IN THE WILDS OF VENEZUELA.
Although the _Osprey's_ visit to Venezuela may have but little
interest for the reader, still it would be unfair to drag him away
from that land without first inviting him on shore to have a look at
some of its wild and lovely scenery.
A young fellow--a Spaniard, though he talked capital English--came
off one forenoon. He was received by Creggan and the Duckling at the
gangway, and after talking for a short time on deck they invited him
below.
This Spaniard was a gentleman in every sense of the word, and
possessed of all that old Castalian courtesy and urbanity which you
see so little of in these matter-of-fact days. He owned, too, that
he was independent, if not indeed rich.
"Oh, señor," he said to Creggan, "think you that your captain would
permit you to spend a few weeks on shore with me? And your dear
friend here? I will do all I can to make you happy."
"I do not doubt that for a moment," said Creggan, "and if we can
succeed in getting leave we are at your command."
"Oh, I rejoice!" cried young Miguel.
"I myself," he added, "am bound up in botany, in sport, and in
natural history. Ah! we will enjoy our little selves, see if we
don't!"
Leave was asked for and granted that very day. The _Osprey_ was
going down the coast and would leave them here, returning again in
three weeks' time.
"Ah!" said dark-eyed young Miguel, "that does mean six, my capitan.
You look good, and good you must be."
The captain smiled.
"Oh, señor, Venezuela is a vast country!"
"Well, well, Miguel, I'll let the young fellows oft for five or six
weeks. I think they will be safe with you, and it will do them both
good."
"Oh, safe, sir, as the everlasting mountains. And I have two
houses--one is my yacht, and the other my dwelling on shore on the
banks of the great Orinoco. You have no such rivers in Britain, I
believe, señor capitan?"
"Well, no," replied Leeward, smiling. "You see, we are somewhat
cramped for space, and a river broader than any of our two counties
we should find somewhat inconvenient, to say the least."
"A thousand thanks for the leave, sir!" cried Creggan impulsively.
Then he added:
"Pardon me, sir, but you are so different from Commander Flint."
Well, Creggan and the Ugly Duckling had as many good-byes and
hand-shakings given them as if they had been going off for a whole
year to fight for their Queen and country.
The Duckling's parting from Admiral Jacko was quite affecting, as far
as feeling on the part of this strange but clever ape went. Perhaps
from his excessive and droll ugliness Jacko looked upon the middy as
a brother. Be that as it may, he hung with his arms around his neck
and his cheek against the Duckling's, and the expression of his face
was so sad that the gun-room officers would not have been at all
surprised had he burst into tears.
"Take care of my brother Jacko, boys!"
These were the Ugly Duckling's last words as he seated himself in
Miguel's boat, and the sturdy semi-Spanish sailors bent bravely to
their work. Out there, where the _Osprey_ lay at anchor near to a
small but beautiful island, there was a kind of "jabble" of small
waves, caused by cross seas and currents. But after bearing in
towards the green-fringed shore for about three miles, the men
singing as they rowed to the sweet, soft notes of a guitar touched by
the fingers of Miguel himself, they rounded another island, and were
soon lost to view from the deck of the _Osprey_.
The water was now more smooth, though the outward current ran high.
The tide in fact was ebbing. When it flows here it flows fast and
furiously, and there are times when the battle betwixt sea and river
is so furious, that no boat could float in the turmoil of breaking
waters.
The Orinoco is undoubtedly a grand river, though certainly not so
wide as Captain Leeward would lead one to infer. It is a grand
stream, and a wildly romantic one too--higher up, I mean, for, like
the river Nile, it forms a delta. This is about one hundred and
thirty miles from the wide Atlantic, and here it divides itself into
a great number of mouths, most of them navigable.
The principal mouth or main-stream is called the Boca de Navios, and
it was up this great stream that our heroes went with Miguel next
morning, in his pretty little steam-yacht, of which the young fellow
was so justly proud.
So light was this craft and so little water did she draw, that she
could go anywhere, and being strong even in a buffeting sea-way,
could have done anything. She was not, however, quite so light as
the Yankee's boat that was warranted to sail wherever there was a
heavy dew.
I am writing from memory only, so I cannot give the exact tonnage of
the _Orinoco Queen_, but fifty tons is near enough. Her beam was
broad, though. Her little cabin or cuddy quite a lady's boudoir,
adorned and perfumed with the rarest tropical flowers, through which
at night peeped coyly the glow of fairy-lights. The one great lamp
that swung from the skylight had a crimson shade, and thus the cabin
looked like a scene from dream-land.
At night Miguel played his guitar, and sang wild and martial ballads
of the romantic Spain of years gone by, or soft lullaby-like love
ditties. The music of these latter seemed to breathe o'er the
strings. You could have told it was a serenade, and in imagination
you might have seen a beautiful girl-face appear one moment at an
open lattice-window above, and next, from a white and shapely hand
extended, you might imagine a flower drop down, to be rapturously
caught and pressed to the lips of the serenader. Spain, deprived of
its romance, were nothing now.
Hammocks were hung on deck, and surrounded, as far as Miguel's guests
were concerned, by mosquito curtains. But the captain, Miguel
himself, slept on a grass mat.
The crew of the _Orinoco Queen_ consisted of five men and a boy, two
of the men being engineers. This little river craft, however, had a
main and fore mast, on which were carried, alow and aloft only,
fore-and-aft sails. The men were lanky and brown, dark in hair and
eyes, with bare necks and chests, and legs all exposed below the
knees. But they were as lithe and active as panthers.
From the very first Creggan and the Duckling knew that they were
going to have a real good time of it. Miguel believed in taking life
easy. With half-shut eyes, while the yacht steamed slowly up the
river, he would lie or recline on a grass hammock on deck, a small
perfumed cigar between his lips, making little else save
interjectional remarks for an hour at a time.
Miguel had no middle-mind, if I may so express it; that is, he was
either dreamy happy in a kind of lethargy, or as active as a pole-cat
on the war-path.
In this respect he resembled the monster caymans, or huge alligators
with which the yellow-white waters of the river swarmed. Terrible
monsters indeed these are! You can see their great heads protruding
over the moon-lit water, if you are keeping the middle watch. So
lazy look they, that scarcely could you believe that anything could
excite them, or wake them into activity. But let a man fall
overboard, or--awful accident!--a boat capsize, and they cleave the
water, quick as seals, and Heaven have mercy on the mariners, for the
caymans have none!
In five days' time, taking it very easy, and often-times landing on
wooded islands, or at the mouths of rivers--tributaries to the
"Mother of Waters",--they reached Ciudad Bolivar.
Both the Ugly Duckling and Creggan were fond of the beautiful in
nature, and everything they saw on the pretty arboreal islands which
they touched at was new and strange. Many of these were inhabited,
and the languid natives, who lived in thatch huts of wattle and clay,
existing for the most part on fish, I think, were exceedingly kind to
them. They brought them light wine, fruit, eggs, fish, and goat's
milk.
Sometimes on a day of racing clouds and sunshine, Miguel would cast
anchor at the mouth of a tributary river, and in his boat would start
up stream with his guests.
Such rivers were wondrously beautiful. The overhanging trees, laden
down with green foliage till the tips of the branches touched the
water, were cloud-lands of a beauty that was rich and rare. For not
only were their leaves a sight to see, but the climbing flowers that
often bound them into great crimson, blue, or orange garlands,
dazzled the eyes with their loveliness.
I said the branches bent downwards, yes, and formed cool sylvan
arbours, in which the boat could lie for luncheon.
Miguel--kind-hearted he was and thoughtful--had forgotten nothing
that could minister to the comfort of his guests, and serve to make
this visit to Venezuela an ever-memorable one.
The mosquitoes of these regions are very lively little persons, and
very fond of British blood, but a tincture that Miguel gave to the
boys with which to rub face and hands, kept them well at bay.
After luncheon Miguel would sing and play for an hour.
Meanwhile the great snakes that lay sometimes all their length on the
branches above, or hung head down therefrom, were no source of
comfort either to Creggan or his friend. They could not keep from
looking at them at first, fearful lest they might drop into the boat;
and these serpents are deadly monsters.
"Do not look, my friends," said Miguel; "they may fascinate you."
"Is that story about fascination not all a myth?" said Creggan.
Miguel leaned forward and lit another cigarette before he replied:
"Not so, Creggan. I have heard many stories of the power these
monsters possess over the minds of men.
"But," he added, "one I do remember personally. I and a friend from
Trinidad were hunting the panther in a piece of forest-land far away
north of here, and among the Llanos[1].
[1] Tracks of uplands, covered with wild grass, trees, &c., and with
cañons between.
"We came to a snake-infested jungle, but being very tired we
determined to camp there for the night. We tied our donkeys to
leafless cocoanut-trees, that looked at a distance like masts of
ships. Then we swung our grass hammocks ready, and cooked supper.
"We were only on the borders of the ugly jungle. Yet it contained
game-birds, and in pursuit of these Antoine and I entered its gloom.
We got several, and were returning to our camp, I being about ten
yards ahead of my companion. Suddenly--it makes me shudder even
now--I heard my friend utter that strange quavering low scream that
issues from a man in nightmare.
"_Oo--oo--hoo--oo!_
"I turned quickly. There stood poor Antoine, a huge snake depending
from a tree not a yard from his face, and evidently about to strike.
[Illustration: ANTOINE WAS IN A STATE OF MESMERIC FASCINATION, AND
PALE AS DEATH]
"Antoine was in a state of mesmeric fascination--visage pale as
death, staring upturned eyes, arms straight down by his side, and
clenched hands.
"I fired at once, and the snake fell with shattered head, but
writhing, leaping, and dancing body.
"A snake, my friends, never looks more hideous than when, headless,
he twists and coils in the thraldom of death.
"My friend Antoine had fainted, but though he soon revived I noted
something strange in his manner. It put me in mind of the childish
hysterical nervousness of speech and movement a wine-bibber sometimes
exhibits.
"But I marked also, that whenever that day he saw a huge snake
hanging on a tree, he would stop and gaze at it with dilated eyes,
and even after passing on he would turn again and again to look once
more into the ever-open glassy eyes of the serpent.
"My friends, the worst was to come. I may tell you first, that the
nights at this time were brightly moonlit. Well, we supped and
turned into our hammocks, but after I had slept for hours I awoke
suddenly with a strange kind of fear and coldness at my heart.
"I naturally glanced towards Antoine's hammock. It was too loose and
puckered to have anyone in it.
"My friend had fled!
"I turned out at once and roused my men, and together we hurried down
through a bit of savannah to the jungle. I was hoping against hope.
But to all our shouting no response was given, except from the
throats of wild beasts. We returned to camp now disheartened, to
await the coming of daylight.
"At last, dear friends, the sun's crimson rays darted through the
deep orange hue on the horizon, and after a hasty breakfast we
hastened back to the jungle.
"We had not entered far, when, O Dios! my friends, the sight that met
our gaze seemed to turn our hearts to ice. I shall never, never
forget it.
"Antoine lay on his back; his face and hands were purple and swollen;
on his brow were two vivid spots of vermilion; while his open glassy
eyes were staring unmeaningly heavenwards through the trees.
"Dead? Yes, my friend was dead, and coiled around his neck was a
large and fearful snake!"
* * * * * * * * * * *
As Miguel finished his little story, Creggan gazed upwards at the
overhanging boughs and the ever-present snakes. But his host
hastened to reassure him.
"Do not fear," he cried, "do not dread. Snakes are never vicious.
They are good and kindly creatures, and at no time will they strike
unless attacked, or in defence of their homes and their progeny."
I--the author--have had in my time a larger experience of snakes than
I ever at any time desired, and I can quite believe the story that
Miguel told his guests that day. Nevertheless, Creggan was never
very sorry when the boat was once more out in the open stream.
The bird and insect life in these lonely dreamy woods it would be
impossible for me to describe. Suffice it to say, that they were
beautiful beyond compare. And yet the birds--that looked like flying
flowers--had but little song. Their beauty of colour is granted them
by God that they may resemble the orchids, and so deceive their
reptile foes. If they sang much their presence would be revealed.