A TROPICAL STORM
"What fortunes could be made in these forests," said the Senhor Dias
to his brother, "if people with capital only knew of the riches stored
here. Mahogany, satinwood, rosewood and many other kinds of trees grow
here in the greatest abundance, and were there railroads and ships to
transport them, Brazil would be one of the richest countries in the
world."
"We should try to develop our own land," said his brother, and the two
men entered into a long conversation as to the wonderful forests of the
country, to which Affonzo listened with interest.
"Oh, father!" he exclaimed, at last. "When you go up the river to see
the forests may I go with you?"
"Perhaps, but I could not make a promise without first asking your
mother's consent. The trip will be an interesting one, but very hard,
though it might do you good."
"I should love to go," said Affonzo, and his uncle added, "He will grow
up a milksop if you keep him in the nursery much longer; let him go."
"It is about time we were starting now," said the Senhor. "Joachim,
make ready the bag. Your uncle and I will walk on a little ahead,
Affonzo, and you can follow with Joachim. But do not stray away from
him, or you will miss the path, and all manner of dangers lurk in these
forests."
Affonzo sat lazily waiting and watching as the black put up the dinner
things. "Take care of my snake skin," he said, and Joachim smiled, and
replied, "That will make a fine belt for the little master when it is
dried."
"I should like that very much," said Affonzo. "You must make it for me."
"Yes, sir," said Joachim as he swung over his strong shoulders the
wicker-work hamper and game bag. "Is the young master ready to go?"
"I am," Affonzo replied, and the two started down the narrow path along
which the Senhor had disappeared.
"What kind of a tree is that?" asked Affonzo pointing to a tall tree a
hundred feet high.
"That is the _castanhao_," said Joachim. "Some people call it the
Brazil nut, and I have often gathered nuts from it for you to eat. The
nuts grow at the very top of the tree in shells like cocoanuts, and
each shell has fifteen or twenty nuts in it. Often I have thought my
head was broken when a shell fell upon it."
"I wonder why we don't catch up with my father?" said Affonzo.
"Joachim, what makes it so dark?"
"Storm coming. We must hurry," was the brief answer.
Heavy clouds had gathered quickly; not a glimmer of sunlight came
through the trees, and great drops of rain began to fall.
"Father!" cried Affonzo, but there was no answer. "Father!" he called
again and Joachim shouted, "Senhor! Senhor!"
Nothing was heard but the screaming of the wind, and the rain fell
faster and faster. Vivid flashes of lightning illuminated the forest,
and the thunder muttered and grumbled in the distance.
"Come with me quickly," said Joachim, as he seized the boy by the hand.
"We mustn't stay here."
"But my father," cried Affonzo and tried to get away from Joachim, but
the negro held tight to him.
"The Senhor can take care of himself; I must take care of you," he
said, as he pulled the boy into a side path which led through the
woods. They made their way with difficulty through the dense tangle
of underbrush and vines. Often a swinging branch would strike Affonzo
on the face, or he would tangle his feet in a swaying vine and fall
full length in a bed of fern. The rain poured down in torrents, but
the leaves and interlaced branches served as a shield from the great
drops which pelted down like bullets. Soon they came to a small hut
with a thatched roof and no door to bar the entrance. Into it Joachim
pulled the boy with scant ceremony. As they entered the hut a man rose
hurriedly from his grass couch, and Affonzo recognized an Indian who
had often been to the Fazenda to see his father.
"Ah, Vicente," said Joachim. "Give us shelter."
"Welcome," said the _syringuero_.[2] "The storm is bad. You reached
shelter just in time. See!"
He pointed through the door-way and Affonzo saw that the streams of
water were well-nigh rivers, and the thunder and lightning were almost
incessant.
"Where do you suppose my father is?" he asked, and Joachim answered,
"The Senhor has found shelter, do not fear; and he will know you are
safe with me."
"There is nothing to do but sit still, I suppose," said Affonzo, rather
mournfully, for that was the hardest thing in all the world for him to
do.
Vicente gave him a slow smile. He was an old Indian of wiry frame,
with keen black eyes. His hair was straight and black, his chin firm
and strong, his features clean-cut, his face proud and intelligent.
He was in great contrast to curly-haired, black Joachim with his
good-humoured, stolid face.
[Illustration: "HE PLACED HIMSELF ON A RAFT AND WAS ROWED TO THE MIDDLE
OF THE GREAT RIVER."]
Vicente was one of the Indians whose fathers had owned the land before
the Portuguese discovered it and named it Brazil from the red colour
of its dye woods. He gathered rubber from the great trees which grew
in the forest, and lived alone in his little hut. He sat smoking and
watching the boy who looked out into the rain feeling very miserable.
"Vicente," he said at last, "have you lived long in the forest?"
"Many years have I been here," said the old man. "And my fathers were
here before me. They hunted and fished and were chiefs in the land
until the white men came. Many died, many went to the great hills, but
I stayed here, for the home of my fathers is my home."
"Tell me a story, Vicente," begged the little boy.
"In the days of my fathers," said Vicente, "and of my father's
fathers and their fathers, things were not as to-day they are in the
country of the great river. There were no white Senhores. The Indians
dwelt alone. They roamed the forests hunting with the bow and arrow;
they fished in the great stream; they dwelt in their lodges and were
happy.
"Often there were fights with other Indians and these were of great
glory. But my people were peaceful and loved not war, never fighting if
they could first have peace. To secure peace for our village, each year
they made a sacrifice and this was the manner of it.
"A chief smeared his body with gum and then powdered himself with gold
dust. He powdered it all over, for in our mountains was much gold and
precious gems. He placed himself on a raft and was rowed to the middle
of the great river. There he raised his hands to heaven, praying the
Great Spirit to save his village, and jumping into the water he washed
off the precious dust. This he sacrificed for his village.
"This was done each year and should have been done still, when,
perhaps, the Indian villages would not have been destroyed and
deserted, but it ceased for the sin of one man. A chief loved gold.
That is an evil and a foolishness, for gold is but for use and not for
love. He loved its glitter, and it seemed to him stupid to waste it in
a sacrifice.
"It was his turn to make the river sacrifice and become the Gilded
Man.[3] But he was angry within himself, and said, 'why shall I do
this thing? If the village wishes gold, why must it take mine? It is a
foolish thing!'
"Yet he could not refuse the sacrifice, for to be the Gilded Man
was thought an honour, and did he refuse, many would suspect him of
faithlessness to his tribe. So he gilded himself as was the custom,
and his brother chiefs rowed him to the river and he raised his hands
to heaven.
"'Spirits of Rain and Wind, of Fire and Water, of Good and Evil, keep
our village and our people,' he cried. 'We offer all to thee!' Then he
plunged into the stream and washed the gold from his arms and legs.
All the time his heart was hot within him and he thought to himself,
'How my soul grieves to see this waste of the beautiful, shining dust!'
Then an evil spirit tempted him and he did not wash off all the gold.
He left beneath his arms where others could not see it, some of the
glittering dust, and returned to his village, an insult to the Spirits
of Heaven.
"That night came fierce rain and wind and with it a horde of enemies
who descended like a hurricane and destroyed the village,--men, women
and children. So the chief with all his gold was destroyed utterly and
he was the last Gilded Man. Thus were the Spirits of Heaven avenged!"
"Thank you, Vicente," cried Affonzo. "That is a good story. But see,
the rain is over. Now we must hurry to find my father," pointing as he
spoke to the doorway. The sky was clear and bright, already rose-tinted
with the rays of the setting sun, low in the heavens.
"You must not go yet," said Vicente. "Ground too wet, trees wet, bad
for white people. You must wait."
"But I must find my father," persisted Affonzo, who, though he was a
brave boy, began to be somewhat frightened. But Vicente knew the danger
of the steaming forest with its snakes, mosquitoes and insects swarming
after the storm. "Not safe to go now," he said, and Joachim, who was
quite comfortable where he was, said, "Little master must sleep here
and go home in the morning."
"You shall have a good supper," said Vicente, who began at once to
prepare the meal, and Affonzo was forced to submit. So he watched
with interest the preparations for supper, for like most boys, he was
generally hungry. Vicente built a fire in the stone fireplace in front
of his hut, and from a stone jar in the corner he brought pork, some
coarse bread, wild honey found in the woods, and bananas.
"Take a bird from our bag," said Affonzo, wishing to give his share of
the feast, and Joachim brought out a parrot which was soon stewing in
the pot with the pork, and a handful of peppers and herbs. When the
savoury stew was done, the meal was spread upon a rough bench at the
door, and the three odd companions sat down together.
"Quite a festive party," said a laughing voice, and jumping up, Affonzo
saw his father and uncle approaching through the trees.
"Oh, papa, how glad I am to see you! I feared you would be wet through,
but you must have found shelter as we did, for you are scarcely wet at
all."
"I worried about you, more than you did about me, I fancy," said his
father, "though I hoped Joachim would bring you here. Your uncle and
I missed the path some way, and could not find you or the old house
again, so we took refuge in a deserted hut."
"The Senhors will sup with me," said Vicente, "and remain here for the
night since the forest is unsafe for the boy."
"A thousand thanks; we will stay if you can arrange for so many," was
the reply, and as Vicente assured them that they would all be most
welcome, they ate their supper with much enjoyment.
The two Senhors slept in Indian hammocks swung between giant rubber
trees, while Affonzo curled up in a blanket and slept, as did Vicente
and Joachim, on a fragrant couch of dried grass.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 2: Rubber gatherer.]
[Footnote 3: This is the Indian legend of _El Dorado_, which is really
_El Hombre Dorado_, or the gilded man, and it was this story which led
so many of the early explorers to search for "_El Dorado_."]