THE FLOOD.
[Sidenote: OMENS AND MIRAGES.]
Fort Independence is one hundred and fifty miles from the shores of
the Atlantic. But for unforeseen and unexpected delays, Glenarvan
could have rejoined the Duncan in four days. He could not, however,
reconcile himself to the idea of returning on board without Captain
Grant, and failing so completely in his search; and did not therefore,
as usual, give the orders for departure. But the major assumed the
task of saddling the horses, renewing the provisions, and making his
arrangements for the journey. Thanks to his activity, the little party,
at eight o'clock in the morning, was on its way down the grassy slopes
of the Tandil Sierra.
Glenarvan, with Robert at his side, galloped on in silence. His
lordship's bold and resolute character did not permit him to accept
this disappointment calmly. His heart beat violently, and his brain was
on fire. Paganel, tormented by the mystery of the document, arranged
the words in every way, as if to draw from them a new meaning. Thalcave
silently resigned himself to Thaouka's sagacity. The major, always
confident, performed his duties like a man upon whom discouragement can
have no effect. Tom Austin and his two sailors shared their master's
annoyance. Once, when a timid hare crossed the path in front of them,
the superstitious Scotchmen gazed at one another.
"A bad omen," said Wilson.
"Yes, in the Highlands," replied Mulready.
"What is bad in the Highlands is no better here," added Wilson,
sententiously.
About noon the travelers had descended the mountains and gained the
undulating plains that extend to the sea; the boundless prairie spread
its broad carpet of verdure before them.
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, by which was presented in the sky, at the limits of the
horizon, a semblance of the estancias, the poplars and willows near
them, and other objects; the images being so much like the reality that
it required a strong effort to realize their deceptive character.
The weather hitherto had been fine, but now the sky assumed a less
pleasing aspect. Masses of vapor, generated by the high temperature
of the preceding days, condensed into thick clouds and threatened to
dissolve in showers of rain. Moreover, the proximity of the Atlantic,
and the west wind, which here reigns supreme, rendered the climate of
this region peculiarly moist. However, for that day at least the heavy
clouds did not break; and at evening the horses, after traveling forty
miles, halted on the edge of a deep "cañada," an immense natural ditch
filled with water. A shelter was wanting, but the ponchos served for
tents as well as clothing, and peaceful slumbers enwrapped all.
The next day, as they progressed farther, the presence of subterranean
streams betrayed itself more noticeably, and moisture was seen in every
depression of the ground. Soon they came to large ponds, some already
deep and others just forming. So long as there were only lagoons, the
horses could easily extricate themselves; but with these treacherous
swamps it was more difficult. Tall grass obstructed them, and it was
necessary to incur the danger before it could be understood. These
quagmires had been already fatal to more than one human being.
Robert, who had ridden half a mile in advance, returned at a gallop,
crying,--
"Monsieur Paganel! Monsieur Paganel! A forest of horns!"
"What!" replied the geographer, "have you found a forest of horns?"
"Yes, yes; or at least a field."
"A field! you are dreaming, my boy," said Paganel, shrugging his
shoulders.
"I am not dreaming," retorted Robert; "you shall see for yourself. This
is a strange country! People sow horns, and they spring up like corn! I
should like very well to have some of the seed."
"But he speaks seriously," said the major.
"Yes, major, you shall see."
Robert was not mistaken, and soon they found themselves before a vast
field of horns, regularly planted.
"Well?" said Robert.
"This is something singular," replied Paganel, turning towards the
Indian with a questioning look.
[Sidenote: AN ANXIOUS INDIAN.]
"The horns come from the ground," explained Thalcave; "and the cattle
are under it."
"What!" cried Paganel, "is there a whole drove in this mire?"
"Yes," answered the Patagonian.
In fact, a vast herd had perished in this bog, which had given way
beneath them. Hundreds of cattle had thus met their death, side by
side, by suffocation in this vast quagmire. This circumstance, which
sometimes takes place on the plains, could not be ignored by the
Indian, and it was a warning which it was proper to heed. They passed
around this immense hecatomb, which would have satisfied the most
exacting gods of antiquity; and an hour after the field of horns was
far behind.
Thalcave now began to observe with an anxious air the state of things
around him. He frequently stopped, and rose in his stirrups. His tall
form enabled him to survey a wide range; but, perceiving nothing that
could enlighten him, he resumed his undeviating course. A mile farther,
he stopped again, and, turning from the beaten track, proceeded a short
distance, first to the north, then to the south, and then resumed his
place at the head of the party, without saying either what he hoped or
what he feared.
These manoeuvres, many times repeated, puzzled Paganel and annoyed
Glenarvan. The geographer was accordingly requested to interrogate
the Indian, which he did at once. Thalcave replied that he was
astonished to see the plain so soaked with moisture. Never within his
recollection, since he had performed the office of guide, had his feet
trodden a soil so saturated. Even in the season of the great rains the
Argentine plain was always easily passed.
"But to what do you attribute this increasing moisture?" asked Paganel.
"I know not," replied the Indian; "and what if I did?"
"Do the mountain streams, when swollen with the rains, ever overflow
their banks?"
"Sometimes."
"And now, perhaps?"
"Perhaps," said Thalcave.
Paganel was forced to be contented with this answer, and communicated
to Glenarvan the result of the conversation.
"And what does Thalcave advise?" inquired Glenarvan.
"What is to be done?" asked Paganel of the Patagonian.
"Advance quickly," replied the Indian.
This advice was easier to give than to follow. The horses were quickly
fatigued with treading a soil that sank beneath them deeper and deeper
as they progressed, so that this part of the plain might have been
compared to an immense basin in which the invading waters would rapidly
accumulate. It was advisable, therefore, to cross without delay these
sloping terraces that an inundation would have instantly transformed
into a lake.
They hastened their pace, though there was no great depth to the water
which spread out in a sheet beneath the horses' feet. About two o'clock
the flood-gates of the heavens opened, and tropical torrents of rain
descended. Never was a finer opportunity presented for showing oneself
a philosopher. There was no chance of escaping this deluge, and it was
better for the travelers to receive it stoically. Their ponchos were
soon dripping, and their hats wet them still more, like roofs whose
gutters have overflowed. The fringes of the saddle-cloths seemed so
many liquid streams; and the horsemen, bespattered by their animals,
whose hoofs splashed in the water at every step, rode in a double
shower, which came from the ground as well as the sky.
[Sidenote: HYDROPATHIC TREATMENT.]
It was in this wretchedly cold and exhausted state that they arrived,
towards evening, at a very miserable rancho. Only people who were not
fastidious could have given it the name of a shelter, only travelers in
distress would consent to occupy it. But Glenarvan and his companions
had no choice. They therefore cowered down in the abandoned hut which
would not have satisfied even a poor Indian of the plains. A sorry
fire of grass, which gave out more smoke than heat, was kindled with
difficulty. The torrents of rain made havoc without, and large drops
oozed through the mouldy thatch. The fire was extinguished twenty
times, and twenty times did Wilson and Mulready struggle against the
invading water.
The supper was very meagre and comfortless, and every one's appetite
failed. The major alone did justice to the water-soaked repast, and did
not lose a mouthful: he was superior to misfortune. As for Paganel,
like a Frenchman, he tried to joke; but now he failed.
"My jokes are wet," said he: "they miss fire."
However, as it was more agreeable--if possible, under the
circumstances--to sleep, each one sought in slumber a temporary
forgetfulness of his fatigues.
The night was stormy. The sides of the rancho cracked as if they would
break, while the frail structure bent beneath the gusts of wind and
threatened to give way at every shock. The unfortunate horses neighed
in terror without, exposed to the inclemency of the tempest; and their
masters did not suffer less in their miserable shelter. However, sleep
drowned all their troubles at last. Robert first closed his eyes,
reclining his head on Lord Glenarvan's shoulder; and soon all the
inmates of the rancho slept under the protection of God.
They woke the next morning at the call of Thaouka, who, always ready,
neighed without, and struck the wall of the hut vigorously with his
hoof, as though to give the signal for departure. They owed him too
much not to obey him, and they accordingly resumed their journey.
The rain had ceased, but the hard earth held what had fallen. On the
impenetrable clay, pools, marshes, and ponds overflowed and formed
immense "bañados" of treacherous depth. Paganel, on consulting his map,
judged rightly that the Grande and Nivarota Rivers, into which the
waters of the plain usually flow, must have mingled together in one
broad stream.
An extremely rapid advance, therefore, became necessary. The common
safety was at stake. If the inundation increased, where could they find
a refuge? The vast circle of the horizon did not offer a single point,
and on this level plain the progress of the water must be rapid. The
horses were urged to their utmost speed. Thaouka took the lead, and
might have borne the name of sea-horse, for he pranced as if he had
been in his native element.
Suddenly, about six o'clock in the evening, he manifested signs of
extreme agitation. He turned frequently towards the vast expanse to the
south; his neighs were prolonged, his nostrils keenly snuffed the air,
and he reared violently. Thalcave, whom his antics could not unseat,
managed his steed without difficulty. The froth from the horse's mouth
was mingled with blood under the action of the firmly-closed bit, and
yet the spirited animal could not be calm. If free, his master felt but
too well that he would have fled away at full speed towards the north.
"What is the matter with Thaouka?" asked Paganel. "Has he been bitten
by those voracious blood-suckers of the Argentine waters?"
"No," replied the Indian.
"Is he terrified, then, at some danger?"
"Yes, he has scented danger."
"What?"
"I do not know."
Although the eye did not yet reveal the peril that Thaouka divined,
the ear could already detect it. A low murmur, like the sound of a
rising tide, was heard as from the limit of the horizon. The wind blew
in damp gusts laden with spray; the birds, as if fleeing from some
unknown phenomenon, shot swiftly through the air; and the horses,
wading to their knees, felt the first impulse of the current. Soon a
mingled roar, like bellowing, neighing, and bleating, resounded half
a mile to the south, and immense herds appeared, tumbling, rising,
and rushing, a confused mass of terrified beasts, and fled by with
frightful rapidity. It was scarcely possible to distinguish them in the
midst of the clouds of spray dashed up by their flight.
[Illustration: "The flood! the flood!" replied Thalcave, spurring his
horse towards the north.]
"Quick! quick!" cried Thalcave, in a piercing voice.
"What is it?" said Paganel.
"The flood! the flood!" replied Thalcave, spurring his horse towards
the north.
"The inundation!" cried Paganel; and his companions, with him at their
head, fled away in the track of Thaouka.
It was time. Five miles to the south a high and broad wall of water
was rushing over the plain, which was fast becoming an ocean. The tall
grass disappeared as before the scythe, and the tufts of mimosas, torn
up by the current, separated and formed floating islands. The mass of
waters spread itself in broad waves of irresistible power. The dikes of
the great rivers had evidently given way, and perhaps the waters of the
Colorado and Rio Negro were now mingling in a common stream.
The wall of water descried by Thalcave advanced with the speed of a
race-horse. The travelers fled before it like a cloud driven by the
storm. Their eyes sought in vain a place of refuge. Sky and water
mingled together on the horizon. The horses, excited by the danger,
dashed along in a mad gallop, so that their riders could scarcely keep
their seats. Glenarvan frequently glanced behind him.
"The water is overtaking us," he thought.
"Quick! quick!" cried Thalcave.
[Sidenote: THE ARK.]
The unfortunate beasts were urged to a swifter pace. From their flanks,
lacerated with the spur, flowed bright red streams, which marked
their course on the water by long, crimson lines. They stumbled in
the hollows of the ground; they were entangled in the hidden grass;
they fell and rose again continually. The depth of the water sensibly
increased. Long surges announced the on-rush of the mass of water that
tossed its foaming crests less than two miles distant.
For a quarter of an hour this final struggle against the most terrible
of elements was prolonged. The fugitives could keep no account of the
distance they had traversed; but, judging by the rapidity of their
flight, it must have been considerable.
Meantime the horses, immersed to their breasts, could no longer
advance without extreme difficulty. Glenarvan, Paganel, Austin, all
believed themselves lost, victims of the horrible death of unfortunates
abandoned at sea. Their animals began to lose their footing; six feet
of water was sufficient to drown them.
We must forbear to picture the acute anguish of these eight men
overtaken by a rising inundation. They felt their powerlessness to
struggle against these convulsions of nature, superior to human
strength. Their safety was no longer in their own hands.
Five minutes after, the horses were swimming, while the current alone
carried them along with irresistible force and furious swiftness. All
safety seemed impossible, when the voice of the major was heard.
"A tree!" said he.
"A tree!" cried Glenarvan.
"Yes, yonder!" replied Thalcave, and he pointed northward to a kind of
gigantic walnut-tree, which rose solitary from the midst of the waters.
His companions had no need to be urged. This tree that was opportunely
presented to them they must reach at all hazards. The horses probably
could not accomplish the distance; but the men, at least, could be
saved,--the current would carry them.
At that moment Tom Austin's horse gave a stifled neigh and disappeared.
His rider, extricating himself from the stirrups, began to swim
vigorously.
"Cling to my saddle!" cried Glenarvan to him.
"Thanks, my lord," replied he, "my arms are strong."
"Your horse, Robert?" continued Glenarvan, turning towards the boy.
"All right, my lord, all right! He swims like a fish."
"Attention!" cried the major, in a loud voice.
This word was scarcely pronounced, when the enormous wall of water
reached them. A huge wave, forty feet high, overwhelmed the fugitives
with a terrible roar. Men and beasts, everything, disappeared in a
whirlpool of foam. A ponderous liquid mass engulfed them in its furious
tide. When the deluge had passed, the men regained the surface, and
rapidly counted their numbers; but the horses, except Thaouka, had
disappeared forever.
"Courage! courage!" cried Glenarvan, who supported Paganel with one arm
and swam with the other.
"All right! all right!" replied the worthy geographer; "indeed I am not
sorry----"
What was he not sorry for? No one ever knew; for the poor man was
forced to swallow the end of his sentence in half a pint of muddy water.
The major calmly advanced, taking a regular stroke of which the most
skillful swimmer would not have been ashamed. The sailors worked their
way along like porpoises in their native element. As for Robert, he
clung to Thaouka's mane, and was thus drawn along. The horse proudly
cut the waters, and kept himself instinctively on a line with the tree,
towards which the current bore him, and which was now not far distant.
In a few moments the entire party reached it. It was fortunate; for, if
this refuge had failed, all chance of safety would have vanished, and
they must have perished in the waves. The water was up to the top of
the trunk where the main branches grew, so that it was easy to grasp
them.
Thalcave, leaving his horse, and lifting Robert, seized the first limb,
and soon his powerful arms had lodged the exhausted swimmers in a place
of safety. But Thaouka, carried away by the current, was rapidly
disappearing. He turned his intelligent head towards his master, and,
shaking his long mane, neighed for him beseechingly.
[Illustration: A huge wave, forty feet high, overwhelmed the fugitives
with a terrible roar. Men and beasts, everything, disappeared in a
whirlpool of foam. A ponderous liquid mass engulfed them in its furious
tide.]
"Do you abandon him?" said Paganel.
"I?" cried the Indian, and, plunging into the tempestuous waters, he
reappeared some distance from the tree. A few moments after, his arm
rested upon the neck of Thaouka, and horse and horseman swam away
together towards the misty horizon of the north.