ANYONE else but McNabbs might have passed the hut a hundred times, and
gone all round it, and even over it without suspecting its existence. It
was covered with snow, and scarcely distinguishable from the surrounding
rocks; but Wilson and Mulrady succeeded in digging it out and clearing
the opening after half an hour’s hard work, to the great joy of the
whole party, who eagerly took possession of it.
They found it was a CASUCHA, constructed by the Indians, made of ADOBES,
a species of bricks baked in the sun. Its form was that of a cube, 12
feet on each side, and it stood on a block of basalt. A stone stair
led up to the door, the only opening; and narrow as this door was, the
hurricane, and snow, and hail found their way in when the TEMPORALES
were unchained in the mountains.
Ten people could easily find room in it, and though the walls might be
none too water-tight in the rainy season, at this time of the year, at
any rate, it was sufficient protection against the intense cold, which,
according to the thermometer, was ten degrees below zero. Besides, there
was a sort of fireplace in it, with a chimney of bricks, badly enough
put together, certainly, but still it allowed of a fire being lighted.
“This will shelter us, at any rate,” said Glenarvan, “even if it is
not very comfortable. Providence has led us to it, and we can only be
thankful.”
“Why, it is a perfect palace, I call it,” said Paganel; “we only want
flunkeys and courtiers. We shall do capital here.”
“Especially when there is a good fire blazing on the hearth, for we are
quite as cold as we are hungry. For my part, I would rather see a good
faggot just now than a slice of venison.”
“Well, Tom, we’ll try and get some combustible or other,” said Paganel.
“Combustibles on the top of the Cordilleras!” exclaimed Mulrady, in a
dubious tone.
“Since there is a chimney in the CASUCHA,” said the Major, “the
probability is that we shall find something to burn in it.”
“Our friend McNabbs is right,” said Glenarvan. “Get everything in
readiness for supper, and I’ll go out and turn woodcutter.”
“Wilson and I will go with you,” said Paganel.
“Do you want me?” asked Robert, getting up.
“No, my brave boy, rest yourself. You’ll be a man, when others are only
children at your age,” replied Glenarvan.
On reaching the little mound of porphyry, Glenarvan and his two
companions left the CASUCHA. In spite of the perfect calmness of the
atmosphere, the cold was stinging. Paganel consulted his barometer, and
found that the depression of the mercury corresponded to an elevation
of 11,000 feet, only 910 meters lower than Mont Blanc. But if these
mountains had presented the difficulties of the giant of the Swiss Alps,
not one of the travelers could have crossed the great chain of the New
World.
On reaching a little mound of porphyry, Glenarvan and Paganel stopped to
gaze about them and scan the horizon on all sides. They were now on the
summit of the Nevadas of the Cordilleras, and could see over an area of
forty miles. The valley of the Colorado was already sunk in shadow, and
night was fast drawing her mantle over the eastern slopes of the Andes.
The western side was illumined by the rays of the setting sun, and peaks
and glaciers flashed back his golden beams with dazzling radiance.
On the south the view was magnificent. Across the wild valley of the
Torbido, about two miles distant, rose the volcano of Antuco. The
mountain roared like some enormous monster, and vomited red smoke,
mingled with torrents of sooty flame. The surrounding peaks appeared on
fire. Showers of red-hot stones, clouds of reddish vapor and rockets
of lava, all combined, presented the appearance of glowing sparkling
streams. The splendor of the spectacle increased every instant as night
deepened, and the whole sky became lighted up with a dazzling reflection
of the blazing crater, while the sun, gradually becoming shorn of his
sunset glories, disappeared like a star lost in the distant darkness of
the horizon.
Paganel and Glenarvan would have remained long enough gazing at the
sublime struggle between the fires of earth and heaven, if the more
practical Wilson had not reminded them of the business on hand. There
was no wood to be found, however, but fortunately the rocks were
covered with a poor, dry species of lichen. Of this they made an ample
provision, as well as of a plant called LLARETTA, the root of which
burns tolerably well. This precious combustible was carried back to the
CASUCHA and heaped up on the hearth. It was a difficult matter to kindle
it, though, and still more to keep it alight. The air was so rarefied
that there was scarcely oxygen enough in it to support combustion. At
least, this was the reason assigned by the Major.
“By way of compensation, however,” he added, “water will boil at less
than 100 degrees heat. It will come to the point of ebullition before 99
degrees.”
McNabbs was right, as the thermometer proved, for it was plunged into
the kettle when the water boiled, and the mercury only rose to 99
degrees. Coffee was soon ready, and eagerly gulped down by everybody.
The dry meat certainly seemed poor fare, and Paganel couldn’t help
saying:
“I tell you what, some grilled llama wouldn’t be bad with this, would
it? They say that the llama is substitute for the ox and the sheep, and
I should like to know if it is, in an alimentary respect.”
“What!” replied the Major. “You’re not content with your supper, most
learned Paganel.”
“Enchanted with it, my brave Major; still I must confess I should not
say no to a dish of llama.”
“You are a Sybarite.”
“I plead guilty to the charge. But come, now, though you call me that,
you wouldn’t sulk at a beefsteak yourself, would you?”
“Probably not.”
“And if you were asked to lie in wait for a llama, notwithstanding the
cold and the darkness, you would do it without the least hesitation?”
“Of course; and if it will give you the slightest pleasure--”
His companions had hardly time to thank him for his obliging good
nature, when distant and prolonged howls broke on their ear, plainly not
proceeding from one or two solitary animals, but from a whole troop, and
one, moreover, that was rapidly approaching.
Providence had sent them a supper, as well as led them to a hut. This
was the geographer’s conclusion; but Glenarvan damped his joy somewhat
by remarking that the quadrupeds of the Cordilleras are never met with
in such a high latitude.
“Then where can these animals come from?” asked Tom Austin. “Don’t you
hear them getting nearer!”
“An avalanche,” suggested Mulrady.
“Impossible,” returned Paganel. “That is regular howling.”
“Let us go out and see,” said Glenarvan.
“Yes, and be ready for hunting,” replied McNabbs, arming himself with
his carbine.
They all rushed forthwith out of the CASUCHA. Night had completely set
in, dark and starry. The moon, now in her last quarter, had not yet
risen. The peaks on the north and east had disappeared from view, and
nothing was visible save the fantastic SILHOUETTE of some towering rocks
here and there. The howls, and clearly the howls of terrified animals,
were redoubled. They proceeded from that part of the Cordilleras which
lay in darkness. What could be going on there? Suddenly a furious
avalanche came down, an avalanche of living animals mad with fear. The
whole plateau seemed to tremble. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands,
of these animals, and in spite of the rarefied atmosphere, their noise
was deafening. Were they wild beasts from the Pampas, or herds of llamas
and vicunas? Glenarvan, McNabbs, Robert, Austin, and the two sailors,
had just time to throw themselves flat on the ground before they swept
past like a whirlwind, only a few paces distant. Paganel, who had
remained standing, to take advantage of his peculiar powers of sight,
was knocked down in a twinkling. At the same moment the report of
firearms was heard. The Major had fired, and it seemed to him that an
animal had fallen close by, and that the whole herd, yelling louder than
ever, had rushed down and disappeared among the declivities lighted up
by the reflection of the volcano.
“Ah, I’ve got them,” said a voice, the voice of Paganel.
“Got what?” asked Glenarvan.
“My spectacles,” was the reply. “One might expect to lose that much in
such a tumult as this.”
“You are not wounded, I hope?”
“No, only knocked down; but by what?”
“By this,” replied the Major, holding up the animal he had killed.
They all hastened eagerly into the hut, to examine McNabbs’ prize by the
light of the fire.
It was a pretty creature, like a small camel without a hump. The head
was small and the body flattened, the legs were long and slender, the
skin fine, and the hair the color of _cafe au lait_.
Paganel had scarcely looked at it before he exclaimed, “A guanaco!”
“What sort of an animal is that?” asked Glenarvan.
“One you can eat.”
“And it is good savory meat, I assure you; a dish of Olympus! I knew we
should have fresh meat for supper, and such meat! But who is going to
cut up the beast?”
“I will,” said Wilson.
“Well, I’ll undertake to cook it,” said Paganel.
“Can you cook, then, Monsieur Paganel?” asked Robert.
“I should think so, my boy. I’m a Frenchman, and in every Frenchman
there is a cook.”
Five minutes afterward Paganel began to grill large slices of venison on
the embers made by the use of the LLARETTAS, and in about ten minutes
a dish was ready, which he served up to his companions by the tempting
name of guanaco cutlets. No one stood on ceremony, but fell to with a
hearty good will.
To the absolute stupefaction of the geographer, however, the first
mouthful was greeted with a general grimace, and such exclamations
as--“Tough!” “It is horrible.” “It is not eatable.”
The poor SAVANT was obliged to own that his cutlets could not be
relished, even by hungry men. They began to banter him about his
“Olympian dish,” and indulge in jokes at his expense; but all he cared
about was to find out how it happened that the flesh of the guanaco,
which was certainly good and eatable food, had turned out so badly in
his hands. At last light broke in on him, and he called out:
“I see through it now! Yes, I see through it. I have found out the
secret now.”
“The meat was too long kept, was it?” asked McNabbs, quietly.
“No, but the meat had walked too much. How could I have forgotten that?”
“What do you mean?” asked Tom Austin.
“I mean this: the guanaco is only good for eating when it is killed in
a state of rest. If it has been long hunted, and gone over much ground
before it is captured, it is no longer eatable. I can affirm the fact
by the mere taste, that this animal has come a great distance, and
consequently the whole herd has.”
“You are certain of this?” asked Glenarvan.
“Absolutely certain.”
“But what could have frightened the creatures so, and driven them from
their haunts, when they ought to have been quietly sleeping?”
“That’s a question, my dear Glenarvan, I could not possibly answer. Take
my advice, and let us go to sleep without troubling our heads about it.
I say, Major, shall we go to sleep?”
“Yes, we’ll go to sleep, Paganel.”
Each one, thereupon, wrapped himself up in his poncho, and the fire was
made up for the night.
Loud snores in every tune and key soon resounded from all sides of the
hut, the deep bass contribution of Paganel completing the harmony.
But Glenarvan could not sleep. Secret uneasiness kept him in a continual
state of wakefulness. His thoughts reverted involuntarily to those
frightened animals flying in one common direction, impelled by one
common terror. They could not be pursued by wild beasts, for at such an
elevation there were almost none to be met with, and of hunters still
fewer. What terror then could have driven them among the precipices of
the Andes? Glenarvan felt a presentiment of approaching danger.
But gradually he fell into a half-drowsy state, and his apprehensions
were lulled. Hope took the place of fear. He saw himself on the morrow
on the plains of the Andes, where the search would actually commence,
and perhaps success was close at hand. He thought of Captain Grant and
his two sailors, and their deliverance from cruel bondage. As these
visions passed rapidly through his mind, every now and then he was
roused by the crackling of the fire, or sparks flying out, or some
little jet of flame would suddenly flare up and illumine the faces of
his slumbering companions.
Then his presentiments returned in greater strength than before, and he
listened anxiously to the sounds outside the hut.
At certain intervals he fancied he could hear rumbling noises in the
distance, dull and threatening like the mutter-ings of thunder before a
storm. There surely must be a storm raging down below at the foot of the
mountains. He got up and went out to see.
The moon was rising. The atmosphere was pure and calm. Not a cloud
visible either above or below. Here and there was a passing reflection
from the flames of Antuco, but neither storm nor lightning, and myriads
of bright stars studded the zenith. Still the rumbling noises continued.
They seemed to meet together and cross the chain of the Andes. Glenarvan
returned to the CASUCHA more uneasy than ever, questioning within
himself as to the connection between these sounds and the flight of the
guanacos. He looked at his watch and found the time was about two in the
morning. As he had no certainty, however, of any immediate danger,
he did not wake his companions, who were sleeping soundly after their
fatigue, and after a little dozed off himself, and slumbered heavily for
some hours.
All of a sudden a violent crash made him start to his feet. A deafening
noise fell on his ear like the roar of artillery. He felt the ground
giving way beneath him, and the CASUCHA rocked to and fro, and opened.
He shouted to his companions, but they were already awake, and tumbling
pell-mell over each other. They were being rapidly dragged down a steep
declivity. Day dawned and revealed a terrible scene. The form of the
mountains changed in an instant. Cones were cut off. Tottering peaks
disappeared as if some trap had opened at their base. Owing to a
peculiar phenomenon of the Cordilleras, an enormous mass, many miles in
extent, had been displaced entirely, and was speeding down toward the
plain.
“An earthquake!” exclaimed Paganel. He was not mistaken. It was one
of those cataclysms frequent in Chili, and in this very region where
Copiapo had been twice destroyed, and Santiago four times laid in
ruins in fourteen years. This region of the globe is so underlaid with
volcanic fires and the volcanoes of recent origin are such insufficient
safety valves for the subterranean vapors, that shocks are of frequent
occurrence, and are called by the people TREMBLORES.
The plateau to which the seven men were clinging, holding on by tufts
of lichen, and giddy and terrified in the extreme, was rushing down the
declivity with the swiftness of an express, at the rate of fifty miles
an hour. Not a cry was possible, nor an attempt to get off or stop. They
could not even have heard themselves speak. The internal rumblings, the
crash of the avalanches, the fall of masses of granite and basalt, and
the whirlwind of pulverized snow, made all communication impossible.
Sometimes they went perfectly smoothly along without jolts or jerks, and
sometimes on the contrary, the plateau would reel and roll like a ship
in a storm, coasting past abysses in which fragments of the mountain
were falling, tearing up trees by the roots, and leveling, as if with
the keen edge of an immense scythe, every projection of the declivity.
How long this indescribable descent would last, no one could calculate,
nor what it would end in ultimately. None of the party knew whether the
rest were still alive, whether one or another were not already lying
in the depths of some abyss. Almost breathless with the swift motion,
frozen with the cold air, which pierced them through, and blinded with
the whirling snow, they gasped for breath, and became exhausted and
nearly inanimate, only retaining their hold of the rocks by a powerful
instinct of self-preservation. Suddenly a tremendous shock pitched them
right off, and sent them rolling to the very foot of the mountain. The
plateau had stopped.
For some minutes no one stirred. At last one of the party picked himself
up, and stood on his feet, stunned by the shock, but still firm on his
legs. This was the Major. He shook off the blinding snow and looked
around him. His companions lay in a close circle like the shots from a
gun that has just been discharged, piled one on top of another.
The Major counted them. All were there except one--that one was Robert
Grant.