CHAPTER XV
THALCAVE
ROBERT had no sooner escaped one terrible danger than
he ran the risk of another scarcely less formidable. He
was almost torn to pieces by his friends, for the brave fellows were so
overjoyed at the sight of him, that in spite
of his weak state, none of them would be satisfied without
giving him a hug. However, it seemed as if good rough
hugging did not hurt sick people; at any rate it did not hurt
Robert, but quite the contrary.
But the first joy of deliverance over, the next thought
was who was the deliverer? Of course it was the Major
who suggested looking for him, and he was not far off, for
about fifty paces from the rio a man of very tall stature
was seen standing motionless on the lowest crags at the
foot of the mountain. A long gun was lying at his feet.
He had broad shoulders, and long hair bound together
with leather thongs. He was over six feet in height.
His bronzed face was red between the eyes and mouth,
black by the lower eyelids, and white on the forehead.
He wore the costume of the Patagonians on the frontiers,
consisting of a splendid cloak, ornamented with scarlet
arabesques, made of the skins of the guanaco, sewed together with ostrich
tendons, and with the silky wool turned
up on the edge. Under this mantle was a garment of foxskin, fastened round the
waist, and coming down to a point
in front. A little bag hung from his belt, containing colors for painting his
face. His boots were pieces of ox
hide, fastened round the ankles by straps, across.
This Patagonian had a splendid face, indicating real intelligence,
notwithstanding the medley of colors by which
it was disfigured. His waiting attitude was full of dignity;
indeed, to see him standing grave and motionless on his
pedestal of rocks, one might have taken him for a statue
of sang-froid.
As soon as the Major perceived him, he pointed him out
to Glenarvan, who ran toward him immediately. The
Patagonian came two steps forward to meet him, and Glenarvan caught hold of his
hand and pressed it in his own.
It was impossible to mistake the meaning of the action, for
the noble face of the Scotch lord so beamed with gratitude
that no words were needed. The stranger bowed slightly
in return, and said a few words that neither Glenarvan nor
the Major could understand.
The Patagonian surveyed them attentively for a few
minutes, and spoke again in another language. But this
second idiom was no more intelligible than the first. Certain words, however,
caught Glenarvan's ear as sounding
like Spanish, a few sentences of which he could speak.
Espanol?" he asked.
The Patagonian nodded in reply, a movement of the head
which has an affirmative significance among all nations.
"That's good!" said the Major. "Our friend Paganel
will be the very man for him. It is lucky for us that he
took it into his head to learn Spanish."
Paganel was called forthwith. He came at once, and
saluted the stranger with all the grace of a Frenchman.
But his compliments were lost on the Patagonian, for he
did not understand a single syllable.
However, on being told how things stood, he began in
Spanish, and opening his mouth as wide as he could, the
better to articulate, said:
"Vos sois um homen de bem." (You are a brave man.)
The native listened, but made no reply.
"He doesn't understand," said the geographer.
"Perhaps you haven't the right accent," suggested the
Major.
"That's just it! Confound the accent!"
Once more Paganel repeated his compliment, but with
no better success.
"I'll change the phrase," he said; and in slow, deliberate
tones he went on, "Sam duvida um Patagao" (A Patagonian, undoubtedly).
No response still.
"Dizeime!" said Paganel (Answer me).
But no answer came.
"Vos compriendeis?" (Do you understand?) shouted
Paganel, at the very top of his voice, as if he would burst
his throat.
Evidently the Indian did not understand, for he replied
in Spanish,
"No comprendo" (I do not understand).
It was Paganel's turn now to be amazed. He pushed
his spectacles right down over his nose, as if greatly irritated, and said,
"I'll be hanged if I can make out one word of his infernal patois. It is
Araucanian, that's certain!"
"Not a bit of it!" said Glenarvan. "It was Spanish
he spoke."
And addressing the Patagonian, he repeated the word,
"Espanol?" (Spanish?).
"Si, si" (yes, yes) replied the Indian.
Paganel's surprise became absolute stupefaction. The
Major and his cousin exchanged sly glances, and McNabbs
said, mischievously, with a look of fun on his face, "Ah,
ah, my worthy friend; is this another of your misadventures? You seem to have
quite a monopoly of them."
"What!" said Paganel, pricking up his ear.
"Yes, it's clear enough the man speaks Spanish."
"He!"
"Yes, he certainly speaks Spanish. Perhaps it is some
other language you have been studying all this time instead
of —"
But Paganel would not allow him to proceed. He
shrugged his shoulders, and said stiffly,
"You go a little too far, Major."
"Well, how is it that you don't understand him then?"
"Why, of course, because the man speaks badly," replied the learned
geographer, getting impatient.
"He speaks badly; that is to say, because you can't understand him,"
returned the Major coolly.
"Come, come, McNabbs," put in Glenarvan, "your supposition is quite
inadmissable. However distrait our friend
Paganel is, it is hardly likely he would study one language
for another."
"Well, Edward — or rather you, my good Paganel — explain it then."
"I explain nothing. I give proof. Here is the book I
use daily, to practice myself in the difficulties of the Spanish language.
Examine it for yourself, Major," he said,
handing him a volume in a very ragged condition, which
he had brought up, after a long rummage, from the depths
of one of his numerous pockets. "Now you can see
whether I am imposing on you," he continued, indignantly.
"And what's the name of this book?" asked the Major,
as he took it from his hand.
"The Lusiades, an admirable epic, which —"
"The Lusiades!" exclaimed Glenarvan.
"Yes, my friend, the Lusiades of the great Camoens,
neither more nor less."
"Camoens!" repeated Glenarvan; "but Paganel, my
unfortunate fellow, Camoens was a Portuguese! It is
Portuguese you have been learning for the last six weeks!"
"Camoens! Luisades! Portuguese!" Paganel could
not say more. He looked vexed, while his companions,
who had all gathered round, broke out in a furious burst
of laughter.
The Indian never moved a muscle of his face. He
quietly awaited the explanation of this incomprehensible
mirth.
"Fool, idiot, that I am!" at last uttered Paganel. "Is
it really a fact? You are not joking with me? It is what
I have actually been doing? Why, it is a second confusion
of tongues, like Babel. Ah me! alack-a-day! my friends,
what is to become of me? To start for India and arrive
at Chili! To learn Spanish and talk Portuguese! Why,
if I go on like this, some day I shall be throwing myself
out of the window instead of my cigar!"
To hear Paganel bemoan his misadventures and see his
comical discomfiture, would have upset anyone's gravity.
Besides, he set the example himself, and said:
"Laugh away, my friends, laugh as loud as you like; you
can't laugh at me half as much as I laugh at myself!"
"But, I say," said the Major, after a minute, "this
doesn't alter the fact that we have no interpreter."
"Oh, don't distress yourself about that," replied Paganel, "Portuguese
and Spanish are so much alike that I made
a mistake; but this very resemblance will be a great help
toward rectifying it. In a very short time I shall be able
to thank the Patagonian in the language he speaks so well."
Paganel was right. He soon managed to exchange a
few words with the stranger, and found out even that his
name was Thalcave, a word that signified in Araucanian,
"The Thunderer." This surname had, no doubt, come
from his skill in handling fire-arms.
But what rejoiced Glenarvan most was to learn that he
was a guide by occupation, and, moreover, a guide across
the Pampas. To his mind, the meeting with him was so
providential, that he could not doubt now of the success of
their enterprise. The deliverance of Captain Grant seemed
an accomplished fact.
When the party went back to Robert, the boy held out
his arms to the Patagonian, who silently laid his hand on
his head, and proceeded to examine him with the greatest
care, gently feeling each of his aching limbs. Then he
went down to the
rio, and gathered a few handfuls of wild
celery, which grew on the banks, with which he rubbed the
child's body all over. He handled him with the most exquisite delicacy, and his
treatment so revived the lad's
strength, that it was soon evident that a few hours' rest
would set him all right.
It was accordingly decided that they should encamp for
the rest of the day and the ensuing night. Two grave
questions, moreover, had to be settled: where to get food,
and means of transport. Provisions and mules were both
lacking. Happily, they had Thalcave, however, a practised guide, and one of the
most intelligent of his class.
He undertook to find all that was needed, and offered to
take him to a tolderia of Indians, not further than four
miles off at most, where he could get supplies of all he
wanted. This proposition was partly made by gestures,
and partly by a few Spanish words which Paganel managed
to make out. His offer was accepted, and Glenarvan and
his learned friend started off with him at once.
They walked at a good pace for an hour and a half, and
had to make great strides to keep up with the giant Thalcave. The road lay
through a beautiful fertile region,
abounding in rich pasturages; where a hundred thousand
cattle might have fed comfortably. Large ponds, connected by an inextricable
labyrinth of rios, amply watered
these plains and produced their greenness. Swans with
black heads were disporting in the water, disputing possession with the numerous
intruders which gamboled over
the llanos. The feathered tribes were of most brilliant
plumage, and of marvelous variety and deafening noise.
The isacus, a graceful sort of dove with gray feathers
streaked with white, and the yellow cardinals, were flitting
about in the trees like moving flowers; while overhead pigeons, sparrows,
chingolos, bulgueros, and mongitas, were
flying swiftly along, rending the air with their piercing
cries.
Paganel's admiration increased with every step, and he
had nearly exhausted his vocabulary of adjectives by his
loud exclamations, to the astonishment of the Patagonian,
to whom the birds, and the swans, and the prairies were
every day things. The learned geographer was so lost
in delight, that he seemed hardly to have started before
they came in sight of the Indian camp, or
tolderia, situated
in the heart of a valley.
About thirty nomadic Indians were living there in rude
cabins made of branches, pasturing immense herds of milch
cows, sheep, oxen, and horses. They went from one prairie
to another, always finding a well-spread table for their
four-footed guests.
These nomads were a hybrid type of Araucans, Pehuenches, and Aucas. They
were Ando-Peruvians, of an
olive tint, of medium stature and massive form, with a
low forehead, almost circular face, thin lips, high cheekbones, effeminate
features, and cold expression. As a
whole, they are about the least interesting of the Indians.
However, it was their herds Glenarvan wanted, not themselves. As long as he
could get beef and horses, he cared
for nothing else.
Thalcave did the bargaining. It did not take long. In
exchange for seven ready saddled horses of the Argentine
breed, 100 pounds of charqui, or dried meat, several measures of rice,
and leather bottles for water, the Indians agreed
to take twenty ounces of gold as they could not get
wine or rum, which they would have preferred, though they
were perfectly acquainted with the value of gold.
Glenarvan wished to purchase an eighth horse for the
Patagonian, but he gave him to understand that it would be
useless.
They got back to the camp in less than half an hour, and
were hailed with acclamations by the whole party or rather
the provisions and horses were. They were all hungry,
and ate heartily of the welcome viands. Robert took a
little food with the rest. He was fast recovering strength.
The close of the day was spent in complete repose and pleasant talk about the
dear absent ones.
Paganel never quitted the Indian's side. It was not that
he was so glad to see a real Patagonian, by whom he looked
a perfect pigmy — a Patagonian who might have almost
rivaled the Emperor Maximii, and that Congo negro
seen by the learned Van der Brock, both eight feet high;
but he caught up Spanish phrases from the Indian and
studied the language without a book this time, gesticulating at a great rate all
the grand sonorous words that fell
on his ear.
"If I don't catch the accent," he said to the Major, "it
won't be my fault; but who would have said to me that
it was a Patagonian who would teach me Spanish one
day?"