When the mind has been overwhelmed by some sudden and terrible calamity,
it is long ere it again recovers its wonted elasticity. An aching void
seems to exist in the heart, and a dead weight appears to press upon the
brain, so that ordinary objects make but little impression, and the soul
seems to turn inwards and brood drearily upon itself. The spirit of fun
and frolic, that had filled Martin Rattler's heart ever since he landed
in Brazil, was now so thoroughly and rudely crushed, that he felt as if
it were utterly impossible that he should ever smile again.
He had no conception of the strength of his affection for the rough,
hearty sailor, who had until now been the faithful and good-humoured
companion of his wanderings. As Barney had himself said on a former
occasion, his life up till this period had been a pleasant and exciting
dream. But he was now awakened rudely to the terrible reality of his
forlorn position; and the more he thought of it the more hopeless and
terrible it appeared to be.
He knew not in what part of Brazil he was; he was being hurried
apparently deeper into these vast solitudes by savages who were
certainly not friendly, and of whose language he knew not a word; and
worst of all, he was separated perhaps for ever from the friend, on
whom, all unconsciously to himself, he had so long leaned for support in
all their difficulties and dangers. Even though he and Barney should
succeed in escaping from the Indians, he felt--and his heart was
overwhelmed at the thought--that in such a vast country there was not
the shadow of a chance that they should find each other. Under the deep
depression produced by these thoughts Martin wandered on wearily, as if
in a dream--taking no interest in anything that occurred by the way. At
length, after several days fatiguing journey over mountains and plains,
they arrived at the Indian village.
Here the warriors were received with the utmost joy by the wives and
children whom they had left behind, and for a long time Martin was left
almost entirely to do as he pleased. A few days before, his bonds had
been removed, and once or twice he thought of attempting to escape; but
whenever he wandered a little further than usual into the woods, he
found that he was watched and followed by a tall and powerful savage,
whose duty it evidently was to see that the prisoner did not escape.
The fearful idea now entered Martin's mind that he was reserved for
torture, and perhaps a lingering death; for he had read that many savage
nations treated their prisoners in this cruel manner, for the
gratification of the women who had lost relations in the war. But as no
violence was offered to him in the meantime, and he had as much farina
and fruit to eat as he could use, his mind gradually became relieved,
and he endeavoured as much as possible to dismiss the terrible thought
altogether.
The Indian village occupied a lovely situation at the base of a gentle
hill or rising ground, the summit of which was clothed with luxuriant
trees and shrubs. The huts were of various shapes and sizes, and very
simple in construction. They were built upon the bare ground; some were
supported by four corner posts, twelve or fifteen feet high, and from
thirty to forty feet long, the walls being made of thin laths connected
with wicker-work, and plastered with clay. The doors were made of
palm-leaves, and the roofs were covered with the same material, or with
maize straw. Other huts were made almost entirely of palm-leaves and
tent-shaped in form; and, while a few were enclosed by walls, the most
of the square ones had one or more sides entirely open. In the large
huts several families dwelt together, and each family had a hearth and a
portion of the floor allotted to it. The smoke from their fires was
allowed to find its way out by the doors and chinks in the roofs, as no
chimneys were constructed for its egress.
The furniture of each hut was very simple. It consisted of a few
earthen pots; baskets made of palm-leaves, which were filled with
Spanish potatoes, maize, mandioca-roots, and various kinds of wild
fruits; one or two drinking vessels; the hollow trunk of a tree, used
for pounding maize in; and several dishes which contained the colours
used by the Indians in painting their naked bodies,--a custom which was
very prevalent amongst them. Besides these things, there were bows,
arrows, spears, and blow-pipes in abundance; and hammocks hung from
various posts, elevated about a foot from the ground. These hammocks
were made of cotton cords, and served the purpose of tables, chairs, and
beds.
The ground in the immediate neighbourhood of the village was laid out in
patches, in which were cultivated mandioca-roots, maize, and other
plants useful for domestic purposes. In front of the village there was
an extensive valley, through which a small river gurgled with a pleasant
sound. It was hemmed in on all sides by wooded mountains, and was so
beautifully diversified by scattered clusters of palms, and irregular
patches of undulating grassy plains, all covered with a rich profusion
of tropical flowers and climbing-plants, that it seemed to Martin more
like a magnificent garden than the uncultivated forest--only far more
rich and lovely and picturesque than any artificial garden could
possibly be. When the sun shone in full splendour on this valley--as it
almost always did!--it seemed as if the whole landscape were on the
point of bursting into flames of red and blue, and green and gold; and
when Martin sat under the shade of a tamarind-tree and gazed long upon
the enchanting scene, his memory often reverted to the Eden of which he
used to read in the Bible at home, and he used to wonder if it were
possible that the sun and flowers and trees _could_ be more lovely in
the time when Adam walked with God in Paradise.
Martin was young then, and he did not consider, although he afterwards
came to know, that it was not the beauty of natural objects, but the
presence and favour of God and the absence of sin, that rendered the
Garden of Eden a paradise. But these thoughts always carried him back
to dear old Aunt Dorothy and the sweet village of Ashford; and the
Brazilian paradise was not unfrequently obliterated in tears while he
gazed, and turned into a vale of weeping. Ay, he would have given that
magnificent valley,--had it been his own, ten times over, in exchange
for one more glance at the loved faces and the green fields of home.
Soon after his arrival at the Indian village Martin was given to
understand, by signs, that he was to reside with a particular family,
and work every day in the maize and mandioca fields, besides doing a
great deal of the drudgery of the hut; so that he now knew he was
regarded as a slave by the tribe into whose hands he had fallen. It is
impossible to express the bitterness of his feelings at this discovery,
and for many weeks he went about his work scarcely knowing what he did,
and caring little, when the hot sun beat on him so fiercely that he
could hardly stand, whether he lived or died. At length, however, he
made up his mind firmly to attempt his escape. He was sitting beneath
the shade of his favourite resort, the tamarind-tree, when he made this
resolve. Longing thoughts of home had been strong upon him all that
day, and desire for the companionship of Barney had filled his heart to
bursting; so that the sweet evening sunshine and the beautiful vale over
which his eyes wandered, instead of affording him pleasure, seemed but
to mock his misery. It was a lesson that all must learn sooner or
later, and one we would do well to think upon before we learn it, that
sunshine in the soul is not dependent on the sunshine of this world, and
when once the clouds descend, the brightest beams of all that earth
contains cannot pierce them,--God alone can touch these dark clouds with
the finger of love and mercy, and say again, as He said of old, "Let
there be light."
A firm purpose, formed with heart and will, is cheering and invigorating
to a depressed mind. No sooner did the firm determination to escape or
die enter into Martin's heart, than he sprang from his seat, and,
falling on his knees, prayed to God, in the name of our Redeemer, for
help and guidance. He had not the least idea of how he was to effect
his escape, or of what he intended to do. All he knew was that he had
_made up his mind_ to do so, _if God would help him_. And under the
strength of that resolve he soon recovered much of his former
cheerfulness of disposition, and did his work among the savages with a
degree of energy that filled them with surprise and respect. From that
day forth he never ceased to revolve in his mind every imaginable and
unimaginable plan of escape, and to watch every event or circumstance,
no matter how trifling, that seemed likely to aid him in his purpose.
Seeing that he was a very strong and active fellow, and that he had
become remarkably expert in the use of the bow and the blow-pipe, the
Indians now permitted Martin to accompany them frequently on their short
hunting expeditions, so that he had many opportunities of seeing more of
the wonderful animals and plants of the Brazilian forests, in the
studying of which he experienced great delight. Moreover, in the course
of a few months he began to acquire a smattering of the Indian language,
and was not compelled to live in constant silence, as had been the case
at first. But he carefully avoided the formation of any friendships
with the youths of the tribe, although many of them seemed to desire it,
considering that his doing so might in some way or other interfere with
the execution of his great purpose. He was civil and kind to them all,
however, though reserved; and, as time wore away, he enjoyed much more
liberty than was the case at first. Still, however, he was watched by
the tall savage, who was a surly, silent fellow, and would not be drawn
into conversation. Indeed he did not walk with Martin, but followed him
wherever he went during his hours of leisure, at a distance of a few
hundred yards, moving when his prisoner moved, and stopping when he
halted, so that Martin at last began to regard him more as a shadow than
a man.