“And now what shall we do?” asked Glenarvan.
“Build our nest, of course,” replied Paganel.
“Build our nest!” cried Robert.
“Certainly, my boy, and live the life of birds, since we cannot live the life of fishes.”
“Very well,” said Glenarvan; “but who will give us our beakful?”
“I,” replied the major.
All eyes were turned towards MacNabb, who was comfortably seated in a natural armchair formed of two pliant branches, and with one hand was holding out the wet though well-filled saddlebags.
“Ah, MacNabb,” cried Glenarvan, “this is just like you! You think of everything, even under circumstances where it is allowable to forget.”
“As soon as it was decided not to be drowned, I concluded not to die of hunger.”
“I should not have thought of this,” said Paganel, innocently; “but I am so absentminded!”
“And what do the saddlebags contain?” inquired Tom Austin.
“Provisions for seven men for two days,” replied MacNabb.
“Well,” said Glenarvan, “I hope that the inundation will be considerably lower twenty-four hours hence.”
“Or that we shall find some means of gaining terra firma,” added Paganel.
“Our first business, then, is to breakfast,” said Glenarvan.
“After drying ourselves,” observed the major.
“And fire?” said Wilson.
“Why, we must make one,” replied Paganel.
“Where?”
“At the top of the trunk, of course.”
“With what?”
“With dead wood that we shall cut in the tree.”
“But how kindle it?” said Glenarvan. “Our tinder is like a wet sponge.”
“We will manage that,” answered Paganel; “a little dry moss, a ray of sunlight, the lens of my telescope, and you will see by what a fire I will dry myself. Who will go for wood in the forest?”
“I!” cried Robert, and, followed by his friend Wilson, he disappeared like a cat in the depths of the foliage.
During their absence Paganel found dry moss in sufficient quantity; he availed himself of a ray of sunlight, which was easy, for the orb of day now shone with a vivid brightness, and then, with the aid of his lens, he kindled without difficulty the combustible materials which were laid on a bed of leaves in the fork of the branches. It was a natural fireplace, with no danger of conflagration.
Wilson and Robert soon returned with an armful of dead wood, which was cast on the fire. Paganel, to cause a draught, placed himself above the fireplace, his long legs crossed in the Arab fashion; then, moving his body rapidly up and down, he produced, by means of his poncho, a strong current of air. The wood kindled, and a bright, roaring flame soon rose from this improvised oven. Each dried himself in his own way, while the ponchos, hung on the branches, swung to and fro in the breeze.
They now breakfasted, sparingly however, for they had to allow for the following day. The immense basin might not perhaps be empty so soon as Glenarvan hoped, and, moreover, the provisions were limited. The tree bore no fruit; but fortunately it afforded a remarkable supply of fresh eggs, thanks to the numerous nests that loaded the branches, not to speak of their feathered occupants. These resources were by no means to be despised. The question now was, therefore, in case of a prolonged stay, how to secure comfortable quarters.
“Since the kitchen and dining-room are on the ground floor,” said Paganel, “we will sleep in the first story. The house is large, the rent reasonable, and we must take our ease. I perceive that above there are natural cradles, in which, when we have once laid ourselves, we shall sleep as well as in the best beds in the world. We have nothing to fear; moreover, we will keep watch, and there are enough of us to repulse all the wild animals.”
“Only we have no arms,” said Tom Austin.
“I have my revolvers,” said Glenarvan.
“And I mine,” replied Robert.
“What use,” continued Tom Austin, “if Mr. Paganel does not find the means of manufacturing powder?”
“It is not necessary,” replied MacNabb, showing a full flask.
“Where did you get that, major?” inquired Paganel.
“Of Thalcave. He thought it might be useful to us, and gave it to me before going back to Thaouka.”
“Brave and generous Indian!” cried Glenarvan.
“Yes,” added Tom Austin, “if all the Patagonians are fashioned after this model, I pay my respects to Patagonia.”
“I desire that the horse be not forgotten,” said Paganel. “He forms part of the Patagonian, and, if I am not greatly mistaken, we shall see them again.”
“How far are we from the Atlantic?” inquired the major.
“Not more than forty miles,” answered Paganel. “And now, my friends, since each is free to act, I ask permission to leave you. I am going to choose an observatory above, and, with the aid of my telescope, will keep you acquainted with what goes on here.”
The geographer was allowed to go. He very adroitly swung himself from branch to branch, and disappeared behind the thick curtain of foliage. His companions at once occupied themselves with making the sleeping-room and preparing their beds, which was neither a difficult nor a lengthy task. As there were no bedclothes to fix nor furniture to arrange, each soon resumed his place by the fire.
They then conversed, but not about their present condition, which they must patiently endure. They returned to the inexhaustible subject of Captain Grant’s recovery. If the waters subsided, in three days the travelers would be again on board the Duncan. But the captain and his two sailors, those unfortunate castaways, would not be with them; and it even seemed after this failure, after this vain search in South America, as if all hope of finding them were irrevocably lost. Whither direct a new search? What, too, would be the grief of Lady Helena and Mary Grant on learning that the future had no hope in store for them!
“Poor sister!” exclaimed Robert; “all is over for us!”
Glenarvan, for the first time, had no consoling answer to make. What hope could he give the child? Had he not followed with rigorous exactitude the directions of the document?
“At all events,” said
