IN WHICH TERRIBLE THINGS ARE TREATED OF--THE ANDES ARE CROSSED, THE
ORINOCO DESCENDED AND THE BOOK ENDED.
At the time of which we write it was not an uncommon thing, in the
provinces on the western coast of South America, for dissatisfied
military officers, with a number of malcontents, to get up miniature
revolutions, which were generally put down after much plundering and
bloodshed. These bands of armed men went about like regular banditti,
disturbing the peace of the whole country. They were not much heard of
in Europe, because intercommunication and telegraphy did not exist then
as they do now, and insignificant affairs of the kind were not taken
much notice of.
One effect of the threatened attack on the town about which we write
was, that the people became desperately excited and tremendously
vigorous in their preparations. Arms were sought out and distributed;
chests were opened, and gold and silver--in quantities that amazed Will
and his friends--taken out and buried in the woods. Pistols, guns, and
swords were produced in abundance, with plenty of ammunition, and the
manner in which the men handled these proved that they meant to make a
determined stand. Trees were felled, and the roads leading to the town
barricaded. As the express came along he spread the news around, and
farmers came in from all quarters driving their cattle before them. All
the arrangements for defence were made under the direction of Don Pedro,
a retired officer, who proved to be quite equal to the occasion, posted
his men judiciously, and sent out scouts on horseback. Will Osten,
Larry, and Bunco were left to do as they pleased, so they armed
themselves, procured horses, kept close together, and rode about the
town observing the arrangements. The night passed without alarm, but
early in the morning a horseman arrived with the news that the rebels
were advancing. A few hours afterwards they appeared in full view.
Some were mounted, but the majority were on foot, and a more villainous
set of rascals could not well be imagined. They advanced irregularly,
evidently not expecting opposition from so insignificant a town, but
those who first approached the barricades were received with such a
galling fire that several were killed, many wounded, and the rest driven
back.
Their leader, a tall dark man on a powerful charger, rode to the front
in a towering passion, and endeavoured to rally the men. At that moment
a bold idea flashed upon Will Osten. He suddenly put spurs to his
horse, galloped round to the lowest part of the barricade, leaped over
it, and, drawing his sword, charged the leader of the rebels like a
thunderbolt. The man faced him, and raised his sword, to defend
himself, but Will's first cut was so powerful that it broke down his
guard, cleft his helmet, and tumbled him out of the saddle.
The contending parties had scarce time to realise what was being done
when the deed was completed, and a wild cheer burst from the
townspeople, high above which there sounded a terrific "hooroo!" and
next instant, Larry O'Hale, followed by Bunco, shot from the barricades,
and charged the foe! The consternation caused by the suddenness and the
unexpected nature of this onset made the banditti waver, and, when they
beheld the townsmen pouring out from their defences and rushing at them
with an evident determination to conquer or die, they turned and fled!
The rout was complete, and for some time the people of the town
continued to chase and slay the enemy, until the pursuit was suddenly
stopped by an event as terrible as it was unexpected.
For some weeks previous to the day when the town was assaulted, the
neighbourhood, and, indeed, the whole of the surrounding provinces, had
been visited by a series of slight earthquakes. So common are these
tremblings and heavings of the earth in South America, that unless very
severe, not much notice is taken of them. At the time of which we
write, the slight shocks had been so frequent that the people were
comparatively indifferent to them. On the very day of the assault there
had been several smarter shocks than usual, and some of the more
thoughtful among the inhabitants remembered that it was on an unusually
dry summer, similar to the one that was then passing, that a terrible
earthquake had visited the province of Venezuela and entirely demolished
the city of Caraccas. But the sudden attack of the rebels had for the
time banished all thought of earthquakes.
It was while the people of the town were pursuing their enemies that
another shock of the earthquake occurred, and it was so violent that
many of the pursuers paused, while others turned at once and ran back to
the town. Here they found the women and children in a state of
consternation, for they had more thoroughly realised the force of the
shock; and the dreadful scenes that had taken place in Caraccas, when
upwards of ten thousand of the inhabitants perished, were still fresh in
their memory. Another shock occurred just as Don Pedro, Will Osten, and
his friends galloped into the principal square of the town. Here there
were hundreds of cattle which had been driven there for safety, and
crowds of people hurrying to and fro. The horsemen rode towards the
principal church of the town, which had been made a place of temporary
retreat for the women and children. They had got within a few hundred
yards of it when there came a shock so terrible that it seemed as if the
binding forces of nature were being dissolved. Hollow thunderings were
heard deep in the bowels of the earth, which heaved and undulated almost
as if it had been in a semi-liquid state, while great rents and fissures
occurred here and there. Will Osten's horse stumbled into one of these
and threw him, but he leaped up unhurt. Don Pedro and the others pulled
up and dismounted hastily. Before they could make up their minds which
way to turn or what to do, another shock occurred; the houses on either
side of them began to sway to and fro, and one not far distant fell.
Just then a terrible crash was heard, and Will Osten turned round in
time to see the large church in the act of falling. Women and children
were rushing out of it frantically, but those within were doomed. One
wild and awful shriek mingled with the roar of the tumbling edifice, and
five hundred souls were instantaneously buried in a common grave.
Terrible though this event was, much of the impression it was fitted to
make on those who witnessed it was lost because of the danger that
surrounded themselves. The shock or series of shocks continued for
several minutes, during which time the houses were falling into ruins in
all directions, and there was so much danger in remaining in any of the
streets that most of the inhabitants who had escaped flocked, as with
one consent, into the great square--many of them, however, being killed
by falling masonry on their way thither. Others nearer the outskirts of
the town fled into the woods.
When this shock ceased, the earthquake appeared to have terminated for
that time, but even if it had continued, further damage could scarcely
have been done, for the little town was reduced to a heap of ruins. The
desolation was complete. Scarcely a house was left uninjured, and the
greater part of the buildings were completely demolished. But the
sights that met the eye were not more terrible than the sounds which
filled the ear. Death and destruction reigned on every side. Groans of
agony and frantic cries for deliverance were heard issuing from beneath
the ruins, while men, women, and children were seen rushing about with
dishevelled hair and bloodshot eyes, wildly searching for, and shouting
the names of, their lost relatives and friends, or crying to God for
mercy. It was a sickening and terrible sight--a sight in regard to
which those who dwell in the more favoured parts of our sin-smitten
world can form but a very faint conception.
At first all was disorder, but by degrees the spirits of the survivors
began to calm down a little, and then systematic efforts were made to
rescue those who had not been killed outright. It need scarcely be said
that in this work our hero and his companions were conspicuously
energetic. Will and Don Pedro organised the men into gangs and wherever
cries or groans were heard, they tore up and removed the ruins so
vigorously that the poor sufferers were speedily released; but in
performing this work they uncovered the torn, crushed, and mangled
bodies of hundreds of the dead.
"Come here, Larry," said Will, in a low, sad tone, as he stood on a pile
of rubbish digging towards a spot where he had heard a faint cry as if
from a female. The Irishman leaped to his side and saw a small hand
sticking out of the rubbish. It quivered convulsively, showing that
life still remained. With desperate eagerness, yet tender care, the two
men disentombed the poor creature, who proved to be a women with a child
clasped tightly in her broken and lacerated right arm. The woman was
alive, but the poor child was dead, the skull having been completely
smashed and its brains scattered on its mother's bosom. As they carried
them away, the woman also expired.
In the course of a few hours great numbers of wounded persons, young and
old, were laid under the lemon-trees by the banks of the little stream
that traversed the town. Some were slightly hurt, but by far the
greater number were terribly crushed and lacerated--many of them past
all hope of recovery. To these sufferers Will Osten now gave his
undivided attention, washing and bandaging wounds, amputating limbs, and
endeavouring by every means to relieve them, and save their lives, while
to the dying he tried, in the little Spanish he knew, to convey words of
spiritual comfort, sometimes finding it impossible to do more than
whisper the name of Jesus in a dying ear, while hurriedly passing from
one to another. If earnest heart-expressive glances from eyes that were
slowly fading conveyed any evidence of good having been done, Will's
labour of love was not spent in vain.
Reader, a volume would not suffice to detail a tithe of the sights and
scenes of thrilling and dreadful interest that occurred in that small
South American town on the occasion of the earthquake. Yet, awful
though these were, they were as nothing compared with the more
stupendous calamities that have been caused by earthquakes in that land
of instability, not only in times long past, but in times so very recent
that the moss cannot yet have begun to cover, nor the weather to stain,
the tombstones and monuments of those who perished.
For many weeks Will Osten remained there tending the sick and dying.
Then he bade his kind unfortunate friends farewell, and, once more
turning his face towards the Cordillera of the Andes, resumed his
homeward journey with his faithful attendants.
There are times in the career of a man--especially of one who leads a
wandering and adventurous life--when it seems as though the events of a
lifetime were compressed into the period of a few months, or weeks, or
even days. Such, at least, was the experience of our hero while he
travelled in the equatorial regions of South America. Events succeeded
each other with such rapidity, and accumulated on each other to such an
extent, that when he looked back it appeared utterly incredible that he
and his companions had landed on the coast of Peru only a few months
before. It was natural, indeed, that in such a region, where the
phenomena and the forces of nature are so wild and vast, one incident or
adventure should follow quickly on the heels of another, but it did not
seem to be altogether natural that each incident should be more singular
or tremendous than its predecessor. In short, there seemed to be
neither rhyme nor reason, as Larry said, in the fact that they should be
continually getting out of the frying-pan into the fire. Yet so it was,
and, now that they had left the low country and plunged into the
magnificent recesses of the great Andes, the metaphor was still
applicable, though not, perhaps, equally appropriate, for, whereas the
valleys they had quitted were sweltering in tropical heat, the mountains
they had now ascended were clothed in wintry snow.
Far down in the valleys Will Osten and his friends had left their canoe,
and hired mules with an _arriero_ or mule-driver to guide them over the
difficult and somewhat dangerous passes of the Andes. They had reached
the higher altitudes of the mountains when we again introduce them to
the reader, and were urging their mules forward, in order to reach a
somewhat noted pass, before the breaking out of a storm which the
arriero knew, from certain indications in the sky, was rapidly
approaching. The party consisted of four--Will, Larry, Bunco, and the
arriero--with three baggage-mules.
On reaching an elevated position at a turn in the road whence they could
see far in advance, they halted.
"Why, I had supposed _this_ was the pass," said Will Osten, turning to
Bunco; "ask the arriero how far off it is now."
"Troth, it's my belaif that there's no pass at all," said Larry,
somewhat doggedly, as he shifted about uneasily in the saddle; "haven't
we bin comin' up to places all day that we thought was the pass,--but
they wasn't; I don't think Mister Arryhairo knows it hisself, and this
baist of a mule has blistered my hands an' a'most broke my arms with
baitin' of it--not to mintion other parts o' me body. Och, but it's a
grand place, afther all--very nigh as purty as the Lakes of Killarney,
only a bit bigger."
The country was indeed a little bigger! From the dizzy ledge on which
they stood a scene of the wildest sublimity met their gaze, and, for a
few minutes, the travellers regarded it in profound silence. Mountains,
crags, gorges, snowy peaks, dark ravines, surrounded them, spread out
below them, rose up above them everywhere in the utmost confusion. It
was the perfection of desolation--the realisation of chaos. At their
feet, far down in the gorge below, lay a lake so dark that it might have
been ink; but it was clear and so very still that every rock in the
cliffs around it was faithfully portrayed. High overhead rose one of
the more elevated peaks of the Andes, which, being clothed in pure snow,
looked airy--almost unreal--against the blue sky. The highest peak of
the Andes (Chimborazo) is more than 21,000 feet above the sea. The one
before them was probably a few hundred feet lower. Of living creatures,
besides themselves, only one species was to be seen--the gigantic
"condor"--the royal eagle of the Andes, which soars higher, it is said,
than any other bird of its kind. Hundreds of condors were seen hovering
above them, watching for their prey,--the worn-out and forsaken mules or
cattle, which, while being driven over the pass, perished from
exhaustion.
"The ugly brutes! Is it a goat they've got howld of there?" said Larry,
pointing to a place where several of these monstrous eagles were
apparently disputing about some prize.
On reaching the place, the object in question was found to be the
skeleton of a mule, from which every morsel of flesh had been carefully
picked.
"Hold my mule, Larry," whispered Will, throwing the reins to his
comrade, and grasping a rifle with which one of his grateful patients
who survived the earthquake had presented him. A condor had seated
himself, in fancied security, on a cliff about two hundred yards off,
but a well-aimed bullet brought him tumbling down. He was only winged,
and when Will came up and saw his tremendous talons and beak, he paused
to consider how he should lay hold of him.
"Och, what claws!" exclaimed Larry.
"Ah!" said Bunco, smiling, "more teribuble for scratch than yoos
grandmoder, eh?"
Before they could decide how to proceed, the arriero came up, threw the
noose of his lasso over the head of the magnificent bird, and secured it
easily. He measured eight feet seven inches from tip to tip of the
expanded wings.
Will Osten was anxious to skin this bird, and carry it away with him as
a trophy, but the guide protested. He said that the pass was now really
within a short distance of them, but that the thunder-storm would soon
come on, and if it caught them in the pass they ran a chance of all
being lost. Will, therefore, contented himself with cutting off the
head and talons of the condor, and then resumed his toilsome upward
journey.
According to the arriero's prophecy, the storm burst upon them in less
than two hours, while they were still some distance from the top of the
pass.
Although they had now reached the region of snow, the zig-zag track by
which they ascended was tolerably visible, but, as they proceeded, dark
clouds overspread the sky, and snow fell heavily, while peals of
muttering thunder came from afar, echoing among the mountain peaks and
betokening the rapid approach of the storm. The arriero looked anxious,
and urged the mules on with whip and voice, turning his eyes furtively,
now and then, in the direction of the dark clouds. Presently, on
turning one of the bends in the track, they came upon a singular party
travelling in the opposite direction. Their singularity consisted
chiefly in this, that instead of mules they had a train of
bullock-waggons, which were laden with ponderous mill-machinery. At
their head rode a fine-looking man of middle age, who addressed Will in
Spanish. Bunco's services as interpreter being called into requisition,
the traveller told them that the pass was pretty clear, but advised them
to make haste, as the storm would soon break, and might render it
impassable. On the same ground he excused himself for not staying to
exchange news with them.
"Your cargo is a strange one," said Will, as they were about to part.
The traveller admitted that it was, and explained that he meant to erect
a flour-mill in his native town, towards which he was hastening.
At these words the arriero seemed peculiarly affected. He advanced to
the traveller and said a few words. The latter started, turned pale,
and asked a few hurried questions. While the arriero was replying, the
pallor of the traveller's countenance increased; a wild fire seemed to
shoot from his eyes, and his hands clutched convulsively the poncho
which covered his breast. Suddenly he returned to his followers and
gave them a few hurried orders, then, without noticing any one, he put
spurs to his mule, and galloping down the track like a madman, was out
of sight in a moment. His men at once unharnessed the cattle and
followed him, leaving the waggons and the ponderous machinery in the
snow.
The first gust of the storm burst upon the travellers at this moment,
and Will with his friends had to ride to a neighbouring cliff for
shelter before he could ask the meaning of the peculiar conduct of the
stranger. The guide soon cleared up the mystery by telling him, through
Bunco, that the traveller was an inhabitant of the town which had been
so recently destroyed by the earthquake. "I happened to know him by
name," continued the guide, "and am aware that his wife with every
member of his family was buried in the ruins. You saw how deeply he
took it to heart, poor fellow."
"Poor fellow indeed; God help him," said Will sadly, as he left the
shelter of the cliff, and continued the ascent.
They never saw the unfortunate man again, but it is worthy of remark
that, years after, Will Osten heard of him through a friend who happened
to cross the Andes at the same point. The blow had been so severe that
he never returned to claim his property; and there it lay for many a day
on the wild mountain pass--perchance there it lies still--far from the
abodes of men, and utterly useless, save as a ponderous monument and
memorial of the terrible catastrophe which had robbed its owner of home,
kindred, wealth, and earthly hope.
The storm had at last burst upon our travellers in all its fury--and
very different is the storm in these weird altitudes, where earth and
heaven seem to meet, than in the plains below. The wind came whistling
down the gorges as if through funnels, driving before it not only snow,
but sand and pebbles, so that for a time our travellers being unable to
face it, were compelled to seek shelter under a ledge of rock. After
the first burst there was a short lull, of which they availed themselves
to push on. Will, being mounted on the best mule, went considerably
ahead of his companions; but at last the falling snow became so thick as
to render objects almost invisible. The track, too, which ran
unpleasantly near the edge of a precipice, was almost obliterated, so he
thought it best to wait for the others. Just then another squall came
howling down the gorge at his right. His mule became restive and
frightened, and, slipping on the snow, came down on its knees. The
violence of the wind rendered it almost impossible to keep the saddle,
so this decided Will. He slid off. Scarcely had he done so when there
came a gust which fortunately threw him flat down; at the same time his
mule staggered over the edge of the precipice. One moment Will saw the
poor animal struggling to regain its footing--the next it was rolling
down into the abyss, bounding from rock to rock, and he knew, although
the swirling snow prevented him seeing it, that his steed was, in a few
minutes, dashed to pieces in the gorge a thousand feet below. For some
time Will did not dare to rise. The gale grew fiercer every moment, and
the darkness--not of night, but of thick clouds--increased. As the snow
accumulated over him he feared being buried alive, so he struggled out
of the drift and looked around him. It was utter chaos--not a landmark
was visible. Having turned round once or twice, he did not know how to
direct his steps. While hesitating as to what he should do, another
gust swept by, carried away his hat and poncho, tore his over-coat right
up the back and compelled him to lie down again, in which position he
remained until he felt benumbed with cold. Knowing that to remain much
longer in that position would insure his death, our hero rose and
staggered forward a few paces--he scarce knew whither. There was a lull
in the gale at this time, and he continued to advance, when a voice
behind arrested him.
"Hooroo! doctor, whereabouts are ye?"
"Hallo! Larry, here I am, all right."
"Faix, it's well ye are that same," said Larry, looming through the
drifting snow like a white spectre, "for it's all wrong with us. Wan o'
the poor baists wi' the packs has gone clane over the cliffs an' bin
smashed to smithereens--more be token it's the wan that carried the
kittle an' the salt beef, but the wan wi' the biscuit an' the fryin'-pan
is safe, an' that's a comfort, anyhow."
Will expressed his regret at this, and was beginning to tell how his own
mule had been killed, when Bunco suddenly made his appearance, and,
seizing him by the collar, dragged him with extreme violence a few paces
forward. For one brief instant a flush of anger mingled with Will's
surprise at this unceremonious treatment; but all other feelings gave
way to one of gratitude to God when, observing his faithful attendant
point to the spot from which he had been dragged, he turned round and
saw that he had been standing on the extreme verge of the precipice.
Had he advanced one step after being arrested by the voice of his
comrade, his mangled body would, in a few seconds, have been lying
beside that of his poor mule!
There was no time to speak of these things, however, just then, for the
storm, or rather the squall, burst forth again with increased violence,
and the pass was still before them--so like the men of a forlorn hope
who press up to the breach, they braced themselves to renew the
conflict, and pushed on. The truth of the proverb, that "fortune
favours the brave," was verified on this occasion. The storm passed
over almost as quickly as it had begun, the sky cleared up, and, before
night set in, they had crossed the pass, and were rapidly descending the
eastern side of the mountains towards the fertile plains and valleys of
Columbia.
The transition from the wintry cold of the high regions of the Andes to
the intense tropical heat of the plains and forests was rapidly made.
In a few days the travellers were obliged to throw off their ponchos and
warm garments, and at the end of a few weeks we find them stretched out
lazily in the stern of a canoe, under the guidance of four Creoles,
floating quietly down one of the numerous tributaries of the Orinoco.
The change was not only sudden but also agreeable. In truth, our
adventurers had been so long subjected by that time to excitement and
exhausting toil--especially while crossing the mountains--that the most
robust among them began to long for a little rest, both bodily and
mental, and, now that they lay idly on their backs gazing at the passing
scenery, listening to the ripple of the water and smoking cigarettes, it
seemed as if the troubles of life had all passed away and nothing but
peace lay around and before them.
"'Tis paradise intirely," observed Larry, removing his cigarette for a
moment, and winking facetiously at a small monkey which happened to peep
at him just then through the foliage overhead.
"Him won't be long like dat," said Bunco.
"Come, now, ye ill-omened spalpeen, don't be causin' yer dirty clouds to
come over this purty vision. Wot's the use o' cryin' before ye're hurt,
or pretendin' to know the futur' whin ye knows nothin' about it? Ye're
no better than a baboon, Bunco, as I've fraiquintly had occasion to tell
ye before now."
Bunco made no reply to this, but smiled slightly as he changed his
position to one of greater comfort, and lit a fresh cigarette.
"Larry," said Will Osten, "did you remember to put the fresh meat in the
canoe this morning?"
"Och! morther," cried the Irishman, starting up with a look of desperate
annoyance on his expressive face; "sure I've wint an' forgot it! It's
hangin' at this minit on the branch where I putt it last night for fear
o' the tigers--bad luck to them!"
"Ho, ho!" ejaculated Bunco, "paradise am gone a'ready!"
Larry turned upon his friend with a look that betokened no good, and
appeared to meditate an assault, when Will Osten said quietly,--"Never
mind, Larry; I luckily observed your omission, and put it into the canoe
myself."
"Ah, then, doctor, it's not right of 'e to trifle wid a poor man's
feelin's in that way, especially in regard to his stummick, which, wid
me, is a tinder point. Howsever, it's all right, so I'll light another
o' thim cigarettes. They're not bad things after all, though small an'
waik at the best for a man as was used to twist an' a black pipe since
he was two foot high."
The Irishman lay down and once more sought to recover his lost paradise,
but was interrupted by an exclamation from one of the canoe-men, who
pointed to a part of the river's bank where no fewer than eight
crocodiles were lying basking in the sun. They were of various sizes,
from eight to twenty feet in length, and slept with their jaws wide
open, and their formidable rows of teeth exposed to view.
"Well, wot's to do?" asked Larry, half rising.
"Oh! hums only want you to look to de brutes--'tink you hab never seed
him 'fore to-day," said Bunco.
"Tell him he's mistaken, then," replied Larry testily; "we've often seed
'em before, an' don't want to be roused up by such trifles."
Saying this, the Irishman once more sank into a recumbent state of
felicity; but his peaceful tendency was doomed to frequent
interruptions, not only on that day, but on many other occasions during
the voyage down the Orinoco.
In the evening of that same day he had an adventure which induced him to
suspect, more strongly even than Bunco, that terrestrial paradise was
indeed still a long way off. The party landed at a small clearing,
where they were hospitably received by a professional tiger-hunter, who,
although nearly half-naked and almost black, was a very dignified
personage, and called himself Don Emanuel. This Don invited them up to
smoke and eat at his residence, which turned out to be a very large
one--no less than the wild forest itself, for he disdained houses, and
was wont to sling his hammock, nightly, between two trees. At his
encampment they were introduced to his wife and two daughters, who were
as wild and as lightly clad as himself, and the only evidence (if
evidence it was) that the ladies belonged to the gentler sex was, that
Donna Isabella--the elder sister--fondled a large cat, for which she
appeared to entertain a strong affection. Having supped and smoked, the
travellers slung their hammocks to the trees and went to sleep. In the
middle of the night, several times, they were awakened by the cries of
the denizens of the thickets. It was supposed that when any two of
these took to fighting the others were stirred up to roar in sympathy!
Be this as it may, the mingled cries, roars, and shrieks, of sapajous,
alouates, jaguars, cougars, pacaris, sloths, curassows, parraquas,
etcetera, broke forth from time to time with such fury, that sleep was
almost unattainable; then a thunderstorm came on which wet them to the
skin; after that a large vampire-bat bit Bunco on the nose, causing that
worthy to add his noise to the general concert; and, finally, a soft
hairy animal dropt from a branch into Larry O'Hale's hammock. The
Irishman received it with open arms and a yell of terror. He crushed it
to his chest, which drew forth a responsive yell of agony from the
animal, whose claws and teeth were instantly fixed in Larry's chin and
cheeks. He caught it by the tail--the teeth and claws were at once
transferred to his hands; then he seized it by the throat, from which
there issued a gasping shriek as he hurled it high into the air, whence
it descended into the embers of the expiring fire, and, bolting
violently from that too-warm spot, sent up a shower of sparks which
revealed the fact that the unfortunate man had all but annihilated Donna
Isabella's favourite cat!
Thus they proceeded down the Orinoco, and, finally, reached the
sea-coast, where they opportunely found a vessel ready to sail for Old
England. It was not long, therefore, before they were once more out
upon the wide sea, with the happy consciousness that they were actually
"homeward bound."
There are times in a man's career when realities appear to memory like
the dim shadows of a dream, just as there are periods when dreams rise
up with all the bold and startling vividness of reality. Our
adventurers felt something of this when they had been a few days at sea,
and began to think of and talk about their recent career in South
America. It seemed to them as though their romantic life in the woods,
their encounters with wild beasts, their adventures and misadventures in
Ecuador, their dangers and difficulties in crossing the Andes, and their
tranquil descent of the Orinoco, were a confused yet vivid vision; and
often, while pacing the deck together, or sitting on the bulwarks of the
ship in the dreamy idleness of passenger-life at sea, did they comment
upon the difficulty they had in regarding as indubitable facts the
events of the last few months.
Nevertheless, as Larry expressed it, there could be no doubt whatever
that it was all true, and after all, according to his carefully formed
estimate, worse luck might have befallen them than being "cast away on
the shores of Peroo an' lost in the forest!"