[Illustration]
At the end of two weeks, I signified to my friends that I should be
compelled, on the following day, to leave them, and pursue my voyage
up the coast. I had supposed that there existed an interior connection
between Great River and the lagoons which led to Cape Gracias, but found
that they commenced with a stream some twenty miles to the northward,
called “Snook Creek,” and that it would be necessary to trust our little
boat again to the sea.
The announcement of my intended departure was received without the
slightest manifestation of feeling, but, during the evening, the
inhabitants vied with each other in loading the canoe with fruits and
provisions. They were, in fact, so lavish of their presents, that I
was unable to accept them all, and had to leave more than half of what
they brought me. I, nevertheless, made special room for the _tasajoed_
manitus, and took all the _bisbire_ which was brought. As I have already
explained, the _bisbire_ is a paste made of ripe plantains, having about
the consistency, and very much the taste, of dried figs. It is made into
rolls, closely wrapped in the leaves of the tree on which it grows, which
preserve it perfectly, and it thus becomes an article of prime value to
the voyager.[3]
I left the village with as much ceremony as I had entered it. The
Alcaldes bearing their wands, escorted me down to the water, where I
was obliged to shake hands with all the people, each one exclaiming,
“_Disabia!_” equivalent to “Good-bye!” They stood on the bank until
we were entirely out of sight. I left them with admiration for their
primitive habits, and genuine though formal hospitality. Although, in
their taciturnity, they were not unlike our own Indians, yet, in all
other respects, they afforded a very striking contrast to them. The North
American savage disdains to work; his ambition lies in war and the chase;
but the gentler dweller under the tropics is often industrious, and
resorts to hunting only as an accessory to agriculture.
The ceremonies of my departure had occupied so much time that, when we
reached the mouth of the river, it was too late to venture outside. So
we took up our quarters, for the night, in our old encampment, on the
island. The moon was out, and the evening was exceedingly beautiful—so
beautiful, indeed, that I might have fallen into heroics, had it not been
for a most infernal concert kept up by wild animals on the river’s banks.
I at first supposed that all the ferocious beasts of the forest had
congregated, preparatory to a general fight, and comforted myself that we
were separated from them by the river. There were unearthly groans, and
angry snarls, and shrieks, so like those of human beings in distress as
to send a thrill through every nerve. At times the noises seemed blended,
and became sullen and distant, and then so sharp and near that I could
hardly persuade myself they were not produced on the island itself. I
should have passed the night in alarm, had not Antonio been there to
explain to me that most, if not all these sounds came from what the
Spaniards call the “_mono colorado_,” or howling monkey. I afterward saw
a specimen—a large, ugly beast, of a dirty, brick-red color, with a long
beard, but otherwise like an African baboon. Different from most other
monkeys, they remain in nearly the same places, and have favorite trees,
in which an entire troop will take up its quarters at night, and open a
horrible serenade, that never fails to fill the mind of the inexperienced
traveler with the most dismal fancies. Notwithstanding Antonio’s
explanations, they so disturbed my slumbers that I got up about midnight,
and, going down to the edge of the water, fired both barrels of my gun in
the direction of the greatest noise. But I advise no one to try a similar
experiment. All the water-birds and wild fowl roosting in the trees gave
a sudden flutter, and set up responsive croaks and screams, from which
the monkeys seemed to derive great encouragement, and redoubled their
howling. I was glad when the unwonted commotion ceased, and the denizens
of the forest relapsed again into their chronic serenade.
A large proportion of tropical animals are emphatically “children of
the night.” It is at night that the tiger and maneless Mexican lion
leave their lairs, and range the dense forests in pursuit of their prey,
rousing the peccary and tapir from their haunts, and sending them to
seek refuge in the thickets, where crashing of bushes and splashings in
hidden pools testify to the blind fear of the pursued, and the fierce
instincts of the pursuers. A sudden plunge of the alligator from the
banks, will startle the wild birds on the overhanging trees, and in an
instant the forest resounds to the wild cries of the tiger, the plaints
of the frightened monkeys, and the shrieks and croaks of the numerous
water-fowl; while the wakeful traveler starts up and hastily grasps his
faithful gun, surprised to find the wilderness, which was so still and
slumberous under the noonday heats, now terrible with savage and warring
life.
Toward morning the commotion in the forest subsided, and I was enabled
to snatch a few hours of slumber. I awoke to find the sun just streaking
the horizon, and the boat all ready for departure. Antonio had cut two
trunks of the buoyant _mohoe_ tree, which were lashed to the sides of our
boat to act as floats, and prevent us from being overturned by any sudden
flaw of the wind. We passed the bar without much trouble, and made a good
offing, before laying our course for “Snook Creek.” The wind was fresh,
and the water bright and playful under the blue and cloudless sky. I
leaned over the side of our frail boat—scarce a speck in the broad breast
of the ocean—and watched the numerous marine animals and _mollusca_ that
floated past; the _nautilus_, “small commodore,” with its tiny sail and
rosy prow, the pulsating _rhizostoma_, and the _bernice_, with its silken
hair—most fragile forms of life, and yet unharmed dwellers in the mighty
sea, which mocks at the strength of iron, and undermines continents in
its wrath!
[Illustration: MOLLUSCA OF THE CARIBBEAN SEA.]
During the afternoon we came close in shore, keeping a sharp look-out
for the mouth of “Snook Creek.” There are, however, no landmarks on the
entire coast; throughout it wore the same flat, monotonous appearance—a
narrow strip of sand in front of a low impenetrable forest, in which the
fierce north-easters had left no large trees standing. Hence it is almost
impossible for voyagers, not intimately acquainted with the shore, to
determine their position. My Poyer boy had coasted here but once, and
I found, toward evening, that he was of opinion that we had passed the
mouth of the creek of which we were in search. So we resolved to stand
along the shore for either Walpasixa or Prinza-pulka, where part of the
hull of an American ship, wrecked sometime before, still remained as a
guide to voyagers.
As the sun went down, the wind fell, and the moon came up, shedding
its light upon the broad, smooth swells of the sea, silver-burnished
upon one side, and on the other dark but clear, like the shadows on
polished steel. We lowered our useless sail, and my companions took
their paddles, keeping time to a kind of chant, led off by Antonio, the
Poyer boy joining in the swelling chorus. The melody was very simple,
and, like that of all purely Indian chants, sad and plaintive. I have
often thought, in listening to them, that they were the wails of a people
conscious of their decay, over a continent slipping from their grasp, and
a power broken forever!
[Illustration: ON THE MOONLIT SEA!]
I lay long, watching the shore as it glided past, and listening to the
tinkle of the water under our prow, but finally fell into a deep and
dreamless slumber, rocked by the ocean in its gentlest mood. When I
awoke we had already passed the Prinza-pulka bar, and were fastened to
the branches of a large tree, which had become entangled among the
mangroves, on the banks of the river. It was with no small degree of
satisfaction that I found we had now an uninterrupted river and lagoon
navigation to Cape Gracias, and that we should not again be obliged to
venture, with our little boat, upon the open sea.
The Prinza-pulka seemed rather an estuary than a river, and was lined
with an impenetrable forest of mangroves. These were covered with flocks
of the white ibis, and, as we advanced up the stream, we came upon others
of a rose color, looking like _bouquets_ of flowers among the green
leaves of the trees.
At the distance of three miles, the river banks grew higher, although
densely covered with wild plants and vines, which seemed to have subdued
the forest. The few trees that were left were clustered all over with
twining rope-plants, or _lianes_, sometimes hanging down and swinging in
mid-air, and again stretched to the ground, like the cordage of a ship,
supporting in turn, hundreds of creepers, with leaves of translucent
green, and loaded with clusters of bright flowers. An occasional fan-palm
thrust itself above the tangled verdure, as if struggling for light
and air; while the broad leaves of the wild plantain emerged here and
there in groups, and the slender stalks of the bamboo-cane, fringed
with delicate leaves like those of the willow, bent gracefully over the
water. At the foot of this emerald wall was a strip of slimy earth, and
I observed occasional holes, or tunnel-like apertures, through which
the alligator trailed his hideous length, or the larger land-animals
came down to the water to drink. As we glided by one of these openings,
a tapir suddenly projected his head and ugly proboscis, but, startled by
our canoe, as suddenly withdrew it, and disappeared in the dark recesses
of the impenetrable jungle, in which it is beyond the power of man to
penetrate, except he laboriously carves his way, foot by foot, in the
matted mass.
About ten o’clock we reached the mouth of a narrow creek, or stream,
diverging from the river under a complete canopy of verdure. Up this
creek, my Poyer assured me, the Prinza-pulka village was situated. So we
paddled in, and, after many windings, finally came where the vegetation
was less rank, and the banks were higher and firmer. I began to breathe
freer, for the air within these tropical fastnesses seemed to me loaded
with miasmatic damps, like the atmosphere of a vault. As we proceeded,
the country became more and more open, and the water clearer, revealing
a gravelly bottom, until, at last, to my surprise, we came upon broad
savannahs, fringed, along the water, by narrow belts of trees. Through
these I caught glimpses of gentle swells and undulations of land, upon
which, to my further amazement, I saw clumps of pine-trees! I had
supposed the pine to be found only in high, temperate latitudes, and
could scarcely believe that it grew here, side by side with the palm,
almost on a level with the sea, until I was assured by my Poyer that
it abounded in all the savannahs, and covered all the _plateaus_ and
mountains of the interior.
A bend in the creek brought us suddenly in view of a group of canoes,
drawn up on the shore, in front of a few scattered huts. One or two
women, engaged in some occupation at the edge of the water, fled when
they saw us, scrambling up the bank in evident alarm. As we approached
nearer, I saw through the bushes a number of men hurrying back and
forth, and calling to each other in excited voices. Before we had fairly
reached the landing-place, they had collected among the canoes, whence
they motioned us back with violent gestures. Some were armed with spears,
others had bows and arrows, and two or three carried muskets, which they
pointed at us in a very careless and unpleasant manner. I observed that
they were Sambos, like those at Wasswatla, equally frizzled about the
head, and spotted with the _bulpis_. Whenever we attempted to approach,
they shouted “_Bus! bus!_” and raised their weapons. The Poyer boy
responded by calling “_Wita_,” _i. e._, chief, or head man. Hereupon one
of the number came forward a little, and inquired “_Inglis? Inglis?_”
pointing to me. I held up my pass, and, remembering Wasswatla, pointed
to it, exclaiming, “King paper! king paper!” This seemed to produce an
impression, and we made a movement to land, but up came the guns again,
their muzzles looking as large as church doors. Things certainly appeared
squally, and I was a little puzzled what to do. Prudence suggested that
we should retreat, but then that might be understood as an evidence
of fear, which, with savages, as with wild beasts, is a sure way of
inviting attack. I preferred, therefore, to await quietly the result of
a conference which seemed to be going on, and in which I noticed I was
frequently pointed out, with very suggestive gestures. While this was
going on, Antonio carefully got out my gun and revolver, handing me the
latter in such a manner as not to attract notice. He had evinced a high
consideration for it, ever since it had played so large a part in my
first interview with the patron at “El Roncador.”
After much debate, two of the Sambos, including the head man, pushed
off to us in a canoe, under the cover of the weapons of those on shore.
They, however, fell back in evident alarm when they caught sight of
my revolver. I therefore laid it down, extended both open hands, and
hailed them with the Mosquito salutation, which applies equally at
all hours of the day and night, “Good morning!” They replied, with
the universal drawl, “_Mornin’, sir!_” I put my “king paper” forward,
very conspicuously, and read it through to them, no doubt to their
edification. The head man said, “Good! good!” when I had finished, but
nevertheless seemed suspicious of the contents of our boat, inquiring,
in a broken way, for “Osnabergs,” and “_pauda_,” or powder. I explained
to them, as well as I could, that we were not traders, which piece of
information did not seem to please them. But when they caught sight of my
demijohn, they evinced more amiability, which I hastened to heighten by
giving them a calabash of the contents.
They afterward signified their willingness to let me go ashore, if
I would first give them my gun and revolver, which I sternly and
peremptorily refused to do. They finally paddled to the shore, motioning
for us to follow. Upon landing, I gave them each a dram, which was
swallowed in a breath, with unequivocal signs of relish. The head men,
after another ineffectual attempt to induce me to surrender my revolver,
led the way up the bank, Antonio and the Poyer boy remaining with the
canoe.
[Illustration: VILLAGE OF QUAMWATLA.]
The village was very straggling and squalid, although the position was
one of great beauty. It stood on the edge of an extensive savannah,
covered thickly with coarse grass, and dotted over with little clusters
of bushes, and clumps of dark pines, more resembling a rich park, laid
out with consummate skill, than a scene on a wild and unknown shore,
under the tropics. As we advanced, I observed that the huts were all
comparatively new, and that there were many burnt spots, marked by
charred posts and half-burned thatch-poles. Among the rubbish, in one or
two places, I noticed fragments of earthenware of European manufacture,
and pieces of copper sheathing, evidently from some vessel.
I was conducted to the head man’s hut, where room was made for me to
sit down on one of the crickeries. Some kind of fermented drink was
brought for me, which I had great difficulty in declining. In fact, I
did not like the general aspect of things. In the first place, there
were no women visible, and then the ugly customers with the guns and
spears, when not scrutinizing me or my revolver—which seemed to have a
strange fascination in their eyes—were engaged in a very sinister kind of
consultation.
The head man seemed particularly anxious to know my destination, and the
purposes of my visit. My suspicions had been roused, and I represented
myself as a little in advance of a large party from the Cape, bound down
the coast, and inquired, in return, what land of accommodations could be
provided for my companions when they arrived. This rather disconcerted
him, and I thought the opportunity favorable to fall back to the boat,
now fully convinced that some kind of treachery was meditated. A
movement was made to intercept me at the door, but the presented muzzle
of my revolver opened the way in an instant, and I walked slowly down to
the landing, the armed men following, and calling out angrily, “_Mer’ka
man! Mer’ka man!_” Antonio stood at the top of the bank, with my gun,
his face wearing an anxious expression. He whispered to me hurriedly, in
Spanish, that half a dozen armed men had gone down the creek in a boat,
and that he had no doubt the intention was to attack us.
In fact the cowardly wretches were now brandishing their weapons, and
uttering savage shouts. I at once saw that there was but one avenue
of escape open, namely, to take to our boat, and get away as fast as
possible. I waited until my companions had taken their places, and then
walked down the bank deliberately, and entered the canoe. A few rapid
strokes of the paddles carried us well clear of the shore, before the
Sambos reached the top of the bank. I brought my gun to bear upon them,
determined to fire the instant they should manifest any overt act of
hostility. They seemed to comprehend this, and contented themselves with
running after us, along the bank, shouting “Mer’ka man!” and pointing
their weapons at us, through the openings in the bushes.
We were not long in getting beyond their reach, but they nevertheless
kept up loud, taunting shouts, while we were within hearing. I counted
this a lucky escape from the village, but was not at my ease about the
party which had gone down the creek. I felt sure that they were in ambush
in some of the dark recesses of the banks, and that we might be attacked
at any moment. Both Antonio and myself, therefore, sat down in the bottom
of the canoe, closely watching the shores, while the Poyer boy paddled
noiselessly in the stern. It was now near night, and the shadows gathered
so darkly over the narrow stream that we could see nothing distinctly.
On we went, stealthily and watchfully. We had reached the darkest covert
on the creek, a short distance above its junction with the river, when a
large canoe shot from the bank across our bows, with the evident purpose
of intercepting us. At the same instant a flight of arrows whizzed past
us, one or two striking in the canoe, while the others spattered the
water close by. I at once commenced firing my revolver, while Antonio,
seizing the long manitee-spear, sprang to the bow. At the same instant
our canoe struck the opposing boat, as the saying is, “head on,” crushing
in its rotten sides, and swamping it in a moment. Antonio gave a wild
shout of triumph, driving his spear at the struggling wretches, some
of whom endeavored to save themselves by climbing into our canoe. I
heard the dull _tchug_ of the lance as it struck the body of one of the
victims, and, with a sickening sensation, cried to the Poyer, who had
also seized a lance to join in the slaughter, to resume his paddle.
He did so, and in a few seconds we were clear of the scene of our
encounter, and gliding away in the darkness. I caught a glimpse of the
struggling figures clinging to their shattered boat, and uttering the
wildest cries of alarm and distress. The quick ear of Antonio caught
responsive shouts, and it soon became evident that we had been followed
by boats from the village.
[Illustration: THE FIGHT NEAR QUAMWATLA.]
Convinced that we would be pursued, and that if overtaken we should
be borne down by numbers, the question of our safety became one of
superior craft, or superior speed. I was disposed to try the latter, but
yielded to Antonio, who, watching an opportunity, ran our boat under an
overhanging tree, where the tangled bank cast an impenetrable shadow on
the water. Here we breathlessly awaited the course of events. It was not
long before we heard a slight ripple, and through the uncertain light I
saw three canoes dart rapidly and silently past. The pursuers evidently
thought we had reached the river, where the mangroves and impenetrable
jungles on the banks would effectually prevent concealment or escape.
Relieved from the sense of immediate danger, it became a vital question
what we should next do to secure our ultimate safety. The moon would
soon be up, and our pursuers, not finding us on the river, would at once
divine our trick, and, placing us between themselves and the town, render
escape impossible. To abandon our boat was to court a miserable death in
the woods. Antonio suggested the only feasible alternative. There were
but three canoes, and when they reached the river, he shrewdly reasoned,
two would follow our most probable track down the stream, while the third
would doubtless search for us above. Our policy, then, was to follow in
the wake of the latter, until it should be as widely separated from aid
as possible, and then, by a sudden _coup-de-main_, either disable or
paralyze our opponents, and make the best of our way into the interior,
where we could not fail to find creeks, and other places of refuge from
pursuit.
My companions stripped themselves, so as not to be encumbered in the
water, in case of accident, and I followed their example, retaining only
my dark shirt, lest my white body should prove too conspicuous a mark. I
carefully loaded my pistols, put a handful of buckshot in each barrel of
my gun, and we started down the creek. A few moments brought us to the
river, but we could neither see nor hear the canoes of our enemies. We
turned up the stream, paddling rapidly, but silently, and keeping close
to the shore. Every few minutes Antonio would stop to listen. Meantime, I
hailed with joy some heavy clouds in the East, which promised to prolong
the obscurity, by hiding the light of the rising moon.
The excitement of the night of the terrible storm, in which I was wrecked
on “El Roncador,” was trifling to what I experienced that evening,
paddling up the dark and sullen river. I exulted in every boat’s length
which we gained, as tending to make the inevitable contest more equal,
and welcomed every ebon fold of cloud which gathered in the horizon.
I felt that a thunder-storm was brooding; and the marshaling of the
elements roused still more the savage desperation which gradually
absorbed every other feeling and sentiment. At first, every nerve in my
system vibrated, and I trembled in every limb; I felt like one in an ague
fit; but this soon passed away—every muscle became tense, and I felt the
strong pulsations in my temples, as if molten iron was coursing through
the veins. I no longer sought to avoid a contest, but longed for the hour
to come when I could shed blood. Every moment seemed an age, and I know
not how I subdued my impatience.
Meantime the threatened storm gathered, with a rapidity peculiar to the
tropics on the eve of a fervid day, and the darkness became so dense that
we several times ran our boat against the bank, from sheer inability to
see. Suddenly the dark vail of heaven was rift, and the lurid lightning
fell with a blinding flash, which seemed to sear our eyeballs. An instant
after rolled in the deep-voiced thunder, booming awfully among the
primeval forests. A few rain-drops followed, which struck with steel-like
sharpness on the naked skin, and hot puffs of air came soughing along
the river. A moment after the heavens again glowed with the lightnings,
glaring on the dark breast of the river, and revealing, but a few yards
in advance of us, the hostile canoe, returning from what its occupants
no doubt regarded as a hopeless pursuit. Their loud shout of savage
defiance and joy was cut short by the heavy roll of the thunder, and, an
instant after, the bows of our boats came together. They glanced apart,
and I was nearly thrown from my balance into the water, for I had risen,
the more surely to pour the contents of my gun into the midst of our
assailants. Another shout followed the shock, and I heard the arrows,
shot at random in the darkness, hiss past our heads. I reserved my fire
until the lightning should fall to guide my aim. I had not long to wait;
a third flash revealed the opposing boat; I saw that it was filled with
men, and that in their midst stood the treacherous head man of the
village. The flash of my gun, and that of the lightning, so far as human
senses could discern, were simultaneous; yet instantaneous as the whole
transaction must have been, I saw my victim fall, and heard his body
plunge in the water, before the report had been caught up by the echo,
or drowned by the thunder. I shall never forget the shriek of terror
and of rage that rung out from that boat to swell the angry discord of
the elements. Even now, it often startles me from my sleep. But then
it inspired me with the wildest joy; I shouted back triumphantly, and
tossed my arms exultingly in the face of the unblenching darkness. A few
more arrows, a couple of musket-shots, fired at random toward us, and
the combat was over. We heard wails and groans, but they grew fainter
and more distant, showing that our enemies were dropping down the river.
Another flash of lightning disclosed them drifting along the bank, and
beyond the reach of our weapons.
Our purpose was now accomplished; our foes were behind us, and before
us an unknown mesh of lagoons and rivers. We had no alternative but to
advance, perhaps upon other and more formidable dangers. However that
might be, we did not stop to consider, but all through the stormy night
plied our paddles with incessant energy. About midnight we came to a
small lagoon, on the banks of which we observed some fires, but the sky
was still overcast, and we escaped notice. Toward morning the moon came
out, and we directed our boat close in shore, so as to take refuge in
some obscure creek during the day. An opening finally presented itself,
and we paddled in. As we advanced it became narrow, and was obstructed
by drooping branches and fallen trunks. Under some of them we forced our
boat with difficulty, and others we cut away with our _machetes_. After
infinite trouble and labor we passed the mangrove-swamp, and came to high
grounds, on which were many _coyol_ palm-trees, and a few dark pines.
Here, exhausted with our extraordinary efforts, and no longer sustained
by excitement, we made a hasty encampment. To guard against surprise
Antonio undertook the first watch, and, wrapping myself in my blanket, I
fell into a profound slumber.
And now, to remove any mystery which might attach to the hostile
conduct of the Sambos at _Quamwatla_ (for that was the name of the
inhospitable village), I may explain that, in September, 1849, the bark
“Simeon Draper,” from New York, bound for Chagres, with passengers for
California, was wrecked on the coast, near the mouth of the Prinza-pulka
River. The remains of her hull I have alluded to, as now constituting one
of the principal landmarks on that monotonous shore. Her passengers all
escaped to the land, and succeeded in recovering most of their effects.
They were soon discovered by the Sambos of Quamwatla, who, affecting
friendship, nevertheless committed extensive depredations on the property
of the passengers. Strong representations were made to the head man, but
without effect; in fact, it soon became evident that he was the principal
instigator of the robberies. The news of the wreck spread along the
coast, and a large number of Sambos gathered at the village. As their
numbers increased, they grew bold and hostile, until the position of the
passengers became one of danger. They finally received intimations that
a concerted attack would soon be made upon them, which they anticipated
by an assault upon the Sambo village. The inhabitants, taken by surprise,
fled after a few discharges of the rifles and revolvers, and the village
was set on fire and burned to the ground. The wrecked Americans were not
afterward disturbed, and their condition becoming known in San Juan, a
vessel was dispatched to their relief, and they were taken off in safety.
It was not until I arrived at Cape Gracias that I became acquainted with
these facts, which accounted for the appearance of things in Quamwatla,
and explained the hostility of the natives. Every Englishman on the coast
is a trader, and as I disowned that character, and, moreover, carried
a revolver, they were not long in making up their minds that I was an
American.
Under all the circumstances of the case, our escape was almost
miraculous. I subsequently ascertained that three of our assailants had
been killed outright in the two encounters, and that the treacherous head
man had died of his wounds.
It is with no feeling of exultation that I mention this fact; for,
so long as I live, I shall not cease to lament the necessity, which
circumstances imposed upon me, of taking the life of a human being,
however debased or criminal. I know of no sacrifice which I would not now
make to restore those miserable wretches to their deserted huts, and to
the rude affection of which even savages are capable. The events of that
terrible night have left a shadow over my heart, which time rather serves
to deepen than to efface.