FLOOD AND FEVER.
The Indians were as good as their word. Headed by the chief's canoe,
the adventurers passed in steady procession through more than a hundred
miles of delta waterways. Progress was slow, for, though the current
in the cross channels was not strong, the wind was hardly felt; the
heat was stifling, and rest during the midday hours absolutely
necessary. Then there were villages to be visited, presents to be made
to the chieftains, and feasts to be eaten in return. Haste was
impossible, though very desirable. The rains were beginning, the river
would soon be in flood, and pestilence would stalk through the swampy
regions like a destroying angel.
At last the apex of the delta was reached, and the broad
river--stretching miles from bank to bank--lay before the navigators.
The milk-white current, laden with chalky washings from the land, swept
by in a mighty flood. On its bosom floated trees and detached masses
of soil, going northwards to build up the growing delta. But for the
wind and the guidance of the natives the adventurers would have made no
headway against the mighty volume of the waters. Happily the
North-East Trades from the Atlantic, unimpeded by mountain or hill,
blew with steady and strong persistence across the flat delta and along
the level plains through which the river made its way. Sandbanks in
the bed diverted the current here and there, making quiet, lake-like
pools under the banks. The Indians knew of these, and skilfully made
use of them. Sails were spread to the breeze, and the flotilla went
steadily on its way.
One week went by, and then another. The weather grew worse and worse.
Terrific storms swept across the plains, lashing the Orinoco into fury,
tearing down the mighty trees on its banks, and deluging the intrepid
voyagers. The banks of the stream were almost lost; hundreds of square
miles of forest-clad plain were under water, the tree-tops alone
showing the navigators the true course of the river. The flood flowing
sea-wards became thicker, deeper, and mightier than ever. The humid
heat of the stormy summer became well-nigh unbearable. Men sickened,
and in a few cases died. Camping ground at night was almost
unobtainable, and thick, poisonous mists enwreathed the boats during
the hours of darkness, fevering the men's blood, cramping and
stiffening their limbs. It became imperative to call a halt for a
while; the enfeebled rowers made scant progress against the
strengthening current, and the success achieved was not worth the
effort that was made. A pile-supported village was sighted, and the
Indian guides turned their boat thither, the others following.
The village stood on some rising ground on the western bank of the
stream, and in the dry season must have been at least half a mile from
the margin of the waters. Now the floods rolled between the piles,
submerging at least ten feet of them. Native canoes were tethered to
the supports, and the house platforms were soon covered with knots of
brown-skinned fellows full of anxiety and apprehension concerning the
oncoming fleet. They knew the ship's boats for those used by the white
men who came trading or raiding along the river, and wondered to find
them attempting a voyage at such a time. The friendly Indians went
forward and explained who the white men were, and what they wanted, and
the villagers proved kind and confiding, as indeed had all the natives
dwelling along the river. They gave up room in their huts to the
fevered men, sleeping out on the platforms themselves, and for a few
days the expedition rested and recuperated.
The sun had set, the moon was above the tree-tops, steadily making for
its zenith. A group of three--Johnnie Morgan, Timothy Jeffreys, and
Dan Pengelly--sat on the platform of one of the huts, their legs
dangling over the edge within a couple of feet of the water. The day
had been fiercely hot, and the water around had steamed like a smoking
cauldron. With the moon had come a brisk breeze, that swept the
stagnant, mouldy vapours away, and left a clear landscape and cool air.
Dan was stuffing tobacco into a pipe of bamboo, and urging the two
gentlemen to follow his example, the smoke of the weed being, he
declared, an antidote against the malarial poisons breathed out by the
foul mud and rotting vegetation that surrounded them. The old sailor
had enjoyed marvellously good health throughout the river voyage, and,
forgetting his previous travels, and the natural toughness of his
constitution, put his happy condition down to his daily pipes of the
fragrant Indian weed. But his two companions were too languid for
indulgence in smoking. Their heads were giddy, their hearts throbbing,
and their stomachs at war with all solid food. The tropical marsh
fever had them in its grip, and the grasp was tightening every moment.
The trees swayed dismally in the breeze, and the birds chattered
querulously at being disturbed. The waters "lap, lapped" monotonously
against the piles, and horny-backed alligators nosed amongst them,
seeking for scraps and offal or any stray eatables that came their way.
Moths and fireflies flitted about in such numbers that the air seemed
alive with them. All around was a vast, shallow, fresh-water
sea--rolling, heaving, sucking, lapping, shimmering under the tropical
moon. A night full of majesty, beauty, mystery, and death.
Dan curled himself comfortably against a pillar, closed his eyes, and
smoked with keen enjoyment. Morgan and Jeffreys gazed for a while with
aching eyes at the weird scene around; then the heavy lids dropped, and
they fell a-dreaming.
Johnnie was back in the cool forest by Severn side; the oaks and the
beeches swayed above him, and the bracken rustled as a rabbit scuttled
through. The nightingale was singing his love song to his mate and the
moon, and the dull, far-off roar of the rushing tide sounded a low
accompaniment to the song. Gone were the white, warm, mud-laden
waters, the floating trunks, the screaming parrots, the croaking frogs,
the howling beasts; the glare of the sun no longer hurt his eyes, and
its fierce heat no longer sent his brain throbbing and burning. The
air was cool, the bracken sweet, and the bird trilled out its
passionate music. Why should he sit uncomfortably propped against a
tree? He would lie down, and let the fresh, green fronds curl above
him. He sighed, his limbs relaxed, he swayed--he fell with a heavy
splash into the warm, lapping waters!
A nosing alligator swished his tail against a pile and darted off in
sudden alarm; but he came round again speedily, just as the
half-fainting man roused sufficiently to be conscious that he was in
the water. Jeffreys was asleep, but Dan's sailor senses were alert in
an instant. His eyes opened, he glanced around, missed Morgan, and
peered over into the flood. The fallen man cried out, and the huge
reptile that had espied him moved off again. Dan saw both, shouted in
alarm, and hurled a handy log at the prowling horror; then he swung
himself, monkey fashion, down a stout pile, seized Morgan by the hair,
and brought him so that he got a grip of the platform. A minute later
Johnnie swung himself into safety, and only just in time, for more than
one scaly reptile had scented the feast, and was hurrying through the
moonlit waters, eager and voracious. This unlucky sousing in the flood
settled the grip of the fever on Morgan. When next he sunned himself
on the platform the waters had subsided, the mud was baked and
cracking, and the major portion of the expedition leagues away
southwards.