An attack by electric eels, however ludicrous the thing may seem, is not
so looked upon by those whose ill luck it has been to experience it.
That these slippery creatures possess a most dangerous power, and know
how to exert it, there is ample evidence in the accounts given of them
by many a truthful traveller.
More than enough of it have had our heroes; for while escaping with
their lives, they have not got off altogether scatheless--neither
themselves, nor their horses. For, though now beyond reach of their
mysterious assailants, the latter stand cowering and quivering,
evidently disabled for that day, at least. To continue the journey upon
them, while they are in this condition, is plainly impossible. But
their riders do not think of it; they, too, feeling enfeebled--Ludwig
actually ill. For the electricity still affects them all, and it may be
some time before their veins will be freed from its influence.
_Nolens volens_, for a time they must stay where they are, however they
may chafe at this fresh halt--as before, a forced one. But the gaucho,
with spirits ever buoyant, puts the best face upon it, saying, "After
all, we won't lose so much time. By this, our horses would have been
pretty well done up, anyhow, after such a hard day's work, floundering
through so much mud and crossing so many streams. Even without this
little bit of a bother, we'd have had to stop soon somewhere to rest
them. And what better place than here? Besides, as you see, the sun's
wearing well down, and it's only a question of three or four hours at
most. We can make that up by an earlier start, and a big day's journey,
to-morrow; when it's to be hoped we'll meet with no such obstructions as
have beset us to-day."
Gaspar is not using arguments; for no one wishes to dispute with him.
Only speaking words of comfort; more especially addressing them to
Cypriano, who is, as ever, the impatient one. But he, as the gaucho
himself, sees the impossibility of proceeding further, till they and
their animals have had a spell of rest.
For the purpose of obtaining this, they go in search of a suitable
camping-place; which they soon find within a grove of _algarobias_, at
some three or four hundred yards' distance from the ford. The trees
cover the sides of a little mound, or hillock; none growing upon its
summit, which is a grassy glade. And as the dust has either not settled
on it, or been washed off by the rain, the herbage is clean and green,
so too the foliage of the trees overshadowing it.
"The very place for a comfortable camp," says Gaspar, after inspecting
it--the others agreeing with him to the echo.
Having returned to the ford for their horses, and led them up to the
chosen ground, they are proceeding to strip the animals of their
respective caparisons, when, lo! the _alparejas_, and other things,
which were attached to the croup of Ludwig's saddle, and should still be
on it, are not there! All are gone--shaken off, no doubt, while the
animal was plunging about in the stream--and with as little uncertainty
now lying amidst the mud at its bottom.
As in these very saddle-bags was carried their commissariat--_yerba,
charqui_, maize-bread, onions, and everything, and as over the
cantle-peak hung their kettle, skillet, _mates_ and _bombillas_, the
loss is a lamentable one; in short, leaving them without a morsel to
eat, or a vessel to cook with, had they comestibles ever so abundant!
At first they talk of going back to the ford, and making search for the
lost chattels. But it ends only in talk; they have had enough of that
crossing-place, so dangerously beset by those _demonios_, as Gaspar in
his anger dubs the electric eels. For though his courage is as that of
a lion, he does not desire to make further acquaintance with the
mysterious monsters. Besides, there is no knowing in what particular
spot the things were dropped; this also deterring them from any attempt
to enter upon a search. The stream at its crossing-place is quite a
hundred yards in width, and by this time the articles of metal, as the
heavily-weighted saddle-bags, will have settled down below the surface,
perhaps trampled into its slimy bed by the horse himself in his
convulsive struggles. To seek them now would be like looking for a
needle in a stack of straw. So the idea is abandoned; and for this
night they must resign themselves to going supperless.
Fortunately, none of the three feels a-hungered; their dinner being as
yet undigested. Besides, Gaspar is not without hope that something may
turn up to reprovision them, ere the sun goes down. Just possible, the
soldier-cranes may come back to the ford, and their fishing, so that
another, with full crop, may fall within the loop of his _lazo_.
Having kindled a fire--not for cooking purposes, but to dry their
ponchos, and other apparel saturated in the crossing of the stream--they
first spread everything out; hanging them on improvised clothes-horses,
constructed of _cana brava_--a brake of which skirts the adjacent
stream. Then, overcome with fatigue, and still suffering from the
effects of the animal electricity, they stretch themselves alongside the
fire, trusting to time for their recovery.
Nor trust they in vain. For, sooner than expected, the volatile fluid--
or whatever it may be--passes out of their veins, and their nervous
strength returns; even Ludwig saying he is himself again, though he is
not quite so yet.
And their animals also undergo a like rapid recovery, from browsing on
the leaves and bean-pods of the _algarobias_; a provender relished by
all pampas horses, as horned cattle, and nourishing to both. More than
this, the fruit of this valuable tree when ripe, is fit food for man
himself, and so used in several of the Argentine States.
This fact suggesting itself to Gaspar--as he lies watching the horses
plucking off the long siliques, and greedily devouring them--he says:--
"We can make a meal on the _algarobia_ beans, if nothing better's to be
had. And for me, it wouldn't be the first time by scores. In some
parts where I've travelled, they grind them like maize, and bake a very
fair sort of bread out of their meal."
"Why, Gaspar!" exclaims Ludwig, recalling some facts of which he had
heard his father speak, "you talk as if you had travelled in the Holy
Land, and in New Testament times! These very trees, or others of a
similar genus, are the ones whose fruit was eaten by Saint John the
Baptist. You remember that passage, where it is said: `his meat was
locusts and wild honey.' Some think the locusts he ate were the insects
of that name; and it may be so, since they are also eaten by Arabs, and
certain other tribes of Asiatic and African people. But, for my part, I
believe the beans of the `locust tree' are meant; which, like this, is a
species of acacia that the Arabs call _carob_; evidently the root from
which we take our word _algarobia_."
Gaspar listens, both patiently and pleased, to this learned
dissertation. For he is rejoiced to perceive, that the thoughts of his
young companion are beginning to find some abstraction and
forgetfulness, of that upon which they have been so long sadly dwelling.
Cypriano, too, appears to take an interest in the subject of discourse;
and to encourage it the gaucho rejoins, in gleeful tones:
"Well, Senor Ludwig; I don't know much about those far-away countries
you speak of, for I've not had any great deal of schooling. But I do
know, that _algarobia_ beans are not such bad eating; that is if
properly prepared for it. In the States of Santiago and Tucuman, which
are the places I spoke of having travelled through, the people almost
live on them; rich and poor, man as well as beast. And we may be glad
to make breakfast on them, if not supper; though I still trust something
more dainty may drop upon us. I'm not so hopeful as to expect manna,
like that which rained down upon Moses; but there's many an eatable
thing to be had in this Chaco wilderness, too--for those who know how to
look for it. _Ay Dios_!" he adds, after a pause, with his eyes turned
towards the ford, "those long-legged gentry don't seem to care about
coming back there. No doubt, the screams of that fellow I throttled
have frightened them off for good. So I suppose we must give the birds
up, for this night anyhow. Just possible, in the morning they'll be as
hungry as ourselves, and pay their fishing-ground a very early visit."
Saying this, the gaucho relapses into silence, the others also ceasing
to converse. They all feel a certain lethargy, which calls for repose;
and for a while all three lie without speaking a word, their heads
resting on their _recados_--the only sound heard being the "crump-crump"
of their horses' teeth grinding the _algarobia_ pods into pulp.