The Mighty Orinoco. Jules Verne

be really strict with him.”

      “Strict!” Sergeant Martial echoed, raising his big hands toward the sky.

      “Yes, a nephew you were forced to bring along on this trip because you couldn’t leave him back home by himself for fear he’d get into trouble”

      “Trouble!”

      “A nephew you want to turn into a soldier like yourself.”

      “A soldier!”

      “Right, a soldier, one whom you need to toughen up. So you mustn’t skimp on the discipline when he deserves it.”

      “And if he doesn’t deserve it?”

       Sargeant Martial and his nephew Jean.

      “He will, believe me,” Jean answered with a grin, “because he’s as green as they come!”

      “Green!”

      “So when you have to bawl him out in public—”

      “I’ll beg his pardon in private!” Sergeant Martial exclaimed.

      “As you wish, old friend, so long as nobody’s watching.”

      Sergeant Martial gave his nephew a bear hug, first making sure that no busybody could see into the secluded hotel room.

      “And now, my friend,” Jean said, “it’s time for bed. Off to your room next door, and I’ll lock myself in.”

      “Do you want me to stand guard outside?” Sergeant Martial asked.

      “Why bother? There’s no danger.”

      “No doubt, but—”

      “If you’re going to spoil me from the start, you’ll be a failure in your role as the stern uncle.”

      “Stern! How can I possibly be stern with you?”

      “You’ve got to be, to head off any suspicions.”

      “So, Jean, why did you want to come along?”

      “Because I had to.”

      “But why didn’t you just stay home at Chantenay or Nantes?”³

      “Because it was my duty not to.”

      “Did you think I couldn’t make this trip by myself?”

      “Not at all.”

      “I’ve faced dangers my whole life. It’s my job! Besides, I’m in less danger than you are!”

      “That’s why I need to be your nephew, my dear uncle.”

      “Oh, if only we could’ve asked the Colonel first!” Sergeant Martial sighed.

      “What do you mean?” Jean answered, puzzled.

      “But no! It was impossible! But if we do get a lead on him in San Fernando and we’re ever able to find him, what is he going to say about all this?”

      “He’ll thank his old sergeant for giving in to me and bringing me along. He’ll hug you and say that you’ve done your duty, just as I’ve done mine!”

      “So, in other words,” Sergeant Martial exclaimed, “you’ll have gotten me to do everything you wanted!”

      “That’s the way it is with uncles: they must always bow to their nephews’ whims! But not in public, for heaven’s sake!”

      “No, not in public. That’s the rule!”

      “And now, my dear Martial, off to bed and sleep tight. Tomorrow we need to be on board the Orinoco steamer at the crack of dawn, and we’d better not be late.”

      “Good night, Jean.”

      “Good night, my one and only friend! See you tomorrow, and God protect us!”

      Sergeant Martial headed for the door, opened it, closed it carefully, and then made sure Jean had turned the key and bolted it on the inside. For a moment or two he stood still with his ear against the door. He could hear Jean murmuring his prayers before climbing into bed. Then, once he was certain the lad was under the sheets, he went to his own room, where his only prayer was to himself and consisted of smacking his forehead with his fist while saying: “Yes, may God protect us! Because it’s a devilish tall order, that’s for sure!”

      Who are these two Frenchmen? Where are they from? What brings them to Venezuela? Why are they so set on masquerading as uncle and nephew? For what purpose are they taking one of the Orinoco steamers, and to which part of the great river are they headed?

      Right now there are no detailed answers to these various questions. Time will tell, no doubt. In fact only time can tell.

      All the same, from the preceding conversation a few things can be inferred.

      These two Frenchmen were from the city of Nantes in the province of Brittany. If their origin is clear enough, there is plenty that is unclear about the nature of their relationship and about the circumstances that have thrown them together. To start with, just who was this Colonel de Kermor whose name kept popping up in their conversation, causing such intense feelings in these two?

      Anyhow, the young man looks no older than sixteen or seventeen. He is of medium height and seems to have a sturdy constitution for his age. His face looks a little grim, even melancholic, because he is often lost in thought. But his features are attractive, his eyes are friendly, his smile reveals small white teeth, and his ruddy cheeks have been bronzed by the ocean air during their recent trip across the Atlantic.

      The second of these two Frenchmen—a man on the verge of sixty—is the perfect embodiment of a career soldier, a battle-scarred veteran who remains in active service until old age catches up with him. Before retiring on a noncommissioned officer’s pay, he had served under Colonel de Kermor, whose life he had personally saved on the battlefield during the War of the Second Empire, which ended so disastrously in 1870–1871.⁴ He is your typical cranky, devoted old duffer who stays on in the home of his former commander and becomes the trusted family retainer who looks after the children when their parents are busy and who spoils them no matter what, giving them their first riding lessons by bouncing them on his knees, and their first music lessons by teaching them military fanfares.

      Despite his sixty years, Sergeant Martial still stands tall and is full of vigor. He is a tough, seasoned campaigner, immune to heat and cold, neither freezing in Russia nor baking in Senegal. His constitution is strong, and his courage without equal. He is the soul of self-reliance, fearing nothing and no one, except perhaps himself, for he distrusts his slightest impulse. Tall and lean, his limbs have not lost an ounce of their strength, and even at his age he still keeps his faultless military bearing. He is a trooper, a warrior of the old school if ever there was one! But he is all the same still a decent, good-hearted fellow, and there is nothing that he would not do for those he loved! It seems, moreover, that the latter are limited to just two people in this whole wide world—Colonel de Kermor and young Jean, whose uncle he had agreed to become.

      Consequently, he watches over the lad with tender loving care. He lavishes constant attention on him, despite all those promises to be stern! But do not ever ask him the reason for this stringent assignment, this role the Sergeant finds so disagreeable to play. If you did, what a hideous grimace you would receive, what a surly reply you would be given! In short, you would be politely told to “mind your own business.”

      Exchanges of this sort had already occurred during their transatlantic voyage from the Old World to the New. Those passengers on the Pereire who tried to be friendly with Jean, who struck up conversations with him and started to pay him the usual shipboard courtesies, who seemed to take an interest in this young man so harshly disciplined by his cantankerous, antisocial uncle—they were all sent packing with orders not to try it again!⁵

      In