Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: Frank Osborne's alarm on discovering a bow and quiver
suspended in the forest]
[Illustration: Title page]
THE
EMIGRANT'S LOST SON:
OR,
LIFE ALONE IN THE FOREST.
EDITED BY
GEORGE HENRY WALL.
_NEW EDITION._
_Illustrated by Corbould_
LONDON:
ROUTLEDGE, WARNE, AND ROUTLEDGE,
FARRINGDON STREET.
NEW YORK: 56, WALKER STREET.
1860.
[_The Author of this Work reserves to himself the right of
Translating._]
LONDON;
SAVILL AND EDWARDS, PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET,
COVENT GARDEN.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION BY THE EDITOR
CHAPTER I.
CAUSE OF LEAVING ENGLAND, AND ARRIVAL AT THE FOREST
CHAPTER II.
I AM LOST IN THE FOREST--MY SITUATION AND FEELINGS DESCRIBED
CHAPTER III.
I BUILD MYSELF A HUT--THE SCENERY THROUGHOUT A DAY IN THE FOREST
DESCRIBED
CHAPTER IV.
AN ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR--AN EXTRAORDINARY ECHO--I AM ATTACKED WITH A
FEVER, AND SUBSEQUENTLY DRIVEN FROM MY HUT
CHAPTER V.
I WITNESS A GRAND CONVULSION OF NATURE, IN WHICH I HAVE A WONDERFUL
ESCAPE--AM RESCUED IN THE LAST EXTREMITY, AND ADMITTED INTO A TRIBE OF
INDIANS
CHAPTER VI.
FURTHER ACCOUNT OF THE INDIANS--I ARRIVE AT MY FATHER'S FARM
INTRODUCTION BY THE EDITOR
That no person in this state of existence may be tempted to assert his
own independence, the affairs of life are so ordered that much of the
happiness enjoyed by mankind depends upon their communion with each
other. Human affections, if they were permitted to act freely, as they
spontaneously arise in the breast of mankind, are designed to bind all
the human race in one bond of brotherhood.
Our own parents and near relatives first call these affections into
active exercise. Their care and attention to our welfare, the interest
they take in preserving us in a state of safety and health, and in
teaching us also the duties we owe both to our Creator and
fellow-creatures, tend to give the first impetus to the germs of our
affections; and it is by the exercise of these very affections that we
derive a continual source of happiness, which becomes hereafter the
chief means by which the refinement of the senses may be effected.
Thus it is, that when death, or other causes, deprive us of our
immediate parental guidance, the affections as naturally seek for new
objects, on which to exert their influence, as the operations of any
other well recognised principles proceed in the works of nature.
The author and hero of the following narrative, was called upon to
experience the sudden deprivation of not only his parents, but of all
his dearest friends; and that at an age when the heart first expands to
the relations of our existence, and is most sensitive to the emotions
of grief; when, unexpectedly and unprepared, it is cut off from all
sympathy or communication with human kind. At the age of thirteen he
was lost in an almost boundless Guiana forest, where he remained for
several years, dependent solely upon his own resources, mental and
physical--that is, on the one hand, to bear the mind up against the
shock it received in being thrown suddenly into solitude; and, on the
other, to provide for his daily wants. That man never was intended to
live in what is denominated "a state of nature," is manifest by his
long infancy and the tardy development of his mental powers. No animal
is so long after its birth before it can support the body on its legs
as man; in none is the period of complete adult stature so long
protracted. When born into the world he is entirely defenceless, his
great distinctions from other animals are reason and speech: these,
however, are germs which are not developed of themselves, but are
brought to maturity by extraneous assistance, cultivation, and
education; hence we must infer that man was intended for social union,
and that his imaginary state of nature, which some writers have spoken
of, never has existed.
Man, however, in his nature, is limited in no respect; being fitted for
every kind of life, every climate, and every variety of food. The
Deity has given him the whole earth for his abode, and the produce
thereof for his nourishment. With the advantages, however, of an early
moral and religious education, together with an excellent constitution,
our juvenile exile from man was enabled, under the direction of a
watchful Providence, to preserve his life, protect his mind against
despondency, and procure a subsistence in the midst of dangers.
The difficulties he encountered, the manner in which he overcame them,
and the scenes which were brought under his view in the extended field
of observation into which he was thrown, it is the object of the
following narrative to lay before the reader. To those whose knowledge
extends not beyond the world of man to the boundless fields of nature,
it may appear that such a life must have been one of monotonous
listlessness, from which few materials could be gathered to impart
knowledge or interest to the general reader.
Our hero, however, found employment for the mind in every moment of his
waking hours, and was furnished with objects for study in the forest,
that might engage the longest period of life allotted to man to
catalogue or enumerate.
Happily for the exile, his mind was formed to seek for knowledge in the
only sources open to man for the full development of the intellectual
powers; namely, observation and reflection.
Denied the aid of books, in the far woods that "steeped in their
moonbeams lie," he called upon his Maker, and the echo of the floor of
the forest recognised his presence. Acquiring confidence from this
assurance, and relying on Providence for protection, he converted the
scenes around him into a school of study, and realized in the woods a
life of activity instead of one of solitude. He soon discovered, when
left to draw deductions from his own experience in the scenes of
Nature, that there is nothing but what is beautiful, nothing unworthy
of admiration. "The disregard," he says, "which by many is paid to her
productions, reflects no honour on those who evince it, and little
credit on a system of education that does not at once lead its pupils
to the grand fountain of all knowledge. While the majority," he adds,
"of my youthful contemporaries were engaged in committing to memory a
vocabulary of words, I was busily engaged in studying the things
themselves." While others were spending their time in acquiring a
knowledge of the customs and forms of artificial society, our exile had
the great book of nature widely spread open before him, Throughout that
period of life which is usually devoted, by the majority of
individuals, to study the purposes of social life, he was conversing
only with the trees; or with the birds, and insects, and other tribes,
of the animal kingdom, all the works of God, and to which his
attachment was ardent and sincere. Now that he is again in the society
of his fellow-men, the recollections of his sylvan probation are as
vividly depicted on his mind as at the moment when he first received
the impressions. Trees which supplied him with food, or shelter from
the heat of the sun or the rains of the climate, are still dear to his
recollection, and he often reverts to them with feelings of gratitude
and respect, from which he would not, if he could, estrange the
affections of his heart.
There is no music so sweet to his ear as the breezes that animated the
lofty cloud-aspiring monarchs of the forest, with which he claims a
peculiar acquaintance, or the murmuring of the brook, where he was wont
to slake his thirst; no concert to his sense of sound so grateful as
the wild notes of the birds that chanted, morning and evening, their
Maker's praise, as he offered up his own prayers of gratitude for the
prolongation of his existence, or the hummings of the myriads of
insects, that every hour, in his woodland rovings, arrested his
attention.
It was while listening to these voices of the Creator that his heart
was first touched with feelings of admiration and wonder at the
multifarious and exquisitely organized beings that everywhere, whether
in tranquil meditation or in active search of his food, met his sight.
He saw nature everywhere teeming with life, and proclaiming in language
intelligible to every one the presence of an All-directing Power. It
was in the forest, too, in the midst of the wonders of the creation,
that the lost youth first aspired to lift up his thoughts to heaven,
and mentally exclaim--"These are thy works, oh God!" It was also in
the lonely wilderness he first cherished the hope, in the language of
the Indian, that the Great Spirit had provided for him a higher state
of happiness; and then it was he offered up a prayer, that this hope
might, in his Maker's own time, be realized. It was also in the
wilderness, communing with his own thoughts, that he first received an
assurance that he possessed a soul to be saved, and became imbued with
a firm conviction that the wise Creator, in his infinite beneficence,
designed the happiness of his creatures, and that nothing can deprive
the human race of his blessings but a connexion with sin.
With an undivided mind, intent only on examining and admiring the works
of creation, the youth, in his lonely wayfaring, everywhere found the
presence of his Maker. At the earliest moment of incipient vegetation,
he was busy watching the indications of bursting nature preparing to
re-robe the trees; and in a prospective vista he beheld the joyous
movements of the various tribes of birds and insects providing for the
wants of themselves and their progeny. Not less busily was his mind
engaged when these labours actually commenced, in noting the
construction of their habitations, and in admiring the wonderful
ingenuity each displayed in providing for its own peculiar wants and
safety.
Thus engaged in almost continual observation, he was enabled to trace
the manner in which numbers of the feathered and insect tribes worked
out the purposes of their existence. As the multifarious branches of
the trees of the forest expanded themselves into fulness of leaf, he
saw nations after nations of living things on the move to claim his
attention, all pouring forth to seize on their share of the abundance
of nature. As each revolving season hastened the decay of or imparted
new vigour to the monarchs of the forest, the exile from man had an
opportunity, abstracted as he was from the busy affairs of human life,
to distinguish the various characteristics of the tribes of insects
that took possession of the trees, differing from those which,
apparently innoxiously, fed on their fulness of vegetable youthfulness,
and the insects that came to prey only on the trunk or branches of
those that age or disease had brought to decay. He saw the leaves of
the forest come into life, witnessed their gradual expansion into
verdant beauty; he was there, likewise, at their decline and
fall--recurring symbols of the succession of the races of mankind,--and
when, the biting north winds denuded of their leaves many of these
mighty monarchs of the forest, he collected them to form his woodland
bed. No season passed without adding to his store of information in
reference to the works of nature, which knowledge, as we have already
said, it is the design of this work to impart to others. It is the
natural history of the forest, or so much of it as has been seen by one
individual during a period of six years' sojourn in its solitude.
From what has been stated, the reader will not expect to find any
classified arrangement of subjects in this work; things are spoken of
as they were seen, either in the stillness of the shade at one time, or
in the raging of the storm at another. Forest trees, in general, are
described; those which may afford food to man are more frequently
mentioned. Of quadrupeds, birds of the air, and insects, those that
most excited his attention are more especially noticed. Those whose
ferocity or whose shyness rendered it hazardous or difficult to
approach them, are less spoken of. The details of the author's
history, in reference to his probation in the wilds of nature, he has
endeavoured to relate in a most familiar manner, and in the simplest
language; and when describing scenes and events, faithfully to impart
the impressions made on his own mind as they occurred.
Reasoning from the convictions arising from his experience,--that is,
the effects wrought upon his own mind--he thinks that the study of
natural objects, used as a means for the improvement of the religious
and moral character of mankind, has been much overlooked by the
philanthropist, and neglected by those who are sincere in their desire
to improve their own species.
When the author was restored to society, nothing more excited his
surprise than the total absence of a system of education which should
at once direct the mind of youth to the fountain of all knowledge; and,
in consequence, to persons he met with who took any lively interest in
the study of natural objects, he remarked, "Your system of education
appears more designed to exercise the mere verbal memory, than to
excite observation or reflection;" adding, "that an acquaintance with
the works of the Deity, as they are seen remote from the haunts of men,
not only expands and elevates the thought, but spiritualises the soul."
The contemplation of nature's works, while it subdues the pride of man,
harmonizes the feelings of social life, and in a peculiar manner
prepares the mind for the reception of revealed truths. It is only
necessary to add that, the education of the "Emigrant's Son,"
previously to his exclusion from the world of man, had not in any way
been of a peculiarly religious tendency; nor had he evinced any
predilection for discussing religious topics. Yet, when he was brought
to contemplate the works of the Deity on an extended scale, he
everywhere found the indications of the presence of a superior and
all-wise Creator in those scenes. It is therefore natural that he
should feel a desire that others should seek and find Him at the same
pure fountain of knowledge. "The voice of my beloved; behold he cometh
leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills." (Solomon, ii. 9.)
True it is, that the student who once enters the portals of natural
history, seldom thinks of returning. Strolling from object to object,
his appetite is never satiated. St. Pierre aptly remarked, that
"nature invites to the cultivation of herself." Should the perusal of
the following page direct the mind of the youthful reader to the study
of nature, the object of publishing this narrative will have been
attained.
G. H. W.
HARRINGTON COTTAGE,
BROMPTON
THE EMIGRANT'S LOST SON.
CHAPTER I.
CAUSE OF LEAVING ENGLAND AND ARRIVAL AT THE FOREST.
"On the bosom, lone and still,
Of nature east, I early sought to stroll
Through wood and wild, o'er forest, rook, and hill,
Companionless; without a wish or goal,
Save to discover every shape and voice
Of living thing that there did fearlessly rejoice."
As it is my object to lay before my readers only that portion of my
life which was passed in the wilds of nature, it will be unnecessary
for me to detain them with a lengthened account of the genealogy of my
family.
My father occupied a small farm in the west of England, situate near a
peaceful village, the curate of which superintended the education of
myself and some fourteen or fifteen of the neighbouring youths. I was
between ten and eleven years of age, when a stranger arrived at our
house, informing the family that, in consequence of the death of my
father's elder brother, he, together with two surviving brothers, had
jointly become the proprietors of a tract of land situate in the
south-western part of Guiana.
It subsequently appeared that my deceased uncle had speculated in the
purchase of the land in question, intending to have invited his three
brothers to join him in the cultivation of it. Death frustrated these
intentions, the land became the joint property of the survivors, and
after using every effort to dispose of it in this country, being
unsuccessful in meeting with a purchaser, the three brothers came to
the resolution of going out, together with their families, and sharing
their newly-acquired property.
[Sidenote: First leaving home]
When the order was finally given to prepare for the voyage, it operated
on my mind almost as a penal sentence; expatriation presented itself to
my imagination as the climax of all evils. It now suddenly occurred to
me that I had a thousand local attachments, all of which were to be
broken asunder; my imagination passing in review a painful parting with
my schoolfellows and other intimates; when all the early and recent
scenes of my short career poured in on the memory, and seemed to bind
me to the immediate locality of my existence and its environs. I then
discovered that I had a real attachment for my teacher, the good pastor
of a small flock; indeed, every person known to me, I thought had, in
some way, been peculiarly kind, and a torrent of gratitude overflowed
the heart; while the idea of quitting the scenes of my childhood, and
all I then knew of the world, presented itself as the annihilation of
every object from which I had hitherto derived pleasure.
The young heart is generally thought to bound with joyousness at the
prospect of a change of scene, but it was otherwise with me: the world,
in the map of my microcosm, excepting the circumscribed view I had
taken of it, was an entire desert, where there was no one to love or be
loved. In this state of mind the agitation of my feelings nearly
choked me, till I sought the favourite arm of a tree in the orchard,
where, unobserved, I found relief in a flood of tears. Still
oppressed, as the evening advanced I crept to bed without speaking to
any one,--not even to my sister, whose buoyant joyfulness at the time
excited my surprise. I spent the night in a state of half-dreamy
stupor, being neither asleep nor awake; whilst the imagination was
engaged in endeavouring to contrast the retrospection of the past with
the prospects of the future. Every act of kindness which had been
bestowed upon me, stood out in strong relief in my memory, as a vista
of other days, and into which I had not previously been permitted to
look; whilst the little village-world was presented to my view as a
bright speck in creation--an oasis in a desert, all around which was a
mass of confusion and darkness.
The placid countenance of the curate, monarch of his locality, with all
the scholastic paraphernalia, were brought vividly under review; the
form on which I was wont to sit, with every cut I had made on the
well-marked desk with my knife--an instrument with which boys early
prove themselves tool-loving animals--were all objects of endearment to
me. My fancy then roamed into the little churchyard, where I took a
view of each mouldering heap, with the tombstones at the head and foot,
every epitaph on which I had committed to memory. I then stood under
the brave old Hercules, as we designated an oak tree where four of us
had met most days to proceed together to school. Here I distinctly
noted--such is the power of memory when the feelings are excited--each
abrupt rising of its rugged roots, and marked the boundary of its
shadows at different hours of the day, as described by its broad,
out-spreading limbs on the greensward.
I wandered to the copse, entered by a well-defined gap at the angular
point; noted each spot where I had taken eggs or young ones from birds
that had been incautious enough to attract my attention; paused to take
a last look at the hazel from which I had gathered the largest cob-nut;
lingering at every step, and sighing as I passed each object of
remembrance. The following morning, sleepless and weary, I arose with
the sun, and collected all my little stock of property--bows and
arrows, fishing-tackle, bats, balls, and other juvenile valuables;
these I labelled as presents to my intimates. My heart then knew how
highly it was susceptible of friendship; it had yet to learn how
readily, after the lapse of a few years, such attachments are
forgotten. The desire in after life to meet with an old schoolfellow
is seldom prompted by a higher motive than a curiosity to learn his
success in the world.
It is probable that my parents had associations and connexions from
which they were about to separate, and deeper feelings of regret to
struggle with, than myself, when parting from attached friends. It is
fresh in my memory that our calls were very numerous, and that many
reasons were adduced to dissuade my father from emigration. The Sunday
previously to our departure, the curate, from the pulpit, mentioned the
intention of the families to emigrate, and offered up a prayer for the
realization of their prospects of success. I shall ever remember the
day I left the kind preceptor of my youth and the companions of my
boyish days. My father had sent a chaise to fetch me and my valuable
stock of personal property a day before our final departure. I think I
see now the mild old curate shaking my hand and giving me his blessing
and friendly advice, while around the gate of the old house were
assembled my school companions, to take a last sight of me before I
took my leave of home and of them.
[Sidenote: Voyage to Demerara]
Our journey to the coast, and voyage to Demerara, a _ci-devant_ Dutch
settlement, was unattended by any circumstance of peculiar interest. I
therefore take up the narrative from the period of our landing. My
father was purely a business man, never permitting pleasure or
curiosity to divert him from his pursuits. Immediately, therefore, on
our arrival at Demerara, preparations were made for us to proceed on
towards our destination, regarding the situation and name of which I
had not up to that time taken any interest, I had, however, heard that
we had to travel some hundreds of miles over a country where there were
no roads, as in England. I also remember a long discussion between my
father and my two uncles, whether we should travel with a waggon or
purchase horses and mules to carry our luggage and relieve the females
when fatigued. As our course was through an extensive wooded country,
where carriages could not conveniently pass, the latter mode of
travelling was ultimately adopted. Our party consisted of nine
persons, namely, my father, mother, sister, and self; one uncle, with a
grown-up son (his father being a widower); the other uncle, his wife,
and son (a youth three years older than myself).
My father provided himself with a horse and mule; the latter to carry
our personal necessaries, and the former to alternately relieve my
mother, and my sister, who was a healthy girl of sixteen years of age,
when either was fatigued with walking. One other horse was purchased
for the use of my aunt and the party in general. We were provided with
two painted cloths, to be used as a covering when we should halt for
rest, and no better accommodation could be obtained. I remember my
father making a pen-and-ink sketch of the route, marking down, with the
assistance of a traveller, the stages we were daily to accomplish.
[Sidenote: Crossing the savanna]
Thus prepared and equipped, as all of us were in excellent health and
spirits, we commenced our journey over the plantations of the settlers,
proceeding onwards till we reached the extended savannas--open plains.
Here the scene was altogether so new and striking, that it was with
difficulty I could be prevented from running after every living thing
that came under my view. At one moment I was lost in wonder at the
multitudes of creeping creatures which, at every step, crossed my path,
while the birds of the air in numbers, variety, and plumage, fixed me
with astonishment. My excitement was so great that I actually screamed
with delight; at another moment I ran from object to object with such
eagerness, that, my mother became alarmed for my intellect, affirming
that no one in their senses could sustain so much unnatural excitement.
On the third day of our journey I began to be seriously fatigued, and
my father placed me across the back of our mule. This, however, was a
measure against which the animal at once entered his protest, by
refusing to move forward the moment I threw my legs across him; his
conduct seemed to imply that at starting a contract had been made with
him to carry the baggage, and he would not consent to its infringement;
and it would appear that the mere attempt to overburden him soured his
temper for the whole journey; for a more obstinate or perverse mule was
never crossed by man or boy. At length we entered into a compromise,
by removing a portion of his baggage to one of our horses; and he then
allowed me to ride in peace, as he proceeded sulkily along. He was,
however, faithful to his second bargain, never evincing any more
discontent. This third day of our journey was the longest we had yet
had, and we were all of us anxiously looking for some habitation
towards its close, where we might rest for the night. The sun soon
promised to hide his golden beams behind the hills which formed the
horizon, and we all showed signs of fatigue. We were much delighted
when my father informed us that we were approaching the house of a
settler, where he hoped to obtain shelter for the night. We proceeded
up a steep declivity to the house in question, forming rather a
picturesque party. My sister was first, mounted on a heavy dappled
grey horse, with my father and mother by her side. I followed on my
mule; while the remainder of the party were some fifty yards in the
rear. As we halted before the house, my father informed us that, in
all probability, this would be the last time we should find
accommodation, even in the outhouse of a settler; and that in future we
should have to resort to our painted cloths for shelter during the
night.
We all retired to rest, therefore, with a determination to lay in a
good stock of sleep. Notwithstanding this determination, and the
fatigue I had endured in the excessive heat of the day, the novelty of
my new existence resisted every effort to close my eyes for rest; and I
arose in the morning but very little refreshed.
[Sidenote: The blessing of rain]
During the first five days of our journey the intense heat of the sun,
to which we were unseasoned, annoyed us all exceedingly; while the
scorching earth so much blistered my feet that, on the sixth morning, I
lingered behind, and divested myself of both stockings and shoes,
hanging them upon the mule's baggage. In the school of experience
nature is head master. The relief was almost instantaneous; and,
during that day, I surprised my fellow-travellers with my pedestrian
performances, which induced them all to follow my example. Early the
same afternoon, the rain began to fall in torrents, or rather in
sheets, previously to which, during our journey over the plains, the
extreme dryness of the weather had occasioned one of those vegetable
conflagrations so common in hot countries. Hitherto the scene had been
arid, the land being hard to the feet, and painfully dry to the eye.
The following morning, we had an opportunity of observing with what
surprising rapidity nature, in these climates, clothes the earth. Our
course was now on a wide-expanded green carpet, every where soft and
cooling to the feet, and deliciously refreshing to the sight. Birds of
every hue, gems of the air, glittered in our pathway; a vast number of
the cormorant species were busy in gobbling up frogs, toads, and
snakes; the eagle and the vulture, too, were soaring over our heads,
looking out for the prey these regions afford them in such abundance.
Every step we took frightened up flocks of the smaller feathered tribe,
and brought to view myriads of other living things, such as slugs,
snails, and insects of every variety.
On the tenth day of our journey, we approached a country covered, as
far as the eye could reach, with dense foliage, variegated with every
known or imaginable hue, the groundwork of which was one wide-spreading
mass of every shade of green. There were browns of all tints, yellow,
orange, purple, and brilliant scarlets, so intermingled as to present
one uninterrupted view of nature in glorious beauty, spreading over an
undulating mass of waving forest-green, while, in appearance, reaching
from the high heavens to the earth, into which the lower sweeps seemed
to dip, conveying the idea of eternal spring, summer, and autumn,
harmoniously blended into one. As we skirted the forest, the charming
variety of the blossoms, and their shades of colour, presented a still
more enlivened appearance--the tops of the trees being covered with
bloom, some standing erect towards the light of the sun, others bending
down, with a profusion of fruit and seed.
Yet, even here, in this enchanting scene, was man admonished, and
reminded of mortality: as we passed the margin of the wood, here and
there was seen some former giant of the forest, whose head had been
bared by time or the thunder blast, painfully, in the midst of nature's
prodigal luxuriance, intimating that all things have their period of
birth, maturity, and decay.
[Sidenote: Meeting with natives]
Penetrated with surprise and admiration at the scene, it was some time
before we discovered that we were approaching a party of natives, who,
it was evident, had been watching our movements. When they first
attracted our notice, the sound of what we took for a village bell fell
upon the ear; whereupon my father flattered himself that we were
approaching a civilized settlement; while both my uncles were of
opinion that a signal of alarm was given at our approach, and, in
consequence, prepared for defence. The bell, however, sounded only at
intervals of four or five minutes; and as there was no increase of
numbers in consequence, we at once went forth to meet the natives.
They consisted of a party of six, besides an old negro, who seemed to
be the patriarch of his race. To our surprise and delight, he spoke
English remarkably well, as did also a young man who appeared to be his
son. Probably, they were runaway slaves. They proved, however, to be
friendly disposed; and when we spoke of the bell, and the negro had
explained the nature of our enquiry, they all broke out into a most
immoderate fit of laughter. The negro, almost convulsed, said, "White
bird, ding dong--ding, dong! a great way off; for white man here, white
bird, ding, dong--ding, dong!" The bird that sends forth this peculiar
sound is named the campanero, and is snow white; it may be heard at
three miles' distance; and during my sojourn subsequently in the wilds
of nature, it was the only sound that daily recalled to my recollection
the tones of my native village church bell.
As we were all attention to the negro, who was very lively and
garrulous, a flock of birds passed over our heads, emitting sounds that
might be mistaken for those of a trumpet; when the old man pointed up,
and laughingly said--"Red-coats, red-coats!" meaning to ask,
ironically, if we took the birds for soldiers? These birds are
properly called Waracaba, and are frequently rendered domestic, when
they exhibit the attachment of a dog to their master, following him in
the same spirit of fidelity; their spirit, also, appears to exceed that
of the game cock--although unarmed with spurs for defence, they will
fly at a dog; and, in a domestic state, seldom fail to browbeat and
lord it over the dunghill cocks living in the same yard.
While my father was consulting with the negro regarding our bivouac for
the night, the latter suddenly seized his foot, exclaiming, "_Chegoe_
in toe," then forcing him to the ground, and taking from his pocket a
knife, proceeded to extract one of those formidable insects, which had
become embedded in the skin of the foot. This insect, had it been
allowed to remain, would have, no doubt, produced inflammation, from
its bite, and, in all probability, caused my father lameness for some
weeks. The negroes treated us with the greatest possible kindness and
respect; and the old man, who appeared the orator of his party,
insisted upon our sharing their hospitality, by partaking of their
evening meal, which we readily accepted, producing, at the same time,
our own provisions; and such an interchange of delicacies took place,
that I am sure it would puzzle me now to recollect or enumerate them.
I know it was the cause of some considerable share of merriment among
us all. Their food, if I remember rightly, appeared to me to consist
more of vegetables and fruit than ours, and was of a simpler nature. I
fancy if some of our worthy civic authorities had been present as
partakers of this repast, they would have been more surprised at the
viands than delighted.
But man is of a ductile nature--a creature of habit, and may almost
habituate himself to anything. In civilized cities, where thousands
are taxing their energies in the pursuit of wealth and position in
society, an artificial state of existence is the consequence; and the
primitive fare of our forefathers is superseded by something of a more
stimulating nature. I have seen, in my experience in forest life, how
little man can subsist upon, and how healthy and strong he may continue
in a simple state of existence. Civilization brings with it a host of
imaginary and fictitious wants.
[Sidenote: The repast with the negroes]
We accepted the offer of our newly-made friends to share with them
their small huts for the night, and they being plentifully provided
with various skins of animals, a more agreeable resting-place could
hardly be desired. The old negro, without being obtrusively
inquisitive, was anxious to know our object in crossing the country;
and my father informed him of our route, and produced the rough chart
he had made upon our first starting upon the expedition. A long
consultation was the result, and a doubtful shake of the head was given
by the old man as to the possibility of our accomplishing the task; at
the same time he gave an incredulous look at my mother and sister, who,
he seemed to consider, would hardly be able to endure the journey and
the hardships attending it. To say the truth, my mother looked but
very weak, and I remember being struck myself with her appearance. My
sister was of such a buoyant temperament, that her joyous spirit would
carry her through almost any temporary difficulties; but still we were
all considerably jaded. And I remember I thought the rude habitation
of our entertainers a most delightful place of refuge, compared to
being obliged to bivouac in the woods; and, indeed, I dreaded leaving
the following morning. I believe we were all of us impressed with the
same idea. When we at first met with them, I was overcome with
surprise, and was afraid that some calamity was about to befal us. By
degrees, however, the feeling wore off, and by that strong and
undefined species of discernment which most possess in discovering
those kindly disposed towards us, I became on most familiar terms with
our friends. The young man, whose name was Rangal, I discovered, was
the only son of the elder negro. He was very solicitous in his
attentions to me, and his peculiar manners considerably amused me
during our evening's sojourn.
[Sidenote: More negroes]
Upon our retiring to rest, the two negroes, father and son, took up
their station in the apartment we had at first entered; this they did
to keep watch that no one should harm us; not that there was any
absolute necessity for their so doing, but it was an attention meant to
impress us with confidence as to our safety. Early the following
morning, after a refreshing and undisturbed sleep, I accompanied Rangal
to take a survey of the surrounding country, calling at a neighbouring
habitation where the remaining portion of the negroes had located.
They conversed with my guide a great deal, two or three speaking at the
same time; but it was in a dialect entirely new to me, and beyond my
comprehension. They evidently, by their gestures, referred to us; but
in what way, I was at a loss to understand. There were also a female
and three children, the latter varying from seven to eleven years old.
They looked at me in perfect amazement, and the three children retired,
whispering, to a corner at the darkest part of the room; but I could
see by the whites of their eyes in the gloom, that their gaze was
rivetted upon me, in which a feeling of curiosity was mingled with
dread. For myself, I was only struck with their comical appearance,
and fairly laughed outright, in which I was joined by the negroes, one
of whom, I supposed their father, brought them forward and introduced
them in due form.
Upon returning to our habitation of the previous night, we found our
party taking their morning's repast; and I learned that the old negro
had insisted upon accompanying us, with his son Rangal, on our journey
during the day. He had also arranged where we should halt for the
following night which was at the habitation of a friend of his,
situate many miles on our road.
[Sidenote: The forest]
All being got in readiness, we again commenced our pilgrimage. There
had been a heavy fall of rain in the night, and it was comparatively
cool and refreshing to what it had been, but still the heat was intense
to us. We, however, proceeded on our journey with tolerable spirits.
My father and uncle shot several birds in the early part of the day,
which afforded us an excellent repast. We shortly arrived at a thick
and apparently impenetrable forest. Through this we had to travel
before reaching our destination for the night. Once having fairly
entered its precincts, there appeared to my mind an impossibility of
ever again emancipating ourselves from it. The sun, which had been so
scorching to our aching sight, was now no longer visible, save here and
there, where a few rays would find a passage through the otherwise
impenetrably dense foliage, to remind us of the world beyond our sight.
The luxuriance of the foliage, the variety of tropical plants which in
the fecundity of nature spring up in a few hours--so rapid is their
growth in these climates,--the busy hum of myriads of insects, the
reptiles, and occasionally the howling of the fiercer animals of prey,
can hardly be appreciated by description. Ever and anon we paused, as
a rustling of the foliage would give notice of the passage of some
fierce animal, who was, as he stole along, unconscious of the presence
of man in his domains. We proceeded most watchfully on our way, my
father and uncle with guns across their shoulders, ready for immediate
service, if required; so, what with our number, and the caution used,
we felt ourselves tolerably secure; the more so, as it is a remarkable
fact that no species of animal, however fierce, is ever very willing to
attack man in open combat, without provocation.
Waterton, the celebrated naturalist, who has travelled through the
woods in search of animals for scientific purposes, says, speaking on
this subject, "Time and experience has convinced me that there is not
much danger in roving amongst snakes and wild beasts, provided you have
self-command. You must never approach them abruptly; if so, you are
sure to pay for your rashness, because the idea of self-defence is
predominant in every animal; and thus the snake, to defend himself from
what he considers an attack upon him, makes the intruder feel the
deadly effect of his poisonous fangs. The jaguar flies at you, and
knocks you senseless with a stroke of his paw; whereas, if you had not
come upon him too suddenly, it is ten to one but that he had retired,
in lieu of disputing the path with you." Secure, however, as we might
feel ourselves, it was a matter of surprise to us how the two negroes
would fare upon their return, without our party. They would, however,
in spite of every persuasion to the contrary, persist in accompanying
us, and we were fain to let them have their own way. Presently an
incident occurred which made us see the necessity of caution. As I was
walking by the side of my uncle Henry, I discerned, glaring from a
neighbouring clump of foliage, two fierce-looking eyes. I impulsively
caught my uncle by the arm, and pointed in breathless terror to the
spot. He paused, and raising his gun, would have fired, had not my
father precipitately intervened, and motioned him to be passive. "Do
not venture to fire," he whispered, "till there is a greater
necessity." At the same time he raised his gun, and both kept guard
till the other members of our party passed the point where danger was
to be feared. The animal did not move, but appeared ready to spring
forth; which had it done, the pieces must then have been discharged.
When we had got some little distance from the object of our dread, my
father and uncle gradually retreated, with their faces and guns
directed towards the animal, until they had got sufficiently out of
danger; and we had the satisfaction of observing the animal bound off
in another direction. It appeared to be a tolerably large-sized puma,
as well as we could discern. This little incident made us doubly
cautious, and all were loud in praising the presence of mind evinced by
my father; for had my uncle fired so incautiously, it is very
improbable that he would have wounded the animal mortally, but it might
have incited him to a desperate attack upon us.
[Sidenote: The negro's daughter]
After one or two false alarms, we arrived again in the open country.
The darkness of the forest had led us to believe that the day was on
the decline; but on emerging into the plain we were greeted again with
the rays of the sun. We had still, however, some distance to journey
before we arrived at our proposed destination, and my mother, who
appeared wearied, was again seated on the back of one of the mules.
But even this mode of conveyance was fatiguing to one unaccustomed to
such long journeys, in a country so different to our own. The negroes
were the most fresh of the party; indeed, heat, and long hours of
fatigue or anxiety, seemed to have no effect upon them, for they
retained under these trials their good temper and loquacity. The elder
of the two seemed, as indeed he always had been, to be of a reflective
temperament; and as he was walking by the side of my father, somewhat
ahead of the rest, he turned round, and gazing at my sister, said,
"Make me think of de ole day--de ole day." "How so?" said my father.
"Had a little girl once myself. Long ago, now! long ago!" And he
again lapsed into silence, ruminating, in rather an abstracted
melancholy mood, for some minutes. "You lost her, then, did you?" said
my father. The old man shook his head sorrowfully, and placing his
hand upon my father's shoulder, confidentially, exclaimed, "De white
man!" He then promised to tell us the history of the affair before
leaving. Arriving shortly at the point he had originally proposed when
we commenced our journey in the morning, we discerned two or three
habitations, even more rude than those we had left, and our guides
expressed much surprise and chagrin at finding them uninhabited. We,
however, determined upon taking possession of them for the night, and
at once proceeded to make the necessary preparations for our stay.
[Sidenote: The story of the negro]
Agreeably to his promise, the old negro took an opportunity of relating
his history. Our first surmise proved to be correct; he was indeed a
runaway slave. Some years previously he and his family were sold to a
new owner, who proved to be a cruel and unfeeling taskmaster, the very
opposite in character to the former owner, who was a kind-hearted, mild
disposed man. His wife was so affected by the change and hard usage,
that she sunk into a desponding state, and eventually died, leaving him
with a son and daughter. The cruel treatment evinced by their overseer
towards the latter, a little girl then of ten years old, was a constant
source of trouble and misery to the father, and eventually led to an
open revolt. One day, when the brutality of this man was beyond all
endurance, the father of the girl, in a fit of rage and disgust, struck
his superior to the earth. Conscious of what he had done, and the
fearful penalty attached to it, he fled frantically from the spot,
whither he knew not. His feelings had been wound up to such a state of
excitement, that he was scarcely conscious of what he was about; but he
had soon left the scene of his suffering many miles distant. His son,
it appeared, who was at a remote part of the plantation, hearing of the
affair, fled after his father, and they eventually, after enduring
numberless hardships, both succeeded in escaping; and notwithstanding
the large rewards offered for their capture, they were never betrayed.
His daughter he had learned nothing of for many years. He had
endeavoured to rescue her soon after his escape from the hands of her
tormentor, but did not succeed. Afterwards he learnt that she had left
the plantation, and had been passed into the hands of a new master at
another remote part of the country. She was dangerously ill at that
time, and was not expected to recover. The poor old negro grew very
mournful as he concluded his narrative. He had not heard of his
daughter for so long a period that he seemed to think it improbable he
should ever behold her again. His story, I remember, called forth a
long discussion upon the horrors of slavery, the truth of which is now
happily made sufficiently manifest, and so universally acknowledged,
that it hardly needs repetition here.
On the following morning we parted with our two negro guides of the
previous day, but it was with the greatest unwillingness that they
could be persuaded to return to their home; eventually, however, we
took leave of them after presenting them two or three remembrances for
their kindness. We now journeyed on much the same as before, without
any incident occurring worthy of notice, when, on the following day, we
met with two English gentlemen, both naturalists, on their way to the
forest, to collect specimens for the advancement of scientific
knowledge. Their party comprised six, namely, themselves, two English
attendants, and two negroes, whom they had purchased, with a promise of
emancipation if they conducted themselves to their masters'
satisfaction. These gentlemen were much delighted to meet with us, and
agreed to journey our road, for the sake of company. I was much
pleased with their society. I was soon made sensible of the advantages
of a system in studying the works of nature. My senses had before been
quite captivated and gratified with the general aspect of the scenes
through which we had passed; but now I was taught to examine objects
more closely and in detail; to compare, arrange, and, above all, to
study the uses and purposes of vegetable and animal constituents, with
their mechanical construction, tracing, in some measure, the designs of
the Creator in all his works. I was now awakened to an intellectual
gratification exceeding that of the mere senses. I learned how to
collect and store up knowledge in the memory, which elevated my notions
of the human species and considerably augmented my self-respect. The
more I found opportunities to bring the intellect into play, the more
apparent became the advantages which the civilized and cultivated man
possessed over the mere savage or uninformed; and, in consequence, my
delight in receiving instruction was unbounded.
Unlike myself, however, the gentlemen whom we accompanied did not
appear to me to enjoy or appreciate my natural enthusiasm for varied
scenery. They carried on their researches with surprising ardour; and
when in pursuit of an abstract or particular object, their attention
was wholly absorbed; nor were they in any way sparing of the lives of
animals, birds, or insects, when selecting their specimens from the
abundance before them. Their recklessness, too, in destroying what
they considered obnoxious animals, somewhat surprised me, so much so as
to induce me to enquire what caused them to have antipathies, like unto
children and some females, especially against spiders, beetles, &c.
The only answer I received was, "We destroy only such things as are of
no use to us, and those which come in our way when in search of our
object." They soon, however, explained to me that the reason of their
shooting such a number of birds was that they were in want of all the
varieties, and could not always distinguish, until they had them in
hand, whether they had such a one amongst their collection.
To watch the young of animals, whether those species born with sight or
closed eyes, and note their progress towards perfection, and the
celerity with which some of them, birds especially, will remove
themselves, even while unfledged, from danger to security, is to see
God watching over all his creatures. To be near when the cry of danger
is started in the wood, and hear the whole flock, though composed of
different kinds of birds, each in their own peculiar note, cry "Hush!"
to their young ones before they leave the nest,--to ascertain the
cause, and then to have the satisfaction of removing that cause of
danger,--is to be an agent of the Deity in the work of benevolence.
"All are agents," said one of the gentlemen, "in carrying out the
benevolent purposes of the Deity. Direct your mind towards the various
provisions which nature has devised for the dispersion, of the seeds of
plants, and introducing them, into proper situations for germination.
Every class of beings," he continued, "is useful as a means to promote
the spread of seeds: man, beasts, birds, reptiles, and probably even
fish, by consuming, cause the propagation of the _algae_ in the depths
of the ocean; and the multiplied contrivances of hooks, awns, wings,
&c., with the elastic and hygrometric power with which seeds are
furnished, manifest what infinite provision has been made for the
dispersion of seeds, and successive productions of nature."
It was thus that they would tutor me, and relieve the tedium of the
day, by instilling into my youthful mind the first rudiments of a
knowledge respecting the works of the Deity, and the uses to which they
were applied; and I became aware of the wonders an all-bounteous
Providence has in store for an enquiring mind.
[Sidenote: The rattlesnake]
But I now approach a period which proved an epoch in my existence. It
was towards the evening of a very long and fatiguing day's journey,
perhaps the most wearisome we had yet had, that we halted to refresh
ourselves, and consult where we should bivouac for the night. We were
all jaded, and scarcely knew how to proceed any further. My sister was
reclining on a bank, and had, unobserved by us, fallen fast asleep,
fairly overcome with the fatigues of the day. Her head was resting on
a small package of tightly compressed woollen cloths. We had not
noticed her for some minutes, when one of the gentlemen who accompanied
us was the first to observe her dangerous situation. It was fortunate
he did so. Taking my father by the arm, and leading him quietly away
from the party, he directed his attention to my sister. My father
stood almost petrified with fear and horror, on observing a large
rattlesnake moving from side to side on my sister's chest. Upon the
impulse of the moment, he was incautiously about to rush to her rescue;
but was detained by his companion.
"I do not think it means any mischief," he whispered. "Make no noise,
and I fancy it will merely cross your child's body, and go away."
In this, however, he was mistaken, for on reaching my sister's left
shoulder the serpent deliberately coiled itself up; and although it
made no immediate attack, it did not appear at all likely to leave the
side of the sleeper.
"Leave it to me," said my father's companion, "to rescue the poor girl
from her terrible position. I know best the habits of these creatures,
and how to treat them. Make no noise, on your life, or your child may
be lost; but follow me."
My father obeyed; and our friend then determined that two of us should
advance in front, to divert the attention of the snake, while he should
noiselessly steal behind my sister, and, with a long stick, remove the
reptile from her body. The snake, on observing the approach of the two
intruders in front of him, instantly raised its head, and darted out
its forked tongue, at the same time shaking its rattles,--all
indications of anger.
[Sidenote: Anxiety]
Every one of our party was in a state of fearful suspense and agitation
for the fate of my poor sister; who lay like a beautiful statue,
sleeping the calm sleep of innocence, unconscious of her danger. Our
friend advanced stealthily behind, with a stick of seven feet long he
had procured for the purpose. In an instant, almost before we had time
to observe it, he succeeded in cautiously inserting one end of the
stick under one of the reptile's coils, and flung the creature some
yards from my sister's body. A wild scream of joy was the first
indication my sister received of her danger and providential escape.
In the meantime, her preserver pursued the snake, and killed it. It
was three feet seven inches long, and eleven years old; the age, our
friend said, was always to be ascertained by the number of rattles. He
also informed us that there is no danger attending the destruction of
the rattlesnake, provided a person has a long pliant stick, and does
not approach nearer than the reptile's length; for they cannot spring
beyond it, and seldom act but upon the defensive. We discovered, on
searching about, a nest of these snakes near to where my sister had
been lying; and, after this incident, were a little more cautious in
taking our way along. We could not shake off the alarm that it had
occasioned; and it was with anxious thoughts and heavy hearts that we
again proceeded to seek repose from the day's troubles and fatigue.