_"UNCIVILIZED," BUT COURTEOUS, QUIET AND CLEAN_
That night we pitched camp on the left bank of the river. While
preparing supper I was investigating the forest that circled the
little clearing and almost jumped out of my skin when I heard, in soft
voices, either side of me, the word "Me-a-ree."
I am sure I jumped a couple of feet straight up. There, standing right
beside me, were two of our Indian friends. They grinned at my fright.
Such good woodsmen are they that they can come upon a person without
making a sound. Their naked bronze bodies seem to blend with the
forest shadows.
One of them had two paccu, the large, flat, delicious fish that they
shoot with bow and arrow or sometimes spear. The other had a "maam"
which is a bush turkey, not as large as our wild turkeys. This he
shot with a blowpipe.
"Me-a-ree," I exclaimed, as soon as I caught my breath. I shuddered to
think how easily they might have killed me had they been enemies. A
white man hasn't a ghost of a chance with such clever natives if they
want to get him, because he cannot travel in the jungle and forests
down there without being heard, so keen is their hearing, while they
can come right up to him, even when his eyes and ears are strained to
see and hear, before he knows their presence.
"These are real uncivilized men," I thought, as I looked them over,
standing there in the dim, deep forest edge, with bow and arrow and
blowpipe, with the fish and bird, their naked bodies almost the color
of the trees and shadows. But when I came to know them better I
discovered that if uncivilized meant a rude, uncouth, ill-mannered,
treacherous, dirty and disagreeable people, then these natives were
civilized, for I found them to be real "nature's gentlemen," kind,
courteous, quiet and clean. It was father and son who brought the
game. They asked for powder and shot for their guns. The father was a
sort of chief of their own little tribe and he and his son each owned
one of those priceless "lead" guns, the cheap muzzle loaders made
expressly for such people. We had plenty of powder and shot and made
the exchange.
You or I could never get any game with those "lead" guns because they
will not carry far, they will not shoot accurately and they frequently
miss fire entirely. But the skilled Indians are able to stalk the game
so quietly that they can almost poke the muzzle of the gun into the
ribs of the game before they fire point blank. We entertained them
with showing them our modern guns, and with showing them their faces
in good mirrors and with victrola music, at which they marveled
greatly and chattered excitedly about it. Then, as silently as they
came, they disappeared into the forest to go to their homes before the
night mists should enshroud them.
I went down to the water's edge to watch the last gleam of light, fast
going, when suddenly there was the most terrific threshing about that
I had ever heard.
Something gigantic, seemingly as big as a mountain, arose in front of
me. I thought it must be a combination of crocodile and man-eating
fish come out of the water to feast on me. Then I thought of something
else.
"Good-night!" the thought flashed through my mind, "that nigger,
Cavan, told the truth when he described the 'Dodo' as a hair-covered
bird twenty feet high," and I had visions of being transformed into
either a Dodo's supper or a Dodo's slave. Instinctively I threw up my
arms to ward off the terrible creature, and fell backward.
The "giant" arose and sailed out across the water. It was a
toucan--that funny bird with the immense bill that we have seen in our
picture books and stuffed and occasionally alive in parks. His loud
flapping, hoarse croaking, and the spread of his wings in the
deepening twilight made him seem fully as big as Cavan's mythological
"Dodo."
I laughed at myself, yet the sudden rising of a ruffed grouse in the
deep forests at home will frequently startle a chap quite as badly as
this, and I am sure that the poor toucan was more scared than I, for I
nearly stepped on him when I approached the river bank.
As usual we moved on up the river all the next day and camped at
night. And quite as silently as they had come before, the two Indians
appeared within our camp circle. This time each had a wild boar slung
over his back like a knapsack. The beasts' feet were tied together
with a small vine. Father and son had each killed one with a spear.
They were greeted warmly by us and given cigarettes. But they did not
seem to care about parting with the game. After a while, being
persuaded by the clever Captain Peter, they agreed to let us have
them, but first they must take them to their camp to clean them. I
learned the reason afterwards.
Here was my opportunity to see the Indians in their homes, to see how
they lived.
"Will it be all right to go home with them?" I asked the captain. He
said that it would and so I turned to the father.
"Me walkee with you, savvy? Me go long-side your home."
"No sabbe, no sabbe," said the Indian.
"I want to walk along home with you," I said, in straight English this
time. The Indian understood that well enough.
[Illustration: "BRINGING HOME THE BACON"]
"All li'. You come," he said.
Although he talked pidgin English, he couldn't understand it when we
talked it, but he could understand straight English, except when he
didn't want to answer, then he would say "No sabbe," and that settled
it, you couldn't get a word from him. They were all like that.
I started out with them through the jungle forest. The silence of the
place, their footsteps being almost noiseless, was depressing. I tried
to talk.
"How far?" I asked.
"Me no sabbe," said the youth.
"How long will it take to get there?" I insisted.
"Little," answered his father. They have no idea of time as divided
into hours and minutes, they judge by nights, before "high sun" or
noon, and back to "no sun" or evening.