In Search of the Castaways

On the 26th of July, 1864, under a strong gale from the northeast, a magnificent yacht was steaming at full speed through the waves of the North Channel. The flag of England fluttered at her yardarm, while at the top of the mainmast floated a blue pennon, bearing the initials E. G., worked in gold and surmounted by a ducal coronet. The yacht was called the Duncan, and belonged to Lord Glenarvan, one of the sixteen Scottish peers sitting in the House of Lords, and also a most distinguished member of the “Royal Thames Yacht Club,” so celebrated throughout the United Kingdom.

Lord Edward Glenarvan was on board with his young wife, Lady Helena, and one of his cousins, Major MacNabb. The Duncan, newly constructed, had just been making a trial voyage several miles beyond the Frith of Clyde, and was now on her return to Glasgow. Already Arran Island was appearing on the horizon, when the lookout signaled an enormous fish that was sporting in the wake of the yacht. The captain, John Mangles, at once informed Lord Glenarvan of the fact, who mounted on deck with Major MacNabb, and asked the captain what he thought of the animal.

“Indeed, your lordship,” replied Captain Mangles, “I think it is a shark of large proportions.”

“A shark in these regions!” exclaimed Glenarvan.

“Without doubt,” replied the captain. “This fish belongs to a species of sharks that are found in all seas and latitudes. It is the ‘balance-fish,’ and, if I am not greatly mistaken, we shall have an encounter with one of these fellows.

“Bid them come up, steward,” said Lady Glenarvan.

The steward withdrew. Some moments afterward the young girl and boy were ushered into Lady Helena’s chamber. They were brother and sister; you could not doubt it by their resemblance.

The sister was sixteen. Her pretty face showed weariness, her eyes must have shed many tears; her resigned, but courageous, countenance, and her humble, but neat, attire, all prepossessed one in her favor. She held by the hand a boy of twelve years, of determined look, who seemed to take his sister under his protection. Indeed, whoever had insulted the young girl would have had to settle with this little gentleman.

The sister stopped, a little surprised at seeing herself before Lady Helena; but the latter hastened to open the conversation.

“You wish to speak with me?” said she, with an encouraging look at the young girl.

“No,” answered the boy, in a decided tone; “not with you, but with Lord Glenarvan himself.”

“Excuse him, madam,” said the sister, looking at her brother.

“Lord Glenarvan is not at the castle,” replied Lady Helena; “but I am his wife, and if I can supply his place with you⁠—”

“You are Lady Glenarvan?” said the young girl.

“Yes, miss.”

“The wife of Lord Glenarvan, of Malcolm Castle, who published an advertisement in the Times in regard to the shipwreck of the Britannia?”

“Yes, yes!” answered Lady Helena, with alacrity. “And you?”

“I am Miss Grant, and this is my brother.”

“Miss Grant! Miss Grant!” cried Lady Helena, drawing the young girl towards her, and taking her hands, while she also drew the boy towards her.

All at once a violent crash startled him to his feet. It was a deafening roar, like the irregular noise of innumerable artillery wagons rolling over a hollow pavement. Glenarvan suddenly felt the earth tremble beneath his feet. He saw the hut sway and start open.

“Look out!” he cried.

His companions, awakened and thrown into confusion, were hurried down a rapid descent. The day was breaking, and the scene was terrible. The form of the mountains suddenly changed, their tops were truncated, the tottering peaks disappeared, as if a pitfall had opened at their base. A mass, several miles in extent, became detached entire, and slid towards the plain.

“An earthquake!” cried Paganel.

He was not mistaken. It was one of those phenomena frequent on the mountain frontier of Chile. This portion of the globe is disturbed by subterranean fires, and the volcanoes of this chain afford only insufficient outlets for the confined vapors.

In the meantime the plateau, to which seven stunned and terrified men clung by the tufts of moss, glided with the rapidity of an express. Not a cry was possible, not a movement of escape. They could not hear each other. The internal rumblings, the din of the avalanche, the crash of the blocks of granite, and the whirlwinds of snow, rendered all communication with each other impossible.

At one time the mass would slide without jolts or jars; at another, seized with a pitching and rolling motion like the deck of a vessel shaken by the billows, it would run along the edge of the abysses into which the fragments of the mountain fell, uproot the trees of centuries, and level with the precision of an enormous scythe all the inequalities of the eastern slope.

While he was listening and watching, Thaouka gave a low neigh. His nose was stretched towards the entrance to the ramada. The Patagonian suddenly started.

“Thaouka has scented some enemy,” said he.

He arose and scanned the plain attentively. Silence still reigned, but not tranquillity. Thalcave discerned shadows moving noiselessly among the tufts of grass. Here and there glittered luminous points, which spread on all sides, now fading away, and now gleaming forth again. You would have thought fantastic elves were dancing on the surface of an immense lagoon. A stranger would doubtless have taken these flitting sparks for glowworms, which shine, when night comes, in many parts of the Pampas. But Thalcave was not deceived; he knew with what enemies he had to deal. He loaded his carbine, and took a position near the first stakes of the enclosure.

He did not wait long. A strange cry, a mingling of barks and howls, resounded over the plain. The report of the carbine answered it, and was followed by a hundred frightful yelps. Glenarvan and Robert suddenly awoke.

“What is the matter?” asked Robert.

“Indians?” said Glenarvan.

“No,” replied Thalcave, “aguaras.”

Robert looked at Glenarvan.

“Aguaras?” said he.

“Yes,” replied Glenarvan, “the red wolves of the Pampas.”

Both seized their weapons, and joined the Indian. The latter pointed to the plain, from which arose a series of formidable howls. Robert involuntarily took a step backward.

“You are not afraid of the wolves, my boy?” said Glenarvan.

“No, my lord,” replied Robert, in a firm tone. “With you I fear nothing.”

“So much the better. These aguaras are not very formidable beasts; and were it not for their numbers I should not even think of them.”

The wall of water descried by Thalcave advanced with the speed of a racehorse. The travelers fled before it like a cloud driven by the storm. Their eyes sought in vain a place of refuge. Sky and water mingled together on the horizon. The horses, excited by the danger, dashed along in a mad gallop, so that their riders could scarcely keep their seats. Glenarvan frequently glanced behind him.

“The water is overtaking us,” he thought.

“Quick! quick!” cried Thalcave.

The unfortunate beasts were urged to a swifter pace. From their flanks, lacerated with the spur, flowed bright red streams, which marked their course on the water by long, crimson lines. They stumbled in the hollows of the ground; they were entangled in the hidden grass; they fell and rose again continually. The depth of the water sensibly increased. Long surges announced the onrush of the mass of water that tossed its foaming crests less than two miles distant.

For a quarter of an hour this final struggle against the most terrible of elements was prolonged. The fugitives could keep no account of the distance they had traversed; but, judging by the rapidity of their flight, it must have been considerable.

Meantime the horses, immersed to their breasts, could no longer advance without extreme difficulty. Glenarvan, Paganel, Austin, all believed themselves lost, victims of the horrible death of unfortunates abandoned at sea. Their animals began to lose their footing; six feet of water was sufficient to drown them.