“Oh, it matters little to me,” answered Ayrton.
“Return to your cabin now, and await our decision.”
The quartermaster retired, under guard of the two sailors.
“This villain might have been a great man,” observed the major.
“Yes,” replied Glenarvan. “He has a strong and self-reliant character. Why must his abilities be devoted to crime?”
“But Harry Grant?”
“I fear that he is forever lost! Poor children! who could tell them where their father is?”
“I!” cried Paganel.
As we have remarked, the geographer, although so loquacious and excitable usually, had scarcely spoken during Ayrton’s examination. He had listened in total silence. But this last word that he had uttered was worth more than all the others, and startled Glenarvan at once.
“You, Paganel!” he exclaimed; “do you know where Captain Grant is?”
“As well as can be known,” answered the geographer.
“And how do you know?”
“By that everlasting document.”
“Ah!” said the major, in a tone of the most thorough incredulity.
“Listen first, MacNabb, and shrug your shoulders afterwards. I did not speak before, because you would not have believed me. Besides, it was useless. But if I speak today, it is because Ayrton’s opinion corroborates mine.”
“Then New Zealand—?” asked Glenarvan.
“Hear and judge,” replied Paganel. “I did not commit the blunder that saved us, without reason. Just as I was writing that letter at Glenarvan’s dictation, the word Zealand was troubling my brain. You remember that we were in the cart. MacNabb had just told Lady Helena the story of the convicts, and had handed her the copy of the Australian and New Zealand Gazette that gave an account of the accident at Camden Bridge. As I was writing, the paper lay on the ground, folded so that only two syllables of its title could be seen, and these were aland. What a light broke in upon my mind! ‘Aland’ was one of the very words in the English document—a word that we had hitherto translated ashore, but which was the termination of the proper name Zealand.”
“Ha!” cried Glenarvan.
“Yes,” continued Paganel, with profound conviction, “this interpretation had escaped me, and do you know why? Because my examinations were naturally confined more particularly to the French document, where this important word was wanting.”
“Ho! ho!” laughed the major, “that is too much imagination, Paganel. You forget your previous conclusions rather easily.”
“Well, major, I am ready to answer you.”
“Then what becomes of your word austral?”
“It is what it was at first. It simply means the southern (australes) countries.”
“Very well. But that word indi, that was first the root of Indians (indiens), and then of natives (indigènes)?”
“The third and last time, it shall be the first two syllables of the word indigence (destitution).”
“And contin!” cried MacNabb; “does it still signify continent?”
“No, since New Zealand is only an island.”
“Then?” inquired Glenarvan.
“My dear lord,” replied Paganel, “I will translate the document for you, according to my third interpretation, and you shall judge. I only make two suggestions. First, forget as far as possible the previous interpretations; and next, although certain passages will seem to you forced, and I may translate them wrongly, still, remember that they have no special importance. Moreover, the French document serves as the basis of my interpretation, and you must consider that it was written by an Englishman who could not have been perfectly familiar with the idioms of our language.”
So saying, Paganel, slowly pronouncing each syllable, read the following:
“On the 27th of June, 1862, the brig Britannia, of Glasgow, foundered, after a long struggle (agonie), in the South (australes) Seas, on the coasts of New Zealand. Two sailors and Captain Grant succeeded in landing (aborder). Here, continually (continuellement) a prey (proie) to a cruel (cruelle) destitution (indigence), they cast this document into the sea, at longitude ⸻ and latitude 37° 1′. Come to their assistance, or they are lost.”
Paganel stopped. His interpretation was admissible. But, although it appeared as probable as the other, still it might be as false. Glenarvan and the major therefore no longer attempted to dispute it. However, since the traces of the Britannia had not been encountered on the coasts of Patagonia or Australia, the chances were in favor of New Zealand.
“Now, Paganel,” said Glenarvan, “will you tell me why, for about two months, you kept this interpretation secret?”
“Because I did not wish to give you vain hopes. Besides, we were going to Auckland, which is on the very latitude of the document.”
“But afterwards, when we were taken out of our course, why did you not speak?”
“Because, however just this interpretation may be, it cannot contribute to the captain’s rescue.”
“Why, Paganel?”
“Because, admitting that Captain Grant was wrecked on the coast of New Zealand, as long as he has not made his appearance for two years since the disaster, he must have fallen a victim to the sea or the savages.”
“Then your opinion is—?” asked Glenarvan.
“That we might perhaps find some traces of the shipwreck, but that the seamen of the Britannia have perished.”
“Keep all this silent, my friends,” replied Glenarvan, “and leave me to choose the time for telling this sad news to the children of Captain Grant.”
LVIII
A Cry in the Night
The crew soon learned that Ayrton’s disclosures had not thrown light upon the situation of Captain Grant. The despair on board was profound, for they had relied on the quartermaster, who, however, knew nothing that could put the Duncan on the track of the Britannia. The yacht therefore continued on the same course, and the only question now was to choose the island on which to leave Ayrton.
Paganel and Captain Mangles consulted the maps on board. Exactly on the thirty-seventh parallel was an island, generally known by the name of Maria Theresa, a lone rock in the midst of the Pacific, three thousand five hundred miles from the American coast, and one thousand five hundred miles from
