The silence of the camp is not of long continuance; Gaspar being the
first to break it. For the gaucho, having a stronger stomach, and
consequently a quicker digestion than the others, feels some incipient
sensations of hunger.
"I only wish," he says, "we could get hold of one of the brutes that
battered us so in the stream. If we could, it would furnish us with a
supper fit for a king."
"What!" exclaims Ludwig, raising his head in surprise, "one of the
electric eels? Is it that you're speaking of, Gaspar?"
"Ay, _senorito_; just that."
"Surely you wouldn't eat _it_, would you?"
"Wouldn't I? If I had one here now, you'd soon see."
"But are they really good to eat?"
"Good to eat! I should think they are; and if you could but taste them
yourself, _senorito_, you'd say so. A lightning eel's about the
daintiest morsel I ever stuck teeth into; though they do have their
dwelling-place in mud, and as some say, feed upon it. Before cooking
them, however, something needs being done. You must cut away a portion
of their flesh; the spongy part, which it's said gives them power to
make their lightning play. In that lies the dangerous stuff, whatever
sort of thing it is."
"But what are they like, Gaspar? I've never seen one."
It is Ludwig who still interrogates; but to his last question Cypriano,
not Gaspar, gives the answer, saying:
"Oh, cousin! Do you mean to say you've never seen an electric eel?"
"Indeed do I. I've heard father speak of them often, and I know them by
their scientific name, _gymnotus_. I believe there are plenty of them
in the rivers of Paraguay; but, as it chances, I never came across one,
either dead or alive."
"I have," says Cypriano, "come across more than one, and many times.
But once I well remember; for an awkward circumstance it was to myself."
"How so, _sobrino_?"
"Ah! that's a tale I never told you, Ludwig; but I'll tell it now, if
you wish."
"Oh I do wish it."
"Well, near the little village where, as you know, I was born, and went
to school before coming to live with uncle at Assuncion, there was a
pond full of these fish. We boys used to amuse ourselves with them;
sending in dogs and pigs, whenever we had the chance, to see the scare
they would get, and how they scampered out soon as they found what queer
company they'd got into. Cruel sport it was, I admit. But one day we
did what was even worse than frightening either dogs or pigs; we drove
an old cow in, with a long rope round her horns, the two ends of which
we fastened to trees on the opposite sides of the pond, so that she had
only a little bit of slack to dance about upon. And dance about she
did, as the eels electrified her on every side; till at last she dropped
down exhausted, and, I suppose, dead; since she went right under the
water, and didn't come up again. I shall never forget her pitiful, ay,
reproachful look, as she stood up to the neck, with her head craned out,
as if making an appeal to us to save her, while we only laughed the
louder. Poor thing! I can now better understand the torture she must
have endured."
"But is that the awkward circumstance you've spoken of?"
"Oh, no. _It_ was altogether another affair; and for me, as all the
others, a more serious one. I hadn't come to the end of the adventure--
the unpleasant part of it--which was the chastisement we all got, by way
of reward for our wickedness."
"Chastisement! Who gave it to you?"
"Our worthy schoolmaster. It so chanced the old cow was his; the only
one he had at the time giving milk. And he gave us such a thrashing!
Ah! I may well say, I've a lively recollection of it; so lively, I
might truly think the punishment then received was enough, without the
additional retribution the eels have this day inflicted on me."
Cypriano's narration ended, his cousin, after a pause, again appeals to
Gaspar to give him a description of the creatures forming the topic of
their conversation. To which the gaucho responds, saying:--
"Well, Senor Ludwig, if you want to know what a lightning eel is like,
take one of the common kind--which of course you've seen--a full-sized
one; make that about ten times as thick as it is, without adding much to
its length, and you'll have the thing, near as I can think it. So much
for the reptile's bulk; though there are some both bigger round, and
longer from head to tail. As for its colour, over the back it's a sort
of olive green--just like _yerba_ leaves when they've been let stand a
day or two after plucking. On the throat, and under the belly, it's
paler, with here and there some blotches of red. I may tell you,
however, that the lightning-eels change colour same as some of the
lizards; partly according to their age, but as much from the sort of
water they're found in--whether it be a clear running stream, or a muddy
stagnant pond, such as the one Senor Cypriano has spoken of. Besides,
there are several kinds of them, as we gauchos know; though, I believe,
the _naturalutas_ are not aware of the fact. The most dangerous sort,
and no doubt the same that's just attacked us, have broad heads, and
wide gaping mouths full of sharp teeth, with flat tails and a pair of
fins close to the nape of the neck. _Carramba_! they're ugly devils to
look at, and still uglier to have dealings with; that is, when one's in
the water alongside them--as we ourselves know. Still they don't always
behave so bad, as these did to-day. When I crossed this stream before,
with the _dueno_, neither he nor I felt the slightest shock to tell of
eels being in it. I suppose it's the _tormenta_ that's set them a
stirring. Like enough, there's some connection between their lightning
and that of the sky. If so, that's what has quickened the brutes, and
made them so mad. Well," he adds, as if drawing his account to a
conclusion, "mad as they are, I'd like to have one frizzling over this
fire."
"But who eats them, Gaspar?" interrogates Ludwig, still incredulous on
the question of their being a fit article of diet. "I've never heard of
their being eaten, nor brought to market like other fish."
"Hundreds, thousands of people eat them, _hijo mio_. They're in great
request in some places; ay, all over the country. Both whites and
Indians relish them; but more especially the redskins. Some tribes
prefer them to any other food, be it fish, flesh, or fowl; and make a
regular business of catching them."
"Ah! how are they caught?"
"There are various ways; but the usual one is by spearing them.
Sometimes the slippery fellows glide out of their mud beds and come to
the surface of the water, as it were to amuse themselves by having a
look round. Then the fisherman gets a chance at them, without any
searching, or trouble. He is armed with a long pole of _cana brava_,
one end having an iron point barbed like a spear. This, he launches at
them, just as I've heard say whalers do their harpoons. For, if he kept
the shaft in his hands, he'd catch it from their lightning, and get
strokes that would stagger him. Still, he doesn't let go altogether; as
there's a cord attached to the spear, and with that he can haul in the
fish, if he has struck it. But he must have a care to keep his cord out
of the water; if it gets wetted he'll have a fit of the trembles upon
him, sure. For it's a fact--and a curious one you'll say, _senoritos_--
that a dry cord won't conduct the eel's lightning, while a wet one
will."
"It _is_ a fact," says Ludwig, endorsing the statement. "I've heard
father speak of it."
"Very singular," observes Cypriano.
"And I can tell you of another fact," pursues the gaucho, "that you'll
say is still more singular. Would you believe, that from one of these
fish a man may strike sparks, just as by a flint and steel--ay, and
kindle a fire with them? I know it's an old story, about fish having
what's called phosphorus in them; but it isn't everybody who knows that
real fire can be got out of the lightning-eels."
"But can that be done, Gaspar?" asks Ludwig.
"Certainly it can. I've seen it done. And he who did it was your own
dear father, Senor Ludwig. It was one day when we were out on a ramble,
and caught one of the eels in a pool, where it had got penned up by the
water having dried around it. The _dueno_ took out a piece of wire, and
with one end tickled the eel; the other end being stuck into some
gunpowder, which was wrapped loosely in a piece of paper. The powder
flashed and set the paper ablaze, as also some leaves and dry sticks
we'd laid around it. Soon we had a fire; and on that same fire we
broiled the eel itself, and ate it. _Por dios_! I only wish we had one
broiling over this fire. I'd want no better thing for supper."
So ended the chat about electric eels, the subject seeming exhausted.
Then the conversation changing to other and less interesting topics, was
soon after brought to a close. For the darkness was now down, and as
their ponchos, and other softer goods had become thoroughly dry, there
was no reason why they should not go to rest for the night. But since
the soldier-cranes had declined coming back--by this time no doubt
roosted in some far-off "cranery"--and no other source of food supply
offering, they must needs go to bed supperless, as they did. Their
appetites were not yet sufficiently sharp, to have an inordinate craving
for meat.