bother Charley as much as the fleas did. They accompanied him into his
hammock, and were busy every minute, it seemed to him. And judging by
the sounds from his father and Mr. Grigsby, there were fleas enough to
go around, with some to spare!
Charley thought that he had just fallen asleep, when he was awakened by
a tremendous roar. The hut was shaking, his hammock trembled, and the
world seemed ablaze. He half sat up, staring about him. Oh, a
thunder-storm! But what a storm! The storm that had caught him in the
boat aboard ship was only a shower, compared with this storm in the
tropical jungle. The rain was falling in a solid mass as if poured
from a gigantic bucket, while the red lightning blazed without a pause.
There was no wind; it was the weight of the water that made the hut
tremble--of rain drumming so steadily that even the thunder was
scarcely noticeable.
The interior of the hut was constantly light. He saw his father and
Mr. Grigsby also sitting up--and on the floor the water was running an
inch deep.
"Stay where you are, Charley," bade his father. "You're all right. We
can't do better."
That was so; and so long as his father and Mr. Grigsby were not
frightened, Charley determined that he need not be, either. So he lay,
high and pretty dry (the rain beat through the thatch in a thin mist),
and wondered where all that water came from. He also wondered how
Maria and Francisco were faring. But probably they knew how to take
care of themselves, because they lived down here.
The storm passed; on a sudden the rain stopped, the lightning died
away; and Charley fell asleep in earnest.
When he awakened the hut was pink with morning. His father was
standing in the doorway, looking out; Mr. Grigsby was gone. His father
turned, as Charley stirred; and said:
"Hello. Ready to start?"
"Yes. Is it time?"
"High time. We overslept a little. You'd better tumble out. There's
some coffee on the table, waiting for you. Drink it, and we'll go on
and finish breakfast in the boat."
Out piled Charley, hastily swallowed a cup of coffee, and was
ready--all but washing, which he determined he could do at the river.
He was stiff and flea-bitten, but otherwise felt all right.
He followed his tall father out into the fresh morning. Everything was
dripping and soggy, but the sun was going to shine, and dry the world
off. Together they trudged through the wetness, into the village.
Other gold seekers were trooping down to the river, and the villagers,
yawning and weary-eyed after the dance, were watching them, and
collecting money due for entertainment.
Mr. Grigsby was standing on the river bank, leaning on his rifle and
gazing about rather puzzled, while canoe after canoe was pushing off.
"No hurry," he spoke, when Charley and Mr. Adams arrived in haste.
"Save your breath."
"Why's that?" asked Mr. Adams, sharply.
"Our canoe's gone, and so are our boatmen!"
VIII
A TRICK--AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
That was so! Here was the very spot where the cayuca had been tethered
to a pole. Charley remembered the pole, forked at the upper end. Only
the forked tip was visible, for the river had risen amazingly from the
rain, and was running over its bank. But the pole was sticking
out--and no canoe was attached to it. Of canoe, and of Maria and
Francisco, not a sign appeared.
Two thirds of the other canoes had gone; the others were rapidly
leaving, as their occupants piled into them. The canoe of the
long-nosed man and his companions already had started, for its place
was vacant. Charley looked to see.
"It can't be that they've deserted!" exclaimed his father.
Mr. Grigsby shook his head, and smiled.
"Scarcely," he said. "See here. I've been waiting to show you."
He waded in knee deep, pulled up the pole and returned with it. A
fragment of grass rope still hung to it. The rope had been cut!
"I think," said Mr. Grigsby, slowly, "that we've our three friends to
thank for this. Looks to me as though somebody had cut the rope and
set the canoe adrift, with our men in it."
"Then they're liable to be miles down the river!"
"Just so, baggage and all."
"We can't wait," asserted Mr. Adams. "If we wait we run a good chance
of missing the steamer. I wouldn't have those three rascals get there
first for a thousand dollars. How about another canoe? Have you
tried?"
"Not yet. I didn't know whether you wanted to leave your baggage."
"Certainly I'll leave it. It can follow us. We can't stay here long
and run the risk of cholera. If you'll look for a canoe I'll see if we
can't hire passage with some of these other parties. Here, gentlemen!"
he called, to a canoe about to push out, and not heavily loaded. "Got
any room to spare?"
"Nary an inch, mister," responded one of the men. And away they went.
Again and again Mr. Adams tried, and he always got the same answer.
Truly, this was a very selfish crowd, every man thinking only of
himself and the goal ahead. They all acted as if the gold would be
gone, did they not reach California at the very earliest possible
minute. The fact is, Charley felt that way himself.
Back came Mr. Grigsby, hot and wet and disgusted.
"There's not a canoe to be had," he announced. "I can't get a boat for
love or money. Either they're all in use, or the people claim they
want to use them later. I expect we'll have to wait."
"Do you think our men will be back?"
"Yes, sir, as soon as they can. They seem honest. We can't walk,
anyway."
"No, I should say not," responded Mr. Adams, surveying the jungle
encompassing close. "We couldn't go a mile. The river's the only
trail. Very well, we'll wait a while. I've waited before, and so have
you."
"Many a time," and Mr. Grigsby composedly seated himself on the bank,
his rifle between his knees.
"I'll see about some breakfast, then," volunteered Mr. Adams. And away
he strode.
Charley had listened with dismay to the conversation. The last of the
gold seekers' dug-outs had left in a hurry, and was disappearing
up-stream. And here were he and his partners, stranded at the very
beginning of their journey across to the Pacific! That had been a mean
trick by the long-nosed man. Charley grew hot with anger.
"I should think Maria and Francisco would have waked up," he complained.
"They're awake by this time, and considerably surprised, too," answered
Mr. Grigsby. "As like as not they were covered with their gutta-percha
blankets, from the rain, and the boat drifted away without their
feeling a thing."
The sun had risen. A few of the villagers squatted beside Mr. Grigsby
and Charley and chatted in Spanish. They didn't appear concerned over
the matter. They seemed to think that it was a joke. Presently Mr.
Adams came striding back.
"Nothing new, is there?" he queried. "All right. Breakfast is ready,
anyway. I don't think these people will object to having us as steady
boarders, at two bits apiece."
The breakfast, in the darkened hut where they had slept, was very good:
baked plantains (that looked when whole like a banana, but when served
cooked looked and tasted like squash), boiled rice, butterless bread,
and black coffee again. Charley enjoyed that breakfast--how could he
help it when he was hungry and the food was something new? But his
father rose twice to look at the river. Evidently time was of more
importance than eating.
However, the river brought nothing; and when they all had finished
breakfast and went out together to inspect the river again, it proved
still vacant of the dug-out, and of Maria and Francisco.
"I vow!" chafed Mr. Adams. "This is too bad."
Mr. Grigsby seated himself on the bank.
"I don't wish any snake harm that doesn't deserve it," he said. "But
if a big boa would swallow that long-nosed man and his two cronies I
don't reckon I'd feel especially sorry, except it would be powerful
hard on the snake!"
The village pursued its daily routine. Some of the women washed
clothing in the shallows, although the water seemed dirtier than the
garments. Men and women, both, cut plantains and bananas and
breadfruit, and scratched gardens with crooked sticks. Children played
about, and a few canoes pushed out, to go fishing. But nobody worked
any _too_ fast. The sun beat down hotly, the air was moist and heavy,
monkeys and parrots screamed in the trees, and ever the Chagres flowed
past, brown and swollen from the rain. Considerable driftwood floated
down, and this was the only passing object.
After about two hours had dragged by, Mr. Grigsby suddenly uttered, in
his calm manner, with a nod of his head: "There they come." He had
keen eyes, had the scout and trapper who had served with Kit Carson and
Colonel Frémont, for Charley, peering down stream, saw only a small
speck appearing around the bend. His father wasn't quite convinced,
and squinting earnestly he said: "I hope so, but it may be some other
canoe, after all."
"Not a bit," assured Mr. Grigsby. "That's our craft, with our men in
it paddling for dear life. I can see 'em plain; can't you?"
Along the opposite bank crept the canoe--yes, it held two paddlers--now
it was quartering across, making for the village; its crew certainly
looked like Maria and Francisco.
Hurrah! Maria and Francisco they were; and indignant they proved to
be, as their three passengers proceeded to the water's edge to meet
them. They were panting and wringing wet, for they had come in a great
hurry. The villagers flocked curiously down, to listen and inspect.
"Quick!" called Francisco, in Spanish, as he held the canoe to the
bank, "Get in, Americans." He held up the severed rope attached to the
prow. "Those rascals cut us adrift, but never mind. We'll hurry."
"We were almost down to Chagres again when we woke up," called Maria,
to friends ashore. "We have been paddling ever since."
"Get aboard," bade Mr. Adams. "All right," he added, to the boatmen,
as Mr. Grigsby followed him and Charley tumbled into the bows.
Francisco gave a vigorous shove, out shot the canoe into the current;
and instantly Maria and Francisco were digging again with their paddles.
"We've lost about six hours," remarked Charley's father. "And it's too
late for even Grigsby's boa constrictor to help us out."
Maria seemed to have understood, for he grunted, encouragingly: "Go
ahead! Ever'body go ahead!" And tacked on a sentence in Spanish.
"Maria says they'll paddle all night," translated Charley's father, for
Charley. "That will help, but I expect a lot of other fellows will do
the same."
"Well, we can do the best we're able," spoke Mr. Grigsby. "I reckon
we'll get thar. The river's falling. That'll help."
By the looks of the water-line on the banks, this was so. Maria and
Francisco made good progress, as they cunningly took advantage of every
eddy. Speedily the village of Gatun disappeared in the heavy foliage
behind, and once more the dug-out was afloat in the tropical wilderness.
The river was extremely crooked, and in spots was swift; and Maria and
Francisco worked like Trojans to gain a few miles. (Of course there
was no Gatun Lake here yet. The Chagres had not been dammed for any
Panama Canal, but flowed in a course between high green hills bordered
with lagoons.)
About noon another little hut village appeared in a clearing on the
right bank. This was Dos Hermanos (Two Brothers), where people who
left Gatun early in the morning usually stopped for breakfast, and
their boatmen stopped for gossip. But Maria only shook his head at
sight of it, and he and Francisco paused in their paddling not an
instant. So Dos Hermanos faded from view, behind.
How they worked, those two boatmen--the _muchos caballeros_ (much
gentlemen) as they claimed to be! And certainly white boatmen never
could have served more faithfully. Maria no longer sang his funny
"Yankee Doodle Doo." He and Francisco saved their breath, while the
perspiration rolled from them in streams. All day they paddled,
pausing only twice for a bano, or bath. Other villages were passed,
and one or two ranches; and in due time the sun set and dusk flowed
down from the densely green hills.
With one accord Maria and Francisco swung the canoe in to the nearest
bank, and tethered it to a leaning tree. Maria spoke in Spanish, and
shrugging his shoulders, wearily stretched.
"Rest for two hours, and eat, is it?" quoth Mr. Grigsby, likewise
stretching, and then standing up. "All right. These boys have earned
it."
They certainly had. Still none of the gold seekers' flotilla ahead had
been sighted, but assuredly some of the lead had been cut down. As for
the long-nosed man's canoe, its four paddlers probably had kept it in
the fore, and there was not much chance of overtaking it. Charley was
rather glad. Maria and Francisco seemed to be so angry that there was
no telling what they might not do to the men who had cut them adrift.
And his father and Mr. Grigsby were to be reckoned with, too!
The forest on either side darkened rapidly. New birds and animals
issued, for the night, and filled the jungle with strange, new cries.
The river also was alive with splashes, from fish and reptile and beast
unseen. But after they all had eaten supper of bananas and cold pork
and cold plantains, washed down with cocoanut milk, Maria and Francisco
laid themselves out in the boat, and slept. Their three passengers
nodded and waited.
In two hours precisely the faithful boatmen awakened. Francisco
lighted a pitchy torch and stuck it upright in the bows. Then the boat
was shoved out, he and Maria resumed their paddles, and on they all
went, up the river again.
This was a fascinating voyage. Great birds and beetles and bats
swooped for the torch, and fled; fish leaped before the prow; and from
the jungle on right and left harsh voices clamored in alarm. Charley,
perched in the bows by the torch, which flared almost in his face,
peered and listened. The ruddy light cut a little circle on the water,
and shone on the dark, glistening forms of the two boatmen, and on the
staring faces of Mr. Grigsby and Mr. Adams, sitting amidships.
The night seemed to be growing darker. Over the forest, on the right
before, lightning was glimmering, and there was the low growl of
thunder.
"Going to get wet," announced Mr. Grigsby. "It rains at least once
every twenty-four hours, at this season."
Maria and Francisco exchanged a few sentences in Spanish and doubled
their efforts. The dug-out surged along, but even when it was close to
a bank the trees could scarcely be seen in the blackness.
"Well, Charley," called his father, "if we don't reach Peña Blanca
(that was the next village, and the name meant White Rock) in time we
are liable to get wet."
"Hark!" bade Mr. Grigsby. "Somebody's shouting."
Maria and Francisco had heard, also, for they rested on their paddles a
moment, to listen. Again came the new sound--a shrill, prolonged cry
wafting across the velvety river. Francisco looked back inquiringly at
the two men amidships.
"Go over," said Mr. Adams, with motion of hand. "Somebody's hailing
us."
Maria whooped loudly, and was answered. The dug-out turned, and
slanted across the current.
Not a thing could be seen. The torch flared low, for a chill, damp
breeze began to blow, in fitful fashion, heralding the storm. Maria
whooped at intervals, and back came the cry in reply.
"They sound right ahead," spoke Mr. Grigsby. "Easy, boys."
"I see them! I see them!" exclaimed Charley. A lightning flash more
vivid than any of the glimmers preceding had lighted the river with
dazzling white; and peering intently he had seen a boat, with dark
figures in it, limned not one hundred feet before. "They're straight
in front--people in a boat."
"Hello!" now was wafted the shout, in English. "This way."
Maria and Francisco paddled slowly, awaiting another lightning flash.
It came, disclosing the other boat only a few canoe lengths away.
Maria and Francisco paddled cautiously; the lightning flashes were
frequent, as if the storm was about to break, and the two boats could
see one another constantly.
"What's the matter here?" demanded Mr. Adams, as Maria and Francisco
held the dug-out a paddle's distance from the stranger boat. By the
flare of the dying torch, and the flashes of the lightning, this was
revealed as a native canoe, with two boatmen and two passengers.
"Be careful," warned a white man's voice. "We're hung up here on a
snag, and need help. We've been here five hours, and not a boat would
stop to lend a hand. If you've the hearts of men you'll stand by and
give us a lift. Our boatmen are worn out, and one of us is sick as a
dog."
"Well, sir, you can depend on us," assured Mr. Adams. "We're probably
in the biggest hurry of all, but we're not brutes. Let's see what's to
be done." He spoke to Maria in Spanish, and Maria and Francisco began
to chatter with the other boatmen.
"We've sprung a leak, too," said the spokesman in the wrecked canoe.
"It keeps two of us bailing. I won't leave my partner. He's too sick
to swim. Cholera, I might as well tell you. Can you take us aboard?"
"We'll try," replied Mr. Adams. "Much baggage?"
"We've thrown the baggage over, or else we wouldn't be on top. All we
ask is to get to Peña Blanca or some nearer place if there is any; and
we'll pay your price."
"There's no price, sir," said Mr. Adams, firmly. "We can take them in,
can't we, Grigsby?"
"You bet," responded Mr. Grigsby. "They can count on us some way or
other. I'd not desert friend or stranger in distress for all the gold
in California."
"Thanks later, then," spoke the other, shortly. "But our torch is out,
there's a foot of water in the bottom, and if that storm breaks on us
we'll be swamped. Fetch your boat alongside, will you?"
His tone was the tone of authority, as if he had been accustomed to
command. Mr. Adams delivered a sentence to Maria; and the dug-out was
carefully worked in to the wrecked boat. Now edge to edge they
floated. The other boat was hard and fast on a sunken tree, and a
sharp branch had jabbed clear through the bottom.
"My partner first," bade the man. "We'll have to lift him. He's far
gone."
While the boatmen held the two crafts together by the gunwales, the
helpless form, swathed in a blanket, was passed across and propped
beside Maria in the stern. Then in stepped a short, stout, red-faced
man, and the two boatmen nimbly followed, with their paddles.
The dug-out was weighted almost to the gunwale by the new load, and
Charley caught his breath, in dismay. But she ceased sinking, and
still floated.
"Cast off," bade the short man, brusquely. "Thank God," he breathed,
wiping his brow. "I guess we'll make it now, storm or no storm. My
boys will help paddle."
With an exclamation all together Maria and Francisco and the two new
boatmen dipped their paddles, as the two boats parted; and the dug-out
leaped ahead.
"My name is Captain Crosby. I'm a sailor, from Boston," the stranger
introduced himself.
Mr. Adams explained who they were. Captain Crosby continued:
"I've followed the sea all my life, since I was a small boy, and this
is one of the narrowest escapes I've ever had, afloat or ashore. If it
hadn't been for you, my mate and I would have been drowned, or would
have died in the jungle. As for those cowardly whelps who passed us
by--faugh! Each one left us to the boat behind. Fiji Islanders would
have had more heart than that. It was the cholera that scared 'em."
"I'm afraid your partner's very sick," commented Mr. Adams. And
indeed, lying limp and unconscious, wrapped in the blanket, his
features pinched and white in the glare of lightning and flare of
torch, the partner certainly looked to Charley to be a very sick man.
"Yes, sir. He'll not recover. I've seen cholera before. But I'll
stay with him to the last, and then I'll bury him. Seems to me you're
late on the up-river trip, aren't you?"
"We are. But evidently there was a purpose in it," responded Mr.
Adams. "Things work out for the best, in this world."
"You'll not lose by it, sir," asserted Captain Crosby. "Wait and see.
You'll not lose by it. I've something up my sleeve. But now the main
thing to be done is to land us and be rid of us."
That may have been so; in fact, it behooved them all to land, if the
approaching storm's bite was as bad as its bark. The torch flickered
and went out; but the lightning was light enough, illuminating river
and wooded shores with blinding violet blazes. The bellow of the
thunder was terrific--and while the four boatmen heaved with their
paddles and encouraged each other with shrill cries, in a solid line
down swept the first sheet of rain.
In an instant Charley was drenched to the skin. So were the other
passengers, and the stinging drops lashed the bare bodies of the
paddlers. The water swiftly gathered in the boat, so that Mr. Grigsby
and the captain began to bail with gourds kept handy for the purpose.
But, hurrah! There, on the near shore ahead, was another little
village, Peña Blanca, its low huts showing dimly through the spume of
the storm. Straight for it made the canoe--hit the sloping bank, and
stuck while out stumbled the passengers, the captain shouldering his
partner.
Francisco ran ahead, to show the way; and calling, dived in through the
doorway of a hut larger than its neighbors. Charley followed, and in
they all scurried. The other boatmen had stayed behind to spread
rubber blankets over the baggage.
IX
TIT FOR TAT
Francisco spoke to the family in the hut, and rising, one of them
lighted a candle. It was a two-story hut, and quarters were engaged in
the up-stairs room for the three in Charley's party; while Captain
Crosby and the sick man were given a place on the ground-floor.
The up-stairs was entered by a ladder. There was nothing better to be
done than to sleep in wet clothes; and Charley, on his grass mat, was
just beginning to be drowsy and fairly comfortable, and barely heard
his father say to Mr. Grigsby: "We ought to pull out at daybreak, but
that depends on what we can do for the captain," when the captain
himself came poking up through the hole in the floor.
"Hello!" he said. "It's Crosby. Are you awake?"
"Yes, sir. What's wanted?"
"Nothing, thank you. I suppose you'd like to get away early."
"As early as possible, captain. But we're at your service."
"Your time is valuable now, gentlemen. Mine isn't. If you're going to
catch the _California_, you haven't a moment to waste."
"We'll miss the _California_, rather than leave you in the lurch."
"You'll not miss her, if you make an early start and go right on
through. I told you you wouldn't lose by your kindness to my mate and
me, and you won't. I stay here; you go on whenever you choose."
"No, sir," said Mr. Adams. "If we can help you any we'll stay by you."
"I stop here," announced the captain. "As for my mate, he stops, too.
He'll never travel again. Tomorrow I bury him. He's gone, making his
last trip, and I expect he's landed in a better port than _California_.
What I do next I don't know. Go back to Chagres, maybe. At any rate,
here's his ticket from Panama up to San Francisco." By the flicker of
the storm, now retreating, Captain Crosby was revealed groping across
the floor, and extending a folded paper.
"What's that for?" demanded Mr. Adams.
"You're to take it and use it. Sell it, is my advice. You can get six
hundred or more dollars for it, at Panama."
"I'll take and sell it, if you say so; but I'll send you the money.
Your friend's family ought to have that."