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

A long body appeared. Paganel dangled from branch to branch. His hands could grasp nothing. Was he alive, or dead?

"Yes, yes," replied Paganel, in a voice choked with emotion (and leaves). "Yes, a distraction,—phenomenal this time."

"Glenarvan, major, Robert, my friends," cried Paganel, "all you who hear me, we are seeking Captain Grant where he is not."

CHAPTER XXIV.

PAGANEL'S DISCLOSURE.

A profound astonishment greeted these unexpected words. What did the geographer mean? Had he lost his senses? He spoke, however, with such conviction that all eyes were turned towards Glenarvan. This declaration of Paganel was a direct answer to the question the former had asked. But Glenarvan confined himself to a negative gesture, indicating disbelief in the geographer, who, as soon as he was master of his emotion, resumed.

"Yes," said he, in a tone of conviction, "yes, we have gone astray in our search, and have read in the document what is not written there."

"That is very simple, major. Like you, I was in error; like you, I struck upon a false interpretation. When, but a moment ago, at the top of this tree, in answer to the question, at the word 'Australia' an idea flashed through my mind, and all was clear."

"I pretend," replied Paganel, "that the word Austral in the document is not complete, as we have hitherto supposed, but the root of the word Australia."

"Singular!" replied Glenarvan, shrugging his shoulders; "it is simply impossible!"

"What!" added Glenarvan, in a tone of the greatest incredulity, "do you pretend, with that document in your possession, that the shipwreck of the Britannia took place on the shores of Australia?"

"By my faith, Paganel," said Glenarvan, "this is a pretension that astonishes me greatly, coming from the secretary of a geographical society."

"Because, if you admit the word Australia, you admit at the same time that there are Indians in that country, a fact which has not yet been proved."

Paganel was by no means surprised at this argument. He seemingly expected it, and began to smile.

"My dear Glenarvan," said he, "do not be too hasty in your triumph. I am going to defeat you completely, as no Englishman has ever been defeated."

"Listen, then. You say that the Indians mentioned in the document belong exclusively to Patagonia. The incomplete word indi does not mean Indians, but natives (indigènes). Now do you admit that there are natives in Australia?"

"Yes," replied Glenarvan, "if you can prove to me that the imperfect word gonie does not relate to the country of the Patagonians."

"No," cried Paganel, "it certainly does not mean Patagonia. Read anything you will but that."

"That is indifferent to me," replied Paganel; "the word has no importance. I shall not even search for what it may signify. The principal point is that Austral means Australia, and we must have been blindly following a false trail, not to have discovered before so evident a meaning. If I had found the document, if my judgment had not been set aside by your interpretation, I should never have understood it otherwise."

This time cheers, congratulations, and compliments greeted Paganel's words. Austin, the sailors, the major, and Robert especially, were delighted to revive their hopes, and applauded the worthy geographer. Glenarvan, who had gradually been undeceived, was, as he said, almost ready to surrender.

"One last remark, my dear Paganel, and I have only to bow before your sagacity."

"How do you arrange these newly-interpreted words, and in what way do you read the document?"

The hunt promised well, and gave hopes of culinary wonders.

"Nothing is easier. Here is the document," said Paganel, producing the precious paper that he had studied so conscientiously for several days. A profound silence ensued, while the geographer, collecting his thoughts, took his time to answer. His finger followed the incomplete lines on the document, while, in a confident tone, he expressed himself in the following terms:

"'June 7th, 1862, the brig Britannia, of Glasgow, foundered after'—let us put, if you wish, 'two days, three days,' or, 'a long struggle,'—it matters little, it is quite unimportant,—'on the coast of Australia. Directing their course to shore, two sailors and Captain Grant endeavored to land,' or 'did land on the continent, where they will be,' or 'are prisoners of cruel natives. They cast this document,' and so forth. Is it clear?"

"It is clear," replied Glenarvan, "if the word continent can be applied to Australia, which is only an island."

"Be assured, my dear Glenarvan, the best geographers are agreed in naming this island the Australian continent."

"Then I have but one thing to say, my friends," cried Glenarvan. "To Australia, and may Heaven assist us!"

"Do you know, Paganel," added Glenarvan, "that your presence on board the Duncan is a providential circumstance?"

"Well," replied Paganel, "let us suppose that I am an envoy of Providence, and say no more about it."

Thus ended this conversation, that in the future led to such great results. It completely changed the moral condition of the travelers. They had caught again the thread of the labyrinth in which they had thought themselves forever lost. A new hope arose on the ruins of their fallen projects. They could fearlessly leave behind them this American continent, and already all their thoughts flew away to the Australian land. On reaching the Duncan, they would not bring despair on board, and Lady Helena and Mary Grant would not have to lament the irrevocable loss of the captain. Thus they forgot the dangers of their situation in their new-found joy, and their only regret was that they could not start at once.

It was now four o'clock in the afternoon, and they resolved to take supper at six. Paganel wished to celebrate this joyful day by a splendid banquet. As the bill of fare was very limited, he proposed to Robert that they should go hunting "in the neighboring forest," at which idea the boy clapped his hands. They took Thalcave's powder-flask, cleaned the revolvers, loaded them with fine shot, and started.

After their departure Glenarvan and MacNabb went to consult the notches on the tree, while Wilson and Mulready revived the smouldering embers.

Arriving at the surface of this immense lake, they saw no sign of abatement. The waters seemed to have attained their highest elevation; but the violence with which they rolled from south to north proved that the equilibrium of the Argentine rivers was not yet established. Before the liquid mass could lower, it must first become calm, like the sea when flood-tide ends and ebb begins. They could not, therefore, expect a subsidence of the waters so long as they flowed towards the north with such swiftness.

While Glenarvan and the major were making these observations, reports resounded in the tree, accompanied by cries of joy almost as noisy. The clear treble of Robert contrasted sharply with the deep bass of Paganel, and the strife was which should be the most boyish. The hunt promised well, and gave hopes of culinary wonders.

When the major and Glenarvan returned to the fire, they had to congratulate Wilson upon an excellent idea. The honest sailor had devoted himself to fishing with wonderful success, with the aid of a pin and a piece of string. Several dozen of little fish, delicate as smelts, called "mojarras," wriggled in a fold of his poncho, and seemed likely to make an exquisite dish.

At this moment the hunters descended from the top of the tree. Paganel carefully carried some black swallows' eggs and a string of sparrows, which he meant afterwards to serve up as larks. Robert had adroitly brought down several pairs of "hilgueros,"—little green-and-yellow birds, which are excellent eating, and very much in demand in the Montevideo market. The geographer, who knew many ways of preparing eggs, had to confine himself this time to cooking them in the hot ashes. However, the repast was as varied as it was delicate. The dried meat, the hard eggs, the broiled mojarras, and the roast sparrows and hilgueros, formed a repast which was long remembered.

The conversation was very animated. Paganel was greatly complimented in his twofold capacity of hunter and cook, and accepted these encomiums with the modesty that belongs to true merit. Then he gave himself up to singular observations on the magnificent tree that sheltered them with its foliage, and whose extent, as he declared, was immense.

"Robert and I," said he jokingly, "imagined ourselves in the open forest during the hunt. One moment I thought we should be lost. I could not find my way. The sun was declining towards the horizon. I sought in vain to retrace my steps. Hunger made itself felt acutely. Already the gloomy coppices were resounding with the growls of ferocious beasts,—but no, there are no ferocious beasts, and I am sorry."

However, the repast was as varied as it was delicate. The dried meat, the hard eggs, the broiled mojarras, and the roast sparrows and hilgueros, formed a repast which was long remembered.

"Ha! this time, Paganel," said the major, "you will not make me admit the utility of ferocious beasts. What are they good for?"

"Major," cried Paganel, "they are good to form classifications, orders, families, genera, sub-genera, species——"

"Very fine!" said MacNabb. "I should not have thought of that! If I had been one of Noah's companions at the time of the deluge, I should certainly have prevented that imprudent patriarch from putting into the ark pairs of tigers, lions, bears, panthers, and other animals as destructive as they were useless."

"This is shocking," continued Paganel; "for my part, I should have preserved all the animals before the deluge of which we are so unfortunately deprived."

"I tell you," replied MacNabb, "that Noah was right in abandoning them to their fate, admitting that they lived in his time."

"I tell you that Noah was wrong," retorted Paganel, "and deserves the malediction of scholars to the end of time."

The listeners to this argument could not help laughing at seeing the two friends dispute about what Noah ought to have done or left undone. The major, who had never argued with any one in his life, contrary to all his principles, was every day at war with Paganel, who must have particularly excited him.

"However much it is to be regretted, in a scientific or human point of view, that we are deprived of ferocious animals, we must be resigned to-day to their absence. Paganel could not hope to encounter any in this aerial forest."

"No," replied the geographer, "although we beat the bush. It is a pity, for it would have been a glorious hunt. A ferocious man-eater like the jaguar! With one blow of his paw he can twist the neck of a horse. When he has tasted human flesh, however, he returns to it ravenously. What he likes best is the Indian, then the negro, then the mulatto, and then the white man."

"However that may be, my good Paganel," said Glenarvan, "so long as there are no Indians, mulattoes, or negroes among us, I rejoice in the absence of your dear jaguars. Our situation is not, of course, so agreeable——"

"Certainly," replied Glenarvan. "Are you at your ease in these uncomfortable and uncushioned branches?"

"I have never been more so, even in my own study. We lead the life of birds; we sing and flutter about. I almost think that men were destined to live in the trees."

"In the meantime," replied Glenarvan, "permit me, my dear friend, to prefer the sand of a park, the floor of a house, or the deck of a vessel to this aerial abode."

"Glenarvan," said Paganel, "we must take things as they come. If favorable, so much the better; if unfavorable, we must not mind it. I see you long for the comforts of Malcolm Castle."

"I am certain that Robert is perfectly happy," interrupted Paganel, to secure one advocate, at least, of his theories.

"And at mine," added the geographer. "The less ease we have, the fewer wants; the fewer wants, the happier we are."

"Well," said the major, "here is Paganel going to make an attack upon riches and gilded splendor."

"No, my dear major," continued Paganel; "but, if you wish, I will tell you, in this connection, a little Arab story that occurs to me."

"Not much, then," replied MacNabb. "But go on, Scheherezade, and tell one of those stories that you relate so well."

"There was once upon a time," said Paganel, "a son of the great Haroun-al-Raschid who was not happy. He accordingly consulted an old dervish, who told him that happiness was a very difficult thing to find in this world. 'However,' added he, 'I know an infallible way to procure you happiness.' 'What is it?' inquired the young prince. 'It is,' replied the dervish, 'to put on the shirt of a happy man.' Thereupon the prince embraced the old man, and set out in search of his talisman. He visited all the capitals of the earth; he tried the shirts of kings, emperors, princes, and nobles; but it was a useless task, he was no happier. Then he put on the shirts of artists, warriors, and merchants, but with no more success. He had thus traveled far, without finding happiness. At last, desperate from having tried so many shirts, he was returning very sadly one beautiful day to the palace of his father, when he spied in the field an honest laborer, who was joyously singing as he ploughed. 'Here is, at all events, a man who possesses happiness,' said he to himself, 'or happiness does not exist on earth.' He approached him. 'Good man,' said he, 'are you happy?' 'Yes,' replied the other. 'You wish for nothing?' 'No.' 'You would not change your lot for that of a king?' 'Never!' 'Well, sell me your shirt!' 'My shirt! I have none!'"

They were agreed on this point, that it was necessary to have courage for every fortune, and be contented with a tree when one has neither palace nor cottage.

CHAPTER XXV.

BETWEEN FIRE AND WATER.

Jacques Paganel's story had a very great success. He was greatly applauded, but each retained his own opinion, and the geographer obtained the result common to most discussions,—of convincing nobody. However, they were agreed on this point, that it was necessary to have courage for every fortune, and be contented with a tree when one has neither palace nor cottage.

During the course of this confabulation evening had come on. Only a good sleep could thoroughly refresh, after this eventful day. The inmates of the tree felt themselves not only fatigued by the sudden changes of the inundation, but especially overcome by the heat, which had been excessive. Their feathered companions had already set the example; the hilgueros, those nightingales of the Pampas, had ceased their melodious warblings, and all the birds had disappeared in the recesses of the foliage. The best plan was to imitate them.

But before "retiring to their nest," as Paganel said, Glenarvan, Robert, and he climbed to the observatory, to examine for the last time the watery expanse. It was about nine o'clock. The sun had just set in the sparkling mists of the horizon, and all the western part of the firmament was bathed in a warm vapor. The constellations, usually so dazzling, seemed veiled in a soft haze. Still they could be distinguished, and Paganel pointed out to Robert, for Glenarvan's benefit, that zone where the stars are most brilliant.

While the geographer was discoursing thus, the whole eastern horizon assumed a stormy aspect. A dense and dark band, clearly defined, gradually rose, dimming the light of the stars. This cloud of threatening appearance soon invaded almost the entire vault of the sky. Its motive power must have been inherent in itself, for there was not a breath of wind. Not a leaf stirred on the tree, not a ripple curled the surface of the waters. Even the air seemed to fail, as if some huge pneumatic machine had rarefied it. A strong electric current was perceptible in the atmosphere, and every creature felt it course along the nerves. Glenarvan, Paganel, and Robert were sensibly affected by these electric currents.

"And it will be violent," continued Paganel, "so far as I can judge from the state of the sky."

"It is not the storm that troubles me," said Glenarvan, "but the torrents of rain with which it will be accompanied. We shall be drenched to the skin again. Whatever you may say, Paganel, a nest cannot suffice a man, as you will soon learn to your cost."

"Well, then," said Glenarvan, "let us join our friends and persuade them to envelop us with their philosophy and their ponchos as closely as possible, and especially to lay in a stock of patience, for we shall need it."

So saying, he gave another look at the threatening sky. The mass of clouds now covered it entirely. A faint line of light towards the horizon was scarcely discernible in the dimness. The sombre appearance of the water had increased, and between the dark mass below and the clouds above there was scarcely a separation. At the same time all perception seemed dulled; and a leaden torpor rested upon both eyes and ears, while the silence was profound.

His two companions and himself slid down the smooth branches, and were somewhat surprised to find themselves in a remarkable kind of twilight, which was produced by myriads of luminous objects that crossed each other and buzzed on the surface of the water.

"No," replied Paganel, "but phosphorescent insects, real glow-worms,—living diamonds, and not expensive, of which the ladies of Buenos Ayres make magnificent ornaments for themselves."

Robert caught one of the brilliant creatures. Paganel was right. It was a kind of large beetle, an inch in length, to which the Indians give the name of "tuco-tuco." This curious insect threw out flashes at two points situated in front of its sheath, and its light would have enabled one to read in the darkness. Paganel, on bringing it close to his watch, saw that it was ten o'clock.

Glenarvan now joined the major and the three sailors, and gave them instructions for the night. A terrible storm was to be expected. After the first rollings of the thunder, the wind would doubtless break forth and the tree be violently shaken. It was, therefore, advisable for every one to tie himself firmly to the bed of branches that had been appropriated to him. If they could not avoid the torrents of the sky, they must at least guard against those of the earth, and not fall into the rapid current that broke against the trunk of the tree. They wished each other good night without much hope of passing one, and then each, getting into his aerial resting-place, wrapped himself in his poncho and waited for sleep.

The incessant flashes assumed various forms. Some, darting perpendicularly towards the earth, were repeated five or six times in the same place; others spread in zigzag lines, and produced on the dark vault of the heavens astonishing jets of arborescent flame.

But the approach of a mighty tempest brings to the hearts of most sentient beings a vague anxiety of which the bravest cannot divest themselves. The occupants of the tree, agitated and fearful, could not close their eyes, and the first thunder-clap found them all awake. It took place about eleven o'clock, resembling a distant rumbling. Glenarvan climbed to the end of the branch, and peered out from the foliage. The dark firmament was fitfully illumined by vivid and brilliant flashes, which the waters brightly reflected, and which disclosed great rifts in the clouds. Glenarvan, after surveying the zenith and the horizon, returned to his couch.

"I think that the storm is beginning, and, if it continues, it will be terrible."

"So much the better," replied the enthusiastic Paganel. "I like a fine spectacle, especially when I cannot avoid it. Only one thing would make me anxious, if anxiety served to avert danger," added he, "and that is, that the culminating point of this plain is the ombu upon which we are perched. A lightning-conductor would be very useful here, for this very tree among all those of the Pampas is the one that particularly attracts the lightning. And then, as you are aware, my friends, meteorologists advise us not to take refuge under trees during a storm."

"It must be confessed, Paganel," replied Glenarvan, "that you choose a good time to tell us these encouraging things!"

"Bah!" replied Paganel; "all times are good to receive information. Ah, it is beginning!"

Violent thunder-claps interrupted this conversation, and their intensity increased till they reached the most deafening peals. They soon became sonorous, and made the atmosphere vibrate in rapid oscillations. The firmament was on fire, and during this commotion it was impossible to distinguish from what electric spark emanated the indefinitely-prolonged rumblings that reverberated throughout the abysses of the sky.

The incessant flashes assumed various forms. Some, darting perpendicularly towards the earth, were repeated five or six times in the same place; others, separating into a thousand different branches, spread in zigzag lines and produced on the dark vault of the heavens astonishing jets of arborescent flame. Soon the sky, from east to north, was crossed by a phosphorescent band of intense brilliancy. This illumination gradually overspread the entire horizon, lighting up the clouds like a bonfire, and was reflected in the mirror-like waters, forming what seemed to be an immense circle of fire, of which the tree occupied the centre.

Glenarvan and his companions watched this terrific spectacle in silence. Sheets of dazzling light glided towards them, and blinding flashes followed in rapid succession, now showing the calm countenance of the major, then the speculative face of Paganel or the energetic features of Glenarvan, and again the frightened look of Robert or the unconcerned expression of the sailors. The rain, however, did not fall as yet, nor had the wind risen. But soon the flood-gates of the heavens opened, and the rain came down in torrents, the drops, as they struck the surface of the water, rebounding in thousands of sparks illuminated by the incessant lightning.

Did this rain predict the end of the storm? Were Glenarvan and his companions to be released with a few thorough drenchings? At the height of this struggle of the elements, suddenly there appeared at the end of the branch which extended horizontally, a flaming globe, of the size of a fist, and surrounded by a black smoke. This ball, after revolving a few moments, burst like a bombshell, and with a noise that was distinguishable in the midst of the general tumult. A sulphurous vapor filled the atmosphere. There was a moment of silence, and then Tom Austin was heard crying,—

He was right. In a moment the flame, as if it had been communicated to an immense piece of fireworks, spread along the west side of the tree. The dead limbs, the nests of dry grass, and finally the live wood itself, furnished material for the devouring element.

The wind now rose and fanned the flames into fury. Glenarvan and his friends, speechless with terror, and venturing upon limbs that bent beneath their weight, hastily took refuge in the other, the eastern part of the tree.

Meantime the boughs shriveled, crackled, and twisted in the fire like burning serpents. The glowing fragments fell into the rushing waters and floated away in the current, sending forth flashes of ruddy light. The flames at one moment would rise to a fearful height, to be lost in the aerial conflagration, and the next, beaten back by the furious hurricane, would envelop the tree like a robe of molten gold.

Glenarvan, Robert, the major, Paganel, and the sailors, were terrified. A thick smoke was stifling them; an intolerable heat was scorching them. The fire was extending to the lower part of the tree on their side; nothing could stop or extinguish it; and they felt themselves irrevocably doomed to the torture of those victims who are confined within the burning sides of a sacrificial fire-basket.

At last their situation was no longer tenable, and of two deaths they were forced to choose the least cruel.

In a few moments the gigantic water-spout struck the ombu, and enveloped it in its watery folds.

Wilson, whom the flames had reached, had already plunged into the current, when they heard him cry, in tones of the greatest terror,—

"Caymans! caymans!" replied Wilson. And, in truth, the foot of the tree was seen to be surrounded by the most formidable monsters. Their scales glittered in broad plates of light, sharply defined by the conflagration. Their flat tails, their pointed heads, their protruding eyes, their jaws, extending back of their ears, all these characteristic signs were unmistakable. Paganel recognized the voracious alligators peculiar to America, and called caymans in Spanish countries. There were a dozen of them, beating the water with their powerful tails, and attacking the tree with their terrible teeth.

At this sight the unfortunate travelers felt themselves lost indeed. A horrible death was in store for them,—to perish either by the flames or by the teeth of the alligators. There are circumstances in which man is powerless to struggle, and where a raging element can only be repulsed by another equally strong. Glenarvan, with a wild look, gazed at the fire and water leagued against him, not knowing what aid to implore of Heaven.

The storm had now begun to abate; but it had developed in the air a great quantity of vapor, which the electric phenomena were about to set in violent commotion. To the south an enormous water-spout was gradually forming,—an inverted cone of mist, uniting the raging waters below to the stormy clouds above. It advanced revolving with frightful rapidity, collected at its centre a liquid column, and by a powerful attraction, caused by its gyratory motion, drew towards it all the surrounding currents of air.

In a few moments the gigantic water-spout struck the ombu and enveloped it in its watery folds. The tree was shaken to its very base, so that Glenarvan might have thought that the alligators had attacked it with their powerful jaws and were uprooting it from the ground. His companions and he, clinging to one another, felt the mighty tree give way and fall, and saw its flaming branches plunge into the tumultuous waters with a frightful hiss. It was the work of a second. The water-spout had passed, to exert elsewhere its destructive violence, and pumping the waters of the plain as if it would exhaust them.

The tree now, loosened from its moorings, floated onward under the combined impulses of wind and current. The alligators had fled, except one which crawled along the upturned roots and advanced with open jaws; but Mulready, seizing a large brand, struck the creature so powerful a blow that he broke its back. The vanquished animal sank in the eddies of the torrent, still lashing his formidable tail with terrible violence.

Glenarvan and his companions, delivered from these voracious creatures, took refuge on the branches to leeward of the fire, while the tree, wrapped by the blast of the hurricane in glowing sheets of flame, floated on like a burning ship in the darkness of the night.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE RETURN ON BOARD.

For two hours the tree floated on the immense lake without reaching terra firma. The flames had gradually died out, and thus the principal danger of this terrible voyage had vanished. The current, still keeping its original direction, flowed from southwest to northeast; the darkness, though illumined now and then by flashes, had become profound, and Paganel sought in vain for his bearings. But the storm was abating, the large drops of rain gave place to light spray that was scattered by the wind, while the huge distended clouds were crossed by light bands.

The tree advanced rapidly on the impetuous torrent, gliding with surprising swiftness, as if some powerful propelling means were inclosed within its trunk. There was as yet no certainty that they would not float on thus for many days. About three o'clock in the morning, however, the major observed that the roots now and then struck the bottom. Tom Austin, by means of a long branch, carefully sounded, and declared that the water was growing shallow. Twenty minutes later, a shock was felt, and the progress of the tree was checked.

The ends of the charred branches had struck against a hillock on the ground, and never were navigators more delighted to land. Already Robert and Wilson, having reached a firm plateau, were uttering shouts of joy, when a well-known whistle was heard. The sound of a horse's hoofs was heard upon the plain, and the tall form of the Indian emerged from the darkness.

The sound of a horse's hoofs was heard upon the plain, and the tall form of the Indian emerged from the darkness.

"Friends!" said the Patagonian, who had waited for them there, knowing that the current would carry them as it had carried him.

At the same moment he raised Robert in his arms and clasped him to his breast. Glenarvan, the major, and the sailors, delighted to see their faithful guide again, shook his hands with the most earnest cordiality. The Patagonian then conducted them to an abandoned estancia. Here a good fire was burning, which revived them, and on the coals were roasting succulent slices of venison, to which they did ample justice. And when their refreshed minds began to reflect, they could scarcely believe that they had escaped so many perils,—the fire, the water, and the formidable alligators.

Thalcave, in a few words, told his story to Paganel, and ascribed to his intrepid horse all the honor of having saved him. Paganel then endeavored to explain to him the new interpretation of the document, and the hopes it led them to entertain. Did the Indian understand the geographer's ingenious suppositions? It was very doubtful; but he saw his friends happy and very confident, and he desired nothing more.

It may be easily believed that these courageous travelers, after their day of rest on the tree, needed no urging to resume their journey. At eight o'clock in the morning they were ready to start. They were too far south to procure means of transport, and were therefore obliged to travel on foot. The distance, however, was only forty miles, and Thaouka would not refuse to carry from time to time a tired pedestrian. In thirty-six hours they would reach the shores of the Atlantic.

As soon as refreshed the guide and his companions left behind them the immense basin, still covered with the waters, and proceeded across elevated plains, on which, here and there, were seen groves planted by Europeans, meadows, and occasionally native trees. Thus the day passed.

The next morning, fifteen miles before reaching the ocean, its proximity was perceptible. They hastened on in order to reach Lake Salado, on the shores of the Atlantic, the same day. They were beginning to feel fatigued, when they perceived sand-hills that hid the foaming waves, and soon the prolonged murmur of the rising tide struck upon their ears.

And these wanderers, whose strength had seemed almost about to fail, climbed the mounds with wonderful agility. But the darkness was profound, and their eyes wandered in vain over the gloomy expanse. They looked for the Duncan, but could not discern her.

Tom Austin shouted seaward, but received no answer. The wind was very strong, and the sea tempestuous. The clouds were driving from the west, and the foaming crests of the waves broke over the beach in masses of spray. If the Duncan was at the appointed rendezvous, the lookout man could neither hear nor be heard. The coast afforded no shelter. There was no bay, no harbor, no cove; not even a creek. The beach consisted of long sand-banks that were lost in the sea, and the vicinity of which is more dangerous than that of the rocks in the face of wind and tide. These banks, in fact, increase the waves; the sea is peculiarly boisterous around them, and ships are sure to be lost if they strike on these bars in heavy storms.

It was therefore very natural that the Duncan, considering this coast dangerous, and knowing it to be without a port of shelter, kept at a distance. Captain Mangles must have kept to the windward as far as possible. This was Tom Austin's opinion, and he declared that the Duncan was not less than five miles at sea.

The major, accordingly, persuaded his impatient relative to be resigned, as there was no way of dissipating the thick darkness. And why weary their eyes in scanning the gloomy horizon? He established a kind of encampment in the shelter of the sand-hills; the remains of the provisions furnished them a final repast; and then each, following the major's example, hollowed out a comfortable bed in the sand, and, covering himself up to his chin, was soon wrapped in profound repose.

Glenarvan watched alone. The wind continued strong, and the ocean still showed the effects of the recent storm. The tumultuous waves broke at the foot of the sand-banks with the noise of thunder. Glenarvan could not convince himself that the Duncan was so near him; but as for supposing that she had not arrived at her appointed rendezvous, it was impossible, for such a ship there were no delays. The storm had certainly been violent and its fury terrible on the vast expanse of the ocean, but the yacht was a good vessel and her captain an able seaman; she must, therefore, be at her destination.

These reflections, however, did not pacify Glenarvan. When heart and reason are at variance, the latter is the weaker power. The lord of Malcolm Castle seemed to see in the darkness all those whom he loved, his dear Helena, Mary Grant, and the crew of the Duncan. He wandered along the barren coast which the waves covered with phosphorescent bubbles. He looked, he listened, and even thought that he saw a fitful light on the sea.

"I am not mistaken," he soliloquized; "I saw a ship's light, the Duncan's. Ah! why cannot my eyes pierce the darkness?"

Glenarvan watched alone. He could not convince himself that the Duncan was so near him; but as for supposing that she had not arrived at her appointed rendezvous, it was impossible, for such a ship there were no delays.

Then an idea occurred to him. Paganel called himself a nyctalops; he could see in the night.

The geographer was sleeping like a mole in his bed, when a strong hand dragged him from his sandy couch.

"And why my eyes?" said Paganel to himself, delighted, nevertheless, to be of service to Glenarvan.

He rose, shaking his torpid limbs in the manner of one awakened from sleep, and followed his friend along the shore. Glenarvan requested him to survey the dark horizon to seaward. For several moments Paganel conscientiously devoted himself to this task.

"I see neither a red nor a green light. All is darkness," replied Paganel, whose eyes were thereupon involuntarily closed.

For half an hour he mechanically followed his impatient friend in absolute silence, with his head bowed upon his breast, sometimes raising it suddenly. He tottered along with uncertain steps, like those of a drunken man. At last Glenarvan, seeing that the geographer was in a state of somnambulism, took him by the arm, and, without waking him, led him back to his sand-hole, and comfortably deposited him therein.