THALCAVE.
After the great danger that he had just escaped, Robert incurred
another, no less great,--that of being overwhelmed with caresses.
However feeble he was still, not one of these good people could refrain
from pressing him to his heart. But it must be confessed that these
well-meant embraces are not fatal, for the boy did not die.
When his rescue was certain, thought reverted to his rescuer, and the
major very naturally thought of looking around him. Fifty paces from
the stream, a man of lofty stature was standing, motionless, on one
of the first ledges of the mountain. A long gun lay at his feet. This
individual, who had so suddenly appeared, had broad shoulders, and
long hair tied with leathern thongs. His height exceeded six feet, and
his bronzed face was red between his eyes and mouth, black below his
eyelids, and white on his forehead. After the manner of the Patagonians
of the frontiers, the native wore a splendid cloak, decorated with
red arabesques, made of the skin of a guanaco, its silky fur turned
outward, and sewed with ostrich-tendons. Under his cloak a tippet of
fox-skin encircled his neck and terminated in a point in front. At his
girdle hung a little bag containing the colors with which he painted
his face. His leggings were of ox-hide, and fastened to the ankle with
straps regularly crossed.
The figure of this Patagonian was fine, and his face denoted real
intelligence in spite of the colors that adorned (!) it. He waited in
an attitude full of dignity, and, seeing him so motionless and stern on
his pedestal of rocks, you would have taken him for a statue.
The major, as soon as he perceived him, pointed him out to Glenarvan,
who hastened towards him. The Patagonian took two steps forward;
Glenarvan took his hand, and pressed it. There was in the latter's
look, in his physiognomy, such a feeling, such an expression of
gratitude, that the native could not mistake it. He inclined his head
gently, and uttered a few words that neither the major nor his friend
could understand.
The Patagonian, after regarding the strangers attentively, now changed
the language; but whatever it was, this new idiom was no better
understood than the first. However, certain expressions which he used
struck Glenarvan. They seemed to belong to the Spanish language, of
which he knew several common words.
"Spanish?" said he.
The Patagonian nodded.
"Well," said the major, "this is our friend Paganel's business. It is
fortunate that he thought of learning Spanish."
Paganel was called. He came at once and with all the grace of a
Frenchman saluted the Patagonian, to which the latter paid no
attention. The geographer was informed of the state of affairs, and was
only too glad to use his diligently-acquired knowledge.
[Sidenote: SOMETHING WRONG.]
"Exactly," said he. And opening his mouth widely in order to articulate
better, he said, in his best Spanish,--
"You--are--a--brave--man."
The native listened, but did not answer.
"He does not understand," said the geographer.
"Perhaps you do not pronounce well," replied the major.
"Very true! Curse the pronunciation!"
And again Paganel began, but with no better success.
"I will change the expression," said he. And pronouncing with
magisterial slowness, he uttered these words,--
"A--Patagonian,--doubtless?"
The native remained mute as before.
"Answer!" added Paganel.
The Patagonian did not reply.
"Do--you--understand?" cried Paganel, violently enough to damage his
organs of speech.
It was evident that the Indian did not understand, for he answered, but
in Spanish,--
"I do not understand."
It was Paganel's turn now to be astonished, and he hastily put on his
glasses, like one irritated.
"May I be hanged," said he, "if I understand a word of this infernal
jargon! It is certainly Araucanian."
"No," replied Glenarvan; "this man answered in Spanish."
And, turning to the Patagonian, he repeated,--
"Spanish?"
"Yes," replied the native.
Paganel's surprise became amazement. The major and Glenarvan looked at
him quizzingly.
"Ah, my learned friend!" said the major, while a half smile played
about his lips, "you have committed one of those blunders peculiar to
you."
"What!" cried the geographer, starting.
"Yes, it is plain that this Patagonian speaks Spanish."
"He?"
[Illustration: A man of lofty stature was standing, motionless, on
one of the first ledges of the mountain. This individual had broad
shoulders, and long hair tied with leathern thongs.]
[Sidenote: A PENINSULAR BABEL.]
"Yes. By mistake you have learnt another language, while thinking that
you studied----"
MacNabb did not finish. A loud "Oh!" from the geographer, accompanied
by shrugs of the shoulders, cut him short.
"Major, you are going a little too far," said Paganel in a very dry
tone.
"To be sure, since you do not understand."
"I do not understand because this native speaks so badly!" answered the
geographer, who began to be impatient.
"That is to say, he speaks badly, because you do not understand,"
returned the major, calmly.
"MacNabb," said Glenarvan, "that is not a probable supposition. However
abstracted our friend Paganel may be, we cannot suppose that his
blunder was to learn one language for another."
"Now, my dear Edward, or rather you, my good Paganel, explain to me
what the difficulty is."
"I will not explain," replied Paganel, "I insist. Here is the book
in which I practice daily the difficulties of the Spanish language!
Examine it, major, and you will see whether I impose upon you."
So saying, Paganel groped in his numerous pockets. After searching a
few moments, he drew forth a volume in a very bad state, and presented
it with an air of assurance. The major took the book, and looked at it.
"Well, what work is this?" he asked.
"The Lusiad," replied Paganel; "an admirable poem which----"
"The Lusiad!" cried Glenarvan.
"Yes, my friend, the Lusiad of the immortal Camoëns, nothing more or
less."
"Camoëns!" repeated Glenarvan; "but, unfortunate friend, Camoëns was
a Portuguese! It is Portuguese that you have been studying for six
weeks."
"Camoëns! Lusiad! Portuguese!"
Paganel could say no more. His eyes wandered, while a peal of Homeric
laughter rang in his ears.
The Patagonian did not wink; he waited patiently for the explanation of
this event, which was totally incomprehensible to him.
"Insensate! fool!" cried Paganel, at last. "What! is it so? Is it not
a mere joke? Have I done this? It is the confusion of languages, as at
Babel. My friends! my friends! to start for India and arrive at Chili!
to learn Spanish and speak Portuguese! this is too much, and, if it
continues, I shall some day throw myself out of the window instead of
my cigar."
To hear Paganel take his blunder thus, to see his comical actions, it
was impossible to keep serious. Besides, he set the example himself.
"Laugh, my friends," said he, "laugh with a will! you cannot laugh as
much as I do at myself."
And he uttered the most formidable peal of laughter that ever issued
from the mouth of a geographer.
"But we are none the less without an interpreter," said the major.
"Oh, do not be troubled," replied Paganel. "The Portuguese and Spanish
resemble each other so much that I made a mistake. However, this very
resemblance will soon enable me to rectify my error, and in a short
time I will thank this worthy Patagonian in the language he speaks so
well."
Paganel was right, for he could soon exchange a few words with the
native. He even learned that his name was Thalcave, a word which
signifies in Araucanian "the thunderer." This surname was doubtless
given to him for his skill in the use of fire-arms.
[Sidenote: BETTER PROSPECTS.]
But Glenarvan was particularly rejoiced to discover that the Patagonian
was a guide, and, moreover, a guide of the Pampas. There was,
therefore, something so providential in this meeting that the success
of the enterprise seemed already an accomplished fact, and no one any
longer doubted the rescue of Captain Grant.
In the meantime the travelers and the Patagonian had returned to
Robert. The latter stretched his arms towards the native, who, without
a word, placed his hand upon his head. He examined the child and felt
his wounded limbs. Then, smiling, he went and gathered on the banks
of the stream a few handfuls of wild celery, with which he rubbed the
boy's body. Under this treatment, performed with an extreme gentleness,
the child felt his strength revive, and it was plain that a few hours
would suffice to restore him.
It was therefore decided that that day and the following night should
be passed at the encampment. Besides, two important questions remained
to be settled--food, and means of conveyance. Provisions and mules were
both wanting.
Fortunately Thalcave solved the difficulty. This guide, who was
accustomed to conduct travelers along the Patagonian frontiers, and
was one of the most intelligent baqueanos of the country, engaged to
furnish Glenarvan all that his little party needed. He offered to take
him to a "tolderia" (encampment) of Indians, about four miles distant,
where they would find everything necessary for the expedition. This
proposal was made partly by gestures, partly by Spanish words which
Paganel succeeded in understanding. It was accepted, and Glenarvan and
his learned friend, taking leave of their companions, reascended the
stream under the guidance of the Patagonian.
They proceeded at a good pace for an hour and a half, taking long
strides to keep up to the giant Thalcave. All the region was charming,
and of a rich fertility. The grassy pastures succeeded each other,
and could easily have fed thousands of cattle. Large ponds, united by
a winding chain of streams, gave these plains a verdant moisture.
Black-headed swans sported on the mirror-like surface, and disputed the
empire of the waters with numberless ostriches that gamboled over the
plains, while the brilliant feathered tribes were in wonderful variety.
[Illustration]
Jacques Paganel proceeded from admiration to ecstasy. Exclamations
of delight continually escaped his lips, to the astonishment of the
Patagonian, who thought it very natural that there should be birds in
the air, swans on the lakes, and grass on the prairies. The geographer
had no reason to regret his walk, or complain of its length. He
scarcely believed himself started, or that the encampment would soon
come in sight.
This tolderia was at the bottom of a narrow valley among the mountains.
Here in huts of branches lived thirty wandering natives, grazing
large herds of milch cows, sheep, cattle and horses. Thus they roamed
from one pasture to another, always finding a repast ready for their
four-footed companions.
[Sidenote: GLENARVAN GOING TO MARKET.]
Thalcave took upon himself the negotiation, which was not long. In
return for seven small Argentine horses, all saddled, a hundred pounds
of dried meat, a few measures of rice, and some leathern bottles for
water, the Indians received twenty ounces of gold, the value of which
they perfectly understood. Glenarvan would have bought another horse
for the Patagonian, but he intimated that it was unnecessary.
[Illustration]
The bargain concluded, Glenarvan took leave of his new "providers," as
Paganel expressed it, and returned to the encampment. His arrival was
welcomed by cries of joy at sight of the provisions and horses. Every
one ate with avidity. Robert partook of some nourishment; he had almost
entirely regained his strength, and the remainder of the day was passed
in perfect rest. Various subjects were alluded to: the absent dear
ones, the Duncan, Captain Mangles, his brave crew, and Harry Grant who
was, perhaps, not far distant.
As for Paganel, he did not leave the Indian. He became Thalcave's
shadow, and could not remain quiet in the presence of a real
Patagonian, in comparison with whom he would have passed for a dwarf.
He overwhelmed the grave Indian with Spanish phrases, to which the
latter quietly listened. The geographer studied this time without a
book, and was often heard repeating words aloud.
"If I do not get the accent," said he to the major, "you must not be
angry with me. Who would have thought that one day a Patagonian would
teach me Spanish!"