So saying, Paganel groped in his numerous pockets. After searching a few moments, he drew forth a volume in a very bad state, and presented it with an air of assurance. The major took the book, and looked at it.
“Well, what work is this?” he asked.
“The Lusiad,” replied Paganel; “an admirable poem which—”
“The Lusiad!” cried Glenarvan.
“Yes, my friend, the Lusiad of the immortal Camoëns, nothing more or less.”
“Camoëns!” repeated Glenarvan; “but, unfortunate friend, Camoëns was a Portuguese! It is Portuguese that you have been studying for six weeks.”
“Camoëns! Lusiad! Portuguese!”
Paganel could say no more. His eyes wandered, while a peal of Homeric laughter rang in his ears.
The Patagonian did not wink; he waited patiently for the explanation of this event, which was totally incomprehensible to him.
“Insensate! fool!” cried Paganel, at last. “What! is it so? Is it not a mere joke? Have I done this? It is the confusion of languages, as at Babel. My friends! my friends! to start for India and arrive at Chile! to learn Spanish and speak Portuguese! this is too much, and, if it continues, I shall some day throw myself out of the window instead of my cigar.”
To hear Paganel take his blunder thus, to see his comical actions, it was impossible to keep serious. Besides, he set the example himself.
“Laugh, my friends,” said he, “laugh with a will! you cannot laugh as much as I do at myself.”
And he uttered the most formidable peal of laughter that ever issued from the mouth of a geographer.
“But we are none the less without an interpreter,” said the major.
“Oh, do not be troubled,” replied Paganel. “The Portuguese and Spanish resemble each other so much that I made a mistake. However, this very resemblance will soon enable me to rectify my error, and in a short time I will thank this worthy Patagonian in the language he speaks so well.”
Paganel was right, for he could soon exchange a few words with the native. He even learned that his name was Thalcave, a word which signifies in Araucanian “the thunderer.” This surname was doubtless given to him for his skill in the use of firearms.
But Glenarvan was particularly rejoiced to discover that the Patagonian was a guide, and, moreover, a guide of the Pampas. There was, therefore, something so providential in this meeting that the success of the enterprise seemed already an accomplished fact, and no one any longer doubted the rescue of Captain Grant.
In the meantime the travelers and the Patagonian had returned to Robert. The latter stretched his arms towards the native, who, without a word, placed his hand upon his head. He examined the child and felt his wounded limbs. Then, smiling, he went and gathered on the banks of the stream a few handfuls of wild celery, with which he rubbed the boy’s body. Under this treatment, performed with an extreme gentleness, the child felt his strength revive, and it was plain that a few hours would suffice to restore him.
It was therefore decided that that day and the following night should be passed at the encampment. Besides, two important questions remained to be settled—food, and means of conveyance. Provisions and mules were both wanting.
Fortunately Thalcave solved the difficulty. This guide, who was accustomed to conduct travelers along the Patagonian frontiers, and was one of the most intelligent baqueanos of the country, engaged to furnish Glenarvan all that his little party needed. He offered to take him to a tolderia (encampment) of Indians, about four miles distant, where they would find everything necessary for the expedition. This proposal was made partly by gestures, partly by Spanish words which Paganel succeeded in understanding. It was accepted, and Glenarvan and his learned friend, taking leave of their companions, reascended the stream under the guidance of the Patagonian.
They proceeded at a good pace for an hour and a half, taking long strides to keep up to the giant Thalcave. All the region was charming, and of a rich fertility. The grassy pastures succeeded each other, and could easily have fed thousands of cattle. Large ponds, united by a winding chain of streams, gave these plains a verdant moisture. Black-headed swans sported on the mirror-like surface, and disputed the empire of the waters with numberless ostriches that gamboled over the plains, while the brilliant feathered tribes were in wonderful variety.
Jacques Paganel proceeded from admiration to ecstasy. Exclamations of delight continually escaped his lips, to the astonishment of the Patagonian, who thought it very natural that there should be birds in the air, swans on the lakes, and grass on the prairies. The geographer had no reason to regret his walk, or complain of its length. He scarcely believed himself started, or that the encampment would soon come in sight.
This tolderia was at the bottom of a narrow valley among the mountains. Here in huts of branches lived thirty wandering natives, grazing large herds of milch cows, sheep, cattle and horses. Thus they roamed from one pasture to another, always finding a repast ready for their four-footed companions.
Thalcave took upon himself the negotiation, which was not long. In return for seven small Argentine horses, all saddled, a hundred pounds of dried meat, a few measures of rice, and some leathern bottles for water, the Indians received twenty ounces of gold, the value of which they perfectly understood. Glenarvan would have bought another horse for the Patagonian, but he intimated that it was unnecessary.
The bargain concluded, Glenarvan took leave of his new “providers,” as Paganel expressed it, and returned to the encampment. His arrival was welcomed by cries of joy at sight of the provisions and horses. Everyone ate with avidity. Robert partook of some nourishment; he had almost entirely regained his strength, and the remainder of the day was passed in perfect rest. Various subjects were alluded to: the absent dear ones,
