 26. The return on board. For two hours the Ombudsman, the Ombudsman, and the Ombudsman 26. The Ombudsman, the Ombudsman, and the Ombudsman, the Ombudsman, and the Ombudsman, the storm was nearly over. The rain had given place to light mists, which a breath of wind dispersed, and the heavy masses of cloud had separated and now streaked the sky in long bands. The Ombu was born onward so rapidly by the impetuous torrent that any one might have supposed some powerful locomotive engine was hidden in its trunk. It seemed likely enough they might continue drifting in this way for days. About three o'clock in the morning, however, the Major noticed that the roots were beginning to graze the ground occasionally, and by sounding the depth of the water with a long branch, Tom Austin found that they were getting on rising ground. Twenty minutes afterward the Ombu stopped short with a violent jolt. Land! Land! shouted Paginel, in a ringing tone. The extremity of the calcine bow had struck some hillock, and never were sailors more glad the rock to them was the port. Already Robert and Wilson had leaped on to the solid plateau with a loud, joyful hurrah when a well-known whistle was heard. The gallop of a horse resounded over the plain, and the tall form of foul cave emerged from the darkness. Thou cave! Thou cave! they all cried with one voice. Amigos! replied the Patagonian, who had been waiting for the travellers here in the same place where the current had landed himself. As he spoke he lifted up Robert in his arms and hugged him to his breast, never imagining that Paginel was hanging on to him. A general and hearty handshaking followed, and everyone rejoiced at seeing their faithful guide again. Then the Patagonian led the way into the hangar of a deserted Estancia, where there was a good blazing fire to warm them, and a substantial meal of fine, juicy slices of venison soon broiling, of which they did not leave a crumb. When their minds had calmed down a little, and they were able to reflect on the dangers they had come through from flood and fire and alligators, they could scarcely believe they had escaped. Thou cave, in a few words, gave Paginel an account of himself since they parted, entirely ascribing his deliverance to his intrepid horse. Then Paginel tried to make him understand their new interpretation of the document, and the consequent hopes they were indulging. Whether the Indian actually understood his ingenious hypothesis was a question, but he saw that they were glad and confident, and that was enough for him. This can easily be imagined after their compulsory rest on the Umbu. The travellers were up at times and ready to start. At eight o'clock they set off. No means of transport being procurable so far south they were compelled to walk. However, it was not more than forty miles now that they had to go, and Thauuka would not refuse to give a lift occasionally to a tired pedestrian, or even to a couple at a pinch. At thirty-six hours they might reach the shores of the Atlantic. The low-lying tract of marshy ground, still under water, soon lay behind them, as Thau cave led them upward to the higher plains. Here the Argentine territory resumed its monotonous aspect. A few clumps of trees, planted by European hands, might chance to be visible among the pasture-age, but quite as rarely as in Tandil and Tupacum Ciaris. The native trees are only found on the edge of long prairies and about Cape Corrientes. Next day, though still fifteen miles distant, the proximity of the ocean was sensibly felt. The verazin, a peculiar wind, which blows regularly half of the day and night, bent down the heads of the tall grasses. Thinly planted woods rose to view, and small tree-like mimosas, bushes of acacia, and tufts of cura mantel. Here and there, shining like pieces of broken glass, were salamnus lagoons, which increased the difficulty of the journey as the travelers had to wind round them to get past. They pushed on as quickly as possible, hoping to reach Lake Salado on the shores of the ocean the same day. And at 8 p.m., when they found themselves in front of the sand hills two hundred feet high, which skirt the coast, they were all tolerably tired. But when the long murmur of the distant ocean fell on their ears, the exhausted men forgot their fatigue and ran up the sand hills with surprising agility. But it was getting quite dark already, and their eager gaze could discover no traces of the Duncan on the gloomy expanse of water that met their sight. "'But she is there for all that,' exclaimed Glen Arvin, waiting for us and running alongside. "'We shall see her to-morrow,' replied McNabs. Tom Austin hailed the invisible yacht, but there was no response. The wind was very high, and the sea rough. The clouds were scutting along from the west, and the spray of the waves dashed up even to the sand hills. It was little wonder then if the man on the lookout could neither hear nor make himself heard, supposing the Duncan were there. There was no shelter on the coast for her, neither bay nor cove nor port, not so much as a creek. The shore was composed of sand-banks which ran out into the sea, and were more dangerous to approach than rocky shoals. The sand-banks irritate the waves, and make the sea so particularly rough, that in heavy weather vessels that run aground there are invariably dashed to pieces. Though then the Duncan would keep far away from such a coast, John Manglis is a prudent captain to get near. Tom Austin, however, was of the opinion that she would be able to keep five miles out. The Major advised his impatient relative to restrain himself to circumstances. Since there was no means of dissipating the darkness, it was the use of straining his eyes by vainly endeavoring to pierce through it. He set to work immediately to prepare the night's encampment beneath the shelter of the sand hills. The last provisions supplied the last meal, and afterward each, following the Major's example, scooped out a hole in the sand which made a comfortable enough bed, and then covered himself with the soft material up to his chin, and fell into a heavy sleep. But Glenarvin kept watch. There was still a stiff breeze of wind, and the ocean had not recovered its equilibrium after the recent storm. The waves, at all times tumultuous, now broke over the sand banks with a noise like thunder. Glenarvin could not rest, knowing the Duncan was so near him. As to supposing she had not arrived at the appointed rendezvous, that was out of the question. Glenarvin had left the Bay of Talcón Juano on the 14th of October, and arrived on the shores of the Atlantic on the 12th of November. He had taken thirty days to cross Chile, the Cordilleras, the Pampas, and the Argentine Plains, giving the Duncan ample time to double Cape Horn, and arrive on the opposite side. For such a fast runner there was no impediments. Certainly the storm had been very violent, and its fury must have been terrible on such a vast battlefield as the Atlantic. But the yacht was a good ship, and the captain was a good sailor. He was bound to be there, and he would be there. These reflections, however, did not calm Glenarvin. When the heart and the reason are struggling, it is generally the heart that wins the mastery. The lair of Malcolm Castle felt the presence of loved ones about him and the darkness, as he wandered up and down the lonely strand. He gazed and listened, and even fancied he caught occasional blimpses of a faint light. I am not mistaken, he said to himself. I saw a ship's light, one of the lights on the Duncan. Oh, why can't I see in the dark? All at once the thought rushed across him that Paginal said he was a night to lope, and could see at night he must go and wake him. The learned geographer was sleeping as sound as a mole. A strong arm pulled him out of the sand and made him call out, Who goes there? It is I, Paginal. Who? Glenarvin. Come, I need your eyes. My eyes, replied Paginal, rubbing them vigorously. Yes, I need your eyes to make out the Duncan in this darkness, so come! Confound the night to lope! said Paginal inwardly, though delighted to be of any service to his friend. He got up and shook his stiffened limbs and, stretching and yawning as most people do when roused from sleep, followed Glenarvin to the beach. Glenarvin begged him to examine the distant horizon across the sea, which he did most conscientiously for some minutes. Well, do you see nothing? asked Glenarvin. Not a thing. Even a cat couldn't see two steps before her. Look for a red light or a green one, her larbored or starbored light. I see neither a red nor a green light. Oh, it's pitch dark! Replied Paginal, his eyes involuntarily beginning to close. For half an hour he followed his impatient friend, mechanically letting his head frequently drop on his chest, and raising again with a start. At last he neither answered nor spoke, and he reeled about like a drunken man. Glenarvin looked at him and found he was sound asleep. Without attempting to wake him, he took his arm, led him back to his hole, and buried him again comfortably. At dawn next morning all the slumberers started to their feet and rushed to the shore, shouting, Hurrah, Hurrah! As Glenarvin's loud cry, The Duncan, the Duncan! broke upon his ear. There she was, five miles out. Her courses carefully reefed, and her steam half up. Her smoke was lost in the morning mist. The sea was so violent that a vessel of her tonnage could not have ventured safely nearer the sandbanks. Glenarvin, by the aid of Paginal's telescope, closely observed the movements of the yacht. It was evident that John Mangliss had not perceived his passengers, for he continued his courses before. But at this very moment Thou cave fired his carbine in the direction of the yacht. They listened and looked, but no signal of recognition was returned. A second and a third time the Indian fired, awakening the echoes among the sandhills. At last a white smoke was seen issuing from the side of the yacht. They see us! exclaimed Glenarvin. That's the cannon of the Duncan. A few seconds and the heavy boom of the cannon came across the water and died away on the shore. The sails were instantly altered and the steam got up so as to get as near the coast as possible. Presently through the glass they saw a boat lowered. Lady Helena will not be able to come, said Tom Austin. It is too rough. Nor John Mangliss had at McNabs. He cannot leave the ship. My sister, my sister! cried Robert, stretching out his arms towards the yacht, which was now rolling violently. Oh, how I wish I could get on board! said Glenarvin. Patience, Edward, you will be there in a couple of hours, replied the major. Two hours. But it was impossible for a boat, a six-ord one, to come and go in a shorter space of time. Glenarvin went back to Thalke, who stood beside Thauke, with his arms crossed, looking quietly at the troubled waves. Glenarvin took his hand and, pointing to the yacht, said, Come! The Indian gently shook his head. Come, friend! repeated Glenarvin. No, said Thauke gently. Here is Thauke, and there the Pampas! He added, embracing with a passionate gesture the wide-stretching prairies. Glenarvin understood his refusal. He knew that the Indian would never forsake the prairie, or the bones of his fathers were whitening, and he knew the religious attachment of these sons of the desert for their native land. He did not urge Thauke of longer therefore, but simply pressed his hand. Nor could he find it in his heart to insist, when the Indian, smiling as usual, would not accept the price of his services, pushing back the money and saying, For the sake of friendship. Glenarvin could not reply, but he wished at least to leave the brave fellow some souvenir of his European friends. What was there to give, however? Arms, horses, everything had been destroyed in the unfortunate inundation, and his friends were no richer than himself. He was quite at a loss how to show his recognition of the disinterestedness of this noble guide, when a happy thought struck him. He had an exquisite portrait of Lady Helena in his pocket, a chef-doub of Lawrence. This he drew out and offered to Thauke, simply saying, My wife. The Indian gazed at it with a softened eye, and said, Good and beautiful! Then Robert and Paginelle and the Major, and the rest, exchanged touching farewells with a faithful Patagonian. Thauke embraced them each, and pressed them to his broad chest. Thauke made him accept a map of South America and the two oceans, which he had often seen the Indian looking at with interest. It was the most precious thing the Geographer possessed. As for Robert, he had only caresses to bestow, and these he lavished on his friend, not forgetting to give a share to Thauke. The boat from the Duncan was now fast approaching, and in another minute had glided into a narrow channel between the sand-banks and run ashore. My wife, were Glenarvon's first words. My sister, said Robert, Lady Helena and Miss Grant are waiting for you on board, replied the coxswain. But lose no time, Your Honor, we have not a minute, for the tide is beginning to ebb already. The last kindly adduce were spoken, and Thauke have accompanied his friends to the boat, which had been pushed back into the water. Just as Robert was going to step in, the Indian took him in his arms and gazed tenderly into his face. Then he said, Now go! You are a man. Goodbye. Goodbye, friend, said Glenarvon once more. Shall we never see each other again? Paginal called out. Kinsabe, who knows, replied Thauke, lifting his arms toward heaven. These were the Indian's last words, dying away on the breeze, as the boat receded gradually from the shore. For a long time his dark motionless silhouette stood out against the sky, through the white dashing spray of the waves. Then, by degrees, his tall form began to diminish in size till it last his friends of a day lost sight of him altogether. An hour afterward Robert was the first to leap on board the Duncan. He flung his arms around Mary's neck, amid the loud, joyous hurrahs of the crew on the yacht. Thus the journey across South America was accomplished, the given line of march being scrupulously adhered to throughout. Neither mountains nor rivers had made the travellers change their course, and though they had not had to encounter any ill-will from men, their generous intrepidity had been often enough roughly put to the proof by the fury of the unchained elements. Lord Glenarvin had taken care that the ill-success of their expedition should not throw a gloom over the pleasure of meeting, his very first words being, Cheer up, friends, cheer up! Captain Grant is not with us, but we have a certainty of finding him. Only such an assurance as this would have restored hope to those on board the Duncan. Lady Helena and Mary Grant had been sorely tried by the suspense, as they stood on the poop waiting for the arrival of the boat, and trying to count the number of its passengers. Alternate hope and fear agitated the bosom of poor Mary. Sometimes she fancied she could see her father, Harry Grant, and sometimes she gave way to despair. Her heart throbbed violently. She could not speak, and indeed could scarcely stand. Lady Helena put her arm round her waist to support her, but the captain, John Mangels, who stood close beside them, spoke no encouraging word, for his practised eyes saw plainly that the captain was not there. He is there, he is coming. Oh, Father! exclaimed the young girl. But as the boat came nearer her illusion was dispelled, all hope forsook her, and she would have sunk in despair but for the reassuring voice of Glen Arvin. After their mutual embraces were over, Lady Helena and Mary Grant and John Mangels were informed of the principal incidents of the expedition, and especially of the new interpretation of the document, due to the sagacity of Jacques Paganel. His lordship also spoke in the most eulogistic terms of Robert, of whom Mary might well be proud. His courage and devotion, and the dangers he had run, were all shown up in strong relief by his patron, till the modest boy did not know which way to look, and was obliged to hide his burning cheeks in his sister's arms. No need to blush, Robert, said John Mangels. Your conduct has been worthy of your name. And he leaned over the boy and pressed his lips on his cheek, still wet with Mary's tears. The major and Paganel, it need hardly be said, came in for their due share of welcome, and Lady Helena only regretted she could not shake hands with the brave and generous Thalcave. McNab soon slipped away to his cabin and began to shave himself as coolly and composably as possible, while Paganel flew here and there like a bee sipping the sweets of compliments and smiles. He wanted to embrace everyone on board the yacht, and beginning with Lady Helena and Mary Grand, wound up with Mishur Albannette, the steward who could only acknowledge so polite an attention by announcing that breakfast was ready. Breakfast, exclaimed Paganel. Yes, Mr. Paganel. A real breakfast on a real table with a cloth and napkins? Certainly, Mr. Paganel. And we shall have neither tarky nor hard-eds nor fillets of ostrich. Oh, Mishur! said Albannette in a decreed tone. I don't want to hurt your feelings, my friend, said the geographer, smiling, but for a month that has been our usual bill of fare, and when we dined we stretched ourself full length on the ground, unless we sat astride on the trees. Consequently the meal you have just announced seemed to me like a dream or fiction or chimera. Well, Mr. Paganel, come along and let us prove its reality, said Lady Helena, who could not help laughing. Take my arm, replied the gallant geographer. Does His Lordship any orders to give me about the Duncan? asked John Mangels. After breakfast, John, replied Glenarbon, we'll discuss the program of our new expedition on Famille. Mishur Albannette's breakfast seemed quite a fet to the hungry guests. It was pronounced excellent and even superior to the festivities of the pompous. Paganel was helped twice to each dish, through absence of mind, he said. This unlucky word reminded Lady Helena of the amiable Frenchman's propensity, and made her ask if he had ever fallen into his old habits while they were away. The Major and Glenarbon exchanged smiling glances, and Paganel burst out laughing, and protested on his honour that he would never be caught tripping again once more during the whole voyage. After this prelude he gave an amusing recital of his disastrous mistake in learning Spanish, and his profound study of commons. After all, he added, it's an ill wind that blows nobody good, and I don't regret the mistake. Why not, my worthy friend? asked the Major. Because I not only know Spanish, but Portuguese. I can speak two languages instead of one. Upon my word, I never thought of that, said McNabs. My compliments, Paganel, my sincere compliments. But Paganel was too busily engaged with his knife and fork to lose a single mouthful, though he did his best to eat and talk at the same time. He was so much taken up with his plate, however, that one little fact quite escaped his observation, though Glenarvon noticed it at once. This was that John Mangels had grown particularly attentive to Mary Grant. A significant glance from Lady Helena told him moreover how a fair stood, and inspired him with affectionate sympathy for the young lovers. But nothing of this was apparent in his manner to John, for his next question was what sort of a voyage he had made. We could not have had a better, but I must surprise your Lordship that I did not go through the Straits of Magellan again. What? You doubled Cape Horn, and I was not there, exclaimed Paganel. Hang yourself, said the Major. Selfish fellow, you advise me to do that because you want my rope, retorted the Geographer. Well, you see, my dear Paganel, unless you have the gift of ubiquity you can't be in two places at once. While you were scouring the Pampas you could not be doubling Cape Horn. That doesn't prevent my regretting it, replied Paganel. Here the subject dropped, and John continued his account of his voyage. On arriving at Cape Pilaras he had found the winds dead against him, and therefore made for the south, coasting along the Desolation Isle, and, after going as far as the sixty-seventh degree southern latitude, had doubled Cape Horn, passed by Tierra del Fuego, and the Straits of La Mare, keeping close to the Patagonian shore. At Cape Corrientes they encountered the terrible storm which had handled the travellers across the Pampas so roughly, but the yacht had borne it bravely, and for the last three days had stood right out to sea, till the welcome gun of the expedition was heard announcing the arrival of the anxiously looked for party. It was only justice, the Captain added, that he should mention the intrepid bearing of Lady Helena and Mary Grant throughout the whole hurricane. They had not shown the least fear, unless for their friends, who might possibly be exposed to the fury of the Tempest. After John Mangles had finished his narrative, Glenarvin turned to Mary and said, My dear Miss Mary, the Captain has been doing homage to your noble qualities, and I am glad to think you are not unhappy on board his ship. How could I be? replied Mary, naively, looking at Lady Helena and the young Captain, too, likely enough. Oh, my sister is very fond of you, Mr. John, and so am I, exclaimed Robert. And so am I of you, my dear boy, returned the Captain, a little abashed by Robert's innocent avowal, which had kindled a faint blush on Mary's cheek. Then he managed to turn the conversation to safer topics by saying, And now that your Lordship has heard all about the doings of the Duncan, perhaps you will give us some details of your own journey, and tell us more about the exploits of our young hero. Nothing could be more agreeable than such a recital to Lady Helena and Mary Grant, and accordingly Lord Glenarvin hastened to satisfy their curiosity. Going over incident by incident, the entire march from one ocean to another, the pass of the Andes, the earthquake, the disappearance of Robert, his capture by the shore, Thal Cave's providential shot, the episode of the Red Wolves, the devotion of the young lad, Sgt. Manuel, the inundations, the Caimans, the waterspout, the night on the Atlantic shore, all these details, amusing or terrible, excited by turn's laughter and horror in the listeners. Often and often Robert came in for caresses from his sister and Lady Helena. Never was a boy so much embraced, or by such enthusiastic friends. And now friends, added Lord Glenarvin, when he had finished his narrative, we must think of the present. The past is gone, but the future is ours. Let us come back to Captain Harry Grant. As soon as breakfast was over, they all went into Lord Glenarvin's private cabin and seated themselves round a table, covered with charts and plans, to talk over the matter fully. My dear Helena, said Lord Glenarvin, I told you when we came on board a little while ago, that though we had not brought back Captain Grant, our hope of finding him was stronger than ever. The result of our journey across America is this. We have reached the conviction, or rather absolute certainty, that the shipwreck never occurred on the shores of the Atlantic nor Pacific. The natural inference is that, as far as regards Patagonia, our interpretation of the document was erroneous. Most fortunately, our friend Paganal, in a happy moment of inspiration, discovered the mistake. He has proved clearly that we have been on the wrong track, and so explained to the document that all doubt whatever is removed from our minds. However, as the document is in French, I will ask Paganal to go over it for your benefit. The learned geographer, thus called upon, executed his task in the most convincing manner, discounting on the syllables Ghani and Indy, and extracting Australia out of Austral. He pointed out that Captain Grant, on leaving the coast of Peru to return to Europe, might have been carried away with his disabled ship by the Southern currents of the Pacific, right to the shores of Australia, and his hypotheses were so ingenious and his deductions so subtle that even the matter of fact John Mangles, a difficult judge, and most unlikely to be led away by any flights of imagination, was completely satisfied. At the conclusion of Paganal's dissertation, Glenarvin announced that the Duncan would sail immediately for Australia. But before the decisive orders were given, McNabs asked for a few minutes' hearing. Say away, McNabs, replied Glenarvin. I have no intention of weakening the arguments of my friend Paganal, and still less of refuting them. I consider them wise and weighty and deserving our attention and I think them justly entitled to form the basis of our future researches. But still I should like them to be submitted to a final examination in order to mark their worth uncontestable and uncontested. Go on, Major, said Paganal, I am ready to answer all your questions. They are simple enough as you will see. Five months ago, when we left the Clyde, we had studied these same documents, and their interpretation then appeared quite plain. No other coast but the western coast of Patagonia could possibly, we thought, have been the scene of the shipwreck. We had not even the shadow of a doubt on the subject. That's true, replied Glenarvin. A little later, continued the Major, when a providential fit of absence of mind came over Paganal and brought him on board the yacht, the documents were submitted to him and he approved our plan of search most unreservedly. I do not deny it, said Paganal. And yet we were mistaken, resumed the Major. Yes, we were mistaken, returned Paganal, but it is only human to make a mistake while to persist in it a man must be a fool. Stop, Paganal, don't excite yourself. I don't mean to say that we should prolong our search in America. What is it, then, that you want? asked Glenarvin. A confession, nothing more. A confession that Australia, now as evidently appears to be the theatre of the shipwreck of the Britannia, as America did before. We confess it willingly, replied Paganal. Very well, then, since that is the case, my advice is not to let your imagination rely on successive and contradictory evidence. Who knows whether after Australia some other country might not appear with equal certainty to be the place, and we may have to recommend our search. Glenarvin and Paganal looked at each other silently, struck by the justice of these remarks. I should like you, therefore, continue the Major, before we actually start for Australia, to make one more examination of the documents. Here they are, and here are the charts. Let us take up each point in secession through which the 37th Parallel passes, and see if we come across any other country which would agree with the precise indications of the document. Nothing can be more easily and quickly done, replied Paganal, for countries are not very numerous in this latitude happily. Well, look, said the Major, displaying an English plan a sphere on the plan of Mercator's Chart and presenting the appearance of a terrestrial globe, he placed it before Lady Helena, and then they all stood round so as to be able to follow the argument of Paganal. As I have said already, resumed the learned geographer, after having crossed South America, their 37th degree of latitude cuts the islands of Tristan, Daakunya. Now I maintain that none of the words of the document could relate to these islands. The documents were examined with the most minute care, and the conclusion unanimously reached was that these islands were entirely out of the question. Let us go on, then, resumed Paganal. After leaving the Atlantic, we passed two degrees below the Cape of Good Hope, and into the Indian Ocean. Only one group of islands is found on this route, the Amsterdam Isles. Now, then, we must examine these as we did the Tristan, Daakunya group. After a close survey, the Amsterdam Isles were rejected in their turn. Not a single word or part of a word, French, English, or German, could apply to this group in the Indian Ocean. Now we come to Australia, continued Paganal. The 37th parallel touches this continent at Cape Bernoulli, and leaves it at two full bay. You will agree with me that, without straining the text, the English word straw and the French one austral may relate to Australia. The thing is too plain to need proof. The conclusion of Paganal met with unanimous approval. Every probability was in his favour. And where is the next point? asked McNabs. That is easily answered. After leaving two-fold bay, we cross an arm of the sea which extends to New Zealand. Here I must call your attention to the fact that the French word continent means a continent, irrefragably. Captain Grant could not, then, have found refuge in New Zealand, which is only an island. However that might be, though, examine and compare, and go over and over each word, and see if, by any possibility, they can be made to fit this new country. In no way whatever, replied John Mangles, after a minute investigation of the documents and the planosphere. No, chimed in all the rest, and even the major himself, it cannot apply to New Zealand. Now, when on Paganal, in all this immense space between this large island and the American coast there is only one solitary, barren little island crossed by the 37th parallel. And what is its name, asked the major. Here it is, marked on the map. It is Maria Teresa, a name of which there is not a single trace in either of the three documents. Not the slightest, said Glen Arvin. I leave you, then, my friends, to decide whether all these probabilities, not to say certainties, are not in favour of the Australian continent. Evidently, replied the captain and all the others. Well, then, John, said Glen Arvin, the next question is, have you provisions and coal enough? Yes, your honour. I took in an ample store at Talcahuano, and besides, we can easily replenish our stock of coal at Cape Town. Well, then, give orders. Let me make one more observation, interrupted McNabs. Go on, then. Whatever likelihood of success Australia may offer us, wouldn't it be advisable to stop a day or two or at the Tristan-Dakunia Islands and the Amsterdam? They lie on our route, and would not take us the least out of the way. Then we should be able to ascertain if the Britannia had left any traces of a shipwreck there. Incredulous major, exclaimed Paganel, he still sticks to his idea. I stick to this, anyway, that I don't want to have to retrace our steps, supposing that Australia should disappoint our sanguine hopes. It seems to me a good precaution, replied Glen Arvin. And I'm not the one to dissuade you from it, returned Paganel, quite the contrary. Steer straight for Tristan-Dakunia. Immediately, your honour, replied the captain, going on deck, while Robert and Mary Grant overwhelmed Lord Glen Arvin with their grateful thanks. Shortly after, the Duncan had left the American coast and was running eastward, her sharp keel rapidly cutting her way through the waves of the Atlantic Ocean. CHAPTER II Tristan-Dakunia and the Isle of Amsterdam If the yacht had followed the line of the equator, the 196 degrees which separated Australia from America, or, more correctly, Cape Bernoulli, from Cape Corrientes, would have been equal to 11,760 geographical miles. But along the 37th parallel, these same degrees owing to the form of the earth only represent 9,480 miles. From the American coast to Tristan-Dakunia is reckoned 2,100 miles, a distance which John Mangels hoped to clear in ten days, if east winds did not retard the motion of the yacht. But he was not long uneasy on that score, for toward evening the breeze sensibly lulled, and then changed altogether, giving the Duncan a fair field, on a calm sea, for displaying her incomparable qualities as a sailor. The passengers had fallen back into their ordinary ship-life, and it hardly seemed as if they really could have been absent a whole month. Instead of the Pacific the Atlantic stretched itself out before them, and there was scarcely a shade of difference in the waves of the two oceans. The elements, after having handled them so roughly, seemed now disposed to favour them to the utmost. The sea was tranquil, and the wind kept in the right quarter, so that the yacht could spread all her canvas, and lend its aid if needed, to the indefatigable steam stored up in the boiler. Under such conditions the voyage was safely and rapidly accomplished. Their confidence increased as they found themselves nearer the Australian coast. They began to talk of Captain Grant as if the yacht were going to take him on board at a given port. His cabin was got ready, and berth for the men. This cabin was next to the famous, number six, which Paganel had taken possession of instead of the one he had booked on the Scotia. It had been till now occupied by Mishir Oblanet, who vacated it for the expected guest. Mary took great delight in arranging it with her own hands, and adorning it for the reception of the loved inmate. The learned geographer kept himself closely shut up. He was working away from morning till night at a work-entitle, sublime impressions of a geographer in the Argentine pompous. And they could hear him repeating elegant periods aloud before committing them to the white pages of his day-book, and more than once unfaithful to Cleo the muse of history he invoked in his transports the divine Calliope, the muse of epic poetry. Paganel made no secret of it, either, the chaste daughters of Apollo willingly left the slopes of Helicon and Parnassus at his call. Lady Helena paid him sincere compliments on his mythological visitance, and so did the maître, though he could not forbear adding. But mind no fits of absence of mind, my dear Paganel, and if you take a fancy to learn Australian, don't go and study it in a Chinese grammar. Things went on perfectly smooth on board. Lady Helena and Lord Glenarvin found leisure to watch John Mankel's growing attachment to Mary Grant. There was nothing to be said against it, and, indeed, since John remained silent, it was best to take no notice of it. What will Captain Grant think? Lord Glenarvin asked his wife one day. He'll think John is worthy of Mary, my dear Edward, and he'll think right. Meanwhile the yacht was making rapid progress, five days after losing sight of Cape Correntis on the sixteenth of November they fell in with fine westerly breezes, and the Duncan might almost have dispensed with her crew altogether, for she flew over the water like a bird, spreading all her sails to catch the breeze, as if she were running a race with the Royal Thames Club yachts. Next day the ocean appeared covered with immense seaweeds, looking like a great pond choked up with the debris of trees and plants torn off the neighbouring continents. Commander Murray had specially pointed them out to the attention of navigators. The Duncan appeared to glide over a long prairie which Paganel justly compared to the Pampas, and her speed slackened a little. Twenty-four hours after, at break of day, the man on the lookout was heard calling out, Land Ahead. In what direction? asked Tom Austin, who was on the watch. They were, was the reply. This exciting cry brought everyone speedily on deck. Soon a telescope made its appearance, followed by Jacques Paganel. The learner-geographer pointed the instrument in the direction indicated, but could see nothing that resembled land. "'Look in the clouds,' said John Mangles. Ah, now I do see a sort of peak, but very indistinctly.' "'It is just in Dachuna,' replied John Mangles. Then if my memory serves me right, we must be eighty miles from it, for the peak of Tristan, seven thousand feet high, is visible at that distance.' "'That's it, precisely.' Some hours later the sharp, lofty crags of the group of islands stood out clearly on the horizon. The conical peak of Tristan looked black against the bright sky, which seemed all ablaze with the splendour of the rising sun. And the principal island stood out from the rocky mass, at the summit of a triangle, inclining toward the northeast. Tristan Dachuna is situated in thirty-seven degrees, eight minutes of southern latitude, and ten degrees, forty-four minutes of longitude west of the meridian at Greenwich. Inaccessible island is eighteen miles to the southwest, and Nightingale Island is ten miles to the southeast, and this completes the little solitary group of islands in the Atlantic Ocean. Toward noon the two principal landmarks by which the group is recognized were sighted, and at three p.m. the Duncan entered Falmouth Bay in Tristan, Dachuna. Several whaling vessels were lying quietly at anchor there, for the coasts abounds in seals and other marine animals. John Mangles' first care was to find a good anchorage, and then all the passengers, both ladies and gentlemen, got into the long boat and were rowed ashore. They stepped out on a beach covered with fine black sand, the impalpable debris of the calciumed rocks of the island. Tristan Dachuna is a capital of the group, and consists of a little village lying in the heart of the bay, and watered by a noisy rapid stream. It contained about fifty houses, tolerably clean, and disposed with geometric regularity. Behind this miniature town there lay one thousand five hundred hectares of meadow-land, bounded by an embankment of lava. Above this embankment the conical peaks rose seven thousand feet high. Lord Glenarvin was received by a governor supplied from the English colony at the Cape. He inquired at once respecting Harry Grant and the Britannia, and found the names entirely unknown. The Tristan Dachuna Isles were out of the route of ships and consequently little frequented. Since the wreck of the Blenden Hall in 1821, on the rocks of inaccessible island, two vessels have stranded on the chief island, the Primigut in 1845, and the three massed American Philadelphia in 1857. These three events comprise the whole catalogue of maritime disasters in the annals of the Etunas. Lord Glenarvin did not expect to glean any information and only asked by way of duty. He even sent the boats to make the circuit of the island, the entire extent of which was not more than seventeen miles at most. In the interim the passengers walked about the village. The population does not exceed one hundred fifty inhabitants and consists of English and Americans married to Negroes and Cape Hottentots, who might bear away the palm for ugliness. The children of these heterogeneous households are very disagreeable compounds of Saxon stiffness and African blackness. It was nearly nightfall before the party returned to the yacht, chattering and admiring the natural riches displayed on all sides, for even close to the streets of the capital, fields of wheat and maize were waving, and crops of vegetables imported forty years before, and in the environs of the village herds of cattle and sheep were feeding. The boats returned to the Duncan about the same time as Lord Glenarvin. They had made the circuit of the entire island in a few hours, but without coming across the least trace of the Britannia. The only result of this voyage of circumnavigation was to strike out the name of Ile Tristan from the programme of search. CHAPTER III Cape Town and Mishir Voix As John Mangles intended to put in at the Cape of Good Hope for coals, he was obliged to deviate a little from the thirty-seventh parallel and go two degrees north. In less than six days he cleared the thirteen hundred miles which separate the point of Africa from Tristan to Tuna, and on the twenty-fourth of November at three p.m. the Table Mountain was sighted. At eight o'clock they entered the bay and cast anchor in the port of Cape Town. They sailed away next morning at daybreak. Between the Cape and Amsterdam Island there is a distance of two thousand nine hundred miles, but with a good sea and favouring breeze this was only a ten days voyage. The elements were now no longer at war with the travellers. As on their journey across the Pampas, air and water seemed in league to help them forward. Ah, the sea, the sea, exclaimed Paganel. It is the field, par excellence, for the exercise of human energies, and the ship is the true vehicle of civilisation. Think, my friends, if the globe had only been an immense continent, the thousandth part of it would still be unknown to us, even in this nineteenth century. See how it is in the interior of great countries, in the steps of Siberia, in the plains of Central Asia, in the deserts of Africa, in the prairies of America, in the immense wilds of Australia, in the icy solitudes of the Poles. Man scarcely dares to venture. The most daring shrinks back. The most courageous succumbs. They cannot penetrate them. The means of transport are insufficient, and the heat and disease, and savage disposition of the natives, are impassable obstacles. Twenty miles of desert separate man more than five hundred miles of ocean. Paganel spoke with such warmth that even the Major had nothing to say against this pentagyric of the ocean. Indeed, if the finding of Harry Grant had involved following a parallel across continents instead of oceans, the Enterprise could not have been attempted. But the sea was there ready to carry the travellers from one country to another, and on the sixth of December at the first streak of day they saw a fresh mountain apparently emerging from the bosom of the waves. This was Amsterdam Island, situated in thirty-seven degrees, forty-seven minutes latitude, and seventy-seven degrees, twenty-four minutes longitude. The high cone of which, in clear weather, is visible fifty miles off. At eight o'clock its form, indistinct though it still was, seemed almost a reproduction of Tenerife. And consequently it must resemble Tristan Dutuna, observed Glen Arvin. A very wise conclusion, said Paganel, according to the geometric axiom, that two islands resembling a third must have a common likeness. I will only add that, like Tristan Dutuna, Amsterdam Island is equally rich in seals and robinsons. There are robinsons everywhere, then? said Lady Helena. Indeed, madam, replied Paganel. I know few islands without some tale of the kind appertaining to them, and the romance of your immortal countryman, Daniel Defoe, has often been enough realized before his day. Mr. Paganel, said Mary, may I ask you a question? Do if you like my dear young lady, and I promise to answer them. Well then, I want to know if you would be very much frightened at the idea of being cast away, alone, on a desert island. I, exclaimed Paganel, come now, my good fellow, said the major, don't go and tell us that it is your most cherished desire. I don't pretend that it is, but still, after all, such an adventure would not be very unpleasant to me. I should begin a new life. I should hunt and fish. I should choose a grotto for my domicile in winter and a tree in summer. I should make storehouses for my harvests. In one word, I should colonize my island. How, by yourself? All by myself if I was obliged. Besides, are we ever obliged? Cannot one find friends among the animals, and choose some tame kid or eloquent parrot or amiable monkey? And if a lucky chance should send one companion, like the faithful Friday, what more is needed? Two friends on a rock. There is happiness. Suppose now, the major and I? Thank you," replied the major, interrupting him, I have no inclination in that line, and should make a very poor Robinson Crusoe. My dear Monsieur Paganel, said Lady Helena, you are letting your imagination run away with you, as usual. But the dream is very different from the reality. You are thinking of an imaginary Robinson's life, thrown on a picked island, and treated like a spoiled child by nature. You only see the sunny side. What, madam? You don't believe a man could be happy on a desert island? I do not. Man is made for society and not for solitude, and solitude can only engender despair. It is a question of time. At the outset it is quite possible that material wants, and the very necessities of existence may engross the poor shipwrecked fellow, just snatched from the waves, but afterward, when he feels himself alone, far from his fellow man, without any hope of seeing country and friends again, what must he think? What must he suffer? His little island is all his world. The whole human race is shut up in himself, and when death comes, which utter loneliness will make terrible, he will be like the last man on the last day of the world. Believe me, Mr. Paganel, such a man is not to be envied. Paganel gave in, though regretfully, to the arguments of Lady Helena, and still kept up a discussion on the advantages and disadvantages of isolation, to the very moment the Duncan dropped anchor about a mile off Amsterdam Island. This lonely group in the Indian Ocean consists of two distinct islands, thirty-three miles apart, and situated exactly on the meridian of the Indian Peninsula. To the north is Amsterdam Island, and to the south St. Paul, but they have often been confounded by geographers and navigators. At the time of the Duncan's visit to the island the population consisted of three people, a Frenchman and two mulattos, all three employed by the merchant proprietor. Helena was delighted to shake hands with the countrymen in the person of good old Monsieur Viotte. He was far advanced in years, but did the honours of the place with much politeness. It was a happy day for him, when these kindly strangers touched at his island, for St. Peter's was only frequented by seal-fishers, and now and then a whaler, the crews of which are usually rough coarse men. Monsieur Viotte presented his subjects the two mulattos. They composed the whole living population of the island, except a few wild boars and the interior and myriads of penguins. The little house where the three solitary men lived was in the heart of a natural bay on the southeast, formed by the crumbling away of a portion of the mountain. Twice over in the early part of the century Amsterdam Island became the country of deserted sailors, providentially saved from misery and death, but since these events no vessel had been lost on its coast. Had any shipwreck occurred some fragments must have been thrown on the sandy shore, and any poor sufferers from it would have found their way to Monsieur Viotte's fishing-huts. The old man had been long on the island, and had never called upon to exercise such hospitality. Of the Britannia and Captain Grant he knew nothing, but he was certain that the disaster had not happened on Amsterdam Island, nor on the islet, called St. Paul, for whalers and fishing vessels went there constantly, and must have heard of it. Glenarvin was neither surprised nor vexed at the reply. Indeed his object in asking was rather to establish the fact that Captain Grant had not been there than that he had. This done they were ready to proceed on their voyage next day. They rambled about the island till evening, as its appearance was very inviting. Its fauna and flora, however, were poor in the extreme. The only specimens of quadrupeds, birds, fish, and cetacea were a few wild boars, stormy petrels, albatross, perch, and seals. Here and there thermal springs and chalibut waters escape from the black lava, and thin dark vapours rose above the volcanic soil. All of these springs were very hot. John Mangles held his thermometer in one of them, and found the temperature was one hundred and seventy-six degrees Fahrenheit. Fish caught in the sea a few years off, cooked in five minutes in these all but boiling waters. A fact which made Paganel resolve not to attempt to bathe in them. Toward evening, after a long promenade, Glenarvin and his party baited Gere to the old Misher v. Art, and returned to the Art, wishing him all the happiness possible on his desert island, and receiving in return the old man's blessing on their expedition. End of Book Two, Chapter Three Book Two, Chapter Four, of In Search of the Castaways This is a LibriVox recording, or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, by Eddie Winter. In Search of the Castaways, or The Children of Captain Grant, by Jules Verne. Book Two, Chapter Four, A Wager and Hell Decided On the 7th of December, at 3am, the Duncan lay puffing out her smoke in the little harbour ready to start, and a few minutes afterward the anchor was lifted and the screw set in motion. By eight o'clock, when the passengers came on deck, the Amsterdam island had almost disappeared from view behind the mists of the horizon. This was the last halting place on the route, and nothing now was between them and the Australian coast, but three thousand miles distance. Should the west wind continue but a dozen days longer, and the sea remain favourable, the yacht would have reached the end of her voyage. Mary Grant and her brother could not gaze without emotion at the waves through which the Duncan was speeding her course, when they thought that these very same waves must have dashed against the prowl of the Britannia, but a few days before her shipwreck. Here perhaps Captain Grant, with a disabled ship and diminished crew, had struggled against the tremendous hurricanes of the Indian Ocean, and felt himself driven toward the coast with irresistible force. The captain pointed out to Mary the different currents on the ship's chart, and explained to her their constant direction. Among others, there was one running straight to the Australian continent, and its action is equally felt in the Atlantic and Pacific. It was doubtless against this, that the Britannia, dismastered and rudderless, have been unable to contend, and consequently been dashed against the coast, and broken in pieces. A difficulty about this, however, presented itself. The last intelligence of Captain Grant was from Kaleo on the 30th of May, 1862, as appeared in the Mercantile and Shipping Gazette. How then was it possible that on the 7th of June, only eight days after leaving the shores of Peru, that the Britannia could have found herself in the Indian Ocean? But to this, Paganel, who was consulted on the subject, had a very plausible solution. It was one evening, about six days after they're leaving Amsterdam Island, when they were all chatting together on the Pope, that the above-named difficulty was stated by Glenarvon. Paganel made no reply, but went and fetched the document. After perusing it, he still remained silent, simply shrugging his shoulders, as if ashamed of troubling himself about such a trifle. Come, my good friend, say Glenarvon, at least give us an answer. No reply, Paganel. I'll merely ask a question for Captain John to answer. And what is it, Mr. Paganel, said John Mangles. Could a quick ship make the distance in a month over that part of the Pacific Ocean, which lies between America and Australia? Yes, by making 200 miles in 24 hours. Would that be an extraordinary rate of speed? Not at all. Sailing clippers often go faster. Well then, instead of the 7th of June on this document, suppose that one figure has been destroyed by the sea water, and read 17th of June, or the 27th of June, and all is explained. That's to say, replied Lady Helena, that between the 31st of May and the 27th of June, Captain Grant could cross the Pacific and found himself in the Indian Ocean. Paganel's theory met with universal acceptance. That's one more point cleared up, said Glenarvon. Thanks to our friend, all that remains to be done now is to get to Australia and look out for traces of the wreck on the western coast. Or the eastern, said John Mangles. Indeed, John, you may be right. For there is nothing in the document to indicate which shore was the scene of the catastrophe, and both points of the continent crossed by the 37th parallel must therefore be explored. Then, my lord, it is doubtful, after all, said Mary. Oh, no, Miss Mary, John Mangles hastened to reply, seeing the young girl's apprehension. His lordship was pleased to consider that if Captain Grant had gained the shore on the east of Australia, he would almost immediately have found refuge and assistance. The whole of that coast is English. We might say, peopled with colonists. The crew of the Britannia could not have gone 10 miles without meeting a fellow countryman. I'm quite of your opinion, Captain John, said Paganel. On the eastern coast, Harry Grant would not only have found an English colony easily, but he would certainly have met with some means of transport back to Europe. And he would not have found the same resources on the side we are making for, asked Lady Helena. No, madam, replied Paganel. It is a desert coast with no communication between it and Melbourne or Adelaide. If the Britannia was wrecked on those rocky shores, she was as much cut off from all chance of help as if she had been lost on the inhospitable shores of Africa. But what has become of my father there, then, all these two years, asked Mary Grant. My dear Mary, replied Paganel. You have not the least doubt, have you, that Captain Grant reached the Australian continent after his shipwreck? No, Mr. Paganel. Well, granting that, what became of him? The suppositions we might make are not numerous. They are confined to three. Either Harry Grant and his companions have found their way to the English colonies, or they have fallen into the hands of the natives, or are lost in the immense wilds of Australia. Go on, Paganel, said Lord Glenarvon, as the learned Frenchman made appalls. The first hypothesis I reject, then, to begin with, for Harry Grant could not have reached the English colonies, or long ago he would have been back with his children in the good town of Dundee. Poor father murdered Mary away from us for two whole years. Hush, Mary, said Robert. Monsieur Paganel will tell us. Alas, my boy, I cannot. All that I affirm is that Captain Grant is in the hands of the natives. But these natives, said Lady Helena hastily, are they really sure yourself, madam? said Paganel, divining her thoughts? The aboriginals of Australia are low enough in the scale of human intelligence, and most degraded and uncivilised, but they are mild and gentle in disposition, and not sangrinary like their New Zealand neighbours. Though they may be prisoners, their lives have never been threatened, you may be sure. All travellers are unanimous in declaring that the Australian natives are poor, shedding blood, and many a time they have found them faithful allies in repelling the attacks of evil-disposed convicts far more cruelly inclined. Do you hear what Monsieur Paganel tells us, Mary? said Lady Helena turning to the young girl. If your father is in the hands of the natives, which seems probable from the document, we shall find him. And what if he is lost in that immense country? asked Mary. Well, we'll find him still, exclaimed Paganel, in a confident tone, won't we, friends? Most certainly replied Glenarvon, and anxious to give a less gloomy turn to the conversation, he added, but I won't admit the supposition of his being lost, not for an instant. Neither will I, said Paganel. Is Australia a big place, inquired Robert? Australia, my boy, is about as large as four-fifths of Europe. It has somewhere about seven hundred and seventy-five thousand hectares. So much as that, said the Major. Yes, McNabs, almost to a yard's breadth. Don't you think now it has a right to be called a continent? I do certainly. I may add, continued the seventh, that there are but fewer counts of travellers being lost in this immense country. Indeed, I believe Leichhardt is the only one of whose fate we are ignorant, and some time before my departure, I learned from the geographical society that McIntyre had strong hopes of having discovered traces of him. The whole of Australia, then, is not yet explored? Asked Lady Helena. No, madam, but really love it. This continent is not much better known than the interior of Africa, and yet it is from no lack of enterprising travellers. From 1606 to 1862, more than fifty have been engaged and explored along the coast, and in the interior. Old fifty exclaimed McNabs incredulously. No, no object to the Major. That is going too far. And I might go farther than McNabs, replied the Geographer, impatient of contradiction. Yes, McNabs, quite that number. Father still, Paganel. If you doubt me, I can give you the names. Oh, oh, said the Major coolly. That's just like you, Savants. You stick at nothing. Major, would you bet your Purdy more rifle against my telescope? Why not, Paganel? If it would give you any pleasure. Done, Major, exclaimed Paganel. You may say goodbye to your rifle, for it will never shoot another Shamwa or Fox unless I lend it to you, which I shall always be happy to do, by the by. And whenever you require the use of your telescope, Paganel, I shall be equally obliging, replied the Major gravely. Let us begin, then, and, ladies and gentlemen, you shall be our jury. Well, but you must keep count. This was agreed upon, and Paganel forthwith commenced. Harrison, goddess of memory, chased muzzle of the muses, he exclaimed, inspire thy faithful servant and fervent worshipper. 258 years ago, my friends, Australia was unknown. Strong suspicions were entertained of the existence of a great southern continent. In the library of your British museum, Glenarvon, there are two charts, the date of which is 1550, which mention a country south of Asia, called by the Portuguese Great Java. But these charts were not sufficiently authentic. In the 17th century, in 1606, Kuros, a Spanish navigator, discovered a country which he named Australia de Espirito Santo. Some authors imagine that this was the New Hebrides group and not Australia. I'm not going to discuss the question, however. Can Kuros, Robert, and let us part on to another? One, said Robert. In that same year, Louis Vas de Torres, the second in command of the fleet of Kuros, pushed further south. But it is to Theodore Hoteuge, a Dutchman, that the honor of the great discovery belongs. He touched the western coast of Australia in 25 degrees latitude and called it Indracht after his vessel. From this time, navigators increased. In 1618, Zircon discovered the northern parts of the coast and called them Anheim and Demon. In 1618, Jan Adels went along the western coast and christened it by his own name. In 1622, Louis went down as far as the Cape, which became his namesake. And so Paganel continued with name after name until his hearers cried for mercy. Stop Paganel, said Glenarvon, laughing heartily. Don't quite crush poor McNabs. Be generous. He owns, he is vanquished. What about the rifle? Asked the geographer triumphantly. It is yours, Paganel, replied the major. I am very sorry for it, but your memory might gain an armory by such feats. It is certainly impossible to be better acquainted with Australia, not the least named, not even the most trifling fact. As to the most trifling fact, I don't know about that, said the major, shaking his head. What do you mean, McNabs, exclaimed Paganel? Simply that perhaps all the incidents connected with the discovery of Australia may not be known to you. Just fancy retorted Paganel, so I am back his head proudly. Come now, if I name one fact you don't know, will you give me back my rifle, said McNabs, on the spot major. Oh well, it's a bargain then. Yes, a bargain, that's settled. All right, well now Paganel, do you know how it is that Australia does not belong to France? But it seems to me, ought anyway, do you know what your reason the English give, asked the major? No, replied Paganel, with an error of excation. Just because Captain Baudin, who was by no means a timid man, was so afraid in 1802 of the croaking of the Australian frogs, that he raised his anchor with all possible speed and quitted the coast, never to return. What, exclaimed Paganel, do they actually give that version of it in England? But it is just a bad joke. Bad enough, certainly, but still it is history in the United Kingdom. It's an insult, exclaimed the patriotic choreographer, and they relate that gravely. I must own it is the case, replied Glenarvin, amidst a general outburst of laughter. Do you mean to say you have never heard of it before? Never, but I protest against it. Besides, the English call us frog eaters. Now in general, people are not afraid of what they eat. It is said though, for all that, replied McNabs. So the major kept his famous rifle, after all. End of book two, chapter four. Book two, chapter five 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, All the Children of Captain Grant by Jules Verne. Book two, chapter five. The Storm on the Indian Ocean. Two days after this conversation, John Mangles announced that the Duncan was in longitude at 113 degrees, 37 minutes. And the passengers found on consulting the chart that consequently Cape Bernoulli could not be more than five degrees off. They must be sailing then in that part of the Indian Ocean, which was the Australian continent. And in four days, my hope to see Cape Bernoulli appear on the horizon. Here too, the yacht had been favored by a strong westerly breeze. But now there were evident signs as the calm was impending. And on the 13th of December, the wind fell entirely. As the sailors say, there was not enough to fill a cap. There was no saying how long this state of the atmosphere might last. But for the powerful propeller, the yacht would have been obliged to lie motionless as a log. The young captain was very much annoyed, however, at the prospect of emptying his coal bunkers, for he had covered his ship with canvas in tendency to take advantage of the slightest breeze. After all, though, said Glen Arben, with whom he was talking over the subject, it is better to have no wind than a contrary one. Your lordship is right, replied John Mangles. But the fact is, these sudden calms bring change of weather. And this is why I dread them. We are close on the trade winds. And if we get them ever so little in our teeth, it will delay us greatly. Well, John, what if it does? It will only make our voyage a little longer. Yes, if it does not bring a storm with it. Do you mean to say you think we're going to have bad weather? replied Glen Arben, examining the sky, which from horizon to zenith seemed absolutely cloudless. I do return the captain. I may say so to your lordship, but I should not like to alarm Lady Glen Arben or Miss Grant. You are acting wisely, but what makes you uneasy? Sure indications of a storm. Don't trust my lord to the appearance of the sky. Nothing is more deceitful. For the last two days, the perimeter has been falling in a most ominous manner and is now at 27 degrees. This is a warning I dare not neglect, for there is nothing that I dread more than storms in the Southern seas. I have had a taste of them already. The vapours which become condensed in the immense glaciers at the South Pole produce a counter air of extreme violence. This causes a struggle between the polar and equatorial winds, which results in cyclones, tornadoes, and all those multiplied varieties of tempest against which a ship is no match. Well, John, say Glen Arben, the Duncan is a good ship and her captain is a brave sailor. Let the storm come, we'll meet it. John Mengels remained on deck the whole night. For though, as yet, the sky was still unclouded, he had such faith in his weather glass that he took every precaution that prudence could suggest. About 11 p.m., the sky began to darken in the South and the crew were called up and all the cells hold in, except the fossil, brigantine, top cell and jibboom. At midnight, the wind pressioned and before long, the crackling of the masts and the rattling of the coldage and the groaning of the timbers awakened the passengers who speedily made their appearance on deck, at least Paganel, Glen Arben, the major and Robert. Is it the hurricane, asked Glen Arben quietly? Not yet replied the captain, but it is close at hand. And he went on giving his orders to the men and doing his best to make ready for the storm, standing like an officer commanding a breach with his face to the wind and his gaze fixed on the troubled sky. The glass had fallen to 26 degrees and the hand pointed to tempest. It was one o'clock in the morning when Lady Helena and Miss Grant ventured upstairs on deck, but they no sooner made their appearance than the captain hurried toward them and begged them to go below again immediately. The waves were already beginning to dash over the side of the ship and the sea, might any moment, sweep right over her from stem to stern. The noise of the roaring elements was so great that his words were scarcely audible, but Lady Helena took advantage of a sudden lull to ask if there was any danger. Not whatever replied John Mangles, but she cannot remain on deck, madam. No more can miss Mary. The ladies could not disobey an order that seemed almost an entreaty and they returned to their cabin. At the same moment, the wind redoubled its fury, making the mast spin beneath the weight of the sails and completely lifting up the yacht. Hall up the fossil, shouted the captain, lower the top sail and jib boom. Glenarvin and his companions stood silently gazing at the struggle between their good ship and the waves, lost in wandering and half-terrified admiration at the spectacle. Just then, a dull hissing was heard above the noise of the elements. The steam was escaping violently, not by the funnel, but from the safety valves of the boiler. The alarm whistle sounded unnaturally loud and the yacht made a frightful pitch, overturning Wilson, who was at the wheel, by an unexpected blow from the tiller. The Duncan no longer obeyed the helm. What is the matter, cried the captain, rushing on the bridge. The ship is healing over on her side, replied Wilson. The engine shouted the engineer. Away rushed John to the engine room. A cloud of steam filled the room. The pistons were motionless in their cylinders and they were apparently powerless and the engine driver fearing for his boilers was letting off the steam. What's wrong, asked the captain. The propeller is bent or entangled, was the reply. It's not acting at all. Can't you extricate it? It is impossible. An accident like this could not be remedied and John's only resource was to fall back on his sails and seek to make an auxiliary of his most powerful enemy, the wind. He went up again on deck and after explaining in a few words to Lord Glenarvern how things stood, begged him to retire to his cabin with the rest of the passengers. But Glenarvern wished to remain above. No, your Lordship said the captain in a firm tone. I must be alone with my men. Go into the saloon. The vessel will have a hard fight with the waves and they will sweep you over without mercy. But we might be a help. Go in my Lord, go in. I must indeed insist on it. There are times when I must be master on board and retire, you must. The situation must indeed be desperate for John Mangles to speak in such authoritative language. Glenarvern was wide enough to understand this and felt he must set an example in obedience. He therefore acquitted the deck immediately with his three companions and rejoined the ladies who were anxiously watching the denouement of this war with the elements. His energetic fellow, this brave John of Mine, said Lord Glenarvern as he entered the saloon. That he is replied Paganel, he reminds me of your great Shakespeare's boson in the Tempest who says to the king on board, hence, what care these rulers for the name of king? To cabin, silence, trouble us not. However, John Mangles did not lose a second in extricating his ship from the pearl in which he was placed by the condition of her screw propeller. He resolved to rely on the mainsail for keeping in the right route as far as possible and to brace the yards obliquely so as not to present a direct front to the storm. The yacht turned about like a swift horse that fills the spur and presented a broadside to the billows. The only question was, how long would she hold out with so little sail and what sail could resist such violence for any length of time? The great advantage of keeping at the mainsail was that it presented to the waves only the most solid portions of the yacht and kept her in the right course. Still, it involved some peril for the vessel might get engulfed between the waves and not be able to raise herself. But Mangles felt there was no alternative and all he could do was to keep the crew ready to alter the sail at any moment and stay in the shrouds himself watching the tempest. The remainder of the night was spent in this manner and it was hoped that morning would bring a calm. But this was a delusive hope. At 8 a.m. the wind had increased to a hurricane. John said nothing, but he trembled for his ship and those on board. The Duncan made a frightful plunge forward and for an instant the men thought she would never rise again. Already they had seized their hatchets to cut away the shrouds from the main mast but the next minute the cells were torn away by the tempest and had flown off like gigantic albatrosses. The yacht had risen once more but she found herself at the mercy of the waves entirely now with nothing to stead your director and was so fearfully pitched and tossed about that every moment the captain expected the masts would break short off. John had no resource but to put up a four stay sail and run before the gal. But this was no easy task. 20 times over he had all his work to begin again and it was 3 p.m. before his attempt succeeded. A mere shred of canvas though it was, it was enough to drive the Duncan forward with inconceivable rapidity to the northeast. Of course in the same direction as the hurricane. Swiftness was their only chance of safety. Sometimes she would get in advance of the waves which carried her along and cutting through them with her sharp prow buried herself in their depths. At others she would keep pace with them and make such enormous leaps that there was imminent danger of her being pitched over on her side. And then again every now and then the storm driven sea would out distance the yacht and the angry bellows would sweep over the deck from stem to stone with tremendous violence. In this alarming situation and amid dreadful alternations of hope and despair the 12th of December passed away and the ensuing night John Mangles never left his post not even to take food. Though his impassive face betrayed no symptoms of fear he was tortured with anxiety and his steady gaze was fixed to the north as if trying to pierce through the thick mists that enshrouded it. There was indeed great cause for fear. The Duncan was out of her course and rushing towards the Australian coast with a speed which nothing could lessen. To John Mangles it seemed as if a thunderbolt were driving them along. Every instant he expected the yacht would dash against some rock for he reckoned the coast could be no more than 12 miles off and better far be in mid-ocean exposed to all its fury than to near land. John Mangles went to find Glenarvon and had a private talk with him about their situation telling him frankly the true state of affairs stating the case with all the coolness of a sailor prepared for anything and everything and he wound up by saying he might perhaps be obliged to cast the yacht on shore to save the lives of those on board my lord he added do it then John replied Lord Glenarvon and Lady Helena, Miss Grant I will tell them at the last moment when all hope of keeping out at sea is over will you let me know? I will my lord. Glenarvon rejoined his companions who felt they were in imminent danger though no word was spoken on the subject. Both ladies displayed great courage fully equal to any of the party. Paganel discanted in the most inopportune manner about the direction of atmospheric currents making interesting comparisons between tornadoes cyclones and rectilinear tempests. The major calmly awaited the end with the fatalism of a muscleman. About 11 o'clock the hurricane appeared to decrease slightly. The damp mist began to clear away and a sudden gleam of light revealed a low lying shore about six miles distant. They were driving right down on it enormous breakers 50 feet high were dashing over it and the fact of their height showed John there must be solid ground before they could make such a rebound. Those are sandbanks said he to Austin. I think they are replied the mate. We are in God's hands said John. If we cannot find any opening for the yacht and if she doesn't find the way in herself we are lost. The tide is high at present. It is just possible we may ride over those sandbanks but just see those breakers. What ship could stand them? Let us invoke divine aid Austin. Meanwhile the Duncan was speeding on at a frightful rate. Soon she was within two miles of the sandbanks which were still veiled from time to time in thick mist. But John fancied he could see beyond the breakers a quiet basin where the Duncan would be in comparative safety. But how could she reach it? All the passengers were summoned on deck for now that the hour of shipwreck was at hand the captain did not wish anyone to be shut up in his cabin. John said Glenarvon in a low voice to the captain I will try to save my wife or perish with her. I put Miss Grant in your charge. Yes my lord replied John Mangles raising Glenarvon's hand to his moistened eyes. The yacht was only a few cable's lengths from the sandbanks. The tide was high and no doubt there was abundance of water to float the ship over the dangerous bar but these two epic breakers alternately lifting her up and then leaving her almost dry would infallibly make her graze the sandbanks. Was there no means of calming this angry sea? A last expedient struck the captain. You're all my lads he exclaimed bring the oil here. The crew called at the idea immediately. This was a plan that had been successfully tried already. The few other waves had been laid before this time by covering them with a sheet of oil. It's effect is immediate but very temporary. The moment after a ship has passed over the smooth surface the sea redoubles its violence and woe to the bark that follows. The casks of sea oil were forthwith hauled up for danger seemed to have given the men double strength. A few hatchet blows soon knocked in the heads. They were then hung over the labyrinth and starboard. Be ready shouted John looking out for a favourable moment. In 20 seconds the yacht reached the bar. Now was the time. Pour out by the captain and God prosper it. The bells were turned upside down and instantly a sheet of oil covered the whole surface of the water. The billows fell as if by magic the whole foaming sea seemed levelled and the Duncan flew over its tranquil bosom into a quiet basin beyond the formidable bar. But almost the same minute the ocean burst forth again with all its fury and the towering breakers dashed over the bar with increased violence. End of book two chapter five. Book two chapter six 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 two chapter six, a hospitable colonist. The captain's first care was to anchor his vessel securely. He found excellent mortgage in five fathoms depth of water with a solid bottom of hard granite which are folded a firm hold. There was no danger now of either being driven away or stranded at low water. After so many hours of danger the Duncan found herself in a sort of creek sheltered by a high circular point from the winds outside in the open sea. Lord Glenarvon grasped John Mangle's hand and simply said, thank you John. This was all but John felt it ample recompense. Glenarvon kept to himself the secret of his anxiety and neither Lady Helena nor Mary nor Robert suspected the grave pearls they had just escaped. One important fact had to be ascertained. On what part of the coast had the tempest sown them? How far must they go to regain the parallel? At what distance Southwest was Cape Benurri? This was soon determined by taking the position of the ship and it was found that she had scarcely deviated two degrees from the route. They were in longitude 36 degrees 12 minutes and latitude 32 degrees 67 minutes at Cape Catastrophe, 300 miles from Cape Benurri. The newest port was Adelaide, the capital of Southern Australia. Could the Duncan be repaired there? This was the question. The extent of the injuries must first be ascertained and in order to do this, you ordered some of the men to dive down below the stern. The report was that one of the branches of the screw was bent and had got jammed against the stern post which of course, prevented all possibility of rotation. This was a serious damage. So serious as to require more skillful workmen than could be found in Adelaide. After mature reflection, Lord Glenarvon and John Mangles came to the determination to sail around the Australian coast, stopping at Cape Benurri and continuing their route south as far as Melbourne where the Duncan could speedily be put right. This affected the would proceed to cruise along the eastern coast to complete their search for the Britannia. This decision was unanimously approved and it was agreed that they should start with a first fair wind. They had not long to wait for the same night the hurricane had ceased entirely and there was only a manageable breeze from the Southwest. Preparations for sailing were instantly commenced and at four o'clock in the morning, the crew lifted the anchors and got underway with fresh canvas outspread and a wind blown right for the Australian shores. Two hours afterward, Cape Catastrophe was out of sight. In the evening, they doubled Cape Boulder and came alongside Kangaroo Island. This is the largest of the Australian islands and a great hiding place for runaway convicts. Its appearance was enchanting. The stratified rocks on the shore were richly carpeted with verdure and innumerable kangaroos were jumping over the woods and plains just as at the time of its discovery in 1802. Next day, boats were sent ashore to examine the coasts minutely as they were now on the 36th parallel and between that and the 38th, Glenarvon wished to leave no part unexplored. The boats had hard, rough work of it now but the men never complained. Glenarvon and his inseparable companion, Paganel and young Robert, generally accompanied them. But all this painstaking exploration came to nothing. Not a trace of the shipwreck could be seen anywhere. The Australian shores revealed no more than the Patagonian. However, it was not time yet to lose hope altogether for they had not reached the exact point indicated by the document. On the 20th of December, they arrived off Cape Benui, which terminates Lassipede Bay and yet not a vestige of the Britannia had been discovered. Still, this was not surprising as it was two years since the accounts of the catastrophe and the sea might and indeed must have scattered and destroyed whatever fragments of the rig had remained. Besides, the natives who sent a wreck as a vultures do a dead body would have pounced upon it and carried off the smaller debris. There was no doubt whatever Harry Grant and his companions had been made prisoners the moment the waves soothed them on the shore and had been dragged away into the interior of the continent. But if so, what becomes of Paganil's ingenious hypothesis about the document is that it had been thrown into a river and carried by a cunt into the sea. That was a plausible enough theory in Patagonia but not in the part of Australia intersected by the 37th parallel. Besides, the Patagonian rivers the Rio Colorado and the Rio Negro flow into the sea along deserted solitudes uninhabited and uninhabitable. While on the contrary, the principal rivers of Australia the Moe, the Yaro, the Toans, the Darling all connected with each other serve themselves into the ocean by well-frequented routes and their mouths are ports of great activity. What likelihood consequently would there be that a fragile bottle would ever find its way along such busy thoroughfares right out into the Indian Ocean? Paganil himself saw the impossibility of it and confessed to the major who raised a discussion on the subject that his hypothesis would be altogether illogical in Australia. It was evident that the degree is given related to the place where the Britannia was actually shipwrecked and not the place of captivity and that the bottle therefore had been thrown into the sea on the western coast of the continent. However, as Glenarvon justly remarked this did not alter the fact of Captain Grant's captivity in the least degree that there is no reason now for prosecuting the search for him along with 37th parallel more than any other. It followed consequently that if no traces of the Britannia were discovered at Cape Benui the only thing to be done was to return to Europe. Lord Glenarvon would have been unsuccessful but he would have done his duty courageously and conscientiously but the young Grant's did not feel disheartened. There had long since said to themselves that the question of their father's deliverance was about to be finally settled. Irrevocably indeed they might consider it for as Paganil had judiciously demonstrated if the wreck had occurred on the eastern side the survivors would have found their way back to their own country long since. Hope on, hope on Mary, said Lady Helena to the young girl as they neared the shore. God's hand will still lead us. Yes Miss Mary said Captain John. Man's extremity is God's opportunity. When one way is hedged up, another is sure to open. God grant it replied Mary. Land was quite close now. The Cape ran out two miles into the sea and terminated in a gentle slope and the boat glided easily into a sort of natural creek between coral banks in a state of formation which in course of time would be a belt of coral reefs around the southern point of the Australian coast. Even now there are quite sufficiently formidable to destroy the keel of a ship and the Britannia might likely enough have been dashed to pieces on them. The passengers landed without the least difficulty on an absolutely deserted shore. Cliffs composed of beds of strata made a coastline 60 to 80 feet high which it would have been difficult to scale without ladders or crampions. John Mangles happened to discover a natural breach about half a mile south. Part of the cliff had been partially beaten down no doubt by the sea in some equinoctial gale. Through this opening the whole party passed and reached the top of the cliff by a pretty steep path. Robert climbed like a young cat and was the first on the summit to the despair of Paganel who was quite ashamed to see his long legs 40 years old outdistance by a young urchin of 12. However he was far ahead of the major who gave himself no concern on the subject. There were all soon assembled on the lofty crags and from this elevation could command a view of the whole plain below. It appeared entirely uncultivated and covered with shrubs and bushes. Glenarvon thought it resembled some glens in the lowlands of Scotland and Paganel fancied it like some barren parts of Brittany. But along the coast the country appeared to be inherited and significant signs of industry revealed the presence of civilized men not savages. A mill exclaimed Robert and sure enough in the distance the long sails of a mill appeared apparently about three miles off. It certainly is a windmill said Paganel after examining the object in question through his telescope. Let us go to it then said Glenarvon. Away they started and after walking about half an hour the country began to assume a new aspect suddenly changing its sterility for cultivation. Instead of bushes quick-set hudges met the eye in closing recent clearings. Several bullocks and about half a dozen horses were feeding in meadows surrounded by acacias supplied from the fast plantations of Kangaroo Island. Gradually fields covered with cereals came in sight. Whole acres covered with bristling ears of corn, haywicks in the shape of large beehives, blooming orchards, a fine garden worthy of forests, in which the useful and agreeable were blended. Then came sheds, commons wisely distributed, and last of all a plain comfortable dwelling house crowned by a joyous sounding mill and found and shaded by its long sails as they kept constantly moving round. Just at that moment a pleasant-faced man about 50 years of age came out of the house warmed by the loud barking of four dogs of the arrival of strangers. He was followed by five handsome strapping lads, his sons, and their mother, a fine tall woman. There was no mistake in the little group. This was a perfect type of the Irish colonist, a man who weary of the miseries of his country had come with his family to seek fortune and happiness beyond the seas. Before Glenarvon and his party had time to reach the house and present themselves in due form, they heard the cordial words, Strangers, welcome to the house of Paddy O'More. You are Irish, said Glenarvon, if I am not mistaken, warmly grasping the outstretched hand of the colonist. I was replied Paddy O'More, but now I am Australian. Come in, gentlemen, whoever you may be, this house is yours. It was impossible not to accept an invitation, give them with such grace. Lady Helena and Mary Grant were led in by Mrs O'More, while the gentlemen were assisted by his sturdy sons to disencomber themselves of their firearms. An immense hall, light and airy, occupied the ground floor of the house, which was built of strong planks laid horizontally. A few wooden benches fastened against the gaily coloured walls, about ten stalls, two oak chests on tin mugs, a large long table where twenty guests could sit comfortably, compose the furniture, which looked in perfect keeping with a solid house and robust inmates. The noonday meal was spread, the soup urine was smoking between the roast beef and a leg of mutton, surrounded by large plates of olives, grapes, and oranges. The necessary was there, and there was no lack of the superfluous. The host and hostess were so pleasant, and the big table with its abundant fare looked so inviting, that it would have been ungracious not to have seated themselves. The farm servants on equal footing with their master were already in their places to take their share of the meal. Paddy O'More pointed to the seats reserved for the strangers, and said to Glenarvin, I was waiting for you. Waiting for us, replied Glenarvin, in a tone of surprise. I am always waiting for those who come, said the Irishman, and then in a solemn voice, while the family and domestics reverently stood, he repeated the benediciety. Dinner followed immediately, during which an animated conversation was kept up on all sides. From Scotch to Irish is but a hand's breath. The tweed, several feathers wide, digs a deeper trench between Scotland and England than the 20 leagues of Irish Channel, which separates Old Caledonia from the Emerald Isle. Paddy O'More related his history. It was that of all immigrants driven by misfortune from their own country. Many come to seek fortunes who only find trouble and sorrow, but then they show the blame on chance, and forget the true cause is their own idleness, and vice and want of common sense. River is sober and industrious, honest and economical, gets on. Such a one had been and was Paddy O'More. He left Dundalk, where he was starving and came with his family to Australia, landed at Adelaide, where, if using employment as a minor, he got engaged on a farm, and two months afterward commenced clearing ground on his own account. The whole territory of South Australia is divided into lots, each containing 80 acres, and these are granted to colonists by the government. Any industrious man, by proper cultivation, can not only get a living out of his lot, but lay by pounds 80 a year. Paddy O'More knew this. He profited by his own former experience, and laid by every penny he could, till he had saved enough to purchase new lots. His family prospered, and his farm also. Jewish peasant became a landed profiator, and though his little estate had only been under cultivation for two years, he had 500 acres cleared by his own hands, and 500 head of cattle. He was his own master, after having been a surf in Europe, and as independent as one can be in the freest country in the world. His guests congratulated him harshly, as he ended his narration, and Paddy O'More, no doubt, expected confidence for confidence, but he waited in vain. However, he was one of those discrete people who can say, I tell you who I am, but I don't ask who you are. Glenarvon's great object was to get information about the Britannia, and like a man who goes right to the point, he began at once to interrogate O'More, as to whether he had heard of the shipwreck. The reply of the Irishman was not favourable. He had never heard the vessel mentioned. For two years at least, no ship had been wrecked on that coast, neither above nor below the Cape. Now the date of the catastrophe was within two years. He could therefore declare positively, that the survivors of the wreck had not been thrown on that part of the western shore. Now my lord, he added, may I ask what interest you have in making the inquiry? This pointed question elicited in reply the whole history of the expedition. Glenarvon related the discovery of the document, and the various attempts that had been made to follow up the precise indications given of the whereabouts of the unfortunate captives, and he concluded his account by expressing his doubt whether they should ever find the captain after all. His dispirited tone made a painful impression on the minds of his auditors. Robert and Mary could not keep back their tears, and Paganel had not a word of hope or comfort to give them. John Mangles was grieved to the heart, though he too was beginning to yield to the feeling of hopelessness which had crept over the rest, when suddenly the whole party were electrified by hearing a voice exclaim, my lord, praise and thank god if captain Grant is alive. He is on this Australian continent.