MARTIN REFLECTS MUCH, AND FORMS A FIRM RESOLVE--THE INDIAN VILLAGE
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
arid frolick, 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.