“THE TREES WENT DOWN BEFORE IT LIKE HAY BEFORE THE MOWER’S SCYTHE.”
The road next day led over a very lofty range of mountains. I say “road”
for want of a better word; for, in the direction they took at the advice
of Samaro, there was not even a path. The forest that they had to
penetrate, half the distance towards the nearest ridge, was an almost
impassible jungle. They had to fight almost every yard of the way
against trees and creepers and rocks. There were pumas in this forest;
they sighted and startled jaguars even, and snakes seemed to be
everywhere, but they thought of nothing but how best to get onwards.
When they reached the mountain top at last, and lay down to rest--fully
five thousand feet above the sea-level--every man in the company felt as
tired as if a long day’s work had been done.
A cool breeze was blowing at this great altitude however, and having
partaken of a moderate luncheon, everybody felt once more as active as
Black Tom himself.
The view spread out before them here was wide, wonderful, and
magnificent in the extreme. Probably in no country in the world is the
scenery more grand and thrilling than in this land of Ecuador. Tom felt
the influence of the situation in all its force, as he reclined on a
moss-covered bank and gazed enraptured on the panorama that was spread
out far below him--the wide and beautiful valley, the winding silvery
river with its whirling rapids and waterfalls that sparkled in the sun,
hills wooded to the top and forests everywhere, the distant sierras on
the horizon, and the sky itself bluer in its rifts to-day than ever he
had seen it, because there were ominous-looking rain clouds about.
“I think,” he said to himself, “I could be perfectly happy here if I had
anyone to share my pleasure with me. Heigho!” he sighed. “Even the life
of a hermit hunter has its drawbacks.”
Then his heart gave a big throb of joy-expectant, as he thought of the
probability of soon having as a companion poor lost Bernard, ’Theena’s
brother. ’Theena! Yes, dear little ’Theena. He wondered what she was
doing just then. But she would not be so little now. ’Theena at thirteen
would look and act differently from the ’Theena of nine years old, that
had to be forced weeping from his arms when he left his native shore,
long, long ago. Ay, indeed it seemed very long ago; for his young life
had been so crowded with strange incidents and events, that the past
appeared like an age.
And his uncle and dear mother, what would they be doing just then?
Sitting by the fire perhaps, and talking of him; for though it was early
forenoon here, it would be evening in Scotland. He began to reckon the
time in his own mind. He was right, it would be about nine o’clock. His
father would be in the corner with that studious face, and that
everlasting long pipe of his; his mother and Alicia would be quietly
knitting; uncle would be reading his paper with ’Theena by his side; and
the great logs and the coal and peats would be merrily blazing on the
hearth as they used to be in the dear old days when Jack and Dick used
to tease and chaff him, and call him Cinderella. Then he remembered his
dream.
“O,” he said, half aloud, “that dream will assuredly come true. I shall
find and free poor Bernard if he be in the land of Ecuador.”
The very words suggested action, and he sprang to his feet. In five
minutes more the expedition was once again on the move.
Were I to relate all Tom’s adventures during his memorable march into
the land of the Ecuador Indians, what a very large book I could make!
And what a very large price my readers would have to pay for it! It may
not be; I must hurry on with my narrative, my main object being to give
but the principle lines in the picture of the life a wanderer must lead
in this wild country. One way or another Tom and his party spent nearly
five months on the journey. It was a long time, but it passed away most
pleasantly and quickly; and Tom could say what few travellers in Ecuador
ever could--that he had the utmost faith in his servants, from Samaro,
his major-domo, down to Rooph, the Indian boy, who did little else
except shoot strange birds with his blow-gun, and whom no threats or
punishment either could induce to carry a package of any sort. Tom’s
servants all liked him too, and he felt confident they would fight for
him if ever there should be any necessity. Well, the life these Indians
now led under their white chief was a very enjoyable one, and as they
were engaged to bring Tom back to Riobamba, they would each have a
modest sum at their banker’s when they got there--if ever they did.
There were times when it really did not seem at all likely any one of
the party should ever come up out of the wilderness again.
Once, for example, they were encamped by the banks of a beautiful river
and close to the edge of the forest. It was a charming situation, and
they had lain here for over a week. On this particular night Tom thought
as he took his last look at the sky he had never noticed the stars
shining more brightly nor looking more near. There were the usual sounds
in the forest and all about, but otherwise the deep solitude was
unbroken; for not a breath of wind was there to move the long grass that
grew near the tent. It was unusually sultry and hot too. But for the
creepies Tom would have laid himself down as the men were lying, on a
bed of palm leaves, and slept sound till morning. He envied the poor
fellows their sweet repose. The creepies did not appear to trouble them.
Musquitoes might sing and buzz about their heads, drink their blood and
go, but the men slept on. Centipeds--and in the forest the green-backed
ones are quite as dangerous as snakes--might crawl over their hands,
and cockroaches in scores pass over their faces, but they would not heed
even if they felt them. Serpents even might take a short cut over their
bodies without awaking them, while the mournful cries of the night-birds
in the adjoining forest but lulled them to dreamless slumber. It was
very different with Tom though; he dared no more sleep in the open than
in a tiger’s den.
“Señor, señor, awake!” It was Samaro’s voice, and he was swinging Tom’s
hammock to arouse him.
“What is it, Samaro?” cried Tom, raising himself on his elbow.
“We must strike camp at once, señor, or we will be swept away by the
flood. Listen!”
There was little need to listen. That peal of thunder would have
awakened Rip Van Winkle himself.
“Are the men astir?”
“Si, señor. Hurry, señor. Hurry, there is not a moment to lose!”
Tom was on his feet in an instant, and the men were soon busily engaged
making up the tent. He was a good general, and never during all his long
sojourn in the wilds did he retire for the night until he had seen
everything ready for a start. There was never any telling what might
occur. A sudden attack by hostile Indians, a flood, or a fire in the
forest might necessitate instant movement, and if they were not ready
for such a contingency, all would be loss and confusion.
“Now, Samaro, whither away? Shall we cross back into the plains, for we
cannot get over the river?”
“We must get to yonder hill,” was the reply. “Come.”
The sky was black during the brief intervals in which the lightning did
not play. But this was incessant, so that everything around was almost
as bright as day, though the light was strangely confusing.
They had to go through the forest. This was the most dangerous part of
the journey; for here the flashes played around every tree, while every
now and then some branch or even tree-trunk would fall crashing across
the track.
Luckily for our adventurers, it was along a path made by tapirs that the
route lay, so it was broad and well beaten. These strange animals are
about four feet high and fully six feet long, and are exceedingly
numerous in the wilderness of the Andes, especially in the vicinity of a
not too rapid river.
The rain now began to patter around them, the lightning became even more
vivid, and the terrible thunder-cannonade was increased tenfold. The
wind also began to rise; it came down with the storm from the north and
west. It was this direction of the clouds that had caused the
ever-watchful Samaro to expect a flood. Had the depression come up
stream the danger would not have been so urgent.
They had still half a mile to go, as the crow flies; and as the pathway,
like that of all wild beasts, was very winding, it would be at least
half an hour before they could hope to reach a position of safety.
Samaro was here, there, and everywhere, hurrying and encouraging all
hands, using a bamboo cane even to stimulate the flagging calves of a
few of the men. Suddenly there was a wild and frightened yell from
someone in front, a yell that was heard high over the hurtling of the
thunder.
“Eemateena! Eemateena!” was the shout from the others. “The jaguar! the
jaguar!” and for a few moments every man seemed panic-stricken. They
even dropped their burdens, and hardly knowing what they were about
would have hurried wildly back towards the river, had not Samaro and
Tom, revolvers in hand, barred their progress. The terrible confusion
that had ensued was fatal to the poor fellow, who had been attacked by
the dreaded king of the wilderness. He might have been saved had Tom got
to the front in time.
As it was, the beast dragged him at once into the depths of the forest.
A few more piercing shrieks were heard, then it was evident that all
was over. The jaguar, or tiger as he is generally called, must have been
coming towards the river, and thus met the unhappy man in his path; for
during a storm these animals will hardly ever go out of their way to
attack either man or beast.
The storm ceased almost as suddenly as it had commenced, though the rain
now came down in rushing torrents, and just an occasional flash of
lightning shot athwart the inky gloom and served to reveal the pathway.
As soon as they reached the high ground or knoll they were safe. Here
were a hundred pathways instead of one, and all led upwards. The top of
the little hill was beaten hard with the feet of the tapirs, and
probably peccaries, who for reasons best known to themselves must have
assembled here at times. It was only a wonder none of these creatures
were found here now; but their strange instincts had doubtless warned
them to seek for higher grounds before the floods came down. It rained
heavily for hours, then morning broke gray and uncertain over the hills,
and about the same time down came the river “bore.”
Tom had never witnessed anything in life so appalling, and even Samaro
himself confessed that such a quick and rapid “spate” was unusual. The
roar of this immense wall of water could be heard for long minutes
before it dashed round the bend of the stream, and came tumbling onwards
carrying with it huge masses of rock and even soil that looked like
islands in the midst of the murky flood. The bore must have been fully
twenty feet in height, and the forest trees went down before it like hay
before the mower’s scythe. The noise at first was deafening; but it
gradually subsided, and before ten o’clock had entirely ceased. But at
this time the whole valley looked like an immense inland sea or lake
studded with little islands. One of these islands was the hill on which
Tom and his men stood, and on which they were for a time as completely
imprisoned and isolated as if the ground had been a rock in mid-ocean.
There were three days rain, and all this time the river, instead of
going down, seemed gradually rising.
It rose, and rose, and rose, as slowly but as surely as fate itself,
till the island was limited to little over the site of the tent.
Then the rain ceased for a time. But the clouds were very dark away
towards the north, from which direction low muttering thunder was
occasionally heard.
Was another storm brewing? If another bore came down the stream, though
not even half as big as the last, the fate of the little expedition
would be sealed, and its doom be swift indeed. All day long they watched
the rising clouds. When the sun set at last, forked lightning darted
here and there across the dark sky, with now and then streams of fire
rushing downwards from zenith to nadir. These last were followed by
tremendous peals of thunder, but still the rain kept off. No one thought
of lying down to rest, and for hours and hours no one spoke.
All eyes were turned towards the north. They were like men waiting for
death.
The clouds mounted higher and higher; they saw star after star and
constellation after constellation blotted out, or swallowed up as it
were in the gloom. Still they sat and silently watched.
The suspense was terrible; every flash was now like a message from an
unseen world, every peal sounded like a knell of doom.
Tom was praying. He was trying hard, too, to yield himself to the will
of heaven; but it seemed sad to die so young.
Probably he had fallen into a kind of uneasy doze at last, for suddenly
he felt Samaro clutch at his arm.
“It is coming! It is coming!” he cried.
“The flood, Samaro? Is it coming at last?”
“No, no, señor. I would not wake you for that. Better you should die
asleep. But look yonder! Look eastwards!”
Tom did as he was told, and saw in the sky a long line of glittering
silver.
The moon was rising!
Up, up, up she sailed, the clouds changing from black to gauze and gold
before her, and by and by she found a little rift of blue to shine in,
and her radiance was reflected from the river beneath as if showers of
diamonds were falling on it from the sky.
By next morning the flood had gone down considerably, but days must
elapse before they could once more resume their journey.
What struck Tom now as remarkable was the deep impressive silence by
night. Except in the river there was no life about--no beasts or birds
of the forest, not even insect life itself. Never a whisper, never a
hum, except the little sad lilt the river sang as it went rippling past
the island shore.