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

"Why!" said he, "do you know, my friends, what these creatures use for wads in their guns?"

"Leaves of the Bible! If this is the use they make of the sacred writings, I pity the missionaries. They will have difficulty in founding Maori libraries."

"And what passage of the Scriptures have these natives fired at us?" asked Glenarvan.

"A mighty promise of God," replied Captain Mangles, who had also read the paper. "It bids us hope in Him," added the young captain, with the unshaken conviction of his Scottish faith.

"Because he hath set his love upon Me, therefore will I deliver him:" Psalm xci. I.

"My friends," said Glenarvan, "we must make known the words of hope to our brave and dear ladies. Here is something to reanimate their hearts."

Glenarvan and his companions ascended the steep paths of the peak, and proceeded towards the tomb, which they wished to examine. On the way they were astonished to feel, at short intervals, a certain trembling of the ground. It was not an irregular agitation, but that continued vibration which the sides of a boiler undergo when it is fully charged. Steam, in large quantities, generated by the action of subterranean fires, seemed to be working beneath the crust of the mountain.

This peculiarity could not astonish people who had passed between the warm springs of the Waikato. They knew that this region of Ika-Na-Maoui is volcanic. It is like a sieve, from the holes of which ever issue the vapors of subterranean laboratories.

Paganel, who had already observed this, called the attention of his friends to the circumstance. The Maunganamu is only one of those numerous cones that cover the central portion of the island. The least mechanical action could provoke the formation of a crater in the clayey soil.

"And yet," said Glenarvan, "we seem to be in no more danger here than beside the boiler of the Duncan. This crust is firm."

"Certainly," replied the major; "but a boiler, however strong it may be, will always burst at last after too long use."

"MacNabb," said Paganel, "I do not desire to remain on this peak. Let Heaven show me a way of escape, and I will leave it instantly."

"My dear Edward," said she, "you have considered our position! Are we to hope or fear?"

"Hope, my dear Helena," replied Glenarvan. "The natives will never come to the top of the mountain, and we shall have abundant time to form a plan of escape."

So saying, he gave her the text of the Bible which had been sent to them. She and Mary Grant, whose confiding soul was always open to the ministrations of Heaven, saw, in the words of the Holy Book, an infallible pledge of safety.

"Now to the tomb!" cried Paganel, gayly. "This is our fortress, our castle, our dining-room, and our workshop. No one is to disarrange it. Ladies, permit me to do the honors of this charming dwelling."

All followed the good-natured Paganel. When the savages saw the fugitives desecrate anew this tabooed sepulchre, they fired numerous volleys, and uttered yells no less terrible. But fortunately their bullets could not reach as far as their cries, for they only came half-way, while their vociferations were lost in empty air.

Lady Helena, Mary Grant, and their companions, quite reassured at seeing that the superstition of the Maoris was still stronger than their rage, entered the tomb. It was a palisade of red painted stakes. Symbolical faces, a real tattooing on wood, described the nobleness and exploits of the deceased. Strings of pipes, shells, and carved stones extended from one stake to another. Inside, the earth was hidden beneath a carpet of green leaves. In the centre a slight protuberance marked the freshly-made grave. Here reposed the weapons of the chief, his guns loaded and primed, his lance, his splendid hatchet of green jade, with a supply of powder and balls sufficient for the hunts of the other world.

"Here is a whole arsenal," said Paganel, "of which we will make a better use than the deceased. It is a good idea of these savages to carry their weapons to heaven with them."

"Doubtless," replied Glenarvan; "it is a very foolish custom to make presents of fire-arms to the savages, who then use them against the invaders, and with reason. At all events, these guns will be useful to us."

"But still more useful," said Paganel, "will be the provisions and water intended for Kara-Tété."

The parents and friends of the dead had, indeed, faithfully fulfilled their duties. The amount of food testified their esteem for the virtues of the chief. There were provisions enough to last ten persons fifteen days, or rather the deceased for eternity. They consisted of ferns, sweet yams, and potatoes, which were introduced some time before by the Europeans. Tall vases of fresh water stood near, and a dozen baskets, artistically woven, contained numerous tablets of green gum.

The fugitives were, therefore, fortified for several days against hunger and thirst, and they needed no urging to take their first meal at the chief's expense. Glenarvan directed Mr. Olbinett's attention to the food necessary for his companions; but he, with his usual exactness, even in critical situations, thought the bill of fare rather scanty. Moreover, he did not know how to prepare the roots, and there was no fire.

But Paganel solved the difficulty, and advised him to simply bury his ferns and potatoes in the ground itself, for the heat of the upper strata was very great. Olbinett, however, narrowly escaped a serious scalding, for, just as he had dug a hole to put his roots in, a stream of watery vapor burst forth, and rose to the height of several feet. The steward started back in terror.

"Close the hole!" cried the major, who, with the aid of the two sailors, covered the orifice with fragments of pumice-stone, while Paganel murmured these words:

"So many blessings," added Paganel, in a mirthful tone. "Consider Kara-Tété's water and provisions, and the fire of the earth! This mountain is a paradise! I propose that we found a colony here, cultivate the soil, and settle for the rest of our days. We will be Robinson Crusoes of Maunganamu. Indeed, I look in vain for any deficiency on this comfortable peak."

"Well, it was not created yesterday," said Paganel. "It has long resisted the action of internal fires, and will easily hold out till our departure."

"Breakfast is ready," announced Mr. Olbinett, as gravely as if he had been performing his duties at Malcolm Castle.

The fugitives at once sat down near the palisade, and enjoyed the repast that Providence had so opportunely furnished to them in this critical situation. No one appeared particular about the choice of food, but there was a diversity of opinion concerning the edible ferns. Some found them sweet and pleasant, and others mucilaginous, insipid, and acrid. The sweet potatoes, cooked in the hot earth, were excellent.

The steward started back in terror.

Their hunger being satiated, Glenarvan proposed that they should, without delay, arrange a plan of escape.

"So soon!" said Paganel, in a truly piteous tone. "What! are you thinking already of leaving this delightful place?"

"I think, first of all," replied Glenarvan, "that we ought to attempt an escape before we are forced to it by hunger. We have strength enough yet, and must take advantage of it. To-night let us try to gain the eastern valleys, and cross the circle of natives under cover of the darkness."

"More than I know what to do with," rejoined Paganel, without further explanation.

They could now do nothing but wait for night to attempt crossing the line of savages, who had not left their position. Their ranks even seemed increased by stragglers from the tribe. Here and there freshly-kindled fires formed a flaming girdle around the base of the peak. When darkness had invaded the surrounding valleys, the Maunganamu seemed to rise from a vast conflagration, while its summit was lost in a dense shade. Six hundred feet below were heard the tumult and cries of the enemy's camp.

At nine o'clock it was very dark, and Glenarvan and Captain Mangles resolved to make an exploration before taking their companions on this perilous journey. They noiselessly descended the declivity some distance, and reached the narrow ridge that crossed the line of natives fifty feet above the encampment.

All went well so far. The Maoris, stretched beside their fires, did not seem to perceive the two fugitives, who advanced a few paces farther. But suddenly, to the left and right of the ridge, a double volley resounded.

"Back!" cried Glenarvan; "these bandits have eyes like a cat, and the guns of riflemen!"

Captain Mangles and he reascended at once the precipitous slopes of the mountain, and speedily assured their terrified friends of their safety. Glenarvan's hat had been pierced by two bullets. It was, therefore, dangerous to venture on the ridge between these two lines of marksmen.

"Wait till to-morrow," said Paganel; "and since we cannot deceive the vigilance of these natives, permit me to give them a dose in my own way."

The temperature was quite cold. Fortunately, Kara-Tété wore in the tomb his best night-robes, warm, flaxen coverings, in which each one wrapped himself without hesitation; and soon the fugitives, protected by the native superstition, slept peacefully in the shelter of the palisades, on the earth that seemed to quake with the internal commotion.

CHAPTER LIII.

A BOLD STRATAGEM.

The rising sun awakened with his first rays the sleepers on the Maunganamu. The Maoris for some time had been moving to and fro at the foot of the peak without wandering from their post of observation. Furious cries saluted the appearance of the Europeans as they issued from the desecrated tomb.

Each cast a longing glance towards the surrounding mountains, the deep valleys, still veiled in mist, and the surface of Lake Taupo, gently rippling beneath the morning wind. Then all, eager to know Paganel's new project, gathered around him with questioning looks; while the geographer at once satisfied the restless curiosity of his companions.

"My friends," said he, "my project has this advantage, that if it does not produce the result that I expect, or even fails, our situation will not be impaired. But it ought to and will succeed."

"This is it," replied Paganel. "The superstition of the natives has made this mountain a place of refuge, and this superstition must help us to escape. If I succeed in convincing Kai-Koumou that we have become the victims of our sacrilege, that the wrath of Heaven has fallen upon us, in short, that we have met a terrible death, do you think that he will abandon the mountain and return to his village?"

"The death of the sacrilegious, my friends," continued Paganel. "The avenging flames are under our feet. Let us open a way for them."

"Yes, a factitious, an improvised one, whose fury we will control. There is quite a supply of vapors and subterranean fires that only ask for an outlet. Let us arrange an artificial eruption for our own advantage."

"You understand," resumed the geographer, "that we are to feign being consumed by the flames of Pluto, and shall disappear spiritually in the tomb of Kara-Tété."

"Where we shall remain three, four, or five days, if necessary, till the savages are convinced of our death, and abandon the siege."

"But if they think of making sure of our destruction," said Miss Grant, "and climb the mountain?"

"No, my dear Mary," replied Paganel, "they will not do that. The mountain is tabooed, and if it shall itself devour its profaners the taboo will be still more rigorous."

"This plan is really well conceived," remarked Glenarvan. "There is only one chance against it, and that is, that the savages may persist in remaining at the foot of the mountain till the provisions fail us. But this is scarcely probable, especially if we play our part skillfully."

"Agreed," said MacNabb. "Paganel, you are a man of genius; and although from habit I am scarcely ever enthusiastic, I will answer for your success. Ha! these rascals! we shall perform a little miracle for them that will delay their conversion a good century. May the missionaries pardon us!"

Paganel's plan was therefore adopted, and really, with the superstitious notions of the Maoris, it might and ought to succeed. It only remained to execute it. The idea was good, but in practice difficult. Might not this volcano consume the audacious ones who should dig the crater? Could they control and direct this eruption when the vapors, flames, and lava should be let loose? Would it not engulf the entire peak in a flood of fire? They were tampering with those phenomena whose absolute control is reserved for forces higher than theirs.

Paganel had foreseen these difficulties, but he expected to act prudently, and not to venture to extremes. An illusion was enough to deceive the Maoris, without the awful reality of a large eruption.

How long that day seemed! Each one counted the interminable hours. Everything was prepared for flight. The provisions of the tomb had been divided, and made into convenient bundles. Several mats, and the fire-arms, which had been found in the tomb of the chief, formed light baggage. Of course these preparations were made within the palisaded inclosure and unknown to the savages.

At six o'clock the steward served a farewell feast. Where and when they should eat in the valleys no one could foretell.

Twilight came on. The sun disappeared behind a bank of dense clouds of threatening aspect. A few flashes illumined the horizon, and a distant peal of thunder rumbled along the vault of the sky. Paganel welcomed the storm that came to the aid of his design.

At eight o'clock the summit of the mountain was hidden by a foreboding darkness, while the sky looked terribly black, as if for a background to the flaming outbreak that Paganel was about to inaugurate. The Maoris could no longer see their prisoners. The time for action had come. Rapidity was necessary, and Glenarvan, Paganel, MacNabb, Robert, the steward, and the two sailors at once set to work vigorously.

The place for the crater was chosen thirty paces from Kara-Tété's tomb. It was important that this structure should be spared by the eruption, for otherwise the taboo would become ineffective. Paganel had observed an enormous block of stone, around which the vapors seemed to pour forth with considerable force. This rocky mass covered a small natural crater in the peak, and only by its weight prevented the escape of the subterranean flames. If they could succeed in overturning it, the smoke and lava would immediately issue through the unobstructed opening.

The fugitives made themselves levers out of the stakes of the tomb, and with these they vigorously attacked the ponderous mass. Under their united efforts the rock was not long in moving. They dug a sort of groove for it down the side of the mountain, that it might slide on an inclined plane.

As their action increased, the trembling of the earth became more violent. Hollow rumblings and hissings sounded under the thin crust. But the bold experimenters, like real Vulcans, governing the underground fires, worked on in silence. Several cracks and a few gusts of hot smoke warned them that their position was becoming dangerous. But a final effort detached the block, which glided down the slope of the mountain and disappeared.

The thin covering at once yielded. 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 and the valleys below. The whole peak trembled, and you might almost have thought that it was disappearing in a general conflagration.

Glenarvan and his companions had scarcely time to escape the shock of the eruption. They fled to the inclosure of the tomb, but not without receiving a few scalding drops of the water, which bubbled and exhaled a strong sulphureous odor.

Then mud, lava, and volcanic fragments mingled in the scene of devastation. Torrents of flame furrowed the sides of the Maunganamu. The adjoining mountains glowed in the light of the eruption, and the deep valleys were illumined with a vivid brightness.

The savages were soon aroused, both by the noise and the heat of the lava that flowed in a scalding tide through the midst of their encampment. Those whom the fiery flood had not reached fled, and ascended the surrounding hills, turning and gazing back at this terrific phenomenon, with which their god, in his wrath, had overwhelmed the desecrators of the sacred mountain; while at certain moments they were heard howling their consecratory cry:

The fugitives made themselves levers out of the stakes of the tomb.

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.

Meantime an enormous quantity of vapor, melted stones, and lava had escaped from the crater. It was no longer a simple geyser. All this volcanic effervescence had hitherto been confined beneath the crust of the peak, since the outlets of Tangariro sufficed for its expansion; but as a new opening had been made, it had rushed forth with extreme violence.

All night long, during the storm that raged above and below, the peak was shaken with a commotion that could not but alarm Glenarvan. The prisoners, concealed behind the palisade of the tomb, watched the fearful progress of the outbreak.

Morning came. The fury of the volcano had not moderated. Thick, yellowish vapors mingled with the flames, and torrents of lava poured in every direction. Glenarvan, with eye alert and beating heart, glanced between the interstices of the inclosure, and surveyed the camp of the Maoris.

The natives had fled to the neighboring plateaus, beyond the reach of the volcano. Several corpses, lying at the foot of the peak, had been charred by the fire. Farther on, towards the pah, the lava had consumed a number of huts, that were still smoking. The savages, in scattered groups, were gazing at the vapory summit of Maunganamu with religious awe.

Kai-Koumou came into the midst of his warriors, and Glenarvan recognized him. The chief advanced to the base of the peak, on the side spared by the eruption, but did not cross the first slopes. Here, with outstretched arms, like a sorcerer exorcising, he made a few grimaces, the meaning of which did not escape the prisoners. As Paganel had foreseen, Kai-Koumou was invoking upon the mountain a more rigorous taboo.

Soon after, the natives descended, in single file, the winding paths that led towards the pah.

"They are going!" cried Glenarvan. "They are abandoning their post! God be thanked! Our scheme has succeeded! My dear Helena, my brave companions, we are now dead and buried; but this evening we will revive, we will leave our tomb, and flee from these barbarous tribes!"

It would be difficult to describe the joy that reigned within the palisade. Hope had reanimated all hearts. These courageous travelers forgot their past trials, dreaded not the future, and only rejoiced in their present deliverance; although very little reflection would show how difficult was the task of reaching an European settlement from their present position. But if Kai-Koumou was outwitted, they believed themselves safe from all the savages of New Zealand.

A whole day must pass before the decisive attempt could be made, and they employed their time in arranging a plan of escape. Paganel had preserved his map of New Zealand, and could therefore search out the safest routes.

After some discussion, the fugitives resolved to proceed eastward towards the Bay of Plenty. This course would lead them through districts that were very rarely visited. The travelers, who were already accustomed to overcoming natural difficulties, only feared meeting the Maoris. They therefore determined to avoid them at all hazards, and gain the eastern coast, where the missionaries have founded several establishments. Moreover, this portion of the island had hitherto escaped the ravages of the war and the depredations of the natives. As for the distance that separated Lake Taupo from the Bay of Plenty, it could not be more than one hundred miles. Ten days would suffice for the journey. The missions once reached, they could rest there, and wait for some favorable opportunity of gaining Auckland, their destination.

These points being settled, they continued to watch the savages till evening. Not one of them remained at the foot of the mountain, and when darkness invaded the valleys of the lake, no fire betokened the presence of the Maoris at the base of the peak. The coast was clear.

At nine o'clock it was dark night, and Glenarvan gave the signal for departure. His companions and he, armed and equipped at Kara-Tété's expense, began to cautiously descend the slopes of the Maunganamu. Captain Mangles and Wilson led the way, with eyes and ears on the alert. They stopped at the least sound,—they examined the faintest light; each slid down the declivity, the better to elude detection.

Two hundred feet below the summit, Captain Mangles and his sailor reached the dangerous ridge that had been so obstinately guarded by the natives. If, unfortunately, the Maoris, more crafty than the fugitives, had feigned a retreat to entice them within reach, if they had not been deceived by the eruption, their presence would be discovered at this point. Glenarvan, in spite of his confidence and Paganel's pleasantries, could not help trembling. The safety of his friends was at stake during the few moments necessary to cross the ridge. He felt Lady Helena's heart beat as she clung to his arm.

But neither he nor Captain Mangles thought of retreating. The young captain, followed by the others, and favored by the dense obscurity, crawled along the narrow path, only stopping when some detached stone rolled to the base of the mountain. If the savages were still in ambush, these unusual sounds would provoke from each side a formidable volley.

However, in gliding like serpents along this inclined crest, the fugitives could not advance rapidly. When Captain Mangles had gained the lowest part, scarcely twenty-five feet separated him from the plain where the natives had encamped the night before. Here the ridge ascended quite steeply towards a coppice about a quarter of a mile distant.

The travelers crossed this place without accident, and began the ascent in silence. The thicket was invisible, but they knew where it was, and, provided no ambuscade was laid there, Glenarvan hoped to find a secure refuge. However, he remembered that they were now no longer protected by the taboo. The ascending ridge did not belong to the sacred mountain, but to a chain that ran along the eastern shores of Lake Taupo. Therefore not only the shots of the savages, but also a hand-to-hand conflict, were to be feared.

For a short time the little party slowly mounted towards the upper elevations. The captain could not yet discern the dark coppice, but it could not be more than two hundred feet distant.

Suddenly he stopped, and almost recoiled. He thought he heard some sound in the darkness. His hesitation arrested the advance of his companions.

He stood motionless long enough to alarm those who followed him. With what agonizing suspense they waited could not be described. Would they be forced to return to the summit of the mountain?

But, finding that the noise was not repeated, their leader continued his ascent along the narrow path. The coppice was soon dimly defined in the gloom. In a few moments it was reached, and the fugitives were crouching beneath the thick foliage of the trees.

CHAPTER LIV.

FROM PERIL TO SAFETY.

Darkness favored the escape; and making the greatest possible progress, they left the fatal regions of Lake Taupo. Paganel assumed the guidance of the little party, and his marvelous instinct as a traveler was displayed anew during this perilous journey. He managed with surprising dexterity in the thick gloom, chose unhesitatingly the almost invisible paths, and kept constantly an undeviating course.

At nine o'clock in the morning they had accomplished a considerable distance, and could not reasonably require more of the courageous ladies. Besides, the place seemed suitable for an encampment. The fugitives had reached the ravine that separates the Kaimanawa and Wahiti ranges. The road on the right ran southward to Oberland. Paganel, with his map in his hand, made a turn to the northeast, and at ten o'clock the little party had reached a sort of steep buttress, formed by a spur of the mountain.

The provisions were taken from the sacks, and all did ample justice to them. Mary Grant and the major, who had not hitherto been very well satisfied with the edible ferns, made this time a hearty meal of them. They rested here till two o'clock in the afternoon, then the journey towards the east was resumed, and at evening the travelers encamped eight miles from the mountains. They needed no urging to sleep in the open air.

The next day very serious difficulties were encountered. They were forced to pass through a curious region of volcanic lakes and geysers that extends eastward from the Wahiti ranges. It was pleasing to the eye, but fatiguing to the limbs. Every quarter of a mile there were obstacles, turns, and windings, far too many for rapid progress; but what strange appearances and what infinite variety does nature give to her grand scenes!

Over this expanse of twenty square miles the overflow of subterranean forces was displayed in every form. Salt springs, of a singular transparency, teeming with myriads of insects, issued from the porous ground. They exhaled a penetrating odor, and deposited on the earth a white coating like dazzling snow. Their waters, though clear, were at the boiling-point, while other neighboring springs poured forth ice-cold streams. On every side water-spouts, with spiral rings of vapor, spirted from the ground like the jets of a fountain, some continuous, others intermittent, as if controlled by some capricious sprite. They rose like an amphitheatre, in natural terraces one above another, their vapors gradually mingling in wreaths of white smoke; and flowing down the semi-transparent steps of these gigantic staircases, they fed the lakes with their boiling cascades.

It will be needless to dilate upon the incidents of the journey, which were neither numerous nor important. Their way led through forests and over plains. The captain took his bearings by the sun and stars. The sky, which was quite clear, was sparing of heat and rain. Still, an increasing weariness delayed the travelers, already so cruelly tried, and they had to make great efforts to reach their destination.

However, they still conversed together, but no longer in common. The little party was divided into groups, not by any narrow prejudice or ill feeling, but to some extent from sadness. Often Glenarvan was alone, thinking, as he approached the coast, of the Duncan and her crew. He forgot the dangers that still threatened him, in his grief for his lost sailors and the terrible visions that continually haunted his mind.

They no longer spoke of Harry Grant. And why should they, since they could do nothing for him? If the captain's name was ever pronounced, it was in the conversations of his daughter and her betrothed. The young captain had not reminded her of what she had said to him on the last night of their captivity on the mountain. His magnanimity would not take advantage of words uttered in a moment of supreme despair.

When he did speak of Captain Grant, he began to lay plans for a further search. He declared to Mary that Lord Glenarvan would resume this undertaking, hitherto so unsuccessful.

On every side water-spouts, with spiral rings of vapor, spirted from the ground like the jets of a fountain.

He maintained that the authenticity of the document could not be doubted. Her father must, therefore, be somewhere; and though it were necessary to search the whole world, they were sure to find him. The young girl was cheered by these words; and both, bound by the same thoughts, now sympathized in the same hope. Lady Helena often took part in the conversation, and was very careful not to discourage the young people with any sad forebodings.

Glenarvan and his companions, after many vicissitudes, reached the foot of Mount Ikirangi, whose peak towered five thousand feet aloft. They had now traveled almost one hundred miles since leaving the Maunganamu, and the coast was still thirty miles distant. Captain Mangles had hoped to make the journey in ten days, but he was ignorant then of the difficulties of the way. There were still two good days of travel before they could gain the ocean, and renewed activity and extreme vigilance became necessary, for they were entering a region frequented by the natives. However, each conquered the fatigue, and the little party continued their course.

Between Mount Ikirangi, some distance on their right, and Mount Hardy, whose summit rose to the left, was a large plain, thickly overspread with twining plants and underbrush. Progress here was tedious and difficult in the extreme; for the pliant tendrils wound a score of folds about their bodies like serpents. Hunting was impossible; the provisions were nearly exhausted, and could not be renewed, and water failed, so that they could not allay their thirst, rendered doubly acute by their fatigue. The sufferings of Glenarvan and his friends were terrible, and for the first time their moral energy now almost forsook them.

At last, dragging themselves along, wearied to the utmost degree in body, almost despairing in mind, they reached Lottin Point, on the shores of the Pacific.

At this place several deserted huts were seen, the ruins of a village recently devastated by the war; around them were abandoned fields, and everywhere the traces of plunder and conflagration. But here fate had reserved a new and fearful test for the unfortunate travelers.

They were walking along the coast, when, at no great distance, a number of natives appeared, who rushed towards the little party, brandishing their weapons. Glenarvan, shut in by the sea, saw that escape was impossible, and, summoning all his strength, was about to make preparations for battle, when Captain Mangles cried:

And truly, twenty paces distant, a canoe, with six oars, was lying on the beach. To rush to it, set it afloat, and fly from this dangerous place was the work of an instant; the whole party seemed to receive at once a fresh accession of bodily strength and mental vigor.

In ten minutes the boat was at a considerable distance. The sea was calm. The captain, however, not wishing to wander too far from the coast, was about to give the order to cruise along the shore, when he suddenly ceased rowing. He had observed three canoes starting from Lottin Point, with the evident intention of overtaking and capturing the unfortunate fugitives.

The canoe, under the strokes of its four oarsmen, at once put to sea, and for some time kept its distance. But the strength of the weakened fugitives soon grew less, and their pursuers gradually gained upon them. The boats were now scarcely a mile apart. There was therefore no possibility of avoiding the attack of the natives, who, armed with their long guns, were already preparing to fire.

What was Glenarvan doing? Standing at the stern of the canoe, he looked around as if for some expected aid. What did he expect? What did he wish? Had he a presentiment?

All at once his face brightened, his hand was stretched towards an indistinct object.

Not one of the four oarsmen turned to see this unexpected vessel, for they must not lose a stroke. Only Paganel, rising, directed his telescope towards the place indicated.

"Yes," said he, "a ship, a steamer, under full headway, coming towards us! Courage, captain!"

The fugitives displayed new energy, and for several moments longer they kept their distance. The steamer grew more and more distinct. They could clearly discern her masts, and the thick clouds of black smoke that issued from her smoke-stack. Glenarvan, giving the helm to Robert, had seized the geographer's glass, and did not lose a single movement of the vessel.

But what were Captain Mangles and his companions to think when they saw the expression of his features change, his face grow pale, and the instrument fall from his hands. A single word explained this sudden emotion.

It was indeed the yacht—without a doubt,—the yacht, with her crew of bandits! The major could not repress a malediction. This was too much.

Meantime the canoe was floating at random. Whither should they guide it, whither flee? Was it possible to choose between the savages and the convicts?

A second ball whistled over their heads, and demolished the nearest of the three canoes.

Just then a shot came from the native boat, that had approached nearer. The bullet struck Wilson's oar; but his companions still propelled the canoe towards the Duncan. The yacht was advancing at full speed, and was only half a mile distant. Captain Mangles, beset on all sides, no longer knew how to act, or in what direction to escape. The two poor ladies were on their knees, praying in their despair.

The savages were now firing a continued volley, and the bullets rained around the canoe. Just then a sharp report sounded, and a ball from the yacht's cannon passed over the heads of the fugitives, who remained motionless between the fire of the Duncan and the natives.

Captain Mangles, frantic with despair, seized his hatchet. He was on the point of sinking their own canoe, with his unfortunate companions, when a cry from Robert stopped him.

"Tom Austin! Tom Austin!" said the child. "He is on board! I see him! He has recognized us! He is waving his hat!"

The hatchet was suspended in mid-air. A second ball whistled over their heads, and demolished the nearest of the three canoes, while a loud hurrah was heard on board the Duncan. The savages fled in terror towards the coast.

"Help, help, Tom!" cried Captain Mangles, in a piercing voice. And a few moments afterwards the ten fugitives, without knowing how, or scarcely comprehending this unexpected good fortune, were all in safety on board the Duncan.

CHAPTER LV.

WHY THE DUNCAN WENT TO NEW ZEALAND.

The feelings of Glenarvan and his friends, when the songs of old Scotland resounded in their ears, it is impossible to describe. 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. Glenarvan, John Mangles, Paganel, Robert, and even the major, wept and embraced each other. Their emotions rose from joy to ecstasy. The geographer was fairly wild, skipping about and watching with his inseparable telescope the canoes returning to shore.

But at sight of Glenarvan and his companions, with tattered garments, emaciated features, and the traces of extreme suffering, the crew ceased their lively demonstrations. These were spectres, not the bold and dashing travelers whom, three months before, hope had stimulated to a search for the shipwrecked captain. Chance alone had led them back to this vessel that they had ceased to regard as theirs, and in what a sad state of exhaustion and feebleness!

However, before thinking of fatigue, or the imperative calls of hunger and thirst, Glenarvan questioned Tom Austin concerning his presence in these waters. Why was the Duncan on the eastern coast of New Zealand? Why was she not in the hands of Ben Joyce? By what providential working had God restored her to the fugitives? These were the questions that were hurriedly addressed to Tom Austin. The old sailor did not know which to answer first. He therefore concluded to listen only to Lord Glenarvan, and reply to him.

"The convicts!" replied Tom Austin, like a man who is at a loss to understand a question.

"Never?" cried Glenarvan, amazed at the answers of the old sailor. "Then will you tell me why the Duncan is now on the shores of New Zealand?"

Although Glenarvan and his friends did not at all understand Austin's astonishment, what was their surprise when he replied, in a calm voice:

The ten travelers at once surrounded Tom Austin, and gazed at him in eager curiosity. The letter written at the Snowy River had reached the Duncan.

"Well," continued Glenarvan, "let us have an explanation; for I almost think I am dreaming. You received a letter, Tom?"

"Yes, Ayrton or Ben Joyce; it is the same person. Well, what did the letter say?"

"It ordered me to leave Melbourne without delay, and come to the eastern shores of——"

"Australia!" cried Glenarvan, with an impetuosity that disconcerted the old sailor.