“Grant!” exclaimed Lord Glenarvan. “That is the adventurous Scotchman that attempted to found a new Scotland on the shores of the Pacific.”
“Yes,” rejoined John Mangles, “it is the very man. He sailed from Glasgow on the Britannia in 1861, and has not been heard of since.”
“There isn’t a doubt of it, not a shadow of doubt,” repeated Lord Glenarvan. “It is just that same Captain Grant. The Britannia left Callao on the 30th of May, and on the 7th of June, a week afterward, it is lost on the coast of Patagonia. You see, friends, we know all now except one thing, and that is the longitude.”
“That is not needed now, we know the country. With the latitude alone, I would engage to go right to the place where the wreck happened.”
And he took up the pen, and dashed off the following lines immediately:
“On the 7th of June, 1862, the three-mast vessel, Britannia, of Glasgow, has sunk on the coast of Patagonia, in the southern hemisphere. Making for the shore, two sailors and Captain Grant are about to land on the continent, where they will be taken prisoners by cruel Indians. They have thrown this document into the sea, in longitude and latitude 37 degrees 11”. Bring them assistance, or they are lost.”
Lord Glenarvan flashed along the electric wire to London to the Times the following words: “For information respecting the fate of the three-mast vessel Britannia, of Glasgow, Captain Grant, apply to Lord Glenarvan, Malcolm Castle[25], Dumbartonshire, Scotland.”
Chapter III. The Captain’s Children
Lord Edward Glenarvan’s fortune was enormous, and he spent it entirely in doing good. His kindheartedness was even greater than his generosity.
He was thirty-two years of age, tall, and had stern features; but there was an exceeding sweetness in his look. He was known to be brave. He had scarcely been married three months, and his bride was the daughter of great traveler. Miss Helena did not belong to a noble family, but she was Scotch, and that was better than all nobility in the eyes of Lord Glenarvan; and she was, moreover, a charming, religious young woman.
Lord Glenarvan did not forget that his wife was the daughter of a great traveler, and he had the Duncan built expressly that he might take his bride to the most beautiful lands in the world, and complete their honeymoon by sailing up the Mediterranean.
However, Lord Glenarvan had gone now to London. Lady Helena was too much concerned herself about the lives of the shipwrecked men.
In the evening, when Lady Helena was sitting alone in her room, the house steward[26] came in and asked if she would see a young girl and boy that wanted to speak to Lord Glenarvan.
“Some of the country people?” asked Lady Helena.
“No, madame,” replied the steward, “I do not know them at all.”
“Tell them to come up.”
In a few minutes a girl and boy were shown in. They were evidently brother and sister. The girl was about sixteen years of age; her tired pretty face, and sorrowful eyes, as well as her neat though poor attire, made a favorable impression. The boy she held by the hand was about twelve, but his face expressed such determination, that he appeared quite his sister’s protector.
Lady Helena said, with an encouraging smile:
“You wish to speak to me, I think?”
“No,” replied the boy, in a decided tone; “not to you, but to Lord Glenarvan.”
“Excuse him, ma’am,” said the girl, with a look at her brother.
“Lord Glenarvan is not at the castle just now,” returned Lady Helena; “but I am his wife, and if I can do anything for you—”
“You are Lady Glenarvan?” interrupted the girl.
“I am.”
“The wife of Lord Glenarvan, that put an announcement in the TIMES about the shipwreck of the Britannia?”
“Yes, yes,” said Lady Helena, eagerly; “and you?”
“I am Miss Grant, ma’am, and this is my brother.”
“Miss Grant, Miss Grant!” exclaimed Lady Helena, drawing the young girl toward her, and taking both her hands and kissing the boy’s rosy cheeks.
“What is it you know, ma’am, about the shipwreck? Tell me, is my father living? Shall we ever see him again? Oh, tell me,” said the girl.
“My dear child,” replied Lady Helena. “I cannot answer you lightly such a question; I would not delude you with vain hopes.”
“Oh, tell me all, tell me all, ma’am. I can bear to hear anything.”
“My poor child, there is but a faint hope; it is just possible you may one day see your father once more.”
The girl burst into tears, and Robert seized Lady Glenarvan’s hand and covered it with kisses.
As soon as they grew calmer they asked some questions, and Lady Helena recounted the whole story of the document, telling them that their father had been wrecked on the coast of Patagonia, and that he and two sailors, the sole survivors, had written an appeal for help in three languages.
During the recital, Robert Grant more than once cried out, “Oh, papa! My poor papa!” and pressed close to his sister.
Miss Grant sat silent and motionless, with clasped hands, and all she said when the narration ended, was: “Oh, ma’am, the paper, please!”
“I don’t have it now, my dear child,” replied Lady Helena.
“You don’t have it?”
“No. Lord Glenarvan took it to London, for the sake of your father; but I have told you all it contained, word for word. But except the longitude, unfortunately.”
“We can do without that,” said the boy.
“Yes, Mr. Robert,” rejoined Lady Helena, smiling at the child’s decided tone. “And so you see, Miss Grant, you know the smallest details now just as well as I do. Well, tomorrow, perhaps, Lord Glenarvan will be back. My husband wanted to lay the document before the Lords of the Admiralty, to induce them to send out a ship immediately in search of Captain Grant.”
“Is it possible, ma’am,” exclaimed the girl, “that you have done that for us?”
“Yes, my dear Miss Grant, and I am expecting Lord Glenarvan back every minute now.”
“Oh, ma’am! Heaven bless you and Lord Glenarvan,” said the young girl.
“My dear girl, we deserve no thanks; anyone in our place would have done the same. Till my husband returns, you will remain at the Castle.”
“Oh, no, ma’am. We are just strangers.”
“Strangers, dear child!” interrupted Lady Helena; “you and your brother are not strangers in this house!”
It was impossible to refuse an invitation given with such heart, and Miss Grant and her brother consented to stay till Lord Glenarvan returned.
Chapter IV. Lady Glenarvan’s Proposal
Lady Helena began to interrogate Miss Grant, asking her about her past life and her present circumstances. It was a touching, simple story she heard in reply, and one which increased her sympathy for the young girl.
Mary and Robert were the captain’s only children. Harry Grant was a fearless sailor and lived in Dundee[27], in Perthshire[28], Scotland. His father had given him a thorough education. He lost his wife when Robert was born, and during his long voyages he left his little ones in charge of his cousin, a good old lady. Now, the old cousin has died, and Harry Grant’s two children were left alone in the world.
Mary Grant was then only fourteen, but she devoted herself entirely to her little brother, who was still a mere child. She managed to support and educate him, working day and night, denying herself everything, that she might give him all he needed, watching over him and caring for him like a mother.
The two children were living in Dundee, struggling patiently and courageously with their poverty. Mary thought only of her brother, and indulged in dreams of a prosperous future for him. She was fully persuaded that her father was dead. What, then, was her emotion when she accidentally saw the notice in the TIMES!
She decided to go to Dumbartonshire immediately, to learn the best and worst. She told her brother about the advertisement, and the two children took the train, and arrived in the evening at Malcolm Castle.
Such was Mary Grant’s sorrowful story, and she recounted it in a simple and unaffected manner. But Lady Helena put her arms round both the children, and could not restrain her tears.
As for Robert, while his sister was speaking, he gazed at her with wide-open eyes, only knowing now how much she had done and suffered for him; and, as she ended, he exclaimed:
“Oh, mamma! My dear little mamma!”
It was quite dark by this time, and Lady Helena made the children go to bed, for she knew they must’ve been tired after their journey. They were soon both sound asleep, dreaming of happy days.
Mary Grant and her brother were up very early next morning, and were walking about in the courtyard when they heard the sound of a carriage approaching. It was Lord Glenarvan; and, almost immediately, Lady Helena and the Major came out to meet him.
Lady Helena flew toward her husband; but he embraced her silently, and looked gloomy and disappointed—indeed, even furious.
“Well, Edward?” she said; “tell me.”
“Well, Helena, dear; those people have no heart!”
“They have refused?”
“Yes. They have refused me a ship! They declared the document was obscure and unintelligible. And, then, they said it was two years since they were cast away, and there was little chance of finding them. They said that the search would be vain and perilous, and cost more lives than it saved. The truth is, they remembered Captain Grant’s projects, and that is the secret of the whole affair. So the poor fellow is lost forever.”
“My father! My poor father!” cried Mary Grant, throwing herself on her knees before Lord Glenarvan, who exclaimed in amazement:
“Your father? What? Is this Miss—”
“Yes, Edward,” said Lady Helena; “this is Miss Mary Grant and her brother.”
“Oh! Miss Grant,” said Lord Glenarvan, raising the young girl, “if I had known of your presence—”
He said no more, and there was a painful silence in the courtyard, broken only by sobs. No one spoke. At last the Major said, addressing Lord Glenarvan: “Then you have no hope whatever?”
“None,” was the reply.
“Very well, then,” exclaimed little Robert, “I’ll go and speak to those people myself, and we’ll see if they—” He did not complete his sentence, for his sister stopped him.
“No, Robert,” said Mary Grant, “we will thank this noble lord and lady for what they have done for us, and never cease to think of them with gratitude; and then we’ll both go together.”
“Mary!” said Lady Helena, in a tone of surprise.
“Go where?” asked Lord Glenarvan.
“I am going to throw myself at the Queen’s feet, and we shall see if she will be deaf to the prayers of two children, who implore their father’s life.”
Lord Glenarvan shook his head. Lady Glenarvan felt the young girl’s attempt would be useless. Suddenly, a grand, generous purpose fired her soul, and she called out: “Mary Grant! Wait, my child, and listen to what I’m going to say.”
The young wife went up to her husband, and said, with tears in her eyes, though her voice was firm, and her face beamed with animation: “Edward, God has sent that letter to us—to us! Undoubtedly God intends us to undertake the rescue of these poor men.”
“What do you mean, Helena?”
“Well, Edward, to please me you planned a pleasure trip; but what could give us such genuine pleasure, or be so useful, as to save those unfortunate fellows?”
“Helena!” exclaimed Lord Glenarvan.
“Yes, Edward, you understand me. The Duncan is a good strong ship, it can venture in the Southern Seas, or go round the world if necessary. Let us go, Edward; let us start off and search for Captain Grant!”
Lord Glenarvan made no reply to this bold proposition, but smiled, and, holding out his arms, drew his wife into a close, fond embrace. Mary and Robert seized her hands, and covered them with kisses; and the servants shouted with one voice, “Hurrah! Three cheers for Lord and Lady Glenarvan!”
Chapter V. The Departure of the Duncan
We have said already that Lady Helena was a brave, generous woman. Her husband had good reasons to be proud of such a wife. The idea of going to Captain Grant’s rescue had occurred to him in London when his request was refused. But now she herself proposed to go!
There was not an hour to be lost. A telegram was dispatched to John Mangles the very same day, conveying Lord Glenarvan’s orders to take the Duncan immediately to Glasgow, and to make preparations for a voyage to the Southern Seas, and possibly round the world, if necessary.
The Duncan was a steam yacht of the finest description. It had two masts; its engine, which was constructed on a new system, was a high-pressure one, of 160-horse power. It made seventeen miles an hour, a higher speed than any vessel had yet attained.
John Mangles understood his business[29]. Though he was only the captain of a pleasure yacht[30], he was one of the best skippers in Glasgow. He was thirty years of age, and his countenance expressed both courage and goodness. When Lord Glenarvan offered him the command of the Duncan, he accepted it with right good will, for he loved the master of Malcolm Castle, like a brother.
Tom Austin, the mate, was an old sailor, worthy of all confidence. The crew, consisting of twenty-five men, including the captain and chief officer, were all experienced sailors. And when the crew heard the news, they could not restrain their enthusiasm.
John Mangles did not forget to fit up the rooms of Lord and Lady Glenarvan for a long voyage. He had also to get cabins ready for the children of Captain Grant, as Lady Helena could not refuse Mary’s request to accompany her. As for young Robert, he was put in charge of John Mangles.
To complete the roll of passengers, we must name Major McNabbs. The Major was about fifty years of age, with a calm face and regular features—a man who did whatever he was told, of an excellent, indeed, a perfect temper; modest, silent, peaceable, and amiable, agreeing with everybody on every subject, never discussing, never disputing, never getting angry. Nothing could excite him, nothing could disturb him. As a cousin of Glenarvan, he lived in Malcolm Castle, and as a major he went with the Duncan.
The ship was to sail out with the tide at three o’clock on the morning of the 25th of August.
Chapter VI. An Unexpected Passenger
The sea was calm. McNabbs was talking to himself, as was his habit. He stood motionless, watching the track of the yacht. After some minutes of this silent contemplation he turned round, and suddenly found himself face to face with a stranger.
He was a tall, thin man, about forty years of age, and resembled a long nail with a big head. His head was large and massive, his forehead high, his chin very marked. His eyes were concealed by enormous round spectacles, and in his look was that peculiar indecision which is common to nyctalopes[31], or people who have a peculiar construction of the eye, which makes the sight imperfect in the day and better at night. It was evident that he was a lively, intelligent man.
The stranger’s excitement was a strong contrast to the Major’s placidity. He walked round McNabbs, looking at him and questioning him with his eyes.
The mysterious passenger seized his telescope, drew it out to its fullest extent, about four feet, and began gazing at the horizon, standing motionless with his legs wide apart. His examination lasted some few minutes, and then he lowered the glass.