“No; I did not know of the existence of such a document. The captain must have thrown it overboard after I was gone.”
“But the captain, the captain?”
“I suppose he was lost, drowned, with the rest of the crew. I thought I was the sole survivor.”
“But you said that Captain Grant was living!”
“No. I said, ‘if the captain is living’—”
“ ‘He is in Australia,’ you added.”
“He can be nowhere else.”
“You do not know, then, where he is?”
“No, my lord. I repeat that I thought he was buried in the waves or dashed upon the rocks. You say that perhaps he is still living.”
“What do you know, then?” asked Glenarvan.
“Simply this, that if Captain Grant is living he is in Australia.”
“Where did the shipwreck take place?” inquired the major.
This should have been the first question; but, in the excitement of the moment, Glenarvan, anxious to know where Captain Grant was, had not inquired where the Britannia was lost. From this point the conversation assumed a more definite form, and soon the details of the complicated story appeared clear and exact to the minds of Ayrton’s hearers.
To the major’s question Ayrton replied—
“When I was washed from the forecastle, as I was hauling down the jib, the Britannia was driving towards the coast of Australia, which was not two cable-lengths distant. The shipwreck, therefore, took place at that point.”
“In latitude thirty-seven?” asked Captain Mangles.
“Thirty-seven,” replied Ayrton.
“On the west coast?”
“No. On the east coast.”
“And when?”
“On the night of June 27th, 1862.”
“The same! the very same!” cried Glenarvan.
“You see, then, my lord,” added Ayrton, “that I was right in saying that, if Captain Grant still lives, you must seek him in Australia.”
“And we will seek, find, and save him, my friend!” cried Paganel. “Ah, precious document!” added he, with perfect simplicity: “it must be confessed that you have fallen into the hands of very sagacious people.”
No one noticed these flattering words of Paganel. Glenarvan, Lady Helena, Mary, and Robert had crowded around Ayrton, and eagerly clasped his hands. It seemed as if the presence of this man was a guarantee of the safety of Harry Grant. Since the sailor had escaped the dangers of shipwreck, why should not the captain be safe and sound? Ayrton repeated his declaration that if Captain Grant were living he must be in Australia. He answered with remarkable intelligence and clearness the many questions that were propounded to him. Miss Mary, while he spoke, held one of his hands in her own. This sailor had been a companion of her father, one of the shipwrecked survivors of the Britannia. He had lived with Harry Grant, had sailed the seas with him, had braved the same dangers! She could not withdraw her eyes from that weather-beaten face, and she wept with happiness.
Hitherto no one had thought of doubting the veracity of the quartermaster. Only the major, and perhaps Captain Mangles, questioned whether Ayrton’s story merited entire confidence. This unexpected meeting might be suspicious. To be sure, Ayrton had mentioned facts and dates that agreed, and striking particulars. But details, however exact they may be, do not constitute a certainty; and generally, as we know, falsehood endeavors to strengthen itself by its preciseness. MacNabb, therefore, reserved his opinion.
As for Captain Mangles, his doubts did not stand long before the assertions of the sailor, and he considered him a real companion of Captain Grant when he heard him speak to the young girl of her father. Ayrton knew Mary and Robert perfectly. He had seen them at Glasgow on the departure of the Britannia. He remembered that they had been present at the farewell dinner given on board to the friends of the captain. Sheriff MacIntyre was one of the guests. Robert—scarcely ten years old—had been confided to the care of Dick Turner, the boatswain, but had escaped from him and climbed to the topsail yardarm.
“It is true! it is true!” cried Robert.
The quartermaster remembered, too, a thousand little circumstances to which he did not seem to attach so much importance as did Captain Mangles. When he stopped, Mary said, in her sweet voice—
“Mr. Ayrton, please tell us more about our father.”
Ayrton acceded to the young girl’s request. Glenarvan was reluctant to interrupt him, and yet many more important questions thronged his mind. But Lady Helena, pointing out to him Mary’s joyful excitement, checked his inquiries.
The quartermaster now told the story of the Britannia and her voyage across the Pacific. During the period of a year Harry Grant landed at the principal ports of Oceanica, opposing unjustifiable captures, and often a victim to the hostility of unjust traders. He found, however, an important point on the western coast of Papua. Here the establishment of a Scottish colony appeared to him feasible, and its prosperity assured. After examining Papua, the Britannia sailed to Callao for provisions, and left that port on the 30th of May, 1862, to return to Europe by the way of the Indian Ocean and the Cape. Three weeks after her departure, a terrible tempest disabled her. It became necessary to cut away the masts. A leak was discovered in the hold, which they did not succeed in stopping. The crew were soon overtasked and exhausted. The pumps could not be worked. For eight days the vessel was at the mercy of the storm. There were six feet of water in her hold, and she gradually foundered. The boats had been washed overboard, and the crew had given themselves up for lost, when on the night of June 22nd, as Paganel had rightly interpreted, they descried the eastern coast of Australia. The vessel soon stranded. A violent shock was felt. At this moment Ayrton, borne by a wave, was cast into the midst of the breakers, and lost all consciousness. When he came to himself, he was in the hands of the natives, who carried him into the interior of the country. Since then he had heard nothing more of the Britannia, and naturally
