THE RETURN ON BOARD.
For two hours the tree floated on the immense lake without reaching
_terra firma_. The flames had gradually died out, and thus the
principal danger of this terrible voyage had vanished. The current,
still keeping its original direction, flowed from southwest to
northeast; the darkness, though illumined now and then by flashes, had
become profound, and Paganel sought in vain for his bearings. But the
storm was abating, the large drops of rain gave place to light spray
that was scattered by the wind, while the huge distended clouds were
crossed by light bands.
The tree advanced rapidly on the impetuous torrent, gliding with
surprising swiftness, as if some powerful propelling means were
inclosed within its trunk. There was as yet no certainty that they
would not float on thus for many days. About three o'clock in the
morning, however, the major observed that the roots now and then struck
the bottom. Tom Austin, by means of a long branch, carefully sounded,
and declared that the water was growing shallow. Twenty minutes later,
a shock was felt, and the progress of the tree was checked.
"Land! land!" cried Paganel, in ringing tones.
The ends of the charred branches had struck against a hillock on the
ground, and never were navigators more delighted to land. Already
Robert and Wilson, having reached a firm plateau, were uttering shouts
of joy, when a well-known whistle was heard. The sound of a horse's
hoofs was heard upon the plain, and the tall form of the Indian emerged
from the darkness.
[Illustration: The sound of a horse's hoofs was heard upon the plain,
and the tall form of the Indian emerged from the darkness.]
"Thalcave!" cried Robert.
"Thalcave!" repeated his companions, as with one voice.
"Friends!" said the Patagonian, who had waited for them there, knowing
that the current would carry them as it had carried him.
At the same moment he raised Robert in his arms and clasped him to his
breast. Glenarvan, the major, and the sailors, delighted to see their
faithful guide again, shook his hands with the most earnest cordiality.
The Patagonian then conducted them to an abandoned estancia. Here
a good fire was burning, which revived them, and on the coals were
roasting succulent slices of venison, to which they did ample justice.
And when their refreshed minds began to reflect, they could scarcely
believe that they had escaped so many perils,--the fire, the water, and
the formidable alligators.
Thalcave, in a few words, told his story to Paganel, and ascribed to
his intrepid horse all the honor of having saved him. Paganel then
endeavored to explain to him the new interpretation of the document,
and the hopes it led them to entertain. Did the Indian understand the
geographer's ingenious suppositions? It was very doubtful; but he saw
his friends happy and very confident, and he desired nothing more.
It may be easily believed that these courageous travelers, after their
day of rest on the tree, needed no urging to resume their journey. At
eight o'clock in the morning they were ready to start. They were too
far south to procure means of transport, and were therefore obliged
to travel on foot. The distance, however, was only forty miles, and
Thaouka would not refuse to carry from time to time a tired pedestrian.
In thirty-six hours they would reach the shores of the Atlantic.
[Sidenote: IN THE DARK.]
As soon as refreshed the guide and his companions left behind them
the immense basin, still covered with the waters, and proceeded across
elevated plains, on which, here and there, were seen groves planted by
Europeans, meadows, and occasionally native trees. Thus the day passed.
The next morning, fifteen miles before reaching the ocean, its
proximity was perceptible. They hastened on in order to reach Lake
Salado, on the shores of the Atlantic, the same day. They were
beginning to feel fatigued, when they perceived sand-hills that hid the
foaming waves, and soon the prolonged murmur of the rising tide struck
upon their ears.
"The ocean!" cried Paganel.
"Yes, the ocean!" replied Thalcave.
And these wanderers, whose strength had seemed almost about to fail,
climbed the mounds with wonderful agility. But the darkness was
profound, and their eyes wandered in vain over the gloomy expanse. They
looked for the Duncan, but could not discern her.
"She is there, at all events," said Glenarvan, "waiting for us."
"We shall see her to-morrow," replied MacNabb.
Tom Austin shouted seaward, but received no answer. The wind was very
strong, and the sea tempestuous. The clouds were driving from the west,
and the foaming crests of the waves broke over the beach in masses of
spray. If the Duncan was at the appointed rendezvous, the lookout man
could neither hear nor be heard. The coast afforded no shelter. There
was no bay, no harbor, no cove; not even a creek. The beach consisted
of long sand-banks that were lost in the sea, and the vicinity of
which is more dangerous than that of the rocks in the face of wind and
tide. These banks, in fact, increase the waves; the sea is peculiarly
boisterous around them, and ships are sure to be lost if they strike on
these bars in heavy storms.
It was therefore very natural that the Duncan, considering this coast
dangerous, and knowing it to be without a port of shelter, kept at a
distance. Captain Mangles must have kept to the windward as far as
possible. This was Tom Austin's opinion, and he declared that the
Duncan was not less than five miles at sea.
The major, accordingly, persuaded his impatient relative to be
resigned, as there was no way of dissipating the thick darkness. And
why weary their eyes in scanning the gloomy horizon? He established a
kind of encampment in the shelter of the sand-hills; the remains of
the provisions furnished them a final repast; and then each, following
the major's example, hollowed out a comfortable bed in the sand, and,
covering himself up to his chin, was soon wrapped in profound repose.
Glenarvan watched alone. The wind continued strong, and the ocean still
showed the effects of the recent storm. The tumultuous waves broke
at the foot of the sand-banks with the noise of thunder. Glenarvan
could not convince himself that the Duncan was so near him; but as for
supposing that she had not arrived at her appointed rendezvous, it
was impossible, for such a ship there were no delays. The storm had
certainly been violent and its fury terrible on the vast expanse of the
ocean, but the yacht was a good vessel and her captain an able seaman;
she must, therefore, be at her destination.
These reflections, however, did not pacify Glenarvan. When heart and
reason are at variance, the latter is the weaker power. The lord of
Malcolm Castle seemed to see in the darkness all those whom he loved,
his dear Helena, Mary Grant, and the crew of the Duncan. He wandered
along the barren coast which the waves covered with phosphorescent
bubbles. He looked, he listened, and even thought that he saw a fitful
light on the sea.
"I am not mistaken," he soliloquized; "I saw a ship's light, the
Duncan's. Ah! why cannot my eyes pierce the darkness?"
[Illustration: Glenarvan watched alone. He could not convince himself
that the Duncan was so near him; but as for supposing that she had not
arrived at her appointed rendezvous, it was impossible, for such a ship
there were no delays.]
Then an idea occurred to him. Paganel called himself a nyctalops; he
could see in the night.
The geographer was sleeping like a mole in his bed, when a strong hand
dragged him from his sandy couch.
"Who is that?" cried he.
"I."
"Who?"
"Glenarvan. Come, I need your eyes."
"My eyes?" replied Paganel, rubbing them vigorously.
"Yes, your eyes, to distinguish the Duncan in this darkness. Come."
"And why my eyes?" said Paganel to himself, delighted, nevertheless, to
be of service to Glenarvan.
He rose, shaking his torpid limbs in the manner of one awakened from
sleep, and followed his friend along the shore. Glenarvan requested
him to survey the dark horizon to seaward. For several moments Paganel
conscientiously devoted himself to this task.
"Well, do you perceive nothing?" asked Glenarvan.
"Nothing. Not even a cat could see two paces before her."
"Look for a red or a green light, on the starboard or the larboard
side."
"I see neither a red nor a green light. All is darkness," replied
Paganel, whose eyes were thereupon involuntarily closed.
For half an hour he mechanically followed his impatient friend in
absolute silence, with his head bowed upon his breast, sometimes
raising it suddenly. He tottered along with uncertain steps, like those
of a drunken man. At last Glenarvan, seeing that the geographer was in
a state of somnambulism, took him by the arm, and, without waking him,
led him back to his sand-hole, and comfortably deposited him therein.
At break of day they were all started to their feet by the cry,--
[Sidenote: IMPATIENCE.]
"The Duncan! the Duncan!"
"Hurrah! hurrah!" replied Glenarvan's companions, rushing to the shore.
The Duncan was indeed in sight. Five miles distant, the yacht was
sailing under low pressure, her main-sails carefully reefed, while her
smoke mingled with the mists of the morning. The sea was high, and a
vessel of her tonnage could not approach the shore without danger.
Glenarvan, provided with Paganel's telescope, watched the movements of
the Duncan. Captain Mangles could not have perceived them, for he did
not approach, but continued to coast along with only a reefed top-sail.
At this moment Thalcave, having loaded his carbine heavily, fired it in
the direction of the yacht. They gazed and listened. Three times the
Indian's gun resounded, waking the echoes of the shore.
At last a white smoke issued from the side of the yacht.
"They see us!" cried Glenarvan. "It is the Duncan's cannon."
A few moments after, a heavy report rang out on the air, and the
Duncan, shifting her sail and putting on steam, was seen to be
approaching the shore. By the aid of the glass they saw a boat leave
the ship's side.
"Lady Helena cannot come," said Tom Austin: "the sea is too rough."
"Nor Captain Mangles," replied MacNabb: "he cannot leave his vessel."
"My sister! my sister!" cried Robert, stretching his arms towards the
yacht, which rolled heavily.
"I hope I shall soon get on board!" exclaimed Glenarvan.
"Patience, Edward! You will be there in two hours," replied MacNabb.
Glenarvan now joined Thalcave, who, standing with folded arms alongside
of Thaouka, was calmly gazing at the waves.
Glenarvan took his hand, and, pointing to the yacht, said,--
"Come!"
The Indian shook his head.
"Come, my friend!" continued Glenarvan.
"No," replied Thalcave, gently. "Here is Thaouka, and there are the
Pampas!" he added, indicating with a sweep of his hand the vast expanse
of the plains.
It was clear that the Indian would never leave the prairies, where the
bones of his fathers whitened. Glenarvan knew the strong attachment
of these children of the desert to their native country. He therefore
shook Thalcave's hand, and did not insist; not even when the Indian,
smiling in his peculiar way, refused the price of his services,
saying,--
"It was done out of friendship."
His lordship, however, desired to give the brave Indian something which
might at least serve as a souvenir of his European friends. But what
had he left? His arms, his horses, everything had been lost in the
inundation. His friends were no richer than himself. For some moments
he was at a loss how to repay the disinterested generosity of the brave
guide; but at last a happy idea occurred to him. He drew from his
pocket-book a costly medallion inclosing an admirable portrait, one of
Lawrence's master-pieces, and presented it to Thalcave.
"My wife," said Glenarvan.
Thalcave gazed with wonder at the portrait, and pronounced these simple
words,--
"Good and beautiful!"
Then Robert, Paganel, the major, Tom Austin, and the two sailors
bade an affectionate adieu to the noble Patagonian, who clasped each
one in succession to his broad breast. All were sincerely sorry at
parting with so courageous and devoted a friend. Paganel forced him
to accept a map of South America and the two oceans, which the
Indian had frequently examined with interest. It was the geographer's
most precious possession. As for Robert, he had nothing to give but
caresses, which he freely lavished upon his deliverer and upon Thaouka.
[Illustration: They pushed off, and the boat was rapidly borne from the
shore by the ebbing tide. For a long time the motionless outline of the
Indian was seen through the foam of the waves.]
At that instant the Duncan's boat approached, and, gliding into the
narrow channel between the sand-banks, grounded on the beach.
"My wife?" asked Glenarvan.
"My sister?" cried Robert.
"Lady Helena and Miss Grant await you on board," replied the cockswain.
"But we have not a moment to lose, my lord, for the tide is beginning
to ebb."
The last acknowledgments were given, and Thalcave accompanied his
friends to the boat. Just as Robert was about to embark, the Indian
took him in his arms and gazed at him tenderly.
"Now go," said he; "you are a man!"
"Adieu, my friend, adieu!" cried Glenarvan.
"Shall we ever see each other again?" asked Paganel.
"Who knows?" replied Thalcave, raising his arms towards heaven.
They pushed off, and the boat was rapidly borne from the shore by the
ebbing tide. For a long time the motionless outline of the Indian was
seen through the foam of the waves. Then his tall form grew indistinct,
and soon became invisible. An hour afterwards they reached the Duncan.
Robert was the first to spring upon the deck, where he threw himself
upon his sister's neck, while the crew of the yacht filled the air with
their joyous shouts.
Thus had our travelers accomplished the journey across South America
on a rigorously straight line. Neither mountains nor rivers had turned
them aside from their course; and, although they were not forced to
struggle against the evil designs of men, the relentless fury of the
elements had often tested their generous intrepidity to its utmost
powers of endurance.