All of a sudden [61] a violent crash made him start to his feet. A deafening noise fell on his ear like the roar of artillery. He shouted to his companions, but they were already awake.

“An earthquake!” exclaimed Paganel. He was not mistaken. It was one of those cataclysms frequent in Chili.

The plateau to which the seven men were clinging, holding on by tufts of lichen, was rushing down the declivity with the swiftness of an express, at the rate of fifty miles an hour. Sometimes they went perfectly smoothly along without jolts or jerks, and sometimes on the contrary, the plateau would reel and roll like a ship in a storm.

How long this indescribable descent lasted, no one could calculate. None of the party knew whether the rest were still alive. Almost breathless, frozen with the cold air, which pierced them through, and blinded with the whirling snow, they gasped for breath, and became exhausted and nearly inanimate. Suddenly a tremendous shock sent them rolling to the very foot of the mountain. The plateau had stopped.

For some minutes no one stirred. At last one of the party stood on his feet, stunned by the shock, but still firm on his legs. This was the Major. He shook off the blinding snow and looked around him. His companions lay in a close circle like the shots from a gun.

The Major counted them. All were there except one—that one was Robert Grant.

The eastern side of the Cordilleras of the Andes consists of a succession of lengthened declivities. The soil is carpeted with rich herbage, and adorned with magnificent trees, among which, in great numbers, were apple-trees.

Lord Glenarvan and his companions were gradually restored to life by the Major’s efforts. The descent of the Cordilleras was accomplished; but the feeblest and youngest, the child of the party, was missing.

The brave boy was beloved by everybody. Paganel was particularly attached to him, and so was the Major, with all his apparent coldness. As for Glenarvan, he was in absolute despair when he heard of his disappearance.

“We must go and look for him, and look till we find him,” he exclaimed. “We cannot leave him to his fate. Every valley and precipice and abyss must be searched through and through. I will have a rope fastened round my waist, and go down myself. I insist upon it, you understand? I insist upon it. If we lose the boy, how could we ever dare to meet the father? What right have we to save the captain at the cost of his son’s life?”

Glenarvan’s companions heard him in silence. At last he said: “Well, you hear what I say, but you make no response. Do you mean to tell me that you have no hope—not the slightest?”

Again there was silence, till McNabbs asked: “Which of you can recollect when Robert disappeared?”

No one could say.

“Well, then,” resumed the Major, “who was near the child during our descent of the Cordilleras?”

“Me,” replied Wilson. “All that I can recollect is that Robert Grant was still by my side, holding fast by lichen, less than two minutes before the shock which finished our descent.”

“Less than two minutes? Are you sure you are not making a mistake?”

“I don’t think I am. No; it was just about two minutes, as I tell you.”

“Very well, then; and was Robert on your right or left?”

“On my left. I remember that his poncho brushed past my face.”

“Then Robert must have disappeared on this side,” said the Major, turning toward the mountain and pointing toward the right.

Not another word was spoken. The six men commenced their explorations, examining closely every fissure, and going into the very depths of the abysses. For many long hours these brave fellows continued their search without dreaming of taking rest. But all in vain.

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: