But at sight of Glenarvan and his companions, with tattered garments, emaciated features, and the traces of extreme suffering, the crew ceased their lively demonstrations. These were spectres, not the bold and dashing travelers whom, three months before, hope had stimulated to a search for the shipwrecked captain. Chance alone had led them back to this vessel that they had ceased to regard as theirs, and in what a sad state of exhaustion and feebleness!
However, before thinking of fatigue, or the imperative calls of hunger and thirst, Glenarvan questioned Tom Austin concerning his presence in these waters. Why was the Duncan on the eastern coast of New Zealand? Why was she not in the hands of Ben Joyce? By what providential working had God restored her to the fugitives? These were the questions that were hurriedly addressed to Tom Austin. The old sailor did not know which to answer first. He therefore concluded to listen only to Lord Glenarvan, and reply to him.
“But the convicts?” inquired Glenarvan. “What have you done with the convicts?”
“The convicts!” replied Tom Austin, like a man who is at a loss to understand a question.
“Yes; the wretches who attacked the yacht.”
“What yacht, my lord? The Duncan?”
“Of course. Did not Ben Joyce come on board?”
“I do not know Ben Joyce; I have never seen him.”
“Never?” cried Glenarvan, amazed at the answers of the old sailor. “Then will you tell me why the Duncan is now on the shores of New Zealand?”
Although Glenarvan and his friends did not at all understand Austin’s astonishment, what was their surprise when he replied, in a calm voice:
“The Duncan is here by your lordship’s orders.”
“By my orders?” cried Glenarvan.
“Yes, my lord. I only conformed to the instructions contained in your letter.”
“My letter?” exclaimed Glenarvan.
The ten travelers at once surrounded Tom Austin, and gazed at him in eager curiosity. The letter written at the Snowy River had reached the Duncan.
“Well,” continued Glenarvan, “let us have an explanation; for I almost think I am dreaming. You received a letter, Tom?”
“Yes; a letter from your lordship.”
“At Melbourne?”
“At Melbourne; just as I had finished the repair of the ship.”
“And this letter?”
“It was not written by you; but it was signed by you, my lord.”
“Exactly; it was sent by a convict, Ben Joyce.”
“No; by the sailor called Ayrton, quartermaster of the Britannia.”
“Yes, Ayrton or Ben Joyce; it is the same person. Well, what did the letter say?”
“It ordered me to leave Melbourne without delay, and come to the eastern shores of—”
“Australia!” cried Glenarvan, with an impetuosity that disconcerted the old sailor.
“Australia?” repeated Tom, opening his eyes. “No, indeed; New Zealand!”
“Australia, Tom! Australia!” replied Glenarvan’s companions, with one voice.
Austin was now bewildered. Glenarvan spoke with such assurance, that he feared he had made a mistake in reading the letter. Could he, faithful and accurate sailor that he was, have committed such a blunder? He began to feel troubled.
“Be easy, Tom,” said Lady Helena. “Providence has decreed—”
“No, madam, pardon me,” returned the sailor; “no, it is not possible! I am not mistaken. Ayrton also read the letter, and he, on the contrary, wished to go to Australia.”
“Ayrton?” cried Glenarvan.
“The very one. He maintained that it was a mistake, and that you had appointed Twofold Bay as the place of meeting.”
“Have you the letter, Tom?” asked the major, greatly puzzled.
“Yes, Mr. MacNabb,” replied Austin. “I will soon bring it.”
He accordingly repaired to his own cabin. While he was gone, they gazed at each other in silence, except the major, who, with his eye fixed upon Paganel, said, as he folded his arms:
“Indeed, I must confess, Paganel, that this is a little too much.”
At this moment Austin returned. He held in his hand the letter written by Paganel, and signed by Glenarvan.
“Read it, my lord,” said the old sailor.
Glenarvan took the letter, and read:
“Order for Tom Austin to put to sea, and bring the Duncan to the eastern coast of New Zealand.”
“New Zealand?” cried Paganel, starting.
He snatched the letter from Glenarvan’s hands, rubbed his eyes, adjusted his spectacles to his nose, and read in his turn.
“New Zealand!” repeated he, in an indescribable tone, while the letter slipped from his fingers.
Just then he felt a hand fall upon his shoulder. He turned, and found himself face to face with the major.
“Well, my good Paganel,” said MacNabb, in a grave tone, “it is fortunate that you did not send the Duncan to Cochin-China.”
This sally finished the poor geographer. A fit of laughter seized the whole crew. Paganel, as if mad, ran to and fro, holding his head in his hands, and tearing his hair. However, when he had recovered from his frenzy, there was still another unavoidable question to answer.
“Now, Paganel,” said Glenarvan, “be candid. I acknowledge that your absentmindedness has been providential. To be sure, without you the Duncan would have fallen into the hands of the convicts; without you we should have been recaptured by the Maoris. But do tell me, what strange association of ideas, what unnatural aberration, induced you to write New Zealand instead of Australia?”
“Very well,” said Paganel. “It was—”
But at that moment his eyes fell upon Robert and Mary Grant, and he stopped short, finally replying:
“Never mind, my dear Glenarvan. I am a madman, a fool, an incorrigible being, and shall die a most famous blunderer!”
The affair was no longer discussed. The mystery of the Duncan’s presence there was solved; and the travelers, so miraculously saved, thought only of revisiting their comfortable cabins and partaking of a good breakfast.
However, leaving Lady Helena, Mary Grant, the major, Paganel, and Robert to enter the saloon, Glenarvan and Captain Mangles retained Tom Austin with them. They wished to question him
