Adrift in the Pacific-Two Years Holiday

by Jules Verne

  CHAPTER XV—BRAVO, BAXTER!

  Two hundred yards from the creek there was a hill about fifty feet high, which formed an observatory, from which Gordon and his comrades might have an extended view of the country. And as soon as the sun rose they climbed this hill.

  The glasses were immediately pointed to the north. If the sandy desert stretched away, as the map showed, it was impossible to ascertain its boundary line, for the horizon of sea would be about twelve miles to the northward, and more than seven to the eastward. There seemed to be no good in going further north.

  ‘Then,’ asked Cross, ‘what are we to do?’

  ‘Go back,’ said Gordon.

  ‘Not before breakfast,’ said Service.

  ‘Get the cloth laid,’ said Webb.

  ‘If we are going back,’ said Donagan, ‘could we not go another way?’

  ‘We will try to do so,’ said Gordon.

  ‘It seems to me,’ said Donagan, ‘that we should complete our exploration if we went along the other bank of the lake.’

  ‘That would be rather long,’ said Gordon. ‘According to the map that must be from thirty to forty miles, and it would take four or five days supposing we met with nothing to stop us! At French Den they would be in a state of great anxiety for us.’

  ‘But,’ said Donagan, ‘sooner or later it will be necessary to explore that part.’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Gordon; ‘and I intend to have an expedition over there.’

  ‘But’ said Cross, ‘Donagan is right in not wanting to go back the same way.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Gordon, ‘and I propose to follow the lake shore to Stop River, and then to strike off for the cliff, and skirt it on our way to the caves.’

  ‘And why go down the river?’ asked Wilcox.

  ‘Why, indeed?’ said Donagan. ‘Why not make a short cut across the sand to the first trees in Trap Woods, which are not more than three or four miles to the southwest?’

  ‘Because we must cross Stop River,’ answered Gordon. ‘We know we can get across where we crossed yesterday; but farther down we might find a torrent that would give trouble. If we enter the forest on the left bank of the river, we must be all right.’

  ‘Always cautious, Gordon!’ exclaimed Donagan, with just a touch of irony.

  ‘You never can be too cautious!’ said Gordon.

  And then they all slipped down the hill, regained their camp, ate a little biscuit and cold venison, rolled up their blankets, and started back on the road they had come along the night before.

  The sky was magnificent. A light breeze barely ruffled the surface of the lake. There was every sign of a fine day. If the weather would only keep fine for thirty-six hours Gordon would be satisfied, for he counted on reaching French Den the next evening.

  By eleven o’clock the boys were back at Stop River. Nothing had occurred on the way except that Donagan had shot two splendid tufted bustards, with a plumage of black mixed with red above and white below, which put him in as good a humour as Service, who was always ready to pluck, draw, and roast any bird whatsoever.

  This was the fate of the bustards an hour later, when the boys had crossed the river in the Halkett boat.

  ‘Now we are under the trees,’ said Gordon, ‘and I hope Baxter will have a chance of using the lasso or the bolas.’

  ‘He hasn’t done much with them as yet,’ said Donagan who did not think much of any weapon of the chase except firearms.

  ‘And what could we do with the birds?’ asked Baxter.

  ‘Birds or quadrupeds, Baxter, I don’t think much of your chance.’

  ‘Nor I,’ added Cross, always ready to support his cousin.

  ‘You might as well wait until he has tried them before you condemn them.’ said Gordon. ‘I am sure he will do something good. When our ammunition gives out, the lasso and the bolas will not fail us.’

  ‘But the birds will,’ said Donagan.

  ‘We will see,’ said Gordon,’ and now let us lunch.’

  But the preparations took some time, as Service wanted his bustard cooked to a turn. The one bird was enough for the meal; it was a good-sized one, and these bustards weigh about thirty pounds, and measure nearly three feet from beak to tail, being among the largest specimens of the gallinaceous tribe. This one was eaten to the last mouthful, and even to the last bone, for Fan, to whom the carcase fell, left as little as her masters.

  Lunch being over, the boys started off into the unknown part of Trap Woods traversed by Stop River on its way to the ocean. The map showed that it curved towards the north-west to get round the cliff, and that its mouth was beyond False Point; and, therefore, Gordon resolved to leave the river, which would take him in the opposite direction to French Den, his object being to take the shortest road to Auckland Hill, and then strike northwards along its base.

  Compass in hand Gordon led the way to the west. The trees, wider apart than in the more southerly district offered no obstacle, and the ground was fairly clear of bushes and underwood.

  Among the birches and beeches little clearings opened now and then into which the sun-rays penetrated. Wild flowers mingled their fresh colours with the green of the foliage and the carpet of grass. In places, superb senecios bore their blooms on stems two or three feet high, and Service, Wilcox, and Webb gathered some of the flowers and stuck them in their coats.

  Then it was that a discovery of great use was made by Gordon, whose botanical knowledge was often to be of use to the little colony. His attention was attracted by a very bushy shrub, with poorly developed leaves, and spiny branches, bearing a reddish fruit about the size of a pea.

  ‘That is the trulca, if I am not mistaken,’ said he. ‘It is a fruit much used by the Indians.’

  ‘If it is eatable,’ said Service, ‘let us eat it, for it costs nothing.’

  And before Gordon could stop him Service began to crack some of the fruit between his teeth. He made a horrible grimace, and his comrades roared with laughter, while he spit out the abundant salivation caused by the acidity on the papillae of his tongue.

  ‘You told me it was eatable! he exclaimed.

  ‘I did not say it was eatable,’ replied Gordon. ‘The Indians use the fruit for making a drink they obtain by fermentation. The liquor will be of great value to us when our brandy has all gone, that is, if we mind what we are doing with it, for it soon gets into the head. Fill a bag with the trulcas, and we’ll experiment with them at French Den.’

  The fruit was not easy to gather from among the thousands of thorns, but by beating the branches Baxter and Webb knocked enough on to the ground to make a bagful, and then the journey was resumed.

  Farther on, the pods on another shrub were also gathered. They were the pods of the algarrobe, another South American native, which also by fermentation yield a strong liquor. This time Service abstained from trying them, and he did well, for although the algarrobe seems sweet at first, yet the mouth is soon affected with extreme dryness.

  In the afternoon, a quarter of a mile before they reached the slope of Auckland Hill, the boys made another discovery of quite as much importance. The aspect of the forest had changed. In more sheltered position the vegetation was more richly developed. Sixty or eighty feet from the ground the trees spread their huge branches, amid which innumerable song-birds chattered. One of the finest of the trees was the antarctic beech, which keeps its tender green foliage all the year round. Not quite so high, but still magnificent, rose clumps of ‘winters,’ with bark the flavour of cinnamon.

  Near these Gordon recognized the ‘pernettia,’ the tea-tree of the whortleberry family, met with in high latitudes, and from an infusion of its aromatic leaves yielding a very healthy drink.

  ‘That will take the place of our tea,’ said Gordon. ‘Take a few handfuls of the leaves, and later on we will come back and gather enough for the winter.’

  It was four o’clock before Auckland Hill was reached near its northern end. Although it did not seem to be as high here as at Frenc
h Den, yet it was impossible to ascend it owing to its almost perpendicular slope. This was, however, of no consequence, as it was intended to follow its base all the way to Zealand River.

  Two miles farther on the boys heard the murmur of a torrent which foamed through a narrow gorge in the cliff, and which was easily forded.

  ‘This ought to be the stream,’ said Donagan, ‘that we discovered on our first expedition.’

  ‘That in which was the causeway?’ asked Gordon.

  ‘Yes,’ said Donagan, ‘and which we called Dike Creek.’

  ‘Well, let us camp on its right bank,’ said Gordon. ‘It is just five o’clock, and if we are to pass another night in the open air, we might as well do it here under the shelter of these big trees. To-morrow, I hope we shall sleep on our beds in the hall.’

  Service busied himself preparing the second bustard for dinner. It was to be roasted like the other one; but it is not fair to find fault with Service on account of the sameness of his bill of fare.

  While dinner was being got ready, Gordon and Baxter strolled off into the wood, one in search of new plants, the other with the intention of using his lasso or bolas—if it was only to put an end to the jokes of Donagan.

  They had gone about a hundred yards into the thicket, when Gordon, calling Baxter by a gesture, pointed to a group of animals playing about on the grass. ‘Goats?’ asked Baxter, in a whisper.

  ‘Yes, or rather animals that look like goats’ said Gordon. ‘Try and get one—’

  ‘Alive?’

  ‘Yes, alive; it is lucky Donagan isn’t with us. He would have shot one before now, and put the others to flight! Let us get nearer quietly, and don’t let them see us.’

  There were six of these goats, and they had not yet taken alarm. One of them, a mother probably, suspecting some danger, was sniffing the air and looking about ready to clear off with the herd.

  Suddenly a whistling was heard, the bolas came spinning from the hand of Baxter, who was not twenty yards away from the group. Well aimed and thrown it, wound round one of the goats, while the others disappeared in the thicket Gordon and Baxter ran towards the goat which was vainly trying to escape from the bolas. She was seized so that it was impossible for her to get away, and two kids, that instinct had kept near the mother, were also taken prisoners.

  ‘Hurrah!’ exclaimed Baxter, whom joy rendered demonstrative. ‘Hurrah! Are they goats?

  ‘No,’ answered Gordon, ‘I think they are vicugnas.’

  ‘And will they give milk?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Then hurrah for the vicugnas.’

  Gordon was right. Although the vicugnas resemble goats, their paws are longer, their fleece is short and fine as silk, their head is small and has no horns. They chiefly inhabit the pampas of America, and even the country round the Straits of Magellan.

  We can easily imagine how Gordon and Baxter were welcomed when they returned to the camp, one leading the vicugna by the cord of the bolas, the other carrying a kid under each arm. As their mother was still nourishing them, it was probable that the youngsters could be brought up without difficulty. They might be the nucleus of a herd that would become very useful to the colony. Donagan doubtless regretted the splendid shot he had missed; but when the game had to be taken alive, he had to admit that the bolas was better than the gun.

  The boys dined or rather supped in high spirits. The vicugna, tied to a tree, did not refuse to feed, while the kids gambolled round her.

  The night, however, was not so quiet as the one spent in Sandy Desert. This part of the forest was visited by animals more formidable than jackals, and their cries were recognizable as being a combination of howling and barking at the same time. About three o’clock in the morning, there was an alarm due to the growling close by.

  Donagan, on guard near the fire with his gun in hand, did not think it worth while to wake his comrades, but the growling became so violent as of itself to wake them.

  ‘What is the matter?’ asked Wilcox.

  ‘There are some wild beasts prowling round,’ said Donagan.

  ‘Probably jaguars or cougars!’ said Gordon.

  ‘One is as bad as the other.’

  ‘Not quite, Donagan, the cougar is not so dangerous as the jaguar; but in a pack they are dangerous enough.’

  ‘We are ready for them,’ said Donagan. And he put himself on the defensive, while his comrades got out their revolvers.

  ‘Don’t shoot until you can’t miss,’ said Gordon. ‘I think the fire will keep them off.’

  ‘They are close by,’ said Cross.

  And the pack was near enough to judge by the fury of Fan, whom Gordon had some difficulty in holding back. But it was impossible to distinguish any form in the deep darkness of the forest.

  Evidently the creatures were accustomed to come and drink at night in this place. Finding their haunt occupied they showed their displeasure by their frightful growls.

  Suddenly, moving spots of light appeared some twenty yards away. Instantly there was the report of a gun.

  Donagan had fired, and a storm of growls replied. His comrades, revolver in hand, were ready to shoot if the wild beasts rushed at the camp.

  Baxter, seizing a burning brand, hurled it straight at the glittering eyes; and instantly the growling stopped, and the animals, one of whom should have been hit by Donagan, were lost in the depths of Trap Woods.

  ‘They have moved off,’ said Cross.

  ‘Good luck to them,’ said Service.

  ‘Will they come back?’ asked Cross.

  ‘That is not likely,’ said Gordon; ‘but we will watch till daylight.’

  Some wood was thrown on the fire which was kept blazing till the day broke. The camp was struck, and the boys ran off into the thicket to see if one of the animals had not been killed.

  They found the ground stained with a large patch of blood. The brute had been able to get away, and it would have been easy to recover it if Fan had been sent in search, but Gordon did not think it worth while to go further into the forest. The question arose as to whether they were jaguars or cougars or something as dangerous, but, after all, the important point was that the boys were all safe and sound.

  At six o’clock they were off again. There was no time to lose if they were to cover during the day the nine miles between them and French Den.

  Service and Webb took care of the young vicugnas, while the mother was quite satisfied to follow Baxter who led her with the string.

  There was not much variety in the road. On the left was a curtain of trees, sometimes in impenetrable masses, sometimes in scattered clumps. To the right ran the rocky wall, striped here and there with pebble bands in the limestone, and rising higher and higher as the travellers went southwards.

  At eleven o’clock the first halt was made for lunch; and this time, so as to lose no time, the provisions in the bags were attacked. After the fresh start was made progress was more rapid, and nothing occurred to stop it, until about three o’clock in the afternoon the report of a gun echoed among the trees.

  Donagan, Cross, and Webb, accompanied by Fan, were a hundred yards in advance, and their comrades could not see them, when they heard the shout of ‘Look out!’

  Suddenly an animal of large size came rushing through the thicket Baxter whirling his lasso over his head took a flying shot The noose fell over the neck of the animal, but so powerful was it that Baxter would have been dragged away if Gordon, Wilcox and Service had not hung on to the end of the line, and whipped it round the trunk of a tree.

  No sooner had they done so than Webb and Cross appeared from under the trees, followed by Donagan, who exclaimed in a tone of ill-temper, ‘Confound the beast! How could I have missed it?’

  ‘Baxter didn’t miss it,’ said Service, ‘and here we have it, all alive oh!’

  ‘What does it matter?’ asked Donagan. ‘You’ll have to kill it’

  ‘Kill it!’ said Gordon. ‘Not at all! It is our beast of burden!’
/>   ‘What, this thing?’ exclaimed Service.

  ‘It is a guanaco,’ said Gordon, ‘ and guanacos figure largely in the studs of South America.’

  Useful or not useful, Donagan was very sorry he had not shot it. But he said nothing, and went up to examine this beautiful specimen of the Charmanian fauna.

  Although the guanaco is zoologically classed with the camels, it in no way resembles those animals at first glance. Its slender neck, elegant head, long, rather lanky limbs— denoting great activity—and yellow coat spotted with white, made it in no way inferior to the best horses of American descent. It could certainly be used for riding if they could tame it and break it in as was easily done in the Argentine haciendas. It was very timid and made no attempt at escape. As soon as Baxter had loosened the slip-knot, it was easy to lead it with the lasso which served the purpose of a halter.

  The expedition to the north of Family Lake had been a profitable one for the colony. The guanaco, the vicugna and her two kids, the discovery of the tea-tree, of the trulcas and the algarrobe, ensured a hearty welcome to Gordon, and even more to Baxter, who had none of Donagan’s vanity and was not at all conceited over his success.

  Gordon was delighted to find that the bolas and lasso could be really useful. Donagan was a capital shot, but his skill required an expenditure of powder and lead which the colony could ill spare, and Gordon determined to encourage his comrades in practising with these weapons of the chase of which the Indians make such profitable use.

  The map showed that four miles still separated the boys from French Den, and the word was given to hurry on. It was not envy which forbade Service from bestriding the guanaco and riding home in state, but Gordon thought it was better to wait until the creature was broken in.

  ‘I don’t think he’ll kick much,’ said he, ‘but if he won’t let you ride him, he might consent to draw the cart Patience, Service, and don’t forget the lesson you were taught by the ostrich.’

  About six o’clock they arrived in sight of French Den.

  Young Costar, amusing himself on the terrace, announced the approach of the expedition; and Briant and the others ran out to welcome Gordon with enthusiastic cheers.