“They see us!” cried Glenarvan. “It is the Duncan’s cannon.”
A few moments after, a heavy report rang out on the air, and the Duncan, shifting her sail and putting on steam, was seen to be approaching the shore. By the aid of the glass they saw a boat leave the ship’s side.
“Lady Helena cannot come,” said Tom Austin: “the sea is too rough.”
“Nor Captain Mangles,” replied MacNabb: “he cannot leave his vessel.”
“My sister! my sister!” cried Robert, stretching his arms towards the yacht, which rolled heavily.
“I hope I shall soon get on board!” exclaimed Glenarvan.
“Patience, Edward! You will be there in two hours,” replied MacNabb.
Glenarvan now joined Thalcave, who, standing with folded arms alongside of Thaouka, was calmly gazing at the waves.
Glenarvan took his hand, and, pointing to the yacht, said—
“Come!”
The Indian shook his head.
“Come, my friend!” continued Glenarvan.
“No,” replied Thalcave, gently. “Here is Thaouka, and there are the Pampas!” he added, indicating with a sweep of his hand the vast expanse of the plains.
It was clear that the Indian would never leave the prairies, where the bones of his fathers whitened. Glenarvan knew the strong attachment of these children of the desert to their native country. He therefore shook Thalcave’s hand, and did not insist; not even when the Indian, smiling in his peculiar way, refused the price of his services, saying—
“It was done out of friendship.”
His lordship, however, desired to give the brave Indian something which might at least serve as a souvenir of his European friends. But what had he left? His arms, his horses, everything had been lost in the inundation. His friends were no richer than himself. For some moments he was at a loss how to repay the disinterested generosity of the brave guide; but at last a happy idea occurred to him. He drew from his pocketbook a costly medallion enclosing an admirable portrait, one of Lawrence’s masterpieces, and presented it to Thalcave.
“My wife,” said Glenarvan.
Thalcave gazed with wonder at the portrait, and pronounced these simple words—
“Good and beautiful!”
Then Robert, Paganel, the major, Tom Austin, and the two sailors bade an affectionate adieu to the noble Patagonian, who clasped each one in succession to his broad breast. All were sincerely sorry at parting with so courageous and devoted a friend. Paganel forced him to accept a map of South America and the two oceans, which the Indian had frequently examined with interest. It was the geographer’s most precious possession. As for Robert, he had nothing to give but caresses, which he freely lavished upon his deliverer and upon Thaouka.
At that instant the Duncan’s boat approached, and, gliding into the narrow channel between the sandbanks, grounded on the beach.
“My wife?” asked Glenarvan.
“My sister?” cried Robert.
“Lady Helena and Miss Grant await you on board,” replied the cockswain. “But we have not a moment to lose, my lord, for the tide is beginning to ebb.”
The last acknowledgments were given, and Thalcave accompanied his friends to the boat. Just as Robert was about to embark, the Indian took him in his arms and gazed at him tenderly.
“Now go,” said he; “you are a man!”
“Adieu, my friend, adieu!” cried Glenarvan.
“Shall we ever see each other again?” asked Paganel.
“Who knows?” replied Thalcave, raising his arms towards heaven.
They pushed off, and the boat was rapidly borne from the shore by the ebbing tide. For a long time the motionless outline of the Indian was seen through the foam of the waves. Then his tall form grew indistinct, and soon became invisible. An hour afterwards they reached the Duncan. Robert was the first to spring upon the deck, where he threw himself upon his sister’s neck, while the crew of the yacht filled the air with their joyous shouts.
Thus had our travelers accomplished the journey across South America on a rigorously straight line. Neither mountains nor rivers had turned them aside from their course; and, although they were not forced to struggle against the evil designs of men, the relentless fury of the elements had often tested their generous intrepidity to its utmost powers of endurance.
XXVII
A New Destination
The first moments were consecrated to the happiness of meeting. Lord Glenarvan did not wish the joy in the hearts of his friends to be chilled by tidings of their want of success. His first words, therefore, were—
“Courage, my friends, courage! Captain Grant is not with us, but we are sure to find him.”
It needed only such an assurance to restore hope to the passengers of the Duncan. Lady Helena and Mary Grant, while the boat was approaching the ship, had experienced all the anguish of suspense. From the deck they endeavored to count those who were returning. At one time the young girl would despair; at another she would think she saw her father. Her heart beat quickly; she could not speak; she could scarcely stand. Lady Helena supported her, while Captain Mangles stood beside her in silence. His keen eyes, accustomed to distinguish distant objects, could not discern the captain.
“He is there! he is coming! my father!” murmured the young girl.
But as the boat gradually drew near, the illusion vanished. Not only Lady Helena and the captain, but Mary Grant, had now lost all hope. It was, therefore, time for Glenarvan to utter his assuring words.
After the first embraces, all were informed of the principal incidents of the journey; and, first of all, Glenarvan made known the new interpretation of the document, due to the sagacity of Jacques Paganel. He also praised Robert, of whom his sister had a right to be proud. His courage, his devotion, and the dangers that he had overcome, were conspicuously set forth by his noble friend, so that the boy would not have known where to hide himself, if his sister’s arms had not afforded him a sure refuge.
“You need not blush, Robert,” said Captain Mangles; “you have behaved like the worthy son of
