This was Ayrton’s story, which elicited more than once exclamations of sympathy. The major could not justly doubt its correctness; and after this recital the quartermaster’s own experiences possessed a more real interest. Indeed, thanks to the document, they no longer doubted that Captain Grant had survived the shipwreck with two of his sailors. From the fate of the one they could fairly conjecture that of the other.
Ayrton was invited to tell of his own adventures, which was soon and simply done. The shipwrecked sailor, prisoner of a native tribe, was carried into the interior regions watered by the Darling. Here he led a very wretched existence, because the tribe itself was miserable; but he was not maltreated. For two long years he endured a painful slavery. However, the hope of regaining his liberty sustained his courage. He watched for the least opportunity of escaping, although his flight would plunge him into the midst of innumerable perils. One night in October he eluded the vigilance of the natives, and took refuge in the depths of extensive forests. For a month, living on roots, edible ferns, and the gum of the mimosa, often overcome by despair, he wandered in those vast solitudes, with the sun as his guide by day and the stars by night. In this way he crossed marshes, rivers, mountains, in short, all that uninhabited portion of country that few travelers have explored. At last, exhausted and almost dead, he reached the hospitable dwelling of Mr. O’Moore, where his labor insured him a comfortable livelihood.
“And if Ayrton is pleased with me,” said the Irish colonist, when the story was finished, “I cannot but be pleased with him. He is an honest and intelligent man, a good worker, and, if he chooses, this house shall long be at his service.”
Ayrton thanked Mr. O’Moore, and waited for further questions. He probably thought, however, that the legitimate curiosity of his hearers ought to be satisfied. What could he say that had not been repeated a hundred times already? Glenarvan was, therefore, about to open the conversation on a new topic, to profit by the information received from Ayrton, when the major, addressing him, said:
“You were quartermaster of the Britannia?”
“Yes,” replied Ayrton.
But perceiving that a certain feeling of distrust, a doubt, however slight, had suggested this inquiry, he added—
“I saved my contract from the wreck.”
He immediately left the room in search of this authoritative document. During his absence, which lasted but a few moments, Mr. O’Moore said:
“My lord, I will answer for it that Ayrton is an honest man. During the two months that he has been in my employ, I have had no fault to find with him. I knew the story of his shipwreck and captivity. He is a true man, and worthy of your entire confidence.”
Glenarvan was about to answer that he had never doubted Ayrton’s honesty, when the latter returned and presented his contract. It was a paper signed by the owners of the Britannia and Captain Grant, whose writing Mary recognized immediately. It stated that “Tom Ayrton, able seaman, was engaged as quartermaster on board the brig Britannia of Glasgow.” There was, therefore, no possible doubt of Ayrton’s identity, for it would have been difficult to suppose that this contract could be in his hands and not belong to him.
“Now,” said Glenarvan, “I appeal to you all for advice as to what is best to be done. Your advice, Ayrton, would be particularly valuable, and I should be much obliged if you would give it to us.”
The sailor reflected a few moments, and then replied:
“I thank you, my lord, for the confidence you place in me, and hope to show myself worthy of it. I have some knowledge of the country, and of the customs of the natives; and, if I can be of use to you—”
“Certainly,” replied Glenarvan.
“I think, like you,” continued Ayrton, “that Captain Grant and his two sailors were saved from the shipwreck; but, since they have not reached the English possessions, since they have not reappeared, I doubt not that their fate was the same as my own, and that they are prisoners of the natives.”
“You repeat, Mr. Ayrton, the arguments that I have already substantiated,” said Paganel. “The shipwrecked seamen are evidently prisoners of the natives, as they feared. But ought we to suppose that, like you, they have been carried to the north?”
“It is quite likely, sir,” replied Ayrton. “The hostile tribes would hardly remain in the neighborhood of the English provinces.”
“This fact will complicate our search,” said Glenarvan, quite disconcerted. “How shall we find the traces of the prisoners in the interior of so vast a continent?”
A prolonged silence followed this remark. Lady Helena frequently cast a questioning glance at her companions, but without eliciting a responsive sign. Paganel himself was silent, contrary to his custom. His usual ingenuity now failed him. Captain Mangles paced the room with long strides, as if he had been on the deck of his vessel, involved in some difficulty.
“And you, Mr. Ayrton,” said Lady Helena, at length, to the quartermaster, “what would you do?”
“Madam,” replied he, promptly, “I should re-embark on board the Duncan, and go straight to the place of the shipwreck. There I should act according to circumstances, or indications that chance might furnish.”
“Very good,” said Glenarvan; “but we must wait till the Duncan is repaired.”
“Ah! you have suffered injuries?” inquired Ayrton.
“Yes,” replies the captain.
“Serious?”
“No; but they necessitate repairs which cannot be made on board. One of the flanges of the screw is bent, and this work can be done only at Melbourne.”
“Can you not sail?” asked the quartermaster.
“Yes; but, if the wind is contrary, it would take considerable time to reach Twofold Bay, and at any rate we should have to return to Melbourne.”
“Well, let the yacht go to Melbourne,” said Paganel, “and we will go without her to Twofold
