“Take my advice, then, and yield to chance, or rather providence. Follow
our example. It was providence that sent us the document, and we set
out in consequence. The same providence brought you on board the DUNCAN.
Don’t leave her.”
“Shall I say yes, my good friends? Come, now, tell me, you want me very
much to stay, don’t you?” said Paganel.
“And you’re dying to stay, now, aren’t you, Paganel?” returned
Glenarvan.
“That’s about it,” confessed the learned geographer; “but I was afraid
it would be inconsiderate.”
CHAPTER IX THROUGH THE STRAITS OF MAGELLAN
THE joy on board was universal when Paganel’s resolution was made known.
Little Robert flung himself on his neck in such tumultuous delight
that he nearly threw the worthy secretary down, and made him say, “Rude
-petit bonhomme-. I’ll teach him geography.”
Robert bade fair to be an accomplished gentleman some day, for John
Mangles was to make a sailor of him, and the Major was to teach him
-sang-froid-, and Glenarvan and Lady Helena were to instil into him
courage and goodness and generosity, while Mary was to inspire him with
gratitude toward such instructors.
The DUNCAN soon finished taking in coal, and turned her back on the
dismal region. She fell in before long with the current from the coast
of Brazil, and on the 7th of September entered the Southern hemisphere.
So far, then, the voyage had been made without difficulty. Everybody was
full of hope, for in this search for Captain Grant, each day seemed to
increase the probability of finding him. The captain was among the most
confident on board, but his confidence mainly arose from the longing
desire he had to see Miss Mary happy. He was smitten with quite a
peculiar interest for this young girl, and managed to conceal his
sentiments so well that everyone on board saw it except himself and Mary
Grant.
As for the learned geographer, he was probably the happiest man in all
the southern hemisphere. He spent the whole day in studying maps,
which were spread out on the saloon table, to the great annoyance of M.
Olbinett, who could never get the cloth laid for meals, without disputes
on the subject. But all the passengers took his part except the Major,
who was perfectly indifferent about geographical questions, especially
at dinner-time. Paganel also came across a regular cargo of old books
in the chief officer’s chest. They were in a very damaged condition, but
among them he raked out a few Spanish volumes, and determined forthwith
to set to work to master the language of Cervantes, as no one on board
understood it, and it would be helpful in their search along the Chilian
coast. Thanks to his taste for languages, he did not despair of being
able to speak the language fluently when they arrived at Concepcion.
He studied it furiously, and kept constantly muttering heterogeneous
syllables.
He spent his leisure hours in teaching young Robert, and instructed him
in the history of the country they were so rapidly approaching.
On the 25th of September, the yacht arrived off the Straits of Magellan,
and entered them without delay. This route is generally preferred by
steamers on their way to the Pacific Ocean. The exact length of the
straits is 372 miles. Ships of the largest tonnage find, throughout,
sufficient depth of water, even close to the shore, and there is a good
bottom everywhere, and abundance of fresh water, and rivers abounding in
fish, and forests in game, and plenty of safe and accessible harbors;
in fact a thousand things which are lacking in Strait Lemaire and Cape
Horn, with its terrible rocks, incessantly visited by hurricane and
tempest.
For the first three or four hours--that is to say, for about sixty to
eighty miles, as far as Cape Gregory--the coast on either side was low
and sandy. Jacques Paganel would not lose a single point of view, nor a
single detail of the straits. It would scarcely take thirty-six hours to
go through them, and the moving panorama on both sides, seen in all the
clearness and glory of the light of a southern sun, was well worth the
trouble of looking at and admiring. On the Terra del Fuego side, a few
wretched-looking creatures were wandering about on the rocks, but on the
other side not a solitary inhabitant was visible.
Paganel was so vexed at not being able to catch a glimpse of any
Patagonians, that his companions were quite amused at him. He would
insist that Patagonia without Patagonians was not Patagonia at all.
But Glenarvan replied:
“Patience, my worthy geographer. We shall see the Patagonians yet.”
“I am not sure of it.”
“But there is such a people, anyhow,” said Lady Helena.
“I doubt it much, madam, since I don’t see them.”
“But surely the very name Patagonia, which means ‘great feet’ in
Spanish, would not have been given to imaginary beings.” “Oh, the
name is nothing,” said Paganel, who was arguing simply for the sake of
arguing. “And besides, to speak the truth, we are not sure if that is
their name.”
“What an idea!” exclaimed Glenarvan. “Did you know that, Major?”
“No,” replied McNabbs, “and wouldn’t give a Scotch pound-note for the
information.”
“You shall hear it, however, Major Indifferent. Though Magellan called
the natives Patagonians, the Fuegians called them Tiremenen, the
Chilians Caucalhues, the colonists of Carmen Tehuelches, the Araucans
Huiliches; Bougainville gives them the name of Chauha, and Falkner that
of Tehuelhets. The name they give themselves is Inaken. Now, tell me
then, how would you recognize them? Indeed, is it likely that a people
with so many names has any actual existence?”
“That’s a queer argument, certainly,” said Lady Helena.
“Well, let us admit it,” said her husband, “but our friend Paganel must
own that even if there are doubts about the name of the race there is
none about their size.”
“Indeed, I will never own anything so outrageous as that,” replied
Paganel.
“They are tall,” said Glenarvan.
“I don’t know that.”
“Are they little, then?” asked Lady Helena.
“No one can affirm that they are.”
“About the average, then?” said McNabbs.
“I don’t know that either.”
“That’s going a little too far,” said Glenarvan. “Travelers who have
seen them tell us.”
“Travelers who have seen them,” interrupted Paganel, “don’t agree at all
in their accounts. Magellan said that his head scarcely reached to their
waist.”
“Well, then, that proves.”
“Yes, but Drake declares that the English are taller than the tallest
Patagonian?”
“Oh, the English--that may be,” replied the Major, disdainfully, “but we
are talking of the Scotch.”
“Cavendish assures us that they are tall and robust,” continued Paganel.
“Hawkins makes out they are giants. Lemaire and Shouten declare that
they are eleven feet high.”
“These are all credible witnesses,” said Glenarvan.
“Yes, quite as much as Wood, Narborough, and Falkner, who say they are
of medium stature. Again, Byron, Giraudais, Bougainville, Wallis, and
Carteret, declared that the Patagonians are six feet six inches tall.”
“But what is the truth, then, among all these contradictions?” asked
Lady Helena.
“Just this, madame; the Patagonians have short legs, and a large bust;
or by way of a joke we might say that these natives are six feet high
when they are sitting, and only five when they are standing.”
“Bravo! my dear geographer,” said Glenarvan. “That is very well put.”
“Unless the race has no existence, that would reconcile all statements,”
returned Paganel. “But here is one consolation, at all events: the
Straits of Magellan are very magnificent, even without Patagonians.”
Just at this moment the DUNCAN was rounding the peninsula of Brunswick
between splendid panoramas.
Seventy miles after doubling Cape Gregory, she left on her starboard
the penitentiary of Punta Arena. The church steeple and the Chilian flag
gleamed for an instant among the trees, and then the strait wound on
between huge granitic masses which had an imposing effect. Cloud-capped
mountains appeared, their heads white with eternal snows, and their feet
hid in immense forests. Toward the southwest, Mount Tarn rose 6,500
feet high. Night came on after a long lingering twilight, the light
insensibly melting away into soft shades. These brilliant constellations
began to bestud the sky, and the Southern Cross shone out. There were
numerous bays along the shore, easy of access, but the yacht did not
drop anchor in any; she continued her course fearlessly through the
luminous darkness. Presently ruins came in sight, crumbling buildings,
which the night invested with grandeur, the sad remains of a deserted
settlement, whose name will be an eternal protest against these fertile
shores and forests full of game. The DUNCAN was passing Fort Famine.
It was in that very spot that Sarmiento, a Spaniard, came in 1581, with
four hundred emigrants, to establish a colony. He founded the city
of St. Philip, but the extreme severity of winter decimated the
inhabitants, and those who had struggled through the cold died
subsequently of starvation. Cavendish the Corsair discovered the last
survivor dying of hunger in the ruins.
After sailing along these deserted shores, the DUNCAN went through a
series of narrow passes, between forests of beech and ash and birch, and
at length doubled Cape Froward, still bristling with the ice of the last
winter. On the other side of the strait, in Terra del Fuego, stood Mount
Sarmiento, towering to a height of 6,000 feet, an enormous accumulation
of rocks, separated by bands of cloud, forming a sort of aerial
archipelago in the sky.
It is at Cape Froward that the American continent actually terminates,
for Cape Horn is nothing but a rock sunk in the sea in latitude 52
degrees. At Cape Momax the straits widened, and she was able to get
round Narborough Isles and advance in a more southerly direction, till
at length the rock of Cape Pilares, the extreme point of Desolation
Island, came in sight, thirty-six hours after entering the straits.
Before her stem lay a broad, open, sparkling ocean, which Jacques
Paganel greeted with enthusiastic gestures, feeling kindred emotions
with those which stirred the bosom of Ferdinand de Magellan himself,
when the sails of his ship, the TRINIDAD, first bent before the breeze
from the great Pacific.
CHAPTER X THE COURSE DECIDED
A WEEK after they had doubled the Cape Pilares, the DUNCAN steamed into
the bay of Talcahuano, a magnificent estuary, twelve miles long and
nine broad. The weather was splendid. From November to March the sky is
always cloudless, and a constant south wind prevails, as the coast
is sheltered by the mountain range of the Andes. In obedience to Lord
Glenarvan’s order, John Mangles had sailed as near the archipelago of
Chiloe as possible, and examined all the creeks and windings of the
coast, hoping to discover some traces of the shipwreck. A broken spar,
or any fragment of the vessel, would have put them in the right track;
but nothing whatever was visible, and the yacht continued her route,
till she dropped anchor at the port of Talcahuano, forty-two days from
the time she had sailed out of the fogs of the Clyde.
Glenarvan had a boat lowered immediately, and went on shore, accompanied
by Paganel. The learned geographer gladly availed himself of the
opportunity of making use of the language he had been studying so
conscientiously, but to his great amazement, found he could not make
himself understood by the people. “It is the accent I’ve not got,” he
said.
“Let us go to the Custom-house,” replied Glenarvan.
They were informed on arriving there, by means of a few English
words, aided by expressive gestures, that the British Consul lived at
Concepcion, an hour’s ride distant. Glenarvan found no difficulty in
procuring two fleet horses, and he and Paganel were soon within the
walls of the great city, due to the enterprising genius of Valdivia, the
valiant comrade of the Pizarros.
How it was shorn of its ancient splendor! Often pillaged by the
natives, burned in 1819, it lay in desolation and ruins, its walls
still blackened by the flames, scarcely numbering 8,000 inhabitants, and
already eclipsed by Talcahuano. The grass was growing in the streets,
beneath the lazy feet of the citizens, and all trade and business,
indeed any description of activity, was impossible. The notes of the
mandolin resounded from every balcony, and languishing songs floated
on the breeze. Concepcion, the ancient city of brave men, had become a
village of women and children. Lord Glenarvan felt no great desire to
inquire into the causes of this decay, though Paganel tried to draw him
into a discussion on the subject. He would not delay an instant, but
went straight on to the house of Mr. Bentic, her Majesty’s Consul, who
received them very courteously, and, on learning their errand, undertook
to make inquiries all along the coast.
But to the question whether a three-mast vessel, called the BRITANNIA,
had gone ashore either on the Chilian or Araucanian coast, he gave a
decided negative. No report of such an event had been made to him, or
any of the other consuls. Glenarvan, however, would not allow himself
to be disheartened; he went back to Talcahuano, and spared neither pains
nor expense to make a thorough investigation of the whole seaboard. But
it was all in vain. The most minute inquiries were fruitless, and Lord
Glenarvan returned to the yacht to report his ill success. Mary Grant
and her brother could not restrain their grief. Lady Helena did her best
to comfort them by loving caresses, while Jacques Paganel took up the
document and began studying it again. He had been poring over it for
more than an hour when Glenarvan interrupted him and said:
“Paganel! I appeal to your sagacity. Have we made an erroneous
interpretation of the document? Is there anything illogical about the
meaning?”
Paganel was silent, absorbed in reflection.
“Have we mistaken the place where the catastrophe occurred?” continued
Glenarvan. “Does not the name Patagonia seem apparent even to the least
clear-sighted individual?”
Paganel was still silent.
“Besides,” said Glenarvan, “does not the word INDIEN prove we are
right?”
“Perfectly so,” replied McNabbs.
“And is it not evident, then, that at the moment of writing the words,
the shipwrecked men were expecting to be made prisoners by the Indians?”
“I take exception to that, my Lord,” said Paganel; “and even if your
other conclusions are right, this, at least, seemed to me irrational.”
“What do you mean?” asked Lady Helena, while all eyes were fixed on the
geographer.
“I mean this,” replied Paganel, “that Captain Grant is -now a prisoner
among the Indians-, and I further add that the document states it
unmistakably.”
“Explain yourself, sir,” said Mary Grant.
“Nothing is plainer, dear Mary. Instead of reading the document -seront
prisonniers-, read -sont prisonniers-, and the whole thing is clear.”
“But that is impossible,” replied Lord Glenarvan.
“Impossible! and why, my noble friend?” asked Paganel, smiling.
“Because the bottle could only have been thrown into the sea just when
the vessel went to pieces on the rocks, and consequently the latitude
and longitude given refer to the actual place of the shipwreck.”
“There is no proof of that,” replied Paganel, “and I see nothing to
preclude the supposition that the poor fellows were dragged into the
interior by the Indians, and sought to make known the place of their
captivity by means of this bottle.”
“Except this fact, my dear Paganel, that there was no sea, and therefore
they could not have flung the bottle into it.”
“Unless they flung it into rivers which ran into the sea,” returned
Paganel.
This reply was so unexpected, and yet so admissible, that it made them
all completely silent for a minute, though their beaming eyes betrayed
the rekindling of hope in their hearts. Lady Helena was the first to
speak.
“What an idea!” she exclaimed.
“And what a good idea,” was Paganel’s naive rejoinder to her
exclamation.
“What would you advise, then?” said Glenarvan.
“My advice is to follow the 37th parallel from the point where it
touches the American continent to where it dips into the Atlantic,
without deviating from it half a degree, and possibly in some part of
its course we shall fall in with the shipwrecked party.”
“There is a poor chance of that,” said the Major.
“Poor as it is,” returned Paganel, “we ought not to lose it. If I am
right in my conjecture, that the bottle has been carried into the sea
on the bosom of some river, we cannot fail to find the track of the
prisoners. You can easily convince yourselves of this by looking at this
map of the country.”
He unrolled a map of Chili and the Argentine provinces as he spoke, and
spread it out on the table.
“Just follow me for a moment,” he said, “across the American continent.
Let us make a stride across the narrow strip of Chili, and over the
Cordilleras of the Andes, and get into the heart of the Pampas. Shall we
find any lack of rivers and streams and currents? No, for here are the
Rio Negro and Rio Colorado, and their tributaries intersected by the
37th parallel, and any of them might have carried the bottle on its
waters. Then, perhaps, in the midst of a tribe in some Indian settlement
on the shores of these almost unknown rivers, those whom I may call my
friends await some providential intervention. Ought we to disappoint
their hopes? Do you not all agree with me that it is our duty to go
along the line my finger is pointing out at this moment on the map, and
if after all we find I have been mistaken, still to keep straight on and
follow the 37th parallel till we find those we seek, if even we go right
round the world?”
His generous enthusiasm so touched his auditors that, involuntarily,
they rose to their feet and grasped his hands, while Robert exclaimed as
he devoured the map with his eyes:
“Yes, my father is there!”
“And where he is,” replied Glenarvan, “we’ll manage to go, my boy, and
find him. Nothing can be more logical than Paganel’s theory, and we must
follow the course he points out without the least hesitation. Captain
Grant may have fallen into the hands of a numerous tribe, or his captors
may be but a handful. In the latter case we shall carry him off at
once, but in the event of the former, after we have reconnoitered the
situation, we must go back to the DUNCAN on the eastern coast and get to
Buenos Ayres, where we can soon organize a detachment of men, with Major
McNabbs at their head, strong enough to tackle all the Indians in the
Argentine provinces.”
“That’s capital, my Lord,” said John Mangles, “and I may add, that there
is no danger whatever crossing the continent.”
“Monsieur Paganel,” asked Lady Helena, “you have no fear then that if
the poor fellows have fallen into the hands of the Indians their lives
at least have been spared.”
“What a question? Why, madam, the Indians are not anthropophagi! Far
from it. One of my own countrymen, M. Guinnard, associated with me in
the Geographical Society, was three years a prisoner among the Indians
in the Pampas. He had to endure sufferings and ill-treatment, but came
off victorious at last. A European is a useful being in these countries.
The Indians know his value, and take care of him as if he were some
costly animal.”
“There is not the least room then for hesitation,” said Lord Glenarvan.
“Go we must, and as soon as possible. What route must we take?”
“One that is both easy and agreeable,” replied Paganel. “Rather
mountainous at first, and then sloping gently down the eastern side of
the Andes into a smooth plain, turfed and graveled quite like a garden.”
“Let us see the map?” said the Major.
“Here it is, my dear McNabbs. We shall go through the capital of
Araucania, and cut the Cordilleras by the pass of Antuco, leaving the
volcano on the south, and gliding gently down the mountain sides, past
the Neuquem and the Rio Colorado on to the Pampas, till we reach the
Sierra Tapalquen, from whence we shall see the frontier of the province
of Buenos Ayres. These we shall pass by, and cross over the Sierra
Tandil, pursuing our search to the very shores of the Atlantic, as far
as Point Medano.”
Paganel went through this programme of the expedition without so much
as a glance at the map. He was so posted up in the travels of Frezier,
Molina, Humboldt, Miers, and Orbigny, that he had the geographical
nomenclature at his fingers’ ends, and could trust implicitly to his
never-failing memory.
“You see then, friend,” he added, “that it is a straight course. In
thirty days we shall have gone over it, and gained the eastern side
before the DUNCAN, however little she may be delayed by the westerly
winds.”
“Then the DUNCAN is to cruise between Corrientes and Cape Saint
Antonie,” said John Mangles.
“Just so.”
“And how is the expedition to be organized?” asked Glenarvan.
“As simply as possible. All there is to be done is to reconnoiter the
situation of Captain Grant and not to come to gunshot with the Indians.
I think that Lord Glenarvan, our natural leader; the Major, who would
not yield his place to anybody; and your humble servant, Jacques
Paganel.”
“And me,” interrupted Robert.
“Robert, Robert!” exclaimed Mary.
“And why not?” returned Paganel. “Travels form the youthful mind. Yes,
Robert, we four and three of the sailors.”
“And does your Lordship mean to pass me by?” said John Mangles,
addressing his master.
“My dear John,” replied Glenarvan, “we leave passengers on board, those
dearer to us than life, and who is to watch over them but the devoted
captain?”
“Then we can’t accompany you?” said Lady Helena, while a shade of
sadness beclouded her eyes.
“My dear Helena, the journey will so soon be accomplished that it will
be but a brief separation, and--”
“Yes, dear, I understand, it is all right; and I do hope you may
succeed.”
“Besides, you can hardly call it a journey,” added Paganel.
“What is it, then?”
“It is just making a flying passage across the continent, the way a
good man goes through the world, doing all the good he can. -Transire
beneficiendo---that is our motto.”
This ended the discussion, if a conversation can be so called, where all
who take part in it are of the same opinion. Preparations commenced the
same day, but as secretly as possible to prevent the Indians getting
scent of it.
The day of departure was fixed for the 14th of October. The sailors were
all so eager to join the expedition that Glenarvan found the only way
to prevent jealousy among them was to draw lots who should go. This was
accordingly done, and fortune favored the chief officer, Tom Austin,
Wilson, a strong, jovial young fellow, and Mulrady, so good a boxer that
he might have entered the lists with Tom Sayers himself.
Glenarvan displayed the greatest activity about the preparations, for he
was anxious to be ready by the appointed day. John Mangles was equally
busy in coaling the vessel, that she might weigh anchor at the same
time. There was quite a rivalry between Glenarvan and the young captain
about getting first to the Argentine coast.
Both were ready on the 14th. The whole search party assembled in the
saloon to bid farewell to those who remained behind. The DUNCAN was just
about to get under way, and already the vibration of the screw began to
agitate the limpid waters of Talcahuano, Glenarvan, Paganel, McNabbs,
Robert Grant, Tom Austin, Wilson, and Mulrady, stood armed with carbines
and Colt’s revolvers. Guides and mules awaited them at the landing
stairs of the harbor.
“It is time,” said Lord Glenarvan at last.
“Go then, dear Edward,” said Lady Helena, restraining her emotion.
Lord Glenarvan clasped her closely to his breast for an instant, and
then turned away, while Robert flung his arms round Mary’s neck.
“And now, friends,” said Paganel, “let’s have one good hearty shake
of the hand all round, to last us till we get to the shores of the
Atlantic.”
This was not much to ask, but he certainly got strong enough grips to go
some way towards satisfying his desire.
All went on deck now, and the seven explorers left the vessel. They were
soon on the quay, and as the yacht turned round to pursue her course,
she came so near where they stood, that Lady Helena could exchange
farewells once more.
“God help you!” she called out.
“Heaven will help us, madam,” shouted Paganel, in reply, “for you may be
sure we’ll help ourselves.”
“Go on,” sung out the captain to his engineer.
At the same moment Lord Glenarvan gave the signal to start, and away
went the mules along the coast, while the DUNCAN steamed out at full
speed toward the broad ocean.
CHAPTER XI TRAVELING IN CHILI
THE native troops organized by Lord Glenarvan consisted of three men and
a boy. The captain of the muleteers was an Englishman, who had become
naturalized through twenty years’ residence in the country. He made a
livelihood by letting out mules to travelers, and leading them over the
difficult passes of the Cordilleras, after which he gave them in charge
of a BAQUEANO, or Argentine guide, to whom the route through the Pampas
was perfectly familiar. This Englishman had not so far forgotten his
mother tongue among mules and Indians that he could not converse with
his countrymen, and a lucky thing it was for them, as Lord Glenarvan
found it far easier to give orders than to see them executed, Paganel
was still unsuccessful in making himself understood.
The CATAPEZ, as he was called in Chilian, had two natives called PEONS,
and a boy about twelve years of age under him. The PEONS took care of
the baggage mules, and the boy led the MADRINA, a young mare adorned
with rattle and bells, which walked in front, followed by ten mules. The
travelers rode seven of these, and the CATAPEZ another. The remaining
two carried provisions and a few bales of goods, intended to secure the
goodwill of the Caciques of the plain. The PEONS walked, according to
their usual habit.
Every arrangement had been made to insure safety and speed, for crossing
the Andes is something more than an ordinary journey. It could not
be accomplished without the help of the hardy mules of the far-famed
Argentine breed. Those reared in the country are much superior to their
progenitors. They are not particular about their food, and only drink
once a day, and they can go with ease ten leagues in eight hours.
There are no inns along this road from one ocean to another. The only
viands on which travelers can regale themselves are dried meat, rice
seasoned with pimento, and such game as may be shot -en route-. The
torrents provide them with water in the mountains, and the rivulets in
the plains, which they improve by the addition of a few drops of rum,
and each man carries a supply of this in a bullock’s horn, called
CHIFFLE. They have to be careful, however, not to indulge too freely in
alcoholic drinks, as the climate itself has a peculiarly exhilarating
effect on the nervous system. As for bedding, it is all contained in
the saddle used by the natives, called RECADO. This saddle is made of
sheepskins, tanned on one side and woolly on the other, fastened by
gorgeous embroidered straps. Wrapped in these warm coverings a traveler
may sleep soundly, and brave exposure to the damp nights.
Glenarvan, an experienced traveler, who knew how to adapt himself to the
customs of other countries, adopted the Chilian costume for himself
and his whole party. Paganel and Robert, both alike children, though of
different growth, were wild with delight as they inserted their heads in
the national PONCHO, an immense plaid with a hole in center, and their
legs in high leather boots. The mules were richly caparisoned, with
the Arab bit in their mouths, and long reins of plaited leather, which
served as a whip; the headstall of the bridle was decorated with
metal ornaments, and the ALFORJAS, double sacks of gay colored linen,
containing the day’s provisions. Paganel, DISTRAIT as usual, was flung
several times before he succeeded in bestriding his good steed, but once
in the saddle, his inseparable telescope on his shoulder-belt, he held
on well enough, keeping his feet fast in the stirrups, and trusting
entirely to the sagacity of his beast. As for Robert, his first attempt
at mounting was successful, and proved that he had the making in him of
an excellent horseman.
The weather was splendid when they started, the sky a deep cloudless
blue, and yet the atmosphere so tempered by the sea breezes as to
prevent any feeling of oppressive heat. They marched rapidly along the
winding shore of the bay of Talcahuano, in order to gain the extremity
of the parallel, thirty miles south. No one spoke much the first day,
for the smoke of the DUNCAN was still visible on the horizon, and the
pain of parting too keenly felt. Paganel talked to himself in Spanish,
asking and answering questions.
The CATAPEZ, moreover, was a taciturn man naturally, and had not been
rendered loquacious by his calling. He hardly spoke to his PEONS. They
understood their duties perfectly. If one of the mules stopped, they
urged it on with a guttural cry, and if that proved unavailing, a
good-sized pebble, thrown with unerring aim, soon cured the animal’s
obstinacy. If a strap got loose, or a rein fell, a PEON came forward
instantly, and throwing off his poncho, flung it over his beast’s head
till the accident was repaired and the march resumed.
The custom of the muleteers is to start immediately after breakfast,
about eight o’clock, and not to stop till they camp for the night, about
4 P. M. Glenarvan fell in with the practice, and the first halt was just
as they arrived at Arauco, situated at the very extremity of the bay.
To find the extremity of the 37th degree of latitude, they would have
required to proceed as far as the Bay of Carnero, twenty miles further.
But the agents of Glenarvan had already scoured that part of the
coast, and to repeat the exploration would have been useless. It was,
therefore, decided that Arauco should be the point of departure, and
they should keep on from there toward the east in a straight line.
Since the weather was so favorable, and the whole party, even Robert,
were in perfect health, and altogether the journey had commenced under
such favorable auspices, it was deemed advisable to push forward as
quickly as possible. Accordingly, the next day they marched 35 miles or
more, and encamped at nightfall on the banks of Rio Biobio. The country
still presented the same fertile aspect, and abounded in flowers, but
animals of any sort only came in sight occasionally, and there were no
birds visible, except a solitary heron or owl, and a thrush or grebe,
flying from the falcon. Human beings there were none, not a native
appeared; not even one of the GUASSOS, the degenerate offspring of
Indians and Spaniards, dashed across the plain like a shadow, his
flying steed dripping with blood from the cruel thrusts inflicted by the
gigantic spurs of his master’s naked feet. It was absolutely impossible
to make inquiries when there was no one to address, and Lord Glenarvan
came to the conclusion that Captain Grant must have been dragged right
over the Andes into the Pampas, and that it would be useless to search
for him elsewhere. The only thing to be done was to wait patiently and
press forward with all the speed in their power.
On the 17th they set out in the usual line of march, a line which it was
hard work for Robert to keep, his ardor constantly compelled him to get
ahead of the MADRINA, to the great despair of his mule. Nothing but a
sharp recall from Glenarvan kept the boy in proper order.
The country now became more diversified, and the rising ground indicated
their approach to a mountainous district. Rivers were more numerous, and
came rushing noisily down the slopes. Paganel consulted his maps, and
when he found any of those streams not marked, which often happened, all
the fire of a geographer burned in his veins, and he would exclaim, with
a charming air of vexation:
“A river which hasn’t a name is like having no civil standing. It has no
existence in the eye of geographical law.”
He christened them forthwith, without the least hesitation, and marked
them down on the map, qualifying them with the most high-sounding
adjectives he could find in the Spanish language.
“What a language!” he said. “How full and sonorous it is! It is like
the metal church bells are made of--composed of seventy-eight parts of
copper and twenty-two of tin.”
“But, I say, do you make any progress in it?” asked Glenarvan.
“Most certainly, my dear Lord. Ah, if it wasn’t the accent, that
wretched accent!”
And for want of better work, Paganel whiled away the time along the
road by practising the difficulties in pronunciation, repeating all the
break-jaw words he could, though still making geographical observations.
Any question about the country that Glenarvan might ask the CATAPEZ was
sure to be answered by the learned Frenchman before he could reply, to
the great astonishment of the guide, who gazed at him in bewilderment.
About two o’clock that same day they came to a cross road, and naturally
enough Glenarvan inquired the name of it.
“It is the route from Yumbel to Los Angeles,” said Paganel.
Glenarvan looked at the CATAPEZ, who replied:
“Quite right.”
And then, turning toward the geographer, he added:
“You have traveled in these parts before, sir?”
“Oh, yes,” said Paganel, quite gravely.
“On a mule?”
“No, in an easy chair.”
The CATAPEZ could not make him out, but shrugged his shoulders and
resumed his post at the head of the party.
At five in the evening they stopped in a gorge of no great depth, some
miles above the little town of Loja, and encamped for the night at the
foot of the Sierras, the first steppes of the great Cordilleras.
CHAPTER XII ELEVEN THOUSAND FEET ALOFT
NOTHING of importance had occurred hitherto in the passage through
Chili; but all the obstacles and difficulties incident to a mountain
journey were about to crowd on the travelers now.
One important question had first to be settled. Which pass would take
them over the Andes, and yet not be out of their fixed route?
On questioning the CATAPEZ on the subject, he replied:
“There are only two practicable passes that I know of in this part of
the Cordilleras.”
“The pass of Arica is one undoubtedly discovered by Valdivia Mendoze,”
said Paganel.
“Just so.”
“And that of Villarica is the other.”
“Precisely.”
“Well, my good fellow, both these passes have only one fault; they take
us too far out of our route, either north or south.”
“Have you no other to propose?” asked the Major.
“Certainly,” replied Paganel. “There is the pass of Antuco, on the slope
of the volcano, in latitude, 37 degrees 30’ , or, in other words, only
half a degree out of our way.”
“That would do, but are you acquainted with this pass of Antuco,
CATAPEZ?” said Glenarvan.
“Yes, your Lordship, I have been through it, but I did not mention
it, as no one goes that way but the Indian shepherds with the herds of
cattle.”
“Oh, very well; if mares and sheep and oxen can go that way, we can, so
let’s start at once.”
The signal for departure was given immediately, and they struck into the
heart of the valley of Las Lejas, between great masses of chalk crystal.
From this point the pass began to be difficult, and even dangerous. The
angles of the declivities widened and the ledges narrowed, and frightful
precipices met their gaze. The mules went cautiously along, keeping
their heads near the ground, as if scenting the track. They marched
in file. Sometimes at a sudden bend of the road, the MADRINA would
disappear, and the little caravan had to guide themselves by the distant
tinkle of her bell. Often some capricious winding would bring the column
in two parallel lines, and the CATAPEZ could speak to his PEONS across
a crevasse not two fathoms wide, though two hundred deep, which made
between them an inseparable gulf.
Glenarvan followed his guide step by step. He saw that his perplexity
was increasing as the way became more difficult, but did not dare to
interrogate him, rightly enough, perhaps, thinking that both mules and
muleteers were very much governed by instinct, and it was best to trust
to them.
For about an hour longer the CATAPEZ kept wandering about almost at
haphazard, though always getting higher up the mountains. At last he was
obliged to stop short. They were in a narrow valley, one of those gorges
called by the Indians “quebrads,” and on reaching the end, a wall of
porphyry rose perpendicularly before them, and barred further passage.
The CATAPEZ, after vain attempts at finding an opening, dismounted,
crossed his arms, and waited. Glenarvan went up to him and asked if he
had lost his way.
“No, your Lordship,” was the reply.
“But you are not in the pass of Antuco.”
“We are.”
“You are sure you are not mistaken?”
“I am not mistaken. See! there are the remains of a fire left by the
Indians, and there are the marks of the mares and the sheep.”
“They must have gone on then.”
“Yes, but no more will go; the last earthquake has made the route
impassable.”
“To mules,” said the Major, “but not to men.”
“Ah, that’s your concern; I have done all I could. My mules and myself
are at your service to try the other passes of the Cordilleras.”
“And that would delay us?”
“Three days at least.”
Glenarvan listened silently. He saw the CATAPEZ was right. His mules
could not go farther. When he talked of returning, however, Glenarvan
appealed to his companions and said:
“Will you go on in spite of all the difficulty?”
“We will follow your Lordship,” replied Tom Austin.
“And even precede you,” added Paganel. “What is it after all? We have
only to cross the top of the mountain chain, and once over, nothing can
be easier of descent than the slopes we shall find there. When we get
below, we shall find BAQUEANOS, Argentine shepherds, who will guide
us through the Pampas, and swift horses accustomed to gallop over
the plains. Let’s go forward then, I say, and without a moment’s
hesitation.”
“Forward!” they all exclaimed. “You will not go with us, then?” said
Glenarvan to the CATAPEZ.
“I am the muleteer,” was the reply.
“As you please,” said Glenarvan.
“We can do without him,” said Paganel. “On the other side we shall get
back into the road to Antuco, and I’m quite sure I’ll lead you to the
foot of the mountain as straight as the best guide in the Cordilleras.”
Accordingly, Glenarvan settled accounts with the CATAPEZ, and bade
farewell to him and his PEONS and mules. The arms and instruments, and a
small stock of provisions were divided among the seven travelers, and it
was unanimously agreed that the ascent should recommence at once, and,
if necessary, should continue part of the night. There was a very steep
winding path on the left, which the mules never would have attempted.
It was toilsome work, but after two hours’ exertion, and a great deal of
roundabout climbing, the little party found themselves once more in the
pass of Antuco.
They were not far now from the highest peak of the Cordilleras, but
there was not the slightest trace of any beaten path. The entire region
had been overturned by recent shocks of earthquake, and all they
could do was to keep on climbing higher and higher. Paganel was rather
disconcerted at finding no way out to the other side of the chain, and
laid his account with having to undergo great fatigue before the topmost
peaks of the Andes could be reached, for their mean height is between
eleven and twelve thousand six hundred feet. Fortunately the weather was
calm and the sky clear, in addition to the season being favorable,
but in Winter, from May to October, such an ascent would have been
impracticable. The intense cold quickly kills travelers, and those who
even manage to hold out against it fall victims to the violence of the
TEMPORALES, a sort of hurricane peculiar to those regions, which yearly
fills the abysses of the Cordilleras with dead bodies.
They went on toiling steadily upward all night, hoisting themselves up
to almost inaccessible plateaux, and leaping over broad, deep crevasses.
They had no ropes, but arms linked in arms supplied the lack, and
shoulders served for ladders. The strength of Mulrady and the dexterity
of Wilson were taxed heavily now. These two brave Scots multiplied
themselves, so to speak. Many a time, but for their devotion and courage
the small band could not have gone on. Glenarvan never lost sight of
young Robert, for his age and vivacity made him imprudent. Paganel was a
true Frenchman in his impetuous ardor, and hurried furiously along. The
Major, on the contrary, only went as quick as was necessary, neither
more nor less, climbing without the least apparent exertion. Perhaps he
hardly knew, indeed, that he was climbing at all, or perhaps he fancied
he was descending.
The whole aspect of the region had now completely changed. Huge blocks
of glittering ice, of a bluish tint on some of the declivities, stood up
on all sides, reflecting the early light of morn. The ascent became very
perilous. They were obliged to reconnoiter carefully before making a
single step, on account of the crevasses. Wilson took the lead, and
tried the ground with his feet. His companions followed exactly in his
footprints, lowering their voices to a whisper, as the least sound would
disturb the currents of air, and might cause the fall of the masses of
snow suspended in the air seven or eight hundred feet above their heads.
They had come now to the region of shrubs and bushes, which, higher
still, gave place to grasses and cacti. At 11,000 feet all trace of
vegetation had disappeared. They had only stopped once, to rest and
snatch a hurried meal to recruit their strength. With superhuman
courage, the ascent was then resumed amid increasing dangers and
difficulties. They were forced to bestride sharp peaks and leap over
chasms so deep that they did not dare to look down them. In many places
wooden crosses marked the scene of some great catastrophes.
About two o’clock they came to an immense barren plain, without a sign
of vegetation. The air was dry and the sky unclouded blue. At this
elevation rain is unknown, and vapors only condense into snow or hail.
Here and there peaks of porphyry or basalt pierced through the white
winding-sheet like the bones of a skeleton; and at intervals fragments
of quartz or gneiss, loosened by the action of the air, fell down with
a faint, dull sound, which in a denser atmosphere would have been almost
imperceptible.
However, in spite of their courage, the strength of the little band was
giving way. Glenarvan regretted they had gone so far into the interior
of the mountain when he saw how exhausted his men had become. Young
Robert held out manfully, but he could not go much farther.
At three o’clock Glenarvan stopped and said:
“We must rest.”
He knew if he did not himself propose it, no one else would.
“Rest?” rejoined Paganel; “we have no place of shelter.”
“It is absolutely necessary, however, if it were only for Robert.”
“No, no,” said the courageous lad; “I can still walk; don’t stop.”
“You shall be carried, my boy; but we must get to the other side of the
Cordilleras, cost what it may. There we may perhaps find some hut to
cover us. All I ask is a two hours’ longer march.”
“Are you all of the same opinion?” said Glenarvan.
“Yes,” was the unanimous reply: and Mulrady added, “I’ll carry the boy.”
The march eastward was forthwith resumed. They had a frightful height to
climb yet to gain the topmost peaks. The rarefaction of the atmosphere
produced that painful oppression known by the name of PUNA. Drops of
blood stood on the gums and lips, and respiration became hurried and
difficult. However strong the will of these brave men might be, the
time came at last when their physical powers failed, and vertigo,
that terrible malady in the mountains, destroyed not only their bodily
strength but their moral energy. Falls became frequent, and those who
fell could not rise again, but dragged themselves along on their knees.
But just as exhaustion was about to make short work of any further
ascent, and Glenarvan’s heart began to sink as he thought of the snow
lying far as the eye could reach, and of the intense cold, and saw the
shadow of night fast overspreading the desolate peaks, and knew they had
not a roof to shelter them, suddenly the Major stopped and said, in a
calm voice, “A hut!”
CHAPTER XIII A SUDDEN DESCENT
ANYONE else but McNabbs might have passed the hut a hundred times, and
gone all round it, and even over it without suspecting its existence. It
was covered with snow, and scarcely distinguishable from the surrounding
rocks; but Wilson and Mulrady succeeded in digging it out and clearing
the opening after half an hour’s hard work, to the great joy of the
whole party, who eagerly took possession of it.
They found it was a CASUCHA, constructed by the Indians, made of ADOBES,
a species of bricks baked in the sun. Its form was that of a cube, 12
feet on each side, and it stood on a block of basalt. A stone stair
led up to the door, the only opening; and narrow as this door was, the
hurricane, and snow, and hail found their way in when the TEMPORALES
were unchained in the mountains.
Ten people could easily find room in it, and though the walls might be
none too water-tight in the rainy season, at this time of the year, at
any rate, it was sufficient protection against the intense cold, which,
according to the thermometer, was ten degrees below zero. Besides, there
was a sort of fireplace in it, with a chimney of bricks, badly enough
put together, certainly, but still it allowed of a fire being lighted.
“This will shelter us, at any rate,” said Glenarvan, “even if it is
not very comfortable. Providence has led us to it, and we can only be
thankful.”
“Why, it is a perfect palace, I call it,” said Paganel; “we only want
flunkeys and courtiers. We shall do capital here.”
“Especially when there is a good fire blazing on the hearth, for we are
quite as cold as we are hungry. For my part, I would rather see a good
faggot just now than a slice of venison.”
“Well, Tom, we’ll try and get some combustible or other,” said Paganel.
“Combustibles on the top of the Cordilleras!” exclaimed Mulrady, in a
dubious tone.
“Since there is a chimney in the CASUCHA,” said the Major, “the
probability is that we shall find something to burn in it.”
“Our friend McNabbs is right,” said Glenarvan. “Get everything in
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