AYRTON soon made his appearance. He crossed the deck with a confident step, and ascended the poop-stairs. His eyes had a sullen look, his teeth were set, and his fists clinched convulsively. His bearing displayed neither exultation nor humility. As soon as he was in Lord Glenarvan’s presence, he folded his arms, and calmly and silently waited to be questioned:
“Ayrton,” said Glenarvan, “here we all are, as you see, on board the Duncan, that you would have surrendered to Ben Joyce’s accomplices.”
At these words the lips of the quartermaster slightly trembled. A quick blush colored his hard features,—not the sign of remorse, but the shame of defeat. He was prisoner on this yacht that he had meant to command as master, and his fate was soon to be decided.
However, he made no reply. Glenarvan waited patiently, but Ayrton still persisted in maintaining an obstinate silence.
“Speak, Ayrton; what have you to say?” continued Glenarvan.
The convict hesitated, and the lines of his forehead were strongly contracted. At last he said, in a calm voice:
“I have nothing to say, my lord. I was foolish enough to let myself be taken. Do what you please.”
Having given his answer, the quartermaster turned his eyes toward the coast that extended along the west, and affected a profound indifference for all that was passing around him. You would have thought, to look at him, that he was a stranger to this serious affair.
But Glenarvan had resolved to be patient. A powerful motive urged him to ascertain certain circumstances of Ayrton’s mysterious life, especially as regarded Harry Grant and the Britannia. He therefore resumed his inquiries, speaking with extreme mildness, and imposing the most perfect calmness upon the violent agitation of his heart.
“I hope, Ayrton,” continued he, “that you will not refuse to answer certain questions that I desire to ask you. And, first, am I to call you Ayrton or Ben Joyce? Are you the quartermaster of the Britannia?”
Ayrton remained unmoved, watching the coast, deaf to every question. Glenarvan, whose eye flashed with some inward emotion, continued to question him.
“Will you tell me how you left the Britannia, and why you were in Australia?”
There was the same silence, the same obstinacy.
“Listen to me, Ayrton,” resumed Glenarvan. “It is for your interest to speak. We may reward a frank confession, which is your only resort. For the last time, will you answer my questions?”
Ayrton turned his head towards Glenarvan, and looked him full in the face.
“My lord,” said he, “I have nothing to answer. It is for justice to prove against me.”
“The proofs will be easy,” replied Glenarvan.
“Easy, my lord?” continued the quartermaster, in a sneering tone. “Your lordship seems to me very hasty. I declare that the best judge in Westminster Hall would be puzzled to establish my identity. Who can say why I came to Australia, since Captain Grant is no longer here to inform you? Who can prove that I am that Ben Joyce described by the police, since they have never laid hands upon me, and my companions are at liberty? Who, except you, can charge me, not to say with a crime, but even with a culpable action?”
Ayrton had grown animated while speaking, but soon relapsed into his former indifference. He doubtless imagined that this declaration would end the examination: but Glenarvan resumed, and said:
“Ayrton, I am not a judge charged with trying you. This is not my business. It is important that our respective positions should be clearly defined. I ask nothing that can implicate you, for that is the part of justice. But you know what search I am pursuing, and, with a word, you can put me on the track I have lost. Will you speak?”
Ayrton shook his head, like a man determined to keep silent.
“Will you tell me where Captain Grant is?” asked Glenarvan.
“No, my lord.”
“Will you point out where the Britannia was wrecked?”
“Certainly not.”
“Ayrton,” said Glenarvan, in almost a suppliant tone, “will you, at least, if you know where Captain Grant is, tell his poor children, who are only waiting for a word from your lips?”
The quartermaster hesitated; his features quivered; but, in a low voice, he muttered:
“I cannot, my lord.”
Then, as if he reproached himself for a moment’s weakness, he added, angrily:
“No, I will not speak! Hang me if you will!”
“Hang, then!” cried Glenarvan, overcome by a sudden feeling of indignation.
But finally controlling himself, he said, in a grave voice:
“There are neither judges nor hangmen here. At the first landing-place you shall be put into the hands of the English authorities.”
“Just what I desire,” replied the quartermaster.
Thereupon he was taken back to the cabin that served as his prison, and two sailors were stationed at the door, with orders to watch all his movements. The witnesses of this scene retired indignant and in despair.
Since Glenarvan had failed to overcome Ayrton’s obstinacy, what was to be done? Evidently to follow the plan formed at Eden, of returning to England, and resuming hereafter this unsuccessful enterprise, for all traces of the Britannia now seemed irrevocably lost. The document admitted of no new interpretation. There was no other country on the line of the thirty-seventh parallel, and the only way was to sail for home.
He consulted his friends, and more especially Captain Mangles, on the subject of return. The captain examined his store-rooms. The supply of coal would not last more than fifteen days. It was, therefore, necessary to replenish the fuel at the first port. He accordingly proposed to Glenarvan to sail for Talcahuana Bay, where the Duncan had already procured supplies before undertaking her voyage. This was a direct passage. Then the yacht, with ample provisions, could double Cape Horn, and reach Scotland by way of the Atlantic.
This plan being adopted, the engineer was ordered to force on steam. Half an hour afterwards the yacht was headed towards Talcahuana, and at six o’clock in the evening the mountains of New Zealand had disappeared beneath the mists of the horizon.
It was a sad return for these brave searchers, who had left the shores of Scotland with such hope and confidence. To the joyous cries that had saluted Glenarvan on his return succeeded profound dejection. Each confined himself to the solitude of his cabin, and rarely appeared on deck. All, even the loquacious Paganel, were mournful and silent. If Glenarvan spoke of beginning his search again, the geographer shook his head like a man who has no more hope, for he seemed convinced as to the fate of the shipwrecked sailors. Yet there was one man on board who could have informed them about this catastrophe, but whose silence was still prolonged. There was no doubt that the rascally Ayrton knew, if not the actual situation of the captain, at least the place of the shipwreck. Probably Harry Grant, if found, would be a witness against him; hence he persisted in his silence, and was greatly enraged, especially towards the sailors who would accuse him of an evil design.
Several times Glenarvan renewed his attempts with the quartermaster. Promises and threats were useless. Ayrton’s obstinacy was carried so far, and was so inexplicable, that the major came to the belief that he knew nothing; which opinion was shared by the geographer and corroborated his own ideas in regard to Captain Grant.
But if Ayrton knew nothing, why did he not plead his ignorance? It could not turn against him, while his silence increased the difficulty of forming a new plan. Ought they to infer the presence of Harry Grant in Australia from meeting the quartermaster on that continent? At all events, they must induce Ayrton to explain on this subject.
Lady Helena, seeing her husband’s failures, now suggested an attempt, in her turn, to persuade the quartermaster. Where a man had failed, perhaps a woman could succeed by her gentle entreaty. Glenarvan, knowing the tact of his young wife, gave his hearty approval. Ayrton was, accordingly, brought to Lady Helena’s boudoir. Mary Grant was to be present at the interview, for the young girl’s influence might also be great, and Lady Helena would not neglect any chance of success.
For an hour the two ladies were closeted with the quartermaster, but nothing resulted from this conference. What they said, the arguments they used to draw out the convict’s secret, all the details of this examination, remained unknown. Moreover, when Ayrton left them they did not appear to have succeeded, and their faces betokened real despair.
When the quartermaster was taken back to his cabin, therefore, the sailors saluted his appearance with violent threats. But he contented himself with shrugging his shoulders, which so increased the rage of the crew, that nothing less than the intervention of the captain and his lordship could restrain them.
But Lady Helena did not consider herself defeated. She wished to struggle to the last with this heartless man, and the next day she went herself to Ayrton’s cabin, to avoid the scene that his appearance on deck occasioned.
For two long hours this kind and gentle Scotch lady remained alone face to face with the chief of the convicts. Glenarvan, a prey to nervous agitation, lingered near the cabin, now determined to thoroughly exhaust the chances of success, and now upon the point of drawing his wife away from this painful and prolonged interview.
But this time, when Lady Helena reappeared, her features inspired confidence. Had she, then, brought this secret to light, and stirred the dormant feeling of pity in the heart of this poor creature?
MacNabb, who saw her first, could not repress a very natural feeling of incredulity. However, the rumor soon spread among the crew that the quartermaster had at length yielded to Lady Helena’s entreaties. All the sailors assembled on deck more quickly than if Tom Austin’s whistle had summoned them.
“Has he spoken?” asked Lord Glenarvan of his wife.
“No,” replied Lady Helena; “but in compliance with my entreaties he desires to see you.”
“Ah, dear Helena, you have succeeded!”
“I hope so, Edward.”
“Have you made any promise that I am to sanction?”
“Only one: that you will use all your influence to moderate the fate in store for him.”
“Certainly, my dear Helena. Let him come to me immediately.”
Lady Helena retired to her cabin, accompanied by Mary Grant, and the quartermaster was taken to the saloon where Glenarvan awaited him.