“Lord Glenarvan, Eden, Twofold Bay.
“Duncan started on the 18th instant for some unknown destination.”
The dispatch fell from Glenarvan’s hands. There was no more doubt! The honest Scotch yacht, in Ben Joyce’s hands, had become a pirate-vessel!
Thus ended their search in Australia, begun under such favorable auspices. The traces of Captain Grant and his shipwrecked sailors seemed irrecoverably lost. This failure had cost the lives of an entire crew. Lord Glenarvan was crushed by the blow, and this courageous searcher, whom the leagued elements had failed to deter, was now baffled by the malice of men.
XLIV
A Rough Captain
If ever the searchers for Captain Grant had reason to despair of seeing him again, was it not when every hope forsook them at once? To what part of the world should they venture a new expedition? how explore unknown countries? The Duncan was no longer in their possession, and they could not be immediately reconciled to their misfortune. The undertaking of these generous Scots had, therefore, failed. Failure! sad word, that finds no echo in a valiant soul; and yet, amid all the changes of destiny, Glenarvan was forced to acknowledge his powerlessness to pursue this work of mercy.
Mary Grant, in this situation, no longer had the courage to utter the name of her father. She suppressed her own anguish by thinking of the unfortunate crew. Controlling herself in the presence of her friend, it was she who consoled Lady Helena, from whom she had received so many consolations. The young girl was the first to speak of their return to Scotland. At seeing her so courageous and resigned, Captain Mangles admired her, and would have spoken a final word in favor of Captain Grant, if Mary had not stopped him with a look and then said:
“No, Mr. John; let us think of those who have sacrificed themselves. Lord Glenarvan must return to England.”
“You are right, Miss Mary,” replied he; “he must. The English authorities must also be informed of the fate of the Duncan. But do not give up all hope. The search that we have begun I would continue alone, rather than abandon. I will find Captain Grant, or succumb to the task!”
This was a solemn compact which John Mangles thus made. Mary accepted it, and gave her hand to the young captain, as if to ratify this treaty. On the part of the latter it was a devotion of his entire life; on the part of the former, an unchanging gratitude.
The time of their departure was now definitely decided. They resolved to proceed to Melbourne without delay. The next day Captain Mangles went to inquire about vessels that were upon the point of sailing. He expected to find frequent communication between Eden and Melbourne, but he was disappointed. The vessels were few; two or three anchored in Twofold Bay composed the entire fleet of the place. There were none for Melbourne, Sydney, or Point-de-Galle.
In this state of affairs, what was to be done? Wait for a ship? They might be delayed a long time, for Twofold Bay is little frequented. After some deliberation, Glenarvan was about to decide upon reaching Sydney by the coast, when Paganel made a proposal that was unexpected to everyone.
The geographer had just returned from Twofold Bay. He knew that there were no means of transportation to Sydney or Melbourne; but, of the three vessels anchored in the roadstead, one was preparing to start for Auckland, the capital of Ika-na-Maoui, the northern island of New Zealand. Thither Paganel proposed to go by the bark in question, and from Auckland it would be easy to return to England by the steamers of the English company.
This proposition was taken into serious consideration, although Paganel did not enter into those extended arguments of which he was usually so lavish. He confined himself to stating the fact, and added that the voyage would not last more than five or six days.
Captain Mangles advocated Paganel’s plan. He thought it should be adopted, since they could not wait for the uncertain arrival of other vessels. But, before deciding, he judged it advisable to visit the ship in question. Accordingly, he, with Glenarvan, the major, Paganel, and Robert, took a boat, and pulled out to where it was anchored.
It was a brig of two hundred and fifty tons, called the Macquarie, which traded between the different ports of Australia and New Zealand. The captain, or rather the “master,” received his visitors very gruffly. They saw that they had to deal with an uneducated man, whose manners were not different from those of the five sailors of his crew. A coarse red face, big hands, a flat nose, a blinded eye, lips blackened by his pipe, and a specially brutish appearance, made Will Halley a very forbidding character. But they had no choice, and for a voyage of a few days there was no need to be very particular.
“What do you want?” asked Will Halley, as the strangers reached the deck of his vessel.
“The captain,” replied Mangles.
“I am he,” said Halley. “What then?”
“The Macquarie is loading for Auckland?”
“Yes. What of it?”
“What does she carry?”
“Anything that is bought or sold.”
“When does she sail?”
“Tomorrow, at the noon tide.”
“Would she take passengers?”
“That depends upon the passengers, and whether they would be satisfied with the ship’s mess.”
“They would take their own provisions.”
“Well, how many are there?”
“Nine—two of them ladies.”
“I have no cabins.”
“We will arrange a place for their exclusive use.”
“What then?”
“Do you accept?” asked Captain Mangles, who was not embarrassed by this curtness.
“I must see,” replied the master of the Macquarie. He took a turn or two, striking the deck with his heavy, hobnailed boots; then, turning to Captain Mangles, said:
“What do you pay?”
“What do you ask?” was the reply.
“Fifty pounds.”
Glenarvan nodded assent.
“Very well! Fifty pounds.”
“But the passage in cash!” added Halley.
“In cash.”
“Food separate?”
“Separate.”
“Agreed. Well?” said Will Halley, holding out his hand.
“What?”
“The
