the vaquero--who, by a previous understanding with Guapo, had kept
himself informed about political matters.
There was no hope; the same Council, the same Viceroy, the same price
upon the head of Don Pablo--who, however, was believed to have escaped
in an American ship, and to have taken refuge in the great republic of
the North.
With this news Guapo returned, and now the preparations for the river
voyage were set about in earnest. A balza raft was built out of large
trunks of the _Bombax ceiba_, which, being light wood, was the best for
the purpose. Of course these trunks had been cut long ago with a view
to using them in this way. A commodious cabin, or "toldo," was
constructed on the raft, built of palm and bamboos, and thatched with
the broad leaves of the bussu. A light canoe was also hollowed out, as
a sort of tender to the raft, and a couple of very large canoes for the
purpose of giving buoyancy to it, were lashed one upon each side. The
"merchandise" was carefully "stowed" and covered with "tarpaulins" of
palm-leaves, and the stores laid in with every providential care and
calculation.
You will be wondering what was done with the horse and mule,--those
creatures that had served the exiles so faithfully and so well? Were
they left behind to become a prey to the jaguars and the large
blood-sucking bats, that kill so many animals in these parts? No--they
were not to be left to such a fate. One of them--the mule--had been
already disposed of. It was a valuable beast, and partly on that
account, and partly from gratitude felt towards it for the well-timed
kick it had given the ocelot, it was to be spared. Guapo had taken both
the mule and the horse on his mountain journey, and presented the former
to his friend the vaquero.
But the horse was still on hand. What was to be done with him? Leave
him behind? That would be certain death, for no horse, that was not
cared for, could exist in the Montana ten days without being eaten up by
the fierce creatures that inhabit it. The bats would surely have
destroyed him. Well, what was done? He could not be carried on the
raft. But he was, though,--_in a way_. Guapo was resolved that the
bats should not have him, nor the jaguars neither. He was in fine
condition--fat as a pig. The fruit of the murumuru had agreed with him.
He was just in the condition in which an Indian thinks a horse "good
for killing," and _Guapo killed him_! Yes, Guapo killed him! It is
true it was a sort of a Virginius tragedy, and Guapo had great
difficulty in nerving himself for the task. But the blow-gun was at
length levelled, and the _curare_ did its work. Then Guapo skinned him,
and cut him into strips, and dried him into "charqui," and carried him
on board the raft. That was the closing scene.
All left the house together, carrying with them the remains of their
hastily-created _penates_. On reaching the end of the valley, they
turned and threw back a last glance at a home that had to them been a
happy one; and then, continuing their journey, they were soon upon the
balza. The only living creature that accompanied them from their
valley-home was the pretty saimiri, carried on the shoulder of the
little Leona.
The cable of piassaba-palm was carefully taken in and coiled, the raft
was pushed out, and the next moment floated lightly upon the broad bosom
of the river.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.
THE GUARDIAN BROTHER.
The current of the river flowed at the rate of about four miles an hour,
and at this speed they travelled. They had nothing to do but guide the
raft in the middle part of the stream. This was effected by means of a
large stern-oar fixed upon a pivot, and which served the purpose of a
rudder. One was required to look after this oar, and Don Pablo and
Guapo took turns at it. It was not a very troublesome task, except
where some bend had to be got round, or some eddy was to be cleared,
when both had to work at it together. At other times the balza floated
straight on, without requiring the least effort on the part of the crew;
and then they would all sit down and chat pleasantly, and view the
changing scenery of the forest-covered shores. Sometimes tall palms
lined the banks, and sometimes great forest trees netted together by
thick parasites that crept from one to the other, and twined around the
trunks like monster serpents. Sometimes the shores were one unbroken
thicket of underwood, where it would have been almost impossible to make
a landing had they wished it. At other places there were sand-bars, and
even little islets with scarce any vegetation upon them; and they also
passed many other islets and large islands thickly wooded. The country
generally appeared to be flat, though at one or two places they saw
hills that ran in to the banks of the river.
Of course the change of scenery, and the many fresh vistas continually
opening before them, rendered their voyage both cheerful and
interesting. The many beautiful birds too, and new kinds of trees and
animals which they saw, were a constant source of varied enjoyment, and
furnished them with themes of conversation.
During the first day they made a journey of full forty miles. Having
brought their balza close to the shore, and secured it to a tree, they
encamped for the night. There was no opening of any extent, but for
some distance the ground was clear of underwood, and the trunks of great
old trees rose like columns losing themselves amidst the thick foliage
overhead. A dark forest only could be seen, and, as night drew on, the
horrid cries of the alouattes, or howling monkeys, mingling with the
voices of other nocturnal animals, filled the woods. They had no fear
of monkeys, but now and then they thought they could distinguish the cry
of the jaguar, and of him they had fear enough. Indeed the jaguar
possesses the power of imitating the cry of the other animals of the
forest, and often uses it to draw them within reach of him.
In addition to the fire upon which they had cooked their supper, as soon
as night had fairly set in, they kindled others, forming a sort of
semicircle, the chord of which was the bank of the river itself. Within
this semicircle the hammocks were stretched from tree to tree; and, as
all were fatigued with the day's exertions, they climbed into them at an
early hour, and were soon asleep. One alone sat up to keep watch. As
they thought they had heard the jaguar, this was deemed best; for they
knew that fire will not always frighten off that fierce animal. As the
neighbourhood looked suspicious, and also as it was their first
encampment, they, like all travellers at setting out, of course were
more timid and cautious.
To Leon was assigned the first watch; for Leon was a courageous boy, and
it was not the first time he had taken his turn in this way. He was to
sit up for about two hours, and then wake Guapo, who would keep the
midnight-watch; after which Don Pablo's turn would come, and that would
terminate in the morning at daybreak. Leon was instructed to rouse the
others in case any danger might threaten the camp.
Leon from choice had seated himself by the head of the hammock in which
slept the little Leona; in order, no doubt, to be nearer her, as she was
the most helpless of the party, and therefore required more immediate
protection. He had both the pistols by him--ready to his hand and
loaded--and in case of danger he knew very well how to use them.
He had been seated for about half-an-hour, now casting his eyes up to
the red and wrinkled trunks of the trees, and then gazing into the dark
vistas of the surrounding forest, or at other times looking out upon the
glistening surface of the river. Many a strange sound fell upon his
ear. Sometimes the whole forest appeared to be alive with voices--the
voices of beasts and birds, reptiles, and insects--for the tree-frogs
and ciendas were as noisy as the larger creatures. At other times a
perfect stillness reigned, so that he could distinctly hear the tiny hum
of the mosquito; and then, all at once, would fall upon his ear the
melancholy wailing of the night-hawk--the "_alma perdida_," or "lost
soul"--for such is the poetical and fanciful name given by the Spanish
Americans to this nocturnal bird.
While thus engaged Leon began to feel very drowsy. The heavy day's
work, in which he had borne part, had fatigued him as well as the
others; and, in spite of the odd voices that from time to time fell upon
his ear, he could have lain down upon the bare ground and slept without
a feeling of fear. Snakes or scorpions, or biting lizards or spiders,
would not have kept him from going to sleep at that moment. It is
astonishing how the desire of sleep makes one indifferent to all these
things, which at other times we so much dread. Leon did not fear them a
bit, but kept himself awake from a feeling of pride and honour. He
reflected that it would never do to be unfaithful to the important trust
confided to him. No that would never do. He rubbed his eyes, and rose
up, and approached the bank, and dipped his hands in the water, and came
back to his former place, and sat down again. Spite of all his efforts,
however, he felt very heavy. Oh! when would the two hours pass that he
might rouse Guapo?
"Car-r-ambo! I nev-er was so s-s-sleepy. _Vamos_! Leon! you mustn't
give in!"
And striking himself a lively slap on the chest, he straightened his
back, and sat upright for a while.
He was just beginning to get bowed about the shoulders again, and to nod
a little, when he was startled by a short sharp exclamation uttered by
the little Leona. He looked up to her hammock. He could perceive it
had moved slightly, but it was at rest again, and its occupant was
evidently asleep.
"Poor little sis! she is dreaming," he muttered half aloud. "Perhaps
some horrid dream of jaguars or serpents. I have half a mind to awake
her. But, no, she sleeps too soundly; I might disturb them all;" and
with these reflections Leon remained upon his seat.
Once more his head was beginning to bob, when the voice of Leona again
startled him, and he looked up as before. The hammock moved slightly,
but there was no appearance of anything wrong. From where he sat he
could not see well into it, but he outlines of the child's body were
easily discernible through the elastic netting; and at the farther end
he could just perceive one of her little feet, where it had escaped from
the covering, and rested partly over the edge.
As he continued to gaze upon the delicate member, thinking whether he
had not better cover it against the mosquitoes, all at once his eye was
attracted by something red--a crooked red line that traversed from the
toe downward along the side of the foot. It was red and glittering--it
was _a stream of blood_!
His first feeling was one of horror. His next was a resolve to spring
to his feet and rouse the camp, but this impulse was checked by one of
greater prudence. Whatever enemy had done it, thought he, must still be
about the hammock; to make a noise would, perhaps, only irritate it, and
cause it to inflict some still more terrible wound. He would remain
quiet, until he had got his eyes upon the creature, when he could spring
upon it, or fire his pistol before it could do further harm.
With these ideas, quickly conceived, he rose silently to his feet, and
standing, or rather crouching forward, bent his eyes over the hammock.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.
THE VAMPIRE.
Leon's head was close to that of the sleeper, whose sweet breath he
felt, and whose little bosom rose and fell in gentle undulation. He
scanned the inside of the hammock from head to foot. He gazed anxiously
into every fold of the cover. Not an object could he see that should
not have been there--no terrible creature--no serpent--for it was this
last that was in his mind. But something must have been there. What
could have caused the stream of blood, that now being closer he could
more plainly see trickling over the soft blue veins? Some creature must
have done it!
"Oh! if it be the small viper," thought he, "or the coral snake, or the
deadly macaurel! If these--"
His thoughts at this moment were interrupted. A light flapping of wings
sounded in his ear--so light, that it appeared to be made by the soft
pinions of the owl, or some nocturnal bird. It was not by the wings of
a bird that that sound was produced, but by the wings of a hideous
creature. Leon was conscious, from the continued flapping, that
something was playing through the air, and that it occasionally
approached close to his head. He gazed upward and around him, and at
length he could distinguish a dark form passing between him and the
light; but it glided into the darkness again, and he could see it no
more. Was it a bird? It looked like one--it might have been an owl--it
was full as large as one; but yet, from the glance he had had of it, it
appeared to be black or very dark, and he had never heard of owls of
that colour. Moreover, it had not the look nor flight of an owl. Was
it a bird at all? or whatever it was, was it the cause of the blood?
This did not appear likely to Leon, who still had his thoughts bent upon
the snakes.
While he was revolving these questions in his mind, he again turned and
looked toward the foot of the hammock. The sight caused him a thrill of
horror. There was the hideous creature, which he had just seen, right
over the bleeding foot. It was not perched, but suspended in the air on
its moving wings, with its long snout protruded forward and pressed
against the toe of the sleeper! Its sharp white teeth were visible in
both jaws, and its small vicious eyes glistened under the light of the
fires. The red hair covering its body and large membranous wings added
to the hideousness of its aspect, and a more hideous creature could not
have been conceived. _It was the vampire_,--the blood-sucking
_phyllostoma_!
A short cry escaped from the lips of Leon. It was not a cry of pain,
but the contrary. The sight of the great bat, hideous as the creature
was, relieved him. He had all along been under the painful impression
that some venomous serpent had caused the blood to flow, and now he had
no farther fear on that score. He knew that there was no poison in the
wound inflicted by the phyllostoma--only the loss of a little blood; and
this quieted his anxieties at once. He resolved, however, to punish the
intruder; and not caring to rouse the camp by firing, he stole a little
closer, and aimed a blow with the butt of his pistol. The blow was well
aimed, and brought the bat to the ground, but its shrill screeching
awoke everybody, and in a few moments the camp was in complete
confusion. The sight of the blood on the foot of the little Leona quite
terrified Dona Isidora and the rest; but when the cause was explained,
all felt reassured and thankful that the thing was no worse. The little
foot was bound up in a rag; and although, for two or three days after,
it was not without pain, yet no bad effects came of it.
The "blood-sucking" bats do not cause death either to man, or any other
animal, by a single attack. All the blood they can draw out amounts to
only a few ounces, although after their departure, the blood continues
to run from the open wound. It is by repeating their attacks night
after night that the strength of an animal becomes exhausted, and it
dies from sheer loss of blood and consequent faintness. With animals
this is far from being a rare occurrence. Hundreds of horses and cattle
are killed every year in the South American pastures. These creatures
suffer, perhaps, without knowing from what cause, for the phyllostoma
performs its cupping operation without causing the least pain--at all
events the sleeper is very rarely awakened by it. It is easy to
understand how it sucks the blood of its victim, for its snout and the
leafy appendage around its mouth--from whence it derives the name
"phyllostoma"--are admirably adapted to that end. But how does it make
the puncture to "let" the blood? That is as yet a mystery among
naturalists, as it also is among the people who are habitually its
victims. Even Guapo could not explain the process. The large teeth--of
which it has got quite a mouthful--seem altogether unfitted to make a
hole such as is found where the phyllostoma has been at work. Their
bite, moreover, would awake the soundest sleeper. Besides these, it has
neither fangs, nor sting, nor proboscis, that would serve the purpose.
How then does it reach the blood? Many theories have been offered; some
assert that it rubs the skin with its snout until it brings it to
bleeding: others say that it sets the sharp point of one of its large
tusks against the part, and then by plying its wings wheels round and
round, as upon a pivot, until the point has penetrated--that during this
operation the motion of the wings fans and cools the sleeping victim, so
that no pain is felt. It may be a long while before this curious
question is solved, on account of the difficulty of observing a creature
whose habits are nocturnal, and most of whose deeds are "done in the
dark."
People have denied the existence of such a creature as the blood-sucking
bat--even naturalists have gone so far. They can allege no better
grounds for their incredulity than that the thing has an air of the
fabulous and horrible about it. But this is not philosophy.
Incredulity is the characteristic of the half-educated. It may be
carried too far, and the fables of the vulgar have often a stratum of
truth at the bottom. There is one thing that is almost intolerable, and
that is the conceit of the "closet-naturalist," who sneers at everything
as untrue that seems to show the least _design_ on the part of the brute
creation--who denies everything that appears at all singular or
fanciful, and simply because it appears so. With the truthful
observations that have been made upon the curious domestic economy of
such little creatures as bees, and wasps, and ants, we ought to be
cautious how we reject statements about the habits of other animals,
however strange they may appear.
Who doubts that a mosquito will perch itself upon the skin of a human
being, pierce it with his proboscis, and suck away until it is gorged
with blood? Why does it appear strange that a bat should do the same?
Now your closet-naturalist will believe that the bat _does_ suck the
blood of cattle and horses, but denies that it will attack man! This is
sheer nonsense. What difference to the vampire, whether its victim be a
biped or quadruped? Is it fear of the former that would prevent it from
attacking him? Perhaps it may never have seen a human being before:
besides, it attacks its victim while asleep, and is rarely ever caught
or punished in the act. Where these creatures are much hunted or
persecuted by man, they may learn to fear him, and their original habits
may become changed, but that is quite another thing. As nature has
formed them, the blood-sucking bats will make their attack
indifferently, either upon man or large quadrupeds. There are a
thousand proofs to be had in all the tropical regions of America. Every
year animals are killed by the _phyllostoma hastatum_, not in hundreds,
but in thousands. It is recorded that on one extensive cattle-farm
several hundred head were killed in the short period of six months by
the bats; and the vaqueros, who received a bounty upon every bat they
should capture, in one year succeeded in destroying the enormous number
of _seven thousand_! Indeed, "bat-hunting" is followed by some as a
profession, so eager are the owners of the cattle-farms to get rid of
these pests.
Many tribes of Indians and travellers suffer great annoyance from the
vampire-bats. Some persons never go to sleep without covering
themselves with blankets, although the heat be ever so oppressive. Any
part left naked will be attacked by the phyllostoma, but they seem to
have a preference for the tip of the great toe--perhaps because they
have found that part more habitually exposed. Sometimes one sleeper is
"cupped" by them, while another will not be molested; and this, I may
observe, is true also of the mosquitoes. There may be some difference
as to the state of the blood of two individuals, that leads to this
fastidious preference. Some are far more subject to their attack than
others--so much so that they require to adopt every precaution to save
themselves from being bled to death. Cayenne pepper rubbed over the
skin is used to keep them off, and also to cure the wound they have
made; but even this sometimes proves ineffective.
Of course there are many species of bats in South America besides the
vampire; in fact, there is no class of mammalia more numerous in genera
and species, and no part of the world where greater numbers are found
than in the tropical regions of America. Some are insect-eaters, while
others live entirely on vegetable substances; but all have the same
unsightly and repulsive appearance. The odour of some kinds is
extremely fetid and disagreeable. Notwithstanding this, they are eaten
by many tribes of Indians, and even the French Creoles of Guiana have
their "bat-soup," which they relish highly. The proverb "_De gustibus
non disputandum est_" seems to be true for all time. The Spanish
Americans have it in the phrase "_Cada uno a su gusto;" "Chacun a son
gout_," say the French; and on hearing these tales about "ant-paste,"
and "roast monkey," and "armadillo done in the shell," and "bat-soup,"
you, boy reader, will not fail to exclaim "Every one to his liking."
The vampire appeared to be to Guapo's liking. It was now his turn to
keep watch, and as the rest of them got into their hammocks, and lay
awake for a while, they saw him take up the bat, spit it upon a forked
stick, and commence broiling it over the fire. Of course _he ate it_!
When morning came, and they had got up, what was their astonishment to
see no less than fourteen bats lying side by side! They were dead, of
course: Guapo had killed them all during his watch. They had appeared
at one period of the night in alarming numbers, and Guapo had done
battle manfully without awaking anybody.
Another curious tableau came under their notice shortly after. Just as
they were about to embark, a singular-looking tree was observed growing
near the bank of the river. At first they thought the tree was covered
with birds'-nests, or pieces of some kind of moss. Indeed, it looked
more like a tree hung over with rags than anything else. Curiosity led
them to approach it. What was their astonishment to find that the
nests, moss, or rags, were neither more nor less than a vast assemblage
of bats suspended, and asleep! They were hanging in all possible
positions; some with their heads down, some by the claws upon either
wing, and some by both, while a great many had merely hooked over the
branch the little horny curvature of their tails. Some hung down along
the trunk, suspended by a crack in the bark, while others were far out
upon the branches.
It was certainly the oddest "roost" that any of the party (Guapo,
perhaps, excepted) had ever witnessed; and, after gazing at it for some
time, they turned away without disturbing the sleepers, and getting on
board once more, floated adown the stream swiftly and silently.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.
THE MARIMONDAS.
That day they made good progress, having dropped down the river a
distance of fifty miles at least. They might even have gone farther,
but a good camping-place offered, and they did not like to pass it, as
they might not find another so convenient. It was a muddy bank, or
rather a promontory that ran out into the river, and was entirely
without trees, or any other vegetation, as it was annually overflowed,
and formed, in fact, part of the bed of the river. At this time the mud
was quite dry and smooth, and appeared as if it had been paddled and
beaten down by the feet of animals and birds. This was, in fact, the
case, for the point was a favourite resting-place for the "chiguires,"
or "capivaras," on their passage to and from the water. There were
tracks of tapirs, too, and peccaries, and many sorts of wading birds,
that had been there while the mud was still soft.