sapucaya nuts don't quite satisfy me. I'd like a little fish or flesh
meat along with them."
"It's neither," rejoined the Indian. "Something as good, though. It's
fowl! I've found an arara's nest."
"O, a macaw! But where is the bird? You haven't caught it yet?"
"Haven't I?" responded the Mundurucu, plunging his arm elbow-deep into a
cavity in the tree-trunk; and dragging forth a half-fledged bird, nearly
as big as a chicken. "Ah, a nest! young ones! Fat as butter too!"
"All right. We must take them back with us. Our friends in the
sapucaya are hungry as we, and will be right glad to see such an
addition to the larder."
But Richard's reply was unheard; for, from the moment that the Mundurucu
had pulled the young macaw out of its nest, the creature set up such a
screaming and flopping of its half-fledged wings, as to fill all the
woods around. The discordant ululation was taken up and repeated by a
companion within the cavity; and then, to the astonishment of the twain,
half a score of similar screaming voices were heard issuing from
different places higher up in the tree, where it was evident there were
several other cavities, each containing a nest full of young araras.
"A regular breeding-place, a macaw-cot," cried Richard, laughing as he
spoke. "We'll get squabs enough to keep us all for a week!"
The words had scarce passed his lips, when a loud clangour reverberated
upon the air. It was a confused mixture of noises,--a screaming and
chattering,--that bore some resemblance to the human voice; as if half a
score of Punches were quarrelling with as many Judys at the same time.
The sounds, when first heard, were at some distance; but before twenty
could have been counted, they were uttered close to the ears of the
Mundurucu, who was highest up, while the sun became partially obscured
by the outspread wings of a score of great birds, hovering in hurried
flight around the top of the seringa. There was no mystery about the
matter. The new-comers were the parents of the young macaws--the owners
of the nests--returning from a search for provender for their pets,
whose piercing cries had summoned them in all haste to their home. As
yet, neither the Indian nor his young companion conceived any cause for
alarm. Foolish indeed to be frightened by a flock of birds! They were
not allowed to indulge long in this comfortable equanimity; for, almost
on the moment of their arrival above the tree, the united parentage of
araras plunged down among the branches, and, with wing, beak, and
talons, began an instant and simultaneous attack upon the intruders.
The Indian was the first to receive their onset. Made in such a united
and irresistible manner, it had the effect of causing him to let go the
chick, which fell with a plunge into the water below. In its descent it
was accompanied by half a dozen of the other birds,--its own parents,
perhaps, and their more immediate friends,--and these, for the first
time espying a second enemy farther down, directed their attack upon
him. The force of the assailants was thus divided; the larger number
continued their onslaught upon the Indian, though the young Paraense at
the same time found his hands quite full enough in defending himself,
considering that he carried nothing in the shape of a weapon, and that
his body, like that of his comrade, was altogether unprotected by
vestments. To be sure, the Mundurucu was armed with a sharp knife,
which he had brought along with him in his girdle; but this was of very
little use against his winged enemies; and although he succeeded in
striking down one or two of them, it was done rather by a blow of the
fist than by the blade.
In a dozen seconds both had received almost as many scratches from the
beaks and talons of the birds, which still continued the combat with a
fury that showed no signs of relaxation or abatement. The Paraense did
not stay either to take counsel or imitate the example of his more sage
companion, but, hastily bending down upon the limb whereon he had been
maintaining the unequal contest, he plunged headforemost into the water.
Of course a "header" from such a height carried him under the surface;
and his assailants, for the moment missing him, flew back into the
tree-top, and joined in the assault on Munday. The latter, who had by
this become rather sick of the contest, thinking of no better plan,
followed his comrade's example. Hastily he flung himself into the
flood, and, first diving below the surface, came up beside the Paraense,
and the two swam away side by side in silence, each leaving behind him a
tiny string of red; for the blood was flowing freely from the scratches
received in their strange encounter.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
A CONTEST WITH CUDGELS.
Our discomfited adventurers did not swim far from the seringa, for the
birds did not follow them. Satisfied with seeing the burglars fairly
beyond the boundaries of their domicile, the tenants of the tree
returned to their nests, as if to ascertain what amount of damage had
been done. In a short time the commotion had almost subsided, though
there was heard an occasional scream,--the wail of the bereaved parents;
for the helpless squab, after struggling a while on the surface of the
water, had gone suddenly out of sight. There was no danger, therefore,
of further molestation from their late assailants, so long as they
should be left in quiet possession of the seringa, and therefore there
was no further necessity for the two swimmers to retreat. A new
intention had shaped itself in Munday's mind by this time, and he
expressed his determination to return, to the surprise of the youth, who
asked his purpose.
"Partly the purpose for which we first climbed it, and partly," added
he, with an angry roll of his almond-shaped eyes, "to obtain revenge. A
Mundurucu is not to be bled in this fashion, even by birds, without
drawing blood in return. I don't go out from this _igarape_ till I've
killed every arara, old as well as young, in that accursed tree, or
chased the last of them out of it. Follow, and I'll show you how."
The Indian turned his face towards the thicket of tree-tops forming one
side of the water arcade, and with a stroke or two brought himself
within reach of some hanging parasites, and climbed up, bidding Richard
follow. Once more they were shut in among the tops of what appeared to
be a gigantic mimosa. "It will do," muttered the Mundurucu drawing his
knife and cutting a stout branch, which he soon converted into a cudgel
of about two feet in length. This he handed to his companion, and then,
selecting a second branch of still stouter proportions, fashioned a
similar club for himself.
"Now," said he, after having pruned the sticks to his satisfaction,
"we're both armed, and ready to give battle to the araras, with a better
chance of coming off victorious. Let us lose no time. We have other
work to occupy us, and your friends will be impatient for our return."
Saying this, he let himself down into the water, and turned towards the
seringa. His _protege_ made no protest, but followed instantly after.
Tightly clutching their cudgels, both reascended the seringa, and
renewed the battle with the birds. The numbers were even more unequal
than before; but this time the advantage was on the side of the
intruders.
Striking with their clubs of heavy acacia-wood, the birds fell at every
blow, until not one arara fluttered among the foliage. Most of these
had fallen wounded upon the water; a few only, seeing certain
destruction before them, took flight into the far recesses of the
flooded forest. The Mundurucu, true to his promise, did not leave a
living bird upon the tree.
One after another, he hauled the half-fledged chicks from their nests;
one after another, twisted their necks; and then, tying their legs
together with a sipo, he separated the bunch into two equally-balanced
parts, hanging it over a limb of the tree. "They can stay there till ee
come back, which will be soon. And now let us accomplish the purpose
for which we came here!" Laying aside the club that had made such havoc
among the macaws, he drew the knife from his girdle. Selecting a spot
on one of the larger limbs of the seringa, he made an incision in the
bark, from which the milky juice immediately flowed.
He had made provision against any loss of the precious fluid in the
shape of a pair of huge monkey-pots, taken from a sapucaya while on the
way, and which had been all the while lying in their place of deposit in
a network of parasites. One of these he gave Richard, to hold under the
tap while he made a second incision upon a longer limb of the seringa.
Both nutshells were quickly filled with the glutinous juice, which soon
began to thicken and coagulate like rich cream. The lids were restored
to their places, and tied on with sipos, and then a large quantity of
this natural cordage was collected and made up into a portable shape.
This accomplished, the Mundurucu signified his intention of returning to
the castaways; and, after apportioning part of the spoil to his
companion, set out on the way they had come. The young Paraense swam
close in his wake, and in ten minutes they had re-traversed the igarape,
and saw before them the bright sun gilding the Gapo at its embouchure,
that appeared like the mouth of some subterraneous cavern.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
CHASED BY A JACARe.
A few more strokes would have carried the swimmers clear of the water
arcade. Richard was already congratulating himself on the prospect of
escaping from the gloomy shadow, when all at once his companion started,
raised his head high above the surface, and gazed backward along the
dark arcade. As he did so, an exclamation escaped him, which only could
be one of alarm. "A monster!" cried the Mundurucu.
"A monster! What sort? where?"
"Yonder,--just by the edge of the igarape,--close in to the trees,--his
body half hid under the hanging branches."
"I see something like the trunk of a dead tree, afloat upon the water.
A monster you say, Munday? What do you make it out to be?"
"The body of a big reptile,--big enough to swallow us both. It's the
_Jacare-uassu_. I heard its plunge. Did not you?"
"I heard nothing like a plunge, except that made by ourselves in
swimming."
"No matter. There was such a noise but a moment ago. See! the monster
is again in motion. He is after us!"
The dark body Richard had taken for the drifting trunk of a tree was now
in motion, and evidently making direct for himself and his companion.
The waves, undulating horizontally behind it, proclaimed the strokes of
its strong, vertically flattened tail, by which it was propelled through
the water.
"The jacare-uassu!" once more exclaimed the Mundurucu, signifying that
the reptile was the great alligator of the Amazon.
It was one of the largest size, its body showing full seven yards above
the water, while its projecting jaws, occasionally opened in menace or
for breath, appeared of sufficient extent to swallow either of the
swimmers.
It was idle for them to think of escaping through the water. At ease as
they both were in this element, they would have proved but clumsy
competitors with a cayman, especially one of such strength and natatory
skill as belong to the huge reptile in pursuit of them. Such a
swimming-match was not to be thought of, and neither entertained the
idea of it.
"We must take to the trees!" cried the Indian, convinced that the
alligator was after them. "The Great Spirit is good to make them grow
so near. It's the only chance we have for saving our lives. To the
trees, young master,--to the trees!"
As he spoke, the Mundurucu faced towards the forest; and, with quick,
energetic strokes, they glided under the hanging branches. Most nimbly
they climbed the nearest, and, once lodged upon a limb, were safe; and
on one of the lowest they "squatted," to await the approach of the
jacare. In about three seconds the huge saurian came up, pausing as it
approached the spot where the two intended victims had ascended out of
its reach. It seemed more than surprised,--in fact, supremely
astonished; and for some moments lay tranquil, as if paralysed by its
disappointment. This quietude, however, was of short duration; for soon
after, as if conscious of having been tricked, it commenced quartering
the water in short diagonal lines, which every instant was lashed into
foam by a stroke of its powerful tail.
"Let us be grateful to the Great Spirit!" said the Indian, looking down
from his perch upon the tree. "We may well thank him for affording us a
safe refuge here. It's the jacare-uassu, as I said. The monster is
hungry, because it's the time of flood, and he can't get food so easily.
The fish upon which he feeds are scattered through the Gapo, and he can
only catch them by a rare chance. Besides, he has tasted our blood.
Did you not see him sup at it as he came up the igarape? He's mad now,
and won't be satisfied till he obtains a victim,--a man if he can, for I
can tell by his looks he's a man-eater."
"A man-eater! What mean you by that?"
"Only that this jacare has eaten men, or women as likely."
"But how can you tell that?"
"Thus, young master. His bigness tells me of his great age. He has
lived long, and in his time visited many places. But what makes me
suspect him to be a man-eater is the eagerness with which he pursued us,
and the disappointment he shows at not getting hold of us. Look at him
now!"
Certainly there was something peculiar both in the appearance and
movements of the jacare. Young Trevannion had never seen such a monster
before, though alligators were plenteous around Para, and were no rare
sight to him. This one, however, was larger than any he had ever seen,
more gaunt or skeleton-like in frame, with a more disgusting leer in its
deep-sunken eyes, and altogether more unearthly in its aspect. The
sight of the hidden saurian went far to convince him that there was some
truth in the stories of which he had hitherto been sceptical. After
all, the Gapo might contain creatures fairly entitled to the appellation
of "monsters."
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
A SAURIAN DIGRESSION.
It would be difficult to conceive a more hideous monster than this upon
which Richard Trevannion and his comrade gazed. In fact, there is no
form in nature--scarce even in the imagination--more unpleasing to the
eye than that of the lizard, the serpent's shape not excepted. The
sight of the latter may produce a sensation disagreeable and akin to
fear; but the curving and graceful configuration, either at rest or in
motion, and the smooth, shining skin, often brilliantly coloured in
beautiful patterns, tend to prevent it from approaching the bounds of
horror. With the saurian shape it is different. In it we behold the
type of the horrible, without anything to relieve the unpleasant
impression. The positive, though distant, resemblance to the human form
itself, instead of making the creature more seemly, only intensities the
feeling of dread with which we behold it. The most beautiful colouring
of the skin, and the gentlest habits, are alike inefficacious to remove
that feeling. You may look upon the tree-lizard, clothed in a livery of
the most vivid green; the _Anolidae_, in the bright blue of turquoise,
in lemon and orange; you may gaze on the chameleon when it assumes its
most brilliant hues,--but not without an instinctive sense of
repugnance. True, there are those who deny this, who profess not to
feel it, and who can fondle such pets in their hands, or permit them to
play around their necks and over their bosoms. This, however, is due to
habit, and long, familiar acquaintance.
Since this is so with the smaller species of the lizard tribe, even with
those of gay hues and harmless habits, what must it be with those huge
saurians that constitute the family of the _Crocodilidae_, all of which,
in form, colour, habits, and character, approach the very extreme of
hideousness. Of these gigantic reptiles there is a far greater variety
of species than is generally believed,--greater than is known even to
naturalists. Until lately, some three or four distinct kinds,
inhabiting Asia, Africa, and America, were all that were supposed to
exist. Recent exploration reveals a very different condition, and has
added many new members to the family of the _Crocodilidae_.
It would be safe to hazard a conjecture, that, when the world of nature
becomes better known, the number of species of these ugly amphibia,
under the various names of gavials, crocodiles, caymans, and alligators,
all brothers or first-cousins, will amount to two score. It is the very
close resemblance in appearance and general habits that has hitherto
hindered these different kinds from being distinguished. Their species
are many; and, if you follow the naturalists of the anatomic school, so
too are the genera; for it pleases these sapient theorists to found a
genus on almost any species,--thus confounding and rendering more
difficult the study it is their design to simplify. In the case of the
_Crocodilidae_ such subdivision is absolutely absurd; and a single
genus--certainly two at the most--would suffice for all purposes,
practical or theoretical. The habits of the whole family--gavials and
alligators, crocodiles, caymans, and jacares--are so much alike, that it
seems a cruelty to separate them. It is true the different species
attain to very different sizes; some, as the _curua_, are scarce two
feet in length, while the big brothers of the family, among the gavials,
crocodiles, and alligators, are often ten times as long.
It is impossible to say how many species of _Crocodilidae_ inhabit the
waters of the South American continent. There are three in the Amazon
alone; but it is quite probable that in some of its more remote
tributaries there exist other distinct species, since the three above
mentioned do not all dwell in the same portion of this mighty stream.
The Amazonian Indians speak of many more species, and believe in their
existence. No doubt the Indians are right.
In the other systems of South American waters, as those of the La Plata,
the Orinoco, and the Magdalena, species exist that are not known to the
Amazon. Even in the isolated water deposits of Lake Valencia Humboldt
discovered the bava, a curious little crocodile not noted elsewhere.
The three Amazonian reptiles, though having a strong resemblance in
general aspect, are quite distinct as regards the species. In the
curious and useful dialect of that region, understood alike by Indians
and Portuguese, they are all called "Jacares," though they are
specifically distinguished as the _Jacare-uassu_ the _Jacare-tinga_, and
the _Jacare-curua_. Of the first kind was that which had pursued the
two swimmers, and it was one of the largest of its species, full
twenty-five feet from the point of its bony snout to the tip of its
serrated tail. No wonder they got out of its way!
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.
TREED BY AN ALLIGATOR.
For a time the two refugees were without fear or care. They knew they
were out of reach, and, so long as they kept to their perch, were in no
danger. Had it been a jaguar instead of a jacare, it would have been
another thing; but the amphibious animal could not crawl up the trunk of
a tree, nor yet ascend by the hanging limbs or llianas. Their only
feeling was that of chagrin at being stopped on their way back to their
companions in the sapucaya, knowing that their return would be
impatiently expected. They could by shouting have made themselves
heard, but not with sufficient distinctness to be understood. The
matted tree-tops intervening would have prevented this. They thought it
better to be silent, lest their shouts might cause alarm. Richard hoped
that the alligator would soon glide back to the haunt whence it had
sallied, and leave them at liberty to continue their journey, but the
Mundurucu was not so sanguine.
There was something in the behaviour of the jacare he did not like,
especially when he saw it quartering the water as if in search of the
creatures that had disappeared so mysteriously.
"Surely it won't lie in wait for us?" was the first question put by his
companion. "You don't think it will?"
"I do, young master, I do. That is just what troubles the Mundurucu.
He may keep us here for hours,--perhaps till the sun goes down."
"That would be anything but pleasant,--perhaps more so to those who are
waiting for us than to ourselves. What can we do?"
"Nothing at present. We must have patience, master."
"For my part, I shall try," replied the Paraense; "but it's very
provoking to be besieged in this fashion,--separated by only a few
hundred yards from one's friends, and yet unable to rejoin or
communicate with them."
"Ah! I wish the _Curupira_ had him. I fear the brute is going to prove
troublesome. The Mundurucu can read evil in his eye. Look! he has come
to a stand. He sees us! No knowing now when he will grow tired of our
company."
"But has it sense enough for that?"
"Sense! Ah! cunning, master may call it, when he talks of the jacare.
Surely, young master, you know that,--you who are a Paraense born and
bred? You must know that these reptiles will lie in wait for a whole
week by a bathing-place, watching for a victim,--some helpless child, or
even a grown man, who has been drinking too much _cashaca_. Ah yes!
many's the man the jacare has closed his deadly jaws upon."
"Well, I hope this one won't have that opportunity with us. We mustn't
give it."
"Not if we can help it," rejoined the Indian. "But we must be quiet,
young master, if we expect to get out of this fix in any reasonable
time. The jacare has sharp ears, small though they look. He can hear
every word we are saying; ay, and if one were to judge by the leer in
his ugly eye, he understands us."
"At all events, it appears to be listening."
So the conversation sank to silence, broken only by an occasional
whisper, and no gesture even made communication, for they saw the
leering look of the reptile fixed steadily upon them. Almost two hours
passed in this tantalising and irksome fashion.
The sun had now crossed the meridian line, and was declining westward.
The jacare had not stirred from the spot. It lay like a log upon the
water, its lurid eyes alone proclaiming its animation. For more than an
hour it had made no visible movement, and their situation was becoming
insupportable.
"But what can we do?" asked Richard, despairingly.
"We must try to travel through the tree-tops, and get to the other side.
If we can steal out of his sight and hearing, all will be well. The
Mundurucu is angry with himself; he didn't think of this before. He was
fool enough to hope the jacare would get tired first. He might have
known better, since the beast has tasted blood. That or hunger makes
him such a stanch sentinel. Come, young master!" added the Indian,
rising from his seat, and laying hold of a branch. "We must make a
journey through the tree-tops. Not a word,--not a broken bough if you
can help it. Keep close after me; watch what I do, and do you exactly
the same."
"All right, Munday," muttered the Paraense. "Lead on, old boy! I'll do
my best to follow you."
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
AN AQUA-ARBOREAL JOURNEY.