“All that is true, my lord,” replied Tom Austin; “nevertheless our search has not succeeded.”
“It is discouraging as well as annoying,” said Glenarvan.
“Annoying if you will,” replied MacNabb, in a calm tone, “but not discouraging. Precisely because we thus have a definite item, we must thoroughly exhaust all its instructions.”
“What do you mean?” inquired Glenarvan. “What do you think ought to be done?”
“A very simple and reasonable thing, my dear Edward. Let us turn our faces towards the east, when we are on board the Duncan, and follow the thirty-seventh parallel even around to our starting-point, if necessary.”
“Do you think, my dear major, that I have not thought of this?” replied Glenarvan. “Indeed I have, a hundred times. But what chance have we of succeeding? Is not leaving the American continent departing from the place indicated by Captain Grant himself, from Patagonia, so clearly named in the document?”
“Do you wish to begin your search in the Pampas again,” replied the major, “when you are sure that the shipwreck of the Britannia did not take place on the Pacific or Atlantic coast?”
Glenarvan did not answer.
“And however feeble the chance of finding Captain Grant by following this latitude may be, still ought we not to attempt it?”
“I do not deny it,” replied Glenarvan.
“And you, my friends,” added the major, addressing the sailors, “are you not of my opinion?”
“Entirely,” answered Tom Austin, while Wilson and Mulready nodded assent.
“Listen to me, my friends,” continued Glenarvan, after a few moments of reflection, “and you too, Robert, for this is a serious question. I shall do everything possible to find Captain Grant, as I have undertaken to do, and shall devote my entire life, if necessary, to this object. All Scotland would join me to save this noble man who sacrificed himself for her. I too think, however slight may be the chance, that we ought to make the tour of the world on the thirty-seventh parallel; and I shall do so. But this is not the point to be settled: there is a much more important one, and it is this: Ought we once and for all to abandon our search on the American continent?”
This question, so directly asked, was unanswered. No one dared to declare his opinion.
“Well?” resumed Glenarvan, addressing the major more especially.
“My dear Edward,” replied MacNabb, “it would involve too great a responsibility to answer you now. The case requires consideration. But first of all I desire to know what countries the thirty-seventh parallel crosses.”
“That is Paganel’s business,” replied Glenarvan.
“Let us ask him, then,” said the major.
The geographer was no longer to be seen, as he was hidden by the thick foliage. It was necessary to call him.
“Paganel! Paganel!” cried Glenarvan.
“Present!” answered a voice which seemed to come to them from the sky.
“Where are you?”
“In my tower.”
“What are you doing?”
“Surveying the wide horizon.”
“Can you come down a moment?”
“Do you need me?”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
“To know what countries the thirty-seventh parallel crosses.”
“Nothing easier,” replied Paganel; “I need not even disturb myself to tell you.”
“Very well, then.”
“Leaving America, the thirty-seventh parallel crosses the Atlantic.”
“Good.”
“It strikes Tristan d’Acunha Island.”
“Well?”
“It passes two degrees to the south of the Cape of Good Hope.”
“And then?”
“It runs across the Indian Ocean.”
“And then?”
“It grazes St. Paul’s Island of the Amsterdam group.”
“Go on.”
“It cuts Australia across the province of Victoria.”
“Proceed.”
“Leaving Australia—”
This last sentence was not finished. Did the geographer hesitate? Did he know no more? No; but a startling cry was heard in the top of the tree. Glenarvan and his friends grew pale as they gazed at each other. Had a new calamity happened? Had the unfortunate Paganel fallen? Already Wilson and Mulready were hastening to his assistance, when a long body appeared. Paganel dangled from branch to branch. His hands could grasp nothing. Was he alive, or dead? They did not know; but he was about to fall into the roaring waters, when the major, with a strong hand, arrested his progress.
“Very much obliged, MacNabb!” cried Paganel.
“Why, what is the matter with you?” said the major.
“What has got into you? Is this another of your eternal distractions?”
“Yes, yes,” replied Paganel, in a voice choked with emotion (and leaves). “Yes, a distraction—phenomenal this time.”
“What is it?”
“We have been mistaken! We are still mistaken!”
“Explain yourself.”
“Glenarvan, major, Robert, my friends,” cried Paganel, “all you who hear me, we are seeking Captain Grant where he is not.”
“What do you say?” cried Glenarvan.
“Not only where he is not,” added Paganel, “but even where he has never been.”
XXIV
Paganel’s Disclosure
A profound astonishment greeted these unexpected words. What did the geographer mean? Had he lost his senses? He spoke, however, with such conviction that all eyes were turned towards Glenarvan. This declaration of Paganel was a direct answer to the question the former had asked. But Glenarvan confined himself to a negative gesture, indicating disbelief in the geographer, who, as soon as he was master of his emotion, resumed.
“Yes,” said he, in a tone of conviction, “yes, we have gone astray in our search, and have read in the document what is not written there.”
“Explain yourself, Paganel,” said the major; “and more calmly.”
“That is very simple, major. Like you, I was in error; like you, I struck upon a false interpretation. When, but a moment ago, at the top of this tree, in answer to the question, at the word ‘Australia’ an idea flashed through my mind, and all was clear.”
“What!” cried Glenarvan, “do you pretend that Captain Grant—”
“I pretend,” replied Paganel, “that the word Austral in the document is not complete, as we have hitherto supposed, but the root of the word Australia.”
“This is something singular,” said the major.
“Singular!” replied Glenarvan, shrugging his shoulders; “it is simply impossible!”
“Impossible,” continued Paganel, “is a word that we do not allow in France.”
“What!” added Glenarvan, in
