“Yes, bring them assistance,” said Glenarvan. “But where are the unfortunates? We have not yet a single indication of the place, and the scene of the catastrophe is absolutely unknown.”
“Let us hope that the French document will be more explicit,” said Lady Helena.
“Let us look at it, then,” replied Glenarvan; “and, as we all know this language, our examination will be more easy.”
Here is an exact facsimile of the third document:
“There are figures!” cried Lady Helena. “Look, gentlemen, look!”
“Let us proceed in order,” said Lord Glenarvan, “and start at the beginning. Permit me to point out one by one these scattered and incomplete words. I see from the first letters troi ats (trois-mats), that it is a brig, the name of which, thanks to the English and French documents, is entirely preserved: The Britannia. Of the two following words, gonie and austral, only the last has an intelligible meaning.”
“That is an important point,” replied Captain Mangles; “the shipwreck took place in the southern hemisphere.”
“That is indefinite,” said the major.
“I will continue,” resumed Glenarvan. “The word abor is the trace of the verb aborder (to land). These unfortunates have landed somewhere. But where? Contin! Is it on a continent? Cruel!”
“ ‘Cruel!’ ” cried Mangles; “that explains the German word graus, grausam, cruel!”
“Go on, go on!” cried Glenarvan, whose interest was greatly excited as the meaning of these incomplete words was elucidated. “Indi! Is it India, then, where these sailors have been cast? What is the meaning of the word ongit? Ha, longitude! And here is the latitude, 37° 1′. In short, we have a definite indication.”
“But the longitude is wanting,” said MacNabb.
“We cannot have everything, my dear major,” replied Glenarvan; “and an exact degree of latitude is something. This French document is decidedly the most complete of the three. Each of them was evidently a literal translation of the others, for they all convey the same information. We must, therefore, unite and translate them into one language, and seek their most probable meaning, the one that is most logical and explicit.”
“Shall we make this translation in French, English, or German?” asked the major.
“In English,” answered Glenarvan, “since that is our own language.”
“Your lordship is right,” said Captain Mangles, “besides, it was also theirs.”
“It is agreed, then. I will write this document, uniting these parts of words and fragments of phrases, leaving the gaps that separate them, and filling up those the meaning of which is not ambiguous. Then we will compare them and form an opinion.”
Glenarvan at once took a pen, and, in a few moments, presented to his friends a paper on which were written the following lines:
At this moment a sailor informed the captain that the Duncan was entering the Frith of Clyde, and asked his orders.
“What are your lordship’s wishes?” said the captain, addressing Lord Glenarvan.
“Reach Dumbarton as quickly as possible, captain. Then, while Lady Helena returns to Malcolm Castle, I will go to London and submit this document to the authorities.”
The captain gave his orders in pursuance of this, and the mate executed them.
“Now, my friends,” said Glenarvan, “we will continue our investigations. We are on the track of a great catastrophe. The lives of several men depend upon our sagacity. Let us use therefore all our ingenuity to divine the secret of this enigma.”
“We are ready, my dear Edward,” replied Lady Helena.
“First of all,” continued Glenarvan, “we must consider three distinct points in this document. First, what is known; second, what can be conjectured; and third, what is unknown. What do we know? That on the 7th of June, 1862, a brig, the Britannia, of Glasgow, was wrecked; that two sailors and the captain threw this document into the sea in latitude 37° 1′, and in it ask for assistance.”
“Exactly,” replied the major.
“What can we conjecture?” resumed Glenarvan. “First, that the shipwreck took place in the South Seas; and now I call your attention to the word gonia. Does it not indicate the name of the country which they reached?”
“Patagonia!” cried Lady Helena.
“Probably.”
“But is Patagonia crossed by the thirty-seventh parallel?” asked the major.
“That is easily seen,” said the captain, taking out a map of South America. “It is so: Patagonia is bisected by the thirty-seventh parallel, which crosses Araucania, over the Pampas, north of Patagonia, and is lost in the Atlantic.”
“Well, let us continue our conjectures. The two sailors and the captain abor, land. Where? Contin—the continent, you understand; a continent, not an island. What becomes of them? We have fortunately two letters, pr, which inform us of their fate. These unfortunates, in short, are captured (pris) or prisoners. By whom? The cruel Indians. Are you convinced? Do not the words fit naturally into the vacant places? Does not the document grow clear to your eyes? Does not light break in upon your mind?”
Glenarvan spoke with conviction. His looks betokened an absolute confidence; and his enthusiasm was communicated to his hearers. Like him they cried, “It is plain! it is plain!”
A moment after Lord Edward resumed, in these terms:
“All these hypotheses, my friends, seem to me extremely plausible. In my opinion, the catastrophe took place on the shores of Patagonia. However, I will inquire at Glasgow what was the destination of the Britannia, and we shall know whether she could have been led to these regions.”
“We do not need to go so far,” replied the captain; “I have here the shipping news of the Mercantile and Shipping Gazette, which will give us definite information.”
“Let us see! let us see!” said Lady Glenarvan.
Captain Mangles took a file of papers of the year 1862, and began to turn
