the hidden grass below the water. They fell, and were pulled up only to
fall again and again, and be pulled up again and again. The level of
the waters was sensibly rising, and less than two miles off the gigantic
wave reared its crested head.
For a quarter of an hour this supreme struggle with the most terrible
of elements lasted. The fugitives could not tell how far they had gone,
but, judging by the speed, the distance must have been considerable.
The poor horses, however, were breast-high in water now, and could only
advance with extreme difficulty. Glenarvan and Paganel, and, indeed,
the whole party, gave themselves up for lost, as the horses were fast
getting out of their depth, and six feet of water would be enough to
drown them.
It would be impossible to tell the anguish of mind these eight men
endured; they felt their own impotence in the presence of these
cataclysms of nature so far beyond all human power. Their salvation did
not lie in their own hands.
Five minutes afterward, and the horses were swimming; the current alone
carried them along with tremendous force, and with a swiftness equal to
their fastest gallop; they must have gone fully twenty miles an hour.
All hope of delivery seemed impossible, when the Major suddenly called
out:
“A tree!”
“A tree?” exclaimed Glenarvan.
“Yes, there, there!” replied Thalcave, pointing with his finger to a
species of gigantic walnut-tree, which raised its solitary head above
the waters.
His companions needed no urging forward now; this tree, so opportunely
discovered, they must reach at all hazards. The horses very likely might
not be able to get to it, but, at all events, the men would, the current
bearing them right down to it.
Just at that moment Tom Austin’s horse gave a smothered neigh and
disappeared. His master, freeing his feet from the stirrups, began to
swim vigorously.
“Hang on to my saddle,” called Glenarvan.
“Thanks, your honor, but I have good stout arms.”
“Robert, how is your horse going?” asked his Lordship, turning to young
Grant.
“Famously, my Lord, he swims like a fish.”
“Lookout!” shouted the Major, in a stentorian voice.
The warning was scarcely spoken before the enormous billow, a monstrous
wave forty feet high, broke over the fugitives with a fearful noise. Men
and animals all disappeared in a whirl of foam; a liquid mass, weighing
several millions of tons, engulfed them in its seething waters.
When it had rolled on, the men reappeared on the surface, and counted
each other rapidly; but all the horses, except Thaouka, who still bore
his master, had gone down forever.
“Courage, courage,” repeated Glenarvan, supporting Paganel with one arm,
and swimming with the other.
“I can manage, I can manage,” said the worthy savant. “I am even not
sorry--”
But no one ever knew what he was not sorry about, for the poor man was
obliged to swallow down the rest of his sentence with half a pint of
muddy water. The Major advanced quietly, making regular strokes, worthy
of a master swimmer. The sailors took to the water like porpoises, while
Robert clung to Thaouka’s mane, and was carried along with him. The
noble animal swam superbly, instinctively making for the tree in a
straight line.
The tree was only twenty fathoms off, and in a few minutes was safely
reached by the whole party; but for this refuge they must all have
perished in the flood.
The water had risen to the top of the trunk, just to where the parent
branches fork out. It was consequently, quite easy to clamber up to it.
Thalcave climbed up first, and got off his horse to hoist up Robert and
help the others. His powerful arms had soon placed all the exhausted
swimmers in a place of security.
But, meantime, Thaouka was being rapidly carried away by the current.
He turned his intelligent face toward his master, and, shaking his long
mane, neighed as if to summon him to his rescue.
“Are you going to forsake him, Thalcave?” asked Paganel.
“I!” replied the Indian, and forthwith he plunged down into the
tumultuous waters, and came up again ten fathoms off. A few instants
afterward his arms were round Thaouka’s neck, and master and steed were
drifting together toward the misty horizon of the north.
CHAPTER XXIII A SINGULAR ABODE
THE tree on which Glenarvan and his companions had just found refuge,
resembled a walnut-tree, having the same glossy foliage and rounded
form. In reality, however, it was the OMBU, which grows solitarily on
the Argentine plains. The enormous and twisted trunk of this tree is
planted firmly in the soil, not only by its great roots, but still
more by its vigorous shoots, which fasten it down in the most tenacious
manner. This was how it stood proof against the shock of the mighty
billow.
This OMBU measured in height a hundred feet, and covered with its shadow
a circumference of one hundred and twenty yards. All this scaffolding
rested on three great boughs which sprang from the trunk. Two of these
rose almost perpendicularly, and supported the immense parasol of
foliage, the branches of which were so crossed and intertwined and
entangled, as if by the hand of a basket-maker, that they formed an
impenetrable shade. The third arm, on the contrary, stretched right out
in a horizontal position above the roaring waters, into which the
lower leaves dipped. There was no want of room in the interior of this
gigantic tree, for there were great gaps in the foliage, perfect glades,
with air in abundance, and freshness everywhere. To see the innumerable
branches rising to the clouds, and the creepers running from bough to
bough, and attaching them together while the sunlight glinted here
and there among the leaves, one might have called it a complete forest
instead of a solitary tree sheltering them all.
On the arrival of the fugitives a myriad of the feathered tribes fled
away into the topmost branches, protesting by their outcries against
this flagrant usurpation of their domicile. These birds, who themselves
had taken refuge in the solitary OMBU, were in hundreds, comprising
blackbirds, starlings, isacas, HILGUEROS, and especially the pica-flor,
humming-birds of most resplendent colors. When they flew away it seemed
as though a gust of wind had blown all the flowers off the tree.
Such was the asylum offered to the little band of Glenarvan. Young Grant
and the agile Wilson were scarcely perched on the tree before they had
climbed to the upper branches and put their heads through the leafy
dome to get a view of the vast horizon. The ocean made by the inundation
surrounded them on all sides, and, far as the eye could reach, seemed to
have no limits. Not a single tree was visible on the liquid plain; the
OMBU stood alone amid the rolling waters, and trembled before them.
In the distance, drifting from south to north, carried along by
the impetuous torrent, they saw trees torn up by the roots, twisted
branches, roofs torn off, destroyed RANCHOS, planks of sheds stolen by
the deluge from ESTANCIAS, carcasses of drowned animals, blood-stained
skins, and on a shaky tree a complete family of jaguars, howling and
clutching hold of their frail raft. Still farther away, a black spot
almost invisible, already caught Wilson’s eye. It was Thalcave and his
faithful Thaouka.
“Thalcave, Thalcave!” shouted Robert, stretching out his hands toward
the courageous Patagonian.
“He will save himself, Mr. Robert,” replied Wilson; “we must go down to
his Lordship.”
Next minute they had descended the three stages of boughs, and landed
safely on the top of the trunk, where they found Glenarvan, Paganel, the
Major, Austin, and Mulrady, sitting either astride or in some
position they found more comfortable. Wilson gave an account of their
investigations aloft, and all shared his opinion with respect to
Thalcave. The only question was whether it was Thalcave who would save
Thaouka, or Thaouka save Thalcave.
Their own situation meantime was much more alarming than his. No doubt
the tree would be able to resist the current, but the waters might
rise higher and higher, till the topmost branches were covered, for the
depression of the soil made this part of the plain a deep reservoir.
Glenarvan’s first care, consequently, was to make notches by which
to ascertain the progress of the inundation. For the present it was
stationary, having apparently reached its height. This was reassuring.
“And now what are we going to do?” said Glenarvan.
“Make our nest, of course!” replied Paganel
“Make our nest!” exclaimed Robert.
“Certainly, my boy, and live the life of birds, since we can’t that of
fishes.”
“All very well, but who will fill our bills for us?” said Glenarvan.
“I will,” said the Major.
All eyes turned toward him immediately, and there he sat in a natural
arm-chair, formed of two elastic boughs, holding out his ALFORJAS damp,
but still intact.
“Oh, McNabbs, that’s just like you,” exclaimed Glenarvan, “you think of
everything even under circumstances which would drive all out of your
head.”
“Since it was settled we were not going to be drowned, I had no
intention of starving of hunger.”
“I should have thought of it, too,” said Paganel, “but I am so
DISTRAIT.”
“And what is in the ALFORJAS?” asked Tom Austin.
“Food enough to last seven men for two days,” replied McNabbs.
“And I hope the inundation will have gone down in twenty-four hours,”
said Glenarvan.
“Or that we shall have found some way of regaining -terra firma-,” added
Paganel.
“Our first business, then, now is to breakfast,” said Glenarvan.
“I suppose you mean after we have made ourselves dry,” observed the
Major.
“And where’s the fire?” asked Wilson.
“We must make it,” returned Paganel.
“Where?”
“On the top of the trunk, of course.”
“And what with?”
“With the dead wood we cut off the tree.”
“But how will you kindle it?” asked Glenarvan. “Our tinder is just like
wet sponge.”
“We can dispense with it,” replied Paganel. “We only want a little dry
moss and a ray of sunshine, and the lens of my telescope, and you’ll see
what a fire I’ll get to dry myself by. Who will go and cut wood in the
forest?”
“I will,” said Robert.
And off he scampered like a young cat into the depths of the foliage,
followed by his friend Wilson. Paganel set to work to find dry moss, and
had soon gathered sufficient. This he laid on a bed of damp leaves, just
where the large branches began to fork out, forming a natural hearth,
where there was little fear of conflagration.
Robert and Wilson speedily reappeared, each with an armful of dry wood,
which they threw on the moss. By the help of the lens it was easily
kindled, for the sun was blazing overhead. In order to ensure a proper
draught, Paganel stood over the hearth with his long legs straddled out
in the Arab manner. Then stooping down and raising himself with a rapid
motion, he made a violent current of air with his poncho, which made
the wood take fire, and soon a bright flame roared in the improvised
brasier. After drying themselves, each in his own fashion, and hanging
their ponchos on the tree, where they were swung to and fro in
the breeze, they breakfasted, carefully however rationing out the
provisions, for the morrow had to be thought of; the immense basin might
not empty so soon as Glenarvan expected, and, anyway, the supply was
very limited. The OMBU produced no fruit, though fortunately, it would
likely abound in fresh eggs, thanks to the numerous nests stowed away
among the leaves, not to speak of their feathered proprietors. These
resources were by no means to be despised.
The next business was to install themselves as comfortably as they
could, in prospect of a long stay.
“As the kitchen and dining-room are on the ground floor,” said Paganel,
“we must sleep on the first floor. The house is large, and as the rent
is not dear, we must not cramp ourselves for room. I can see up yonder
natural cradles, in which once safely tucked up we shall sleep as if we
were in the best beds in the world. We have nothing to fear. Besides, we
will watch, and we are numerous enough to repulse a fleet of Indians and
other wild animals.”
“We only want fire-arms.”
“I have my revolvers,” said Glenarvan.
“And I have mine,” replied Robert.
“But what’s the good of them?” said Tom Austin, “unless Monsieur Paganel
can find out some way of making powder.”
“We don’t need it,” replied McNabbs, exhibiting a powder flask in a
perfect state of preservation.
“Where did you get it from, Major,” asked Paganel.
“From Thalcave. He thought it might be useful to us, and gave it to me
before he plunged into the water to save Thaouka.”
“Generous, brave Indian!” exclaimed Glenarvan.
“Yes,” replied Tom Austin, “if all the Patagonians are cut after the
same pattern, I must compliment Patagonia.”
“I protest against leaving out the horse,” said Paganel. “He is part
and parcel of the Patagonian, and I’m much mistaken if we don’t see them
again, the one on the other’s back.”
“What distance are we from the Atlantic?” asked the Major.
“About forty miles at the outside,” replied Paganel; “and now, friends,
since this is Liberty Hall, I beg to take leave of you. I am going
to choose an observatory for myself up there, and by the help of my
telescope, let you know how things are going on in the world.”
Forthwith the geographer set off, hoisting himself up very cleverly
from bough to bough, till he disappeared beyond the thick foliage. His
companions began to arrange the night quarters, and prepare their beds.
But this was neither a long nor difficult task, and very soon they
resumed their seats round the fire to have a talk.
As usual their theme was Captain Grant. In three days, should the water
subside, they would be on board the DUNCAN once more. But Harry Grant
and his two sailors, those poor shipwrecked fellows, would not be with
them. Indeed, it even seemed after this ill success and this useless
journey across America, that all chance of finding them was gone
forever. Where could they commence a fresh quest? What grief Lady Helena
and Mary Grant would feel on hearing there was no further hope.
“Poor sister!” said Robert. “It is all up with us.”
For the first time Glenarvan could not find any comfort to give him.
What could he say to the lad?
Had they not searched exactly where the document stated?
“And yet,” he said, “this thirty-seventh degree of latitude is not a
mere figure, and that it applies to the shipwreck or captivity of Harry
Grant, is no mere guess or supposition. We read it with our own eyes.”
“All very true, your Honor,” replied Tom Austin, “and yet our search has
been unsuccessful.”
“It is both a provoking and hopeless business,” replied Glenarvan.
“Provoking enough, certainly,” said the Major, “but not hopeless. It is
precisely because we have an uncontestable figure, provided for us, that
we should follow it up to the end.”
“What do you mean?” asked Glenarvan. “What more can we do?”
“A very logical and simple thing, my dear Edward. When we go on board
the DUNCAN, turn her beak head to the east, and go right along the
thirty-seventh parallel till we come back to our starting point if
necessary.”
“Do you suppose that I have not thought of that, Mr. McNabbs?” replied
Glenarvan. “Yes, a hundred times. But what chance is there of success?
To leave the American continent, wouldn’t it be to go away from the very
spot indicated by Harry Grant, from this very Patagonia so distinctly
named in the document.”
“And would you recommence your search in the Pampas, when you have the
certainty that the shipwreck of the BRITANNIA neither occurred on the
coasts of the Pacific nor the Atlantic?”
Glenarvan was silent.
“And however small the chance of finding Harry Grant by following up the
given parallel, ought we not to try?”
“I don’t say no,” replied Glenarvan.
“And are you not of my opinion, good friends,” added the Major,
addressing the sailors.
“Entirely,” said Tom Austin, while Mulrady and Wilson gave an assenting
nod.
“Listen to me, friends,” said Glenarvan after a few minutes’ reflection;
“and remember, Robert, this is a grave discussion. I will do my utmost
to find Captain Grant; I am pledged to it, and will devote my whole life
to the task if needs be. All Scotland would unite with me to save so
devoted a son as he has been to her. I too quite think with you that we
must follow the thirty-seventh parallel round the globe if necessary,
however slight our chance of finding him. But that is not the question
we have to settle. There is one much more important than that is--should
we from this time, and all together, give up our search on the American
continent?”
No one made any reply. Each one seemed afraid to pronounce the word.
“Well?” resumed Glenarvan, addressing himself especially to the Major.
“My dear Edward,” replied McNabbs, “it would be incurring too great a
responsibility for me to reply -hic et nunc-. It is a question which
requires reflection. I must know first, through which countries the
thirty-seventh parallel of southern latitude passes?”
“That’s Paganel’s business; he will tell you that,” said Glenarvan.
“Let’s ask him, then,” replied the Major.
But the learned geographer was nowhere to be seen. He was hidden among
the thick leafage of the OMBU, and they must call out if they wanted
him.
“Paganel, Paganel!” shouted Glenarvan.
“Here,” replied a voice that seemed to come from the clouds.
“Where are you?”
“In my tower.”
“What are you doing there?”
“Examining the wide horizon.”
“Could you come down for a minute?”
“Do you want me?”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
“To know what countries the thirty-seventh parallel passes through.”
“That’s easily said. I need not disturb myself to come down for that.”
“Very well, tell us now.”
“Listen, then. After leaving America the thirty-seventh parallel crosses
the Atlantic Ocean.”
“And then?”
“It encounters Isle Tristan d’Acunha.”
“Yes.”
“It goes on two degrees below the Cape of Good Hope.”
“And afterwards?”
“Runs across the Indian Ocean, and just touches Isle St. Pierre, in the
Amsterdam group.”
“Go on.”
“It cuts Australia by the province of Victoria.”
“And then.”
“After leaving Australia in--”
This last sentence was not completed. Was the geographer hesitating, or
didn’t he know what to say?
No; but a terrible cry resounded from the top of the tree. Glenarvan and
his friends turned pale and looked at each other. What fresh catastrophe
had happened now? Had the unfortunate Paganel slipped his footing?
Already Wilson and Mulrady had rushed to his rescue when his long body
appeared tumbling down from branch to branch.
But was he living or dead, for his hands made no attempt to seize
anything to stop himself. A few minutes more, and he would have fallen
into the roaring waters had not the Major’s strong arm barred his
passage.
“Much obliged, McNabbs,” said Paganel.
“How’s this? What is the matter with you? What came over you? Another of
your absent fits.”
“Yes, yes,” replied Paganel, in a voice almost inarticulate with
emotion. “Yes, but this was something extraordinary.”
“What was it?”
“I said we had made a mistake. We are making it still, and have been all
along.”
“Explain yourself.”
“Glenarvan, Major, Robert, my friends,” exclaimed Paganel, “all you that
hear me, we are looking for Captain Grant where he is not to be found.”
“What do you say?” exclaimed Glenarvan.
“Not only where he is not now, but where he has never been.”
CHAPTER XXIV PAGANEL’S DISCLOSURE
PROFOUND astonishment greeted these unexpected words of the learned
geographer. What could he mean? Had he lost his sense? He spoke with
such conviction, however, that all eyes turned toward Glenarvan, for
Paganel’s affirmation was a direct answer to his question, but Glenarvan
shook his head, and said nothing, though evidently he was not inclined
to favor his friend’s views.
“Yes,” began Paganel again, as soon as he had recovered himself a
little; “yes, we have gone a wrong track, and read on the document what
was never there.”
“Explain yourself, Paganel,” said the Major, “and more calmly if you
can.”
“The thing is very simple, Major. Like you, I was in error; like you, I
had rushed at a false interpretation, until about an instant ago, on
the top of the tree, when I was answering your questions, just as I
pronounced the word ‘Australia,’ a sudden flash came across my mind, and
the document became clear as day.”
“What!” exclaimed Glenarvan, “you mean to say that Harry Grant--”
“I mean to say,” replied Paganel, “that the word AUSTRAL that occurs in
the document is not a complete word, as we have supposed up till now,
but just the root of the word AUSTRALIE.”
“Well, that would be strange,” said the Major.
“Strange!” repeated Glenarvan, shrugging his shoulders; “it is simply
impossible.”
“Impossible?” returned Paganel. “That is a word we don’t allow in
France.”
“What!” continued Glenarvan, in a tone of the most profound incredulity,
“you dare to contend, with the document in your hand, that the shipwreck
of the BRITANNIA happened on the shores of Australia.”
“I am sure of it,” replied Paganel.
“My conscience,” exclaimed Glenarvan, “I must say I am surprised at such
a declaration from the Secretary of a Geographical Society!”
“And why so?” said Paganel, touched in his weak point.
“Because, if you allow the word AUSTRALIE! you must also allow the word
INDIENS, and Indians are never seen there.”
Paganel was not the least surprised at this rejoinder. Doubtless he
expected it, for he began to smile, and said:
“My dear Glenarvan, don’t triumph over me too fast. I am going to floor
you completely, and never was an Englishman more thoroughly defeated
than you will be. It will be the revenge for Cressy and Agincourt.”
“I wish nothing better. Take your revenge, Paganel.”
“Listen, then. In the text of the document, there is neither mention
of the Indians nor of Patagonia! The incomplete word INDI does not mean
INDIENS, but of course, INDIGENES, aborigines! Now, do you admit that
there are aborigines in Australia?”
“Bravo, Paganel!” said the Major.
“Well, do you agree to my interpretation, my dear Lord?” asked the
geographer again.
“Yes,” replied Glenarvan, “if you will prove to me that the fragment of
a word GONIE, does not refer to the country of the Patagonians.”
“Certainly it does not. It has nothing to do with Patagonia,” said
Paganel. “Read it any way you please except that.”
“How?”
“-Cosmogonie, theogonie, agonie-.”
“AGONIE,” said the Major.
“I don’t care which,” returned Paganel. “The word is quite unimportant;
I will not even try to find out its meaning. The main point is that
AUSTRAL means AUSTRALIE, and we must have gone blindly on a wrong track
not to have discovered the explanation at the very beginning, it was
so evident. If I had found the document myself, and my judgment had
not been misled by your interpretation, I should never have read it
differently.”
A burst of hurrahs, and congratulations, and compliments followed
Paganel’s words. Austin and the sailors, and the Major and Robert, most
all overjoyed at this fresh hope, applauded him heartily; while even
Glenarvan, whose eyes were gradually getting open, was almost prepared
to give in.
“I only want to know one thing more, my dear Paganel,” he said, “and
then I must bow to your perspicacity.”
“What is it?”
“How will you group the words together according to your new
interpretation? How will the document read?”
“Easily enough answered. Here is the document,” replied Paganel, taking
out the precious paper he had been studying so conscientiously for the
last few days.
For a few minutes there was complete silence, while the worthy SAVANT
took time to collect his thoughts before complying with his lordship’s
request. Then putting his finger on the words, and emphasizing some of
them, he began as follows:
“‘-Le 7 juin- 1862 -le trois-mats Britannia de Glasgow a sombre
apres-,’--put, if you please, ‘-deux jours, trois jours-,’ or
‘-une longue agonie-,’ it doesn’t signify, it is quite a matter of
indifference,--‘-sur les cotes de l’Australie. Se dirigeant a terre,
deux matelots et le Capitaine Grant vont essayer d’aborder-,’ or ‘-ont
aborde le continent ou ils seront-,’ or, ‘-sont prisonniers de cruels
indigenes. Ils ont jete ce documents-,’ etc. Is that clear?”
“Clear enough,” replied Glenarvan, “if the word continent can be applied
to Australia, which is only an island.”
“Make yourself easy about that, my dear Glenarvan; the best geographers
have agreed to call the island the Australian Continent.”
“Then all I have now to say is, my friends,” said Glenarvan, “away to
Australia, and may Heaven help us!”
“To Australia!” echoed his companions, with one voice.
“I tell you what, Paganel,” added Glenarvan, “your being on board the
DUNCAN is a perfect providence.”
“All right. Look on me as a messenger of providence, and let us drop the
subject.”
So the conversation ended--a conversation which great results were to
follow; it completely changed the moral condition of the travelers;
it gave the clew of the labyrinth in which they had thought themselves
hopelessly entangled, and, amid their ruined projects, inspired them
with fresh hope. They could now quit the American Continent without
the least hesitation, and already their thoughts had flown to the
Australias. In going on board the DUNCAN again they would not bring
despair with them, and Lady Helena and Mary Grant would not have to
mourn the irrevocable loss of Captain Grant. This thought so filled them
with joy that they forgot all the dangers of their actual situation, and
only regretted that they could not start immediately.
It was about four o’clock in the afternoon, and they determined to have
supper at six. Paganel wished to get up a splendid spread in honor of
the occasion, but as the materials were very scanty, he proposed to
Robert to go and hunt in the neighboring forest. Robert clapped his
hands at the idea, so they took Thalcave’s powder flask, cleaned the
revolvers and loaded them with small shot, and set off.
“Don’t go too far,” said the Major, gravely, to the two hunters.
After their departure, Glenarvan and McNabbs went down to examine the
state of the water by looking at the notches they had made on the tree,
and Wilson and Mulrady replenished the fire.
No sign of decrease appeared on the surface of the immense lake, yet the
flood seemed to have reached its maximum height; but the violence with
which it rushed from the south to north proved that the equilibrium of
the Argentine rivers was not restored. Before getting lower the liquid
mass must remain stationary, as in the case with the ocean before the
ebb tide commences.
While Glenarvan and his cousin were making these observations, the
report of firearms resounded frequently above their heads, and the
jubilant outcries of the two sportsmen--for Paganel was every whit as
much a child as Robert. They were having a fine time of it among the
thick leaves, judging by the peals of laughter which rang out in
the boy’s clear treble voice and Paganel’s deep bass. The chase was
evidently successful, and wonders in culinary art might be expected.
Wilson had a good idea to begin with, which he had skilfully carried
out; for when Glenarvan came back to the brasier, he found that the
brave fellow had actually managed to catch, with only a pin and a piece
of string, several dozen small fish, as delicate as smelts, called
MOJARRAS, which were all jumping about in a fold of his poncho, ready to
be converted into an exquisite dish.
At the same moment the hunters reappeared. Paganel was carefully
carrying some black swallows’ eggs, and a string of sparrows, which he
meant to serve up later under the name of field larks. Robert had been
clever enough to bring down several brace of HILGUEROS, small green and
yellow birds, which are excellent eating, and greatly in demand in the
Montevideo market. Paganel, who knew fifty ways of dressing eggs, was
obliged for this once to be content with simply hardening them on the
hot embers. But notwithstanding this, the viands at the meal were
both dainty and varied. The dried beef, hard eggs, grilled MOJARRAS,
sparrows, and roast HILGUEROS, made one of those gala feasts the memory
of which is imperishable.
The conversation was very animated. Many compliments were paid Paganel
on his twofold talents as hunter and cook, which the SAVANT accepted
with the modesty which characterizes true merit. Then he turned the
conversation on the peculiarities of the OMBU, under whose canopy they
had found shelter, and whose depths he declared were immense.
“Robert and I,” he added, jestingly, “thought ourselves hunting in the
open forest. I was afraid, for the minute, we should lose ourselves,
for I could not find the road. The sun was sinking below the horizon; I
sought vainly for footmarks; I began to feel the sharp pangs of hunger,
and the gloomy depths of the forest resounded already with the roar of
wild beasts. No, not that; there are no wild beasts here, I am sorry to
say.”
“What!” exclaimed Glenarvan, “you are sorry there are no wild beasts?”
“Certainly I am.”
“And yet we should have every reason to dread their ferocity.”
“Their ferocity is non-existent, scientifically speaking,” replied the
learned geographer.
“Now come, Paganel,” said the Major, “you’ll never make me admit the
utility of wild beasts. What good are they?”
“Why, Major,” exclaimed Paganel, “for purposes of classification into
orders, and families, and species, and sub-species.”
“A mighty advantage, certainly!” replied McNabbs, “I could dispense
with all that. If I had been one of Noah’s companions at the time of the
deluge, I should most assuredly have hindered the imprudent patriarch
from putting in pairs of lions, and tigers, and panthers, and bears, and
such animals, for they are as malevolent as they are useless.”
“You would have done that?” asked Paganel.
“Yes, I would.”
“Well, you would have done wrong in a zoological point of view,”
returned Paganel.
“But not in a humanitarian one,” rejoined the Major.
“It is shocking!” replied Paganel. “Why, for my part, on the contrary,
I should have taken special care to preserve megatheriums and
pterodactyles, and all the antediluvian species of which we are
unfortunately deprived by his neglect.”
“And I say,” returned McNabbs, “that Noah did a very good thing when he
abandoned them to their fate--that is, if they lived in his day.”
“And I say he did a very bad thing,” retorted Paganel, “and he has
justly merited the malediction of SAVANTS to the end of time!”
The rest of the party could not help laughing at hearing the two friends
disputing over old Noah. Contrary to all his principles, the Major, who
all his life had never disputed with anyone, was always sparring with
Paganel. The geographer seemed to have a peculiarly exciting effect on
him.
Glenarvan, as usual, always the peacemaker, interfered in the debate,
and said:
“Whether the loss of ferocious animals is to be regretted or not, in
a scientific point of view, there is no help for it now; we must be
content to do without them. Paganel can hardly expect to meet with wild
beasts in this aerial forest.”
“Why not?” asked the geographer.
“Wild beasts on a tree!” exclaimed Tom Austin.
“Yes, undoubtedly. The American tiger, the jaguar, takes refuge in the
trees, when the chase gets too hot for him. It is quite possible that
one of these animals, surprised by the inundation, might have climbed up
into this OMBU, and be hiding now among its thick foliage.”
“You haven’t met any of them, at any rate, I suppose?” said the Major.
“No,” replied Paganel, “though we hunted all through the wood. It
is vexing, for it would have been a splendid chase. A jaguar is a
bloodthirsty, ferocious creature. He can twist the neck of a horse
with a single stroke of his paw. When he has once tasted human flesh he
scents it greedily. He likes to eat an Indian best, and next to him a
negro, then a mulatto, and last of all a white man.”
“I am delighted to hear we come number four,” said McNabbs.
“That only proves you are insipid,” retorted Paganel, with an air of
disdain.
“I am delighted to be insipid,” was the Major’s reply.
“Well, it is humiliating enough,” said the intractable Paganel. “The
white man proclaimed himself chief of the human race; but Mr. Jaguar is
of a different opinion it seems.”
“Be that as it may, my brave Paganel, seeing there are neither Indians,
nor negroes, nor mulattoes among us, I am quite rejoiced at the
absence of your beloved jaguars. Our situation is not so particularly
agreeable.”
“What! not agreeable!” exclaimed Paganel, jumping at the word as likely
to give a new turn to the conversation. “You are complaining of your
lot, Glenarvan.”
“I should think so, indeed,” replied Glenarvan. “Do you find these
uncomfortable hard branches very luxurious?”
“I have never been more comfortable, even in my study. We live like the
birds, we sing and fly about. I begin to believe men were intended to
live on trees.”
“But they want wings,” suggested the Major.
“They’ll make them some day.”
“And till then,” put in Glenarvan, “with your leave, I prefer the gravel
of a park, or the floor of a house, or the deck of a ship, to this
aerial dwelling.”
“We must take things as they come, Glenarvan,” returned Paganel. “If
good, so much the better; if bad, never mind. Ah, I see you are wishing
you had all the comforts of Malcolm Castle.”
“No, but--”
“I am quite certain Robert is perfectly happy,” interrupted Paganel,
eager to insure one partisan at least.
“Yes, that I am!” exclaimed Robert, in a joyous tone.
“At his age it is quite natural,” replied Glenarvan.
“And at mine, too,” returned the geographer. “The fewer one’s comforts,
the fewer one’s needs; and the fewer one’s needs, the greater one’s
happiness.”
“Now, now,” said the Major, “here is Paganel running a tilt against
riches and gilt ceilings.”
“No, McNabbs,” replied the SAVANT, “I’m not; but if you like, I’ll tell
you a little Arabian story that comes into my mind, very APROPOS this
minute.”
“Oh, do, do,” said Robert.
“And what is your story to prove, Paganel?” inquired the Major.
“Much what all stories prove, my brave comrade.”
“Not much then,” rejoined McNabbs. “But go on, Scheherazade, and tell us
the story.”
“There was once,” said Paganel, “a son of the great Haroun-al-Raschid,
who was unhappy, and went to consult an old Dervish. The old sage
told him that happiness was a difficult thing to find in this world.
‘However,’ he added, ‘I know an infallible means of procuring your
happiness.’ ‘What is it?’ asked the young Prince. ‘It is to put the
shirt of a happy man on your shoulders.’ Whereupon the Prince embraced
the old man, and set out at once to search for his talisman. He visited
all the capital cities in the world. He tried on the shirts of kings,
and emperors, and princes and nobles; but all in vain: he could not find
a man among them that was happy. Then he put on the shirts of artists,
and warriors, and merchants; but these were no better. By this time
he had traveled a long way, without finding what he sought. At last he
began to despair of success, and began sorrowfully to retrace his steps
back to his father’s palace, when one day he heard an honest peasant
singing so merrily as he drove the plow, that he thought, ‘Surely this
man is happy, if there is such a thing as happiness on earth.’ Forthwith
he accosted him, and said, ‘Are you happy?’ ‘Yes,’ was the reply. ‘There
is nothing you desire?’ ‘Nothing.’ ‘You would not change your lot for
that of a king?’ ‘Never!’ ‘Well, then, sell me your shirt.’ ‘My shirt! I
haven’t one!’”
CHAPTER XXV BETWEEN FIRE AND WATER
BEFORE turning into “their nest,” as Paganel had called it, he, and
Robert, and Glenarvan climbed up into the observatory to have one more
inspection of the liquid plain. It was about nine o’clock; the sun had
just sunk behind the glowing mists of the western horizon.
The eastern horizon was gradually assuming a most stormy aspect. A
thick dark bar of cloud was rising higher and higher, and by degrees
extinguishing the stars. Before long half the sky was overspread.
Evidently motive power lay in the cloud itself, for there was not a
breath of wind. Absolute calm reigned in the atmosphere; not a leaf
stirred on the tree, not a ripple disturbed the surface of the water.
There seemed to be scarcely any air even, as though some vast pneumatic
machine had rarefied it. The entire atmosphere was charged to the utmost
with electricity, the presence of which sent a thrill through the whole
nervous system of all animated beings.
“We are going to have a storm,” said Paganel.
“You’re not afraid of thunder, are you, Robert?” asked Glenarvan.
“No, my Lord!” exclaimed Robert. “Well, my boy, so much the better, for
a storm is not far off.”
“And a violent one, too,” added Paganel, “if I may judge by the look of
things.”
“It is not the storm I care about,” said Glenarvan, “so much as the
torrents of rain that will accompany it. We shall be soaked to the skin.
Whatever you may say, Paganel, a nest won’t do for a man, and you will
learn that soon, to your cost.”
“With the help of philosophy, it will,” replied Paganel.
“Philosophy! that won’t keep you from getting drenched.”
“No, but it will warm you.”
“Well,” said Glenarvan, “we had better go down to our friends, and
advise them to wrap themselves up in their philosophy and their ponchos
as tightly as possible, and above all, to lay in a stock of patience,
for we shall need it before very long.”
Glenarvan gave a last glance at the angry sky. The clouds now covered it
entirely; only a dim streak of light shone faintly in the west. A dark
shadow lay on the water, and it could hardly be distinguished from the
thick vapors above it. There was no sensation of light or sound. All was
darkness and silence around.
“Let us go down,” said Glenarvan; “the thunder will soon burst over us.”
On returning to the bottom of the tree, they found themselves, to
their great surprise, in a sort of dim twilight, produced by myriads of
luminous specks which appeared buzzing confusedly over the surface of
the water.
“It is phosphorescence, I suppose,” said Glenarvan.
“No, but phosphorescent insects, positive glow-worms, living diamonds,
which the ladies of Buenos Ayres convert into magnificent ornaments.”
“What!” exclaimed Robert, “those sparks flying about are insects!”
“Yes, my boy.”
Robert caught one in his hand, and found Paganel was right. It was a
kind of large drone, an inch long, and the Indians call it “tuco-tuco.”
This curious specimen of the COLEOPTERA sheds its radiance from two
spots in the front of its breast-plate, and the light is sufficient to
read by. Holding his watch close to the insect, Paganel saw distinctly
that the time was 10 P. M.
On rejoining the Major and his three sailors, Glenarvan warned them of
the approaching storm, and advised them to secure themselves in their
beds of branches as firmly as possible, for there was no doubt that
after the first clap of thunder the wind would become unchained, and the
OMBU would be violently shaken. Though they could not defend themselves
from the waters above, they might at least keep out of the rushing
current beneath.
They wished one another “good-night,” though hardly daring to hope
for it, and then each one rolled himself in his poncho and lay down to
sleep.
But the approach of the great phenomena of nature excites vague
uneasiness in the heart of every sentient being, even in the most
strong-minded. The whole party in the OMBU felt agitated and oppressed,
and not one of them could close his eyes. The first peal of thunder
found them wide awake. It occurred about 11 P. M., and sounded like
a distant rolling. Glenarvan ventured to creep out of the sheltering
foliage, and made his way to the extremity of the horizontal branch to
take a look round.
The deep blackness of the night was already scarified with sharp bright
lines, which were reflected back by the water with unerring exactness.
The clouds had rent in many parts, but noiselessly, like some soft
cotton material. After attentively observing both the zenith and
horizon, Glenarvan went back to the center of the trunk.
“Well, Glenarvan, what’s your report?” asked Paganel.
“I say it is beginning in good earnest, and if it goes on so we shall
have a terrible storm.”
“So much the better,” replied the enthusiastic Paganel; “I should like a
grand exhibition, since we can’t run away.”
“That’s another of your theories,” said the Major.
“And one of my best, McNabbs. I am of Glenarvan’s opinion, that the
storm will be superb. Just a minute ago, when I was trying to sleep,
several facts occurred to my memory, that make me hope it will, for we
are in the region of great electrical tempests. For instance, I have
read somewhere, that in 1793, in this very province of Buenos Ayres,
lightning struck thirty-seven times during one single storm. My
colleague, M. Martin de Moussy, counted fifty-five minutes of
uninterrupted rolling.”
“Watch in hand?” asked the Major.
“Watch in hand. Only one thing makes me uneasy,” added Paganel, “if it
is any use to be uneasy, and that is, that the culminating point of this
plain, is just this very OMBU where we are. A lightning conductor would
be very serviceable to us at present. For it is this tree especially,
among all that grow in the Pampas, that the thunder has a particular
affection for. Besides, I need not tell you, friend, that learned men
tell us never to take refuge under trees during a storm.”
“Most seasonable advice, certainly, in our circumstances,” said the
Major.
“I must confess, Paganel,” replied Glenarvan, “that you might have
chosen a better time for this reassuring information.”
“Bah!” replied Paganel, “all times are good for getting information. Ha!
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