 Book 2, chapter 19, of In Search of the Castaways. In search of the castaways, or the children of Captain Grant, by Jules Verne. Book 2, chapter 19, Helpless and Hopeless. It was not a time for despair but action. The bridge at Campbell Pier was destroyed, but the snowy river must be crossed come but might. And they must reach Twofold Bay before Ben Joyce and his gang. So, instead of wasting time in empty words, the next day, the 16th of January, John Mangels and Glenarvon went down to examine the river and arrange for the passage over. The swollen and tumultuous waters had not gone down the least. They rushed on with indescribable fury. It would be risking life to battle with them. Glenarvon stood gazing with folded arms and don't cast face. Would you like me to try and swim across? said John Mangels. No, John, no. said Lord Glenarvon, holding back the bold, daring young fellow. Let us wait. And they both returned to the camp. The day passed in the most intense anxiety. Ten times Lord Glenarvon went to look at the river, trying to invent some bold way of getting over, but in vain. Had a torrent of lava rushed between the shores, it would not have been more impassable. During these long-wasted hours Lady Helena, under the major's advice, was nursing Mulrady with the utmost skill. The sailor felt a throb of returning life. McNab's venture to affirm that no vital part was injured. Loss of blood accounted for the patient's extreme exhaustion. The wound once closed and the hemorrhage stopped. Time and rest would be all that was needed to complete his cure. Lady Helena had insisted on giving up the first compartment of the wagon to him, which greatly tried his modesty. The poor fellow's greatest trouble was the delay. His condition might cause Glenarvon, and he made him promise that they should leave him in the camp, under Wilson's care, should the passage of the river became practicable. But unfortunately no passage was practicable, either that day or the next January 17. Glenarvon was in despair. Lady Helena and the major vainly tried to calm him and preached patience. Patience indeed, when perhaps at this very moment Ben Joyce was boarding the yacht, when the Duncan, losing from her moorings, was getting upstream to reach the fatal coast, and each hour was bringing her nearer. John Mangels felt in his own breast all that Glenarvon was suffering. He determined to conquer the difficulty at any price, and constructed a canoe in the Australian manor with large sheets of bark of the gum-trees. These sheets were kept together by bars of wood, and formed a very fragile boat. The captain and the sailor made a trial trip in it during the day. All that skill and strength and tact and courage could do, they did, but they were scarcely in the current before they were upside down, and nearly paid with their lives for the dangerous experiment. The boat disappeared, dragged down by the eddy. John Mangels and Wilson had not gone ten fathoms, and the river was a mile broad, and swollen by the heavy rains and melted snows. Thus passed the 19th and 20th of January. The major and Glenarvon went five miles up the river, in search of a favourable passage, but everywhere they found the same, roaring, rushing, impetuous torrent. The whole southern slope of the Australian Alps poured its liquid masses into this single bed. All hope of saving the Duncan was now at an end. Five days had elapsed since the departure of Ben Joyce. The yacht must be at this moment at the coast, and in the hands of the convicts. However, it was impossible that the state of things could last. The temporary influx would soon be exhausted, and the violence also. Indeed, on the morning of the twenty-first, Paganel announced that the water was already lower. What does it matter now? said Glenarvon. It's too late. There is no reason for our staying longer here, said the major. Certainly not, replied John Mangels. Most tomorrows the river may be practicable. And will that save my unhappy man? cried Glenarvon. Will your lordship listen to me? returned John Mangels. I know Tom Austin. He would execute your orders, and set out as soon as departure was possible. But who knows whether the Duncan was ready, and her injury repaired at the arrival of Ben Joyce. And suppose the yacht could not go to sea. Will serve as a delay of a day or two days? You're right, John, replied Glenarvon. We must get to Twofold Bay, where only thirty-five miles from Delegate. Yes, added Paganel, and that's a town where we shall find rapid means of convenience. Who knows whether we shall arrive in time to prevent a catastrophe? Let us start, cried Glenarvon. John Mangels and Wilson instantly set to work to construct a canoe of larger dimensions. Experience had proved that the bark was powerless against the violence of the torrent. And John accordingly felled some of the gum-trees, and made a rude but solid raft with the trunks. It was a long task, and the day had gone before the work was ended. It was completed next morning. By this time the waters had visibly diminished. The torrent had once more become a river, though a very rapid one, it is true. However, by pursuing a zigzag course and ever coming it, to a certain extent John hoped to reach the opposite shore. At half-past twelve they embarked provisions enough for a couple of days. The remainder was left with the wagon and the tent. Milraddi was doing well enough to be carried over, his convalescence was rapid. At one o'clock they all seated themselves in the raft, still moored to the shore. John Mangels had installed himself at the starboard, and entrusted to Wilson a sort of oar to steady the raft against the current, and lessen the leeway. He took his own stand at the back to steer by means of a large skull. But notwithstanding their efforts, Wilson and John Mangels soon found themselves in an inverse position, which made the action of the oars impossible. There was no help for it, they could do nothing to arrest the gorytory movement of the raft. It turned round with dizzying rapidity and drifted out of its course. John Mangels stood with pale face and sad teeth, gazing at the whirling current. However, the raft had reached the middle of the river about half a mile from the starting point. There the current was extremely strong, and this broke the whirling eddy, and gave the raft some stability. John and Wilson seized their oars again, and managed to push it in an oblique direction. This brought him nearer to the left shore. They were not more than fifty phasms from it, when Wilson's oar snapped short off, and the raft no longer supported was dragged away. John tried to resist at the risk of breaking his own oar, too, and Wilson, with bleeding hands, seconded his efforts with all his might. At last they succeeded, and the raft, after a passage of more than half an hour, struck against a steep bank of the opposite shore. The shock was so violent that the logs became disunited. The cords broke and the water bubbled up between. The travelers had barely time to catch hold of the steep bank. They dragged out more ready, and the two dripping ladies. Everyone was safe, but the provisions and firearms, except the carving of the major, went drifting down with the debris of the raft. The river was crossed. The little company found themselves almost without provisions, thirty-five miles from Delegate, in the midst of the unknown deserts of the Victoria frontier. Neither settlers nor squatters were to be met with. It was entirely uninhabited, unless by ferocious bush rangers and bandits. They resolved to set off without delay, more ready so clearly that he would be a great drag on them, and he begged to be allowed to remain, and even to remain alone, till assistance could be sent from Delegate. Glenarvon refused. It would be three days before he could reach Delegate, and five the shore, that is to say, the 26th of January. Now as the Duncan had left Melbourne on the sixteenths, what difference would a few days delay make? Now my friend he said, I will not leave anyone behind. We will make a litter, and carry you in turn. The litter was made of baths of eucalyptus covered with branches, and whether he would or not, Mulredy was obliged to take his place on it. Glenarvon would be the first to carry his sailor. He took hold of one end and Wilson of the other, and all set off. What a sad spectacle, and how lamentably was this expedition to end, which had commenced so well. They were no longer in search of Harry Grant, this continent where he was not, and never had been, threatened to prove fatal to those who sought him. And when these intrepid countrymen of his should reach the shore, they wouldn't find the Duncan waiting to take them home again. The first day passed silently and painfully. Every ten minutes the litter changed beaurs. All the sailor's comrades took their share in this task without murmuring, though the fatigue was augmented by the great heat. In the evening, after a journey of only five miles, they camped under the gumtrees. The small store of provisions saved from the raft composed the evening meal. But all they had to depend upon now was the major's carabine. It was a dark rainy night, and morning seemed as if it would never dawn. They set off again, but the major could not find a chance of firing a shot. This fatal region was only a desert, unfrequented even by animals. Fortunately, Robert discovered a bastard's nest with a dozen of large eggs in it, which albinette cooked on hot cinders. These, with a few roots of porcelain which were growing at the bottom of the ravine, were all the breakfast of the 22nd. The root now became extremely difficult. The sandy plains were bristling with spinifex, a prickly plant which is called in Melbourne the porcupine. It tears the clothing to wrecks and makes the legs bleed. The courageous ladies never complained, but footed it bravely, setting an example and encouraging one another by word or look. They stopped in the evening at Mount Bula Bula on the edge of the Changala Creek. The supper would have been very scant, if McNabs had not killed a large rat, the most candidore which is highly spoken of as an article of diet. When it roasted it, and it would have been pronounced even superior to its reputation, had it equaled the sheep in size. They were obliged to be content with it, however, and it was devoured to the bones. On the 23rd, the weary but still energetic travellers started off again. After having gone round the foot of the mountain, they crossed the long prairies where the grass seemed made of whale bone. It was a tangle of darts, a medley of sharp little sticks, and a path had to be cut through either with the hatchet or fire. That morning there was not even a question of breakfast. Nothing could be more barren than this region, strewn with pieces of quartz. Not only hunger but thirst began to assail the travellers. A burning atmosphere heightened their discomfort. Glenarvon and his friends could only go half a mile an hour. Would this lack of food and water continue till evening? They would all think on the road, never to rise again. But when everything fails a man, and he finds himself without resources, at the very moment when he feels he must give up, the providence steps in. Water presented itself in the cephalods, a species of cup-shaped flour, filled with refreshing liquid, which hung from the branches of color-reformed-shaped bushes. They all quenched their thirst with these, and felt new life returning. The only food they could find was the same as the natives were forced to subsist upon, when they could find neither game nor serpents nor insects. Paganot is carried in the dry bed of a creek, a plant whose excellent properties had been frequently described by one of his colleagues in the Geographical Society. It was the Nardu, a cryptogamos plant of the family Marcilacchea, and the same which kept Burke and King alive in the deserts of the interior. Under its leaves, which resembled those of the tree-file, there were dried spirals as large as a lentil, and these spirals, when crushed between two stones, made a sort of flower. This was converted into coarse bread, which stilled the pangs of hunger at least. There was a great abundance of this plant growing in the district, and Albin had gathered a large supply, so that they were sure of food for several days. The next day, the twenty-fourth, Mulradi was able to walk part of the way. His wound was entirely cicatrized. The town of Delegit was not more than ten miles off, and that evening they camped and longed to at one hundred and forty degrees, on the very frontier of New South Wales. For some hours, a fine but penetrating rain had been falling. There would have been no shelter from this, if by chance John Mangels had not discovered a sawyer's hut, deserted and dilapidated to a degree. But with this miserable cabin, they were obliged to be content. John wanted to kindle a fire to prepare the Nardu bread, and he went out to pick up the dead wood scattered all over the ground. But he found it would not light. The great quantity of albuminous matter which it contained prevented all combustion. This is the incombustible wood put down by Paganel in his list of Australian products. They had to dispense with fire, and consequently with food, too, and sleep in their red clothes, while the laughing jackasses, concealed in the high branches, seemed to ridicule the poor unfortunates. However, Glenarvon was nearly at the end of his sufferings. It was time. The two young ladies were making heroic efforts, but their strength was hourly decreasing. They dragged themselves along, almost unable to walk. This morning they started a daybreak. At eleven a.m. Deligit came inside in the county of Wellesley, and fifty miles from Twofold Bay. Means of conveyance were quickly procured here, hope returned to Glenarvon as they approached the coast. Perhaps there might have been some slight delay, and after all, they might get there before the arrival of the Duncan. In twenty-four hours they would reach the bay. At noon, after a comfortable meal, all the travelers, installed in a mailcoach, drawn by five strong horses, left Deligit at a gallop. The postillons stimulated by a promise of a princely dog cure, drove rapidly along over a well-kept road. They did not lose a minute in changing horses, which took place every ten miles. It seemed as if they were infected with Glenarvon's seal. All that day and night, too, they traveled on at the rate of six miles an hour. In the morning at sunrise, a dual murmur fell on their ears, and announced their approach to the Indian Ocean. They required to go round the bay to gain the coast at the thirty-seventh parallel, like that point where Tom Austin was to wait their arrival. When the sea appeared, all eyes anxiously gazed at the offing. As the Duncan, by a miracle of providence there, running close to a shore, as the months ago, when they crossed Cape Corrientes, they had found her on the Argentine coast. They saw nothing. Sky and earth mingled in the same horizon, not a sail enlivened the waystretch of ocean. One hope still remained. Perhaps Tom Austin had thought it his duty to cast anchor in two-fold bay, for the sea was heavy, and a ship would not dare to venture near the shore. To Eden cried Glenarvon. Immediately the mail-coach resumed the route round the bay, towards the little town of Eden, five miles distant. The postulant stopped not far from the lighthouse, which marks the entrance of the port. Several vessels were moored in the roadstead, but none of them bore the flag of Malcolm. Glenarvon, John Mangles and Paganil got out of the coach, and rushed to the custom house to inquire about the arrival of vessels within the last few days. No ship had touched the bay for a week. Perhaps the yacht has not started, Glenarvon said, a sudden revulsion of feeling lifting him from despair. Perhaps we have arrived first. John Mangles shook his head. He knew Tom Austin. His first mate would not delay the execution of an order for ten days. I must know at all events how they stand, said Glenarvon, better certainties in doubt. A quarter of an hour afterward a telegram was sent to the syndicate of shipbrokers in Melbourne. The whole party is in repair to the Victoria Hotel. At 2 p.m. the following telegraphic reply was received. Lord Glenarvon Eden, two-fold bay. The Duncan left on the 16th, current, destination unknown, G. Andrews, S.P. The telegram dropped from Glenarvon's hands. There was no doubt now. The good owner, Scotch Yacht, was now a pirate ship in the hands of Ben Joyce. So ended this journey across Australia, which had commenced under circumstances so favorable. All trace of Captain Grant and his shipwrecked men seemed to be irrevocably lost. This ill success had caused the loss of a ship's crew. Lord Glenarvon had been vanguished in the strife, and the courageous searchers, whom the unfriendly elements of the Pampas had been unable to check, had been conquered on the Australian shore by the perversity of men. End of Chapter 19 and End of Book 2. Book 3. Chapter 1 of In Search of the Castaways This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Christine. In Search of the Castaways or The Children of Captain Grant by Jules Verne. Book 3. Chapter 1. A Rough Captain If ever the searchers after Captain Grant were tempted to despair, surely it was at this moment when all their hopes were destroyed at a blow. Toward what quarter of the world should they direct their endeavours? How were they to explore new countries? The Duncan was no longer available, and even an immediate return to their own land was out of the question. Thus the enterprise of these generous scots had failed, a despairing word that finds no echo in a brave soul. And yet under the repeated blows of adverse fate, Glenner von himself was compelled to acknowledge his inability to prosecute his devoted efforts. Mary Grant at this crisis nerfed herself to the resolution never to utter the name of her father. She suppressed her own anguish when she thought of the unfortunate crew who had perished. The daughter was merged in the friend, and she now took upon her to console Lady Glenner von, who till now had been her faithful conforter. She was the first to speak of returning to Scotland. John Mungles was filled with admiration at seeing her so courageous and so resigned. He wanted to say a word further in the captain's interest, but Mary stopped him with a glance, and afterwards said to him, No, Mr. John, we must think of those who ventured their lives. Lord Glenner von must return to Europe. You are right, Miss Mary, answered John Mungles. He must. Beside, the English authorities must be informed of the fate of the Duncan, but do not despair. Rather than abandon our search, I will resume it alone. I will either find Captain Grant or perish in the attempt. It was a serious undertaking to which John Mungles bound himself. Mary accepted and gave her hand to the young captain, as if to ratify the treaty. On John Mungles' side it was a life's devotion on Mary's and dying gratitude. During that day their departure was finally arranged. They resolved to reach Melbourne without delay. Next day John went to inquire about the ships ready to sail. He expected to find frequent communication between Eden and Victoria. He was disappointed. Ships were scarce. Three or four vessels, anchored in two-fold bay, constituted the mercantile fleet of the place. None of them were bound for Melbourne, nor Sydney, nor point the gale, at any of which ports Glenner von Wood had found ships loading for England. In fact, the peninsular and oriental company has a regular line of packets between these points and England. Under these circumstances what was to be done? Waiting for a ship might be a tedious affair, for two-fold bay is not much frequented. Numbers of ships pass by without touching. After due reflection and discussion, Glenner von Wood had nearly decided to follow the coast road to Sydney, when Paganow made an unexpected proposition. The geographer had visited two-fold bay on his own account, and was aware that there were no means of transport for Sydney or Melbourne. But of the three vessels anchored in the roadstead, one was loading for Auckland, the capital of the northern island of New Zealand. Paganow's proposal was to take the ship in question and get to Auckland, once it would be easy to return to Europe by the boats of the peninsular and oriental company. This proposition was taken into serious consideration. Paganow on this occasion dispensed with the volley of arguments he generally indulged in. He confined himself to the bay proposition, adding that the voyage to New Zealand was only five or six days, the distance in fact being only about a thousand miles. By a singular coincidence, Auckland is situated on the self-same parallel, the 37s, which the explorers had perseveringly followed since they left the coast of Arawkainia. Paganow might fairly have used this as an argument in favour of his scheme, in fact it was a natural opportunity of visiting the shores of New Zealand. But Paganow did not lay stress on this argument. After two mistakes he probably hesitated to attempt a third interpretation of the document. Besides, what could he make of it? It said positively that a continent had served as a refuge for Captain Grant, not an island. Now New Zealand was nothing but an island. This seemed decisive, whether for this reason or for some other. Paganow did not connect any idea of further search with this proposition of reaching Auckland. He merely observed that regular communication existed between that point and Great Britain, and that it was easy to take advantage of it. John Mangle supported Paganow's proposal. He advised its adoption, and it was hopeless to await the problematical arrival of a vessel in twofold debate. But before coming to any decision, he thought it best to visit the ship mentioned by the geographer. Glenarvon the major Paganel Robert and Mangle himself took a boat, and a few strokes brought them alongside the ship anchored two cable slings from the quay. It was a brig of hundred and fifty tons named the Mockery. It was engaged in the coasting trade between the various ports of Australia and New Zealand. The captain, or rather the master, received his visitors gruffly enough. They perceived that they had to do with a man of no education, and whose manners were in no degree superior to those of the five sailors of his crew. With a coarse red face, thick hands, and a broken nose, blind of an eye, at his lips stained with the pipe, Will Halley was a sadly brutal-looking person. But they had no choice, and for a so short a voyage it was not necessary to be very particular. "'What do you want?' asked Will Halley, when the stranger stepped on the poop of his ship. "'The captain,' answered John Mangle's, "'I am the captain,' said Halley. "'What else do you want?' The Mockery is loading for Auckland, I believe. "'Yes, what else?' What does she carry?' "'Everything's saleable and purchasable. What else?' "'When does she sail?' "'Tomorrow at the midday tide. What else?' "'Does she take passengers?' That depends on who the passengers are, and whether they are satisfied with the ship's mess. "'They would bring their own provisions.' "'What else?' "'What else?' "'Yes, how many are there?' "'Nine, two of them are ladies. "'I have no cabins. We will manage such space as may be left as their disposal.' "'What else?' "'Do you agree?' said John Mangle, who was not in the least put out by the captain's peculiarities. "'We'll see,' said the master of the Mockery. Will Halley took two or three turns on the poop, making interest sound with iron-heeled boots, and then he turned abruptly to John Mangle's. "'What would you pay?' said he. "'What do you ask?' replied John. "'Fifty pounds.' Glenirvan looked consent. "'Very good. Fifty pounds,' replied John Mangle's. "'But passage only,' added Halley. "'Yes, passage only.' "'Food extra.' "'Extra?' "'Agreed, and now?' said Will, putting out his hand. "'What about the deposit money?' "'Here is half of the passage money, twenty-five pounds,' said Mangle, counting out the sum to the master. "'All aboard, tomorrow,' said he, before noon, "'whether or no highway anchor. "'We will be punctual.'" This said Glenirvan, the major, Robert Paganel and John Mangle's left the ship. Halley not so much as touching the oil-skin that adorned his red locks. "'What a brute!' exclaimed John. "'He will do,' answered Paganel. "'He is a regular seabolf. "'A down-red beer,' added the major. "'I fancy,' said John Mangle's, "'that the said beer has dealt in human flesh in his time.' "'What major?' answered Glenirvan, "'as long as he commands the Macquarie, and the Macquarie goes to New Zealand. "'From Twofold Bay to Auckland, we shall not see much of him. "'After Auckland, we shall see him no more.'" Lady Helena and Mary Grant were delighted to hear that their departure was arranged for tomorrow. Glenirvan warned them that the Macquarie was inferior in comfort to the Duncan, but after what they had gone through they were indifferent to travelling annoyances. Wilson was told off to arrange the accommodation on board the Macquarie. Under his busy brush and broom things soon changed their aspect. Will Halley shrugged his shoulders and left the sailor half his way. Glenirvan and his party gave him no concern. He neither knew nor cared to know their names. His new freight represented fifty pounds, and he raided it far below the two hundred tons of cured hides which were stowed away in his hold. Skins first, men after. He was a merchant. As to his sailor qualification, he was said to be skillful enough in navigating these seas, whose reefs make them very dangerous. As the day drew to a close, Glenirvan had a desire to go again to the point on the coast cut by the 37th parallel. Two motorists prompted him. He wanted to examine once more the presumed scene of the wreck. Ayrton had certainly been quartermaster of the Britannia, and the Britannia might have been lost on this part of the Australian coast, on the east coast if not on the west. It would not do to live without thorough investigation, a locality which they were never to revisit. And then, failing the Britannia, the Duncan certainly had fallen into the hands of the convicts. Perhaps there had been a fight. There might yet be found on the coast traces of the struggle, a last resistance. If the crew had perished among the waves, the waves probably had thrown some bodies in the shore. Glenirvan, accompanied by his faithful John, went to carry out the final search. The landlord of the Victoria Hotel lent them two horses, and they set out on the northern roads at Scourts To Fault Bay. It was a melancholy journey. Glenirvan and Captain Joint trotted along without speaking, but they understood each other. The same thoughts, the same anguish, harrowed both their hearts. They looked at the seaworn rocks, they needed no words of question or answer. Once well-tried zeal and intelligence were a guarantee that every point was strupulously examined. The least likely places, as well as the sloping beaches and sandy plains, were even the slight tides of the Pacific might have thrown some fragments of wreck. But no indication was seen that could suggest further search in that quarter. All traces of the wreck escaped them still. As to the Duncan, no trace either. All that part of Australia bordering the ocean was desert. Still John Mangles, discovered on the Scourts of the shore evident traces of camping, remains of fires recently kindled under solicitoring male trees, had a tribe of wandering blacks past that were late. Now, for Glenirvan saw a token which furnished incantestible proof that the convicts had frequented the part of the coast. This token was a grey and yellow garment worn unpatched, an ill omen drag thrown down at the foot of a tree. It bore the convict's original number at the first penitentiary. The felon was not there, but his filthy garments betrayed his passage. This livery of crime, after having closed some mistreened, was now decaying on this desert shore. You see John, said Glenirvan, the convicts got as far as here, and our poor comrades of the Duncan. Yes, said John in a low voice, they never landed, they perished. Those vretches cried Glenirvan, if ever they fall into my hands I will avenge my crew. Grief had hardened Glenirvan's features. For some minutes he gazed at the expense before him, as if taking a last look at some ship disappearing in the distance. Then his eyes became dim, he recovered himself in a moment, and without a border look he set off at a gallop toward Eden. The wanderers passed their last evening sadly enough. Their thoughts recalled all the misfortunes they had encountered in this country. They remembered how full of well-warranted hope they had been at Cape Bernoulli, and how cruelly disappointed at two-fold bay. Paganel was full of feverish agitation. Van Mangels, who had watched him since the affair of the snowy river, felt that the geographer was hesitating whether to speak or not to speak. A thousand times he had pressed him with questions, and failed in obtaining an answer. But that evening John, enlightening him to his room, asked him why he was so nervous. Friend John, said Paganel, evasively, I am not more nervous tonight than I always am. Mr. Paganel answered John, you have a secret that chokes you. Well, cried the geographer, gesticulating, what can I do, it is stronger than I. What is stronger? My joy on the one hand, my despair on the other. You rejoice and despair at the same time? Yes, at the idea of visiting New Zealand. Why? Have you any trace? Asked John eagerly. Have you recovered the lost tracks? No friend John, no one returns from New Zealand, but still, you know human nature, all we want to nourish hope is breath. My device is Spiros Pero, and it is the best motto in the world. Chapter 1. Book 3. Chapter 2. Of. In search of the castaways. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Christine. In search of the castaways, or the children of Captain Grant, by Jules Byrne. Book 3. Chapter 2. Navigators and their discoveries. Next day, the 27th of January, the passengers of a mockery were installed on board of the brig. Will Halle had not offered his cabin to these lady passengers. This omission was the last to be deployed, for the den was worthy of the bear. At half past twelve the anchor was weighed, having been loosed from its holding ground with some difficulty. A moderate breeze was blowing from the south-west. The sails were gradually unfurled. The five hands made slow work. Wilson offered to assist the crew, but Halle begged him to be quiet, and not to interfere with what did not concern him. He was accustomed to manage his own affairs, and required neither assistance nor advice. This was aimed at John Mangels, who had smiled at the clumsiness of some manor. John took the hint, but mentally resolved that he would nevertheless hold himself in readiness, in case the incapacity of the crew should endanger the safety of the vessel. However, in time, the sails were adjusted by the five sailors, aided by the stimulus of the captain's oath. The mockery stood out to sea on the larboard tack, under all her lower sails, top sails, top gallants, cross-check and jib. By and by the other sails were hoisted, but in spite of this additional canvas the break made very little way. Her rounded bow, the widths of her hold and her heavy stern made her a bed sailor, the perfect type of a wooden shoe. They had to make the best of it, happily five days or at most six would take them to Auckland, no matter how bad a sailor the mockery was. At seven o'clock in the evening the Australian coast and the lighthouse of the Port of Eden had faded out of sight. The ship laboured on the lumpy sea and rolled heavily in the trough of the waves. The passengers below suffered a good deal from this motion, but it was impossible to stay on deck as it rained violently. Thus they were condemned to close imprisonment. Each one of them was lost in his own reflections. Words were few. Now and then Lady Helena and Miss Grant exchanged a few syllables. Leonard one was restless. He went in and out, while the major was impassive. John Mangels, followed by Robert, went on the poop from time to time to look at the weather. Maganel sat in his corner, muttering vague and incoherent words. What was the worst the geographer thinking of? Of New Zealand, the country to which destiny was leading him. He went mentally over all his history. He called to mind the scenes of the past in that ill-omened country. But in all that history was there a fact, was there a solitary incident that could justify the discoverers of these islands in considering them as continent? Could a modern geographer or a sailor concede to them such a designation? Paganel was always revolving the meaning of the document. He was possessed with the idea. It became his ruling thought. After Patagonia, after Australia, his imagination allured by a name flew to New Zealand. But in that direction one point and only one stood in his way. Contin, Contin, he repeated, that must mean continent. And then he resumed his mental retrospect of the navigators who made known to us these two great islands of the Southern Sea. It was on the 30th of December 1642 that the Dutch navigator Tasman, after discovering one demon's land, sighted the unknown shores of New Zealand. He coasted along for several days, and on the 17th of December his ships penetrated into a large bay, which, terminating in a narrow strait, separated the two islands. The northern island was called by the natives Ikana Mani, a word which signifies the fish of Mani. The southern island was called Tavaiponamu, the whale that yielded the green stones. Albert Tasman sent his boats on shore, and they returned accompanied by two canoes, an annoys the company of natives. These savages were middle-hate of brown or yellow of complexion, angular bones, harsh verses and black hair, which was dressed in the Japanese manner, and surmounted by a tall white feather. The first interview between Europeans and Aborigines seemed to promise amicable and lasting intercourse. But the next day, when one of Tasman's boats was looking for an anchorage nearer to the land, seven canoes, manned by a great number of natives, attacked them fiercely. The boat capsized and filled. The quartermaster in command was instantly struck with a badly sharpened spear, and fell into the sea. Of his six companions four were killed, the other two on the quartermaster were able to swim to the ships, and were picked up and recovered. After this sad occurrence Tasman set sail, confining his revenge to giving the natives a few musket shots, which probably did not reach them. He left this bay, which still bears the name of the massacre bay, followed the western coast, and on the 5th of January anchored near the northernmost point. Here the islands of the surf, as well as the unfriendly attitude of the natives, prevented his obtaining water, and he finally quitted these shores, giving them the name state and land, or the land of the states, in honor of the states general. The Dutch navigator concluded that these islands were adjacent to the islands of the same name on the east of Terro del Fuego, at the southern point of the American continent. He thought he had found the great southern continent. But, said Paganouto himself, what a 17th century sailor might call a continent would never stand for one with a 19th century man. No such mistake can be supposed. No. There is something here that baffles me. End of Book 3, Chapter 2. Book 3, Chapter 3, of, in search of the castaways. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Christine. In search of the castaways, or the children of Captain Grant, by Jules Verne, Book 3, Chapter 3, the martyr role of navigators. On the 31st of January, four days after starting, the mockery had not done two-thirds of the distance between Australia and New Zealand. Will Halley took very little heed to the working of the ship. He let sinks take their chance. He seldom showed himself, for which no one was sorry. No one would have complained if he had passed all his time in his cabin, but for the fact that the Brutal Captain was every day under the influence of Gin or Brandy. His sailors willingly followed his example, and no ship ever sailed more entirely depending on providence than the mockery did from Twofold Bay. This unpartaunable carelessness obliged John Mangels to keep a wretchful eye over open. Malriddy and Wilson more than once brought round the helm, when some careless steering threatened to throw the ship on her beam ends. Often Will Halley would interfere and abuse the two sailors with a volley of oaths. The latter, in their impatience, would have liked nothing better than to bind this drunken captain and lower him into the hold for the rest of the voyage. But John Mangels succeeded, after some persuasion, in calming their well-grounded indignation. Still the position of things filled him with anxiety, but for fear of alarming Glen Irvine he spoke only to Paganel or the Major. McNabs recommended the same course as Malriddy and Wilson. If you think it would be for the general good, John, said McNabs, you should not hesitate to take the command of the vessel. When we get to Auckland, the drunken, in base sail can resume his command, and then he is at liberty to wreck himself if that is his fancy. All that is very true, Mr. McNabs, and if it is absolutely necessary, I will do it. As long as we are on open sea, a careful look-out is enough. My sailors and I are watching on the poop, but when we get near the coast, I confess I shall be uneasy if Halley does not come to his senses. Could not you direct the course? asked Paganel. That would be difficult, replied John. Would you believe it that there is not a chart on board? Is that so? It is indeed. The mockery only does a coasting trade between Aden and Auckland, and Halley is so at home in these waters that he takes no observations. I suppose he thinks the ship knows the way, and steers herself, ha-ha, laughed John Mangles. I do not believe in ships that steer themselves. And if Halley is drunk when we get among soundings, he will get us all into trouble. Let us hope, said Paganel, that the neighbourhood of land will bring him to his senses. Well then, said McNabs, if needs were, you could not sail the mockery into Auckland. Not a chart of the coast, certainly not. The coast is very dangerous. It is a series of shallow fjords as irregular and capricious as the fjords of Norway. There are many reefs, and it requires great experience to avoid them, if hercules stroke one of those rocks that are submerged but a few feet below the water. In that case, those on board would have to take refuge on the coast, if there was time. A terrible extremity, said Paganel, for they are not hospitable shores, and the dangers of the land are not less appalling than the dangers of the sea. You are referred to the Maoris, Montier Paganel, asked John Mangles. Yes, my friend, they have a bad name in these waters. It is not a matter of timid or brutish Australians, but of an intelligent and sanctuary race, cannibals, greedy of human flesh, man-eaters, to whom we should look in vain for pity. Well then, exclaimed the Major, if Captain Grant had been wrecked on the coast of New Zealand, you would dissuade us from looking for him. Oh, you might search on the coasts, replied the Geographer, because you might find traces of the Britannia, but not in the interior, for it would be perfectly useless. The European, who ventures into these fatal districts, falls into the hands of the Maoris, and a prisoner in the hands of the Maoris is a lost man. I have urged my friends to cross the Pampas, to toil over the plains of Australia, but I will never lure them into the mazes of the New Zealand forest. May heaven be our guide, and keep us from ever, being thrown within the power of those fierce natives. In search of the castaways, or the children of Captain Grant, by Jules Verne. Book 3, Chapter 4, The Wreck of the Mackery. Still this weary some voyage dragged on. On the 2nd of February, six days from starting, the Mackery had not yet made a nearer acquaintance with the shores of Auckland. The wind was fair, nevertheless, and blew steadily from the southwest, but the currents were against the ship's course, and she scarcely made any way. The heavy, lumpy sea strained her cordage, her timbers creaked, and she labored painfully in the trough of the sea. Her standing rigging was so out of order that it allowed play to the math, which were violently shaken at every roll of the sea. Fortunately, Will Halley was not a man in a hurry, and did not use oppressive canvasts, or as mass would inevitably have come down. John Mangles, therefore, hoped that the wretched hole would reach port without accident, but it grieved him that his companions should have to suffer so much discomfort from the defective arrangements of the brig. Neither Lady Helena nor Mary Grant uttered a word of complaint, though the continuous rain obliged them to stay below, where the want of air and the violence of the motion were painfully felt. They often braved the weather, and went on the poop till driven down again by the force of the sudden squall. Then they returned to the narrow space, fitter for stowing cargo than accommodating passengers, especially ladies. Their friends did their best to amuse them. Paganel tried to beguile the time with the stories, but it was a hopeless cause. Their minds were so distracted at this change of route as to be quite unhinged. Much as they had been interested in his dissertation on the pompous or Australia, his lectures on New Zealand fell on cold and indifferent ears. Besides, they were going to this new and ill-reputed country without enthusiasm, without conviction, not even of their own free will, but solely at the bidding of destiny. Of all the passengers on board the Macquarie, the most to be pitied was Lord Glenarvon. He was rarely to be seen below. He could not stay in one place. His nervous organization, highly excited, could not submit to confinement between four narrow bulkheads. All day long, even all night, regardless of the torrents of rain and the dashing waves, he stayed on the poop, sometimes leaning on the rail, sometimes walking to and fro in feverish agitation. His eyes wandered ceaselessly over the blind horizon. He scanned it eagerly during every short interval of clear weather. It seemed as if he sought to question the voiceless waters. He longed to tear away the veil of fog and vapor that obscured his view. He could not be resigned in his features expressed at bitterness of his grief. He was a man of energy, till now happy and powerful, and deprived in a moment of power and happiness. John Mangles bore his company and endured him with the inclemency of the weather. On this day, Glenarvin looked more anxiously than ever at each point where break in the mist enabled him to do so. John came up to him and said, Your lordship is looking out for land? Glenarvin shook his head in dissent. And yet, said the young captain, You must be longing to quit this vessel. We ought to have seen the lights of Auckland thirty-six hours ago. Glenarvin made no reply. He still looked, and for a moment his glass was pointed toward the horizon to windward. The land is not on that side, my lord, said John Mangles. Look more to starboard. Why, John, replied Glenarvin, I am not looking for the land. What then, my lord? My yacht, the Duncan, said Glenarvin hotly. It must be here on this coast, skimming these very waves, playing the vile part of a pirate. It is here, John, I am certain of it, on the track of vessels between Australia and New Zealand, and I have a pre-sentiment that we shall fall in with her. God keep us from such a meeting. Why, John? Your lordship forgets our position. What could we do in this ship if Duncan gave chase? We could not even fly. Fly, John? Yes, my lord, we should try in vain. We should be taken, delivered up to the mercy of those wretches. And Ben Joyce has showed us that he does not stop at a crime. Our lives would be worth little. We would fight to the death, of course. But after that? Think of Lady Glenarvin. Think of Mary Grant. Your girls, mother Glenarvin, John, my heart is broken, and sometimes despair nearly masters me. I feel as if fresh misfortunes awaited us, and that heaven itself is against us. It terrifies me. You, my lord, not for myself, John, but for those I love, whom you love also. Keep up your heart, my lord, said the young captain. We must not look out for troubles. The Macquarie sails badly, but she makes some way nevertheless. Will Halley is a brute, but I am keeping my eyes open, and if the coast looks dangerous, I will put the ship's head to sea again. So that, on that score, there is little or no danger. But as to getting alongside the Duncan, God forbid, and if your lordship is bent on looking out for her, let it be in order to give her a wide berth. John Mangles was right. An encounter with a Duncan would have been fatal to the Macquarie. There was every reason to fear such an engagement in these narrow seas in which pirates could ply their trade without risk. However, for that day at least, the yacht did not appear, and the sixth night from their departure from two-fold bay came without the fears of John Mangles being realized. But that night was to be a night of terrors. Darkness came on almost suddenly at seven o'clock in the evening. of book three chapter four book three chapter five of in search of the castaways this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Michael Anthony Petronik in search of the castaways or the children of Captain Grant by Jules Verne book three chapter five cannibals Will Halley and his crew taking advantage of the darkness of night and the sleep of the passengers had fled with the only boat there could be no doubt about it the captain whose duty would have kept him on board to the last had been the first to quit the ship the cowards are off said John Mangles well my lord so much the better they have spared us some trying scenes no doubt said Glen Arvin besides we have a captain of our own and courageous if unskillful sailors your companions John say the word and we are ready to obey the major Paganel Robert Wilson Mulrady Albina himself applauded Glen Arvin speech and ranged himself on the deck ready to execute their captain's orders what is to be done as Glen Arvin it was evident that raising a Macquarie was out of the question and no less evident that she must be abandoned waiting on board for sucker that might never come would have been imprudence and folly before the arrival of a chance vessel on the scene the Macquarie would have broken up the next storm or even a high tide raised by the winds from seaword would roll it on the sands break it into splinters and scatter them on the shore John was anxious to reach the land before this inevitable consummation he proposed to construct a raft strong enough to carry the passengers in a sufficient quantity of provisions to the coast of New Zealand there was no time for discussion the work was to be said about it once and they had made considerable progress when night came and interrupted them toward eight o'clock in the evening after supper while Lady Helena and Mary Grant slept in her bursts Paganel and his friends conversed on the serious matters as they walked up and down the deck Robert had chosen to stay with them the brave boy listened with all his ears ready to be of use and willing to enlist in any perilous adventure Paganel asked John Mangalese whether the craft could not follow the coast as far as Auckland instead of landing its freight on the coast John replied that the voyage was impossible with such an unmanageable craft and what we cannot do on a raft could have been done in the ship's boat yes if necessary answer John but we should have had to sail by day and anchor at night then those wretches who abandoned us all as for them to John they were drunk and in the darkness I have no doubt they paid for their cowardice with their lot for the boat would have been very useful to us what would you have Paganel the raft will bring us to the shore said Glenarbon the very thing I would paint a void said the geographer what do you think another 20 miles after crossing the pompous in Australia can have any terrors for us hardened as we are to fatigue my friend replied Paganel I do not call in question our courage nor the bravery of our friends 20 miles would be nothing in any other country than New Zealand you cannot suspect me of faint heartedness I was the first to persuade you to cross America and Australia but here the case is different I repeat anything is better than to venture into this treacherous country anything is better in my judgment said John mangleys then braving certain destruction on a stranded vessel what is your so formidable in New Zealand ask Glenarbon the savages said Paganel the savages repeated Glenarbon can we not avoid them by keeping to the shore but in any case what have we to fear surely to resolute and well-armed Europeans need not give a thought to an attack by a handful of miserable beings Paganel shook his head in this case there are no miserable beings to contend with the New Zealanders are a powerful race who are rebelling against English rule who fight the invaders and often beat them and who always eat them cannibals exclaimed Robert cannibals then they heard him whisper my sister Lady Helena don't frighten yourself my boy singlin Ivan our friend Paganel exaggerates far from it rejoin Paganel Robert has shown himself a man and I treat him as such in not concealing the truth from him Paganel was right cannibalism has become a fixed fact in New Zealand as it is in the Fiji's and in the Torres Straits superstition is no doubt partly to blame but cannibalism is certainly owing to the fact that there are moments when game is scarce and hunger great the savages began by eating human flesh to appease the demands of an appetite rarely satiated subsequently the priest regulated and satisfied the monstrous custom what was a meal was raised to the dignity of a ceremony that is all besides in the eyes of the meories nothing is more natural than to eat one another the missionaries often question them about cannibalism they asked them why they devoured their brothers to which the chiefs made answer that fishy fish dogs eat men men eat dogs and dogs eat one another even the Maori mythology has a legend of a God who ate another God and was such a precedent who could resist eating his neighbor another strange notion is that eating a dead enemy they consume his spiritual being and so inherit his soul his strength and his bravery which they hold are especially lodged in the brain this accounts for the fact that the brain figures in the feast as the choices delicacy and is offered to the most honored guest but while he acknowledged all this Paganel maintained not without a sure reason that sensuality and especially hunger was the first cause of cannibalism among the New Zealanders and not only among the Polynesian races but also among the savages of Europe for said he cannibalism was long prevalent among the ancestors of the most civilized people and especially if the major will not think me personal among the Scotch really said McNabs yes major replied Paganel if you read certain passages of Saint Jerome on the Anticoly of Scotland you will see what he thought of your forefathers and without going so far back his historic times under the reign of Elizabeth when Shakespeare was dreaming out of his Shylock a Scotch bandit Sonny Bean was executed for the crime of cannibalism was it religion that prompted him to cannibalism no it was hunger hunger said John Mangles hunger repeated Paganel but above all the necessity of the carnivorous appetite of replacing the bodily waste by the azote contained in animal tissue the lungs are satisfied with the provision of vegetable and farnaceous food but to be strong and active the body must be supplied with those plastic elements that renew the muscles until the major is become members of the vegetarian association they will eat meat and human flesh as meat why not animal flesh as Glenarvin because they have no animals replied Paganel and that ought to be taken into account not to extenuate but to explain their cannibal heads quadrupeds and even birds are rare on these inhospitable shores so that the majories have always eaten human flesh there are even man-eating seasons as there are in civilized countries hunting seasons they begin the great wars and whole tribes are served up on the tables of the conquerors well then said Glenarvin according to your motive reasoning Paganel cannibalism will not cease in New Zealand until her pastor's team with sheep and oxen evidently my dear lord and even then it will take years to wean them from Maori flesh which they prefer to all others for the children will still have a relish for what their father's so highly appreciated according to them it tastes like pork with even more flavor as to white men's flesh they do not like it so well because the whites eat salt with their food which gives a peculiar flavor not to the taste of connoisseurs they are dainty said the major but black or white do they eat it raw or cook it why what is that you mr. McNabs cried Robert what is that to me exclaimed the major earnestly if I am to make a meal for a cannibal I should prefer being cooked why because then I should be sure of not being eaten alive very good major said Paganel but suppose they cooked you alive the fact is and to the major I will not give half a crown for the choice well McNabs if it will comfort you you may as well be told the New Zealanders do not eat flesh without cooking or smoking it they're very clever and experienced in cookery for my part I very much dislike the ideal of being eaten the ideal of endings one life in the maw of a stranger the conclusion of all said John mangleys is that we must not fall into their hands let us hope that one day Christianity will abolish all these monstrous customs yes we must hope so replied Paganel but believe me a savagous tasted human flesh is not easily persuaded to forego it I will relate two facts which prove it by all means let us have the facts Paganel said Glen Armand the first is narrated in the chronicles of the Jesuit society in Brazil a Portuguese missionary was one day visiting an old Brazilian woman who was very ill she had only a few days to live the Jesuit inculcated the truths of religion which the dying woman accepted without objection then having attended to her spiritual once he be thought himself of her bodily needs and offered her some European delicacies I'll ask she said my digestion is too weak to bear any kind of food there was only one thing I could fancy and nobody here could get it for me what is it as the Jesuit my son she said it is the hand of a little boy I feel as if I should enjoy munching the little bones horrid what I wonder is it so very nice said Robert my second tail will answer you my boy said Paganel one day a missionary was reproving a cannibal for the horrible customs so abhorrent to God's laws of eating human flesh and beside said he it must be so nasty oh father said the savage looking greedily at the missionary say that God forbids it that is a reason for what you tell us but don't say it is nasty if you had only tasted it end of book 3 chapter 5 recording by Michael Anthony Petronic book 3 chapter 6 of in search of the castaways this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recorded by Laurie Ann Walden in search of the castaways or the children of Captain Grant by Jules Verne book 3 chapter 6 a dreaded country Paganel's facts were indisputable the cruelty of the New Zealanders was beyond a doubt therefore it was dangerous to land but had the danger been a hundred fold greater it had to be faced John Mangles felt the necessity of leaving without delay a vessel doomed to certain and speedy destruction there were two dangers one certain and the other probable but no one could hesitate between them as to their chance of being picked up by a passing vessel they could not reasonably hope for it the Macquarie was not in the track of ships bound to New Zealand they keep further north for Auckland further south for New Plymouth and the ship had struck just between these two points on the desert region of the shores of Ika Na Mani a dangerous difficult coast and infested by desperate characters when shall we get away asked Glenarvin tomorrow morning at 10 o'clock replied John Mangles the tide will then turn and carry us to land next day February 5 at 8 o'clock the raft was finished John had given all his attention to the building of this structure the four-yard which did very well for mooring the anchors was quite inadequate to the transport of passengers and provisions what was needed was a strong manageable raft that would resist the force of the waves during a passage of nine miles nothing but the masts could supply suitable materials Wilson and Mulrady set to work the rigging was cut clear and the main mast chopped away at the base fell over the starboard rail which crashed under its weight the Macquarie was thus raised like a pontoon when the lower mast the top masts and the Royals were sawn and split the principal pieces of the raft were ready they were then joined to the fragments of the four mast and the whole was fastened securely together John took the precaution to place in the interstices half a dozen empty barrels which would raise the structure above the level of the water on this foundation Wilson laid a kind of floor in open work made of the gratings off the hatches the spray could then dash on the raft without staying there and the passengers would be kept dry in addition to this the hose pipes firmly lashed together formed a kind of circular barrier which protected the deck from the waves that morning John seeing that the wind was in their favor rigged up the Royal yard in the middle of the raft as a mast it was stayed with shrouds and carried a makeshift sail a large broad bladed ore was fixed behind to act as a rudder in case the wind was sufficient to require it the greatest pains had been expended on strengthening the raft to resist the force of the waves but the question remained whether in the event of a change of wind they could steer or indeed whether they could hope ever to reach the land at nine o'clock they began to load first came the provisions in quantity sufficient to last till they should reach Auckland for they could not count on the productions of this barren region all the net stores furnished some preserved meat which remained of the purchase made for their voyage in the Macquarie this was but a scanty resource they had to fall back on the course vions of the ship sea biscuits of inferior quality and two casks of salt fish the steward was quite crestfallen these provisions were put in hermetically sealed cases staunch and safe from seawater and then lowered on to the raft and strongly lashed to the foot of the mast the arms and ammunition were piled in a dry corner fortunately the travelers were well armed with carbines and revolvers a holding anchor was also put on board in case John should be unable to make the land in one tide and would have to seek moorings at ten o'clock the tide turned the breeze blew gently from the northwest and a slight swell rocked the frail craft are we ready asked John already captain answered Wilson all aboard cried John lady Helena and Mary Grant descended by a rope ladder and took their station at the foot of the mast on the cases of provisions their companions near them Wilson took the helm John stood by the tackle and Mulrady cut the line which held the raft to the ship's side the sail was spread and the frail structure commenced its progress toward the land aided by wind and tide the coast was about nine miles off a distance that a boat with good oars would have accomplished in three hours but with a raft allowance must be made if the wind held they might reach the land in one tide but if the breeze died away the ebb would carry them away from the shore and they would be compelled to anchor and wait for the next tide a serious consideration and one that filled John mangles with anxiety still he hoped to succeed the wind freshened the tide and the wind had turned at ten o'clock and by three they must either make the land or anchor to save themselves from being carried out to sea they made a good start little by little the black line of the reefs and the yellow banks of sand disappeared under the swelling tide extreme watchfulness and perfect skill were necessary to avoid these submerged rocks and steer a bark that did not readily answer to the helm and that constantly broke off at noon they were still five miles from shore a land in the northeast Rosa mountain about 2,300 feet high who sharply defined outline was exactly like the grinning face of a monkey turned towards the sky it was perongia which the map gave as exactly on the 38th parallel at half past 12 Paganel remarked that all the rocks had disappeared under the rising tide all but one answered lady Helena which madam asked Paganel Which, madam?" asked Paganel. There, replied she, pointing to a black speck a mile off. Yes, indeed, said Paganel, let us try to ascertain its position, so as not to get too near it, for the sea will soon conceal it. It is exactly in a line with the northern slope of the mountain, said John Mangels. Wilson, mind you, give it a wide berth. Yes, captain, answered the sailor, throwing his whole weight on the great ore that steered the raft. In half an hour they had made half a mile, but, strange to say, the black point still rose above the waves. John looked attentively and, in order to make it out, borrowed Paganel's telescope. That is no reef, said he, after a moment. It is something floating which rises and falls with the swell. Is it part of the mast of the Macquarie, asked Lady Helena? No, said Glenarvin, none of her timbers could have come so far. Stay, said John Mangels, I know it, it is the boat. The ship's boat, exclaimed Glenarvin. Yes, my lord, the ship's boat, keel up. The unfortunate creatures, cried Lady Helena, they have perished. Yes, madam, replied John Mangels, they must have perished, for in the midst of these breakers in a heavy swell on that pitchy night they ran to certain death. For a few minutes the passengers were silent. They gazed at the frail craft as they drew near it. It must evidently have capsized about four miles from the shore, and not one of the crew could have escaped. But this boat may be of use to us, said Glenarvin. That is true, answered John Mangels. Keep her up, Wilson. The direction was slightly changed, but the breeze fell gradually, and it was two hours before they reached the boat. Morady, stationed forward, fended off the blow, and the yaw was drawn alongside. Empty, asked John Mangels. Yes, captain, answered the sailor, the boat is empty, and all it seems are open. It is of no use to us. No use at all, said McNabs. None at all, said John Mangels. It is good for nothing but to burn. I regret it, said Paganel, for the yaw might have taken us to Auckland. We must bear our fate, Manger Paganel, replied John Mangels. But for my part, in such a stormy sea, I prefer our raft to that crazy boat. A very slight shock would be enough to break her up. For, my lord, we have nothing to detain us further. As you think best, John. Own then, Wilson, said John, and bear straight for the land. There was still an hour before the turn of the tide, and that time they might make two miles. But the wind soon fell almost entirely, and the raft became nearly motionless, and soon began to drift to Seward under the influence of the ebb tide. John did not hesitate the moment. Let go the anchor, said he. Mulrady, who stood to execute this order, let go the anchor in five fathoms' water. The raft backed about two fathoms on the line, which was then at full stretch. The sail was taken in, and everything made snug for a tedious period of inaction. The returning tide would not occur till nine o'clock in the evening, and as John Mangels did not care to go on in the dark, the anchorage was for the night, or at least till five o'clock in the morning, and being in sight at a distance of less than three miles. A considerable swell raised the waves, and seemed to set in continuously toward the coast. And perceiving this, Glenarvin asked John why he did not take advantage of this swell to get nearer to the land. Your lordship is deceived by an optical illusion, said the young captain. Although the swell seems to carry the waves landward, it does not really move at all. It is mere undulating molecular motion, nothing more. Throw a piece of wood overboard, and you will see that it will remain quite stationary except as the tide affects it. There is nothing for it but patience. Anne, dinner, said the major. O'Bannette unpacked some dried meat and a dozen biscuits. The steward blushed as he proffered the meager bill of fare. But it was received with a good grace, even by the ladies, who, however, had not much appetite owing to the violent motion. This motion produced by the jerking of the raft on the cable while she lay head-on to the sea was very severe and fatiguing. The blows of the short, tumbling seas were as severe as if she had been striking on a submerged rock. Sometimes it was hard to believe that she was not aground. The cable strained violently, and every half hour John had to take in a fathom to ease it. Without this precaution it would certainly have given way, and the raft must have drifted to destruction. John's anxiety may easily be understood. His cable might break, or his anchor lose its hold, and in either case the danger was imminent. Night drew on. The sun's disc, enlarged by refraction, was dipping blood red below the horizon. The distant waves glittered in the west, and sparkled like sheets of liquid silver. Nothing was to be seen in that direction but sky and water, except one sharply defined object, the hull of the maquery motionless on her rocky bed. The short twilight postponed the darkness only by a few minutes, and soon the coast outline, which bounded the view on the east and north, was lost in darkness. The shipwrecked party were in an agonizing situation on their narrow raft, and overtaken by the shades of night. Some of the party fell into a troubled sleep, a prey to evil dreams. Others could not close an eye. When the day dawned, the whole party were worn out with fatigue. With the rising tide the wind blew again toward the land. It was six o'clock in the morning, and there was no time to lose. John arranged everything for resuming their voyage, and then he ordered the anchor to be weighed. But the anchor flukes had been so embedded in the sand by the repeated jerks of the cable that without a windlass it was impossible to detach it, even with the tackle which Wilson had improvised. Half an hour was lost in vain efforts. John, impatient of delay, cut the rope, thus sacrificing his anchor, and also the possibility of anchoring again if this tide failed to carry them to land. But he decided that further delay was not to be thought of, and an axe blow committed the raft to the mercy of the wind, assisted by a current of two knots an hour. The sail was spread. They drifted slowly toward the land, which rose in gray, hazy masses on a background of sky illumined by the rising sun. The reef was dexterously avoided and doubled, but with the fitful breeze the raft could not get near the shore. What toil and pain to reach a coast so full of danger when attained. At nine o'clock the land was less than a mile off. It was a steeply shelving shore, fringed with breakers. A practicable landing-place had to be discovered. Gradually the breeze grew fainter, and then ceased entirely. The sail flapped idly against the mast, and John had it furled. The tide alone carried the raft to the shore, but steering had become impossible, and its passage was impeded by immense bands of fukus. At ten o'clock John found himself almost at a stand still, not three cables' length from the shore. Having lost their anchor they were at the mercy of the ebb tide. John clenched his hands. He was wracked with anxiety, and cast frenzied glances toward this inaccessible shore. In the midst of his perplexities a shock was felt. The raft stood still. It had landed on a sand-bank twenty-five fathoms from the coast. Glenarvon, Robert, Wilson, and Mulrady jumped into the water. The raft was firmly moored to the nearest rocks. The ladies were carried to land without wetting a fold of their dresses, and soon the whole party, with their arms and provisions, were finally landed on these much-dreaded New Zealand shores. THE MIORI WAR Glenarvon would have liked to start without an hours delay and follow the coast to Auckland, but since the morning heavy clouds had been gathering, and toward eleven o'clock, after the landing was affected, the vapours condensed into violent rain, so that instead of starting they had to look for shelter. Wilson was fortunate enough to discover what just suited their wants, a grotto hollowed out by the sea in the basaltic rocks. There the travellers took shelter with their arms and provisions. In the cave they found a ready-garnered store of dried sea-weed, which formed a convenient couch. For fire they lighted some wood near the mouth of the cavern, and dried themselves as well as they could. John hoped that the duration of this deluge of rain would be in an inverse ratio to its violence, but he was doomed to disappointment. Hours passed without any abatement of its fury. The wind freshened, and increased the force of the storm. The most patient of men would have rebelled at such an untoward incident, but what could be done without any vehicle? They could not brave such a tempest, and after all, unless the natives appeared on the scene, a delay of twelve hours was not so much consequence, as the journey to Auckland was only a matter of a few days. During this involuntary halt the conversation turned on the incidents of the New Zealand War, but to understand and appreciate the critical position into which these Macquarie passengers were thrown, something ought to be known of the history of the struggle which had deluged the island of Iknamani with blood. Since the arrival of Abel Tasman in Cooks Strait on the 16th of December, 1642, though the New Zealanders had often been visited by European vessels, they had maintained their liberty in their several islands. No European power had thought of taking possession of this archipelago which commands the whole Pacific Ocean. The missionaries stationed at various points were the sole channels of Christian civilization. Some of them, especially the Anglicans, prepared the minds of the New Zealand chiefs for submitting to the English yoke. It was cleverly managed, and these chiefs were influenced to sign a letter addressed to Queen Victoria to ask her protection. But the most clear-sighted of them saw the folly of this step, and one of them, after having affixed his tattoo mark to the letter by way of signature, uttered these prophetic words, We have lost our country, henceforth it is not ours, soon the stranger will come and take it, and we shall be his slaves. And so it was, on January 29, 1840, the English corvette, Harold, arrived to claim possession. From the year 1840 to the day the Duncan left the Clyde, nothing had happened here that Paganel did not know, and he was ready to impart his information to his companions. Madam, said he, in answer to Lady Helene's questions, I must repeat what I had occasion to remark before, that the New Zealanders are a courageous people, who yielded for a moment but afterward fought foot to foot against the English invaders. The Maori tribes are organised like the old clans of Scotland. They are so many great families owning a chief who is very jealous of his prerogative. The men of this race are proud and brave, one tribe tall, with straight hair, like the Maltese, or the Jews of Baghdad, the other smaller, thick-sat like mulattoes, but robust, haughty and warlike. They had a famous chief, named Hihi, a real, versent and jorix, so that you need not be astonished that the war with the English has become chronic in the northern island, for in it is the famous tribe of the Waikatoes, who defend their land under the leadership of William Thompson. But, said John Mangels, are not the English in possession of the principal points in New Zealand? Certainly, dear John, replied Paganel, after Captain Hobson took formal possession and became governor, nine colonies were founded at various times between 1840 and 1862 in the most favourable situations. These formed the nucleus of nine provinces, four in the North Island and five in the Southern Island, with a total population of 184,346 inhabitants, on the thirtieth of June, 1864. But what about this interminable war? asked John Mangels. Well, said Paganel, six months long have gone by since we left Europe, and I cannot say what may have happened during that time, with the exception of a few facts which I gathered from the newspapers of Maryborough and Seymour during our Australian journey. At that time the fighting was very likely in the Northern Island. And when did the war commence? asked Mary Grant. Recommend, you mean, my dear young lady, replied Paganel, for there was an insurrection so far back as 1845. The present war began toward the close of 1863, but long before that date the Mayorys were occupied in making preparations to shake off the English yoke. The national party among the natives carried on an active propaganda for the election of a Mayory ruler. The object was to make old Patatu king and to fix as the capital of the new kingdom his village, which lay between Wakato and Wappy Rivers. Patatu was an old man, remarkable rather for cunning than for bravery, but he had a Prime Minister who was both intelligent and energetic, a descendant of the Niktikahas, who occupied the Isthmus before the arrival of the strangers. This Minister, William Thompson, became the soul of the War of Independence, and organized the Mayory troops with great skill. Under this guidance a Teranaki chief gathered the scattered tribes around the same flag. A Wakato chief formed a land league intended to prevent the natives from selling their land to the English government, and war-like feasts were held, just as in civilized countries on the verge of revolution. The English newspapers began to notice these alarming symptoms, and the government became seriously disturbed at these land league proceedings. In short, the train was laid and the mine was ready to explode. Nothing was wanted but the spark, or rather the shock of rival interests to produce the spark. This shock took place in 1860 in the Teranaki province on the southwest coast of Ikna Mani. A native had six hundred acres of land in the neighbourhood of New Plymouth. He sold them to the English government, but when the surveyor came to measure the purchase land the Chief Kingi protested, and by the month of March he had made the six hundred acres in question into a fortified camp surrounded with high palisades. Some days after Colonel Gold carried this fortress at the head of his troops, and that day heard the first shot fired of the native war. Have the rebels been successful up to this time? Yes, madam, and the English themselves have often been compelled to admire the courage and bravery of the New Zealanders. Their mode of warfare is of the guerrilla type. They form skirmishing parties, come down in small detachments, and pillage the colonists' homes. General Cameron had no easy time in the campaigns, during which every push had to be searched. In 1863, after a long and sanguinary struggle, the Majoris were entrenched in strong and fortified position on the upper Wakato. At the end of a chain of steep hills, and covered by three miles of forts, the native prophets called on all the Majori population to defend the soil and promise the extermination of the Ipakakas, or white men. General Cameron had three thousand volunteers at his disposal, and they gave no quarter to the Majoris after the barbarous murder of Captain Sprint. Several bloody engagements took place. In some instances the fighting lasted twelve hours before the Majoris yielded to the English cannonade. The heart of the army was the fierce Wakato tribe under William Thompson. This native general commanded at the outset two thousand five hundred warriors. Afterward increased to eight thousand. The men of Shangyi and Heki, two powerful chiefs, came to his assistance. The women took their part in the most trying labours of this patriotic war. But Wright has not always might. After severe struggles General Cameron succeeded in subduing the Wakato district, but empty and depopulated, for the Majoris escaped in all directions. Some wonderful exploits were related. Four hundred Majoris, who were shut up in the fortress of Oraka, besieged by one thousand English, under Brigadier General Kerry, without water or provisions, refused to surrender. But one day at noon cut their way through the then decimated fortieth regiment and escaped to the Marshes. But, asked John Mangels, did the submission of the Wakato district put an end to the Sangrenary War? No, my friend, replied Paganel, the English resolved to march on Teranaki province and besiege Metatawa, William Thompson's fortress, but they did not carry it without great loss. Just as I was leaving Paris I heard that the Governor and the General had accepted the submission of the Teranga tribes and left them in possession of three-fourths of their lands. It was also rumored that the principal chief of the rebellion, William Thompson, was inclined to surrender. But the Australian papers have not confirmed this, but rather the contrary, and I should not be surprised to find that at this moment the war is going on with renewed vigor. Then, according to you, Paganel, said Glenarvin, this struggle is still going on in the provinces of Auckland and Teranaki. I think so. This very province where the Macquarie's wreck has deposited us. Exactly. We have landed a few miles above Cahia Harbour, where the Mayory flag is probably still floating. Then our most prudent course would be to keep toward the north, remarked Glenarvin. By far the most prudent, said Paganel, the New Zealanders are incensed against Europeans and especially against the English. Therefore let us avoid falling into their hands. We might have the good fortune to fall in with the detachment of European troops, said Lady Helene. We may, madam, replied the geographer, but I do not expect it. Detached parties do not like to go far into the country, where the smallest tussock, the thinnest brushwood, make and seal, and accomplish marksmen. I don't fancy we shall pick up an escort of the fortieth regiment. But there are mission stations on this west coast, and we shall be able to make them our halting places till we get to Auckland. CHAPTER VIII. On the seventh of February at six o'clock in the morning the signal for departure was given by Glenarvin. During the night the rain had ceased, the sky was veiled with light grey clouds, which moderated the heat of the sun, and allowed the travellers to venture on a journey by day. Paganel had measured on the map a distance of eighty miles between Point Kauhia and Auckland, it was an eight days journey if they made ten miles a day. But instead of following the windings of the coast, he thought it better to make for a point thirty miles off, at the confluence of the Wakato and the Waipa, at the village in Garnavia. The overland track passes that point, and is rather a path than a road, practicable for the vehicles which go almost across the island, from Napier in Hots Bay to Auckland. From this village it would be easy to reach Drury, and there they could rest in an excellent hotel, highly recommended by Dr. Hotschstitter. The travellers, each carrying a share of the provisions, commenced to follow the shore of Aotia Bay. From prudential motives they did not allow themselves to struggle, and by instinct they kept a lookout over the undulating plains to the eastward, ready with their loaded carbines. Paganel, map in hand, took a professional pleasure in verifying the minutest details. The country looked like an immense prairie which faded into distance, and promised an easy walk. But the travellers were undeceived when they came to the edge of this verdant plain. The grass gave way to a low scrub of small bushes bearing little white flowers, mixed with those innumerable tall ferns with which the lands of New Zealand abound. They had to cut a path across the plain, through these woody stems, and this was a matter of some difficulty, but at eight o'clock in the evening the first slopes of the Hukkarihawata ranges were turned, and the party camped immediately. After a fourteen-day's march they might well think of resting. Neither wagon nor tent being available they sought repose beneath some magnificent Norfolk Island pines. They had plenty of rugs which make good beds. Glenarvon took every possible precaution for the night. His companions and he, well armed, were to watch in turns two and two till daybreak. No fires were lighted. Barriers of fire are a potent preservation from wild beasts, but New Zealand has neither tiger nor lion nor bear, nor any wild animal, but the Maori adequately fills their place, and a fire would only have served to attract this two-footed jaguar. The night passed pleasantly with the exception of the attack of the sand flies, called by the natives in Gamu, and the visit of the audacious family of rats who exercised their teeth on the provisions. Next day, on the 8th of February, Paganal rose more sanguine and almost reconciled to the country. The Maori's whom he particularly dreaded had not yet appeared, and these ferocious cannibals had not molested him even in his dreams. I begin to think that our little journey will end favourably. This evening we shall reach the confluence of the Waipa and Wakato, and after that there is not much chance of meeting natives on this way to Auckland. How far is it now, said Glenarvon, to the confluence of the Waipa and Wakato? Fifteen miles, just about what we did yesterday. But we shall be terribly delayed if this interminable scrub continues to obstruct our path. No, said Paganal, we shall follow the banks of the Waipa, and then we shall have no obstacle, but on the contrary a very easy road. Well, then, said Glenarvon, seeing the ladies ready, let us make a start. During the early part of the day the thick brushwood seriously impeded their progress. Neither wagon nor horses could have passed where travellers passed, so that their Australian vehicle was but slightly regretted. Until practicable wagon roads are cut through these forests of scrub, New Zealand will only be accessible to foot passengers. The ferns, whose name is Legion, concur with the Maori's in keeping strangers off the lands. The little party overcame many obstacles in crossing the plains in which the Hakari-Hawata ranges rise. Before noon they reached the banks of the Waipa and followed the northward course of the river. The Major and Robert, without leaving their companions, shot some snipe and partridge under the low shrubs of the plain. Albinet, to save time, plucked the birds as he went along. Paganal was less absorbed by the culinary importance of the game than by the desire of obtaining some bird peculiar to New Zealand. His curiosity as a naturalist overcame his hunger as a traveller. He called to mind the peculiarities of the tui of the natives, sometimes called the mockingbird from its incessant chuckle, and sometimes the parson, in allusion to the white cravat it wears over its black, castle-like plumage. The tui, said Paganal to the Major, grows so fat during the winter that it makes him ill, and prevents him from flying. Then he tears his breast with his beak to relieve himself of his fat, and so becomes lighter. Does that not seem to use singular, McNabs? So singular that I don't believe a word of it, replied the Major. Paganal, to his great regret, could not find a single specimen, or he might have shown the incredulous Major the bloody scars on the breast. But he was more fortunate with a strange animal which, hunted by men, cats, and dogs, has fled toward the unoccupied country, and is fast disappearing from the fauna of New Zealand. Robert, searching like a ferret, came upon a nest made of interwoven roots, and in it a pair of birds destitute of wings and tail, with four toes, a long, snipe-like beak, and a covering of white feathers over the whole body, singular creatures which seem to connect the oviparous tribes with the mammifers. It was the New Zealand kiwi, the apturix australis of naturalists, which lives with equal satisfaction on larvae, insects, worms, or seeds. The bird is peculiar to the country. It has been introduced into a very few of the zoological collections of Europe. Its graceless shape and comical motions have always attracted the notice of travellers, and during the great exploration of the astrolabe and the zeely, Dermott Durville was principally charged by the Academy of Sciences to bring back a specimen of these singular birds. But in spite of the rewards offered to the natives, he could not obtain a single specimen. Paganel, who was elated at such a piece of luck, tied the two birds together, and carried them along with the intention of presenting them to the Jardin des Plants in Paris, presented by Monsieur Jacques Paganel. He mentally saw the flattering inscription on the handsomest cage in the gardens. Sanguine geographer. The party pursued their way without fatigue along the banks of the Waipa. The country was quite deserted, not a trace of natives nor any track that could betray the existence of man. The stream was fringed with tall bushes or glided along sloping banks so that nothing obstructed the view of the low range of hills which closed the eastern end of the valley. With their grotesque shapes and their outlines lost in a deceptive haze, they brought to mind giant animals, worthy of antediluvian times. They might have been a herd of enormous whales, suddenly turned to stone. These disrupted masses proclaimed their essential volcanic character. New Zealand is, in fact, a formation of recent plutonic origin. Its emergence from the sea is constantly increasing. Some points are known to have risen six feet in twenty years. Fire still runs across its center, shakes it, convulses it, and finds an outlet in many places by the mouths of geysers and the craters of volcanoes. At four in the afternoon, nine miles had been easily accomplished. According to the map which Paganel constantly referred to, the confluence of the Waipa and Wakaito ought to be reached about five miles further on, and there the night halt could be made. Two or three days would then suffice for the fifty miles which lay between them and the capital, and if Glenarvon happened to fall in with the male coach that plies between Hawks Bay and Auckland twice a month, eight hours would be sufficient. Therefore, said Glenarvon, we shall be obliged to camp during the night once more. Yes, said Paganel, but I hope for the last time. I am very glad to think so, for it is very trying for Lady Helena and Mary Grant. And they never utter a murmur, added John Mangels, but I think I heard you mention a village at the confluence of these rivers. Yes, said the Geographer, here it is, marked on Johnston's map. It is in Garnavahia, two miles below the junction. Well, could we not stay there for the night? Lady Helena and Miss Grant would not grudge two miles more to find a hotel of even a humble character. A hotel, cried Paganel, a hotel in a Maori village. You would not find an inn, not a tavern. This village will be a mere cluster of huts, and so far from seeking rest there, my advice is that you give it a wide berth. Your old fears, Paganel, retorted Glenarvon. My dear Lord, where Maori's are concerned, distrust is safer than confidence. I do not know on what terms they are with the English, whether the insurrection is suppressed or successful, or whether indeed the war may not be going on with full vigor. Modesty apart, people like us would be a prize, and I must say I would rather forego a taste of Maori hospitality. I think it's certainly more prudent to avoid this village of Inganavahia, to skirt it at a distance, so as to avoid all encounters with the natives. When we reach Drury it will be another thing, and there our brave ladies will be able to recruit their strength at their leisure. This advice prevailed. Lady Helena preferred to pass another night in the open air, and not to expose her companions to danger. Neither Mary Grant nor she wished to halt, and they continued their march along the river. Two hours later the first shades of eming began to fall. The sun, before disappearing below the western horizon, darted some bright rays through an opening in the clouds. The distant eastern summits were imperpled with the parting glories of the day. It was like a flying salute addressed to the way-worn travellers. Glenarvon and his friends hastened their steps. They knew how short the twilight is in this high latitude, and how quickly the night follows it. They were very anxious to reach the confluence of the two rivers before the darkness overtook them. But a thick fog rose from the ground and made it very difficult to see the way. Fortunately hearings stood them in the stead of sight. Shortly a nearer sound of water indicated that the confluence was at hand. At eight o'clock the little troop arrived at the point where the waipa loses itself in the Wakato, with a moaning sound of meeting waves. There is the Wakato, cried Paganel, and the road to Auckland is along its right bank. We shall see that to-morrow, said the Major. Let us camp here. It seems to me that that dark shadow is that of a little clump of trees grown expressly to shelter us. Let us have supper and then get some sleep. Supper, by all means, said Paganel, but no fire, nothing but biscuit and dried meat. We have reached this spot incognito. Now let us try and get away in the same manner. By good luck the fog is in our favour. The clump of trees was reached, and all concurred in the wish of the Geographer. The cold supper was eaten without a sound, and presently a profound sleep overcame the travelers, who were tolerably fatigued with their fifteen miles march.