“Thus you are forewarned, my lord, that the business will be less advantageous for you than for me.”
“No matter,” replied Glenarvan; “I accept your proposal, Ayrton. You have my word that you shall be landed at one of the islands of the Pacific.”
“Very well, my lord,” said he.
Was this strange man pleased with this decision? You might have doubted it, for his impassive countenance betrayed no emotion. He seemed as if acting for another more than for himself.
“I am ready to answer,” continued he.
“We have no questions to ask you,” rejoined Glenarvan. “Tell us what you know, Ayrton, and, in the first place, who you are.”
“Gentlemen,” replied he, “I am really Tom Ayrton, quartermaster of the Britannia. I left Glasgow in Captain Grant’s ship on the 12th of March, 1861. For fourteen months we traversed together the Pacific, seeking some favorable place to found a Scottish colony. Harry Grant was a man capable of performing great deeds, but frequently serious disputes arose between us. His character did not harmonize with mine. I could not yield; but with Harry Grant, when his resolution is taken, all resistance is impossible. He is like iron towards himself and others. However, I dared to mutiny, and attempted to involve the crew and gain possession of the vessel. Whether I did right or wrong is of little importance. However it may be, Captain Grant did not hesitate to land me, April 8, 1862, on the west coast of Australia.”
“Australia!” exclaimed the major, interrupting Ayrton’s story. “Then you left the Britannia before her arrival at Callao, where the last news of her was dated?”
“Yes,” replied the quartermaster; “for the Britannia never stopped at Callao while I was on board. If I spoke of Callao at O’Moore’s farm, it was your story that gave me this information.”
“Go on, Ayrton,” said Glenarvan.
“I found myself, therefore, abandoned on an almost desert coast, but only twenty miles from the penitentiary of Perth, the capital of Western Australia. Wandering along the shore, I met a band of convicts who had just escaped. I joined them. You will spare me, my lord, the account of my life for two years and a half. It is enough to know that I became chief of the runaways, under the name of Ben Joyce. In the month of September, 1864, I made my appearance at the Irishman’s farm, and was received as a servant under my true name of Ayrton. Here I waited till an opportunity should be offered to gain possession of a vessel. This was my great object. Two months later the Duncan arrived. During your visit at the farm you related, my lord, the whole story of Captain Grant. I then learned what I had not known, the Britannia’s stoppage at Callao, the last news of her, dated June, 1862, two months after my abandonment, the finding of the document, the shipwreck of the vessel, and finally the important reasons you had for seeking Captain Grant in Australia. I did not hesitate, but resolved to appropriate the Duncan—a marvelous ship, that would have distanced the best of the British navy. However, there were serious injuries to be repaired. I therefore let her start for Melbourne, and offered myself to you in my real character of quartermaster, volunteering to guide you to the scene of the shipwreck, which I falsely located on the eastern coast of Australia. Thus followed at a distance and sometimes preceded by my band of convicts, I conducted your party across the province of Victoria. My companions committed a useless crime at Camden Bridge, since the Duncan, once at Twofold Bay, could not have escaped me, and with it I should have been master of the ocean. I brought you thus unsuspectingly as far as the Snowy River. The horses and oxen fell dead one by one, poisoned by the gastrolobium. I entangled the cart in the marshes. At my suggestion—but you know the rest, my lord, and can be certain that, except for Mr. Paganel’s absentmindedness, I should now be commander on board the Duncan. Such is my story, gentlemen. My disclosures, unfortunately, cannot set you on the track of Captain Grant, and you see that in dealing with me you have made a bad bargain.”
The quartermaster ceased, crossed his arms, according to his custom, and waited. Glenarvan and his friends were silent. They felt that this strange criminal had told the entire truth. The capture of the Duncan had only failed through a cause altogether beyond his control. His accomplices had reached Twofold Bay, as the convict’s blouse, found by Glenarvan, proved. There, faithful to the orders of their chief, they had lain in wait for the yacht, and at last, tired of watching, they had doubtless resumed their occupation of plunder and burning in the fields of New South Wales.
The major was the first to resume the examination, in order to determine the dates relative to the Britannia.
“It was the 8th of April, 1862, then, that you were landed on the west coast of Australia?” he asked of the quartermaster.
“Exactly,” replied Ayrton.
“And do you know what Captain Grant’s plans were then?”
“Vaguely.”
“Continue, Ayrton,” said Glenarvan. “The least sign may set us on the track.”
“What I can say is this, my lord. Captain Grant intended to visit New Zealand. But this part of his programme was not carried out while I was on board. The Britannia might, therefore, after leaving Callao, have gained the shores of New Zealand. This would agree with the date, June 27, 1862, given in the document as the time of the shipwreck.”
“Evidently,” remarked Paganel.
“But,” added Glenarvan, “there is nothing in these half-obliterated portions of the document which can apply to New Zealand.”
“That I cannot answer,” said the quartermaster.
“Well, Ayrton,” continued Glenarvan, “you have kept your word, and I will keep mine. We will decide on what island of the
