The Collected Works of Jules Verne: 36 Novels and Short Stories (Unexpurgated Edition) (Halcyon Classics)

by Jules Verne

  The lesson had lasted half an hour, when the geographer left off, wiped his streaming face, and waited for the Patagonian to speak.

  "Does he understand?" said Glenarvan.

  "That remains to be seen; but if he doesn't, I give it up," replied Paganel.

  Thalcave neither stirred nor spoke. His eyes remained fixed on the lines drawn on the sand, now becoming fast effaced by the wind.

  "Well?" said Paganel to him at length.

  The Patagonian seemed not to hear. Paganel fancied he could detect an ironical smile already on the lips of the Major, and determined to carry the day, was about to recommence his geographical illustrations, when the Indian stopped him by a gesture, and said:

  "You are in search of a prisoner?"

  "Yes," replied Paganel.

  "And just on this line between the setting and rising sun?" added Thalcave, speaking in Indian fashion of the route from west to east.

  "Yes, yes, that's it."

  "And it's your God," continued the guide, "that has sent you the secret of this prisoner on the waves."

  "God himself."

  "His will be accomplished then," replied the native almost solemnly. "We will march east, and if it needs be, to the sun."

  Paganel, triumphing in his pupil, immediately translated his replies to his companions, and exclaimed:

  "What an intelligent race! All my explanations would have been lost on nineteen in every twenty of the peasants in my own country."

  Glenarvan requested him to ask the Patagonian if he had heard of any foreigners who had fallen into the hands of the Indians of the Pampas.

  Paganel did so, and waited an answer.

  "Perhaps I have."

  The reply was no sooner translated than the Patagonian found himself surrounded by the seven men questioning him with eager glances. Paganel was so excited, he could hardly find words, and he gazed at the grave Indian as if he could read the reply on his lips.

  Each word spoken by Thalcave was instantly translated, so that the whole party seemed to hear him speak in their mother tongue.

  "And what about the prisoner?" asked Paganel.

  "He was a foreigner."

  "You have seen him?"

  "No; but I have heard the Indian speak of him. He is brave; he has the heart of a bull."

  "The heart of a bull!" said Paganel. "Ah, this magnificent Patagonian language. You understand him, my friends, he means a courageous man."

  "My father!" exclaimed Robert Grant, and, turning to Paganel, he asked what the Spanish was for, "Is it my father."

  "_Es mio padre_," replied the geographer.

  Immediately taking Thalcave's hands in his own, the boy said, in a soft tone:

  "_Es mio padre_."

  "_Suo padre_," replied the Patagonian, his face lighting up.

  He took the child in his arms, lifted him up on his horse, and gazed at him with peculiar sympathy. His intelligent face was full of quiet feeling.

  But Paganel had not completed his interrogations. "This prisoner, who was he? What was he doing? When had Thalcave heard of him?" All these questions poured upon him at once.

  He had not long to wait for an answer, and learned that the European was a slave in one of the tribes that roamed the country between the Colorado and the Rio Negro.

  "But where was the last place he was in?"

  "With the Cacique Calfoucoura."

  "In the line we have been following?"

  "Yes."

  "And who is this Cacique?"

  "The chief of the Poyuches Indians, a man with two tongues and two hearts."

  "That's to say false in speech and false in action," said Paganel, after he had translated this beautiful figure of the Patagonian language.

  "And can we deliver our friend?" he added.

  "You may if he is still in the hands of the Indians."

  "And when did you last hear of him?"

  "A long while ago; the sun has brought two summers since then to the Pampas."

  The joy of Glenarvan can not be described. This reply agreed perfectly with the date of the document. But one question still remained for him to put to Thalcave.

  "You spoke of a prisoner," he said; "but were there not three?"

  "I don't know," said Thalcave.

  "And you know nothing of his present situation?"

  "Nothing."

  This ended the conversation. It was quite possible that the three men had become separated long ago; but still this much was certain, that the Indians had spoken of a European that was in their power; and the date of the captivity, and even the descriptive phrase about the captive, evidently pointed to Harry Grant.

  CHAPTER XVII A SERIOUS NECESSITY

  THE Argentine Pampas extend from the thirty-fourth to the fortieth degree of southern latitude. The word PAMPA, of Araucanian origin, signifies _grass plain_, and justly applies to the whole region. The mimosas growing on the western part, and the substantial herbage on the eastern, give those plains a peculiar appearance. The soil is composed of sand and red or yellow clay, and this is covered by a layer of earth, in which the vegetation takes root. The geologist would find rich treasures in the tertiary strata here, for it is full of antediluvian remains--enormous bones, which the Indians attribute to some gigantic race that lived in a past age.

  The horses went on at a good pace through the thick PAJA-BRAVA, the grass of the Pampas, _par excellence_, so high and thick that the Indians find shelter in it from storms. At certain distances, but increasingly seldom, there were wet, marshy spots, almost entirely under water, where the willows grew, and a plant called the _Gygnerium argenteum_. Here the horses drank their fill greedily, as if bent on quenching their thirst for past, present and future. Thalcave went first to beat the bushes and frighten away the cholinas, a most dangerous species of viper, the bite of which kills an ox in less than an hour.

  For two days they plodded steadily across this arid and deserted plain. The dry heat became severe. There were not only no RIOS, but even the ponds dug out by the Indians were dried up. As the drought seemed to increase with every mile, Paganel asked Thalcave when he expected to come to water.

  "At Lake Salinas," replied the Indian.

  "And when shall we get there?"

  "To-morrow evening."

  When the Argentines travel in the Pampas they generally dig wells, and find water a few feet below the surface. But the travelers could not fall back on this resource, not having the necessary implements. They were therefore obliged to husband the small provision of water they had still left, and deal it out in rations, so that if no one had enough to satisfy his thirst no one felt it too painful.

  They halted at evening after a course of thirty miles and eagerly looked forward to a good night's rest to compensate for the fatigue of day. But their slumbers were invaded by a swarm of mosquitoes, which allowed them no peace. Their presence indicated a change of wind which shifted to the north. A south or southwest wind generally puts to flight these little pests.

  Even these petty ills of life could not ruffle the Major's equanimity; but Paganel, on the contrary, was perfectly exasperated by such trifling annoyances. He abused the poor mosquitoes desperately, and deplored the lack of some acid lotion which would have eased the pain of their stings. The Major did his best to console him by reminding him of the fact that they had only to do with one species of insect, among the 300,000 naturalists reckon. He would listen to nothing, and got up in a very bad temper.

  He was quite willing to start at daybreak, however, for they had to get to Lake Salinas before sundown. The horses were tired out and dying for water, and though their riders had stinted themselves for their sakes, still their ration was very insufficient. The drought was constantly increasing, and the heat none the less for the wind being north, this wind being the simoom of the Pampas.

  There was a brief interruption this day to the monotony of the journey. Mulrady, who was in front of the others, rode hastily back to report the approach of a troop of In
dians. The news was received with very different feelings by Glenarvan and Thalcave. The Scotchman was glad of the chance of gleaning some information about his shipwrecked countryman, while the Patagonian hardly cared to encounter the nomadic Indians of the prairie, knowing their bandit propensities. He rather sought to avoid them, and gave orders to his party to have their arms in readiness for any trouble.

  Presently the nomads came in sight, and the Patagonian was reassured at finding they were only ten in number. They came within a hundred yards of them, and stopped. This was near enough to observe them distinctly. They were fine specimens of the native races, which had been almost entirely swept away in 1833 by General Rosas, tall in stature, with arched forehead and olive complexion. They were dressed in guanaco skins, and carried lances twenty feet long, knives, slings, bolas, and lassos, and, by their dexterity in the management of their horses, showed themselves to be accomplished riders.

  They appeared to have stopped for the purpose of holding a council with each other, for they shouted and gesticulated at a great rate. Glenarvan determined to go up to them; but he had no sooner moved forward than the whole band wheeled round, and disappeared with incredible speed. It would have been useless for the travelers to attempt to overtake them with such wornout horses.

  "The cowards!" exclaimed Paganel.

  "They scampered off too quick for honest folks," said McNabbs.

  "Who are these Indians, Thalcave?" asked Paganel.

  "Gauchos."

  "The Gauchos!" cried Paganel; and, turning to his companions, he added, "we need not have been so much on our guard; there was nothing to fear."

  "How is that?" asked McNabbs.

  "Because the Gauchos are inoffensive peasants."

  "You believe that, Paganel?"

  "Certainly I do. They took us for robbers, and fled in terror."

  "I rather think they did not dare to attack us," replied Glenarvan, much vexed at not being able to enter into some sort of communication with those Indians, whatever they were.

  "That's my opinion too," said the Major, "for if I am not mistaken, instead of being harmless, the Gauchos are formidable out-and-out bandits."

  "The idea!" exclaimed Paganel.

  And forthwith commenced a lively discussion of this ethnological thesis-- so lively that the Major became excited, and, quite contrary to his usual suavity, said bluntly:

  "I believe you are wrong, Paganel."

  "Wrong?" replied Paganel.

  "Yes. Thalcave took them for robbers, and he knows what he is talking about."

  "Well, Thalcave was mistaken this time," retorted Paganel, somewhat sharply. "The Gauchos are agricul-turists and shepherds, and nothing else, as I have stated in a pamphlet on the natives of the Pampas, written by me, which has attracted some notice."

  V. IV Verne

  [illustration omitted] [page intentionally blank]

  "Well, well, you have committed an error, that's all, Monsieur Paganel."

  "What, Monsieur McNabbs! you tell me I have committed an error?"

  "An inadvertence, if you like, which you can put among the ERRATA in the next edition."

  Paganel, highly incensed at his geographical knowledge being brought in question, and even jested about, allowed his ill-humor to get the better of him, and said:

  "Know, sir, that my books have no need of such ERRATA."

  "Indeed! Well, on this occasion they have, at any rate," retorted McNabbs, quite as obstinate as his opponent.

  "Sir, I think you are very annoying to-day."

  "And I think you are very crabbed."

  Glenarvan thought it was high time to interfere, for the discussion was getting too hot, so he said:

  "Come, now, there is no doubt one of you is very teasing and the other is very crabbed, and I must say I am surprised at both of you."

  The Patagonian, without understanding the cause, could see that the two friends were quarreling. He began to smile, and said quietly:

  "It's the north wind."

  "The north wind," exclaimed Paganel; "what's the north wind to do with it?"

  "Ah, it is just that," said Glenarvan. "It's the north wind that has put you in a bad temper. I have heard that, in South America, the wind greatly irritates the nervous system."

  "By St. Patrick, Edward you are right," said the Major, laughing heartily.

  But Paganel, in a towering rage, would not give up the contest, and turned upon Glenarvan, whose intervention in this jesting manner he resented.

  "And so, my Lord, my nervous system is irritated?" he said.

  "Yes, Paganel, it is the north wind--a wind which causes many a crime in the Pampas, as the TRAMONTANE does in the Campagna of Rome."

  "Crimes!" returned the geographer. "Do I look like a man that would commit crimes?"

  "That's not exactly what I said."

  "Tell me at once that I want to assassinate you?"

  "Well, I am really afraid," replied Glenarvan, bursting into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, in which all others joined.

  Paganel said no more, but went off in front alone, and came back in a few minutes quite himself, as if he had completely forgotten his grievance.

  At eight o'clock in the evening, Thalcave, who was considerably in advance of the rest, descried in the distance the much-desired lake, and in less than a quarter of an hour they reached its banks; but a grievous disappointment awaited them--the lake was dried up.

  CHAPTER XVIII IN SEARCH OF WATER

  LAKE SALINAS ends the string of lagoons connected with the Sierras Ventana and Guamini. Numerous expeditions were formerly made there from Buenos Ayres, to collect the salt deposited on its banks, as the waters contain great quantities of chloride of sodium.

  But when Thalcave spoke of the lake as supplying drinkable water he was thinking of the RIOS of fresh water which run into it. Those streams, however, were all dried up also; the burning sun had drunk up every thing liquid, and the consternation of the travelers may be imagined at the discovery.

  Some action must be taken immediately, however; for what little water still remained was almost bad, and could not quench thirst. Hunger and fatigue were forgotten in the face of this imperious necessity. A sort of leather tent, called a ROUKAH, which had been left by the natives, afforded the party a temporary resting-place, and the weary horses stretched themselves along the muddy banks, and tried to browse on the marine plants and dry reeds they found there-- nauseous to the taste as they must have been.

  As soon as the whole party were ensconced in the ROUKAH, Paganel asked Thalcave what he thought was best to be done. A rapid conversation followed, a few words of which were intelligible to Glenarvan. Thalcave spoke calmly, but the lively Frenchman gesticulated enough for both. After a little, Thalcave sat silent and folded his arms.

  "What does he say?" asked Glenarvan. "I fancied he was advising us to separate."

  "Yes, into two parties. Those of us whose horses are so done out with fatigue and thirst that they can scarcely drag one leg after the other, are to continue the route as they best can, while the others, whose steeds are fresher, are to push on in advance toward the river Guamini, which throws itself into Lake San Lucas about thirty-one miles off. If there should be water enough in the river, they are to wait on the banks till their companions reach them; but should it be dried up, they will hasten back and spare them a useless journey."

  "And what will we do then?" asked Austin.

  "Then we shall have to make up our minds to go seventy-two miles south, as far as the commencement of the Sierra Ventana, where rivers abound."

  "It is wise counsel, and we will act upon it without loss of time. My horse is in tolerable good trim, and I volunteer to accompany Thalcave."

  "Oh, my Lord, take me," said Robert, as if it were a question of some pleasure party.

  "But would you be able for it, my boy?"

  "Oh, I have a fine beast, which just wants to have a gallop. Please, my Lord, to take me."

  "Come, then, my boy
," said Glenarvan, delighted not to leave Robert behind. "If we three don't manage to find out fresh water somewhere," he added, "we must be very stupid."

  "Well, well, and what about me?" said Paganel.

  "Oh, my dear Paganel, you must stay with the reserve corps," replied the Major. "You are too well acquainted with the 37th parallel and the river Guamini and the whole Pampas for us to let you go. Neither Mulrady, nor Wilson, nor myself would be able to rejoin Thalcave at the given rendezvous, but we will put ourselves under the banner of the brave Jacques Paganel with perfect confidence."

  "I resign myself," said the geographer, much flattered at having supreme command.

  "But mind, Paganel, no distractions," added the Major. "Don't you take us to the wrong place--to the borders of the Pacific, for instance."

  "Oh, you insufferable Major; it would serve you right," replied Paganel, laughing. "But how will you manage to understand what Thalcave says, Glenarvan?" he continued.

  "I suppose," replied Glenarvan, "the Patagonian and I won't have much to talk about; besides, I know a few Spanish words, and, at a pinch, I should not fear either making him understand me, or my understanding him."

  "Go, then, my worthy friend," said Paganel.

  "We'll have supper first," rejoined Glenarvan, "and then sleep, if we can, till it is starting time."

  The supper was not very reviving without drink of any kind, and they tried to make up for the lack of it by a good sleep. But Paganel dreamed of water all night, of torrents and cascades, and rivers and ponds, and streams and brooks--in fact, he had a complete nightmare.

  Next morning, at six o'clock, the horses of Thalcave, Glenarvan and Robert were got ready. Their last ration of water was given them, and drunk with more avidity than satisfaction, for it was filthy, disgusting stuff. The three travelers then jumped into their saddles, and set off, shouting "_Au revoir!_" to their companions.

  "Don't come back whatever you do," called Paganel after them.

  The _Desertio de las Salinas_, which they had to traverse, is a dry plain, covered with stunted trees not above ten feet high, and small mimosas, which the Indians call _curra-mammel;_ and JUMES, a bushy shrub, rich in soda. Here and there large spaces were covered with salt, which sparkled in the sunlight with astonishing brilliancy. These might easily have been taken for sheets of ice, had not the intense heat forbidden the illusion; and the contrast these dazzling white sheets presented to the dry, burned-up ground gave the desert a most peculiar character. Eighty miles south, on the contrary, the Sierra Ventana, toward which the travelers might possibly have to betake themselves should the Guamini disappoint their hopes, the landscape was totally different. There the fertility is splendid; the pasturage is incomparable. Unfortunately, to reach them would necessitate a march of one hundred and thirty miles south; and this was why Thalcave thought it best to go first to Guamini, as it was not only much nearer, but also on the direct line of route.