THE CRUISE OF THE CONDOR

by W. E. Johns

XVIII. CONCLUSION (Pages 247 – 256)

“They awoke the following morning to find the landscape shrouded in dense white fog. It was cold, too, and Dickpa insisted on them all taking a big dose of quinine”. Smyth starts a fire and Dickpa stares at a piece of rock used to balance the kettle over it. It is streaked with traces of silver. Dickpa hunts around and finds a vein of it exposed by a minor landslide. “Luck’s a funny thing, isn’t it?” soliloquized Biggles philosophically. “I’ve seen a fellow spin into a tree from a thousand feet and get away with a broken nose; and another fellow touches his wheels on a sunken road as he comes in to land, somersaults, and breaks his neck”. After the mist has cleared, they hear a Junkers aircraft and send up smoke to indicate their position. A message is dropped for them that just says in Spanish “Descanso”, meaning “rest”. In less than two hours a party of men dressed in the blue overalls of mechanics appear and Dickpa, who speaks Spanish, discovers they are from Cochabamba. Dickpa makes arrangements for their aircraft to be dismantled and taken in pieces to their workshops where it can be repaired. They return to Cochabamba taking their treasure with them in their bags and it is there that they make final arrangements for the salvage and storing of the Condor. They then charter a machine to take them to La Paz, the capital of Bolivia. “A mining concession was taken out in respect of the vein of silver they had discovered and the matter left in the hands of a reliable agent until such time as the quality of the ore could be determined”. A week later they sailed from the port of Mollendo, homeward bound. Dickpa asks Biggles what he thinks of South America now. “As a cure for boredom it should take first prize, and I’ve a feeling in my bones that I shall see it again,” observed Biggles quietly. “Me too,” declared Algy. “Then you’ll need a mechanic, sir,” murmured Smyth softly.

And this is where the book ends ……… in all versions EXCEPT when the story was published in “The Boys’ Friend Library” series, number 617, dated 7^th April 1938. The Boys’ Friend Library version contained an additional passage of some 997 words following this ending and is believed to have been added by the editor of that publication (and not

W. E. Johns). The additional part is this:-

Biggles looked thoughtfully at his old comrade. Dickpa’s rugged features reminded him in some ways of a rather amiable walnut. “I am sure of one thing,” said Biggles, “and that is that we haven’t by any manner of means said the last word about Brazil and the Matey Grocer.” “There’ll never be a last word said about Brazil,” murmured Dickpa, a faraway look in his eyes. Biggles grinned. “That friendly beggar at Mollendo said ‘Hasta la vista,’ (a Spanish farewell that can be literally translated as "Until the (next) sighting" and means "See you later" and "Goodbye”) which might stand for ‘make haste back and see what’s in the wind,’ or might not; but, speaking for myself, Dickpa, your fancy little trip to the Amazon country has interested me very greatly. It has tickled my curiosity, as it were. Of course, when you are back in London you will be slipping into a clean boiled shirt and getting on your feet at dinners to tell ‘em all about Brazil ----.” “Not on your life!” growled Dickpa. “Oh, yes, you will, and you’ll be writing in the papers about poor old Attaboy’s ancient stronghold and all that; but, though you may do justice to Da Silva’s crowd and our adventures, you won’t manage the rest.” “The rest?” queried Dickpa. “Yes; I mean the secret of Brazil --- the mystery of the land which nobody knows, the tangled beauty of its forests, the grandeur of it all, the brilliant colour and its dreams.” “Not turning poet, are you?” said Dickpa anxiously. Biggles shrugged. “Nothing of the poet about me,” he said; “but there are some things about Brazil which fairly baffle the understanding and give the imagination a bit of overtime to do. I’m bitten by it, I admit, and I’m not thinking of the great ants and uncles. In fact, I feel ready to excuse fifty percent of the horrors up that river where it was touch and go with us. There was a chap who once said ‘Ex Africa, semper aliquid novi’ (‘Out of Africa, always something new’) but he had better have said it of Brazil.” Algy laughed. “Great snakes, if Biggles doesn’t mean to go back!” he cried. Biggles ignored the remark. “Dickpa will tell you -----.” I certainly shall not!” snapped Dickpa. “What I mean is,” said Biggles, “that the whole place gets you, just as you explained to us at your country place over the cold beef and pickles. It’s Brazil calling, and somehow one doesn’t want to ring off. I heard a chap lecture on Brazil once. Seems he had been to Rio, had a cup of coffee, and come back; but he didn’t know as much about Brazil as the brass monkey over the door of that shop in Houndsditch where they sell junk. It’s the astounding wonder of the country which gets me. We managed to get a peep behind the curtain and saw a trifle more than most. That was our luck!” “He calls it luck!” mused Algy; but Dickpa was thinking too hard to say a word. “When you come to think of it,” continued Biggles, “You can’t help feeling sheer amazement. The Portuguese got in at the front door of the country, but they have never been farther. The civilisation they brought is just a fringe along the coast, and these conquistadores who have been billed so tremendously, but who were not such great shakes as they made out, they merely nibbled from the other side. The point is that nobody has really touched Brazil – the immensities of the hinterland, the vivid colouring, the totally unexpected, the surprise-packet of sensations which meet you at every step. The old explorers scratched the coast-line and ----.” “Don’t talk about scratching --- have a heart!” pleaded Algy. I was bitten till there was practically nothing left.” “Oh all right – all right!” grunted Biggles, as he dropped into a deck-chair and lit a cigarette. “I was only thinking of some of the wonders we saw, and of those we did not see. There are a few. And, personally, I want to have another go – I don’t know when, or how. It’s like having a magic forest at the end of the garden with a fence placarded with notices, ‘verboten,’ ‘defense de passer’ all the lingos – don’t seem in nature to hold back. And, what’s more to the point, I feel convinced in my own mind that, apart from the beauty of it, the giddy transformation scenes of all the rainbow hues, there’s locked up away there in those majestic vastnesses a something – a something ----.” “Yes,” murmured Dickpa eagerly, as he leaned forward, a new light in his eyes. “You say a something ----.” Biggles flicked the ash off his cigarette. “I mean,” he said dreamily, “that there may be something there which would act as the key to lots of our old problems – something that’s been lost in the limbo of the past; something so much worth having that even to dwell on it may well make one feel a bit squizzly about the eyes. I mean something of splendour which was swept away when some of the ancient civilisations went down to the dust. But ideas don’t perish, you know, any more than thought itself. It is merely a matter of finding the way back and retrieving the treasure, picking up a thread, as it were, resuming work on jobs left unfinished by some of the grand old fellows who had made something of their beautiful country and were doing very well.” Algy gave a chuckle. “He means it!” he exclaimed, giving vent to a mock groan. “He isn’t satisfied yet!” There was silence. “Well, well, well,” said Dickpa, “let’s take things as they come. We’ll get home first and run over what we have done. Plenty of time – some day!” Biggles nodded shortly. “One of these fine mornings!” he said with a smile.