readiness for supper, and I’ll go out and turn woodcutter.”
“Wilson and I will go with you,” said Paganel.
“Do you want me?” asked Robert, getting up.
“No, my brave boy, rest yourself. You’ll be a man, when others are only
children at your age,” replied Glenarvan.
On reaching the little mound of porphyry, Glenarvan and his two
companions left the CASUCHA. In spite of the perfect calmness of the
atmosphere, the cold was stinging. Paganel consulted his barometer, and
found that the depression of the mercury corresponded to an elevation
of 11,000 feet, only 910 meters lower than Mont Blanc. But if these
mountains had presented the difficulties of the giant of the Swiss Alps,
not one of the travelers could have crossed the great chain of the New
World.
On reaching a little mound of porphyry, Glenarvan and Paganel stopped to
gaze about them and scan the horizon on all sides. They were now on the
summit of the Nevadas of the Cordilleras, and could see over an area of
forty miles. The valley of the Colorado was already sunk in shadow, and
night was fast drawing her mantle over the eastern slopes of the Andes.
The western side was illumined by the rays of the setting sun, and peaks
and glaciers flashed back his golden beams with dazzling radiance.
On the south the view was magnificent. Across the wild valley of the
Torbido, about two miles distant, rose the volcano of Antuco. The
mountain roared like some enormous monster, and vomited red smoke,
mingled with torrents of sooty flame. The surrounding peaks appeared on
fire. Showers of red-hot stones, clouds of reddish vapor and rockets
of lava, all combined, presented the appearance of glowing sparkling
streams. The splendor of the spectacle increased every instant as night
deepened, and the whole sky became lighted up with a dazzling reflection
of the blazing crater, while the sun, gradually becoming shorn of his
sunset glories, disappeared like a star lost in the distant darkness of
the horizon.
Paganel and Glenarvan would have remained long enough gazing at the
sublime struggle between the fires of earth and heaven, if the more
practical Wilson had not reminded them of the business on hand. There
was no wood to be found, however, but fortunately the rocks were
covered with a poor, dry species of lichen. Of this they made an ample
provision, as well as of a plant called LLARETTA, the root of which
burns tolerably well. This precious combustible was carried back to the
CASUCHA and heaped up on the hearth. It was a difficult matter to kindle
it, though, and still more to keep it alight. The air was so rarefied
that there was scarcely oxygen enough in it to support combustion. At
least, this was the reason assigned by the Major.
“By way of compensation, however,” he added, “water will boil at less
than 100 degrees heat. It will come to the point of ebullition before 99
degrees.”
McNabbs was right, as the thermometer proved, for it was plunged into
the kettle when the water boiled, and the mercury only rose to 99
degrees. Coffee was soon ready, and eagerly gulped down by everybody.
The dry meat certainly seemed poor fare, and Paganel couldn’t help
saying:
“I tell you what, some grilled llama wouldn’t be bad with this, would
it? They say that the llama is substitute for the ox and the sheep, and
I should like to know if it is, in an alimentary respect.”
“What!” replied the Major. “You’re not content with your supper, most
learned Paganel.”
“Enchanted with it, my brave Major; still I must confess I should not
say no to a dish of llama.”
“You are a Sybarite.”
“I plead guilty to the charge. But come, now, though you call me that,
you wouldn’t sulk at a beefsteak yourself, would you?”
“Probably not.”
“And if you were asked to lie in wait for a llama, notwithstanding the
cold and the darkness, you would do it without the least hesitation?”
“Of course; and if it will give you the slightest pleasure--”
His companions had hardly time to thank him for his obliging good
nature, when distant and prolonged howls broke on their ear, plainly not
proceeding from one or two solitary animals, but from a whole troop, and
one, moreover, that was rapidly approaching.
Providence had sent them a supper, as well as led them to a hut. This
was the geographer’s conclusion; but Glenarvan damped his joy somewhat
by remarking that the quadrupeds of the Cordilleras are never met with
in such a high latitude.
“Then where can these animals come from?” asked Tom Austin. “Don’t you
hear them getting nearer!”
“An avalanche,” suggested Mulrady.
“Impossible,” returned Paganel. “That is regular howling.”
“Let us go out and see,” said Glenarvan.
“Yes, and be ready for hunting,” replied McNabbs, arming himself with
his carbine.
They all rushed forthwith out of the CASUCHA. Night had completely set
in, dark and starry. The moon, now in her last quarter, had not yet
risen. The peaks on the north and east had disappeared from view, and
nothing was visible save the fantastic SILHOUETTE of some towering rocks
here and there. The howls, and clearly the howls of terrified animals,
were redoubled. They proceeded from that part of the Cordilleras which
lay in darkness. What could be going on there? Suddenly a furious
avalanche came down, an avalanche of living animals mad with fear. The
whole plateau seemed to tremble. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands,
of these animals, and in spite of the rarefied atmosphere, their noise
was deafening. Were they wild beasts from the Pampas, or herds of llamas
and vicunas? Glenarvan, McNabbs, Robert, Austin, and the two sailors,
had just time to throw themselves flat on the ground before they swept
past like a whirlwind, only a few paces distant. Paganel, who had
remained standing, to take advantage of his peculiar powers of sight,
was knocked down in a twinkling. At the same moment the report of
firearms was heard. The Major had fired, and it seemed to him that an
animal had fallen close by, and that the whole herd, yelling louder than
ever, had rushed down and disappeared among the declivities lighted up
by the reflection of the volcano.
“Ah, I’ve got them,” said a voice, the voice of Paganel.
“Got what?” asked Glenarvan.
“My spectacles,” was the reply. “One might expect to lose that much in
such a tumult as this.”
“You are not wounded, I hope?”
“No, only knocked down; but by what?”
“By this,” replied the Major, holding up the animal he had killed.
They all hastened eagerly into the hut, to examine McNabbs’ prize by the
light of the fire.
It was a pretty creature, like a small camel without a hump. The head
was small and the body flattened, the legs were long and slender, the
skin fine, and the hair the color of -cafe au lait-.
Paganel had scarcely looked at it before he exclaimed, “A guanaco!”
“What sort of an animal is that?” asked Glenarvan.
“One you can eat.”
“And it is good savory meat, I assure you; a dish of Olympus! I knew we
should have fresh meat for supper, and such meat! But who is going to
cut up the beast?”
“I will,” said Wilson.
“Well, I’ll undertake to cook it,” said Paganel.
“Can you cook, then, Monsieur Paganel?” asked Robert.
“I should think so, my boy. I’m a Frenchman, and in every Frenchman
there is a cook.”
Five minutes afterward Paganel began to grill large slices of venison on
the embers made by the use of the LLARETTAS, and in about ten minutes
a dish was ready, which he served up to his companions by the tempting
name of guanaco cutlets. No one stood on ceremony, but fell to with a
hearty good will.
To the absolute stupefaction of the geographer, however, the first
mouthful was greeted with a general grimace, and such exclamations
as--“Tough!” “It is horrible.” “It is not eatable.”
The poor SAVANT was obliged to own that his cutlets could not be
relished, even by hungry men. They began to banter him about his
“Olympian dish,” and indulge in jokes at his expense; but all he cared
about was to find out how it happened that the flesh of the guanaco,
which was certainly good and eatable food, had turned out so badly in
his hands. At last light broke in on him, and he called out:
“I see through it now! Yes, I see through it. I have found out the
secret now.”
“The meat was too long kept, was it?” asked McNabbs, quietly.
“No, but the meat had walked too much. How could I have forgotten that?”
“What do you mean?” asked Tom Austin.
“I mean this: the guanaco is only good for eating when it is killed in
a state of rest. If it has been long hunted, and gone over much ground
before it is captured, it is no longer eatable. I can affirm the fact
by the mere taste, that this animal has come a great distance, and
consequently the whole herd has.”
“You are certain of this?” asked Glenarvan.
“Absolutely certain.”
“But what could have frightened the creatures so, and driven them from
their haunts, when they ought to have been quietly sleeping?”
“That’s a question, my dear Glenarvan, I could not possibly answer. Take
my advice, and let us go to sleep without troubling our heads about it.
I say, Major, shall we go to sleep?”
“Yes, we’ll go to sleep, Paganel.”
Each one, thereupon, wrapped himself up in his poncho, and the fire was
made up for the night.
Loud snores in every tune and key soon resounded from all sides of the
hut, the deep bass contribution of Paganel completing the harmony.
But Glenarvan could not sleep. Secret uneasiness kept him in a continual
state of wakefulness. His thoughts reverted involuntarily to those
frightened animals flying in one common direction, impelled by one
common terror. They could not be pursued by wild beasts, for at such an
elevation there were almost none to be met with, and of hunters still
fewer. What terror then could have driven them among the precipices of
the Andes? Glenarvan felt a presentiment of approaching danger.
But gradually he fell into a half-drowsy state, and his apprehensions
were lulled. Hope took the place of fear. He saw himself on the morrow
on the plains of the Andes, where the search would actually commence,
and perhaps success was close at hand. He thought of Captain Grant and
his two sailors, and their deliverance from cruel bondage. As these
visions passed rapidly through his mind, every now and then he was
roused by the crackling of the fire, or sparks flying out, or some
little jet of flame would suddenly flare up and illumine the faces of
his slumbering companions.
Then his presentiments returned in greater strength than before, and he
listened anxiously to the sounds outside the hut.
At certain intervals he fancied he could hear rumbling noises in the
distance, dull and threatening like the mutter-ings of thunder before a
storm. There surely must be a storm raging down below at the foot of the
mountains. He got up and went out to see.
The moon was rising. The atmosphere was pure and calm. Not a cloud
visible either above or below. Here and there was a passing reflection
from the flames of Antuco, but neither storm nor lightning, and myriads
of bright stars studded the zenith. Still the rumbling noises continued.
They seemed to meet together and cross the chain of the Andes. Glenarvan
returned to the CASUCHA more uneasy than ever, questioning within
himself as to the connection between these sounds and the flight of the
guanacos. He looked at his watch and found the time was about two in the
morning. As he had no certainty, however, of any immediate danger,
he did not wake his companions, who were sleeping soundly after their
fatigue, and after a little dozed off himself, and slumbered heavily for
some hours.
All of a sudden a violent crash made him start to his feet. A deafening
noise fell on his ear like the roar of artillery. He felt the ground
giving way beneath him, and the CASUCHA rocked to and fro, and opened.
He shouted to his companions, but they were already awake, and tumbling
pell-mell over each other. They were being rapidly dragged down a steep
declivity. Day dawned and revealed a terrible scene. The form of the
mountains changed in an instant. Cones were cut off. Tottering peaks
disappeared as if some trap had opened at their base. Owing to a
peculiar phenomenon of the Cordilleras, an enormous mass, many miles in
extent, had been displaced entirely, and was speeding down toward the
plain.
“An earthquake!” exclaimed Paganel. He was not mistaken. It was one
of those cataclysms frequent in Chili, and in this very region where
Copiapo had been twice destroyed, and Santiago four times laid in
ruins in fourteen years. This region of the globe is so underlaid with
volcanic fires and the volcanoes of recent origin are such insufficient
safety valves for the subterranean vapors, that shocks are of frequent
occurrence, and are called by the people TREMBLORES.
The plateau to which the seven men were clinging, holding on by tufts
of lichen, and giddy and terrified in the extreme, was rushing down the
declivity with the swiftness of an express, at the rate of fifty miles
an hour. Not a cry was possible, nor an attempt to get off or stop. They
could not even have heard themselves speak. The internal rumblings, the
crash of the avalanches, the fall of masses of granite and basalt, and
the whirlwind of pulverized snow, made all communication impossible.
Sometimes they went perfectly smoothly along without jolts or jerks, and
sometimes on the contrary, the plateau would reel and roll like a ship
in a storm, coasting past abysses in which fragments of the mountain
were falling, tearing up trees by the roots, and leveling, as if with
the keen edge of an immense scythe, every projection of the declivity.
How long this indescribable descent would last, no one could calculate,
nor what it would end in ultimately. None of the party knew whether the
rest were still alive, whether one or another were not already lying
in the depths of some abyss. Almost breathless with the swift motion,
frozen with the cold air, which pierced them through, and blinded with
the whirling snow, they gasped for breath, and became exhausted and
nearly inanimate, only retaining their hold of the rocks by a powerful
instinct of self-preservation. Suddenly a tremendous shock pitched them
right off, and sent them rolling to the very foot of the mountain. The
plateau had stopped.
For some minutes no one stirred. At last one of the party picked himself
up, and stood on his feet, stunned by the shock, but still firm on his
legs. This was the Major. He shook off the blinding snow and looked
around him. His companions lay in a close circle like the shots from a
gun that has just been discharged, piled one on top of another.
The Major counted them. All were there except one--that one was Robert
Grant.
CHAPTER XIV PROVIDENTIALLY RESCUED
THE eastern side of the Cordilleras of the Andes consists of a
succession of lengthened declivities, which slope down almost insensibly
to the plain. The soil is carpeted with rich herbage, and adorned with
magnificent trees, among which, in great numbers, were apple-trees,
planted at the time of the conquest, and golden with fruit. There were
literally, perfect forests of these. This district was, in fact, just a
corner of fertile Normandy.
The sudden transition from a desert to an oasis, from snowy peaks
to verdant plains, from Winter to Summer, can not fail to strike the
traveler’s eye.
The ground, moreover, had recovered its immobility. The trembling had
ceased, though there was little doubt the forces below the surface were
carrying on their devastating work further on, for shocks of earthquake
are always occurring in some part or other of the Andes. This time the
shock had been one of extreme violence. The outline of the mountains was
wholly altered, and the Pampas guides would have sought vainly for the
accustomed landmarks.
A magnificent day had dawned. The sun was just rising from his ocean
bed, and his bright rays streamed already over the Argentine plains, and
ran across to the Atlantic. It was about eight o’clock.
Lord Glenarvan and his companions were gradually restored to animation
by the Major’s efforts. They had been completely stunned, but had
sustained no injury whatever. The descent of the Cordilleras was
accomplished; and as Dame Nature had conveyed them at her own expense,
they could only have praised her method of locomotion if one of their
number, and that one the feeblest and youngest, the child of the party,
had not been missing at the roll call.
The brave boy was beloved by everybody. Paganel was particularly
attached to him, and so was the Major, with all his apparent coldness.
As for Glenarvan, he was in absolute despair when he heard of his
disappearance, and pictured to himself the child lying in some deep
abyss, wildly crying for succor.
“We must go and look for him, and look till we find him,” he exclaimed,
almost unable to keep back his tears. “We cannot leave him to his
fate. Every valley and precipice and abyss must be searched through and
through. I will have a rope fastened round my waist, and go down myself.
I insist upon it; you understand; I insist upon it. Heaven grant Robert
may be still alive! If we lose the boy, how could we ever dare to meet
the father? What right have we to save the captain at the cost of his
son’s life?”
Glenarvan’s companions heard him in silence. He sought to read hope in
their eyes, but they did not venture to meet his gaze.
At last he said,
“Well, you hear what I say, but you make no response. Do you mean to
tell me that you have no hope--not the slightest?”
Again there was silence, till McNabbs asked:
“Which of you can recollect when Robert disappeared?”
No one could say.
“Well, then,” resumed the Major, “you know this at any rate. Who was the
child beside during our descent of the Cordilleras?”
“Beside me,” replied Wilson.
“Very well. Up to what moment did you see him beside you? Try if you can
remember.”
“All that I can recollect is that Robert Grant was still by my side,
holding fast by a tuft of lichen, less than two minutes before the shock
which finished our descent.”
“Less than two minutes? Mind what you are saying; I dare say a minute
seemed a very long time to you. Are you sure you are not making a
mistake?”
“I don’t think I am. No; it was just about two minutes, as I tell you.”
“Very well, then; and was Robert on your right or left?”
“On my left. I remember that his poncho brushed past my face.”
“And with regard to us, how were you placed?”
“On the left also.”
“Then Robert must have disappeared on this side,” said the Major,
turning toward the mountain and pointing toward the right: “and I should
judge,” he added, “considering the time that has elapsed, that the spot
where he fell is about two miles up. Between that height and the ground
is where we must search, dividing the different zones among us, and it
is there we shall find him.”
Not another word was spoken. The six men commenced their explorations,
keeping constantly to the line they had made in their descent, examining
closely every fissure, and going into the very depths of the abysses,
choked up though they partly were with fragments of the plateau; and
more than one came out again with garments torn to rags, and feet and
hands bleeding. For many long hours these brave fellows continued their
search without dreaming of taking rest. But all in vain. The child had
not only met his death on the mountain, but found a grave which some
enormous rock had sealed forever.
About one o’clock, Glenarvan and his companions met again in the valley.
Glenarvan was completely crushed with grief. He scarcely spoke. The only
words that escaped his lips amid his sighs were,
“I shall not go away! I shall not go away!”
No one of the party but could enter into his feeling, and respect it.
“Let us wait,” said Paganel to the Major and Tom Austin. “We will take
a little rest, and recruit our strength. We need it anyway, either to
prolong our search or continue our route.”
“Yes; and, as Edward wishes it, we will rest. He has still hope, but
what is it he hopes?”
“Who knows!” said Tom Austin.
“Poor Robert!” replied Paganel, brushing away a tear.
The valley was thickly wooded, and the Major had no difficulty in
finding a suitable place of encampment. He chose a clump of tall carob
trees, under which they arranged their few belongings--few indeed, for
all they had were sundry wraps and fire-arms, and a little dried meat
and rice. Not far off there was a RIO, which supplied them with
water, though it was still somewhat muddy after the disturbance of the
avalanche. Mulrady soon had a fire lighted on the grass, and a warm
refreshing beverage to offer his master. But Glenarvan refused to touch
it, and lay stretched on his poncho in a state of absolute prostration.
So the day passed, and night came on, calm and peaceful as the preceding
had been. While his companions were lying motionless, though wide awake,
Glenarvan betook himself once more to the slopes of the Cordilleras,
listening intently in hope that some cry for help would fall upon his
ear. He ventured far up in spite of his being alone, straining his ear
with painful eagerness to catch the faintest sound, and calling aloud in
an agony of despair.
But he heard nothing save the beatings of his own heart, though he
wandered all night on the mountain. Sometimes the Major followed him,
and sometimes Paganel, ready to lend a helping hand among the slippery
peaks and dangerous precipices among which he was dragged by his rash
and useless imprudence. All his efforts were in vain, however, and to
his repeated cries of “Robert, Robert!” echo was the only response.
Day dawned, and it now became a matter of necessity to go and bring
back the poor Lord from the distant plateau, even against his will. His
despair was terrible. Who could dare to speak of quitting this fatal
valley? Yet provisions were done, and Argentine guides and horses
were not far off to lead them to the Pampas. To go back would be more
difficult than to go forward. Besides, the Atlantic Ocean was the
appointed meeting place with the DUNCAN. These were strong reasons
against any long delay; indeed it was best for all parties to continue
the route as soon as possible.
McNabbs undertook the task of rousing Lord Glenarvan from his grief.
For a long time his cousin seemed not to hear him. At last he shook his
head, and said, almost in-audibly:
“Did you say we must start?”
“Yes, we must start.”
“Wait one hour longer.”
“Yes, we’ll wait another,” replied the Major.
The hour slipped away, and again Glenarvan begged for longer grace. To
hear his imploring tones, one might have thought him a criminal begging
a respite. So the day passed on till it was almost noon. McNabbs
hesitated now no longer, but, acting on the advice of the rest, told
his cousin that start they must, for all their lives depended on prompt
action.
“Yes, yes!” replied Glenarvan. “Let us start, let us start!”
But he spoke without looking at McNabbs. His gaze was fixed intently on
a certain dark speck in the heavens. Suddenly he exclaimed, extending
his arm, and keeping it motionless, as if petrified:
“There! there! Look! look!”
All eyes turned immediately in the direction indicated so imperiously.
The dark speck was increasing visibly. It was evidently some bird
hovering above them.
“A condor,” said Paganel.
“Yes, a condor,” replied Glenarvan. “Who knows? He is coming down--he
is gradually getting lower! Let us wait.”
Paganel was not mistaken, it was assuredly a condor. This magnificent
bird is the king of the Southern Andes, and was formerly worshiped by
the Incas. It attains an extraordinary development in those regions. Its
strength is prodigious. It has frequently driven oxen over the edge of
precipices down into the depths of abysses. It seizes sheep, and kids,
and young calves, browsing on the plains, and carries them off to
inaccessible heights. It hovers in the air far beyond the utmost limits
of human sight, and its powers of vision are so great that it can
discern the smallest objects on the earth beneath.
What had this condor discovered then? Could it be the corpse of Robert
Grant? “Who knows?” repeated Glenarvan, keeping his eye immovably fixed
on the bird. The enormous creature was fast approaching, sometimes
hovering for awhile with outspread wings, and sometimes falling with the
swiftness of inert bodies in space. Presently he began to wheel round
in wide circles. They could see him distinctly. He measured more than
fifteen feet, and his powerful wings bore him along with scarcely the
slightest effort, for it is the prerogative of large birds to fly with
calm majesty, while insects have to beat their wings a thousand times a
second.
The Major and Wilson had seized their carbines, but Glenarvan stopped
them by a gesture. The condor was encircling in his flight a sort
of inaccessible plateau about a quarter of a mile up the side of the
mountain. He wheeled round and round with dazzling rapidity, opening and
shutting his formidable claws, and shaking his cartilaginous carbuncle,
or comb.
“It is there, there!” exclaimed Glenarvan.
A sudden thought flashed across his mind, and with a terrible cry,
he called out, “Fire! fire! Oh, suppose Robert were still alive! That
bird.”
But it was too late. The condor had dropped out of sight behind the
crags. Only a second passed, a second that seemed an age, and the
enormous bird reappeared, carrying a heavy load and flying at a slow
rate.
A cry of horror rose on all sides. It was a human body the condor had in
his claws, dangling in the air, and apparently lifeless--it was Robert
Grant. The bird had seized him by his clothes, and had him hanging
already at least one hundred and fifty feet in the air. He had
caught sight of the travelers, and was flapping his wings violently,
endeavoring to escape with his heavy prey.
“Oh! would that Robert were dashed to pieces against the rocks, rather
than be a--”
He did not finish his sentence, but seizing Wilson’s carbine, took aim
at the condor. His arm was too trembling, however, to keep the weapon
steady.
“Let me do it,” said the Major. And with a calm eye, and sure hands and
motionless body, he aimed at the bird, now three hundred feet above him
in the air.
But before he had pulled the trigger the report of a gun resounded from
the bottom of the valley. A white smoke rose from between two masses
of basalt, and the condor, shot in the head, gradually turned over and
began to fall, supported by his great wings spread out like a parachute.
He had not let go his prey, but gently sank down with it on the ground,
about ten paces from the stream.
“We’ve got him, we’ve got him,” shouted Glenarvan; and without waiting
to see where the shot so providentially came from, he rushed toward the
condor, followed by his companions.
When they reached the spot the bird was dead, and the body of Robert was
quite concealed beneath his mighty wings. Glenarvan flung himself on the
corpse, and dragging it from the condor’s grasp, placed it flat on the
grass, and knelt down and put his ear to the heart.
But a wilder cry of joy never broke from human lips, than Glenarvan
uttered the next moment, as he started to his feet and exclaimed:
“He is alive! He is still alive!”
The boy’s clothes were stripped off in an instant, and his face bathed
with cold water. He moved slightly, opened his eyes, looked round and
murmured, “Oh, my Lord! Is it you!” he said; “my father!”
Glenarvan could not reply. He was speechless with emotion, and kneeling
down by the side of the child so miraculously saved, burst into tears.
CHAPTER XV THALCAVE
ROBERT had no sooner escaped one terrible danger than he ran the risk
of another scarcely less formidable. He was almost torn to pieces by his
friends, for the brave fellows were so overjoyed at the sight of him,
that in spite of his weak state, none of them would be satisfied without
giving him a hug. However, it seemed as if good rough hugging did not
hurt sick people; at any rate it did not hurt Robert, but quite the
contrary.
But the first joy of deliverance over, the next thought was who was the
deliverer? Of course it was the Major who suggested looking for him,
and he was not far off, for about fifty paces from the RIO a man of very
tall stature was seen standing motionless on the lowest crags at the
foot of the mountain. A long gun was lying at his feet.
He had broad shoulders, and long hair bound together with leather
thongs. He was over six feet in height. His bronzed face was red
between the eyes and mouth, black by the lower eyelids, and white on
the forehead. He wore the costume of the Patagonians on the frontiers,
consisting of a splendid cloak, ornamented with scarlet arabesques, made
of the skins of the guanaco, sewed together with ostrich tendons, and
with the silky wool turned up on the edge. Under this mantle was a
garment of fox-skin, fastened round the waist, and coming down to a
point in front. A little bag hung from his belt, containing colors for
painting his face. His boots were pieces of ox hide, fastened round the
ankles by straps, across.
This Patagonian had a splendid face, indicating real intelligence,
notwithstanding the medley of colors by which it was disfigured. His
waiting attitude was full of dignity; indeed, to see him standing grave
and motionless on his pedestal of rocks, one might have taken him for a
statue of -sang-froid-.
As soon as the Major perceived him, he pointed him out to Glenarvan,
who ran toward him immediately. The Patagonian came two steps forward
to meet him, and Glenarvan caught hold of his hand and pressed it in
his own. It was impossible to mistake the meaning of the action, for
the noble face of the Scotch lord so beamed with gratitude that no words
were needed. The stranger bowed slightly in return, and said a few words
that neither Glenarvan nor the Major could understand.
The Patagonian surveyed them attentively for a few minutes, and
spoke again in another language. But this second idiom was no more
intelligible than the first. Certain words, however, caught Glenarvan’s
ear as sounding like Spanish, a few sentences of which he could speak.
“ESPANOL?” he asked.
The Patagonian nodded in reply, a movement of the head which has an
affirmative significance among all nations.
“That’s good!” said the Major. “Our friend Paganel will be the very
man for him. It is lucky for us that he took it into his head to learn
Spanish.”
Paganel was called forthwith. He came at once, and saluted the stranger
with all the grace of a Frenchman. But his compliments were lost on the
Patagonian, for he did not understand a single syllable.
However, on being told how things stood, he began in Spanish, and
opening his mouth as wide as he could, the better to articulate, said:
“-Vos sois um homen de bem-.” (You are a brave man.)
The native listened, but made no reply.
“He doesn’t understand,” said the geographer.
“Perhaps you haven’t the right accent,” suggested the Major.
“That’s just it! Confound the accent!”
Once more Paganel repeated his compliment, but with no better success.
“I’ll change the phrase,” he said; and in slow, deliberate tones he went
on, “-Sam duvida um Patagao-” (A Patagonian, undoubtedly).
No response still.
“DIZEIME!” said Paganel (Answer me).
But no answer came.
“-Vos compriendeis?-” (Do you understand?) shouted Paganel, at the very
top of his voice, as if he would burst his throat.
Evidently the Indian did not understand, for he replied in Spanish,
“-No comprendo-” (I do not understand).
It was Paganel’s turn now to be amazed. He pushed his spectacles right
down over his nose, as if greatly irritated, and said,
“I’ll be hanged if I can make out one word of his infernal patois. It is
Araucanian, that’s certain!”
“Not a bit of it!” said Glenarvan. “It was Spanish he spoke.”
And addressing the Patagonian, he repeated the word, “ESPANOL?”
(Spanish?).
“-Si, si-” (yes, yes) replied the Indian.
Paganel’s surprise became absolute stupefaction. The Major and his
cousin exchanged sly glances, and McNabbs said, mischievously, with a
look of fun on his face, “Ah, ah, my worthy friend; is this another of
your misadventures? You seem to have quite a monopoly of them.”
“What!” said Paganel, pricking up his ear.
“Yes, it’s clear enough the man speaks Spanish.”
“He!”
“Yes, he certainly speaks Spanish. Perhaps it is some other language you
have been studying all this time instead of--”
But Paganel would not allow him to proceed. He shrugged his shoulders,
and said stiffly,
“You go a little too far, Major.”
“Well, how is it that you don’t understand him then?”
“Why, of course, because the man speaks badly,” replied the learned
geographer, getting impatient.
“He speaks badly; that is to say, because you can’t understand him,”
returned the Major coolly.
“Come, come, McNabbs,” put in Glenarvan, “your supposition is quite
inadmissable. However DISTRAIT our friend Paganel is, it is hardly
likely he would study one language for another.”
“Well, Edward--or rather you, my good Paganel--explain it then.”
“I explain nothing. I give proof. Here is the book I use daily, to
practice myself in the difficulties of the Spanish language. Examine
it for yourself, Major,” he said, handing him a volume in a very ragged
condition, which he had brought up, after a long rummage, from the
depths of one of his numerous pockets. “Now you can see whether I am
imposing on you,” he continued, indignantly.
“And what’s the name of this book?” asked the Major, as he took it from
his hand.
“The LUSIADES, an admirable epic, which--”
“The LUSIADES!” exclaimed Glenarvan.
“Yes, my friend, the LUSIADES of the great Camoens, neither more nor
less.”
“Camoens!” repeated Glenarvan; “but Paganel, my unfortunate fellow,
Camoens was a Portuguese! It is Portuguese you have been learning for
the last six weeks!”
“Camoens! LUISADES! Portuguese!” Paganel could not say more. He looked
vexed, while his companions, who had all gathered round, broke out in a
furious burst of laughter.
The Indian never moved a muscle of his face. He quietly awaited the
explanation of this incomprehensible mirth.
“Fool, idiot, that I am!” at last uttered Paganel. “Is it really a fact?
You are not joking with me? It is what I have actually been doing? Why,
it is a second confusion of tongues, like Babel. Ah me! alack-a-day!
my friends, what is to become of me? To start for India and arrive at
Chili! To learn Spanish and talk Portuguese! Why, if I go on like this,
some day I shall be throwing myself out of the window instead of my
cigar!”
To hear Paganel bemoan his misadventures and see his comical
discomfiture, would have upset anyone’s gravity. Besides, he set the
example himself, and said:
“Laugh away, my friends, laugh as loud as you like; you can’t laugh at
me half as much as I laugh at myself!”
“But, I say,” said the Major, after a minute, “this doesn’t alter the
fact that we have no interpreter.”
“Oh, don’t distress yourself about that,” replied Paganel, “Portuguese
and Spanish are so much alike that I made a mistake; but this very
resemblance will be a great help toward rectifying it. In a very short
time I shall be able to thank the Patagonian in the language he speaks
so well.”
Paganel was right. He soon managed to exchange a few words with the
stranger, and found out even that his name was Thalcave, a word that
signified in Araucanian, “The Thunderer.” This surname had, no doubt,
come from his skill in handling fire-arms.
But what rejoiced Glenarvan most was to learn that he was a guide by
occupation, and, moreover, a guide across the Pampas. To his mind, the
meeting with him was so providential, that he could not doubt now of the
success of their enterprise. The deliverance of Captain Grant seemed an
accomplished fact.
When the party went back to Robert, the boy held out his arms to the
Patagonian, who silently laid his hand on his head, and proceeded to
examine him with the greatest care, gently feeling each of his aching
limbs. Then he went down to the RIO, and gathered a few handfuls of wild
celery, which grew on the banks, with which he rubbed the child’s body
all over. He handled him with the most exquisite delicacy, and his
treatment so revived the lad’s strength, that it was soon evident that a
few hours’ rest would set him all right.
It was accordingly decided that they should encamp for the rest of the
day and the ensuing night. Two grave questions, moreover, had to be
settled: where to get food, and means of transport. Provisions and mules
were both lacking. Happily, they had Thalcave, however, a practised
guide, and one of the most intelligent of his class. He undertook to
find all that was needed, and offered to take him to a TOLDERIA of
Indians, not further than four miles off at most, where he could get
supplies of all he wanted. This proposition was partly made by gestures,
and partly by a few Spanish words which Paganel managed to make out.
His offer was accepted, and Glenarvan and his learned friend started off
with him at once.
They walked at a good pace for an hour and a half, and had to make
great strides to keep up with the giant Thalcave. The road lay through a
beautiful fertile region, abounding in rich pasturages; where a hundred
thousand cattle might have fed comfortably. Large ponds, connected by an
inextricable labyrinth of RIOS, amply watered these plains and produced
their greenness. Swans with black heads were disporting in the water,
disputing possession with the numerous intruders which gamboled over
the LLANOS. The feathered tribes were of most brilliant plumage, and of
marvelous variety and deafening noise. The isacus, a graceful sort of
dove with gray feathers streaked with white, and the yellow cardinals,
were flitting about in the trees like moving flowers; while overhead
pigeons, sparrows, chingolos, bulgueros, and mongitas, were flying
swiftly along, rending the air with their piercing cries.
Paganel’s admiration increased with every step, and he had nearly
exhausted his vocabulary of adjectives by his loud exclamations, to the
astonishment of the Patagonian, to whom the birds, and the swans, and
the prairies were every day things. The learned geographer was so lost
in delight, that he seemed hardly to have started before they came
in sight of the Indian camp, or TOLDERIA, situated in the heart of a
valley.
About thirty nomadic Indians were living there in rude cabins made
of branches, pasturing immense herds of milch cows, sheep, oxen,
and horses. They went from one prairie to another, always finding a
well-spread table for their four-footed guests.
These nomads were a hybrid type of Araucans, Pehu-enches, and Aucas.
They were Ando-Peruvians, of an olive tint, of medium stature and
massive form, with a low forehead, almost circular face, thin lips, high
cheekbones, effeminate features, and cold expression. As a whole, they
are about the least interesting of the Indians. However, it was their
herds Glenarvan wanted, not themselves. As long as he could get beef and
horses, he cared for nothing else.
Thalcave did the bargaining. It did not take long. In exchange for seven
ready saddled horses of the Argentine breed, 100 pounds of CHARQUI, or
dried meat, several measures of rice, and leather bottles for water, the
Indians agreed to take twenty ounces of gold as they could not get wine
or rum, which they would have preferred, though they were perfectly
acquainted with the value of gold. Glenarvan wished to purchase an
eighth horse for the Patagonian, but he gave him to understand that it
would be useless.
They got back to the camp in less than half an hour, and were hailed
with acclamations by the whole party or rather the provisions and horses
were. They were all hungry, and ate heartily of the welcome viands.
Robert took a little food with the rest. He was fast recovering
strength. The close of the day was spent in complete repose and pleasant
talk about the dear absent ones.
Paganel never quitted the Indian’s side. It was not that he was so
glad to see a real Patagonian, by whom he looked a perfect pigmy--a
Patagonian who might have almost rivaled the Emperor Maximii, and that
Congo negro seen by the learned Van der Brock, both eight feet high; but
he caught up Spanish phrases from the Indian and studied the language
without a book this time, gesticulating at a great rate all the grand
sonorous words that fell on his ear.
“If I don’t catch the accent,” he said to the Major, “it won’t be my
fault; but who would have said to me that it was a Patagonian who would
teach me Spanish one day?”
CHAPTER XVI THE NEWS OF THE LOST CAPTAIN
NEXT day, the 22d of October, at eight o’clock in the morning, Thalcave
gave the signal for departure. Between the 22d and 42d degrees the
Argentine soil slopes eastward, and all the travelers had to do was to
follow the slope right down to the sea.
Glenarvan had supposed Thalcave’s refusal of a horse was that he
preferred walking, as some guides do, but he was mistaken, for just as
they were ready, the Patagonian gave a peculiar whistle, and immediately
a magnificent steed of the pure Argentine breed came bounding out of a
grove close by, at his master’s call. Both in form and color the animal
was of perfect beauty. The Major, who was a thorough judge of all the
good points of a horse, was loud in admiration of this sample of
the Pampas breed, and considered that, in many respects, he greatly
resembled an English hunter. This splendid creature was called
“Thaouka,” a word in Patagonia which means bird, and he well deserved
the name.
Thalcave was a consummate horseman, and to see him on his prancing steed
was a sight worth looking at. The saddle was adapted to the two hunting
weapons in common use on the Argentine plains--the BOLAS and the LAZO.
The BOLAS consists of three balls fastened together by a strap of
leather, attached to the front of the RECADO. The Indians fling them
often at the distance of a hundred feet from the animal or enemy of
which they are in pursuit, and with such precision that they catch round
their legs and throw them down in an instant. It is a formidable weapon
in their hands, and one they handle with surprising skill. The LAZO is
always retained in the hand. It is simply a rope, thirty feet long, made
of tightly twisted leather, with a slip knot at the end, which passes
through an iron ring. This noose was thrown by the right hand, while the
left keeps fast hold of the rope, the other end of which is fastened
to the saddle. A long carbine, in the shoulder belt completed the
accouterments of the Patagonian.
He took his place at the head of the party, quite unconscious of the
admiration he was exciting, and they set off, going alternately at a
gallop and walking pace, for the “trot” seemed altogether unknown
to them. Robert proved to be a bold rider, and completely reassured
Glenarvan as to his ability to keep his seat.
The Pampas commenced at the very foot of the Cordilleras. They may be
divided into three parts. The first extends from the chain of the Andes,
and stretches over an extent of 250 miles covered with stunted trees and
bushes; the second 450 miles is clothed with magnificent herbage, and
stops about 180 miles from Buenos Ayres; from this point to the sea,
the foot of the traveler treads over immense prairies of lucerne and
thistles, which constitute the third division of the Pampas.
On issuing from the gorges of the Cordilleras, Glenarvan and his band
came first to plains of sand, called MEDANOS, lying in ridges like waves
of the sea, and so extremely fine that the least breath of wind agitated
the light particles, and sent them flying in clouds, which rose and fell
like water-spouts. It was a spectacle which caused both pleasure
and pain, for nothing could be more curious than to see the said
water-spouts wandering over the plain, coming in contact and mingling
with each other, and falling and rising in wild confusion; but, on the
other hand, nothing could be more disagreeable than the dust which was
thrown off by these innumerable MEDANOS, which was so impalpable that
close one’s eyes as they might, it found its way through the lids.
This phenomenon lasted the greater part of the day. The travelers made
good progress, however, and about four o’clock the Cordilleras lay full
forty miles behind them, the dark outlines being already almost lost in
the evening mists. They were all somewhat fatigued with the journey, and
glad enough to halt for the night on the banks of the Neuquem, called
Ramid, or Comoe by certain geographers, a troubled, turbulent rapid
flowing between high red banks.
No incident of any importance occurred that night or the following day.
They rode well and fast, finding the ground firm, and the temperature
bearable. Toward noon, however, the sun’s rays were extremely scorching,
and when evening came, a bar of clouds streaked the southwest horizon--a
sure sign of a change in the weather. The Patagonian pointed it out to
the geographer, who replied:
“Yes, I know;” and turning to his companions, added, “see, a change of
weather is coming! We are going to have a taste of PAMPERO.”
And he went on to explain that this PAMPERO is very common in the
Argentine plains. It is an extremely dry wind which blows from the
southwest. Thalcave was not mistaken, for the PAMPERO blew violently
all night, and was sufficiently trying to poor fellows only sheltered by
their ponchos. The horses lay down on the ground, and the men stretched
themselves beside them in a close group. Glenarvan was afraid they would
be delayed by the continuance of the hurricane, but Paganel was able to
reassure him on that score, after consulting his barometer.
“The PAMPERO generally brings a tempest which lasts three days, and may
be always foretold by the depression of the mercury,” he said. “But when
the barometer rises, on the contrary, which is the case now, all we need
expect is a few violent blasts. So you can make your mind easy, my good
friend; by sunrise the sky will be quite clear again.”
“You talk like a book, Paganel,” replied Glenarvan.
“And I am one; and what’s more, you are welcome to turn over my leaves
whenever you like.”
The book was right. At one o’clock the wind suddenly lulled, and the
weary men fell asleep and woke at daybreak, refreshed and invigorated.
It was the 20th of October, and the tenth day since they had left
Talcahuano. They were still ninety miles from the point where the Rio
Colorado crosses the thirty-seventh parallel, that is to say, about two
days’ journey. Glenarvan kept a sharp lookout for the appearance of any
Indians, intending to question them, through Thalcave, about Captain
Grant, as Paganel could not speak to him well enough for this. But the
track they were following was one little frequented by the natives, for
the ordinary routes across the Pampas lie further north. If by chance
some nomadic horseman came in sight far away, he was off again like
a dart, not caring to enter into conversation with strangers. To a
solitary individual, a little troop of eight men, all mounted and well
armed, wore a suspicious aspect, so that any intercourse either with
honest men or even banditti, was almost impossible.
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«
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.
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978
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«
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