Chapter One

in which I Hear from my Parents

There is a certain charm in going on an adventure. But if I were honest, running off to explore unknown parts of the globe is really challenging. It is not as if it were a simple thing, like having a picnic. I had no idea back then in the early summer of 1894 that it would be so…so complicated. I had just returned from school and nestled back into the familiar surroundings of Elmore House…

*  *  *

There was a considerable drop to the ground below. The top of the crown was just a few feet above my head. The thin branch of the elm wavered as I clambered along it towards the tip. Then bent. How far could I still go? I moved forward. The branch bent some more. I hesitated. But I wanted to push myself. Just before my mater and pater had left for South America, we had gone tree climbing together. My pater had climbed up and, with great trepidation, I had followed. He had then gone out on a branch and like a squirrel flew himself to the next tree.

“Come on, Tom, jump!” He had signalled me to do the same. But I could not. The thought terrified me. Ever since then little by little I had tried to pluck up the courage to do what he had asked—but not yet succeeded. Now the next tree beckoned. Just a few more inches, I told myself, then I could leap the gap. I willed myself to make the dive.

“Taaar-maan-ganiii!” The cry echoed through the wood.

What on earth? I looked towards the source of the yell. Between the branches and leaves a dark shape was swinging along the ropes I had left for my arboreal endeavours. Who on earth? The form came close and then I recognised Passepartout, our butler. Startled, I nearly let go of my perch.

As Passepartout came to the base of the tree I was up, he let go and did a perfect somersault landing. He dusted himself down, rearranged his waistcoat before looking up at me.

“Master Thomas, your uncle is here and is asking to see you.” Even after all these years living in England, he still pronounced it ‘mast heir’, like the Frenchman he was.

I glared back at him. “How many times have I asked you to call me Tom?”

“That would be most familiar and quite out of place, Master Thomas.”

“Where did you learn to swing along ropes like that?”

“When I was an acrobat.” He grinned. “If I may say so, Master Thomas, I am quite pleased with my performance. It seems I still have some of the old ability left in me.” He gestured. “Now, we cannot keep your uncle waiting, can we? He said it was most imperative that I find you quickly. He has some important news.”

I retreated along the branch I was on, let go and grabbed another before pushing myself off the trunk to grab a rope. With its aid, I clambered down hand over hand and landed not far from Passepartout. I grinned at him. “Do you know what’s it about?”

“Discretion is the butler’s first virtue. You should know that, Master Thomas.”

“You won’t call me Tom, will you?”

“A servant has his place.”

I frowned. Passepartout had been with us for as long as I could remember. Maybe he was the butler, but I thought of him as family. He had taught me so many things when my father had been away on his explorations, which was often, that he was nearly like a second father to me.

I tapped him on the arm. “Come on, I’ll race you to the house.” I set off at a run. After a bit, I looked back. He was following but only at a brisk walk. I let him catch up. “You didn’t accept my challenge.”

“Master Thomas, you aren’t playing fair. You should allow your opponent time to prepare. Besides, if I beat you, it wouldn’t look right.” He tapped my arm and sped off towards the house.

Caught unawares, I scrambled to catch him up. We were just about level when we came to the steps that led up to the patio. He stopped. I went on ahead. He followed behind and we entered through open French windows. The study was my favourite room in the house with its books, the desk for reading and writing, and the comfortable worn red leather armchairs. My guardian, my uncle on my mother’s side, was in one of these.

He looked up from something he was reading. “Ah, there you are Tom.”

“Uncle, it is good to see you.” I took a deep breath. “I hear you have something to tell me.” My uncle frowned at Passepartout who had followed me in and was now standing near the door to the hall. He gestured at him in an odd sort of way.

“Shall I bring you both some tea?”

Albert signalled his assent. “And some biscuits and cake, if there is any. I haven’t had a decent bite since breakfast.” Passepartout left on his errand. “Take a seat, Tom.” He sounded so severe.

I found an armchair, fearing the worst. I worried at my lip as I imagined what bad news he had for me. Had I had a bad school report? He paced up and down the library for a moment. “Tom, I have had a letter from your parents.”

“That’s wonderful! What does it say?” I leaned forward eagerly.

He got, came over and put a hand on my shoulder. “The letter was sent two years ago.” Two years! How could a letter take such a long time to arrive? “I think you had better read it.” He passed over a crumpled envelope and behind it, its contents, which he must have been reading whilst waiting for me.

I studied the envelope. It had Albert’s London address on it and a franked Brazilian stamp indicating its origin. With trembling hands, I put it aside and turned my attention to the two sheets of lined paper that were the letter. I immediately recognised my father’s handwriting. I could hardly keep still as I began to read.

Somewhere up the Negro River

February 1892

Dear Albert,

Let me update you on our journey. Much has happened since I last wrote to you from Manaus. Since then, you will be pleased to know everything has gone swimmingly. In getting to the Andes, we have made much better progress than I could possibly have hoped for when we sat planning the expedition in the lounge of The Explorers’ Club. Furthermore, it is proving a delight having Lizzy by my side for the first time on such a voyage. She is so practical at so many things and such a help with the natives and the Portuguese. I had no idea she was such a dab hand. I can’t think why I hadn’t asked her to accompany me before. It’s probably the jungle that makes for such reflections. But I digress.

After leaving Manaus, following the path indicated in de Aguirre’s journal, we headed up the Negro River in search of his mountain in the clouds. All the time, whenever we could, we made enquiries with the local tribes about this mystical place reported by the Spanish explorer. To no avail. Nevertheless, we went on. If de Aguirre is correct, it would be somewhere ahead of us, so were not too discouraged by the natives’ lack of knowledge. In expectancy, we travelled for over a month until we reached the foothills to the Andes. There we began to hear stories of a mountain—a mountain that some said moved. A silly fallacy surely from viewing it at a distance, but the descriptions matched de Aguirre’s journal. It gave us hope.

Then, two days ago, we talked to an indigene. What he told us about the mountain confirms all our researches. De Aguirre’s account is true! Tell our sponsors that we have high hopes of discovering the sacred city. Our goal is within reach! The Indian has agreed to show us the way but refused all entreaties to accompany us there. As is often the case with natives, he is very superstitious by nature and seems to think evil spirits lurk on the mountain. He told us of the grave dangers from venturing there. Lizzy took this as the usual simple beliefs of a primitive people. I am less sanguine. Stories often hide a truth. But do not worry. We will be taking precautions as this is an unexplored region. As far as I can tell, we are the first white people to reach this area since De Aguirre’s expedition.

According to our guide, the mountain is about a hundred miles to the north. Getting there and back should take us no longer than six months, including time to explore. Just to warn you: if we are not returned to England within the year, you will know that some reversal has befallen us, as is the risk for all explorers. Some of the natives here are said to be head-hunters and cannibals. But we are well armed, and I don’t think they’ll trouble us much.

If we are not back within the year, you will then have to break the bad news to young Tom, who must be coming up to his fifteenth birthday, as I write. We trust he is in good health and a good pupil at Rugby. But do not worry him with our concerns.

There is a lot more I am dying to tell you, but it must wait our return. Lizzy and I must turn in now for we head for the mountain at dawn tomorrow. We must sleep well for we have to leave the river and cut our way through the jungle. It’s no easy task as I discovered when our guide demonstrated how we would need to create our own trail through the undergrowth. It will be a slow and difficult journey.

I am entrusting this letter to one of the porters who is returning to Manaus in the company of a sick native. Hopefully, it will speedily reach you, God willing.

Give our love to Tom, Auntie Glenda and Madeleine.

Rob                        Lizzy

I recognised my mother’s neat handwriting where she had appended her signature. I could hardly breath I was so shocked. I let the letter drop from my hands. It fluttered to the floor along with the envelope.

There was silence in the room. My uncle sought his armchair and waited for me to speak. Time seemed to stand still.

There was a noise. Passepartout had returned with a tray and our drinks. He put it down on the coffee table and proceeded to pour out the tea. I watched him as if he was a million miles away. I shook my head. I returned from wherever it was I had gone.

“Two years, uncle! They should have been back by now!”

He stirred from the armchair and came over and stood above me. “Thomas,” he only called me that when he thought I had done something I shouldn’t have, “I fear the worst.” He approached and placed his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye. “I am sorry.”

“But you said…”

“That was before the letter came.” He backed off, picked up the envelope and letter and placed these on the desk behind him. He turned and gave me a pitying look. “Your parents are surely dead.”

“Monsieur, you cannot say that unless you have seen their bodies.”

My uncle glared furiously at Passepartout. “If they were alive, they would have returned by now.”

“That is not necessarily correct, Monsieur. Something might be preventing them from coming back.”

“Stop it!” My uncle gesticulated furiously in my direction. “You are giving the boy false hope. I will not have it.”

Passepartout did not seem at all phased by my uncle’s tirade. “But you admit, there is a possibility they might be alive?”

“Well…err…yes, it’s a possibility.”

“But one you discount?”

“It’s highly improbable.”

“As implausible as your escape from the Pashtuns in Afghanistan?”

He paused, seemingly shocked. “How did you learn of that?” He composed himself. “That was different.”

“Hadn’t Robert given up on you?”

“I was lucky.”

“And your sister and brother-in-law are not?”

I could contain myself no longer. “I’m convinced pater and mater are both alive.” The two of them turned to gaze at me.

My uncle wagged a finger at Passepartout. “It’s all your fault he thinks like this.” His shoulders dropped. “Tom, we haven’t heard from them for over two years. If they were alive, they would have communicated by now. They only had a short journey to make before retracing their steps. They are gone.”

“But you can’t be sure.” I somehow knew my parents were still alive. Passepartout had only given voice to my feelings.

“Not entirely; but it is most likely. You shouldn’t hold out false hope.” He directed a scathing gaze at Passepartout.

I got up and walked around the room. After pacing up and down several times, I confronted my uncle. “I need to go look for them. I won’t be able to rest unless they are found.”

“Wow, wow, my boy. You can’t swan off to South America. Do you realise the dangers?”

“I do.” I wasn’t about to be put off by a little adventure. Adventuring was in the family blood. “If pater and mater saw fit to go, I can too.”

“What you suggest is impossible. First, there’s your schooling and second, you have no idea where they are.”

“I will simply follow where they’ve gone. It can’t be that difficult.”

“You have no experience of exploring, Tom.” My uncle sighed and settled into the armchair again. “I can’t let you. What would your parents say?” What could they, if they were dead?

I was not going to be put off. “But you agree that someone should go and find them. To be sure.”

He frowned. “I can see that nothing else will satisfy you. I will go, not you.”

“But…”

He raised his hands to stop me. “I have made my decision. It is final.” He gestured at Passepartout. “Find me some paper and a pen. I need to send a telegram.”

“Of course.” He strode over to the desk and pulled open one of the drawers and fished out the required articles. He passed them to my uncle who proceeded to write a quick note.

When he had finished, he passed the paper back to Passepartout. “Have this sent at once.”

“Of course, Monsieur.” Clasping the sheet in his hand, he strode out of the room.

After Passepartout had gone, my uncle visibly relaxed. “That butler of your father’s. Quite out of line. How he’s allowed to remain in service is beyond me.”

“He’s been with us for years. He’s almost a family member. As are cook and Bill, the gardener.”

“Yes, yes, I quite understand that. But even so, telling me what to do. What a cheek.”

“But he was right, no, uncle?”

“I suppose so. I had half thought about going after your parents. But I don’t like being put on the spot like that.”

I decided it would be good to change the direction of the conversation. “What about the telegram?”

“A spot of luck, really. I discovered that Professor Lesseps happens to be in London for a conference. I read about it in The Times. We met some years back at The Explorers’ Club when your father was talking about his White Nile expedition. The professor is a very knowledgeable voyager. Nearly as good as your father. I have asked for a meeting to discuss the best way to find your parents.”

“I would like to come too, if that is alright with you, uncle? After all, it’s my pater and mater who have gone missing.”

He chortled. “You are your father’s boy. If you think it’ll change anything, it won’t. Still, I see no reason why not. The more you learn about the difficulties involved, the less you’ll feel like swanning off to look for your parents.” I wasn’t so sure.

*  *  *

As we were finishing dinner that night, a telegraph messenger delivered the professor’s reply. An appointment had been agreed to at The Explorers’ Club the next day at eleven thirty. It would be my first—but not last—visit to that august institution.

I resolved to do my homework and went to the study and searched through the books there. The tome was where I thought it was. A translation of Aguirre’s travel journal. It was well thumbed, and I used the pencil marks and underlining to fast read through the key pages. The Spaniard was an intrepid traveller, fearless and resourceful. The mere feat of getting over the Andes from Columbia might have deterred a lesser man. Most of his companions perished either in accidents or at the hands of savages. Aguirre wrote clinical descriptions of the way his men met their end. It was a miracle that he survived to write his account.

A passage caught my attention.

It was on Saint Theresa’s day that I first saw the top of the mountain. The lower part, as my sources had indicated, was shrouded in cloud. We immediately changed direction South-by-South West towards it. It grew larger as we worked our way through the jungle. This was not the worst we had seen; it was thinner as if the undergrowth had been cleared away. I put this down not to human intervention but to the local animals. We encountered wild boars and deer in abundance, which we hunted for sustenance. But in turn we were also hunted by a jaguar.

After ten days we reached what should have been the base of the mountain. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the only practicable way to scale its heights was to climb up a huge liana.

After ascending for what seemed ages, we reached a plateau and I left my companions to rest whilst I explored. It was then I discovered the golden city. I decided it must be the famed Eldorado that so many had sought to find without success. I was filled with joy at the thought that I, Aguirre, was the man to discover this treasure. I would have entered then and there except for the strangely dressed natives I spotted, so I was unable to go in. Consequently, I returned to my companions. In my absence, they had had to fight off not one but two big cats. Diego had been mortally injured by one of the animals. I gave him his last rites just as his eyes closed. He was a dear companion and we missed him much.

Given the hostility of the place, my companions resolved to go no further and retrace their path. All my entreaties and promises of riches beyond their dreams were of no avail. They left me no choice. Just when I had reached my goal, I had to turn back. But I resolved to return and claim what was mine.

At the end of the book, there was a short description of what happened to Aguirre when he made it to the coast. By then he was the only survivor and a very sick man. He spent months in a monastery in Cartagena before dying of a tropical fever. It was in those last days of his life that he dictated his story. A comment by the translator suggested that most of what Aguirre claimed to have seen and done was a fabrication. I noted a margin note in my pater’s handwriting that questioned the basis of this suggestion. Was my parent’s expedition based on the ramblings of a broken and fevered man? They must have decided that there was some truth at least in his tale for them to mount an expedition to go and find Aguirre’s fabled mountain. But the difficulties that he’d had both with the natives and wild animals made me fearful for my parents.

I went to bed early that night but didn’t sleep well. I was torn between my hope that my parents still lived and my fears that they had perished. It was only right, I decided, that a rescue should be mounted. So long as there was no definite news about what had happened to them, there was hope that somehow, against all that the Amazon could throw at them, they were safe.

Eventually in the early hours of the morning, I drifted off into a fitful sleep.