stretch of open water, there exploring some wide canal or narrow
_igarape_, perhaps to find it terminating in a _cul-de-sac_, or
_bolson_, as the Spaniards term it, hemmed in on all sides by an
impenetrable thicket of tree-tops, when there was no alternative but to
paddle back again. Sometimes these false thoroughfares would lure them
on for miles, and several hours--on one occasion a whole day--would be
spent in fruitless navigation.
It was a true wilderness through which they were wandering, but
fortunately for them it had a character different from that of a desert.
So far from this, it more resembled a grand garden, or orchard, laid
for a time under inundation.
Many kinds of fruits were met with,--strange kinds that had never been
seen by them before; and upon some of these they subsisted. The
Mundurucu alone knew them,--could tell which were to be eaten and which
avoided. Birds, too, came in their way, all eaten by the Indians, as
also various species of arboreal quadrupeds and quadrumana. The killing
and capturing of these, with the gathering of nuts and fruits to supply
their simple larder, afforded them frequent opportunities of amusement,
that did much to beguile the tediousness of their trackless straying.
Otherwise it would have been insupportable; otherwise they would have
starved.
None of them afterwards was ever able to tell how long this Gypsy life
continued,--how long they were afloat in the forest. Engrossed with the
thought of getting out of it, they took no note of time, nor made
registry of the number of suns that rose and set upon their tortuous
wanderings. There were days in which they saw not the sun, hidden from
their sight by the umbrageous canopy of gigantic trees, amidst the
trunks of which, and under their deep shadows, they rowed the igarite.
But if not known how long they roamed through this wilderness, much less
can it be told how long they might have remained within its mazes, but
for a heaven-sent vision that one morning broke upon their eyes as their
canoe shot out into a stretch of open water.
They saw a ship,--a ship sailing through the forest!
True, it was not a grand ship of the ocean,--a seventy-four, a frigate,
or a trader of a thousand tons; nevertheless it was a ship, in the
general acceptation of the term, with hull, masts, spars, sails, and
rigging. It was a two-masted schooner, a trader of the Solimoes.
The old tapuyo knew it at a glance, and hailed it with a cheer. He knew
the character of the craft. In such he had spent some of the best years
of his life, himself one of the crew. Its presence was proof that they
were once more upon their way, as the schooner was upon hers.
"Going down," said the tapuyo, "going down to Gran Para. I can tell by
the way she is laden. Look yonder. _Sarsaparilla, Vanilla, Cascarilla,
Maulega de Tortugos, Sapucoy_, and _Tonka_ beans,--all will be found
under that toldo of palm-leaves. Galliota ahoy! ahoy!"
The schooner was within short hailing distance.
"Lay to, and take passengers aboard! We want to go to Para. Our craft
isn't suited for such a long voyage."
The galliota answered the hail, and in ten minutes after the crew of the
igarite was transferred to her decks. The canoe was abandoned, while
the schooner continued on to the city of Gran Para. She was not in the
Solimoes itself, but one of its parallel branches, though, in two days
after having taken the castaways aboard, she sailed out into the main
stream, and thence glided merrily downward.
Those aboard of her were not the less gay,--the crew on discovering that
among the passengers that they had picked up were the son and brother of
their patron; and the passengers, that the craft that was carrying them
to Gran Para, as well as her cargo, was the property of Trevannion. The
young Paraense found himself on board one of his father's traders, while
the ex-miner was completing his Amazonian voyage in a "bottom" belonging
to his brother.
The tender attention which they received from the _capatoz_ of the
galliota restored their health and spirits, both sadly shattered in the
Gapo; and instead of the robber's garb and savage mien with which they
emerged from that sombre abode, fit only for the abiding-place of
beasts, birds, and reptiles, they soon recovered the cheerful looks and
decent habiliments that befitted them for a return to civilisation.
A few words will tell the rest of this story.
The brothers, once more united,--each the owner of a son and daughter,--
returned to their native land. Both widowers, they agreed to share the
same roof,--that under which they had been born. The legal usurper
could no longer keep them out of it. He was dead.
He had left behind him an only son, not a gentleman like himself, but a
spendthrift. It ended in the ill-gotten patrimony coming once more into
the market and under the hammer, the two Trevannions arriving just in
time to arrest its descent upon the desk, and turn the "going, going"
into "gone" in their own favour.
Though the estate became afterwards divided into two equal portions,--as
nearly equal as the valuer could allot them,--and under separate owners,
still was there no change in the name of the property; still was it the
Trevannion estate. The owner of each moiety was a Trevannion, and the
wife of each owner was a Trevannion, without ever having changed her
name. There is no puzzle in this. The young Paraense had a sister,--
spoken of, but much neglected, in this eventful narrative, where not
even her name has been made known. Only has it been stated that she was
one of "several sweet children."
Be it now known that she grew up to be a beautiful woman, fair-haired,
like her mother, and that her name was Florence. Much as her brother
Richard, also fair-haired, came to love her dark semi-Spanish cousin
Rosita, so did her other dark semi-Spanish cousin, Ralph, come to love
her; and as both she and Rosita reciprocated these cousinly loves, it
ended in a mutual bestowing of sisters, or a sort of cross-hands and
change-partners game of cousins,--whichever way you like to have it.
At all events, the Trevannion estates remained, and still remain, in the
keeping of Trevannions.
Were you to take a trip to the "Land's End," and visit them,--supposing
yourself to be endorsed with an introduction from me,--you would find in
the house of young Ralph, firstly, his father, old Ralph, gracefully
enacting the _role_ of grandfather; secondly, the fair Florence,
surrounded by several olive-shoots of the Trevannion stock; and,
lastly,--nay, it is most likely you will meet him first, for he will
take your hat from you in the hall,--an individual with a crop of
carroty hair, fast changing to the colour of turnips. You will know him
as Tipperary Tom. "Truth will yez."
Cross half a dozen fields, climb over a stile, under the shadow of
gigantic trees,--oaks and elms; pass along a plank foot-bridge spanning
a crystal stream full of carp and trout; go through a wicket-gate into a
splendid park, and then follow a gravelled walk that leads up to the
walls of a mansion. You can only do this coming from the other house,
for the path thus indicated is not a right of way.
Enter the dwelling to which it has guided you. Inside you will
encounter, first, a well-dressed darkey, who bids you welcome with all
the airs of an M.C. This respectable Ethiopian, venerable in look--
partly on account of his age, partly from the blanching of his black
hair--is an old acquaintance, by name Mozey.
He summons his master to your side. You cannot mistake that handsome
gentleman, though he is years older than when you last saw him. The
same open countenance, the same well-knit, vigorous frame, which, even
as a boy, were the characteristics of the young Paraense.
No more can you have forgotten that elegant lady who stands by his side,
and who, following the fashion of her Spanish-American race, frankly and
without affectation comes forth to greet you. No longer the little
Rosa, the _protegee_ of Richard, but now his wife, with other little
Rosas and Richards, promising soon to be as big as herself, and as
handsome as her husband.
The tableau is almost complete as a still older Richard appears in the
background, regarding with a satisfied air his children and
grandchildren, while saluting their guest with a graceful gesture of
welcome.
Almost complete, but not quite. A figure is absent from the canvas,
hitherto prominent in the picture. Why is it not still seen in the
foreground? Has death claimed the tapuyo for his own?
Not a bit of it. Still vigorous, still life-like as ever, he may be
seen any day upon the Amazon, upon the deck of a galliota, no longer in
the humble capacity of a tapuyo, but acting as _capatoz_,--as patron.
His old patron had not been ungrateful; and the gift of a schooner was
the reward bestowed upon the guide who had so gallantly conducted our
adventurers through the dangers of the Gapo, and shared their perils
while they were "afloat in the forest."
THE END.