In Search of the Castaways
by Jules Verne · English · Gutenberg #46597 · 845,535 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: In Search of the Castaways
Author: Jules Verne
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A Voyage Round the World.
IN SEARCH OF THE CASTAWAYS:
A Romantic Narrative of the Loss of Captain Grant
of the Brig Britannia and of the Adventures of
His Children and Friends in His Discovery and Rescue.
[Illustration]
by
JULES VERNE,
Author of "Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea," etc., etc.
Illustrated with One Hundred and Seventy Engravings
Philadelphia:
J. B. Lippincott & Co.
1874.
CONTENTS.
I. The Shark
II. The Three Documents
III. The Captain's Children
IV. Lady Glenarvan's Proposal
V. The Departure of the Duncan
VI. An Unexpected Passenger
VII. Jacques Paganel is Undeceived
VIII. The Geographer's Resolution
IX. Through the Strait of Magellan
X. The Course Decided
XI. Traveling in Chili
XII. Eleven Thousand Feet Aloft
XIII. A Sudden Descent
XIV. Providentially Rescued
XV. Thalcave
XVI. News of the Lost Captain
XVII. A Serious Necessity
XVIII. In Search of Water
XIX. The Red Wolves
XX. Strange Signs
XXI. A False Trail
XXII. The Flood
XXIII. A Singular Abode
XXIV. Paganel's Disclosure
XXV. Between Fire and Water
XXVI. The Return on Board
XXVII. A New Destination
XXVIII. Tristan d'Acunha and the Isle of Amsterdam
XXIX. The Storm on the Indian Ocean
XXX. A Hospitable Colonist
XXXI. The Quartermaster of the Britannia
XXXII. Preparations for the Journey
XXXIII. An Accident
XXXIV. Australian Explorers
XXXV. Crime or Calamity?
XXXVI. Fresh Faces
XXXVII. A Warning
XXXVIII. Wealth in the Wilderness
XXXIX. Suspicious Occurrences
XL. A Startling Discovery
XLI. The Plot Unveiled
XLII. Four Days of Anguish
XLIII. Helpless and Hopeless
XLIV. A Rough Captain
XLV. The Wreck of the Macquarie
XLVI. Vain Efforts
XLVII. A Dreaded Country
XLVIII. Introduction to the Cannibals
XLIX. A Momentous Interview
L. The Chief's Funeral
LI. Strangely Liberated
LII. The Sacred Mountain
LIII. A Bold Stratagem
LIV. From Peril to Safety
LV. Why the Duncan went to New Zealand
LVI. Ayrton's Obstinacy
LVII. A Discouraging Confession
LVIII. A Cry in the Night
LIX. Captain Grant's Story
LX. Paganel's Last Entanglement
[Illustration]
IN SEARCH OF THE CASTAWAYS.
CHAPTER I.
THE SHARK.
On the 26th of July, 1864, under a strong gale from the northeast, a
magnificent yacht was steaming at full speed through the waves of the
North Channel. The flag of England fluttered at her yard-arm, while at
the top of the mainmast floated a blue pennon, bearing the initials
E. G., worked in gold and surmounted by a ducal coronet. The yacht
was called the Duncan, and belonged to Lord Glenarvan, one of the
sixteen Scottish peers sitting in the House of Lords, and also a most
distinguished member of the "Royal Thames Yacht Club," so celebrated
throughout the United Kingdom.
Lord Edward Glenarvan was on board with his young wife, Lady Helena,
and one of his cousins, Major MacNabb. The Duncan, newly constructed,
had just been making a trial voyage several miles beyond the Frith of
Clyde, and was now on her return to Glasgow. Already Arran Island was
appearing on the horizon, when the look-out signaled an enormous fish
that was sporting in the wake of the yacht. The captain, John Mangles,
at once informed Lord Glenarvan of the fact, who mounted on deck with
Major MacNabb, and asked the captain what he thought of the animal.
"Indeed, your lordship," replied Captain Mangles, "I think it is a
shark of large proportions."
"A shark in these regions!" exclaimed Glenarvan.
"Without doubt," replied the captain. "This fish belongs to a species
of sharks that are found in all seas and latitudes. It is the
'balance-fish,' and, if I am not greatly mistaken, we shall have an
encounter with one of these fellows. If your lordship consents, and it
pleases Lady Helena to witness such a novel chase, we will soon see
what we have to deal with."
"What do you think, MacNabb?" said Lord Glenarvan to the major; "are
you of a mind to try the adventure?"
"I am of whatever opinion pleases you," answered the major, calmly.
"Besides," continued Captain Mangles, "we cannot too soon exterminate
these terrible monsters. Let us improve the opportunity, and, if your
lordship pleases, it shall be an exciting scene as well as a good
action."
"Very well, captain," said Lord Glenarvan. He then summoned Lady
Helena, who joined him on deck, tempted by the exciting sport.
The sea was magnificent. You could easily follow along its surface the
rapid motions of the fish, as it plunged and rose again with surprising
agility. Captain Mangles gave his orders, and the sailors threw over
the starboard ratling a stout rope, to which was fastened a hook baited
with a thick piece of pork.
[Sidenote: THE LAST MOUTHFUL.]
The shark, although still at a distance of fifty yards, scented the
bait offered to his voracity. He rapidly approached the yacht. You
could see his fins, gray at their extremity and black at their base,
beat the waves with violence, while his "caudal appendage" kept him
in a rigorously straight line. As he advanced, his great glaring eyes
seemed inflamed with eagerness, and his yawning jaws, when he turned,
disclosed a quadruple row of teeth. His head was large, and shaped like
a double-headed hammer. Captain Mangles was right. It was a very large
specimen of the most rapacious family of sharks,--the "balance fish" of
the English and the "jew-fish" of the Provençals.
[Illustration]
All on board of the Duncan followed the movements of the shark with
lively attention. The animal was soon within reach of the hook; he
turned upon his back, in order to seize it better, and the enormous
bait disappeared down his vast gullet. At the same time he hooked
himself, giving the line a violent shake, whereupon the sailors
hoisted the huge creature by means of a pulley at the end of the
yard-arm.
The shark struggled violently at feeling himself drawn from his natural
element, but his struggles were of no avail. A rope with a slip-noose
confined his tail and paralyzed his movements. A few moments afterward
he was hauled over the ratlings, and precipitated upon the deck of the
yacht. One of the sailors at once approached him, not without caution,
and with a vigorous blow of the hatchet cut off the formidable tail of
the animal.
The chase was ended, and there was nothing more to fear from the
monster. The vengeance of the sailors was satisfied, but not their
curiosity. Indeed, it is customary on board of every vessel to
carefully examine the stomachs of sharks. The men, knowing the
inordinate voracity of the creature, wait with some anxiety, and their
expectation is not always in vain.
Lady Glenarvan, not wishing to witness this strange "exploration,"
retired to the cabin. The shark was still panting. He was ten feet
long, and weighed more than six hundred pounds. These dimensions are
nothing extraordinary; for if the balance-fish is not classed among the
giants of this species, at least he belongs to the most formidable of
their family.
The enormous fish was soon cut open by a blow of the hatchet, without
further ceremony. The hook had penetrated to the stomach, which was
absolutely empty. Evidently the animal had fasted a long time, and
the disappointed seamen were about to cast the remains into the sea,
when the attention of the mate was attracted by a bulky object firmly
imbedded in the viscera.
"Ha! what is this?" he exclaimed.
"That," replied one of the sailors, "is a piece of rock that the
creature has taken in for ballast."
"Good!" said another; "it is probably a bullet that this fellow has
received in the stomach, and could not digest."
[Illustration: "Good," said Glenarvan; "wash the dirty thing, and bring
it into the cabin."]
"Be still, all of you!" cried Tom Austin, the mate; "do you not see
that the animal was a great drunkard? and to lose nothing, has drank
not only the wine, but the bottle too!"
"What!" exclaimed Lord Glenarvan, "is it a bottle that this shark has
in his stomach?"
"A real bottle!" replied the mate, "but you can easily see that it does
not come from the wine-cellar."
"Well, Tom," said Glenarvan, "draw it out carefully. Bottles found in
the sea frequently contain precious documents."
"Do you think so?" said Major MacNabb.
"I do; at least, that it may happen so."
"Oh! I do not contradict you," replied the major. "Perhaps there may be
a secret in this."
"We shall see," said Glenarvan. "Well, Tom?"
"Here it is," said the mate, displaying the shapeless object that he
had just drawn with difficulty from the interior of the shark.
"Good," said Glenarvan; "wash the dirty thing, and bring it into the
cabin."
Tom obeyed; and the bottle found under such singular circumstances was
placed on the cabin-table, around which Lord Glenarvan, Major MacNabb,
and Captain John Mangles took their seats, together with Lady Helena;
for a woman, they say, is always a little inquisitive.
Everything causes excitement at sea. For a moment there was silence.
Each gazed wonderingly at this strange waif. Did it contain the secret
of a disaster, or only an insignificant message confided to the mercy
of the waves by some idle navigator?
[Sidenote: "OLD IN BOTTLE."]
However, they must know what it was, and Glenarvan, without waiting
longer, proceeded to examine the bottle. He took, moreover, all
necessary precautions. You would have thought a coroner was pointing
out the particulars of a suspicious quest. And Glenarvan was right,
for the most insignificant mark in appearance may often lead to an
important discovery.
Before examining it internally, the bottle was inspected externally.
It had a slender neck, the mouth of which was protected by an
iron wire considerably rusted. Its sides were very thick, and
capable of supporting a pressure of several atmospheres, betraying
evidently previous connection with champagne. With these bottles the
wine-dressers of Aï and Epernay block carriage-wheels without their
showing the slightest fracture. This one could, therefore, easily bear
the hardships of a long voyage.
[Illustration]
"A bottle of the Maison Cliquot," said the major quietly; and, as if he
ought to know, his affirmation was accepted without contradiction.
"My dear major," said Lady Helena, "it matters little what this bottle
is, provided we know whence it comes."
"We shall know, my dear," said Lord Edward, "and already we can affirm
that it has come from a distance. See the petrified particles that
cover it, these substances mineralized, so to speak, under the action
of the sea-water. This waif had already taken a long voyage in the
ocean, before being engulfed in the stomach of a shark."
"I cannot but be of your opinion," replied the major; "this fragile
vase, protected by its strong envelope, must have made a long journey."
"But whence does it come?" inquired Lady Glenarvan.
"Wait, my dear Helena, wait. We must be patient with bottles. If I am
not greatly mistaken, this one will itself answer all our questions."
And so saying, Glenarvan began to scrape off the hard particles that
protected the neck. Soon the cork appeared, but very much damaged with
the salt water.
"This is a pity," said Glenarvan; "for if there is any paper in it, it
will be in a bad condition."
"That's what I fear," replied the major.
"I will add," continued Glenarvan, "that this badly-corked bottle would
soon have sunk; and it is fortunate that this shark swallowed it, and
brought it on board of the Duncan."
"Certainly," interposed Captain Mangles; "it would have been better,
however, had it been caught in the open sea on a well-known latitude
and longitude. We could then, by studying the atmospheric and marine
currents, have discovered the course traversed; but with a guide like
one of these sharks, that travel against wind and tide, we cannot know
whence it comes."
"We shall soon see," answered Glenarvan. At the same time he drew out
the cork with the greatest care, and a strong saline odor permeated the
cabin.
"Well?" said Lady Helena, with a truly feminine impatience.
"Yes," said Glenarvan; "I am not mistaken! Here are papers!"
"Documents! documents!" cried Lady Helena.
"Only," replied Glenarvan, "they appear to be damaged by the water.
It is impossible to remove them, for they adhere to the sides of the
bottle."
"Let us break it," said MacNabb.
"I would rather keep it whole," replied Glenarvan.
[Illustration: The fragments soon strewed the table, and several pieces
of paper were perceived adhering to each other. Glenarvan drew them out
carefully.]
"I should, too," said the major.
"Very true," added Lady Helena; "but the contents are more valuable
than that which contains them, and it is better to sacrifice one than
the other."
"Let your lordship only break off the neck," said the captain, "and
that will enable you to draw them out without injury."
"Yes, yes, my dear Edward!" cried Lady Glenarvan.
It was difficult to proceed in any other way, and, at all hazards,
Glenarvan determined to break the neck of the precious bottle. It was
necessary to use a hammer, for the stony covering had acquired the
hardness of granite. The fragments soon strewed the table, and several
pieces of paper were perceived adhering to each other. Glenarvan drew
them out carefully, separating and examining them closely, while Lady
Helena, the major, and the captain crowded around him.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER II.
THE THREE DOCUMENTS.
These pieces of paper, half destroyed by the sea-water, exhibited only
a few words, the traces of handwriting almost entirely effaced. For
several minutes Lord Glenarvan examined them attentively, turned them
about in every way, and exposed them to the light of day, observing
the least traces of writing spared by the sea. Then he looked at his
friends, who were regarding him with anxious eyes.
"There are here," said he, "three distinct documents, probably three
copies of the same missive, translated into three different languages:
one English, another French, and the third German. The few words that
remain leave no doubt on this point."
"But these words have at least a meaning?" said Lady Glenarvan.
"That is difficult to say, my dear Helena. The words traced on these
papers are very imperfect."
"Perhaps they will complete each other," said the major.
"That may be," replied Captain Mangles. "It is not probable that the
water has obliterated these lines in exactly the same places on each,
and by comparing these remains of phrases we shall arrive at some
intelligible meaning."
"We will do so," said Lord Glenarvan; "but let us proceed
systematically. And, first, here is the English document."
It showed the following arrangement of lines and words:
[Illustration]
"That does not mean much," said the major, with an air of
disappointment.
"Whatever it may mean," replied the captain, "it is good English."
"There is no doubt of that," said his lordship. "The words _wreck,
aland, this, and, lost_, are perfect. _Cap_ evidently means _captain_,
referring to the captain of a shipwrecked vessel."
"Let us add," said the captain, "the portions of the words _docu_ and
_ssistance_, the meaning of which is plain."
"Well, something is gained already!" added Lady Helena.
"Unfortunately," replied the major, "entire lines are wanting. How can
we find the name of the lost vessel, or the place of shipwreck?"
"We shall find them," said Lord Edward.
"Very likely," answered the major, who was invariably of the opinion of
every one else; "but how?"
"By comparing one document with another."
"Let us see!" cried Lady Helena.
The second piece of paper, more damaged than the former, exhibited only
isolated words, arranged thus:
[Sidenote: COMPARATIVE PHILOLOGY.]
[Illustration]
"This is written in German," said Captain Mangles, when he had cast his
eyes upon it.
"And do you know that language?" asked Glenarvan.
"Perfectly, your lordship."
"Well, tell us what these few words mean."
The captain examined the document closely, and expressed himself as
follows:
"First, the date of the event is determined. _7 Juni_ means June 7th,
and by comparing this figure with the figures '62,' furnished by the
English document, we have the date complete,--June 7th, 1862."
"Very well!" exclaimed Lady Helena. "Go on."
"On the same line," continued the young captain, "I find the word
_Glas_, which, united with the word _gow_ of the first document, gives
_Glasgow_. It is plainly a ship from the port of Glasgow."
"That was my opinion," said the major.
"The second line is missing entirely," continued Captain Mangles; "but
on the third I meet with two important words _zwei_, which means _two_,
and _atrosen_, or rather _matrosen_, which signifies _sailors_ in
German."
"There were a captain and two sailors, then?" said Lady Helena.
"Probably," replied her husband.
"I will confess, your lordship," said the captain, "that the next word,
_graus_, puzzles me. I do not know how to translate it. Perhaps the
third document will enable us to understand it. As to the two last
words, they are easily explained. _Bringt ihnen_ means _bring to them_,
and if we compare these with the English word, which is likewise on the
sixth line of the first document (I mean the word _assistance_), we
shall have the phrase _bring them assistance_."
"Yes, bring them assistance," said Glenarvan. "But where are the
unfortunates? We have not yet a single indication of the place, and the
scene of the catastrophe is absolutely unknown."
"Let us hope that the French document will be more explicit," said Lady
Helena.
"Let us look at it, then," replied Glenarvan; "and, as we all know this
language, our examination will be more easy."
Here is an exact fac-simile of the third document:
[Illustration]
"There are figures!" cried Lady Helena. "Look, gentlemen, look!"
"Let us proceed in order," said Lord Glenarvan, "and start at
the beginning. Permit me to point out one by one these scattered
and incomplete words. I see from the first letters _troi_ _ats_
(_trois-mats_), that it is a brig, the name of which, thanks to the
English and French documents, is entirely preserved: _The Britannia_.
Of the two following words, _gonie_ and _austral_, only the last has an
intelligible meaning."
[Sidenote: THE PUZZLE EXPLAINED.]
"That is an important point," replied Captain Mangles; "the shipwreck
took place in the southern hemisphere."
"That is indefinite," said the major.
"I will continue," resumed Glenarvan. "The word _abor_ is the trace of
the verb _aborder_ (to land). These unfortunates have landed somewhere.
But where? _Contin!_ Is it on a continent? _Cruel!_"
"'Cruel!'" cried Mangles; "that explains the German word _graus,
grausam, cruel_!"
"Go on, go on!" cried Glenarvan, whose interest was greatly excited as
the meaning of these incomplete words was elucidated. "_Indi_! Is it
India, then, where these sailors have been cast? What is the meaning of
the word _ongit_? Ha, longitude! And here is the latitude, 37° 11'. In
short, we have a definite indication."
"But the longitude is wanting," said MacNabb.
"We cannot have everything, my dear major," replied Glenarvan; "and
an exact degree of latitude is something. This French document is
decidedly the most complete of the three. Each of them was evidently
a literal translation of the others, for they all convey the same
information. We must, therefore, unite and translate them into one
language, and seek their most probable meaning, the one that is most
logical and explicit."
"Shall we make this translation in French, English, or German?" asked
the major.
"In English," answered Glenarvan, "since that is our own language."
"Your lordship is right," said Captain Mangles, "besides, it was also
theirs."
"It is agreed, then. I will write this document, uniting these parts of
words and fragments of phrases, leaving the gaps that separate them,
and filling up those the meaning of which is not ambiguous. Then we
will compare them and form an opinion."
Glenarvan at once took a pen, and, in a few moments, presented to his
friends a paper on which were written the following lines:
[Illustration]
At this moment a sailor informed the captain that the Duncan was
entering the Frith of Clyde, and asked his orders.
"What are your lordship's wishes?" said the captain, addressing Lord
Glenarvan.
"Reach Dumbarton as quickly as possible, captain. Then, while Lady
Helena returns to Malcolm Castle, I will go to London and submit this
document to the authorities."
The captain gave his orders in pursuance of this, and the mate executed
them.
"Now, my friends," said Glenarvan, "we will continue our
investigations. We are on the track of a great catastrophe. The lives
of several men depend upon our sagacity. Let us use therefore all our
ingenuity to divine the secret of this enigma."
"We are ready, my dear Edward," replied Lady Helena.
"First of all," continued Glenarvan, "we must consider three distinct
points in this document. First, what is known; second, what can be
conjectured; and third, what is unknown. What do we know? That on the
7th of June, 1862, a brig, the Britannia, of Glasgow, was wrecked;
that two sailors and the captain threw this document into the sea in
latitude 37° 11', and in it ask for assistance."
"Exactly," replied the major.
[Sidenote: "LINE UPON LINE."]
"What can we conjecture?" resumed Glenarvan. "First, that the
shipwreck took place in the South Seas; and now I call your attention
to the word _gonia_. Does it not indicate the name of the country which
they reached?"
"Patagonia!" cried Lady Helena.
"Probably."
"But is Patagonia crossed by the thirty-seventh parallel?" asked the
major.
"That is easily seen," said the captain, taking out a map of South
America. "It is so: Patagonia is bisected by the thirty-seventh
parallel, which crosses Araucania, over the Pampas, north of Patagonia,
and is lost in the Atlantic."
"Well, let us continue our conjectures. The two sailors and the captain
_abor, land_. Where? _Contin_,--the _continent_, you understand; a
continent, not an island. What becomes of them? We have fortunately
two letters, _pr_, which inform us of their fate. These unfortunates,
in short, are _captured_ (pris) or _prisoners_. By whom? The _cruel
Indians_. Are you convinced? Do not the words fit naturally into the
vacant places? Does not the document grow clear to your eyes? Does not
light break in upon your mind?"
Glenarvan spoke with conviction. His looks betokened an absolute
confidence; and his enthusiasm was communicated to his hearers. Like
him they cried, "It is plain! it is plain!"
A moment after Lord Edward resumed, in these terms:
"All these hypotheses, my friends, seem to me extremely plausible. In
my opinion, the catastrophe took place on the shores of Patagonia.
However, I will inquire at Glasgow what was the destination of the
Britannia, and we shall know whether she could have been led to these
regions."
"We do not need to go so far," replied the captain; "I have here the
shipping news of the _Mercantile and Shipping Gazette_, which will give
us definite information."
"Let us see! let us see!" said Lady Glenarvan.
Captain Mangles took a file of papers of the year 1862, and began to
turn over the leaves rapidly. His search was soon ended; as he said, in
a tone of satisfaction,--
"May 30, 1862, Callao, Peru, _Britannia_, Captain Grant, bound for
Glasgow."
"Grant!" exclaimed Lord Glenarvan; "that hardy Scotchman who wished to
found a new Scotland in the waters of the Pacific?"
"Yes," answered the captain, "the very same, who, in 1861, embarked in
the Britannia at Glasgow, and of whom nothing has since been heard."
"Exactly! exactly!" said Glenarvan; "it is indeed he. The Britannia
left Callao the 30th of May, and on the 7th of June, eight days after
her departure, she was lost on the shores of Patagonia. This is the
whole story elucidated from the remains of these words that seemed
undecipherable. You see, my friends, that what we can conjecture is
very important. As to what we do not know, this is reduced to one item,
the missing degree of longitude."
"It is of no account," added Captain Mangles, "since the country is
known; and with the latitude alone, I will undertake to go straight to
the scene of the shipwreck."
"We know all, then?" said Lady Glenarvan.
"All, my dear Helena: and these blanks that the sea has made between
the words of the document, I can as easily fill out as though I were
writing at the dictation of Captain Grant."
Accordingly Lord Glenarvan took the pen again, and wrote, without
hesitation, the following note:
"June 7, 1862.--The brig Britannia of Glasgow was wrecked on the shores
of Patagonia, in the Southern Hemisphere. Directing their course to
land, two sailors and Captain Grant attempted to reach the continent,
where they will be prisoners of the cruel Indians. They have thrown
this document into the sea, at longitude ----, latitude 37° 11'. Bring
them assistance or they are lost."
[Sidenote: A NOBLE RESOLVE.]
"Good! good! my dear Edward!" said Lady Glenarvan; "and if these
unfortunates see their native country again, they will owe this
happiness to you."
"And they shall see it again," replied Glenarvan. "This document is too
explicit, too clear, too certain, for Englishmen to hesitate. What has
been done for Sir John Franklin, and so many others, will also be done
for the shipwrecked of the Britannia."
"But these unfortunates," answered Lady Helena, "have, without doubt,
a family that mourns their loss. Perhaps this poor Captain Grant has a
wife, children----"
[Illustration: Dumbarton Castle.]
"You are right, my dear lady; and I charge myself with informing them
that all hope is not yet lost. And now, my friends, let us go on deck,
for we must be approaching the harbor."
Indeed, the Duncan had forced on steam, and was now skirting the shores
of Bute Island. Rothesay, with its charming little village nestling in
its fertile valley, was left on the starboard, and the vessel entered
the narrow inlets of the frith, passed Greenock, and, at six in the
evening, was anchored at the foot of the basaltic rocks of Dumbarton,
crowned by the celebrated castle.
Here a coach was waiting to take Lady Helena and Major MacNabb back to
Malcolm Castle. Lord Glenarvan, after embracing his young wife, hurried
to take the express train for Glasgow. But before going, he confided an
important message to a more rapid agent, and a few moments after the
electric telegraph conveyed to the _Times_ and _Morning Chronicle_ an
advertisement in the following terms:
"For any information concerning the brig Britannia of Glasgow, Captain
Grant, address Lord Glenarvan, Malcolm Castle, Luss, County of
Dumbarton, Scotland."
CHAPTER III.
THE CAPTAIN'S CHILDREN.
[Sidenote: THE GLENARVAN ANCESTRY.]
The castle of Malcolm, one of the most romantic in Scotland, is
situated near the village of Luss, whose pretty valley it crowns. The
limpid waters of Loch Lomond bathe the granite of its walls. From time
immemorial it has belonged to the Glenarvan family, who have preserved
in the country of Rob Roy and Fergus MacGregor the hospitable customs
of the ancient heroes of Walter Scott. At the epoch of the social
revolution in Scotland, a great number of vassals were expelled,
because they could not pay the great rents to the ancient chiefs
of the clans. Some died of hunger, others became fishermen, others
emigrated. There was general despair.
[Illustration]
Among all these the Glenarvans alone believed that fidelity bound the
high as well as the low, and they remained faithful to their tenants.
Not one left the roof under which he was born; not one abandoned the
soil where his ancestors reposed; all continued in the clan of their
ancient lords. Thus at this epoch, in this age of disaffection and
disunion, the Glenarvan family considered the Scots at Malcolm Castle
as their own people. All were descended from the vassals of their
kinsmen; were children of the counties of Stirling and Dumbarton, and
honestly devoted, body and estate, to their master.
Lord Glenarvan possessed an immense fortune, which he employed in
doing much good. His kindness exceeded even his generosity, for one
was boundless, while the other was necessarily limited. The lord of
Luss, the "laird" of Malcolm, represented his fellows in the House of
Lords; but with true Scottish ideas, little pleasing to the southrons,
he was disliked by many of them especially because he adhered to the
traditions of his ancestors, and energetically opposed some dicta of
modern political economy.
He was not, however, a backward man, either in wit or shrewdness; but
while ready to enter every door of progress, he remained Scotch at
heart, and it was for the glory of his native land that he contended
with his racing yachts in the matches of the Royal Thames Yacht Club.
Lord Edward Glenarvan was thirty-two years old. His form was erect and
his features sharp, but his look was mild, and his character thoroughly
imbued with the poetry of the Highlands. He was known to be brave to
excess, enterprising, chivalrous, a Fergus of the nineteenth century;
but good above all, better than Saint Martin himself, for he would have
given his very cloak to the poor people of the Highlands.
He had been married scarcely three months, having espoused Miss Helena
Tuffnel, daughter of the great traveler, William Tuffnel, one of the
numerous victims to the great passion for geographical discoveries.
Miss Helena did not belong to a noble family, but she was Scotch, which
equaled all nobilities in the eyes of Lord Glenarvan. This charming
young creature, high-minded and devoted, the lord of Luss had made the
companion of his life. He found her one day living alone, an orphan,
almost without fortune, in the house of her father at Kilpatrick. He
saw that the poor girl would make a noble wife, and he married her.
Miss Tuffnel was twenty-two, a youthful blonde, with eyes as blue as
the waters of the Scotch lakes on a beautiful morning in spring. Her
love for her husband exceeded even her gratitude. She loved him as if
she had been the rich heiress, and he the friendless orphan. As to
their tenants and servants, they were ready to lay down their lives for
her whom they called "our good lady of Luss."
[Sidenote: LIFE IN THE SCOTTISH HOME.]
Lord and Lady Glenarvan lived happily at Malcolm Castle, in the midst
of the grand and wild scenery of the Highlands, rambling in the
shady alleys of horse-chestnuts and sycamores, along the shores of
the lake, where still resounded the war cries of ancient times, or
in the depths of those uncultivated gorges in which the history of
Scotland lies written in ruins from age to age. One day they would
wander in the forests of beeches and larches, and in the midst of the
masses of heather; another, they would scale the precipitous summits
of Ben Lomond, or traverse on horseback the solitary glens, studying,
comprehending, and admiring this poetic country, still called "the land
of Rob Roy," and all those celebrated sites so grandly sung by Walter
Scott.
In the sweet, still evening, when the "lantern of Mac Farlane"
illumined the horizon, they would stroll along the "bartizans," an old
circular balcony that formed a chain of battlements to Malcolm Castle,
and there, pensive, oblivious, and as if alone in the world, seated
on some detached rock, under the pale rays of the moon, while night
gradually enveloped the rugged summits of the mountains, they would
continue wrapt in that pure ecstasy and inward delight known only to
loving hearts.
[Illustration]
Thus passed the first months of their married life. But Lord Glenarvan
did not forget that his wife was the daughter of a great traveler. He
thought that Lady Helena must have in her heart all the aspirations of
her father, and he was not mistaken. The Duncan was constructed, and
was designed to convey Lord and Lady Glenarvan to the most beautiful
countries of the world, along the waves of the Mediterranean, and to
the isles of the Archipelago. Imagine the joy of Lady Helena when her
husband placed the Duncan at her disposal! Indeed, can there be a
greater happiness than to lead your love towards those charming "isles
where Sappho sung," and behold the enchanting scenes of the Orient,
with all their spirit-stirring memories?
[Illustration]
Meantime Lord Glenarvan had started for London. The safety of the
unfortunate shipwrecked men was at stake. Thus, in his temporary
absence, Lady Helena showed herself more anxious than sad. The next
day a dispatch from her husband made her hope for a speedy return; in
the evening a letter hinted at its postponement. His proposal had to
encounter some difficulties, and the following day a second letter
came, in which Lord Glenarvan did not conceal his indignation against
the authorities.
[Illustration: "Please, madam, speak! I am strong against grief, and
can hear all."]
On that day Lady Helena began to be uneasy. At evening she was alone in
her chamber, when the steward of the castle, Mr. Halbert, came to ask
if she would see a young girl and boy who desired to speak with Lord
Glenarvan.
"People of the country?" asked Lady Helena.
"No, madam," replied the steward, "for I do not know them. They have
just arrived by the Balloch railway, and from Balloch to Luss they tell
me they have made the journey on foot."
"Bid them come up, steward," said Lady Glenarvan.
The steward withdrew. Some moments afterward the young girl and boy
were ushered into Lady Helena's chamber. They were brother and sister;
you could not doubt it by their resemblance.
The sister was sixteen. Her pretty face showed weariness, her eyes must
have shed many tears; her resigned, but courageous, countenance, and
her humble, but neat, attire, all prepossessed one in her favor. She
held by the hand a boy of twelve years, of determined look, who seemed
to take his sister under his protection. Indeed, whoever had insulted
the young girl would have had to settle with this little gentleman.
The sister stopped, a little surprised at seeing herself before Lady
Helena; but the latter hastened to open the conversation.
"You wish to speak with me?" said she, with an encouraging look at the
young girl.
[Sidenote: "ONE TOUCH OF NATURE."]
"No," answered the boy, in a decided tone; "not with you, but with Lord
Glenarvan himself."
"Excuse him, madam," said the sister, looking at her brother.
"Lord Glenarvan is not at the castle," replied Lady Helena; "but I am
his wife, and if I can supply his place with you----"
"You are Lady Glenarvan?" said the young girl.
"Yes, miss."
"The wife of Lord Glenarvan, of Malcolm Castle, who published an
advertisement in the _Times_ in regard to the shipwreck of the
Britannia?"
"Yes, yes!" answered Lady Helena, with alacrity. "And you?"
"I am Miss Grant, and this is my brother."
"Miss Grant! Miss Grant!" cried Lady Helena, drawing the young girl
towards her, and taking her hands, while she also drew the boy towards
her.
"Madam," replied the young girl, "what do you know of the shipwreck of
my father? Is he living? Shall we ever see him again? Speak! oh, please
tell me!"
"My dear child," said Lady Helena, "God forbid that I should answer you
lightly on such a subject; I would not give you a vain hope----"
"Please, madam, speak! I am strong against grief, and can hear all."
"My dear child," answered Lady Helena, "the hope is very slight, but
with the help of God who can do everything, it is possible that you
will one day see your father again."
"Alas, alas!" exclaimed Miss Grant, who could not restrain her tears,
while Robert covered the hands of Lady Glenarvan with kisses.
When the first paroxysm of this mournful joy was past, the young girl
began to ask innumerable questions. Lady Helena related the story of
the document, how that the Britannia had been lost on the shores
of Patagonia; in what way, after the shipwreck, the captain and two
sailors, the only survivors, must have reached the continent; and,
at last, how they implored the assistance of the whole world in this
document, written in three languages, and abandoned to the caprices of
the ocean.
During this recital Robert Grant devoured Lady Helena with his eyes;
his life seemed to hang on her lips. In his childish imagination he
reviewed the terrible scenes of which his father must have been the
victim. He saw him on the deck of the Britannia; he followed him to the
bosom of the waves; he clung with him to the rocks of the shore; he
dragged himself panting along the beach, out of reach of the waves.
Often during the course of this narration words escaped his lips.
"Oh, papa! my poor papa!" he cried, pressing close to his sister.
As for Miss Grant, she listened with clasped hands, and did not utter a
word until the story was ended, when she said,--
"Oh, madam, the document! the document!"
"I no longer have it, my dear child," replied Lady Helena.
"You no longer have it?"
"No; for the very sake of your father, Lord Glenarvan had to take it
to London; but I have told you all it contained, word for word, and
how we succeeded in discovering the exact meaning. Among these remains
of the almost effaced words the water had spared some characters.
Unfortunately the record of the longitude had altogether been
destroyed, but that was the only missing point. Thus you see, Miss
Grant, the minutest details of this document are known to you as well
as me."
"Yes, madam," replied the young girl; "but I would like to have seen my
father's writing."
[Sidenote: WAITING FOR THE VERDICT.]
"Well, to-morrow, perhaps, Lord Glenarvan will return. My husband
desired to submit this indisputable document to the authorities in
London, to induce them to send a vessel immediately in search of
Captain Grant."
"Is it possible, madam!" cried the young girl. "Did you do this for us?"
"Yes, my dear miss, and I expect Lord Glenarvan every moment."
"Madam," said the young girl, in a deep tone of gratitude, and with
fervency, "may Heaven bless Lord Glenarvan and you!"
"Dear child," answered Lady Helena, "we deserve no thanks. Any other
person in our place would have done the same. May the hopes that are
kindled be realized! Till Lord Glenarvan's return you will remain at
the castle."
"Madam," said the young girl, "I would not presume on the sympathy you
show to us strangers----"
"Strangers! Dear child, neither your brother nor you are strangers in
this house; and I desire that Lord Glenarvan on his arrival should
inform the children of Captain Grant of what is to be attempted to save
their father."
It was not possible to refuse an invitation made with so much
cordiality. It was, therefore, decided that Miss Grant and her brother
should await at Malcolm Castle the return of Lord Glenarvan.
CHAPTER IV.
LADY GLENARVAN'S PROPOSAL.
During this conversation, Lady Helena had not spoken of the fears
expressed in her husband's letters concerning the reception of his
petition by the London officials; nor was a word said in regard to the
probable captivity of Captain Grant among the Indians of South America.
Why afflict these poor children with their father's situation, and
check the hopes they had just conceived? It would not change matters.
Lady Helena was, therefore, silent on this point, and, after satisfying
all Miss Grant's inquiries, she questioned her concerning her life, and
situation in the world in which she seemed to be the sole protectress
of her brother. It was a simple and touching story, which still more
increased Lady Glenarvan's sympathy for the young girl.
Mary and Robert Grant were the only children of Captain Harry Grant,
whose wife had died at the birth of Robert, and during his long
voyages his children were left to the care of his good old cousin.
Captain Grant was a hardy sailor, a man well acquainted with his
profession, and a good negotiator, combining thus a twofold aptitude
for his calling commercially. His home was at Dundee, in the county of
Forfar, and he was moreover, by birth, a child of that "bonnie" place.
His father, a minister of Saint Catherine's Church, had given him a
thorough education, knowing that it would be sure to help all, even a
sea-captain.
[Sidenote: IDEAS AND REALITIES.]
During his early voyages, first as mate, and afterwards in the
capacity of skipper, Harry Grant prospered, and some years after
the birth of his son Robert, he found himself the possessor of a
considerable fortune.
Then a great idea entered his mind which made his name popular
throughout Scotland. Like the Glenarvans and several other great
families of the Highlands, he was opposed in heart, if not in deed,
to the advance and prevalence of English thought and feeling. The
interests of his country could not be in his eyes the same as those
of the Anglo-Saxons, and, in order to give the former a peculiar and
national development, he resolved to found a Scottish colony in some
part of the Southern World. Did he dream of that independence in the
future of which the United States had set the example, and which the
Indies and Australia cannot fail one day to acquire? Very likely;
but he allowed his secret hopes to be divined. It was, therefore,
known that the Government refused to lend their aid in his project
of colonization; nay, they even raised obstacles which in any other
country would have overcome the project.
But Harry Grant would not be discouraged. He appealed to the patriotism
of his countrymen, gave his fortune to serve the cause, built a vessel
and furnished it with a fine crew, confided his children to the care
of his old cousin, and set sail to explore the great islands of the
Pacific.
It was the year 1861. Until May, 1862, they had received news of him,
but since his departure from Callao, in the month of June, no one had
heard anything of the Britannia, and the marine intelligencers became
silent concerning the fate of the captain.
At this juncture of affairs the old cousin of Harry Grant died, and
the two children were left alone in the world. Mary Grant was then
fourteen. Her courageous soul did not flinch at the situation that was
presented, but she devoted herself entirely to her brother, who was
still a child. She must bring him up and instruct him. By dint of
economy, prudence, and sagacity, laboring night and day, sacrificing
all for him, denying herself everything, the sister succeeded in
educating her brother and bravely fulfilled her sisterly duties.
The two children lived thus at Dundee, and valiantly overcame
their sorrowful and lonely circumstances. Mary thought only of her
brother, and dreamed of a happy future for him. As for herself, alas!
the Britannia was lost forever, and her father dead! We must not,
therefore, attempt to depict her emotion when the advertisement in the
_Times_ accidentally met her eye, and suddenly raised her from her
despair.
It was no time to hesitate. Her resolution was immediately taken. Even
if she should learn that her father's dead body had been found on a
desert coast, or in the hull of a shipwrecked vessel, it was better
than this continual doubt, this eternal torment of uncertainty. She
told her brother all; and the same day the two children took the Perth
Railroad, and at evening arrived at Malcolm Castle, where Mary, after
so many harassing thoughts, began to hope.
Such was the sorrowful story that the young girl related to Lady
Glenarvan, in an artless manner, without thinking that through all
those long years of trial she had behaved herself like an heroic
daughter. But Lady Helena thought of this, and several times, without
hiding her tears, she clasped in her arms the two children of Captain
Grant.
As for Robert, it seemed as if he heard this story for the first time:
for he opened his eyes in astonishment, as he listened to his sister;
comprehended what she had done, what she had suffered; and at last,
encircling her with his arms, he exclaimed, unable longer to restrain
the cry that came from the very depths of his heart,--
"Oh, mamma! my dear mamma!"
[Illustration: "My father, my poor father!" cried Mary Grant, throwing
herself at the feet of Lord Glenarvan.]
Night had now fully set in; and Lady Helena, remembering the fatigue of
the two children, would not longer continue the conversation. Mary
and Robert were conducted to their chambers, and fell asleep dreaming
of a brighter future.
After they had retired, Lady Helena saw the major, and told him all the
events of the day.
"That Mary Grant is a brave girl," said MacNabb, when he had heard his
cousin's story.
"May Heaven grant my husband success in his enterprise!" replied Lady
Helena; "for the situation of the two children would be terrible!"
"He will succeed," answered MacNabb, "or the hearts of the authorities
must be harder than the stone of Portland."
In spite of the major's assurance, Lady Helena passed the night in the
greatest anxiety, and could scarce gain an hour's repose.
[Sidenote: "BROKEN CISTERNS."]
The next morning Mary and her brother rose at daybreak, and were
walking in the galleries and water terraces of the castle, when the
sound of a coach was heard in the great court-yard. It was Lord
Glenarvan returning to Malcolm Castle at the full speed of his horses.
Almost immediately Lady Helena, accompanied by the major, appeared
in the court-yard, and flew to meet her husband. But he seemed sad,
disappointed, and angry. He clasped his wife in his arms, and was
silent.
[Illustration]
"Well, Edward!" she exclaimed.
"Well, my dear Helena," he replied, "those people have no hearts!"
"They refused?"
"Yes, they refused me a vessel: they spoke of the millions vainly spent
in searching for Franklin; they declared the document was vague and
unintelligible; they said that the shipwreck of these unfortunates had
happened two years ago, and that there was little chance of finding
them. They maintained too, that, if prisoners of the Indians, they must
have been carried into the interior of the country; that they could not
ransack all Patagonia to find three men,--three Scotchmen; the search
would be vain and perilous, and would cost the lives of more men than
it would save. In short, they gave all the absurd reasons of people who
mean to refuse. They remembered the captain's projects, and I fear that
the unfortunate man is forever lost!"
"My father, my poor father!" cried Mary Grant, throwing herself at the
feet of Lord Glenarvan.
"Your father! What, Miss----?" said he, surprised at seeing a young
girl at his feet.
"Yes, Edward, Miss Grant and her brother," replied Lady Helena; "the
two children of Captain Grant, who have thus been condemned to remain
orphans."
"Ah, miss!" answered Lord Glenarvan, "if I had known of your
presence----"
He said no more. A painful silence, interrupted only by sobs, reigned
in the court-yard. No one raised his voice, neither Lord Glenarvan,
Lady Helena, the major, nor the servants of the castle, who were
standing about even at this early hour. But by their attitude they all
protested against the conduct of the officials.
After several moments the major resumed the conversation, and,
addressing Lord Glenarvan, said,--
"Then you have no more hope?"
"None."
"Well," cried young Robert, "I will go to these people, and--we shall
see----"
He did not finish his threat, for his sister stopped him; but his
clinched hands indicated his intentions.
"No, Robert," said she, "no; let us thank these kind people for what
they have done for us. Let us always keep them in remembrance; but now
we must take our departure."
"Mary!" cried Lady Helena.
"Miss, where would you go?" said Lord Glenarvan.
"I am going to throw myself at the feet of the Queen," replied the
young girl, "and we shall see if she will be deaf to the prayers of two
children imploring help for their father."
Lord Glenarvan shook his head; not that he doubted the clemency of Her
Gracious Majesty, but he doubted whether Mary Grant would gain access
to her; for but few suppliants reach the steps of a throne.
Lady Helena understood her husband's thoughts. She knew that the young
girl might make a fruitless journey, and she pictured to herself these
two children leading henceforth a cheerless existence. Then it was that
she conceived a grand and noble idea.
"Mary Grant," she exclaimed, "wait, my child; listen to what I am about
to say."
The young girl held her brother by the hand, and was preparing to go.
She stopped.
Then Lady Helena, with tearful eye, but firm voice and animated
features, advanced towards her husband.
[Sidenote: "NOBLY PLANNED."]
"Edward," said she, "when Captain Grant wrote that letter, and cast
it into the sea, he confided it to the care of God himself, who has
brought it to us. Without doubt He designed to charge us with the
safety of these unfortunates."
"What do you mean, Helena?" inquired Lord Glenarvan, whilst all waited
in silence.
"I mean," replied Lady Helena, "that we ought to consider ourselves
happy in beginning our married life with a good action. You, my dear
Edward, to please me, have planned a pleasure voyage. But what pleasure
can be more genuine or more beneficent than to save these unfortunates
whom hope has almost abandoned?"
"Helena!" cried Lord Glenarvan.
"Yes, you understand me, Edward. The Duncan is a good, staunch vessel.
It can brave the Southern seas; it can make the tour of the world,--and
it will, if necessary! Let us start, Edward,--let us go in search of
Captain Grant!"
At these courageous words Lord Glenarvan had extended his arms to his
wife. He smiled. He pressed her to his heart, while Mary and Robert
kissed her hands.
And during this touching scene the servants of the castle, affected and
enthusiastic, uttered from their hearts this cry of gratitude,--
"Hurrah for the lady of Luss! Hurrah! three times hurrah, for Lord and
Lady Glenarvan!"
CHAPTER V.
THE DEPARTURE OF THE DUNCAN.
It has been already said that Lady Helena had a brave and generous
soul. What she had just done was an undeniable proof of it, and Lord
Glenarvan had good reason to trust in this noble woman, who was
capable of comprehending and following him. The idea of sailing to
the rescue of Captain Grant had already taken possession of him when
he saw his petition rejected at London; but he could not have thought
of separating from her. Yet, since she desired to go herself, all
hesitation was at an end. The servants of the castle had received her
proposal with cries of joy; the safety of their brother Scots was at
stake, and Lord Glenarvan joined heartily in the hurrahs that greeted
the lady of Luss.
The scheme once resolved upon, there was not an hour to lose. That
very day Lord Glenarvan sent to Captain Mangles orders to bring the
Duncan to Glasgow, and make every preparation for a voyage to the South
Seas, which might become one of circumnavigation. Moreover, in her
plans Lady Helena had not overestimated the qualities of the Duncan:
of first-class construction with regard to strength and swiftness, she
could without injury sustain a long voyage.
[Sidenote: FITTING FOR SEA.]
The Duncan was a steam yacht of one hundred and ten tons burden.
She had two masts,--a foremast with fore-sail, main-sail, foretop
and foretop-gallant sails; and a mainmast, carrying a main-sail and
fore-staff. Her rigging was, therefore, sufficient, and she could
profit by the wind like a simple clipper; but she relied especially
upon her mechanical power. Her engine was of an effective force of one
hundred and sixty horse power, and was constructed on a new plan. It
possessed apparatus for overheating, which gave its steam a very great
tension. It was a high-pressure engine, and produced motion by a double
screw. The Duncan under full steam could acquire a speed equal to any
vessel of that day. Indeed, during her trial trip in the Frith of
Clyde, she had made, according to the log, seventeen knots an hour. She
was, therefore, fully capable of circumnavigating the world; and her
captain had only to occupy himself with the internal arrangement.
His first care was to increase his store-room, and take in the
greatest possible quantity of coal, for it would be difficult to renew
their supplies on the voyage. The same precaution was taken with the
steward's room, and provisions for two years were stowed away. Money,
of course, was not wanting, and a pivot-gun was furnished, which was
fixed at the forecastle. You do not know what may happen, and it is
always best to have the means of defense in your reach.
Captain Mangles, we must say, understood his business. Although he
commanded only a pleasure yacht, he was ranked among the ablest of
the Glasgow captains. He was thirty years of age, with rather rough
features, indicating courage and kindness. When a child, the Glenarvan
family had taken him under their care, and made him an excellent
seaman. He had often given proofs of skill, energy, and coolness during
his long voyages, and when Lord Glenarvan offered him the command of
the Duncan, he accepted it with pride and pleasure, for he loved the
lord of Malcolm Castle as a brother, and until then had vainly sought
an opportunity to devote himself to his service.
The mate, Tom Austin, was an old sailor worthy of all confidence; and
the crew of the Duncan was composed of twenty-five men, including
the captain and mate. They all belonged to the county of Dumbarton,
were all tried seamen, sons of the tenants of the family, and formed
on shipboard a genuine clan of honest people, who of course were not
without the national bagpipe. Lord Glenarvan had, in them, a band of
faithful subjects, happy in their avocation, devoted, courageous, and
skillful in the use of arms, as well as in the management of a ship,
while they were ready to follow him on the most perilous expeditions.
When they learned where they were going, they could not restrain their
joyous emotion, and the echoes of the rocks of Dumbarton awoke to their
cries of enthusiasm.
Captain Mangles, while occupied in lading and provisioning his craft,
did not forget to prepare Lord and Lady Glenarvan's apartments for a
long voyage. He likewise provided cabins for Captain Grant's children,
for Lady Helena could not refuse Mary permission to accompany her on
the expedition.
As for young Robert, he would have hidden in the hold sooner than
not go; even if he had been compelled to serve as cabin-boy, like
Lord Nelson and Sir John Franklin, he would have embarked on board
the Duncan. To think of opposing such a little gentleman! It was
not attempted. They were even obliged to take him other than as
passenger, for as cabin-boy or sailor he _would serve_. The captain was
accordingly commissioned to teach him the duties of a seaman.
"Good!" said Robert; "and let him not spare a few blows of the rope's
end if I do not walk straight."
"Be easy, my boy," replied Glenarvan, without adding that the use of
the "cat-o'-nine-tails" was prohibited, and moreover quite needless, on
board the Duncan.
[Sidenote: GLASGOW GOSSIP.]
To complete the roll of the passengers, it will be sufficient to
describe Major MacNabb. The major was a man of fifty, of calm,
regular features, who did as he was bid; of an excellent and superior
character, modest, taciturn, peaceable, and mild; always agreeing
with anything or any one, disputing nothing, and neither contradicting
himself nor exaggerating. He would mount with measured step the
staircase to his bed-chamber, even were a cannon-ball behind him; and
probably to his dying day would never find an opportunity to fly into a
passion.
This man possessed, in a high degree, not only the common courage of
the battle-field (that physical bravery due only to nervous strength),
but, better still, moral courage, that is to say, firmness of soul. If
he had a fault, it was that of being absolutely Scotch from head to
foot, a pure-blooded Caledonian, an infatuated observer of the ancient
customs of his country. Through his relationship to the Glenarvans he
lived at Malcolm Castle; and as major and military man it was very
natural that he should be found on board the Duncan.
Such, then, were the passengers of this yacht, summoned by unforeseen
circumstances to accomplish one of the most surprising voyages of
modern times. Since her arrival at the wharf at Glasgow, she had
monopolized the public attention. A considerable number came every day
to visit her. They were interested in her alone, and spoke only of her,
to the great umbrage of the other captains of the port, among others
Captain Burton, commanding the Scotia, a magnificent steamer, moored
beside the Duncan, and bound for Calcutta. The Scotia, from her size,
had a right to consider the Duncan as a mere fly-boat. Nevertheless,
all the attraction centred in Lord Glenarvan's yacht, and increased
from day to day.
The time of departure approached. Captain Mangles had shown himself
skillful and expeditious. A month after her trial trip in the Frith of
Clyde, the Duncan, laden, provisioned, and equipped, was ready to put
to sea. The 25th of August was appointed for the time of departure,
which would enable the yacht to reach the southern latitudes by the
beginning of spring. Lord Glenarvan, when his plan was matured, did
not neglect to make investigations into the hardships and perils of the
voyage; yet he did not hesitate on this account, but prepared to leave
Malcolm Castle.
On the 24th of August, Lord and Lady Glenarvan, Major MacNabb, Mary and
Robert Grant, Mr. Olbinett, the steward of the yacht, and his wife, who
was in the service of Lady Glenarvan, left the castle, after taking an
affectionate farewell of their family servants. Several hours afterward
they found themselves on board. Many of the population of Glasgow
welcomed with sympathetic admiration the young and courageous lady who
renounced the pleasures of a life of luxury, and sailed to the rescue
of the shipwrecked sailors.
The apartments of Lord Glenarvan and his wife occupied the entire stern
of the vessel. They consisted of two bed-chambers, a parlor, and two
dressing-rooms, adjoining which was an open square inclosed by six
cabins, five of which were occupied by Mary and Robert Grant, Mr. and
Mrs. Olbinett, and Major MacNabb. As for the cabins of the captain and
the mate, they were situated in the forecastle, and opened on the deck.
The crew were lodged between-decks very comfortably, for the yacht of
course carried nothing but her coal, provisions, and armament.
The Duncan was to start on the night of the 24th, as the tide fell at
three o'clock in the morning. But first those who were present were
witness to a touching scene. At eight in the evening Lord Glenarvan and
his companions, the entire crew, from the firemen to the captain, all
who were to take part in this voyage of sacrifice, left the yacht, and
betook themselves to Saint Mungo, the ancient cathedral of Glasgow.
This antique church, an uninjured relic in the midst of the ruins
caused by the Reformation, and so marvelously described by Walter
Scott, received beneath its massive arches the owners and sailors of
the Duncan.
[Sidenote: PRAYER, AND PROGRESS.]
A numerous throng accompanied them. There in the spacious aisle,
filled with tombs of the great and good, the Rev. Mr. Morton implored
the blessing of Heaven, and commended the expedition to the care of
Providence. For a moment the voice of Mary Grant arose in the old
church. The young girl was praying for her benefactors, and shedding
before God the sweet tears of gratitude. The assembly retired under the
influence of a deep emotion.
At eleven, every one was on board. The captain and the crew occupied
themselves with the final preparations. At midnight the fires were
kindled, and soon clouds of black smoke mingled with the vapors of the
night; the sails of the Duncan had been carefully reefed in a canvas
sheathing, which served to protect them from injury. The wind blew from
the southeast, and did not favor the progress of the vessel; but at two
o'clock the ship began to heave under the action of her boilers. The
manometer indicated a pressure of four atmospheres, and the overheated
steam whistled through the escape-valves. The sea was tranquil, and
soon daylight enabled them to distinguish the passes of the Clyde
between the buoys and beacons, whose lights were gradually extinguished
as the morning dawned.
Captain Mangles informed Lord Glenarvan, who at once came on deck. Very
soon the ebb-tide was felt. The Duncan gave a few shrill whistles,
slackened her cables, and separated from the surrounding vessels. Her
screw was set in motion, which propelled her into the channel of the
river. The captain had taken no pilot. He was perfectly acquainted with
the navigation of the Clyde, and no one could have commanded better. At
a sign from him the yacht started. With his right hand he controlled
the engine, and with his left the tiller, with silent but unerring
skill.
[Illustration: The Rev. Mr. Morton implored the blessing of Heaven, and
commended the expedition to the care of Providence.]
[Sidenote: A CHANGE OF SCENE.]
Soon the last workshops on the shore gave place to villas, built here
and there upon the hills, and the sounds of the city died away in the
distance. An hour afterwards, the Duncan passed the rocks of Dumbarton;
two hours later she was in the Frith of Clyde; and at six o'clock in
the morning she doubled Cantyre Point, emerged from the North Channel,
and gained the open sea.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER VI.
AN UNEXPECTED PASSENGER.
During the first day's voyage the sea was quite rough, and the wind
freshened towards evening. The Duncan rolled considerably, so that
the ladies did not appear on deck, but very wisely remained in their
cabins. The next day the wind changed a point, and the captain set the
main-, fore-, and foretop-sails, thus causing less perception of the
rolling and pitching motion.
Lady Helena and Mary Grant were able before daybreak to join Lord
Glenarvan, the major, and the captain, on deck. The sunrise was
magnificent. The orb of day, like a gilded metal disk, rose from the
ocean, as from an immense and silvery basin. The ship glided in the
midst of a splendid iridescence, and you would truly have thought that
her sails expanded under the influence of the sun's rays, whilst even
the crew of the yacht silently admired this reappearance of the orb of
day.
"What a magnificent spectacle!" said Lady Helena, at last. "This is
the beginning of a beautiful day. May the wind not prove contrary, but
favor the progress of the Duncan!"
"No better weather could be desired, my dear Helena," replied Lord
Glenarvan; "we have no reason to complain of the commencement of the
voyage."
"Will it be a long one, my dear Edward?"
"That is for the captain to answer," said he. "Are we progressing well?
Are you satisfied with your vessel, captain?"
"Very well indeed," was the answer. "She is a marvelous craft, and a
sailor likes to feel her under his feet. Never were hull and engine
more in unison. See how smooth her wake is, and how easily she rides
the waves. We are moving at the rate of seventeen knots an hour. If
this continues, we shall cross the line in ten days, and in five weeks
shall double Cape Horn."
"You hear, Mary," said Lady Helena: "in five weeks!"
"Yes," replied the young girl, "I hear; and my heart beat quickly at
the words of the captain."
"And how do you bear this voyage, Miss Mary?" inquired Lord Glenarvan.
"Very well, my lord; I do not experience very many discomforts.
Besides, I shall soon be accustomed to it."
"And young Robert?"
[Sidenote: COMPLIMENTS AND CONGRATULATIONS.]
"Oh, Robert!" replied Captain Mangles: "when he is not engaged with the
engine he is perched at mast-head. I tell you he is a boy who mocks
sea-sickness. Only look at him!"
At a gesture of the captain, all eyes were turned towards the mainmast,
and every one could perceive Robert, suspended by the stays of the
foretop-gallant sail, a hundred feet aloft. Mary could not restrain a
motion of fear.
"Oh, be easy, miss!" said Captain Mangles. "I will answer for him, and
promise you I will present, in a short time, a famous sailor to Captain
Grant; for we shall find that worthy captain."
"May Heaven hear you, sir!" replied the young girl.
"My dear child," said Lord Glenarvan, "there is in all this something
providential, which ought to give us hope. We are not merely going, we
are led; we are not seeking blindly, we are guided. And then see all
these brave people enrolled in the service of so good a cause. Not only
shall we succeed in our enterprise, but it will be accomplished without
difficulty. I have promised Lady Helena a pleasure voyage; and, if I am
not mistaken, I shall keep my word."
"Edward," said Lady Glenarvan, "you are the best of men."
"Not so; but I have the best of crews, on the best of ships. Do you not
wonder at our Duncan, Miss Mary?"
"On the contrary, my lord," answered the young girl, "I don't so much
wonder as admire; for I am well acquainted with ships."
"Ah! indeed!"
"When a mere child, I played on my father's ships. He ought to have
made a sailor of me. If it were necessary, perhaps I should not now be
embarrassed in taking a reef or twisting a gasket."
"What is that you're saying, miss?" exclaimed the captain.
"If you talk so," continued Lord Glenarvan, "you will make a great
friend of Captain John; for he thinks nothing in the world can equal
the life of a sailor. He sees no other, even for a woman. Is it not so,
John?"
"Undoubtedly, your lordship," replied the young captain; "and yet, I
confess, Miss Grant is better in her place on deck, than taking a reef
in the top-sail. But still I am very much flattered to hear her speak
so."
"And especially when she admires the Duncan!" added Glenarvan.
"Right, my lord; for she deserves it."
"Upon my word," said Lady Helena, "since you are so proud of your
yacht, you make me anxious to examine her to the very hold, and see how
our brave sailors are quartered between-decks."
"Admirably," replied the captain; "they are quite at home there."
"Indeed they are, my dear Helena," said Lord Glenarvan. "This yacht
is a part of our old Caledonia,--a detached portion of the county of
Dumbarton, traveling by special favor, so that we have not left our
country. The Duncan is Malcolm Castle, and the ocean is Loch Lomond."
"Well, then, my dear Edward, do the honors of the castle," said Lady
Helena.
"I am at your disposal, madam," answered her husband; "but first let me
inform Olbinett."
The steward of the yacht was an excellent manager, a Scotchman, who
deserved to have been a Frenchman from his self-importance, and,
moreover, fulfilled his duties with zeal and intelligence. He was at
once ready for his master's commands.
"Olbinett, we are going to make a tour of the vessel before breakfast,"
said Glenarvan, as if a journey to Tarbet or Loch Katrine was in
question. "I hope we shall find the table ready on our return."
Olbinett bowed gravely.
[Illustration: This man, tall, lank, and shriveled, might have been
forty years old. He resembled a long, broad-headed nail, for his head
was large and thick, his forehead high, his nose prominent, his mouth
wide, and his chin blunt.]
"Do you accompany us, major?" asked Lady Helena.
"If you order it," replied MacNabb.
"Oh!" said Lord Glenarvan, "the major is absorbed in the smoke of his
cigar; we must not disturb him, for I assure you he is an inveterate
smoker, Miss Mary; he smokes all the time, even in his sleep."
The major made a sign of assent, and the passengers descended
between-decks.
MacNabb remained alone, talking to himself, according to his custom,
but never contradicting himself. Enveloped in a dense cloud of smoke,
he stood motionless, gazing back at the wake of the yacht. After a few
moments of contemplation, he turned and found himself face to face with
a new character. If _anything_ could have surprised him, it must have
been this meeting, for the passenger was absolutely unknown to him.
[Sidenote: A TELESCOPIC APPARITION.]
This man, tall, lank, and shriveled, might have been forty years old.
He resembled a long, broad-headed nail, for his head was large and
thick, his forehead high, his nose prominent, his mouth wide, and
his chin blunt. As for his eyes, they were hidden behind enormous
eye-glasses, and his look seemed to have that indecision peculiar
to nyctalops. His countenance indicated an intelligent and lively
person, while it had not the crabbed air of those stern people who from
principle never laugh, and whose stupidity is hidden beneath a serious
guise. The nonchalance and amiable freedom of this unknown nonentity
clearly proved that he knew how to take men and things at their best
advantage. Even without his speaking you felt that he was a talker; but
he was abstracted, after the manner of those who do not see what they
are looking at or hear what they are listening to. He wore a traveling
cap, stout yellow buskins and leather gaiters, pantaloons of maroon
velvet, and a jacket of the same material, whose innumerable pockets
seemed stuffed with note-books, memoranda, scraps, portfolios, and a
thousand articles as inconvenient as they were useless, not to speak
of a telescope which he carried in a sling.
The curiosity of this unknown being was a singular contrast to the
calmness of the major. He walked around MacNabb, and gazed at him
questioningly, whilst the latter did not trouble himself whence the
stranger came, whither he was going, or why he was on board the Duncan.
When this enigmatical character saw his approaches mocked by the
indifference of the major, he seized his telescope, which at its full
length measured four feet; and motionless, with legs straddled, like a
sign-post on a highway, he pointed his instrument to the line where sky
and water met. After a few moments of examination, he lowered it, and
resting it on the deck, leaned upon it as upon a cane. But immediately
the joints of the instrument closed, and the newly discovered
passenger, whose point of support suddenly failed, was stretched at the
foot of the mainmast.
[Illustration]
Any one else in the major's place would at least have smiled, but he
did not even wink. The unknown then assumed his rôle.
"Steward!" he cried, with an accent that betokened a foreigner.
He waited. No one appeared.
"Steward!" he repeated, in a louder tone.
Mr. Olbinett was passing just then on his way to the kitchen under the
forecastle. What was his astonishment to hear himself thus addressed by
this tall individual, who was utterly unknown to him!
"Where did this person come from?" said he to himself. "A friend of
Lord Glenarvan? It is impossible."
However, he came on deck, and approached the stranger.
"Are you the steward of the vessel?" the latter asked him.
"Yes, sir," replied Olbinett; "but I have not the honor----"
"I am the passenger of cabin number six."
"Number six?" repeated the steward.
"Certainly; and your name is----?"
"Olbinett."
"Well, Olbinett, my friend," answered the stranger of cabin number six,
"I must think of dinner, and acutely, too. For thirty-six hours I have
eaten nothing, or, rather, have slept, which is pardonable in a man
come all the way from Paris to Glasgow. What hour do you dine, if you
please?"
"At nine o'clock," answered Olbinett, mechanically.
The stranger attempted to consult his watch; but this took some time,
for he did not find it till he came to his ninth pocket.
[Sidenote: CONFUSION WORSE CONFOUNDED.]
"Well," said he, "it is not yet eight o'clock; therefore, Olbinett, a
biscuit and a glass of sherry for the present; for I am fainting with
hunger."
Olbinett listened without understanding. Moreover, the unknown kept
talking, and passed from one subject to another with extreme volubility.
"Well," said he, "has not the captain risen yet? And the mate? What is
he doing? Is he asleep, too? Fortunately, the weather is beautiful, the
wind favorable, and the ship goes on quite by herself----"
Just as he said this, Captain Mangles appeared at the companion-way.
"Here is the captain," said Olbinett.
"Ah, I am delighted," cried the stranger, "delighted to make your
acquaintance, Captain Burton!"
If any one was ever astounded, John Mangles certainly was, not less at
hearing himself called "Captain Burton," than at seeing this stranger
on board his vessel.
The latter continued, with more animation:
"Permit me to shake hands with you, and if I did not do so day before
yesterday, it was that no one might be embarrassed at the moment of
departure. But to-day, captain, I am truly happy to meet you."
Captain Mangles opened his eyes in measureless astonishment, looking
first at Olbinett, and then at the new comer.
"Now," continued the latter, "the introduction is over, and we are old
friends. Let us have a talk; and tell me, are you satisfied with the
Scotia?"
"What do you mean by the Scotia?" asked the captain, at last.
"Why, the Scotia that carries us: a good ship, whose commander, the
brave Captain Burton, I have heard praised no less for his physical
than his moral qualities. Are you the father of the great African
traveler of that name? If so, my compliments!"
"Sir," replied Captain Mangles, "not only am I not the father of the
traveler Burton, but I am not even Captain Burton."
"Ah!" said the unknown, "it is the mate of the Scotia then, Mr.
Burdness, whom I am addressing at this moment?"
"Mr. Burdness?" replied Captain Mangles, who began to suspect the
truth. But was he talking to a fool, or a rogue? This was a question in
his mind, and he was about to explain himself intelligibly, when Lord
Glenarvan, his wife, and Miss Grant came on deck.
The stranger perceived them, and cried,--
"Ah! passengers! passengers! excellent! I hope, Mr. Burdness, you are
going to introduce me----"
And advancing with perfect ease, without waiting for the captain,--
"Madam" said he to Miss Grant, "Miss" to Lady Helena, "Sir" he added,
addressing Lord Glenarvan.
"Lord Glenarvan," said Captain Mangles.
"My lord," continued the unknown, "I beg your pardon for introducing
myself, but at sea we must relax a little from etiquette. I hope we
shall soon be acquainted, and that, in the society of these ladies, the
passage of the Scotia will seem as short to us as agreeable."
Lady Helena and Miss Grant could not find a word to answer. They were
completely bewildered by the presence of this intruder.
"Sir," said Glenarvan, at length, "whom have I the honor of addressing?"
"Jacques Eliacim François Marie Paganel, secretary of the Geographical
Society of Paris; corresponding member of the societies of Berlin,
Bombay, Darmstadt, Leipsic, London, St. Petersburg, Vienna, and New
York; honorary member of the Royal Geographical and Ethnographical
Institute of the East Indies, who, after passing twenty years of his
life in studying geography, designs now to enter upon a roving life,
and is directing his course to India to continue there the labors of
the great travelers."
CHAPTER VII.
JACQUES PAGANEL IS UNDECEIVED.
The secretary of the Geographical Society must have been an agreeable
person, for all this was said with much modesty. Lord Glenarvan,
moreover, knew perfectly whom he had met. The name and merit of Jacques
Paganel were well known to him. His geographical labors, his reports
on modern discoveries, published in the bulletins of the Society, his
correspondence with the entire world, had made him one of the most
distinguished scientific men of France. Thus Glenarvan extended his
hand very cordially to his unexpected guest.
"And now that our introduction is over," added he, "will you permit me,
Monsieur Paganel, to ask you a question?"
"Twenty, my lord," replied Jacques Paganel; "it will always be a
pleasure to converse with you."
"You arrived on board this vessel the day before yesterday?"
"Yes, my lord, day before yesterday, at eight o'clock in the evening.
I took a cab from the Caledonian Railway to the Scotia, in which I had
engaged cabin number six at Paris. The night was dark. I saw no one on
board. Feeling fatigued by thirty hours of travel, and knowing that
a good way to avoid sea-sickness is to go to bed on embarking, and
not stir from your bunk for the first days of the voyage, I retired
immediately, and have conscientiously slept thirty-six hours, I assure
you."
Jacques Paganel's hearers now knew the reason of his presence on board.
The Frenchman, mistaking the vessel, had embarked while the crew of
the Duncan were engaged in the ceremony at Saint Mungo. Everything was
explained. But what would the geographer say, when he learned the name
and destination of the vessel on which he had taken passage?
"So, Monsieur Paganel," said Glenarvan, "you have chosen Calcutta as
your centre of action?"
"Yes, my lord. To see India is an idea that I have cherished all my
life. It is my brightest dream, which shall be realized at last in the
country of the elephants and the Thugs."
"Then you would not care to visit another country?"
"No, my lord; it would be even disagreeable, for I have letters from
Lord Somerset to the governor-general of India, and a mission from the
Geographical Society which I must fulfil."
"Ah! you have a mission?"
"Yes, a useful and curious voyage to undertake, the programme of
which has been arranged by my scientific friend and colleague, M.
Vivien de Saint Martin. It is to follow in the steps of the brothers
Schlagintweit, and many other celebrated travelers. I hope to succeed
where Missionary Krick unfortunately failed in 1846. In a word, I wish
to discover the course of the Yaroo-tsang-bo-tsoo, which waters Thibet,
and finally to settle whether this river does not join the Brahmapootra
in the northeast part of Assam. A gold medal is promised to that
traveler who shall succeed in supplying this much-needed information on
Indian geography."
Paganel was grandiloquent. He spoke with a lofty animation, and was
carried away in the rapid flight of imagination. It would have been
as impossible to check him as to stay the Rhine at the Falls of
Schaffhausen.
"Monsieur Jacques Paganel," said Lord Glenarvan, after a moment
of silence, "that is certainly a fine voyage, and one for which
science would be very grateful; but I will not further prolong your
ignorance. For the present, you must give up the pleasure of seeing
India."
"Give it up! And why?"
"Because you are turning your back upon the Indian peninsula."
"How? Captain Burton----"
"I am not Captain Burton," replied John Mangles.
"But the Scotia?"
"This vessel is not the Scotia."
Paganel's amazement cannot be depicted. He looked first at Lord
Glenarvan, always serious; then at Lady Helena and Miss Grant, whose
features expressed a sympathetic disappointment; and finally at Captain
Mangles, who was smiling, and the imperturbable major. Then, raising
his shoulders and drawing down his glasses from his forehead to his
eyes, he exclaimed,--
"What a joke!"
But at that his eyes fell upon the steering wheel, on which were
inscribed these two words, thus:
[Illustration]
"The Duncan! the Duncan!" he cried in a tone of real despair; and,
leaping down the companion-way, he rushed to his cabin.
When the unfortunate geographer had disappeared, no one on board,
except the major, could retain gravity, and the laugh was communicated
even to the sailors. To mistake the railroad was not so bad; to take
the train to Dumbarton, instead of Edinburgh, would do. But to mistake
the vessel, and be sailing to Chili, when he wished to go to India, was
the height of absent-mindedness.
[Sidenote: ABSENT-MINDEDNESS.]
"On the whole, I am not astonished at this on the part of Jacques
Paganel," said Glenarvan; "he is noted for such blunders. He once
published a celebrated map of America, in which he located Japan.
However, he is a distinguished scholar, and one of the best geographers
of France."
[Illustration]
"But what are we going to do with the poor gentleman?" asked Lady
Helena. "We cannot take him to Patagonia."
"Why not?" replied MacNabb gravely. "We are not responsible for his
errors. Suppose he were in a railroad car, would it stop for him?"
"No; but he could get out at the first station," answered Lady Helena.
"Well," said Glenarvan, "he can do so now, if he pleases, at our first
landing."
At this moment Paganel, woeful and humble, reappeared on deck, after
convincing himself that his baggage was on board. He kept repeating
those fatal words: "The Duncan! the Duncan!" He could find no others
in his vocabulary. He went to and fro, examining the rigging of the
yacht, and questioning the mute horizon of the open sea. At last he
returned to Lord Glenarvan.
[Illustration]
"And this Duncan is going----?" he asked.
"To America, Monsieur Paganel."
"And where especially?"
"To Concepcion."
"To Chili! to Chili!" cried the unfortunate geographer. "And my mission
to India! But what will M. de Quatrefages say, the President of the
Central Commission? How shall I represent myself at the sessions of the
Society?"
[Sidenote: COURTESY AND CONVERSE.]
"Come, monsieur," said Glenarvan, "do not despair. Everything can
be arranged, and you will only have to submit to a delay of little
consequence. The Yaroo-tsang-bo-tsoo will wait for you in the mountains
of Thibet. We shall soon reach Madeira, and there you will find a
vessel to take you back to Europe."
"I thank you, my lord, and must be resigned. But we can say this is an
extraordinary adventure, which would not have happened but for me. And
my cabin which is engaged on board the Scotia?"
"Oh, as for the Scotia, I advise you to give her up for the present."
"But," said Paganel after examining the vessel again, "the Duncan is a
pleasure yacht."
"Yes, sir," replied Captain Mangles, "and belongs to his lordship, Lord
Glenarvan----"
"Who begs you to make free use of his hospitality," said Glenarvan.
"A thousand thanks, my lord," replied Paganel; "I am truly sensible
to your courtesy. But permit me to make a simple remark. India is a
beautiful country. It offers marvelous surprises to travelers. These
ladies have probably never visited it. Well, the man at the helm needs
only to give a turn to the wheel, and the Duncan will go as easily to
Calcutta as Concepcion. Now, since this is a pleasure voyage----"
The negative reception that met Paganel's proposal did not permit him
to develop it. He paused.
"Monsieur Paganel," said Lady Helena at length, "if this were only a
pleasure voyage, I would answer: 'Let us all go to India,' and Lord
Glenarvan would not disapprove. But the Duncan is going to recover
some shipwrecked sailors, abandoned on the coast of Patagonia; and she
cannot change so humane a course."
In a few moments the Frenchman was acquainted with the situation of
affairs, and learned, not without emotion, the providential discovery
of the documents, the story of Captain Grant, and Lady Helena's
generous proposal.
"Madam," said he, "permit me to admire your conduct in all this, and to
admire it without reserve. May your yacht continue on her course; I
would reproach myself for delaying her a single day."
"Will you then join in our search?" asked Lady Helena.
"It is impossible, madam; I must fulfil my mission. I shall disembark
at your first landing."
"At Madeira then," said Captain Mangles.
"At Madeira let it be. I shall be only one hundred and eighty leagues
from Lisbon, and will wait there for means of further conveyance."
"Well, Monsieur Paganel," said Glenarvan, "it shall be as you desire;
and, for my part, I am happy that I can offer you for a few days the
hospitalities of my vessel. May you not grow weary of our company."
"Oh, my lord," exclaimed the geographer, "I am still too happy in being
so agreeably disappointed. However, it is a very ludicrous situation
for a man who takes passage for India, and is sailing to America."
In spite of this mortifying reflection, Paganel made the best use of a
delay that he could not avoid. He showed himself amiable, and even gay;
he enchanted the ladies with his good humor, and before the end of the
day he was the friend of every one. At his request the famous document
was shown to him. He studied it carefully, long and minutely. No other
interpretation appeared to him possible. Mary Grant and her brother
inspired him with the liveliest interest. He gave them good hopes. His
way of distinguishing the events, and the undeniable success that he
predicted for the Duncan, elicited a smile from the young girl.
[Sidenote: THIS, OR THAT, OR NEITHER.]
As to Lady Helena, when he learned that she was the daughter of William
Tuffnel, there was an outburst of surprise and admiration. He had known
her father. What a bold discoverer! How many letters they had exchanged
when the latter was corresponding member of the Society! He it was who
had introduced him to M. Malte-Brun. What a meeting! and how much
pleasure to travel with the daughter of such a man! Finally, he asked
Lady Helena's permission to kiss her, to which she consented, although
it was perhaps a little "improper."
CHAPTER VIII.
THE GEOGRAPHER'S RESOLUTION.
Meanwhile the yacht, favored by the currents, was advancing rapidly
towards the equator. In a few days the island of Madeira came in view.
Glenarvan, faithful to his promise, offered to land his new guest here.
"My dear lord," replied Paganel, "I will not be formal with you. Before
my arrival on board, did you intend to stop at Madeira?"
"No," said Glenarvan.
"Well, permit me to profit by the consequences of my unlucky blunder.
Madeira is an island too well known. Everything has been said and
written about it; and it is, moreover, rapidly declining in point of
civilization. If, then, it is all the same to you, let us land at the
Canaries."
"Very well, at the Canaries," replied Glenarvan. "That will not take us
out of our way."
"I know it, my dear lord. At the Canaries, you see, there are three
groups to study, not to speak of the Peak of Teneriffe, which I have
always desired to see. This is a fine opportunity. I will profit by
it; and, while waiting for a vessel, will attempt the ascent of this
celebrated mountain."
"As you please, my dear Paganel," replied Glenarvan, who could not help
smiling, and with good reason.
The Canaries are only a short distance from Madeira, scarcely two
hundred and fifty miles, a mere trifle for so good a vessel as the
Duncan.
The same day, at two o'clock in the afternoon, Captain Mangles and
Paganel were walking on the deck. The Frenchman pressed his companion
with lively questions concerning Chili. All at once the captain
interrupted him, and pointing towards the southern horizon, said,--
"Mr. Paganel!"
"My dear captain," replied the geographer.
"Please cast your eyes in that direction. Do you see nothing?"
"Nothing."
"You are not looking right. It is not on the horizon, but above, in the
clouds."
"In the clouds? I look in vain."
"Stop, now, just on a line with the end of the bowsprit."
"I see nothing."
"You do not wish to see. However that may be, although we are forty
miles distant, you understand, the Peak of Teneriffe is visible above
the horizon."
Whether Paganel wished to see or not, he had to yield to the evidence
some hours afterwards, or, at least, confess himself blind.
"You perceive it now?" said his companion.
"Yes, yes, perfectly!" replied Paganel. "And that," added he in a
contemptuous tone, "is what you call the Peak of Teneriffe?"
"The same."
"It appears to be of very moderate height."
"Yet it is eleven thousand feet above the level of the sea."
"Not so high as Mont Blanc."
"Very possibly; but when you come to climb it, you will find it,
perhaps, high enough."
[Illustration: They could scarcely see the city, which was on an
elevated plain in the form of a terrace, resting on volcanic rocks
three hundred feet in height. The appearance of the island through this
rainy curtain was misty.]
"Oh! climb it, my dear captain? What is the use, I ask you, after
Humboldt and Bonpland? What can I do after these great men?"
[Illustration: Peak of Teneriffe.]
"Indeed," replied Captain Mangles, "there is nothing left but to wander
about. It is a pity, for you would be very tired waiting for a vessel
at Teneriffe. You cannot look for many distractions there."
"Except my own," said Paganel, laughing. "But, my dear captain, have
not the Cape Verd Islands important landings?"
"Certainly. Nothing is easier than to land at Villa-Praïa."
"Not to speak of an advantage that is not to be despised," answered
Paganel; "that the Cape Verd Islands are not far from Senegal, where I
shall find fellow-countrymen."
"As you please, Mr. Paganel," replied Captain Mangles. "I am certain
that geographical science will gain by your sojourn in these islands.
We must land there to take in coal; you will, therefore, cause us no
delay."
[Sidenote: DECLINED, WITH THANKS.]
So saying, the captain gave the order to pass to the southeast of the
Canaries. The celebrated peak was soon left on the larboard; and the
Duncan, continuing her rapid course, cut the Tropic of Cancer the next
morning at five o'clock. The weather there changed. The atmosphere
had the moisture and oppressiveness of the rainy season, disagreeable
to travelers, but beneficial to the inhabitants of the African
islands, who have no trees, and consequently need water. The sea was
boisterous, and prevented the passengers from remaining on deck; but
the conversation in the cabin was not less animated.
The next day Paganel began to collect his baggage preparatory to
his approaching departure. In a short time they entered the bay of
Villa-Praïa, and anchored opposite the city in eight fathoms of
water. The weather was stormy and the surf high, although the bay was
sheltered from the winds. The rain fell in torrents so that they could
scarcely see the city, which was on an elevated plain in the form of a
terrace, resting on volcanic rocks three hundred feet in height. The
appearance of the island through this rainy curtain was misty.
Shipping the coal was not accomplished without great difficulty, and
the passengers saw themselves confined to the cabin, while sea and
sky mingled their waters in an indescribable tumult. The weather was,
therefore, the topic of conversation on board. Each one had his say
except the major, who would have witnessed the deluge itself with
perfect indifference. Paganel walked to and fro, shaking his head.
"It is an imperative fact," said he.
"It is certain," replied Glenarvan, "that the elements declare
themselves against you."
"I will see about that."
"You cannot face such a storm," said Lady Helena.
"I, madam? Certainly. I fear only for my baggage and instruments. They
will all be lost."
"Our landing is the only thing doubtful," resumed Glenarvan. "Once
at Villa-Praïa, you will not have very uncomfortable quarters; rather
uncleanly, to be sure, in the company of monkeys and swine, whose
surroundings are not always agreeable; but a traveler does not regard
that so critically. Besides, you can hope in seven or eight months to
embark for Europe."
"Seven or eight months!" exclaimed Paganel.
"At least that. The Cape Verd Islands are very rarely frequented
during the rainy season. But you can employ your time profitably. This
archipelago is still little known. There is much to do, even now."
"But," replied Paganel in a pitiful tone, "what could I do after the
investigations of the geologist Deville?"
"That is really a pity," said Lady Helena. "What will become of you,
Monsieur Paganel?"
Paganel was silent for a few moments.
"You had decidedly better have landed at Madeira," rejoined Glenarvan,
"although there is no wine there."
"My dear Glenarvan," continued Paganel at last, "where shall you land
next?"
"At Concepcion."
"Alas! but that would bring me directly away from India!"
"No; for when you have passed Cape Horn you approach the Indies."
"I very much doubt it."
"Besides," continued Glenarvan with the greatest gravity, "as long as
you are at the Indies, what difference does it make whether they are
the East or the West?"
"'What difference does it make'?"
"The inhabitants of the Pampas of Patagonia are Indians as well as the
natives of the Punjab."
"Eh! my lord," exclaimed Paganel, "that is a reason I should never have
imagined!"
[Sidenote: BAIT FOR A TRAVELLER.]
"And then, my dear Paganel, you know that you can gain the gold medal
in any country whatever. There is something to do, to seek, to
discover, everywhere, in the chains of the Cordilleras as well as the
mountains of Thibet."
"But the course of the Yaroo-tsang-bo-tsoo?"
"Certainly. You can replace that by the Rio Colorado. This is a river
very little known, and one of those which flow on the map too much
according to the fancy of the geographer."
"I know it, my dear lord; there are errors of several degrees. I do not
doubt that at my request the Society would have sent me to Patagonia as
well as to India; but I did not think of it."
"The result of your continual abstraction."
"Well, Monsieur Paganel, shall you accompany us?" asked Lady Helena in
her most persuasive tone.
"And my mission, madam?"
"I inform you that we shall pass through the Strait of Magellan,"
continued Glenarvan.
"My lord, you are a tempter."
"I add that we shall visit Port Famine."
"Port Famine!" cried the Frenchman, assailed on all sides; "that port
so celebrated in geographical fasts!"
"Consider also, Monsieur Paganel," continued Lady Helena, "that in this
enterprise you will have the right to associate the name of France with
that of Scotland."
"Yes; doubtless."
"A geographer may be very serviceable to our expedition; and what is
more noble than for science to enlist in the service of humanity?"
"That is well said, madam."
"Believe me, try chance, or rather Providence. Imitate us. It has sent
us this document; we have started. It has cast you on board the Duncan;
do not leave her."
"And do you, indeed, wish me, my good friends?" replied Paganel. "Well,
you desire me to stay very much?"
"And you, Paganel, you are dying to stay," retorted Glenarvan.
"Truly," cried the geographer, "but I fear I am very indiscreet."
Thus far the Duncan had acquitted herself admirably: in every way her
powers for steaming or sailing had been sufficiently tested, and her
captain and passengers were alike satisfied with her performance and
with one another.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER IX.
THROUGH THE STRAIT OF MAGELLAN.
The joy on board was general, when Paganel's resolution was known.
Young Robert threw himself on his neck with very demonstrative
delight. The worthy geographer almost fell backwards. "A rough little
gentleman," said he; "I will teach him geography." As Captain Mangles
had engaged to make him a sailor, Glenarvan a man of honor, the major a
boy of coolness, Lady Helena a noble and generous being, and Mary Grant
a pupil grateful towards such patrons, Robert was evidently to become
one day an accomplished gentleman.
The Duncan soon finished shipping her coal, and then leaving these
gloomy regions she gained the current from the southeast coast of
Brazil, and, after crossing the equator with a fine breeze from the
north, she entered the southern hemisphere. The passage was effected
without difficulty, and every one had good hopes. On this voyage in
search of Captain Grant, the probabilities increased every day. Their
captain was one of the most confident on board; but his confidence
proceeded especially from the desire that he cherished so strongly at
heart, of seeing Miss Mary happy and consoled. He was particularly
interested in this young girl; and this feeling he concealed so well,
that, except Miss Grant and himself, no one on board the Duncan had
perceived it.
As for the learned geographer, he was probably the happiest man in the
southern hemisphere. He passed his time in studying the maps with which
he covered the cabin-table; and then followed daily discussions with
Mr. Olbinett, so that he could scarcely set the table.
But Paganel had all the passengers on his side except the major,
who was very indifferent to geographical questions, especially at
dinner-time. Having discovered a whole cargo of odd books in the mate's
chests, and among them a number of Cervantes' works, the Frenchman
resolved to learn Spanish, which nobody on board knew, and which would
facilitate his search on the shores of Chili. Thanks to his love for
philology, he did not despair of speaking this new tongue fluently on
arriving at Concepcion. He therefore studied assiduously, and was heard
incessantly muttering heterogeneous syllables. During his leisure hours
he did not fail to give young Robert practical instruction, and taught
him the history of the country they were rapidly approaching.
In the meantime the Duncan was proceeding at a remarkable rate. She
cut the Tropic of Capricorn, and her prow was headed toward the strait
of the celebrated geographer. Now and then the low shores of Patagonia
were seen, but like an almost invisible line on the horizon. They
sailed along the coast for more than ten miles, but Paganel's famous
telescope gave him only a vague idea of these American shores.
The vessel soon found herself at the head of the strait, and entered
without hesitation. This way is generally preferred by steam-vessels
bound for the Pacific. Its exact length is three hundred and
seventy-six miles. Ships of the greatest tonnage can always find deep
water, even near its shores, an excellent bottom, and many springs of
water. The rivers abound in fish, the forest in game, there are safe
and easy landings at twenty places, and, in short, a thousand resources
that are wanting in the Strait of Lemaire, and off the terrible rocks
of Cape Horn, which are continually visited by storms and tempests.
[Illustration: Sometimes the tips of her yards would graze the branches
of the beeches that hung over the waves.]
During the first hours of the passage, till you reach Cape Gregory,
the shores are low and sandy. The entire passage lasted scarcely
thirty-six hours, and this moving panorama of the two shores well
rewarded the pains the geographer took to admire it under the radiant
beams of the southern sun. No inhabitant appeared on the shores of the
continent; and only a few Fuegians wandered along the barren rocks of
Terra del Fuego.
At one moment the Duncan rounded the peninsula of Brunswick between
two magnificent sights. Just here the strait cuts between stupendous
masses of granite. The base of the mountains was hidden in the heart
of immense forests, while their summits, whitened with eternal snow,
were lost in the clouds. Towards the southeast Mount Taru towered
six thousand five hundred feet aloft. Night came, preceded by a long
twilight, the light melting away insensibly by gentle degrees, while
the sky was studded with brilliant stars.
In the midst of this partial obscurity, the yacht boldly continued on
her course, without casting anchor in the safe bays with which the
shores abound. Sometimes the tips of her yards would graze the branches
of the beeches that hung over the waves. At others her propeller would
beat the waters of the great rivers, starting geese, ducks, snipe,
teal, and all the feathered tribes of the marshes. Soon deserted ruins
appeared, and fallen monuments, to which the night lent a grand aspect;
these were the mournful remains of an abandoned colony, whose name
will be an eternal contradiction to the fertility of the coasts and
the rich game of the forests. It was Port Famine, the place that the
Spaniard Sarmiento colonized in 1581 with four hundred emigrants. Here
he founded the city of San Felipe. But the extreme severity of the cold
weakened the colony; famine devoured those whom the winter had spared,
and in 1587 the explorer Cavendish found the last of these four hundred
unfortunates dying of hunger amid the ruins of a city only six years in
existence.
[Sidenote: CHEERLESS MEMORIES.]
The vessel coasted along these deserted shores. At daybreak she sailed
in the midst of the narrow passes, between beeches, ash-trees, and
birches, from the bosom of which emerged ivy-clad domes, cupolas
tapestried with the hardy holly, and lofty spires, among which the
obelisk of Buckland rose to a great height. Far out in the sea sported
droves of seals and whales of great size, judging by their spouting,
which could be seen at a distance of four miles. At last they doubled
Cape Froward, still bristling with the ices of winter. On the other
side of the strait, on Terra del Fuego, rose Mount Sarmiento to the
height of six thousand feet, an enormous mass of rock broken by bands
of clouds which formed as it were an aerial archipelago in the sky.
[Illustration: Port Famine.]
Cape Froward is the real end of the American continent, for Cape Horn
is only a lone rock in the sea. Passing this point the strait narrowed
between Brunswick Peninsula, and Desolation Island. Then to fertile
shores succeeded a line of wild barren coast, cut by a thousand inlets
of this tortuous labyrinth.
The Duncan unerringly and unhesitatingly pursued its capricious
windings, mingling her columns of smoke with the mists on the rocks.
Without lessening her speed, she passed several Spanish factories
established on these deserted shores. At Cape Tamar the strait widened.
The yacht rounded the Narborough Islands, and approached the southern
shores. At last, thirty-six hours after entering the strait, the rocks
of Cape Pilares were discerned at the extreme point of Desolation
Island. An immense open glittering sea extended before her prow, and
Jacques Paganel, hailing it with an enthusiastic gesture, felt moved
like Ferdinand Magellan himself, when the sails of the Trinidad swelled
before the breezes of the Pacific.
CHAPTER X.
THE COURSE DECIDED.
Eight days after doubling Cape Pilares the Duncan entered at full speed
the Bay of Talcahuana, a magnificent estuary, twelve miles long and
nine broad. The weather was beautiful. Not a cloud is seen in the sky
of this country from November to March, and the wind from the south
blows continually along these coasts, which are protected by the chain
of the Andes.
Captain Mangles, according to Lord Glenarvan's orders, had kept close
to the shore of the continent, examining the numerous wrecks that lined
it. A waif, a broken spar, a piece of wood fashioned by the hand of
man, might guide the Duncan to the scene of the shipwreck. But nothing
was seen, and the yacht continued her course and anchored in the harbor
of Talcahuana forty-two days after her departure from the waters of the
Clyde.
[Sidenote: LEARNING SPANISH!]
Glenarvan at once lowered the boat, and, followed by Paganel, landed
at the foot of the palisade. The learned geographer, profiting by the
circumstance, would have made use of the language which he had studied
so conscientiously; but, to his great astonishment, he could not make
himself understood by the natives.
"The accent is what I need," said he.
"Let us go to the Custom-house," replied Glenarvan.
There they were informed by means of several English words, accompanied
by expressive gestures, that the British consul resided at Concepcion.
It was only an hour's journey. Glenarvan easily found two good horses,
and, a short time after, Paganel and he entered the walls of this great
city, which was built by the enterprising genius of Valdivia, the
valiant companion of Pizarro.
How greatly it had declined from its ancient splendor! Often pillaged
by the natives, burnt in 1819, desolate, ruined, its walls still
blackened with the flames of devastation, eclipsed by Talcahuana, it
now scarcely numbered eight thousand souls. Under the feet of its
idle inhabitants the streets had grown into prairies. There was no
commerce, no activity, no business. The mandolin resounded from every
balcony, languishing songs issued from the lattices of the windows, and
Concepcion, the ancient city of men, had become a village of women and
children.
Glenarvan appeared little desirous of seeking the causes of this
decline--though Jacques Paganel attacked him on this subject--and,
without losing an instant, betook himself to the house of J. R.
Bentock, Esq., consul of Her Britannic Majesty. This individual
received him very courteously, and when he learned the story of Captain
Grant undertook to search along the entire coast.
The question whether the Britannia had been wrecked on the shores of
Chili or Araucania was decided in the negative. No report of such an
event had come either to the consul, or his colleagues in other parts
of the country.
But Glenarvan was not discouraged. He returned to Talcahuana, and,
sparing neither fatigue, trouble, or money, he sent men to the coast,
but their search was in vain. The most minute inquiries among the
people of the vicinity were of no avail. They were forced to conclude
that the Britannia had left no trace of her shipwreck.
[Illustration: In Concepcion.]
[Sidenote: "TRY AGAIN!"]
Glenarvan then informed his companions of the failure of his endeavors.
Mary Grant and her brother could not restrain their grief. It was now
six days since the arrival of the Duncan at Talcahuana. The passengers
were together in the cabin. Lady Helena was consoling, not by her
words--for what could she say?--but by her caresses, the two children
of the captain. Jacques Paganel had taken up the document again, and
was regarding it with earnest attention, as if he would have drawn from
it new secrets. For an hour he had examined it thus, when Glenarvan,
addressing him, said,--
"Paganel, I appeal to your sagacity. Is the interpretation we have made
of this document incorrect? Is the sense of these words illogical?"
Paganel did not answer. He was reflecting.
"Are we mistaken as to the supposed scene of the shipwreck?" continued
Glenarvan. "Does not the name Patagonia suggest itself at once to the
mind?"
Paganel was still silent.
"In short," said Glenarvan, "does not the word _Indian_ justify us
still more?"
"Perfectly," replied MacNabb.
"And therefore, is it not evident that these shipwrecked men, when they
wrote these lines, expected to be prisoners of the Indians?"
"There you are wrong, my dear lord," said Paganel, at last; "and if
your other conclusions are just, the last at least does not seem to me
rational."
"What do you mean?" asked Lady Helena, while all eyes were turned
towards the geographer.
"I mean," answered Paganel, emphasizing his words, "that Captain Grant
is _now prisoner of the Indians_: and I will add that the document
leaves no doubt on this point."
"Explain yourself, sir," said Miss Grant.
"Nothing is easier, my dear Mary. Instead of reading _they will be
prisoners_, read _they are prisoners_, and all will be clear."
"But that is impossible," replied Glenarvan.
"Impossible? And why, my noble friend?" asked Paganel, smiling.
"Because the bottle must have been thrown when the vessel was breaking
on the rocks. Hence the degrees of longitude and latitude apply to the
very place of shipwreck."
"Nothing proves it," said Paganel, earnestly; "and I do not see why
the shipwrecked sailors, after being carried by the Indians into the
interior of the country, could not have sought to make known by means
of this bottle the place of their captivity."
"Simply, my dear Paganel, because to throw a bottle into the sea it is
necessary, at least, that the sea should be before you."
"Or, in the absence of the sea," added Paganel, "the rivers which flow
into it."
An astonished silence followed this unexpected, yet reasonable, answer.
By the flash that brightened the eyes of his hearers Paganel knew that
each of them had conceived a new hope. Lady Helena was the first to
resume the conversation.
"What an idea!" she exclaimed.
"What a _good_ idea!" added the geographer, simply.
"Your advice then?" asked Glenarvan.
"My advice is to find the thirty-seventh parallel, just where it meets
the American coast, and follow it, without deviating half a degree, to
the point where it strikes the Atlantic. Perhaps we shall find on its
course the survivors of the Britannia."
"A feeble chance," replied the major.
"However feeble it may be," continued Paganel, "we ought not to neglect
it. If I am right that this bottle reached the sea by following the
current of a river, we cannot fail to come upon the traces of the
prisoners. Look, my friends, look at the map of this country, and I
will convince you beyond a doubt."
[Sidenote: NIL DESPERANDUM!]
So saying, Paganel spread out before them upon the table a large map of
Chili and the Argentine Provinces. "Look," said he, "and follow me in
this passage across the American continent. Let us pass over the narrow
strip of Chili and the Cordilleras of the Andes, and descend into the
midst of the Pampas. Are rivers, streams, water-courses, wanting in
these regions? No. Here are the Rio Negro, the Rio Colorado, and their
affluents, cut by the thirty-seventh parallel, all of which might have
served to transport the document. There, perhaps, in the midst of a
tribe, in the hands of settled Indians, on the shores of these unknown
rivers, in the gorges of the sierras, those whom I have the right to
call our friends are awaiting an interposition of Providence. Ought
we, then, to disappoint their hopes? Do you not think we should follow
across these countries an unswerving course? And if, contrary to all
expectation, I am still mistaken, is it not our duty to trace this
parallel to the very end, and, if necessary, make upon it the tour of
the world?"
These words, spoken with a noble enthusiasm, excited a deep emotion
among Paganel's hearers. All rose to shake hands with him.
"Yes, my father is there!" cried Robert Grant, devouring the map with
his eyes.
"And wherever he is," replied Glenarvan, "we shall find him, my child.
Nothing is more consistent than our friend Paganel's interpretation,
and we must follow without hesitation the course he has indicated.
Either Captain Grant is in the hands of countless Indians, or is
prisoner in a feeble tribe. In the latter case, we will rescue him. In
the former, after ascertaining his situation, we will join the Duncan
on the eastern coast, sail to Buenos Ayres, and with a detachment,
organized by the major, can overcome all the Indians of the Argentine
Plains."
"Yes, yes, your lordship," answered Captain Mangles; "and I will add
that this passage of the continent will be without peril."
"Without peril, or fatigue," continued Paganel. "How many have already
accomplished it who had scarcely our means for success, and whose
courage was not sustained by the grandeur of the undertaking!"
"Sir, sir," exclaimed Mary Grant, in a voice broken with emotion, "how
can I thank a devotion that exposes you to so many dangers?"
"Dangers!" cried Paganel. "Who uttered the word _danger_?"
"Not I!" replied Robert Grant, with flashing eye and determined look.
"Danger!" repeated Paganel; "does such a thing exist? Moreover, what is
the question? A journey of scarcely three hundred and fifty leagues,
since we shall proceed in a straight line; a journey which will be
accomplished in a favorable latitude and climate; in short, a journey
whose duration will be only a month at most. It is a mere walk."
"Monsieur Paganel," asked Lady Helena at last, "do you think that, if
the shipwrecked sailors have fallen into the power of the Indians,
their lives have been spared?"
"Certainly I do, madam. The Indians are not cannibals; far from that,
one of my countrymen whom I knew in the Society was three years
prisoner among the Indians of the Pampas. He suffered, was ill-treated,
but at last gained the victory in this trying ordeal. A European is
a useful person in these countries. The Indians know his value, and
esteem him very highly."
"Well then, there is no more hesitation," said Glenarvan; "we must
start, and that, too, without delay. What course shall we take?"
"An easy and agreeable one," replied Paganel. "A few mountains to begin
with; then a gentle descent on the eastern slope of the Andes; and at
last a level, grassy, sandy plain, a real garden."
"Let us see the map," said the major.
"Here it is, my dear MacNabb. We shall begin at the end of the
thirty-seventh parallel on the coast of Chili. After passing through
the capital of Araucania, we shall strike the Cordilleras, and
descending their steep declivities across the Rio Colorado, we shall
reach the Pampas. Passing the frontiers of Buenos Ayres, we shall
continue our search until we reach the shores of the Atlantic."
[Sidenote: A STROLL ACROSS THE COUNTRY.]
Thus speaking and developing the programme of the expedition, Paganel
did not even take the trouble to look at the map spread before him.
And he had no need to; educated in the schools of Frézier, Molina,
Humboldt, and Miers, his unerring memory could neither be deceived nor
baffled. After finishing his plan, he added:
"Therefore, my dear friends, the course is straight. In thirty days we
shall accomplish it, and arrive before the Duncan on the eastern shore,
since the westerly winds will delay her progress."
"The Duncan then," said Captain Mangles, "will cross the thirty-seventh
parallel between Cape Corrientes and Cape St. Antonio?"
"Exactly."
"And whom would you constitute the members of such an expedition?"
asked Glenarvan.
"The fewer the better. The only point is to ascertain the situation of
Captain Grant, and not to engage in combat with the Indians. I think
that Lord Glenarvan, as our chief, the major, who would yield his place
to no one, your servant Jacques Paganel----"
"And I!" cried Robert Grant.
"Robert?" said Mary.
"And why not?" answered Paganel. "Travels develop youth. We four, then,
and three sailors of the Duncan----"
"What," exclaimed Captain Mangles, "your lordship does not intercede
for me?"
"My dear fellow," replied Glenarvan, "we shall leave the ladies on
board, the dearest objects we have in the world. Who would watch over
them, if not the devoted captain of the Duncan?"
"We cannot accompany you, then," said Lady Helena, whose eyes were
dimmed by a mist of sadness.
"My dear wife," replied Glenarvan, "our journey will be performed with
unusual rapidity, our separation will be short, and----"
[Illustration: The mate, Tom Austin, Wilson, a powerful fellow, and
Mulready, were the fortunate ones.]
[Sidenote: GOOD AFTERNOON!]
"Yes, yes; I understand you," answered Lady Helena. "Go, then, and may
you succeed in your enterprise."
"Besides, this is not a journey," added Paganel.
"What is it, then?" asked Lady Helena.
"A passage, nothing more. We shall pass, that is all, like honest
men, over the country and do all the good possible. '_Transire
benefaciendo_' is our motto."
With these words the discussion ended. The preparations were begun that
very day, and it was resolved to keep the expedition secret, in order
not to alarm the Indians. The 14th of October was fixed for the day of
departure.
When they came to choose the sailors who were to go, they all offered
their services, and Glenarvan was forced to make a choice. He preferred
to have them draw lots, that he might not mortify such brave men. This
was accordingly done; and the mate, Tom Austin, Wilson, a powerful
fellow, and Mulready, were the fortunate ones.
Lord Glenarvan had displayed great energy in his preparations, for he
wished to be ready at the day appointed; and he was. Captain Mangles
likewise supplied his ship with coal, that he might put to sea at any
moment. He wished to gain the Argentine shore before the travelers.
Hence there was a real rivalry between Glenarvan and the captain, which
was of advantage to both.
At last, on the 14th of October, at the time agreed upon, every one was
ready. At the moment of departure the passengers of the yacht assembled
in the cabin. The Duncan was on the point of starting, and already her
propeller was agitating the quiet waters of Talcahuana Bay. Glenarvan,
Paganel, MacNabb, Robert Grant, Tom Austin, Wilson and Mulready, armed
with carbines and Colt's revolvers, were preparing to leave the vessel.
Guides and mules were waiting for them on shore.
"It is time," said Lord Glenarvan at last.
"Go, then, my husband!" replied Lady Helena, restraining her emotion.
He pressed her to his breast, while Robert threw himself upon the neck
of his sister.
"And now, dear companions," said Jacques Paganel, "one last clasp of
the hand to last us till we reach the shores of the Atlantic."
It was not asking much, but these were clasps which would strengthen
the hopes of the worthy geographer.
They then returned to the deck, and the seven travelers left the
vessel. They soon reached the wharf, which the yacht approached within
less than half a cable's length.
Lady Helena cried for the last time,--
"My friends, God help you!"
"And he will help us, madam," answered Jacques Paganel; "for, I assure
you, we shall help ourselves."
"Forward!" shouted Captain Mangles to his engineer.
"_En route_!" returned Glenarvan; and at the same instant that the
travelers, giving reins to their animals, followed the road along the
shore, the Duncan started again at full speed on the highway of the
ocean.
CHAPTER XI.
TRAVELING IN CHILI.
The native troop engaged by Glenarvan consisted of three men and a boy.
The leader of the muleteers was an Englishman who had lived in the
country for twenty years. His occupation was to let mules to travelers,
and guide them across the passes of the Andes. Then he consigned them
to the care of a "laqueano" (Argentine guide), who was familiar with
the road over the Pampas.
[Sidenote: THE PROCESSION FORMED.]
This Englishman had not so forgotten his native tongue, in the company
of mules and Indians, that he could not converse with the travelers.
Hence it was easy for Glenarvan to make known his wishes, and for
the muleteer to execute his orders, of which circumstance the former
availed himself, since Paganel had not yet succeeded in making himself
understood.
This leader, or "catapaz," in the language of Chili, was assisted by
two native peons and a boy of twelve. The peons had charge of the
mules laden with the baggage of the party, and the boy led the madrina
(little mare), which wore small bells, and went in advance of the other
ten mules. The travelers were mounted on seven, and the catapaz on one,
of these animals, while the two others carried the provisions and a
few rolls of cloth designed to insure the good-will of the chiefs of
the plains. The peons traveled on foot according to their custom. This
journey in South America was, therefore, to be performed under the most
favorable conditions of safety and speed.
[Illustration]
Crossing the Andes is not an ordinary journey. It cannot be undertaken
without employing those hardy mules, of which the most preferable
belong to the Argentine Republic. These excellent animals have attained
in that country a development superior to their pristine quality and
strength. They are not very particular about their food, drink only
once a day, and easily make ten leagues in eight hours.
There are no taverns on this route, from one ocean to the other. You
eat dried meat, rice seasoned with allspice, and whatever game can be
captured on the way. In the mountains the torrents, and in the plains
the rivers, furnish water, generally flavored with a few drops of rum,
of which each has a supply in an ox-horn called "chiffle." However,
care must be taken not to indulge too much in alcoholic drinks, which
are specially injurious in a region where the nervous system is
peculiarly excited.
As for your bedding, it consists merely of the native saddle called
"recado." This saddle is made of sheep-skins tanned on one side and
covered with wool on the other, and is supported by broad girths
elaborately embroidered. A traveler wrapped in one of these warm
coverings can brave with impunity the dampness of the nights, and enjoy
the soundest repose.
Glenarvan, who knew how to travel and conform to the customs of
different countries, had adopted the Chilian costume for himself and
his friends. Paganel and Robert, two children (a large and a small
one), felt no pleasure in introducing their heads into the national
poncho (a large blanket with a hole in the centre), and their legs
into leathern stirrups. They would rather have seen their mules
richly caparisoned, with the Arab bit in their mouths, a long bridle
of braided leather for a whip, and their heads adorned with metal
ornaments and the "alforjas" (double saddle-bags containing the
provisions).
[Sidenote: LAND AND WATER.]
Paganel, always absent-minded, received three or four kicks from his
excellent animal just as he was mounting. Once in the saddle, however,
with his inseparable telescope in a sling and his feet confined in the
stirrups, he confided himself to the sagacity of his beast, and had
no reason to repent. As for young Robert, he showed from the first a
remarkable capacity for becoming an excellent horseman.
[Illustration]
They started. The day was magnificent, the sky was perfectly clear,
and the atmosphere sufficiently refreshed by the sea-breezes in spite
of the heat of the sun. The little party followed at a rapid pace the
winding shores of the bay, and made good progress the first day across
the reeds of old dried marshes. Little was said. The parting farewells
had left a deep impression upon the minds of all. They could still see
the smoke of the Duncan as she gradually disappeared on the horizon.
All were silent, except Paganel; this studious geographer kept asking
himself questions, and answering them, in his new language.
The catapaz was, moreover, quite a taciturn man, whose avocation had
not made him loquacious. He scarcely spoke to his peons, for they
understood their duty very well. Whenever a mule stopped, they urged
him with a guttural cry. If this did not suffice, a good pebble thrown
with sure aim overcame his obstinacy. If a girth gave way or a bridle
was loosened, the peon, taking off his poncho, enveloped the head of
the animal, which, when the injury was repaired, resumed its pace.
The custom of the muleteers is to set out at eight o'clock in the
morning after breakfast, and travel thus till it is time to rest at
four o'clock in the afternoon. Glenarvan, accordingly, conformed
to this custom. Precisely when the signal to halt was given by the
catapaz, the travelers arrived at the city of Arauco, situated at the
southern extremity of the bay, without having left the foam-washed
shore of the ocean. They would have had to proceed twenty miles farther
to the west to reach the limits of the thirty-seventh parallel; but
Glenarvan's agents had already traversed that part of the coast
without meeting with any signs of shipwreck. A new exploration became,
therefore, useless, and it was decided that the city of Arauco should
be chosen as their point of departure. From this their course was to
be directed towards the east in a rigorously straight line. The little
party entered the city and took up their quarters in the open court of
a tavern, whose accommodations were still in a rudimentary state.
While supper was preparing, Glenarvan, Paganel and the catapaz took a
walk among the thatch-roofed houses. Except a church and the remains
of a convent of Franciscans, Arauco presented nothing interesting.
Glenarvan attempted to make some inquiries, but failed, while Paganel
was in despair at not being able to make himself understood by the
inhabitants. But, since they spoke Araucanian, his Spanish served him
as little as Hebrew.
[Sidenote: ONWARD, AND ONWARD STILL.]
The next day, the madrina at the head, and the peons in the rear, the
little troop resumed the line of the thirty-seventh parallel towards
the east. They now crossed the fertile territory of Araucania, rich in
vineyards and flocks. But gradually solitude ensued. Scarcely, from
mile to mile, was there a hut of "rastreadores" (Indian horse-tamers).
Now and then they came upon an abandoned relay-station, that only
served as a shelter to some wanderer on the plains; and, by means of a
ford, they crossed the Rio Tubal, the mountains visible in the distance.
At four o'clock in the afternoon, after a journey of thirty-five miles,
they halted in the open country under a group of giant myrtles. The
mules were unharnessed, and left to graze at will upon the rich herbage
of the prairie. The saddle-bags furnished the usual meat and rice,
the pelions spread on the ground served as covering, the saddles as
pillows, and each one found on these improvised beds a ready repose,
while the peons and the catapaz watched in turn.
As the weather continued pleasant, all the travelers, not excepting
Robert, were still in good health; and, since the journey had begun
under such favorable auspices, they thought it best to profit by it,
and push on. The following day they advanced rapidly, crossed without
accident Bell Rapids, and at evening encamped on the banks of the Rio
Biobio. There were thirty-five miles more to travel before they were
out of Chili.
The country had not changed. It was still rich in amaryllis, violets,
date-trees, and golden-flowered cactuses. A few animals, among
others the ocelot, inhabited the thickets. A heron, a solitary owl,
thrushes and snipes wary of the talons of the hawk, were the only
representatives of the feathered tribe.
Of the natives few were seen; only some "guassos" (degenerate children
of the Indians and Spanish), galloping on horses which they lacerated
with the gigantic spurs that adorned their naked feet, and passing
like shadows. They met on the way no one who could inform them, and
inquiries were therefore utterly impossible.
[Sidenote: AN ASTONISHED CATAPAZ.]
Glenarvan thought that Captain Grant, if prisoner of the Indians, must
have been carried by them beyond the Andes. Their search could be
successful only in the Pampas. They must be patient, and travel on
swiftly and continuously.
[Illustration: By means of a ford, they crossed the Rio Tubal, the
mountains visible in the distance.]
They advanced in the same order as before, which Robert with difficulty
kept, for his eagerness led him to press forward, to the great
annoyance of his animal. Nothing but a command from Glenarvan would
keep the young boy at his place in the line. The country now became
more uneven; and several hillocks indicated that they were approaching
the mountains.
Paganel still continued his study of Spanish.
"What a language it is!" exclaimed he; "so full and sonorous!"
"But you are making progress, of course?" replied Glenarvan.
"Certainly, my dear lord. Ah! if there were only no accent! But, alas!
there is one!"
In studying this language, Paganel did not, however, neglect his
geographical observations. In these, indeed, he was astonishingly
clever, and could not have found his superior. When Glenarvan
questioned the catapaz about some peculiarity of the country, his
learned companion would always anticipate the answer of the guide, who
then gazed at him with a look of amazement.
That same day they met a road which crossed the line that they had
hitherto pursued. Lord Glenarvan naturally asked its name of their
guide, and Paganel as naturally answered,--
"The road from Yumbel to Los Angelos."
Glenarvan looked at the catapaz.
"Exactly," replied he.
Then, addressing the geographer, he said,--
"You have traveled in this country?"
"Certainly," replied Paganel gravely.
"On a mule?"
"No; in an arm-chair."
The catapaz did not understand, for he shrugged his shoulders and
returned to the head of the troop.
At five o'clock in the afternoon they stopped in a shallow gorge, a
few miles above the little town of Loja; and that night the travelers
encamped at the foot of the first slopes of the Andes.
CHAPTER XII.
ELEVEN THOUSAND FEET ALOFT.
The route through Chili had as yet presented no serious obstacles; but
now the dangers that attend a journey across the mountains suddenly
increased, the struggle with the natural difficulties was about to
begin in earnest.
An important question had to be decided before starting. By what pass
could they cross the Andes with the least departure from the prescribed
course? The catapaz was questioned on this subject.
"I know," he replied, "of but two passes that are practicable in this
part of the Andes."
"Doubtless the pass of Arica," said Paganel, "which was discovered by
Valdivia Mendoza."
"Exactly."
"And that of Villarica, situated to the south of Nevado."
"You are right."
"Well, my friend, these two passes have only one difficulty; they will
carry us to the south, or the north, farther than we wish."
"Have you another pass to propose?" asked the major.
"Yes," replied Paganel; "the pass of Antuco."
"Well," said Glenarvan; "but do you know this pass, catapaz?"
[Sidenote: ATTAINING TO EMINENCE.]
"Yes, my lord, I have crossed it, and did not propose it because it is
only a cattle-track for the Indian herdsmen of the eastern slopes."
"Never mind, my friend," continued Glenarvan; "where the herds of the
Indians pass, we can also; and, since this will keep us in our course,
let us start for the pass of Antuco."
The signal for departure was immediately given, and they entered the
valley of Los Lejos between great masses of crystalized limestone, and
ascended a very gradual slope. Towards noon they had to pass around
the shores of a small lake, the picturesque reservoir of all the
neighboring streams which flowed into it.
Above the lake extended vast "llanos," lofty plains, covered with
grass, where the herds of the Indians grazed. Then they came upon a
swamp which extended to the south and north, but which the instinct
of the mules enabled them to avoid. Soon Fort Ballenare appeared on a
rocky peak which it crowned with its dismantled walls. The ascent had
already become abrupt and stony, and the pebbles, loosened by the hoofs
of the mules, rolled under their feet in a rattling torrent.
The road now became difficult, and even perilous. The steepness
increased, the walls on either side approached each other more and
more, while the precipices yawned frightfully. The mules advanced
cautiously in single file, with their noses to the ground, scenting the
way.
Now and then, at a sudden turn, the madrina disappeared, and the little
caravan was then guided by the distant tinkling of her bell. Sometimes,
too, the capricious windings of the path would bend the column into
two parallel lines, and the catapaz could talk to the peons, while a
crevasse, scarcely two fathoms wide, but two hundred deep, formed an
impassable abyss between them.
Under these conditions it was difficult to distinguish the course. The
almost incessant action of subterranean and volcanic agency changes
the road, and the landmarks are never the same. Therefore the catapaz
hesitated, stopped, looked about him, examined the form of the rocks,
and searched on the crumbling stones for the tracks of Indians.
[Illustration]
Glenarvan followed in the steps of his guide. He perceived, he _felt_,
his embarrassment, increasing with the difficulties of the way. He did
not dare to question him, but thought that it was better to trust to
the instinct of the muleteers and mules.
For an hour longer the catapaz wandered at a venture, but always
seeking the more elevated parts of the mountain. At last he was forced
to stop short. They were at the bottom of a narrow valley,--one of
those ravines that the Indians call "quebradas." A perpendicular wall
of porphyry barred their exit.
[Sidenote: CLIMBING A MOUNTAIN.]
The catapaz, after searching vainly for a passage, dismounted, folded
his arms, and waited. Glenarvan approached him.
"Have you lost your way?" he asked.
"No, my lord," replied the catapaz.
"But we are not at the pass of Antuco?"
"We are."
"Are you not mistaken?"
"I am not. Here are the remains of a fire made by the Indians, and the
tracks left by their horses."
"Well, they passed this way?"
"Yes; but we cannot. The last earthquake has made it impracticable."
"For mules," replied the major; "but not for men."
"That is for you to decide," said the catapaz. "I have done what I
could. My mules and I are ready to turn back, if you please, and search
for the other passes of the Andes."
"But that will cause a delay."
"Of three days, at least."
Glenarvan listened in silence to the words of the catapaz, who had
evidently acted in accordance with his engagement. His mules could go
no farther; but when the proposal was made to retrace their steps,
Glenarvan turned towards his companions, and said,--
"Do you wish to go on?"
"We will follow you," replied Tom Austin.
"And even precede you," added Paganel. "What is it, after all? To scale
a chain of mountains whose opposite slopes afford an unusually easy
descent. This accomplished, we can find the Argentine laqueanos, who
will guide us across the Pampas, and swift horses accustomed to travel
over the plains. Forward, then, without hesitation."
"Forward!" cried his companions.
"You do not accompany us?" said Glenarvan to the catapaz.
"I am the muleteer," he replied.
"As you say."
"Never mind," said Paganel; "on the other side of this wall we shall
find the pass of Antuco again, and I will lead you to the foot of the
mountain as directly as the best guide of the Andes."
Glenarvan accordingly settled with the catapaz, and dismissed him, his
peons, and his mules. The arms, the instruments, and the remaining
provisions, were divided among the seven travelers. By common consent
it was decided that the ascent should be undertaken immediately, and
that, if necessary, they should travel part of the night. Around the
precipice to the left wound a steep path that mules could not ascend.
The difficulties were great; but, after two hours of fatigue and
wandering, Glenarvan and his companions found themselves again in the
pass of Antuco.
They were now in that part of the Andes properly so called, not far
from the main ridge of the mountains; but of the path traced out, of
the pass, nothing could be seen. All this region had just been thrown
into confusion by the recent earthquakes.
They ascended all night, climbed almost inaccessible plateaus, and
leaped over broad and deep crevasses. Their arms took the place of
ropes, and their shoulders served as steps. The strength of Mulready
and the skill of Wilson were often called into requisition. Many times,
without their devotion and courage, the little party could not have
advanced.
Glenarvan never lost sight of young Robert, whose youth and eagerness
led him to acts of rashness, while Paganel pressed on with all the
ardor of a Frenchman. As for the major, he only moved as much as
was necessary, no more, no less, and mounted the path by an almost
insensible motion. Did he perceive that he had been ascending
for several hours? It is not certain. Perhaps he imagined he was
descending.
[Sidenote: PRACTICING "EXCELSIOR."]
At five o'clock in the morning the travelers had attained a height of
seven thousand five hundred feet. They were now on the lower ridges,
the last limit of arborescent vegetation. At this hour the aspect of
these regions was entirely changed. Great blocks of glittering ice, of
a bluish color in certain parts, rose on all sides, and reflected the
first rays of the sun.
[Illustration]
The ascent now became very perilous. They no longer advanced without
carefully examining the ice. Wilson had taken the lead, and with his
foot tested the surface of the glaciers. His companions followed
exactly in his footsteps, and avoided uttering a word, for the least
sound might have caused the fall of the snowy masses suspended eight
hundred feet above their heads.
They had reached the region of shrubs, which, four hundred and fifty
feet higher, gave place to grass and cactuses. At eleven thousand feet
all traces of vegetation disappeared. The travelers had stopped only
once to recruit their strength by a hasty repast, and with superhuman
courage they resumed the ascent in the face of the ever-increasing
dangers.
[Illustration: Two hours more of terrible exertion followed. They kept
ascending, in order to reach the highest summit of this part of the
mountain.]
[Sidenote: SOMEWHAT SERIOUS.]
The strength of the little troop, however, in spite of their courage,
was almost gone. Glenarvan, seeing the exhaustion of his companions,
regretted having engaged in the undertaking. Young Robert struggled
against fatigue, but could go no farther.
Glenarvan stopped.
"We must take a rest," said he, for he clearly saw that no one else
would make this proposal.
"Take a rest?" replied Paganel; "how? where? we have no shelter."
"It is indispensable, if only for Robert."
"No, my lord," replied the courageous child; "I can still walk--do not
stop."
"We will carry you, my boy," said Paganel, "but we must, at all
hazards, reach the eastern slope. There, perhaps, we shall find some
hut in which we can take refuge. I ask for two hours more of travel."
"Do you all agree?" asked Glenarvan.
"Yes," replied his companions.
"I will take charge of the brave boy," added the equally brave Mulready.
They resumed their march towards the east. Two hours more of terrible
exertion followed. They kept ascending, in order to reach the highest
summit of this part of the mountain.
Whatever were the desires of these courageous men, the moment now came
when the most valiant failed, and dizziness, that terrible malady of
the mountains, exhausted not only their physical strength but their
moral courage. It is impossible to struggle with impunity against
fatigues of this kind. Soon falls became frequent, and those who fell
could only advance by dragging themselves on their knees.
Exhaustion was about to put an end to this too prolonged ascent; and
Glenarvan was considering with terror the extent of the snow, the cold
which in this fatal region was so much to be dreaded, the shadows that
were deepening on the solitary peaks, and the absence of a shelter for
the night, when the major stopped him, and, in a calm tone, said,--
"A hut!"
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XIII.
A SUDDEN DESCENT.
Any one but MacNabb would have passed by, around, or even over this
hut a hundred times without suspecting its existence. A projection on
the surface of the snow scarcely distinguished it from the surrounding
rocks. It was necessary to uncover it; after half an hour of persistent
labor, Wilson and Mulready had cleared away the entrance to the
"casucha," and the little party stepped in.
[Sidenote: A "RESTAURANT" REOPENED.]
This casucha, constructed by the Indians, was made of adobes, a kind
of bricks dried in the sun. Ten persons could easily find room inside,
and, if its walls had not been sufficiently water-tight in the rainy
season, at this time, at least, they were some protection against the
severity of the cold. There was, besides, a sort of fireplace with a
flue of bricks very poorly laid, which enabled them to kindle a fire,
and thus withstand the external temperature.
"Here is a shelter, at least," said Glenarvan, "even if it is not
comfortable. Providence has led us hither, and we cannot do better than
accept this fortune."
"Why," replied Paganel, "it is a palace. It only wants sentries and
courtiers. We shall get along admirably here."
"Especially when a good fire is blazing on the hearth," said Tom
Austin; "for, if we are hungry, we are none the less cold it seems to
me; and, for my part, a good fagot would delight me more than a slice
of venison."
"Well, Tom," said Paganel, "we will try to find something combustible."
"Something combustible on the top of the Andes?" said Mulready, shaking
his head doubtfully.
"Since a chimney has been made in this hut," replied the major, "there
is probably something here to burn."
"Our friend is right," added Glenarvan. "Prepare everything for supper;
and I will play the part of wood-cutter."
"I will accompany you with Wilson," said Paganel.
"If you need me----," said Robert, rising.
"No, rest yourself, my brave boy," replied Glenarvan. "You will be a
man when others are only children."
Glenarvan, Paganel, and Wilson went out of the hut. It was six o'clock
in the evening. The cold was keen and cutting, in spite of the calmness
of the air. The azure of the sky was already fading, and the sun
shedding his last rays on the lofty peaks of the mountains.
Reaching a hillock of porphyry, they scanned the horizon in every
direction. They had now gained the summit of the Andes, which commanded
an extended prospect. To the east the sides of the mountains declined
by gentle gradations, down which they could see the peons sliding
several hundred feet below. In the distance extended long lines of
scattered rocks and stones that had been crowded back by glacial
avalanches. The valley of the Colorado was already growing dim in the
increasing twilight; the elevations of land, the crags and the peaks,
illumined by the rays of the sun, gradually faded, and darkness covered
the whole eastern slope of the Andes.
Towards the north undulated a succession of ridges that mingled
together insensibly. To the south, however, the view was magnificent;
and, as night descended, the grandeur was inimitable. Looking down
into the wild valley of Torbido, you saw Mount Antuco, whose yawning
crater was two miles distant. The volcano, like some enormous monster,
belched forth glowing smoke mingled with torrents of bright flame. The
circle of the mountains that inclosed it seemed to be on fire. Showers
of incandescent stones, clouds of reddish vapors, and streams of lava,
united in glittering columns. A loud rumbling that increased every
moment, and was followed by a dazzling flash, filled this vast circuit
with its sharp reverberations, while the sun, his light gradually
fading, disappeared as a star is extinguished in the shadows of the
horizon.
[Sidenote: FOOD BROUGHT TO THE DOOR.]
Paganel and Glenarvan would have remained a long time to contemplate
this magnificent struggle of the fires of earth with those of heaven,
and the improvised wood-cutters were becoming admirers of nature; but
Wilson, less enthusiastic, reminded them of their situation. Wood was
wanting, it is true, but fortunately a scanty and dry moss clothed the
rocks. An ample supply was taken, as well as of a plant whose roots
were quite combustible. This precious fuel was brought to the hut, and
piled in the fire-place; but it was difficult to kindle the fire, and
especially to keep it burning.
When the viands were prepared, each one drank several mouthfuls of
hot coffee with delight. As for the dried meat, it appeared a little
unsatisfactory, which provoked on the part of Paganel a remark as
useless as it was true.
"Indeed," said he, "I must confess a llama-steak would not be bad just
now."
"What!" cried the major, "are you not content with our supper, Paganel?"
"Enchanted, my good major; but I acknowledge a plate of venison would
be welcome."
"You are a sybarite," said MacNabb.
"I accept the title, major; but you yourself, whatever you may say,
would not be displeased with a beefsteak."
"Probably not."
"And if you were asked to take your post at the cannon, you would go
without a word."
"Certainly: and, although it pleases you----"
His companions had not heard any more, when distant and prolonged howls
were heard. They were not the cries of scattered animals, but those of
a herd approaching with rapidity. Would Providence, after furnishing
them with shelter, give them their supper? Such was the thought of the
geographer. But Glenarvan humbled his joy somewhat by observing that
the animals of the Andes were never met with in so elevated a region.
"Whence comes the noise, then?" asked Tom Austin. "Hear how it
approaches!"
"An avalanche!" said Mulready.
"Impossible! these are real howls!" replied Paganel.
"Let us see," cried Glenarvan.
"Let us see like hunters," answered the major, as he took his rifle.
All rushed out of the hut. Night had come. It was dark, but the sky was
studded with stars. The moon had not yet shown her disk. The peaks
on the north and east were lost in the darkness, and the eye only
perceived the grotesque outlines of a few towering rocks.
The howls--those of terrified animals--were redoubled. They came from
the dark side of the mountain. What was going on?
Suddenly there came a furious avalanche, but one of living creatures,
mad with terror. The whole plateau seemed to tremble. There were
hundreds, perhaps thousands, of these animals. Were they wild beasts
of the Pampas, or only llamas? The whole party had only time to throw
themselves to the earth, while this living whirlwind passed a few feet
above them.
At this moment the report of a fire-arm was heard. The major had shot
at a venture. He thought that a large animal fell a few paces from
him, while the whole herd, carried along by their resistless motion,
disappeared down the slopes illumined by the volcano.
"Ah, I have them!" cried a voice, that of Paganel.
"What have you?" asked Glenarvan.
"My glasses, to be sure!"
"You are not wounded?"
"No, a little kick,--but by what?"
"By this," replied the major, dragging after him the animal he had shot.
Each one hastened to gain the hut; and by the light of the fire
MacNabb's prize was examined. It was a pretty animal, resembling a
little camel without a hump. It had a small head, flat body, long legs
and claws, fine coffee-colored hair, and its breast was spotted with
white.
Scarcely had Paganel looked at it when he exclaimed,--
"It is a guanaco!"
"What is that?" asked Glenarvan.
"An animal that eats itself."
"And is it good?"
[Sidenote: "A DISH FOR THE GODS."]
"Delicious! a dish for the gods! I knew well that you would like fresh
meat for supper. And what meat this is! But who will dress the animal?"
"I will," said Wilson.
"Well, I will engage to broil it," replied Paganel.
"You are a cook, then, Monsieur Paganel?" said Robert.
"Certainly, my boy. A Frenchman is always a cook."
In a little while Paganel placed large slices of meat on the coals,
and, in a short time, served up to his companions this appetizing
viand. No one hesitated, but each attacked it ravenously. To the great
amazement of the geographer, a general grimace accompanied by a "pwah!"
followed the first mouthful.
"It is horrible!" said one.
"It is not eatable!" replied another.
The poor geographer, whatever was the difficulty, was forced to agree
that this steak was not acceptable even to starving men. They therefore
began to launch jokes at him, and deride his "dish for the gods," while
he himself sought a reason for this unaccountable result.
"I have it!" he cried. "I have it!"
"Is the meat too old?" asked MacNabb, calmly.
"No, my intolerant major; but it has traveled too much. How could I
forget that?"
"What do you mean?" asked Tom Austin.
"I mean that the animal is not good unless killed when at rest. I
can affirm from the taste that it has come from a distance, and,
consequently, the whole herd."
"You are certain of this?" said Glenarvan.
"Absolutely so."
"But what event could have terrified these animals so, and driven them
at a time when they ought to be peacefully sleeping in their lairs."
"As to that, my dear Glenarvan," said Paganel, "it is impossible for me
to say. If you believe me, let us search no farther. For my part I am
dying for want of sleep. Let us retire, major!"
"Very well, Paganel."
Thereupon each wrapped himself in his poncho, the fuel was replenished
for the night, and soon all but Glenarvan were buried in profound
repose.
He alone did not sleep. A secret uneasiness held him in a state of
wakeful fatigue. He could not help thinking of that herd, flying in one
common direction, of their inexplicable terror. They could not have
been pursued by wild beasts: at that height there were scarcely any,
and yet fewer hunters. What fright had driven them over the abysses
of Antuco, and what was the cause of it? He thought of their strange
situation, and felt a presentiment of coming danger.
However, under the influence of a partial drowsiness, his ideas
gradually modified, and fear gave place to hope. He saw himself in
anticipation, on the morrow, on the plain at the foot of the Andes.
There his actual search was to begin; and success was not, perhaps, far
distant. He thought of Captain Grant and his two sailors, delivered
from a cruel slavery.
These images passed rapidly before his mind, every instant interrupted
by a flash of fire, a spark, a flame, illumining the faces of his
sleeping companions, and casting a flickering shadow over the walls of
the hut. Then his presentiments returned with more vividness, while
he listened vaguely to the external sounds so difficult to explain on
these solitary summits.
At one moment he thought he heard distant rumblings, dull and
threatening like the rollings of thunder. These sounds could be caused
only by a tempest, raging on the sides of the mountain. He wished to
convince himself, and left the hut.
The moon had risen, and the sky was clear and calm. Not a cloud was to
be seen either above or below, only now and then the moving shadows of
the flames of the volcano. At the zenith twinkled thousands of stars,
while the rumblings still continued. They seemed to approach, and run
along the chain of the mountains.
[Illustration: The internal rumblings, the din of the avalanche, the
crash of the blocks of granite, and the whirlwinds of snow, rendered
all communication with each other impossible.]
Glenarvan returned more uneasy than before, seeking to divine what
relation there was between these subterranean noises and the flight of
the guanacos. He looked at his watch; it was two o'clock.
However, having no certain knowledge of immediate danger, he did not
wake his companions, whom fatigue held in a deep repose, but fell
himself into a heavy sleep that lasted several hours.
All at once a violent crash startled him to his feet. It was a
deafening roar, like the irregular noise of innumerable artillery
wagons rolling over a hollow pavement. Glenarvan suddenly felt the
earth tremble beneath his feet. He saw the hut sway and start open.
"Look out!" he cried.
His companions, awakened and thrown into confusion, were hurried down
a rapid descent. The day was breaking, and the scene was terrible. The
form of the mountains suddenly changed, their tops were truncated,
the tottering peaks disappeared, as if a pitfall had opened at their
base. A mass, several miles in extent, became detached entire, and slid
towards the plain.
"An earthquake!" cried Paganel.
He was not mistaken. It was one of those phenomena frequent on the
mountain frontier of Chili. This portion of the globe is disturbed
by subterranean fires, and the volcanoes of this chain afford only
insufficient outlets for the confined vapors.
In the meantime the plateau, to which seven stunned and terrified men
clung by the tufts of moss, glided with the rapidity of an express.
Not a cry was possible, not a movement of escape. They could not hear
each other. The internal rumblings, the din of the avalanche, the crash
of the blocks of granite, and the whirlwinds of snow, rendered all
communication with each other impossible.
[Sidenote: A STEEP GRADIENT.]
At one time the mass would slide without jolts or jars; at another,
seized with a pitching and rolling motion like the deck of a vessel
shaken by the billows, it would run along the edge of the abysses
into which the fragments of the mountain fell, uproot the trees of
centuries, and level with the precision of an enormous scythe all the
inequalities of the eastern slope.
How long this indescribable scene lasted, no one could tell; in what
abyss all were to be engulfed, no one was able to foresee. Whether they
were all there alive, or whether one of them was lying at the bottom of
a crevasse, no one could say. Stunned by the swiftness of the descent,
chilled by the keenness of the cold, blinded by the whirlwinds of snow,
they panted, exhausted and almost inanimate, and only clung to the
rocks by the supreme instinct of preservation.
All at once a shock of unusual violence arrested their gliding vehicle.
They were thrown forward and rolled upon the last declivities of the
mountains. The plateau had stopped short.
[Illustration]
For a few moments no one stirred. At last one rose, deafened by the
shock, but yet firm. It was the major. He shook off the snow that
blinded him, and looked around. His companions were not very far from
one another. He counted them. All but one lay on the ground. The
missing one was Robert Grant.
CHAPTER XIV.
PROVIDENTIALLY RESCUED.
The eastern side of the Andes consists of long slopes, declining
gradually to the plain upon which a portion of the mass had suddenly
stopped. In this new country, garnished with rich pastures and adorned
with magnificent vegetation, an incalculable number of apple-trees,
planted at the time of the conquest, glowed with their golden fruit
and formed true forests. It seemed as if a part of beautiful Normandy
had been cast into these monotonous regions, and under any other
circumstances the eye of a traveler would have been struck with this
sudden transition from desert to oasis, from snowy peak to verdant
prairie, from winter to summer.
The earth had regained an absolute immobility, and the earthquake had
ceased. But without doubt the subterranean forces were still exerting
their devastating action at a distance, for the chain of the Andes is
always agitated or trembling in some part. This time, however, the
commotion had been of extreme violence. The outline of the mountains
was entirely changed; a new view of summits, crests, and peaks was
defined against the azure of the sky; and the guide of the Pampas would
have sought in vain for his accustomed landmarks.
[Sidenote: COMEDY CHANGED TO TRAGEDY.]
A wonderfully beautiful day was breaking. The rays of the sun, issuing
from their watery bed in the Atlantic, glittered over the Argentine
plains and were already silvering the waves of the other ocean. It was
eight o'clock in the morning.
Glenarvan and his companions, revived by the aid of the major,
gradually recovered consciousness. Indeed, they had only undergone
a severe giddiness. The mountain was descended, and they would have
applauded a means of locomotion which had been entirely at nature's
expense, if one of the feeblest, Robert Grant, had not been missing.
Every one loved the courageous boy: Paganel was particularly attached
to him; the major, too, in spite of his coldness; but especially
Glenarvan.
When the latter learned of Robert's disappearance, he was desperate. He
pictured to himself the poor child engulfed in some abyss, and calling
vainly for him whom he considered his second father.
"My friends," said he, scarcely restraining his tears, "we must search
for him, we must find him! We cannot abandon him thus! Every valley,
every precipice, every abyss must be explored to the very bottom! You
shall tie a rope around me and let me down! I will do it, you hear me,
I will! May Heaven grant that Robert is still living! Without him,
how could we dare find his father? What right have we to save Captain
Grant, if his rescue costs the life of his child?"
His companions listened without speaking. They felt that he was seeking
in their looks some ray of hope, and they lowered their eyes.
"Well," continued Glenarvan, "you understand me; you are silent! You
have no more hope!"
A few moments of silence ensued, when MacNabb inquired:
"Who of you, my friends, remembers when Robert disappeared?"
To this question no answer was given.
"At least," continued the major, "you can tell with whom the boy was
during the descent."
"With me," replied Wilson.
"Well, at what moment did you last see him with you? Recall the
circumstances. Speak."
"This is all that I remember. Robert Grant was at my side, his hand
grasping a tuft of moss, less than two minutes before the shock that
caused our descent."
"Less than two minutes? Remember, Wilson, the minutes may have seemed
long to you. Are you not mistaken?"
"I think not--yes, it is so, less than two minutes."
"Well," said MacNabb; "and was Robert on your right, or on your left?"
"On my left. I remember that his poncho flapped in my face."
"And where were you situated in reference to us?"
"On the left also."
"Then Robert could have disappeared only on this side," said the major,
turning towards the mountain, and pointing to the right. "And also
considering the time that has elapsed since his disappearance, the
child must have fallen at a high part of the mountain. There we must
search, and, by taking different ways, we shall find him."
Not a word more was said. The six men, scaling the declivities of the
mountain, stationed themselves at different heights along the ridge,
and began their search. They kept always to the right of their line of
descent, sounding the smallest fissures, descending to the bottom of
precipices half filled with fragments of the mass; and more than one
came forth with his garments in shreds, his feet and hands lacerated,
at the peril of his life.
[Sidenote: A SLEEPLESS NIGHT.]
All this portion of the Andes, except a few inaccessible plateaus,
was carefully explored for many hours without one of these brave men
thinking of rest. But it was a vain search. The child had not only
found death in the mountains, but also a tomb, the stone of which,
made of some enormous rock, was forever closed over him.
Towards noon Glenarvan and his companions, bruised and exhausted, found
themselves again in the valley. The former was a prey to the most
violent grief. He scarcely spoke, and from his lips issued only these
words, broken by sighs,--"I will not go; I will not go!"
Each understood this determination, and respected it.
"We will wait," said Paganel to the major and Tom Austin. "Let us take
some rest, and recruit our strength. We shall need it, whether to begin
our search or continue our journey."
"Yes," replied MacNabb, "let us remain, since Edward wishes it. He
hopes: but what does he hope?"
"God knows!" said Tom Austin.
"Poor Robert!" replied Paganel, wiping his eyes.
Trees thronged the valley in great numbers. The major chose a group of
lofty carob-trees, under which was established a temporary encampment.
A few blankets, the arms, a little dried meat, and some rice, was
all that remained to the travelers. A stream, which flowed not far
off, furnished water, still muddy from the effects of the avalanche.
Mulready kindled a fire on the grass, and soon presented to his master
a warm and comforting repast. But Glenarvan refused it, and remained
stretched on his poncho in profound prostration.
Thus the day passed. Night came, clear and calm as the preceding. While
his companions lay motionless, although wakeful, Glenarvan reascended
the mountain. He listened closely, still hoping that a last cry might
reach him. He ventured alone and afar, pressing his ear to the ground,
listening, restraining the beatings of his heart, and calling in a
voice of despair.
The whole night long he wandered on the mountain. Sometimes Paganel,
sometimes the major, followed him, ready to help him on the slippery
summits, or on the edge of the chasms, where his rashness led him. But
his last efforts were fruitless; and to the cry of "Robert! Robert!" a
thousand times repeated, echo alone replied.
Day dawned, and it was necessary to go in search of Glenarvan on
the mountain, and bring him in spite of his reluctance back to the
encampment. His despair was terrible. Who would now dare to speak
to him of departure, and propose leaving this fatal valley? But the
provisions were failing. They would soon meet the Argentine guides
and horses to take them across the Pampas. To retrace their steps was
more difficult than to advance. Besides, the Atlantic was the place
appointed to meet the Duncan. All these reasons did not permit a longer
delay, and it was for the interest of all that the hour for departure
should be no longer deferred.
MacNabb attempted to draw Glenarvan from his grief. For a long time he
spoke without his friend appearing to hear him. Glenarvan shook his
head. At length, words escaped his lips.
"Go?" said he.
"Yes, go."
"One hour more!"
"Well, one hour more," replied the worthy major.
When it had passed, Glenarvan asked for another. You would have thought
a condemned man was praying for his life. Thus it continued till about
noon, when MacNabb, by the advice of all, would no longer hesitate, and
told Glenarvan that they must go, the lives of his companions depended
upon a prompt decision.
"Yes, yes," replied Glenarvan, "we will go, we will go!"
But as he spoke his eyes were turned away from MacNabb. His gaze was
fixed upon a black speck in the air. Suddenly his hand rose, and
remained immovable, as if petrified.
"There! there!" cried he. "See! see!"
[Illustration: The bird had raised him by his garments, and was now
hovering in mid-air at least one hundred and fifty feet above the
encampment. He had perceived the travelers, and was violently striving
to escape with his heavy prey.] All eyes were raised towards the sky,
in the direction so imperatively indicated. At that moment the black
speck visibly increased. It was a bird hovering at a measureless height.
"A condor," said Paganel.
"Yes, a condor," replied Glenarvan. "Who knows? He is coming, he is
descending! Let us wait."
What did Glenarvan hope? Was his reason wandering? He had said, "Who
knows?" Paganel was not mistaken. The condor became more distinct every
moment.
This magnificent bird, long revered by the Incas, is the king of
the southern Andes. In these regions he attains an extraordinary
development. His strength is prodigious; and he often precipitates
oxen to the bottom of the abysses. He attacks sheep, goats, and calves
wandering on the plain, and carries them in his talons to a great
height. Sometimes he hovers at an elevation beyond the limit of human
vision, and there this king of the air surveys, with a piercing look,
the regions below, and distinguishes the faintest objects with a power
of sight that is the astonishment of naturalists.
What had the condor seen? A corpse,--that of Robert Grant? "Who knows?"
repeated Glenarvan, without losing sight of him. The enormous bird
approached, now hovering, now falling with the swiftness of inert
bodies. He soon described circles of larger extent, and could be
perfectly distinguished. He measured fifteen feet across his wings,
which supported him in the air almost without motion, for it is the
peculiarity of these great birds to sail with a majestic calmness
unlike all others of the winged tribes.
The major and Wilson had seized their rifles, but Glenarvan stopped
them with a gesture. The condor was approaching in the circles of his
flight a sort of inaccessible plateau a quarter of a mile distant.
He was turning with a vertical rapidity, opening and closing his
formidable claws, and shaking his cartilaginous neck.
[Sidenote: SOMETHING WORSE.]
"There! there!" cried Glenarvan.
Then suddenly a thought flashed through his mind.
"If Robert is still living!" exclaimed he, with a cry of terror, "this
bird! Fire, my friends, fire!"
But he was too late. The condor had disappeared behind the lofty
boulders. A second passed that seemed an eternity. Then the enormous
bird reappeared, heavily laden, and rising slowly.
A cry of horror was uttered. In the claws of the condor an inanimate
body was seen suspended and dangling. It was Robert Grant. The bird had
raised him by his garments, and was now hovering in mid-air at least
one hundred and fifty feet above the encampment. He had perceived the
travelers, and was violently striving to escape with his heavy prey.
[Illustration]
"May Robert's body be dashed upon these rocks," cried Glenarvan,
"rather than serve----"
He did not finish, but, seizing Wilson's rifle, attempted to take aim
at the condor. But his arm trembled; he could not sight the piece. His
eyes were dimmed.
"Let me try," said the major.
With clear eye, steady hand, and motionless body, he aimed at the bird,
that was already three hundred feet above him. But he had not pressed
the trigger, when a report resounded in the valley. A light smoke
curled up between two rocks, and the condor, shot in the head, fell,
slowly turning, sustained by his broad outspread wings. He had not
released his prey, and at last reached the ground, ten paces from the
banks of the stream.
"Quick! quick!" said Glenarvan; and without seeking whence this
providential shot had come, he rushed towards the condor. His
companions closely followed him.
[Illustration]
[Sidenote: "THE LOST IS FOUND."]
When they arrived the bird was dead, and the body of Robert was hidden
under its great wings. Glenarvan threw himself upon the child, released
him from the talons of the condor, stretched him on the grass, and
pressed his ear to his breast.
Never did a wilder cry of joy issue from human lips than when Glenarvan
rose, exclaiming:
"He lives! he lives!"
In an instant Robert was stripped of his garments, and his face bathed
with fresh water. He made a movement, opened his eyes, looked around,
and uttered a few words:
"You, my lord--my father!----"
Glenarvan could not speak. Emotion stifled him, and, kneeling, he wept
beside this child so miraculously saved.
CHAPTER XV.
THALCAVE.
After the great danger that he had just escaped, Robert incurred
another, no less great,--that of being overwhelmed with caresses.
However feeble he was still, not one of these good people could refrain
from pressing him to his heart. But it must be confessed that these
well-meant embraces are not fatal, for the boy did not die.
When his rescue was certain, thought reverted to his rescuer, and the
major very naturally thought of looking around him. Fifty paces from
the stream, a man of lofty stature was standing, motionless, on one
of the first ledges of the mountain. A long gun lay at his feet. This
individual, who had so suddenly appeared, had broad shoulders, and
long hair tied with leathern thongs. His height exceeded six feet, and
his bronzed face was red between his eyes and mouth, black below his
eyelids, and white on his forehead. After the manner of the Patagonians
of the frontiers, the native wore a splendid cloak, decorated with
red arabesques, made of the skin of a guanaco, its silky fur turned
outward, and sewed with ostrich-tendons. Under his cloak a tippet of
fox-skin encircled his neck and terminated in a point in front. At his
girdle hung a little bag containing the colors with which he painted
his face. His leggings were of ox-hide, and fastened to the ankle with
straps regularly crossed.
The figure of this Patagonian was fine, and his face denoted real
intelligence in spite of the colors that adorned (!) it. He waited in
an attitude full of dignity, and, seeing him so motionless and stern on
his pedestal of rocks, you would have taken him for a statue.
The major, as soon as he perceived him, pointed him out to Glenarvan,
who hastened towards him. The Patagonian took two steps forward;
Glenarvan took his hand, and pressed it. There was in the latter's
look, in his physiognomy, such a feeling, such an expression of
gratitude, that the native could not mistake it. He inclined his head
gently, and uttered a few words that neither the major nor his friend
could understand.
The Patagonian, after regarding the strangers attentively, now changed
the language; but whatever it was, this new idiom was no better
understood than the first. However, certain expressions which he used
struck Glenarvan. They seemed to belong to the Spanish language, of
which he knew several common words.
"Spanish?" said he.
The Patagonian nodded.
"Well," said the major, "this is our friend Paganel's business. It is
fortunate that he thought of learning Spanish."
Paganel was called. He came at once and with all the grace of a
Frenchman saluted the Patagonian, to which the latter paid no
attention. The geographer was informed of the state of affairs, and was
only too glad to use his diligently-acquired knowledge.
[Sidenote: SOMETHING WRONG.]
"Exactly," said he. And opening his mouth widely in order to articulate
better, he said, in his best Spanish,--
"You--are--a--brave--man."
The native listened, but did not answer.
"He does not understand," said the geographer.
"Perhaps you do not pronounce well," replied the major.
"Very true! Curse the pronunciation!"
And again Paganel began, but with no better success.
"I will change the expression," said he. And pronouncing with
magisterial slowness, he uttered these words,--
"A--Patagonian,--doubtless?"
The native remained mute as before.
"Answer!" added Paganel.
The Patagonian did not reply.
"Do--you--understand?" cried Paganel, violently enough to damage his
organs of speech.
It was evident that the Indian did not understand, for he answered, but
in Spanish,--
"I do not understand."
It was Paganel's turn now to be astonished, and he hastily put on his
glasses, like one irritated.
"May I be hanged," said he, "if I understand a word of this infernal
jargon! It is certainly Araucanian."
"No," replied Glenarvan; "this man answered in Spanish."
And, turning to the Patagonian, he repeated,--
"Spanish?"
"Yes," replied the native.
Paganel's surprise became amazement. The major and Glenarvan looked at
him quizzingly.
"Ah, my learned friend!" said the major, while a half smile played
about his lips, "you have committed one of those blunders peculiar to
you."
"What!" cried the geographer, starting.
"Yes, it is plain that this Patagonian speaks Spanish."
"He?"
[Illustration: A man of lofty stature was standing, motionless, on
one of the first ledges of the mountain. This individual had broad
shoulders, and long hair tied with leathern thongs.]
[Sidenote: A PENINSULAR BABEL.]
"Yes. By mistake you have learnt another language, while thinking that
you studied----"
MacNabb did not finish. A loud "Oh!" from the geographer, accompanied
by shrugs of the shoulders, cut him short.
"Major, you are going a little too far," said Paganel in a very dry
tone.
"To be sure, since you do not understand."
"I do not understand because this native speaks so badly!" answered the
geographer, who began to be impatient.
"That is to say, he speaks badly, because you do not understand,"
returned the major, calmly.
"MacNabb," said Glenarvan, "that is not a probable supposition. However
abstracted our friend Paganel may be, we cannot suppose that his
blunder was to learn one language for another."
"Now, my dear Edward, or rather you, my good Paganel, explain to me
what the difficulty is."
"I will not explain," replied Paganel, "I insist. Here is the book
in which I practice daily the difficulties of the Spanish language!
Examine it, major, and you will see whether I impose upon you."
So saying, Paganel groped in his numerous pockets. After searching a
few moments, he drew forth a volume in a very bad state, and presented
it with an air of assurance. The major took the book, and looked at it.
"Well, what work is this?" he asked.
"The Lusiad," replied Paganel; "an admirable poem which----"
"The Lusiad!" cried Glenarvan.
"Yes, my friend, the Lusiad of the immortal Camoëns, nothing more or
less."
"Camoëns!" repeated Glenarvan; "but, unfortunate friend, Camoëns was
a Portuguese! It is Portuguese that you have been studying for six
weeks."
"Camoëns! Lusiad! Portuguese!"
Paganel could say no more. His eyes wandered, while a peal of Homeric
laughter rang in his ears.
The Patagonian did not wink; he waited patiently for the explanation of
this event, which was totally incomprehensible to him.
"Insensate! fool!" cried Paganel, at last. "What! is it so? Is it not
a mere joke? Have I done this? It is the confusion of languages, as at
Babel. My friends! my friends! to start for India and arrive at Chili!
to learn Spanish and speak Portuguese! this is too much, and, if it
continues, I shall some day throw myself out of the window instead of
my cigar."
To hear Paganel take his blunder thus, to see his comical actions, it
was impossible to keep serious. Besides, he set the example himself.
"Laugh, my friends," said he, "laugh with a will! you cannot laugh as
much as I do at myself."
And he uttered the most formidable peal of laughter that ever issued
from the mouth of a geographer.
"But we are none the less without an interpreter," said the major.
"Oh, do not be troubled," replied Paganel. "The Portuguese and Spanish
resemble each other so much that I made a mistake. However, this very
resemblance will soon enable me to rectify my error, and in a short
time I will thank this worthy Patagonian in the language he speaks so
well."
Paganel was right, for he could soon exchange a few words with the
native. He even learned that his name was Thalcave, a word which
signifies in Araucanian "the thunderer." This surname was doubtless
given to him for his skill in the use of fire-arms.
[Sidenote: BETTER PROSPECTS.]
But Glenarvan was particularly rejoiced to discover that the Patagonian
was a guide, and, moreover, a guide of the Pampas. There was,
therefore, something so providential in this meeting that the success
of the enterprise seemed already an accomplished fact, and no one any
longer doubted the rescue of Captain Grant.
In the meantime the travelers and the Patagonian had returned to
Robert. The latter stretched his arms towards the native, who, without
a word, placed his hand upon his head. He examined the child and felt
his wounded limbs. Then, smiling, he went and gathered on the banks
of the stream a few handfuls of wild celery, with which he rubbed the
boy's body. Under this treatment, performed with an extreme gentleness,
the child felt his strength revive, and it was plain that a few hours
would suffice to restore him.
It was therefore decided that that day and the following night should
be passed at the encampment. Besides, two important questions remained
to be settled--food, and means of conveyance. Provisions and mules were
both wanting.
Fortunately Thalcave solved the difficulty. This guide, who was
accustomed to conduct travelers along the Patagonian frontiers, and
was one of the most intelligent baqueanos of the country, engaged to
furnish Glenarvan all that his little party needed. He offered to take
him to a "tolderia" (encampment) of Indians, about four miles distant,
where they would find everything necessary for the expedition. This
proposal was made partly by gestures, partly by Spanish words which
Paganel succeeded in understanding. It was accepted, and Glenarvan and
his learned friend, taking leave of their companions, reascended the
stream under the guidance of the Patagonian.
They proceeded at a good pace for an hour and a half, taking long
strides to keep up to the giant Thalcave. All the region was charming,
and of a rich fertility. The grassy pastures succeeded each other,
and could easily have fed thousands of cattle. Large ponds, united by
a winding chain of streams, gave these plains a verdant moisture.
Black-headed swans sported on the mirror-like surface, and disputed the
empire of the waters with numberless ostriches that gamboled over the
plains, while the brilliant feathered tribes were in wonderful variety.
[Illustration]
Jacques Paganel proceeded from admiration to ecstasy. Exclamations
of delight continually escaped his lips, to the astonishment of the
Patagonian, who thought it very natural that there should be birds in
the air, swans on the lakes, and grass on the prairies. The geographer
had no reason to regret his walk, or complain of its length. He
scarcely believed himself started, or that the encampment would soon
come in sight.
This tolderia was at the bottom of a narrow valley among the mountains.
Here in huts of branches lived thirty wandering natives, grazing
large herds of milch cows, sheep, cattle and horses. Thus they roamed
from one pasture to another, always finding a repast ready for their
four-footed companions.
[Sidenote: GLENARVAN GOING TO MARKET.]
Thalcave took upon himself the negotiation, which was not long. In
return for seven small Argentine horses, all saddled, a hundred pounds
of dried meat, a few measures of rice, and some leathern bottles for
water, the Indians received twenty ounces of gold, the value of which
they perfectly understood. Glenarvan would have bought another horse
for the Patagonian, but he intimated that it was unnecessary.
[Illustration]
The bargain concluded, Glenarvan took leave of his new "providers," as
Paganel expressed it, and returned to the encampment. His arrival was
welcomed by cries of joy at sight of the provisions and horses. Every
one ate with avidity. Robert partook of some nourishment; he had almost
entirely regained his strength, and the remainder of the day was passed
in perfect rest. Various subjects were alluded to: the absent dear
ones, the Duncan, Captain Mangles, his brave crew, and Harry Grant who
was, perhaps, not far distant.
As for Paganel, he did not leave the Indian. He became Thalcave's
shadow, and could not remain quiet in the presence of a real
Patagonian, in comparison with whom he would have passed for a dwarf.
He overwhelmed the grave Indian with Spanish phrases, to which the
latter quietly listened. The geographer studied this time without a
book, and was often heard repeating words aloud.
"If I do not get the accent," said he to the major, "you must not be
angry with me. Who would have thought that one day a Patagonian would
teach me Spanish!"
CHAPTER XVI.
NEWS OF THE LOST CAPTAIN.
At eight o'clock the next morning Thalcave gave the signal for
departure. The slope was gradual, and the travelers had only to descend
a gentle declivity to the sea.
When the Patagonian declined the horse that Glenarvan offered him, the
latter thought that he preferred to go on foot, according to the custom
of certain guides; and indeed, his long legs ought to have made walking
easy. But he was mistaken.
At the moment of departure Thalcave whistled in a peculiar manner.
Immediately a magnificent Argentine horse, of superb form, issued from
a small wood near by, and approached at the call of his master. The
animal was perfectly beautiful. His brown color indicated a sound,
spirited and courageous beast. He had a small and elegantly poised
head, widely opening nostrils, a fiery eye, large hams, swelling
withers, broad breast, long pasterns, in short, all the qualities that
constitute strength and suppleness. The major, like a perfect horseman,
admired unreservedly this specimen of the horses of the plains. This
beautiful creature was called Thaouka, which means "bird" in the
Patagonian language, and he justly merited this appellation.
[Sidenote: A FRESH START.]
When Thalcave was in the saddle, the horse pranced with spirited grace,
and the Patagonian, a skillful rider, was magnificent to behold. His
outfit comprised two weapons of the chase, the "bolas" and the lasso.
The bolas consists of three balls tied together by a leathern string,
which are fastened to the front of the saddle. The Indians frequently
throw them the distance of a hundred paces at the animal or enemy that
they are pursuing, and with such precision that they twist about their
legs and bring them to the ground. It is, therefore, in their hands a
formidable instrument, and they handle it with surprising dexterity.
The lasso, on the contrary, does not leave the hand that wields it. It
consists simply of a leathern thong thirty feet in length, terminating
in a slip-noose which works upon an iron ring. The right hand throws
the slip-noose, while the left hand holds the remainder of the lasso,
the end of which is firmly tied to the saddle. A long carbine in a
sling completed the Patagonian's armament.
Thalcave, without observing the admiration caused by his natural
grace, ease and courage, took the lead, and the party advanced, now
at a gallop, and now at a walk, for their horses seemed entirely
unaccustomed to trotting. Robert mounted with much boldness, and
speedily convinced Glenarvan of his ability to keep his seat.
On issuing from the gorges of the Andes, they encountered a great
number of sand-ridges, called "medanos," real waves incessantly
agitated by the wind, when the roots of the herbage did not confine
them to the earth. This sand is of an extreme fineness; and, at the
least breath, they saw it float away in light clouds, or form regular
sand-columns which rose to a considerable height. This spectacle caused
pleasure as well as annoyance to the eyes. Pleasure, for nothing was
more curious than these columns, wandering over the plain, struggling,
mingling, sinking and rising in inexpressible confusion; and annoyance,
since an impalpable dust emanated from these innumerable medanos and
penetrated the eyelids, however tightly they were closed.
[Illustration]
This phenomenon continued during a great part of the day. Nevertheless,
they advanced rapidly, and towards six o'clock the Andes, forty miles
distant, presented a darkish aspect already fading in the mists of the
evening.
The travelers were a little fatigued with their journey, and,
therefore, saw with pleasure the approach of the hour for retiring.
They encamped on the shores of a turbulent stream, enclosed by lofty
red cliffs. Toward noon of the next day, the sun's rays became very
oppressive, and at evening a line of clouds on the horizon indicated
a change in the weather. The Patagonian could not be deceived, and
pointed out to the geographer the western portion of the sky.
"Good, I know," said Paganel, and addressing his companions: "A change
in the weather is about to take place. We shall have a 'pampero.'"
[Sidenote: TALKING LIKE A BOOK.]
He explained that this pampero is frequent on the Argentine Plains. It
is a very dry wind from the southwest. Thalcave was not mistaken, and
during the night, which was quite uncomfortable for people sheltered
with a simple poncho, the wind blew with great violence. The horses lay
down on the ground, and the men near them in a close group. Glenarvan
feared they would be delayed if the storm continued; but Paganel
reassured him after consulting his barometer.
"Ordinarily," said he, "this wind creates tempests, which last for
three days; but when the barometer rises as it does now, you are free
from these furious hurricanes in a few hours. Be assured, then, my dear
friend; at break of day the sky will have resumed its usual clearness."
"You talk like a book, Paganel," replied Glenarvan.
"And I am one," replied Paganel, "which you are free to consult as much
as you please."
He was not mistaken. At one o'clock in the morning the wind suddenly
subsided, and every one was able to enjoy an invigorating sleep. The
next morning they rose bright and fresh, especially Paganel, who
displayed great cheerfulness and animation.
During this passage across the continent, Lord Glenarvan watched with
scrupulous attention for the approach of the natives. He wished to
question them concerning Captain Grant, by the aid of the Patagonian,
with whom Paganel had begun to converse considerably. But they
followed a path little frequented by the Indians, for the trails over
the Pampas, which lead from the Argentine Republic to the Andes, are
situated too far to the north. If by chance a wandering horseman
appeared in the distance, he fled rapidly away, little caring to come
in contact with strangers.
However, although Glenarvan, in the interest of his search, regretted
the absence of the Indians, an incident took place which singularly
justified the interpretation of the document.
Several times the course pursued by the expedition crossed paths on
the Pampas, among others quite an important road--that from Carmen to
Mendoza--distinguishable by the bones of such animals as mules, horses,
sheep and oxen, whose remains were scattered by the birds of prey, and
lay bleaching in the sun. There were thousands of them, and, without
doubt, more than one human skeleton had added its bones to those of
these humbler animals.
Hitherto Thalcave had made no remark concerning the line so rigorously
followed. He understood, however, that if they kept no definite
course over the Pampas, they would not come to cities or villages.
Every morning they advanced towards the rising sun, without deviating
from the straight line, and every evening the setting sun was behind
them. In his capacity of guide, Thalcave must, therefore, have been
astonished to see that not only he did not guide them, but that they
guided him. Nevertheless, if he was astonished, with the reserve
natural to the Indians he made no remark. But to-day arriving at the
above-mentioned road, he stopped his horse, and turned towards Paganel.
"Road to Carmen," said he.
"Yes, my good Patagonian," replied the geographer, in his purest
Spanish; "road to Carmen and Mendoza."
"We do not take it?" resumed Thalcave.
"No," answered Paganel.
"And we are going----?"
"Always to the east."
"That is going nowhere."
"Who knows?"
Thalcave was silent, and gazed at the geographer with profound
surprise. He did not admit, however, that Paganel was joking the least
in the world. An Indian, with his natural seriousness, never imagines
that you are not speaking in earnest.
"You are not going to Carmen then?" he added, after an instant of
silence.
[Sidenote: A PROFESSORIAL DIFFICULTY.]
"No," replied Paganel.
"Nor to Mendoza?"
"No."
At this moment Glenarvan, rejoining Paganel, asked what Thalcave said,
and why he had stopped.
When he had told him, Glenarvan said,--
"Could you not explain to him the object of our expedition, and why we
must always proceed toward the east?"
"That would be very difficult," answered Paganel, "for an Indian
understands nothing of geography."
"But," said the major seriously, "is it the history, or the historian,
that he cannot understand?"
"Ah, MacNabb," said Paganel, "you still doubt my Spanish!"
"Try, my worthy friend."
"Very well."
Paganel turned to the Patagonian, and began a discourse, frequently
interrupted for want of words and from the difficulty of explaining to
a half-ignorant savage details which were rather incomprehensible to
him.
The geographer was just then a curious sight. He gesticulated,
articulated, and exerted himself in a hundred ways, while great
drops of sweat rolled down his face. When his tongue could no longer
move, his arm came to his aid. He dismounted, and traced on the
sand a geographical map, with lines of latitude and longitude, the
two oceans, and the road to Carmen. Never was professor in such
embarrassment. Thalcave watched these manoeuvres without showing whether
he comprehended or not.
The lesson in geography lasted more than half an hour. At last Paganel
ceased, wiped his face, which was wet with perspiration, and looked at
the Patagonian.
"Did he understand?" inquired Glenarvan.
"We shall see," replied Paganel; "but, if he did not, I give it up."
[Sidenote: "PERHAPS!"]
Thalcave did not stir. He no longer spoke. His eyes were fixed upon
the figures traced on the sand, which the wind was gradually effacing.
[Illustration: An important road--that from Carmen to
Mendoza--distinguishable by the bones of such animals as mules, horses,
sheep and oxen, whose remains were scattered by the birds of prey, and
lay bleaching in the sun.]
"Well?" asked Paganel.
Thalcave did not appear to hear him. Paganel already saw an ironical
smile forming upon the lips of the major, and, wishing to save
his reputation, had begun with renewed energy his geographical
demonstrations, when the Patagonian stopped him with a gesture.
"You are searching for a prisoner?" he said.
"Yes," replied Paganel.
"And exactly on the line from the setting to the rising sun?" said
Thalcave, indicating by a comparison, in the Indian manner, the course
from west to east.
"Yes, yes, that is it!"
"And it is your God," said the Patagonian, "who has confided to the
waves of the vast ocean the secrets of the prisoner?"
"God himself."
"May his will be accomplished then!" replied Thalcave, with a certain
solemnity. "We will go to the east, and, if necessary, even to the sun."
Paganel, in his exultation over his pupil, immediately translated to
his companions the replies of the Indian.
Glenarvan requested Paganel to ask the Patagonian if he had heard
of any strangers falling into the hands of the Indians, which was
accordingly done.
"Perhaps," replied the Patagonian.
As soon as this word was translated, Thalcave was surrounded by the
seven travelers, who gazed at him with questioning looks. Paganel,
excited and scarcely finding his words, resumed these interesting
interrogatories, while his eyes, fixed upon the grave Indian, strove
to anticipate his reply before it issued from his lips. Every word the
Patagonian said he repeated in English, so that his companions heard
the Indian speak, as it were, in their own language.
"And this prisoner?" inquired Paganel.
"He was a stranger," replied Thalcave slowly; "a European."
"You have seen him?"
"No, but he is mentioned in the accounts of the Indians. He was a brave
man."
"You understand, my friends," said Paganel; "a courageous man!"
"My father!" cried Robert Grant.
Then, addressing Paganel:
"How do you say 'It is my father,' in Spanish?" he asked.
"_Es mio padre_," answered the geographer.
Immediately Robert, taking Thalcave's hands, said in a sweet voice,--
"_Es mio padre!_"
"_Suo padre!_" replied the Patagonian, whose look brightened.
He took the boy in his arms, lifted him from his horse, and gazed at
him with the most curious sympathy. His intelligent countenance became
suffused with a peaceful emotion.
But Paganel had not finished his inquiries. Where was this prisoner?
What was he doing? When had Thalcave heard of him? All these questions
thronged his mind at once. He did not have to wait long for answers,
but learnt that the European was a slave of one of the Indian tribes
that scour the plains.
"But where was he last?" asked Paganel.
"With the cazique Calfoucoura," answered Thalcave.
"On the line we have been following?"
"Yes."
"And who is this cazique?"
"The chief of the Poyuches Indians; a man with two tongues and two
hearts."
[Sidenote: A SCIENTIFIC BATH.]
"That is to say, false in word and in deed," said Paganel, after
translating to his companions this beautiful metaphor of the Indian
language. "And can we rescue our friend?" he added.
"Perhaps so, if your friend is still in the hands of the Indians."
"And when did you hear of him?"
"A long time ago, and, since then, the sun has brought back two summers
to the sky."
Glenarvan's joy could not be described. This answer coincided exactly
with the date of the document. But one question remained to be asked.
"You speak of a prisoner," said Paganel; "but were there not three?"
"I do not know," replied Thalcave.
"And you know nothing of their actual situation?"
"Nothing."
This last word ended the conversation. It was possible that the three
prisoners had been separated a long time. But the substance of the
Patagonian's information was that the Indians spoke of a European who
had fallen into their power. The date of his captivity, the place where
he must have been, everything, even to the Patagonian phrase used to
express his courage, related evidently to Captain Harry Grant.
Their progress was now somewhat slow and difficult; their next object
being to reach and cross the river Colorado, to which at length
their horses brought them. Here Paganel's first care was to bathe
"geographically" in its waters, which are colored by a reddish clay. He
was surprised to find the depth so great as it really was, this being
the result of the snow having melted rapidly under the first heat of
summer. The width likewise of this stream was so considerable that it
was almost impossible for their horses to swim across; but they happily
discovered a sort of weir-bridge, of wattles looped and fastened
together, which the Indians were in the habit of using; and by its aid
the little troop was enabled to pass over to the left bank, where they
rested for the night.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XVII.
A SERIOUS NECESSITY.
They set out at daybreak. The horses advanced at a brisk pace among
the tufts of "paja-brava," a kind of grass that serves the Indians
as a shelter during the storms. At certain distances, but less and
less frequent, pools of shallow water contributed to the growth of
willows and a certain plant which is found in the neighborhood of
fresh water. Here the horses drank their fill, to fortify themselves
for the journey. Thalcave, who rode in advance, beat the bushes, and
thus frightened away the "cholinas" (vipers), while the agile Thaouka
bounded over all obstacles, and aided his master in clearing a passage
for the horses that followed.
[Illustration: They set out at daybreak. The horses advanced at a brisk
pace among the tufts of "paja-brava," a kind of grass that serves the
Indians as a shelter during the storms.]
Early in the afternoon, the first traces of animals were
encountered--the bones of an innumerable drove of cattle, in whitened
heaps. These fragments did not extend in a winding line, such as
animals exhausted and falling one by one would leave behind them. Thus
no one, not even Paganel, knew how to explain this chain of skeletons
in a space comparatively circumscribed. He therefore questioned
Thalcave, who was not at a loss for a reply.
"What is this?" they asked, after Paganel had inquired of the Indian.
"The fire of heaven," replied the geographer.
"What! the lightning could not have produced such a disaster," said Tom
Austin, "and stretched five hundred head of cattle on the earth!"
But Thalcave reaffirmed it, and he was not mistaken; for the storms of
the Pampas are noted for their violence.
At evening they stopped at an abandoned rancho, made of interlaced
branches plastered with mud and covered with thatch. This structure
stood within an inclosure of half-rotten stakes which, however,
sufficed to protect the horses during the night against the attacks of
the foxes. Not that they had anything to fear personally from these
animals, but the malicious beasts gnawed the halters, so that the
horses could escape.
A few paces from the rancho, a hole was dug which served as a kitchen
and contained half-cooled embers. Within, there was a bench, a bed of
ox-hide, a saucepan, a spit, and a pot for boiling maté. The maté is
a drink very much in use in South America. It is the Indian's tea,
consisting of a decoction of leaves dried in the fire, and is imbibed
through a straw. At Paganel's request, Thalcave prepared several
cups of this beverage, which very agreeably accompanied the ordinary
eatables, and was declared excellent.
[Sidenote: A CHANGE FOR THE WORSE.]
The next day they resumed their journey towards the east. About noon
a change took place in the appearance of the Pampas, which could
not escape eyes wearied with its monotony. The grass became more and
more scanty, and gave place to sickly burdocks and gigantic thistles;
while stunted nettles and other thorny shrubs grew here and there.
Heretofore, a certain moisture, preserved by the clay of the prairie,
freshened the meadows; the vegetation was thick and luxuriant. But now
a patchy growth, bare in many places, exposed the earth, and indicated
the poverty of the soil. These signs of increasing dryness could not be
mistaken, and Thalcave called attention to them.
[Illustration]
"I am not sorry at this change," said Tom Austin; "to see always grass,
nothing but grass, becomes tiresome before long."
"But where there is grass there is water," replied the major.
"Oh, we are not in want," said Wilson, "and shall find some river on
our course."
However, when Wilson said that the supply of water would not fail
he had not calculated for the unquenchable thirst that consumed his
companions all that day; and, when he added that they would meet with
some stream in their journey he had anticipated too much. Indeed, not
only were rivers wanting, but even the artificial wells dug by the
Indians were empty. On seeing these indications of dryness increase
from mile to mile, Paganel asked Thalcave where he expected to find
water.
"At Lake Salinas," replied the Indian.
"And when shall we arrive there?"
"To-morrow evening."
The natives ordinarily, when they travel on the Pampas, dig wells, and
find water a few feet below the surface; but the travelers, destitute
of the necessary implements, could not employ this expedient. It was
therefore necessary to obtain a supply in some other way, for, if they
did not absolutely suffer from the tormenting desire for drink, no one
could entirely allay his thirst.
At evening they halted, after a journey of thirty miles. Every one
relied upon a good night to recruit himself after the fatigues of
the day; but they were greatly annoyed by a very persistent swarm of
mosquitoes, which disappeared, however, after the wind changed.
If the major preserved his calmness in the midst of the petty
annoyances of life, Paganel, on the contrary, could not treat the
matter so indifferently. He fought the mosquitoes, and sadly regretted
the absence of his acid-water, which would have soothed the pain of
their bites. Although the major endeavored to console him, he awoke in
a very bad humor.
However, he was very easily persuaded to set out at daybreak, for it
was important to arrive at Lake Salinas th
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