Chapter Eighteen.
Part VII—The Pampas.
Swallowed up in the Forest—Buenos Ayres—Away to the Wilds—A Colony of Highlanders—Frank to the fore.
There is no word in the world your true British sailor better knows the meaning of than that little noun duty. Lyell’s time was up; he must hurry back to Sydney, and thence to England, by very quickest boat; and so he did, and his last words to our heroes were these:—
“Don’t think of returning without having a look at the Pampas; to be sure you might go straight to San Francisco and away home by train and steamer. That would be going round the world in one sense—a landsman’s not a sailor’s sense. Whenever I meet a man who says he has been round the world, I just pull him up sharp by asking him some such question as, ‘Did you ever drink tea in Pay-San-Du?’ That usually settles him. By-bye. We’ll meet again.”
And away went merry-hearted Lyell, leaving sadder hearts behind him. Yes, but sad only for a time. There was a deal to be seen in Australia yet, and Chisholm was not sorry to spend a few months longer in this queer country, where everything seems topsy-turvy. But their last day in the kind and hospitable home of the Thompsons came round, and all too soon to one at least; and so adieus were spoken and whispered, hands were pressed, ay, and foolish tears were shed by pretty eyes, and handkerchiefs waved; then the great forest seemed to swallow them up.
The great green and gloomy forest has swallowed our heroes up; but, hey presto! what is this we see? A blue, blue sea in which a brave ship has just dropped anchor—a bluer sky that makes the eyes ache to behold; other ships at anchor and boats coming and going from a distant town, only the spires and steeples of which can be seen with the naked eye. On the deck of this ship stand Chisholm, Fred, and Frank, and beside them a smart naval officer in blue and gold and white.
Yes, you have guessed right. Lyell was the first to greet them when the anchor rattled down into the shallow waters off Buenos Ayres. He had been appointed to a South American station, and here he was, looking as happy and jolly and red as ever.
“And at present,” said Lyell, “I am my own master; so for six weeks I’m at your service.”