BETWEEN FIRE AND WATER.
Jacques Paganel's story had a very great success. He was greatly
applauded, but each retained his own opinion, and the geographer
obtained the result common to most discussions,--of convincing nobody.
However, they were agreed on this point, that it was necessary to have
courage for every fortune, and be contented with a tree when one has
neither palace nor cottage.
During the course of this confabulation evening had come on. Only a
good sleep could thoroughly refresh, after this eventful day. The
inmates of the tree felt themselves not only fatigued by the sudden
changes of the inundation, but especially overcome by the heat, which
had been excessive. Their feathered companions had already set the
example; the hilgueros, those nightingales of the Pampas, had ceased
their melodious warblings, and all the birds had disappeared in the
recesses of the foliage. The best plan was to imitate them.
But before "retiring to their nest," as Paganel said, Glenarvan,
Robert, and he climbed to the observatory, to examine for the last
time the watery expanse. It was about nine o'clock. The sun had just
set in the sparkling mists of the horizon, and all the western part
of the firmament was bathed in a warm vapor. The constellations,
usually so dazzling, seemed veiled in a soft haze. Still they could
be distinguished, and Paganel pointed out to Robert, for Glenarvan's
benefit, that zone where the stars are most brilliant.
[Sidenote: PHILOSOPHY AND PONCHOS.]
While the geographer was discoursing thus, the whole eastern horizon
assumed a stormy aspect. A dense and dark band, clearly defined,
gradually rose, dimming the light of the stars. This cloud of
threatening appearance soon invaded almost the entire vault of the sky.
Its motive power must have been inherent in itself, for there was not
a breath of wind. Not a leaf stirred on the tree, not a ripple curled
the surface of the waters. Even the air seemed to fail, as if some
huge pneumatic machine had rarefied it. A strong electric current was
perceptible in the atmosphere, and every creature felt it course along
the nerves. Glenarvan, Paganel, and Robert were sensibly affected by
these electric currents.
"We shall have a storm," said Paganel.
"You are not afraid of thunder?" asked Glenarvan of the boy.
"Oh, no, my lord," replied Robert.
"Well, so much the better; for the storm is now not far distant."
"And it will be violent," continued Paganel, "so far as I can judge
from the state of the sky."
"It is not the storm that troubles me," said Glenarvan, "but the
torrents of rain with which it will be accompanied. We shall be
drenched to the skin again. Whatever you may say, Paganel, a nest
cannot suffice a man, as you will soon learn to your cost."
"Oh, yes, it can, with philosophy," briskly replied the geographer.
"Philosophy does not prevent you from getting wet."
"No, but it warms you."
"Well, then," said Glenarvan, "let us join our friends and persuade
them to envelop us with their philosophy and their ponchos as closely
as possible, and especially to lay in a stock of patience, for we shall
need it."
So saying, he gave another look at the threatening sky. The mass of
clouds now covered it entirely. A faint line of light towards the
horizon was scarcely discernible in the dimness. The sombre appearance
of the water had increased, and between the dark mass below and the
clouds above there was scarcely a separation. At the same time all
perception seemed dulled; and a leaden torpor rested upon both eyes and
ears, while the silence was profound.
"Let us go down," said Glenarvan; "the lightning will soon be here."
His two companions and himself slid down the smooth branches, and were
somewhat surprised to find themselves in a remarkable kind of twilight,
which was produced by myriads of luminous objects that crossed each
other and buzzed on the surface of the water.
"Phosphorescences?" said Glenarvan.
"No," replied Paganel, "but phosphorescent insects, real
glow-worms,--living diamonds, and not expensive, of which the ladies of
Buenos Ayres make magnificent ornaments for themselves."
"What!" cried Robert, "are these things, that fly like sparks, insects?"
"Yes, my boy."
Robert caught one of the brilliant creatures. Paganel was right. It
was a kind of large beetle, an inch in length, to which the Indians
give the name of "tuco-tuco." This curious insect threw out flashes at
two points situated in front of its sheath, and its light would have
enabled one to read in the darkness. Paganel, on bringing it close to
his watch, saw that it was ten o'clock.
Glenarvan now joined the major and the three sailors, and gave them
instructions for the night. A terrible storm was to be expected. After
the first rollings of the thunder, the wind would doubtless break forth
and the tree be violently shaken. It was, therefore, advisable for
every one to tie himself firmly to the bed of branches that had been
appropriated to him. If they could not avoid the torrents of the sky,
they must at least guard against those of the earth, and not fall
into the rapid current that broke against the trunk of the tree. They
wished each other good night without much hope of passing one, and then
each, getting into his aerial resting-place, wrapped himself in his
poncho and waited for sleep.
[Illustration: The incessant flashes assumed various forms. Some,
darting perpendicularly towards the earth, were repeated five or six
times in the same place; others spread in zigzag lines, and produced on
the dark vault of the heavens astonishing jets of arborescent flame.]
But the approach of a mighty tempest brings to the hearts of most
sentient beings a vague anxiety of which the bravest cannot divest
themselves. The occupants of the tree, agitated and fearful, could not
close their eyes, and the first thunder-clap found them all awake.
It took place about eleven o'clock, resembling a distant rumbling.
Glenarvan climbed to the end of the branch, and peered out from the
foliage. The dark firmament was fitfully illumined by vivid and
brilliant flashes, which the waters brightly reflected, and which
disclosed great rifts in the clouds. Glenarvan, after surveying the
zenith and the horizon, returned to his couch.
"What do you think, Glenarvan?" asked Paganel.
"I think that the storm is beginning, and, if it continues, it will be
terrible."
"So much the better," replied the enthusiastic Paganel. "I like a fine
spectacle, especially when I cannot avoid it. Only one thing would make
me anxious, if anxiety served to avert danger," added he, "and that
is, that the culminating point of this plain is the ombu upon which we
are perched. A lightning-conductor would be very useful here, for this
very tree among all those of the Pampas is the one that particularly
attracts the lightning. And then, as you are aware, my friends,
meteorologists advise us not to take refuge under trees during a storm."
"Well," said the major, "that is timely advice."
"It must be confessed, Paganel," replied Glenarvan, "that you choose a
good time to tell us these encouraging things!"
"Bah!" replied Paganel; "all times are good to receive information. Ah,
it is beginning!"
[Sidenote: AN EXTRAORDINARY STORM.]
Violent thunder-claps interrupted this conversation, and their
intensity increased till they reached the most deafening peals.
They soon became sonorous, and made the atmosphere vibrate in rapid
oscillations. The firmament was on fire, and during this commotion
it was impossible to distinguish from what electric spark emanated
the indefinitely-prolonged rumblings that reverberated throughout the
abysses of the sky.
The incessant flashes assumed various forms. Some, darting
perpendicularly towards the earth, were repeated five or six times in
the same place; others, separating into a thousand different branches,
spread in zigzag lines and produced on the dark vault of the heavens
astonishing jets of arborescent flame. Soon the sky, from east to
north, was crossed by a phosphorescent band of intense brilliancy. This
illumination gradually overspread the entire horizon, lighting up the
clouds like a bonfire, and was reflected in the mirror-like waters,
forming what seemed to be an immense circle of fire, of which the tree
occupied the centre.
Glenarvan and his companions watched this terrific spectacle in
silence. Sheets of dazzling light glided towards them, and blinding
flashes followed in rapid succession, now showing the calm countenance
of the major, then the speculative face of Paganel or the energetic
features of Glenarvan, and again the frightened look of Robert or the
unconcerned expression of the sailors. The rain, however, did not fall
as yet, nor had the wind risen. But soon the flood-gates of the heavens
opened, and the rain came down in torrents, the drops, as they struck
the surface of the water, rebounding in thousands of sparks illuminated
by the incessant lightning.
Did this rain predict the end of the storm? Were Glenarvan and his
companions to be released with a few thorough drenchings? At the height
of this struggle of the elements, suddenly there appeared at the end
of the branch which extended horizontally, a flaming globe, of the
size of a fist, and surrounded by a black smoke. This ball, after
revolving a few moments, burst like a bombshell, and with a noise that
was distinguishable in the midst of the general tumult. A sulphurous
vapor filled the atmosphere. There was a moment of silence, and then
Tom Austin was heard crying,--
"The tree is on fire!"
He was right. In a moment the flame, as if it had been communicated
to an immense piece of fireworks, spread along the west side of the
tree. The dead limbs, the nests of dry grass, and finally the live wood
itself, furnished material for the devouring element.
The wind now rose and fanned the flames into fury. Glenarvan and his
friends, speechless with terror, and venturing upon limbs that bent
beneath their weight, hastily took refuge in the other, the eastern
part of the tree.
Meantime the boughs shriveled, crackled, and twisted in the fire like
burning serpents. The glowing fragments fell into the rushing waters
and floated away in the current, sending forth flashes of ruddy light.
The flames at one moment would rise to a fearful height, to be lost
in the aerial conflagration, and the next, beaten back by the furious
hurricane, would envelop the tree like a robe of molten gold.
Glenarvan, Robert, the major, Paganel, and the sailors, were terrified.
A thick smoke was stifling them; an intolerable heat was scorching
them. The fire was extending to the lower part of the tree on their
side; nothing could stop or extinguish it; and they felt themselves
irrevocably doomed to the torture of those victims who are confined
within the burning sides of a sacrificial fire-basket.
At last their situation was no longer tenable, and of two deaths they
were forced to choose the least cruel.
"To the water!" cried Glenarvan.
[Illustration: In a few moments the gigantic water-spout struck the
ombu, and enveloped it in its watery folds.]
Wilson, whom the flames had reached, had already plunged into the
current, when they heard him cry, in tones of the greatest terror,--
"Help! help!"
Austin rushed towards him and assisted him to regain the trunk.
"What is the matter?"
"Caymans! caymans!" replied Wilson. And, in truth, the foot of the
tree was seen to be surrounded by the most formidable monsters.
Their scales glittered in broad plates of light, sharply defined
by the conflagration. Their flat tails, their pointed heads, their
protruding eyes, their jaws, extending back of their ears, all these
characteristic signs were unmistakable. Paganel recognized the
voracious alligators peculiar to America, and called caymans in Spanish
countries. There were a dozen of them, beating the water with their
powerful tails, and attacking the tree with their terrible teeth.
At this sight the unfortunate travelers felt themselves lost indeed. A
horrible death was in store for them,--to perish either by the flames
or by the teeth of the alligators. There are circumstances in which
man is powerless to struggle, and where a raging element can only be
repulsed by another equally strong. Glenarvan, with a wild look, gazed
at the fire and water leagued against him, not knowing what aid to
implore of Heaven.
The storm had now begun to abate; but it had developed in the air a
great quantity of vapor, which the electric phenomena were about to
set in violent commotion. To the south an enormous water-spout was
gradually forming,--an inverted cone of mist, uniting the raging waters
below to the stormy clouds above. It advanced revolving with frightful
rapidity, collected at its centre a liquid column, and by a powerful
attraction, caused by its gyratory motion, drew towards it all the
surrounding currents of air.
[Sidenote: A STRANGE BARK.]
In a few moments the gigantic water-spout struck the ombu and enveloped
it in its watery folds. The tree was shaken to its very base, so that
Glenarvan might have thought that the alligators had attacked it
with their powerful jaws and were uprooting it from the ground. His
companions and he, clinging to one another, felt the mighty tree give
way and fall, and saw its flaming branches plunge into the tumultuous
waters with a frightful hiss. It was the work of a second. The
water-spout had passed, to exert elsewhere its destructive violence,
and pumping the waters of the plain as if it would exhaust them.
The tree now, loosened from its moorings, floated onward under the
combined impulses of wind and current. The alligators had fled, except
one which crawled along the upturned roots and advanced with open jaws;
but Mulready, seizing a large brand, struck the creature so powerful
a blow that he broke its back. The vanquished animal sank in the
eddies of the torrent, still lashing his formidable tail with terrible
violence.
Glenarvan and his companions, delivered from these voracious creatures,
took refuge on the branches to leeward of the fire, while the tree,
wrapped by the blast of the hurricane in glowing sheets of flame,
floated on like a burning ship in the darkness of the night.