Preparations for departure from Santiago did not occupy long, as it was
not intended the expedition should be outfitted at the Chilian capital.
On the contrary, the starting point was to be the isolated Andine
monastery, presided over by Don Ernesto's relative, who had obtained and
forwarded the old manuscript of Luis de Pereira.
"At this old monastery," he told the boys, "we shall spend some time
going over maps, talking with missionary monks who have penetrated
portions of the wild region into which we plan to march, and gathering
our expedition together. Our winter, which corresponds in point of time
to your summer, is drawing to a close. By the time we are ready to move,
spring will have come, and we can travel without too great inconvenience
due to the weather.
"Your father," he explained to Jack, "regrets delaying your return to
college, but he feels that such an expedition will be worth a great deal
to you and your friends."
Mr. Hampton nodded.
"If all goes well," he added, "you fellows will get back to Yale after
the Christmas vacation. Even if you were to miss a whole year of class
work, it would be worth while merely for this unusual experience."
With this the boys were in hearty agreement. Farewells, then, were said
to Santiago. The party, consisting of the two older men, the four boys
and two trusted _huachos_, Pedro and Carlos, set out for the Monastery
of the Cross of the Snows. The Longitudinal Railway, in the valley
between the Cordilleras and the Andes, carried them south to Tembuco in
the Auraucanian land, and thence they made their way by automobile to a
tambo or inn in the Andes, where mules which had been arranged for were
obtained. After a ten-day journey on mule back over trails that skirted
terrible precipices, climbed cliffs seemingly impassable and by means of
rope suspension bridges crossed gorges in the bottoms of which roared
torrents over rocky beds, they at length reached the monastery.
The Abbot, Father Felipe, was a jolly fellow, rotund as a keg, his face
rosy and sparkling with good cheer. They were welcomed warmly. Far
though they were to the south, and despite the fact that they were not
in the loftiest of the mountains, the winter had been rigorous. Had it
not been that it was what is known as an "open winter," in fact, the
trip at that time of year would have been impossible.
The trail by which they reached the monastery was free from snow, but on
the lofty peaks above and in the distance glistened great blankets of
snow, while during the forepart of their journey great Aconcagua's hoary
head had sparkled far away on their left for days.
"Ah, my friend," said Father Felipe, to his relative, as the party
dismounted from mule back in the great courtyard of the monastery, "you
are lucky, indeed, to have had such weather for travel, else would it
have been impossible. Yet what terrible insanity possesses you, what
fever for running up and down the land like a flea is in your blood,
that you should attempt such an expedition. Well did I know how it would
be with you, when I sent you that bit of ancient writing. 'Now the crazy
man will leap upon his mule and come galloping at once to our gates,'
said I to myself. 'And he will cry to Father Felipe to show him the way
to this lost land at once.' Is it not so, my friend?"
And Father Felipe laughed so heartily that his stout frame in its corded
robe shook like a jelly. Don Ernesto, too, laughed, and leaping from his
mule embraced the good priest, at least embraced as much as possible of
his ample form.
"You are always the same, Felipe," said he. "How do you manage to keep
so cheerful in this isolated spot, surrounded by these great mountains,
with their eternal snows? It is a great mystery."
Father Felipe laughed again.
"Ah, my friend," said he, "you should have my equable disposition.
Besides, the food is good, the wine excellent. But, come. Let me know
your friends, and then you shall be taken to the guest rooms. Everything
is prepared for you. After you have rested a little from your journey
you shall try my fare, and then tonight you shall tell me how it goes in
the great world beyond our snows."
Of the weeks drifting into months which the party spent here, there is
no need to tell in detail. Delays of one sort or another, a belated
intensity of winter, operated to keep the party from making a start. But
the life of the monastery was a novelty to all the boys, even to
Ferdinand, and they found much to interest them. Moreover, from Brother
Gregorio, a great linguist, the boys learned the Auraucanian tongue as
well as much of the Inca lore, with which he was saturated. So that, by
and large, they were far from being bored. Moreover, all three practiced
at speaking Spanish until they became extremely proficient in it.
Nor did they come empty-handed. For while the good monks were doing
their best to equip the boys with a knowledge of Spanish and of the
Indian language of the region into which they would penetrate, the three
chums had something of vast interest to impart to their instructors.
That was a knowledge of Radio.
It was Jack who thought of it first. One night, as he and Bob and Frank
sat with Ferdinand and Brother Gregorio before a roaring fire in the
wide chimney place of the guest room assigned them as sitting room, he
introduced the subject. Brother Gregorio looked blank at first. Then, as
Jack in his eagerness to make himself understood, launched into a
description of how speech was transmitted through the air without the
means of wires, the good monk crossed himself.
"Of the telegraph I have heard," he said, "but of this other thing, not
one word. Can it be right? Is this not the work of the Fiend?"
The boys were inclined to laugh, but, as if moved by the same impulse,
forebore lest they wound his feelings. Ferdinand intervened. He was a
devout churchman, and knew how best to disarm Brother Gregorio's
suspicions and lay at rest his fears.
"It is not the work of the Fiend," said he, "but a great discovery of
which the whole world rings. The Holy Father at Rome himself has
manifested an interest in it, and it is but a development of the
wireless telegraph which a good son of Holy Church, Signor Marconi,
earlier invented."
"Ah,"
Brother Gregorio's face cleared. Then eager interest shown in his eyes.
"Tell me about it," he begged.
Jack at once launched into an explanation. He had with him, in his
baggage, moreover, several textbooks of radio. These he produced, and
pressed upon Brother Gregorio, whose knowledge of English would make it
possible for him to study them.
"Best of all, though," added Jack, "we have our field outfit of
generator, tubes, spark coils, batteries and wire with us."
"With that device of yours, Jack, you won't need an aerial," said Frank.
"You can hook in on the electric light socket."
"Righto," said Jack. "That makes it easier."
The monastery had its own electric light and power plant, turbines
utilizing the power generated by a nearby waterfall in the mountains.
The device referred to by Frank was a plug to be inserted in the
ordinary electric light socket, from which wires led to the aerial post
of the instrument. This plug was so constructed that the alternating
current, fatal to the instrument, did not pass through it. Thus the
electric wiring of the house could be employed as aerial. No antenna and
no clumsy lead-in was necessary.
"Look here," said Jack, "Dad has a good receiving outfit with him I
know. He has packed it with him throughout the trip, and has taken
precious good care of it, too. He and Ferd's father are in with Father
Felipe at this time. Just excuse me, and I'll be right back. We ought to
be able to make use of that outfit right now."
The whole party returned with Jack, and he and his father, assisted by
Bob and Frank, set rapidly to work. As they worked, Jack talked
excitedly.
"We shall have something here presently, Father Felipe, that will
astonish you and Brother Gregorio. How silly of me not to think of it
before. Probably, however, I did not consider there would be any radio
broadcasting in this part of the world to listen to. But I remember now.
_La Presna_, the great newspaper of Buenos Ayres, recently built a great
broadcasting station, and I read in a scientific article recently that
it can be heard clear across the Argentine Pampas, thousands of miles,
to the mountains.
"Here we are in the mountains now. And with this device of mine for
hooking up, and Dad's outfit, we ought to be able to hear _La Presna's_
concerts. Now for the loud speaker, Dad. Let's hook her up, and we'll be
ready."
While Jack feverishly manipulated the controls, the others looked on
with varying expressions. Not a word was said. All crowded around.
Suddenly there was a faint whirring as of the buzzing of bees. Then that
gave 'way to a noisy crackling. That, too, disappeared, and in its place
there floated out into that ancient stone-walled room a rich,
mellifluous tenor voice singing an air from "Manon."
Father Felipe and Brother Gregorio were so astounded that their mouths
opened and they stood, thus, speechless, while the song continued. At
its conclusion, a voice in Spanish emanated from the loud speaker,
announcing the next number on the programme would be orchestral, and
immediately the room was filled with the dashing rhythm of a wild
Argentine melody. Number succeeded number until, in conclusion, the
voice announced the concert for the following evening.
Brother Gregorio's face was radiant, but in the presence of his
superior, he refrained from speech. Father Felipe, however, was under no
restraint. He was delighted beyond measure. Moreover, he showed that he
was a man of imagination.
"To think," said he, "that all we heard was in far-distant Buenos Ayres.
Who knows but that some day we can hear Rome just as easily? Who knows
but that some day now the Holy Father himself can speak to us, his
children, in his own voice, though we dwell at the ends of the earth?
Yet men foolishly say the day of miracles has passed. This is as truly a
miracle as anything that has ever happened."
He spoke with energy. His face was flushed, his eyes alight. Don Ernesto
regarded his cousin slyly.
"How now, Felipe," said he, "you show all this enthusiasm over hearing
operatic music or the dance of the Pampas guachero within monastic
walls?"
Father Felipe smiled.
"Ninny," said he. "Why not? It was good music. Yes," he added,
energetically, "and tomorrow night, if our good young friend will
arrange it, we shall have all the brethren assemble in the Great Hall
and hear this concert."
"I am rebuked, Felipe," said the other. "You are, indeed, a father to
your brethren. How they will enjoy this."