Дети капитана Гранта / The Children of Captain Grant. Жюль Верн

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

      “Español?[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.

      “He doesn’t understand,” said the geographer.

      “Perhaps you haven’t the right accent,” suggested the Major.

      Once more Paganel repeated his compliment, but with no better success.

      “I’ll change the phrase,” he said; and in slow, deliberate tones he went on: “Sem duvida um Patagão[65].”

      No response still.

      “Dizeime![66]” said Paganel.

      But no answer came.

      “Vos compriendeis?[67]” shouted Paganel, at the very top of his voice.

      Evidently the Indian did not understand, for he replied in Spanish: “No comprendo[68].”

      Addressing the Patagonian, Glenarvan repeated the word: “Español?”

      “Sí, sí[69],” replied the Indian.

      Paganel’s surprise became absolute stupefaction.

      “It’s clear enough the man speaks Spanish.”

      “Yes, he certainly speaks Spanish. Perhaps it is some other language you have been studying all this time instead of—”

      But Paganel would not allow him to proceed. He shrugged his shoulders, and said stiffly: “You go a little too far, Major.”

      “Well, how is it that you don’t understand him then?”

      “Why, of course, because the man speaks badly,” replied the learned geographer, getting impatient.

      “He speaks badly; that is to say, because you can’t understand him,” returned the Major coolly.

      “Come, come, McNabbs,” put in Glenarvan, “your supposition is quite inadmissable. My good Paganel—explain it then.”

      “I explain nothing. I give proof. Here is the book I use daily, to practice myself in the difficulties of the Spanish language. Examine it for yourself, Major,” he said, handing him a volume, from the depths of one of his numerous pockets.

      “And what’s the name of this book?” asked the Major, as he took it from his hand.

      “The ‘Lusiades’[70], an admirable epic, which—”

      “The ‘Lusiades’!” exclaimed Glenarvan.

      “Yes, my friend, the ‘Lusiades’ of the great Camoens, neither more nor less.”[71]

      “Camoens!” repeated Glenarvan; “but Paganel, my unfortunate fellow, Camoens was a Portuguese! It is Portuguese you have been learning for the last six weeks!”

      “Camoens! ‘Lusiades’! Portuguese!” Paganel could not say more. He looked vexed, while his companions broke out in a furious burst of laughter.

      The Indian never moved a muscle of his face. He quietly awaited the explanation.

      “Fool, idiot, that I am!” at last uttered Paganel. “Is it really a fact? You are not joking with me? It is what I have actually been doing? Ah me! My friends, what is to become of me? To start for India and arrive at Chili! To learn Spanish and talk Portuguese! Laugh away, my friends, laugh as loud as you like; you can’t laugh at me half as much as I laugh at myself!”

      “But, СКАЧАТЬ