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.
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 smokestack. 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?
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 midair. 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.
LV
Why the Duncan Went to New Zealand
The feelings of Glenarvan and his friends, when the songs of old Scotland resounded in their ears, it is impossible to describe. As soon as they set foot on deck the bagpiper struck up a well
