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.