmured, as though afraid to give full utterance to the words, "My sister! Lady Helena!"

"Never fear, my boy!" said Glenarvan; "our friend Paganel exaggerates."

"I do not exaggerate," replied Paganel. "With these New Zealanders war is what the sports of the chase are to civilized nations; and the game they hunt for they feast upon."

"Paganel," said the major, "this may be all very true, but have you forgotten the introduction of Christianity? has it not destroyed these anthropophagous habits?"

"No, it has not," was the prompt reply. "The records are yet fresh of ministers who have gone out to proclaim Christianity and have fallen victims to the murderous and cannibal instincts of those to whom they preached. Not long since, in the year 1864, one of these clergymen was seized by the chiefs, was hung to the tree, was tantalized and tortured to his last moments; and then, whilst some tore his body to pieces, others devoured the various members. No, the Maoris are still cannibals, and will remain so for some time to come."

But Paganel was on this point a pessimist, contrary to his usual characteristic.

CHAPTER XLVII.

A DREADED COUNTRY.

What Paganel had stated was indisputable. The cruelty of the New Zealanders could not be doubted. There was, therefore, danger in landing. But if the danger had been a hundred times greater, it must have been faced. Captain Mangles felt the necessity of leaving this vessel, which would soon break up. Between two perils, one certain, the other only probable, there was no possible hesitation.

As for the chance of being picked up by some passing ship, they could not reasonably rely upon it, for the Macquarie was out of the course usually taken in going to New Zealand. The shipwreck had happened on the desert shores of Ika-Na-Maoui.

"When shall we start?" asked Glenarvan.

"To-morrow morning at ten o'clock," replied Captain Mangles. "The tide will begin to rise then, and will carry us ashore."

Early the next day the raft was finished. The captain had given his entire attention to its construction. They needed a steady and manageable craft, and one capable of resisting the waves for a voyage of nine miles. The masts of the brig could alone furnish the necessary materials.

The raft was at length completed. It could doubtless sustain the shock of the surges; but could it be steered, and the coast be reached, if the wind should veer? This was a question only to be decided by trial.

At nine o'clock the loading began. The provisions were first put on board in sufficient quantities to last until the arrival at Auckland, for there could be no reliance upon the products of this dreaded country. Olbinett furnished some preserved meats, the remains of the Macquarie's supplies. There was very little, however; and they were forced to depend upon the coarse fare of the mess, which consisted of very inferior ship-biscuits and two barrels of salt fish, greatly to the steward's regret.

These stores were inclosed in sealed cans and then secured to the foot of the mast. The arms and ammunition were put in a safe and dry place. Fortunately, the travelers were well supplied with rifles and revolvers.

A small anchor was taken on board, in case they should reach the shore at low tide and be forced to anchor in the offing. Flood-tide soon began, the breeze blew gently from the northwest, and a slight swell agitated the surface of the sea.

"Are we ready?" asked Captain Mangles.

"All is ready, captain," replied Wilson.

"Aboard, then!"

Lady Helena and Mary Grant descended the ship's side by a clumsy rope-ladder, and took their seats at the foot of the mast near the cases of provisions, their companions around them. Wilson took the helm, the captain stationed himself at the sail-tackling, and Mulready cut the cable that confined the raft to the brig. The sail was spread, and they began to move towards the shore under the combined influence of wind and tide.

The coast was only nine miles distant,—not a difficult voyage for a well-manned boat; but with the raft it was necessary to advance slowly. If the wind held out, they might perhaps reach land with this tide; but if there should be a calm, the ebb would carry them back, or they would be compelled to anchor and wait for the next tide.

However, Captain Mangles hoped to succeed. The wind freshened. As it had been flood now for some hours, they must either reach land soon, or anchor.

Fortune favored them. Gradually the black points of the rocks and the yellow sand of the bars disappeared beneath the waves; but great attention and extreme skill became necessary, in this dangerous neighborhood, to guide their unwieldy craft.

They were still five miles from shore. A clear sky enabled them to distinguish the principal features of the country. To the northeast rose a lofty mountain, whose outline was defined against the horizon in a very singular resemblance to the grinning profile of a monkey.

Paganel soon observed that all the sand-bars had disappeared.

"Except one," replied Lady Helena.

"Where?" asked Paganel.

"There," said Lady Helena, pointing to a black speck a mile ahead.

"That is true," answered Paganel. "Let us try to determine its position, that we may not run upon it when the tide covers it."

"It is exactly at the northern projection of the mountain," said Captain Mangles. "Wilson, bear away towards the offing."

"Yes, captain," replied the sailor, bearing with all his weight upon the steering oar.

They approached nearer; but, strange to say, the black point still rose above the water. The captain gazed at it attentively, and, to see better, employed Paganel's telescope.

"It is not a rock," said he, after a moment's examination; "it is a floating object, that rises and falls with the swell."

"Is it not a piece of the Macquarie's mast?" asked Lady Helena.

"No," replied Glenarvan; "no fragment could have drifted so far from the ship."

"Wait!" cried Captain Mangles. "I recognize it. It is the boat."

"The brig's boat?" said Glenarvan.

"Yes, my lord, the brig's boat, bottom upwards."

"The unfortunate sailors!" exclaimed Lady Helena, "they have perished!"

"Yes, madam," continued the captain; "and they might have foreseen it; for in the midst of these breakers, on a stormy sea, and in such profound darkness, they fled to certain death."

"May Heaven have pity on them!" murmured Mary Grant.

For a few moments the passengers were silent. They gazed at this frail bark towards which they drew nearer and nearer. It had evidently capsized a considerable distance from land, and of those who embarked in it probably not one had survived.

"But this boat may be useful," said Glenarvan.

"Certainly," replied Captain Mangles. "Come about, Wilson."

The direction of the raft was changed, but the wind subsided gradually, and it cost them much time to reach the boat. Mulready, standing at the bow, warded off the shock, and the yawl was drawn alongside.

"Empty?" asked Captain Mangles.

"Yes, captain," replied the sailor, "the boat is empty, and her seams have started open. She is of no use to us."

"Can we not save any part?" asked MacNabb.

"No," answered the captain. "She is only fit to burn."

"I am sorry," said Paganel, "for the yawl might have taken us to Auckland."

"We must be resigned, Mr. Paganel," rejoined the captain. "Moreover, on such a rough sea, I prefer our raft to that frail conveyance. A slight shock would dash it in pieces! Therefore, my lord, we have nothing more to stay here for."

"As you wish, John," said Glenarvan.

"Forward, Wilson," continued the young captain, "straight for the coast!"

The tide would yet flow for about an hour, and in this time they could accomplish a considerable distance. But soon the breeze subsided almost entirely, and the raft was motionless. Soon it even began to drift towards the open sea under the influence of the ebb.

The captain did not hesitate a moment.

"Anchor!" cried he.

Mulready, who was in an instant ready to execute this order, let fall the anchor, and the raft drifted till the cable was taut. The sail was reefed, and arrangements were made for a long detention. Indeed, the tide would not turn till late in the evening; and, as they did not care to sail in the dark, they anchored for the night in sight of land.

Quite a heavy swell agitated the surface of the water, and seemed to set steadily towards the shore. Glenarvan, therefore, when he learned that the whole night would be passed on board, asked why they did not take advantage of this current to approach the coast.

"My lord," replied the young captain, "is deceived by an optical illusion. The apparent onward movement is only an oscillation of the water, nothing more. Throw a piece of wood into the water, and you will see that it will remain stationary, so long as the ebb is not felt. We must therefore have patience."

"And dinner," added the major.

Olbinett took out of a case of provisions some pieces of dried meat and a dozen biscuits, though reluctant to offer such meagre fare. It was accepted, however, with good grace, even by the ladies, whose appetites the fresh sea air greatly improved.

Night approached. Already the sun's disk, glowing with crimson, was disappearing beneath the horizon; and the waters glistened and sparkled like sheets of liquid silver under his last rays. Nothing could be seen but sky and water, except one sharply-defined object, the hull of the Macquarie, motionless on the reefs. The short twilight was rapidly followed by the darkness, and soon the land that bounded the horizon some miles away was lost in the gloom. In this perplexing situation these shipwrecked people lapsed into an uneasy and distressing drowsiness, and as the result at daybreak all were more exhausted than refreshed.

With the turn of the tide the wind rose. It was six o'clock in the morning, and time was precious. Preparations were made for getting under way, and the order was given to weigh anchor; but the flukes, by the strain of the cable, were so deeply imbedded in the sand that without the windlass even the tackling that Wilson arranged could not draw them out.