[Illustration]
Our reception at Quamwatla had certainly not been of a kind to inspire
us with the most cheerful anticipations. We knew that a vast net-work
of lagoons, rivers, and creeks extended to Cape Gracias, but of the
character and disposition of the people, scattered along their tangled
shores, we were utterly ignorant. Turning back was not to be thought of;
and going ahead was a matter which required caution. Should we be so
unfortunate as to get involved in another fight, we could hardly expect
to get off so easily as we had done in our last encounter.
Under all the circumstances, we concluded that, inasmuch as our place of
refuge seemed secure, and withal was not deficient in resources, it would
be the wisest plan to remain where we were until the pursuit, which we
were sure would be made, should have been abandoned; or, at least, until
the waning of the moon should afford us a dark night, wherein we could
pursue our voyage unobserved. With this sage resolution, we set to work
to establish a temporary camp.
As I have said, the little creek, which we had followed, led us to the
base of a range of low hills, or rather ridges or swells of land, where
the ground was not alluvial, but dry and gravelly. These ridges could
hardly be called savannahs, although they were covered with a species of
coarse grass, relieved, here and there, by clumps of gum-arabic bushes,
groups of pine-trees, and an occasional _coyol_, or spiny-palm. Between
these comparatively high grounds and the lagoon, intervened a dense,
impenetrable mangrove-swamp, pierced by a few choked channels formed by
the small streams coming down from the hills.
I selected the shelter of a clump of fragrant pines for our encampment,
where the ground was covered with a soft, brown carpet of fallen leaves.
A rope stretched between the trees supported our little sail, which was
spread out, tent-wise, by poles. Under this my hammock was suspended,
affording a retreat, shady and cool by day, and secure from damps and
rains at night.
In a little grassy dell, close by, was a clear spring of water. We lit no
fires except at night, lest the smoke might betray us; and only then in
places whence the light could not be reflected.
Accustomed as were my companions to wild and savage life, they seemed to
enjoy the danger and the seclusion in which we found ourselves. It gave
them an opportunity to display their skill and resources, and they really
assumed toward me an air of complacent patronage, something like that
of a city _habitué_ toward his country cousin, when showing to him the
marvels of the metropolis.
One of Antonio’s earliest exploits, after our resolution to stop had
been taken, was to cut down a number of the rough-looking palm-trees. In
the trunks of these, near their tops, where the leaves sprang out, he
carefully chiseled a hole, cutting completely through the pulp of the
tree, to the outer, or woody shell. This hole was again covered with the
piece of rind, which had first been removed, as with a lid. I watched
the operation curiously, but asked no questions. In the course of the
afternoon, however, he took off one of these covers, and disclosed to
me the cavity filled with a frothy liquid, of the faintest straw tinge,
looking like delicate Sauterne wine. He presented me with a piece of
reed, and with a gratified air motioned me to drink. My early experiments
with straws, in the cider-barrels of New England, recurred to me at once,
and I laughed to think that I had come to repeat them under the tropics.
I found the juice sweet, and slightly pungent, but altogether rich,
delicious, and invigorating. As may be supposed, I paid frequent visits
to Antonio’s reservoirs.
This palm bears the name of _coyol_ among the Spaniards, and of
_cockatruce_ among the Mosquitos. Its juice is called by the former _Vino
de Coyol_, and by the Indians generally _Chicha_ (_cheechee_)—a name,
however, which is applied to a variety of drinks. When the tree is cut
down, the end is plastered with mud, to prevent the juice, with which
the core is saturated, from exuding. A hole is then cut near the top, as
I have described, in which the liquid is gradually distilled, filling
the reservoir in the course of ten or twelve hours. This reservoir may
be emptied daily, and yet be constantly replenished, it is said, for
upward of a month. On the third day, if the tree be exposed to the sun,
the juice begins to ferment, and gradually grows stronger, until, at the
end of a couple of weeks, it becomes intoxicating—thus affording to the
Sambos a ready means of getting up the “big drunk.” The Spaniards affirm
that the “vino de coyol” is a specific for indigestion and pains in the
stomach.
The nuts of this variety of palm grow in large clusters. They are round,
containing a very solid kernel, so saturated with oil as to resemble
refined wax. It is in all respects superior to the ordinary cocoa-nut
oil, and might be obtained in any desirable quantity, if means could
be devised for separating the kernel from the shell. This shell is
thick, hard, black, capable of receiving the minutest carving, and most
brilliant polish, and is often worked into ornaments by the Indians.
In the moist depressions, or valleys, near our encampment, we also found
another variety of palm, which often stands the traveler, under the
tropics, in good stead, as a substitute for other and better vegetable
food. I mean the _Palmetto Royal_, or _Mountain Cabbage_ (_Areca
oleracea_), which has justly been called the “Queen of the Forest.” It
grows to a great height, frequently no thicker than a man’s thigh, yet
rising upward of a hundred and fifty feet in the air. No other tree in
the world equals it in height or beauty. The trunk swells moderately a
short distance above the root, whence it tapers gently to its emerald
crown, sustaining throughout the most elegant proportions.
[Illustration: PALMETTO ROYAL.]
The edible part, or “cabbage” (as it is called, from some fancied
resemblance in taste to that vegetable), constitutes the upper part of
the trunk, whence the foliage springs. It resembles a tall Etruscan
vase in shape, of the liveliest green color, gently swelling from its
pedestal, and diminishing gradually to the top, where it expands in
plume-like branches. From the very centre of this natural vase rises a
tall, yellowish _spatha_, or sheath, terminating in a sharp point. At the
bottom of this, and inclosed in the natural vase which I have described,
is found a tender white core, or heart, varying in size with the
dimensions of the tree, but usually eight or ten inches in circumference.
This may be eaten raw, as a salad, or, if preferred, fried or boiled. In
taste it resembles an artichoke, rather than a cabbage.
The Indians climb this palm, and, dexterously inserting their knives,
contrive to obtain the edible part without destroying the tree itself.
By means of the same contrivance which he made use of in obtaining the
cocoa-nuts, on the island in Pearl Cay Lagoon, Antonio kept us supplied
with palm cabbages, which were our chief reliance, in the vegetable line.
I found that they were most palatable when properly seasoned, and baked
in the ground, with some strips of manitee fat, after the manner which I
have already described.
The fruits of this tree are small, oblong berries, of a purplish blue,
about the size of an olive, inclosing a smooth, brittle nut, which, in
turn, covers a cartilaginous kernel.
The pine ridges were not deficient in animal life. A few large
cotton-trees grew on the edge of the mangrove-swamp, which were the
nightly resort of parrots and paroquets, who came literally in clouds,
and then the callings, scoldings, frettings, and screamings that took
place would have drowned the confusion of the most vicious rookery
extant. In the evening and morning it was really difficult for us to make
each other hear, although our camp was distant more than two hundred
yards from the roosts. The parrots are often eaten by the natives, in
default of other food, but they are tough, hard, dry, and tasteless. Not
so, however, with the quails, which were not only numerous, but so tame,
or rather so unsuspecting, that we could catch as many as we wanted, in
the simplest kind of traps. We adopted this method of procuring such game
as the Poyer boy did not kill with his bow, instead of using my gun, the
report of which might betray us.
Day by day we extended our excursions farther from the camp, every step
revealing to me, at least, something novel and interesting. I think it
was the third day after our arrival, when we came upon a patch of low
ground, or jungle, densely wooded, and distant perhaps half a mile from
our encampment. Attracted by some bright flowers, I penetrated a few
yards into the bushes, where, to my surprise, I came upon what appeared
to be a well-beaten path, which I followed for some distance, wondering
over the various queer tracks which I observed printed, here and there,
on the moist ground. While thus engaged, I was startled by the sound of
some animal approaching, with a dull and heavy, but rapid tread. Looking
up, I saw a lead-colored beast, about the size of a large donkey, its
head drooping between its fore-legs, coming toward me at a swinging
trot. Thinking he was charging upon me direct, I leaped into the bushes,
with the intention of climbing up a tree. But before I could effect my
object, the monster lumbered past, taking not the slightest notice of
my presence. I breathed freer, when I saw his broad buttocks and little
pig-like tail disappearing down the path, and I made my way out of the
jungle, in a manner probably more expeditious than either graceful or
valorous. Antonio, who was dodging after a fat curassow, had heard the
noise, and was witness of my retreat. He seemed alarmed at first, but
only smiled when I explained what I had seen. In fact, he appeared to
think it rather a good joke, and hurried off to examine the tracks.
He came back in a few minutes, and reported that my monster was _only
a dante_, which I took to be some kind of Indian lingo for at least a
hippopotamus, or rhinoceros.
“We shall have rare sport,” he continued, “in catching this _dante_. It
will be equal to hunting the manitus.”
I found, upon inquiry, that the _dante_ is called, in the Mosquito
dialect, _tilba_ or _tapia_, which names at once suggested _tapir_, an
animal of which I had read, but of which I had very vague notions.
The Poyer boy seemed delighted with the news that there was a _tapir_
about, and in less than five minutes after, both he and Antonio were
sharpening their spears and lances, with palpable design on my monster’s
life. They told me that the _tapir_ generally keeps quiet during the day,
wandering out at night, usually in fixed haunts and by the same paths,
to take exercise and obtain his food. I was not a little relieved when
they added that he never fights with man or beast, but owes his safety
to his speed, thick hide, and ability to take to the water, where he is
as much at home as on land, swimming or sinking to the bottom at his
pleasure. He is, nevertheless, a headlong beast, and when alarmed or
pursued, stops at nothing—vines, bushes, trees, rocks, are all the same
to him! He would do well for a crest, with the motto, “_Neck or Nothing!_”
In shape, the _dante_ or _tapir_ (sometimes called _mountain cow_) is
something like a hog, but much larger. He has a similar arched back; his
head, however, is thicker, and comes to a sharp ridge at the top. The
male has a snout or sort of proboscis hanging over the opening of the
mouth, something like the trunk of an elephant, which he uses in like
manner. This is wanting in the female. Its ears are rounded, bordered
with white, and can be drawn forward at pleasure; its legs are thick and
stumpy; its fore-feet or hoofs are divided into three parts or toes,
with a sort of false hoof behind; but the hind feet have only three
parts or divisions. Its tail is short, and marked by a few stiff hairs;
the skin so hard and solid as generally to resist a musket-ball; the
hair thin and short, of a dusky brown; and along the top of the neck
runs a bristly mane, which extends over the head and down the snout. He
has ten cutting-teeth, and an equal number of grinders in each jaw;
features which separate him entirely from the ox-kind, and from all other
ruminating animals. He lives upon plants and roots, and, as I have said,
is perfectly harmless in disposition. The female produces but one young
at a birth, of which she is very tender, leading it, at an early age, to
the water, and instructing it to swim.
This description finished, the reader is ready to accompany us in our
nocturnal expedition against the tapir. Before it became dark, Antonio,
accompanied by the boy, went to the thicket which I have described, and
felled several stout trees across the path, in such a manner as to form
a kind of _cul de sac_. The design of this was to arrest the animal on
his return, and enable us to spear him before he could break through
or disengage himself. We went to the spot early in the evening, and,
as the moon did not rise until late, Antonio caught his hat half-full
of fire-flies, which served to guide us in the bush. He then pulled
off their wings and scattered them among the fallen trees, where they
gave light enough to enable us to distinguish objects with considerable
clearness. Notwithstanding Antonio’s assurances that the _tapir_ was a
member of the Peace Society, I could not divest myself of the alarm which
he had given me in the morning, and I was not at all sorry to find that
my companions had selected a spot for their abattis, where an overhanging
tree enabled me to keep out of harm’s way, yet near enough to take a sly
drive with my lance at the tapir, if he should happen to come that way.
Antonio and the Poyer boy took their stations among the fallen trees; I
took mine, and we awaited the _dante’s_ pleasure. I strained my eyes in
vain endeavors to penetrate the gloom, and held my breath full half the
time to hear the expected tread. But we peered, and listened, and waited
in vain; the fire-flies crawled away in every direction, and yet the
_tapir_ obstinately kept away. Finally, the moon came up; and by-and-by
it rose above the trees—and still no tapir!
My seat on the tree became uncomfortable, and I instituted a comparison
between tapir and manitus-hunting, largely to the advantage of the
latter; and, finally, when Antonio whispered “He is coming!” I felt a
willful disposition to contradict him. But my ear, meanwhile, caught the
same dull sound which had arrested my attention in the morning; and, a
few moments afterward, I could make out the beast, in the dim light,
driving on at the same swinging trot. Right on he came, heedless and
headlong. Crash! crash! There was a plunge and struggle, and a crushing
and trampling of branches, then a dull sound of the heavy beast striking
against the unyielding trunks of the fallen trees. He was now fairly
stopped, and with a shout my companions drove down upon him with their
lances, which rung out a sharp metallic sound when they struck his
thick, hard hide. It was an exciting moment, and my eagerness overcoming
my prudence, I slipped down the tree, and joined in the attack. Blow
upon blow of the lances, and I could feel that mine struck deeply into
the flesh, it seemed to me into the very vitals of the animal. But the
strokes only appeared to give him new strength, and gathering back, he
drove again full upon the opposing tree, bearing it down before him. I
had just leaped upon the trunk, the better to aim my lance, and went
down with it headlong, almost under the feet of the struggling animal,
one tramp of whose feet would have crushed me like a worm. I could have
touched him with my arm, he was so near! I heard the alarmed shriek of
Antonio, when he saw me fall; but, in an instant, he leaped to my side,
and, shortening his lance, drove it, with desperate force, clean through
the animal, bringing him to his knees. This done, he grappled me as he
might an infant, and before I was aware of it, had dragged me clear of
the fallen timber. The blow of Antonio proved fatal; the tapir fell over
on his side, and in a few moments was quite dead.
[Illustration: THE DEATH OF THE TAPIR.]
The Poyer boy was dispatched to the camp for fire and pine splints,
which, stuck in the ground around the tapir, answered for torches. By
their light my companions proceeded to cut up the spoil, a tedious
operation, which occupied them until daylight. I did not wait, but went
back to my hammock, leaving them to finish their work, undisturbed by my
questions.
When I awoke in the morning, I found Antonio had the tapir’s head baking
in the ground, from whence rose a hot but fragrant steam. It proved to
be very good eating, as did also the feet and the neck, but the flesh
of the animal in general was abominably coarse and insipid, although my
companions seemed to relish it greatly. I found it, like that of the
manitus, exceedingly laxative.
Some idea may be formed of the tapir’s tenacity of life, when I say
that I counted upward of thirty lance-thrusts in the body of the one we
killed, none of which were less than six inches deep, and nearly all
penetrating into the cavity of the body! It rarely happens, therefore,
that the animal is killed by the individual hunter. The hide is quite as
thick, and I think harder than that of the manitus, which, when dried, it
closely resembles.
I should weary the reader were I to enter into all the details of our
life at the “Tapir Camp,” as I called it, in honor of the exploit I have
just recounted. During the eight days which we spent there, I learned
more of nature and her works than I had known before. I spent hours in
watching the paths of the black ants, tracing them to their nests in the
trees, which were dark masses, as large as a barrel, made up of fragments
of leaves cemented together. From these paths, which were from four to
six inches wide, all grass, leaves, sticks, and other obstructions, had
been removed, and along them poured an unbroken column of ants, thousands
on thousands, those bound from the nest hurrying down one side of the
path, and those bound in, each carrying aloft a piece of green leaf,
perhaps half an inch square—a mimic army with banners—hurrying up the
other. I amused myself, sometimes, by putting obstructions across the
path, and watching the surging up of the interrupted columns. Then could
be seen fleet couriers hurrying off to the nest, and directly the path
would be crowded with a heavy reënforcement, invariably headed by eight
or ten ants of larger size, who appeared to be the engineers of the
establishment. These would climb over and all around the obstruction,
apparently calculating the chances of effecting its removal. If not too
heavy, they disposed their regiments, and dragged it away by a grand
simultaneous effort. But if, on examination, they thought its removal
impossible, they hurried to lay out a road around it, clearing away the
grass, leaves, twigs, and pebbles with consummate skill, each column
working toward the other. The best drilled troops could not go more
systematically and intelligently to work, nor have executed their task
with greater alacrity and energy. No sooner was it done, than, putting
themselves at the head of their workies, the engineers hastened back as
they came, ready to obey the next requisition upon their strength and
skill.
Here I may mention that there is no end of ants under the tropics. They
swarm every where, of unnumbered varieties—from little creatures, of
microscopic proportions, to those of the size of our wasp. It is always
necessary, when on land, to hang one’s provisions by cords from the
branches of trees, or they would literally be eaten up in a single night.
There is one variety, called the _hormegas_, by the Spaniards, which has
an insatiate appetite for leather, especially boots, and will eat them
full of holes in a few hours. All the varieties of _acacias_ teem with
a small red, or “fire ant,” whose bite is like the prick of a red-hot
needle. The unfortunate traveler who gets them in any considerable
numbers on his person, is driven to distraction for the time being. It is
difficult to imagine keener torment.
Thousands of small, light-colored bees gathered round the fallen trunks
of the coyol-palms, to collect the honey-like liquid that exuded here
and there, as the juice began to ferment. I soon ascertained that they
were stingless, and amused myself in watching their industrious zeal.
I gradually came to observe that when each had gathered his supply, he
rose, by a succession of circuits, high in the air, and then darted off
in a certain direction. Carefully watching their course, I finally traced
them to a low, twisted tree, on the edge of the swamp, in the hollow
of which they had their depository. Of course, I regarded this as a
fortunate discovery, and we were not slow to turn it to our advantage. I
had less scruples in cutting down the tree, and turning the busy little
dwellers out on the world, since they had no winter to provide for,
and could easily take care of themselves. The supply of honey proved
to be very small, and seemed to have been collected chiefly for the
support of the young bees. We obtained only four bottles full from the
tree. In taste it proved to be very unlike our northern honey, having
a sharp, pungent, half-fermented flavor, causing, when eaten pure, a
choking contraction of the muscles of the throat. Antonio mixed some of
it with the “vino de coyol,” which, after fermentation, produced a very
delicious, but strong, and most intoxicating kind of _liqueur_.
On the afternoon of the eighth day, the moon having reached her last
quarter, we packed our little boat, and just as the night fell, worked
our way slowly through the little, obstructed canal to the lagoon, which
now expanded to the north. We paddled boldly through the middle, the
better to avoid observation from the shore. The night was dark, but
wonderfully still, and I could hear distinctly the sound of drums and
revelry from the villages on the eastern shore, although they must have
been fully three miles distant.
I left “Tapir Camp” with real regret. The days had glided by tranquilly,
and I had enjoyed a calm content, to which I had before been a stranger.
For the first time, I was able to comprehend the feeling, gathering
strength with every day, which induces men, sometimes the most brilliant
and prosperous, to banish themselves from the world, and seek, in utter
retirement, the peace which only flows from a direct converse with
nature, and an earnest self-communion.