island. What becomes of them? There are two letters here providentially which give a clew to their fate—PR, that must mean prisoners, and CRUEL INDIAN is evidently the meaning of the next two words. These unfortunate men are captives in the hands of cruel Indians. Don’t you see it? Don’t the words seem to come of themselves, and fill up the blanks? Isn’t the document quite clear now? Isn’t the sense self-evident?”
Glenarvan spoke in a tone of absolute conviction, and his enthusiastic confidence appeared contagious, for the others all exclaimed, too, “Yes, it is evident, quite evident!”
After an instant, Lord Edward said again, “To my own mind the hypothesis is so plausible, that I have no doubt whatever the event occurred on the coast of Patagonia, but still I will have inquiries made in Glasgow, as to the destination of the BRITANNIA, and we shall know if it is possible she could have been wrecked on those shores.”
“Oh, there’s no need to send so far to find out that,” said John Mangles. “I have the Mercantile and Shipping Gazette here, and we’ll see the name on the list, and all about it.”
“Do look at once, then,” said Lord Glenarvan.
The file of papers for the year 1862 was soon brought, and John began to turn over the leaves rapidly, running down each page with his eye in search of the name required. But his quest was not long, for in a few minutes he called out: “I’ve got it! ‘May 30, 1862, Peru-Callao, with cargo for Glasgow, the BRITANNIA, Captain Grant.’”
“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 in 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, she is lost on the coast of Patagonia. The few broken disjointed words we find in these documents tell us the whole story. You see, friends, our conjectures hit the mark very well; 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.”
“Then have we really all the particulars now?” asked Lady Helena.
“All, dear Helena; I can fill up every one of these blanks the sea has made in the document as easily as if Captain Grant were dictating to me.”
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.”
“Capital! capital! dear Edward,” said Lady Helena. “If those poor creatures ever see their native land again, it is you they will have to thank for it.”
“And they will see it again,” returned Lord Glenarvan; “the statement is too explicit, and clear, and certain for England to hesitate about going to the aid of her three sons cast away on a desert coast. What she has done for Franklin and so many others, she will do to-day for these poor shipwrecked fellows of the BRITANNIA.”
“Most likely the unfortunate men have families who mourn their loss. Perhaps this illfated Captain Grant had a wife and children,” suggested Lady Helena.
“Very true, my dear, and I’ll not forget to let them know that there is still hope. But now, friends, we had better go up on deck, as the boat must be getting near the harbor.”
A carriage and post-horses waited there, in readiness to convey Lady Helena and Major McNabbs to Malcolm Castle, and Lord Glenarvan bade adieu to his young wife, and jumped into the express train for Glasgow.
But before starting he confided an important missive to a swifter agent than himself, and a few minutes afterward it flashed along the electric wire to London, to appear next day in the Times and Morning Chronicle in the following words: “For information respecting the fate of the three-mast vessel BRITANNIA, of Glasgow, Captain Grant, apply to Lord Glenarvan, Malcolm Castle, Luss, Dumbartonshire, Scotland.”
CHAPTER III THE CAPTAIN’S CHILDREN
LORD GLENARVAN’S fortune was enormous, and he spent it entirely in doing good. His kindheartedness was even greater than his generosity, for the one knew no bounds, while the other, of necessity, had its limits. As Lord of Luss and “laird” of Malcolm, he represented his county in the House of Lords; but, with his Jacobite ideas, he did not care much for the favor of the House of Hanover, and he was looked upon coldly by the State party in England, because of the tenacity with which he clung to the traditions of his forefathers, and his energetic resistance to the political encroachments of Southerners. And yet he was not a man behind the times, and there was nothing little or narrow-minded about him; but while always keeping open his ancestral county to progress, he was a true Scotchman at heart, and it was for the honor of Scotland that he competed in the yacht races of the Royal Thames Yacht Club.
Edward Glenarvan was thirty-two years of age. He was tall in person, and had rather stern features; but there was an exceeding sweetness in his look, and a stamp of Highland poetry about his whole bearing. He was known to be brave to excess, and full of daring and chivalry— a Fer-gus of the nineteenth century; but his goodness excelled every other quality, and he was more charitable than St. Martin himself, for he would have given the whole of his cloak to any of the poor Highlanders.
He had scarcely been married three months, and his bride was Miss Helena Tuffnell, the daughter of William Tuffnell, the great traveler, one of the many victims of geographical science and of the passion for discovery. 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, high-souled, religious young woman.
Lord Glenarvan did not forget that his wife was the daughter of a great traveler, and he thought it likely that she would inherit her father’s predilections. 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, and through the clustering islands of the Archipelago.
However, Lord Glenarvan had gone now to London. The lives of the shipwrecked men were at stake, and Lady Helena was too much concerned herself about them to grudge her husband’s temporary absence. A telegram next day gave hope of his speedy return, but in the evening a letter apprised her of the difficulties his proposition had met with, and the morning after brought another, in which he openly expressed his dissatisfaction with the Admiralty.
Lady Helena began to get anxious as the day wore on. In the evening, when she was sitting alone in her room, Mr. Halbert, the house steward, 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,
