“My lord,” replied the young captain, “is deceived by an optical illusion. The apparent onward movement is only an oscillation of the water, nothing more. Throw a piece of wood into the water, and you will see that it will remain stationary, so long as the ebb is not felt. We must therefore have patience.”
“And dinner,” added the major.
Olbinett took out of a case of provisions some pieces of dried meat and a dozen biscuits, though reluctant to offer such meagre fare. It was accepted, however, with good grace, even by the ladies, whose appetites the fresh sea air greatly improved.
Night approached. Already the sun’s disk, glowing with crimson, was disappearing beneath the horizon; and the waters glistened and sparkled like sheets of liquid silver under his last rays. Nothing could be seen but sky and water, except one sharply-defined object, the hull of the Macquarie, motionless on the reefs. The short twilight was rapidly followed by the darkness, and soon the land that bounded the horizon some miles away was lost in the gloom. In this perplexing situation these shipwrecked people lapsed into an uneasy and distressing drowsiness, and as the result at daybreak all were more exhausted than refreshed.
With the turn of the tide the wind rose. It was six o’clock in the morning, and time was precious. Preparations were made for getting under way, and the order was given to weigh anchor; but the flukes, by the strain of the cable, were so deeply imbedded in the sand that without the windlass even the tackling that Wilson arranged could not draw them out.
Half an hour passed in useless efforts. The captain, impatient to set sail, cut the cable, and thus took away all possibility of anchoring, in case the tide should not enable them to reach the shore. The sail was unfurled, and they drifted slowly towards the land that rose in grayish masses against the background of the sky, illumined by the rising sun. The reefs were skillfully avoided, but, with the unsteady breeze, they did not seem to draw nearer the shore.
At last, however, land was less than a mile distant, craggy with rocks and very precipitous. It was necessary to find a practicable landing. The wind now moderated and soon subsided entirely, the sail flapping idly against the mast. The tide alone moved the raft; but they had to give up steering, and masses of seaweed retarded their progress.
After awhile they gradually became stationary three cable-lengths from shore. But they had no anchor, and would they not be carried out to sea again by the ebb? With eager glance and anxious heart the captain looked towards the inaccessible shore.
Just at this moment a shock was felt. The raft stopped. They had stranded on a sandbar, not far from the coast. Glenarvan, Robert, Wilson, and Mulready leaped into the water, and moored their bark firmly with cables on the adjoining reefs. The ladies were carried in their companions’ arms, and reached the shore without wetting a single fold of their garments; and soon all, with arms and provisions, had set foot on the inhospitable shores of New Zealand.
Glenarvan, without losing an hour, would have followed the coast to Auckland; but since early morning the sky had been heavy with clouds, which, towards noon, descended in torrents of rain. Hence it was impossible to start on their journey, and advisable to seek a shelter.
Wilson discovered, fortunately, a cavern, hollowed out by the sea in the basaltic rocks of the shore, and here the travelers took refuge with their arms and provisions. There was an abundance of dry seaweed, lately cast up by the waves. This formed a soft couch, of which they availed themselves. Several pieces of wood were piled up at the entrance and then kindled; and while the fire served to dry their garments conversation beguiled the hours, as they lay or stood at ease.
Paganel, as usual, upon being appealed to, could tell them of the rise, extension, and consolidation of the British power upon the island; he informed them of the beginnings—and, to his belief, of the causes—of the strife which for years decimated the aborigines, and was very injurious to the colonists who had emigrated; then, in reply to Robert’s questions, he went on to speak of those who on a narrower theatre had emulated by their heroism and patience the deeds of the world’s great travelers and scientific explorers. He told them of Witcombe and Charlton Howitt, men known in their own circles and in connection with their own branch of the New Zealand government. At still greater length he detailed the adventures of Jacob Louper, who was the companion of Witcombe, and had gone as his assistant to discover a practicable route over the mountains in the north of the province of Canterbury. In those mountain wilds, which even the islanders rarely traverse, these two Europeans suffered greatly, but still worse was their fate when they descended to the water-level and essayed to cross the Taramakau near its mouth. Jacob Louper at length found two old and almost useless canoes, and by attaching the one to the other they hoped to accomplish the passage safely. Before they had reached the middle of the rapid current, however, both the tubs capsized. Louper, with difficulty, managed to support himself on one of them, and by clinging to it was at length carried to the river’s bank, which his companion also reached; but when after a period of insensibility Louper returned to consciousness and found the body of Witcombe, it was lifeless. Though terribly bruised and still bleeding from his wounds, Louper hollowed a grave for the remains, and then, after many more days of privation and danger, came to
