Story 6.

Story 6.Trapped in a Tree.Among the many queer characters I have encountered in the shadow of the forest, or the sunshine of the prairie, I can remember nonequeerer, or more original, than Zebulon Stump—“Old Zeb Stump,” as he was familiarly known among his acquaintances.“Kaintuck by birth and raisin’,” as he used to describe himself, he was a hunter of the pure Daniel Boone breed. The chase was his sole railing; and he would have indignantly scouted the suggestion, that he ever followed it for mere amusement.Though by no means of uncongenial disposition, he affected to hold all amateur hunters in a kind of lordly contempt; and his conversation with such was always of a condescending character. For all this, he was not averse to their company; especially that of the young gentlemen of the neighbourhood who chanced to be honoured with his acquaintance.Being myself one of those who could lay claim to this privilege, I oft-times availed myself of it; and many of my hunting excursions were made in the companionship of Old Zeb Stump. He was, in truth, my guide and instructor, as well as companion; and initiated me into many mysteries of American woodcraft, in which I was at that time but little skilled.To me one of the most insoluble of these mysteries was that of Old Zeb’s own existence; and I was acquainted with him for a considerable time before I could unravel the clue to it. He stood six feet in boots, fabricated out of the tanned skin of an alligator—into the ample tops of which were crowded the legs of a pair of coarse “copperas” trowsers; while the only other garments upon his body were a doeskin shirt, and a “blanket-coat” that had once been green, but, like the leaves of the autumnal forest, had become changed to a sere and yellowish hue. A slouch “felt” shaded his cheeks from the sun; though for this purpose it was not often needed: since it was only upon very rare occasions that Old Zeb strayed beyond the shadows of the “Timber.”Where he lived, and how he supported himself, were to me the two points that chiefly required clearing up. In the tract of virgin forest, where I was in the habit of meeting him by appointment, there was neither house nor hut. So said the people of Grand Gulf (a small town upon the Mississippi in which I was sojourning). And yet Old Zeb had told me that in this forest region was his home.It was only after our acquaintance had ripened into a strong feeling of fellowship, that I became his guest; and had the pleasure of spending an hour under his humble roof.Humble I may truly designate it, since it consisted of the hollow trunk of a gigantic sycamore-tree, still strading and growing!In this cavity Old Zeb found sufficient shelter for him self, his “squaw,” as he termed Mrs Stump (whose existence was now for the first time revealed to me), hispenates, and, when the weather required it, for the tough old cob that carried him in his forest wanderings.His household was no longer a puzzle; though there still remained the mystery of how he managed to maintain it.A skilled hunter might easily procure sufficient food for himself and family; but even the hunter disdains a diet exclusively game. There was the coffee (to a strong cup of which I was myself made welcome); the “pone” of corn-bread; the corn itself necessary to the sustenance of the old horse; the muslin gown that shrouded the somewhat angular outlines of Mrs Stump; with many other commodities that could not be procured by a rifle. Even the rifle itself required food not to be found in the forest.Presuming on our friendly intimacy, I put the question:“How do you make out to live? You don’t appear to manufacture anything, nor do I see any signs of cultivation around your dwelling. How, then, do you support yourself?”“Them keeps us—them thar,” answered my host, pointing to a corner of his tree-cabin.I looked in the direction indicated. The skins of several species of animals, among which I recognised those of the painter, ’possum, and ’coon, along with a haunch or two of recently-killed venison, met my glance.“Oh! you traffic in these?”“Jess so, stranger. Sells the skins to the storekeeper an’ the deer meat to anybody as’ll buy it.”“But I have never seen you in the town.”“I never goes thar. I don’t like them stinkin’ storekeepers. They allers cheats me.”“Who, then, does the marketing for you?”“The ole ’oman thar. She kin manage them counter-jumpers better’n I kin. Can’t you, ole gurl?”“Well, that I guess I can,” replied the partner of Old Zeb’s bosom, with an emphasis that left no doubt upon my mind that she believed herself to be speaking the truth.I now recollected having more than once seen Mrs Stump in the streets of Grand Gulf, on her marketing errands, and having dined at an hotel upon a haunch of buck of her especial providing. Still more, I remembered purchasing from her a brace of white-headed eagles (falco-leucocephalus), which this good lady had brought in from the forest, and which I had forwarded to the Zoological Society of London.Old Zeb’s shooting was something that to me at the time appeared marvellous. He could “bark” a squirrel among the tops of the tallest tree; or could equally kill it by sending his bullet through its eye. He used to boast, in a quiet way, that he never “spoilt a skin, though it war only that o’ a contemptible squ’ll.”But what interested me more than all was his tales of adventure, of most of which he was himself the hero. Many of these were well worthy of being recorded.One I deemed of especial interest, partly from its own essential oddness, partly from the quaint queerness of the language in which it was related to me, and not a little from the fact of its hingeing on a phenomenon, to which more than once I had myself been witness. I allude to the caving in, or breaking down of the banks of the Mississippi river, caused by the undermining influence of the current; when large slips of land, often whole acres, thickly studded with gigantic trees, glide into the water, to be swished away with a violence equalling the vortex of Charybdis.It was in connection with one of these land-slips that Old Zeb had met with the adventure in question, which came very near depriving him of his life, as it did of his liberty for a period of several days’ duration.Perhaps the narration had best be given in his own piquantpatois; and I shall so set it forth, as nearly as I can transcribe it from the tablets of my memory.I was indebted for the tale to a chance circumstance: for it was a rare thing in Old Zeb to volunteer a story, unless something turned up to suggest it.We had killed a fine buck, which had run several hundred lengths of himself with the lead in his carcass, and had fallen within a few feet of the bank of the river.While stopping to “gralloch the deer,” Old Zeb looked around with a pointed expression, as he did so, exclaiming:“Darn me! ef this ain’t the place whar I war trapped in a tree! Dog-gone ef taint! Thar’s the very saplin’ itself.”I looked at the “saplin’” to which my companion was pointing. It was a swamp cypress, of some thirty feet in girth, by at least a hundred and fifty in height.“Trapped in a tree?” I echoed, with emphatic interest, perceiving that Old Zeb was upon the edge of some odd adventure.Desirous of tempting him to the relation of it, I continued, “Trapped in a tree? How could that be, Mr Stump, an old forester like you?”“It did be, howsomedever,” was the quaint reply of my companion, “an’ not so very long agone neyther; only about three yeer. Ef ye’ll sit down a bit, an’ we may as well, since the sun’s putty consid’able hellish hot jest now, I’ll tell ye all about it. An’ I kin tell ye, for I hain’t forgotten neery sarcumstance o’ the hul thing. No, that I hain’t, an’ I’ll lay odds, young feller, that ef you ever be as badly skeeart as I war then, you’ll carry the recollexshun o’ that skeear till ye gets chucked into yur coffin—ay, that ye will!”Old Zeb here paused; but whether to reflect on what he was going to say next, or to give time for his last words to produce their due impression, I could not determine. I refrained from making rejoinder, knowing that I had now got him fairly over the edge of the adventure, and was safe enough to “have it out.”“Wal, kumrade, I war out arter deer, jest as you an’ me are the day; only it had got to be lateish—nigh sundown i’deed—and I hadn’t emptied my rifle the hul day. Fact is, I hadn’t sot eye on a thing wuth a charge o’ powder an’ lead. I war afut; an’, as you know yerself, it are a good six mile from this to my shanty. I didn’t like goin’ home empy handed, ’specially as I knowed we war empy-housed at the time, an’ the ole ’ooman wanted somethin’ to get us a pound or two o’ coffee an’ sugar fixins. So I thort I shed stay all night i’ the wuds, trustin’ to gettin’ a shot at a stray buck or a turkey-gobbler i’ the urly daylight. I war jest in the spot whar we air now; only it looked quite different then. The under scrub’s been all burnt down, as you may see. Then the hul place about hyar war kivered wi’ the tallest o’ cane, an’ so thick, a coon ked scace a worm’d his way through it.“Wal, stranger, ’ithout makin’ more ado, I tuk up my quarters for the night under that ere big cyprus. The groun’ war dampish, for thar had been a spell o’ rain; so I tuk out my bowie, an’ cut me enuf o’ the green cane to make me a sort o’ a shake-down.“It war comfitable enuf; an’ in the twinklin’ o’ a buck’s tail I war sound asleep.“I slep like a ’possum till the day war beginnin’ to break; an’ then I awoke, or rayther, war awoke by the damdest noise as ever rousted a fellar out o’ his slumber. I heerd a skreekin’, an’ screamin’, an’ screevin’, as ef all the saws in Massissippi war bein’ sharped ’ithin twenty yards o’ my ear.“It all kim from overhead, from out the tops o’ the cyprus.“I warn’t puzzled a bit by them thar sounds. I knowed it war the calling o’ the baldy eagles: for it warn’t the fust time I had listened to them thar.“‘Thar’s a neest,’ sez I to myself; ‘an’ young uns too. Thet’s why the birds is makin’ such a dod-rotted rumpus.’“Not that I cared much about a eagle’s neest, nor the birds themselves neyther. But jess then I remembers some thin’ my ole ’ooman hed tolt me. She hed heerd thet there war a rich Britisher staying at the hotel in Grand Gulf, who were offerin’ no eend o’ money to whomsoever ud git him a brace o’ young baldy eagles.”“You were rightly informed: it was I who made the offer.”“Dog-gone it, wur it you? Ef I’d know’d—but niver mind; I kudn’t a done diff’rent from what I did. Wal, strenger, in coorse I clomb the tree. It warn’t so easy as you may s’pose. Thar war forty feet o’ the stem ’ithout a branch, an’ so smooth that a catamount kedn’t a scaled it. I thort at first that the cyprus warn’t climeable nohow; but jess then I seed a big fox-grape-vine, that arter sprawlin’ up another tree clost by, left this un, an’ then sloped off to the one whar the baldies hed thar neest. This war the very thing I wanted—a sort o’ Jaykup’s ladder—an’ ’ithout wastin’ a minute o’ time, I speeled up the grape-vine.“It warn’t no joke neyther. The darned thing wobbled about till I wur well nigh pitched back to the groun’: an’ there war a time when I thort seriously o’ slippin’ down agin.“But then kim the thort o’ the ole woman an’ the empty house at hum, along wi’ what she’d sayed about the Britisher an’ his big purse; and bein’ freshly narved by these recolleckshuns, I swarmed up the vine like a squ’ll.“Once upon the Cyprus thar warn’t no diffeequilty in reachin’ the neest. There war plenty o’ footin’ among the top branches whar the birds had made thar eyeray.“For all that it warn’t so easy to get into the neest. There kedn’t a been less than a waggon-load o’ sticks in that thar construckshun, to say nothin’ o’ Spanish moss, an’ the baldies’ own dreppins, an’ all sorts o’ bones belonging to both fish an’ four-footed anymals. It tuk me nigh an hour to make a hole so that I ked get my head above the edge, and see what the neest contained.“As I expected, thar war young ’uns in it, two o’ them about half-feathered. All this time the ole birds had been abroad—as I supposed, lookin’ up a breakfast for thar chicks.“‘How darned disappointed they’ll be!’ sez I to myself, ‘when they gits back an’ find that thar young ’uns have fled the neest—’ithout feathers!’“I war too sure o’ my game and too kewrious about the young baldies, watchin’ them as they cowered close together, hissin’ and threetenin’ me, to take notice o’ anythin’ besides.“But I war rousted out o’ my rev’rie by feelin’ the hat suddintly jirked up off o’ my head, at the same time gettin’ a scratch across the cheek, that sent the blood spurtin’ all over my face. It wur the talons o’ the she eagle as did it; while the ole cock, clost to her tail, kept skreekin’ an’ screamin’ an’ makin’ a confusion o’ noises, as if he had jess come custrut from the towers o’ Babylon.“I had grupped one o’ the young baldies afore the old ’uns kim up. I needn’t tell ye I war only too glad to let the durned thing go agen, an’ duck my head under the edge o’ the neest; whar I kep it, till the critters had got a sort o’ tired threetenin’ me, and guv up the attack.“I needn’t tell ye, neyther, thet I, too, hed gin up all thort o’ takin’ the young eagles. Arter the wound I’d received I war contented to leave ’em alone; an’ not all the gold in the Britisher’s purse ked then have bought that brace o’ birds.“I only waited to rekiver my composure; an’ then I commenced makin’ back tracks down the tree.“I hed got ’bout halfway atween the baldies’ neest an’ the place whar the fox-grape tuk holt o’ the cyprus, when I war stopped short by somethin’ I heerd—a sound far more terrific than the screech o’ the eagles.“It war the creakin’ and crashin’ o’ timber—along wi’ that unairthly rumblin’ such as ye may hear when the banks o’ the great Mississippi be a cavin’ in.“It war that very thing itself. I kud see the trees that stood atween me an’ the river, tumblin’ an’ tossin’ about, an’ then goin’ wi’ a grand swish an’ a plunge into the fast flowin’ current o’ the stream. The cyprus itself shook as if the wind war busy among its branches. I ked feel a suddint jirk upon it, an’ then it righted agin, and stood steady as a rock. The eagles above me war screamin’ wusa than ever, while I below war tremblin’ like an aspin.“I knowed well enuf what it all meaned. I knowed that it war the bank o’ the river cavin’ in; but knowin’ this, didn’t gie me any great satisfaction: since I war under the belief that in another minute the Cyprus moutcave in too.“I didn’t stay the ten thousandth frakshun o’ a minute. I hurried to git back to the groun; an’ soon reached the place whar the grape-vine jeined on to the Cyprus.“There warn’t no grape-vine to be seen. It war clur gone away.“The tother tree to which its root had been clingin’ war one o’ them as had falled into the river, takin’ the fox-grape along wi’ it. It war that had gin the pluck I feeled when descendin’ from the neest.“I looked below. The river had changed its channel. Instead o’ runnin’ twenty yurds from the spot it war surgin’ along clost to the bottom o’ the cyprus. I seed that in another minuit the cyprus itself mout topple over into the stream, an’ be whirled along, or swallowed in the frothin’ water.“For me to git to the ground was plainly unpossible. I ked only do so by jumpin’ forty foot in the clur, an’ I knew that to do so wud a shivered my ole thigh-bones, tough as they mout be.“I ked do nothin’ but stay whar I war—nothin’ but wait and watch—listenin’ to the screamin’ o’ the eagles—as skeeart as myself—to the hoarse roarin’ o’ the angry waters, an’ the crashin’ o’ the trees, as one arter another they fell victims to the underminin’ influence o’ the flood.”I had by this time become fascinated by the narrative, Old Zeb’s thoughts, notwithstanding thepatoisin which they were expressed, had risen to the sublime; and although he paused for some minutes, I made no attempt to interrupt his reflections, but in silence I waited for him to continue his tale.“Wal, strenger, what do ye suppose I did next?” was the interrogation with which my ears were soon after saluted.“Really, I cannot imagine,” I replied, considerably surprised at Old Zeb’s question, abrupt as it was unexpected.“Wal; ye don’t suppose I kim down from the tree?”“I don’t see how you could.”“Neyther did I. I kedn’t an’ I didn’t. I mout as well a tried to git down the purpendikler face o’ the Chicasaw bluff, or the wall o’ Lexin’ton Court-house. I seed I kedn’t make a descent o’ it no how, an’ thurfore I guv it up, an’ stayed whar I war, crosslegs on a branch o’ the tree.“It warn’t the most comfutable kind o’ seat, but I hed somethin’ else than kushions to think o’. I didn’t know the minnit I mout be shot out into the Massissippi; an’ as I never war much o’ a swimmer—to say nothin’ o’ bein’ smashed among the branches in fallin’, I warn’t over satisfied wi’ my situation.“As I ked do nothin’ but stick it out, I stuck it out, keepin’ to my seat like death to a dead nigger, only shiftin’ a leetle now an’ then to ease my achin’ posteerors.“In this unkomfitable condishun I passed the hul o’ that day. Though there warn’t an easy bone in my body, I had got to be a bit easier in my mind; for on lookin’ down at the river, I begun to believe that the cavin’ in had kum to an eend, an’ that the Cyprus war goin’ to keep its place.“So far I felt komfited; but this feelin’ didn’t last long. It war follered by the reflexshun that whether the tree war to stand or fall, I war equally a lost man.“I knowd that I war beyond the reach o’ human help. Nothin’ but chance ked fetch livin’ critter within hearin’ o’ my voice. I seed the river plain enuf, an’ boats mout be passin’ up an’ down—both steam an’ flat—but I knowed that both was ’customed to steer along the opposite shore, to ’void the dang’rous eddy as sets torst the side I war on. The river, as ye see, young feller, are moren’ a mile wide at this place. The people on a passin’ boat wudn’t hear me; an’ if they did, they’d take it for some one a mockin’ o’ them. A man hailin’ a boat from the top o’ a cyprus tree! I knowd it ’ud be no use.“For all that I made trial o’ it. Boats did come past, o’ all kinds as navigate the Massissippi; steamers, keel-boats, an’ flats. I hailed them all—hailed till I was hoarse. They must a heerd me. I’m sartain some o’ ’em did, for I war answered by shouts o’ scornful laughter. My own shouts o’ despair mout a been mistuk for the cries o’ a mocker or a madman.”The hunter once more paused in his narrative, as if overpowered by the remembrance of those moments of misery. I remained silent as before—as before struck with the sublimity of thought, to which the backwoodsman was unconsciously giving speech.Observing my silence he resumed his narration.“Wal, strenger; I kim to the konclusion that I wartrapped in that tree, an’ no mistake. I seed no more chance o’ gettin’ clur than kud a bar wi’ a two ton log across the small o’ his back. The only hope I hed war that the ole ooman ’ud be arter me, as she usooally is whensoever I’m missin’ for a spell. But that moutn’t be for a single night, nor two on ’em in succession. Beside, what chance o’ her findin’ me in a track o’ timmer twenty mile in sarcumference? That hope war only ’vanesccnt, an’ soon died out ’ithin me.“It war just arter I had gin up all hope o’ being suckered by anybody else, that I begun to think o’ doin’ suthin’ for myself. I needed to do suthin’. Full thirty hours hed passed since I’d eyther ate or drunk, for I’d been huntin’ all the day before ’ithout doin’ eyther. I war both hungry an’ thusty—if anythin’, sufferin’ most from the last-mentioned o’ them two evils. I ked a swallered the muddiest water as ever war found in a puddle, an’ neyther frogs nor tadpoles would a deterred me. As to eatin’, when I thort o’ that, I kudn’t help runnin’ my eyes up’ards; an’ spite o’ the spurt I’d hed wi’ thar parents I ked a’ told them young baldies that thur lives war in danger.“Possible, I mout a feeled hungrier an’ thustier than I did, if it hedn’t been for the fear I war in, ’bout the cyprus topplin’ over into the river. That hed kep me in sich a state o’ skeear as to hinder me from thinkin’ o’ moust anythin’ else. As the time passed, hows’ever, an’ the tree still kep its purpendicklar, I begun to b’lieve that the bank warn’t agoin to move any more. I ked see the water down below, through the branches o’ the cyprus, an’ tho’ it war clost by, thar ’peared to be a clanjamfery o’ big roott stickin’ out from the bank, as war like to keep the dirt firm agin the underminin’ o’ the current—leastwise for a good spell.“Soon as I bekum satersfied o’ this, I feeled easier; an once more tuk to thinkin’ how I war to get down. Jess as afore, the thinkin’ warn’t to no purpiss. Thar war no way but to jump it, an’ I mout as well ha’ thort o’ jumpin’ from the top o’ a ’piscopy church steeple ’ithout gettin’ squashed. I gin the thing up in shur despurashun.“By this time it hed got to be night; an’ as thar warn’t no use o’ my makin’ things wuss than they war, I looked about the cyprus to see ef thar war any limb softer than another, whar I ked lay my karkiss for a snoose.“I found a place in one o’ the forks large enuf to lodge a full growd bar. Thar I squatted.“I slep putty well, considerin’ thet the scratch the eagle had gin me had got to be soreish, an’ war wuss torst the mornin’. Beside, I warn’t quite easy in my mind ’bout the cavin’ in o’ the bank; an’ more’n once I woke wi’ a start thinkin’ I war being switched into the river. Nothin’ partickler happened till peep o’ day, an’ nothin’ very partickler then, ’ceptin’ that I feeled hungry enuf to eat a raw skunk. Jess at that minnit the young baldies war in bad kumpny. While I war thinkin’ o’ climbin’ up to the neest an’ ringin’ one o’ thar necks, I chanced to look out over the river. All at onest I see one o’ them big water-hawks—osparaythey call ’em—plunge down an’ rise up agin wi’ a catfish in his claws. He hadn’t got twenty fut above the surface, when one o’ the old baldies—the hen it war—went shootin’ torst him like a streak o’ greased lightnin’. Afore he ked a counted six, I seed the she baldy comin’ torst the tree wi’ the catfish inherclaws.“‘Good,’ sez I to myself, ‘ef I must make my breakfast on the raw, I’d rayther it shed be fish than squab eagle.’“I started for the neest. This time I tuk the purcaushun to unsheath my bowie, and carry it in my hand ready for a fight; an’ it warnt no idle purcaushun as it proved, for scace hed I got my head above the edge o’ the neest, when both the ole birds attackted me jess as before.“The fight war now more evenly atween us; an’ the cunnin’ critters appeared to know it, for they kep’ well out o’ reach o’ the bowie, though floppin’ an’ clawin’ at me whenever they seed a chance. I gin the ole hen a prod thet cooled her courage considrable; an’ as for the cock, he warn’t a sarcumstance to her, for, as you knows, young feller,the cock o’ eagles is allers the hen bird.“The fish war lyin’ in the bottom o’ the neest whar the hen had dropped it. It hadn’t been touched, ’ceptin’ by her claws whar she had carried it; and the young ’uns war too much skeeart durin’ the skrimmage to think o’ thar breakfast.“I spiked the catfish on the blade o’ my bowie, an’ drawin’ it torst me, I slid back down the tree to the fork whar I had passed the night. Thar I ate it.”“Raw?”“Jess as it kum from the river. I mout a gin it a sort o’ a cookin’ ef I’d liked; for I hed my punk pouch wi’ me, an’ I ked a got firin’ from the dead bark o’ the cyprus. But I war too hungry to wait, an’ I ate it raw. The fish war a kupple o’ pound weight; an’ I left nothin’ o’ it but the bones, fins, an’ tail. The guts I gin to the young eagles, for a purpose I hed jess then.“As ye may guess, I warn’t hungry any longer, but thar kumd upon me a spell o’ the durndest thust I ever sperienced in all my life. The fish meat made it wuss, for arter I had swallered it, I feeled as ef my inside war afire. It war like a pile o’ hickery sticks burnin’ in my belly, an’ bleezin’ up through my breast and jugglers. The sun war shinin’ full upon the river, an’ the glitterin’ o’ the water made things wuss, for it made me hanker arter it, an’ crave it all the more.“Onest or twice I got out o’ the fork, thinkin’ I ked creep along a limb an’ drop down into the river. I shed a done so hed it been near enuf, tho’ I knowd I ked niver a swum ashore. But I seed the water war too far off an’ I hed to gie the idee up an’ go back to my den.“’Twar o’ no use chawin’ the twigs o’ the cyprus. They war full o’ rozin, an ’ud only make the chokin’ worse. Thar war some green leaves o’ the fox-grape-vine, an I chawed all o’ them I ked lay my claws on. It dud some good; but my sufferins war a’most unbarable.“How war I to get at the water o’ that river, that flowed so tauntinly jess out o’ reach? That war the queery that nixt occerpied me.“I ’most jumped off o’ the tree when at last I bethort me o’ a way; for I did bethink me o’ one.“I hed a piece o’ string I allers carries about me. ’Twar quite long enuf to reach the river bank, an’ let it down into the water. I ked empy my powder-horn and let it down. It wud fill, an’ I ked then draw it up agin. Hooray!“I shouted that hooray only onest. On lookin’ for the horn I diskivered thet I hed left it on the ground, whar I hed tuk it off afore goin’ to sleep under the cyprus.“I warn’t agoin’ to be beat in that easy way. Ef I had no vessel that wud draw water I hed my ole doeskin shirt. I ked let that down, soak it, an’ pull it up agin’.“No sooner sayed than done. The shirt war peeled off, gathered up into a clew, tied to the eend o’ the string, an’ chucked out’ard.“It struck a branch o’ the cyprus, an’ fell short.“I tried agin, an’ agin, an’ over agin. The darned thing still fell short several feet from the bank o’ the river. It warn’t any fault o’ the cord. It war long enuf. It war the thick branches o’ the cyprus that gin me no chance to make a clur cast. I tried till I got dead tired of failin’—till I seed the thing war impossible—an’ then I gin it up.“I shed a felt dreadful at failin’ arter bein’ so cock sure o’ suckcess; but jess then I bethut me o’ another plan for reachin’ that preecious flooid. I’ve tolt ye ’bout my cuttin’ a lot o’ cane to make me a shake-down for sleepin’ on. Thar it still war, right under me—a hul cord o’ it.“The sight o’ the long tubes surgested a new idee, which I warn’t long in puttin’ to practice. Takin’ the shirt out o’ its loop, I made the string fast to the heft o’ my bowie. I then shot the knife down among the cane, sendin’ it wi’ all my might, an’ takin’ care to keep the peint o’ the blade down’ards. It warn’t long afore I hed spiked up as much o’ thet ere cane as wud a streetched twenty yurds into the river.“It tuk more time to manafacter the machine I intended makin’, which war a long tube as mout enable me to draw up the water o’ the stream. Thar war no eend o’ whittlin’ an’ punchin’ out the jeints, an’ then splicin’ the tubes one to the tother. But I knowd it war a case o’ life or death; an’ knowin’ thet, I worked on constant as a ole gin-hoss.“I war rewarded for my patience. I got my blow-gun completed, an’ shovin’ it carefully out, takin’ the percaushun to gie it a double rest upon the branches, I hed the saterfaction to see its peint dippin’ down into the river.“My mouth war applied to the other eend, an’ oh, golly! Thar warn’t no mint julep ever sucked through a straw, as tasted like the flooid that kim gurglin’ up through that ere cane. I thort I ked niver take the thing from my lips, an’ I feel putty sartin thet while I war drinkin’, the Massissippi must a fell a kupple o’ feet in the clur.”“Ha! ha! ha!”“Ye may larf, young fellar, an’ I’m glad to see ye in sech good spirits; but ye ant so elevated as I war. When I tuk my mouth from the cane, I feeled all over a new man, jess as ef I hed been raised from the dead, or dragged out o’ a consoomin’ fire.“Wal, strenger, I haint yet got to the eend o’ my story—I s’pose you wish to hear the hul on it?”“By all means—let me hear thefinale.”“I don’t know what ye mean by the finalley, but I’ll gie ye the wind-up o’ the affair; which preehaps are the most kewrious part o’ it.“I lived in the fork of thet ere cyprus for six long days, occasionally payin’ a visit to the eagles’ necst, an’ robbin’ the young baldies o’ the food thar parents hed purvided for them. Thar diet war various, consistin’ o’ fish, flesh, an’ fowl, an’ o’ a konsequence so war mine. I hed all three for a change; sometimes a rabbit, sometimes a squrrel, with game to foller, sech as partridge, teal, an’ widgeon. I didn’t cook ’em at all. I war afraid o’ settin’ fire to the withered leaves o’ the tree, an’ burnin’ up the neest—which wud a been like killin’ the goose as laid the eggs o’ gold.“I mout a managed that sort o’ existence for a longer spell, tho’ I acknowledge it war tiresome enuf. But it warn’t that as made me anxious to gie up, but suthin’ very diff’rent. I seed that the young baldies war every day gettin’ bigger. Thar feathers war comin’ out all over an’ I ked tell that it wudn’t be long till they’d take wing.“When that time arrove whar shed I be? Still in the tree ov coorse; but whar war my purvision to cum from? Who wud supply me wi’ fish an’ flesh an’ fowl, as the eagles had done? Clurly ne’er a one. It war this thort as made me uneezy. I knew it war not likely I shed ever be diskivered now, since my ole ’ooman hedn’t made her appearance sooner; an’ as to any boat stoppin’ for my hail, thet trick I hed tried till I war a’most broken-winded—leastwise I hed kep’ hollerin’ every hour day arter day till my thrapple war as sore as a blister.“I seed clarly thet I must do suthin’ to get down out o’ that tree, or die among its branches, an’ I spent all my spare time in thinkin’ whatmoutbe did. I used to read in Webster’s spellin’-book that ‘needcessity are the mother o’ invenshun.’ I reckon old Web warn’t fur astray when he prented them ere words—anyways it proved true in the case o’ Zeb Stump, at the time he war stuck up in that cyprus.“I hed noticed thet the two ole eagles bekim tamer and tamer as they got used to me. They seed thet I did no harm to thar chicks, ’ceptin’ so far as to abstrack from them a portion o’ thar daily allowance; but I allers took care to leave them sufficient for themselves, an’ as thar parents appeared to hev no diffeequlty in purvidin’ them wi’ plenty—unlike many parents in your country, as I’ve heerd, strenger—my pilferins didn’t seem much to distress them.“They grew at last thet they’d sit on the one side o’ the neest, while I war peepin’ over the other!“I seed thet I ked easily snare them, an’ I made up my mind to do thet very thing: for a purtickler purpus thet kumm’d into my head, an’ which promised to extercate me out o’ the ugly scrape I hed so foolishly got into.“Wal, strenger, my idee war this. I hed noticed thet the eagles war both big birds, an’ strong i’ the wing. Everybody knows thet much. It thurfore occurred to me that I mout make them wings do me a sarvice,—otherways thet theymout carry me out o’ the tree.“In coorse I didn’t intend they shed take me up i’ the air. There warn’t much danger o’ that. I only thort they mout sarve to break my fall like one o’ them things,parryshootsI b’lieve they call ’em, an’ the which I myself had seed onest in Noo Orleans, sent up into the air wi’ a cat and a coon in it.“Arter I’d got my plan tol’ably well traced out, I sot about trappin’ the old eagles.“In less ’n an hour’s time I hed both o’ ’em in my keepin’, wi’ thar beaks spliced to keep ’em from bitin’ me, an’ thar claws cropped clur off wi’ my bowie.“I then strengthened the cord I hed used to draw up the canes, by doublin’ it half a dozen times, until it war stout enuf to carry my weight. One eend o’ it I looped round the legs o’ the eagles, gatherin’ all four into a bunch, whilst the other eend I made fast around my own karkiss, jess under the armpits.“I did all this upon the lowest limb o’ the cyprus, whar I had fetched down the eagles.“When all war ready, I drew my bowie from its sheath, and with its sharp peint I pricked both the baldies at the same time, so as to set them a-floppin. As soon as I seed thar four wings in full play, I slid off o’ the branch, directin’ myself torst the groun’ underneath.“I ant very sartin as to what follered. I only recollex bein’ dragged through the branches o’ the cyprus, an’ the minnit arter plungin’cochuckinto the waters o’ the Massissippi. I shed most sartinly a been drowned ef that ere cord had broken, or the eagles had got loose. As it war, the birds kep’ beatin’ the water wi’ thar big wings, and in thet way hindered Zeb Stump from goin’ under.“I’ve heerd o’ a woman they called Veenis bein’ drawed through the sea by a kupple o’ swans; but I don’t b’lieve they kud a drawed her at a quicker rate o’ speed than I war carried over the buzum o’ the Massissippi. In less than five minnits from the time I hed dropped out o’ the tree, I seed myself in the middle o’ the river and still scufflin’ on. I seed that the baldies war boun’ for the Arkansaw shore, an’ knowin’ that my life depended on thar reachin’ it, I offered no opposition to thar efforts, but lay still an’ allowed them to continue thar career.“As good luck wud hev it, they had strength enuf left to complete the crossin’; an’ thar war another bit o’ good luck in the Arkansaw bank bein’ on a level wi’ the surface o’ the water; so that in five minnits arter, I foun’ myself among the bushes, the baldies still flutterin’ about me, as ef determined to carry me on over the great parairas o’ the West.“I feeled that it war time to stop the steam, an’ take in sail; so clutchin’ holt o’ a branch, I brought the baldies to anchor. I war all out o’ breath, and it war some time afore I ked rekiver my legs, and release myself from my feathered kumpanyuns. I tuk good care not to let them go; though sartintly I owed them thet much for the sarvice they had done me, but jess then I bethort me o’ the Britisher at Grand Gulf—ah! you it war, ye say, young feller?”“Certainly. And those are the eagles I purchased from Mrs Stump?”“Them same birds, strenger. You shed a hed the young ’uns, but thar warn’t no chance ever ag’in to clomb thet cyprus, an’ what bekim o’ the poor critters arterward, I haint the most distant idee. I reckin they ended thar days in the neest, which ye still see up thar; an’ ef they did, I reckin the buzzarts wudn’t be long in makin’ a meal o’ ’em.”With my eyes directed to the top of the tall cypress, and fixed upon a dark mass, resembling a stack of faggots, I listened to the concluding words of this queer chapter of “Backwoods Adventure.”

Among the many queer characters I have encountered in the shadow of the forest, or the sunshine of the prairie, I can remember nonequeerer, or more original, than Zebulon Stump—“Old Zeb Stump,” as he was familiarly known among his acquaintances.

“Kaintuck by birth and raisin’,” as he used to describe himself, he was a hunter of the pure Daniel Boone breed. The chase was his sole railing; and he would have indignantly scouted the suggestion, that he ever followed it for mere amusement.

Though by no means of uncongenial disposition, he affected to hold all amateur hunters in a kind of lordly contempt; and his conversation with such was always of a condescending character. For all this, he was not averse to their company; especially that of the young gentlemen of the neighbourhood who chanced to be honoured with his acquaintance.

Being myself one of those who could lay claim to this privilege, I oft-times availed myself of it; and many of my hunting excursions were made in the companionship of Old Zeb Stump. He was, in truth, my guide and instructor, as well as companion; and initiated me into many mysteries of American woodcraft, in which I was at that time but little skilled.

To me one of the most insoluble of these mysteries was that of Old Zeb’s own existence; and I was acquainted with him for a considerable time before I could unravel the clue to it. He stood six feet in boots, fabricated out of the tanned skin of an alligator—into the ample tops of which were crowded the legs of a pair of coarse “copperas” trowsers; while the only other garments upon his body were a doeskin shirt, and a “blanket-coat” that had once been green, but, like the leaves of the autumnal forest, had become changed to a sere and yellowish hue. A slouch “felt” shaded his cheeks from the sun; though for this purpose it was not often needed: since it was only upon very rare occasions that Old Zeb strayed beyond the shadows of the “Timber.”

Where he lived, and how he supported himself, were to me the two points that chiefly required clearing up. In the tract of virgin forest, where I was in the habit of meeting him by appointment, there was neither house nor hut. So said the people of Grand Gulf (a small town upon the Mississippi in which I was sojourning). And yet Old Zeb had told me that in this forest region was his home.

It was only after our acquaintance had ripened into a strong feeling of fellowship, that I became his guest; and had the pleasure of spending an hour under his humble roof.

Humble I may truly designate it, since it consisted of the hollow trunk of a gigantic sycamore-tree, still strading and growing!

In this cavity Old Zeb found sufficient shelter for him self, his “squaw,” as he termed Mrs Stump (whose existence was now for the first time revealed to me), hispenates, and, when the weather required it, for the tough old cob that carried him in his forest wanderings.

His household was no longer a puzzle; though there still remained the mystery of how he managed to maintain it.

A skilled hunter might easily procure sufficient food for himself and family; but even the hunter disdains a diet exclusively game. There was the coffee (to a strong cup of which I was myself made welcome); the “pone” of corn-bread; the corn itself necessary to the sustenance of the old horse; the muslin gown that shrouded the somewhat angular outlines of Mrs Stump; with many other commodities that could not be procured by a rifle. Even the rifle itself required food not to be found in the forest.

Presuming on our friendly intimacy, I put the question:

“How do you make out to live? You don’t appear to manufacture anything, nor do I see any signs of cultivation around your dwelling. How, then, do you support yourself?”

“Them keeps us—them thar,” answered my host, pointing to a corner of his tree-cabin.

I looked in the direction indicated. The skins of several species of animals, among which I recognised those of the painter, ’possum, and ’coon, along with a haunch or two of recently-killed venison, met my glance.

“Oh! you traffic in these?”

“Jess so, stranger. Sells the skins to the storekeeper an’ the deer meat to anybody as’ll buy it.”

“But I have never seen you in the town.”

“I never goes thar. I don’t like them stinkin’ storekeepers. They allers cheats me.”

“Who, then, does the marketing for you?”

“The ole ’oman thar. She kin manage them counter-jumpers better’n I kin. Can’t you, ole gurl?”

“Well, that I guess I can,” replied the partner of Old Zeb’s bosom, with an emphasis that left no doubt upon my mind that she believed herself to be speaking the truth.

I now recollected having more than once seen Mrs Stump in the streets of Grand Gulf, on her marketing errands, and having dined at an hotel upon a haunch of buck of her especial providing. Still more, I remembered purchasing from her a brace of white-headed eagles (falco-leucocephalus), which this good lady had brought in from the forest, and which I had forwarded to the Zoological Society of London.

Old Zeb’s shooting was something that to me at the time appeared marvellous. He could “bark” a squirrel among the tops of the tallest tree; or could equally kill it by sending his bullet through its eye. He used to boast, in a quiet way, that he never “spoilt a skin, though it war only that o’ a contemptible squ’ll.”

But what interested me more than all was his tales of adventure, of most of which he was himself the hero. Many of these were well worthy of being recorded.

One I deemed of especial interest, partly from its own essential oddness, partly from the quaint queerness of the language in which it was related to me, and not a little from the fact of its hingeing on a phenomenon, to which more than once I had myself been witness. I allude to the caving in, or breaking down of the banks of the Mississippi river, caused by the undermining influence of the current; when large slips of land, often whole acres, thickly studded with gigantic trees, glide into the water, to be swished away with a violence equalling the vortex of Charybdis.

It was in connection with one of these land-slips that Old Zeb had met with the adventure in question, which came very near depriving him of his life, as it did of his liberty for a period of several days’ duration.

Perhaps the narration had best be given in his own piquantpatois; and I shall so set it forth, as nearly as I can transcribe it from the tablets of my memory.

I was indebted for the tale to a chance circumstance: for it was a rare thing in Old Zeb to volunteer a story, unless something turned up to suggest it.

We had killed a fine buck, which had run several hundred lengths of himself with the lead in his carcass, and had fallen within a few feet of the bank of the river.

While stopping to “gralloch the deer,” Old Zeb looked around with a pointed expression, as he did so, exclaiming:

“Darn me! ef this ain’t the place whar I war trapped in a tree! Dog-gone ef taint! Thar’s the very saplin’ itself.”

I looked at the “saplin’” to which my companion was pointing. It was a swamp cypress, of some thirty feet in girth, by at least a hundred and fifty in height.

“Trapped in a tree?” I echoed, with emphatic interest, perceiving that Old Zeb was upon the edge of some odd adventure.

Desirous of tempting him to the relation of it, I continued, “Trapped in a tree? How could that be, Mr Stump, an old forester like you?”

“It did be, howsomedever,” was the quaint reply of my companion, “an’ not so very long agone neyther; only about three yeer. Ef ye’ll sit down a bit, an’ we may as well, since the sun’s putty consid’able hellish hot jest now, I’ll tell ye all about it. An’ I kin tell ye, for I hain’t forgotten neery sarcumstance o’ the hul thing. No, that I hain’t, an’ I’ll lay odds, young feller, that ef you ever be as badly skeeart as I war then, you’ll carry the recollexshun o’ that skeear till ye gets chucked into yur coffin—ay, that ye will!”

Old Zeb here paused; but whether to reflect on what he was going to say next, or to give time for his last words to produce their due impression, I could not determine. I refrained from making rejoinder, knowing that I had now got him fairly over the edge of the adventure, and was safe enough to “have it out.”

“Wal, kumrade, I war out arter deer, jest as you an’ me are the day; only it had got to be lateish—nigh sundown i’deed—and I hadn’t emptied my rifle the hul day. Fact is, I hadn’t sot eye on a thing wuth a charge o’ powder an’ lead. I war afut; an’, as you know yerself, it are a good six mile from this to my shanty. I didn’t like goin’ home empy handed, ’specially as I knowed we war empy-housed at the time, an’ the ole ’ooman wanted somethin’ to get us a pound or two o’ coffee an’ sugar fixins. So I thort I shed stay all night i’ the wuds, trustin’ to gettin’ a shot at a stray buck or a turkey-gobbler i’ the urly daylight. I war jest in the spot whar we air now; only it looked quite different then. The under scrub’s been all burnt down, as you may see. Then the hul place about hyar war kivered wi’ the tallest o’ cane, an’ so thick, a coon ked scace a worm’d his way through it.

“Wal, stranger, ’ithout makin’ more ado, I tuk up my quarters for the night under that ere big cyprus. The groun’ war dampish, for thar had been a spell o’ rain; so I tuk out my bowie, an’ cut me enuf o’ the green cane to make me a sort o’ a shake-down.

“It war comfitable enuf; an’ in the twinklin’ o’ a buck’s tail I war sound asleep.

“I slep like a ’possum till the day war beginnin’ to break; an’ then I awoke, or rayther, war awoke by the damdest noise as ever rousted a fellar out o’ his slumber. I heerd a skreekin’, an’ screamin’, an’ screevin’, as ef all the saws in Massissippi war bein’ sharped ’ithin twenty yards o’ my ear.

“It all kim from overhead, from out the tops o’ the cyprus.

“I warn’t puzzled a bit by them thar sounds. I knowed it war the calling o’ the baldy eagles: for it warn’t the fust time I had listened to them thar.

“‘Thar’s a neest,’ sez I to myself; ‘an’ young uns too. Thet’s why the birds is makin’ such a dod-rotted rumpus.’

“Not that I cared much about a eagle’s neest, nor the birds themselves neyther. But jess then I remembers some thin’ my ole ’ooman hed tolt me. She hed heerd thet there war a rich Britisher staying at the hotel in Grand Gulf, who were offerin’ no eend o’ money to whomsoever ud git him a brace o’ young baldy eagles.”

“You were rightly informed: it was I who made the offer.”

“Dog-gone it, wur it you? Ef I’d know’d—but niver mind; I kudn’t a done diff’rent from what I did. Wal, strenger, in coorse I clomb the tree. It warn’t so easy as you may s’pose. Thar war forty feet o’ the stem ’ithout a branch, an’ so smooth that a catamount kedn’t a scaled it. I thort at first that the cyprus warn’t climeable nohow; but jess then I seed a big fox-grape-vine, that arter sprawlin’ up another tree clost by, left this un, an’ then sloped off to the one whar the baldies hed thar neest. This war the very thing I wanted—a sort o’ Jaykup’s ladder—an’ ’ithout wastin’ a minute o’ time, I speeled up the grape-vine.

“It warn’t no joke neyther. The darned thing wobbled about till I wur well nigh pitched back to the groun’: an’ there war a time when I thort seriously o’ slippin’ down agin.

“But then kim the thort o’ the ole woman an’ the empty house at hum, along wi’ what she’d sayed about the Britisher an’ his big purse; and bein’ freshly narved by these recolleckshuns, I swarmed up the vine like a squ’ll.

“Once upon the Cyprus thar warn’t no diffeequilty in reachin’ the neest. There war plenty o’ footin’ among the top branches whar the birds had made thar eyeray.

“For all that it warn’t so easy to get into the neest. There kedn’t a been less than a waggon-load o’ sticks in that thar construckshun, to say nothin’ o’ Spanish moss, an’ the baldies’ own dreppins, an’ all sorts o’ bones belonging to both fish an’ four-footed anymals. It tuk me nigh an hour to make a hole so that I ked get my head above the edge, and see what the neest contained.

“As I expected, thar war young ’uns in it, two o’ them about half-feathered. All this time the ole birds had been abroad—as I supposed, lookin’ up a breakfast for thar chicks.

“‘How darned disappointed they’ll be!’ sez I to myself, ‘when they gits back an’ find that thar young ’uns have fled the neest—’ithout feathers!’

“I war too sure o’ my game and too kewrious about the young baldies, watchin’ them as they cowered close together, hissin’ and threetenin’ me, to take notice o’ anythin’ besides.

“But I war rousted out o’ my rev’rie by feelin’ the hat suddintly jirked up off o’ my head, at the same time gettin’ a scratch across the cheek, that sent the blood spurtin’ all over my face. It wur the talons o’ the she eagle as did it; while the ole cock, clost to her tail, kept skreekin’ an’ screamin’ an’ makin’ a confusion o’ noises, as if he had jess come custrut from the towers o’ Babylon.

“I had grupped one o’ the young baldies afore the old ’uns kim up. I needn’t tell ye I war only too glad to let the durned thing go agen, an’ duck my head under the edge o’ the neest; whar I kep it, till the critters had got a sort o’ tired threetenin’ me, and guv up the attack.

“I needn’t tell ye, neyther, thet I, too, hed gin up all thort o’ takin’ the young eagles. Arter the wound I’d received I war contented to leave ’em alone; an’ not all the gold in the Britisher’s purse ked then have bought that brace o’ birds.

“I only waited to rekiver my composure; an’ then I commenced makin’ back tracks down the tree.

“I hed got ’bout halfway atween the baldies’ neest an’ the place whar the fox-grape tuk holt o’ the cyprus, when I war stopped short by somethin’ I heerd—a sound far more terrific than the screech o’ the eagles.

“It war the creakin’ and crashin’ o’ timber—along wi’ that unairthly rumblin’ such as ye may hear when the banks o’ the great Mississippi be a cavin’ in.

“It war that very thing itself. I kud see the trees that stood atween me an’ the river, tumblin’ an’ tossin’ about, an’ then goin’ wi’ a grand swish an’ a plunge into the fast flowin’ current o’ the stream. The cyprus itself shook as if the wind war busy among its branches. I ked feel a suddint jirk upon it, an’ then it righted agin, and stood steady as a rock. The eagles above me war screamin’ wusa than ever, while I below war tremblin’ like an aspin.

“I knowed well enuf what it all meaned. I knowed that it war the bank o’ the river cavin’ in; but knowin’ this, didn’t gie me any great satisfaction: since I war under the belief that in another minute the Cyprus moutcave in too.

“I didn’t stay the ten thousandth frakshun o’ a minute. I hurried to git back to the groun; an’ soon reached the place whar the grape-vine jeined on to the Cyprus.

“There warn’t no grape-vine to be seen. It war clur gone away.

“The tother tree to which its root had been clingin’ war one o’ them as had falled into the river, takin’ the fox-grape along wi’ it. It war that had gin the pluck I feeled when descendin’ from the neest.

“I looked below. The river had changed its channel. Instead o’ runnin’ twenty yurds from the spot it war surgin’ along clost to the bottom o’ the cyprus. I seed that in another minuit the cyprus itself mout topple over into the stream, an’ be whirled along, or swallowed in the frothin’ water.

“For me to git to the ground was plainly unpossible. I ked only do so by jumpin’ forty foot in the clur, an’ I knew that to do so wud a shivered my ole thigh-bones, tough as they mout be.

“I ked do nothin’ but stay whar I war—nothin’ but wait and watch—listenin’ to the screamin’ o’ the eagles—as skeeart as myself—to the hoarse roarin’ o’ the angry waters, an’ the crashin’ o’ the trees, as one arter another they fell victims to the underminin’ influence o’ the flood.”

I had by this time become fascinated by the narrative, Old Zeb’s thoughts, notwithstanding thepatoisin which they were expressed, had risen to the sublime; and although he paused for some minutes, I made no attempt to interrupt his reflections, but in silence I waited for him to continue his tale.

“Wal, strenger, what do ye suppose I did next?” was the interrogation with which my ears were soon after saluted.

“Really, I cannot imagine,” I replied, considerably surprised at Old Zeb’s question, abrupt as it was unexpected.

“Wal; ye don’t suppose I kim down from the tree?”

“I don’t see how you could.”

“Neyther did I. I kedn’t an’ I didn’t. I mout as well a tried to git down the purpendikler face o’ the Chicasaw bluff, or the wall o’ Lexin’ton Court-house. I seed I kedn’t make a descent o’ it no how, an’ thurfore I guv it up, an’ stayed whar I war, crosslegs on a branch o’ the tree.

“It warn’t the most comfutable kind o’ seat, but I hed somethin’ else than kushions to think o’. I didn’t know the minnit I mout be shot out into the Massissippi; an’ as I never war much o’ a swimmer—to say nothin’ o’ bein’ smashed among the branches in fallin’, I warn’t over satisfied wi’ my situation.

“As I ked do nothin’ but stick it out, I stuck it out, keepin’ to my seat like death to a dead nigger, only shiftin’ a leetle now an’ then to ease my achin’ posteerors.

“In this unkomfitable condishun I passed the hul o’ that day. Though there warn’t an easy bone in my body, I had got to be a bit easier in my mind; for on lookin’ down at the river, I begun to believe that the cavin’ in had kum to an eend, an’ that the Cyprus war goin’ to keep its place.

“So far I felt komfited; but this feelin’ didn’t last long. It war follered by the reflexshun that whether the tree war to stand or fall, I war equally a lost man.

“I knowd that I war beyond the reach o’ human help. Nothin’ but chance ked fetch livin’ critter within hearin’ o’ my voice. I seed the river plain enuf, an’ boats mout be passin’ up an’ down—both steam an’ flat—but I knowed that both was ’customed to steer along the opposite shore, to ’void the dang’rous eddy as sets torst the side I war on. The river, as ye see, young feller, are moren’ a mile wide at this place. The people on a passin’ boat wudn’t hear me; an’ if they did, they’d take it for some one a mockin’ o’ them. A man hailin’ a boat from the top o’ a cyprus tree! I knowd it ’ud be no use.

“For all that I made trial o’ it. Boats did come past, o’ all kinds as navigate the Massissippi; steamers, keel-boats, an’ flats. I hailed them all—hailed till I was hoarse. They must a heerd me. I’m sartain some o’ ’em did, for I war answered by shouts o’ scornful laughter. My own shouts o’ despair mout a been mistuk for the cries o’ a mocker or a madman.”

The hunter once more paused in his narrative, as if overpowered by the remembrance of those moments of misery. I remained silent as before—as before struck with the sublimity of thought, to which the backwoodsman was unconsciously giving speech.

Observing my silence he resumed his narration.

“Wal, strenger; I kim to the konclusion that I wartrapped in that tree, an’ no mistake. I seed no more chance o’ gettin’ clur than kud a bar wi’ a two ton log across the small o’ his back. The only hope I hed war that the ole ooman ’ud be arter me, as she usooally is whensoever I’m missin’ for a spell. But that moutn’t be for a single night, nor two on ’em in succession. Beside, what chance o’ her findin’ me in a track o’ timmer twenty mile in sarcumference? That hope war only ’vanesccnt, an’ soon died out ’ithin me.

“It war just arter I had gin up all hope o’ being suckered by anybody else, that I begun to think o’ doin’ suthin’ for myself. I needed to do suthin’. Full thirty hours hed passed since I’d eyther ate or drunk, for I’d been huntin’ all the day before ’ithout doin’ eyther. I war both hungry an’ thusty—if anythin’, sufferin’ most from the last-mentioned o’ them two evils. I ked a swallered the muddiest water as ever war found in a puddle, an’ neyther frogs nor tadpoles would a deterred me. As to eatin’, when I thort o’ that, I kudn’t help runnin’ my eyes up’ards; an’ spite o’ the spurt I’d hed wi’ thar parents I ked a’ told them young baldies that thur lives war in danger.

“Possible, I mout a feeled hungrier an’ thustier than I did, if it hedn’t been for the fear I war in, ’bout the cyprus topplin’ over into the river. That hed kep me in sich a state o’ skeear as to hinder me from thinkin’ o’ moust anythin’ else. As the time passed, hows’ever, an’ the tree still kep its purpendicklar, I begun to b’lieve that the bank warn’t agoin to move any more. I ked see the water down below, through the branches o’ the cyprus, an’ tho’ it war clost by, thar ’peared to be a clanjamfery o’ big roott stickin’ out from the bank, as war like to keep the dirt firm agin the underminin’ o’ the current—leastwise for a good spell.

“Soon as I bekum satersfied o’ this, I feeled easier; an once more tuk to thinkin’ how I war to get down. Jess as afore, the thinkin’ warn’t to no purpiss. Thar war no way but to jump it, an’ I mout as well ha’ thort o’ jumpin’ from the top o’ a ’piscopy church steeple ’ithout gettin’ squashed. I gin the thing up in shur despurashun.

“By this time it hed got to be night; an’ as thar warn’t no use o’ my makin’ things wuss than they war, I looked about the cyprus to see ef thar war any limb softer than another, whar I ked lay my karkiss for a snoose.

“I found a place in one o’ the forks large enuf to lodge a full growd bar. Thar I squatted.

“I slep putty well, considerin’ thet the scratch the eagle had gin me had got to be soreish, an’ war wuss torst the mornin’. Beside, I warn’t quite easy in my mind ’bout the cavin’ in o’ the bank; an’ more’n once I woke wi’ a start thinkin’ I war being switched into the river. Nothin’ partickler happened till peep o’ day, an’ nothin’ very partickler then, ’ceptin’ that I feeled hungry enuf to eat a raw skunk. Jess at that minnit the young baldies war in bad kumpny. While I war thinkin’ o’ climbin’ up to the neest an’ ringin’ one o’ thar necks, I chanced to look out over the river. All at onest I see one o’ them big water-hawks—osparaythey call ’em—plunge down an’ rise up agin wi’ a catfish in his claws. He hadn’t got twenty fut above the surface, when one o’ the old baldies—the hen it war—went shootin’ torst him like a streak o’ greased lightnin’. Afore he ked a counted six, I seed the she baldy comin’ torst the tree wi’ the catfish inherclaws.

“‘Good,’ sez I to myself, ‘ef I must make my breakfast on the raw, I’d rayther it shed be fish than squab eagle.’

“I started for the neest. This time I tuk the purcaushun to unsheath my bowie, and carry it in my hand ready for a fight; an’ it warnt no idle purcaushun as it proved, for scace hed I got my head above the edge o’ the neest, when both the ole birds attackted me jess as before.

“The fight war now more evenly atween us; an’ the cunnin’ critters appeared to know it, for they kep’ well out o’ reach o’ the bowie, though floppin’ an’ clawin’ at me whenever they seed a chance. I gin the ole hen a prod thet cooled her courage considrable; an’ as for the cock, he warn’t a sarcumstance to her, for, as you knows, young feller,the cock o’ eagles is allers the hen bird.

“The fish war lyin’ in the bottom o’ the neest whar the hen had dropped it. It hadn’t been touched, ’ceptin’ by her claws whar she had carried it; and the young ’uns war too much skeeart durin’ the skrimmage to think o’ thar breakfast.

“I spiked the catfish on the blade o’ my bowie, an’ drawin’ it torst me, I slid back down the tree to the fork whar I had passed the night. Thar I ate it.”

“Raw?”

“Jess as it kum from the river. I mout a gin it a sort o’ a cookin’ ef I’d liked; for I hed my punk pouch wi’ me, an’ I ked a got firin’ from the dead bark o’ the cyprus. But I war too hungry to wait, an’ I ate it raw. The fish war a kupple o’ pound weight; an’ I left nothin’ o’ it but the bones, fins, an’ tail. The guts I gin to the young eagles, for a purpose I hed jess then.

“As ye may guess, I warn’t hungry any longer, but thar kumd upon me a spell o’ the durndest thust I ever sperienced in all my life. The fish meat made it wuss, for arter I had swallered it, I feeled as ef my inside war afire. It war like a pile o’ hickery sticks burnin’ in my belly, an’ bleezin’ up through my breast and jugglers. The sun war shinin’ full upon the river, an’ the glitterin’ o’ the water made things wuss, for it made me hanker arter it, an’ crave it all the more.

“Onest or twice I got out o’ the fork, thinkin’ I ked creep along a limb an’ drop down into the river. I shed a done so hed it been near enuf, tho’ I knowd I ked niver a swum ashore. But I seed the water war too far off an’ I hed to gie the idee up an’ go back to my den.

“’Twar o’ no use chawin’ the twigs o’ the cyprus. They war full o’ rozin, an ’ud only make the chokin’ worse. Thar war some green leaves o’ the fox-grape-vine, an I chawed all o’ them I ked lay my claws on. It dud some good; but my sufferins war a’most unbarable.

“How war I to get at the water o’ that river, that flowed so tauntinly jess out o’ reach? That war the queery that nixt occerpied me.

“I ’most jumped off o’ the tree when at last I bethort me o’ a way; for I did bethink me o’ one.

“I hed a piece o’ string I allers carries about me. ’Twar quite long enuf to reach the river bank, an’ let it down into the water. I ked empy my powder-horn and let it down. It wud fill, an’ I ked then draw it up agin. Hooray!

“I shouted that hooray only onest. On lookin’ for the horn I diskivered thet I hed left it on the ground, whar I hed tuk it off afore goin’ to sleep under the cyprus.

“I warn’t agoin’ to be beat in that easy way. Ef I had no vessel that wud draw water I hed my ole doeskin shirt. I ked let that down, soak it, an’ pull it up agin’.

“No sooner sayed than done. The shirt war peeled off, gathered up into a clew, tied to the eend o’ the string, an’ chucked out’ard.

“It struck a branch o’ the cyprus, an’ fell short.

“I tried agin, an’ agin, an’ over agin. The darned thing still fell short several feet from the bank o’ the river. It warn’t any fault o’ the cord. It war long enuf. It war the thick branches o’ the cyprus that gin me no chance to make a clur cast. I tried till I got dead tired of failin’—till I seed the thing war impossible—an’ then I gin it up.

“I shed a felt dreadful at failin’ arter bein’ so cock sure o’ suckcess; but jess then I bethut me o’ another plan for reachin’ that preecious flooid. I’ve tolt ye ’bout my cuttin’ a lot o’ cane to make me a shake-down for sleepin’ on. Thar it still war, right under me—a hul cord o’ it.

“The sight o’ the long tubes surgested a new idee, which I warn’t long in puttin’ to practice. Takin’ the shirt out o’ its loop, I made the string fast to the heft o’ my bowie. I then shot the knife down among the cane, sendin’ it wi’ all my might, an’ takin’ care to keep the peint o’ the blade down’ards. It warn’t long afore I hed spiked up as much o’ thet ere cane as wud a streetched twenty yurds into the river.

“It tuk more time to manafacter the machine I intended makin’, which war a long tube as mout enable me to draw up the water o’ the stream. Thar war no eend o’ whittlin’ an’ punchin’ out the jeints, an’ then splicin’ the tubes one to the tother. But I knowd it war a case o’ life or death; an’ knowin’ thet, I worked on constant as a ole gin-hoss.

“I war rewarded for my patience. I got my blow-gun completed, an’ shovin’ it carefully out, takin’ the percaushun to gie it a double rest upon the branches, I hed the saterfaction to see its peint dippin’ down into the river.

“My mouth war applied to the other eend, an’ oh, golly! Thar warn’t no mint julep ever sucked through a straw, as tasted like the flooid that kim gurglin’ up through that ere cane. I thort I ked niver take the thing from my lips, an’ I feel putty sartin thet while I war drinkin’, the Massissippi must a fell a kupple o’ feet in the clur.”

“Ha! ha! ha!”

“Ye may larf, young fellar, an’ I’m glad to see ye in sech good spirits; but ye ant so elevated as I war. When I tuk my mouth from the cane, I feeled all over a new man, jess as ef I hed been raised from the dead, or dragged out o’ a consoomin’ fire.

“Wal, strenger, I haint yet got to the eend o’ my story—I s’pose you wish to hear the hul on it?”

“By all means—let me hear thefinale.”

“I don’t know what ye mean by the finalley, but I’ll gie ye the wind-up o’ the affair; which preehaps are the most kewrious part o’ it.

“I lived in the fork of thet ere cyprus for six long days, occasionally payin’ a visit to the eagles’ necst, an’ robbin’ the young baldies o’ the food thar parents hed purvided for them. Thar diet war various, consistin’ o’ fish, flesh, an’ fowl, an’ o’ a konsequence so war mine. I hed all three for a change; sometimes a rabbit, sometimes a squrrel, with game to foller, sech as partridge, teal, an’ widgeon. I didn’t cook ’em at all. I war afraid o’ settin’ fire to the withered leaves o’ the tree, an’ burnin’ up the neest—which wud a been like killin’ the goose as laid the eggs o’ gold.

“I mout a managed that sort o’ existence for a longer spell, tho’ I acknowledge it war tiresome enuf. But it warn’t that as made me anxious to gie up, but suthin’ very diff’rent. I seed that the young baldies war every day gettin’ bigger. Thar feathers war comin’ out all over an’ I ked tell that it wudn’t be long till they’d take wing.

“When that time arrove whar shed I be? Still in the tree ov coorse; but whar war my purvision to cum from? Who wud supply me wi’ fish an’ flesh an’ fowl, as the eagles had done? Clurly ne’er a one. It war this thort as made me uneezy. I knew it war not likely I shed ever be diskivered now, since my ole ’ooman hedn’t made her appearance sooner; an’ as to any boat stoppin’ for my hail, thet trick I hed tried till I war a’most broken-winded—leastwise I hed kep’ hollerin’ every hour day arter day till my thrapple war as sore as a blister.

“I seed clarly thet I must do suthin’ to get down out o’ that tree, or die among its branches, an’ I spent all my spare time in thinkin’ whatmoutbe did. I used to read in Webster’s spellin’-book that ‘needcessity are the mother o’ invenshun.’ I reckon old Web warn’t fur astray when he prented them ere words—anyways it proved true in the case o’ Zeb Stump, at the time he war stuck up in that cyprus.

“I hed noticed thet the two ole eagles bekim tamer and tamer as they got used to me. They seed thet I did no harm to thar chicks, ’ceptin’ so far as to abstrack from them a portion o’ thar daily allowance; but I allers took care to leave them sufficient for themselves, an’ as thar parents appeared to hev no diffeequlty in purvidin’ them wi’ plenty—unlike many parents in your country, as I’ve heerd, strenger—my pilferins didn’t seem much to distress them.

“They grew at last thet they’d sit on the one side o’ the neest, while I war peepin’ over the other!

“I seed thet I ked easily snare them, an’ I made up my mind to do thet very thing: for a purtickler purpus thet kumm’d into my head, an’ which promised to extercate me out o’ the ugly scrape I hed so foolishly got into.

“Wal, strenger, my idee war this. I hed noticed thet the eagles war both big birds, an’ strong i’ the wing. Everybody knows thet much. It thurfore occurred to me that I mout make them wings do me a sarvice,—otherways thet theymout carry me out o’ the tree.

“In coorse I didn’t intend they shed take me up i’ the air. There warn’t much danger o’ that. I only thort they mout sarve to break my fall like one o’ them things,parryshootsI b’lieve they call ’em, an’ the which I myself had seed onest in Noo Orleans, sent up into the air wi’ a cat and a coon in it.

“Arter I’d got my plan tol’ably well traced out, I sot about trappin’ the old eagles.

“In less ’n an hour’s time I hed both o’ ’em in my keepin’, wi’ thar beaks spliced to keep ’em from bitin’ me, an’ thar claws cropped clur off wi’ my bowie.

“I then strengthened the cord I hed used to draw up the canes, by doublin’ it half a dozen times, until it war stout enuf to carry my weight. One eend o’ it I looped round the legs o’ the eagles, gatherin’ all four into a bunch, whilst the other eend I made fast around my own karkiss, jess under the armpits.

“I did all this upon the lowest limb o’ the cyprus, whar I had fetched down the eagles.

“When all war ready, I drew my bowie from its sheath, and with its sharp peint I pricked both the baldies at the same time, so as to set them a-floppin. As soon as I seed thar four wings in full play, I slid off o’ the branch, directin’ myself torst the groun’ underneath.

“I ant very sartin as to what follered. I only recollex bein’ dragged through the branches o’ the cyprus, an’ the minnit arter plungin’cochuckinto the waters o’ the Massissippi. I shed most sartinly a been drowned ef that ere cord had broken, or the eagles had got loose. As it war, the birds kep’ beatin’ the water wi’ thar big wings, and in thet way hindered Zeb Stump from goin’ under.

“I’ve heerd o’ a woman they called Veenis bein’ drawed through the sea by a kupple o’ swans; but I don’t b’lieve they kud a drawed her at a quicker rate o’ speed than I war carried over the buzum o’ the Massissippi. In less than five minnits from the time I hed dropped out o’ the tree, I seed myself in the middle o’ the river and still scufflin’ on. I seed that the baldies war boun’ for the Arkansaw shore, an’ knowin’ that my life depended on thar reachin’ it, I offered no opposition to thar efforts, but lay still an’ allowed them to continue thar career.

“As good luck wud hev it, they had strength enuf left to complete the crossin’; an’ thar war another bit o’ good luck in the Arkansaw bank bein’ on a level wi’ the surface o’ the water; so that in five minnits arter, I foun’ myself among the bushes, the baldies still flutterin’ about me, as ef determined to carry me on over the great parairas o’ the West.

“I feeled that it war time to stop the steam, an’ take in sail; so clutchin’ holt o’ a branch, I brought the baldies to anchor. I war all out o’ breath, and it war some time afore I ked rekiver my legs, and release myself from my feathered kumpanyuns. I tuk good care not to let them go; though sartintly I owed them thet much for the sarvice they had done me, but jess then I bethort me o’ the Britisher at Grand Gulf—ah! you it war, ye say, young feller?”

“Certainly. And those are the eagles I purchased from Mrs Stump?”

“Them same birds, strenger. You shed a hed the young ’uns, but thar warn’t no chance ever ag’in to clomb thet cyprus, an’ what bekim o’ the poor critters arterward, I haint the most distant idee. I reckin they ended thar days in the neest, which ye still see up thar; an’ ef they did, I reckin the buzzarts wudn’t be long in makin’ a meal o’ ’em.”

With my eyes directed to the top of the tall cypress, and fixed upon a dark mass, resembling a stack of faggots, I listened to the concluding words of this queer chapter of “Backwoods Adventure.”

Story 7.The Black Jaguar—An Adventure on the Amazon.It has been a contested point among naturalists, whether the black jaguar of America is merely a variety of thefelis onca, or a distinct species. The best informed writers regard it in the former light; and, so far as my observation has extended, I can perceive no essential difference between the two varieties, either in size, shape, or habits. They appear to be distinguished by colour alone.Every one knows the colour of the common jaguar—a glossy yellowish ground, turning paler, almost whitish, under the belly and throat, and mottled all over by what appear to be jet black spots, but which, on closer inspection, turn out to be irregular rings, each with a black blotch in the centre, forming a species of marking which may very properly be termed a rosette. It is this central spot of the ring that chiefly distinguishes the markings of the jaguar from those of the leopard and panther of the Old World—these having the ring, but not the dab in the centre.Among thefelidae, of the second class, as regards size—that is, those next in size to the lion and tiger—there are five spotted species, quite distinct from one another, although they are usually spoken of under the common appellation of panthers or leopards. Four of these belong to the Old World—the true leopard, panther, the cheetah, or hunting leopard, and the ounce. The first two are very much alike, and can be distinguished from one another only by the skilled zoologist. The leopard is an inhabitant of the warmer countries of both Asia and Africa, while, as far as I can ascertain, the panther is found only in Southern Asia and the great Indian islands. The cheetah, easily identified by its shape as well as markings, its black spots being without the rings, is distributed over a vast range, comprising the whole continent of Africa, with a large portion of that of Asia.The fourth of the great spotted cats of the Old World is the least known. Buffon procured a single skin, and gave to the animal the appellation of the “ounce;” but his description is worthless, and his knowledge is confined to the expression of a belief that it came from some eastern country—perhaps Persia. Since the time of the French naturalist the “ounce” has been a mystery; and although stuffed skins may be seen in many museums, no one appears to know whence they have been procured, or anything of the habits of the animal from which they have been stripped. But this uncertainty need continue no longer. Beyond doubt, the ounce of Buffon is the white leopard of the Himalayas, of late years often met with by Anglo-Indian hunters amongst the highest summits of those mountains, and rarely descending far below the line of the snow.The jaguar, though often confounded with the leopard and panther of the Old World, is an entirely distinct animal, exclusively confined to America, and found there only in countries of a tropical or sub-tropical character. It is in the hottest tropical regions where this creature attains to its greatest perfection, in the size and strength if its body, and the fierceness of its disposition.Buffon, who had a keen antipathy to everything American, describes the jaguar as an innocuous creature of inferior dimensions; but indeed this writer, whom the French love to designate as “a great naturalist,” was little else than a verbose compiler, and his knowledge of natural history would scarcely exceed that of many a schoolboy of the present day.Humboldt more correctly characterises the jaguars, when he states that he has seen specimens which, in point of size, equal the royal tiger of India; and another distinguished naturalist, Von Tschudi, has given the measurements of one, made by himself on the spot where it was killed, in one of the Peruvian valleys, and which goes far towards confirming the statements of the great scientific traveller.I have never myself met with a specimen of the jaguar equalling the tiger of India in size, but more than one have I seen as large as the tigress; and I believe the true state of the case to be this:—The largest jaguars are about equal in size to the smallest tigers.As regards fierceness of disposition, and the danger to be apprehended from an encounter with them, they are indeed the rivals of either the tiger or lion of the Old World; and the disbelief in this, often expressed by flippant writers who have never set foot in a South American forest, is simply an impertinent absurdity. Hundreds of human beings dwelling upon the banks of the Amazon, the Oronoco, the Magdalena, and other large tropical rivers, have fallen victims to the savage instincts of these carnivorous creatures; and, in the eastern Andes of Peru, it is well known that more than one village has been abandoned by its inhabitants, for no other reason than to avoid the danger of being devoured by the jaguars, which like the tigers of India, instead of diminishing in numbers, usually increase by the proximity of a settlement.It is probable that there are several varieties of the jaguar, perhaps species, distinct from one another, as the leopards of the Old World are from the panthers.But the black jaguar does not appear anything more than an accidental circumstance in the colouring, just as the “black panther of Java”—also found in Bengal—is but a darker variety of the panther itself.And yet, taking the testimony of the native inhabitants of South America—Indians, Portuguese, and Spaniards—there would seem to exist something more than a mere accidental difference. All agree in stating that the black jaguar is fiercer, larger, and more powerful than the fulvous kind.Perhaps fancy may have something to do in the formation of this opinion. The former is not only far less numerous than the latter, but in most parts it is a scarce and rarely seen animal. Its habits, therefore, have been less observed. Fancy ever delights to attribute rare and wonderful qualities to that which is but little known. This may account for the peculiarities described as belonging to the black jaguar.The nomenclature of the natives shows that, notwithstanding the difference of colour, they in reality regard these animals as being of one and the same species. “Tiger” and “black tiger,” are their respective appellations in Spanish America, while the Indians of the Lower Andes know both as the “chinca,” but distinguish them by the terms “yana chinca,” and “chaque chinca,” that is black and spotted “chincas.” Also in the “Lingoa Geral” they are respectively termed “jauarite” and “jauarite pixuna.” This marking of the relationship between two animals by the natives of a country where these animals are found, is pretty generally a safe guide to the naturalist; more particularly in a country of savage hunters, whose whole lives are spent in the pursuit and consequent observation of these creatures.We may assume, therefore, that the black jaguar is no more than an accidental variety of the species. In fact, if you suppose the yellow or ground colour of the spotted kind to be deepened to a maroon brown, you will have the black jaguar itself; for the latter is not black, as its name would imply, but of a dark chocolate colour. The ocellae or rosettes are thickly studded over its body just as upon the fulvous kinds, and these marks, although not visible to the superficial observer, can easily be distinguished when the animal stands in a certain light.An incident which occurred to me some years ago, in which a black jaguar played a prominent part, proved that this creature, whether or not it be different in species from its yellow congeners, is at least their equal in boldness and ferocity of disposition.I had gone up the Amazon to the Brazilian settlement of Barra, at the mouth of the Rio Negro; and having accomplished the mission of my visit to that curious locality, I was desirous of returning again to Gran Para. There was no way of getting back but by taking passage on one of the trading vessels of the river; and on one of those which chanced to be going down to Para, I embarked.The craft was one peculiar to the Lower Amazon, and known as an “Igarite.” It had one mast amidships, with a lug sail, and was flat-bottomed, without keel. The cabin was nothing more than a “toldo”—an arched roof, thatched with leaves of thebossupalm, and covering all the afterpart of the vessel, except a small space for the steersman. A similar toldo was constructed over the forward half of the igarite, where much of the cargo was stowed; but as this consisted entirely ofmanteiga(turtle oil), carried in large earthernbotijasof Indian manufacture, the weather could not injure it; and every available space was crowded with the jars. Just enough room was left for four oarsmen, the captain of the craft (Joao, by name), and myself.I have been thus particular in describing the igarite and its crew, as it has something to do with the adventure I am about to relate.About half way between Barra and the island of Marajo, we had got into a somewhat narrow channel between two islets. The wind was blowing up-stream, and was therefore against us; but as there was a fair current, we were making a headway of about two or three miles an hour. It was about mid day, and the sun over our heads was so intensely hot, that the captain had ordered the “tapinos” to desist from rowing.The sail was down, and the igarite floated with the current. The crew, sheltering their heads under the roof of the forward toldo, soon fell asleep; and I myself in the after cabin, was nearly in a similar condition. Joao, acting in the double capacity of captain and steersman, alone kept awake.I had been lying for a considerable time without hearing any other sound than the rippling of the water against the sides of the igarite. Indeed, at that hour of the day it is always more silent than at any other time. Notwithstanding the abundance of animal life in the tropical parts of South America, the traveller will see or hear but little signs of it during the hours of noon. The animals all go to sleep. Even the howling monkeys take their siesta, and the preying ounce, and other fierce creatures, overcome by the heat, seem to give their victims a respite. The beautiful snow-white bell-bird is at this hour the only creature that cheers the solitude of the forest with its metallic monologue.From my state of half-slumber I was awakened by the voice of Joao, which, in a sort of half-whisper, was heard repeating,—“Senhor! senhor!”I looked up; Joao’s face was peeping in through an opening in the back of the toldo. There was an expression upon it that told me something was in the wind.“Well, Joao, what is it?” I inquired.“Is your gun loaded, senhor?”“Yes,” I said, reaching forward and taking my double-barrelled piece from its rest—“what is it?”“There’s a queer-looking creature ahead—may be a tapin or a jacare (crocodile); I can’t make it out—come and see, senhor.”I crept forward to the entrance of the toldo, and looked in the direction pointed out by the captain, that is, down stream, and nearly ahead of our course.There was a point of the island that jutted slightly into the water, and against this point a small raft had formed, consisting of dead logs, branches, and river wreck.The raft was not extensive, nor did it appear to be very firmly attached to the bank; but the logs themselves were tree-trunks of the largest size, and evidently of some light wood, as they floated high above the surface of the water.On the top of one of them—that nearest the water’s edge—a dark object was visible. It was plainly the body of some animal, but what sort it was, I could not tell, nor could Joao, as it lay stretched along the log.There was a back, and shoulders, and a neck, head, and legs, too, that appeared to be grasping the trunk on which the animal lay extended. It could not be a piece of dark wood, nor yet ajacare. The outlines of the alligator I should have known at a glance.“A tapin,” thought I, as Joao had at first suggested; but no, it could not be. Its odd position on the floating log contradicted the supposition of its being a tapin. A capivara! not that either; and none of the species of black monkeys would have lodged themselves so singularly. Besides, it was larger than any of the monkey tribe of these parts.I thought over every animal that I knew to inhabit the regions of the Amazon. I never once thought of its being a jaguar. Of course the yellow-spotted skin of this monarch of the American forest, I, as well as Joao, would have recognised at a glance.Both of us gazing and guessing—the tapino still slept—Joao had for the moment forgotten his office of steersman, and we perceived that the igarite was drifting right on to the raft.The pilot instantly seized the stern oar, and with a strong pull, headed the vessel so as to clear the timber.We were now nearly opposite, and I at length procured a fair view of the creature that had been puzzling us. What was my astonishment—consternation, I may say—on discovering its true character? Instead of being a harmless tapin, or cavy, as we had been guessing, it was no other than the dreadedjanarit pixuna—theblack jaguar of the Amazon.My first thoughts were about my gun, which I held in my hand. A look at the weapon, and I saw that both barrels were empty!I now remembered having drawn the charges that morning, for the purpose of wiping the barrels, and I had neglected to reload. It would be too late to do so now. A cold fear crept over me. Except some dull cutlasses for cutting brush, there was not another weapon on board. We were literally defenceless.My gaze returned to the jaguar. He was asleep! His maroon-coloured body, almost as large as that of an Indian tiger, lay stretched along the raft, glistening in the sun—beautiful, but fearful to behold, especially from our point of view. The remains of a large fish, half devoured, lay close by. No doubt he had caught it, satisfied his hunger, and, yielding to the heat of the noon-day sun, had gone to sleep.These were after thoughts of mine. I was in no humour for reflections at the time. I only noticed, and with some satisfaction, that the fierce creature slept.Not a word had as yet passed between myself and Joao—a sign only—and that was mutually, to enjoin silence. The captain saw that my gun was empty, and knew as well as I did the danger we had to dread. He knew well that should the jaguar awake, its first act might be to spring upon the igarite and attack us.It was no groundless fear—such things had happened before—ay, even out into the mid-river, the jaguar had been known to swim, attack the passing canoe, and drag its occupant overboard! This, too, in the case of a jaguar of the ordinary size and sort—but ablack jaguar, one of monstrous dimensions!Joao knew the danger. He stood like a statue firmly grasping the handle of his oar.A few seconds only elapsed until the igarite was opposite the raft, almost touching it. Now was the critical moment.The tapinos still slept. Would they awake?I cast a hurried glance at them. They lay like bronze images in the bottom of the boat in different attitudes; I could hear their breathing. Mine and Joao’s could not have been heard—we scarcely breathed.A word—a motion and we are lost! There is neither.We glide gently on; the dreaded sleeper hears us not. How close!—I could almost touch its glossy hide with the muzzle of my gun! Softly, softly. Ha!“See!” whispered Joao, “see, master! the raft comes away—it follows us—Santissima!”I saw it as soon as Joao, but could scarcely believe my eyes. The part of the raft upon which lay the jaguar, had become detached—no doubt by the swell caused by the passage of the igarite, and was now drifting down the current. It had parted so silently that not a crackle had been made among the logs, and the sleeper was not disturbed. The animal lay upon the floating mass perfectly unconscious of the change in its position; and yet it was difficult to believe that its fierce nature could be stilled into such a profound slumber.It was not likely it would long continue in this unconscious condition, and as the log on which it lay was carried by the current in the same direction as ourselves, and at the like rate of speed, the distance between it and us, and consequently our danger continued the same as ever.Awaking at any moment, it might have sprung right into the igarite, where it would have had us completely at its mercy.It is not necessary to detail the terrible emotions that passed through the mind of Joao and myself, while under the convoy of that dreadcompagnon du voyage. The tapinos, still asleep, were spared them, and no doubt, I myself would have felt them more keenly had I not been occupied in the loading of my gun.In this, also, Joao assisted me, and the process was as gentle and silent as if the gun had been glass, and we were afraid of breaking it.Fortunately we had succeeded in getting both barrels charged before the event, which we had been momentarily expecting, came to pass—the awakening of the jaguar.It did come to pass, not from any noise proceeding from the igarite, for there had been none, but by a disturbance in the water, close to the log on which the sleeper was extended.It was a porpoise that caused this disturbance, rising to the surface to blow.The jaguar started to its feet, causing the log to wriggle unsteadily as it stood up. For a moment, even its fierce nature seemed to undergo a shock of surprise, at the odd situation in which it so unexpectedly perceived itself to be.In a short moment, however, its surprise gave place to the fiercest fury, seeing human forms so near it, and no doubt believing us the cause of its involuntary voyage. Uttering its wild cat-like screams, and lashing its long tail against its flanks, it cowered along the log, gathering its four feet together, evidently with the intention of launching itself towards the igarite.As it couched to make the spring, with its horrid round head flattened against the trunk of the tree, it could not have offered a fairer aim, and knowing it would not long continue in this attitude, I lost not an instant in taking aim. I fired two bullets in as quick succession as I could pull the two triggers, and fortunately, with fatal effect, for on the smoke drifting aside, we had the satisfaction to see no jaguar, but the trunk of a tree bobbing about in the midst of a disc of blood-stained water.The beast had gone dead to the bottom, and the tapinos, who sprang up in affright from their recumbent attitudes, had only this evidence with the words of Joao and myself, of the danger from which they had so unconsciously escaped.The End.

It has been a contested point among naturalists, whether the black jaguar of America is merely a variety of thefelis onca, or a distinct species. The best informed writers regard it in the former light; and, so far as my observation has extended, I can perceive no essential difference between the two varieties, either in size, shape, or habits. They appear to be distinguished by colour alone.

Every one knows the colour of the common jaguar—a glossy yellowish ground, turning paler, almost whitish, under the belly and throat, and mottled all over by what appear to be jet black spots, but which, on closer inspection, turn out to be irregular rings, each with a black blotch in the centre, forming a species of marking which may very properly be termed a rosette. It is this central spot of the ring that chiefly distinguishes the markings of the jaguar from those of the leopard and panther of the Old World—these having the ring, but not the dab in the centre.

Among thefelidae, of the second class, as regards size—that is, those next in size to the lion and tiger—there are five spotted species, quite distinct from one another, although they are usually spoken of under the common appellation of panthers or leopards. Four of these belong to the Old World—the true leopard, panther, the cheetah, or hunting leopard, and the ounce. The first two are very much alike, and can be distinguished from one another only by the skilled zoologist. The leopard is an inhabitant of the warmer countries of both Asia and Africa, while, as far as I can ascertain, the panther is found only in Southern Asia and the great Indian islands. The cheetah, easily identified by its shape as well as markings, its black spots being without the rings, is distributed over a vast range, comprising the whole continent of Africa, with a large portion of that of Asia.

The fourth of the great spotted cats of the Old World is the least known. Buffon procured a single skin, and gave to the animal the appellation of the “ounce;” but his description is worthless, and his knowledge is confined to the expression of a belief that it came from some eastern country—perhaps Persia. Since the time of the French naturalist the “ounce” has been a mystery; and although stuffed skins may be seen in many museums, no one appears to know whence they have been procured, or anything of the habits of the animal from which they have been stripped. But this uncertainty need continue no longer. Beyond doubt, the ounce of Buffon is the white leopard of the Himalayas, of late years often met with by Anglo-Indian hunters amongst the highest summits of those mountains, and rarely descending far below the line of the snow.

The jaguar, though often confounded with the leopard and panther of the Old World, is an entirely distinct animal, exclusively confined to America, and found there only in countries of a tropical or sub-tropical character. It is in the hottest tropical regions where this creature attains to its greatest perfection, in the size and strength if its body, and the fierceness of its disposition.

Buffon, who had a keen antipathy to everything American, describes the jaguar as an innocuous creature of inferior dimensions; but indeed this writer, whom the French love to designate as “a great naturalist,” was little else than a verbose compiler, and his knowledge of natural history would scarcely exceed that of many a schoolboy of the present day.

Humboldt more correctly characterises the jaguars, when he states that he has seen specimens which, in point of size, equal the royal tiger of India; and another distinguished naturalist, Von Tschudi, has given the measurements of one, made by himself on the spot where it was killed, in one of the Peruvian valleys, and which goes far towards confirming the statements of the great scientific traveller.

I have never myself met with a specimen of the jaguar equalling the tiger of India in size, but more than one have I seen as large as the tigress; and I believe the true state of the case to be this:—The largest jaguars are about equal in size to the smallest tigers.

As regards fierceness of disposition, and the danger to be apprehended from an encounter with them, they are indeed the rivals of either the tiger or lion of the Old World; and the disbelief in this, often expressed by flippant writers who have never set foot in a South American forest, is simply an impertinent absurdity. Hundreds of human beings dwelling upon the banks of the Amazon, the Oronoco, the Magdalena, and other large tropical rivers, have fallen victims to the savage instincts of these carnivorous creatures; and, in the eastern Andes of Peru, it is well known that more than one village has been abandoned by its inhabitants, for no other reason than to avoid the danger of being devoured by the jaguars, which like the tigers of India, instead of diminishing in numbers, usually increase by the proximity of a settlement.

It is probable that there are several varieties of the jaguar, perhaps species, distinct from one another, as the leopards of the Old World are from the panthers.

But the black jaguar does not appear anything more than an accidental circumstance in the colouring, just as the “black panther of Java”—also found in Bengal—is but a darker variety of the panther itself.

And yet, taking the testimony of the native inhabitants of South America—Indians, Portuguese, and Spaniards—there would seem to exist something more than a mere accidental difference. All agree in stating that the black jaguar is fiercer, larger, and more powerful than the fulvous kind.

Perhaps fancy may have something to do in the formation of this opinion. The former is not only far less numerous than the latter, but in most parts it is a scarce and rarely seen animal. Its habits, therefore, have been less observed. Fancy ever delights to attribute rare and wonderful qualities to that which is but little known. This may account for the peculiarities described as belonging to the black jaguar.

The nomenclature of the natives shows that, notwithstanding the difference of colour, they in reality regard these animals as being of one and the same species. “Tiger” and “black tiger,” are their respective appellations in Spanish America, while the Indians of the Lower Andes know both as the “chinca,” but distinguish them by the terms “yana chinca,” and “chaque chinca,” that is black and spotted “chincas.” Also in the “Lingoa Geral” they are respectively termed “jauarite” and “jauarite pixuna.” This marking of the relationship between two animals by the natives of a country where these animals are found, is pretty generally a safe guide to the naturalist; more particularly in a country of savage hunters, whose whole lives are spent in the pursuit and consequent observation of these creatures.

We may assume, therefore, that the black jaguar is no more than an accidental variety of the species. In fact, if you suppose the yellow or ground colour of the spotted kind to be deepened to a maroon brown, you will have the black jaguar itself; for the latter is not black, as its name would imply, but of a dark chocolate colour. The ocellae or rosettes are thickly studded over its body just as upon the fulvous kinds, and these marks, although not visible to the superficial observer, can easily be distinguished when the animal stands in a certain light.

An incident which occurred to me some years ago, in which a black jaguar played a prominent part, proved that this creature, whether or not it be different in species from its yellow congeners, is at least their equal in boldness and ferocity of disposition.

I had gone up the Amazon to the Brazilian settlement of Barra, at the mouth of the Rio Negro; and having accomplished the mission of my visit to that curious locality, I was desirous of returning again to Gran Para. There was no way of getting back but by taking passage on one of the trading vessels of the river; and on one of those which chanced to be going down to Para, I embarked.

The craft was one peculiar to the Lower Amazon, and known as an “Igarite.” It had one mast amidships, with a lug sail, and was flat-bottomed, without keel. The cabin was nothing more than a “toldo”—an arched roof, thatched with leaves of thebossupalm, and covering all the afterpart of the vessel, except a small space for the steersman. A similar toldo was constructed over the forward half of the igarite, where much of the cargo was stowed; but as this consisted entirely ofmanteiga(turtle oil), carried in large earthernbotijasof Indian manufacture, the weather could not injure it; and every available space was crowded with the jars. Just enough room was left for four oarsmen, the captain of the craft (Joao, by name), and myself.

I have been thus particular in describing the igarite and its crew, as it has something to do with the adventure I am about to relate.

About half way between Barra and the island of Marajo, we had got into a somewhat narrow channel between two islets. The wind was blowing up-stream, and was therefore against us; but as there was a fair current, we were making a headway of about two or three miles an hour. It was about mid day, and the sun over our heads was so intensely hot, that the captain had ordered the “tapinos” to desist from rowing.

The sail was down, and the igarite floated with the current. The crew, sheltering their heads under the roof of the forward toldo, soon fell asleep; and I myself in the after cabin, was nearly in a similar condition. Joao, acting in the double capacity of captain and steersman, alone kept awake.

I had been lying for a considerable time without hearing any other sound than the rippling of the water against the sides of the igarite. Indeed, at that hour of the day it is always more silent than at any other time. Notwithstanding the abundance of animal life in the tropical parts of South America, the traveller will see or hear but little signs of it during the hours of noon. The animals all go to sleep. Even the howling monkeys take their siesta, and the preying ounce, and other fierce creatures, overcome by the heat, seem to give their victims a respite. The beautiful snow-white bell-bird is at this hour the only creature that cheers the solitude of the forest with its metallic monologue.

From my state of half-slumber I was awakened by the voice of Joao, which, in a sort of half-whisper, was heard repeating,—

“Senhor! senhor!”

I looked up; Joao’s face was peeping in through an opening in the back of the toldo. There was an expression upon it that told me something was in the wind.

“Well, Joao, what is it?” I inquired.

“Is your gun loaded, senhor?”

“Yes,” I said, reaching forward and taking my double-barrelled piece from its rest—“what is it?”

“There’s a queer-looking creature ahead—may be a tapin or a jacare (crocodile); I can’t make it out—come and see, senhor.”

I crept forward to the entrance of the toldo, and looked in the direction pointed out by the captain, that is, down stream, and nearly ahead of our course.

There was a point of the island that jutted slightly into the water, and against this point a small raft had formed, consisting of dead logs, branches, and river wreck.

The raft was not extensive, nor did it appear to be very firmly attached to the bank; but the logs themselves were tree-trunks of the largest size, and evidently of some light wood, as they floated high above the surface of the water.

On the top of one of them—that nearest the water’s edge—a dark object was visible. It was plainly the body of some animal, but what sort it was, I could not tell, nor could Joao, as it lay stretched along the log.

There was a back, and shoulders, and a neck, head, and legs, too, that appeared to be grasping the trunk on which the animal lay extended. It could not be a piece of dark wood, nor yet ajacare. The outlines of the alligator I should have known at a glance.

“A tapin,” thought I, as Joao had at first suggested; but no, it could not be. Its odd position on the floating log contradicted the supposition of its being a tapin. A capivara! not that either; and none of the species of black monkeys would have lodged themselves so singularly. Besides, it was larger than any of the monkey tribe of these parts.

I thought over every animal that I knew to inhabit the regions of the Amazon. I never once thought of its being a jaguar. Of course the yellow-spotted skin of this monarch of the American forest, I, as well as Joao, would have recognised at a glance.

Both of us gazing and guessing—the tapino still slept—Joao had for the moment forgotten his office of steersman, and we perceived that the igarite was drifting right on to the raft.

The pilot instantly seized the stern oar, and with a strong pull, headed the vessel so as to clear the timber.

We were now nearly opposite, and I at length procured a fair view of the creature that had been puzzling us. What was my astonishment—consternation, I may say—on discovering its true character? Instead of being a harmless tapin, or cavy, as we had been guessing, it was no other than the dreadedjanarit pixuna—theblack jaguar of the Amazon.

My first thoughts were about my gun, which I held in my hand. A look at the weapon, and I saw that both barrels were empty!

I now remembered having drawn the charges that morning, for the purpose of wiping the barrels, and I had neglected to reload. It would be too late to do so now. A cold fear crept over me. Except some dull cutlasses for cutting brush, there was not another weapon on board. We were literally defenceless.

My gaze returned to the jaguar. He was asleep! His maroon-coloured body, almost as large as that of an Indian tiger, lay stretched along the raft, glistening in the sun—beautiful, but fearful to behold, especially from our point of view. The remains of a large fish, half devoured, lay close by. No doubt he had caught it, satisfied his hunger, and, yielding to the heat of the noon-day sun, had gone to sleep.

These were after thoughts of mine. I was in no humour for reflections at the time. I only noticed, and with some satisfaction, that the fierce creature slept.

Not a word had as yet passed between myself and Joao—a sign only—and that was mutually, to enjoin silence. The captain saw that my gun was empty, and knew as well as I did the danger we had to dread. He knew well that should the jaguar awake, its first act might be to spring upon the igarite and attack us.

It was no groundless fear—such things had happened before—ay, even out into the mid-river, the jaguar had been known to swim, attack the passing canoe, and drag its occupant overboard! This, too, in the case of a jaguar of the ordinary size and sort—but ablack jaguar, one of monstrous dimensions!

Joao knew the danger. He stood like a statue firmly grasping the handle of his oar.

A few seconds only elapsed until the igarite was opposite the raft, almost touching it. Now was the critical moment.

The tapinos still slept. Would they awake?

I cast a hurried glance at them. They lay like bronze images in the bottom of the boat in different attitudes; I could hear their breathing. Mine and Joao’s could not have been heard—we scarcely breathed.

A word—a motion and we are lost! There is neither.

We glide gently on; the dreaded sleeper hears us not. How close!—I could almost touch its glossy hide with the muzzle of my gun! Softly, softly. Ha!

“See!” whispered Joao, “see, master! the raft comes away—it follows us—Santissima!”

I saw it as soon as Joao, but could scarcely believe my eyes. The part of the raft upon which lay the jaguar, had become detached—no doubt by the swell caused by the passage of the igarite, and was now drifting down the current. It had parted so silently that not a crackle had been made among the logs, and the sleeper was not disturbed. The animal lay upon the floating mass perfectly unconscious of the change in its position; and yet it was difficult to believe that its fierce nature could be stilled into such a profound slumber.

It was not likely it would long continue in this unconscious condition, and as the log on which it lay was carried by the current in the same direction as ourselves, and at the like rate of speed, the distance between it and us, and consequently our danger continued the same as ever.

Awaking at any moment, it might have sprung right into the igarite, where it would have had us completely at its mercy.

It is not necessary to detail the terrible emotions that passed through the mind of Joao and myself, while under the convoy of that dreadcompagnon du voyage. The tapinos, still asleep, were spared them, and no doubt, I myself would have felt them more keenly had I not been occupied in the loading of my gun.

In this, also, Joao assisted me, and the process was as gentle and silent as if the gun had been glass, and we were afraid of breaking it.

Fortunately we had succeeded in getting both barrels charged before the event, which we had been momentarily expecting, came to pass—the awakening of the jaguar.

It did come to pass, not from any noise proceeding from the igarite, for there had been none, but by a disturbance in the water, close to the log on which the sleeper was extended.

It was a porpoise that caused this disturbance, rising to the surface to blow.

The jaguar started to its feet, causing the log to wriggle unsteadily as it stood up. For a moment, even its fierce nature seemed to undergo a shock of surprise, at the odd situation in which it so unexpectedly perceived itself to be.

In a short moment, however, its surprise gave place to the fiercest fury, seeing human forms so near it, and no doubt believing us the cause of its involuntary voyage. Uttering its wild cat-like screams, and lashing its long tail against its flanks, it cowered along the log, gathering its four feet together, evidently with the intention of launching itself towards the igarite.

As it couched to make the spring, with its horrid round head flattened against the trunk of the tree, it could not have offered a fairer aim, and knowing it would not long continue in this attitude, I lost not an instant in taking aim. I fired two bullets in as quick succession as I could pull the two triggers, and fortunately, with fatal effect, for on the smoke drifting aside, we had the satisfaction to see no jaguar, but the trunk of a tree bobbing about in the midst of a disc of blood-stained water.

The beast had gone dead to the bottom, and the tapinos, who sprang up in affright from their recumbent attitudes, had only this evidence with the words of Joao and myself, of the danger from which they had so unconsciously escaped.

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