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Profound astonishment greeted these unexpected words of the learned geographer. What could he mean? Had he lost his sense?
“Yes,” began Paganel again, as soon as he had recovered himself a little; “yes, we have gone a wrong track, and read on the document what was never there.”
“Explain yourself, Paganel,” said the Major, “and more calmly if you can.”
“The thing is very simple, Major. Like you, I was in error; like you. But on the top of the tree, when I was answering your questions, just as I pronounced the word ‘Australia,’ a sudden flash came across my mind, and the document became clear as day.”
“What!” exclaimed Glenarvan, “you mean to say that Harry Grant—”
“I mean to say,” replied Paganel, “that the word AUSTRAL that occurs in the document is not a complete word, as we have supposed up till now, but just the root of the word AUSTRALIE.”
“Well, that would be strange,” said the Major.
“What!” said Glenarvan, “you say, with the document in your hand, that the shipwreck of the Britannia happened on the shores of Australia.”
“I am sure of it,” replied Paganel.
“My conscience,” exclaimed Glenarvan, “I must say I am surprised at such a declaration from the Secretary of a Geographical Society!”
“And why so?” said Paganel.
“Because, if you allow the word AUSTRALIE you must also allow the word INDIENS, and Indians are never seen there.”
Paganel expected it, for he began to smile, and said:
“My dear Glenarvan, don’t triumph over me too fast. In the text of the document, there is neither mention of the Indians nor of Patagonia! The incomplete word INDI does not mean INDIENS, but of course, INDIGÈNES, aborigines! Now, do you admit that there are aborigines in Australia?”
“Bravo, Paganel!” said the Major.
“Well, do you agree to my interpretation, my dear Lord?” asked the geographer again.
“Yes,” replied Glenarvan, “if you prove to me that the fragment of a word GONIE does not refer to the country of the Patagonians.”
“Certainly it does not. It has nothing to do with Patagonia,” said Paganel. “The word is quite unimportant; I will not even try to find out its meaning. The main point is that AUSTRAL means AUSTRALIE. If I had found the document myself, and my judgment had not been misled by your interpretation, I should never have read it differently.”
A burst of hurrahs, and congratulations, and compliments followed Paganel’s words. Austin and the sailors, and the Major and Robert, most all overjoyed at this fresh hope, applauded him heartily.
“How will you group the words together according to your new interpretation? How will the document read?” asked Glenarvan
“Easily enough answered. Here is the document,” replied Paganel.
“‘Le 7 juin 1862 le trois-mats Britannia de Glasgow a somber après,’—put, if you please, ‘deux jours, trois jours,’ or ‘une longue agonie,’ it doesn’t matter, —‘sur les côtés de l’Australie. Se dirigeant à terre, deux matelots et le Capitaine Grant vont essayer d’aborder,’ or ‘ont abordé le continent où ils seront,’ or, ‘sont prisonniers de cruels indigènes. Ils ont jeté ce documents,’ etc. Is that clear?”
“Clear enough,” replied Glenarvan, “if the word continent can be applied to Australia, which is only an island. Then all I have now to say is, my friends, away to Australia, and may Heaven help us!”
“To Australia!” echoed his companions, with one voice.
“I tell you what, Paganel,” added Glenarvan, “your being on board the Duncan is a perfect providence.”
So the conversation ended; it completely changed the moral condition of the travelers. In going on board the Duncan again they would not bring despair with them, and Lady Helena and Mary Grant would not have to mourn the irrevocable loss of Captain Grant. This thought so filled them with joy that they forgot all the dangers of their actual situation, and only regretted that they could not start immediately.
Meanwhile a thick dark bar of cloud was rising higher and higher, and by degrees extinguishing the stars. Before long half the sky was overspread.
There was not a breath of wind. Absolute calm reigned in the atmosphere; not a leaf stirred on the tree, not a ripple disturbed the surface of the water. The entire atmosphere was charged to the utmost with electricity.
“We are going to have a storm,” said Paganel.
“You’re not afraid of thunder, are you, Robert?” asked Glenarvan.
“No, my Lord!” exclaimed Robert.
“Well, my boy, so much the better, for a storm is not far off.”
“And a violent one, too,” added Paganel, “if I may judge by the look of things.”
“Let us go down,” said Glenarvan; “the thunder will soon burst over us.”
They returned to the bottom of the tree. They wished one another “good-night,” though hardly daring to hope for it, and then each one rolled himself in his poncho and lay down to sleep.
But the whole party felt agitated and oppressed, and not one of them could close his eyes. The first peal of thunder occurred about 11 PM, and sounded like a distant rolling.
The deep blackness of the night was already scarified with sharp bright lines, which were reflected back by the water.
The incessant flashes of lightning took various forms. Some of the flashes branched out in a thousand different directions, making zigzags.
Glenarvan and his companions gazed silently at this terrifying spectacle. However, no rain had fallen, and the wind had not risen.
A large ball of fire appeared suddenly, as thick as a man’s wrist, and surrounded with black smoke. This ball, after turning round and round for a few seconds, burst like a bombshell, and with much noise.
Tom Austin shouted:
“The tree is on fire!”
Tom was right. In a moment, the flame ran along the west side of the tree. The wind had risen now and fanned the flame. It was time to flee, and Glenarvan and his party hurried away to the eastern side of their refuge, which was meantime untouched by the fire. They were all silent, troubled, and terrified. Terror seized the entire group. They were almost suffocated with smoke.
At last, their situation was absolutely intolerable. Of the two deaths staring them in the face, they had better choose the less cruel.
“To the water!” exclaimed Glenarvan.
Wilson, who was nearest the flames, had already plunged into the lake, but next minute he screamed out in the most violent terror:
“Help! Help!”
Austin dragged him up again on the tree.
“What’s the matter?” they asked.
“Alligators! Alligators!” replied Wilson.
The whole foot of the tree appeared to be surrounded by these formidable animals. About ten of them were there, lashing the water with their powerful tails, and attacking the tree with the long teeth.
The unfortunate men must either be devoured by the fire or by the alligators. Even the Major said, in a calm voice:
“This is the beginning of the end, now.”
The tree shook to its roots. The next minute it fell down with a terrible hissing noise, as the flaming branches touched the foaming water.
The tree began to drift rapidly along, impelled by wind and current. An alligator was crawling over the upturned roots, and coming toward the poor refugees with wide open jaws. But Mulrady, seizing hold of a branch that was half-burned off, struck the monster such a tremendous blow, that it fell back into the torrent and disappeared.
The direction of the current remained unchanged, always running from southwest to northeast. The storm was nearly over. It seemed likely enough they might continue drifting in this way for days. About three o’clock in the morning, however, the Major noticed that the roots were grazing the ground occasionally. Twenty minutes afterward, the tree stopped with a violent jolt.
“Land! Land!” shouted Paganel, in a ringing tone.
Already Robert and Wilson had leaped on to the solid plateau with a loud, joyful hurrah! when a well-known whistle was heard. The tall form of Thalcave emerged from the darkness.
“Thalcave! Thalcave!” they all cried with one voice.
“Amigos!” replied the Patagonian, who had been waiting for the travelers here in the same place where the current had landed himself.
As he spoke he lifted up Robert in his arms, and hugged him to his breast. Then the Patagonian led the way into the hangar, where there was a good, blazing fire to warm them, and some food. They could scarcely believe they had escaped.
As can easily be imagined, the travelers were ready to start. At eight o’clock they set off. But they had to walk. However, it was not more than forty miles now that they had to go. In thirty-six hours they might reach the shores of the Atlantic.
Next day, the proximity of the ocean was sensibly felt. They pushed on as quickly as possible, and at 8 PM they were all tolerably tired. But when the long murmur of the distant ocean fell on their ears, the exhausted men forgot their fatigue. It was getting quite dark already. No traces of the Duncan on the gloomy expanse of water!
“But the Duncan is there,” exclaimed Glenarvan, “waiting for us.”
“We shall see it tomorrow,” replied McNabbs.
They fell into a heavy sleep.
But Glenarvan kept watch. Glenarvan could not rest, knowing the Duncan was so near him. Glenarvan had left the Bay of Talcahuano on the 14th of October, and arrived on the shores of the Atlantic on the 12th of November. He had taken thirty days to cross Chili, the Cordilleras, the Pampas, and the Argentine plains.
At dawn next morning, all started to their feet and rushed to the shore, shouting “Hurrah, hurrah!” as Lord Glenarvan’s loud cry, “The Duncan, the Duncan!” broke upon ears.
There it was, five miles out. Its smoke was lost in the morning mist.
Glenarvan, by the aid of Paganel’s telescope, closely observed the movements of the yacht. It was evident that John Mangles had not perceived his passengers, for he continued his course as before.
But at this very moment Thalcave fired his carbine in the direction of the yacht. They listened and looked, but no signal of recognition was returned. A second and a third time the Indian fired, awakening the echoes among the sand-hills.
At last a white smoke was seen issuing from the side of the yacht.
“They see us!” exclaimed Glenarvan. “That’s the cannon of the Duncan.”
Through the glass, they saw a boat lowered.
Glenarvan went back to Thalcave, who stood beside his horse, looking quietly at the waves. Glenarvan took his hand, and pointing to the yacht, said: “Come!”
The Indian gently shook his head.
“Come, friend,” repeated Glenarvan.
“No,” said Thalcave, gently. “Here is my horse, and there—the Pampas,” he added, embracing the wide-stretching prairies.
Glenarvan understood his refusal. He knew that the Indian would never forsake the prairie. He did not urge Thalcave longer, therefore, but simply pressed his hand.
Then Robert, and Paganel, and the Major, and the rest, exchanged touching farewells with the faithful Patagonian. Thalcave embraced them each, and pressed them to his broad chest.
The boat from the Duncan was now fast approaching, and in another minute had glided into a narrow channel between the banks, and run ashore.
“My wife?” were Glenarvan’s first words.
“My sister?” said Robert.
“Lady Helena and Miss Grant are waiting for you on board,” replied the coxswain.
Just as Robert was going to step in, the Indian took him in his arms, and gazed tenderly into his face. Then he said:
“Now go. You are a man.”
“Good-bye, good-bye, friend!” said Glenarvan, once more.
“Shall we never see each other again?” Paganel called out.
“Quién sabe?” replied Thalcave, lifting his arms toward heaven.
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