THE MESSAGE.
Frank Bird could restrain his curiosity no longer.
"What is it, Andy?" he asked, as he laid an affectionate arm across the
shoulders of his cousin.
The other turned his eyes upon Frank, and there was something in their
depths that stirred the other tremendously.
"Is it about your father, Andy?" he demanded, eagerness plainly showing
in his whole manner; for he understood what a hold the subject had on
his chum.
Andy nodded, and as soon as he could command his quivering voice, said:
"Yes, nothing more than a letter from the grave, I fear! See, Frank,
written in his own dear hand. Oh! to think of it, that at least three
months ago he was alive, even though a prisoner, the sport of fate."
"A prisoner!" echoed Frank, astonished. "Whatever can you mean? Did he
fall into the hands of some of those strange Indians we have been
reading about, who have their homes around the headwaters of the Orinoco
River in Venezuela?"
This time Andy shook his head in the negative.
"It is stranger than that--almost beyond belief!" he replied. "My poor
father has for months been imprisoned in a great valley, surrounded by
impassable cliffs. Don't you remember something of the sort occurred in
one of Captain Mayne Reid's books, where the young plant hunters found
themselves prisoners in that way? But here, Frank, look for yourself."
"Where does the letter come from, in the beginning?" asked the other,
quietly, wishing to advance by slow degrees, so that he could understand
everything.
"A town in Columbia, called Barranquila," replied Andy, readily
enough. "I'm not sure, but I think it lies at the mouth of the big
Magdalena River, and is upon the coast. You know I've just devoured the
map of that region for months, and every name is familiar to me."
"Besides this queer communication, which you say is from your father,"
Frank went on, "there seems to be another letter?"
"That is from Señor José Almirez. Read it, Frank, and you will begin to
understand."
The letter was in a crabbed hand, apparently unused to writing in
English, though grammatically correct. And this was what Frank saw:
"To Señor Andrew Bird:
"I received the enclosed from a correspondent and customer, one Carlos
Mendoza, located in the vicinity of Manangue, a town about one hundred
and fifty miles up-river.
"He is a grower of cocoa in the rich valley. I do not enclose his
letter, because it is written in Spanish. But it simply says that he
found the written communication close to his plantation house one
morning in April of this year. At first he could not understand how it
came there. Then, upon having the writing translated, he noticed that
the missive was attached to what seemed to be a little parachute, or
balloon, made up of a fragment of silk belonging to a balloon. Knowing
that I had spent several years in Washington, in the service of my
country, he finally concluded to send the same to me. I have the honor
to transmit it to the address given in the communication.
"With respect, and expressing a willingness to help you all I may, Señor
Andrew Bird, believe me to be most sincerely yours,
"José Costilena Almirez."
Frank read this amazing communication, and then turned to stare at his
cousin.
"No, don't stop yet!" exclaimed the trembling Andy. "Read the other, the
missive that Carlos Mendoza picked up on his cocoa plantation, in the
valley of the Magdalena River."
And so Frank again turned his attention to the enclosure that had been
sent on by the friendly merchant of Columbia.
It seemed to be a sheet of thin but pliable bark from a tree, and in
some respects reminded Frank of birch bark, which he had often used in
lieu of paper, when in the woods. The juice of some berry had afforded
ink; and doubtless the college professor had easily made a pen from a
bird's quill. And this was what Frank read, a small portion of the
communication being missing, as though it had received rough usage
somewhere, en route:
"Whoever finds this, I pray that it be forwarded to Andrew Bird, in the
town of Bloomsbury, State of New York, U. S. A. In my balloon I was
carried away by a sudden storm while crossing the Isthmus of Panama. As
near as I can calculate I was swept some three hundred miles, more or
less, in a south-easterly direction, much of the time above the
clouds. Then something happened, and I felt myself falling. Giving
myself up for lost, I awoke from a swoon to find myself in the branches
of a tree, with the wreck of the balloon near me. A merciful Providence
has saved my life, but I fear only to prolong my agony of soul. For
months now I have been a prisoner in a remarkable valley, a sink-pit,
enclosed by inaccessible cliffs. Many times have I struggled to climb to
their top, but only to meet defeat.
"All this time I have sustained life by means of fruits that grow in
abundance in this tropical valley. In the hope that I may manage to
communicate my horrible condition to the outside world I have made
scores of small parachutes, and when the breeze at the top of the cliffs
appeared favorable, send them up by means of hot air, each carrying a
message to my son. God in His infinite wisdom only knows if one of these
will ever reach him. I shall continue to have hope, and sustain life as
long as my mind remains--
"Professor Philip B----"
When he had finished this astonishing document Frank turned to his chum.
"Oh! what a remarkable thing! I never heard its equal in all my life. To
think that your father has been alive all these months, though a
prisoner in that cliff-bordered valley! But Andy, don't you see that
now nothing is going to keep us from going down there, and finding him?
Here is the clue you wanted, only instead of discovering his sad fate
you are going to rescue him, and bring him home again!"
They reached out and gripped hands. There was something in that act to
stamp the more than brotherly feeling existing between them.
"Do you think we could do it, Frank?" exclaimed Andy, more than ever
willing that his clear-eyed chum should take the lead in this most
eventful moment of his whole young life.
"Sure I do," answered the comforter, readily. "Didn't we conquer one
battery of cliffs that were said to be insurmountable, when we sailed in
our dandy little monoplane up to the crown of Old Thunder Top, and
snatched that silver cup for a prize? Make up your mind, my boy, that
that was just meant to get us in practice for better things. The time's
come for us to show what we're made of. And instead of a silver cup, the
prize this time will be--"
"My father's life!" murmured Andy, tears in his eyes, as he again
squeezed that faithful hand which held his so firmly.
"That's right," Frank continued. "We can go straight to this fine
Spanish gentleman, Señor Almirez, and get all the points he knows. From
there we'll get up-river to this valley town and visit Carlos Mendozo on
his cocoa plantation. Depend on it he'll be able to set us on the track,
somehow or other."
"Oh! it seems like a strange dream," said Andy, as he raised the piece
of bark to his young lips, and passionately kissed it, regardless of the
fact that some one passing the post office might notice him.
"Well, you want to wake up right away then," remarked Frank, smiling,
"because we've just got to get a hustle on us, if we're going to start
on this wonderful trip. Here's where our aeroplane is going to help us
out. Just imagine how we can pass over regions where it would be next
to impossible for us to navigate on foot--mountainous country, tropical
valleys where wild beasts roam and poisonous snakes abound; and jungles
where the natives have to cut a passage foot by foot, I understand, with
their _machetes_. And to think that we can sail freely over it all,
looking for that spot where that bark letter came from."
"Come, let's go home!" exclaimed Andy. "I'm sure Colonel Josiah will be
tremendously interested in what we've learned. He'll be the most
disappointed man in the whole U.S. just because he's so crippled that he
can't go along. For many years he's traveled in every country under the
sun. Perhaps he might tell us more about the interior of Colombia than
we know right now."
Accordingly they hurried away. Frank came near forgetting the news he
had been bearing at the time he met his cousin. But then, that was
hardly to be wondered at. The capture of the escaped robber was of minor
importance when compared with this wonderful business connected with
Professor Bird.
And just as Andy had said, Colonel Josiah _was_ tremendously interested
when he heard about it, and with his own eyes looked upon the letter
that had come from a living tomb.
"Somebody pinch me," he said, looking at the boys almost helplessly. "I
surely must be asleep, and dreaming this. It seems too strange to be
true. Philip alive all these months, and in that terrible situation,
while we were enjoying the good things of the world up here. It is
monstrous! You must go down there with as little delay as possible,
Andrew. Who knows but what it may be your blessed good fortune to rescue
your dear father, and bring him back with you. Money--all you need; and
the prayers of an old man go with you."
"But think," said Andy, uneasily, "this was written three months
ago. What may not have happened in all that time? There must be beasts
in that sunken valley, and doubtless many poisonous reptiles. Perhaps--"
"Hold on!" cried Frank, interrupting him, "don't you go to imagining all
sorts of terrible things. He had been there at least nine months
already. Nothing had happened to injure him. He does not even hint at
such a thing; but says he means to sustain his life as long as he
retains his proper mind. Your father was not in the least like you,
Andy. He possessed a wonderfully well-poised mind, and laid out his
plans with deliberation. Believe me, the chances are ten to one he is
still there, and waiting. We are going to find him. Don't allow any
other idea to take possession of your head. Find him, do you hear?"
Of course that sort of talk had its effect on Andy, and he braced
up. They began to make preparations and plans without delay. The
monoplane was taken apart, and carefully crated. Then Frank ran down to
the city and returned with several duplicate parts, secured at an
aeroplane agency he knew of, and which would come in handy in case of an
accident in that strange country, where they must depend entirely on
themselves.
For two days there was a tremendous lot of bustle around both
homes. Dr. Bird had no longer any valid excuse for refusing Frank
permission to go, since it was a mission of mercy that beckoned the boys
on to that South American mountainous region. Besides, he had always
been very fond of his elder brother, who had done so much to make the
name of Bird famous, in college and out; even though the professor had
thought best to make his old friend, Colonel Josiah, his boy's guardian
instead of the physician.
The aeroplane had been shipped to New York, to be put upon a steamer
sailing for Maracaibo, in Venezuela, and which they expected to take
also. From this port they would have to make their way to the mouth of
the Magdalena River by means of some smaller craft. But with virtually
unlimited means to back them, the boys did not fear but that they could
overcome any difficulties that might arise in their path. Indeed, Frank
had a disposition that would never allow anything to balk his plans, if
it were at all within the power of human nature to accomplish results.
The last thing they heard, just before leaving Bloomsbury, was that Puss
Carberry and his crony, Sandy Hollingshead, had gone away, taking their
biplane along; and it was said that they expected to do wonderful stunts
with their airship somewhere in the South. But our two boys were too
deeply interested in their own fortunes to give more than a passing
thought to the flitting of their rivals. Besides, it would not seem
that there could be one chance in a thousand that they would ever run
across Puss and Sandy in all that great country, lying south of the
Caribbean Sea, and north of the mighty Amazon.
And one morning Frank and Andy said goodbye to those whose best wishes
were wafted after them, taking train to New York City, so as to go
aboard the steamer, that was scheduled to sail that P.M.