THE astonishment that these words produced cannot be described. Glenarvan sprang to his feet, and, pushing back his chair, cried,—
“Who says that?”
“I!” replied one of O’Moore’s workmen, seated at the end of the table.
“You, Ayrton?” said the colonist, no less astonished than Glenarvan.
“I,” repeated Ayrton, in an excited but firm tone; “I, a Scotchman like yourself, my lord, one of the shipwrecked sailors of the Britannia!”
Mary Grant, half fainting with emotion, and overcome with happiness, sank into the arms of Lady Helena; while Captain Mangles, Robert, and Paganel went towards the man whom their host had called Ayrton.
He was a somewhat rough-looking, broad-shouldered man, of about forty-five, of more than medium height, and with piercing eyes sunk deeply beneath his projecting brows. His strength must have been unusual, even considering his stature, for he was all bone and sinew. His countenance, full of intelligence and energy, although the features were stern, prepossessed one in his favor. The sympathy that he elicited was still more increased by the traces of recent hardships imprinted upon his face. It was evident that he had suffered much, although he seemed a man able to brave, endure, and conquer suffering.
The travelers felt all this at first sight. Ayrton’s appearance had interested them; and Glenarvan, acting as spokesman for all, pressed him with inquiries. This strange meeting had evidently produced a bewildering effect, and the first questions were, to some extent, without order.
“You are one of the sailors of the Britannia?” asked Glenarvan.
“Yes, my lord; Captain Grant’s quartermaster,” replied Ayrton.
“Saved with him from the shipwreck?”
“No, my lord. At that terrible moment I was washed overboard and cast ashore.”
“You are not one of the sailors, then, of whom the document makes mention?”
“No; I did not know of the existence of such a document. The captain must have thrown it overboard after I was gone.”
“But the captain, the captain?”
“I suppose he was lost, drowned, with the rest of the crew. I thought I was the sole survivor.”
“But you said that Captain Grant was living!”
“No. I said, ‘if the captain is living’——”
“‘He is in Australia,’ you added.”
“He can be nowhere else.”
“You do not know, then, where he is?”
“No, my lord. I repeat that I thought he was buried in the waves or dashed upon the rocks. You say that perhaps he is still living.”
“What do you know, then?” asked Glenarvan.
“Simply this, that if Captain Grant is living he is in Australia.”
“Where did the shipwreck take place?” inquired the major.
This should have been the first question; but, in the excitement of the moment, Glenarvan, anxious to know where Captain Grant was, had not inquired where the Britannia was lost. From this point the conversation assumed a more definite form, and soon the details of the complicated story appeared clear and exact to the minds of Ayrton’s hearers.
To the major’s question Ayrton replied,—
“When I was washed from the forecastle, as I was hauling down the jib, the Britannia was driving towards the coast of Australia, which was not two cable-lengths distant. The shipwreck, therefore, took place at that point.”
“In latitude thirty-seven?” asked Captain Mangles.
“Thirty-seven,” replied Ayrton.
“On the west coast?”
“No. On the east coast.”
“And when?”
“On the night of June 27th, 1862.”
“The same! the very same!” cried Glenarvan.
“You see, then, my lord,” added Ayrton, “that I was right in saying that, if Captain Grant still lives, you must seek him in Australia.”
“And we will seek, find, and save him, my friend!” cried Paganel. “Ah, precious document!” added he, with perfect simplicity: “it must be confessed that you have fallen into the hands of very sagacious people.”
No one noticed these flattering words of Paganel. Glenarvan, Lady Helena, Mary, and Robert had crowded around Ayrton, and eagerly clasped his hands. It seemed as if the presence of this man was a guarantee of the safety of Harry Grant. Since the sailor had escaped the dangers of shipwreck, why should not the captain be safe and sound? Ayrton repeated his declaration that if Captain Grant were living he must be in Australia. He answered with remarkable intelligence and clearness the many questions that were propounded to him. Miss Mary, while he spoke, held one of his hands in her own. This sailor had been a companion of her father, one of the shipwrecked survivors of the Britannia. He had lived with Harry Grant, had sailed the seas with him, had braved the same dangers! She could not withdraw her eyes from that weather-beaten face, and she wept with happiness.
Hitherto no one had thought of doubting the veracity of the quartermaster. Only the major, and perhaps Captain Mangles, questioned whether Ayrton’s story merited entire confidence. This unexpected meeting might be suspicious. To be sure, Ayrton had mentioned facts and dates that agreed, and striking particulars. But details, however exact they may be, do not constitute a certainty; and generally, as we know, falsehood endeavors to strengthen itself by its preciseness. MacNabb, therefore, reserved his opinion.
As for Captain Mangles, his doubts did not stand long before the assertions of the sailor, and he considered him a real companion of Captain Grant when he heard him speak to the young girl of her father. Ayrton knew Mary and Robert perfectly. He had seen them at Glasgow on the departure of the Britannia. He remembered that they had been present at the farewell dinner given on board to the friends of the captain. Sheriff MacIntyre was one of the guests. Robert—scarcely ten years old—had been confided to the care of Dick Turner, the boatswain, but had escaped from him and climbed to the top-sail yard-arm.
“It is true! it is true!” cried Robert.
The quartermaster remembered, too, a thousand little circumstances to which he did not seem to attach so much importance as did Captain Mangles. When he stopped, Mary said, in her sweet voice,—
“Mr. Ayrton, please tell us more about our father.”
Ayrton acceded to the young girl’s request. Glenarvan was reluctant to interrupt him, and yet many more important questions thronged his mind. But Lady Helena, pointing out to him Mary’s joyful excitement, checked his inquiries.
The quartermaster now told the story of the Britannia and her voyage across the Pacific. During the period of a year Harry Grant landed at the principal ports of Oceanica, opposing unjustifiable captures, and often a victim to the hostility of unjust traders. He found, however, an important point on the western coast of Papua. Here the establishment of a Scottish colony appeared to him feasible, and its prosperity assured. After examining Papua, the Britannia sailed to Callao for provisions, and left that port on the 30th of May, 1862, to return to Europe by the way of the Indian Ocean and the Cape. Three weeks after her departure, a terrible tempest disabled her. It became necessary to cut away the masts. A leak was discovered in the hold, which they did not succeed in stopping. The crew were soon overtasked and exhausted. The pumps could not be worked. For eight days the vessel was at the mercy of the storm. There were six feet of water in her hold, and she gradually foundered. The boats had been washed overboard, and the crew had given themselves up for lost, when on the night of June 22nd, as Paganel had rightly interpreted, they descried the eastern coast of Australia. The vessel soon stranded. A violent shock was felt. At this moment Ayrton, borne by a wave, was cast into the midst of the breakers, and lost all consciousness. When he came to himself, he was in the hands of the natives, who carried him into the interior of the country. Since then he had heard nothing more of the Britannia, and naturally supposed that she had been wrecked, with all on board, on the dangerous reefs of Twofold Bay.
This was Ayrton’s story, which elicited more than once exclamations of sympathy. The major could not justly doubt its correctness; and after this recital the quartermaster’s own experiences possessed a more real interest. Indeed, thanks to the document, they no longer doubted that Captain Grant had survived the shipwreck with two of his sailors. From the fate of the one they could fairly conjecture that of the other.
Ayrton was invited to tell of his own adventures, which was soon and simply done. The shipwrecked sailor, prisoner of a native tribe, was carried into the interior regions watered by the Darling. Here he led a very wretched existence, because the tribe itself was miserable; but he was not maltreated. For two long years he endured a painful slavery. However, the hope of regaining his liberty sustained his courage. He watched for the least opportunity of escaping, although his flight would plunge him into the midst of innumerable perils. One night in October he eluded the vigilance of the natives, and took refuge in the depths of extensive forests. For a month, living on roots, edible ferns, and the gum of the mimosa, often overcome by despair, he wandered in those vast solitudes, with the sun as his guide by day and the stars by night. In this way he crossed marshes, rivers, mountains, in short, all that uninhabited portion of country that few travelers have explored. At last, exhausted and almost dead, he reached the hospitable dwelling of Mr. O’Moore, where his labor insured him a comfortable livelihood.
“And if Ayrton is pleased with me,” said the Irish colonist, when the story was finished, “I cannot but be pleased with him. He is an honest and intelligent man, a good worker, and, if he chooses, this house shall long be at his service.”
Ayrton thanked Mr. O’Moore, and waited for further questions. He probably thought, however, that the legitimate curiosity of his hearers ought to be satisfied. What could he say that had not been repeated a hundred times already? Glenarvan was, therefore, about to open the conversation on a new topic, to profit by the information received from Ayrton, when the major, addressing him, said:
“You were quartermaster of the Britannia?”
“Yes,” replied Ayrton.
But perceiving that a certain feeling of distrust, a doubt, however slight, had suggested this inquiry, he added,—
“I saved my contract from the wreck.”
He immediately left the room in search of this authoritative document. During his absence, which lasted but a few moments, Mr. O’Moore said:
“My lord, I will answer for it that Ayrton is an honest man. During the two months that he has been in my employ, I have had no fault to find with him. I knew the story of his shipwreck and captivity. He is a true man, and worthy of your entire confidence.”
Glenarvan was about to answer that he had never doubted Ayrton’s honesty, when the latter returned and presented his contract. It was a paper signed by the owners of the Britannia and Captain Grant, whose writing Mary recognized immediately. It stated that “Tom Ayrton, able seaman, was engaged as quartermaster on board the brig Britannia of Glasgow.” There was, therefore, no possible doubt of Ayrton’s identity, for it would have been difficult to suppose that this contract could be in his hands and not belong to him.
“Now,” said Glenarvan, “I appeal to you all for advice as to what is best to be done. Your advice, Ayrton, would be particularly valuable, and I should be much obliged if you would give it to us.”
The sailor reflected a few moments, and then replied:
“I thank you, my lord, for the confidence you place in me, and hope to show myself worthy of it. I have some knowledge of the country, and of the customs of the natives; and, if I can be of use to you——”
“Certainly,” replied Glenarvan.
“I think, like you,” continued Ayrton, “that Captain Grant and his two sailors were saved from the shipwreck; but, since they have not reached the English possessions, since they have not reappeared, I doubt not that their fate was the same as my own, and that they are prisoners of the natives.”
“You repeat, Mr. Ayrton, the arguments that I have already substantiated,” said Paganel. “The shipwrecked seamen are evidently prisoners of the natives, as they feared. But ought we to suppose that, like you, they have been carried to the north?”
“It is quite likely, sir,” replied Ayrton. “The hostile tribes would hardly remain in the neighborhood of the English provinces.”
“This fact will complicate our search,” said Glenarvan, quite disconcerted. “How shall we find the traces of the prisoners in the interior of so vast a continent?”
A prolonged silence followed this remark. Lady Helena frequently cast a questioning glance at her companions, but without eliciting a responsive sign. Paganel himself was silent, contrary to his custom. His usual ingenuity now failed him. Captain Mangles paced the room with long strides, as if he had been on the deck of his vessel, involved in some difficulty.
“And you, Mr. Ayrton,” said Lady Helena, at length, to the quartermaster, “what would you do?”
“Madam,” replied he, promptly, “I should re-embark on board the Duncan, and go straight to the place of the shipwreck. There I should act according to circumstances, or indications that chance might furnish.”
“Very good,” said Glenarvan; “but we must wait till the Duncan is repaired.”
“Ah! you have suffered injuries?” inquired Ayrton.
“Yes,” replies the captain.
“Serious?”
“No; but they necessitate repairs which cannot be made on board. One of the flanges of the screw is bent, and this work can be done only at Melbourne.”
“Can you not sail?” asked the quartermaster.
“Yes; but, if the wind is contrary, it would take considerable time to reach Twofold Bay, and at any rate we should have to return to Melbourne.”
“Well, let the yacht go to Melbourne,” said Paganel, “and we will go without her to Twofold Bay.”
“But how?”
“By crossing Australia, as we crossed South America.”
“But the Duncan?” added Ayrton, with singular persistency.
“The Duncan will join us, or we will join her, according to circumstances. If Captain Grant is found during our journey, we will return together to Melbourne. If, on the contrary, we continue our search to the coast, the Duncan shall join us there. Who has any objections to make to this plan? Have you, major?”
“No,” replied MacNabb, “if it is practicable.”
“So practicable,” said Paganel, “that I propose that Lady Helena and Miss Grant accompany us.”
“Do you speak seriously, Paganel?” asked Glenarvan.
“Quite seriously, my lord. It is a journey of three hundred and fifty miles. At the rate of twelve miles a day it would last scarcely a month,—long enough to give time for repairing the Duncan.”
“But the ferocious animals?” said Glenarvan, wishing to state all possible objections.
“There are none in Australia.”
“But the savages?”
“There are none in the course we shall take.”
“Well, then, the convicts?”
“There are no convicts in the southern provinces of Australia, but only in the eastern colonies.”
“Mr. Paganel is perfectly right,” said O’Moore; “they have all left the southern provinces. Since I have lived on this farm, I have not heard of one.”
“And, for my part, I never met one,” added Ayrton.
“You see, my friends,” continued Paganel, “that there are few savages, no wild beasts, and no convicts. There are not many countries of Europe of which we could say as much. Well, is it agreed?”
“What do you think, Helena?” asked Glenarvan.
“What we all think,” replied she, turning towards her companions. “Forward!”