Дети капитана Гранта / The Children of Captain Grant
Шрифт:
About one o’clock, Glenarvan and his companions met again in the valley. Glenarvan was completely crushed with grief. He scarcely spoke.
“Let us wait,” said Paganel to the Major and Tom Austin. “We will take a little rest, and recruit our strength. We need it anyway. Poor Robert!”
So the day passed, and night came on, calm and peaceful as the preceding had been.
Day dawned. The poor Lord’s despair was terrible. But there were strong reasons to continue the route as soon as possible.
McNabbs shook Lord Glenarvan’s head, and said, almost inaudibly: “We must start.”
“Wait longer.”
“Yes, we’ll wait,” replied the Major.
So the day passed on till it was almost noon. McNabbs hesitated now no longer, but told his cousin that they must start, for all their lives depended on prompt action.
“Yes, yes!” replied Glenarvan. “Let us start, let us start!”
But he spoke without looking at McNabbs. His gaze was fixed intently on a certain dark speck in the heavens. Suddenly he exclaimed, extending his arm:
“There! There! Look! Look!”
All eyes turned immediately in the direction indicated so imperiously. The dark speck was increasing visibly. It was evidently some bird hovering above them.
“A condor,” said Paganel.
“Yes, a condor,” replied Glenarvan. “Who knows? It is coming down—it is gradually getting lower! Let us wait.”
Paganel was not mistaken, it was a condor. This magnificent bird is the king of the Southern Andes, and was formerly worshiped by the Incas [62] . It seizes sheep, and kids, and young calves, browsing on the plains, and carries them off to inaccessible heights.
62
the Incas –
The Major and Wilson had seized their carbines, but Glenarvan stopped them by a gesture. The condor was encircling in his flight an inaccessible plateau. It wheeled round and round, opening and shutting his formidable claws.
“It is there, there!” exclaimed Glenarvan.
A sudden thought flashed across his mind, and with a terrible cry, he called out, “Fire! Fire! Oh, suppose Robert were still alive! That bird.”
Only a second passed, a second that seemed an age, and the enormous bird reappeared, carrying a heavy load and flying at a slow rate. It was a human body the condor had in his, and apparently lifeless—it was Robert Grant. The bird had seized him by his clothes, and had him hanging already at least one hundred and fifty feet in the air.
“Let me do it,” said the Major. And with a calm eye, and sure hands and motionless body, he aimed at the bird, now three hundred feet above him in the air.
But before he had pulled the trigger the report of a gun resounded from the bottom of the valley. A white smoke rose from between two masses of basalt, and the condor, shot in the head, began to fall, supported by his great wings spread out like a parachute. It had not thrown his prey, but gently sank down with it on the ground, about ten paces from the stream.
“We’ve got him, we’ve got him,” shouted Glenarvan; and he rushed toward the condor, followed by his companions.
When they reached the spot the bird was dead, and the body of Robert was quite concealed beneath his mighty wings. Glenarvan flung himself on the corpse, and dragging it from the condor’s grasp, placed it on the grass, and knelt down and put his ear to the heart.
Glenarvan uttered the next moment, as he started to his feet and exclaimed:
“He is alive! He is still alive!”
The boy’s face was bathed with cold water. He moved slightly, opened his eyes, looked round and murmured, “Oh, my Lord! Is it you!” he said; “My father!”
Glenarvan could not reply. He was speechless with emotion, and burst into tears.
Chapter XV. Thalcave
But who was the hunter? He was not far off, for about fifty paces from them, a man of very tall stature was seen standing motionless on the lowest crags at the foot of the mountain. A long gun was lying at his feet.
He had broad shoulders, and long hair. He was over six feet in height. His bronzed face was red between the eyes and mouth, and white on the forehead. He wore the costume of the Patagonians, consisting of a splendid cloak, ornamented with scarlet arabesques, made of the skins of the wild animals. Under this mantle was a garment of fox-skin, fastened round the waist. A little bag hung from his belt. This Patagonian had a splendid face, indicating real intelligence. His attitude was full of dignity; indeed.
As soon as the Major perceived him, he pointed him out to Glenarvan, who ran toward him immediately. The Patagonian came two steps forward to meet him, and Glenarvan caught hold of his hand and pressed it in his own. It was impossible to mistake the meaning of the action, for the noble face of the Scotch lord so beamed with gratitude that no words were needed. The stranger bowed slightly in return, and said a few words that neither Glenarvan nor the Major could understand.
Certain words, however, caught Glenarvan’s ear as sounding like Spanish, a few sentences of which he could speak.
“Espa~nol? [63] ” he asked.
The Patagonian nodded in reply.
“That’s good!” said the Major. “Our friend Paganel will help us.”
Paganel came at once, and saluted the stranger with all the grace of a Frenchman. But the Patagonian did not understand a single syllable.
However, Paganel began in Spanish, and said: “Vos sois um homen de bem [64] .”
The native listened, but made no reply.
63
Espa~nol? – Spanish?
64
Vos sois um homen de bem. – You are a brave man.