THE ECHENTE.
It would not be true to say that the crew of the galatea were up with
the sun. There was no sun to shine upon the gloomy scene that revealed
itself next morning. Instead, there was a fog almost thick enough to be
grasped with the hand. They were astir, however, by the earliest
appearance of day; for the captain of the galatea was too anxious about
his "stranded" craft to lie late abed.
They had no difficulty in getting the vessel afloat. A strong pull at
the branches of the sapucaya, and then an adroit use of the paddles,
carried the craft clear.
But what was the profit of this? Once out in the open water, they were
as badly off as ever. Not one of them had the slightest idea of the
direction they would take, even supposing they could find a clear course
in any direction! A consultation was the result, in which all hands
took part, though it was evident that, after the patron, most deference
was paid to the Mundurucu. The young Paraense stood next in the scale of
respect; while Tipperary Tom, beyond the account which he was called
upon to give of his steersmanship, was not permitted to mingle his
Hibernian brogue in the discussion.
Where was the river? That was the first problem to be solved, and of
this there appeared to be no possible solution. There was no sun to
guide them; no visible sky. Even had there been both, it would scarce
have mended the matter. The steersman could not tell whether, on
straying from the channel, he had drifted to the south or the north, the
east or the west; and, indeed, an intellect less obtuse than that of
Tipperary Tom might have been puzzled upon the point. It has been
already mentioned, that the Solimoes is so tortuous as to turn to every
point of the compass in its slow course. The mere fact that the moon was
shining at the time could be of little use to Tipperary Tom, whose
astronomy had never extended beyond the knowledge that there was a moon.
Where lay the river? The interrogatory was repeated a score of times,
without receiving a satisfactory answer; though every one on board--the
little Rosita excepted--ventured some sort of reply, most, however,
offering their opinion with a doubting diffidence. The Mundurucu,
although repeatedly appealed to, had taken small part in the discussion,
remaining silent, his eyes moodily wandering over the water, seeking
through the fog for some clew to their escape from the spot.
No one plied the paddles; they had impelled her out of sight of the
sapucaya, now shrouded in the thick fog; but, as it was useless paddling
any farther, all hands had desisted, and were now resting upon their
oars. At this moment it was perceived that the galatea was in motion.
The Mundurucu was the first to notice it; for his attention had for some
time been directed to such discovery. For this reason had he cast his
searching glances, now down into the turbid waters, and now out through
the murky atmosphere. A thicket was discernible through the fog, but
every moment becoming less distinct. Of course it was only a collection
of tree-tops; but whatever it was, it soon became evident that the
galatea was very slowly receding from it. On discovering this, the
Mundurucu displayed signs of fresh animation. He had been for some
minutes lying upon his face, craning out over the gangway, and his long
withered arms submerged in the water. The others occupied themselves in
guessing what he was about; but their guesses had been to no purpose.
Equally purposeless had appeared the actions of the Indian; for, after
keeping his arm under water for a period of several minutes, he drew it
in with a dissatisfied air, and once more arose to his feet. It was just
then that he perceived the tree-tops, upon which he kept his eyes
sharply fixed, until assured that the galatea was going away from them.
"_Hoola!_" he exclaimed, attempting to imitate the cry he had more than
once heard issuing from the lips of Tipperary Tom. "_Hoola!_ the river
is out there!" As he spoke, he pointed towards the tree-tops.
It was the first confident answer to the all-important question.
"How can you tell that, Munday?" inquired the captain of the craft.
"How tell, patron? How tell day from night, the moon from the sun, fire
from water? The Solimoes is there." The Indian spoke with his arm still
extended in the direction of the trees.
"We are willing to believe you," rejoined Trevannion, "and will trust to
your guidance; but pray explain yourself."
"It's all guess-work," interpolated Tipperary Tom. "Ould Munday knows no
more av fwat he's talkin' about than Judy Fitzscummons's mother. I'll
warrant ye we come in from the tother side."
"Silence, Tom!" commanded his master. "Let us hear what Munday has to
say. You have no right to contradict him."
"Och, awance! An Indyen's opinion prefarred before that ov a freeborn
Oirishman! I wondher what nixt." And as Tipperary completed his chapter
of reproaches, he slank crouchingly under the shadow of the _toldo_.
"So you think the river is there?" said Trevannion, once more addressing
himself to the Mundurucu.
"The Mundurucu is sure of it, patron. Sure as that the sky is above us."
"Remember, old man! It won't do for us to make any mistake. No doubt
we've already strayed a considerable distance from the channel of the
Solimoes. To go again from it will be to endanger our lives."
"The Mundurucu knows that," was the laconic reply.
"Well, then, we must be satisfied of the fact, before we can venture to
make a move. What proof can you give us that the river lies in that
direction?"
"Patron! You know the month? It is the month of March."
"Certainly it is. What of that?"
"The _echente_."
"The _echente?_ What is that?"
"The flood getting bigger. The water on the rise,--the Gapo still
growing,--that is the _echente_."
"But how should that enable you to determine the direction of the
river?"
"It has done so," replied the Indian. "Not before three months--in
June--will come the _vasante_."
"The _vasante_?"
"The _vasante_, patron: the fall. Then the Gapo will begin to grow less;
and the current will be _towards_ the river, as now it is _from_ it."
"Your story appears reasonable enough. I suppose we may trust to it. If
so," added Trevannion, "we had better direct our course towards yonder
tree-tops, and lose no time in getting beyond them. All of you to your
paddles, and pull cheerily. Let us make up for the time we have lost
through the negligence of Tipperary Tom. Pull, my lads, pull!"
At this cheering command the four paddlers rushed to their places; and
the galatea, impelled by their vigorous strokes, once more glided gayly
over the bosom of the waters.