A FALSE TRAIL.
Paganel, after giving his companions a brief account of the village of
Tandil, added that they could not fail to obtain information there;
moreover, the fort was always garrisoned by a detachment of national
troops. Glenarvan, accordingly, put the horses into the stable of a
"fonda;" and Paganel, the major, Robert, and he, under the guidance of
Thalcave, proceeded towards Fort Independence.
After ascending the ridges of the mountains for a short time, they
arrived at the postern, rather carelessly guarded by a native sentinel.
They passed without difficulty, and inferred either great negligence or
extreme security. A few soldiers were exercising on the parade-ground
of the fort, the oldest of whom was not more than twenty and the
youngest scarcely ten. In fact, they were a dozen young children and
boys who were drilling very nicely. Their uniform consisted of a
striped shirt confined at the waist by a leathern girdle. The mildness
of the climate justified this light costume. Each of these young
soldiers carried a gun and a sword, which were too long and heavy for
the little fellows. All had a certain family resemblance, and the
corporal who commanded resembled them too: they were twelve brothers,
who were parading under the orders of the thirteenth.
[Sidenote: AN ARGENTINE COMMANDANT.]
Paganel was not astonished. He remembered his Argentine statistics, and
knew that in this country the average number of children in a family
exceeds nine. But what surprised him exceedingly was to see these
little soldiers practicing the French tactics, and to hear the orders
of the corporal given in his own native language.
"This is singular," said he.
But Glenarvan had not come to see boys drill, still less to occupy
himself with their nationality or relationship. He did not, therefore,
give Paganel time to express further astonishment, but besought him
to ask for the commander of the fortress. Paganel did so, and one of
the soldiers proceeded towards a small building which served as the
barracks.
A few moments after, the commander appeared in person. He was a man
of fifty, robust, with a military air, thick whiskers, prominent
cheek-bones, gray hair, and commanding look, so far as one could judge
through the clouds of smoke that issued from his short pipe.
Thalcave, addressing him, introduced Lord Glenarvan and his companions.
While he spoke, the commander kept scrutinizing Paganel with quite
embarrassing persistence. The geographer did not know what the trooper
meant, and was about to ask him, when the latter unceremoniously seized
his hand, and said, in a joyous tone, in his own language,--
"A Frenchman?"
"Yes, a Frenchman," replied Paganel.
"Ah, I am delighted! Welcome, welcome! I am almost a Frenchman,"
cried the commander, shaking the geographer's arm with rather painful
violence.
"One of your friends?" asked the major of Paganel.
"Yes," replied he, with national pride; "we have friends in all parts
of the world!"
[Illustration: "Ah, I am delighted! Welcome, welcome! I am almost a
Frenchman," cried the commander, shaking the geographer's arm with
rather painful violence.]
[Sidenote: RAISING A REGIMENT.]
He then entered into conversation with the commander. Glenarvan would
gladly have put in a word in regard to his affairs, but the soldier
was telling his story, and was not in the mood to be interrupted.
This honest man had left France a long time before; and the native
language was no longer perfectly familiar to him: he had forgotten,
if not words, at least the manner of combining them. As his visitors
soon learned, he had been a sergeant in the French army. Since the
foundation of the fort he had not left it, and commanded it by
appointment from the Argentine government. He was by parentage a
Basque, and his name was Manuel Ipharaguerre. A year after his arrival
in the country, Sergeant Manuel was naturalized, joined the Argentine
army, and married an honest Indian woman, who had twins,--boys, to be
sure, for the sergeant's worthy consort would never present him with
daughters. Manuel did not think of any other calling than that of the
soldier, and hoped, in time, with the help of God, to offer to the
republic a whole battalion of young soldiers.
"You have seen them?" said he. "Charming fellows! Good soldiers! José!
Juan! Miguel! Pepe! Pepe is only seven years old, and is already biting
his cartridge!"
Pepe, hearing himself complimented, joined his two little feet, and
presented arms with perfect precision.
"He will do!" added the sergeant. "He will be a major--or
brigadier-general one day!"
This story lasted a quarter of an hour, to Thalcave's great
astonishment. The Indian could not understand how so many words could
come from a single throat. No one interrupted the commander; and even
a French sergeant had to conclude at last, though not without forcing
his guests to accompany him to his dwelling. Here they were introduced
to Madame Ipharaguerre, who appeared to be "a good-looking person," if
this expression may be employed in regard to an Indian.
When he had exhausted himself, the sergeant asked his guests to what he
owed the honor of their visit. And now it was their turn to explain.
Paganel, opening the conversation in French, told him of their journey
across the Pampas, and ended by asking why the Indians had abandoned
the country.
"War!" replied the sergeant.
"War?"
"Yes, civil war."
"Civil war?" rejoined Paganel.
"Yes, war between Paraguay and Buenos Ayres," answered the sergeant.
"Well?"
"Why, all the Indians of the north are in the rear of General Flores,
and those of the plains are plundering."
"But the caziques?"
"The caziques with them."
This answer was reported to Thalcave, who shook his head. Indeed,
he either did not know, or had forgotten, that a civil war, which
was afterwards to involve Brazil, was decimating two-thirds of the
republic. The Indians had everything to gain in these internal
struggles, and could not neglect such fine opportunities for plunder.
The sergeant, therefore, was not mistaken in attributing this desertion
of the Pampas to the civil war that was being waged in the northern
part of the Argentine Provinces.
But this event disconcerted Glenarvan's hopes. If Captain Grant was
a prisoner of the caziques, he must have been carried by them to the
northern frontiers. Yet how and where to find him? Must they attempt
a perilous and almost useless search to the northern limits of the
Pampas? It was a serious matter, which was to be earnestly considered.
However, one important question was still to be asked of the sergeant,
and the major thought of this, while his companions were looking at
each other in silence.
"Have you heard of any Europeans being retained as prisoners by the
caziques of the Pampas?"
Manuel reflected for a few moments, like a man who recalls events to
recollection.
"Yes," said he, at length.
"Ah!" cried Glenarvan, conceiving a new hope.
[Sidenote: REVELATIONS.]
Paganel, MacNabb, Robert, and he now surrounded the sergeant.
"Speak, speak!" cried they, gazing at him with eagerness even in their
looks.
"Several years ago," replied Manuel, "yes,--that is it,--European
prisoners--but have never seen them."
"Several years ago?" said Glenarvan. "You are mistaken. The date of the
shipwreck is definite. The Britannia was lost in June, 1862, less than
two years ago."
"Oh, more than that, my lord!"
"Impossible!" cried Paganel.
"Not at all. It was when Pepe was born. There were two men."
"No, three!" said Glenarvan.
"Two," replied the sergeant, in a positive tone.
"Two?" exclaimed Glenarvan, very much chagrined. "Two Englishmen?"
"No," continued the sergeant. "Who speaks of Englishmen? It was a
Frenchman and an Italian."
"An Italian who was massacred by the Indians?" cried Paganel.
"Yes, and I learned afterwards--Frenchman saved."
"Saved!" exclaimed Robert, whose very life seemed to hang on the
sergeant's lips.
"Yes, saved from the hands of the Indians," replied Manuel.
Each looked to the geographer, who beat his brow in despair.
"Ah! I understand," said he, at last. "All is clear, all is explained."
"But what is to be done?" asked Glenarvan, with as much anxiety as
impatience.
"My friends," answered Paganel, taking Robert's hands, "we must submit
to a severe misfortune. We have followed a false trail! The captive
in question is not the captain, but one of my countrymen (whose
companion, Marco Vazello, was actually assassinated by the Indians),
a Frenchman who often accompanied these cruel savages to the banks of
the Colorado, and who, after fortunately escaping from their hands,
returned to France. While thinking that we were on the track of Captain
Grant, we have fallen upon that of young Guinnard."
A profound silence followed this declaration. The mistake was palpable.
The sergeant's story, the nationality of the prisoner, the murder
of his companion, and his escape from the hands of the Indians, all
accorded with the evident facts. Glenarvan gazed at Thalcave with a
bewildered air. The Indian then resumed the conversation.
"Have you never heard of three English captives?" he asked the sergeant.
"Never," replied Manuel. "It would have been known at Tandil. I should
have heard of it. No, it cannot be."
Glenarvan, after this formal response, had nothing more to do at Fort
Independence. He and his friends, therefore, departed, not without
thanking the sergeant and shaking hands with him.
Glenarvan was in despair at this complete overthrow of his hopes.
Robert walked beside him in silence, with tearful eyes, while his
protector could not find a single word to console him. Paganel
gesticulated and talked to himself. The major did not open his lips.
As for Thalcave, his Indian pride seemed humbled at having gone astray
on a false trail. No one, however, thought of reproaching him for so
excusable an error.
They returned to the encampment, saddened indeed. Still, not one of
the courageous and devoted men regretted so many hardships uselessly
endured, so many dangers vainly incurred. But each saw all hope of
success annihilated in an instant. Could they find Captain Grant
between Tandil and the sea? No. If any prisoner had fallen into the
hands of the Indians on the Atlantic coast, Sergeant Manuel would
certainly have been informed. An event of such a nature could not
have escaped the natives who trade from Tandil to Carmen. Among the
traders of the Argentine Plains everything is known and reported. There
was therefore but one course now to take,--to join, without delay, the
Duncan at Cape Medano, the appointed rendezvous.
[Illustration: More than once during the journey, the attention and
interest of all, but especially of Paganel, were arrested by the
curious illusion of the mirage.]
In the meantime, Paganel had asked Glenarvan for the document, by
relying on which their search had resulted so unfortunately. He
read it again with unconcealed vexation, seeking to discover a new
interpretation.
"This document is, at all events, clear," said Glenarvan. "It explains
in the most definite manner the shipwreck of the captain and the place
of his captivity."
"No," replied the geographer, stamping with his foot, "a hundred times
no! Since Captain Grant is not on the Pampas, he is not in America.
This document ought to tell where he is; and it shall, my friends, or I
am no longer Jacques Paganel."