Chapter Ten.

Chapter Ten.An Encounter with Savages.As there was still some daylight remaining, John took his gun to kill some parrots or other birds which might prove more palatable food than the peccary flesh.“Take care that you do not lose yourself again,” I could not help saying as he was starting.“Do not mock me, Harry,” he answered. “I wish to gain experience, and depend on it I shall be careful to take the bearings of the camp, so as easily to find my way back to it. I do not intend to go many hundred yards off.”Arthur and I were in the meantime engaged in trying to tame Master Toby and the umbrella-bird, which we called Niger. Both seemed tolerably reconciled to captivity. Ellen’s little pet parrot, Poll, kept casting suspicious glances at its feathered companion, not satisfied with the appearance of the curious-headed stranger, while Nimble watched every movement of his cousin Toby.After assisting Ellen to feed her pets, Arthur and I agreed to go out in search of John, taking Duppo with us as a guide. We had not gone far when we saw him coming limping towards us. We were afraid that he had hurt his foot. “What is the matter?” I asked, when we met.“That is more than I can tell,” he answered. “I have been for some time past feeling a curious itching sensation in my feet, and now I can scarcely bear to put them to the ground.”We helped him along to the camp, when, sitting down on a log, he took off his boots. We examined his feet, and found a few small blue spots about them.“I suspect, Señor John, I know what it is,” said Maria, who saw us. “Some chegoes have got into your feet, and if they are not taken out quickly they will cause you a great deal of suffering.”“But I can see nothing to take out,” said John, looking at his feet.“To be sure not,” answered Maria, “because they have hidden themselves away under the skin. Let me see what I can do. My mother was famous for taking out chegoes, and she showed me the way she managed.”Maria, running into the hut, returned with a large needle. “Now, sit quiet, Señor John, and do not cry out, and I will soon cure you.”Maria sat down, and taking John’s foot on her knee, instantly began to work away with as much skill as the most experienced surgeon. We all stood by watching her. After a little time she produced between her finger and thumb a creature considerably smaller than an ordinary flea, which she had taken out alive and uninjured. Giving it a squeeze, she threw it to the ground with an expression of anger at its having dared to molest her young master; and thus in a very short time she had extracted three or four insects from each of his feet. We had meantime begun to feel something uncomfortable in ours, and on Maria’s examining them, we found that a chego had taken possession of each of our big toes. The chego is a black little creature, which makes its way quietly under the skin, where, having got to a sufficient depth, it lays its eggs, and unless removed immediately, causes annoying and dangerous ulcers. Ours were not there when we started to look for John, and by this time they had worked their way completely out of sight. After that we carefully examined our legs and feet every night before going to bed, as during the time we were asleep they would have made themselves completely at home in our flesh, with house, nursery, and children to boot.Next morning, our feet being once more in good order, we put on thick socks, and our alpargates over them, and John and I with our guns, Arthur with his bow and spear, accompanied by True, and led by Duppo, took our way through the forest. I kept True close to me; for after the experience we had had, I was afraid of his encountering a jaguar, or peccary, or boa, knowing, however formidable the creature might be, he to a certainty would attack it. I need not again describe the forest scenery. After going on for some time we stopped to lunch, when Arthur, who was at a little distance, called out to me. “Come here, Harry,” he said, “and look at this curious wooden caterpillar.” On joining him, I found on a leaf the head of a caterpillar projecting out of a wooden case fully two inches long. It was secured to the leaf by several silken lines. I took it up and examined it. There could be no doubt that the case was the work of art, and not a natural growth, and that it was formed of small pieces of stick fastened together with fine silken threads. Inside this case the creature can live secure from its enemies while feeding and growing. We afterwards found several of the same description. Another sort had made itself a bag of leaves open at both ends, the inside being lined with a thick web. It put us in mind of the caddis worms which we had seen in ponds in England.We took care when going on always to keep in sight of each other. Arthur and I were together, and Duppo a little ahead. “Hark!” exclaimed Arthur, “some one is singing in the distance.” I listened, and felt sure that some native, who had climbed up a tree not far off to get fruit, was amusing himself by singing. John and Duppo stopped also, attracted by the same sounds. We looked about in every direction, but could see no one. Now the tones changed somewhat, and became more like those of a flageolet, very sweet, and we expected to hear it break into a curious native air, when presently it stopped, and instead of the flute-like notes, some clicking, unmusical sounds like the piping of a barrel-organ out of wind and tune reached our ears. Not till then had we supposed that the songster was a bird. Again it struck up in exactly the same way as before. Though we all four looked about in the direction whence the notes came, the mysterious songster could not be discovered. Duppo was evidently telling us a long story about it, but what he said we could not comprehend. I afterwards found that the bird is called by the Portuguese the realejo, or organ-bird (Cyphorhinus cantans). It is the chief songster of the Amazonian forests. The natives hold it in great respect, and Duppo seemed very unwilling to go on while the bird continued its notes.At length we reached the village, and were received in a friendly way by our young guide’s mother. Oria also seemed very glad to see us, and the little fat child whom Arthur called Diogenes, because he had first seen him seated in a tub, put out his hands to welcome us, in no way alarmed at what must have appeared to him our extraordinary appearance. Our hostess appeared somewhat anxious, and she had good cause to be so, for no news had been received of the war-party. Duppo explained what we had come for. She replied that she was afraid all the canoes had been carried off, though it was possible a small one might have been overlooked further up the stream, and, if such were the case, she would do her best to persuade the owner to sell it to us.We wanted to start off immediately, but she insisted on our partaking of some food, which she and Oria set to work to prepare.As we were anxious to know whether a canoe could be procured, we spent little time over our repast, and again set off along the bank of the igarape. We inquired at each of the huts we passed about a canoe, but Duppo invariably shook his head, to signify that he could not hear of one. Still we went on, searching in every spot where he thought a canoe might be concealed. After some time, finding a tree bending almost horizontally over the water, we climbed along it for some way, that we might get a better view up and down the channel. Arthur was the outermost of the party. “Why, what can that be?” he exclaimed. “See there!” and he pointed up the canal. There, bending over the trunk of a large tree, which hung much in the same manner as the one we were on, I saw a huge jaguar. Its claws seemed ready for immediate action. Its eyes were evidently fixed on the surface of the water.“It is fifty yards off. It is looking out for a cow-fish, as was the one we saw the other day,” whispered Arthur.We told John, who was coming along the trunk, what we had seen.“We will let it catch the cow-fish first, then, and perhaps we may kill both creatures,” he observed.While he was speaking, the creature darted out one of its huge paws, and drew it back again with a fish hanging to it. Instantly the fish was torn to pieces and transferred to its jaws. We waited till the jaguar had begun to watch for another, and then crawling along the tree, made our way towards it. John and I got our guns ready, hoping to kill the beast before it had discovered us. Just as we got near, however, it having caught another fish in the meantime, its eyes fell on us. Rising to its feet, it stood for a moment as if doubtful whether or not it should attack us. I lifted my rifle to fire, but at that moment the animal gave a bound and darted off through the thick foliage, amid which it was hid from sight. We looked about, expecting to see it returning, but it had probably satisfied itself that we were too formidable enemies to attack. We found some of the fish it had been eating on the trunk of the tree, and the remains of several others near it, which showed that it had been successful in its sport.While searching round the tree Duppo gave a shout of satisfaction, and hastening up to him, we found a small canoe hid away under a thick bush. He soon discovered also two pairs of paddles, and made us understand that we were welcome to the canoe. It was, however, so small that it would barely carry all the party. It would certainly not have done so with safety, except in the very smoothest water. We launched it, and John and Arthur, using great caution, got in. One of the paddles had been left behind. Duppo ran back to get it. We saw him eagerly glancing down an open glade which extended some distance into the forest. Suddenly he turned round, his countenance exhibiting terror, and stepping into the stern of the canoe, made signs to us to shove off and paddle away. He also began paddling with all his might. We followed his example without stopping to inquire the cause of his alarm. We had got to some distance, when I happened to look round. I saw that Duppo was doing the same. At that moment several figures appeared on the bank near the spot we had left. They were savages, with their bodies painted and decked with feathers. Bows were in their hands. They had apparently only that instant discovered us. The next a flight of arrows came whizzing after the canoe. They fell short, however, and we redoubled our efforts to urge it forward. Still, deep in the water as it was, we could scarcely hope to get beyond their reach.“Majeronas! Majeronas!” shouted Duppo, labouring away with his paddle.“On, boys, on!” cried John. “We must not allow them to come up with us. Active as they are, the forest is thick, and we may be able to get along the water faster than they can make their way among the trees.”Disappointed at finding that we were already beyond their reach, the savages uttered piercing shrieks and cries to intimidate us. The water bubbled and hissed as we drove our little canoe through it, coming frequently over the bows. Still on we went. I could not, however, help every now and then looking round, expecting to see the savages on the bank neat us. Their shouts had ceased.“I am afraid our friends have been defeated,” observed Arthur; “and their enemies have come to attack the village.”“If so, we must defend it,” said John. “They may possibly stand in awe of our firearms. We must, however, try to get to the village before they reach it, to warn the inhabitants.”“But there are only old men, boys, and women to defend it,” said Arthur. “Could we not try to come to terms with their enemies?”“I am afraid the Majeronas, if they have been victorious, are not likely to listen to anything we have to say,” said John. “We must show them our rifles. They will understand that argument better than anything else.”All this time we were paddling along as at first. Before us was a narrow part of the igarape, and I fully expected every instant to see the savages appear on the bank. Still, we had made considerable way, and it was possible that we had kept ahead of them. I said nothing, however, lest it might discourage my companions.We were nearing the dreaded point. I saw that Duppo was keeping the canoe over to the opposite side.“Would it not be better to get our guns ready to fire?” I said to John.“No, no,” he answered. “Keep paddling away. There is no honour nor advantage to be gained by fighting. If we reach the village, we shall meet the foe on better terms.”It was anxious work. We could not tell whether the next moment might not be our last. Then what would become of poor dear Ellen? We knew that Domingos and Maria would do their best. Still, how could they escape alone?“Now,” said John, “we must dash by that point as fast as we can! Never mind if we ship a little water. We must not let the savages kill us if we can help it.”The point was reached. I expected to see a party of the Majeronas start up from among the bushes. On we went. I held my breath as I paddled away. The point was passed. No savages appeared.“Hurrah!” cried Arthur, who was seated in the bows. “There is the village!”In three minutes more we were on shore. Duppo set off running, shouting at the top of his voice. The boys collected round him as he went, but instantly dispersed to their huts. Before he was out of sight they had again collected, some with bows and arrows, others withsumpitans. Several old men appeared also, armed with larger weapons of the same description. Altogether, fully fifty men and boys were collected. We came to the conclusion that the enemy had hoped to surprise the village, and were approaching for that object when Duppo had discovered them.John advised that a breastwork should be thrown up, extending from the igarape across the path the Majeronas were likely to come by. After some time, our friends seemed to comprehend what we wanted. Some timbers for building a new hut were fortunately at hand. We drove several into the soft earth to form a palisade. The natives, on seeing us do this, understood what we wanted, and immediately the whole community were busy at work, bringing up posts, and placing them as we directed. They even pulled down three or four huts which stood near, the materials of which were suited to our purpose. The women worked away as well as the men; and thus, with so many willing hands, in a short time we had a fortification erected, which, though not very strong, was sufficiently so to resist the attack of a party of naked savages. We encouraged them by explaining that our guns might do good service in their defence. By degrees we had formed a complete half-circle, the ends resting on the igarape.As there still appeared to be time, we thought it better to fortify the water side also. The people seemed clearly to understand our object.The evening was now drawing on. I was afraid that Ellen might become anxious at our non-appearance. I saw that something was on Arthur’s mind. He came up to me.“Harry,” he said, “I do not wish to alarm you unnecessarily, but it has just occurred to me that the savages may have made a circuit, and found their way to our camp. Would it not be wise to go there in the canoe; you and Duppo, for instance, and leave John and I to assist these people?”“Oh no! I cannot desert John,” I answered. “But what a dreadful thought! No; you must go, Arthur, and take them off in the canoe; or, as the canoe cannot carry you all, load the raft, and tow it out into the river. The risk is great, but anything will be better than falling into the hands of the savages.”“I will do as you wish,” said Arthur; “but I do not like running away from the post of the chief danger.”“Why, Arthur, you see you could do but little with your bow,” I answered; “John and I will stay with our guns. But I do not suppose the savages have gone round that way; for recollect there is the lagoon to pass, which must compel them to make a wide circuit; and I do not see how they can know anything about our camp. Still, I wish you could go to Ellen, and tell her what a strong fortification we have thrown up, and that there is really no cause to be alarmed.”I must confess, however, that all the time I was speaking I felt fearfully anxious.At that moment, two or three bigger boys, who had gone out as scouts into the forest, came running back, and shouting out to the people. The next instant, men, women, and children rushed into the enclosure loaded with household goods and provisions; and the men set to work to block up a narrow space, which had hitherto been left open.A few minutes only had elapsed after this was done, when, as we looked through the palisades, we caught sight of several human figures stealthily creeping among the trees. Our friends crouched down to the ground. We also carefully kept out of sight. The strangers approached nearer and nearer. Now they stopped, looking suspiciously at the fort. They evidently could not understand what it was. Several others, emerging from the depths of the forest, joined them. They seemed to be holding a consultation. Their numbers kept increasing, till they formed a formidable band. They were sufficiently near for us to distinguish their appearance, and we were thus sure that they were the same people who had shot their arrows at us from the bank of the igarape. That they came with hostile intent was very evident. After they had talked for some time, one of their number crept forward, close to the ground, keeping as much under shelter as possible; yet I could easily have picked him off had it been necessary. Having approached quite near, he again stopped, and seemed to be surveying the fortress. Presently we saw him making his way back to his companions. It was well for him that he had not come nearer, or he would have received in his body a poisoned arrow from a bow or blow-pipe. Several of our Indians were preparing to shoot. Again a long consultation was held. And now once more the savage warriors began to move towards us.I waited for John to give the order to fire. I saw the boys dropping arrows into their blow-pipes, and the old men getting ready their bows. Even Arthur, though hating the thought of injuring a fellow-creature, was fixing an arrow to his bow. The enemy advanced slowly, extending their line on both sides. In a little time they were near enough for their arrows to reach us. Never having seen a shot fired in anger, I felt a repugnance at the thought of killing a fellow-creature. I daresay my companions felt as I did. I knew that Arthur had often expressed his horror at having to go into battle, not on account of the risk he might run of being killed, but at the thought of killing others. Still, I had persuaded him that, if people are attacked, they must use the right of defending themselves.Again they came on; and then suddenly once more stopped, and, drawing their bows, shot a flight of arrows. Most of them stuck in the palisades, but fortunately none came through. We kept perfectly silent, hiding ourselves, as before, from the enemy. I was still in hopes they might take the alarm and go away without attacking us. Now, led by a chief, in a head-dress of feathers, with a long spear in his hand, uttering loud shouts and shrieks, like the war-whoops of North American Indians, they dashed on. As they got within twenty yards of us, our native garrison sprang up, and shot forth a shower of arrows from their bows and blow-pipes. The enemy were thrown somewhat into confusion by so unexpected a greeting, and sprang back several paces. Two or three of their people had been struck, as we saw them drawing the arrows from their breasts with looks of alarm, knowing well that though the wounds were slight they were nevertheless likely to prove fatal.“If they come on again we must fire,” said John. “It may be true mercy in the end.”We waited, expecting to see them once more rush on; but they evidently had not calculated on opposition, and seemed very unwilling to court danger. They retreated further and further off. Still we could see the chief going among them, apparently trying to induce them to renew the attack. The muzzles of our rifles were projecting through the palisades.“I am covering the chief,” said John. “I think it would be better to pick him off; and yet I am unwilling to take the life of the ignorant savage.”While John was speaking, the chief disappeared behind a tree; and the next instant his companions were hid from sight. We began to hope that, after all, they would retreat without attempting to attack our fortress. We waited for some time, when I proposed that we should send out our young scouts to try and ascertain what had become of them. Just as we were trying to explain our wishes, some of our people gave vent to loud cries, and we saw smoke rising from the furthest-off huts of the village. It grew thicker and thicker. Then we saw flames bursting forth and extending from hut to hut. It was too evident that the savages had gone round, and, to revenge themselves, had, after plundering the huts, set them on fire. Had we had a few active warrior with us, they might have rushed out and attacked the enemy while thus employed; but as our fighting men were either too old or too young, no attempt of the sort could be made. The poor natives, therefore, had to wait patiently in the fort, whilst their homes and property were being destroyed.While most of the party were looking towards the village, I happened to cast my eyes in the other direction, from whence the enemy had come. There I saw a large body of men making their way among the trees. My heart sank within me. I was afraid that our enemies were about to be reinforced. And now, with their numbers increased, they would probably again attack us.“It cannot be helped,” I said to John. “We must allow no feelings of compunction to prevent us from firing on them. Had we shot the chief, his followers would probably not have attempted to commit this barbarous act.”At length I called Duppo, and pointed out the fresh band now approaching. Instead of being alarmed, as I had expected, his countenance brightened, and he instantly turned round and shouted out some words in a cheerful tone. The whole of the villagers on this sprang up, and a look of satisfaction, such as Indians seldom exhibit, coming over their countenances, they began to shout in cheerful tones. Then several of them rushed to the entrance last closed, and pulling down the stakes, hurried out towards the new-comers. As they drew nearer, I recognised one of the chiefs whom we had met—Maono, Duppo’s father. A few words only were exchanged between the garrison and the warriors, and then the latter rushed on towards the village. In a few minutes loud cries and shouts arose, and we saw our late assailants scampering through the woods, pursued by our friends. The former did not attempt to stop and defend themselves. Several, shot by arrows or pierced by lances, lay on the ground. The remainder were soon lost to sight among the trees, pursued by the warriors who had just returned, and who seemed eager to wreak their revenge on the destroyers of their village.No attempt was made to put out the flames; indeed, so rapidly did they extend among the combustible materials of which they were constructed, that the whole of the huts standing within reach of each other were quickly burned to the ground. We now ventured to accompany Oria and her mother out of the fort. They were met by Maono, who received them in calm Indian fashion, without giving way to any exhibition of feeling. He, indeed, seemed to have some sad intelligence to communicate. Whatever it was, they soon recovered, and now seemed to be telling him how much they owed their preservation to us—at least we supposed so by the way he took our hands and pressed them to his breast. After some time the rest of the warriors returned, and, as far as we could judge, they must have destroyed the greater number of their enemies. Maono showed more feeling when he spoke to his son, who gave him an account of what had occurred. As we hoped to learn more from our young friend than from any one else, we set to work, as soon as we could detach him from his companions, to make him give us an account of the expedition.As far as we could understand, Maono and his brother with their followers had been unable for some time to fall in with the enemy. At length they met them in the neighbourhood of their own village, when a fierce battle had been fought according to Indian fashion. Several men had been killed on both sides, and among others who fell, pierced by a poisoned arrow, was Duppo’s uncle, whose musket also had been captured. Several others had been taken prisoners, and, the lad added with a shudder, had been carried off to be eaten. In the meantime, it turned out, another party of the Majeronas, hoping to find our friend’s village unprotected, had made their way through the forest to surprise it.It was very satisfactory to us, at all events, to find that we had been the means of protecting the families of these friendly Indians. They took the burning of their village very calmly, and at once set to work to put up shelter for the night; fires were lighted, and the women began to cook the provisions they had saved. Maono invited us to partake of the meal which his wife and daughter had got ready. We would rather have set off at once to the camp, but night was now coming on, and when we proposed going, Duppo seemed very unwilling that we should do so. We understood him to say that we might encounter jaguars or huge snakes, and we should be unable to see our way through the dark avenue of trees. As Ellen did not expect us to return, we agreed at length to follow his advice. I observed that our friends sent out scouts—apparently to watch lest any of the enemy should venture to return—a precaution I was very glad to see taken.As far as we could understand, the expedition had been far from successful, as none of the canoes had been recovered, and our friends did not even boast that they had gained a victory. From the terrible character Duppo gave of the enemy, they perhaps had good reason to be thankful that they had escaped without greater loss.

As there was still some daylight remaining, John took his gun to kill some parrots or other birds which might prove more palatable food than the peccary flesh.

“Take care that you do not lose yourself again,” I could not help saying as he was starting.

“Do not mock me, Harry,” he answered. “I wish to gain experience, and depend on it I shall be careful to take the bearings of the camp, so as easily to find my way back to it. I do not intend to go many hundred yards off.”

Arthur and I were in the meantime engaged in trying to tame Master Toby and the umbrella-bird, which we called Niger. Both seemed tolerably reconciled to captivity. Ellen’s little pet parrot, Poll, kept casting suspicious glances at its feathered companion, not satisfied with the appearance of the curious-headed stranger, while Nimble watched every movement of his cousin Toby.

After assisting Ellen to feed her pets, Arthur and I agreed to go out in search of John, taking Duppo with us as a guide. We had not gone far when we saw him coming limping towards us. We were afraid that he had hurt his foot. “What is the matter?” I asked, when we met.

“That is more than I can tell,” he answered. “I have been for some time past feeling a curious itching sensation in my feet, and now I can scarcely bear to put them to the ground.”

We helped him along to the camp, when, sitting down on a log, he took off his boots. We examined his feet, and found a few small blue spots about them.

“I suspect, Señor John, I know what it is,” said Maria, who saw us. “Some chegoes have got into your feet, and if they are not taken out quickly they will cause you a great deal of suffering.”

“But I can see nothing to take out,” said John, looking at his feet.

“To be sure not,” answered Maria, “because they have hidden themselves away under the skin. Let me see what I can do. My mother was famous for taking out chegoes, and she showed me the way she managed.”

Maria, running into the hut, returned with a large needle. “Now, sit quiet, Señor John, and do not cry out, and I will soon cure you.”

Maria sat down, and taking John’s foot on her knee, instantly began to work away with as much skill as the most experienced surgeon. We all stood by watching her. After a little time she produced between her finger and thumb a creature considerably smaller than an ordinary flea, which she had taken out alive and uninjured. Giving it a squeeze, she threw it to the ground with an expression of anger at its having dared to molest her young master; and thus in a very short time she had extracted three or four insects from each of his feet. We had meantime begun to feel something uncomfortable in ours, and on Maria’s examining them, we found that a chego had taken possession of each of our big toes. The chego is a black little creature, which makes its way quietly under the skin, where, having got to a sufficient depth, it lays its eggs, and unless removed immediately, causes annoying and dangerous ulcers. Ours were not there when we started to look for John, and by this time they had worked their way completely out of sight. After that we carefully examined our legs and feet every night before going to bed, as during the time we were asleep they would have made themselves completely at home in our flesh, with house, nursery, and children to boot.

Next morning, our feet being once more in good order, we put on thick socks, and our alpargates over them, and John and I with our guns, Arthur with his bow and spear, accompanied by True, and led by Duppo, took our way through the forest. I kept True close to me; for after the experience we had had, I was afraid of his encountering a jaguar, or peccary, or boa, knowing, however formidable the creature might be, he to a certainty would attack it. I need not again describe the forest scenery. After going on for some time we stopped to lunch, when Arthur, who was at a little distance, called out to me. “Come here, Harry,” he said, “and look at this curious wooden caterpillar.” On joining him, I found on a leaf the head of a caterpillar projecting out of a wooden case fully two inches long. It was secured to the leaf by several silken lines. I took it up and examined it. There could be no doubt that the case was the work of art, and not a natural growth, and that it was formed of small pieces of stick fastened together with fine silken threads. Inside this case the creature can live secure from its enemies while feeding and growing. We afterwards found several of the same description. Another sort had made itself a bag of leaves open at both ends, the inside being lined with a thick web. It put us in mind of the caddis worms which we had seen in ponds in England.

We took care when going on always to keep in sight of each other. Arthur and I were together, and Duppo a little ahead. “Hark!” exclaimed Arthur, “some one is singing in the distance.” I listened, and felt sure that some native, who had climbed up a tree not far off to get fruit, was amusing himself by singing. John and Duppo stopped also, attracted by the same sounds. We looked about in every direction, but could see no one. Now the tones changed somewhat, and became more like those of a flageolet, very sweet, and we expected to hear it break into a curious native air, when presently it stopped, and instead of the flute-like notes, some clicking, unmusical sounds like the piping of a barrel-organ out of wind and tune reached our ears. Not till then had we supposed that the songster was a bird. Again it struck up in exactly the same way as before. Though we all four looked about in the direction whence the notes came, the mysterious songster could not be discovered. Duppo was evidently telling us a long story about it, but what he said we could not comprehend. I afterwards found that the bird is called by the Portuguese the realejo, or organ-bird (Cyphorhinus cantans). It is the chief songster of the Amazonian forests. The natives hold it in great respect, and Duppo seemed very unwilling to go on while the bird continued its notes.

At length we reached the village, and were received in a friendly way by our young guide’s mother. Oria also seemed very glad to see us, and the little fat child whom Arthur called Diogenes, because he had first seen him seated in a tub, put out his hands to welcome us, in no way alarmed at what must have appeared to him our extraordinary appearance. Our hostess appeared somewhat anxious, and she had good cause to be so, for no news had been received of the war-party. Duppo explained what we had come for. She replied that she was afraid all the canoes had been carried off, though it was possible a small one might have been overlooked further up the stream, and, if such were the case, she would do her best to persuade the owner to sell it to us.

We wanted to start off immediately, but she insisted on our partaking of some food, which she and Oria set to work to prepare.

As we were anxious to know whether a canoe could be procured, we spent little time over our repast, and again set off along the bank of the igarape. We inquired at each of the huts we passed about a canoe, but Duppo invariably shook his head, to signify that he could not hear of one. Still we went on, searching in every spot where he thought a canoe might be concealed. After some time, finding a tree bending almost horizontally over the water, we climbed along it for some way, that we might get a better view up and down the channel. Arthur was the outermost of the party. “Why, what can that be?” he exclaimed. “See there!” and he pointed up the canal. There, bending over the trunk of a large tree, which hung much in the same manner as the one we were on, I saw a huge jaguar. Its claws seemed ready for immediate action. Its eyes were evidently fixed on the surface of the water.

“It is fifty yards off. It is looking out for a cow-fish, as was the one we saw the other day,” whispered Arthur.

We told John, who was coming along the trunk, what we had seen.

“We will let it catch the cow-fish first, then, and perhaps we may kill both creatures,” he observed.

While he was speaking, the creature darted out one of its huge paws, and drew it back again with a fish hanging to it. Instantly the fish was torn to pieces and transferred to its jaws. We waited till the jaguar had begun to watch for another, and then crawling along the tree, made our way towards it. John and I got our guns ready, hoping to kill the beast before it had discovered us. Just as we got near, however, it having caught another fish in the meantime, its eyes fell on us. Rising to its feet, it stood for a moment as if doubtful whether or not it should attack us. I lifted my rifle to fire, but at that moment the animal gave a bound and darted off through the thick foliage, amid which it was hid from sight. We looked about, expecting to see it returning, but it had probably satisfied itself that we were too formidable enemies to attack. We found some of the fish it had been eating on the trunk of the tree, and the remains of several others near it, which showed that it had been successful in its sport.

While searching round the tree Duppo gave a shout of satisfaction, and hastening up to him, we found a small canoe hid away under a thick bush. He soon discovered also two pairs of paddles, and made us understand that we were welcome to the canoe. It was, however, so small that it would barely carry all the party. It would certainly not have done so with safety, except in the very smoothest water. We launched it, and John and Arthur, using great caution, got in. One of the paddles had been left behind. Duppo ran back to get it. We saw him eagerly glancing down an open glade which extended some distance into the forest. Suddenly he turned round, his countenance exhibiting terror, and stepping into the stern of the canoe, made signs to us to shove off and paddle away. He also began paddling with all his might. We followed his example without stopping to inquire the cause of his alarm. We had got to some distance, when I happened to look round. I saw that Duppo was doing the same. At that moment several figures appeared on the bank near the spot we had left. They were savages, with their bodies painted and decked with feathers. Bows were in their hands. They had apparently only that instant discovered us. The next a flight of arrows came whizzing after the canoe. They fell short, however, and we redoubled our efforts to urge it forward. Still, deep in the water as it was, we could scarcely hope to get beyond their reach.

“Majeronas! Majeronas!” shouted Duppo, labouring away with his paddle.

“On, boys, on!” cried John. “We must not allow them to come up with us. Active as they are, the forest is thick, and we may be able to get along the water faster than they can make their way among the trees.”

Disappointed at finding that we were already beyond their reach, the savages uttered piercing shrieks and cries to intimidate us. The water bubbled and hissed as we drove our little canoe through it, coming frequently over the bows. Still on we went. I could not, however, help every now and then looking round, expecting to see the savages on the bank neat us. Their shouts had ceased.

“I am afraid our friends have been defeated,” observed Arthur; “and their enemies have come to attack the village.”

“If so, we must defend it,” said John. “They may possibly stand in awe of our firearms. We must, however, try to get to the village before they reach it, to warn the inhabitants.”

“But there are only old men, boys, and women to defend it,” said Arthur. “Could we not try to come to terms with their enemies?”

“I am afraid the Majeronas, if they have been victorious, are not likely to listen to anything we have to say,” said John. “We must show them our rifles. They will understand that argument better than anything else.”

All this time we were paddling along as at first. Before us was a narrow part of the igarape, and I fully expected every instant to see the savages appear on the bank. Still, we had made considerable way, and it was possible that we had kept ahead of them. I said nothing, however, lest it might discourage my companions.

We were nearing the dreaded point. I saw that Duppo was keeping the canoe over to the opposite side.

“Would it not be better to get our guns ready to fire?” I said to John.

“No, no,” he answered. “Keep paddling away. There is no honour nor advantage to be gained by fighting. If we reach the village, we shall meet the foe on better terms.”

It was anxious work. We could not tell whether the next moment might not be our last. Then what would become of poor dear Ellen? We knew that Domingos and Maria would do their best. Still, how could they escape alone?

“Now,” said John, “we must dash by that point as fast as we can! Never mind if we ship a little water. We must not let the savages kill us if we can help it.”

The point was reached. I expected to see a party of the Majeronas start up from among the bushes. On we went. I held my breath as I paddled away. The point was passed. No savages appeared.

“Hurrah!” cried Arthur, who was seated in the bows. “There is the village!”

In three minutes more we were on shore. Duppo set off running, shouting at the top of his voice. The boys collected round him as he went, but instantly dispersed to their huts. Before he was out of sight they had again collected, some with bows and arrows, others withsumpitans. Several old men appeared also, armed with larger weapons of the same description. Altogether, fully fifty men and boys were collected. We came to the conclusion that the enemy had hoped to surprise the village, and were approaching for that object when Duppo had discovered them.

John advised that a breastwork should be thrown up, extending from the igarape across the path the Majeronas were likely to come by. After some time, our friends seemed to comprehend what we wanted. Some timbers for building a new hut were fortunately at hand. We drove several into the soft earth to form a palisade. The natives, on seeing us do this, understood what we wanted, and immediately the whole community were busy at work, bringing up posts, and placing them as we directed. They even pulled down three or four huts which stood near, the materials of which were suited to our purpose. The women worked away as well as the men; and thus, with so many willing hands, in a short time we had a fortification erected, which, though not very strong, was sufficiently so to resist the attack of a party of naked savages. We encouraged them by explaining that our guns might do good service in their defence. By degrees we had formed a complete half-circle, the ends resting on the igarape.

As there still appeared to be time, we thought it better to fortify the water side also. The people seemed clearly to understand our object.

The evening was now drawing on. I was afraid that Ellen might become anxious at our non-appearance. I saw that something was on Arthur’s mind. He came up to me.

“Harry,” he said, “I do not wish to alarm you unnecessarily, but it has just occurred to me that the savages may have made a circuit, and found their way to our camp. Would it not be wise to go there in the canoe; you and Duppo, for instance, and leave John and I to assist these people?”

“Oh no! I cannot desert John,” I answered. “But what a dreadful thought! No; you must go, Arthur, and take them off in the canoe; or, as the canoe cannot carry you all, load the raft, and tow it out into the river. The risk is great, but anything will be better than falling into the hands of the savages.”

“I will do as you wish,” said Arthur; “but I do not like running away from the post of the chief danger.”

“Why, Arthur, you see you could do but little with your bow,” I answered; “John and I will stay with our guns. But I do not suppose the savages have gone round that way; for recollect there is the lagoon to pass, which must compel them to make a wide circuit; and I do not see how they can know anything about our camp. Still, I wish you could go to Ellen, and tell her what a strong fortification we have thrown up, and that there is really no cause to be alarmed.”

I must confess, however, that all the time I was speaking I felt fearfully anxious.

At that moment, two or three bigger boys, who had gone out as scouts into the forest, came running back, and shouting out to the people. The next instant, men, women, and children rushed into the enclosure loaded with household goods and provisions; and the men set to work to block up a narrow space, which had hitherto been left open.

A few minutes only had elapsed after this was done, when, as we looked through the palisades, we caught sight of several human figures stealthily creeping among the trees. Our friends crouched down to the ground. We also carefully kept out of sight. The strangers approached nearer and nearer. Now they stopped, looking suspiciously at the fort. They evidently could not understand what it was. Several others, emerging from the depths of the forest, joined them. They seemed to be holding a consultation. Their numbers kept increasing, till they formed a formidable band. They were sufficiently near for us to distinguish their appearance, and we were thus sure that they were the same people who had shot their arrows at us from the bank of the igarape. That they came with hostile intent was very evident. After they had talked for some time, one of their number crept forward, close to the ground, keeping as much under shelter as possible; yet I could easily have picked him off had it been necessary. Having approached quite near, he again stopped, and seemed to be surveying the fortress. Presently we saw him making his way back to his companions. It was well for him that he had not come nearer, or he would have received in his body a poisoned arrow from a bow or blow-pipe. Several of our Indians were preparing to shoot. Again a long consultation was held. And now once more the savage warriors began to move towards us.

I waited for John to give the order to fire. I saw the boys dropping arrows into their blow-pipes, and the old men getting ready their bows. Even Arthur, though hating the thought of injuring a fellow-creature, was fixing an arrow to his bow. The enemy advanced slowly, extending their line on both sides. In a little time they were near enough for their arrows to reach us. Never having seen a shot fired in anger, I felt a repugnance at the thought of killing a fellow-creature. I daresay my companions felt as I did. I knew that Arthur had often expressed his horror at having to go into battle, not on account of the risk he might run of being killed, but at the thought of killing others. Still, I had persuaded him that, if people are attacked, they must use the right of defending themselves.

Again they came on; and then suddenly once more stopped, and, drawing their bows, shot a flight of arrows. Most of them stuck in the palisades, but fortunately none came through. We kept perfectly silent, hiding ourselves, as before, from the enemy. I was still in hopes they might take the alarm and go away without attacking us. Now, led by a chief, in a head-dress of feathers, with a long spear in his hand, uttering loud shouts and shrieks, like the war-whoops of North American Indians, they dashed on. As they got within twenty yards of us, our native garrison sprang up, and shot forth a shower of arrows from their bows and blow-pipes. The enemy were thrown somewhat into confusion by so unexpected a greeting, and sprang back several paces. Two or three of their people had been struck, as we saw them drawing the arrows from their breasts with looks of alarm, knowing well that though the wounds were slight they were nevertheless likely to prove fatal.

“If they come on again we must fire,” said John. “It may be true mercy in the end.”

We waited, expecting to see them once more rush on; but they evidently had not calculated on opposition, and seemed very unwilling to court danger. They retreated further and further off. Still we could see the chief going among them, apparently trying to induce them to renew the attack. The muzzles of our rifles were projecting through the palisades.

“I am covering the chief,” said John. “I think it would be better to pick him off; and yet I am unwilling to take the life of the ignorant savage.”

While John was speaking, the chief disappeared behind a tree; and the next instant his companions were hid from sight. We began to hope that, after all, they would retreat without attempting to attack our fortress. We waited for some time, when I proposed that we should send out our young scouts to try and ascertain what had become of them. Just as we were trying to explain our wishes, some of our people gave vent to loud cries, and we saw smoke rising from the furthest-off huts of the village. It grew thicker and thicker. Then we saw flames bursting forth and extending from hut to hut. It was too evident that the savages had gone round, and, to revenge themselves, had, after plundering the huts, set them on fire. Had we had a few active warrior with us, they might have rushed out and attacked the enemy while thus employed; but as our fighting men were either too old or too young, no attempt of the sort could be made. The poor natives, therefore, had to wait patiently in the fort, whilst their homes and property were being destroyed.

While most of the party were looking towards the village, I happened to cast my eyes in the other direction, from whence the enemy had come. There I saw a large body of men making their way among the trees. My heart sank within me. I was afraid that our enemies were about to be reinforced. And now, with their numbers increased, they would probably again attack us.

“It cannot be helped,” I said to John. “We must allow no feelings of compunction to prevent us from firing on them. Had we shot the chief, his followers would probably not have attempted to commit this barbarous act.”

At length I called Duppo, and pointed out the fresh band now approaching. Instead of being alarmed, as I had expected, his countenance brightened, and he instantly turned round and shouted out some words in a cheerful tone. The whole of the villagers on this sprang up, and a look of satisfaction, such as Indians seldom exhibit, coming over their countenances, they began to shout in cheerful tones. Then several of them rushed to the entrance last closed, and pulling down the stakes, hurried out towards the new-comers. As they drew nearer, I recognised one of the chiefs whom we had met—Maono, Duppo’s father. A few words only were exchanged between the garrison and the warriors, and then the latter rushed on towards the village. In a few minutes loud cries and shouts arose, and we saw our late assailants scampering through the woods, pursued by our friends. The former did not attempt to stop and defend themselves. Several, shot by arrows or pierced by lances, lay on the ground. The remainder were soon lost to sight among the trees, pursued by the warriors who had just returned, and who seemed eager to wreak their revenge on the destroyers of their village.

No attempt was made to put out the flames; indeed, so rapidly did they extend among the combustible materials of which they were constructed, that the whole of the huts standing within reach of each other were quickly burned to the ground. We now ventured to accompany Oria and her mother out of the fort. They were met by Maono, who received them in calm Indian fashion, without giving way to any exhibition of feeling. He, indeed, seemed to have some sad intelligence to communicate. Whatever it was, they soon recovered, and now seemed to be telling him how much they owed their preservation to us—at least we supposed so by the way he took our hands and pressed them to his breast. After some time the rest of the warriors returned, and, as far as we could judge, they must have destroyed the greater number of their enemies. Maono showed more feeling when he spoke to his son, who gave him an account of what had occurred. As we hoped to learn more from our young friend than from any one else, we set to work, as soon as we could detach him from his companions, to make him give us an account of the expedition.

As far as we could understand, Maono and his brother with their followers had been unable for some time to fall in with the enemy. At length they met them in the neighbourhood of their own village, when a fierce battle had been fought according to Indian fashion. Several men had been killed on both sides, and among others who fell, pierced by a poisoned arrow, was Duppo’s uncle, whose musket also had been captured. Several others had been taken prisoners, and, the lad added with a shudder, had been carried off to be eaten. In the meantime, it turned out, another party of the Majeronas, hoping to find our friend’s village unprotected, had made their way through the forest to surprise it.

It was very satisfactory to us, at all events, to find that we had been the means of protecting the families of these friendly Indians. They took the burning of their village very calmly, and at once set to work to put up shelter for the night; fires were lighted, and the women began to cook the provisions they had saved. Maono invited us to partake of the meal which his wife and daughter had got ready. We would rather have set off at once to the camp, but night was now coming on, and when we proposed going, Duppo seemed very unwilling that we should do so. We understood him to say that we might encounter jaguars or huge snakes, and we should be unable to see our way through the dark avenue of trees. As Ellen did not expect us to return, we agreed at length to follow his advice. I observed that our friends sent out scouts—apparently to watch lest any of the enemy should venture to return—a precaution I was very glad to see taken.

As far as we could understand, the expedition had been far from successful, as none of the canoes had been recovered, and our friends did not even boast that they had gained a victory. From the terrible character Duppo gave of the enemy, they perhaps had good reason to be thankful that they had escaped without greater loss.

Chapter Eleven.Dangers by land and water—A new friend found.Our Indian friends, although their people are generally so undemonstrative, endeavoured by every means in their power to show their gratitude to us for the service we had rendered them. When we offered to pay for the canoe, which we were anxious to retain, Maono entreated us to accept it, intimating that he would settle with the owner. We were very glad to obtain the little craft; for, though too small for our voyage down the Amazon, it would enable us to carry out our project of searching the neighbouring shores for our parents. Though we had not preserved their village from destruction, we had certainly saved the lives of their women and children, and did not therefore hesitate about accepting the canoe as a gift.The chiefs sat up the greater part of the night, holding a council. Next morning it was evident that they had arrived at some important determination. The inhabitants were busy collecting their scattered goods, and doing them up in portable packages. When we explained to them that we were anxious to set off immediately for our own camp, they intimated that they purposed accompanying us. As this, however, would have delayed us greatly, we got Duppo to explain that we would gladly meet them again at any spot they might appoint, but that we would go down by the igarape in the canoe.A hurried meal having been taken, we prepared to embark. Meantime the men were employed in loading the women and children with their goods. We thought that they were reserving some of the heavier loads for themselves; but this, we soon found, was not the case, as they were placed on the backs of the stronger women. Even our hostess—the chief’s wife—had to shoulder a load; and we felt very indignant when we saw that Oria had to carry one also.“I say, Harry, don’t you think we ought to save her from that?” exclaimed Arthur. “I am sure I would gladly carry it for her.”“You would somewhat astonish her if you made the offer,” observed John; “and I suspect you would fall in the estimation of our warrior friends. Their creed is different from ours. They consider it derogatory to manhood to carry a load or to do more work than they can help. However, as Ellen would perhaps like to have Oria with her, we might induce her parents to let her accompany Duppo. We cannot do without him, at all events.”We tried to explain our proposal to Duppo, and after some time he comprehended us. Oria, however, seemed very unwilling to accept the offer, as she clung to her mother, and turned away her head from us. Duppo at length came back, and we all got into the canoe. Our friends insisted on our taking as many articles of food as we could possibly carry—dried fish and meat, bananas and farinha, as well as fruit and vegetables. True as usual took his seat in the bows. We were just shoving off, when Maono and his wife came down to us leading Oria. The chief addressed us and his son, but what he said we could not of course understand. However we agreed that it was all right, and Duppo seemed highly pleased when his sister stepped into the canoe and took her seat in front of him.Bidding our friends adieu, we now began carefully to paddle down the igarape. We were some time in sight of the village, the whole inhabitants of which we saw moving off, the men stalking first, with their bows and spears in their hands and their blow-pipes at their backs, and the women following, bending under the weight of the loads they carried. Even the children, except the smallest, who sat on their mother’s backs or were led by the hand, carried packages.“I am very glad we have saved the poor girl a heavy trudge through the forest,” observed Arthur; “but I cannot say much for the chivalry of these people. I was inclined to think favourably of the warriors when I saw them going forth so bravely to battle, but the example they have given us of the way they treat their women lowers them sadly in my estimation.”“Very true, Arthur,” remarked John. “It is a sure sign that a people have fallen into a degraded and uncivilised condition when women do not hold an honourable position among them. But there are some savages who treat their females even worse than these do. From what I have seen, they appear in many respects kind and gentle to them. The Australian savage—who is, however, the lowest in the scale of civilisation—when he wants a wife, watches till he finds a damsel to his taste, and then knocks her down with his club, a sign to her that she is henceforth to be a submissive and dutiful wife. I am sure our friends here would not be guilty of such an act.”“No; I hope not indeed,” exclaimed Arthur. “Dreadful to think that Oria should have to submit to such treatment.”We had, as may be supposed, to paddle carefully to prevent running against a bough or sunken trunk, as the least touch might have upset our frail craft. Though we might easily have scrambled out, yet we should have run the risk of losing our guns and wetting our ammunition; besides which, an alligator might have been lurking near, and seized one of us in its jaws before we could escape to land. These considerations made us very careful in our navigation. After some time, we began to feel sadly cramped from being unable to move. Oria sat quiet and silent, close to her brother, somewhat surprised, I dare say, at finding herself carried away by the three white strangers. John told us to keep our tongues steady in the middle of our mouths, lest we should make the canoe heel over; and, indeed, if we leant ever so slightly on one side the water began to ripple over the gunwale. Duppo steered very carefully; and I, having the bow paddle, kept a very bright look-out ahead for any danger which might appear under water. I could not help thinking of the big cow-fish we had seen, and dreading lest one of them coming up the igarape might give the canoe an unintentional shove with his snout, which would most inevitably have upset her.Thus we went on. The lagoon was passed, and again we entered the channel with the thick trees arching overhead. How cool and pleasant was the shade after the heat of the sun to which we had been exposed in the more open parts! As we approached the camp our anxiety to ascertain that all was well increased. The nearer we got the more I longed to see the smiling face of our dear little sister, and I thought of the pleasure she would have when we introduced Oria to her. At length we could see in the far distance the landing-place near the camp. In our eagerness we forgot our caution, and very nearly sent the canoe under water. “Be more careful, boys,” cried John, though he was paddling as hard as either of us. As we drew near I looked out for the raft at the spot we had left her moored, but could not see her. An uncomfortable misgiving came over me, yet I could not bear to think that any accident had happened. I said nothing, and on we went.“Why, where is the raft?” exclaimed John.“Oh, perhaps Domingos has drawn her up on the bank,” observed Arthur.“That is more than he would have strength to do,” said John. “Besides, I can see the bank, and the raft is not there.”As we drew near we raised a shout to attract Domingos, True joining us with one of his cheerful barks. No one answered.“Domingos has probably gone out shooting,” observed Arthur. “We shall see your sister and Maria running down directly.”We looked eagerly towards the camp, but neither Ellen nor Maria appeared. We at length clambered out of the canoe up the bank, leaving Duppo to help out his sister, and on we ran, breathless with anxiety, to ascertain what had happened. The huts stood as we had left them, but the occupants were not there. We looked about. The goods had been carried off. Had the Indians been there—or had Ellen and her attendants fled? These were the fearful questions we asked ourselves. If the Indians had come, where had they carried our sister, and what had they done with her? We searched around in every direction. No signs of violence were to be discovered. Yet, unless the Indians had come, why should they have fled. The savage Majeronas would certainly have burned down the huts. True was running about as surprised as we were to find no one there. Now he ran into Ellen’s hut, then searched about in the surrounding wood, and came back to us, as if he could not make up his mind what had happened. Duppo and Oria now arrived, having waited at the bank to secure the canoe. We tried to make Duppo understand that we wanted to know his opinion. Though very intelligent for an Indian, we could seldom judge his thoughts by the expression of his countenance. At last he comprehended us, but made no reply. After waiting an instant, he went into Ellen’s hut, and then, as True had done, examined the surrounding thickets. At last he came back and had a talk with Oria. They seemed to have arrived at some conclusion. We watched them anxiously. Then we asked Duppo if the Majeronas had been there. He shook his head, and then, taking my hand, led me back to the water, narrowly examining the ground as he went. On reaching the igarape he pointed down towards the great river. I understood him.“John! Arthur!” I shouted out, “they have gone that way on the raft. I am sure of it from Duppo’s signs. Perhaps they have not got to any great distance, and we may overtake them.”“Stay,” said John; “perhaps they are hiding somewhere near. We will shout out, and they may hear us.”“There is no use in doing that,” I remarked. “Had the raft still been here I might have thought so, but it is evident that they have gone away on it. It would easily carry them and all our goods, and for some reason or other Domingos has persuaded them to escape on it, hoping that we should follow.”“Would not Ellen have left a note for us, or some sign, to show us where they have gone to,” observed John in a desponding tone. “That she has not done so puzzles me more than anything else.”To satisfy John, we all shouted at the top of our voices again and again; but no reply came. We were going to get into the canoe, when Duppo showed us that we might prepare it with a little contrivance for encountering the rougher water of the river. Some sipos were near. These he cut down, and with Oria’s assistance bound into two long bundles, which he neatly secured to the gunwale of the canoe, completely round her. By this means the sides were raised four or five inches, and would thus, I saw, greatly assist to keep out the water, and at the same time would enable her to float, even should she be partly filled. Duppo now beckoned to us to get into her. We took our seats as before, and once more we paddled down the igarape. Duppo’s contrivance completely kept out the water, which would otherwise have broken on board; and we had no longer any fear of driving the canoe as fast as we could through it. We soon reached the open river.“Which way shall we turn—up or down the stream?” I asked.“Down, certainly,” said John; “the raft could not have gone up it.”We accordingly made signs to Duppo to turn the canoe’s head towards the east. Before us appeared the island on which we so narrowly escaped being wrecked during the hurricane. We steered down near the mainland, examining narrowly the shores on either side. No raft could we see, nor any one on the land. The water was smooth in the channel through which we were passing, but when we got to the end of it, we found the surface rippled over with waves, which, although small, threatened to be dangerous to our deeply-laden little craft. I proposed that we should, notwithstanding, endeavour to paddle up along the other side of the island, in case Ellen and her companions might have landed on it. We made signs to Duppo to steer in that direction; but he, instead of doing so, pointed to a spot some way down the river, signifying to as that he wished to land there. We concluded that it was the place where his father had appointed to meet him. “Perhaps he sees the raft; it may have drifted there,” exclaimed Arthur. “At all events, I am sure it will be better to do as he proposes.”We accordingly paddled on under Duppo’s pilotage. Now that we were exposed to the breeze blowing across the river, our heavily-laden canoe could with difficulty contend with the waves, which, in spite of the raised gunwale, every now and then broke into her. Had it not been for the young Indian’s thoughtful contrivance, we should inevitably have been swamped. After going on for some distance, we reached the mouth of another igarape. Just outside it, facing the river, was a small open space, free of trees, with a fringe of rushes growing between it and the water. With some little difficulty we forced the canoe through the rushes, and we then, by scrambling up the bank, reached the spot I have described. Duppo made signs to us that it was here he wished to remain for the arrival of his father.“We may as well do as he proposes then,” said John, “and we will set off and look for the raft. If we do not find it—which Heaven forbid!—we will return and obtain the assistance of the Indians in making a more extended search.”The spot was a very beautiful one, open entirely to the river in front, while the trees behind, not growing so closely together as usual, allowed the air to circulate—a very important consideration in that hot climate. “It is just the place I should have chosen for an encampment while we are searching for our father,” said John. Arthur and I agreed with him; but as we were eager to be off again, we had no time to talk about the matter. Landing the greater part of the provisions, we explained our intentions to our young friends. They understood us, but seemed unwilling to be left behind. John also proposed that Arthur should remain on shore. “I will do as you wish,” he answered; “but I do not like to be separated from you.” While we were speaking, standing on the bank, looking out over the river, he exclaimed, “See, see! what is that speck out there towards the other side?” We eagerly looked in the direction he pointed.“I am afraid it is only the trunk of a tree, or a mass of grass floating down,” said John.“Oh no, no! I am nearly sure there are people on it!” cried Arthur, whose eyes, as we had found, were keener than ours.“At all events, we will go towards it,” cried John.We hurried down and slipped into the canoe. “Yes; I know that you may go faster without me,” said Arthur. “You know what I should like to do; but if it is better, I will remain on shore.”We thanked him for his self-denial, and I was about to propose leaving True with him, when the dog settled the point by jumping in. John and I shoved off, and paddled on with all our might. Now that we had fewer people on board, we made much better way than before, and floated buoyantly over the mimic seas which met us. We had marked the direction of the object we had seen. From the water it was at first scarcely visible. As we went on we again caught sight of it. How anxiously we watched it! One moment I thought it must be the raft, the next I was afraid it was but the trunk of a tree, or a flat island of grass. How I longed for a spy-glass to settle the point, but unfortunately we possessed none. For some minutes neither John nor I spoke.“Harry!” he exclaimed, at length, “I see some one waving. Yes, yes; I am sure it is the raft!”I strained my eyes to the utmost. I too thought I saw people on the object ahead of us. If people they were, they were sitting down though.“Probably Domingos is afraid of standing up,” said John. Then I remarked this to him. “I am glad the wind is across the river instead of up it, or it would be fearfully dangerous for them.”“Then you do think it is the raft?” I asked.“I am sure of it,” answered John.We redoubled our efforts. Every instant the object grew clearer and clearer. We could scarcely be deceived.“Heaven be praised!” exclaimed John; “I see Ellen and Maria, one on each side, and Domingos working away with his paddle at one end. They are trying to come towards us.”I saw them too, and could even make out Nimble, and Toby, and Poll, and Niger. My heart leaped with joy. In a few minutes more we were up to the raft.“We will not stop to ask questions,” exclaimed John, as we got alongside. “Here, Maria; hand me your painter, and we will secure it to ours, and tow you back to the north bank. You must tell us what has happened as we go along.”“Oh, but Arthur! why is Arthur not with you? Has anything happened to him?” exclaimed Ellen.“No; he is all right,” answered John, pointing to the shore.While he was speaking, we transferred our painter to the stern of the canoe, and secured it as a tow-rope to the raft. We put the canoe’s head the way we wished to go, and paddled on. The wind was in our favour; and Domingos, with Ellen and Maria, worked away with their paddles also on the raft. We were exerting ourselves too much to speak. Our dear sister was safe; but yet it was somewhat difficult to restrain our curiosity to know what had occurred. The wind was increasing every moment; and as we neared the shore we saw that there might be some danger of the water washing over the raft should we attempt to land under the bank. I proposed, therefore, that we should steer for the igarape. It was no easy matter, however, to get there, as the current was carrying us down. Domingos tried to urge the raft in the direction we wished to go. The wind continued to increase, and the current swept us further and further to the east. The seas rising, tossed the raft, now on the one side, now on the other; and every moment I dreaded that those on it might be thrown off or washed away. We entreated them to hold on tightly. Even the canoe, though before the wind, was tossed considerably. We could now distinguish our friends on shore watching us anxiously as we approached. Already we had drifted down below them. They were trying to make their way through the forest to follow us.“We must drift down till we can see some place where we can get on shore with a prospect of safety,” observed John.I agreed with him that it was our only alternative; yet I knew that sometimes for miles together along the banks such a place might not be found. We turned the head of the canoe, however, down the stream, anxiously looking out for a fit spot to land. I dreaded, as I cast a look over my shoulder at the sky, that such a hurricane as we had before encountered was brewing; and if so, our prospect of being saved was small indeed. I saw that Domingos also was casting a glance back at the sky. We could see the tall trees on shore bending before the blast. Every moment our position became more and more perilous. If landing in the daylight was difficult, it would be still more so to get on shore in the dark.Down the mighty river we floated. The last rays of the sun came horizontally over the waters, tinging the mimic waves with a bright orange hue. Then gradually they assumed a dull, leaden tint, and the topmost boughs of the more lofty trees alone caught the departing light. Still no harbour of refuge appeared. I proposed running in, as the last desperate resource, and scrambling on shore while we could still see sufficiently to find our way.“We shall lose our goods, and the canoe, and the raft, if we make the attempt,” answered John, “and perhaps our lives. We must still try to find a safe place to land at.”We were yet at some distance from the shore, though, driven by the fierce wind, we were rapidly approaching it. The storm increased. Dark clouds were gathering overhead. A bright flash of lightning darted from them, crackling and hissing as it went along the water: another, and another followed. Suddenly, as if a thick mantle had been thrown over us, it became dark, and we could scarcely have distinguished an opening in the forest had one been before us. John was more unwilling than ever to risk landing; and we therefore steered down the river, parallel with the shore, so as to prevent the raft as long as possible from being driven against it.“Paddle on, Harry!” cried John, with his usual coolness; “we may yet find a harbour of refuge.”We could judge pretty well, by the varying outline of the leafy wall close to us, that we were making rapid way. The wind, too, had shifted more to the west, and drove us therefore still before it. Arthur and our Indian friends would, I knew, be in despair at not seeing us land; while it was certain that they could not keep pace with the raft, as they had to make their way through the tangled forest. Now that darkness had come on, they would probably be compelled to stop altogether.The wind blew harder. The raft was tossed fearfully about. Another rattling peal of thunder and more vivid flashes of lightning burst from the clouds. Maria shrieked out with terror; while the two monkeys clung to her, their teeth chattering—as alarmed as she was, Ellen afterwards told me. Then again all was silent.“I am afraid, Harry, we must make the attempt,” said John at last. “But the risk is a fearful one. We must tell Ellen, Domingos, and Maria to be prepared.—Be ready, dear Ellen!” cried John. “Hold on tightly; and when I call to you, spring towards me. We must manage by some means to get on shore. Domingos will help Maria. Harry will try to secure the guns and ammunition; our existence may depend upon them. The animals must take care of themselves.—Domingos, are you ready?” he asked, in Spanish.“Si, si, Señor John. But look there, master; what is that light on shore? It must come from some hut surely, where we may obtain shelter. Let us try to reach the place. Even if there are savages there, they will not refuse to help us.”As he spoke, we observed a bright light bursting forth from among the trees, at a short distance off along the bank. Now it disappeared—now it came again in sight. We paddled down towards it. It was apparently a torch held in a person’s hand. We rapidly approached the light, but yet failed to discover any place where we could land with safety. We shouted loudly, hoping to attract the attention of any one who might be near. Presently a hail came off the land. We answered it. Again a voice was heard.“Can you tell us where we can land with safety?” cried John, in Spanish.The answer was unintelligible. Presently he asked again in English; and in a little time we saw the light moving along the bank. Then it remained stationary. We exerted ourselves to the utmost to steer for it; and we now saw a division in the wall of trees, which indicated that there was a passage between them. Again the thunder reared, the lightning flashed, and the wind blew with fearful force.Maria shrieked loudly, “The water is washing over the raft!”“Hold on! hold on!” cried John; “we shall soon be in safety.” And in another minute we were entering the mouth of a narrow channel. “We will turn the canoe round,” said John, “and let the raft go first. We may thus prevent it being dashed on the bank.”We did as he advised. Scarcely, however, had we turned the raft round when we found it had reached the shore.“Do you, Domingos, help the señora and Maria to land!” shouted John.By the light from the torch we saw a tall figure standing on the bank. He flung the light so that it might fall across us.“Females!” he exclaimed. “A sorry night to be buffeting with the waves of the Amazon! Give me your hands, whoever you are. I should little have expected to find my countrymen in such a plight in this remote region.”While he was speaking he helped Ellen and Maria up the bank, the two monkeys following, while Poll and Niger clung fast to Maria’s shoulders. Faithful True did not attempt to leap on shore, though he could easily have done so, but remained with me in the canoe. Domingos, meantime, was hastily throwing our goods on shore; while we continued exerting ourselves in preventing the raft being lifted by the force of the water and upset on the bank.“All the things are safely landed,” cried Domingos at length.We then, casting off the tow-rope, paddled round, and ran the bow of the canoe on shore. Not till then did True leap out of her. Domingos and the stranger coming down, helped us to drag her out of the water.“We may save the raft also,” said the latter. “You may require it to continue your voyage; as I conclude you do not intend to locate yourselves here, and compel me to seek another home in the wilderness.”I was struck by the morose tone in which the stranger spoke. He, however, assisted us in dragging up the raft sufficiently high to prevent its being knocked about by the waves, which ran even into the comparatively smooth part of the channel in which we found ourselves.“We heartily thank you for your assistance,” said John. “We owe the preservation of our lives to you; for, with the increasing storm, we could scarcely have escaped destruction had we been driven further down the river.”“You owe me no thanks, young sir. I would have done the same for a party of benighted savages, as you call them,” answered the stranger. “Your dumb companions are equally welcome. I am not ill pleased to see them. It speaks in your favour that they follow you willingly, instead of being dragged about with ropes and chains, or confined in cages, as civilised men treat the creatures they pretend to tame. I have, however, but poor shelter to offer you from the deluge which will soon be down on our heads. Follow me; there is no time to be lost.”“But we must not allow our goods to remain out,” said John.“I will assist you, then, to carry them,” answered the stranger, lifting up double the number of packages which we usually carried at a time.We then all loaded ourselves. Ellen insisted on carrying a package, and followed the stranger, who went before us with his torch. We could not even then exchange words, as we had to proceed in single file along a narrow pathway, fringed on either side with thick shrubs—apparently the after-growth of a cleared spot, soon to spring up again into tall trees. We soon found ourselves within the forest, where, so dense was the gloom, that without the torch to guide us we could not have made our way. Its ruddy flame glanced on the trunks of the tall trees, showing a canopy of wide-spreading boughs overhead, and the intricate tracery of the numberless sipos which hung in festoons, or dropped in long threadlike lines from them. Passing for a few yards through a jungle, the boughs spreading so closely above our heads that we often had to stoop, we found ourselves in an open space, in which by the light of the torch we saw a small hut with deep eaves, the gable end turned towards us. It was raised on posts several feet from the ground. A ladder led to a platform or verandah, which projected from the wall of the gable, in which was a small door.“Here you are welcome to stow your goods and rest for the night,” said the stranger. “No human being but myself has ever entered it; for I seek not the society of my fellow-men, either savage or civilised, so-called. To-morrow, if the weather clears, you will, I conclude, proceed on your way; or if you insist on remaining, I must seek another home. Let that be understood, before I make you further welcome. Now, enter, and such accommodation as my hut affords shall be yours.”There was something in the tone of the speaker which, though his dress was rough and strange, made us feel that he was a man of education.“We cordially thank you, sir,” answered John, “and accept your hospitality on the terms you propose; but as a portion of our goods still remain near the river, we would ask you to give us another torch to enable us to fetch them before the rain comes done.”“I will myself accompany you,” he answered, “when I have introduced the young people to my abode.”Saying this, he stepped up the ladder, and assisted Ellen and Maria to reach the platform. He then led the way in, and lighted a lamp which stood—we could see through the open door—on a table near it.“I am sorry I have no better accommodation to offer you,” he said, looking at Ellen; “but such as it is, you are welcome to it.”He came down with another torch in his hand, and proceeded with rapid strides back to the river. We had some difficulty in following him. Again he took up a heavy load; and we, dividing the remainder of the goods between us, followed him towards the hut. Ascending the ladder as we reached it, he desired us to hand up the goods, which he carried within. As soon as we were on the platform, he drew up the ladder.“I always secure myself thus in my fortress at night,” he remarked; “and as I have taken means of preventing any snakes crawling up the posts on which it stands, I can sleep more securely than many do in the so-called civilised portion of the globe.”On entering the house, we found that it was larger than we had supposed from its appearance outside. It was divided into two rooms. The outer was fitted up, in somewhat rustic style, as a sitting-room, while we concluded that the inner one was a sleeping-room. Round the walls were arranged shelves, on one of which were a considerable number of books, with a variety of other articles. In one corner was a pile of nets and harpoons, and some spears and other weapons for the chase; in another stood an Indian mill for grinding flour, and several jars and other articles, apparently for preparing or preserving food. Against the walls stood several chests. Though the table was large enough for the whole of us to sit round it, yet there was but one stool, showing that our host, as he had told us, was unaccustomed to receive guests. He, however, pulled the chests forward, and by placing some boards between them, we all found seats.“If you have not brought provisions, I will supply you while you stay with me,” he observed; “but my own consumption is so small that I have but a limited amount to offer you.”“We would not willingly deprive you of that, sir,” said John; “and we have enough to last us till we can supply ourselves with more.”“That is fortunate,” remarked the recluse. “While your servant gets it ready, I will prepare my room for the young lady and her attendant. I have no cooking-place under shelter, and while the rain is pouring down, as it will begin to do presently, a fire cannot be lighted outside. You must therefore be content with a cold repast.”While the recluse—so I may call him—was absent, we for the first time had an opportunity of asking Ellen what had occurred to drive her and her attendants away from the camp.“I was indeed unwilling to do so,” she said, “till urged by Domingos. He had gone to shoot at a short distance from the hut, when he came hurrying back with a look of alarm, and told me that he had caught sight of some savages making their way through the forest. He insisted that they were trying to find us out, and that our only hope of safety was by instant flight. I pleaded that you would come back, and finding us gone, would fancy we had been carried off or killed. He argued that on your return, finding the raft gone, you would know we had embarked on it. At length he agreed, that if we would assist to carry the goods down to the raft he would again search round the camp, and should the natives appear to be going in a different direction, we might carry them back again. He had not gone long, when he returned with dismay on his countenance, asserting that they were coming towards us, and that if we did not escape we should certainly be killed. You may suppose, my dear brothers, how fearfully agitated I was. I knew how alarmed you would be on returning not to find us, and yet, if we should remain it might be still worse. Domingos and Maria settled the matter by seizing me by the arms, and dragging me to the raft before I had time to write a note or leave any signal. I scarcely thought, indeed, of doing so, till Domingos had pushed the raft off from the bank. I entreated him to go back; but he replied that it was impossible without the risk of being caught by the savages, and began paddling the raft down the channel. I looked back, and seeing no natives, again urged him to return. He replied that he was sure they would lie in ambush to catch us, and that it would be destruction to do so. Feeling that he wished to secure my safety, I could not complain. He did his best, too, to comfort me about you. He said that as you were probably with the friendly natives, you would be defended from the Majeronas; and that by the time you had come back, those he had seen would have gone away, and you would certainly guess that we were not far off. I did my utmost to arouse myself and to assist Maria and him in paddling the raft. The wind was light, the water smooth, and there appeared to be no danger in venturing out into the river. A light wind was in our favour, and he accordingly steered towards the opposite bank, saying that we should be safer there than anywhere else, and might more easily get back than by going down the stream. I looked frequently towards the shore we had left, but still saw no natives. Poor Domingos was evidently anxious about you, though he did his best not to alarm me more than he had done already. We found, after getting some way across, that the current was floating us down much faster than we had expected, and I begged Domingos therefore to return. He insisted that, having got thus far, it was better to continue our course towards the southern bank, and wait there for a favourable wind for getting back. I was thankful when at length we reached a sandy beach, where we could land without difficulty and secure our raft. Domingos fortunately shot a paca, so we had plenty of food; and Maria and I assisted him in putting up a hut. Had I not been so anxious about you, I should have had no cause to complain. They both exerted themselves to the utmost; and I do not think Domingos closed his eyes all night, for whenever I awoke I saw him, through an opening in our hut, walking about or making up the fire. We spent the morning on the bank, watching in the hope of seeing you come to look for us. As soon as the wind changed, I entreated Domingos to put off, and at last, though somewhat unwillingly, he consented to do so; but he blamed himself very much for yielding to my wishes, when the wind began to blow so violently. Had you, indeed, not arrived to assist us, I suspect that our raft would have been in great danger of being overwhelmed.”“We have reason to be thankful, dear Ellen, that you were preserved,” said John. “I am very sure Domingos acted for the best. I wish for your sake that our expedition had come to a favourable end, although the rest of us may enjoy it.”“Oh, if it were not for anxiety about papa and mamma, and dear Fanny, and Aunt Martha, I should like it too,” said Ellen. “When we once find them, I am sure that I shall enjoy our voyage down the river as much as any of you.”“You are a brave girl,” said the stranger, who at that moment returned, “though, perhaps, you scarcely know the dangers you may have to encounter. Yet, after all, they are of a nature more easily overcome than many which your sisters in the civilised regions of the world are called to go through. Here you have only the elements and a few wild beasts to contend with; there, they have falsehood, treachery, evil example, allurements of all sorts, and other devices of Satan, to drag them to destruction.”While we were seated at supper, the rain came down in tremendous torrents, as the recluse had predicted. The strength of his roof was proved, as not a drop found its way through.“I am protected here,” he remarked, “from the heat of the summer months by the leafy bower overhead; while, raised on these poles, my habitation is above the floods in the rainy season. What can man want more? Much in the same way the natives on the Orinoco form their dwellings among the palm-trees; but they trust more to Nature, and, instead of piles, form floating rafts, sufficiently secured to the palm-trees to keep them stationary, but rising and falling as the floods increase or diminish.”I was struck with many of the remarks of our eccentric host, but the more I saw of him the more I was surprised that a man of his information should have thus secluded himself from the world. We had just time to give Ellen an account of our adventures, when he expressed his wish that we should hang up our hammocks, as it was past his usual hour for retiring to rest. This was an operation quickly performed, as we had only to secure them in the usual way to the posts which supported the roof.“We should not part,” said Ellen, somewhat timidly, “without our usual prayer; and we have cause to thank God for our preservation from danger.”The recluse looked at her fixedly. “You are in earnest, I am sure,” he muttered. “Pray, young people, do not depart from your usual custom; I will wait for you.”Arthur, I should have said, though the youngest, always led us in prayer. “As he is absent,” I remarked to Ellen’s request, “I will do so.”“Oh, you have a young chaplain with you,” said the recluse; “and what pay does he receive?”“None at all, sir,” answered Ellen. “He is only earnest and good.”“I should like to meet him,” said the recluse.“I hope you may, sir,” said Ellen, “if you come with us.”A short prayer was offered up. I spoke with the earnestness I felt. Ellen then read a portion of Scripture from the Bible she had always at hand in her trunk. Our host listened attentively, his eyes fixed on our young sister. I had not observed a copy of the blessed Book on his shelves. He made no remark, however, on the subject, but I thought his tone was less morose than before.We were soon in our hammocks, a small oil lamp, which was kept burning on the table, throwing a subdued light through the chamber. True, I should have said, from our first meeting with the stranger, had eyed him askance, having apparently some doubts as to his character. He now came and coiled himself up in his usual position under my hammock. He had kept as far off from him as he could during the evening, and did not seem satisfied till the tall figure of the recluse was stretched out in his hammock near the entrance of the hut. The rain pattering overhead, and splashing down on the soft ground round us, kept me for some time awake. It ceased at length, and soon afterwards, just as I was dropping off to sleep, a chorus of hideous sounds commenced, coming apparently from no great distance in the forest. Now they resembled the cries and groans of a number of people in distress. Now it seemed as if a whole troop of jaguars were growling and snarling over their prey. Now it seemed as if a company of Brobdignag cats were singing a serenade. Now the sounds for a moment ceased, but were instantly taken up again by other creatures at a distance. After a time, the same sounds recommenced in another quarter. Had I not already been well accustomed to similar noises, I might have fancied that we had got into some forest haunted by evil spirits bewailing their lost condition. I was sufficiently awake, however, to guess that they proceeded only from troops of howling monkeys, though we had never yet heard them so near, or in such numbers. In spite of the hideous concert, I at last fell asleep.The voice of our host aroused us at daybreak. “As soon as you have broken your fast, I will accompany you to find your companions,” he said, “unless you desire to proceed by water. In that case, you will scarcely meet them; but I would advise you to leave your canoe and raft here, as I can conduct you through the forest by the only open paths which exist, and by which alone they can make their way in this direction. I am afraid, unless they had their wits about them, they must have been exposed to the tempest last night, and may be but ill able to travel far this morning.”John at once decided to go by land, as the canoe was not large enough to convey all our party. The recluse looked at Ellen. “She will scarcely be able to undergo the fatigue of so long a walk,” he remarked. “If she wishes it, she and her attendant can remain here, while we go to meet your companions; and you can then return and remove your property, or leave it till you can find the means of continuing your voyage. I did not purpose to allow my solitude to be thus broken in on; but,”—and he looked again at Ellen—“she reminds me of days gone by, and I cannot permit her to be exposed to more trials than are necessary.”John thanked him for his proposal, though Ellen seemed unwilling to remain behind. We also did not like to leave her. At last John suggested that Domingos should remain also. The recluse pressed the point with more warmth than I should have expected, and at last Ellen agreed to do as was proposed. She was certainly better off in a well-built hut than she had been for some time, and strange and eccentric as the recluse appeared, still we felt that he was disposed to assist us to the best of his power.Our early breakfast over, John and I, shouldering our rifles, followed by True, set off with the recluse. Ellen looked rather sad as we were going.“You will find poor Arthur? I know you will,” she said in a low voice to me. “I thought of him a great deal last night, out in the fierce tempest, with only two young Indians to assist him; and he is not so strong as you are, and has no gun to defend himself. I could not help thinking of fierce jaguars roaming in search of prey, or those dreadful boas, or the anacondas we have heard of.”“Oh, drive all such thoughts from your mind, Ellen,” I answered. “Arthur, if not so strong, has plenty of sense and courage; and, depend upon it, the Indians will have found some hollow tree, or will have built a hut for themselves, in which they would have taken shelter during the night. I should not have minded changing places with Arthur. It is all right. We will bring him back safe enough.”With these words I hurried after John and the recluse. We had not gone far, when I saw them looking up into a tree. True darted forward and began to bark, when, in return, a chorus of terrific barks, howls, and screeches proceeded from the higher branches, and there I saw seated a group of several large monkeys with long tails and most hideous faces. Every instant they threw up their heads, and the fearful sounds I had heard issued forth from them. I could scarcely suppose that animals of such a size could make so much noise.“You have there some of my friends who serenaded you last night,” observed the recluse, when, after a few minutes, the monkeys ceased howling. “These are themycétes, or ursine howlers. The creature is called in this countryaraguato, and sometimes by naturalists thealouatte. It is known also as ‘the preacher.’ If he could discourse of sin and folly, and point out to benighted man the evil of his ways, he might howl to some purpose but his preaching is lost on the denizens of the forest, who know nothing of sin, and are free from the follies of the world. Observe that with how little apparent difficulty he gives forth that terrific note. It is produced by a drum-shaped expansion of the larynx. The hyoid bone, which in man is but slightly developed, is in these monkeys very large. It gives support to the tongue, being attached to the muscles of the neck. The bony drum communicates with the wind-pipe, and enables them to utter those loud sounds.”Had Arthur been with us, I am sure we should have indulged in a hearty laugh at the curious faces of those thick-jawed creatures as they looked down upon us inquisitively to ascertain what we were about. They were considerably larger than any we had seen; indeed, the howler is the largest monkey in the New World. The fur is of a rich bay colour, and as the sun fell upon the coats of some of them above us, they shone with a golden lustre. The thick beard which hung from the chin and neck was of a deeper hue than the body. Our friend told us that those he had caught were generally about three feet long, and that their tails in addition were of even greater length. We went on without disturbing the assemblage in their aerial seat, greatly to True’s disappointment, who would evidently have liked to measure his strength with one of them. Like the spider monkeys, they live entirely in trees, making good use of their long tails as they move about from branch to branch; indeed, the tail serves the howler for another hand. When by any chance he descends to the ground, he moves along very awkwardly, and can easily be caught, as we afterwards discovered.Our new acquaintance was but little inclined to talk; indeed, had he been so, we could seldom have enjoyed much conversation, as we were compelled in most places to follow him in Indian file. Now and then he had to use his hatchet to clear the path, and we very frequently had to force our way by pressing aside the branches which met in front of us. Still he went on without wavering for a moment, or appearing doubtful of the direction he should take. After going on some way further, he again stopped, and pointed to a tree, the branch of which rose a few feet off. I knew by the way True barked that some creature was there; and looking more narrowly, I observed some animals clinging to the lower branches, but so nearly did they resemble the bark to which they were holding, that had they not been pointed out to me I should have passed them by. The animals turned listless glances at us, and seemed in no way disposed to move.“There,” observed the recluse, “are creatures in every way adapted to the mode of life which they are doomed to lead. Place them in any other, and they will be miserable. You see there theai, or three-toed sloth (theBradypus torquatus). Though its arms, or fore-legs more properly, are nearly twice as long as the hinder ones, it finds them exactly suited for climbing the trees on which it lives. Place it on the ground, and it cannot get along. It passes its life, not above, but under the branches. When moving along, it suspends itself beneath them; when at rest, it hangs from them; and it sleeps clutching them with its strong claws, and its back hanging downwards.”One of the creatures was hanging as our friend described; the other was on its way up the tree. It stopped on seeing us approach, and turned its round short head, with deeply sunk eyes and a large nose, to look at us. The animals had long powerful claws on all their feet. The hair was very coarse and shaggy, more like grass or moss than anything else.“The sloth suckles its young like other quadrupeds,” observed our friend; “and I have often seen the female, with her little one clinging to her, moving at a rate through the forest which shows that the sloth does not properly deserve its name. See now—give a shout—and then say if it is too sluggish to more.”John and I shouted together, and True barked loudly. The sloths gave reproachful glances at us for disturbing them, and then began to move away at a speed which an active sailor running up the rigging of a ship could scarcely equal. In a short time, slinging themselves from branch to branch, they had disappeared in the depths of the forest.“Let them go,” observed our friend. “You do not want a meal, or you would find their flesh supply you with one not to be disdained.” The last remark was made as we again moved on. Once more we relapsed into silence. When, however, a bird, or moth, or any creature appeared, our guide stopped for an instant, and turning round, told us its name and habits. We passed several curious trees, one of which he pointed out rising from the ground in numerous stalks, which then united in a thick stem, and afterwards, half-way up, bulged out in a long oval, again to narrow, till at the summit six or eight branches, with palm-like formed leaves, spread forth, forming a graceful crown to the curious stem. He called it theIriartes ventricosa, or bulging-stemmed palm. Again we passed through a grove of urucuri palms (Attalea excelsa). Their smooth columnar stems were about forty or fifty feet in height, while their broad, finely pinnated leaves interlocked above, and formed arches and woven canopies of varied and peculiarly graceful shapes. High above them rose the taller forest trees, whose giant branches formed a second canopy to shade them from the glaring rays of the sun. Many of the trees rose eighty feet without a branch, their stems perfectly straight. Huge creepers were clinging round them, sometimes stretching obliquely from their summits, like the stays of a ship’s mast. Others wound round their trunks, like huge serpents ready to spring on their prey. Others, again twisted spirally round each other, forming vast cables of living wood, holding fast those mighty monarchs of the forest. Some of the trees were so covered with smaller creepers and parasitic plants that the parent stem was entirely concealed. The most curious trees were those having buttresses projecting from their bases. The lower part of some of them extended ten feet or more from the base of the tree, reaching only five or six feet up the trunk. Others again extended to the height of fully thirty feet, and could be seen running up like ribs to a still greater height. Some of these ribs were like wooden walls, several inches in thickness, extended from the stem, so as to allow room for a good-sized hut to be formed between them by merely roofing over the top. Again, I remarked other trees ribbed and furrowed for their whole height. Occasionally these furrows pierced completely through the trunks, like the narrow windows of an ancient tower. There were many whose roots were like those of the bulging palm, but rising much higher above the surface of the ground. The trees appeared to be standing on many-legged pedestals, frequently so far apart from each other that we could without difficulty walk beneath them. A multitude of pendants hung from many of the trees, some like large wild pine-apples, swinging in the air. There were climbing arums, with dark-green arrow-head shaped leaves; huge ferns shot out here and there up the stems to the topmost branches. Many of the trees had leaves as delicately cut as those of the graceful mimosa, while others had large palmate leaves, and others, again, oval glossy ones.Now and then, as I looked upwards, I was struck with the finely-divided foliage strongly defined against the blue sky, here and there lighted up by the bright sunshine; while, in the region below through which we moved, a deep gloom prevailed, adding grandeur and solemnity to the scene. There were, however, but few flowers; while the ground on which we walked was covered with dead leaves and rotten wood, the herbage consisting chiefly of ferns and a few grasses and low creeping plants.We stopped at last to lunch, and while John and I were seated on the branch of a fallen tree, our friend disappeared. He returned shortly, with his arms full of large bunches of a round juicy berry. “Here,” he said, “these will quench your thirst, and are perfectly wholesome.” We found the taste resembling that of grapes. He called it thepurumá. We were too eager to find Arthur to rest long, and were once more on our journey.“From the account you gave me, I hope we may soon meet with your friends,” observed the recluse, “unless they have turned back in despair of finding you.”“Little fear of that,” I observed. “I am sure Arthur will search for us as long as he has strength to move.”Still we went on and on, and Arthur did not appear; and we asked our companion whether he did not think it possible that our friends might have tried to make their way along the bank of the river.“No,” he answered, “the jungle is there too thick; and if we find signs of their having made the attempt, we shall speedily overtake them; for though we have made a considerable circuit, they by this time could scarcely have progressed half a mile even with the active employment of sharp axes.”This somewhat comforted me; for notwithstanding what the recluse said, I felt nearly certain that Arthur would attempt to examine the whole length of the bank, in hopes of discovering what had become of us. We went on and on till we entered a denser part of the forest, where we were compelled to use our axes before we could get through. At length I caught sight through an opening of what looked like a heap of boughs at a distance. The recluse, quickening his pace, went on towards it. We eagerly followed. It was a hut roughly built. Extinguished embers of a fire were before it. We looked in eagerly. It was empty, but there were leaves on the ground, and dry grass, as if people had slept there. It had been, there was little doubt, inhabited by Arthur and his companions. It was just such a hut as they would have built in a hurry for defence against the storm. But what had become of them?“I believe you are right,” said the recluse at last, having examined the bushes round; “they certainly attempted to make their way along the bank. I trust no accident has happened to them, for in many places it is undermined by the waters, and after rain suddenly gives way.” These remarks somewhat alarmed me. “This is the way they have taken, at all events,” he added; “though they have managed to creep under places we might find some difficulty in passing.” Again he led the way, clearing the path occasionally with his axe. We were close to the edge of the river, though so thickly grew the tangled sipos and the underwood that we could only occasionally get glimpses of it. As we went along we shouted out frequently, in hopes that Arthur might hear us.“Your friend and his companions have laboured hard to get through this dense jungle,” he observed, “but we shall soon overtake them.”Still on and on we went, now and then having to turn aside, being unable otherwise to force our way onwards. We at length, on returning to the river, found below us a sand-bank, which extended for some distance along it.“Here are the marks of their feet!” exclaimed John, who had leaped down on it. “See the way they are turned! We shall soon overtake them.”This discovery restored my spirits, for I had begun to fear that after all, unable to get along, they had turned back. We hastened forward along the bank, but the sand was very soft, and walking on it was almost as fatiguing as through the forest; while the heat from the sun striking down on it was intense. Climbing up the bank once more, we proceeded through the forest. We went on a short distance, when we found ourselves in more open ground—that is to say, we could get on without the use of our axes. We continued shouting out, and every now and then making our way to the bank as before.“Hark!” said John, “I hear a cry. See! there are natives coming towards us. Yes; I believe they are the two young Indians.”“They are Indians,” remarked our guide. “They are beckoning us. We will hasten on.”In another minute we saw Duppo and Oria running towards us. They kept crying out words that I did not understand. As soon as they saw the recluse they hurried to him, and took his hands, as if they knew him well.“They tell me your young friend is ill,” he remarked. “They have left him a little further on, close to the water, where, it seems, unable to proceed, he fainted. They entreat me to hasten on lest he should die. They fancy I can do everything, having occasionally cured some of their people of slight diseases.”As he said this he allowed himself to be dragged forward by Duppo and his sister, who, in their eagerness, seemed scarcely to have recognised us. The ground over which we were proceeding was somewhat swampy, and sloped down to a small lagoon or inlet of the river. John and I followed as fast as we could at the heels of our guide. Presently he stopped, and uttering an exclamation, threw aside the hands of the young Indians and dashed forward. We followed, when, what was our horror to see, under a grove of mimosa bushes, Arthur in the grasp of a huge serpent, which had wound its coils round his body. I shrieked with dismay, for I thought he was dead. He moved neither hand nor foot, seemingly unconscious of what had occurred. The recluse dashed forward. John and I followed with our axes, and True went tearing boldly on before us. It was an anaconda. Already its huge mouth was open to seize our young companion. Without a moment’s hesitation the recluse sprang at the monster, and seizing its jaws with a power I should scarcely have supposed he possessed, wrenched them back, and held them fast in spite of the creature’s efforts to free itself. “Draw him out!” shouted the recluse; and John, seizing Arthur, drew him forth from amid the vast coils, while I with my axe struck blow after blow at its body and tail. The recluse did not let go his hold, although the creature, unwinding its tail, threatened to encircle him in its coils. Now it seemed as if it would drag him to the ground, but he recovered his feet, still bending back the head till I could hear the bones cracking. I meantime had been hacking at its tail, and at length a fortunate blow cut it off. John, placing Arthur at a little distance, came back to our assistance, and in another minute the reptile lay dead at our feet, when True flew at it and tore away furiously at its body.“Your young friend has had a narrow escape,” said the recluse, as he knelt down and took Arthur’s hand; “he breathes, though, and is not aware of what has happened, for the anaconda must have seized him while he was unconscious.”We ran to the river. The dry shells of several large nuts lay near. In these we brought some water, and bathed Arthur’s brow and face. “He seems unhurt by the embrace of the anaconda,” remarked the recluse, “but probably suffered from the heat of the sun.”After this he lifted Arthur in his arms, and bore him up the bank. John and I followed with a shell of water. The contrast between the hot sandy bank and the shady wood was very great. As we again applied the water, Arthur opened his eyes. They fell on the recluse, on whom he kept them steadily fixed with a look of surprise.“I thought John and Harry were with me,” he murmured out. “I heard their voices calling as I lay fainting on the bank.”“Yes; we are here,” John and I said, coming forward. “Duppo and his sister met us, and brought us to you.”“I am so glad,” he said in a low voice. “I began to fear that you were really lost, we wandered on so far without finding you. I felt ready to die too, I was so sick at heart. And your sister—is she safe?” he asked. “Oh yes; I am sure you would look more sad if she were not.”“Yes, she is safe and well, Arthur,” I said; “and we must take you there to be nursed, or, if it is too far to carry you, we must build a hut somewhere near here, where we can join you.”The stranger looked at Arthur, and murmured something we did not hear.“It is a long way to carry the lad,” he said; “though if I had him in my hut I would watch over him.”“Perhaps it may be better to build a hut at the spot we proposed, and bring our sister and goods to it,” I said.“No; I will take the lad to mine,” answered the recluse. “You can build a hut as you proposed, and when he has recovered I will bring him to you.”I was very glad to hear this, because I was afraid that Arthur might suffer unless we could get him soon placed in a comfortable hammock, and give him better food than we should be able to prepare without our cooking apparatus.“I am ready to go on whenever you wish it,” observed Arthur, who heard the discussion; “but I am afraid I cannot walk very fast.”“I will carry you then,” said the recluse; “but it will be better to form a litter, on which you can rest more at your ease. We will soon get one ready.”Duppo and Oria stood by watching us eagerly while we spoke, as if they were anxious to know what we were saying.“You stay with your young friend, while your brother and I prepare the litter,” said the recluse to me, replacing Arthur on the ground.I sat down by his side, supporting him. He did not allude to the anaconda, and, I suspected, was totally unconscious of the danger he had been in. While the recluse and John were cutting down some poles to form the litter, Duppo and his sister collected a number of long thin sipos, showing that they understood what we proposed doing. In a short time the litter was completed. John and I insisted on carrying it, though we had some difficulty in persuading the recluse to allow us to do so. He spoke for some time to Duppo and his sister, who looked greatly disconcerted and sad.“I was telling them that they must go and find their people,” he said, “and that they must build a house for you on the spot you selected. They will be true friends to you, as they have ever been to me. I advise you to cultivate their friendship by treating them with kindness and respect.”The young Indians seemed very unwilling to take their departure, and lingered some time after we had wished them good-bye. John and I took up the litter, on which Arthur had been placed. As we had already cut a road for ourselves, we were able to proceed faster than we did when before passing through the forest. We hurried on, for the sun had begun to sink towards the west, and we might be benighted before we could reach the hermit’s abode.We proceeded by the way we had come. After we had gone some distance, Arthur begged that he might be put down and allowed to walk. “I am sure I have strength enough, and I do not like to see you carry me,” he said. Of this, however, we would not hear, and continued on.At last we sat down to rest. The spot we had chosen was a pleasant one. Though shaded, it was sufficiently open to allow the breeze to circulate through it. Round us, in most directions, was a thick jungle. We had brought some water in a shell of one of the large nuts, and after Arthur had drunk some, we induced him to take a little food, which seemed greatly to revive him. We were seated round the contents of our wallets, John and I, at all events, feeling in much better spirits than we had been in the morning; even the recluse threw off some of his reserve. We took the opportunity of telling him of our anxiety about our parents, and of the uncertainty we felt whether they had passed down the river. He in return asked us further questions, and seemed interested in our account.“I may be of use to you,” he said at length, “by being able to make inquiries among the Indians on the river, who would probably have observed them should they have passed; but promises are so often broken, that I am ever unwilling to make them. Therefore, I advise you to trust to your own exertions,” he added.We were on the point of again taking up Arthur to proceed, when a loud sound of crashing branches was heard in the distance. It seemed as if a hurricane was sweeping through the forest. It came nearer and nearer.“Oh I what can it be?” cried Arthur. “Leave me and save yourselves. It seems as if the whole forest was falling.”The crashing increased. Boughs seemed broken off, shrubs trampled under foot. Presently we saw, bearing down upon as, a large dark-skinned creature, though its form could scarcely be distinguished amid the foliage.“Stand fast!” said the recluse. “It will not harm you. See! it has an enemy to contend with.”As the creature drew nearer, I saw that it bore on its back a huge jaguar, distinguished by its spotted hide and its fierce glaring eyes. Its jaws were fixed in the creature’s neck, to which it clung also with its sharp claws.“The animal is a tapir,” said the recluse. “I am not certain yet though whether the jaguar will conquer it. See, the back of the latter is bleeding and torn from the rough branches beneath which the tapir has carried it.”As he spoke, the animals came close to us, the tapir making for the thick branch of a fallen tree kept up by a network of sipos, which hung like a beam almost horizontally a few feet from the ground. The tapir dashed under it, and we could hear the crash of the jaguar’s head as it came in contact with the hard wood. Still it clung on, but its eyes had lost their fierce glare. Blood covered the backs of the animals, and the next moment the jaguar fell to the ground, where it lay struggling faintly. Twice it tried to rise, but fell back, and lay apparently dead.John had lifted his rifle to fire at the tapir. “Hold!” said the recluse; “let the victor go; he deserves his liberty for having thus sagaciously liberated himself from his tormentor. Would that we could as easily get rid of ours! How eagerly we should seek the lower branches of the trees!” He gave one of those peculiar, sarcastic laughs, which I observed he was apt to indulge in.We cautiously approached the jaguar, feeling uncertain whether it might not yet rise up and spring at us. John and I kept our rifles at its head, while True went boldly up towards it. He had been an excited spectator of the scene, and I had some difficulty in keeping him from following the tapir. The jaguar did not move. Even a poke with the muzzle of my rifle failed to arouse it. True began to tear away at its neck; and at length we were convinced that the savage creature was really dead. “There let him lie,” said the recluse. “Strong as he was a few moments ago, he will be food for the armadillos before morning.”We again lifted up Arthur, and proceeded onwards, the recluse leading and clearing away the branches which might have injured Arthur as we passed between them. Of course we now required a broader passage than when we came through ourselves. We took exactly the same route; our guide never faltering for a moment, though in many places I should have had difficulty, where the marks of our axes were not to be seen, in finding the road. Several times he offered to take my place, observing that I might be tired; but John and I begged him to allow us to carry our young friend, as we did not like to impose the task on him. Thus we went on till my arms and shoulders began to ache, but I determined not to give in. Arthur had not spoken for some time. I looked at his face. It was very pale, and his eyes were closed. I was afraid he had received more injury from the fearful serpent than we had at first supposed. We hurried on, for it was evidently very important that he should as soon as possible be attended to. We did not stop, therefore, a moment to rest. Thinking that he would not hear me, I expressed my fears to John. “Oh no, no,” said Arthur; “I do not feel so very ill. I wish you would put me down, for I am sure you must be tired.”I was greatly relieved when I heard him speak; at the same time his voice was so weak, that we were unwilling to do as he begged us. It was getting late, too, as we could judge by the increasing gloom in the forest. Looking up through the occasional openings in the dark-green canopy above our heads, we could see the sky, which had now become of the intensest shade of blue. A troop of allouattes commenced a concert, their unmusical howlings echoing through the forest. Numerous macaws passed above us, giving vent to strange harsh cries; while whole families of parrots screamed in various notes. Cicadas set up the most piercing chirp, becoming shriller and shriller, till it ended in a sharp screeching whistle. Other creatures—birds, beasts, and insects—added their voices to the concert, till the whole forest seemed in an uproar. As the sky grew darker, and the shades of night came thickly round us, the noises gradually ceased, but were soon succeeded by the drumming, hoohooing, and the croaking of the tree-frogs, joined occasionally by the melancholy cries of the night-jar. “Follow me closely,” said the recluse, “and step as high as you can, not to catch your feet in the tangled roots. My eyes are well accustomed to this forest-gloom, and I will lead you safely.”At length we found ourselves passing through a narrow passage between thick bushes, which reminded us of the approach to the recluse’s hut. Emerging from it, we saw light ahead, and now reached the steps which led to the verandah.“You have come on well,” he observed. “I will carry up your young friend. Leave the litter on the ground.”I had to stop and assist up True, for although he made several attempts to mount the ladder by himself, it was somewhat too high for him to succeed. On entering the hut I found Ellen, in a state of agitation, leaning over Arthur.“Oh! what has happened?” she asked. “Will he die? Will he die?”“I trust not, young lady,” remarked our host. “He wants rest and careful nursing, and I hope in a few days will have recovered. I will now attend to him, and afterwards leave him under your care.”“Do not be alarmed, Miss Ellen,” whispered Arthur. “I only fainted from the hot sun and anxiety about you all. Now I am with you, I shall soon get well.”“As I have by me a store of medicines, with which I have doctored occasionally the poor natives, I can find, I hope, some remedies which may help to restore your friend,” observed the recluse. “Rest is what he chiefly now requires.”Arthur was put into his hammock, and after he had taken a mess which Maria had prepared, fell asleep.

Our Indian friends, although their people are generally so undemonstrative, endeavoured by every means in their power to show their gratitude to us for the service we had rendered them. When we offered to pay for the canoe, which we were anxious to retain, Maono entreated us to accept it, intimating that he would settle with the owner. We were very glad to obtain the little craft; for, though too small for our voyage down the Amazon, it would enable us to carry out our project of searching the neighbouring shores for our parents. Though we had not preserved their village from destruction, we had certainly saved the lives of their women and children, and did not therefore hesitate about accepting the canoe as a gift.

The chiefs sat up the greater part of the night, holding a council. Next morning it was evident that they had arrived at some important determination. The inhabitants were busy collecting their scattered goods, and doing them up in portable packages. When we explained to them that we were anxious to set off immediately for our own camp, they intimated that they purposed accompanying us. As this, however, would have delayed us greatly, we got Duppo to explain that we would gladly meet them again at any spot they might appoint, but that we would go down by the igarape in the canoe.

A hurried meal having been taken, we prepared to embark. Meantime the men were employed in loading the women and children with their goods. We thought that they were reserving some of the heavier loads for themselves; but this, we soon found, was not the case, as they were placed on the backs of the stronger women. Even our hostess—the chief’s wife—had to shoulder a load; and we felt very indignant when we saw that Oria had to carry one also.

“I say, Harry, don’t you think we ought to save her from that?” exclaimed Arthur. “I am sure I would gladly carry it for her.”

“You would somewhat astonish her if you made the offer,” observed John; “and I suspect you would fall in the estimation of our warrior friends. Their creed is different from ours. They consider it derogatory to manhood to carry a load or to do more work than they can help. However, as Ellen would perhaps like to have Oria with her, we might induce her parents to let her accompany Duppo. We cannot do without him, at all events.”

We tried to explain our proposal to Duppo, and after some time he comprehended us. Oria, however, seemed very unwilling to accept the offer, as she clung to her mother, and turned away her head from us. Duppo at length came back, and we all got into the canoe. Our friends insisted on our taking as many articles of food as we could possibly carry—dried fish and meat, bananas and farinha, as well as fruit and vegetables. True as usual took his seat in the bows. We were just shoving off, when Maono and his wife came down to us leading Oria. The chief addressed us and his son, but what he said we could not of course understand. However we agreed that it was all right, and Duppo seemed highly pleased when his sister stepped into the canoe and took her seat in front of him.

Bidding our friends adieu, we now began carefully to paddle down the igarape. We were some time in sight of the village, the whole inhabitants of which we saw moving off, the men stalking first, with their bows and spears in their hands and their blow-pipes at their backs, and the women following, bending under the weight of the loads they carried. Even the children, except the smallest, who sat on their mother’s backs or were led by the hand, carried packages.

“I am very glad we have saved the poor girl a heavy trudge through the forest,” observed Arthur; “but I cannot say much for the chivalry of these people. I was inclined to think favourably of the warriors when I saw them going forth so bravely to battle, but the example they have given us of the way they treat their women lowers them sadly in my estimation.”

“Very true, Arthur,” remarked John. “It is a sure sign that a people have fallen into a degraded and uncivilised condition when women do not hold an honourable position among them. But there are some savages who treat their females even worse than these do. From what I have seen, they appear in many respects kind and gentle to them. The Australian savage—who is, however, the lowest in the scale of civilisation—when he wants a wife, watches till he finds a damsel to his taste, and then knocks her down with his club, a sign to her that she is henceforth to be a submissive and dutiful wife. I am sure our friends here would not be guilty of such an act.”

“No; I hope not indeed,” exclaimed Arthur. “Dreadful to think that Oria should have to submit to such treatment.”

We had, as may be supposed, to paddle carefully to prevent running against a bough or sunken trunk, as the least touch might have upset our frail craft. Though we might easily have scrambled out, yet we should have run the risk of losing our guns and wetting our ammunition; besides which, an alligator might have been lurking near, and seized one of us in its jaws before we could escape to land. These considerations made us very careful in our navigation. After some time, we began to feel sadly cramped from being unable to move. Oria sat quiet and silent, close to her brother, somewhat surprised, I dare say, at finding herself carried away by the three white strangers. John told us to keep our tongues steady in the middle of our mouths, lest we should make the canoe heel over; and, indeed, if we leant ever so slightly on one side the water began to ripple over the gunwale. Duppo steered very carefully; and I, having the bow paddle, kept a very bright look-out ahead for any danger which might appear under water. I could not help thinking of the big cow-fish we had seen, and dreading lest one of them coming up the igarape might give the canoe an unintentional shove with his snout, which would most inevitably have upset her.

Thus we went on. The lagoon was passed, and again we entered the channel with the thick trees arching overhead. How cool and pleasant was the shade after the heat of the sun to which we had been exposed in the more open parts! As we approached the camp our anxiety to ascertain that all was well increased. The nearer we got the more I longed to see the smiling face of our dear little sister, and I thought of the pleasure she would have when we introduced Oria to her. At length we could see in the far distance the landing-place near the camp. In our eagerness we forgot our caution, and very nearly sent the canoe under water. “Be more careful, boys,” cried John, though he was paddling as hard as either of us. As we drew near I looked out for the raft at the spot we had left her moored, but could not see her. An uncomfortable misgiving came over me, yet I could not bear to think that any accident had happened. I said nothing, and on we went.

“Why, where is the raft?” exclaimed John.

“Oh, perhaps Domingos has drawn her up on the bank,” observed Arthur.

“That is more than he would have strength to do,” said John. “Besides, I can see the bank, and the raft is not there.”

As we drew near we raised a shout to attract Domingos, True joining us with one of his cheerful barks. No one answered.

“Domingos has probably gone out shooting,” observed Arthur. “We shall see your sister and Maria running down directly.”

We looked eagerly towards the camp, but neither Ellen nor Maria appeared. We at length clambered out of the canoe up the bank, leaving Duppo to help out his sister, and on we ran, breathless with anxiety, to ascertain what had happened. The huts stood as we had left them, but the occupants were not there. We looked about. The goods had been carried off. Had the Indians been there—or had Ellen and her attendants fled? These were the fearful questions we asked ourselves. If the Indians had come, where had they carried our sister, and what had they done with her? We searched around in every direction. No signs of violence were to be discovered. Yet, unless the Indians had come, why should they have fled. The savage Majeronas would certainly have burned down the huts. True was running about as surprised as we were to find no one there. Now he ran into Ellen’s hut, then searched about in the surrounding wood, and came back to us, as if he could not make up his mind what had happened. Duppo and Oria now arrived, having waited at the bank to secure the canoe. We tried to make Duppo understand that we wanted to know his opinion. Though very intelligent for an Indian, we could seldom judge his thoughts by the expression of his countenance. At last he comprehended us, but made no reply. After waiting an instant, he went into Ellen’s hut, and then, as True had done, examined the surrounding thickets. At last he came back and had a talk with Oria. They seemed to have arrived at some conclusion. We watched them anxiously. Then we asked Duppo if the Majeronas had been there. He shook his head, and then, taking my hand, led me back to the water, narrowly examining the ground as he went. On reaching the igarape he pointed down towards the great river. I understood him.

“John! Arthur!” I shouted out, “they have gone that way on the raft. I am sure of it from Duppo’s signs. Perhaps they have not got to any great distance, and we may overtake them.”

“Stay,” said John; “perhaps they are hiding somewhere near. We will shout out, and they may hear us.”

“There is no use in doing that,” I remarked. “Had the raft still been here I might have thought so, but it is evident that they have gone away on it. It would easily carry them and all our goods, and for some reason or other Domingos has persuaded them to escape on it, hoping that we should follow.”

“Would not Ellen have left a note for us, or some sign, to show us where they have gone to,” observed John in a desponding tone. “That she has not done so puzzles me more than anything else.”

To satisfy John, we all shouted at the top of our voices again and again; but no reply came. We were going to get into the canoe, when Duppo showed us that we might prepare it with a little contrivance for encountering the rougher water of the river. Some sipos were near. These he cut down, and with Oria’s assistance bound into two long bundles, which he neatly secured to the gunwale of the canoe, completely round her. By this means the sides were raised four or five inches, and would thus, I saw, greatly assist to keep out the water, and at the same time would enable her to float, even should she be partly filled. Duppo now beckoned to us to get into her. We took our seats as before, and once more we paddled down the igarape. Duppo’s contrivance completely kept out the water, which would otherwise have broken on board; and we had no longer any fear of driving the canoe as fast as we could through it. We soon reached the open river.

“Which way shall we turn—up or down the stream?” I asked.

“Down, certainly,” said John; “the raft could not have gone up it.”

We accordingly made signs to Duppo to turn the canoe’s head towards the east. Before us appeared the island on which we so narrowly escaped being wrecked during the hurricane. We steered down near the mainland, examining narrowly the shores on either side. No raft could we see, nor any one on the land. The water was smooth in the channel through which we were passing, but when we got to the end of it, we found the surface rippled over with waves, which, although small, threatened to be dangerous to our deeply-laden little craft. I proposed that we should, notwithstanding, endeavour to paddle up along the other side of the island, in case Ellen and her companions might have landed on it. We made signs to Duppo to steer in that direction; but he, instead of doing so, pointed to a spot some way down the river, signifying to as that he wished to land there. We concluded that it was the place where his father had appointed to meet him. “Perhaps he sees the raft; it may have drifted there,” exclaimed Arthur. “At all events, I am sure it will be better to do as he proposes.”

We accordingly paddled on under Duppo’s pilotage. Now that we were exposed to the breeze blowing across the river, our heavily-laden canoe could with difficulty contend with the waves, which, in spite of the raised gunwale, every now and then broke into her. Had it not been for the young Indian’s thoughtful contrivance, we should inevitably have been swamped. After going on for some distance, we reached the mouth of another igarape. Just outside it, facing the river, was a small open space, free of trees, with a fringe of rushes growing between it and the water. With some little difficulty we forced the canoe through the rushes, and we then, by scrambling up the bank, reached the spot I have described. Duppo made signs to us that it was here he wished to remain for the arrival of his father.

“We may as well do as he proposes then,” said John, “and we will set off and look for the raft. If we do not find it—which Heaven forbid!—we will return and obtain the assistance of the Indians in making a more extended search.”

The spot was a very beautiful one, open entirely to the river in front, while the trees behind, not growing so closely together as usual, allowed the air to circulate—a very important consideration in that hot climate. “It is just the place I should have chosen for an encampment while we are searching for our father,” said John. Arthur and I agreed with him; but as we were eager to be off again, we had no time to talk about the matter. Landing the greater part of the provisions, we explained our intentions to our young friends. They understood us, but seemed unwilling to be left behind. John also proposed that Arthur should remain on shore. “I will do as you wish,” he answered; “but I do not like to be separated from you.” While we were speaking, standing on the bank, looking out over the river, he exclaimed, “See, see! what is that speck out there towards the other side?” We eagerly looked in the direction he pointed.

“I am afraid it is only the trunk of a tree, or a mass of grass floating down,” said John.

“Oh no, no! I am nearly sure there are people on it!” cried Arthur, whose eyes, as we had found, were keener than ours.

“At all events, we will go towards it,” cried John.

We hurried down and slipped into the canoe. “Yes; I know that you may go faster without me,” said Arthur. “You know what I should like to do; but if it is better, I will remain on shore.”

We thanked him for his self-denial, and I was about to propose leaving True with him, when the dog settled the point by jumping in. John and I shoved off, and paddled on with all our might. Now that we had fewer people on board, we made much better way than before, and floated buoyantly over the mimic seas which met us. We had marked the direction of the object we had seen. From the water it was at first scarcely visible. As we went on we again caught sight of it. How anxiously we watched it! One moment I thought it must be the raft, the next I was afraid it was but the trunk of a tree, or a flat island of grass. How I longed for a spy-glass to settle the point, but unfortunately we possessed none. For some minutes neither John nor I spoke.

“Harry!” he exclaimed, at length, “I see some one waving. Yes, yes; I am sure it is the raft!”

I strained my eyes to the utmost. I too thought I saw people on the object ahead of us. If people they were, they were sitting down though.

“Probably Domingos is afraid of standing up,” said John. Then I remarked this to him. “I am glad the wind is across the river instead of up it, or it would be fearfully dangerous for them.”

“Then you do think it is the raft?” I asked.

“I am sure of it,” answered John.

We redoubled our efforts. Every instant the object grew clearer and clearer. We could scarcely be deceived.

“Heaven be praised!” exclaimed John; “I see Ellen and Maria, one on each side, and Domingos working away with his paddle at one end. They are trying to come towards us.”

I saw them too, and could even make out Nimble, and Toby, and Poll, and Niger. My heart leaped with joy. In a few minutes more we were up to the raft.

“We will not stop to ask questions,” exclaimed John, as we got alongside. “Here, Maria; hand me your painter, and we will secure it to ours, and tow you back to the north bank. You must tell us what has happened as we go along.”

“Oh, but Arthur! why is Arthur not with you? Has anything happened to him?” exclaimed Ellen.

“No; he is all right,” answered John, pointing to the shore.

While he was speaking, we transferred our painter to the stern of the canoe, and secured it as a tow-rope to the raft. We put the canoe’s head the way we wished to go, and paddled on. The wind was in our favour; and Domingos, with Ellen and Maria, worked away with their paddles also on the raft. We were exerting ourselves too much to speak. Our dear sister was safe; but yet it was somewhat difficult to restrain our curiosity to know what had occurred. The wind was increasing every moment; and as we neared the shore we saw that there might be some danger of the water washing over the raft should we attempt to land under the bank. I proposed, therefore, that we should steer for the igarape. It was no easy matter, however, to get there, as the current was carrying us down. Domingos tried to urge the raft in the direction we wished to go. The wind continued to increase, and the current swept us further and further to the east. The seas rising, tossed the raft, now on the one side, now on the other; and every moment I dreaded that those on it might be thrown off or washed away. We entreated them to hold on tightly. Even the canoe, though before the wind, was tossed considerably. We could now distinguish our friends on shore watching us anxiously as we approached. Already we had drifted down below them. They were trying to make their way through the forest to follow us.

“We must drift down till we can see some place where we can get on shore with a prospect of safety,” observed John.

I agreed with him that it was our only alternative; yet I knew that sometimes for miles together along the banks such a place might not be found. We turned the head of the canoe, however, down the stream, anxiously looking out for a fit spot to land. I dreaded, as I cast a look over my shoulder at the sky, that such a hurricane as we had before encountered was brewing; and if so, our prospect of being saved was small indeed. I saw that Domingos also was casting a glance back at the sky. We could see the tall trees on shore bending before the blast. Every moment our position became more and more perilous. If landing in the daylight was difficult, it would be still more so to get on shore in the dark.

Down the mighty river we floated. The last rays of the sun came horizontally over the waters, tinging the mimic waves with a bright orange hue. Then gradually they assumed a dull, leaden tint, and the topmost boughs of the more lofty trees alone caught the departing light. Still no harbour of refuge appeared. I proposed running in, as the last desperate resource, and scrambling on shore while we could still see sufficiently to find our way.

“We shall lose our goods, and the canoe, and the raft, if we make the attempt,” answered John, “and perhaps our lives. We must still try to find a safe place to land at.”

We were yet at some distance from the shore, though, driven by the fierce wind, we were rapidly approaching it. The storm increased. Dark clouds were gathering overhead. A bright flash of lightning darted from them, crackling and hissing as it went along the water: another, and another followed. Suddenly, as if a thick mantle had been thrown over us, it became dark, and we could scarcely have distinguished an opening in the forest had one been before us. John was more unwilling than ever to risk landing; and we therefore steered down the river, parallel with the shore, so as to prevent the raft as long as possible from being driven against it.

“Paddle on, Harry!” cried John, with his usual coolness; “we may yet find a harbour of refuge.”

We could judge pretty well, by the varying outline of the leafy wall close to us, that we were making rapid way. The wind, too, had shifted more to the west, and drove us therefore still before it. Arthur and our Indian friends would, I knew, be in despair at not seeing us land; while it was certain that they could not keep pace with the raft, as they had to make their way through the tangled forest. Now that darkness had come on, they would probably be compelled to stop altogether.

The wind blew harder. The raft was tossed fearfully about. Another rattling peal of thunder and more vivid flashes of lightning burst from the clouds. Maria shrieked out with terror; while the two monkeys clung to her, their teeth chattering—as alarmed as she was, Ellen afterwards told me. Then again all was silent.

“I am afraid, Harry, we must make the attempt,” said John at last. “But the risk is a fearful one. We must tell Ellen, Domingos, and Maria to be prepared.—Be ready, dear Ellen!” cried John. “Hold on tightly; and when I call to you, spring towards me. We must manage by some means to get on shore. Domingos will help Maria. Harry will try to secure the guns and ammunition; our existence may depend upon them. The animals must take care of themselves.—Domingos, are you ready?” he asked, in Spanish.

“Si, si, Señor John. But look there, master; what is that light on shore? It must come from some hut surely, where we may obtain shelter. Let us try to reach the place. Even if there are savages there, they will not refuse to help us.”

As he spoke, we observed a bright light bursting forth from among the trees, at a short distance off along the bank. Now it disappeared—now it came again in sight. We paddled down towards it. It was apparently a torch held in a person’s hand. We rapidly approached the light, but yet failed to discover any place where we could land with safety. We shouted loudly, hoping to attract the attention of any one who might be near. Presently a hail came off the land. We answered it. Again a voice was heard.

“Can you tell us where we can land with safety?” cried John, in Spanish.

The answer was unintelligible. Presently he asked again in English; and in a little time we saw the light moving along the bank. Then it remained stationary. We exerted ourselves to the utmost to steer for it; and we now saw a division in the wall of trees, which indicated that there was a passage between them. Again the thunder reared, the lightning flashed, and the wind blew with fearful force.

Maria shrieked loudly, “The water is washing over the raft!”

“Hold on! hold on!” cried John; “we shall soon be in safety.” And in another minute we were entering the mouth of a narrow channel. “We will turn the canoe round,” said John, “and let the raft go first. We may thus prevent it being dashed on the bank.”

We did as he advised. Scarcely, however, had we turned the raft round when we found it had reached the shore.

“Do you, Domingos, help the señora and Maria to land!” shouted John.

By the light from the torch we saw a tall figure standing on the bank. He flung the light so that it might fall across us.

“Females!” he exclaimed. “A sorry night to be buffeting with the waves of the Amazon! Give me your hands, whoever you are. I should little have expected to find my countrymen in such a plight in this remote region.”

While he was speaking he helped Ellen and Maria up the bank, the two monkeys following, while Poll and Niger clung fast to Maria’s shoulders. Faithful True did not attempt to leap on shore, though he could easily have done so, but remained with me in the canoe. Domingos, meantime, was hastily throwing our goods on shore; while we continued exerting ourselves in preventing the raft being lifted by the force of the water and upset on the bank.

“All the things are safely landed,” cried Domingos at length.

We then, casting off the tow-rope, paddled round, and ran the bow of the canoe on shore. Not till then did True leap out of her. Domingos and the stranger coming down, helped us to drag her out of the water.

“We may save the raft also,” said the latter. “You may require it to continue your voyage; as I conclude you do not intend to locate yourselves here, and compel me to seek another home in the wilderness.”

I was struck by the morose tone in which the stranger spoke. He, however, assisted us in dragging up the raft sufficiently high to prevent its being knocked about by the waves, which ran even into the comparatively smooth part of the channel in which we found ourselves.

“We heartily thank you for your assistance,” said John. “We owe the preservation of our lives to you; for, with the increasing storm, we could scarcely have escaped destruction had we been driven further down the river.”

“You owe me no thanks, young sir. I would have done the same for a party of benighted savages, as you call them,” answered the stranger. “Your dumb companions are equally welcome. I am not ill pleased to see them. It speaks in your favour that they follow you willingly, instead of being dragged about with ropes and chains, or confined in cages, as civilised men treat the creatures they pretend to tame. I have, however, but poor shelter to offer you from the deluge which will soon be down on our heads. Follow me; there is no time to be lost.”

“But we must not allow our goods to remain out,” said John.

“I will assist you, then, to carry them,” answered the stranger, lifting up double the number of packages which we usually carried at a time.

We then all loaded ourselves. Ellen insisted on carrying a package, and followed the stranger, who went before us with his torch. We could not even then exchange words, as we had to proceed in single file along a narrow pathway, fringed on either side with thick shrubs—apparently the after-growth of a cleared spot, soon to spring up again into tall trees. We soon found ourselves within the forest, where, so dense was the gloom, that without the torch to guide us we could not have made our way. Its ruddy flame glanced on the trunks of the tall trees, showing a canopy of wide-spreading boughs overhead, and the intricate tracery of the numberless sipos which hung in festoons, or dropped in long threadlike lines from them. Passing for a few yards through a jungle, the boughs spreading so closely above our heads that we often had to stoop, we found ourselves in an open space, in which by the light of the torch we saw a small hut with deep eaves, the gable end turned towards us. It was raised on posts several feet from the ground. A ladder led to a platform or verandah, which projected from the wall of the gable, in which was a small door.

“Here you are welcome to stow your goods and rest for the night,” said the stranger. “No human being but myself has ever entered it; for I seek not the society of my fellow-men, either savage or civilised, so-called. To-morrow, if the weather clears, you will, I conclude, proceed on your way; or if you insist on remaining, I must seek another home. Let that be understood, before I make you further welcome. Now, enter, and such accommodation as my hut affords shall be yours.”

There was something in the tone of the speaker which, though his dress was rough and strange, made us feel that he was a man of education.

“We cordially thank you, sir,” answered John, “and accept your hospitality on the terms you propose; but as a portion of our goods still remain near the river, we would ask you to give us another torch to enable us to fetch them before the rain comes done.”

“I will myself accompany you,” he answered, “when I have introduced the young people to my abode.”

Saying this, he stepped up the ladder, and assisted Ellen and Maria to reach the platform. He then led the way in, and lighted a lamp which stood—we could see through the open door—on a table near it.

“I am sorry I have no better accommodation to offer you,” he said, looking at Ellen; “but such as it is, you are welcome to it.”

He came down with another torch in his hand, and proceeded with rapid strides back to the river. We had some difficulty in following him. Again he took up a heavy load; and we, dividing the remainder of the goods between us, followed him towards the hut. Ascending the ladder as we reached it, he desired us to hand up the goods, which he carried within. As soon as we were on the platform, he drew up the ladder.

“I always secure myself thus in my fortress at night,” he remarked; “and as I have taken means of preventing any snakes crawling up the posts on which it stands, I can sleep more securely than many do in the so-called civilised portion of the globe.”

On entering the house, we found that it was larger than we had supposed from its appearance outside. It was divided into two rooms. The outer was fitted up, in somewhat rustic style, as a sitting-room, while we concluded that the inner one was a sleeping-room. Round the walls were arranged shelves, on one of which were a considerable number of books, with a variety of other articles. In one corner was a pile of nets and harpoons, and some spears and other weapons for the chase; in another stood an Indian mill for grinding flour, and several jars and other articles, apparently for preparing or preserving food. Against the walls stood several chests. Though the table was large enough for the whole of us to sit round it, yet there was but one stool, showing that our host, as he had told us, was unaccustomed to receive guests. He, however, pulled the chests forward, and by placing some boards between them, we all found seats.

“If you have not brought provisions, I will supply you while you stay with me,” he observed; “but my own consumption is so small that I have but a limited amount to offer you.”

“We would not willingly deprive you of that, sir,” said John; “and we have enough to last us till we can supply ourselves with more.”

“That is fortunate,” remarked the recluse. “While your servant gets it ready, I will prepare my room for the young lady and her attendant. I have no cooking-place under shelter, and while the rain is pouring down, as it will begin to do presently, a fire cannot be lighted outside. You must therefore be content with a cold repast.”

While the recluse—so I may call him—was absent, we for the first time had an opportunity of asking Ellen what had occurred to drive her and her attendants away from the camp.

“I was indeed unwilling to do so,” she said, “till urged by Domingos. He had gone to shoot at a short distance from the hut, when he came hurrying back with a look of alarm, and told me that he had caught sight of some savages making their way through the forest. He insisted that they were trying to find us out, and that our only hope of safety was by instant flight. I pleaded that you would come back, and finding us gone, would fancy we had been carried off or killed. He argued that on your return, finding the raft gone, you would know we had embarked on it. At length he agreed, that if we would assist to carry the goods down to the raft he would again search round the camp, and should the natives appear to be going in a different direction, we might carry them back again. He had not gone long, when he returned with dismay on his countenance, asserting that they were coming towards us, and that if we did not escape we should certainly be killed. You may suppose, my dear brothers, how fearfully agitated I was. I knew how alarmed you would be on returning not to find us, and yet, if we should remain it might be still worse. Domingos and Maria settled the matter by seizing me by the arms, and dragging me to the raft before I had time to write a note or leave any signal. I scarcely thought, indeed, of doing so, till Domingos had pushed the raft off from the bank. I entreated him to go back; but he replied that it was impossible without the risk of being caught by the savages, and began paddling the raft down the channel. I looked back, and seeing no natives, again urged him to return. He replied that he was sure they would lie in ambush to catch us, and that it would be destruction to do so. Feeling that he wished to secure my safety, I could not complain. He did his best, too, to comfort me about you. He said that as you were probably with the friendly natives, you would be defended from the Majeronas; and that by the time you had come back, those he had seen would have gone away, and you would certainly guess that we were not far off. I did my utmost to arouse myself and to assist Maria and him in paddling the raft. The wind was light, the water smooth, and there appeared to be no danger in venturing out into the river. A light wind was in our favour, and he accordingly steered towards the opposite bank, saying that we should be safer there than anywhere else, and might more easily get back than by going down the stream. I looked frequently towards the shore we had left, but still saw no natives. Poor Domingos was evidently anxious about you, though he did his best not to alarm me more than he had done already. We found, after getting some way across, that the current was floating us down much faster than we had expected, and I begged Domingos therefore to return. He insisted that, having got thus far, it was better to continue our course towards the southern bank, and wait there for a favourable wind for getting back. I was thankful when at length we reached a sandy beach, where we could land without difficulty and secure our raft. Domingos fortunately shot a paca, so we had plenty of food; and Maria and I assisted him in putting up a hut. Had I not been so anxious about you, I should have had no cause to complain. They both exerted themselves to the utmost; and I do not think Domingos closed his eyes all night, for whenever I awoke I saw him, through an opening in our hut, walking about or making up the fire. We spent the morning on the bank, watching in the hope of seeing you come to look for us. As soon as the wind changed, I entreated Domingos to put off, and at last, though somewhat unwillingly, he consented to do so; but he blamed himself very much for yielding to my wishes, when the wind began to blow so violently. Had you, indeed, not arrived to assist us, I suspect that our raft would have been in great danger of being overwhelmed.”

“We have reason to be thankful, dear Ellen, that you were preserved,” said John. “I am very sure Domingos acted for the best. I wish for your sake that our expedition had come to a favourable end, although the rest of us may enjoy it.”

“Oh, if it were not for anxiety about papa and mamma, and dear Fanny, and Aunt Martha, I should like it too,” said Ellen. “When we once find them, I am sure that I shall enjoy our voyage down the river as much as any of you.”

“You are a brave girl,” said the stranger, who at that moment returned, “though, perhaps, you scarcely know the dangers you may have to encounter. Yet, after all, they are of a nature more easily overcome than many which your sisters in the civilised regions of the world are called to go through. Here you have only the elements and a few wild beasts to contend with; there, they have falsehood, treachery, evil example, allurements of all sorts, and other devices of Satan, to drag them to destruction.”

While we were seated at supper, the rain came down in tremendous torrents, as the recluse had predicted. The strength of his roof was proved, as not a drop found its way through.

“I am protected here,” he remarked, “from the heat of the summer months by the leafy bower overhead; while, raised on these poles, my habitation is above the floods in the rainy season. What can man want more? Much in the same way the natives on the Orinoco form their dwellings among the palm-trees; but they trust more to Nature, and, instead of piles, form floating rafts, sufficiently secured to the palm-trees to keep them stationary, but rising and falling as the floods increase or diminish.”

I was struck with many of the remarks of our eccentric host, but the more I saw of him the more I was surprised that a man of his information should have thus secluded himself from the world. We had just time to give Ellen an account of our adventures, when he expressed his wish that we should hang up our hammocks, as it was past his usual hour for retiring to rest. This was an operation quickly performed, as we had only to secure them in the usual way to the posts which supported the roof.

“We should not part,” said Ellen, somewhat timidly, “without our usual prayer; and we have cause to thank God for our preservation from danger.”

The recluse looked at her fixedly. “You are in earnest, I am sure,” he muttered. “Pray, young people, do not depart from your usual custom; I will wait for you.”

Arthur, I should have said, though the youngest, always led us in prayer. “As he is absent,” I remarked to Ellen’s request, “I will do so.”

“Oh, you have a young chaplain with you,” said the recluse; “and what pay does he receive?”

“None at all, sir,” answered Ellen. “He is only earnest and good.”

“I should like to meet him,” said the recluse.

“I hope you may, sir,” said Ellen, “if you come with us.”

A short prayer was offered up. I spoke with the earnestness I felt. Ellen then read a portion of Scripture from the Bible she had always at hand in her trunk. Our host listened attentively, his eyes fixed on our young sister. I had not observed a copy of the blessed Book on his shelves. He made no remark, however, on the subject, but I thought his tone was less morose than before.

We were soon in our hammocks, a small oil lamp, which was kept burning on the table, throwing a subdued light through the chamber. True, I should have said, from our first meeting with the stranger, had eyed him askance, having apparently some doubts as to his character. He now came and coiled himself up in his usual position under my hammock. He had kept as far off from him as he could during the evening, and did not seem satisfied till the tall figure of the recluse was stretched out in his hammock near the entrance of the hut. The rain pattering overhead, and splashing down on the soft ground round us, kept me for some time awake. It ceased at length, and soon afterwards, just as I was dropping off to sleep, a chorus of hideous sounds commenced, coming apparently from no great distance in the forest. Now they resembled the cries and groans of a number of people in distress. Now it seemed as if a whole troop of jaguars were growling and snarling over their prey. Now it seemed as if a company of Brobdignag cats were singing a serenade. Now the sounds for a moment ceased, but were instantly taken up again by other creatures at a distance. After a time, the same sounds recommenced in another quarter. Had I not already been well accustomed to similar noises, I might have fancied that we had got into some forest haunted by evil spirits bewailing their lost condition. I was sufficiently awake, however, to guess that they proceeded only from troops of howling monkeys, though we had never yet heard them so near, or in such numbers. In spite of the hideous concert, I at last fell asleep.

The voice of our host aroused us at daybreak. “As soon as you have broken your fast, I will accompany you to find your companions,” he said, “unless you desire to proceed by water. In that case, you will scarcely meet them; but I would advise you to leave your canoe and raft here, as I can conduct you through the forest by the only open paths which exist, and by which alone they can make their way in this direction. I am afraid, unless they had their wits about them, they must have been exposed to the tempest last night, and may be but ill able to travel far this morning.”

John at once decided to go by land, as the canoe was not large enough to convey all our party. The recluse looked at Ellen. “She will scarcely be able to undergo the fatigue of so long a walk,” he remarked. “If she wishes it, she and her attendant can remain here, while we go to meet your companions; and you can then return and remove your property, or leave it till you can find the means of continuing your voyage. I did not purpose to allow my solitude to be thus broken in on; but,”—and he looked again at Ellen—“she reminds me of days gone by, and I cannot permit her to be exposed to more trials than are necessary.”

John thanked him for his proposal, though Ellen seemed unwilling to remain behind. We also did not like to leave her. At last John suggested that Domingos should remain also. The recluse pressed the point with more warmth than I should have expected, and at last Ellen agreed to do as was proposed. She was certainly better off in a well-built hut than she had been for some time, and strange and eccentric as the recluse appeared, still we felt that he was disposed to assist us to the best of his power.

Our early breakfast over, John and I, shouldering our rifles, followed by True, set off with the recluse. Ellen looked rather sad as we were going.

“You will find poor Arthur? I know you will,” she said in a low voice to me. “I thought of him a great deal last night, out in the fierce tempest, with only two young Indians to assist him; and he is not so strong as you are, and has no gun to defend himself. I could not help thinking of fierce jaguars roaming in search of prey, or those dreadful boas, or the anacondas we have heard of.”

“Oh, drive all such thoughts from your mind, Ellen,” I answered. “Arthur, if not so strong, has plenty of sense and courage; and, depend upon it, the Indians will have found some hollow tree, or will have built a hut for themselves, in which they would have taken shelter during the night. I should not have minded changing places with Arthur. It is all right. We will bring him back safe enough.”

With these words I hurried after John and the recluse. We had not gone far, when I saw them looking up into a tree. True darted forward and began to bark, when, in return, a chorus of terrific barks, howls, and screeches proceeded from the higher branches, and there I saw seated a group of several large monkeys with long tails and most hideous faces. Every instant they threw up their heads, and the fearful sounds I had heard issued forth from them. I could scarcely suppose that animals of such a size could make so much noise.

“You have there some of my friends who serenaded you last night,” observed the recluse, when, after a few minutes, the monkeys ceased howling. “These are themycétes, or ursine howlers. The creature is called in this countryaraguato, and sometimes by naturalists thealouatte. It is known also as ‘the preacher.’ If he could discourse of sin and folly, and point out to benighted man the evil of his ways, he might howl to some purpose but his preaching is lost on the denizens of the forest, who know nothing of sin, and are free from the follies of the world. Observe that with how little apparent difficulty he gives forth that terrific note. It is produced by a drum-shaped expansion of the larynx. The hyoid bone, which in man is but slightly developed, is in these monkeys very large. It gives support to the tongue, being attached to the muscles of the neck. The bony drum communicates with the wind-pipe, and enables them to utter those loud sounds.”

Had Arthur been with us, I am sure we should have indulged in a hearty laugh at the curious faces of those thick-jawed creatures as they looked down upon us inquisitively to ascertain what we were about. They were considerably larger than any we had seen; indeed, the howler is the largest monkey in the New World. The fur is of a rich bay colour, and as the sun fell upon the coats of some of them above us, they shone with a golden lustre. The thick beard which hung from the chin and neck was of a deeper hue than the body. Our friend told us that those he had caught were generally about three feet long, and that their tails in addition were of even greater length. We went on without disturbing the assemblage in their aerial seat, greatly to True’s disappointment, who would evidently have liked to measure his strength with one of them. Like the spider monkeys, they live entirely in trees, making good use of their long tails as they move about from branch to branch; indeed, the tail serves the howler for another hand. When by any chance he descends to the ground, he moves along very awkwardly, and can easily be caught, as we afterwards discovered.

Our new acquaintance was but little inclined to talk; indeed, had he been so, we could seldom have enjoyed much conversation, as we were compelled in most places to follow him in Indian file. Now and then he had to use his hatchet to clear the path, and we very frequently had to force our way by pressing aside the branches which met in front of us. Still he went on without wavering for a moment, or appearing doubtful of the direction he should take. After going on some way further, he again stopped, and pointed to a tree, the branch of which rose a few feet off. I knew by the way True barked that some creature was there; and looking more narrowly, I observed some animals clinging to the lower branches, but so nearly did they resemble the bark to which they were holding, that had they not been pointed out to me I should have passed them by. The animals turned listless glances at us, and seemed in no way disposed to move.

“There,” observed the recluse, “are creatures in every way adapted to the mode of life which they are doomed to lead. Place them in any other, and they will be miserable. You see there theai, or three-toed sloth (theBradypus torquatus). Though its arms, or fore-legs more properly, are nearly twice as long as the hinder ones, it finds them exactly suited for climbing the trees on which it lives. Place it on the ground, and it cannot get along. It passes its life, not above, but under the branches. When moving along, it suspends itself beneath them; when at rest, it hangs from them; and it sleeps clutching them with its strong claws, and its back hanging downwards.”

One of the creatures was hanging as our friend described; the other was on its way up the tree. It stopped on seeing us approach, and turned its round short head, with deeply sunk eyes and a large nose, to look at us. The animals had long powerful claws on all their feet. The hair was very coarse and shaggy, more like grass or moss than anything else.

“The sloth suckles its young like other quadrupeds,” observed our friend; “and I have often seen the female, with her little one clinging to her, moving at a rate through the forest which shows that the sloth does not properly deserve its name. See now—give a shout—and then say if it is too sluggish to more.”

John and I shouted together, and True barked loudly. The sloths gave reproachful glances at us for disturbing them, and then began to move away at a speed which an active sailor running up the rigging of a ship could scarcely equal. In a short time, slinging themselves from branch to branch, they had disappeared in the depths of the forest.

“Let them go,” observed our friend. “You do not want a meal, or you would find their flesh supply you with one not to be disdained.” The last remark was made as we again moved on. Once more we relapsed into silence. When, however, a bird, or moth, or any creature appeared, our guide stopped for an instant, and turning round, told us its name and habits. We passed several curious trees, one of which he pointed out rising from the ground in numerous stalks, which then united in a thick stem, and afterwards, half-way up, bulged out in a long oval, again to narrow, till at the summit six or eight branches, with palm-like formed leaves, spread forth, forming a graceful crown to the curious stem. He called it theIriartes ventricosa, or bulging-stemmed palm. Again we passed through a grove of urucuri palms (Attalea excelsa). Their smooth columnar stems were about forty or fifty feet in height, while their broad, finely pinnated leaves interlocked above, and formed arches and woven canopies of varied and peculiarly graceful shapes. High above them rose the taller forest trees, whose giant branches formed a second canopy to shade them from the glaring rays of the sun. Many of the trees rose eighty feet without a branch, their stems perfectly straight. Huge creepers were clinging round them, sometimes stretching obliquely from their summits, like the stays of a ship’s mast. Others wound round their trunks, like huge serpents ready to spring on their prey. Others, again twisted spirally round each other, forming vast cables of living wood, holding fast those mighty monarchs of the forest. Some of the trees were so covered with smaller creepers and parasitic plants that the parent stem was entirely concealed. The most curious trees were those having buttresses projecting from their bases. The lower part of some of them extended ten feet or more from the base of the tree, reaching only five or six feet up the trunk. Others again extended to the height of fully thirty feet, and could be seen running up like ribs to a still greater height. Some of these ribs were like wooden walls, several inches in thickness, extended from the stem, so as to allow room for a good-sized hut to be formed between them by merely roofing over the top. Again, I remarked other trees ribbed and furrowed for their whole height. Occasionally these furrows pierced completely through the trunks, like the narrow windows of an ancient tower. There were many whose roots were like those of the bulging palm, but rising much higher above the surface of the ground. The trees appeared to be standing on many-legged pedestals, frequently so far apart from each other that we could without difficulty walk beneath them. A multitude of pendants hung from many of the trees, some like large wild pine-apples, swinging in the air. There were climbing arums, with dark-green arrow-head shaped leaves; huge ferns shot out here and there up the stems to the topmost branches. Many of the trees had leaves as delicately cut as those of the graceful mimosa, while others had large palmate leaves, and others, again, oval glossy ones.

Now and then, as I looked upwards, I was struck with the finely-divided foliage strongly defined against the blue sky, here and there lighted up by the bright sunshine; while, in the region below through which we moved, a deep gloom prevailed, adding grandeur and solemnity to the scene. There were, however, but few flowers; while the ground on which we walked was covered with dead leaves and rotten wood, the herbage consisting chiefly of ferns and a few grasses and low creeping plants.

We stopped at last to lunch, and while John and I were seated on the branch of a fallen tree, our friend disappeared. He returned shortly, with his arms full of large bunches of a round juicy berry. “Here,” he said, “these will quench your thirst, and are perfectly wholesome.” We found the taste resembling that of grapes. He called it thepurumá. We were too eager to find Arthur to rest long, and were once more on our journey.

“From the account you gave me, I hope we may soon meet with your friends,” observed the recluse, “unless they have turned back in despair of finding you.”

“Little fear of that,” I observed. “I am sure Arthur will search for us as long as he has strength to move.”

Still we went on and on, and Arthur did not appear; and we asked our companion whether he did not think it possible that our friends might have tried to make their way along the bank of the river.

“No,” he answered, “the jungle is there too thick; and if we find signs of their having made the attempt, we shall speedily overtake them; for though we have made a considerable circuit, they by this time could scarcely have progressed half a mile even with the active employment of sharp axes.”

This somewhat comforted me; for notwithstanding what the recluse said, I felt nearly certain that Arthur would attempt to examine the whole length of the bank, in hopes of discovering what had become of us. We went on and on till we entered a denser part of the forest, where we were compelled to use our axes before we could get through. At length I caught sight through an opening of what looked like a heap of boughs at a distance. The recluse, quickening his pace, went on towards it. We eagerly followed. It was a hut roughly built. Extinguished embers of a fire were before it. We looked in eagerly. It was empty, but there were leaves on the ground, and dry grass, as if people had slept there. It had been, there was little doubt, inhabited by Arthur and his companions. It was just such a hut as they would have built in a hurry for defence against the storm. But what had become of them?

“I believe you are right,” said the recluse at last, having examined the bushes round; “they certainly attempted to make their way along the bank. I trust no accident has happened to them, for in many places it is undermined by the waters, and after rain suddenly gives way.” These remarks somewhat alarmed me. “This is the way they have taken, at all events,” he added; “though they have managed to creep under places we might find some difficulty in passing.” Again he led the way, clearing the path occasionally with his axe. We were close to the edge of the river, though so thickly grew the tangled sipos and the underwood that we could only occasionally get glimpses of it. As we went along we shouted out frequently, in hopes that Arthur might hear us.

“Your friend and his companions have laboured hard to get through this dense jungle,” he observed, “but we shall soon overtake them.”

Still on and on we went, now and then having to turn aside, being unable otherwise to force our way onwards. We at length, on returning to the river, found below us a sand-bank, which extended for some distance along it.

“Here are the marks of their feet!” exclaimed John, who had leaped down on it. “See the way they are turned! We shall soon overtake them.”

This discovery restored my spirits, for I had begun to fear that after all, unable to get along, they had turned back. We hastened forward along the bank, but the sand was very soft, and walking on it was almost as fatiguing as through the forest; while the heat from the sun striking down on it was intense. Climbing up the bank once more, we proceeded through the forest. We went on a short distance, when we found ourselves in more open ground—that is to say, we could get on without the use of our axes. We continued shouting out, and every now and then making our way to the bank as before.

“Hark!” said John, “I hear a cry. See! there are natives coming towards us. Yes; I believe they are the two young Indians.”

“They are Indians,” remarked our guide. “They are beckoning us. We will hasten on.”

In another minute we saw Duppo and Oria running towards us. They kept crying out words that I did not understand. As soon as they saw the recluse they hurried to him, and took his hands, as if they knew him well.

“They tell me your young friend is ill,” he remarked. “They have left him a little further on, close to the water, where, it seems, unable to proceed, he fainted. They entreat me to hasten on lest he should die. They fancy I can do everything, having occasionally cured some of their people of slight diseases.”

As he said this he allowed himself to be dragged forward by Duppo and his sister, who, in their eagerness, seemed scarcely to have recognised us. The ground over which we were proceeding was somewhat swampy, and sloped down to a small lagoon or inlet of the river. John and I followed as fast as we could at the heels of our guide. Presently he stopped, and uttering an exclamation, threw aside the hands of the young Indians and dashed forward. We followed, when, what was our horror to see, under a grove of mimosa bushes, Arthur in the grasp of a huge serpent, which had wound its coils round his body. I shrieked with dismay, for I thought he was dead. He moved neither hand nor foot, seemingly unconscious of what had occurred. The recluse dashed forward. John and I followed with our axes, and True went tearing boldly on before us. It was an anaconda. Already its huge mouth was open to seize our young companion. Without a moment’s hesitation the recluse sprang at the monster, and seizing its jaws with a power I should scarcely have supposed he possessed, wrenched them back, and held them fast in spite of the creature’s efforts to free itself. “Draw him out!” shouted the recluse; and John, seizing Arthur, drew him forth from amid the vast coils, while I with my axe struck blow after blow at its body and tail. The recluse did not let go his hold, although the creature, unwinding its tail, threatened to encircle him in its coils. Now it seemed as if it would drag him to the ground, but he recovered his feet, still bending back the head till I could hear the bones cracking. I meantime had been hacking at its tail, and at length a fortunate blow cut it off. John, placing Arthur at a little distance, came back to our assistance, and in another minute the reptile lay dead at our feet, when True flew at it and tore away furiously at its body.

“Your young friend has had a narrow escape,” said the recluse, as he knelt down and took Arthur’s hand; “he breathes, though, and is not aware of what has happened, for the anaconda must have seized him while he was unconscious.”

We ran to the river. The dry shells of several large nuts lay near. In these we brought some water, and bathed Arthur’s brow and face. “He seems unhurt by the embrace of the anaconda,” remarked the recluse, “but probably suffered from the heat of the sun.”

After this he lifted Arthur in his arms, and bore him up the bank. John and I followed with a shell of water. The contrast between the hot sandy bank and the shady wood was very great. As we again applied the water, Arthur opened his eyes. They fell on the recluse, on whom he kept them steadily fixed with a look of surprise.

“I thought John and Harry were with me,” he murmured out. “I heard their voices calling as I lay fainting on the bank.”

“Yes; we are here,” John and I said, coming forward. “Duppo and his sister met us, and brought us to you.”

“I am so glad,” he said in a low voice. “I began to fear that you were really lost, we wandered on so far without finding you. I felt ready to die too, I was so sick at heart. And your sister—is she safe?” he asked. “Oh yes; I am sure you would look more sad if she were not.”

“Yes, she is safe and well, Arthur,” I said; “and we must take you there to be nursed, or, if it is too far to carry you, we must build a hut somewhere near here, where we can join you.”

The stranger looked at Arthur, and murmured something we did not hear.

“It is a long way to carry the lad,” he said; “though if I had him in my hut I would watch over him.”

“Perhaps it may be better to build a hut at the spot we proposed, and bring our sister and goods to it,” I said.

“No; I will take the lad to mine,” answered the recluse. “You can build a hut as you proposed, and when he has recovered I will bring him to you.”

I was very glad to hear this, because I was afraid that Arthur might suffer unless we could get him soon placed in a comfortable hammock, and give him better food than we should be able to prepare without our cooking apparatus.

“I am ready to go on whenever you wish it,” observed Arthur, who heard the discussion; “but I am afraid I cannot walk very fast.”

“I will carry you then,” said the recluse; “but it will be better to form a litter, on which you can rest more at your ease. We will soon get one ready.”

Duppo and Oria stood by watching us eagerly while we spoke, as if they were anxious to know what we were saying.

“You stay with your young friend, while your brother and I prepare the litter,” said the recluse to me, replacing Arthur on the ground.

I sat down by his side, supporting him. He did not allude to the anaconda, and, I suspected, was totally unconscious of the danger he had been in. While the recluse and John were cutting down some poles to form the litter, Duppo and his sister collected a number of long thin sipos, showing that they understood what we proposed doing. In a short time the litter was completed. John and I insisted on carrying it, though we had some difficulty in persuading the recluse to allow us to do so. He spoke for some time to Duppo and his sister, who looked greatly disconcerted and sad.

“I was telling them that they must go and find their people,” he said, “and that they must build a house for you on the spot you selected. They will be true friends to you, as they have ever been to me. I advise you to cultivate their friendship by treating them with kindness and respect.”

The young Indians seemed very unwilling to take their departure, and lingered some time after we had wished them good-bye. John and I took up the litter, on which Arthur had been placed. As we had already cut a road for ourselves, we were able to proceed faster than we did when before passing through the forest. We hurried on, for the sun had begun to sink towards the west, and we might be benighted before we could reach the hermit’s abode.

We proceeded by the way we had come. After we had gone some distance, Arthur begged that he might be put down and allowed to walk. “I am sure I have strength enough, and I do not like to see you carry me,” he said. Of this, however, we would not hear, and continued on.

At last we sat down to rest. The spot we had chosen was a pleasant one. Though shaded, it was sufficiently open to allow the breeze to circulate through it. Round us, in most directions, was a thick jungle. We had brought some water in a shell of one of the large nuts, and after Arthur had drunk some, we induced him to take a little food, which seemed greatly to revive him. We were seated round the contents of our wallets, John and I, at all events, feeling in much better spirits than we had been in the morning; even the recluse threw off some of his reserve. We took the opportunity of telling him of our anxiety about our parents, and of the uncertainty we felt whether they had passed down the river. He in return asked us further questions, and seemed interested in our account.

“I may be of use to you,” he said at length, “by being able to make inquiries among the Indians on the river, who would probably have observed them should they have passed; but promises are so often broken, that I am ever unwilling to make them. Therefore, I advise you to trust to your own exertions,” he added.

We were on the point of again taking up Arthur to proceed, when a loud sound of crashing branches was heard in the distance. It seemed as if a hurricane was sweeping through the forest. It came nearer and nearer.

“Oh I what can it be?” cried Arthur. “Leave me and save yourselves. It seems as if the whole forest was falling.”

The crashing increased. Boughs seemed broken off, shrubs trampled under foot. Presently we saw, bearing down upon as, a large dark-skinned creature, though its form could scarcely be distinguished amid the foliage.

“Stand fast!” said the recluse. “It will not harm you. See! it has an enemy to contend with.”

As the creature drew nearer, I saw that it bore on its back a huge jaguar, distinguished by its spotted hide and its fierce glaring eyes. Its jaws were fixed in the creature’s neck, to which it clung also with its sharp claws.

“The animal is a tapir,” said the recluse. “I am not certain yet though whether the jaguar will conquer it. See, the back of the latter is bleeding and torn from the rough branches beneath which the tapir has carried it.”

As he spoke, the animals came close to us, the tapir making for the thick branch of a fallen tree kept up by a network of sipos, which hung like a beam almost horizontally a few feet from the ground. The tapir dashed under it, and we could hear the crash of the jaguar’s head as it came in contact with the hard wood. Still it clung on, but its eyes had lost their fierce glare. Blood covered the backs of the animals, and the next moment the jaguar fell to the ground, where it lay struggling faintly. Twice it tried to rise, but fell back, and lay apparently dead.

John had lifted his rifle to fire at the tapir. “Hold!” said the recluse; “let the victor go; he deserves his liberty for having thus sagaciously liberated himself from his tormentor. Would that we could as easily get rid of ours! How eagerly we should seek the lower branches of the trees!” He gave one of those peculiar, sarcastic laughs, which I observed he was apt to indulge in.

We cautiously approached the jaguar, feeling uncertain whether it might not yet rise up and spring at us. John and I kept our rifles at its head, while True went boldly up towards it. He had been an excited spectator of the scene, and I had some difficulty in keeping him from following the tapir. The jaguar did not move. Even a poke with the muzzle of my rifle failed to arouse it. True began to tear away at its neck; and at length we were convinced that the savage creature was really dead. “There let him lie,” said the recluse. “Strong as he was a few moments ago, he will be food for the armadillos before morning.”

We again lifted up Arthur, and proceeded onwards, the recluse leading and clearing away the branches which might have injured Arthur as we passed between them. Of course we now required a broader passage than when we came through ourselves. We took exactly the same route; our guide never faltering for a moment, though in many places I should have had difficulty, where the marks of our axes were not to be seen, in finding the road. Several times he offered to take my place, observing that I might be tired; but John and I begged him to allow us to carry our young friend, as we did not like to impose the task on him. Thus we went on till my arms and shoulders began to ache, but I determined not to give in. Arthur had not spoken for some time. I looked at his face. It was very pale, and his eyes were closed. I was afraid he had received more injury from the fearful serpent than we had at first supposed. We hurried on, for it was evidently very important that he should as soon as possible be attended to. We did not stop, therefore, a moment to rest. Thinking that he would not hear me, I expressed my fears to John. “Oh no, no,” said Arthur; “I do not feel so very ill. I wish you would put me down, for I am sure you must be tired.”

I was greatly relieved when I heard him speak; at the same time his voice was so weak, that we were unwilling to do as he begged us. It was getting late, too, as we could judge by the increasing gloom in the forest. Looking up through the occasional openings in the dark-green canopy above our heads, we could see the sky, which had now become of the intensest shade of blue. A troop of allouattes commenced a concert, their unmusical howlings echoing through the forest. Numerous macaws passed above us, giving vent to strange harsh cries; while whole families of parrots screamed in various notes. Cicadas set up the most piercing chirp, becoming shriller and shriller, till it ended in a sharp screeching whistle. Other creatures—birds, beasts, and insects—added their voices to the concert, till the whole forest seemed in an uproar. As the sky grew darker, and the shades of night came thickly round us, the noises gradually ceased, but were soon succeeded by the drumming, hoohooing, and the croaking of the tree-frogs, joined occasionally by the melancholy cries of the night-jar. “Follow me closely,” said the recluse, “and step as high as you can, not to catch your feet in the tangled roots. My eyes are well accustomed to this forest-gloom, and I will lead you safely.”

At length we found ourselves passing through a narrow passage between thick bushes, which reminded us of the approach to the recluse’s hut. Emerging from it, we saw light ahead, and now reached the steps which led to the verandah.

“You have come on well,” he observed. “I will carry up your young friend. Leave the litter on the ground.”

I had to stop and assist up True, for although he made several attempts to mount the ladder by himself, it was somewhat too high for him to succeed. On entering the hut I found Ellen, in a state of agitation, leaning over Arthur.

“Oh! what has happened?” she asked. “Will he die? Will he die?”

“I trust not, young lady,” remarked our host. “He wants rest and careful nursing, and I hope in a few days will have recovered. I will now attend to him, and afterwards leave him under your care.”

“Do not be alarmed, Miss Ellen,” whispered Arthur. “I only fainted from the hot sun and anxiety about you all. Now I am with you, I shall soon get well.”

“As I have by me a store of medicines, with which I have doctored occasionally the poor natives, I can find, I hope, some remedies which may help to restore your friend,” observed the recluse. “Rest is what he chiefly now requires.”

Arthur was put into his hammock, and after he had taken a mess which Maria had prepared, fell asleep.

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