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As usual their theme was Captain Grant. In three days, should the water subside, they would be on board the DUNCAN once more. But Harry Grant and his two sailors, those poor shipwrecked fellows, would not be with them. Indeed, it even seemed after this ill success and this useless journey across America, that all chance of finding them was gone forever. Where could they commence a fresh quest? What grief Lady Helena and Mary Grant would feel on hearing there was no further hope.

“Poor sister!” said Robert. “It is all up with us.”

For the first time Glenarvan could not find any comfort to give him. What could he say to the lad?

Had they not searched exactly where the document stated?

“And yet,” he said, “this thirty-seventh degree of latitude is not a mere figure, and that it applies to the shipwreck or captivity of Harry Grant, is no mere guess or supposition. We read it with our own eyes.”

“All very true, your Honor,” replied Tom Austin, “and yet our search has been unsuccessful.”

“It is both a provoking and hopeless business,” replied Glenarvan.

“Provoking enough, certainly,” said the Major, “but not hopeless. It is precisely because we have an uncontestable figure, provided for us, that we should follow it up to the end.”

“What do you mean?” asked Glenarvan. “What more can we do?”

“A very logical and simple thing, my dear Edward. When we go on board the DUNCAN, turn her beak head to the east, and go right along the thirty-seventh parallel till we come back to our starting point if necessary.”

“Do you suppose that I have not thought of that, Mr. McNabbs?” replied Glenarvan. “Yes, a hundred times. But what chance is there of success? To leave the American continent, wouldn’t it be to go away from the very spot indicated by Harry Grant, from this very Patagonia so distinctly named in the document.”

“And would you recommence your search in the Pampas, when you have the certainty that the shipwreck of the BRITANNIA neither occurred on the coasts of the Pacific nor the Atlantic?”

Glenarvan was silent.

“And however small the chance of finding Harry Grant by following up the given parallel, ought we not to try?”

“I don’t say no,” replied Glenarvan.

“And are you not of my opinion, good friends,” added the Major, addressing the sailors.

“Entirely,” said Tom Austin, while Mulrady and Wilson gave an assenting nod.

“Listen to me, friends,” said Glenarvan after a few minutes’ reflection; “and remember, Robert, this is a grave discussion. I will do my utmost to find Captain Grant; I am pledged to it, and will devote my whole life to the task if needs be. All Scotland would unite with me to save so devoted a son as he has been to her. I too quite think with you that we must follow the thirty-seventh parallel round the globe if necessary, however slight our chance of finding him. But that is not the question we have to settle. There is one much more important than that is—should we from this time, and all together, give up our search on the American continent?”

No one made any reply. Each one seemed afraid to pronounce the word.

“Well?” resumed Glenarvan, addressing himself especially to the Major.

“My dear Edward,” replied McNabbs, “it would be incurring too great a responsibility for me to reply hic et nunc . It is a question which requires reflection. I must know first, through which countries the thirty-seventh parallel of southern latitude passes?”

“That’s Paganel’s business; he will tell you that,” said Glenarvan.

“Let’s ask him, then,” replied the Major.

But the learned geographer was nowhere to be seen. He was hidden among the thick leafage of the OMBU, and they must call out if they wanted him.

“Paganel, Paganel!” shouted Glenarvan.

“Here,” replied a voice that seemed to come from the clouds.

“Where are you?”

“In my tower.”

“What are you doing there?”

“Examining the wide horizon.”

“Could you come down for a minute?”

“Do you want me?”

“Yes.”

“What for?”

“To know what countries the thirty-seventh parallel passes through.”

“That’s easily said. I need not disturb myself to come down for that.”

“Very well, tell us now.”

“Listen, then. After leaving America the thirty-seventh parallel crosses the Atlantic Ocean.”

“And then?”

“It encounters Isle Tristan d’Acunha.”

“Yes.”

“It goes on two degrees below the Cape of Good Hope.”

“And afterwards?”

“Runs across the Indian Ocean, and just touches Isle St. Pierre, in the Amsterdam group.”

“Go on.”

“It cuts Australia by the province of Victoria.”

“And then.”

“After leaving Australia in—”

This last sentence was not completed. Was the geographer hesitating, or didn’t he know what to say?

No; but a terrible cry resounded from the top of the tree. Glenarvan and his friends turned pale and looked at each other. What fresh catastrophe had happened now? Had the unfortunate Paganel slipped his footing?

Already Wilson and Mulrady had rushed to his rescue when his long body appeared tumbling down from branch to branch.

But was he living or dead, for his hands made no attempt to seize anything to stop himself. A few minutes more, and he would have fallen into the roaring waters had not the Major’s strong arm barred his passage.

“Much obliged, McNabbs,” said Paganel.

“How’s this? What is the matter with you? What came over you? Another of your absent fits.”

“Yes, yes,” replied Paganel, in a voice almost inarticulate with emotion. “Yes, but this was something extraordinary.”

“What was it?”

“I said we had made a mistake. We are making it still, and have been all along.”

“Explain yourself.”

“Glenarvan, Major, Robert, my friends,” exclaimed Paganel, “all you that hear me, we are looking for Captain Grant where he is not to be found.”

“What do you say?” exclaimed Glenarvan.

“Not only where he is not now, but where he has never been.”

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PROFOUND astonishment greeted these unexpected words of the learned geographer. What could he mean? Had he lost his sense? He spoke with such conviction, however, that all eyes turned toward Glenarvan, for Paganel’s affirmation was a direct answer to his question, but Glenarvan shook his head, and said nothing, though evidently he was not inclined to favor his friend’s views.

“Yes,” began Paganel again, as soon as he had recovered himself a little; “yes, we have gone a wrong track, and read on the document what was never there.”

“Explain yourself, Paganel,” said the Major, “and more calmly if you can.”

“The thing is very simple, Major. Like you, I was in error; like you, I had rushed at a false interpretation, until about an instant ago, on the top of the tree, when I was answering your questions, just as I pronounced the word ‘Australia,’ a sudden flash came across my mind, and the document became clear as day.”

“What!” exclaimed Glenarvan, “you mean to say that Harry Grant—”

“I mean to say,” replied Paganel, “that the word AUSTRAL that occurs in the document is not a complete word, as we have supposed up till now, but just the root of the word AUSTRALIE.”

“Well, that would be strange,” said the Major.

“Strange!” repeated Glenarvan, shrugging his shoulders; “it is simply impossible.”

“Impossible?” returned Paganel. “That is a word we don’t allow in France.”

“What!” continued Glenarvan, in a tone of the most profound incredulity, “you dare to contend, with the document in your hand, that the shipwreck of the BRITANNIA happened on the shores of Australia.”