 INTRODUCTION The three books gathered under the title in search of the castaways occupied much of Verne's attention during the three years following 1865. The characters used in these books were afterwards reintroduced in The Mysterious Island, which was in its turn a sequel to Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. Thus this entire set of books formed a united series upon which Verne worked intermittently during ten years. In search of the castaways, which has also been published as The Children of Captain Grant and as a voyage around the world, is perhaps most interesting in connection with the last of these titles. It is our author's first distinctly geographical romance. By an ingenious device he sets before the rescuers a search which compels their circumnavigation of the globe around a certain parallel of the southern hemisphere. Thus they cross in turn through South America, Australia and New Zealand besides visiting minor islands. The three great regions form the subtitles of the three books which compose the story. In each region the rescuers meet with adventurers characteristic of the land. They encounter Indians in America, boost rangers in Australia, and Maori's in New Zealand. The passage of the searching party gives ground, one is almost tempted to say excuse for a close and careful description of each country and of its inhabitants step by step. Even the lesser incidents of the story are employed to emphasize the distinctive features of each land. The explorers are almost frozen on the heights of the Andes and almost drowned in the floods of the Patagonian Pampas. An avalanche sweeps some of them away, a condor carries off a lad. In Australia they are stopped by jungles and by quagmires. They hunt kangaroos. In New Zealand they take refuge amid hot sulfur springs and in a house tabooed. They escape by starting a volcano into eruption. Here then are fancy and extravagance mixed with truth and information. Vern has done a vast and useful work in stimulating the interest not only of Frenchmen but of all civilized nations with regard to the lesser known regions of our globe. He has broadened the knowledge and guided study. During the years following 1865 he even, for a time, deserted his favorite field of labour, fiction, and devoted himself to a popular semi-scientific book, now superseded by later works, entitled The Illustrated Geography of France and Her Colonies. Vern has perhaps had a larger share than any other single individual in causing the ever-increasing yearly tide of international travel. And because with mutual knowledge among the nations comes mutual understanding and appreciation, mutual brotherhood, hence Jules Vern was one of the first and greatest of those teachers who are now leading us toward international peace. End of introduction. Book 1, Chapter 1 of the 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. In Search of the Castaways, or The Children of Captain Grant, by Jules Vern. On the 26th of July, 1864, a magnificent yacht was steaming along the North Channel at full speed, with a strong breeze blowing from the northeast. The Union Jack was flying at the Misenmast, and a blue standard bearing the initials E.G., embroidered in gold, and surmounted by a ducal cornet, floated from the top-gallant head of the mainmist. The name of the yacht was the Duncan, and the owner was Lord Glenarvon, one of the sixteen Scotch peers who sit in the upper house, and the most distinguished member of the Royal Thames Yacht Club, so famous throughout the United Kingdom. Lord Edward Glenarvon was on board with his young wife, Lady Helena, and one of his cousins, Major McNabs. The Duncan was newly built, and had been making a trial trip a few miles outside the Firth of Clyde. She was returning to Glasgow, and the Isle of Arryn already loomed in the distance, when the sailor on watch caught sight of an enormous fish sporting in the wake of the ship. Lord Edward, who was immediately apprised of the fact, came up on the poop a few minutes after with his cousin, and asked John Mangles, the captain, what sort of an animal he thought it was. Well, since your lordship asks my opinion, said Mangles, I think it is a shark, and a fine large one too. A shark on these shores. There is nothing at all improbable in that, returned the captain. This fish belongs to a species that is found in all attitudes and in all seas. It is the balance fish, or hammerhead shark, if I am not much mistaken. But if your lordship has no objections, and it would give the smallest pleasure to Lady Helena to see a novelty in the way of fishing, we'll soon haul up the monster and find out what it really is. Would you say, McNabs, shall we try to catch it? asked Lord Glenarvon. If you like, it's all one to me, was his cousin's cool reply. The more of these terrible creatures that are killed the better at all events, said John Mangles, so let's seize the chance, and it will not only give us a little diversion, but be doing a good action. Very well, set to work then, said Glenarvon. Lady Helena soon joined her husband on deck, quite charmed at the prospect of such exciting sport. The sea was splendid, and every movement of the shark was distinctly visible. In obedience to the captain's orders, the sailors threw a strong rope over the starboard side of the yacht, with a big hook at the end of it, concealed in a thick lump of bacon. The bait took at once, though the shark was full fifty yards distant. He began to make rapidly for the yacht, beating the waves violently with his fins, and keeping his tail in a perfectly straight line. As he got nearer, his great projecting eyes could be seen inflamed with greed, and his gaping jaws with their quadruple roll of teeth. His head was large, and shaped like a double hammer at the end of a handle. John Mangles was right. This was, evidently, a balance fish, the most ferocious of all the squaliday species. The passengers and sailors on the yacht were watching all the animals' movements with the liveliest interest. He soon came within reach of the bait, turned over on his back to make a good dart at it, and in a second bacon and contents had disappeared. He had hooked himself now, as the tremendous jerk he gave the cable proved, and the sailors began to haul in the monster by means of tackle attached to the manured. He struggled desperately, but his captors were prepared for his violence, and had a long rope ready with a slipknot, which caught his tail and rendered him powerless at once. In a few minutes more he was hoisted up over the side of the yacht and thrown on the deck. A man came forward immediately, hatched in hand, and approaching him cautiously, with one powerful stroke cut off his tail. This ended the business, for there was no longer any fear of the shark. But, though the sailor's vengeance was satisfied, their curiosity was not. They knew the brute had no very delicate appetite, and the contents of his stomach might be worth investigation. This is the common practice on all ships when a shark is captured, but Lady Glen Arvin declined to be present at such a disgusting exploration, and withdrew to the cabin again. The fish was still breathing, it measured ten feet in length, and weighed more than six hundred pounds. This was nothing extraordinary, for though the hammerhead shark is not classed among the most gigantic of the species, it is always reckoned among the most formidable. The huge brute was soon ripped up in a very unceremonious fashion. The hook had fixed right in the stomach, which was found to be absolutely empty, and the disappointed sailors were just going to throw the remains overboard when the boatswins' attention was attracted by some large object sticking fast in one of the viscera. I say, what's this? he explained. That, replied one of the sailors, why it's a piece of rock, the beast swallowed by way of ballast. It's just a bottle, neither more nor less, that the fellow has gotten his inside and couldn't digest, said another of the crew. Hold your tongues, all of you, said Tom Austin, the mate of the Duncan. Don't you see the animal has been such an inveterate tipler that he has not only drunk the wine but swallowed the bottle? What, said Lord Glenarvin, do you mean to say it is a bottle that the shark has got in his stomach? I, it is a bottle most certainly, replied the boatswins, but not just from the cellar. Why, Tom, be careful how you take it out, said Lord Glenarvin, for bottles found in the sea often contain precious documents. Do you think this does, said Major McNams, incredulously? It possibly may, at any rate. Oh, I'm not saying it doesn't. There may perhaps be some secret in it, returned the Major. That's just what we're to see, said his cousin. Well, Tom. Here it is, said the mate, holding up a shapeless lump he had managed to pull out, though with some difficulty. Get the filthy thing washed, then, and bring it to the cabin. Tom obeyed, and in a few minutes brought in the bottle and laid it on the table, at which Lord Glenarvin and the Major were sitting with the captain, and of course Lady Helena, for women, they say, are always a little curious. Gazing is an event at sea. For a moment they all sat silent, gazing at this frail relic, wondering if it told the tale of sad disaster, or brought some trifling message from a frolic-loving sailor who had flung it into the sea to amuse himself when he had nothing better to do. However, the only way to know was to examine the bottle, and Glenarvin set to work without further delay, so carefully and minutely, that he might have been taken for a coroner making an inquest. He commenced by a close inspection of the outside. The neck was long and slender, and round the thick rim there was still an end of wire hanging, though eaten away with rust. The sides were very thick, and strong enough to bear great pressure. It was evidently of champagne origin, and the Major said immediately, that's one of our Clicquot's bottles. Nobody contradicted him, as he was supposed to know, but Lady Helena exclaimed, What does it matter about the bottle if we don't know where it comes from? We shall know that too presently, and we may affirm this much already. It comes from a long way off. Look at those petrifications all over it. These different substances almost turn to mineral, we might say, through the action of the salt water. This wave had been tossing about in the ocean a long time before the sharks swallowed it. I quite agree with you, said McNabs. I daresay this frail concern has made a long voyage, protected by this strong covering. But I want to know where from, said Lady Glenarvin. Wait a little, dear Helena. Wait. We must have patience with bottles. But if I am not much mistaken, this one will answer all our questions," replied her husband, beginning to scrape away the hard substances round the neck. Soon the cork made its appearance, but much damaged by the water. That's vexing, said Lord Edward, for if papers are inside they'll be in a pretty state. It's to be feared they will, said the Major. But it is a lucky thing the sharks swallowed them, I must say, added Glenarvin, for the bottle would have sunk to the bottom before long with such a cork as this. That's true enough, replied John Mangles, and yet it would have been better to have fished them up in the open sea. Then we might have found out the road they had come by taking the exact latitude and longitude and studying the atmospheric and submarine currents. But with such a postman as a shark that goes against wind and tide there is no clue whatever to the starting point. We shall see, said Glenarvin, gently taking out the cork. A strong odor of salt water pervaded the whole saloon, and Lady Helena asked, impatiently, well, what is there? I was right, exclaimed Glenarvin. I see papers inside, but I fear it will be impossible to remove them, he added, for they appear to have rotted with the damp and are sticking to the sides of the bottle. Break it! said the Major. I would rather preserve the hole if I could. No doubt you would, said Lady Helena, but the contents are more valuable than the bottle, and we had better sacrifice the one than the other. If your lordship would simply break off the neck, I think we might easily withdraw the papers, suggested John Mangles. Try it, Edward, try it, said Lady Helena. Lord Glenarvin was very unwilling, but he found there was no alternative. The precious bottle must be broken. They had to get a hammer before this could be done, though, for the stony material had acquired the hardness of granite. A few sharp strokes, however, soon shivered it to fragments, many of which had pieces of paper sticking to them. These were carefully removed by Lord Glenarvin and separated and spread out on the table before the eager gaze of his wife and friends. End of Book 1, Chapter 1 Book 1, 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 Eddie Winter In Search of the Castaways or The Children of Captain Grant by Jules Verne Book 1, Chapter 2 The Three Documents All that could be discovered, however, on these pieces of paper, was a few words here and there. The remainder of the lines being almost completely obliterated by the action of the water. Lord Glenarvin examined them attentively for a few minutes, turning them over on all sides, holding them up to the light and trying to decipher the least scrap of writing, while the others looked on with anxious eyes. At last he said, There are three distinct documents here, apparently copies of the same document in three different languages. Here is one in English, one in French, and one in German. But can you make any sense out of them? asked Lady Helena. That's hard to say, my dear Helena. The words are quite incomplete. Perhaps the one may supplement the other, suggested Major McNabb's. Very likely they will, said the captain. It is impossible that the very same words should have been faced in each document, and by putting the scraps together, we might gather some intelligible meaning out of them. That's what we will do, rejoined Lord Glenarvin, but let us proceed methodically. Here is the English document first. All that remained of it was the following. 62, Brie, Gal, Sink, Stra, Alland, Skip, Gr, That Monit of Long, End, Sistence, Lost. There's not much to be made out of that, said the Major looking disappointed. No, but it is good English anyhow, returned the captain. There's no doubt of it, said Glenarvin. The words Sink, Alland, Lost, Alland, Skip is evidently part of the word Skipper. And that's what they call ship captains, often in England. There seems a Mr. Gure mentioned. And that most likely is the captain of the shipwrecked vessel. Well come, we have made out a good deal already, said Lady Helena. Yes, but unfortunately, there are whole lines haunting, said the Major, and we have neither the name of the ship, nor the place where she was shipwrecked. We'll get that by and by, said Edward. Oh yes, there is no doubt of it, replied the Major, who always echoed his neighbour's opinion. But how? By comparing one document with the other. Let us try them, said his wife. The second piece of paper was even more destroyed than the first. Only a few scattered words remained here and there. It ran as follows. There's even uni, glass, sfe, a chosen, gross, brinked enan. This is written in German, said John Bangles the moment he looked at it. And you understand that language, don't you? Asked Lord Glenarvin. Perfectly. Come then, tell us the meaning of these words. The captain examined the document carefully and said, Well, here's the date of the count's first. Zeb and uni means June the 7th. And if we put that before the figures 62, we have in the other document, it gives us the exact date, 7th of June, 1862. Capital, exclaimed Lady Helena. Go on, John. On the same line, resumed the young captain, there is a syllable, glass. And if we add that to the gal we found in the English paper, we get the whole word Glasgow at once. The documents evidently refer to some ship that sailed out of the port of Glasgow. That is my opinion, too, said the major. The second line is completely effaced, continued the captain. But here are two important words on the third. There is sfe, which means two, and a chosen, or metrozen, the German for sailors. Then I suppose it is about a captain and two sailors, said Lady Helena. It seems so, replied Lord Glenarvon. I must confess your lordship that the next word puzzles me. I can make nothing of it. Perhaps the third document may throw some light on it. The last two words are plain enough. Brünnt ihnen means bring them. And if you recollect in the English paper, we had assistance. So by putting the parts together, it reads us, I think, bring them assistance. Yes, that must be it, replied Lord Glenarvon. But where are the poor fellows? We have not the slightest indication of the place meantime, nor of where the catastrophe happened. Perhaps the French copy will be more explicit, suggested Lady Helena. Here it is then said Lord Glenarvon. And that is in a language we all know. The words it contained were these. Toa, a, taña, coni, astral, abor, konta, cruel indy, jet, on git, et francet, degrés, onze minut, lat. There were figures, exclaimed Lady Helena. Look, let us go steadily to work, said Lord Glenarvon, and begin at the beginning. I think we can make out from the incomplete words in the first line that a three-mast vessel is in question. And there is little doubt about the name. We get that from the fragments of the other papers. It is the Britannia. As to the next two words, coni and astral, it is only astral that has any meaning to us. But that is a valuable scrap of information, said John Bangles. The shipwreck occurred in the southern hemisphere. That's a wide world, said the Major. Well, we'll go on, resumed Glenarvon. Here is the word abor. That is clearly the root of the verb abor de. The poor men have landed somewhere, but where? Conta? Does that mean continent? Cruel? Cruel, interrupted John Bangles. I see now what gross is part of in the second document. It is groesam, the word in German for cruel. Let's go on, said Lord Glenarvon, becoming quite excited over his task, as the incomplete words began to fill up and develop their meaning. Indy? Is it India, where they have been shipwrecked? And what can this word on get be part of? Ah, I see, it is longitude. And here is the latitude 37 degrees 11 minutes. That is a precise indication at last, then. But we haven't the longitude, objected Macnab's. But we can't get everything, my dear Major. And it is something at all events to have the exact latitude. The French document is decidedly the most complete of the three. But it is plain enough, the teach is the little translation of the other, for they all contain exactly the same number of lines. What we have to do now is to put together all the words we have found and translate them into one language, and try to ascertain their most probable and logical sense. Well, what language shall we choose? Ask the major. I think we're better clear to the French, since that was the most complete documents of the three. Your Lordship is right, said John Bangles. And besides, we're familiar with the language. For a while then, I was set to work. In a few minutes, he had written as follows. Seven times, 1862, Trama, Britannia, Glasgow. Sombre corny, austral, atère, de Matelot, Capitaine, Gwé, Abor, Contine, Peux, Groul, Indie. Jets, document, de longitude, et transcept, de gréze, onze minutes, de latitude, Potele, Secur, Père de deux. Meaning, 7th of June, 1862, three Mast, Britannia, Glasgow, founded Goni, southern on the coast, two sailors, Gwé, captain, landed, Contine, Peux, Groul, Indie, sewn this document, in longitude, and 37 degrees, 11 minutes, latitude, bring them assistance, lost. Just at that moment, one of the sailors came to inform the captain that they were about entering the Firth of Clyde, and to ask what were his orders. What are your Lordship's intentions? said John Mengels, addressing Lord Glenarvon. To get to Dan Barton as quickly as possible, John, and Lady Helena will turn to Malcolm Castle while I go on to London, and lay this document before the Admiralty. The sailor received orders accordingly, and went out to deliver them to the mate. Now, friends, said Lord Glenarvon, let us go on with our investigations, for we are on the track of a great catastrophe, and the lives of several human beings depends on our sagacity. We must give our whole minds to the solution of this enigma. First of all, there are three very distinct things to be considered in this document, the things we know, the things we may conjecture, the things we do not know. What are those we know? We know that on the 7th of June, a three-mast vessel, the Britannia of Glasgow, founded, that two sailors and the captains who this document into the sea in 37 degrees, 11 minutes latitude, and they entreat help. Exactly so, said the Major. What are those now we may conjecture? continued Glenarvon, that the shipwreck occurred in the southern seas, and here I will draw your attention at once to the incomplete word, Goni. Doesn't the name of the country strike you even in the mere mention of it? Patagonia, exclaimed Lady Helena, undoubtedly. But is Patagonia crossed by the 37th parallel of the Major? That is easily ascertained, said the captain, opening a map of South America. Yes, it is. Patagonia just touches the 37th parallel. It cuts through Oralcania, goes along the Pampas to the north, and loses itself in the Atlantic. Well, let us proceed, then, with our conjectures. The two sailors and the captain land. Land where? Continent, on the continent, on a continent, mark you, not an island. What becomes of them? There are two letters here, providentially, which give a clove to their fate. PR. That must mean prisoners, and cruel Indian is evidently the meaning of the next two words. These unfortunate men are captives in the hands of cruel Indians. Don't you see it? Don't the words seem to come of themselves and fill up the blanks? Isn't the document quite clear now? Isn't the sense self-evident? Glenarvon spoke in a tone of absolute conviction, and his enthusiastic confidence appeared contagious. For the others all exclaimed, too. Yes, it is evident, quite evident. After an instant, Lord Edward said again, To my own mind, the hypothesis is so plausible that I have no doubt whatever the event occurred on the coast of Patagonia. But still, I will have inquiries made in Glasgow, as to the destination of the Britannia, and we shall know if it is possible she should have been wrecked on those shores. Oh, there's no need to send so far to find out that, said John Mangles. I have the Mercantile and Shipping Gazette here, and we'll see the name on the list, and all about it. Do look at once, then, said Lord Glenarvon. The file of papers for the year 1862 was soon wrought, and John began to turn over the leaves rapidly, running down each page with his eye in search of the name required. But his quest was not long. For in a few minutes, he called out, I've got it. May the 30th, 1862, Peru, Caleo, with cargo for Glasgow, the Britannia, Captain Grant. Grant, exclaimed Lord Glenarvon. That is the adventurous Scotchman that attempted to found a new Scotland on the shores of the Pacific. Yes, rejoined John Mangles, it is the very man he sailed from Glasgow in the Britannia in 1861 and has not been heard of since. There isn't a doubt of it, not a shadow of doubt, repeated Lord Glenarvon. It is just that same Captain Grant. The Britannia left Caleo on the 30th of May and on the 7th of June, a week afterward, she is lost on the coast of Patagonia. A few broken, disjointed words we find in these documents tell us the whole story. You see, friends, our conjectures hit the mark very well. We know all now, except one thing, and that is a longitude. That is not needed now. We know the country with the latitude alone. I would engage to go right to the place where the wreck happened. Then have we really all the particulars now? Asked Lady Helena. All, dear Helena, I can fill up every one of these blanks the sea has made in the document as easily as if Captain Grant were dictating to me. And he took up the pen and dashed off the following lines immediately. On the 7th of June, 1862, the three-marched vessel Britannia of Glasgow has sunk on the coast of Patagonia in the southern hemisphere. Making for the shore, two sailors and Captain Grant are about to land on the continent where they will be taken prisoners by cruel Indians. They have thrown this document into the sea in longitude and latitude 37 degrees and 11 minutes. Bring them assistance, or they are lost. Capital, capital, dear Edward, said Lady Helena. If those poor creatures ever see their native land again, it is you they will have to thank for it. And they will see it again, returned all Glenarvon. The statement is too explicit and clear and certain for England to hesitate about going to the aid of her three sons. Cast away on a desert coast. What she has done for Franklin and so many others, she will do today for these poor shipwrecked fellows of the Britannia. Most likely, the unfortunate men have families who mourn their loss. Perhaps this ill-fated Captain Grant had a wife and children, suggested Lady Helena. Very true, my dear, and I'll not forget to let them know that there is still hope. But now, friends, we had better go up on deck, as the boat must be getting near the harbour. A carriage and post-horses waited there in readiness to convey Lady Helena and Major McNabs to Malcolm Castle. And Lord Glenarvon baded you to his young wife and jumped into the express train for Glasgow. But before starting, he confided an important missive to a swifter agent than himself. And a few minutes afterward, it flashed along the electric wire to London, to appear next day in the times and morning chronicle in the following words. For information respecting the fate of the three Master Vessel Britannia of Glasgow, Captain Grant applied to Lord Glenarvon, Malcolm Castle, Luss, Dumbartonshire, Scotland. End of Book One, Chapter Two. Book One, Chapter Three 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 Eddie Winter. In Search of the Castaways or the Children of Captain Grant by Jules Verne. Book One, Chapter Three, The Captain's Children. Lord Glenarvon's fortune was enormous and he spent it entirely in doing good. His kind-heartedness was even greater than his generosity. For the one knew no bounds, while the other of necessity had its limits. As Lord of Luss and Lord of Malcolm, he represented his county in the House of Lords. But, with his Jacobite ideas, he did not care much for the favour of the House of Hanover. And he was looked upon coldly by the State Party in England because of the tenacity with which he clung to the traditions of his forefathers and his energetic resistance to the political encroachments of Southerners. And yet, he was not a man behind the times and there was nothing little or narrow-minded about him. But, while always keeping open his ancestral county to progress, he was a true Scotchman at heart and it was for the honour of Scotland that he competed in the yacht races of the Royal Thames Yacht Club. Edward Glenarvon was thirty-two years of age. He was tall in person and had rather stern features. But there was an exceeding sweetness in his look and a stamp of Highland poetry about his whole bearing. He was known to be brave to excess and full of daring and chivalry, a Fergus of the nineteenth century. But his goodness excelled at every other quality and he was more charitable than St. Martin himself for he would have given the whole of his cloak to any of the poor Highlanders. He had scarcely been married three months and his bride was Miss Helena Tafnel, the daughter of William Tafnel, the great traveller, one of the many victims of geographical silence and of the passion for discovery. Miss Helena did not belong to a noble family, but she was Scotch and that was better than all nobility in the eyes of Lord Glenarvon and she was, moreover, a charming, high-sold, religious young woman. Lord Glenarvon did not forget that his wife was the daughter of a great traveller and he thought it likely that she would inherit her father's predilections. He had the Duncan Bill expressly that he might take his bride to the most beautiful lands in the world and complete their honeymoon by sailing up the Mediterranean and through the clustering islands of the archipelago. However, Lord Glenarvon had gone now to London. The lives of the shipwrecked men were at stake and Lady Helena was too much concerned herself about them to grudge her husband's temporary absence. A telegram next day gave hope of his speedy return, but in the evening a letter apprised her of the difficulties his proposition had met with and the morning after bought another in which he openly expressed his dissatisfaction with the admiralty. Lady Helena began to get anxious as the day wore on. In the evening when she was sitting alone in her room, Mr. Halbert, the house steward, came in and asked if she would see a young girl and boy that wanted to speak to Lord Glenarvon. Some of the country people asked Lady Helena, no, madam, replied the steward, I do not know them at all. They came by rail to Balak and walked the rest of the way to Lus. Tell them to come up, Halbert. In a few minutes a girl and boy were shown in. They were evidently brother and sister, for the resemblance was unmistakable. The girl was about sixteen years of age, her tired pretty face and sore for lies and resigned but courageous look, as well as her neat, though poor attire, made a favourable impression. The boy she held by the hand was about twelve, but his face expressed such determination that he appeared quite his sister's protector. The girl seemed too shy to utter a word at first, but Lady Helena quickly relieved her embarrassment by saying, with an encouraging smile, you wish to speak to me, I think. No, replied the boy in a decided tone, not to you, but to Lord Glenarvon. Excuse him, ma'am, said the girl with a look at her brother. Lord Glenarvon is not at the castle just now, returned Lady Helena, but I am his wife, and if I can do anything for you, you are Lady Glenarvon, interrupted the girl. I am. The wife, a Lord Glenarvon of Malcolm Castle, that put an announcement in the Times about the shipwreck of the Britannia. Yes, yes, said Lady Helena eagerly, and you? I am Miss Grant, ma'am, and this is my brother. Miss Grant, Miss Grant, exclaimed Lady Helena, joining the young girl to hold her and taking both her hands and kissing the boy's rosy cheeks. What is it you know, ma'am, about the shipwreck? Tell me, is my father living? Shall we ever see him again? Oh, tell me, said the girl, earnestly. My dear girl, replied Lady Helena, heaven forbid that I should answer you lightly such a question. I would not delude you with vain hopes. Oh, tell me all, tell me all, ma'am, I am proof against sorrow I can bear to hear anything. My poor child, there is but a faint hope, but with the help of Almighty Heaven, it is just possible he may one day see your father once more. The girl burst into tears, and Robert seized Lady Glenarvon's hand and covered it with kisses. As soon as they grew calmer, they asked a complete string of questions, and Lady Helena recounted the whole story of the document, telling them that their father had been wrecked on the coast of Patagonia, and that he and two sailors, the sole survivors, appeared to have reached the shore, and had written an appeal for help in three languages, and committed it to the care of the waves. During the recital, Robert Grant was devouring the speaker with his eyes, and hanging on her lips. His childish imagination evidently retraced all the scenes of his father's shipwreck. He saw him on the deck of the Britannia, and then struggling with the bellows, then clinging to the rocks and lying at length exhausted on the beach. More than once he cried out, Oh, Papa, my poor Papa, and pressed close to his sister. Ms. Grant sat silent and motionless, with clasped hands, and all she said when the narration ended was, Oh, ma'am, the paper, please. I have not it now, my dear child, replied Lady Helena. You haven't it? No. Loglen oven was obliged to take it to London for the sake of your father. But I have told you all it contained word for word, and how we managed to make out the complete sense from the fragments of words left, all except the longitude, unfortunately. We can do without that, said the boy. Yes, Mr. Robert, rejoined Lady Helena, smiling at a child's decided tone. And so you see, Ms. Grant, you know the smallest details now, just as well as I do. Yes, ma'am, but I should like to have seen my father's writing. Well, tomorrow, perhaps tomorrow, Loglen oven will be back. My husband determined to lay the document before the Lord to the Admiralty, to induce them to send out a ship immediately in search of Captain Grant. Is it possible, ma'am, explain the girl, that you have done that for us? Yes, my dear Ms. Grant, and I am expecting Loglen oven back every minute now. Oh, ma'am, heaven bless you and Loglen ovens, said the young girl, fervently. Overcome with grateful emotion. My dear girl, we deserve no thanks. Anyone in our place would have done the same. Only trust, the hopes we are leading you to entertain, may be realised. But till my husband returns, you will remain at the castle. No, no, ma'am. I could not abuse the sympathy you show to strangers. Strangers, dear child, interrupted Lady Helena, you and your brother are not strangers in this house. And I should like Loglen oven to be able, on his arrival, to tell the children of Captain Grant himself, what is going to be done to rescue their father. It was impossible to refuse an invitation given with such heart. And Ms. Grant and her brother consented to stay till Loglen oven returned. In Search of the Castaways Or The Children of Captain Grant By Jules Verne Book 1 Chapter 4 Lady Glenarvin's Proposal Lady Helena thought it best to say nothing to the children about the fears Lord Glenarvin had expressed in his letters respecting the decisions of the Lords of the Admiralty with regard to the document. Nor did she mention the probable captivity of Captain Grant among the Indians of South America. Why sadden the poor children and damp their newly cherished hopes? It would not, in the least, alter the actual state of the case. So not a word was said. And after answering all Ms. Grant's questions, Lady Helena began to interrogate in her turn, asking her about her past life and her present circumstances. It was a touching, simple story she had heard in reply, and one which increased her sympathy for the young girl. Mary and Robert were the Captain's only children. Harry Grant lost his wife when Robert was born, and during his long voyages he left his little ones in charge of his cousin, a good old lady. Captain Grant was a fearless sailor. He not only thoroughly understood navigation, but commerce also, a two-fold qualification eminently useful to skippers in the merchant service. He lived in Dundee in Perthshire, Scotland. His father, a minister of St. Catrine's Church, had given him a thorough education, as he believed that could never hurt anybody. Harry's voyages were prosperous from the first, and a few years after Robert was born he found himself possessed of a considerable fortune. It was then that he proposed the grand scheme which made him popular in Scotland. Like Glen Arvin and a few noble families in the Lowlands, he had no heart for the Union with England. In his eyes the interests of his country were not identified with those of the Anglo-Saxons, and to give scope for personal development he resolved to found an immense scotch colony on one of the ocean continents. Possibly he might have thought that some day they would achieve their independence, as the United States did, an example doubtless to be followed eventually by Australia and India. But whatever might be his secret motives such was his dream of colonization. But, as is easily understood, the government opposed his plans and put difficulties enough in his way to have killed an ordinary man. But Harry would not be beaten. He appealed to the patriotism of his countrymen, placed his fortune at the service of the cause, built a ship and manned it with a picked crew, and leaving his children to the care of his old cousin, set off to explore the great islands of the Pacific. This was in 1861, and for twelve months, or up to May 1862, letters were regularly received from him, but no tidings whatever had come since his departure from Calot in June, and the name of the Britannia never appeared in the shipping list. Just at this juncture the old cousin died, and Harry Grant's two children were left alone in the world. Mary Grant was then only fourteen, but she resolved to face her situation bravely, and to devote herself entirely to her little brother, who was still a mere child. By dint of close economy, combined with tact and prudence, she managed to support and educate him, working day and night, denying herself everything that she might give him all he needed, watching over him and caring for him like a mother. The two children were living in this touching manner in Dundee, struggling patiently and courageously with their poverty. Mary thought only of her brother, and indulged in dreams of a prosperous future for him. She had long given up all hope of the Britannia, and was fully persuaded that their father was dead. What, then, was her emotion when she accidentally saw the notice in the times? She never hesitated for an instant as to the course she should adopt, but determined to go to Dunbartonshire immediately, and learn the best and worst. Even if she were to be told that her father's lifeless body had been found on a distant shore, or in the bottom of some abandoned ship, it would be a relief from incessant doubt and torturing suspense. She told her brother about the advertisement, and the two children started off together that same day for Perth, where they took the train and arrived in the evening at Malcolm Castle. Such was Mary Grant's sorrowful story, and she recounted it in so simple and unaffected a manner that it was evident that she never thought her conduct had been that of a heroine through those long, trying years. But Lady Helena thought it for her, and more than once she put her arms round both the children and could not restrain her tears. As for Robert, he seemed to have heard these particulars for the first time. All the while his sister was speaking, he gazed at her with wide open eyes, only knowing how much she had done and suffered for him, and as she ended he flung herself on her neck, and exclaimed, Oh, Mama, my dear little Mama. It was quite dark by this time, and Lady Helena made the children go to bed, for she knew they must be tired after their journey. They were soon both sound asleep, dreaming of happy days. After they had retired, Lady Helena sent for Major McNabs, and told him the incidents of the evening. That Mary Grant must be a brave girl, said the Major. I only hope my husband will succeed for the poor children's sake, said his cousin. It would be terrible for them if he did not. He will be sure to succeed, or the Lords of the Admiralty must have hearts harder than Portland Stone. But notwithstanding McNabs's assurance, Lady Helena passed the night in great anxiety, and could not close her eyes. Mary Grant and her brother were up very early next morning, and were walking about in the courtyard when they heard the sound of a carriage approaching. It was Lord Glenarvin, and almost immediately Lady Helena and the Major came out to meet him. Lady Helena flew toward her husband the moment he alighted, but he embraced her silently, and looked gloomy and disappointed, indeed even furious. Well, Edward, she said, tell me. Well, Helena dear, those people have no heart. They have refused? Yes, they have refused me a ship. They talked of the millions that had been wasted in search for Franklin, and declared the document was obscure and unintelligible. And then they said it was two years now since they were cast away, and there was little chance of finding them. Besides, they would have it that the Indians, who made them prisoners, would have dragged them into the interior, and it was impossible, they said, to hunt all through Patagonia for three men, three scotchmen, that the search would be vain and perilous, and cost more lives than it saved. In short, they assigned all the reasons that people invent who have made up their minds to refuse. The truth is they remembered Captain Grant's projects, and that is the secret of the whole affair, so the poor fellow is lost forever. My father—my poor father—cried Mary Grant, throwing herself on her knees before Lord Glenarvon, who exclaimed in amazement, Your father? What? Is this Miss— Yes, Edward, said Lady Helena, this is Miss Mary Grant and her brother, the two children condemned to orphanage by the cruel admiralty. Oh, Miss Grant, said Lord Glenarvon, raising the young girl, if I had known of your presence, he said no more, and there was a painful silence in the courtyard, broken only by sobs. No one spoke, but the very attitude of both servants and masters spoke their indignation at the conduct of the English government. At last the major said, addressing Lord Glenarvon, Then you have no hope, whatever. None was the reply. Very well, then, exclaimed Little Robert, I'll go and speak to those people myself, and we'll see if they— He did not complete his sentence, for his sister stopped him, but his clenched fists showed his intentions, were the reverse of Pacific. No, Robert, said Mary Grant, we will thank this noble Lord and Lady for what they have done for us, and never cease to think of them with gratitude, and then we'll both go together. Mary, said Lady Helena, in a tone of surprise, Go where? asked Lord Glenarvon. I am going to throw myself at the Queen's feet, and we shall see if she will turn a deaf ear to the prayers of two children who implore their father's life. Lord Glenarvon shook his head, not that he doubted the kind heart of her majesty, but he knew Mary would never gain access to her. Suppliance but too rarely reached the steps of a throne. It seems as if royal palaces had the same inscription on their doors that the English have on their ships. Passengers are requested not to speak to the man at the wheel. Lady Glenarvon understood what was passing in her husband's mind, and she felt the young girl's attempt would be useless, and only plunged the poor children in deeper despair. Suddenly a grand, generous purpose fired her soul, and she called out, Mary, Grant, wait, my child, and listen to what I am going to say. Mary had just taken her brother by the hand and turned to go away, but she stepped back at Lady Helena's bidding. The young wife went up to her husband and said with tears in her eyes, though her voice was firm and her face beamed with animation. Edward, when Captain Grant wrote that letter and threw it into the sea, he committed it to the care of God. God has sent to us, to us. Undoubtedly God intends us to undertake the rescue of these poor men. What do you mean, Helena? I mean this, that we ought to think ourselves fortunate if we can begin our married life with a good action. Well, you know, Edward, that to please me you planned a pleasure trip, but what could give us such genuine pleasure or to be so useful as to save those unfortunate fellows cast off by their country? Helena! exclaimed Lord Glenarvon. Yes, Edward, you understand me. The Duncan is a good strong ship. She can venture in the southern seas or go round the world if necessary. Let us go, Edward. Let us start off and search for Captain Grant. Lord Glenarvon made no reply to this bold proposition, but smiled, and holding out his arms drew his wife into a close fond embrace. Mary and Robert seized her hands and covered them with kisses, and the servants who thronged the courtyard and had been witnesses of this touching scene, shouted with one voice, Hara for the Lady of Lest, three cheers for Lord and Lady Glenarvon. End of Book 1, Chapter 4. Book 1, Chapter 5 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 Larianne Walden. In Search of the Castaways or The Children of Captain Grant by Jules Verne. Book 1, Chapter 5, The Departure of the Duncan We have said already that Lady Helena was a brave, generous woman, and what she had just done proved it indisputably. Her husband had good reason to be proud of such a wife, one who could understand and enter into all his views. The idea of going to Captain Grant's rescue had occurred to him in London when his request was refused, and he would have anticipated Lady Helena, only he could not bear the thought of parting from her. But now that she herself proposed to go, all hesitation was at an end. The servants of the castle had hailed the project with loud acclamations, for it was to save their brothers, scotchmen like themselves, and Lord Glenarvon cordially joined his cheers with theirs for the Lady of Lus. The departure once resolved upon there was not an hour to be lost. A telegram was dispatched to John Mangles the very same day, conveying Lord Glenarvon's orders to take the Duncan immediately to Glasgow, and to make preparations for a voyage to the Southern Seas, and possibly round the world, for Lady Helena was right in her opinion that the yacht might safely attempt the circumnavigation of the globe if necessary. The Duncan was a steam yacht of the finest description. She was 210 tons burden, much larger than any of the first vessels that touched the shores of the New World, for the largest of the four ships that sailed with Columbus was only 70 tons. She had two masts and all the sails in rigging of an ordinary clipper which would enable her to take advantage of every favorable wind, though her chief reliance was on her mechanical power. The engine which was constructed on a new system was a high-pressure one of 160 horsepower, and put in motion a double screw. This gave the yacht such swiftness that during her trial trip in the Firth of Clyde she made 17 miles an hour a higher speed than any vessel had yet attained. No alterations were consequently needed in the Duncan herself. John Mangels had only to attend to her interior arrangements. His first care was to enlarge the bunkers to carry as much coal as possible, for it is difficult to get fresh supplies en route. He had to do the same with the storerooms, and managed so well that he succeeded in laying in provisions enough for two years. There was an abundance of money at his command, and enough remained to buy a cannon on a pivot carriage which he mounted on the foxle. There was no knowing what might happen, and it is always well to be able to send a good round bullet flying four miles off. John Mangels understood his business. Though he was only the captain of a pleasure yacht he was one of the best skippers in Glasgow. He was thirty years of age, and his countenance expressed both courage and goodness if the features were somewhat coarse. He had been brought up at the castle by the Glenarvon family, and had turned out a capital sailor having already given proof in some of his long voyages of his skill and energy in songfroid. When Lord Glenarvon offered him the command of the Duncan, he accepted it with right good will, for he loved the master of Malcolm Castle like a brother, and had hitherto vainly sought some opportunity of showing his devotion. Tom Alston, the mate, was an old sailor worthy of all confidence. The crew consisting of twenty-five men, including the captain and chief officer, were all from Dumbartonshire, experienced sailors, and all belonging to the Glenarvon estate. In fact it was a regular clan, and they did not forget to carry with them the traditional bagpipes. Lord Glenarvon had in them a band of trusty fellows, skilled in their calling, devoted to himself, full of courage, and as practiced in handling firearms as in the maneuvering of a ship. A valiant little troop, ready to follow him anywhere, even in the most dangerous expeditions. When the crew heard whither they were bound, they could not restrain their enthusiasm, and the rocks of Dumbarton rang again with their joyous outbursts of cheers. But while John Mangles made the stowage in provisioning of the yacht his chief business, he did not forget to fit up the rooms of Lord and Lady Glenarvon for a long voyage. He had also to get cabins ready for the children of Captain Grant, as Lady Helena could not refuse Mary's request to accompany her. As for young Robert, he would have smuggled himself in somewhere in the hold of the Duncan, rather than be left behind. He would willingly have gone as a cabin boy, like Nelson. It was impossible to resist a little fellow like that, and indeed no one tried. He would not even go as a passenger, but must serve in some capacity as cabin boy, apprentice, or sailor. He did not care which. So he was put in charge of John Mangles to be properly trained for his vocation. And I hope he won't spare me the cat and nine tails if I don't do properly, said Robert. Rest easy on that score, my boy, said Lord Glenarvon gravely. He did not add that this mode of punishment was forbidden on board the Duncan, and moreover was quite unnecessary. To complete the role of passengers we must name Major McNabs. The Major was about fifty years of age with a calm face and regular features, a man who did whatever he was told, of an excellent, indeed a perfect temper, modest, silent, peaceable, and amiable, agreeing with everybody on every subject, never discussing, never disputing, never getting angry. He wouldn't move a step quicker or slower whether he walked upstairs to bed or mounted a breach. Nothing could excite him, nothing could disturb him, not even a cannonball, and no doubt he will die without ever having known even a passing feeling of irritation. This man was endowed in an imminent degree, not only with ordinary animal courage, that physical bravery of the battlefield which is solely due to muscular energy, but he had what is far nobler, moral courage, firmness of soul. If he had any fault it was his being so intensely scotch from top to toe, a Caledonian of the Caledonians, an obstinate stickler for all the ancient customs of his country. This was the reason he would never serve in England, and he gained his rank of major in the 42nd Regiment, the Highland Black Watch, composed entirely of scotch noblemen. As a cousin of Glenarvon he lived in Malcolm Castle, and as a major he went as a matter of course with the Duncan. Such then was the personnel of this yacht so unexpectedly called to make one of the most wonderful voyages of modern times. From the hour she reached the steamboat key at Glasgow she completely monopolized the public attention. A considerable crowd visited her every day, and the Duncan was the one topic of interest in conversation to the great vexation of the different captains in the port, among others of Captain Burton, in command of the Scotia, a magnificent steamer lying close beside her and bound for Calcutta. Considering her size the Scotia might justly look upon the Duncan as a mere flyboat, and yet this pleasure yacht of Lord Glenarvon was quite the center of attraction, and the excitement about her daily increased. The Duncan was to sail out with the tide at three o'clock on the morning of the 25th of August, but before starting a touching ceremony was witnessed by the good people of Glasgow. At eight o'clock the night before Lord Glenarvon and his friends and to the entire crew from the Stokers to the captain, all who were to take part in this self-sacrificing voyage left the yacht and repaired to St. Mungos, the ancient cathedral of the city. This venerable edifice so marvelously described by Walter Scott remains intact amid the ruins made by the Reformation, and it was there beneath its lofty arches in the grand nave in the presence of an immense crowd and surrounded by tombs as thickly set as in a cemetery that they all assembled to implore the blessing of heaven on their expedition and to put themselves under the protection of Providence. The Reverend Mr. Morton conducted the service, and when he had ended and pronounced the benediction, a young girl's voice broke the solemn silence that followed. It was Mary Grant who poured out her heart to God in prayer for her benefactors, while grateful, happy tears streamed down her cheeks and almost choked her utterance. The vast assembly dispersed under the influence of deep emotion, and at ten o'clock the passengers and crew returned on board the vessel. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. In search of the castaways, or the children of Captain Grant by Jules Verne. The ladies passed the whole of the first day of the voyage in their berths, for there was a heavy swell in the sea, and toward evening the wind blew pretty fresh, and the Duncan tossed and pitched considerably. But the morning after, the wind changed, and the captain ordered the men to put up the forsel, and brigantine, and foretopsel, which greatly lessened the rolling of the vessel. Lady Helena and Mary Grant were able to come on deck at daybreak, where they found Lord Glenarvin, Major McNabs, and the captain. And how do you sand the sea, Miss Mary, said Lord Glenarvin? Pretty well, my lord, I am not very much inconvenienced by it. Besides, I shall get used to it. And our young Robert— Oh, as for Robert, said the captain, whenever he is not poking about down below in the engine room, he is perched somewhere aloft among the rigging. A youngster like that laughs at seasickness. Why, look at him this very moment. Do you see him? The captain pointed toward the foremost, and sure enough there was Robert, hanging on the yards of the top-gallant mast a hundred feet above in the air. Mary involuntarily gave a start, but the captain said, Oh, don't be afraid, Miss Mary. He is all right. Take my word for it. I'll have a capital sailor to present to Captain Grant before long, for we'll find the worthy captain depend upon it. Heaven grant it, Mr. John, replied the young girl. My dear child, said Lord Glenarvin, there is something so providential in the whole affair that we have every reason to hope. We are not going. We are led. We are not searching. We are guided. And then see all the brave men that have enlisted in the service of the good cause. We shall not only succeed in our enterprise, but there will be little difficulty in it. I promised Lady Helena a pleasure trip, and I am much mistaken if I don't keep my word. Edward, said his wife, you are the best of men. Not at all, was the reply, but I have the best of crews and the best of ships. You don't admire the Duncan, I suppose, Miss Mary. On the contrary, my Lord, I do admire her, and I'm a connoisseur in ships, returned the young girl. Indeed. Yes, I've played all my life on my father's ships. He could have made me a sailor, for I daresay at a pinch I could reef a sailor, play to gasket easily enough. Do you say so, Miss? exclaimed John Mangles. If you talk like that, you and John will be great friends, for he can't think any calling is equal to that of a seamen, and he can't fancy any other, even for a woman. Isn't it true, John? Quite so, said the Captain, and yet, your Lordship, I must confess that Miss Grant is more in her place on the poop than reefing a top sail. For all that, I am quite flattered by her remarks. And especially when she admires the Duncan, replied Glenarvin. Well, really, said Lady Glenarvin, you are so proud of your yacht that you make me wish to look all over it, and I should like to go down and see how our brave men are lodged. Their quarters are first rate, replied John, they are as comfortable as if they were at home. And they really are at home, my dear Helena, said Lord Glenarvin. This yacht is a portion of our old Caledonia, a fragment of Dumbartonshire, making a voyage by special favour, so that in a manner we are still in our own country. The Duncan is Malcolm Castle, and the ocean is La Clomond. Very well, dear Edward, do the honours of the castle, then. At your service, madam, but let me tell Obenet first. The steward of the yacht was an excellent maitre d'hôtel, and might have been French for his heirs of importance, but for all that he discharged his functions with seal and intelligence. Obenet, said his master, as he appeared in answer to his summons, we are going to have a turn before breakfast. I hope we shall find it ready when we get back. He said this just as if it had been a walk to Tarbert or Locke-Catrine they were going, and the steward bowed with perfect gravity in reply. Are you coming with us, major? asked Lady Helena. If you command me, replied McNabs. Oh, said Lord Glenarvin, the major is absorbed in his cigar. You mustn't tear him from it. He is an inveterate smoker, Miss Mary, I can tell you. He is always smoking, even while he sleeps. The major gave an assenting nod, and Lord Glenarvin and his party went below. McNabs remained alone, talking to himself, as was his habit, and was soon enveloped in still-thicker clouds of smoke. He stood motionless, watching the track of the yacht. After some minutes of this silent contemplation he turned around and suddenly found himself face to face with a newcomer. Certainly, if anything could have surprised him, this Srakantra would, for he had never seen the stranger in his life before. He was a tall, thin, withered-looking man, about forty years of age, and resembled a long nail with a big head. His head was large and massive, his forehead high, his chin very marked. His eyes were concealed by enormous round spectacles, and in his look was that peculiar indecision which is common to Nactolopes, or people who have a peculiar construction of the eye, which makes the sight imperfect in the day and better at night. It was evident from his physiognomy that he was a lively, intelligent man. He had not the crabbed expression of those grave individuals who never laugh on principle and cover their emptiness with a mask of seriousness. He looked far from that. His careless, good-humored air and easy, unceremonious manners showed plainly that he knew how to take men and things on their bright side. But though he had not yet opened his mouth, he gave one the impression of being a great talker, and, moreover, one of those absent folks who neither see, though they are looking, nor hear, though they are listening. He wore a traveling cap and strong, low, yellow boots with leather-gaters. His pantaloons and jacket were brown velvet, and their innumerable pockets were stuffed with notebooks, memorandum books, account books, pocket books, and a thousand other things, equally cumbersome and useless, not to mention a telescope in addition which he carried in a shoulder belt. The stranger's excitement was a strong contrast to the major's placidity. He walked around McNabs, looking at him, and questioning him with his eyes, without eliciting one remark from the imperturbable Scotchman, or awakening his curiosity in the least to know where he came from and where he was going and how he had got on board the Duncan. Finding all his efforts baffled by the major's indifference, the mysterious passenger seized his telescope, drew it out to its fullest extent, about four feet, and began gazing at the horizon, standing motionless with his legs wide apart. His examination lasted some few minutes, and then he lowered the glass, set it upon deck, and leaned on it as if it had been a walking stick. Of course his weight shut up the instrument immediately by pushing the different parts, one into the other, and so suddenly that he fell full-length on the deck, and lay sprawled at the foot of the main mist. Anyone else but the major would have smiled, at least, at such a ludicrous sight, but McNabs never moved a muscle of his face. This was too much for the stranger, and he called out, with an unmistakably foreign accent, Steward! He waited a minute, but nobody appeared, and he called again, still louder, Steward! Mr. Olbenet chanced to be passing that minute on his way from the galley, and what was his astonishment at hearing himself addressed like this by a lanky individual of whom he had no knowledge, whatever. Where can he have come from? Who is he, he thought to himself? He cannot possibly be one of Lord Glenarvin's friends. However, he went up on the poop and approached the unknown personage who accosted him with the inquiry. Are you the steward of this vessel? Yes, sir, replied Olbenet, but I have not the honour. I am the passenger in cabin number six. Number six, repeated the steward, certainly, in your name, what is it? Olbenet. Well, Olbenet, my friend, we must think of breakfast and that pretty quickly. It is thirty-six hours since I have had anything to eat, or rather thirty-six hours that I have been asleep, pardonable enough in a man who came all the way without stopping from Paris to Glasgow. What is the breakfast hour? Nine o'clock, replied Olbenet, mechanically. The stranger tried to pull out his watch to see the time, but it was not till he had rummaged through the ninth pocket that he found it. Ah, well, he said, it is only eight o'clock at the present. Fetch me a glass of sherry and a biscuit while I am waiting, for I am actually falling through sheer intonation. Olbenet heard him without understanding what he meant for the voluble stranger kept on talking incessantly, flying from one subject to another. The captain? Isn't the captain up yet, and the chief officer? What is he doing? Is he asleep still? It is fine weather, fortunately, and the wind is favourable, and the ship goes all alone. Just at that moment John Mangles appeared on top of the stairs. Here is the captain, said Olbenet. Ah, delighted Captain Burton, delighted to make your acquaintance. John Mangles stood stupefied as much as seeing the stranger on board as hearing himself called Captain Burton. But the newcomer went on in the most affable manner. Allow me to shake hands with you, sir, and if I did not do so yesterday evening it was only because I did not wish to be troublesome when you were starting. But today, Captain, it gives me great pleasure to begin my intercourse with you. John Mangles opened his eyes as wide as possible and stood staring at Olbenet and the stranger alternately. But without waiting for a reply the rattling fellow continued. Now the introduction is made, my dear Captain, we are old friends. Let's have a little talk and tell me how you like the Scotia. What do you mean by the Scotia, put in John Mangles at last? By the Scotia, why the ship were on, of course, a good ship that has been commanded to me, not only for its physical qualities, but also for the moral qualities of its commander, the brave Captain Burton. You will be some relation of the famous African traveller of that name. A daring man he was, sir. I offer you my congratulations. Sir, interrupted John, I am not only no relation of Burton, the great traveller, but I am not even Captain Burton. Ah, is that so? It is Mr. Birdness, the chief officer that I am talking to at present. Mr. Birdness, repeated John Mangles, beginning to suspect how the matter stood. Only he asked himself whether the man was mad or some heedless rattle-pate. He was beginning to explain the case in a categorical manner when Lord Glenarvin and his party came up on the poop. The stranger caught sight of them directly and exclaimed, Ah, the passengers, the passengers, I hope you are going to introduce me to them, Mr. Birdness. But he could not wait for any one's intervention, and going up to them with perfect ease and grace, he said, bowing to Miss Grant, Madam, then to Lady Helena with another bow, Miss, and to Lord Glenarvin, Sir. Here John Mangles interrupted him and said, Lord Glenarvin, My Lord, continued the unknown, I beg pardon for presenting myself to you, but at sea it is well to relax the strict rules of etiquette a little, and that the company of these ladies will make our voyage in the Scotia appear as short as agreeable. Lady Helena and Miss Grant were too astonished to be able to utter a single word. The presence of this intruder on the poop of the Duncan was perfectly inexplicable. Lord Glenarvin was more collected and said, Sir, to whom have I the honour of speaking? To Jacques-Elesin François-Marie Pagnell, Secretary of the Geographical Society of Paris, corresponding member of the Societies of Berlin, Bombay, Darmstadt, Leipzig, London, St. Petersburg, Vienna and New York, honorary member of the Royal Geographical and Ethnographical Institute of the East Indies, who, after having spent twenty years of his life in geographical work in the study, wishes to see active service, and is on his way to India to gain, for the science, what information he can by following up the footsteps of great travelers. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Bill Young In Search of the Castaways, or The Children of Captain Grant, by Jules Verne Book I, Chapter 7 Jacques Pagnell is Undeceived The Secretary of the Geographical Society was evidently an amiable personage, for all this was said in the most charming manner. Lord Glenarvin knew quite well who he was now, for he had often heard Pagnell spoken of, and was aware of his merits. His geographical works, his papers on modern discoveries, inserted in the reports of the Society, and his worldwide correspondence, gave him a most distinguished place among the literati of France. Lord Glenarvin could not but welcome such a guest, and shook hands cordially. And now that our introductions are over, he added, you will allow me, Montseer Pagnell, to ask you a question. Twenty, my lord, replied Pagnell, it will always be a pleasure to converse with you. Was it last evening that you came on board this vessel? Yes, my lord, about eight o'clock I jumped into a cab at the Caledonian Railway, and from the cab into the Scotia, where I had booked my cabin before I left Paris. It was a dark night, and I saw no one on board. So I found cabin number six, and went to my berth immediately, for I had heard that the best way to prevent seasickness is to go to bed as soon as you start, and not to stir for the first few days. And moreover, I had been traveling for thirty hours. So I tucked myself in, and slept conscientiously, I assure you, for thirty-six hours. Pagnell's listeners understood the whole mystery now of his presence on the Duncan. The French traveler had mistaken his vessel, and gone on board while the crew were attending the service at St. Mungo's. All was explained. But what would the learned geographer say when he heard the name and destination of the ship in which he had taken passage? Then it is Calcutta, Monsier Pagnell, that you have chosen as your point of departure on your travels. Yes, my lord, to see India has been a cherished purpose with me all my life. It will be the realization of my fondest dreams to find myself in the country of elephants and thugs. Then it would be by no means a matter of indifference to you, to visit another country instead. No, my lord, indeed it would be very disagreeable, for I have letters from Lord Somerset, the Governor-General, and also a commission to execute for the geographical society. Ah, you have a commission. Yes, I have to attempt a curious and important journey, the plan of which has been drawn up by my learned friend and colleague, Monsier Vivien de Saint-Martin. I am to pursue the track of the Schlagenwhite brothers, and Colonel's Wa and Webb and Hodson, and Huck and Gabbett, the missionaries, and Moorcroft, and Monsier Jules Reming, and so many celebrated travelers. I mean to try and succeed where Crick, the missionary, so unfortunately failed in 1846. In a word, I want to follow the course of the river Yaro Zhangbao Chao, which waters to Bet for a distance of 1500 kilometers, flowing along the northern base of the Himalayas, and to find out at last whether this river does not join itself to the Brahmaputra in the northeast of Assam. The gold medal, my lord, is promised to the traveler who will succeed in ascertaining a fact which is one of the greatest desiderata to the geography of India. Pajanel was magnificent. He spoke with superb animation, soaring away on the wings of imagination. It would have been impossible to stop him as to stop the Rhine at the falls of Shuffhausen. Monsier Jacques Pajanel said Lord Glenarvin, after a brief pause, that would certainly be a grand achievement, and you would confer a great boon on science. But I should not like to allow you to be laboring under a mistake any longer, and I must tell you, therefore, that for the President, at least, you must give up the pleasure of a visit to India. Give it up, and why? Because you are turning your back on the Indian peninsula. What? Captain Burton! I am not Captain Burton, said John Mangels. But the Scotia! This vessel is not the Scotia. It would be impossible to depict the astonishment of Pajanel. He stared first at one, and then the other in utmost bewilderment. Lord Glenarvin was perfectly grave, and Lady Helena and Mary show their sympathy for his vexation by their looks. As for John Mangels, he could not but suppress a smile. But the Major appeared as unconcerned as usual. At last the poor fellow shrugged his shoulders, pushed down his spectacles over his nose, and said, You are joking! But just at that very moment his eye fell on the wheel of the ship, and he saw the two words on it. Duncan Glassgau The Duncan, the Duncan, he exclaimed, with a cry of despair, and forthwith rushed down the stairs and away to his cabin. As soon as the unfortunate savant had disappeared, everyone except the Major broke out into such peals of laughter that the sound reached the ears of the sailors in the forecastle. To mistake a railway or to take the train to Edinburgh when you want to go to Dunbarton might happen. But to mistake a ship and be sailing for Chile when you meant to go to India, that is a blunder indeed. However, said Lord Glenarvon, I am not much astonished at it in Pageantel. He is quite famous for such misadventures. One day he published a celebrated map of America and put Japan on it. But for all that, he is distinguished for his learning, and he is one of the best geographers in France. But what shall we do with the poor gentleman, said Lady Helena? We cannot take him with us to Patagonia. Why not? replied McNabs gravely. We are not responsible for his heedless mistakes. Suppose he were in a railway train. Would they stop it for him? No, but he would get out at the first station. Well, that is just what he can do here, too, if he likes. He can disembark at the first place where we touch. While they were talking, Pageantel came up again on the poop, looking very woe-begone and crestfallen. He had been making inquiry about his luggage to assure himself that it was all on board, and kept repeating incessantly the unlucky words, the Duncan, the Duncan! He could find no others in his vocabulary. He paced restlessly up and down, sometimes stopping to examine the sails, or gaze inquiringly over the wide ocean at the far horizon. At length, he accosted Lord Glynarvin once more and said, And this Duncan, where is she going? To America, Montseor Pageantel was the reply. And to what particular part? To Concepcion. To Chile. To Chile, cried the unfortunate geographer, and my mission to India. But what will Montseor de Quatrofage, the president of the Central Commission, say? And Montseor de Avazek? And Montseor Cortenburt? And Montseor Vivien de Saint-Martine? How will I show my face at the séances of the society? Come, Montseor Pageantel, don't despair. It can all be managed. You will only have to put up with a little delay, which is relatively of not much importance. The Yoro Zhang Baoxiao will wait for you still in the mountains of Tibet. We will soon put in at Madeira, and you will get a ship there to take you back to Europe. Thanks, my lord. I suppose I must resign myself to it. But people will say it is a most extraordinary adventure. And it is only to me such things happen. And then, too, there is a cabin taken for me on board the Scotia. Oh, as to the Scotia, you will have to give that up meantime. But the Duncan is a pleasure yacht, is it not? Begin Pageantel again, after a fresh examination of the vessel. Yes, sir, said John Mangels, and belongs to Lord Glenarvin. Who begs you will draw freely on his hospitality, said Lord Glenarvin. A thousand thanks, my lord. I deeply feel your courtesy, but allow me to make one observation. India is a fine country, and can offer many a surprising marvel to travelers. These ladies, I suppose, have never seen it. Well, now, the man at the helm has only to give a turn at the wheel, and the Duncan will sail as easily to Calcutta as to Concepción. And since it is only a pleasure trip that you are. His proposal was met by such grave disapproving shakes to the head, that he stopped short before the sentence was completed. And Lady Hellenus said, Monster Pageantel, if we were only on a pleasure trip, I should reply, let us all go to India together, and I am sure Lord Glenarvin would not object. But the Duncan is going to bring back shipwrecked mariners who were cast away on the shores of Patagonia, and we could not alter such a destination. The Frenchman was soon put in possession of all the circumstances of the case. He was no unmoved auditor, and when he heard of Lady Hellenus' generous proposition, he could not help saying, Madam, permit me to express my admiration of your conduct throughout, my unreserved admiration. Let your yacht continue her course. I should reproach myself for I to cause a single day's delay. Will you join us in our search, then? asked Lady Hellenus. It is impossible, Madam. I must fulfill my mission. I shall disembark at the first place you touch it, wherever it may be. That will be Madeira, said John Mangels. Madeira be it, then. I shall only be one hundred and eighty leagues from Lisbon, and I shall wait there for some means of transport. Very well, monster of Paginel, it shall be as you wish, and, for my own part, I am very glad to be able to offer you, meantime, a few days' hospitality. I only hope you will not find our company too dull. Oh, my lord, exclaimed Paginel, I am but too happy to have made a mistake which has turned out so agreeably. Still, it is a very ridiculous plight for a man to be in, to find himself sailing to America when he is set out to go to the East Indies. But in spite of this melancholy reflection, the Frenchman submitted gracefully to the compulsory delay. He made himself amiable and merry, and even diverting, and enchanted the ladies with his good humor. Before the end of the day, he was friends with everybody. At his request, the famous document was brought out. He studied it carefully and minutely for a long time, and finally declared his opinion that no other interpretation of it was possible. Mary Grant and her brother inspired him with the most lively interest. He gave them great hope, indeed, the young girl could not help smiling at his sanguine prediction of success, and this odd way of foreseeing future events. But for his mission, he would have made one of the search-party for Captain Grant undoubtedly. As for Lady Helena, when he heard that she was a daughter of William Toughnell, there was a perfect explosion of admiring epithets. He had known her father, and what letters had passed between them when William Toughnell was a corresponding member of the Society. It was he himself that had introduced him and Montseur Maltabroon. What a raccontra this was, and what a pleasure to travel with a daughter of Toughnell. He wound up by asking permission to kiss her, which Lady Helena granted, though it was, perhaps, a little improper. The Geographers' Resolution Meantime, the yacht, favored by the currents from the north of Africa, was making rapid progress towards the equator. On the thirtieth of August, they cited the Madeira Group of Islands, and Glen Arvin, true to his promise, offered to put in there and land his new guest. But Paganel said, My dear Lord, I won't stand on ceremony with you. Tell me, did you intend to stop at Madeira before I came on board? No, replied Glen Arvin. Well, then, allow me to profit by my unlucky mistake. Madeira is an island too well known to be of much interest now to a Geographer. Everything about this group has been said and written already. Besides, it is completely going down as far as wine-growing is concerned. Just imagine, no vines to speak of being in a Madeira. In 1813, twenty-two thousand pipes of wine were made there, and in 1845 the number fell off to two thousand six hundred sixty-nine. It is a grievous spectacle. If it is all the same to you, we might go on to the Canary Isles instead. Certainly, it will not, in the least, interfere with our route. I know it will not, my dear Lord. In the Canary Islands, you see, there are three groups to setee, besides the Peak of Tenerife, which I always wish to visit. This is an opportunity, and I should like to avail myself of it and make the ascent of the famous mountain while I am waiting for a ship to take me back to Europe. As you please, my dear Paganel, said Lord Glenarvin, though he could not help smiling, and no wonder, for these islands are scarcely two hundred and fifty miles from Madeira, a trifling distance for such a quick sailor as the Duncan. Next day, about two p.m., John Mangles and Paganel were walking on the poop. The Frenchman was assailing his companion with all sorts of questions about Chile, when all at once the captain interrupted him and pointing toward the southern horizon, said, Mr. Paganel? Yes, my dear captain? Be so good as to look in this direction. Don't you see anything? Nothing. You're not looking in the right place. It is not on the horizon, but above it in the clouds. In the clouds I might well not see. There, there, by the upper end of the bowsprit. I see nothing. Then you don't want to see. Anyway, though we are forty miles off, yet I tell you the peak of Tenerife is quite visible yonder above the horizon. But whether Paganel could not or would not see it then, two hours later he was forced to yield to ocular evidence or own himself blind. You do see it at last, then, said John Mangles. Yes, yes distinctly, replied Paganel, adding in a disdainful tone, and that's what they call the peak of Tenerife. That's the peak. It doesn't look like much of a height. It is eleven thousand feet, though, above the level of the sea. That is not equal to Mont Blanc. Likely enough, but when you come to ascend it, probably you'll think it high enough. Oh, ascend it! Ascend it, my dear captain! What would be the good after Humboldt and Bonplans? That Humboldt was a great genius. He made the ascent of this mountain, and has given a description of it which leaves nothing unsaid. He tells us that it comprises five different zones— the zone of the wines, the zone of the laurels, the zone of the pines, the zone of the alpine heaths, and, lastly, the zone of sterility. He set his foot on the very summit, and found that there was not even room enough to sit down. The view from the summit was very extensive, stretching over an area equal to Spain. Then he went right down into the volcano, and examined the extinct crater. What could I do? I should like you to tell me, after that great man. Well, certainly there isn't much left to glean. That is vexing, too, for you would find it dull work waiting for a vessel in the peak of Tenerife. But I say, mangles, my dear fellow, are there no ports in the Cape Verde Islands that we might touch at? Oh yes, nothing would be easier than putting you off at Villa Praia. And then I should have one advantage, which is by no means inconsiderable. I should find fellow countrymen at Senegal, and that is not far away from those islands. I am quite aware that the group is said to be devoid of much interest and wild and unhealthy, but everything is curious in the eyes of a geographer. Seeing is a science. There are people who do not know how to use their own eyes, and who travel about with as much intelligence as a shellfish. But that's not in my line, I assure you. Please yourself, Mr. Paganel. I have no doubt geographical science will be a gainer by your sojourn in the Cape Verde Islands. We must go in there anyhow for coal, so your disembarkation will not occasion the least delay. The captain gave immediate orders for the yacht to continue her route, steering to the west of the Canary Group, and leaving Tenerife on her larboard. She made rapid progress and passed the Tropic of Cancer on the 2nd of September at 5 a.m. The weather now began to change, and the atmosphere became damp and heavy. It was the rainy season, La Tempo de Sacuas, as the Spanish call it, a trying season to travelers but useful to the inhabitants of the African islands who lacked trees and consequently water. The rough weather prevented the passengers from going on deck, but did not make the conversation any less animated in the saloon. On the 3rd of September Paganel began to collect his luggage to go on shore. The Duncan was already steaming among the islands. She passed Sal, a complete tomb of sand lying barren and desolate, and went on among the vast coral reefs and a thwarty isle of Saint Jacques, with its long chain of basaltic mountains, till she entered the port of Villapriah and anchored in eight fathoms of water before the town. The weather was frightful and the surf excessively violent, though the bay was sheltered from the sea winds. The rain fell in such torrents that the town was scarcely visible through it. It rose on a plane in the form of a terrace, but dressed on volcanic rocks three hundred feet high. The appearance of the island through the thick veil of rain was mournful in the extreme. Lady Helena could not go on shore as she had purposed. Indeed, even coaling was a difficult business, and the passengers had to content themselves below the poop as best they might. Naturally enough, the main topic of conversation was the weather. Everybody had something to say about it except the major, who surveyed the universal deluge with the utmost indifference. Paganel walked up and down, shaking his head. It is clear enough, Paganel, said Lord Glenarvon, that the elements are against you. I'll be even with them for all that, replied the Frenchman. You cannot face rain like that, Mr. Paganel, said Lady Helena. Oh, quite well, madam, as far as I myself am concerned. It is for my luggage and instruments that I am afraid. Everything will be ruined. The disembarking is the worst part of the business. Once at Villapriah you might manage to find pretty good quarters. They won't be over-clean, and you might find the monkeys and pigs are not always the most agreeable companions. But travelers are not too particular, and, moreover, in seven or eight months you would get a ship, I daresay, to take you back to Europe. Seven or eight months, exclaimed Paganel. At least. The Cape Verde Islands are not much frequented by ships during the rainy season. But you can employ your time usefully. This archipelago is still but little known. You can go up the large rivers, suggested Lady Helena. There are none, madam. Well, then, the small ones. There are none, madam. They're running brooks, then. There are no brooks, either. You can console yourself with the forests, if that's the case, put in the major. You can't make forests without trees, and there are no trees. A charming country, said the major. Comfort yourself, my dear Paganel. You'll have the mountains at any rate. Oh, they are neither lofty nor interesting, my lord, and besides they have been described already. Already, said Lord Glenarvin, yes, that is always my luck. At the Canary Islands I saw myself anticipated by Humboldt, and here by Monsieur Charles St. Clair de Ville, a geologist. Impossible. It is too true, replied Paganel in a doleful voice. Monsieur de Ville was on board the Government Corvette, la Dissidée, when she touched at the Cape Verde Islands. And he explored the most interesting of the group, and went to the top of the volcano in Isle Fogo. What has left me to do after him? It is really a great pity, said Helena. What will become of you, Monsieur Paganel? Paganel remained silent. You would certainly have done much better to have landed at Madeira, even though there had been no wine, said Glenarvin. Still the learned secretary was silent. I should wait, said the major, just as if he had said I should not wait. Paganel spoke again at length and said, My dear Glenarvin, where do you mean to touch next? At Conception. Plague it. That is the long way out of the road to India. Not it. From the moment you pass Cape Horn you are getting nearer to it. I doubt it much. Beside, resumed Lord Glenarvin, with perfect gravity, when people are going to the Indies it doesn't matter much whether it is to the East or West. What? It does not matter much. Without taking into account the fact that the inhabitants of the Pampas and Patagonia are as much Indians as the natives of the Punjab. Well done, my lord. That's a reason that would never have entered my head. And then, my dear Paganel, you can gain the gold medal anyway. There is as much to be done and sought and investigated and discovered in the Cordillias and in the mountains of Tibet. But the course of the Yaro Zhangzhu Chou, what about that? Go up the Rio Colorado and said, It is a river but little known, and its course on the map is marked out too much according to the fancy of geographers. I know it is, my dear lord, they have made grave mistakes. Oh, I make no question that the geographical society would have sent me to Patagonia as soon as to India if I had sent in a request to that effect, but I never thought of it. Just like you. Come, Mr. Paganel, won't you go with us? Ask Lady Helena, in her most winning tone. Madam, my mission. We shall pass through the Straits of Magellan. I must tell you, said Lord Glenarvin. My lord, you are a tempter. Let me add that we shall visit Port Famine. Port Famine, exclaimed the Frenchman, besieged on all sides, that famous port in French annals. Think, too, Mr. Paganel, that by taking part in our enterprise you will be linking France with Scotland. Undoubtedly. A geographer would be of much use to our expedition and what can be nobler than to bring science to the service of humanity. That's well said, madam. Take my advice then, and yield to chance, or rather providence. Follow our example. It was providence that sent us the document, and we set out in consequence. The same providence brought you on board the Duncan. Don't leave her. Shall I say yes, my good friends? Come now, tell me. You want me very much to stay, don't you? said Paganel. And you're dying to stay, now, aren't you, Paganel? returned to Glenarvin. That's about it, confessed the learned geographer, but I was afraid it would be inconsiderate. End of Book One, Chapter Eight. Through the Straits of Magellan. The joy on board was universal when Paganel's resolution was made known. Little Robert flung himself on his neck in such tumultuous delight that he nearly threw the worthy secretary down, and made him say, Rude petit bonhomme, I'll teach him geography. Robert Badfair, to be an accomplished gentleman some day, for John Mangles was to make a sailor of him, and the major was to teach him sang foie, and Glenarvin and Lady Helena were to instill into him courage and goodness and generosity, while Mary was to inspire him with gratitude towards such instructors. The Duncan soon finished taking in coal, and turned her back on the dismal region. She fell in before long with the current from the coast of Brazil, and on the seventh of September entered the southern hemisphere. So far, then, the voyage had been made without difficulty. Everybody was full of hope, for in this search for Captain Grant, each day seemed to increase the probability of finding him. The Captain was among the most confident on board, but his confidence mainly arose from the longing desire he had to see Miss Mary happy. He was smitten with quite a peculiar interest for this young girl, and managed to conceal his sentiments so well that everyone on board saw it except himself and Mary Grant. As for the learned geographer, he was probably the happiest man in all the southern hemisphere. He spent the whole day in studying maps, which were spread out on the saloon table, to the great annoyance of Mr. Obenet, who could never get the cloth laid for meals, without disputes on the subject. But all the passengers took his part except the Major, who was perfectly indifferent about geographical questions, especially at dinner time. Paganel also came across a regular cargo of old books in the Chief Officer's chest. They were in very damaged condition, but among them he ranked out a few Spanish volumes, and determined forthwith to set to work to master the language of Cervantes, as no one on board understood it, and it would be helpful in their search along the Chilean coast. Thanks to his taste for languages, he did not despair being able to speak the language fluently when they arrived at Concepción. He studied it furiously, and kept constantly muttering heterogeneous syllables. He spent his leisure hours in teaching young Robert, and instructed him in the history of the country they were so rapidly approaching. On the 25th of September, the yacht arrived off the Straits of Magellan, and entered them without delay. This route is generally preferred by steamers on their way to the Pacific Ocean. The exact length of the Straits is 372 miles. Ships of the largest tonnage find, throughout, sufficient depth of water, even close to the shore, and there is a good bottom everywhere, an abundance of fresh water and rivers abounding in fish, and forests in game, and plenty of safe and accessible harbors. In fact, a thousand things which are lacking in Strait Lamar and Cape Horn, with its terrible rocks incessantly visited by hurricane and tempest. For the first three or four hours, that is to say, for about 60 to 80 miles, as far as Cape Gregory, the coast on either side was low and sandy. Jacques Paganel would not lose a single point of view, nor a single detail of the Straits. It would scarcely take 36 hours to go through them, and the moving panorama on both sides, seen in all the clearness and glory of the light of a southern sun, was well worth the trouble of looking and admiring. On the Terra del Fuego side, a few wretched-looking creatures were wandering about on the rocks, but on the other side, not a solitary inhabitant was visible. Paganel was so vexed at not being able to catch a glimpse of any Patagonians that his companions were quite amused at him. He would insist that Patagonia, without Patagonians, was not Patagonia at all. But Glenarvin replied, Patience, my worthy geographer, we shall see the Patagonians yet. I am not sure of it, but there is such a people anyhow, said Lady Helena. I doubt it much, madam, since I don't see them. But surely the very name Patagonia, which means great feat in Spanish, would not have been given to imaginary beings. Oh, the name is nothing, said Paganel, who was arguing simply for the sake of arguing, and besides to speak the truth, we are not sure if that is their name. What an idea! exclaimed Glenarvin. Did you know that, Major? No, replied McNabs, and wouldn't give a Scotch pound note for the information. You shall hear it, however, Major Indifferent. Though Magellan called the natives Patagonians, the Fuegans called them Teremenin, the Chileans Quacahus, the colonists of Carmen, Tehuaches, the Araucans Huliches, Bougainville gives them the name of Hwaja, and Faulkner that of the Twahelits. The name they give themselves is Inakin. Now tell me, then, how would you recognize them? Indeed, is it likely that a people with so many names has any actual existence? That's a queer argument, certainly, said Lady Helena. Well, let us admit it, said her husband, but our friend Paganel must own that even if there are doubts about the name of the race, there is none about their size. Indeed, I will never own anything so outrageous as that, replied Paganel. They are tall, said Glenarvin. I don't know that. Are they little, then? asked Lady Helena. No one can confirm that they are. About the average, then, said McNabs. I don't know that, either. That's going a little too far, said Glenarvin. Travelers who have seen them tell us. Travelers who have seen them, interrupted Paganel, don't agree at all in their accounts. Magellan said that his head scarcely reached to their waist. Well, then, that proves. Yes, but Drake declares that the English are taller than the tallest Patagonian. Oh, the English, that may be, replied the Major disdainfully, but we are talking of the scotch. Cavendish assures us that they are tall and robust. Paganel continued Paganel. Hawkins makes out that they are giants. Lamar and Shouten declare that they are eleven feet high. These are all creditable witnesses, said Glenarvin. Yes, quite as much as Wood, Narboa, and Faulkner, who say that they are of medium stature. Again, Byron, Girardes, Bougainville, Wallace, and Carteret declared that the Patagonians are six feet, six inches tall. But what is the truth, then, among all these contradictions? asked Lady Helena. Just this, madam, the Patagonians have short legs and a large bust, or by way of a joke we might say that these natives are six feet high when they are sitting, and only five when they are standing. Bravo, my dear geographer, said Glenarvin, that is very well put. Unless the race has no existence, that would reconcile all statements, returned Paganel. But here is one consolation at all events. The Straits of Magellan are very magnificent, even without Patagonians. Just at this moment the Duncan was rounding the peninsula of Brunswick between splendid panoramas. Seventy miles after doubling Cape Gregory, she left on her starboard the penitentiary of Punta Arena. The church steeple and the Chilean flag gleamed for an instant among the trees, and then the strait wound on between huge, granadic masses which had an imposing effect. Cloud-capped mountains appeared, their heads white with eternal snows, and their feet hid in immense forests. Toward the southwest, Mount Tarn rose sixty-five hundred feet high. Night came on after a long, lingering twilight, the light insensibly melting away into soft folds. These brilliant constellations began to bestud the sky, and the southern cross shone out. There were numerous bays along the shore, easy of access, but the yacht did not drop anchor in any. She continued her course fearlessly through the luminous darkness. Presently ruins came in sight, crumbling buildings, which the night invested with grandeur, the sad remains of a deserted settlement, whose name will be an eternal protest against these fertile shores and forests full of game. The Duncan was passing Fort Famine. It was in that very spot that Sarmiento, a Spaniard, came in fifteen eighty-one, with four hundred immigrants to establish a colony. He founded the city of St. Philip, but the extreme severity of winter decimated the inhabitants, and those who had struggled through the cold died subsequently of starvation. Cavendish the Corsair discovered the last survivor dying of hunger in the ruins. After sailing along these deserted shores, the Duncan went through a series of narrow passes between forests of beach and ash and birch, and at length doubled cape forward, still bustling with the ice of the last winter. On the other side of the strait, in Teradelf-Huegos, stood Mount Sarmiento, towering to a height of six thousand feet, an enormous accumulation of rocks separated by bands of cloud, forming a sort of aerial archipelago in the sky. It is at Cape Forward that the American continent actually terminates, for Cape Horn is nothing but a rock sunk in the sea in latitude fifty-two degrees. At Cape Momot, the straits widened, and she was able to get round Narborough Islands and advance in a more southerly direction, till at length the Rock of Cape Pilleries, the extreme point of Desolation Island, came in sight, thirty-six hours after entering the straits. Before her stern lay a broad, open, sparkling ocean, which Jacques Paganel greeted with enthusiastic gestures, feeling kindred emotions with those which stirred the bosom of Ferdinand de Magellan himself, when the sails of his ship, the Trinidad, first bent before the breeze from the Great Pacific. End of Book One, Chapter Nine Book One, Chapter Ten, 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. Book One, Chapter Ten. The Course Decided A week after they had doubled the Cape Pilleries, the Duncan steamed into the bay of Talcahuano, a magnificent estuary twelve miles long and nine broad. The weather was splendid. From November to March the sky is always cloudless, and a constant south wind prevails, as the coast is sheltered by the mountain range of the Andes. In obedience to Lord Glenarvon's order, John Mangels had sailed as near the archipelago of Chilo as possible, and examined all the creeks and windings of the coast, hoping to discover some traces of the shipwreck. A broken spar or any fragment of the vessel would have put them in the right track, but nothing whatever was visible, and the yacht continued her route till she dropped anchor at the port of Talcahuano forty-two days from the time she had sailed out of the fogs of the Clyde. Glenarvon had a boat lowered immediately and went on shore, accompanied by Paganel. The learned geographer gladly availed himself of the opportunity of making use of the language he had been studying so conscientiously, but to his great amazement found he could not make himself understood by the people. It's the accent I've not got, he said. Let us go to the Custom House, replied Glenarvon. They were informed on arriving there by means of a few English words aided by expressive gestures that the British consul lived at Concepcion, an hour's ride distant. Glenarvon found no difficulty in procuring two fleet horses, and he and Paganel were soon within the walls of the great city, due to the enterprising genius of Valdivia, the valiant comrade of the Pizarros. How it was shorn of its ancient splendor, often pillaged by the natives, burned in 1819, it lay in desolation and ruins, its walls still blackened by the flames, scarcely numbering 8,000 inhabitants, and already eclipsed by Talcahuano. The grass was growing in the streets, beneath the lazy feet of the citizens, and all trade and business, indeed any description of activity was impossible. The notes of the mandolin resounded from every balcony, and languishing songs floated on the breeze. Concepcion, the ancient city of brave men, had become a village of women and children. Lord Glenarvon felt no great desire to inquire into the causes of this decay, though Paganel tried to draw him into a discussion on the subject. He would not delay an instant, but went straight on to the house of Mr. Bentech, Her Majesty's consul, who received him very courteously, and on learning their errand undertook to make inquiries all along the coast. But to the question whether a three-mast vessel, called the Britannia, had gone ashore either on the Chilean or Araquian coast, he gave a decided negative. No report of such an event had been made to him, or any of the other consuls. Glenarvon, however, would not allow himself to be disheartened. He went back to Talcahuano, and spared neither pains nor expense to make a thorough investigation of the whole seaboard. But it was in vain. The most-mighted inquiries were fruitless, and Lord Glenarvon returned to the yacht to report his ill success. Mary Grant and her brother could not restrain their grief. Lady Helena did her best to comfort them by loving caresses, while Jacques Paganel took up the document and began studying it again. He had been pouring over it for more than an hour when Glenarvon interrupted him and said, Paganel, I appeal to your sagacity. Have we made an erroneous interpretation of the document? Is there anything illogical about the meaning? Paganel was silent, absorbed in reflection. Have we mistaken the place where the catastrophe occurred? continued Glenarvon. Does not the name Patagonia seem apparent even to the least clear-sided individual? Paganel was still silent. Besides, said Glenarvon, does not the word Indian prove we are right? Perfectly so, replied McNabs. And is it not evident, then, that at the moment of writing the words the shipwrecked men were expecting to be made prisoners by the Indians? I take exception to that, my Lord, said Paganel, and even if your other conclusions are right, this at least seemed to me irrational. What do you mean, asked Lady Helena, while all eyes were fixed on the Geographer? I mean this, replied Paganel, that Captain Grant is now a prisoner among the Indians, and I further add that the document states it unmistakably. Explain yourself, sir, said Mary Grant. Nothing is plainer, dear Mary. Instead of reading the document Serran prisonier, read Saint prisonier, and the whole thing is clear. But that is impossible, replied Lord Glenarvon. Impossible. And why, my noble friend, asked Paganel, smiling, because the bottle could only have been thrown into the sea just when the vessel went to pieces on the rocks, and consequently the latitude and longitude given referred to the actual place of the shipwreck. There is no proof of that, replied Paganel, and I see nothing to preclude the supposition that the poor fellows were dragged into the interior by the Indians, and sought to make known the place of their captivity by means of this bottle. Except this fact, my dear Paganel, that there was no sea, and therefore they could not have flung the bottle into it. Unless they flung it into rivers which ran into the sea, returned Paganel. This reply was so unexpected, and yet so admissible, that it made them all completely silent for a minute, though their beaming eyes betrayed the rekindling of hope in their hearts. Lady Helena was the first to speak. What an idea, she exclaimed, and what a good idea was Paganel's naive rejoinder to her exclamation. What would you advise, then? said Glenarvon. My advice is to follow the thirty-seventh parallel from the point where it touches the American continent to where it dips into the Atlantic, without deviating from it half a degree, and possibly in some part of its course we shall fall in with the shipwrecked party. There is a poor chance of that, said the major. Poor as it is, returned Paganel, we ought not to lose it. If I am right in my conjecture that the bottle has been carried into the sea on the bosom of some river, we cannot fail to find the track of the prisoners. You can easily convince yourselves of this by looking at the map of the country. He enrolled a map of Chile and the Argentine provinces as he spoke, and spread it out on the table. Just follow me for a moment, he said, across the American continent. Let us make stride across the narrow strip of Chile and over the cordarias of the Andes, and get into the heart of the Pampas. Shall we find any lack of rivers and streams and currents? No, for here are the Rio Negro and the Rio Colorado and their tributaries intersected by the thirty-seventh parallel, and any of them might have carried the bottle on its waters. Then perhaps in the midst of a tribe in some Indian settlement, on the shores of these almost unknown rivers, those whom I may call my friends await some providential intervention, ought we to disappoint their hopes? Do you not all agree with me that it is our duty to go along the line my finger is pointing out at this moment on the map, and if after all we find I have been mistaken, still to keep straight on and follow the thirty-seventh parallel till we find those we seek, even if we go right round the world? His generous enthusiasm so touched his auditors that, involuntarily, they rose to their feet and grasped his hands, while Robert exclaimed as he devoured the map with his eyes, Yes, my father is there. And where he is, replied Glenarvin, we'll manage to go, my boy, and find him. Nothing can be more logical than Pagnell's theory, and we must follow the course he points out without the least hesitation. Captain Grant may have fallen into the hands of a numerous tribe, or his captors may be but a handful. In the latter case we shall carry him off at once, but in the event of the former, after we have reconnoitred the situation, we must go back to the Duncan on the eastern coast and get to Buenos Aires, where we can soon organise the detachment of men, with major McNabs at their head, strong enough to tackle all the Indians in the Argentine provinces. That's capital, my lord, said John Mangels, and may I add, there is no danger whatever crossing the continent. Monsieur Pagnell, asked Lady Helena, you have no fear then that if the poor fellows have fallen into the hands of the Indians, their lives have at least been spared? What a question! Why, madam, the Indians are not anthropopagi, far from it. One of my own countrymen, Monsieur Grinard, associated with me in the geographical society, was three years of prisoner among the Indians in the Pampas. He had to endure sufferings and ill treatment, but came off victorious at last. A European is a useful being in these countries, the Indians know his value and take care of him as if he were some costly animal. There is not the least room, then, for hesitation, said Lord Glenarvon. Go, we must, and as soon as possible. What route must we take? One that is both easy and agreeable, replied Pagnell, rather mountainous at first, and then sloping gently down to the eastern side of the Andes into a smooth plain, turfted and graveled quite like a garden. Let us see the map, said the major. Here it is, my dear McNabs. We shall go through the capital of Arancania and cut the Cordillas by the pass of Antuco, leaving the volcano on the south and gliding gently down the mountain sides, past the Necquim and the Rio Colorado on the Pampas till we reach the Sierra Tepaquin, from whence we shall see the frontier of the province of Buenos Aires. These we shall pass by and cross over the Sierra Tandil, pursuing our search to the very shores of the Atlantic as far as Point Medano. Pagnell went through this program of the expedition without so much as a glance at the map. He was so posted up in the travels of Fresier, Molina, Humboldt, Miers, and Orbinier that he had the geographical nomenclature at his fingers' ends and could trust implicitly to his never-failing memory. You see then, friend, he added, that it is a straight course. In thirty days we shall have gone over it and gained the eastern side before the Duncan, however little she may be delayed by the westerly winds. Then the Duncan is to cruise between Corrientes and Cape Cent Antoine, said John Mangels, just so. And how is the expedition to be organized, asked Glenarvin, as simply as possible. All there is to be done is to reconnoiter the situation of Captain Grant and not come to gunshot with the Indians. I think that Lord Glenarvin, our natural leader, the major who would not yield his place to anybody and your humble servant, Jacques Pagnell, and me, interrupted Robert. Robert, Robert, exclaimed Mary, and why not, returned Pagnell, travels form the youthful mind. Yes, Robert, we four and three of the sailors. And does your lordship mean to pass me by? said John Mangels, addressing his master. My dear John, replied Glenarvin, we leave passengers on board, those dearer to us than life, and who is to watch over them but the devoted Captain. Then we can't accompany you, said Lady Helena, while a shade of sadness beclouded her eyes. My dear Helena, the journey will be so soon accomplished that it will be but a brief separation, and yes, dear, I understand, it is all right, and I do hope you may succeed. Besides, you can hardly call it a journey, added Pagnell. What is it, then? It is just making a flying passage across the continent, the way a good man goes through the world, doing all the good he can. Transar beneficiendo, that is our motto. This ended the discussion, if a conversation can be so called, where all who take part in it are of the same opinion. Preparations commence the same day, but as secretly as possible to prevent the Indians getting sent of it. The day of departure was fixed for the 14th of October. The sailors were also eager to join the expedition that Glenarvin found the only way to prevent jealousy among them was to draw lots who should go. This was accordingly done, and Fortune favoured the chief officer, Tom Austin, Wilson, a strong jovial young fellow, and Mulradi, so good a boxer that he might have entered the lists with Tom Sayers himself. Glenarvin displayed the greatest activity about the preparations, for he was anxious to be ready by the appointed day. John Mangles was equally busy in coaling the vessel that she might weigh anchor at the same time. There was quite a rivalry between Glenarvin and the young captain about getting first to the Argentine coast. Both were ready on the 14th. The whole search party assembled in the saloon to bid farewell to those who remained behind. The Duncan was just about to get under way, and already the vibration of the screws began to agitate the limpid waters of the Talcahuano, Glenarvin, Paganel, McNabs, Robert Grant, Tom Austin, Wilson, and Mulradi stood armed with carbines and Colts revolvers. Guides and mules awaited them at the landing stairs of the harbor. It is time, said Lord Glenarvin at last. Go then, Edward, said Lady Helena, restraining her emotion. Lord Glenarvin clasped pair-clothedly to his breast for an instant, and then turned away while Robert flung his arms round Mary's neck. And now, friend, said Paganel, let's have one good hearty shake of the hands all around, till last us till we get to the shores of the Atlantic. This was not much to ask, but he certainly got strong enough grips to go some way towards satisfying his desire. All went on deck now, and the seven explorers left the vessel. They were soon on the quay, and as the yacht turned round to pursue her course, she came so near where they stood that Lady Helena could exchange farewells once more. God help you, she called out. Heaven will help us, madam, shouted Paganel in reply, for you may be sure we'll help ourselves. Go on, sung out the captain to his engineer. At the same moment Lord Glenarvin gave the signal to start, and away went the mules along the coast, while the Duncan steamed out at full speed toward the broad ocean. End of book 1, chapter 10