"Hold on! hold on!" cried John; "we shall soon be in safety." And in
another minute we were entering the mouth of a narrow channel. "We will
turn the canoe round," said John, "and let the raft go first. We may
thus prevent it being dashed on the bank."
We did as he advised. Scarcely, however, had we turned the raft round
when we found it had reached the shore.
"Do you, Domingos, help the senora and Maria to land!" shouted John.
By the light from the torch we saw a tall figure standing on the bank.
He flung the light so that it might fall across us.
"Females!" he exclaimed. "A sorry night to be buffeting with the waves
of the Amazon! Give me your hands, whoever you are. I should little
have expected to find my countrymen in such a plight in this remote
region."
While he was speaking he helped Ellen and Maria up the bank, the two
monkeys following, while Poll and Niger clung fast to Maria's shoulders.
Faithful True did not attempt to leap on shore, though he could easily
have done so, but remained with me in the canoe. Domingos, meantime,
was hastily throwing our goods on shore; while we continued exerting
ourselves in preventing the raft being lifted by the force of the water
and upset on the bank.
"All the things are safely landed," cried Domingos at length.
We then, casting off the tow-rope, paddled round, and ran the bow of the
canoe on shore. Not till then did True leap out of her. Domingos and
the stranger coming down, helped us to drag her out of the water.
"We may save the raft also," said the latter. "You may require it to
continue your voyage; as I conclude you do not intend to locate
yourselves here, and compel me to seek another home in the wilderness."
I was struck by the morose tone in which the stranger spoke. He,
however, assisted us in dragging up the raft sufficiently high to
prevent its being knocked about by the waves, which ran even into the
comparatively smooth part of the channel in which we found ourselves.
"We heartily thank you for your assistance," said John. "We owe the
preservation of our lives to you; for, with the increasing storm, we
could scarcely have escaped destruction had we been driven further down
the river."
"You owe me no thanks, young sir. I would have done the same for a
party of benighted savages, as you call them," answered the stranger.
"Your dumb companions are equally welcome. I am not ill pleased to see
them. It speaks in your favour that they follow you willingly, instead
of being dragged about with ropes and chains, or confined in cages, as
civilised men treat the creatures they pretend to tame. I have,
however, but poor shelter to offer you from the deluge which will soon
be down on our heads. Follow me; there is no time to be lost."
"But we must not allow our goods to remain out," said John.
"I will assist you, then, to carry them," answered the stranger, lifting
up double the number of packages which we usually carried at a time.
We then all loaded ourselves. Ellen insisted on carrying a package, and
followed the stranger, who went before us with his torch. We could not
even then exchange words, as we had to proceed in single file along a
narrow pathway, fringed on either side with thick shrubs--apparently the
after-growth of a cleared spot, soon to spring up again into tall trees.
We soon found ourselves within the forest, where, so dense was the
gloom, that without the torch to guide us we could not have made our
way. Its ruddy flame glanced on the trunks of the tall trees, showing a
canopy of wide-spreading boughs overhead, and the intricate tracery of
the numberless sipos which hung in festoons, or dropped in long
threadlike lines from them. Passing for a few yards through a jungle,
the boughs spreading so closely above our heads that we often had to
stoop, we found ourselves in an open space, in which by the light of the
torch we saw a small hut with deep eaves, the gable end turned towards
us. It was raised on posts several feet from the ground. A ladder led
to a platform or verandah, which projected from the wall of the gable,
in which was a small door.
"Here you are welcome to stow your goods and rest for the night," said
the stranger. "No human being but myself has ever entered it; for I
seek not the society of my fellow-men, either savage or civilised,
so-called. To-morrow, if the weather clears, you will, I conclude,
proceed on your way; or if you insist on remaining, I must seek another
home. Let that be understood, before I make you further welcome. Now,
enter, and such accommodation as my hut affords shall be yours."
There was something in the tone of the speaker which, though his dress
was rough and strange, made us feel that he was a man of education.
"We cordially thank you, sir," answered John, "and accept your
hospitality on the terms you propose; but as a portion of our goods
still remain near the river, we would ask you to give us another torch
to enable us to fetch them before the rain comes done."
"I will myself accompany you," he answered, "when I have introduced the
young people to my abode."
Saying this, he stepped up the ladder, and assisted Ellen and Maria to
reach the platform. He then led the way in, and lighted a lamp which
stood--we could see through the open door--on a table near it.
"I am sorry I have no better accommodation to offer you," he said,
looking at Ellen; "but such as it is, you are welcome to it."
He came down with another torch in his hand, and proceeded with rapid
strides back to the river. We had some difficulty in following him.
Again he took up a heavy load; and we, dividing the remainder of the
goods between us, followed him towards the hut. Ascending the ladder as
we reached it, he desired us to hand up the goods, which he carried
within. As soon as we were on the platform, he drew up the ladder.
"I always secure myself thus in my fortress at night," he remarked; "and
as I have taken means of preventing any snakes crawling up the posts on
which it stands, I can sleep more securely than many do in the so-called
civilised portion of the globe."
On entering the house, we found that it was larger than we had supposed
from its appearance outside. It was divided into two rooms. The outer
was fitted up, in somewhat rustic style, as a sitting-room, while we
concluded that the inner one was a sleeping-room. Round the walls were
arranged shelves, on one of which were a considerable number of books,
with a variety of other articles. In one corner was a pile of nets and
harpoons, and some spears and other weapons for the chase; in another
stood an Indian mill for grinding flour, and several jars and other
articles, apparently for preparing or preserving food. Against the
walls stood several chests. Though the table was large enough for the
whole of us to sit round it, yet there was but one stool, showing that
our host, as he had told us, was unaccustomed to receive guests. He,
however, pulled the chests forward, and by placing some boards between
them, we all found seats.
"If you have not brought provisions, I will supply you while you stay
with me," he observed; "but my own consumption is so small that I have
but a limited amount to offer you."
"We would not willingly deprive you of that, sir," said John; "and we
have enough to last us till we can supply ourselves with more."
"That is fortunate," remarked the recluse. "While your servant gets it
ready, I will prepare my room for the young lady and her attendant. I
have no cooking-place under shelter, and while the rain is pouring down,
as it will begin to do presently, a fire cannot be lighted outside. You
must therefore be content with a cold repast."
While the recluse--so I may call him--was absent, we for the first time
had an opportunity of asking Ellen what had occurred to drive her and
her attendants away from the camp.
"I was indeed unwilling to do so," she said, "till urged by Domingos.
He had gone to shoot at a short distance from the hut, when he came
hurrying back with a look of alarm, and told me that he had caught sight
of some savages making their way through the forest. He insisted that
they were trying to find us out, and that our only hope of safety was by
instant flight. I pleaded that you would come back, and finding us
gone, would fancy we had been carried off or killed. He argued that on
your return, finding the raft gone, you would know we had embarked on
it. At length he agreed, that if we would assist to carry the goods
down to the raft he would again search round the camp, and should the
natives appear to be going in a different direction, we might carry them
back again. He had not gone long, when he returned with dismay on his
countenance, asserting that they were coming towards us, and that if we
did not escape we should certainly be killed. You may suppose, my dear
brothers, how fearfully agitated I was. I knew how alarmed you would be
on returning not to find us, and yet, if we should remain it might be
still worse. Domingos and Maria settled the matter by seizing me by the
arms, and dragging me to the raft before I had time to write a note or
leave any signal. I scarcely thought, indeed, of doing so, till
Domingos had pushed the raft off from the bank. I entreated him to go
back; but he replied that it was impossible without the risk of being
caught by the savages, and began paddling the raft down the channel. I
looked back, and seeing no natives, again urged him to return. He
replied that he was sure they would lie in ambush to catch us, and that
it would be destruction to do so. Feeling that he wished to secure my
safety, I could not complain. He did his best, too, to comfort me about
you. He said that as you were probably with the friendly natives, you
would be defended from the Majeronas; and that by the time you had come
back, those he had seen would have gone away, and you would certainly
guess that we were not far off. I did my utmost to arouse myself and to
assist Maria and him in paddling the raft. The wind was light, the
water smooth, and there appeared to be no danger in venturing out into
the river. A light wind was in our favour, and he accordingly steered
towards the opposite bank, saying that we should be safer there than
anywhere else, and might more easily get back than by going down the
stream. I looked frequently towards the shore we had left, but still
saw no natives. Poor Domingos was evidently anxious about you, though
he did his best not to alarm me more than he had done already. We
found, after getting some way across, that the current was floating us
down much faster than we had expected, and I begged Domingos therefore
to return. He insisted that, having got thus far, it was better to
continue our course towards the southern bank, and wait there for a
favourable wind for getting back. I was thankful when at length we
reached a sandy beach, where we could land without difficulty and secure
our raft. Domingos fortunately shot a paca, so we had plenty of food;
and Maria and I assisted him in putting up a hut. Had I not been so
anxious about you, I should have had no cause to complain. They both
exerted themselves to the utmost; and I do not think Domingos closed his
eyes all night, for whenever I awoke I saw him, through an opening in
our hut, walking about or making up the fire. We spent the morning on
the bank, watching in the hope of seeing you come to look for us. As
soon as the wind changed, I entreated Domingos to put off, and at last,
though somewhat unwillingly, he consented to do so; but he blamed
himself very much for yielding to my wishes, when the wind began to blow
so violently. Had you, indeed, not arrived to assist us, I suspect that
our raft would have been in great danger of being overwhelmed."
"We have reason to be thankful, dear Ellen, that you were preserved,"
said John. "I am very sure Domingos acted for the best. I wish for
your sake that our expedition had come to a favourable end, although the
rest of us may enjoy it."
"Oh, if it were not for anxiety about papa and mamma, and dear Fanny,
and Aunt Martha, I should like it too," said Ellen. "When we once find
them, I am sure that I shall enjoy our voyage down the river as much as
any of you."
"You are a brave girl," said the stranger, who at that moment returned,
"though, perhaps, you scarcely know the dangers you may have to
encounter. Yet, after all, they are of a nature more easily overcome
than many which your sisters in the civilised regions of the world are
called to go through. Here you have only the elements and a few wild
beasts to contend with; there, they have falsehood, treachery, evil
example, allurements of all sorts, and other devices of Satan, to drag
them to destruction."
While we were seated at supper, the rain came down in tremendous
torrents, as the recluse had predicted. The strength of his roof was
proved, as not a drop found its way through.
"I am protected here," he remarked, "from the heat of the summer months
by the leafy bower overhead; while, raised on these poles, my habitation
is above the floods in the rainy season. What can man want more? Much
in the same way the natives on the Orinoco form their dwellings among
the palm-trees; but they trust more to Nature, and, instead of piles,
form floating rafts, sufficiently secured to the palm-trees to keep them
stationary, but rising and falling as the floods increase or diminish."
I was struck with many of the remarks of our eccentric host, but the
more I saw of him the more I was surprised that a man of his information
should have thus secluded himself from the world. We had just time to
give Ellen an account of our adventures, when he expressed his wish that
we should hang up our hammocks, as it was past his usual hour for
retiring to rest. This was an operation quickly performed, as we had
only to secure them in the usual way to the posts which supported the
roof.
"We should not part," said Ellen, somewhat timidly, "without our usual
prayer; and we have cause to thank God for our preservation from
danger."
The recluse looked at her fixedly. "You are in earnest, I am sure," he
muttered. "Pray, young people, do not depart from your usual custom; I
will wait for you."
Arthur, I should have said, though the youngest, always led us in
prayer. "As he is absent," I remarked to Ellen's request, "I will do
so."
"Oh, you have a young chaplain with you," said the recluse; "and what
pay does he receive?"
"None at all, sir," answered Ellen. "He is only earnest and good."
"I should like to meet him," said the recluse.
"I hope you may, sir," said Ellen, "if you come with us."
A short prayer was offered up. I spoke with the earnestness I felt.
Ellen then read a portion of Scripture from the Bible she had always at
hand in her trunk. Our host listened attentively, his eyes fixed on our
young sister. I had not observed a copy of the blessed Book on his
shelves. He made no remark, however, on the subject, but I thought his
tone was less morose than before.
We were soon in our hammocks, a small oil lamp, which was kept burning
on the table, throwing a subdued light through the chamber. True, I
should have said, from our first meeting with the stranger, had eyed him
askance, having apparently some doubts as to his character. He now came
and coiled himself up in his usual position under my hammock. He had
kept as far off from him as he could during the evening, and did not
seem satisfied till the tall figure of the recluse was stretched out in
his hammock near the entrance of the hut. The rain pattering overhead,
and splashing down on the soft ground round us, kept me for some time
awake. It ceased at length, and soon afterwards, just as I was dropping
off to sleep, a chorus of hideous sounds commenced, coming apparently
from no great distance in the forest. Now they resembled the cries and
groans of a number of people in distress. Now it seemed as if a whole
troop of jaguars were growling and snarling over their prey. Now it
seemed as if a company of Brobdignag cats were singing a serenade. Now
the sounds for a moment ceased, but were instantly taken up again by
other creatures at a distance. After a time, the same sounds
recommenced in another quarter. Had I not already been well accustomed
to similar noises, I might have fancied that we had got into some forest
haunted by evil spirits bewailing their lost condition. I was
sufficiently awake, however, to guess that they proceeded only from
troops of howling monkeys, though we had never yet heard them so near,
or in such numbers. In spite of the hideous concert, I at last fell
asleep.
The voice of our host aroused us at daybreak. "As soon as you have
broken your fast, I will accompany you to find your companions," he
said, "unless you desire to proceed by water. In that case, you will
scarcely meet them; but I would advise you to leave your canoe and raft
here, as I can conduct you through the forest by the only open paths
which exist, and by which alone they can make their way in this
direction. I am afraid, unless they had their wits about them, they
must have been exposed to the tempest last night, and may be but ill
able to travel far this morning."
John at once decided to go by land, as the canoe was not large enough to
convey all our party. The recluse looked at Ellen. "She will scarcely
be able to undergo the fatigue of so long a walk," he remarked. "If she
wishes it, she and her attendant can remain here, while we go to meet
your companions; and you can then return and remove your property, or
leave it till you can find the means of continuing your voyage. I did
not purpose to allow my solitude to be thus broken in on; but,"--and he
looked again at Ellen--"she reminds me of days gone by, and I cannot
permit her to be exposed to more trials than are necessary."
John thanked him for his proposal, though Ellen seemed unwilling to
remain behind. We also did not like to leave her. At last John
suggested that Domingos should remain also. The recluse pressed the
point with more warmth than I should have expected, and at last Ellen
agreed to do as was proposed. She was certainly better off in a
well-built hut than she had been for some time, and strange and
eccentric as the recluse appeared, still we felt that he was disposed to
assist us to the best of his power.
Our early breakfast over, John and I, shouldering our rifles, followed
by True, set off with the recluse. Ellen looked rather sad as we were
going.
"You will find poor Arthur? I know you will," she said in a low voice
to me. "I thought of him a great deal last night, out in the fierce
tempest, with only two young Indians to assist him; and he is not so
strong as you are, and has no gun to defend himself. I could not help
thinking of fierce jaguars roaming in search of prey, or those dreadful
boas, or the anacondas we have heard of."
"Oh, drive all such thoughts from your mind, Ellen," I answered.
"Arthur, if not so strong, has plenty of sense and courage; and, depend
upon it, the Indians will have found some hollow tree, or will have
built a hut for themselves, in which they would have taken shelter
during the night. I should not have minded changing places with Arthur.
It is all right. We will bring him back safe enough."
With these words I hurried after John and the recluse. We had not gone
far, when I saw them looking up into a tree. True darted forward and
began to bark, when, in return, a chorus of terrific barks, howls, and
screeches proceeded from the higher branches, and there I saw seated a
group of several large monkeys with long tails and most hideous faces.
Every instant they threw up their heads, and the fearful sounds I had
heard issued forth from them. I could scarcely suppose that animals of
such a size could make so much noise.
"You have there some of my friends who serenaded you last night,"
observed the recluse, when, after a few minutes, the monkeys ceased
howling. "These are the _mycetes_, or ursine howlers. The creature is
called in this country _araguato_, and sometimes by naturalists the
_alouatte_. It is known also as `the preacher.' If he could discourse
of sin and folly, and point out to benighted man the evil of his ways,
he might howl to some purpose but his preaching is lost on the denizens
of the forest, who know nothing of sin, and are free from the follies of
the world. Observe that with how little apparent difficulty he gives
forth that terrific note. It is produced by a drum-shaped expansion of
the larynx. The hyoid bone, which in man is but slightly developed, is
in these monkeys very large. It gives support to the tongue, being
attached to the muscles of the neck. The bony drum communicates with
the wind-pipe, and enables them to utter those loud sounds."
Had Arthur been with us, I am sure we should have indulged in a hearty
laugh at the curious faces of those thick-jawed creatures as they looked
down upon us inquisitively to ascertain what we were about. They were
considerably larger than any we had seen; indeed, the howler is the
largest monkey in the New World. The fur is of a rich bay colour, and
as the sun fell upon the coats of some of them above us, they shone with
a golden lustre. The thick beard which hung from the chin and neck was
of a deeper hue than the body. Our friend told us that those he had
caught were generally about three feet long, and that their tails in
addition were of even greater length. We went on without disturbing the
assemblage in their aerial seat, greatly to True's disappointment, who
would evidently have liked to measure his strength with one of them.
Like the spider monkeys, they live entirely in trees, making good use of
their long tails as they move about from branch to branch; indeed, the
tail serves the howler for another hand. When by any chance he descends
to the ground, he moves along very awkwardly, and can easily be caught,
as we afterwards discovered.
Our new acquaintance was but little inclined to talk; indeed, had he
been so, we could seldom have enjoyed much conversation, as we were
compelled in most places to follow him in Indian file. Now and then he
had to use his hatchet to clear the path, and we very frequently had to
force our way by pressing aside the branches which met in front of us.
Still he went on without wavering for a moment, or appearing doubtful of
the direction he should take. After going on some way further, he again
stopped, and pointed to a tree, the branch of which rose a few feet off.
I knew by the way True barked that some creature was there; and looking
more narrowly, I observed some animals clinging to the lower branches,
but so nearly did they resemble the bark to which they were holding,
that had they not been pointed out to me I should have passed them by.
The animals turned listless glances at us, and seemed in no way disposed
to move.
"There," observed the recluse, "are creatures in every way adapted to
the mode of life which they are doomed to lead. Place them in any
other, and they will be miserable. You see there the _ai_, or
three-toed sloth (the _Bradypus torquatus_). Though its arms, or
fore-legs more properly, are nearly twice as long as the hinder ones, it
finds them exactly suited for climbing the trees on which it lives.
Place it on the ground, and it cannot get along. It passes its life,
not above, but under the branches. When moving along, it suspends
itself beneath them; when at rest, it hangs from them; and it sleeps
clutching them with its strong claws, and its back hanging downwards."
One of the creatures was hanging as our friend described; the other was
on its way up the tree. It stopped on seeing us approach, and turned
its round short head, with deeply sunk eyes and a large nose, to look at
us. The animals had long powerful claws on all their feet. The hair
was very coarse and shaggy, more like grass or moss than anything else.
"The sloth suckles its young like other quadrupeds," observed our
friend; "and I have often seen the female, with her little one clinging
to her, moving at a rate through the forest which shows that the sloth
does not properly deserve its name. See now--give a shout--and then say
if it is too sluggish to more."
John and I shouted together, and True barked loudly. The sloths gave
reproachful glances at us for disturbing them, and then began to move
away at a speed which an active sailor running up the rigging of a ship
could scarcely equal. In a short time, slinging themselves from branch
to branch, they had disappeared in the depths of the forest.
"Let them go," observed our friend. "You do not want a meal, or you
would find their flesh supply you with one not to be disdained." The
last remark was made as we again moved on. Once more we relapsed into
silence. When, however, a bird, or moth, or any creature appeared, our
guide stopped for an instant, and turning round, told us its name and
habits. We passed several curious trees, one of which he pointed out
rising from the ground in numerous stalks, which then united in a thick
stem, and afterwards, half-way up, bulged out in a long oval, again to
narrow, till at the summit six or eight branches, with palm-like formed
leaves, spread forth, forming a graceful crown to the curious stem. He
called it the _Iriartes ventricosa_, or bulging-stemmed palm. Again we
passed through a grove of urucuri palms (_Attalea excelsa_). Their
smooth columnar stems were about forty or fifty feet in height, while
their broad, finely pinnated leaves interlocked above, and formed arches
and woven canopies of varied and peculiarly graceful shapes. High above
them rose the taller forest trees, whose giant branches formed a second
canopy to shade them from the glaring rays of the sun. Many of the
trees rose eighty feet without a branch, their stems perfectly straight.
Huge creepers were clinging round them, sometimes stretching obliquely
from their summits, like the stays of a ship's mast. Others wound round
their trunks, like huge serpents ready to spring on their prey. Others,
again twisted spirally round each other, forming vast cables of living
wood, holding fast those mighty monarchs of the forest. Some of the
trees were so covered with smaller creepers and parasitic plants that
the parent stem was entirely concealed. The most curious trees were
those having buttresses projecting from their bases. The lower part of
some of them extended ten feet or more from the base of the tree,
reaching only five or six feet up the trunk. Others again extended to
the height of fully thirty feet, and could be seen running up like ribs
to a still greater height. Some of these ribs were like wooden walls,
several inches in thickness, extended from the stem, so as to allow room
for a good-sized hut to be formed between them by merely roofing over
the top. Again, I remarked other trees ribbed and furrowed for their
whole height. Occasionally these furrows pierced completely through the
trunks, like the narrow windows of an ancient tower. There were many
whose roots were like those of the bulging palm, but rising much higher
above the surface of the ground. The trees appeared to be standing on
many-legged pedestals, frequently so far apart from each other that we
could without difficulty walk beneath them. A multitude of pendants
hung from many of the trees, some like large wild pine-apples, swinging
in the air. There were climbing arums, with dark-green arrow-head
shaped leaves; huge ferns shot out here and there up the stems to the
topmost branches. Many of the trees had leaves as delicately cut as
those of the graceful mimosa, while others had large palmate leaves, and
others, again, oval glossy ones.
Now and then, as I looked upwards, I was struck with the finely-divided
foliage strongly defined against the blue sky, here and there lighted up
by the bright sunshine; while, in the region below through which we
moved, a deep gloom prevailed, adding grandeur and solemnity to the
scene. There were, however, but few flowers; while the ground on which
we walked was covered with dead leaves and rotten wood, the herbage
consisting chiefly of ferns and a few grasses and low creeping plants.
We stopped at last to lunch, and while John and I were seated on the
branch of a fallen tree, our friend disappeared. He returned shortly,
with his arms full of large bunches of a round juicy berry. "Here," he
said, "these will quench your thirst, and are perfectly wholesome." We
found the taste resembling that of grapes. He called it the _puruma_.
We were too eager to find Arthur to rest long, and were once more on our
journey.
"From the account you gave me, I hope we may soon meet with your
friends," observed the recluse, "unless they have turned back in despair
of finding you."
"Little fear of that," I observed. "I am sure Arthur will search for us
as long as he has strength to move."
Still we went on and on, and Arthur did not appear; and we asked our
companion whether he did not think it possible that our friends might
have tried to make their way along the bank of the river.
"No," he answered, "the jungle is there too thick; and if we find signs
of their having made the attempt, we shall speedily overtake them; for
though we have made a considerable circuit, they by this time could
scarcely have progressed half a mile even with the active employment of
sharp axes."
This somewhat comforted me; for notwithstanding what the recluse said, I
felt nearly certain that Arthur would attempt to examine the whole
length of the bank, in hopes of discovering what had become of us. We
went on and on till we entered a denser part of the forest, where we
were compelled to use our axes before we could get through. At length I
caught sight through an opening of what looked like a heap of boughs at
a distance. The recluse, quickening his pace, went on towards it. We
eagerly followed. It was a hut roughly built. Extinguished embers of a
fire were before it. We looked in eagerly. It was empty, but there
were leaves on the ground, and dry grass, as if people had slept there.
It had been, there was little doubt, inhabited by Arthur and his
companions. It was just such a hut as they would have built in a hurry
for defence against the storm. But what had become of them?
"I believe you are right," said the recluse at last, having examined the
bushes round; "they certainly attempted to make their way along the
bank. I trust no accident has happened to them, for in many places it
is undermined by the waters, and after rain suddenly gives way." These
remarks somewhat alarmed me. "This is the way they have taken, at all
events," he added; "though they have managed to creep under places we
might find some difficulty in passing." Again he led the way, clearing
the path occasionally with his axe. We were close to the edge of the
river, though so thickly grew the tangled sipos and the underwood that
we could only occasionally get glimpses of it. As we went along we
shouted out frequently, in hopes that Arthur might hear us.
"Your friend and his companions have laboured hard to get through this
dense jungle," he observed, "but we shall soon overtake them."
Still on and on we went, now and then having to turn aside, being unable
otherwise to force our way onwards. We at length, on returning to the
river, found below us a sand-bank, which extended for some distance
along it.
"Here are the marks of their feet!" exclaimed John, who had leaped down
on it. "See the way they are turned! We shall soon overtake them."
This discovery restored my spirits, for I had begun to fear that after
all, unable to get along, they had turned back. We hastened forward
along the bank, but the sand was very soft, and walking on it was almost
as fatiguing as through the forest; while the heat from the sun striking
down on it was intense. Climbing up the bank once more, we proceeded
through the forest. We went on a short distance, when we found
ourselves in more open ground--that is to say, we could get on without
the use of our axes. We continued shouting out, and every now and then
making our way to the bank as before.
"Hark!" said John, "I hear a cry. See! there are natives coming towards
us. Yes; I believe they are the two young Indians."
"They are Indians," remarked our guide. "They are beckoning us. We
will hasten on."
In another minute we saw Duppo and Oria running towards us. They kept
crying out words that I did not understand. As soon as they saw the
recluse they hurried to him, and took his hands, as if they knew him
well.
"They tell me your young friend is ill," he remarked. "They have left
him a little further on, close to the water, where, it seems, unable to
proceed, he fainted. They entreat me to hasten on lest he should die.
They fancy I can do everything, having occasionally cured some of their
people of slight diseases."
As he said this he allowed himself to be dragged forward by Duppo and
his sister, who, in their eagerness, seemed scarcely to have recognised
us. The ground over which we were proceeding was somewhat swampy, and
sloped down to a small lagoon or inlet of the river. John and I
followed as fast as we could at the heels of our guide. Presently he
stopped, and uttering an exclamation, threw aside the hands of the young
Indians and dashed forward. We followed, when, what was our horror to
see, under a grove of mimosa bushes, Arthur in the grasp of a huge
serpent, which had wound its coils round his body. I shrieked with
dismay, for I thought he was dead. He moved neither hand nor foot,
seemingly unconscious of what had occurred. The recluse dashed forward.
John and I followed with our axes, and True went tearing boldly on
before us. It was an anaconda. Already its huge mouth was open to
seize our young companion. Without a moment's hesitation the recluse
sprang at the monster, and seizing its jaws with a power I should
scarcely have supposed he possessed, wrenched them back, and held them
fast in spite of the creature's efforts to free itself. "Draw him out!"
shouted the recluse; and John, seizing Arthur, drew him forth from amid
the vast coils, while I with my axe struck blow after blow at its body
and tail. The recluse did not let go his hold, although the creature,
unwinding its tail, threatened to encircle him in its coils. Now it
seemed as if it would drag him to the ground, but he recovered his feet,
still bending back the head till I could hear the bones cracking. I
meantime had been hacking at its tail, and at length a fortunate blow
cut it off. John, placing Arthur at a little distance, came back to our
assistance, and in another minute the reptile lay dead at our feet, when
True flew at it and tore away furiously at its body.
"Your young friend has had a narrow escape," said the recluse, as he
knelt down and took Arthur's hand; "he breathes, though, and is not
aware of what has happened, for the anaconda must have seized him while
he was unconscious."
We ran to the river. The dry shells of several large nuts lay near. In
these we brought some water, and bathed Arthur's brow and face. "He
seems unhurt by the embrace of the anaconda," remarked the recluse, "but
probably suffered from the heat of the sun."
After this he lifted Arthur in his arms, and bore him up the bank. John
and I followed with a shell of water. The contrast between the hot
sandy bank and the shady wood was very great. As we again applied the
water, Arthur opened his eyes. They fell on the recluse, on whom he
kept them steadily fixed with a look of surprise.
"I thought John and Harry were with me," he murmured out. "I heard
their voices calling as I lay fainting on the bank."
"Yes; we are here," John and I said, coming forward. "Duppo and his
sister met us, and brought us to you."
"I am so glad," he said in a low voice. "I began to fear that you were
really lost, we wandered on so far without finding you. I felt ready to
die too, I was so sick at heart. And your sister--is she safe?" he
asked. "Oh yes; I am sure you would look more sad if she were not."
"Yes, she is safe and well, Arthur," I said; "and we must take you there
to be nursed, or, if it is too far to carry you, we must build a hut
somewhere near here, where we can join you."
The stranger looked at Arthur, and murmured something we did not hear.
"It is a long way to carry the lad," he said; "though if I had him in my
hut I would watch over him."
"Perhaps it may be better to build a hut at the spot we proposed, and
bring our sister and goods to it," I said.
"No; I will take the lad to mine," answered the recluse. "You can build
a hut as you proposed, and when he has recovered I will bring him to
you."
I was very glad to hear this, because I was afraid that Arthur might
suffer unless we could get him soon placed in a comfortable hammock, and
give him better food than we should be able to prepare without our
cooking apparatus.
"I am ready to go on whenever you wish it," observed Arthur, who heard
the discussion; "but I am afraid I cannot walk very fast."
"I will carry you then," said the recluse; "but it will be better to
form a litter, on which you can rest more at your ease. We will soon
get one ready."
Duppo and Oria stood by watching us eagerly while we spoke, as if they
were anxious to know what we were saying.
"You stay with your young friend, while your brother and I prepare the
litter," said the recluse to me, replacing Arthur on the ground.
I sat down by his side, supporting him. He did not allude to the
anaconda, and, I suspected, was totally unconscious of the danger he had
been in. While the recluse and John were cutting down some poles to
form the litter, Duppo and his sister collected a number of long thin
sipos, showing that they understood what we proposed doing. In a short
time the litter was completed. John and I insisted on carrying it,
though we had some difficulty in persuading the recluse to allow us to
do so. He spoke for some time to Duppo and his sister, who looked
greatly disconcerted and sad.
"I was telling them that they must go and find their people," he said,
"and that they must build a house for you on the spot you selected.
They will be true friends to you, as they have ever been to me. I
advise you to cultivate their friendship by treating them with kindness
and respect."
The young Indians seemed very unwilling to take their departure, and
lingered some time after we had wished them good-bye. John and I took
up the litter, on which Arthur had been placed. As we had already cut a
road for ourselves, we were able to proceed faster than we did when
before passing through the forest. We hurried on, for the sun had begun
to sink towards the west, and we might be benighted before we could
reach the hermit's abode.
We proceeded by the way we had come. After we had gone some distance,
Arthur begged that he might be put down and allowed to walk. "I am sure
I have strength enough, and I do not like to see you carry me," he said.
Of this, however, we would not hear, and continued on.
At last we sat down to rest. The spot we had chosen was a pleasant one.
Though shaded, it was sufficiently open to allow the breeze to
circulate through it. Round us, in most directions, was a thick jungle.
We had brought some water in a shell of one of the large nuts, and
after Arthur had drunk some, we induced him to take a little food, which
seemed greatly to revive him. We were seated round the contents of our
wallets, John and I, at all events, feeling in much better spirits than
we had been in the morning; even the recluse threw off some of his
reserve. We took the opportunity of telling him of our anxiety about
our parents, and of the uncertainty we felt whether they had passed down
the river. He in return asked us further questions, and seemed
interested in our account.
"I may be of use to you," he said at length, "by being able to make
inquiries among the Indians on the river, who would probably have
observed them should they have passed; but promises are so often broken,
that I am ever unwilling to make them. Therefore, I advise you to trust
to your own exertions," he added.
We were on the point of again taking up Arthur to proceed, when a loud
sound of crashing branches was heard in the distance. It seemed as if a
hurricane was sweeping through the forest. It came nearer and nearer.
"Oh I what can it be?" cried Arthur. "Leave me and save yourselves. It
seems as if the whole forest was falling."
The crashing increased. Boughs seemed broken off, shrubs trampled under
foot. Presently we saw, bearing down upon as, a large dark-skinned
creature, though its form could scarcely be distinguished amid the
foliage.
"Stand fast!" said the recluse. "It will not harm you. See! it has an
enemy to contend with."
As the creature drew nearer, I saw that it bore on its back a huge
jaguar, distinguished by its spotted hide and its fierce glaring eyes.
Its jaws were fixed in the creature's neck, to which it clung also with
its sharp claws.
"The animal is a tapir," said the recluse. "I am not certain yet though
whether the jaguar will conquer it. See, the back of the latter is
bleeding and torn from the rough branches beneath which the tapir has
carried it."
As he spoke, the animals came close to us, the tapir making for the
thick branch of a fallen tree kept up by a network of sipos, which hung
like a beam almost horizontally a few feet from the ground. The tapir
dashed under it, and we could hear the crash of the jaguar's head as it
came in contact with the hard wood. Still it clung on, but its eyes had
lost their fierce glare. Blood covered the backs of the animals, and
the next moment the jaguar fell to the ground, where it lay struggling
faintly. Twice it tried to rise, but fell back, and lay apparently
dead.
John had lifted his rifle to fire at the tapir. "Hold!" said the
recluse; "let the victor go; he deserves his liberty for having thus
sagaciously liberated himself from his tormentor. Would that we could
as easily get rid of ours! How eagerly we should seek the lower
branches of the trees!" He gave one of those peculiar, sarcastic
laughs, which I observed he was apt to indulge in.
We cautiously approached the jaguar, feeling uncertain whether it might
not yet rise up and spring at us. John and I kept our rifles at its
head, while True went boldly up towards it. He had been an excited
spectator of the scene, and I had some difficulty in keeping him from
following the tapir. The jaguar did not move. Even a poke with the
muzzle of my rifle failed to arouse it. True began to tear away at its
neck; and at length we were convinced that the savage creature was
really dead. "There let him lie," said the recluse. "Strong as he was
a few moments ago, he will be food for the armadillos before morning."
We again lifted up Arthur, and proceeded onwards, the recluse leading
and clearing away the branches which might have injured Arthur as we
passed between them. Of course we now required a broader passage than
when we came through ourselves. We took exactly the same route; our
guide never faltering for a moment, though in many places I should have
had difficulty, where the marks of our axes were not to be seen, in
finding the road. Several times he offered to take my place, observing
that I might be tired; but John and I begged him to allow us to carry
our young friend, as we did not like to impose the task on him. Thus we
went on till my arms and shoulders began to ache, but I determined not
to give in. Arthur had not spoken for some time. I looked at his face.
It was very pale, and his eyes were closed. I was afraid he had
received more injury from the fearful serpent than we had at first
supposed. We hurried on, for it was evidently very important that he
should as soon as possible be attended to. We did not stop, therefore,
a moment to rest. Thinking that he would not hear me, I expressed my
fears to John. "Oh no, no," said Arthur; "I do not feel so very ill. I
wish you would put me down, for I am sure you must be tired."
I was greatly relieved when I heard him speak; at the same time his
voice was so weak, that we were unwilling to do as he begged us. It was
getting late, too, as we could judge by the increasing gloom in the
forest. Looking up through the occasional openings in the dark-green
canopy above our heads, we could see the sky, which had now become of
the intensest shade of blue. A troop of allouattes commenced a concert,
their unmusical howlings echoing through the forest. Numerous macaws
passed above us, giving vent to strange harsh cries; while whole
families of parrots screamed in various notes. Cicadas set up the most
piercing chirp, becoming shriller and shriller, till it ended in a sharp
screeching whistle. Other creatures--birds, beasts, and insects--added
their voices to the concert, till the whole forest seemed in an uproar.
As the sky grew darker, and the shades of night came thickly round us,
the noises gradually ceased, but were soon succeeded by the drumming,
hoohooing, and the croaking of the tree-frogs, joined occasionally by
the melancholy cries of the night-jar. "Follow me closely," said the
recluse, "and step as high as you can, not to catch your feet in the
tangled roots. My eyes are well accustomed to this forest-gloom, and I
will lead you safely."
At length we found ourselves passing through a narrow passage between
thick bushes, which reminded us of the approach to the recluse's hut.
Emerging from it, we saw light ahead, and now reached the steps which
led to the verandah.
"You have come on well," he observed. "I will carry up your young
friend. Leave the litter on the ground."
I had to stop and assist up True, for although he made several attempts
to mount the ladder by himself, it was somewhat too high for him to
succeed. On entering the hut I found Ellen, in a state of agitation,
leaning over Arthur.
"Oh! what has happened?" she asked. "Will he die? Will he die?"
"I trust not, young lady," remarked our host. "He wants rest and
careful nursing, and I hope in a few days will have recovered. I will
now attend to him, and afterwards leave him under your care."
"Do not be alarmed, Miss Ellen," whispered Arthur. "I only fainted from
the hot sun and anxiety about you all. Now I am with you, I shall soon
get well."
"As I have by me a store of medicines, with which I have doctored
occasionally the poor natives, I can find, I hope, some remedies which
may help to restore your friend," observed the recluse. "Rest is what
he chiefly now requires."
Arthur was put into his hammock, and after he had taken a mess which
Maria had prepared, fell asleep.