Two days after this conversation, John Mangles announced that the Duncan was in longitude 113 degrees 37 minutes, and the passengers found on consulting the chart that consequently Cape Bernouilli could not be more than five degrees off. They must be sailing then in that part of the Indian Ocean which washed the Australian continent, and in four days might hope to see Cape Bernouilli appear on the horizon.

Hitherto the yacht had been favored by a strong westerly breeze, but now there were evident signs that a calm was impending, and on the 13th of December the wind fell entirely; as the sailors say, there was not enough to fill a cap.

There was no saying how long this state of the atmosphere might last. But for the powerful propeller the yacht would have been obliged to lie motionless as a log. The young captain was very much annoyed, however, at the prospect of emptying his coal-bunkers, for he had covered his ship with canvas, intending to take advantage of the slightest breeze.

“After all, though,” said Glenarvan, with whom he was talking over the subject, “it is better to have no wind than a contrary one.”

“Your Lordship is right,” replied John Mangles; “but the fact is these sudden calms bring change of weather, and this is why I dread them. We are close on the trade winds, and if we get them ever so little in our teeth, it will delay us greatly.”

“Well, John, what if it does? It will only make our voyage a little longer.”

“Yes, if it does not bring a storm with it.”

“Do you mean to say you think we are going to have bad weather?” replied Glenarvan, examining the sky, which from horizon to zenith seemed absolutely cloudless.

“I do,” returned the captain. “I may say so to your Lordship, but I should not like to alarm Lady Glenarvan or Miss Grant.”

“You are acting wisely; but what makes you uneasy?”

“Sure indications of a storm. Don’t trust, my Lord, to the appearance of the sky. Nothing is more deceitful. For the last two days the barometer has been falling in a most ominous manner, and is now at 27 degrees. This is a warning I dare not neglect, for there is nothing I dread more than storms in the Southern Seas; I have had a taste of them already. The vapors which become condensed in the immense glaciers at the South Pole produce a current of air of extreme violence. This causes a struggle between the polar and equatorial winds, which results in cyclones, tornadoes, and all those multiplied varieties of tempest against which a ship is no match.”

“Well, John,” said Glenarvan, “the Duncan is a good ship, and her captain is a brave sailor. Let the storm come, we’ll meet it!”

John Mangles remained on deck the whole night, for though as yet the sky was still unclouded, he had such faith in his weather-glass, that he took every precaution that prudence could suggest. About 11 P. M. the sky began to darken in the south, and the crew were called up, and all the sails hauled in, except the foresail, brigantine, top-sail, and jib-boom. At midnight the wind freshened, and before long the cracking of the masts, and the rattling of the cordage, and groaning of the timbers, awakened the passengers, who speedily made their appearance on deck — at least Paganel, Glenarvan, the Major and Robert.

“Is it the hurricane?” asked Glenarvan quietly.

“Not yet,” replied the captain; “but it is close at hand.”

And he went on giving his orders to the men, and doing his best to make ready for the storm, standing, like an officer commanding a breach, with his face to the wind, and his gaze fixed on the troubled sky. The glass had fallen to 26 degrees, and the hand pointed to tempest.

It was one o’clock in the morning when Lady Helena and Miss Grant ventured upstairs on deck. But they no sooner made their appearance than the captain hurried toward them, and begged them to go below again immediately. The waves were already beginning to dash over the side of the ship, and the sea might any moment sweep right over her from stem to stern. The noise of the warring elements was so great that his words were scarcely audible, but Lady Helena took advantage of a sudden lull to ask if there was any danger.

“None whatever,” replied John Mangles; “but you cannot remain on deck, madam, no more can Miss Mary.”

The ladies could not disobey an order that seemed almost an entreaty, and they returned to their cabin. At the same moment the wind redoubled its fury, making the masts bend beneath the weight of the sails, and completely lifting up the yacht.

“Haul up the foresail!” shouted the captain. “Lower the topsail and jib-boom!”

Glenarvan and his companions stood silently gazing at the struggle between their good ship and the waves, lost in wondering and half-terrified admiration at the spectacle.

Just then, a dull hissing was heard above the noise of the elements. The steam was escaping violently, not by the funnel, but from the safety-valves of the boiler; the alarm whistle sounded unnaturally loud, and the yacht made a frightful pitch, overturning Wilson, who was at the wheel, by an unexpected blow from the tiller. The Duncan no longer obeyed the helm.

“What is the matter?” cried the captain, rushing on the bridge.

“The ship is heeling over on her side,” replied Wilson.

“The engine! the engine!” shouted the engineer.

Away rushed John to the engine-room. A cloud of steam filled the room. The pistons were motionless in their cylinders, and they were apparently powerless, and the engine-driver, fearing for his boilers, was letting off the steam.

“What’s wrong?” asked the captain.

“The propeller is bent or entangled,” was the reply. “It’s not acting at all.”

“Can’t you extricate it?”

“It is impossible.”

An accident like this could not be remedied, and John’s only resource was to fall back on his sails, and seek to make an auxiliary of his most powerful enemy, the wind. He went up again on deck, and after explaining in a few words to Lord Glenarvan how things stood, begged him to retire to his cabin, with the rest of the passengers. But Glenarvan wished to remain above.

“No, your Lordship,” said the captain in a firm tone, “I must be alone with my men. Go into the saloon. The vessel will have a hard fight with the waves, and they would sweep you over without mercy.”

V. IV Verne

“But we might be a help.”

“Go in, my Lord, go in. I must indeed insist on it. There are times when I must be master on board, and retire you must.”

Their situation must indeed be desperate for John Mangles to speak in such authoritative language. Glenarvan was wise enough to understand this, and felt he must set an example in obedience. He therefore quitted the deck immediately with his three companions, and rejoined the ladies, who were anxiously watching the DENOUEMENT of this war with the elements.

“He’s an energetic fellow, this brave John of mine!” said Lord Glenarvan, as he entered the saloon.

“That he is,” replied Paganel. “He reminds me of your great Shakespeare’s boatswain in the ‘Tempest,’ who says to the king on board: ‘Hence! What care these roarers for the name of king? To cabin! Silence! Trouble us not.’”

However, John Mangles did not lose a second in extricating his ship from the peril in which ............