FROM PERIL TO SAFETY.
Darkness favored the escape; and making the greatest possible progress,
they left the fatal regions of Lake Taupo. Paganel assumed the guidance
of the little party, and his marvelous instinct as a traveler was
displayed anew during this perilous journey. He managed with surprising
dexterity in the thick gloom, chose unhesitatingly the almost invisible
paths, and kept constantly an undeviating course.
At nine o'clock in the morning they had accomplished a considerable
distance, and could not reasonably require more of the courageous
ladies. Besides, the place seemed suitable for an encampment. The
fugitives had reached the ravine that separates the Kaimanawa and
Wahiti ranges. The road on the right ran southward to Oberland.
Paganel, with his map in his hand, made a turn to the northeast, and
at ten o'clock the little party had reached a sort of steep buttress,
formed by a spur of the mountain.
The provisions were taken from the sacks, and all did ample justice to
them. Mary Grant and the major, who had not hitherto been very well
satisfied with the edible ferns, made this time a hearty meal of them.
They rested here till two o'clock in the afternoon, then the journey
towards the east was resumed, and at evening the travelers encamped
eight miles from the mountains. They needed no urging to sleep in the
open air.
The next day very serious difficulties were encountered. They were
forced to pass through a curious region of volcanic lakes and geysers
that extends eastward from the Wahiti ranges. It was pleasing to the
eye, but fatiguing to the limbs. Every quarter of a mile there were
obstacles, turns, and windings, far too many for rapid progress; but
what strange appearances and what infinite variety does nature give to
her grand scenes!
[Sidenote: ALMOST TIRED OUT!]
Over this expanse of twenty square miles the overflow of subterranean
forces was displayed in every form. Salt springs, of a singular
transparency, teeming with myriads of insects, issued from the porous
ground. They exhaled a penetrating odor, and deposited on the earth a
white coating like dazzling snow. Their waters, though clear, were
at the boiling-point, while other neighboring springs poured forth
ice-cold streams. On every side water-spouts, with spiral rings of
vapor, spirted from the ground like the jets of a fountain, some
continuous, others intermittent, as if controlled by some capricious
sprite. They rose like an amphitheatre, in natural terraces one above
another, their vapors gradually mingling in wreaths of white smoke; and
flowing down the semi-transparent steps of these gigantic staircases,
they fed the lakes with their boiling cascades.
It will be needless to dilate upon the incidents of the journey, which
were neither numerous nor important. Their way led through forests and
over plains. The captain took his bearings by the sun and stars. The
sky, which was quite clear, was sparing of heat and rain. Still, an
increasing weariness delayed the travelers, already so cruelly tried,
and they had to make great efforts to reach their destination.
However, they still conversed together, but no longer in common. The
little party was divided into groups, not by any narrow prejudice or
ill feeling, but to some extent from sadness. Often Glenarvan was
alone, thinking, as he approached the coast, of the Duncan and her
crew. He forgot the dangers that still threatened him, in his grief for
his lost sailors and the terrible visions that continually haunted his
mind.
They no longer spoke of Harry Grant. And why should they, since they
could do nothing for him? If the captain's name was ever pronounced, it
was in the conversations of his daughter and her betrothed. The young
captain had not reminded her of what she had said to him on the last
night of their captivity on the mountain. His magnanimity would not
take advantage of words uttered in a moment of supreme despair.
[Sidenote: ACCOMPLISHING THE LAST STAGE.]
When he did speak of Captain Grant, he began to lay plans for a further
search. He declared to Mary that Lord Glenarvan would resume this
undertaking, hitherto so unsuccessful.
[Illustration: On every side water-spouts, with spiral rings of vapor,
spirted from the ground like the jets of a fountain.]
He maintained that the authenticity of the document could not be
doubted. Her father must, therefore, be somewhere; and though it were
necessary to search the whole world, they were sure to find him. The
young girl was cheered by these words; and both, bound by the same
thoughts, now sympathized in the same hope. Lady Helena often took part
in the conversation, and was very careful not to discourage the young
people with any sad forebodings.
Glenarvan and his companions, after many vicissitudes, reached the foot
of Mount Ikirangi, whose peak towered five thousand feet aloft. They
had now traveled almost one hundred miles since leaving the Maunganamu,
and the coast was still thirty miles distant. Captain Mangles had
hoped to make the journey in ten days, but he was ignorant then of
the difficulties of the way. There were still two good days of travel
before they could gain the ocean, and renewed activity and extreme
vigilance became necessary, for they were entering a region frequented
by the natives. However, each conquered the fatigue, and the little
party continued their course.
Between Mount Ikirangi, some distance on their right, and Mount Hardy,
whose summit rose to the left, was a large plain, thickly overspread
with twining plants and underbrush. Progress here was tedious and
difficult in the extreme; for the pliant tendrils wound a score of
folds about their bodies like serpents. Hunting was impossible; the
provisions were nearly exhausted, and could not be renewed, and water
failed, so that they could not allay their thirst, rendered doubly
acute by their fatigue. The sufferings of Glenarvan and his friends
were terrible, and for the first time their moral energy now almost
forsook them.
At last, dragging themselves along, wearied to the utmost degree in
body, almost despairing in mind, they reached Lottin Point, on the
shores of the Pacific.
At this place several deserted huts were seen, the ruins of a village
recently devastated by the war; around them were abandoned fields, and
everywhere the traces of plunder and conflagration. But here fate had
reserved a new and fearful test for the unfortunate travelers.
They were walking along the coast, when, at no great distance, a number
of natives appeared, who rushed towards the little party, brandishing
their weapons. Glenarvan, shut in by the sea, saw that escape was
impossible, and, summoning all his strength, was about to make
preparations for battle, when Captain Mangles cried:
"A canoe! a canoe!"
And truly, twenty paces distant, a canoe, with six oars, was lying on
the beach. To rush to it, set it afloat, and fly from this dangerous
place was the work of an instant; the whole party seemed to receive at
once a fresh accession of bodily strength and mental vigor.
In ten minutes the boat was at a considerable distance. The sea was
calm. The captain, however, not wishing to wander too far from the
coast, was about to give the order to cruise along the shore, when he
suddenly ceased rowing. He had observed three canoes starting from
Lottin Point, with the evident intention of overtaking and capturing
the unfortunate fugitives.
"To sea! to sea!" cried he; "better perish in the waves than be
captured!"
The canoe, under the strokes of its four oarsmen, at once put to sea,
and for some time kept its distance. But the strength of the weakened
fugitives soon grew less, and their pursuers gradually gained upon
them. The boats were now scarcely a mile apart. There was therefore
no possibility of avoiding the attack of the natives, who, armed with
their long guns, were already preparing to fire.
[Sidenote: DEATH ON EVERY HAND.]
What was Glenarvan doing? Standing at the stern of the canoe, he looked
around as if for some expected aid. What did he expect? What did he
wish? Had he a presentiment?
All at once his face brightened, his hand was stretched towards an
indistinct object.
"A ship!" cried he; "my friends, a ship! Row, row!"
Not one of the four oarsmen turned to see this unexpected vessel,
for they must not lose a stroke. Only Paganel, rising, directed his
telescope towards the place indicated.
"Yes," said he, "a ship, a steamer, under full headway, coming towards
us! Courage, captain!"
The fugitives displayed new energy, and for several moments longer they
kept their distance. The steamer grew more and more distinct. They
could clearly discern her masts, and the thick clouds of black smoke
that issued from her smoke-stack. Glenarvan, giving the helm to Robert,
had seized the geographer's glass, and did not lose a single movement
of the vessel.
But what were Captain Mangles and his companions to think when they
saw the expression of his features change, his face grow pale, and the
instrument fall from his hands. A single word explained this sudden
emotion.
"The Duncan!" cried Glenarvan,--"the Duncan and the convicts!"
"The Duncan?" repeated the captain, dropping his oar and rising.
"Yes, death on all sides!" moaned Glenarvan, overcome by so many
calamities.
It was indeed the yacht--without a doubt,--the yacht, with her crew of
bandits! The major could not repress a malediction. This was too much.
Meantime the canoe was floating at random. Whither should they guide
it, whither flee? Was it possible to choose between the savages and the
convicts?
[Illustration: A second ball whistled over their heads, and demolished
the nearest of the three canoes.]
[Sidenote: A MYSTERIOUS PRESERVATION.]
Just then a shot came from the native boat, that had approached nearer.
The bullet struck Wilson's oar; but his companions still propelled
the canoe towards the Duncan. The yacht was advancing at full speed,
and was only half a mile distant. Captain Mangles, beset on all sides,
no longer knew how to act, or in what direction to escape. The two poor
ladies were on their knees, praying in their despair.
The savages were now firing a continued volley, and the bullets rained
around the canoe. Just then a sharp report sounded, and a ball from the
yacht's cannon passed over the heads of the fugitives, who remained
motionless between the fire of the Duncan and the natives.
Captain Mangles, frantic with despair, seized his hatchet. He was on
the point of sinking their own canoe, with his unfortunate companions,
when a cry from Robert stopped him.
"Tom Austin! Tom Austin!" said the child. "He is on board! I see him!
He has recognized us! He is waving his hat!"
The hatchet was suspended in mid-air. A second ball whistled over
their heads, and demolished the nearest of the three canoes, while a
loud hurrah was heard on board the Duncan. The savages fled in terror
towards the coast.
"Help, help, Tom!" cried Captain Mangles, in a piercing voice. And
a few moments afterwards the ten fugitives, without knowing how, or
scarcely comprehending this unexpected good fortune, were all in safety
on board the Duncan.