A few moments after, the commander appeared in person. He was a man of fifty, robust, with a military air, thick whiskers, prominent cheekbones, gray hair, and commanding look, so far as one could judge through the clouds of smoke that issued from his short pipe.
Thalcave, addressing him, introduced Lord Glenarvan and his companions. While he spoke, the commander kept scrutinizing Paganel with quite embarrassing persistence. The geographer did not know what the trooper meant, and was about to ask him, when the latter unceremoniously seized his hand, and said, in a joyous tone, in his own language—
“A Frenchman?”
“Yes, a Frenchman,” replied Paganel.
“Ah, I am delighted! Welcome, welcome! I am almost a Frenchman,” cried the commander, shaking the geographer’s arm with rather painful violence.
“One of your friends?” asked the major of Paganel.
“Yes,” replied he, with national pride; “we have friends in all parts of the world!”
He then entered into conversation with the commander. Glenarvan would gladly have put in a word in regard to his affairs, but the soldier was telling his story, and was not in the mood to be interrupted. This honest man had left France a long time before; and the native language was no longer perfectly familiar to him: he had forgotten, if not words, at least the manner of combining them. As his visitors soon learned, he had been a sergeant in the French army. Since the foundation of the fort he had not left it, and commanded it by appointment from the Argentine government. He was by parentage a Basque, and his name was Manuel Ipharaguerre. A year after his arrival in the country, Sergeant Manuel was naturalized, joined the Argentine army, and married an honest Indian woman, who had twins—boys, to be sure, for the sergeant’s worthy consort would never present him with daughters. Manuel did not think of any other calling than that of the soldier, and hoped, in time, with the help of God, to offer to the republic a whole battalion of young soldiers.
“You have seen them?” said he. “Charming fellows! Good soldiers! José! Juan! Miguel! Pepe! Pepe is only seven years old, and is already biting his cartridge!”
Pepe, hearing himself complimented, joined his two little feet, and presented arms with perfect precision.
“He will do!” added the sergeant. “He will be a major—or brigadier-general one day!”
This story lasted a quarter of an hour, to Thalcave’s great astonishment. The Indian could not understand how so many words could come from a single throat. No one interrupted the commander; and even a French sergeant had to conclude at last, though not without forcing his guests to accompany him to his dwelling. Here they were introduced to Madame Ipharaguerre, who appeared to be “a good-looking person,” if this expression may be employed in regard to an Indian.
When he had exhausted himself, the sergeant asked his guests to what he owed the honor of their visit. And now it was their turn to explain.
Paganel, opening the conversation in French, told him of their journey across the Pampas, and ended by asking why the Indians had abandoned the country.
“War!” replied the sergeant.
“War?”
“Yes, civil war.”
“Civil war?” rejoined Paganel.
“Yes, war between Paraguay and Buenos Aires,” answered the sergeant.
“Well?”
“Why, all the Indians of the north are in the rear of General Flores, and those of the plains are plundering.”
“But the caciques?”
“The caciques with them.”
This answer was reported to Thalcave, who shook his head. Indeed, he either did not know, or had forgotten, that a civil war, which was afterwards to involve Brazil, was decimating two-thirds of the republic. The Indians had everything to gain in these internal struggles, and could not neglect such fine opportunities for plunder. The sergeant, therefore, was not mistaken in attributing this desertion of the Pampas to the civil war that was being waged in the northern part of the Argentine Provinces.
But this event disconcerted Glenarvan’s hopes. If Captain Grant was a prisoner of the caciques, he must have been carried by them to the northern frontiers. Yet how and where to find him? Must they attempt a perilous and almost useless search to the northern limits of the Pampas? It was a serious matter, which was to be earnestly considered.
However, one important question was still to be asked of the sergeant, and the major thought of this, while his companions were looking at each other in silence.
“Have you heard of any Europeans being retained as prisoners by the caciques of the Pampas?”
Manuel reflected for a few moments, like a man who recalls events to recollection.
“Yes,” said he, at length.
“Ah!” cried Glenarvan, conceiving a new hope.
Paganel, MacNabb, Robert, and he now surrounded the sergeant.
“Speak, speak!” cried they, gazing at him with eagerness even in their looks.
“Several years ago,” replied Manuel, “yes—that is it—European prisoners—but have never seen them.”
“Several years ago?” said Glenarvan. “You are mistaken. The date of the shipwreck is definite. The Britannia was lost in June, 1862, less than two years ago.”
“Oh, more than that, my lord!”
“Impossible!” cried Paganel.
“Not at all. It was when Pepe was born. There were two men.”
“No, three!” said Glenarvan.
“Two,” replied the sergeant, in a positive tone.
“Two?” exclaimed Glenarvan, very much chagrined. “Two Englishmen?”
“No,” continued the sergeant. “Who speaks of Englishmen? It was a Frenchman and an Italian.”
“An Italian who was massacred by the Indians?” cried Paganel.
“Yes, and I learned afterwards—Frenchman saved.”
“Saved!” exclaimed Robert, whose very life seemed to hang on the sergeant’s lips.
“Yes, saved from the hands of the Indians,” replied Manuel.
Each looked to the geographer, who beat his brow in despair.
“Ah! I understand,” said he, at last. “All is clear, all is explained.”
“But what is to be done?” asked Glenarvan, with as much anxiety as impatience.
“My friends,” answered Paganel, taking Robert’s hands, “we must submit to a severe misfortune. We have followed a false trail! The captive in question is not the captain, but one of my countrymen (whose companion, Marco Vazello, was actually assassinated by the Indians), a Frenchman who
