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  I

  The Shark

  On the 26th of July, 1864, under a strong gale from the northeast, a magnificent yacht was steaming at full speed through the waves of the North Channel. The flag of England fluttered at her yardarm, while at the top of the mainmast floated a blue pennon, bearing the initials E. G., worked in gold and surmounted by a ducal coronet. The yacht was called the Duncan, and belonged to Lord Glenarvan, one of the sixteen Scottish peers sitting in the House of Lords, and also a most distinguished member of the “Royal Thames Yacht Club,” so celebrated throughout the United Kingdom.

  Lord Edward Glenarvan was on board with his young wife, Lady Helena, and one of his cousins, Major MacNabb. The Duncan, newly constructed, had just been making a trial voyage several miles beyond the Frith of Clyde, and was now on her return to Glasgow. Already Arran Island was appearing on the horizon, when the lookout signaled an enormous fish that was sporting in the wake of the yacht. The captain, John Mangles, at once informed Lord Glenarvan of the fact, who mounted on deck with Major MacNabb, and asked the captain what he thought of the animal.

  “Indeed, your lordship,” replied Captain Mangles, “I think it is a shark of large proportions.”

  “A shark in these regions!” exclaimed Glenarvan.

  “Without doubt,” replied the captain. “This fish belongs to a species of sharks that are found in all seas and latitudes. It is the ‘balance-fish,’ and, if I am not greatly mistaken, we shall have an encounter with one of these fellows. If your lordship consents, and it pleases Lady Helena to witness such a novel chase, we will soon see what we have to deal with.”

  “What do you think, MacNabb?” said Lord Glenarvan to the major; “are you of a mind to try the adventure?”

  “I am of whatever opinion pleases you,” answered the major, calmly.

  “Besides,” continued Captain Mangles, “we cannot too soon exterminate these terrible monsters. Let us improve the opportunity, and, if your lordship pleases, it shall be an exciting scene as well as a good action.”

  “Very well, captain,” said Lord Glenarvan. He then summoned Lady Helena, who joined him on deck, tempted by the exciting sport.

  The sea was magnificent. You could easily follow along its surface the rapid motions of the fish, as it plunged and rose again with surprising agility. Captain Mangles gave his orders, and the sailors threw over the starboard ratling a stout rope, to which was fastened a hook baited with a thick piece of pork.

  The shark, although still at a distance of fifty yards, scented the bait offered to his voracity. He rapidly approached the yacht. You could see his fins, gray at their extremity and black at their base, beat the waves with violence, while his “caudal appendage” kept him in a rigorously straight line. As he advanced, his great glaring eyes seemed inflamed with eagerness, and his yawning jaws, when he turned, disclosed a quadruple row of teeth. His head was large, and shaped like a double-headed hammer. Captain Mangles was right. It was a very large specimen of the most rapacious family of sharks—the “balance fish” of the English and the “jewfish” of the Provençals.

  All on board of the Duncan followed the movements of the shark with lively attention. The animal was soon within reach of the hook; he turned upon his back, in order to seize it better, and the enormous bait disappeared down his vast gullet. At the same time he hooked himself, giving the line a violent shake, whereupon the sailors hoisted the huge creature by means of a pulley at the end of the yardarm.

  The shark struggled violently at feeling himself drawn from his natural element, but his struggles were of no avail. A rope with a slip-noose confined his tail and paralyzed his movements. A few moments afterward he was hauled over the ratlings, and precipitated upon the deck of the yacht. One of the sailors at once approached him, not without caution, and with a vigorous blow of the hatchet cut off the formidable tail of the animal.

  The chase was ended, and there was nothing more to fear from the monster. The vengeance of the sailors was satisfied, but not their curiosity. Indeed, it is customary on board of every vessel to carefully examine the stomachs of sharks. The men, knowing the inordinate voracity of the creature, wait with some anxiety, and their expectation is not always in vain.

  Lady Glenarvan, not wishing to witness this strange “exploration,” retired to the cabin. The shark was still panting. He was ten feet long, and weighed more than six hundred pounds. These dimensions are nothing extraordinary; for if the balance-fish is not classed among the giants of this species, at least he belongs to the most formidable of their family.

  The enormous fish was soon cut open by a blow of the hatchet, without further ceremony. The hook had penetrated to the stomach, which was absolutely empty. Evidently the animal had fasted a long time, and the disappointed seamen were about to cast the remains into the sea, when the attention of the mate was attracted by a bulky object firmly imbedded in the viscera.

  “Ha! what is this?” he exclaimed.

  “That,” replied one of the sailors, “is a piece of rock that the creature has taken in for ballast.”

  “Good!” said another; “it is probably a bullet that this fellow has received in the stomach, and could not digest.”

  “Good,” said Glenarvan; “wash the dirty thing, and bring it into the cabin.”

  “Be still, all of you!” cried Tom Austin, the mate; “do you not see that the animal was a great drunkard? and to lose nothing, has drank not only the wine, but the bottle too!”

  “What!” exclaimed Lord Glenarvan, “is it a bottle that this shark has in his stomach?”

  “A real bottle!” replied the mate, “but you can easily see that it does not come from the wine cellar.”

  “Well, Tom,” said Glenarvan, “draw it out carefully. Bottles found in the sea frequently contain precious documents.”

  “Do you think so?” said Major MacNabb.

  “I do; at least, that it may happen so.”

  “Oh! I do not contradict you,” replied the major. “Perhaps there may be a secret in this.”

  “We shall see,” said Glenarvan. “Well, Tom?”

  “Here it is,” said the mate, displaying the shapeless object that he had just drawn with difficulty from the interior of the shark.

  “Good,” said Glenarvan; “wash the dirty thing, and bring it into the cabin.”

  Tom obeyed; and the bottle found under such singular circumstances was placed on the cabin table, around which Lord Glenarvan, Major MacNabb, and Captain John Mangles took their seats, together
with Lady Helena; for a woman, they say, is always a little inquisitive.

  Everything causes excitement at sea. For a moment there was silence. Each gazed wonderingly at this strange waif. Did it contain the secret of a disaster, or only an insignificant message confided to the mercy of the waves by some idle navigator?

  However, they must know what it was, and Glenarvan, without waiting longer, proceeded to examine the bottle. He took, moreover, all necessary precautions. You would have thought a coroner was pointing out the particulars of a suspicious quest. And Glenarvan was right, for the most insignificant mark in appearance may often lead to an important discovery.

  Before examining it internally, the bottle was inspected externally. It had a slender neck, the mouth of which was protected by an iron wire considerably rusted. Its sides were very thick, and capable of supporting a pressure of several atmospheres, betraying evidently previous connection with champagne. With these bottles the wine-dressers of Aï and Epernay block carriage-wheels without their showing the slightest fracture. This one could, therefore, easily bear the hardships of a long voyage.

  “A bottle of the Maison Cliquot,” said the major quietly; and, as if he ought to know, his affirmation was accepted without contradiction.

  “My dear major,” said Lady Helena, “it matters little what this bottle is, provided we know whence it comes.”

  “We shall know, my dear,” said Lord Edward, “and already we can affirm that it has come from a distance. See the petrified particles that cover it, these substances mineralized, so to speak, under the action of the seawater. This waif had already taken a long voyage in the ocean, before being engulfed in the stomach of a shark.”

  “I cannot but be of your opinion,” replied the major; “this fragile vase, protected by its strong envelope, must have made a long journey.”

  “But whence does it come?” inquired Lady Glenarvan.

  “Wait, my dear Helena, wait. We must be patient with bottles. If I am not greatly mistaken, this one will itself answer all our questions.”

  And so saying, Glenarvan began to scrape off the hard particles that protected the neck. Soon the cork appeared, but very much damaged with the salt water.

  “This is a pity,” said Glenarvan; “for if there is any paper in it, it will be in a bad condition.”

  “That’s what I fear,” replied the major.

  “I will add,” continued Glenarvan, “that this badly-corked bottle would soon have sunk; and it is fortunate that this shark swallowed it, and brought it on board of the Duncan.”

  “Certainly,” interposed Captain Mangles; “it would have been better, however, had it been caught in the open sea on a well-known latitude and longitude. We could then, by studying the atmospheric and marine currents, have discovered the course traversed; but with a guide like one of these sharks, that travel against wind and tide, we cannot know whence it comes.”

  “We shall soon see,” answered Glenarvan. At the same time he drew out the cork with the greatest care, and a strong saline odor permeated the cabin.

  “Well?” said Lady Helena, with a truly feminine impatience.

  “Yes,” said Glenarvan; “I am not mistaken! Here are papers!”

  “Documents! documents!” cried Lady Helena.

  “Only,” replied Glenarvan, “they appear to be damaged by the water. It is impossible to remove them, for they adhere to the sides of the bottle.”

  “Let us break it,” said MacNabb.

  “I would rather keep it whole,” replied Glenarvan.

  “I should, too,” said the major.

  “Very true,” added Lady Helena; “but the contents are more valuable than that which contains them, and it is better to sacrifice one than the other.”

  “Let your lordship only break off the neck,” said the captain, “and that will enable you to draw them out without injury.”

  “Yes, yes, my dear Edward!” cried Lady Glenarvan.

  It was difficult to proceed in any other way, and, at all hazards, Glenarvan determined to break the neck of the precious bottle. It was necessary to use a hammer, for the stony covering had acquired the hardness of granite. The fragments soon strewed the table, and several pieces of paper were perceived adhering to each other. Glenarvan drew them out carefully, separating and examining them closely, while Lady Helena, the major, and the captain crowded around him.

  II

  The Three Documents

  These pieces of paper, half destroyed by the seawater, exhibited only a few words, the traces of handwriting almost entirely effaced. For several minutes Lord Glenarvan examined them attentively, turned them about in every way, and exposed them to the light of day, observing the least traces of writing spared by the sea. Then he looked at his friends, who were regarding him with anxious eyes.

  “There are here,” said he, “three distinct documents, probably three copies of the same missive, translated into three different languages: one English, another French, and the third German. The few words that remain leave no doubt on this point.”

  “But these words have at least a meaning?” said Lady Glenarvan.

  “That is difficult to say, my dear Helena. The words traced on these papers are very imperfect.”

  “Perhaps they will complete each other,” said the major.

  “That may be,” replied Captain Mangles. “It is not probable that the water has obliterated these lines in exactly the same places on each, and by comparing these remains of phrases we shall arrive at some intelligible meaning.”

  “We will do so,” said Lord Glenarvan; “but let us proceed systematically. And, first, here is the English document.”

  It showed the following arrangement of lines and words:

  “That does not mean much,” said the major, with an air of disappointment.

  “Whatever it may mean,” replied the captain, “it is good English.”

  “There is no doubt of that,” said his lordship. “The words wreck, aland, this, and, lost, are perfect. Cap evidently means captain, referring to the captain of a shipwrecked vessel.”

  “Let us add,” said the captain, “the portions of the words docu and ssistance, the meaning of which is plain.”

  “Well, something is gained already!” added Lady Helena.

  “Unfortunately,” replied the major, “entire lines are wanting. How can we find the name of the lost vessel, or the place of shipwreck?”

  “We shall find them,” said Lord Edward.

  “Very likely,” answered the major, who was invariably of the opinion of everyone else; “but how?”

  “By comparing one document with another.”

  “Let us see!” cried Lady Helena.

  The second piece of paper, more damaged than the former, exhibited only isolated words, arranged thus:

  “This is written in German,” said Captain Mangles, when he had cast his eyes upon it.

  “And do you know that language?” asked Glenarvan.

  “Perfectly, your lordship.”

  “Well, tell us what these few words mean.”

  The captain examined the document closely, and expressed himself as follows:

  “First, the date of the event is determined. 7 Juni means June 7th, and by comparing this figure with the figures ’62,’ furnished by the English document, we have the date complete—June 7th, 1862.”

  “Very well!” exclaimed Lady Helena. “Go on.”

  “On the same line,” continued the young captain, “I find the word Glas, which, united with the word gow of the first document, gives Glasgow. It is plainly a ship from the port of Glasgow.”

  “That was my opinion,” said the major.

  “The second line is missing entirely,” continued Captain Mangles; “but on the third I meet with two important words zwei, which means two, and atrosen, or rather matrosen, which sig
nifies sailors in German.”

  “There were a captain and two sailors, then?” said Lady Helena.

  “Probably,” replied her husband.

  “I will confess, your lordship,” said the captain, “that the next word, graus, puzzles me. I do not know how to translate it. Perhaps the third document will enable us to understand it. As to the two last words, they are easily explained. Bringt ihnen means bring to them, and if we compare these with the English word, which is likewise on the sixth line of the first document (I mean the word assistance), we shall have the phrase bring them assistance.”

  “Yes, bring them assistance,” said Glenarvan. “But where are the unfortunates? We have not yet a single indication of the place, and the scene of the catastrophe is absolutely unknown.”

  “Let us hope that the French document will be more explicit,” said Lady Helena.

  “Let us look at it, then,” replied Glenarvan; “and, as we all know this language, our examination will be more easy.”

  Here is an exact facsimile of the third document:

  “There are figures!” cried Lady Helena. “Look, gentlemen, look!”

  “Let us proceed in order,” said Lord Glenarvan, “and start at the beginning. Permit me to point out one by one these scattered and incomplete words. I see from the first letters troi ats (trois-mats), that it is a brig, the name of which, thanks to the English and French documents, is entirely preserved: The Britannia. Of the two following words, gonie and austral, only the last has an intelligible meaning.”

  “That is an important point,” replied Captain Mangles; “the shipwreck took place in the southern hemisphere.”

  “That is indefinite,” said the major.

  “I will continue,” resumed Glenarvan. “The word abor is the trace of the verb aborder (to land). These unfortunates have landed somewhere. But where? Contin! Is it on a continent? Cruel!”

  “ ‘Cruel!’ ” cried Mangles; “that explains the German word graus, grausam, cruel!”