The houton, a bird so called from the sound he gives out, distinctly articulates "houton, houton," in a plaintive note, as he erects his crown, and cuts and trims his tail, with his beak, in the most, artistical manner, then flies off with a short jerk.
At the same period the maam whistles; and when the sun is seen above the horizon, the hanaquoi, pataca, maroucli, and all the parrots and paroquets are prepared to announce his arrival. Every hour from this moment, excepting noon, calls into action new races of animals; and he who spends a day in the scene that environed my existence, when seated at my door, would not know which most to admire,—the forms, hues, or voices of the animals presented to his observation; as at intervals, wonder, admiration, and awe of the power that created them, are forced on the mind.
Forest animals
With the morning's dawn, the monkeys send forth their howl, the grasshoppers and locusts chirp, the frogs and toads give out their notes. The hanging pendant wasps' nests, most curious in form, send forth their inhabitants; myriads of ants issue from their clay-built tenements, in some places colonized so densely as to cover the foliage all around. These, like the species of ants called the termites, that cast up the earth in mounds, commence their day's journey on roads constructed by themselves, some of which are covered, and others open.
Myriads of the most beautiful beetles buzz in the air, and sparkle like jewels on the fresh and green leaves, or on odorous flowers. Other tribes, such as serpents and agile lizards, creep from the hollow of trees, or from holes beneath the herbage; many of them exceeding in splendour the hue of the flowers. The major part of these are on their way to creep up the stems of trees or bushes, there to bask in the sun, and lie in wait for birds and insects.
The most brilliantly coloured butterflies, rivalling in hues the rainbow, begin to flutter from flower to flower, or collect in parties on the most sunny banks of cooling streams. There was the blue-white idia, the large eurilochus with its ocellated wings, the hesperite, the Laertes, the blue shining Nestor, and the Adonis; these, like birds, in most places hovered between the bushes. The feronia, with rustling wings, flew rapidly from tree to tree; while the owl, the largest of the moth species, sat immovable, with out-spread wings, waiting the approach of evening.
As the day progresses, the life of the scene increases. Troops of gregarious monkeys issue from the depths of the forest, their inquisitive countenances turned towards the verge of their wooded domain, making their way for the plantations; all leaping, whistling, and chattering as they progress from tree to tree.
Parrots, some blue, red, or green, others, parti-coloured, assemble in large groups on the tops of the forest-trees; and then, flying off to the plantations, fill the air with their screams. The toucan, perched on an extreme branch, rattles his large, hollow bill; and in loud, plaintive notes, calls for rain. The fly-catcher sits aloof, intent on watching insects as they dart from branch to branch, seizing them as they heedlessly buzz by him in their giddy and unsteady career. Other birds, of singular form, variety, and superb plumage, flutter by, in large or small parties, or in pairs, and some singly, peopling everywhere the fragrant bushes. On the ground are gallinaceans, jacuses, hocuses, and pigeons, that have left the perch to wander under the trees, in the moisture, for food.
In the tones of the nightingale the manikins are heard in all places, amusing themselves by their sudden change of position, and in misleading the sportsman; while the woodpecker makes the distant forest resound as he strikes the trees. Super-noisy, above all, is the uraponga, who, perched on the highest tree he can find, gives out sounds resembling the strokes of a sledge-hammer on the anvil, deluding the wanderer, as it once did me, into a belief that a blacksmith's shop is near at hand.
The mocking-bird
Every living thing, by its action and voice, is seen greeting the splendour of the day; while the delicate humming-bird, rivalling, in beauty and lustre, diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires, hovers with invisible wings over the brightest flowers. The bird colibri repairs to the tree calledbois immortel, when the wild guava ripens its fruit; and there, also, will be found the Pompadour, both the purple-breasted and the purple-throated. At the same hour (day-break), the crowing of the hanaquoi sounds like a village-clock, for all to set to work in the great shop of nature. Then the cassique, or mocking-bird, gives out his own short but sweet song, preparatory to visiting the plantations, being fond of the haunts of man, where he remains till evening, making all kinds of noises, from the crowing of a cock, and the barking of dogs, to the grunting and squeaking of pigs. These birds weave their nests near together, in a pendulous manner. Their bodies are black, having the rump and half-tail yellow; other species have the rump a bright scarlet. In form they are a model of symmetry.
As the feathered tribes, one after the other, adjust their plumage, and tune their throats, squirrels, in rapid spiral speed, as quick as thought, are seen descending trees, then darting upon others in opposite directions, flinging themselves from tree to tree, with amazing exactness; pursuing their mates or their rivals among the mazy branches of the trees, with a velocity that eludes the sight.
Everywhere is nature's secretary, with his pen dipped in intellect, busy in writing down the invisible agency of Infinite Wisdom and Almighty Power.
"How dazzling is thy beauty! how divine!How dim the lustre of the world to thine!"
The sublimity of the scene, when first beheld, produced unlimited astonishment; viewed again and again, all was softened down into harmonious shades of beauty, imparting a pleasure that cannot be understood by mere dwellers amidst the works of man.
Noon in the forest
In the forest, every hour of the night and day is the Creator present to the eye. Surrounded by the works of man, we sometimes lose sight of our Maker, and do not always properly appreciate his attributes. I have said that the morning gives life and activity to myriads of his creatures, who declare his power; but not less expressive is the hour of tranquillity—the hour of noon. At that hour, all is suddenly hushed into solemn silence. Stillness, as if by general consent, concert, or word of command, influences all the sylvan communities—a stillness illumined and made more manifest by the dazzling and burning beams of a meridian sun.
Creation at that hour appears wearied, fatigued, and overcome with the splendour of the day; it is as the face of God himself, before whose glory all things are struck with awe, and pause to acknowledge His majesty. Nothing moves—it is the hour of nature's siesta—yet the stillness speaks.
"Thy shades, thy silence, now be mine,Thy charms my only theme;My haunt the hollow cliff whose pineWaves o'er the gloomy stream."
The quietness is that of a pause in the running stream of time; the air is motionless, the leaves hang pendant, as waiting in the presence of a deity for permission to resume the business of growth. The silence that reigns at the hour of noon is peculiarly of a religious character; there is nothing to which it can be compared but itself. From the nobles of the forest to the minutest insect, all appear to be at their devotions—the propensity to kill, for the time being, is forgotten or suspended,—
"The passions to divine repose alonePersuaded yield; and love and joy are waking."
It is as if the naiads and fairies had deserted the sunbeams and fallen asleep. Oh! there is a harmony in nature wonderfully attuned to the intelligence of man, if he would but listen to it. The hour of noon, in the woods, is an hour of intellectual transcendentalism; it lifts the thoughts beyond the world, and peoples the grove with spirits of another world. Yet is there nothing in motion but the beams of the sun penetrating the foliage to the base of the trees—
"The chequered earth seems restless as a floodBrushed by the winds, so sportive is the lightShot through the boughs; it dances as they dance,Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick,And dark'ning and enlight'ning (as the beamsPlay wanton) every part."
Everything speaks of the Deity, and the fall of a leaf passes as a phantom of the dead.
——"not a tree,A plant, a leaf, a blossom, but containsA folio volume."
The fitful meanings of the wind, in the more boisterous moments of Æolus, through the branches, speak not louder of God than the whisper of his breath that plays with the foliage. The low and broken murmurs of the water in the gill are as audibly eloquent as the lashing of the waves of the ocean in a storm, or the wild roar of the cataract. The voice of nature, come in what form it may, brings unutterable thoughts of the majesty of the creation. Whether it is in the deep, delicious tones of the happiness of the wood-dove, the melting, graceful notes of the nightingale, the thrilling melody of other sylvan songsters, or the twitterings of the swallow, all compel us to exclaim, "Oh! there is harmony in nature."
"Sounds inharmonious in themselves, and harsh,Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns,... Please highly for their sake.... Kites that swim sublimeIn still-repeated circles, screaming loud,... Have charms for me."
Evening
But the hour of stillness, like all other hours, passes away. The insects again give out their sounds; wasps and bees buzz in every direction; the talk of birds is clamorously resumed; the king-vulture and the kite soar high in the hair, like fugle-birds, as signals for the resumption of the business of the day. The chattering manikins again rustle among the fig-leaves; the armadillo, and other burrowing animals, are seen cautiously peeping from their holes; the horned screamer opens wide his throat, and one by one, the whole of the sylvan feathered community join in concert.
The porcupine moves in the trees; the long grass is observed to give way as creeping things pursue their prey, or escape from foes; all indications that the earth and air again are full of animated life.
An hour or two elapses, and a gentle breeze rises to cool the air and give motion to the trees, as troop after troop of birds and monkeys wend their way back into the interior of the forest, indicating the gradual decline of the day. General preparations are being made for rest; only the slender deer, the peccari, the timid agouti, and the tapir, will still graze. The opossum, and some sly animals of the feline race skulk through the obscurity of the wood, stealthily prowling for prey. Finally, the last troop of howling monkeys are heard, as if performing the duty of drovers to those that have preceded them; the sloth cries as if in much distress with pain; the croaking of frogs, and monotonous chirps of large grasshoppers, bring on the close of day.
The tops of the forest now appear to be on fire, in the midst of which, the toucan, on a blasted mora tree, is uttering his evening cry, as darker shades are gradually cast into the forest, and the sun's disc sinks into the horizon.
The sky, which a moment since was bright as burnished gold, has already changed to a dusky grey, with here and there streaks of purple hue. A solitary bird, truant to its mate, or perhaps a mourner for its loss during the day's excursion, is seen like a wayfarer, with tired flight, wearily labouring to reach the wood ere nightfall.
Twilight is still lingering in the west, bringing on the night with a soft and sweet touch of delicacy, but still approaching, till surrounding objects become more and more obscure and confused, though undiminished in their beauty and effect. The cries of the macue, the capaiera, the goat-sucker, and the bass tones of the bullfrog, are now heard. Myriads of luminous beetles fly in the air, resembling the ignes fatui, and announce the departure of the day; when the night-moths and numerous other insects start on the wing, the bats flit between the branches of trees, the owls and vampires, like phantoms, silently pursue their course in search of prey, reserving their hollow cries for the ominous hour of midnight.
The stars, one after another, are lighted up as the moon rises on the horizon, with a modest countenance, to intimate to man that there is still a ruling power over the world. She tinges with silver streaks of light the tops and edges of the forest, till
"Lo! midnight, from her starry reign,Looks awful down on earth and main,The tuneful birds lie hush'd in sleep,With all that crop the verdant food,With all that skim the crystal flood,Or haunt the caverns of the rocky steep."
At this hour the spectral owl quits the hollow tree, and with his shriek makes the boldest birds shrink away in fear, though in the sunshine hour they would hunt him.
"So when the night falls, and dogs do howl,Sing Ho! for the reign of the horned owl!We know not alwayWho are kings by day;But the king of the night is the bold brown owl!"
"Mourn not for the owl, nor his gloomy plight!The owl hath his share of good;If a prisoner he be in the broad daylight,He is lord in the dark greenwood.Nor lonely the bird, nor his ghastly mate,They are each unto each a pride;Thrice fonder, perhaps, since a strange dark fate,Hath rent them from all beside."
The bow and arrows
I made but little progress in archery, which was a great source of mortification to me, although I spent every leisure hour I could spare after obtaining food, in practice. I was on the verge of despair of ever being able to make anything like a shot, when an incident occurred that enabled me to kill, in a few weeks, almost any bird on the wing, if within the range of my bow. Returning home from a long and fatiguing ramble (for I had extended my surveys of the forest as I acquired confidence of finding my way home at night), I one day was astonished to see a bow and a quiver of arrows suspended from the branch of a tree.
This was a sight which occasioned feelings that are indescribable. I was both rejoiced and alarmed. At first I thought my deliverance was certain; the next moment I crouched behind a bush to hide myself, as from a most deadly foe. When I reflected on the loneliness of my existence, I longed to join society; yet, whenever society appeared to be available, I instinctively shrunk back, as if about to lose my independence or be carried into slavery. Operated on by mingled impulses, the dread of man seemed for a long time to prevail. Might they not be savages, and take my life? Or might they not lead me into captivity, and make a slave of me? They would at least have the Christian's practice to urge as a plea, in extenuation of such a measure.
Confident that human beings were in the neighbourhood, I at length resolved to secrete myself in a bush and wait their return. I fixed my eyes on the bow and quiver, expecting their owner would return for them; but the tones of the toucan were heard, by which I was as well informed of the approach of evening, as the partridge's call announces the coming day. Still unwilling to quit the spot, I remained throughout the night; but no owner came to claim the weapons. All this time I feared to touch them as if they were a trap laid to ensnare me. About noon the next day, I thought of possessing myself of them, and then made a circuit to reassure myself that no one was at hand. With fear and trembling I then, like a thief, took the bow and quiver from the tree, and hastened back to my hut to examine them. The whole secret of my inability to shoot birds was now at once explained. I had not feathered my arrows, nor was my bow long enough.
Still anxious to know their owner, the following morning I repaired again to the spot, and hung my own rudely formed weapons on the same tree from which I had taken the others. My motives were, first, to ascertain whether any person would yet come to remove them, and also to inform those who might come for that purpose, that another human being was in the neighbourhood.
The bow and arrows hung there a month, when I gave up all hopes of seeing any person in the woods; still the event caused me much uneasiness, and ever afterwards occasioned me to tread the paths around with extreme caution.
Flint and steel
Being now furnished with well-made arms, I soon brought down my birds, and might have fared sumptuously, could I have procured a fire. All my waking hours were, therefore, spent in bewailing this want, when one morning, as I was digging with my stick to come at a land tortoise that had crept into a hole, I raked out a piece of flint, and the tinder-box occurring to my mind, I struck it on the back of my knife, and instantly produced sparks, which actually made me leap for joy. My delight, however, was but of short duration. How were the sparks to be collected? I had no tinder—no matches. I then thought of my shirt, which I had long cast off; but then I had no matches, and must have fire before I could make tinder.
My joy was soon turned into despondency. I threw down the flint, and in the bitterness of my disappointment, apostrophised it, as the cock in the fable did, when scratching on a dunghill he found a jewel instead of a grain of corn. "Are all my days to be spent," I ejaculated, "in hopes that delight me only to make me more miserable?" Suddenly it occurred to my memory, that when at school, our small pieces of artillery were fired with lighted decayed wood, what the boys called touch-wood. Repossessing myself of the flint, I flew to my old sleeping-place, and in my impatience, struck a light on my former bed—the soft wood in the interior—it ignited, and smouldered. I was in an ecstacy of delight, and clapped my hands with exultation. Still I had no flame. I then collected some dried leaves, and holding them loosely over the spot that was alight, I blew with my mouth; a severely burnt hand soon informed me that I had succeeded.
My first fire was indeed a bonfire: heaping more leaves and dried sticks on to it, the tree was entirely consumed, and a number of others so damaged as very soon to become touch-wood.
The thunder-storm
A terrible thunder-storm succeeded this exploit. So wholly absorbed had I been with the fire, that when it expended itself, I found myself in total darkness, the moon having been suddenly obscured. All the inhabitants of the wood were restless and uneasy in their beds. I could hear the stag startle, and again lay himself down. Flashes of lightning showed the birds, lifting their heads at intervals, then returning them hastily again under their wings. The storm had for some time been gathering on the tops of the forest, and had now spread its black mantle over the moon, while I, like a school-boy on the fifth of November, had been exulting over a blaze.
On the storm advanced, in the majesty of darkness, moving on the wings of the blast, which my imagination pictured as uprooting the trees around me. The thunder rolled over the crown of the forest in the rear of the lightning. Rifted clouds continued to pass over my head. An owl left its dirge unfinished, and fitted its ruffled feathers into a cleft of a blasted tree over my head. The wild animals that prowl by night, with famished stomachs, sought shelter in their dens.
I alone stood bared to the fury of the storm, incapable of reaching my hut in the darkness of that awful night. The thunder rolled as with ten thousand voices, and the lightning at intervals set the whole forest in a blaze of light. One of the flashes brought down a mora tree near to where I stood, crushing the limbs of other trees as it fell. The crash was terrific. Examining it the next morning by daylight, there was a wild fig-tree growing out of its top, and on the fig grew a wild species of vine. The fig-tree was as large as a common apple-tree, yet owed its growth to an undigested seed, dropped by birds that resort to the mora to feed on its ripe fruit. Such seeds the sap of the mora raises into full bearing, when they, in their turn, are called on to support and give out their sap to different species of seeds, also dropped by birds. In this case the usurpation of the fig on the mora, and the vine on the fig, brought all to an early end. A dead sloth was lying near to the prostrate timber, probably brought down, by the force of its fall, from the branch of another tree.
It was a night of devastation in the wilds of nature. The storms of destruction blew piercingly on every quarter. The destroying blast clapped his wings over many a tree, and laid prostrate numerous creatures that had life as the sun went down the previous evening. To the things that can be shaken, belong all that is earthly. However durable they may appear, however they may glitter, or stable they may appear, age, or the storm, will bring them to oblivion. Mutability is written on all the works of nature. It is an inscription that meets every eye, whether turned on the foundations of a city, a nation, or the works of the creation. Awe-struck with the dilapidations the morning made visible, I hastened to my hut, anxious to see if all was safe there, and prepare to cook myself a dinner.
The sloth
Man is essentially a cooking animal, and though omnivorous in his appetite, is nine parts out of ten carnivorous. I had abundance of vegetable food around me, of which I ate freely, and was in good health; yet my desire to taste animal food was so strong that I would at the time have made almost any sacrifice to obtain it. I had reached more than half the distance towards my residence, thinking all the way only on the means that I possessed of making a fire, before it occurred to me that I had no flesh to cook. I then turned back, and with my knife cut off the hind-quarter of the sloth, being resolved to try the quality of the flesh.
Having collected a small heap of the dried rotten wood, to use as tinder, I succeeded in making a fire outside my hut, where I broiled some pieces of the sloth's flesh, and from it made a tolerable meal, though it was not so good as beef or mutton.
Whenever I subsequently met with the sloth, he always excited my pity, and I forbore from doing such a helpless creature any injury. The natives say that by his piteous moans he will make the heart of a tiger relent, and turn away from him. The sloth is a solitary animal; he has no companion to cheer him, but lies on the branches of trees almost stationary, having no means of defence or escape, if you intend him any harm; his looks, his gestures, and his cries declare it; therefore do not kill him. He subsists wholly on the leaves of trees, and does not quit one branch till there is nothing left for him to eat, and he then moves evidently with much pain to himself. He preys on no living animal, and is deficient and deformed, when compared with other animals, though in some other respects he is compensated in the composition of his frame. His feet are without soles, nor can he move his toes separately; he therefore cannot walk, but hooks himself along by means of the claws which are at the extremity of the fore-feet. He has no cutting teeth; he has four stomachs, and yet wants the long intestinal canals of ruminating animals. His hair lies flat on his body, like long grass withered by the frost. He has six more ribs than the elephant, namely, forty-six, the latter having only forty; his legs strike the eye as being too short, and as if joined to the body with the loss of a joint. On the whole, as a quadruped, the sloth is of the lowest degree. He never quits a tree until all the leaves are eaten.
The day after I had made a meal from the sloth, I shot my arrow through the head of a horned screamer, which brought him within my grasp; this was a great feat for me to accomplish, the screamer being a majestic bird, as large as a turkey-cock, having on the head a long slender horn, each wing being armed with a sharp, strong spur, of an inch long. I had seated myself behind a tree, where I had been, for several hours, watching the movements of the ants that build their nests on those trees, when the bird came within a few yards of me. This incident practically exemplified to me that, like other animals that seek for prey, I must use patience, and be wary in my movements. It taught me to reflect and to know that it was not rambling over much space that would ensure success, and that every spot in the world was available, either for the study of the things of creation or for procuring food.
It is a great error some fall into when they imagine that travelling over much ground will give knowledge; those who observe and reflect may gain more information when examining a puddle of water, than the careless will in traversing the globe.
The ants
Of the insect tribe, the ants early attracted my attention, and I spent much time in watching their movements; indeed, from the first hour I turned my thoughts to the study of insects, I never afterwards spent a dull one. The tree ants' nests are about five times as large as those made by rooks, from which they have covered ways to the ground; these ways I frequently broke down, but as often as I did so, they were quickly under repair, a body of labouring ants being immediately summoned for that purpose. Ants have the means of communicating with each other in a very rapid manner. I am of opinion that the antennæ are the medium through which they receive and convey orders to each other.
I have seen a troop of ants a mile long, each one carrying in its mouth a round leaf about the size of a sixpence, which appeared to have been trimmed round to the shape. Wasps do the same; and after twisting them up in the shape of a horn, deposit their eggs in them. When on their march, or engaged at work, nothing deters them from progressing; they seem to have no fear either of injury or death. I have broken their line at different points, and killed thousands of them; the others go over the same ground, as if perfectly unconscious of danger, while a body of them are instantly detached to remove the dead, and clear the way. It matters not how often the experiment is repeated, or what number are slain, others come on as if their forces were unlimited. It would seem that they live under an absolute monarchy, and dare not disobey orders. When accompanying them on a march, I have seen a messenger arrive from the opposite direction to that they were going, and the whole line, as I have said, of sometimes a mile long, simultaneously brought to a halt. One of the ants belonging to the body went forward, and applied its antennæ to those of the messenger, after which, the latter returned the way he came, and the main body immediately altered its course of march.
At one time, I fell in with an unusually large body of these persevering labourers, and being resolved, if possible, to stop them, I formed a ditch in their way, and filled it with water; while the ditch was being made, they continued their course up and down the ridges of the loose earth, as if nothing had happened, although hundreds were every instant buried. When, however, the water was turned into the channel, there was a momentary halt; but as the ant must never be idle, it was but for an instant, to receive orders to take the margin of the earth, and travel round the head of the channel. How the nature of the disaster they had met with was made known, so as to stop the whole body simultaneously, may be difficult to ascertain; but at the moment of making these experiments I have distinctly seen the antennæ of one ant strike the tail of the one immediately before it, and the same movement repeated by all the others in rapid succession as far as my observation extended.
Wasps
All insects that live in communities are, I should imagine, in possession of language. One day I saw a wasp fly into my hut, and recollecting that I had a small collection of honey wrapped in some plantain leaves, I went to close the shutter as it again flew out; but observing the wasp immediately fly towards another of his species, and then to a second and a third, and those instantly fly off in opposite directions, I said to myself, the discovery of my depot of honey is being advertised throughout the community of wasps. Thinking I would disappoint the depredators, before I left home I was very careful in fastening the entrance, and stuffing every crevice up with long grass. About a hundred yards from my hut I met a swarm of wasps, which induced me to return and ascertain whether my conjectures were confirmed; and there I found an immense number seeking an entrance, evidently with a view of plundering me of my honey. It was not long ere they found admission through some of the apertures in the roof. Knowing that my honey must go,—for a swarm of wasps is not to be molested with impunity,—I turned away to pursue my walk with the reflection that they only took what they could get, and suited their appetites, the business of my own every-day life.
Both in society and in the forest it is wise at all times to avoid being an aggressor. The stings of mankind, and of insects, are most frequently the result of our own imprudence. In the forest I have daily been surrounded with myriads of wasps and large stinging bees, and never received an injury but when I was committing depredations on their store.
But of all plunderers in nature, the ant exceeds the whole. I had become acquainted with five species of bees in my immediate neighbourhood, not one of which could secure their combs from the voracious appetites of the ant. They came in such numbers, as sometimes, in my view, to threaten the undermining of the forest; and were to be seen of all sizes and colour. One sort is so large, that the natives make a considerable article of food of them when fried.
The termites, or white ants, are very destructive; neither fruit, flowers of plants, or food of any kind, escapes them. When they appear in the dwellings of man, they will undermine a house in a few hours, if the wood of which it is built suits their taste.
Voracity of the ants
The whole of the ant tribes are, however, essentially carnivorous, and are useful in repressing a too rapid increase amongst reptiles much larger than themselves; and I have often thought, when watching their movements, and observing that there is nothing, from the smallest winged insect to the carcase of a bullock, that comes to the ground, but they instantly assemble in millions to devour it, that they were intended by nature to prevent the corruption of the air from the decay and putrefaction of animal matter. If an enormous spider accidentally falls to the ground, they give it no time to recover itself; thousands are instantly on it; and although the spider, in its struggles to escape, will kill and crush numbers, still others continue to crawl up his legs and thighs, and there hang on in quietness, till their victim is exhausted by fatigue, when a few seconds serve to remove all traces of its heretofore existence. As I grew older, and acquired more experience in hunting for my food, I frequently killed large animals, of whose flesh I could only eat as much as served me for a meal, before the remainder would be spoiled by the heat of the weather: this the ants generally cleared away.
At length I learned to go out by moonlight, to kill deer and the peccari,—a time that they like to browse, and may be approached with more ease. I generally dragged the remains of a carcase I did not want in the way of the ants, and watched them at their feast. A few hours served to leave the bones of the largest animal perfectly clean, and as a skeleton for study, fit for an exhibition.
When the termites, or white ant, is seen in the neighbourhood of man, the antipathies of the species are rendered available. As soon as they are observed, sugar is strewed in such a direction as to lead the brown or black ants to the spot, who, it is known, will immediately attack and put the white party to the rout, much to the amusement of the negroes, who cheer on the blacks to kill the whites. I have often awoke with my body covered with ants, when I generally ran to the nearest water, and plunging into it, freed myself from them; though I never could discover for what purpose they spread themselves over my frame, unless it were in expectation of my becoming a corpse. When, however, I did rouse myself, they seldom exhibited much alacrity in acknowledging their error by making a speedy retreat.
"Give me, indulgent gods—with mind serene,And guiltless heart—to range the sylvan scene;No splendid poverty, no smiling care,No well-bred hate, or servile grandeur there."
I had now become a sportsman—a Nimrod—my chief delight being found in the use of my bow and arrows. Thus armed, I ranged the forest, or laid in covert, to destroy any game which might come in my way. My propensity for killing, however, soon led me into a scrape, the escape from which nearly cost me my life; yet the lesson was thrown away on me, for it in no way abated my desire to shoot and eat the flesh of birds.
Early one morning I had taken my station behind a large tree, from which I discharged an arrow at a mocking-bird. No sooner had the arrow quitted the string, than I descried a bear, feeding on ants' nests, and that in a direct line between myself and the bird shot at. The arrow passed close by his ear; it might have struck him: be this as it may, the bear instantly began to descend the tree, showing evident signs of his intention to revenge the insult.
Not being disposed to confront such an enemy in an angry mood, I instantly took to my heels; but had not proceeded far, before the shaggy monster was near overtaking me. In this extremity I ascended a tree, confident of being as good a climber as Bruin was. I had, however, scarcely reached the lowest extending branch, before the enraged beast was close on me. Fortunately, I had in my flight retained possession of my stick; and as the bear had no means of supporting himself but by clinging to the trunk of the tree with his claws, I applied my staff with so much vigour to his feet, that he was constrained to drop to the ground, whereupon his rage was great. He then took a turn or two round the base of the tree to cool himself, gave a growl, and seated himself under it, fixing his eyes on me. In this position the disappointed monster remained, on his hind-quarters, seven hours, watching my movements; till at length, growing weary of his presence, and having read somewhere of the effect of the human voice, I cried out loudly, mentioning several names, as if calling for assistance. When speaking of the storm, I said that the thunder rolled with ten thousand voices. The cause, however, of its multiplied tones, was reserved for this adventure to make known. As I called out, I was utterly astonished to hear my own words repeated several times in succession;—the bear started on his feet; and after looking round, as if in fear of an attack, took himself off at his utmost speed.
An alarming echo
Assured that I had heard human voices, I became more agitated than when in company with the bear. It may appear anomalous; it is nevertheless true, that the prospect, or thought, of meeting with human beings in these wilds, always elicited agitation, or, more properly, terror.
The joy that hope brought of my emancipation was always mixed with an alloy of indefinable dread of some coming evil. I remained in the tree about an hour after the bear had departed, continuing to amuse myself with the exercise of the voice, and listening to the repetitions of its sounds. At length, when assured that the bear did not contemplate a renewal of the attack, I descended from the tree, and again raised my voice, and was again surprised to find that I had no response. This struck me as very mysterious; and instead of seeking for natural causes of the phenomena, I abandoned myself to superstitious fears, and persuaded myself that I was on enchanted ground, while my mind indulged in endless chimeras. Every effect is preceded by a cause, was a sentence I had often heard my father repeat; and as it recurred to my memory, I again ascended the tree, and repeated the experiments, alternately, for some time, on the ground and in the tree. The result was always the same, the voice being reverberated when in the tree, and not so when on the ground. Again and again. I turned the matter over in the mind, and could come to no other conclusion than that there were persons somewhere in the neighbourhood, who could hear me from the tree, but were too far off to hear my voice when surrounded with the underwood on the ground. I now thought it my duty to find out the persons from whom I supposed the sounds came, and was actually preparing to start in search of them, when it suddenly flashed on my mind that I had heard a similar phenomenon under a bridge near my own native village, which the boys called an echo; yet as that gave only one response, or echo, I was still perplexed to make out a cause for hearing so many. This phenomenon, however, soon became a considerable source of amusement to me, and by shifting my positions I found several series of echoes: in some places the reverberations were six and sevenfold, and in others they were so numerous as to run into indistinctness. For a considerable time subsequently it was my wont, on a Sunday, to ascend a tree after my devotions, and sing a line or two, or a verse of a psalm which I knew, when the effect was something like a number of voices in a place of worship, though the ear could not compass the innumerable combination of reverberations. When the echo was peculiarly distinct and near, and then taken up and repeated at a distance, it conveyed to my imagination the idea of aerial spirits answering each other. It was thus that the astonishing multiplied reverberations of the thunder in this region were accounted for—namely, the transmission of its sound from point to point.
The honey-bear
I saw no more of the ant-bear; but the honey-bear, which was more common, and a fellow-depredator of the bees' nests with myself, often crossed my path; and it required the exercise of much ingenuity and caution to successfully compete with him.
In all countries where the collection of honey is made a profit, various devices have been resorted to for deterring or entrapping the rugged depredators. To enumerate them all would be a digression from my narrative. The following are, however, among other successful modes of dealing with bears who have a taste for honey.
The trees in which the bees are found the inhabitants lop close to the trunk, up to the home of the bees, so that the bear has nothing but the main trunk to assist him in climbing. These trees they sometimes stick with spikes, and blades of knives, with the points upwards. These, however, offer but small impediments to the bear in ascending the tree, but as he cannot descend with his head foremost, he is compelled to slide down, when the points are not so easily avoided, generally lacerating him in such a manner as to deter him from making any future attempt to rob hives situated in trees.
The experienced bear will, however, sometimes, as he ascends the tree, break off the points, and secure himself a safe retreat. Entrapping them is, therefore, a more successful practice.
In lopping the tree the peasants are careful to leave a branch that extends out from the trunk above the hole where the bees have constructed their hive. From such a branch they suspend, with four ropes, a flat board, forming one scale of a pair, such as are commonly used in open markets; when this is hung up it hangs pendant at a distance from the trunk of the tree. When, however, it is prepared as a trap, it is brought close to the body of the tree by means of a bark rope, upon which it is fastened over the entrance of the hive.
The bear having climbed the tree, with difficulty maintains himself with his claws while he commits the depredation, and is, therefore, glad to find a seat so conveniently placed for him to sit on; but seeing the entrance of the hole nearly covered with the bark-rope, he immediately commences tearing it away, and, in so doing, liberates himself from the tree, and becomes suspended in the air. In this situation he sits contemplating the alternatives of remaining to be killed when discovered, or venturing a leap to the ground; both, however, lead to the same end, as stakes are placed to receive him on their points, should he hazard a leap.
In cold countries, it is by no means uncommon for bears to attack human beings; but in forests, within the tropics, where redundant nature pours out her horn of plenty, and food is found in abundance throughout the year, man, if he is not himself quarrelsomely disposed, may pass without molestation. Both the ant and the honey-hear occasionally visited my hut, having frequently detected them sniffing round my barricade; but when I made my appearance, either on the roof, or in returning from a ramble, they always walked away without manifesting decided hostile intentions.
The rains of Guiana
I had now passed ten months in the forest, and had learned to dispense with shoes, stockings, linen, and, indeed, with every kind of covering for the body, excepting a wrapper for the loins, which I contrived to make out of the remaining rags collected from the worn-out habiliments I possessed when lost to my family. I had also combated with a wet season, and this season was now again approaching, that is, January and February, when the rains fall heavily; indeed, rain is no proper term for a fall of water in a Guiana forest. Rain conveys the idea of water falling in drops; there, the water comes bodily upon the earth in wide sheets. And before they come, no notice is given; they send noavant courierof a few scattered drops to warn you of what is to follow; they are their own messengers. In the intervals between every such fall, the fervid sun resumes its influence, operating with such intensity as to effectually envelope all things in hot steam. A continuation of rain and excessive heat produces exuberant vegetation; and these in turn, by the exhalations of its ripeness and corruption, furnish back to the atmosphere an accumulating fund of distempering miasma, or cause of malignant fever.
When the destructive effects of these influences are considered, in a locality amongst the rankest productions of nature, and where in a thousand places the water is pent up and sluggish,—prolific producers of reptiles and noisome vapours—nothing but a miracle, through the interposition of Providence, could have preserved me in health so long. But my day of sickness was not to be altogether remitted, it was only postponed, and then inflicted in kindness, to teach me prudence, and the necessity there was for adopting proper precautions against evil results.
My hut, notwithstanding the complacency with which I had selected the site, was, after all, situated in the very worst place I could have found in the entire forest. The former rainy season had inundated the morass that lay in the rear of my dwelling, and had, indeed, threatened me with submersion; yet I continued to remain there, as if nothing of danger had occurred, and the air, impregnated with the fermentations of collected vegetation for ages, was as healthful as that on hilly lands. It is the province of experience to calculate or anticipate results; how then could one so young as I was know that too frequently the beauty which redundant nature presents to the eye, is but an indication of its treachery to the constitution.
I had not then reflected on the condition on which mortals receive life, namely, that of being associated with an inseparable companion called care; a companion which never quits their side till they resign up their souls.
In my isolated situation, it was natural I should seek to indulge the sentiment of friendship with such companions as the locality afforded. The interior of my hut was therefore a kind of aviary; and it was my practice every morning to devote a couple of hours to teaching, and in the amusement of feeding my companions; after which, I indulged, by turns, the most docile with a walk into the interior of the wooded parts of the forest. A land-tortoise had become so tame, that when, in my rambles, I sat down to rest, I allowed him to seek his own food in the immediate neighbourhood, and that without any fear of his wandering far, even if unwatched.
The rainy season had commenced about three weeks, when one morning I arose with an intense headache, excessive thirst, and a burning skin. I hastened to the stream, drank copiously of cold water, bathed for upwards of an hour, and then returned with my usual supply of water, conveyed in a clay vessel, which I had baked in the sun. This, as were similar vessels, was chiefly for the use of my family of birds, &c.
I remember perfectly well, the following morning, that, as was my custom, I caressed the whole family; and, to avoid jealous bickerings, to which some were prone, I bestowed on each an equal portion of attention; and that subsequently I took up a tortoise and a mocking-bird for my companions during a walk. I also remember, that as I reached the aperture under the roof, the rays of the sun affected my sight in a peculiar manner, and that a giddy sensation came over me; but from that moment I lost all remembrance of what followed, being unconscious of passing circumstances; until I found myself reduced in flesh, and so weak and feeble, as to be incapable of rising from the floor of the hut where I was lying. Under the opening, from whence I must have fallen, lay a dead tortoise, the shell being crushed. The sticks of which my aviary was composed were all torn asunder, and the broken fragments strewed about the place. Several of my favourite birds, with their necks wrung, were on the ground; the others were absent. The vessel in which I had brought the water was broken into pieces, and many parts of the hut exhibited proofs of an attempt having been made to pull up the stakes of which it was formed. These were all evidences that I had fallen down when attempting to leave the hut, probably from giddiness or vertigo; that a violent fever had supervened, and in that condition I had lost my reason, and the consequent command of my actions—whence the devastation around me, and the debilitated state in which I found the body when reason returned. Soon after consciousness had made me sensible of my condition, I fell asleep, in which I was carried into all kinds of illusory imaginations. Among other fantasies, I dreamed that I was on the sea—walking—yet bounded on either side with rows of myrtles in full blossom, intermixed with jessamines; and that thousands of Cupids and Fauns preceded me, strewing flowers in my way. These figures, carrying baskets, were followed by Zephyrs, which supplied the flowers. I was in a state of enchantment with the scene, yet every moment suffered from the dread of sinking into the depths of the sea, until I thought the water would no longer support me, when I awoke in the fright of being drowned.
The power of prayer
The fever had entirely left me, and I was in a measure refreshed by the sleep I had had. I was now reflecting on the phenomena of dreams, and the length of time the impressions they leave remain on the mind—for I still heard the action of the water—when, after several efforts to disengage myself from the illusion, as I thought, I was roused from imaginings to a sense of the reality of what I heard. Plash, plash, went the water against the exterior of my hut; and these sounds were continuous and audible, so much so as to be unmistakable. Still I was incapable of reaching the exterior to see what was the cause. My state of alarm and agitation may therefore be better conceived than described. Too feeble to use my limbs, I had no resource but in prayer. Most sincerely did I offer the Supreme Being thanks for having preserved me through my illness. I then prayed, that after such a miraculous dispensation of Divine goodness, I might not be left to perish in my helplessness. I believe that no one ever prayed from the heart without acquiring some additional knowledge or strength of purpose. May not this be because prayer is both an inquiry of the intellect and of the affections; the one seeking for the truth, and the other for what is good? Besides, pure devotion is thought, which improves, at least, and helps the judgment.
After some time spent in this manner, I felt the perturbation of my mind much abated, and in a frame to contemplate steadily surrounding circumstances, and consider how they might be best dealt with. A short time since, and I had looked on death as inevitable, either by drowning or starvation; now, I reflected, that if the water had been very high, it must have, ere this, penetrated my frail creation; and, if very powerful, it would have swept the whole away without giving me any notice whatever. It also occurred to me that I ought to have some dozen or two of cocoa-nuts and a store of honey within my reach, as I lay on the floor.
As I had not previously, on any occasion, made a store, I could not but see the hand of Providence directing me to prepare for my present extremity. These supplies were placed in a hole which I had made in the ground for their reception, being covered with a piece of bark, and a stone to keep it in its place. Fortunately, I had only to drag myself a few yards, and take the nourishment I so much needed; although it was not calves'-foot jelly and port wine, yet, in my then weak state, it proved a very gratifying refreshment.
It is not possible for me to make any rational estimate of the length of time I was under the influence of the fever, or of the period employed in sleeping during my recovery. It is probable that it had but a short, though a violent career; but the present exigencies were too pressing to admit of much time being expended over the past. Plash, plash, continued the water against the hut, and the floor began to exhibit signs of its entrance into the interior. My situation was now one of real peril. I made an effort to raise myself up to the opening through which I mast pass to escape, but as I had first to mount a stool formed of pieces of bark, and then to raise my body several feet with my arms, before my head could reach the aperture, I found my strength insufficient for the task. My distress was considerably augmented by the impossibility of my taking any more rest in a reclining position, as the water was rapidly covering the floor, and the probability there was of the structure giving way on a sudden, and submerging me in an instant of time. I seated myself on the before-mentioned stool, with my feet and legs stretched over a bird-coop that had not been entirely broken up.
Singular to relate, in this position I fell into a profound sleep, with my back against the lining of the hut; the extreme of distress, contemplated for a length of time, I believe has a tendency to produce this effect.
Perils of water
I had fallen asleep as the moon went down, about an hour after midnight; it was daylight when I awoke; the first object that caught my attention being the staff, on which were the notches that formed my calendar; this was floating on the water, now a foot or more in depth. It is said drowning men catch at straws; the idea immediately came across my mind that, with the support of the stick, I should be enabled to effect my escape. I succeeded; and after wading about fifty yards up to my knees in water, reached a dry spot of land, on which my first act was to kneel, and offer up prayers of gratitude for my deliverance. As a period of unconsciousness had occasioned a breach in my calendar, and the true Sabbath was lost to me, I made the day of my deliverance a Sunday, from which hereafter to reckon the days of the week.
Attenuated in frame, with weak limbs, but possessing a healthy stomach, I dragged myself to a half-natural cave, at a short distance, which I had previously cleared out as a place where I might find shelter from the heavy rains, and where I could lie in wait to kill a head of game without the fatigue of hunting for it. In this retreat I lived for two days, solely on cocoa-nuts and honey; the third, I caught an armadillo, which I dressed for dinner, and then resumed the practice of taking a dessert in the afternoon, having abundance of fruit at my command.
It is one of the miseries inseparable from the condition of man, that good and evil are presented under different forms; misery often appearing to us under the mask of happiness, and prosperity under the image of misfortune, teaching us to leave all in the hands of Him who knows best what is good for his creatures.
I had no reason to complain, having within my reach blossoms, green and ripe fruit, all on the same trees, and those in abundance throughout the year, new soil for their growth being constantly formed by the exuviæ of the forest, which here keeps her sabbath in silence. But even here, in the midst of plenty, man must not be idle. "The crab," say the negroes, "that does not leave his hole, never gets fat." As my strength returned, my wants increased; and as animal food appeared to be needed for the renovation of the frame, I was constantly engaged in the pursuit of it; while, what leisure time I possessed became irksome, from the want of a domestic establishment such as I had formed in the hut.
The first night in the cave
Although my specimen of sylvan architecture was at no time more than half submerged in water, and that without being broken up, I abandoned it as being unsafe as a residence. Finding myself not only more secure from the heavy rains, but much more cool in the cave, I now began to fortify its entrance, to guard against night intrusions. In effecting this object, the only one I kept in view while at work, I fell into the error of neglecting to provide for the admission of sufficient air to sustain life. The first night I passed in the cave, after completing my barricade of bark, which served the purpose of planks of deal, I could get no rest, turning and rolling about with an uneasiness I could in no way account for, till the morning came, when the admission of air made me sensible of breathing with more freedom, and at once explained the cause of my previous uneasiness. The next day was spent in cutting holes through the bark fence, to remedy so serious an evil as the want of air.
Accustomed as I had been to the intimate society of birds and other animals, their loss was too severely felt for me to remain long without them; I therefore commenced the construction of a new aviary on the outside of the cave, with a space beneath, to confine any of the small kind of animals which might fall into my hands. One surviving tortoise from the hut I had already brought into the cave. It was not long before the entrance to my retreat somewhat resembled the display made by a metropolitan dealer in animals, on the pavement before the steps which lead to his lodgings in the cellar. Contentment is in no station the lot of mankind. Although my new residence had many advantages, nothing could compensate me for the loss of the security in which I had every morning obtained a survey of the movements of the inhabitants of the forest from the roof of the hut. I did not, however, indulge in idle regrets, continuing to work on in constructing snares and traps, to people my new dwelling-place; and when it happened that I wounded a bird or animal, I derived a peculiar pleasure in attending to it till its recovery was effected. When I had again collected a tolerable number of friends, and formed some new attachments, a catastrophe happened which occasioned me more regrets than any circumstance which had previously befallen me in the woods.
Slaughter of the pet birds
Early in the day I had left my family all safe and well; they were of course confined, but plenty of air and light was admitted through the bars into their dwellings. I had the satisfaction of thinking they were happy, even in their captivity; they were, however, all carried off at one fell swoop, and I returned only to witness the desolation of the scene. There is a small animal of the weasel species, having the bump of destructiveness so strongly developed, that it seeks the destruction of all other animals that cannot defend themselves from its attacks; it is called the crabbodaga. One of these—or there may have been an accomplice in the murderous business—crept between the bars of the cage, and killed every bird and animal I possessed, excepting a mocking-bird I happened to have out with me.
None but those who have reared birds from the callow state and have given them a place in their affections, can appreciate my distress at this disaster. The birds had been my companions—had dined, some of them, at the same table every day, and over the dessert had amused me with their conversation, or delighted me with their music. Reflecting on this domestic tragedy, I resolved to convert the entire of the abandoned hut into one large aviary, that is, as soon as the dry season had entirely freed the place from water.
I had very little difficulty in trimming sticks, and binding them together for fences, to confine the birds; but it was not so easy to repair the loss of attached friends, who had reposed their confidence in me, or to teach strangers an agreeable method of conversation upon a given signal. I could now no longer give dinner-parties at home; I therefore intruded on the entertainments given by others, for I did not enjoy my meals alone. I did not often take a meal with gregarious birds—those who moved in flocks,—yet many of these were excellent companions in private; in a body they were generally too noisy and fickle in flight to be depended on, except in the morning or evening.
The birds usually called social, were my favourites; these are such as live in pairs, but assemble in parties at certain hours of the day to dine on the same tree, sing in concert for an hour, and then part as they came, each attended by its mate. At many of these entertainments I was permitted to remain, without causing any surprise or confusion; but then I behaved with proper decorum, and above all, did not forget the manners and habits of those I visited.
Observing the monkeys to be very fond of the seeds that grew on a tree called thevanilla, the Spanish name for scabbard, which the seeds of the plant resemble, I one day presumed to join one of their parties at meal time, and climbed a tree for that purpose, but was received so very uncourteously, that I gave them up as incorrigible boors. That they have no soul for music I have had frequent proofs while listening to the song of the thrush in the breeding season; a period when these birds select an elevated spot, generally the same every day, and pour forth strains of peculiar melody. These songs the monkeys not only disregard, but continually interrupt with their monotonous howls.
Habits of birds
The habits of birds are very peculiar, and distinctively marked; the thrush sings to its mate, delighted with the prospect of rearing up a new progeny; the nightingale, on the contrary, only ceases to sing when his mate arrives to join him; being migrating birds, the male precedes the female in making its passage from one country to another, and pours forth his notes only while waiting for the arrival of the female.
If this bird is caught and caged before he is joined by his mate, he will continue to sing in confinement, if afterwards, he will be mute. Nothing is more remarkable in birds, or has perhaps been less noticed, than their affection for each other, and for callow birds in general. The cries from any one nest of birds will set all the old ones within hearing into a state of extreme agitation, all flying up and down anxious to inquire what is the matter, and what assistance they can offer. He who walks through the woods, and can imitate the cries of young birds, may at all times be certain of collecting old ones around him, that is, in the breeding season.
The cry of young birds in the nest is in the forest what the cry of fire or murder is in a city; it alarms all the neighbourhood; and the knowledge of an enemy to their young being in the vicinity of their homes, is to them much the same as going to bed next door to an incendiary.
I have seen a blue jay—a very noisy and chattering bird—discover an owl sitting in his hiding-place, and immediately summon a flock of his feathered fraternity to his assistance. These surrounded the winkingsolitaire, and opened a fire of abuse on him that might at a distance be mistaken for a general disturbance in Billingsgate Market. The owl opened and then shut his eyes, as if at first unconscious of the meaning of the attack, and asking, "Can it be me you mean?" He, however, was soon made sensible that he would not be suffered to remain within their jurisdiction; and off he went, followed by a mob of birds, who hunted him out of the bounds of their district. Clamorous as the jay is against the owl for eating young birds, he himself I have detected in tearing the callow young out of the eggs belonging to other birds; yet he never fails to unite with the other feathered inhabitants of the wood at the cry of danger.
The tender assiduities of birds in their attachments is no less remarkable than their courage in defence of their mates and young ones. The male, solicitous to please, uses the tenderest expressions, as evinced by his manner; sits by his mate as closely as he can; caresses her with a thousand endearing movements of the body and head: sings to her his most enchanting warblings; and, as they are seated together, if he espies an insect more agreeable to her taste than another, he takes it up, flies to her with it, spreads his wings over her, and genteelly puts it into her mouth. And if a rival or an enemy appear, his courage in attack soon proves the ardour of his love.
The mocking-bird and snake
During incubation, the female is no less the object of his solicitude; as birds have many enemies, the males feel that it is their duty to watch over and protect their mates and young ones. I had every waking hour opportunities of witnessing their courage, frequently seeing very small birds attack the black snake, darting at its head, and pecking the eyes till they either killed or drove away that enemy to their brood. When these contests became doubtful, the females would leave their nests, and hasten to the scene of action to render their mates assistance.
The mocking-bird seldom fails to kill the snake single-handed, instantly afterwards mounting the bush, to pour forth a torrent of song in token of victory. These birds mount and descend as their song swells or dies away; at times darting up with the celerity of an arrow, as if to recover or recall the last strain of expiring melody. While the mocking-bird thus exerts himself, a bystander, destitute of sight, would suppose that the whole of the feathered tribes had assembled to vie with each other in singing and in deceiving the sportsman, by imitating the birds of which he was in pursuit. Their talent at imitation is so extraordinary, that they can call the mates of almost every other bird around them at pleasure.
The fascinating power ascribed to the black snake is an error. When a snake is discovered in the vicinity of a nest, the male bird mounts a spray, and in great agitation flutters his wings in a threatening manner, till an opportunity offers of flying down to the attack. In these encounters the snake sometimes succeeds in biting the bird, and in injecting its venom, when the effect of the poison is so sudden, as to paralyse the further efforts of the latter; hence has arisen the supposed power of fascination, and the story of birds flying into the snake's jaws. Instances of this nature I have witnessed, and if I had not followed up my observations further, might have fallen into the popular error of supposed fascination: but my experience informs me, that when the bird is said to be spellbound, it is preparing to destroy an enemy, in which encounter it generally comes off victorious.
Birds, as a class, possess as much intelligence, and more courage than any of God's creatures lower in the scale of animals than man. The instincts, or the propensities and precautions of animals, as in birds developed, are as multifarious and as striking, if not more so, as in other animals, not excepting the elephant and dog.
A thrush that I caught in a trap used to catch wasps, and after plucking the wings off to prevent their escape, pressed the abdomen with his bill, to force out the poison of the sting before he swallowed it. I have frequently seen birds seize mice and reptiles, and after examination reject them. In all such cases I have found that the prey thus cast aside was sickly, or infested with lice. The birds seem to reason thus: "If I take this sickly thing to my nest, I shall not only carry my young ones unwholesome food, but shall carry a nuisance to them, also." Another bird I had in my aviary, would carry food that was too hard for his taste to his water, and there let it remain till it was soaked to his palate.
Departure from the cave
Looking over my notched calendar, and transferring it in weeks and months to another stick I was suddenly struck with the length of time I had been shut out of society, and how wonderfully the Almighty had preserved me. It then occurred to me that I had not exerted myself as I ought to have done, to free myself from the intricate mazes of the forest. Then, reflecting on the regular inundations of the morass, I thought it was probable that the waters might come from a river, or the sea; and as they had just then retired, I determined to start off immediately, and pursue the margin to its source. Hitherto, security at night had induced me to linger about favourite spots; I had now surmounted childish fears; still I was sensible of the great risk I should run of sleeping, night after night, in the open air; and this reflection for a time deterred me from carrying out my plan. At length I thought of the gipsies I had seen in the green lanes in England, and then set to work to manufacture a substitute for the covers they use to throw over the hooped sticks at night, with which they were wont to form low booths. This I effected by platting and weaving long dried grass, and when it was completed, I cut some poles of the lacaria; but still doubting my own resolution to break up my establishment, I one day, with a kind of spasmodic effort, liberated all my newly-collected domestic friends and companions, some of which accepted of freedom rather reluctantly. My attachments being thus dissolved, the following morning I commenced my lonely journey, on the second day of which I made a fire near to some shallow water, and was broiling a jay I had killed for my supper, when the earth on which I sat began to move, and instantly afterwards the embers were scattered about. Starting to my feet with alarm, a crocodile about four feet long showed itself as it plunged a few yards further off into a pool of mud and water. The place on which I had lighted my fire, was a part of the swamp, crusted over, probably, by the heat of that day's sun only. Every hour, indeed, now brought me in contact with enemies, and exposed me to privations I had avoided by making a home in one spot. But then I had an object to attain, and I persevered for twenty days, at the end of which I had the mortification to find that I had, like many others in the world, progressed not a step, having travelled in a circle, which brought me to the very threshold of my recent home. My chagrin was so poignant, that I thought the very trees waved in derision at my folly; and the same day I set out in another direction, which proved to be directly south.
Every step I took informed me that I was a trespasser; the scene that I had quitted appeared to have been ceded to me by the inhabitants of the forest, who were willing for me to occupy it without molesting me, or exhibiting any signs of alarm; but, as I moved from place to place, all seemed in arms against me. My insatiable curiosity, too, was everywhere offensive; nothing escaped my prying propensity, and I even regretted that I had suffered the crocodile to escape that I might have intercepted, had I been cool, and have driven to the land for examination; I often, indeed, pushed my inquiries beyond the line of prudence.
An unpleasant nocturnal visitor
One moonlight night I was favoured with a splendid view of the jaguar under the influence of a hungry stomach, and in that state I saw him seize his prey. I had spread my matting at the lower end of a tree that had been torn up by the roots, between which I could creep and hide myself; at the other end the branches extended into a small glade or open space; when about midnight I was awaked by a tremendous roar. Alarmed for my own safety. I crept between the roots of the tree, pulling the covering after me, and in this situation raised my head so as to look along the shaft of the fallen timber, about ten yards from the end of which I could distinctly discern the jaguar, pacing up and down, in a space of not more than thirty yards. His step was quick and hurried, but so light that he appeared not to touch the ground; his swollen and stiffened tail swept the ground, as it moved from side to side. I instantly became anxious to ascertain whether his eyes were directed towards any particular object, and more especially in the direction where I was hid. I had the satisfaction of seeing their fierce glance furtively cast in every direction but towards me; indeed, I must have been invisible to him through the broken branches and roots, at the distance he was from the tree, and amid the shade that surrounded me.
The spot he had chosen for his nocturnal promenade was, I have no doubt, a deer track, on which he had before in all probability snatched many meals. His impatience evidently increased as his expectations were delayed; he quickened, if possible, his step at every turn, till at length he suddenly paused, and assumed a most exciting attitude. His tail for a moment stood out perfectly horizontal, in a line with his back; making gentle sweeps, as if of immediate expectation. Suddenly he crouched on his belly, still moving his tail very gently; at length the moment arrived: he gave one roar of horrid delight, and the next, a deer was in his jaws, and growling, he seized and dispatched it by twisting the head downwards with his paw. Finally he gave the deer a shake, as if to assure himself that life was extinct, and then, with a fling of the head threw the dead animal across his back, and was lost in the thicket, depriving me of the satisfaction of witnessing his manner of finishing the repast.
Strong in my resolution to arrive if possible at the extremity of the forest, I continued to proceed, as I thought, in the same direction; but I could not travel every day, being compelled sometimes to watch through the night, and being frequently unable, while moving forward, to obtain a sufficiency of nutritious food. When, therefore, I met with a convenient retreat, I stayed and refreshed myself till I acquired strength to undertake new labours.
Some scenes would irresistibly detain me, and if any one express surprise that they should do so when journeying to seek the society of my fellow-creatures, I reply that I did not at any time abandon the hope of success; yet when the uncertainty of my course, without a compass or guide, is considered, I never had a right to be very sanguine in my expectations, use whatever efforts I might. In a journey of such a doubtful nature, oftentimes worn down with fatigue of body and despair of mind, it was natural to linger on and to rest in an oasis longer than in a desert.
In a hot climate, cool retreats have peculiar charms, such as are unappreciable by those who live in cold countries. The mere topographical traveller may measure a lake, or a river, give the height and angle of a projecting rock, describe the rush of falling waters into an estuary, and trace the course of rivers from their rise to their mouth, but he is unable to give the living tints of nature, together with all their form and colour.