A ROUGH CAPTAIN.
If ever the searchers for Captain Grant had reason to despair of seeing
him again, was it not when every hope forsook them at once? To what
part of the world should they venture a new expedition? how explore
unknown countries? The Duncan was no longer in their possession, and
they could not be immediately reconciled to their misfortune. The
undertaking of these generous Scots had, therefore, failed. Failure!
sad word, that finds no echo in a valiant soul; and yet, amid all
the changes of destiny, Glenarvan was forced to acknowledge his
powerlessness to pursue this work of mercy.
Mary Grant, in this situation, no longer had the courage to utter the
name of her father. She suppressed her own anguish by thinking of the
unfortunate crew. Controlling herself in the presence of her friend, it
was she who consoled Lady Helena, from whom she had received so many
consolations. The young girl was the first to speak of their return to
Scotland. At seeing her so courageous and resigned, Captain Mangles
admired her, and would have spoken a final word in favor of Captain
Grant, if Mary had not stopped him with a look and then said:
"No, Mr. John; let us think of those who have sacrificed themselves.
Lord Glenarvan must return to England."
"You are right, Miss Mary," replied he; "he must. The English
authorities must also be informed of the fate of the Duncan. But do not
give up all hope. The search that we have begun I would continue alone,
rather than abandon. I will find Captain Grant, or succumb to the task!"
This was a solemn compact which John Mangles thus made. Mary accepted
it, and gave her hand to the young captain, as if to ratify this
treaty. On the part of the latter it was a devotion of his entire life;
on the part of the former, an unchanging gratitude.
The time of their departure was now definitely decided. They resolved
to proceed to Melbourne without delay. The next day Captain Mangles
went to inquire about vessels that were upon the point of sailing. He
expected to find frequent communication between Eden and Melbourne, but
he was disappointed. The vessels were few; two or three anchored in
Twofold Bay composed the entire fleet of the place. There were none for
Melbourne, Sydney, or Point-de-Galle.
In this state of affairs, what was to be done? Wait for a ship? They
might be delayed a long time, for Twofold Bay is little frequented.
After some deliberation, Glenarvan was about to decide upon reaching
Sydney by the coast, when Paganel made a proposal that was unexpected
to every one.
The geographer had just returned from Twofold Bay. He knew that there
were no means of transportation to Sydney or Melbourne; but, of the
three vessels anchored in the roadstead, one was preparing to start
for Auckland, the capital of Ika-na-Maoui, the northern island of New
Zealand. Thither Paganel proposed to go by the bark in question, and
from Auckland it would be easy to return to England by the steamers of
the English company.
This proposition was taken into serious consideration, although Paganel
did not enter into those extended arguments of which he was usually so
lavish. He confined himself to stating the fact, and added that the
voyage would not last more than five or six days.
Captain Mangles advocated Paganel's plan. He thought it should be
adopted, since they could not wait for the uncertain arrival of other
vessels. But, before deciding, he judged it advisable to visit the ship
in question. Accordingly, he, with Glenarvan, the major, Paganel, and
Robert, took a boat, and pulled out to where it was anchored.
It was a brig of two hundred and fifty tons, called the Macquarie,
which traded between the different ports of Australia and New Zealand.
The captain, or rather the "master," received his visitors very
gruffly. They saw that they had to deal with an uneducated man, whose
manners were not different from those of the five sailors of his
crew. A coarse red face, big hands, a flat nose, a blinded eye, lips
blackened by his pipe, and a specially brutish appearance, made Will
Halley a very forbidding character. But they had no choice, and for a
voyage of a few days there was no need to be very particular.
"What do you want?" asked Will Halley, as the strangers reached the
deck of his vessel.
"The captain," replied Mangles.
[Sidenote: A BUSINESS INTERVIEW.]
"I am he," said Halley. "What then?"
"The Macquarie is loading for Auckland?"
"Yes. What of it?"
"What does she carry?"
"Anything that is bought or sold."
"When does she sail?"
"To-morrow, at the noon tide."
"Would she take passengers?"
"That depends upon the passengers, and whether they would be satisfied
with the ship's mess."
"They would take their own provisions."
"Well, how many are there?"
"Nine,--two of them ladies."
"I have no cabins."
"We will arrange a place for their exclusive use."
"What then?"
"Do you accept?" asked Captain Mangles, who was not embarrassed by this
curtness.
"I must see," replied the master of the Macquarie. He took a turn or
two, striking the deck with his heavy, hobnailed boots; then, turning
to Captain Mangles, said:
"What do you pay?"
"What do you ask?" was the reply.
"Fifty pounds."
Glenarvan nodded assent.
"Very well! Fifty pounds."
"But the passage in cash!" added Halley.
"In cash."
"Food separate?"
"Separate."
"Agreed. Well?" said Will Halley, holding out his hand.
"What?"
"The advance-money."
"Here is half the fare,--twenty-five pounds," said Captain Mangles,
counting out the sum, which the master pocketed without saying "thank
you."
"Be on board to-morrow," said he. "Whether you are here or not, I shall
weigh anchor."
"We will be here."
Thereupon Glenarvan, the major, Robert, Paganel, and Captain Mangles
left the vessel, without Will Halley's having so much as touched the
brim of his hat.
"What a stupid fellow!" was their first remark.
"Well, I like him," replied Paganel. "He is a real sea-wolf."
"A real bear!" remarked the major.
"And I imagine," added Captain Mangles, "that this bear has at some
time traded in human flesh."
"What matter," replied Glenarvan, "so long as he commands the
Macquarie, which goes to New Zealand? We shall see very little of him
on the voyage."
Lady Helena and Mary Grant were very much pleased to know that they
were to start the next day. Glenarvan observed, however, that the
Macquarie could not equal the Duncan for comfort; but, after so many
hardships, they were not likely to be overcome by trifles. Mr. Olbinett
was requested to take charge of the provisions. The poor man, since the
loss of the Duncan, had often lamented the unhappy fate of his wife,
who had remained on board, and would be, consequently, the victim of
the convicts' brutality. However, he fulfilled his duties as steward
with his accustomed zeal, and their food might yet consist of dishes
that were never seen on the ship's table.
In the mean time the major discounted at a money-changer's some drafts
that Glenarvan had on the Union Bank of Melbourne. As for Paganel, he
procured an excellent map of New Zealand.
Mulready was now quite well. He scarcely felt his wound, which had so
nearly proved fatal. A few hours at sea would complete his recovery.
[Illustration: The landlord of Victoria Hotel furnished them with two
horses, and they set out.]
Wilson went on board first, charged with arranging the passengers'
quarters. Under his vigorous use of the brush and broom the aspect
of things was greatly changed. Will Halley shrugged his shoulders,
but allowed the sailor to do as he pleased. As for Glenarvan and his
friends, he scarcely noticed them; he did not even know their names,
nor did he care to. This increase of cargo was worth fifty pounds to
him, but he valued it less than the two hundred tons of tanned leather
with which his hold was crowded,--the skins first, and the passengers
next. He was a real trader; and by his nautical ability he passed for a
good navigator of these seas, rendered so very dangerous by the coral
reefs.
During the afternoon, Glenarvan wished to visit once more the supposed
place of the shipwreck. Ayrton had certainly been the quartermaster of
the Britannia, and the vessel might really have been lost on that part
of the coast. And there, at all events, the Duncan had fallen into the
hands of the convicts. Had there been a fight? Perhaps they would find
on the beach traces of a struggle. If the crew had perished in the
waves, would not the bodies have been cast ashore?
Glenarvan, accompanied by his faithful captain, undertook this
examination. The landlord of Victoria Hotel furnished them with two
horses, and they set out. But it was a sad journey. They rode in
silence. The same thoughts, the same anxieties, tortured the mind of
each. They gazed at the rocks worn by the sea. They had no need to
question or answer; no sign of the Duncan could be found,--the whole
coast was bare.
Captain Mangles, however, found on the margin of the shore evident
signs of an encampment, the remains of fires recently kindled beneath
the few trees. Had a wandering tribe of natives passed there within
a few days? No, for an object struck Glenarvan's eye, which proved
incontestably that the convicts had visited that part of the coast.
[Sidenote: THE LAST NIGHT IN AUSTRALIA.]
It was a gray and yellow jacket, worn and patched, left at the foot
of a tree. It bore a number and badge of the Perth penitentiary. The
convict was no longer there, but his cast-off garment betrayed him.
"You see, John," said Glenarvan, "the convicts have been here! And our
poor comrades of the Duncan----"
"Yes," replied the captain, in a low voice, "they have certainly been
landed, and have perished!"
"The wretches!" cried Glenarvan. "If they ever fall into my hands, I
will avenge my crew!"
Grief and exposure had hardened Glenarvan's features. For several
moments he gazed at the vast expanse of water, seeking perhaps to
discern some ship in the dim distance. Then his eyes relaxed their
fierceness, he regained his composure, and, without adding a word or
making a sign, took the road to Eden.
Only one duty remained to be fulfilled,--to inform the constable of
the events that had just transpired, which was done the same evening.
The magistrate, Thomas Banks, could scarcely conceal his satisfaction
at making out the official record. He was simply delighted at the
departure of Ben Joyce and his band. The whole village shared his joy.
The convicts had left Australia because of a new crime; but, at all
events, they had gone. This important news was immediately telegraphed
to the authorities of Melbourne and Sydney.
Having accomplished his object, Glenarvan returned to the Victoria
Hotel. The travelers passed this last evening in Australia in sadness.
Their thoughts wandered over this country, so fertile in misfortunes.
They recalled the hopes they had reasonably conceived at Cape
Bernouilli, now so cruelly disappointed at Twofold Bay.
Paganel was a prey to a feverish agitation. Captain Mangles, who had
watched him since the incident at Snowy River, many times pressed him
with questions which Paganel did not answer. But that evening, as he
went with him to his chamber, the captain asked him why he was so
nervous.
"My friend," replied Paganel evasively, "I am no more nervous than
usual."
"Mr. Paganel, you have a secret that troubles you."
"Well, as you will," cried the geographer; "it is stronger than I."
"What is stronger than you?"
"My joy on the one hand, and my despair on the other."
"You are joyful and despairing at the same time?"
"Yes; joyful and despairing at visiting New Zealand."
"Have you any news?" asked Captain Mangles. "Have you discovered the
lost trail?"
"No, friend. _People never return from New Zealand!_ But yet--well, you
know human nature. As long as we breathe we can hope; and my motto is
'_dum spiro, spero_,' which is the best in the world."