JUNGLE THIEVES
It was easy to sit down, and easy to ponder the question, but any
decision at all was another matter. All the thinking in the world would
not tell him either where he was or which way he ought to go; and the
more he deliberated, the more puzzled he became.
To mount the hills was impossible, from the impenetrability of the
jungle; to follow a stream was to expose himself to the attacks of wild
beasts coming to the water to drink. How then could he proceed? But to
remain still was quite as unsafe, for he had but a small quantity of
powder and shot; and when this was expended, would be wholly at the
mercy of savage animals.
To follow the windings of a stream must lead him, in process of time, to
some large river; and the danger of this course was no greater than that
of any other. He determined to adopt this plan, and prepared for a
start; first recommending his safety, by prayer, to Divine mercy, and
imploring for help and guidance from on high.
Forlorn enough did he feel as he resumed his gun and other
accoutrements, preparatory for so hopeless a task, but he tried to be
brave, and once more set himself, as a preliminary, to "hang his harp on
a willow tree."
It would not do, his voice sounded thin and poor, there was no volume in
it; the silence around him seemed yet more awful in contrast to it; the
words struck him as most intensely foolish in face of the majesty of
nature which surrounded him.
He gave it up, and tried the Old Hundredth Psalm. This brought up, to
his mental vision, the picture of his home, and the dreary old
hand-organ man who droned out that psalm tune in the street regularly
every Friday morning.
He could see Agnes in the shabby little parlour, and his mother's sweet,
sad face, in her widow's cap, with the crippled baby in her arms. A
great lump rose in his throat, and he dashed his hand across his eyes.
But it would never do to become sentimental, as he termed it, so he set
himself vigorously to finding a suitable stream to follow. Now, the
difficulty became that of finding any at all.
The jungle surrounded him on every side, he could not free himself from
it. Every now and then he found what he thought a free glade or opening
pathway, which he would pursue for a short distance, only to be again
brought up in front of a tangle of creepers, glorious in colour, rich in
purple or yellow festoons of exquisite flowers; snowed over with pure
white blossoms, long wreaths of beauty pendant from the branches of the
trees, and wholly preventing any progress.
Exquisite as the orchids and other plants were, he became weary of them
and their sameness. Their perfume sickened him, their glory palled upon
his sight. They were the same kinds--now common to him--over and over
again. Oh, for a clump of English primroses nestled among moss and last
year's brown leaves! Oh, for a bush of pink wild-roses, with golden
hearts and delicate faint fragrance wafted upon a light breeze! Here
everything was heavy and oppressive; too brilliant, too much, too
unfamiliar, too unlike home.
Insect and reptile life troubled him greatly. The weather was growing
very hot, and the density of the trees impeded every current of cool
air. This was doubtless the cause of the difficulty in finding water, it
was drying up so fast everywhere. Leeches got upon his legs, fixing
themselves upon him with far too affectionate a tenacity; ants ran up
his trousers, got into his boots; a thousand and one flying and crawling
plagues assailed him.
Snakes and serpents wound their tails round trees, dropped coils in his
path, and lifted flat heads from their meditations, to gaze on him with
malevolent eyes. He did not know which were harmless and which were
deadly, so suffered the same qualms alike from all.
He had a vague idea that a dark-coloured snake was more perilous than a
yellow or green one, and never suffered more terror than when, sitting
down to rest, and having fallen asleep, he perceived, upon waking, a
long black thing reared on end, with pendant head bent over him.
For one moment he felt sick with horror, then perceived that it was the
stem of a flower which he had never seen before, and which he had either
overlooked from his fatigue when he sat down, or which had shot up its
bloom with the most marvellous celerity while he was unconscious.
He had, indeed, slept for hours, having been quite worn out; and a
special Providence must have guarded him during this long somnolence, or
some noxious insect would certainly have attacked him the while.
It was late in the day, the dews were falling thickly after the heat of
the noontide; and a quantity of hares were hopping about, feeding upon
the grass around him. They did not seem to be afraid of him, and he shot
one without difficulty, and looked forward to making a good supper upon
him, for he was hungry.
He laid it at the foot of the tree beneath which he had reposed, and
began to collect wood with which to make a fire. Whilst doing this, he
lost sight of the hare for a few minutes; and, on returning to the spot
where he had laid it, he found a couple of huge crows tugging away at it
to make it their own; and the burying beetles already digging a grave
beneath it. An army of ants was swarming over it, and so persistent in
their attentions that they would not leave it even when Ralph tore the
skin off its back, and set it down to cook by his fire, wrapped thickly
up in leaves.
However, he was too hungry to be very particular, although nothing had
ever yet brought him to eat fried caterpillars or maggots, as a Burman
will. He scraped off the ants to the best of his ability, and sought,
while his meal was preparing, for some fruits, of which to make an
agreeable conclusion to it.
He had the good fortune to discover some, of which he immediately
partook, being parched and feverish. They refreshed him; and it was
perhaps partly from this cause, and partly from his long sleep, that,
his senses being perfectly alert, he chanced to notice a small orchid
blooming upon a tree which he was convinced was one quite new to Mr.
Gilchrist's collection. It differed in several material points from all
which he had yet seen, but was certainly an orchid.
He carefully cut away the piece of bark upon which it grew, and looked
about for more of it. He found another very small plant, which he
secured, but the evening was becoming too dark for him to seek farther.
He therefore returned to his fire, and made himself as comfortable
beside it as circumstances permitted.
He did not sleep much that night, but dozed and woke again many
times,--piling green wood upon the embers every time, so that the smoke
thus engendered should keep off the mosquitoes from him.
At a little distance, beneath the trees, the fireflies swarmed,
flashing about hither and thither, and making light in shady places.
This light was caught and returned by the shining backs of a thousand
beetles,--green, blue, crimson, and copper-hued. Flying foxes flitted by
in search of guavas and other fruits; and bats of every size and
description swarmed around, hawking on the wing for their suppers.
Ralph watched all these creatures dreamily, seeing, but too drowsy to
think about them actively. The heavy scent of night-perfumed flowers
overpowered his faculties, and confused his powers of mind, almost as
much as if he had partaken of a narcotic.
Was it only a dream, or a dream-like fancy then, or did he really hear
the faint ripple of flowing water? His senses became all at once
preternaturally acute. He sprang up from his reclining position, and
listened intently. No, it was not a mistake,--it was not a trick of the
imagination; a little rill of water was running over stones hard by. In
the comparative silence of the night the gentle sound made itself
plainly audible.
He did not dare to leave the friendly protection of his fire in the
dark, the jungle was too full of danger for that, but he laid a long
branch, torn from a bush, in the direction from which the sound
proceeded, and anxiously awaited the dawn.
It came at last,--dank and chilly even in that tropical climate; he
rose, and perceived not far from him a slender thread of water slipping
gaily along beneath ferns and grass and reeds; now breaking into a laugh
over a few scattered stones and branches, then spreading into a tiny
pool looking deep from brown shadows cast by overhanging growth.
Ralph laved his brow in it, cast its refreshing coolness over head and
neck, drank of it, bathed his orchids in it, and knelt down to thank God
for having at last found the clue by which he might possibly escape
from the horrors of death in this lonely jungle. If die he must, he
might now, at anyrate, die in the open country, with the sun of heaven
above him.
Not even Arethusa herself, "shepherding her bright fountains," slipping
down the rocks "with her golden locks, streaming among the streams," in
the land of poesy, on the other side of the world, could have been so
lovely in his eyes as this little unheard of, unnamed, unknown
streamlet, in the heart of a Burmese forest.
The wild cat lapped it, and slunk away; a magnificent, many-hued
dragon-fly, just burst from the sheath of its chrysalis upon the stem of
a reed, was drying its gauzy wings in the level beams of the rising sun,
as they shot through the trees just above the flower-enamelled grass,
that sparkled with dew as if besprinkled with gems of every colour. A
thousand little birds, awakened by the recurring daylight, chirped and
sang and preened their feathers in the freshness of those early hours.
Ralph's spirits also arose from the depression which had overcome them,
and he sang once more as he arranged his dress, and reloaded himself
with his accoutrements.
He now found more of the new orchid; and, still further impressed by a
conviction of its rarity, he possessed himself of all that he could
carry safely. This did not overburden him, for it was not plentiful;
and, having packed it up, carefully swathed in damp grass, bound over
that with liana stems, and protected by bark, he set himself to follow
the course of the stream.
The water bubbled along in a very tortuous course, marking its way
everywhere by a line of brighter, more tender emerald; and doubtless fed
by hidden springs, for it grew wider in process of time, spreading out
into a large pool whereon water-lilies reposed.
The blossoms had mostly gone to seed, which stood up from the stems like
acorns, but a few late ones still floated on the bosom of the
lake,--blue, pink, and white.
The edges of the water were fringed with flowering reeds;
passion-flowers tossed clinging tendrils from tree to tree on its
margin, and long wreaths of bud and blossom hung pendant from them.
Myriads of new-born butterflies flitted sportively among them, and
bright birds skimmed over the quiet water. It was a most lovely
sight,--one which Ralph never afterwards forgot. He rested upon the
shore of this lake through the hottest part of the day; breakfasting
upon some plantains which he had found, and upon the lily seeds and
sprouts.
When a little air sprang up towards evening, he resumed his course.
The jungle closed around him again; but he now held the thread of the
maze, and lost heart no more. He passed the night in a tree, and his
evening orisons were heartfelt.
Day by day he plodded on. The stream grew wider, but wound so much that
his progress through the country was very slow. When it grew
sufficiently broad to admit of the navigation of any kind of craft,
Ralph made up his mind to try whether he could not proceed faster upon a
raft; and pondered much upon the means of constructing one which, though
rudely fashioned, might serve his purpose.
His thoughts reverted at first to the coracles of ancient Britain, which
he had heard were of basket-work covered with skins. Canes for
basket-work abounded, but he did not see how to procure skins of a
sufficiently large size, or how to cut them into shape or join them
together.
He then thought of the North-American Indian's birch-bark canoe. But he
had no means of felling a suitable tree, or of peeling the bark off in
large sheets.
His mind reverted again to the wicker-work. He could cut down bamboos,
and they grew plentifully everywhere. Could he tie them together by
means of the cord-like lianas which bound the jungle so closely together
into impenetrable masses? If not, he might weave them together with
split cane or supple reeds.
Another consideration puzzled him. The stream was narrow; his raft must
be no wider than necessary,--but what ought its length to be? It would
not be manageable if very long; but how much surface should there be to
support his weight on the water. He had no data upon which to go that
could enable him to decide this point; experiment alone could do so. He
would try making it as long as his own height; and, if that did not
suffice, he could then enlarge it.
He cleared a space upon the borders of the stream, laid down upon it,
and marked out his own proportions. Then he narrowed each end to a point
beyond these limits, so that he might work the raft either way; drove
short stakes into the ground all around the enclosure, laid stout
bamboos athwart the centre of it, and bound them to the stakes. He tied
together a bundle of long bamboos at each end, laid them lengthways upon
those firmly affixed to the points, and spreading them out in the
middle, began to weave all together with split canes, which had been
steeping in water, to make them pliant, while everything else was being
prepared.
When this was made as firm as lay in his power, he perceived that,
though it might float and bear his weight, that burden would sink it a
little below the surface of the water, so that he would always be wet.
The stakes with which he had begun his contrivance were about two feet
long--perhaps nearer three feet; and though not very regular in height,
were all driven into the ground about equally far. It was above the
ground that they were uneven.
He therefore began again, weaving a second floor about six inches above
the first one. This had also the effect of making all steadier; and upon
noticing this, he once more set to work, and wove a narrow bulwark above
what he called his upper deck.
He cut a couple of bundles of long bamboos, which he tied along the
bulwarks, to use in case of need; fashioned rude rowlocks in the centre;
cut a quantity of grass, which he spread as a carpet for his feet; bound
up a sheaf of the same to serve for a pillow at night; provided a store
of liana twigs and split cane for repairs, if necessary; made his packet
of orchids secure to stakes; and, finally, began to lay in a small store
of fruit for food.
The stream was drying up so fast upon its shallow borders that fish were
left flapping about in holes, or on the mud, every day; and, not sharing
in the Burman's superstition as to taking life, he had made many a meal
upon them,--for the construction of his raft had occupied several days.
So few charges of powder and shot had he left, that he would not use his
gun, thinking that he might want it for self-preservation before he
could reach civilised regions.
When fish was not to be got, he had eaten fruit when he could find it;
he had knocked down a bird or two by throwing sticks at them, for they
were very tame at first, but were now becoming more afraid of him; and
once he had been fortunate enough to come across some jungle-fowl's
eggs.
Such a piece of luck had not befallen him again, however; and he had
cleared his immediate neighbourhood of plantains, so he must go farther
afield for stores.
The weather was very hot, and he had worked about his boat building,
all these days, in his shirt and linen drawers. His other garments, with
his gun and other small possessions, were neatly laid together on the
low-growing branch of a shrub, in a place where he could easily see
them; and now, taking up his knife, which he carried with a lanyard
about his neck, and with a coil of grass-rope in his hand, he pulled on
his boots, and set off into the jungle.
He was tolerably successful in his quest, but had to roam about for some
time first. As the sun was preparing to set, he returned to the place
that had begun to feel almost like a home to him,--that natural
clearance among the trees; the clump of bushes on the little promontory
jutting out into the stream; the huge _Amherstia_ crowning the
many-tinted scrub, with the white _Dendrobium Formosum_ hanging down
from it in such rich masses.
What were those parti-coloured figures at the foot of the tree where his
garments hung? Men? Burmese? _Not dacoits?_ But what else could they be?
The ragged gaudy "putsoes," the white fillets around the heads, the
gaunt frames, the fierce yet sly faces, all told their own tale. Ralph
had heard of these robbers, and slipt stealthily back into the jungle,
where, himself concealed, he could watch their proceedings.
They were examining his clothes with grins of delight. One had his
beloved watch hung round his neck, and dangling about with every
movement. One was cutting buttons off with great glee; and one was
investigating the gun.
Now this gun was not a very good one; it had been purchased in the
bazaar of Moulmein, in preparation for Ralph's first expedition with Mr.
Gilchrist, when money was short with them both, while awaiting their
better equipments from home.
But it was lighter than the fine new ones sent out from England, and
was a favourite one with its young owner, though Wills often told him
that he would meet with some accident with it one of these days, the
weapon being so worn.
The Burman who held it was ramming in powder and shot most liberally;
driving in more and more with the greatest delight, laughing and joking
the while with more merriment than discretion.
Suddenly, in the middle of the fun, the old thing exploded--burst!--with
a mighty report, and all the Burmese thieves were prostrate immediately.
Ralph thought at first that they were all killed, and was on the point
of rushing forward to see the extent of the injuries received, when one
raised himself, and then another. With the most rueful faces they wagged
their heads to each other, each looking solemnly at his neighbour for a
moment.
The third was hurt and bleeding, but whether seriously injured Ralph
could not tell. His companions rose, seized him by the feet, and drew
him, on his back, by that means to some distance from the scene of the
disaster; and, passing near enough to Ralph's hiding-place, he heard
them jabbering together about the "beloo" which had thus revenged itself
upon them. They seemed shy of approaching the place where the shattered
gun lay, and Denham thought that it would do them good to hear a little
more of the "beloo."
Accordingly, he began to moan, upon which the fellows gave a great
start, and gazed around with terrified faces. Seeing this, and being
himself concealed behind a large tree, the boy increased his moan to a
howl,--a yell,--the most unearthly screeches which he could raise. It
was too much for the dacoits, they sprang to their feet and ran off as
fast as their legs could take them, becoming quickly lost in the shadows
of night.
Rightly judging that their dwellings could not be very far off, and that
they might return by daylight, Ralph hastened to loose his raft, and
push it off from its moorings down the stream, determining to pursue his
way as far as possible before morning.
The raft floated well, to his joyful surprise; he punted it along
successfully, and was far away before the day star rose.