Jules Verne For Children: 16 Incredible Tales of Mystery, Courage & Adventure (Illustrated Edition). Jules Verne
you grow up you’ll be just himself.”
“I hope I may,” said Robert, blushing with filial and sacred pride.
“But how shall we requite Lord and Lady Glenarvan?” said Mary Grant.
“Oh, that will not be difficult,” replied Robert, with boyish confidence. “We will love and revere them, and we will tell them so; and we will give them plenty of kisses, and some day, when we can get the chance, we will die for them.”
“We’ll live for them, on the contrary,” replied the young girl, covering her brother’s forehead with kisses. “They will like that better, and so shall I.”
The two children then relapsed into silence, gazing out into the dark night, and giving way to long reveries, interrupted occasionally by a question or remark from one to the other. A long swell undulated the surface of the calm sea, and the screw turned up a luminous furrow in the darkness.
A strange and altogether supernatural incident now occurred. The brother and sister, by some of those magnetic communications which link souls mysteriously together, were the subjects at the same time and the same instant of the same hallucination.
Out of the midst of these waves, with their alternations of light and shadow, a deep plaintive voice sent up a cry, the tones of which thrilled through every fiber of their being.
“Come! come!” were the words which fell on their ears.
They both started up and leaned over the railing, and peered into the gloom with questioning eyes.
“Mary, you heard that? You heard that?” cried Robert.
But they saw nothing but the long shadow that stretched before them.
“Robert,” said Mary, pale with emotion, “I thought—yes, I thought as you did, that—We must both be ill with fever, Robert.”
A second time the cry reached them, and this time the illusion was so great, that they both exclaimed simultaneously, “My father! My father!”
It was too much for Mary. Overcome with emotion, she fell fainting into Robert’s arms.
“Help!” shouted Robert. “My sister! my father! Help! Help!”
The man at the wheel darted forward to lift up the girl. The sailors on watch ran to assist, and John Mangles, Lady Helena, and Glenarvan were hastily roused from sleep.
“My sister is dying, and my father is there!” exclaimed Robert, pointing to the waves.
They were wholly at a loss to understand him.
“Yes!” he repeated, “my father is there! I heard my father’s voice; Mary heard it too!”
Just at this moment, Mary Grant recovering consciousness, but wandering and excited, called out, “My father! my father is there!”
And the poor girl started up, and leaning over the side of the yacht, wanted to throw herself into the sea.
“My Lord—Lady Helena!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands, “I tell you my father is there! I can declare that I heard his voice come out of the waves like a wail, as if it were a last adieu.”
The young girl went off again into convulsions and spasms, which became so violent that she had to be carried to her cabin, where Lady Helena lavished every care on her. Robert kept on repeating, “My father! my father is there! I am sure of it, my Lord!”
The spectators of this painful scene saw that the captain’s children were laboring under an hallucination. But how were they to be undeceived?
Glenarvan made an attempt, however. He took Robert’s hand, and said, “You say you heard your father’s voice, my dear boy?”
“Yes, my Lord; there, in the middle of the waves. He cried out, ‘Come! come!’”
“And did you recognize his voice?”
“Yes, I recognized it immediately. Yes, yes; I can swear to it! My sister heard it, and recognized it as well. How could we both be deceived? My Lord, do let us go to my father’s help. A boat! a boat!”
Glenarvan saw it was impossible to undeceive the poor boy, but he tried once more by saying to the man at the wheel:
“Hawkins, you were at the wheel, were you not, when Miss Mary was so strangely attacked?”
“Yes, your Honor,” replied Hawkins.
“And you heard nothing, and saw nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“Now Robert, see?”
“If it had been Hawkins’s father,” returned the boy, with indomitable energy, “Hawkins would not say he had heard nothing. It was my father, my lord! my father.”
Sobs choked his voice; he became pale and silent, and presently fell down insensible, like his sister.
Glenarvan had him carried to his bed, where he lay in a deep swoon.
“Poor orphans,” said John Mangles. “It is a terrible trial they have to bear!”
“Yes,” said Glenarvan; “excessive grief has produced the same hallucination in both of them, and at the same time.”
“In both of them!” muttered Paganel; “that’s strange, and pure science would say inadmissible.”
He leaned over the side of the vessel, and listened attentively, making a sign to the rest to keep still.
But profound silence reigned around. Paganel shouted his loudest. No response came.
“It is strange,” repeated the geographer, going back to his cabin. “Close sympathy in thought and grief does not suffice to explain this phenomenon.”
Next day, March 4, at 5 A. M., at dawn, the passengers, including Mary and Robert, who would not stay behind, were all assembled on the poop, each one eager to examine the land they had only caught a glimpse of the night before.
The yacht was coasting along the island at the distance of about a mile, and its smallest details could be seen by the eye.
Suddenly Robert gave a loud cry, and exclaimed he could see two men running about and gesticulating, and a third was waving a flag.
“The Union Jack,” said John Mangles, who had caught up a spyglass.
“True enough,” said Paganel, turning sharply round toward Robert.
“My Lord,” said Robert, trembling with emotion, “if you don’t want me to swim to the shore, let a boat be lowered. Oh, my Lord, I implore you to let me be the first to land.”
No one dared to speak. What! on this little isle, crossed by the 37th parallel, there were three men, shipwrecked Englishmen! Instantaneously everyone thought of the voice heard by Robert and Mary the preceding night. The children were right, perhaps, in the affirmation. The sound of a voice might have reached them, but this voice— was it their father’s? No, alas, most assuredly no. And as they thought of the dreadful disappointment that awaited them, they trembled lest this new trial should crush them completely. But who could stop them from going on shore? Lord Glenarvan had not the heart to do it.
“Lower a boat,” he called out.
Another minute and the boat was ready. The two children of Captain Grant, Glenarvan, John Mangles, and Paganel, rushed into it, and six sailors, who rowed so vigorously that they were presently almost close to the shore.
At ten fathoms’ distance a piercing cry broke from Mary’s lips.
“My father!” she exclaimed.
A man was standing on the beach, between two others. His tall, powerful form, and his physiognomy, with its mingled expression of boldness and gentleness, bore a resemblance both to Mary and Robert. This was indeed the man the children had so often described. Their hearts had not deceived them. This