Book III. CHAPTER XV. From Peril to Safety. The night favoured their escape, and prudence urged them to lose no time in getting away from the fatal neighbourhood of Lake Taupo. Paganal took the post of leader, and his wonderful instinct shone out anew in this difficult mountain journey. His nyctalopia was a great advantage, his cat-like sight enabling him to distinguish the smallest object in the deepest gloom. For three hours they walked on without halting along the far-reaching slope of the eastern side. Paganal kept a little to the southeast, in order to make use of a narrow passage between the Kaimawana and the Wahiti ranges, through which the road from Hawks Bay to Auckland passes. Once through that gorge his plan was to keep off the road, and under the shelter of the high ranges, march to the coast across the inhabited regions of the province. At nine o'clock in the morning they had made twelve miles in twelve hours. The courageous women could not be pressed further, and besides, the locality was suitable for camping. The fugitives had reached the pass that separates the two chains. Paganal, map in hand, made a loop toward the northeast, and at ten o'clock the little party reached a sort of radan formed by a projecting rock. The provisions were brought out, and justice was unto their meal. Mary Grant and the Major, who had not thought highly of the edible fern till then, now ate of it heartily. The halt lasted till two o'clock in the afternoon, then they resumed their journey, and in the evening they stopped eight miles from the mountains, and required no persuasion to sleep in the open air. The next day was one of serious difficulties. Their route lay across this wondrous region of volcanic lakes, geysers, and sofataras, which extended to the east of the Wahiti ranges. It is a country more pleasant for the eye to ramble over than for the limbs. Every quarter of a mile they had to turn aside or go around for some obstacle, and thus incurred great fatigue.  What infinite variety nature lavishes on her great panoramas. On this vast expanse of twenty miles square the subterranean forces had a field for the display of all their varied effects. Salt springs, of singular transparency, peopled by myriads of insects, sprang up from thickets of tea-tree scrub. They diffused a powerful odor of burnt powder, and scattered on the ground a white sediment like dazzling snow. The limpid waters were nearly at boiling point, while some neighboring springs spread out like sheets of glass. Big tree-ferns grew beside them, in conditions analogous to those of the Silurian vegetation. On every side jets of water rose like park fountains, out of a sea of vapor. Some of them continuous, others intermittent, as if a capricious Pluto controlled their movements. They rose like an amphitheater on natural terraces. Their waters gradually flowed together under folds of white smoke, and corroding the edges of the semi-transparent steps of this gigantic staircase.  Farther still, beyond the hot springs and tumultuous geysers, came the sulphur terrace. The ground looked as if covered with large pustules. These were slumbering craters full of cracks and fissures from which rose various gases. The air was saturated with the accurate and unpleasant odor of sulphur gas in. The ground was encrusted with sulphur and crystalline concretions. All this incalculable wealth had been accumulating for centuries, and if the sulphur beds of Sicily should ever be exhausted, it is here, in this little known district of New Zealand, that supplies must be sought. The fatigue in travelling in such a country as this will be best understood. Camping was very difficult, and the sportsmen of the party shot nothing worthy of albinette skill, so that they had generally to contend themselves with fern and sweet potato, a poor diet which was scarcely sufficient to recruit the exhausted strength of the little party, who were all anxious to escape from this barren region. But four days at least must elapse before they could hope to leave it. On February 23, at a distance of fifty miles from Manganamu, Glenarvon called a halt, and camped at the foot of a nameless mountain marked on Paganel's map. The wooded plains stretched away from sight, and great forests appeared on the horizon. That day McNabs and Robert killed three Kiwis which filled the chief place on their table, not for long, however, for in a few moments they were all consumed from the beaks to the claws. At dessert, between the potatoes and sweet potatoes, Paganel moved a resolution which was carried with enthusiasm. He proposed to give the name of Glenarvon to this unnamed mountain, which rose three thousand feet high, and then was lost in the clouds, and he printed carefully on his map the name of the Scottish nobleman. It would be idle to narrate all the monotonous and uninteresting details of the rest of the journey. Only two or three occurrences of any importance took place on the way from the lakes to the Pacific Ocean. The march was all day long across forests and plains. John took observance of the sun and stars. Neither heat nor rain increased the discomfort of the journey, but the travellers were so reduced by the trials they had undergone that they made very slow progress, and they longed to arrive at the mission station. They still chatted, but the conversation had ceased to be general. The little party broke up into groups, attracted to each other, not by narrow sympathies, but by a more personal communion of ideas. John generally walked alone, his mind seemed to recur to his unfortunate crew as he drew nearer to the sea. He apparently lost sight of the dangers which lay before them on their way to Auckland.  Harry Grant was never spoken of. They were no longer in a position to make any effort on his behalf. If his name was uttered at all, it was between his daughter and John Mangles. John had never reminded Mary of what she had said to him on that last night at Ware Atoah. He was too wise to take advantage of a word spoken in a moment of despair. When he mentioned Captain Grant, John always spoke a further search. He assured Mary that Glen Arvin would re-embark in the enterprise. He persistently returned to the fact that the authenticity of the document was indisputable, and that therefore Harry Grant was somewhere to be found, and that they would find him if they had to try all over the world. Mary drank in his words, and she and John, united by the same thought, cherished the same hope. Often Lady Helena joined in the conversation, but she did not participate in their illusions, though she refrained from chilling their enthusiasm. McNabs, Robert, Wilson, and Mulrady kept up their hunting parties, without going far from the rest, and each one furnished his quota of game. Paganel, arrayed in his flax-mat, kept himself aloof, in a silent and pensive mood. And yet it is only justice to say, in spite of the general rule that, in the midst of trials, dangers, fatigues, and privations, the most amiable dispositions become ruffled and embittered. All our travelers were united, devoted, ready to die for one another. On the twenty-fifth of February their progress was stopped by a river which answered to the Waqari on Paganel's map, and was easily forted. For two days planes of low scrub succeeded each other without interruption. Half the distance from Lake Taupo to the coast had been traversed without accident, though not without fatigue. The scene changed to immense and interminable forests, which reminded them of Australia, but here the Kauri took the place of the Eucalyptus. Although their enthusiasm had been incessantly called forth during their four-months journey, Glenarvin and his companions were compelled to admire and wonder at these gigantic pines, worthy rivals of the cedars of Lebanon, and the mammoth trees of California. The Kauri's measured a hundred feet high, before the ramification of the branches. They grew in isolated clumps, and the forest was not composed of trees, but of innumerable groups of trees, which spread their green canopies in the air two hundred feet from the ground. Some of these pines, still young, about a hundred years old, resembled the red pine of Europe. They had a dark crown surmounted by a dark conical chute. Their older brethren, five or six hundred years of age, formed great green pavilions supported on the inextricable network of their branches. These patriarchs of the New Zealand forest measured fifty yards in circumference, and the united arms of all the travelers could not embrace the giant trunk. For three days the little party made their way under these vast arches, over a clayey soil which the foot of man had never trod. They knew this by the quantity of resinous gum that lay in heaps at the foot of the trees, which would have lasted for native exportation many years. The sportsmen found whole convoys of the Kiwi, which are scarce in districts frequented by the Maori's, the native dogs drive them away to the shelter of these inaccessible forests. They were an abundant source of nourishing food to our travelers. Paganal also had the good fortune to espy in a thicket a pair of gigantic birds, his instinct as a naturalist was awakened. He called his companions in spite of their fatigue, the Major, Robert, and he set off on the track of these animals. His curiosity was excusable, for he had recognized or thought he had recognized these birds as Moas, belonging to the species of Dinornis, which many naturalists class with the extinct birds. This, if Paganal was right, would confirm the opinion of Dr. Hochstetter and other travelers on the present existence of the wingless giants of New Zealand. These Moas, which Paganal was chasing, the contemporaries of the Megatherium and the pterodactyls, must have been eighteen feet high. They were huge ostriches, timid, too, for they fled with extreme rapidity. But no shot could stay their course. After a few minutes of chase, these fleet-footed Moas disappeared among the tall trees, and the sportsmen lost their powder and their plans. That evening, March 1, Glenarvon and his companions, emerging at last from the immense Kauri Forest, camped at the foot of Mount Ikirangi, whose summit rose 5,500 feet in the air. At this point they had traveled a hundred miles from Nanganamu, and the shore was still thirty miles away. John Mangels had calculated on accomplishing the whole journey in ten days, but he did not foresee the physical difficulties of the country. On the whole, owing to the circuits, the obstacles, and the imperfect observations, the journey had been extended by fully one-fifth, and now that they had reached Mount Ikirangi they were quite worn out. Two long days of walking were still to be accomplished, during which all their activity and vigilance would be required, for their way was through a district often frequented by the natives. The little party conquered their weariness and set out next morning at daybreak. Between Mount Ikirangi, which was left to the right, and Mount Hardy, whose summit rose on the left to a height of 3,700 feet, the journey was very trying. For about ten miles the bush was a tangle of supplejack, a kind of flexible rope, appropriately called Stifling Creeper, that caught the feet at every step. For two days they had to cut their way with an axe through this thousand-headed hydra. Hunting became impossible, and the sportsmen failed in their accustomed tribute. The provisions were almost exhausted, and there was no means of renewing them. Their thirst was increasing by fatigue, and there was no water wherewith to quench it. The sufferings of Glenarvin and his party became terrible, and for the first time their moral energy threatened to give way. They no longer walked, they dragged themselves along, soulless bodies, animated only by the instinct of self-preservation which survives every other feeling, and in this melancholy plight they reached Point Lawton on the shores of the Pacific. Here they saw several deserted huts, the ruins of a village lately destroyed by the war, abandoned fields and everywhere signs of pillage and incendiary fires. They were toiling painfully along the shore when they saw at a distance of about a mile a band of natives who rushed toward them brandishing their weapons. Glenarvin, hemmed in by the sea, could not fly, and summoning all his remaining strength he was about to meet the attack, when John Mangels cried, a boat, a boat! And there, twenty paces off, a canoe with six oars lay on the beach. To launch it, jump in and fly from the dangerous shore was only a minute's work. John Mangels, McNabs, Wilson, and Mulrady took the oars. Glenarvin the helm, the two women, Robert and Obanette stretched themselves beside him. In ten minutes the canoe was a quarter of a mile from the shore. The sea was calm, the fugitives were silent. But John, who did not want to get too far from land, was about to give the order to go up the coast when he suddenly stopped rowing. He saw three canoes coming out from behind Point Lotton and evidently about to give chase. Out to sea, out to sea, he exclaimed, better to drown if we must. The canoe went fast under her four rowers. For half an hour she kept her distance, but the poor, exhausted fellows grew weaker, and the three pursuing boats began to gain sensibly on them. At this moment, scarcely two miles lay between them. It was impossible to avoid the attack of the natives, who were already preparing to fire their long guns. What was Glenarvin about? Standing up in the helm he was looking toward the horizon for some chimerical help. What did he hope for? What did he wish? Had he a presentiment? In a moment his eyes gleamed, his hand pointed out to the distance. A ship! A ship! He cried. My friends! Row! Row hard! Not an oar-stroke must be lost. Paganal alone rose and turned his telescope to the point indicated. Yes, he said, a ship! A steamer! They are under full steam! They are coming to us! Found now, brave comrades! The fugitives summoned new energy, and for another half hour, keeping their distance, they rode with hasty strokes. The steamer came nearer and nearer. They made out her two masts, bare of sails, and the great volumes of black smoke. Glenarvin, handing the tiller to Robert, seized Paganal's glass, and watched the movements of the steamer. John Mangles and his companions were lost in wonder when they saw Glenarvin's features contract and grow pale, and the glass dropped from his hands. One word explained it. The Duncan! exclaimed Glenarvin. The Duncan and the Convicts! The Duncan! cried John, letting go his oar and rising. Yes, death on all sides! murmured Glenarvin, crushed by despair. It was indeed the yacht, and they could not mistake her, the yacht and her bandit crew. The Major could scarcely restrain himself from cursing their destiny. The canoe was meantime standing still. Where should they go? With or fly? What choice was there between the Convicts and the Savages? A shot was fired from the nearest of the native boats, and the ball struck Wilson's oar. A few strokes then carried the canoe nearer to the Duncan. The yacht was coming down at full speed, and was not more than half a mile off. John Mangles, between two enemies, did not know what to advise, with or to fly. The two poor ladies on their knees prayed in their agony. The Savages kept up a running fire, and shots were raining round the canoe when suddenly a loud report was heard, and a ball from the yacht's cannon passed over their heads, and now the boat remained motionless between the Duncan and the native canoes. John Mangles, frenzied with despair, seized his axe. He was about to scuttle the boat and sink it with his unfortunate companions when a cry from Robert arrested his arm. Tom Austin! Tom Austin! the loud shouted. He is on board! I see him! He knows us! He is waving his hat! The axe hung useless in John's hand. A second ball whistled over his head, and cut into the nearest of the three native boats, while a loud hurrah burst forth on board the Duncan. The Savages took flight, fled, and regained the shore. Come on, Tom! Come on! cried John Mangles in a joyous voice. And a few minutes after, the ten fugitives, how they knew not, were all safe on board the Duncan. End of Book 3, Chapter 15. Book 3, Chapter 16, of In Search of the Castaways. This is a LibriVax recording. All LibriVax recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVax.org. Recording by Maria Elmbang. In Search of the Castaways, or The Children of Captain Grant by Schultz-Vern, Book 3, Chapter 16, why the Duncan went to New Zealand. It would be vain to attempt to depict the feelings of Glyn Arvan and his friends when the songs of the old scotcher fell in the air years. The moment they set foot on the dig of Duncan, the piper blew his bagpipes and commenced the national pi-broch of the Malcolm Klein, while loud hurrahs rent the air. Glyn Arvan and his whole party, even the major himself, were crying and embracing each other. They were delirious with joy. The geographer was absolutely mad. He frisked about, telescope in hand, pointing it at the last canoe approaching the shore. But at the sight of Glyn Arvan and his companions, with their clothing and rags and thin, haggard faces, bearing marks of horrible sufferings, the crew seized their noisy demonstrations. These were specters who had returned.  Chance and chance only had brought them back to the dig of the yard. The yard they never thought to see again. And in what a state of extortion and feebleness! But before thinking of fatigue or attending to the imperious demands of hunger and thirst, Glyn Arvan questioned Tom Orston about his being on this coast. Why had the Duncan come to the eastern coast of New Zealand? How was it not in the hands of Ben Joyce? By what providential fatality had God brought them in the track of the fugitives? Why? How? And for what purpose? Tom was stormed with questions on all sides. The old sailor did not know which to listen to first, and at last resolved to hear nobody but Glyn Arvan, and to answer nobody but him. But the convicts inquired Glyn Arvan, what did you do with them? The convicts replied Tom, with the other man who does not in the least understand what he is being asked. Yes, the wretches who attacked this yard. What yard? Your armours? Why, of course, Tom, the Duncan, and Ben Joyce who came on board. I don't know this Ben Joyce, and have never seen him. Never seen him, exclaimed Paganel, stupefied at the old sailor's replies. Then pray tell me, Tom, how is it that the Duncan is cruising at this moment on the coast of New Zealand? But if Glyn Arvan and his friends were totally at a loss to understand the bewilderment of the old sailor, what was their amazement when he replied in a calm voice? Why the Duncan is cruising here by your armours' orders? By my orders, cried Glyn Arvan. Yes, my lord, I only acted in obedience to the instructions sent in your letter of January fourteenth. My letter? My letter, exclaimed Glyn Arvan. The time travellers pressed closer around to Morstan, devour him with their eyes. The letter dated from Snowy River had reached the Duncan then. Let us come to explanations, pray. For it seems to me I am dreaming. You received a letter, Tom? Yes, a letter from your honour. At Melbourne? At Melbourne, just as our repairs were completed. And this letter? Was not written by you, but bore your signature, my lord? Just so. My letter was brought by a convict named Ben Joyce. No, by a sailor named Ayrton, a quartermaster on the Britannia. Yes, yes, Ayrton or Ben Joyce, one and the same individual. Well, and what were the contents of this letter? It contained orders to leave Melbourne without delay, and go and cruise on the eastern coast of... Australia! Said Glyn Arvan, with such vehemence, that the old sailor was somewhat disconcerted. Of Australia, repeated Tom, opening his eyes, no, but New Zealand. Australia, Tom, Australia! They all cried with one voice. Austen's head began to feel in a whirl. Glyn Arvan spoke with such assurance, that he thought, after all, he must have made a mistake in reading the letter. Could a faithful, exact old servant like himself have been guilty of such a thing? He turned red, and looked quite disturbed. Never mind, Tom, said Lady Elena, God so willed it. But no, madam, pardon me, replied old Tom. No, it is impossible. I was not mistaken. Ayrton read the letter as I did, and it was he, on the contrary, who wished to bring me to the Australian coast. Ayrton, cried Glyn Arvan, yes, Ayrton himself. He insisted it was a mistake, that you meant to order me to twofold bay. Have you the letter still, Tom? Asked the major, extremely interested in this mystery. Yes, Mr. McNabbs, replied Austen. I'll go and fetch it. He ran at once to his cabin in the four castle. Seeing his momentary absence, they gazed at each other in silence, all but the major, who crossed his arms and said, Well now, Paganel, you must own this would be going a little too far.  Austen returned directly with the letter written by Paganel inside by Glyn Arvan. Will you honor read it, he said, handing it to him? Glyn Arvan took the letter and read as follows. Ordered to Tom Austen to put out to sea with that delay and to take the Duncan by latitude thirty-seven degrees to the eastern coast of New Zealand. New Zealand, cried Paganel, leaping up. And he seized the letter from Glyn Arvan, wrapped his eyes, pushed down his spectacles on his nose and read it for himself. New Zealand, he repeated, in an indescribable tone, letting the order slip between his fingers. That same moment he felt a hand laid on his shoulder, and turning around found himself face to face with the major, who said in a grave tone, Well, my good Paganel, after all it is a lucky thing you did not send the Duncan to coach in China. This pleasant tree finished the poor geographer. The crew burst out into loud, homeric laughter. Paganel ran about like a madman, seized his head with both hands and tore his hair. He neither knew what he was doing nor what he wanted to do. He rushed down the poop stairs mechanically, and paced the deck, nodding to himself and going straight before without aim or object, till he reached the forecastle. There his feet got entangled in a coil of rope. He stumbled and fell, accidentally catching hold of a rope with both hands in his fall. Suddenly a tremendous explosion was heard. The forecastle gun had drawn off, riding the quiet calm of the waves, with a volley of a small shot. The unfortunate Paganel had caught hold of the cord of a loaded gun. The geographer was thrown down the forecastle ladder and disappeared below. A cry of terror succeeded the surprise produced by the explosion. Everybody thought something terrible must have happened. The sailors rushed between the decks and lifted up Paganel, almost bent double. The geographer uttered no sound. They carried his long buddy into the poop. His companions went to spare. The major, who was always the surgeon on great occasions, began to strip the unfortunate that he might dress as wounds. But he had scarcely put a sense on the dying man, when he started up as if touched by an electrical machine. Never, never, he exclaimed, and pulled his ragged coat tightly round him. He began buttoning it up in a strangely excited manner. But Paganel began the major.  You shall not examine. You may perhaps have broken, continued Mr. McNapp's. Yes, continued Paganel, getting up on his long legs. But what I have broken the carpenter can mend. What is it then? There! Bursts of laughter from the crew greeted the speech. Paganel's friends were quite reassured about him now. They were satisfied that he had come off safe and sound from his adventure with the forecastle gun. At any rate, thought the major, the geographer's wonderfully bashful. But now Paganel was recovered a little. He had to reply to a question he could not escape. Now, Paganel, said Cleonavon, tell us frankly about it. I only that your blender was providential. It is sure and certain that but for you the Duncan would have fallen into the hands of the convicts. But for you we should have been recaptured by the Marys. But for my sake, tell me, but by what supernatural aberration of mind you went to choose to write New Zealand instead of Australia?  What would you have me say, my dear Cleonavon? I am mad.  I can't change my skin. Unless you get flayed alive— Get flayed alive? cried the geographer with a furious look. Was that a personal allusion? An allusion to what? asked McNabs quietly. This was all that passed. The mystery of the Duncan's presence on the coast was explained, and all that the travellers thought about now was how to get back to their comfortable cabins and to have breakfast. However, Cleonavon and John Mangles stayed behind with Tom Orston after the others had retired. They wished to put some further questions to him. Now then, old Orston, said Cleonavon, tell me, didn't it strike you as strange to be ordered to go and cruise on the coast of New Zealand? Yes, your honour, replied Tom. I was very much surprised, but it is not my custom to discuss any orders I receive and I obeyed. Could I do otherwise? If some catastrophe had occurred, through not carrying out your injunctions to the letter, should I not have been to blame? Would you have acted differently, Captain? No, Tom, replied John Mangles. But what did you think? asked Cleonavon. I thought, your honour, that in the interest of Harry Grant it was necessary to go where I was told to go. I thought that in consequence of fresh arrangements you were to sail over to New Zealand and that I was to wait for you on the east coast of the island. Moreover, on leaving Melbourne, I kept our destination a secret, and the crew only knew it when we were right out at sea, when the Australian continent was finally out of sight. But when circumstance occurred which greatly perplexed me. What was it, Tom, asked Cleonavon? Just this, that when the quarter-master of the Britannia heard our destination, Aetern, cried Cleonavon, then he is on board. Yes, your honour. Aetern here! repeated Cleonavon, looking at John Mangles. God has so willed, said the young captain. In an instant, like lightning, Aetern's conduct, his long-planned treachery, Cleonavon's wound, Mulrady's assassination, the sufferings of the expedition in the marshes of the Snowy River, the whole past life of the miscreant, flashed before the eyes of the two men. And now, by the strangest concourse of events, the convict was in their power. Where is he? asked Cleonavon eagerly. In a cabin in the fall-castle and under guard. Why was he imprisoned? Because when Aetern heard the vessel was going to New Zealand, he was in a fury, because he tried to force me to alter the course of the ship, because he threatened me, and last of all, because he incited my man to mutiny. I saw clearly he was a dangerous individual, and I must take precautions against him. And since then? Since then he has remained in his cabin without attempting to go out. That's well, Tom. Just at this moment, Cleonavon and John Mangles were summoned to the saloon where breakfast, which they so sorely needed, was awaiting them. They seated themselves at the table, and spoke no more of Aetern. But after the meal was over, and the guests were refreshed and invigorated, and they all went upon deck, Cleonavon acquainted them with the fact of the quarter-master's presence on board, and at the same time announced his intentions of having him brought before him. May I beg to be excused from being present at his examination? said Lady Helena. I confess dear Edward, it would be extremely painful for me to see the Richard man. He must be confronted with us, Helena, replied Lord Cleonavon. I beg you all stay. Ben Joyce must see all his victims face to face. Lady Helena yielded to his wish. Mary Grant sat beside her, near Cleonavon. All the others formed a group around them, the whole party that had been compromised so seriously by the treachery of the convict. The crew of the yacht, without understanding the gravity of the situation, kept profound silence. Bring out in here, said Cleonavon. The Children of Captain Grant by Schultz-Vern Book 3, Chapter 17, Ayrton's Obstinency Ayrton came. He crossed the deck with a confident tread, and mounted the steps to the poop. His eyes were gloomy, his teeth sat. His fists clenched convulsively. His appearance betrayed neither efferenty nor timidity. When he found himself in the presence of Lord Cleonavon, he folded his arms and awaited the questions calmly and silently. Ayrton, said Cleonavon. Here we are then, you and us, on this very Duncan that you wished to deliver into the hands of the convicts of Ben Joyce. The lips of the quartermaster trembled slightly, and a quick flush suffused his impassive features. Not the flash of remorse, but of shame and failure. On this yacht, which he thought he was to command as master, he was a prisoner, and his fate was about to be decided in a few seconds. However, he made no reply. Cleonavon waited patiently, but Ayrton persisted in keeping absolute silence. Speak, Ayrton. What have you to say, resumed Cleonavon. Ayrton hesitated, the wrinkles in his forehead deepened, and at length he said in a calm voice, I have nothing to say, my Lord, I have been full enough to allow myself to be caught, act as you please. Then he turned his eye away toward the coast which lay in the west, and affected profound indifference to what was passing around him. One would have thought him a stranger to the whole affair, but Cleonavon was determined to be patient. Powerful motives urged him to find out certain details concerning the mysterious life of Ayrton, especially those which related to Harry Grant in the Britannia. He therefore resumed his interrogations, speaking with extreme gentleness, and firmly restraining his violent irritation against him. I think, Ayrton, he went on, that you will not refuse to reply to certain questions that I wished to put to you.  Are you, or are you not, the quartermaster of the Britannia? Ayrton remained impassive, gazing at the coast, deft to every question. Cleonavon's eye kindled, as you said again. Will you tell me how you left Britannia, and why you are in Australia? The same silence, the same impossibility. Listen to me, Ayrton, continued Cleonavon, it is to your interest to speak. Frankness is the only resource left to you, and it may stand you in good stead. For the last time I ask you, will you reply to my questions? Ayrton turned his head toward Cleonavon, and looked into his eyes. My lord, he said, it is not for me to answer. Just as may witness against me, but I am not going to witness against myself. Proof will be easy, said Cleonavon. Easy, my lord, repeated Ayrton in a mocking tone. Your honour makes a rather albold assertion there, it seems to me. For my own part I have entered to affirm that the best judge in the temple would be puzzled toward to make of me. Who will say why I came to Australia, when Captain Grand is not there to tell? Who will prove that I am been joyous, placarded by the police, when the police have never had me in their hands and my companions are at liberty? Who can damage me except yourself, by bringing forward a single crime against me, or even a blamable action? Who will affirm that I intended to take possession of this ship and deliver it into the hands of the convicts? No one, I tell you, no one. You have your suspicions, but you need certainties to condemn a man, and certainties you have none. Until there is proof to the contrary, I am Ayrton, quartermaster of the Britannia. Ayrton had become animated while he was speaking, but soon relapsed into his former indifference. He, no doubt, expected that his reply would close the examination, but Klenavon commenced again and said, Ayrton, I am not a crown prosecutor charged with your indignant. That is no business of mine. It is important that our respective situations should be clearly defined. I am not asking you anything that would compromise you. That is for justice to do. But you know what I am searching for, and a single word may put me on the track I have lost. Will you speak? And sugar's heard like a man determined to be silent. Will you tell me where Captain Grant is? said Klenavon. No, my lord, replied Ayrton. Will you tell me where the Britannia was wrecked? No, neither the one or the other. Ayrton, said Klenavon, in almost beseeching tones. If you know where Harry Grant is, will you at least tell his poor children who are waiting for you to speak the word? Ayrton hesitated. His features contracted, and he muttered in a low voice. I cannot, my lord. Then he added, with vehemence, as if reproaching himself for a momentarily weakness. No, I will not speak. Have me hanged, if you choose. Hanged, exclaimed Klenavon, overcome by a sudden feeling of anger. But immediately, massering himself, he added in a grave voice. Ayrton, there is neither judge nor executioner here. At the first port we touch at, you will be given into the hands of English authorities. That is what I demand, was the quartermaster's reply. Then he turned away and quietly walked back to his cabin, which served as his prison. Two sailors kept guard at the door, with orders to watch his slightest movement. The witnesses of this examination retired from the scene indignant and despairing. As Klenavon could make no way against Ayrton's obstinacy, what was to be done now? Plainly no cause remained, but to carry out the plane formed at Eden. Of returning to Europe, and given up for this time this unsuccessful enterprise, for the traces of the Britannia seemed irrevocably lost. And the document did not appear to allow any fresh interpretation. On the 37th parallel there was not even another country, and the Duncan had only to turn and go back. After Klenavon had consulted his friends, he talked over the question of returning, more particularly with the captain. John examined the coal bunkers, and found there was only enough to last 15 days longer at the outside. It was necessary, therefore, to put in at the nearest port for a fresh supply. John proposed that he should steer for the bay of Talker Huanow, where the Duncan had once before been revictualed, before she commenced her voyage of circumnavigation. It was a direct route across, and lay exactly along the 37th parallel. From thence the yacht, being amply provisioned, might go south, double cape horn, and get back to Scotland by the Atlantic route. This plane was adopted, and orders were given to the engineer to get up the steam. Often now afterward, the beak head of the yacht was turned towards Talker Huanow, over a sea worthy of being called the Pacific. And at 6 p.m. the last mountains of New Zealand had disappeared in a warm, hazy mist on the horizon. The return voyage was fairly commenced, a sad voyage, for the courageous searching party to come back to the port without bringing home herigrant with them. The crew, so joyous at departure, and so hopeful, were coming back to Europe defeated and discouraged. There was not one among the brave fellows whose heart did not swell at the thought of seeing his own country once more. And yet, there was not one among them either, who would not have been willing to brave the perils of the sea for a long time still, if they could but find Captain Grant. Consequently, the horrors which greeted the return of Captain Glenarvan to the Yacht soon gave place to dejection. Instead of the close intercourse which had formerly existed among the passengers, and the lively conversations which had cheered the voyage, each one kept apart from the others in the solitude of his own cabin, and it was seldom that anyone appeared on the deck of the drunken. Paganel, who generally shared in an exaggerated form the feelings of those about him, were the painful or joyous, a man who could have invented hope if necessary. Even Paganel was gloomy and tessiturn. He was seldom visible. His natural locustity and French vivacity gave place to silence and dejection. He seemed even more downhearted than his companions. If Glenarvan spoke at all of renewing the search, his sugars heard like a man who has given up all hope and whose convictions concerning the fate of the shipwrecked man appeared settled. It was quite evident he believed them irrevocably lost. And yet there was a man on board who could have spoken the decisive word and refused to break the silence. This was Aetern. There was no doubt the fellow knew, if not the present whereabouts of the captain, at least the place of the shipwreck. But it was evident that, where Grant found, he would witness against him. Hence his persistent silence which gave rise to great indignation on board, especially among the crew who would have liked to deal summarily with him.  Aetern's obstinacy was so great and so inexplicable that the major began to believe he had nothing to reveal. His opinion was shared, moreover, by the geographer as he corroborated with his own notion about Harry Grant. But if Aetern knew nothing, why did he not confess his ignorance? It could not be turned against him. His silence increased the difficulty of forming any new plan. Was the presence of the quartermaster on the Australian continent a proof of Harry Grant's being there? It was settled that they must get this information out of Aetern. Lady Helena, seeing her husband's ill success, asked his permission to try her powers against the obstinacy of the quartermaster. When a man had failed, a woman, perhaps, with her gentle influence might succeed. Is there not a constant repetition going on up the story of the fable where the storm, blow as it will, cannot tear the cloak from the shoulders of the traveller, while the first warm rays of sunshine, make him throw it off immediately? Glenavan, knowing his young wife's good sense, allowed her to act as she placed. The same day, the 5th of March, Aetern was conducted to Lady Helena's saloon. Mary Grant was to be present at the interview for the influence of the young girl might be considerable, and Lady Helena would not lose any chance of success. For a whole hour, the two ladies were closeted with the quartermaster. But nothing transpired about the interview. What had been said were arguments they used to win the secret from the convicts, or what questions were asked remained unknown. But when they left Aetern, they did not seem to have succeeded, as the expression on their faces denoted discouragement. In consequence of this, when the quartermaster was being taken back to his cabin, the sailors met him with violent menaces. He took no notice except by shrugging his shoulders, which so increased their rage that John Mangels and Glenavan had to interfere, and could only repress it with difficulty. But Lady Helena would not own herself vanquished. She resolved to struggle to the last with this pitiless man. I went the next day herself to his cabin to avoid exposing him again to the vindictiveness of the crew. The good and gentle scotch woman stayed alone with a convict leader for two long hours. Glenavan, in a state of extreme nervous anxiety, remained outside the cabin, alternately resolved to exhaust completely this last chance of success, alternately resolved to rush in and snatch his wife from so painful a situation. But this time, when Lady Helena reappeared, her look was full of hope. Had she succeeded in extracting the secret and awakening in that adamant heart a last faint touch of pity? McNab's first saw her could not restrain a gesture of incredulity. However, the report soon spread among the sailors that the quartermaster had yielded to the persuasions of Lady Helena. The effect was electrical. The entire crew assembled on deck far quicker than Tom Orston's whistle could have brought them together. Glenavan had hastened up to his wife and eagerly asked, has he spoken? No, replied Lady Helena, but he has yielded to my entreaties and wishes to see you. Ah, dear Helena, you have succeeded! I hope so, Edward. Have you made him any promise that I must ratify? Only one, that you will do all in your power to mitigate his punishment. Very well, dear Helena, let Ayrton come immediately. Lady Helena retired to a cabin with Mary Grant, and the quartermaster was brought into the saloon where Lord Glenavan was expecting him. End of Chapter 17 of The Castaways, read by Maria Elmling. Book 3, Chapter 18, of In Search of the Castaways. In Search of the Castaways, or the Children of Captain Grant, by Jules Verne. Book 3, Chapter 18. A Discouraging Confession. As soon as the quartermaster was brought into the presence of Lord Glenavan, his keepers withdrew. You want to speak to me, Ayrton? said Glenavan. Yes, my lord. Reply the quartermaster. Did you wish for a private interview? Yes, but I think if Major McNabbs and Mr. Paganel were present it would be better. For whom? For myself. Ayrton spoke quite calmly and firmly. Glenavan looked at him for an instant, and then sent to summon McNabbs and Paganel, who came at once. We are all ready to listen to you, said Glenavan, when his two friends had taken their place at the saloon table. Ayrton collected himself for an instant and then said, My lord, it is usual for witnesses to be present at every contract or transaction between two parties. That is why I desire the presence of Micheers, Paganel, and McNabbs, for it is properly speaking a bargain which I propose to make. Glenavan, accustomed to Ayrton's ways, exhibited no surprise, though any bargaining between this man and himself seems strange. What is the bargain? he said. This, replied Ayrton. You wish to obtain from me certain facts which may be useful to you. I wish to obtain from you certain advantages which would be valuable to me. It is giving for giving, my lord. Do you agree to this or not? What are the facts? Asked Paganel eagerly. No, said Glenavan, what are the advantages? Ayrton bowed in token that he understood Glenavan's distinction. These, he said, are the advantages, I ask. It is still your intention, I suppose, to deliver me up to the English authorities. Yes, Ayrton, it is only justice. I don't say it is not, replied the quartermaster quietly. Then of course you would never consent to set me at liberty. Glenavan hesitated before replying to a question so plainly put. On the answer he gave, perhaps the fate of Harry Grant might depend. However, a feeling of duty towards human justice compelled him to say, No, Ayrton, I cannot set you at liberty. I do not ask it, said the quartermaster proudly. Then what is it you want? A middle place, my lord, between the gibbet that awaits me and the liberty which you cannot grant me. And that is, to allow me to be left on one of the uninhabited islands of the Pacific, with such things as are absolute necessaries, I will manage as best I can and I will repent if I have time. Glenarvin, quite unprepared for such a proposal, looked at his two friends in silence. But after a brief reflection he replied, Ayrton, if I agree to your request, will you tell me all I have an interest in knowing? Yes, my lord, that is to say, all I know about Captain Grant and the Britannia. The whole truth? The whole. But what guarantee have I? Oh, I see what you are uneasy about. You need a guarantee for me, for the truth of a criminal. It's natural. But what can you have under the circumstances? There is no help for it. You must either take my offer or leave it. I will trust you, Ayrton, said Glenarvin, simply.  How? You can come and take me again from where you left me, and I shall have no means of getting away from the island. Ayrton had an answer for everything. He anticipated the difficulties, and furnished unanswerable arguments against himself. It was evident he intended to affect perfect good faith in the business. It was impossible to show more complete confidence, and yet he was prepared to go still further in disinterestedness. My lord and gentleman, he added, I wish to convince you of the fact that I am playing cards on the table. I have no wish to deceive you, and I am going to give you a fresh proof of my sincerity in this matter.  Speak, Ayrton, said Glenarvin, my lord, I have not your promise yet to accede to my proposal, and yet I do not scruple to tell you that I know very little about Harry Grant. Very little? exclaimed Glenarvin. Yes, my lord, the details I am in a position to give you relate to myself. They are entirely personal, and will not do much to help you recover the lost traces of Captain Grant. Keen disappointment was depicted on the faces of Glenarvin and the major. They thought the quartermaster in possession of an important secret, and he declared that his communications would be very nearly barren. Paganel's countenance remained unmoved. Somehow or other this avowal of Ayrton and surrender of himself, so to speak, unconditionally, singularly touched his auditors, you and the quartermaster added. So I tell you beforehand the bargain will be more to my profit than yours. It does not signify, replied Glenarvin, I accept your proposal, Ayrton. I give you my word to land you on one of the islands of the Pacific Ocean. All right, my lord, replied the quartermaster. Was this strange man glad of this decision? One might have doubted it. For his impassive countenance betokened no emotion whatever. It seemed as if he were acting for someone else rather than himself. I am ready to answer, he said. We have no questions to put to you, said Glenarvin. Tell us all you know, Ayrton, and begin by declaring, who are you? Gentlemen! replied Ayrton. I am really Tom Ayrton, the quartermaster of the Britannia. I left Glasgow on Harry Grant's ship on the 12th of March, 1861. For fourteen months I cruised with him in the Pacific in search of an advantageous spot for founding a Scotch colony. Harry Grant was the man to carry out grand projects, but serious disputes often arose between us. His temper and mine could not agree. I cannot bend, and with Harry Grant, when once his resolution has taken, any resistance is impossible, my lord. He has an iron will both for himself and others. But in spite of that I dared to rebel, and I tried to get the crew to join me, and to take possession of the vessel. Whether I was to blame or not is of no consequence. Be that as it may, Harry Grant had no scruples, and on the 8th of April, 1862, he left me behind on the west coast of Australia. "'Of Australia?' said the major, interrupted Ayrton in his narrative. Then, of course, you had quitted the Britannia before she touched at Caliou, which was her last date. "'Yes,' replied the quartermaster, for the Britannia did not touch there while I was on board. And how I came to speak of Caliou, at Patio Moore's farm, was that I learned the circumstances from your recital. "'Go on, Ayrton,' said Glenarvon. I found myself abandoned on a nearly desert coast, but only forty miles from the Pinot Settlement at Perth, the capital of western Australia. As I was wandering there, along the shore I met a band of convicts who had just escaped, and I joined myself to them. You will dispense my lord with any account of my life for two years and a half. This much, however, I must tell you that I became the leader of the gang, under the name of Ben Joyce. In September 1864 I introduced myself at the Irish farm, where I engaged myself as a servant in my real name, Ayrton. I waited there till I should get some chance of seizing a ship. This was my one idea. Two months afterwards the Duncan arrived. During your visit to the farm you related Captain Grant's history, and I learned, then, facts of which I was not previously aware, that the Britannia had touched at Caleo, and that her latest news was dated June 1862, two months after my disembarkation, and also about the document and the loss of the ship somewhere along the 37th parallel, and lastly the strong reasons you had for supposing Harry Grant was on the Australian Continent. Without the least hesitation I determined to appropriate the Duncan a matchless vessel, able to out-distance the swiftest ships in the British navy. But serious injuries had to be repaired. I therefore let it go to Melbourne, and joined myself to you in my true character as quarter-master, offering to guide you to the scene of the shipwreck, fictitiously placed by me on the east coast of Australia. It was in this way followed, or sometimes preceded, by my gang of convicts. I directed your expedition towards the province of Victoria. My men committed a bootless crime at Camden Bridge. Since the Duncan, if wrought to the coast, could not escape me, and with the yacht once mine I was master of the ocean. I led you in this way unsuspectingly, as far as the Snowy River. The horses and bullocks dropped dead one by one, poisoned by the gastrolobium. I dragged the wagon into the marshes, where it got half-buried. At my instance, but you know the rest, my lord, and you may be sure that, but for the blunder of Mr. Paganel, I should now have commanded the Duncan. Such is my history, gentlemen. My disclosures, unfortunately, cannot put you on the track of Harry Grant, and you perceive that you have made but a poor bargain by coming to my terms. The quarter-master said no more, but crossed his arms in his usual fashion and waited. Glenarvin and his friends kept silence. They felt that this strange criminal had spoken the whole truth. He had only missed his coveted prize, the Duncan, through a cause independent of his will. His accomplices had gone to Twofold Bay, and was proved by the convict blouse found by Glenarvin. Faithful to the orders of their chief, they had kept watch on the yacht, and at length, weary of waiting, had returned to the old haunt of robbers and incendiaries in the country parts of New South Wales. The major put the first question, his object being to verify the dates of the Britannia. You are sure, then, he said, that it was on the eighth of April you were left on the west coast of Australia? On that very day replied Ayrton, and do you know which projects Harry Grant had in view at that time? In an indefinite way I do. Say all you can, Ayrton, said Glenarvin. The least indication may set us in the right course. I only know this much, my lord. Replied the quartermaster. That Captain Grant intended to visit New Zealand. Now, as this part of the programme was not carried out while I was on board, it is not impossible that on leaving Kaleo the Britannia went to reconnoiter New Zealand. This would agree with the date assigned by the document to the shipwreck the 27th of June, 1862. Clearly, said Paganel, but, objected Glenarvin, there is nothing in the fragmentary words in the document that could apply to New Zealand. That, I cannot answer, said the quartermaster. Well, Ayrton, said Glenarvin, you have kept your word and I will keep mine. We have to decide now on what island of the Pacific Ocean you are to be left. It matters little, my lord, replied Ayrton. Come to your cabin, said Glenarvin, and wait our decision. The quartermaster withdrew, guarded by the two sailors. That villain might have been a man, said the major. Yes, returned Glenarvin, he is a strong, clear-headed fellow. Why was it that he must need turn his powers to such an evil account? But Harry Grant, I must fear, he is irrevocably lost, poor children, who can tell them where their father is. I can, replied Paganel, yes, I can. One could not help remarking that the geographer, so loquacious and impatient usually, had scarcely spoken during Ayrton's examination. He listened without opening his mouth. But this speech of his now was worth many others, and it made Glenarvin spring to his feet, crying out, you, Paganel, you know where Captain Grant is. Yes, as far as can be known. How do you know? From that infernal document. Ah, said the major, in a tone of the most profound incredulity. Hear me first, and shrug your shoulders afterwards, said Paganel, I did not speak sooner, because you would not have believed me, besides it was useless, and I only speak to-day, because Ayrton's opinion just supports my own. Then it is New Zealand, asked Glenarvin. Listen and judge, replied Paganel. It is not without reason, or rather I had a reason for making the blunder which has saved our lives. When I was in the very act of writing the letter to Glenarvin's dictation, the word Zeiland was swimming in my brain. This is why. You remember we were in the wagon. McNabs had just apprised Lady Helena about the convicts. He had given her the number of the Australian and the New Zealand Gazette, which contained the account of the catastrophe at Camden Bridge. Now, just as I was writing, the newspaper was lying on the ground, folded in such a manner that only two syllables of the title were visible. These two syllables were A-Land. What a sudden light flashed on my mind! A-Land was one of the words in the English document. One that hitherto we had translated A-ter, and which must have been the termination of a proper noun, Zeiland. Indeed, said Glenarvin, yes, continued Paganel with profound conviction. This meaning had escaped me, and you know why? Because my wits were exercised naturally on the French document, as it was most complete, and in that this important word was wanting.  Go on, Major, I am ready to answer to you. Well, then, what do you make of your word Ostra? What it was at first, it merely means southern countries. Well, and this syllable Indy, which was first the root of the Indians, and second the root of the word Indigenes. Well, the third and last time, replied Paganel, it will be the first syllable of the word Indigenes. And Counten cried McNabs, does that still mean Continent? No, since New Zealand is only an island. What then? asked Glenarvin. My dear Lord, replied Paganel, I am going to translate the document according to my third interpretation, and you shall judge. I only make two observations beforehand. First, forget as much as possible preceding interpretations, and divest your mind of all preconceived notions. Second, certain parts may appear to you strained, and it is possible that I translate them badly, but they are of no importance, among others. The word Agony, which chokes me, but I cannot find any other explanation. Besides, my interpretation was founded on the French document, and don't forget, it was written by an Englishman, who could not be familiar with the idioms of the French language. Now then, having said this much, I will begin. And slowly articulating each syllable, he repeated the following sentences. Le 27 juin 1862, le trois ma Britannia de Glasgow a sombré après une longue agonie dans les mers australes sur les côtes de la Nouvelle-Zélande, in English, Zélande, deux matelots et le Capitaine Grande ont pu y aborder. Là, continuellement empois à une cruelle indigence, ils ont jeté ce document par, de longitude et 37°11 de latitude, à leur secours où ils sont perdus. On the 27th of June 1865, the three-mast vessel Britannia of Glasgow has foundered after a long agony in the southern seas, on the coast of New Zealand. Two sailors and Captain Grant have succeeded in landing. Continually a prey to cruel indigence. They have thrown this document into the sea, in blank longitude and 37°11 minutes latitude. Come to their help, or they are lost. Paganel stopped, his interpretation was admissible, but precisely because it appeared as likely as the preceding it might be as false. Glenarfan and the Major did not then try and discuss it. However, since no traces of the Britannia had yet been met with, either on the Pantagonian or Australian coasts, at the points where these countries are crossed by the 37th parallel, the chances were in favour of New Zealand. Now, Paganel, said Glenarfan, will you tell me why you have kept this interpretation secret for nearly two months? Because I did not wish to boy you up again with vain hopes, besides we were going to Auckland to the very spot indicated by the latitude of the document. But since then, when we were dragged out of the route, why did you not speak? Because, however just the interpretation, it could do nothing for the deliverance of the Captain. Why not, Paganel? Because admitting that the Captain was wrecked on the New Zealand coast, now that two years have passed and he has not reappeared, he must have perished by shipwreck or by the New Zealanders. Then you are of the opinion, said Glenarfan, that the vestiges of the wreck might be found, but that the survivors of the Britannia have, beyond doubt, perished. Keep all this silent, friends, said Glenarfan, and let me choose a fitting moment to communicate these sad tidings to Captain Grant's children. The crew soon heard that no light had been thrown on the situation of Captain Grant by the revelations of Ayrton, and it caused profound disappointment among them, for they had counted on the quartermeister, and the quartermaster knew nothing which could put the Duncan on the right track. The yacht, therefore, continued her course. They had yet to select the island for Ayrton's banishment. Paganel and John Mangos consulted the charts on board, and exactly on the 37th parallel, found a little isle marked by the name of Maria Teresa, a sunken rock in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, 3,500 miles from the American coast, and 1,500 miles from New Zealand. The nearest land on the north was the archipelago of Pomoto, under the protector of France. On the south there was nothing but the eternal icepout of the Polar Sea. No ship would come to reconnoiter the solitary isle. No echo from the world would ever reach it. The storm birds only would rest awhile on it during their long flight, and in many charts the rock was not even marked.  Ayrton was informed of its situation, and expressed his willingness to live there apart from his fellows. The head of the vessel was in consequence turned toward it immediately. Two days later, at two o'clock, the man on watch signaled land on the horizon. This was Maria Teresa, a low, elongated island, scarcely raised above the waves, and looking like an enormous whale. It was still 30 miles distant from the yacht, whose stern was rapidly cutting her way over the water at the rate of 16 knots an hour. Gradually the form of the island grew more distinct on the horizon. The orb of day, sinking in the west, threw up its peculiar outlines in sharp relief. A few peaks of no great elevation stood out here and there, tipped to a sunlight. At five o'clock John Mangles could discern a light smoke rising from it. Is it a volcano? he asked of Paganel, who was gazing at this new land through his telescope. I don't know what to think, replied the geographer.  It would not be surprising if its origin were due to some submarine upheaval, and consequently it may be volcanic. But in that case, said Glenarvon, is there not reason to fear that if an eruption produced it, an eruption may carry it away? That is not possible, replied Paganel. We know of its existence for several centuries, which is our security. When the Isle Julia emerged from the Mediterranean, it did not remain long above the waves, and disappeared a few months after its birth. Very good, said Glenarvon, do you think John we can get there tonight? No, your honour, I must not risk the Duncan in the dark, for I am unacquainted with the coast. I will keep under steam, but go very slowly, and tomorrow, at daybreak, we can send off a boat. At eight o'clock in the evening, Maria Teresa, though five miles to Leighward, appeared only an elongated shadow, scarcely visible. The Duncan was always getting nearer. At nine o'clock, a bright glare became visible, and flames shot up through the darkness. The light was steady and continued. That confirms our disapposition of a volcano, said Paganel, observing it attentively. Yet, replied John Mangles, at this distance we ought to hear the noise, which always accompanies interruption, and the east wind brings no sound but ever to our ear. That's true, said Paganel. It is a volcano that blazes, but does not speak. The gleam seems intermittent, too, sometimes, like that of a lighthouse. You are right, said John Mangles, and yet we are not on a lighted coast. Ah, he exclaimed, another fire. On the shore this time, look, it moves, it has changed its place. John was not mistaken. A fresh fire had appeared, which seemed to die out now and then, and suddenly flare up again. Is the island inhabited then, said Glenarvon? By savages evidently replied Paganel. But in that case, we cannot leave the quartermaster there. No, replied the major, he would be too bad a gift even to bestow on savages. We must find some other uninhabited island, said Glenarvon, who could not help smiling at the delicacy of McNabs. I promised Erton his life, and I mean to keep my promise. At all events, don't let us trust them, added Paganel. The New Zealanders have the barbarous custom of deceiving ships by moving lights, like the records on the Cornish coast in former times. Now the natives of Marriotereza may have heard of this proceeding. Keep her off a point, called out John to the man at the helm. Tomorrow at sunrise we shall know what we are about. At eleven o'clock the passengers and John Mangles retired to their cabins. In the forepart of the yacht the man on watch was pacing the deck, while after there was no one but the man at the wheel. At this moment Mary Grant and Robert came on the poop. The two children of the captain, leaning over the rail, gazed steadily at the phosphorescent waves and the luminous wake of the Duncan. Mary was thinking of her brother's future and Robert of his sisters. Their father was uppermost in the minds of both. Was this idolized parent still in existence? Must they give him up? But no, for what would life be without him? What would become of them without him? What would have become of them already, but for Lord Glenarvon and Lady Helena? The young boy, old above his years through trouble, divine the thoughts that troubled his sister, and taking her hand in his own said, Mary, we must never despair. Remember the lessons our father gave us. Keep your courage up and no matter what befalls you. Let us show this obstinate courage which can rise above everything. Up to this time, sister, you have been working for me. It is my turn now, and I will work for you. Dear Robert, replied the young girl, I must tell you something, resumed Robert. You mustn't be waxed, Mary. Why should I be waxed, my child? And you will let me do it. What do you mean, said Mary, getting uneasy? Sister, I'm going to be a sailor. You're going to leave me, cried the young girl, pressing her brother's hand. Yes, sister, I want to be a sailor like my father and Captain John. Mary, dear Mary, Captain John has not lost all hope, he says. You have confidence in his devotion to us, and so have I. He is going to make a grand sailor out of me some day. He has promised me he will, and then we are going to look for our father together. Tell me, you're a willing sister mine. What our father would have done for us, it is our duty, mine at least, to do for him. My life has one purpose, to which it should be entirely consecrated. That is to search, and never cease searching for my father, who would never have given us up. Ah, Mary, how good our father was. And so noble, so generous, I did Mary. Do you know, Robert, he was already a glory to our country, and that he would have been numbered among our great men, if fate had not arrested his course? Yes, I know it, said Robert. Mary put her arm around the boy. And hugged him fondly, as he felt her tears fall on his forehead. Mary, Mary, he cried. It doesn't matter what our friends say. I still hope, and will always hope. A man like my father doesn't die till he has finished his work. Mary Grant could not reply. Sobs joked her voice. A thousand feelings struggled in her breast at the news that fresh attempts were about to be made to recover Harry Grant. And that the devotion of the captain was so unbounded. And does Mr. John still hope? She asked. Yes, replied Robert. He is a brother that will never forsake us, never. I will be a sailor. You'll say yes, won't you, sister? And let me join him in looking for my father. I'm sure you are willing. Yes, I am willing, said Mary. But the separation, she murmured. You will not be alone, Mary, I know that. My friend John told me so. Lady Helena will not let you leave her.  You can and should accept her kindness. To refuse would be ungrateful. But the man, my father has said a hundred times, must make his own way.  We will keep it, little sister. All that is settled and settled so well by our friend John and also by Lord Glenarvon. He is to keep you at Malcolm Castle as if you were his daughter. My Lord told my friend John so, and he told me, you will be at home there and have someone to speak to about our father while you are waiting till John and I bring him back to you some day. Ah, what a grand day that will be, exclaimed Robert. His face glowing with enthusiasm. My boy, my brother, replied Mary, how happy my father would be if he could hear you. How much you are like him, dear Robert, like our dear, dear father. When you grow up, you'll be just himself. I hope I may, said Robert, blushing with filial and sacred pride. But how shall we require Lord and Lady Glenarvon, said Mary Grant? Oh, that will not be difficult, replied Robert, with boyish confidence. We will love and revere them, and we will tell them so. And we will give them plenty of kisses. And someday, when we can get a chance, we will die for them. We will live for them. On the contrary, replied the young girl, covering her brother's forehead with kisses. They will like that better, and so shall I. The two children then relapsed into silence, gazing out into the dark night, and, giving way to long deliveries, interrupted occasionally by a question or remark from one to the other. A long swell undulated the surface of the calm sea, and the screw turned up alumina's furrows in the darkness. A strange and altogether supernatural instant now occurred. The brother and sister, by some of those magnetic communications which link souls mysteriously together, were the subjects at the same time and the same instant of the same hallucination. Out of the midst of these waves, with their alterations of light and shadow, a deep, plaintive voice sent up a cry, the tones of which thrilled through every fiber of their being. Come, come, were the words which fell on their ears. They both started up and leaned over the railing and peered into the gloom with questioning eyes. Mary, you heard that. You heard that, cried Robert. But they saw nothing but the long shadows that stretched before them. Robert said Mary pale with emotion. I thought, yes, I thought, as you did, that we must both be ill with fever, Robert. A second time the cry reached them, and this time the illusion was so great that they both exclaimed simultaneously, my father, my father. It was too much for Mary. Our converse emotion, she fell feinting into Robert's arms. Help, shorter Robert. My sister, my father, help, help. The men at the wheel darted forward to lift up the girl. The sailors on watch ran to assist, and John Mangles, Lady Helena and Glenarvon were hastily roused from sleep. My sister is dying, and my father is there, exclaimed Robert, pointing to the waves. They were wholly at a loss to understand him. Yes, he repeated, my father is there. I heard my father's voice. Mary heard it too. Just at this moment Mary Grant, recovering consciousness, but wondering and excited, called out. My father, my father is there. And the poor girl started up, and leaning o'er the side of the yacht, wanted to throw herself into the sea. My lord, Lady Helena, she exclaimed, clasping her hands. I tell you, my father is there. I can declare that I heard his voice, come out of the waves like a whale, as if it were a last adieu. The young girl went off again into convulsions and spasms, which became so violent that she had to be carried to her cabin, where Lady Helena lavished every care on her. Robert kept on repeating, my father, my father is there. I'm sure of it, my lord. The spectators of this painful scene saw that the captain's children were laboring under an hallucination. But how were they to be undecieved? Glenarvon made an attempt, however. He took Robert's hand and said, You say you heard your father's voice, my dear boy? Yes, my lord, there in the middle of the waves. He cried out, come, come. And did you recognize his voice? Yes, I recognized it immediately. Yes, yes, I can swear to it. My sister heard it and recognized it as well. How could we both be deceived? My lord, do let us go to my father's help. A boat, a boat. Glenarvon saw it was impossible to undestive the poor boy, but he tried once more by saying to the man at the wheel, Hopkins, you are at the wheel, where you're not when Miss Mary was so strangely attacked. Yes, your honor, replied Hopkins. And you heard nothing and saw nothing, nothing. Now, Robert, see. If it had been Hopkins' father, returned the boy, with indomitable energy, Hopkins would not say he had heard nothing. Does my father, my lord, my father? Sobs joked his voice. He became pale and silent, and presently fell down insensible like his sister. Glenarvon had him carried to his bed, where he lay in a deep swoon.  Yes, Glenarvon, excessive grief has produced the same hallucination in both of them, and at the same time. In both of them, muttered Paganel, that's strange, and pure silence would say inadmissible. He leaned over the side of the vessel and listened attentively, making a sign to the rest to keep still. But profound silence reigned around. Paganel shouted his loudest, no response came. It's strange, repeated their geographer, going back to his cabin. Close sympathy in thought and grief does not suffice to explain this phenomenon. Next day, March the 4th, at 5 AM, at dawn, the passengers, including Mary and Robert, who would not stay behind, were all assembled on the poop, each one eager to examine the land that they had only caught a glimpse of the night before. The yacht was coasting along the island at the distance of about a mile, and its smallest details could be seen by the eye. Suddenly, Robert gave a loud cry and exclaimed he could see two men running about and gesticulating, and the third was waving a flag. The Union Jack said John Mangos, who could caught up a spyglass. Through and up said Paganel, turning sharply round toward Robert. My lord said Robert, trembling with emotion, if you don't want me to swim to the shore, let a boat be lowered. Oh, my lord, I implore you to let me be the first to land. No one dared to speak. What? On this little aisle crossed by the 37th parallel, there were three men, shipwrecked Englishmen. Instantaneously, everyone thought of the voice heard by Robert and Mary the preceding night. The children were right, perhaps, in the affirmation. The sound of the voice might have reached them, but this voice was their father's. No, alas, most assuredly, no. And as they thought of the dreadful disappointment that awaited them, they trembled, lest this new trial should crush them completely. But who could stop them from going on shore? Lord Glenarvon had not the heart to do it. Lower a boat, he called out. Another minute, and the boat was ready. The two children of Captain Grant, Glenarvon, John Mangels, and Paganel rushed into it. And six sailors who rode so vigorously that they were presently almost close to the shore. At 10 pheasums distance, a piercing cry broke from Mary's lips. My father, she exclaimed, a man was standing on the beach between two others. His tall, powerful form and his physiognomy, with its mingled expression of boldness and gentleness, bore a resemblance both to Mary and Robert. This was indeed the man the children had so often described. Their hearts had not deceived them. This was their father, Captain Grant. The captain had heard Mary's cry, for he held out his arms and fell flat on the sand, as if struck by a thunderbolt. End of Book 3, Chapter 19 Book 3, Chapter 20 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 Maria Elming and Cobham Hagan Denmark. In Search of the Castaways, or the Children of Captain Grant by Shuls Van, Book 3, Chapter 20, Captain Grant's Story Joy does not kill, for both father and children recovered before they had reached the art. The scene which followed, who can describe? Language fails. The whole crew wept aloud at the sight of these three clasped together in a close, silent embrace. The moment Harry Grant came on deck, he knelt down reverently. The Pius Scotchman's first act on touching the art, which to him was the soil of his native land, was to return thanks to the God of his deliverance. Then, turning to Lady Helena and Lord General Alvin, and his companions, he thanked them in broken words, for his heart was too full to speak. During the short passage from the isle to the art, his children had given him a brief sketch of the Duncan's history. What an immense debt he owed to this noble lady and her friends. From Lord Lynn Alvin down to the lowest sailor on board, how all had struggled and suffered for him. Harry Grant expressed his gratitude with such simplicity and nobleness, his mainly face affused with pure and sweet emotion, that the whole crew felt amply recompensed for the trials they had undergone. Even the impassable Major himself felt the tear steal down his cheek, despite of all his self-command, while the good symbol Paganel cried like a child who does not care who sees his tears. Harry Grant could not take his eyes off his daughter. He thought a beautiful, charming, and he not only said so to himself, but repeated it out loud and appealed to Lady Helena for confirmation of his opinion, as if to convince himself that he was not blinded by his paternal affection. Boy, too, came in for admiration. How he has grown!  Robert then presented all his friends successively and found means always to vary the formula of introduction, though he had to say the same thing about each. The fact was, each and all had been perfect in the children's eyes. John Mangles blushed like a child when his turn came, and his voice trembled as he spoke to Mary's father. Lady Helena gave Captain Grant a narrative of the voyage and made him proud of his son and daughter. She told him of the young hero's exploits and how the lad had already paid back part of the paternal depth to Lord Glenavon. John Mangles sang Mary's praises in such terms that Harry Grant, acting on a hint from Lady Helena, put his daughter's hand into that of the brave young captain, and turning to the lord and lady Glenavon said, My lord and new madam, also give you a blessing to our children. When everything had been said and resaid over and over again, Glenavon informed Harry Grant about Ayrton. Grant confirmed the quartermaster's confession as far as his disembarkation on the coast of Australia was concerned. He is an intelligent, intrepid man, he added, whose passions have led him astray. May reflection and repentance bring him to a better mind. But before Ayrton was transferred, Harry Grant wished to do the honors of his rock to his friends. He invited them to visit his wooden house and dine with him in Robinson Crusoe fashion. Glenavon and his friends accepted the invitation most willingly. Robert and Mary were eagerly longing to see the solitary house where their father had so often wept at the thought of them. A bird was manned, and the captain and his two children, Lord and Lady Glenavon, the major, John Mangels and Paganel, landed on the shores of the island. A few hours suffice to explore the whole domain of Harry Grant. It was in fact the summit of a submarine mountain, a plateau composed of basaltic rocks and volcanic debris. During the geological epoch of the earth, this mountain had gradually emerged from the depth of the Pacific through the action of the subterranean fires. But for ages back, the volcano had been a peaceful mountain, and the filled-up crater, an island rising out of the liquid plain. Then soil formed, the vegetable kingdom took possession of this new land. Several whalers landed domestic animals there in passing, goats and pigs, which multiplied and ran wild. And the three kingdoms of nature were now displayed on this island, sunk in mid-ocean. When the survivors of the shipwrecked Britannia took refuge there, the hand of man began to organize the efforts of nature. In two years and a half, Harry Grant and his two sailors had met and more forced the island. Several acres of well-cultivated land were stocked with vegetables of excellent quality. The house was shaded by luxuriant gum trees, the magnificent ocean stretched before the windows, sparkling in the sunlight. Harry Grant had the table placed beneath the ground trees, and all the guests seated themselves, a hind-quarter of a goat, nado bread, several boughs of milk, two or three roots of wildened dive, and pure fresh water, composed of simple ripars worthy of the shepherds of Arcadia. Paganel was enchanted. His old fan-scenes about Robinson Crusoe revived in full force. He is not at all to be pityed that scoundrel Erton, he exclaimed enthusiastically. This little isle was just a paradise. Yes, replied Harry Grant, a paradise to these poor shipwrecked fellows that haven't had pity on. But I am sorry that Maria Therese was not an extensive infertile island, with a ribbon set of a stream and a port instead of a tiny bay exposed to the open sea. And why, Captain? Asked an oven. Because I should have made in it the foundation of the colony with which I mean to dour Scotland. Ah, Captain Grant, you have not given up the project then, which made you so popular in your old country? No, my lord. And God has only saved me through your efforts that I might accomplish my task. My poor brothers in old Caledonia, all who are needy must have a refuge provided for them in another land against the misery. And my dear country must have a colony of her own. For herself alone, somewhere in these seas, where she may find that independence and comfort she so lacks in Europe. Ah, that is very true, Captain Grant, said Lady Helena. This is a grand project of yours and worthy of a noble heart. But this little isle, no, madam, it is a rock only fit at the most to support a few settlers. Well, what we need is a vast country whose virgin soil abounds in untouched shores of wealth, replied the Captain. Well, Captain, exclaimed an oven, the future's ours, and this country we will seek for together. And the two brave Scotchmen joined hands in a hard grip and so sealed the compact. A general wish was expressed to here while they were on the island, the account of the shipwreck of the Britannia and of the two years spent by the survivors in this very place. Harry Grant was delighted to gratify their curiosity and commenced his narration forthwith. My story, he said, as that of all the Robinson Crusoe's cast upon an island, would only garden themselves to rely on and feeling it a duty to struggle for life with the elements. It was during the night of the 26th or the 27th of June, 1862, that the Britannia, disabled by six-day storm, struck against the rocks of Maria Teresa. And the sea was mountains high and lifeboats were useless. My unfortunate crew all perished, except bubblers and Joe Bell, who with myself managed to reach shore after 20 unsuccessful attempts. The land which received us was only an uninhabited island, two miles broad and five long, with about 30 trees in the interior, a few meadows, and a brook of fresh water, which fortunately never dried up. Alone with my sailors, in this corner of the globe, I did not despair. I put my trust in God and accustomed myself to struggle resolutely for existence. Barb and Joe, my brave companions in this fortune, my friends, seconded me energetically. We began like the fictitious and cruiser of Defoe, our model, by collecting the planks of the ship, the tools, a little powder and firearms, and a bag of precious seeds. The first few days were painful enough, but hunting and fishing soon afforded us a sure supply of food for wild goats went abundance in the interior of the island and marine animals abounded on the coast. By degrees, we fell into regular ways and habits of life. I had saved my instruments from the wreck and knew exactly the possession of the island. I found we were out of the root of vessels and could not be rescued unless by some providential chance. I accepted our trial lot compositely, always thinking, however, of my dear ones, remembering them every day in my prayers, though never hoping to see them again. However, we toiled on resolutely and before long several acres of land was sown with the seed of the Britannia. Potatoes and dive, sorrel and other vegetables besides gave wholesome variety to our daily fare. We caught some young kids which soon grew quite tame. We had milk and butter. Then I do, which grew abundantly in dried up creeks, supplied us with terrible substantial bread and we had no longer any fears for our material life. We had built a log hut with the debris of the Britannia and over with the sail cloth carefully tarred over and beneath this secure shelter the rainy season passed comfortably. Many a plan was discussed here and many a dream indulged in, the brightest of which is this day realized. I had a first idea of trying to brave the perils of the ocean in a canoe made out of the sparse of the ship. But 1,500 miles lay between us and the nearest coast, the island of the Archipelago of Pomo too. No boat could have stood so long a voyage and I therefore very inquisit my scheme and looked for no deliverance except from a divine hand. Oh my poor children, how often we have stood on the top of the rocks and watched the few vessels passing in the distance fired at sea. During the whole period of our exile only two or three vessels appeared on the horizon and those only to disappear again immediately. Two years and a half was spent in this manner. We gave up hoping but yet did not despair. At last early yesterday morning when I was standing on the highest peak of the island I noticed a light smoke rising in the west. It increased and soon a ship appeared in sight. It seemed to be coming towards us. But would it not rather steer clear of an island than just no harbour? Ah, what a day of agony that was! My heart was almost bursting. My comrades kindled a fire in one of the peaks. Night came on but no signal came from the yacht. Deliverance was there however. Were we to see it vanish from our eyes? I hesitated no longer. The darkness was growing deeper and the ship might double the island during the night. I jumped into the sea and attempted to make my way toward it. Hope trebled my strength. I cleft the waves with superhuman vigor and had got so near the yacht that I was scared the thirty phantoms off when it ticked about. This provoked me to the despairing cry which only my two children heard. It was no illusion. Then I came back to the shore exhausted and overcome with emotion and fatigue. My two sailors received me were half dead. It was a horrible night this last we spent on the island and we believed ourselves abandoned forever when they dawned and there was a yacht sailing nearly alongside under easy steam. Your boat was lowered. We were saved. And oh wonder of divine goodness my children, my beloved children were there holding out their arms to me. Robert and Mary almost smothered their father with kisses and caresses as he ended his narrative. It was now for the first time that the captain heard that he owed his deliverance to a somewhat hieroglyphical document which he had placed in a bottle and confined to the mercy of the ocean. But what were Jacques Paganel's thoughts during Captain Grant's recital? The worthy geographer was turning over in his brain for the thousandth time the words of the document. He pondered his three successive interpretations all of which had proved false. How had this island called Maria Theresa but indicated in the papers originally? At last Paganel could contain himself no longer and ceasing Harry Grant's hand he exclaimed, Captain, will you tell me at last what really was in your indecipherable document? A general curiosity was excited by this question of the geographer for the ignigma which had been for nine months the mystery was about to be explained. Well, Captain, repeated Paganel, do you remember the precise words of the document? Exactly, replied Harry Grant, and not a day has passed without my recalling to memory words with which our last hopes were linked. And what are they, Captain, asked an oven? Speak, far more proper, as wounded to the quick. I'm ready to satisfy you, replied Harry Grant. But, you know, to multiply the chances of safety I had enclosed three documents in the bottle in three different languages. Which is it, you wish to hear? They're not identical, then? cried Paganel. Yes, they are, almost to a word. Well, then, let us have the French document, replied Glenarvon. That is the one that is most respected by the waves and the one on which our interpretations have been mostly founded. My lord, I will give it to you word for word, replied Captain Grant. The 27th dog, 1862. The 3rd Britannia of Glasgow was lost in 15 places of the Patagonia in the austral hemisphere. By the earth, two Matelot and Captain Grant reached the border. Oh, exclaimed Paganel. La, continued Harry Grant. Continuously, they took a cruel bite. They threw the document by 153 degrees of length and 37 degrees. 11 minutes of latitude. They came to their rescue where they were lost. At the name of T'Ball, Paganel had started up hastily and now being unable to restrain himself any longer, he called out. How can it be I'll T'Ball? Why, this is Maria Theresa. Undoubtedly, Monsieur Paganel, replied Harry Grant. It is Maria Theresa on English and German charts, but is named T'Ball on the French ones. At this moment, a vigorous thump on Paganel's shoulder almost bent him double.  Geographer! said Magnabs, in a tone of the most supreme contempt. But Paganel had not even felt the major's hand. What was that, compared to the geographical blow which had stunned him? He had been gradually getting nearer the truth. However, as he learned from Captain Grant, he had almost entirely deciphered the indecipherable document. Names Patagonia, Australia, New Zealand had appeared to him in turn with absolute certainty. Contin, at first, continent, had gradually reached its true meaning, continuel. Indy had successively signified indies, indignus, and at last the right word was found, indigans. But one multilated word, a ball, had baffled the geographers' sagacity. Paganel had persisted in making it the root of the verb a border. And it turned out to be a proper name, the French name of the Isle de Ball, the Isle which had been a refuge for the shipwrecked sailors of the Britannia. It was difficult to avoid falling into the error, however, for in the English planispheres of the Duncan, the little Isle was marked Maria Theresa. No matter, cried Paganel, tearing his hair, I ought not to have forgotten its double appellation. It is an unpardonable mistake, one unworthy of a secretary to the geographical society. I am disgraced. Madam Paganel, said Lady Helina, moderate your grief.  And not even a learned one, added the major, by way of consolation. When the meal was over, Harold Grant put everything in order in his house. He took nothing away, wishing the guilty to inherit the riches of the innocent. He then returned to the vessel, and, as Klenavon had determined to start the same day, he gave immediate orders to the section of the quartermaster. Aetern was brought up on the poop, and found himself face to face with Harold Grant. It is I, Aetern, said Grant. Yes, it is you, Captain, replied Aetern, without the least sign of surprise at Harold Grant's recovery. Well, I am not sorry to see you again in good health. It seems, Aetern, that I made a mistake in landing you on an inhabited coast. It seems so, Captain.  May heaven give you repentance. Amen, said Aetern calmly. Klenavon then addressed the quartermaster. It is still your wish, then, Aetern, to be left behind. Yes, my lord. An islet of all meets your wishes? Perfectly. Now then, listen to my last words, Aetern. You will be cut off here from all the world, and no communication with your fellows is possible. Miracles are rare, and you will not be able to quit this isle. You will be alone, with no eye upon you but that of God, who reads the deepest secrets of the heart. But you will be neither lost nor forsaken, as Captain Grant was. And worthy as you are of anyone's remembrance, you will not be dropped out of recollection. I know where you are, Aetern. I know where to find you. I shall never forget. God keep your honor, was all Aetern's reply. These were the final words exchanged between Glenarvon and the quartermaster. The boat was ready, and Aetern got interred. John Mangels had previously conveyed to the island several cases of preserved food beside clothing and tools and firearms, and a supply of powder and shot. The quartermaster could commence a new life of honest labor. Nothing was lacking, not even books. Among others, the Bible. So dear to English hearts. The parting hour had come. The crew and all the passengers were assembled on deck. More than one felt his heart swell with emotion. Mary Grant and Helena could not restrain their feelings. Must it be done? said the young wife to her husband. Must the poor man be left here? He must Helena, replied Lord Glenarvon. It is an expiation of his crimes. At that moment the boat, in charge of John Mangels, turned away. Aetern, who remained standing, and still unmoved, took off his cap and bowed gravely. Glenarvon uncovered, and all the crew followed his example, as if in presence of a man who was about to die. And the boat went off in profound silence. On reaching land, Aetern jumped on the sandy shore, and the boat returned to the yacht. It was then four o'clock in the afternoon, and from the poop the passengers could see the quartermaster gazing at the ship, standing with folded arms on a rock, motionless as a statue. Shall we set sail, my lord? asked John Mangels. Yes, John, replied Glenarvon, hastily more moved than he cared to show. Go on, shouted John to the engineer. The steam hissed and puffed out. The crew began to stir the waves, and by eight o'clock the last peaks of Isle-to-Ball disappeared in the shadows of the night. End of Book 3, Chapter 20. Paganel's last entanglement. On the 19th of March, 11 days after leaving the island, the Duncan sighted the American coast, and next day dropped anchor in the bay of Talcahuilno. They had come back again after a voyage of five months, during which, and keeping strictly along the 37th parallel, they had gone round the world. The passengers in this memorable expedition and precedented in the annals of the Travellers Club, had visited Chile, the Pampas, the Argentine Republic, the Atlantic, the island of Tristan da Cunha, the Indian Ocean, Amsterdam Island, Australia, New Zealand, Isle-Tabor, and the Pacific. Their search had not been fruitless, for they were bringing back the survivors of the shipwreck in Britannia. No one of the brave Scots set out as the summons of their chief, but could answer to their names. All were returning to their old Scotsha. As soon as the Duncan had reprevisioned, she sailed along the coast of Patagonia, doubled Cape Horn, and made a swift run up the Atlantic Ocean. No voyage could be more devoid of incident. The yacht was simply carrying home a cargo of happiness. There was no secret now on board, not even John Mangle's attachment to Mary Grant. Yes, there was one mystery still, which greatly excited McNabb's curiosity. Why was it that Pagonal remained always hermetically fastened up in his clothes, with a big comfort around his throat, and up to his very ears? The major was burning with desire to know the reason of the singular fashion. But in spite of interrogations, and suspicions on the part of McNabb's, Pagonal would not unbutton. Not even when the Duncan crossed the line, and the heat was so great that the seams of the deck were melting. He is so distraught that he thinks he is at St. Petersburg, said the major, when he saw the geographer wrapped in an immense great coat, as if the mercury had been frozen in the thermometer. At last, on the 9th of May, 53 days from the time of leaving Tokohuano, John Mangles cited the light of Cape Clear. The yacht entered St. George's Channel, crossed the Irish Sea, and on the 10th of May reached the first of Clyde. At 11 o'clock she dropped anchor off Dunbarton, and at 2 p.m. the passengers arrived at Malcolm Castle amid the enthusiastic cheering of the Highlanders. As fate would have it then, Harry Grant and his two companions were saved. John Mangles wedded Mary Grant in the old cathedral of St. Mungo, and Mr. Paxton, the same clergyman who had prayed nine months before for the deliverance of the father, now blessed the marriage of his daughter and his deliverer. Robert was to become a sailor like Harry Grant and John Mangles, and take part with them in the Captain's Grant project for the services of Lord Lennon. But fate also decreed that Paganel was not to die a bachelor. Probably so. The fact was the learned geographer after his heroic exploits could not escape celebrity. His blunders made quite a fewer among the fashionable of Scotland, and he was overwhelmed with courtesies. It was then that an amiable lady about 30 years of age, in fact a cousin of McNabs, a little eccentric herself, but good and still charming, fell in love with the geographer's oddities and offered him her hand. £40,000 went with it, but that was not mentioned. Paganel was far from being insensible to the sentiments of Miss Arabella, but yet he did not dare to speak. It was the major who was the medium of communication between these two souls, evidently made for each other. He even told Paganel that his marriage was the last freak he would be able to allow himself. Paganel was in a great state of embarrassment, but strangely enough could not make up his mind to speak the fatal word. Does not Miss Arabella please you then? asked McNabs. Oh, major, she is charming, exclaimed Paganel, a thousand times too charming. And if I must tell you all she would please me better if she were less so. I wish she had a defect. Be easy on that score, replied the major. She has, and more than one. The most perfect woman in the world has always her quota. So, Paganel, it is settled then, I suppose. I dare not. Come now, my learned friend, what makes you hesitate? I am unworthy of Miss Arabella. Was the invariable reply to the geographer? And to this he would stick. At last, one day, being fairly driven in a corner by the intractable major, he ended by confinding to him under the seal of secrecy a certain peculiarity which would facilitate his apprehension. Should the police ever be on his track? Bah! said the major. It is really as I tell you, replied Paganel. What does it matter, my worthy friend? Do you think so, major? It only makes you more uncommon. It adds to your personal merits. It is the very thing to make you the nonparallel husband that Arabella dreams about. And the major with imperturable gravity left Paganel in a state of the utmost disquietude. A short conversation ensured between McNabs and Miss Arabella. A fortnight afterwards the marriage was celebrated in grand style in the chapel of Malcolm Castle. Paganel looked magnificent but closely buttoned up and Miss Arabella was arrayed in splendor. And this secret of the geographer would have been forever buried in oblivion if the major had not mentioned it to Glenormon and he could not hide it from Lady Helena who gave a hint to Mrs. Mangles. To make a long story short it got in the end his ears and soon came noise abroad. Jack's Paganel during his three days captivity among the Maori's had been tattooed from the feet to the shoulders and he bore on his chest a heraldic kiwi with outspread wings which was biting at his heart. This was the only adventure of his grand voyage that Paganel could never get over and he always bore a grudge it was for this reason too that notwithstanding solicitation and regrets he never would return to France he dreaded lest he should expose the whole geographical society in his person to the jests of caricaturists and law newspapers by their secretary coming back tattooed. The return of the captain to Scotland was a national event and Harry Grant was soon the most popular man in old Caledonia his son Robert became a sailor like himself and captain Mangels and under the patronage of Lord Glenarwin there resumed the project of founding a scotch colony in the southern seas. End of book 3 chapter 21 and this is also the end of In Search of the Castaways by Jules Verne