Chapter Nine.Howling Monkeys—A Beautiful Scene—The Curupira—We make a Raft—Captain Van Dunk and his Companions depart on it—Visit the Indian Encampment—White Uakari—Arrival of Maco—Start on a Long Swim.We kept a vigilant watch during the night, with the oars ready to shove off, should by chance any of the Indians approach us. Kallolo took post on the roots of the tree I have before described, whence we had at first seen the light which had given us an intimation of the neighbourhood of the savages, that he might give us timely warning should any of them quit their encampment and come towards us. Still there was but little probability of being disturbed during the hours of darkness.Scarcely had the sun sunk behind the trees when a deep gloom pervaded the surrounding atmosphere; and from a distance came the most fearful howlings, echoing through the forest.“Oh, surely the savages are upon us,” I could not help exclaiming.“No, Massa Guy, no fear of that,” answered Kallolo. “Dey only howling monkeys, which are shouting to each oder from de top branches of de trees, asking each oder how dem are dis fine ebening.”After this assurance, the other noises which came out of the forest did not create so much feeling of alarm. I knew they were only the cries of animals or birds or insects, all of which were adding their voices to the wild, and certainly not harmonious, concert. Flocks of parrots and blue macaws flew overhead, the different kinds of cawing and screaming of the various species making a terrible discord. Then arose the strangely sounding call of the cicada, or cricket, one of the largest kind, perched high on the trees, setting up a most piercing chirp. It began with the usual harsh jarring tone of its tribe, rapidly becoming shriller, until it ended in a long and loud whistling note. Comparatively small as are these wonderful performers, their voices made a considerable item in the evening concert. Before they had ceased, the tree-frogs chimed in with their “Quack, quack! drum, drum! hoo, hoo!” accompanied by melancholy nightjars, which for long kept up their monotonous cries.While we were seated, the whole air above our heads suddenly became bright and glaring with lights of various hues; now darting here, now there; now for a moment obscured only to burst forth again with greater brilliancy. These beautiful lights were caused by fireflies and fire-beetles. The lights of the former were red, and bright as those of the brightest candle; and being alternately emitted and concealed, each of the tiny flames performing its own part in the mazy dance, they produced a singularly beautiful spectacle. The fireflies, however, disappeared shortly afterwards, when a number of large beetles, called elaters, took their place, displaying both red and green lights. The red glare, like that of a lamp, alternately flashed and vanished, as the insect turned its body in flight; and now and then a green light was displayed. The mingling of the two colours, red and green, in the evolutions of flight totally surpasses my power of description. We caught several, and had we possessed an uncoloured glass bottle we might have made a lantern which would have afforded us sufficient light to work by. Even through the thick glass of a schiedam bottle a strong light was emitted, but scarcely sufficient for our purpose, though it enabled us to see our way about the log.After some time all was silent, then suddenly came a loud yell, or scream, uttered probably by some defenceless fruit-eating animal which had been pounced upon by a tiger-cat or the stealthy boa-constrictor. It required the exercise of a considerable amount of nerve to keep up our spirits during those dark hours of the night. Now and then there came also a crash, resounding far through the wilderness, as some huge bough, or perhaps an entire tree, its roots loosened by the flood, fell into the water, striking the neighbouring trees with its branches in its descent. Most of these sounds, however, we could account for. At length, as we all lay awake, a noise reached our ears which made several of our party start up. I can describe it only as like the clang of an iron bar struck against a hard hollow tree, followed by a piercing cry. As it was not repeated, the dead silence which followed tended to heighten the unpleasant impression it had produced.“What can it be?” I asked Kallolo, who had just returned on board and was sitting by me.“Dat, Massa Guy? Dat de voice of de curupira. He bery bad man, with long shaggy hair, and live in de trees. He neber let anyone see him, but walk about all night, doing all the harm he can. Often he comes down to de plantations to steal de mandioca, and carry off young children when he can. Him got bright red face, and feet like de stag.”“But if no one has seen him, how can you tell that he has got red face, cloven feet, and shaggy hair?” I asked.“Ah, Massa Guy, that is more than I know; but my fader tell me so, his fader tell him,—so I suppose some one saw him long, long ago.”“I only hope, then, that he will not come and pay us a visit,” I remarked.“I hope not, massa,” said Kallolo, shuddering and looking round into the darkness as if he just then thought that such a thing was by no means improbable.Notwithstanding the dangerous position in which we were placed, I at length dropped off to sleep. When I awoke, the day was beginning to dawn; the birds were again astir; the cicadae had commenced their music; flocks of parrots and macaws, and other winged inhabitants of the forest, were passing overhead in countless numbers, seeking their morning repast; beautiful long-tailed and gilded moths, like butterflies, were flying over the tree-tops; the sky had assumed the loveliest azure colour, across which were drawn streaks of thin white clouds with Nature’s most delicate touch. The varied forms of the trees, imperceptible during the gloom of night, now appeared, the smaller foliage contrasting with the large, glossy leaves of the taller trees, and the feathery, fan-shaped fronds of the palms.The air, for a short time, felt cool and refreshing; but almost before the sun had gilded the topmost boughs of the trees, the heat began to increase and give indication of a sultry day. All hands were speedily on foot. The skipper led the way on to the roots of the trees, (for I must not say, on to the shore), followed by Peter and the rest of his crew, and began to hew away at the smaller palms and other trees which they thought would serve to form the proposed raft. Tree after tree was cut down; but the felling of each occupied some time. Arthur, Tim, and I assisted in towing them out to the log, where we arranged them alongside each other, ready to receive the crosspieces by which the whole were to be bound together. Trees somewhat lighter, cut into lengths, were selected for the latter purpose. We looked out for the Indian encampment, but from no point we could reach was it visible; and we concluded, therefore, that we were not likely to be seen by any of the natives. Although a description of the operations we were employed in can be given in a few words, they occupied the whole day. After the logs had been cut we had to collect a quantity of the more flexible vines with which to bind them together; and this also took us a good deal of time. Thus, though we got over our meals as quickly as possible, it was again night before the raft was completed. Some long poles for propelling it had also been cut and shaped.The skipper contemplated the work with evident satisfaction. “There, my friends,” he said, “this will carry more than half of our party; and if half of you will consent to embark, I will stop and assist in making another like it, so that we may all proceed together. I don’t like the thought of leaving you behind.”Uncle Paul and my father, however, firmly declined the skipper’s offer. “I would much rather that you should go forward, Captain van Dunk, and explore the way; and should you be successful in finding an eligible spot for camping on and building a vessel, you could send back for us, and we would then construct one or more rafts for the voyage. The dangers of the expedition are too great for Marian and her father to encounter, unless with a definite object in view.”“Well, well,” answered the captain, “I trust that we shall meet again ere long. Now, my friends, we must go on board, and shove off.”When this was said we were seated at supper. As soon as it was over, the various articles which the skipper intended to take with him were placed on board the raft. Shaking us all by the hand, he and his crew stepped on to it, each armed with a long pole, which assisted to steady them and at the same time to push on the raft. We did not cheer, as we might have done under other circumstances, for fear that our voices should reach the Indians, at no great distance, so in perfect silence our friends shoved off into the middle of the stream. Darkness having come on, they were speedily lost to sight.I had from the first contemplated the possibility of making an excursion through the forest, in order to ascertain, if possible, the exact position of the Indian encampment. There could be little doubt that it was constructed as ours had been at the grove on the Orinoco,—high up on the branches of some enormous tree, or on a platform supported by the stems of several trees; which is the way, Kallolo told me, the Indians inhabiting the region nearer the mouth of the river form their habitations. Arthur and I had been talking the matter over, and we proposed it to Kallolo. He said that he was quite ready to go alone, but that if we wished to accompany him he should have no objection. Could we have secured a band of elaters to go before us, we might, without difficulty, have found our way; but as neither they nor the fireflies could be depended on, we should have to make the expedition in darkness. There was, however, a bright moon in the sky, which, provided we kept along the edge of the river, would give us sufficient light. The only creatures we had to fear were the anacondas; but Kallolo averred that they were not often found in narrow streams, and that the alligators always forsook the flooded region and went further up the country, where they could find sunny banks to bask on during the day, and a more ample supply of food. We mentioned our wishes to Uncle Paul and my father. They at first objected, but on Kallolo’s assuring them that there was no great danger, and that he would take good care of us, they consented to let us go, provided we did not extend our explorations to any great distance. Tim would have liked to go also, but Uncle Paul desired him to remain to assist him should his services be required. Accordingly, each of us taking a long pole as a weapon of defence, as well as to assist in making our way along the fallen logs and roots of the trees, we set out. Kallolo led, I went next, and Arthur followed. We carried also a long piece of rope, one end of which Kallolo held in his hand, and the other was fastened round Arthur’s waist, while I secured myself by a separate piece to the middle. Should either of us slip into the water, we could thus easily be hauled-out again.I knew very well that our expedition would be a hazardous one, but I was scarcely prepared, I confess, for the difficulties we encountered and the fatigue we had to go through. Without Kallolo’s guidance we should certainly not have been able to accomplish it. Sometimes we had to leap from root to root; at others, to walk along a fallen log, raised several feet above the surface; and often we had to wade in the water up to our knees, with the risk every moment of being soused overhead in it. Now and then we had to climb a tree. We were keeping all the while on the east side of the stream, as it was that on which we expected to find the encampment. Kallolo advanced cautiously, giving us time to obtain a firm footing before he again moved forward. Sometimes we were all three walking together along a fallen trunk, then we had to cling to the huge buttressed roots of a tree.We had gone on in this way for a considerable time, when we saw before us a wide space of water, which it would be necessary to cross ere we could again reach another mass of trees, over whose boughs we hoped to make our onward way. Kallolo sounded it with his pole. “We may, I think, wade across it,” he said; “though it may be better to swim, lest we strike our feet against any stems remaining in the ground.” We agreed to follow him, though I confess I had no great fancy for swimming through that ink-like water, and could not help fearing lest some monster lying at the bottom might rise up and seize us. However, it had to be done, unless we should make up our minds to return.“Are you ready to go?” he asked.“Yes, yes,” answered Arthur.Kallolo entered the water and struck out. We followed, keeping close behind him and trailing our poles by our sides. I did my best to keep the end of mine down, so that any creature at the bottom might seize hold of it instead of my legs. Arthur said that he was doing the same; but Kallolo appeared to have no apprehensions on the subject. We soon reached a branch almost touching the water. We scrambled on to it, and then without difficulty made good progress, holding on to the hanging sepos amid which we passed. We had gone some way when my foot struck on a slimy substance, and I heard a loud hiss as I felt it glide from beneath me and splash into the water below. I knew that I had trodden on a snake, and was thankful that it had not sprung up and bitten me. I told Arthur.“I hope we shall not meet with another,” he answered calmly. “It was one of the things we had to expect.”The only object we had to guide us was the light from the Indian encampment, of which we occasionally caught glimpses. It seemed to be much further off than we had supposed. Indeed, sometimes I fancied that it was no nearer than when first we started! Occasionally I felt almost sorry that I had attempted the expedition. Then I remembered the importance of ascertaining the exact position of the encampment, and its distance from the river.Sometimes, as we went along, we disturbed huge frogs, which were seated on the low boughs and the floating logs, and which went off with loud splashes into the water. The croakings of others were heard on every side. Frequently a huge bat or bird of night flitted by. The wings of the former fanned our faces, while the latter uttered a harsh croak or shriek as it flew through the gloom. Generally all around us was silent and dark, an oppressive gloom pervading the atmosphere, except when we passed through a swarm of fireflies or elaters, as we now and then did.At length as we advanced we saw a light directly before us, and considerably above the level over which we were passing. We were anxious to get as near to it as we could without being seen, so as to ascertain its distance from the river. We went on some way further, when, to our surprise, we came upon a stream, which we found running between us and the Indian camp, (for so I may call it, for want of a better name). On we crept in silence, till, crawling along a bough which hung just above the water, we came full in sight of it. We now discovered, what I had before conjectured, that it was a platform erected upon the branches of an enormous tree. In the centre burned a fire, around which some thirty or forty natives were seated, while we could distinguish others scattered about,—some on the branches, and others on a mass of logs which formed a natural bridge at no great distance from us. The light of the fire above showed us two men standing on it. We dared scarcely move lest they should see us. What they were about we could not ascertain, but it seemed to us that they were watching for some one. Could they by any means have discovered our approach, I thought it would not take them many minutes to cross the stream and make their way to us. We could see no canoes. With a canoe they might have speedily overtaken us without our having the slightest chance of escape. Had Captain van Dunk and his companions come this way, they must to a certainty have fallen into the hands of the savages. We gazed up at the platform, and everywhere around—the figures of natives alone met our sight. I had been standing a little way behind my companions, who now drew back. I asked them what they thought about the matter.“This is not the main stream,” answered Kallolo. “We must use great caution in proceeding, as it cannot be far off; but I hope, notwithstanding, that the captain managed to pass by without being seen. We must remember, when we attempt to make the passage, to keep to the right, which will carry us away from this spot.”Arthur was of Kallolo’s opinion; he acknowledged that he should feel very anxious till we had got a good distance from the encampment. It could scarcely be supposed that the savages were without canoes; and should they by any means discover that strangers were near them, they would probably follow us.Having now gained all the information we required, we agreed that it was time to return, and accordingly set out, Kallolo leading, as before. How he managed to guide us was more than I could discover, for I felt very sure that I should immediately have lost my way, unless I had turned constantly to observe the position of the camp. He went on steadily, without once, as far as I saw, looking round. He took a different course to that by which we had come; and though longer, it seemed to me that we had fewer difficulties to encounter than before. Perhaps we were more accustomed to them. We had, however, twice to swim across portions of the flooded land. Had it not been for the fear of being caught by an anaconda or alligator, this would have been the less fatiguing mode of proceeding; but as we made our way through the dark waters, I could not avoid having very uncomfortable feelings on the subject. In some places the water was sufficiently shallow to enable us to wade without difficulty, showing that the land must here be much higher, and giving us hopes that we should, before long, reach dry ground. The most difficult work was walking along the submerged logs, for we had carefully to balance ourselves, to prevent falling off. At the end we had generally to climb up the roots or branches, and make our way along the low boughs, sometimes having to swing ourselves off from one to the other by means of the sepos. Several times the boughs threatened to give way beneath our feet; and once Arthur and I were plunged into a mass of rotten brushwood and water, where we should certainly have lost our lives had not Kallolo quickly hauled us out again with the rope. At length, thoroughly fatigued, we saw, just as the dawn was breaking, the log and our friends on it, who were anxiously looking out for us, as we had been absent much longer than they had expected us to be.We were thankful to take off our wet trousers and shirts, and cover ourselves up in Uncle Paul’s and my father’s cloaks while our own clothes were hung up to dry. This did not take long in the hot air. We were too tired to eat, and therefore lay down to sleep till breakfast-time; while Kallolo, who was well accustomed to that sort of work, gave an account of our expedition to my father and Uncle Paul.When I awoke, I found breakfast prepared; and putting on my clothes, I sat down to eat it. We had ventured to light a small fire, as Kallolo assured us that the Indians would not observe the smoke at the distance they were from us. A decoction from some leaves, which served us as tea, had been boiled in the iron pot. I could have drunk any quantity of it, but found myself utterly unable to eat anything. Arthur was much in the same state; indeed, he felt even worse than I did. Our friends became very anxious, for, without shelter or any remedies against disease, should we become really ill the matter would be very serious. Kallolo, seeing the condition we were in, immediately set to work and cut a quantity of palm branches, with which, aided by Tim, he formed a sort of arbour to shelter us from the sun. He then started off, and returned shortly with the fruit of a certain palm—a decoction from which, he said, would afford a cooling drink—which he immediately put on the fire. After allowing the liquid to cool, he gave each of us a large cupful, and poured the remainder into one of the bottles formed from the cuja fruit, his countenance meanwhile expressing deep concern.All day we lay, our heads racked with pain. Had we been called upon to make any exertion, we should have found it impossible. Uncle Paul proposed to bleed us, but Kallolo entreated him not to do so, saying that if we persevered in following his plan of cure we should soon be well. We drank cupful after cupful of the decoction he had prepared; and towards evening the pain left my head, and though I felt a peculiar lassitude such as I had never before experienced, I had no other disagreeable sensation. By the next morning both Arthur and I were perfectly well, and able to do justice to the portions of fish and flesh cooked for us, and the ample supply of fruit Kallolo had collected in the forest. This was the only time during the period of our expedition that I had the slightest attack of illness.“I am so thankful that you are both well again!” exclaimed Marian, as she sat near us. “I was so miserable all yesterday; and thought how dreadful it would be should you die, and our father and uncle be left with me alone. I am not exactly tired of this sort of life, but I do heartily wish that we were safe again among friends.”“It is better than being shut up in the Inquisition, at all events,” said Arthur; “though for your sake I wish we were safe on shore. However, perhaps before long we may reach dry land; and then, if the brave skipper is able to carry out his intentions, we may soon get away. If we can reach a Dutch settlement, we shall be safe; for when the Hollanders hear that we have been flying from the Inquisition, they will, I am very sure, give us a friendly reception. You know how bravely they fought to overthrow it in their own country, under the brave William of Orange, when Philip of Spain and his cruel general the Duke of Alva tried to impose it on them. They have never forgotten those days; and their country is as purely a Protestant one as Old England and her colonies.” I heard my poor father sigh; he was, I have no doubt, regretting having ventured under a government supporting that horrible system, so calculated to destroy all true religious principles, and to make the people become fanatics or hypocrites. Arthur heard him, and changed the subject, as he knew it must be one which could not fail to be painful.We were anxiously awaiting the return of Maco, whom we hoped would bring us tidings of Captain van Dunk.The heat, as may be supposed, was very great, for the sun having gained its greatest altitude, its rays fell down on the narrow stream undisturbed by the slightest breath of air. To shield us somewhat from it, Kallolo and Tim had collected a number of branches, and formed a complete arbour over our heads, in addition to the bed-places they had before made. We could thus lie in the shade, shielded from the burning sun. It served also to hide us from the view of any natives who might approach the neighbourhood. The lower part was left open, so as to allow the air to circulate freely; and we could thus see the forest on either side.We were all seated together; but most of us feeling drowsy, were disinclined for conversation. I was lying down near Marian, when she touched me, whispering, “Look, look, Guy, at those curious creatures!” I turned my eyes in the direction she pointed, and saw, peering at us from among the boughs of a neighbouring tree, a whole tribe of almost tailless monkeys. They were curious-looking creatures, with faces of a vivid scarlet hue; their bodies, about eighteen inches long, were clothed with long, straight, shining, whitish hair; their heads were nearly bald, and sprinkled over with a short crop of thin grey hair; whilst around their ruddy countenances were bushy whiskers of a sandy colour, leading under the chin. Though almost destitute of tails, they seemed to be active little creatures, as we saw them running up and down the larger branches; not leaping, however, from one to the other, as do most of the monkey tribes which we had seen. Several of them, evidently mothers, were carrying young ones on their backs; but they moved about quite as rapidly as the rest. We remained perfectly quiet, watching them at their gambols. Now and then several of them would come and have a look at us, and then run off—as if to give an account to their companions of the strange creatures they had seen. Soon others would come and gaze at us with their reddish-yellow eyes, evidently somewhat doubtful as to what we were, and as to our power to harm them; again to run off to a distance, jabbering and shrieking in the greatest excitement. Prompted by curiosity, others would quickly appear,—especially mammas; accompanied by delicate-looking monkeys whom we took to be unmarried young ladies. Indeed, they showed that curiosity affects the breasts of female monkeys as powerfully as it is said to do that of human beings of the fair sex. They afforded us great amusement; till at last, after an hour or so, Uncle Paul, who had been sleeping, suddenly started up and gave a loud sneeze, when they all scampered up a tree; and as we looked up, we could see them making their way along the topmost branches, till they disappeared in the distance.Kallolo told us that this species of monkey is known as the white uakari. Marian said that she should like to have one. He replied that they were very difficult to catch, and that unless taken very young, being of a sensitive disposition, they speedily pine and die. He told us that the native, when he wishes to catch one alive, goes forth with his blowpipe and arrows tipped with diluted woorali poison. This poison, though it produces a deadly effect on all animals, as well as on the natives, who exist without salt, has very little effect on salt-consuming Europeans. Salt, indeed, is the only antidote to the poison. The hunter, therefore, when in search of the white uakari, supplies himself with a small quantity of salt. As soon as he has shot the monkey, he follows it through the forest, till, the poison beginning to take effect, it falls from the tree. He takes care to be close under the bough to catch it in his arms, and immediately puts a pinch of salt into its mouth. In a short time the little creature revives; and in most instances not appearing to be much the worse for the poison, it is led away captive. A young one thus entrapped speedily becomes tame, and is much prized, as an interesting pet, by the white inhabitants. Kallolo promised, as soon as he could manufacture a blowpipe, to try and catch a young uakari for Marian; and he said that he was sure, under the instruction of Quacko, it would soon become civilised.Hitherto Quacko and the ara parrot had been our chief sources of amusement. The two creatures had become great friends, though Quacko now and then showed an inclination to pick the feathers out of his companion’s back; but when he made the attempt, she resented it by a severe peck on his head—and one day caught the tip of his tail, and gave it a bite which was calculated to teach him not to behave in the same manner again. Whenever we asked Kallolo to try and catch us some more pets, he invariably replied, “Wait till I can make my blowpipe and some poison, and then I will bring you as many creatures as you may wish for. Ah, the blowpipe is a wonderful instrument; it will serve to kill anything, from a big tapir or a fierce jaguar or puma, down to the smallest manakin or humming-bird.”Frequently, during the day, Kallolo crept from our shelter and took a look round in the direction of the Indian camp, to make sure that none of the savages were approaching. He was certain, he said, that they had no canoes, or they would have found us out before this. Just at sunset he came back with the alarming intelligence that he had seen an Indian in the distance, who was evidently making his way towards us. He advised us to remain perfectly quiet, so that, unless he should really come close to the log, we might escape being seen. “As I saw but one man, he cannot be coming with any hostile intention; though he might possibly, should he discover us, go back and return with his companions,” he added. We all accordingly withdrew within our leafy arbour, where, as the night was already casting its gloomy mantle over us, there was little probability of our being seen.We remained without speaking, for fear the stranger might hear our voices. The sounds I have before described began to issue from the forest, preventing us from hearing the noise he might make in approaching. We had begun to hope that he had turned back, when suddenly a voice close to us exclaimed, “Halloa! what has become of them all?” and to our great satisfaction we recognised it as that of Maco. Uncle Paul immediately called to him; and he soon scrambled on board, exhibiting infinite satisfaction at finding us. He had, he told us, many adventures to narrate, in addition to a message of importance which he brought from the captain. We replied that we were eager to hear what he had to say.“I must be a very short time about it,” he answered, “as the captain begs that you will come forward at once and join him. You must know that we found the voyage on the raft, far more difficult than we had expected, on account of the number of large roots projecting into the stream, and the boughs which hung over it, almost close to the surface of the water. We frequently had to jump off our raft, and, where the water was shallow enough, drag it along. At other times we had to swim by its side, or push it before us; and even thus we had often difficulty in getting along. We believe that we were not discovered by the natives; at all events, they did not follow us. Twice we caught sight of them when we were in the water, and we could not account for their not having seen us. We found the channel extended for several miles, seldom being wider than it is here, and often much narrower. At its termination it widens into a succession of lakes; but for a long way we could not find firm ground. At length, after pushing up a stream, we reached a bank where the forest was much less dense than we had hitherto found it; and going on still further, we arrived at an open space of small size, exactly such as the captain was in search of. We here landed our stores; and he and Peter having begun to put up a hut, and to mark such trees as he considered would serve for a vessel, he sent Sambo and me back on the raft to the end of the narrow passage. I there left Sambo, to take care of the raft, and to catch fish and kill some birds for food, while I swam on here with the aid of my floats. Considering the difficulties we met with in getting through the passage on the raft, the captain advises that you should all make your way along it by swimming. We saw no alligators, which are the only creatures to be dreaded, and the captain is certain that they have all gone further into the interior; at all events, that none inhabit the passage. I am now well acquainted with the way; and if we pass the Indian encampment during the hours of darkness, we shall run no risk of being discovered. Should you decline coming on in the way I mention, the captain advises that you should go back on the log, and try to find the entrance of a much wider and deeper channel, which he is sure exists some way to the northward; and it is by this channel that the captain hopes to carry his vessel, when built, into the waters of the Orinoco.”We all listened eagerly to Maco’s account; of which I merely give a brief translation, for, of course, the language he used would be quite unintelligible to my readers.Uncle Paul was very doubtful about the plan proposed, and my father was very unwilling to expose Marian to so much risk. She herself, however, declared that she was quite willing to undertake the expedition. Both Kallolo and Maco very strongly urged that we should do as the captain advised. Were we to return down the stream on the log, a long time might be spent; and we should very likely fall in with other savages, who might be even less peacefully disposed than those in the camp near us. Their habits we had as yet had no opportunity of ascertaining. They might possibly be friendly, though, with the uncertainty, it was prudent to try and avoid them altogether. One thing was certain, they were not addicted to roaming about, or they could not have failed to find us; and we might certainly hope to pass by them unobserved. These arguments at length prevailed with my father and Uncle Paul, and they agreed to set out. The few things we had with us were done tightly up and placed on floats, which Kallolo and Maco agreed to push before them. Marian’s gown and our jackets were done up in the same way, so that she only retained a tight-fitting under-dress, which would not impede her progress, while we wore our trousers. These arrangements being made, we fitted on our floats, of which each of us had four; and they were sufficient to keep our shoulders and arms well out of the water, while at the same time they did not impede our progress.We took our last meal on board the log which had carried us so well; then waiting for some time, till we believed that the natives would have retired to rest, we stood ready to set out on our dangerous and novel expedition. In no other climate could we have undertaken it. The water was here so warm, even at night, that there was no risk of our limbs becoming cramped by being long immersed in it; nor were we likely to suffer in any other way. Really, for the sake of protection from the cold, garments were altogether unnecessary; and it is not surprising that the dark-skinned natives should consider them an encumbrance, and generally dispense with them altogether.“Are you all ready?” asked Uncle Paul.“Yes!” was the general answer; “all ready.”It was settled that he should take the command, though Maco acted as our guide. The Indian, slipping off into the water, struck out up the centre of the channel; our uncle and father followed; Kallolo went next, carrying Quacko on his head, with Tim, who had charge of Ara on his; Marian and I, with Arthur to support her in case of need, brought up the rear. The floats bore us up admirably; and we found swimming a far more easy mode of progression than we should have found walking over the logs through the mighty forest to be.We went on, keeping close together, without speaking, lest by any chance our voices might be heard by the Indians, whom we were anxious to avoid. Our progress was slow, of course, as the best swimmers had to wait for the rest. The time appeared to me to be very long; and I fancied that we had been swimming for more than an hour, when in reality we had not been half that time in the water. We could not, however, avoid every now and then looking up to the huge fire of the Indians, which could be discerned burning brightly in the distance; but instead of getting nearer to it, as I expected that we should, it became less and less distinct, and at last was to be seen almost behind us. I knew that we were turning off in an opposite direction; still we were too near the danger not to wish to get further from it. On our left I observed the mouth of a channel which we had reached on a former night, and which led, I have no doubt, close under the Indian encampment. Had we not possessed Maco as a guide, we should very naturally have gone up it, and thus found ourselves close to our supposed enemies.I was already beginning to feel somewhat fatigued, and I was afraid that Marian must be tired. I asked her how she felt.“I should much like to get a short rest, if it is possible,” she answered; “but I can go on longer, though my arms and legs are beginning to ache.”Just then Maco, who had been some way ahead, returned; and having spoken a few words to Uncle Paul, he led us to the side of the stream, where we found the buttress roots, as I have before described, of a large tree projecting into the water. We all climbed on it; and Arthur and I assisted Marian to a spot where she could rest with comparative comfort. We sat down by her side, but prudence prevented us from speaking above a whisper. We waited for some time, then Uncle Paul asked her if she was ready to go on.“Yes, yes!” she answered. “I already begin to feel more like a fish; and I think, after a little experience I shall be as much at home in the water as on dry ground.”This answer showed that she was in good spirits; and once more the whole party slipped into the channel. We proceeded up it much in the same way as before. Quacko and Ara would have objected to this sort of progress, had they not been perched on the heads of those whom they knew to be their friends. There they sat with perfect composure, supposing that all must be right, and, I dare say, thinking themselves beings of no little importance.We had gone on for some time, when I perceived that the gloom of night was gradually disappearing, the light of dawn taking its place. I describe the change from night to day just as it appeared to me at the time. Looking up, I saw that the tops of the trees were already tinged with the glow of the rising sun. Rapidly it descended; and at length the trees, the tall stems and winding sepos, the rich foliage, and the calm water, were bathed in the warm light of day. No scene could have been more beautiful. Our spirits rose, and, strange as it may seem, I could scarcely help shouting out with delight. On one side of us floated a number of magnificent water-lilies with leaves of prodigious size, which I will afterwards describe. They were such as we had never seen before.Maco, who had gone ahead, was seated on a bough almost concealed by the foliage, beckoning us to come on. At that moment Uncle Paul pointed upwards towards the left; and looking over my shoulder, I saw through an opening in the forest a platform raised between several palm-trees, with a number of natives on it, while others, with spears in their hands, were standing on the lower boughs engaged in spearing either fish or turtles. They were apparently so occupied, that we hoped they had not seen us.Although we had already been swimming for some time, we could not venture to rest as we had intended doing; we therefore pushed on as rapidly as we could. In a short time Marian confessed that she could go no further. We had, fortunately, a small piece of rope, which the skipper had left us. It was uncoiled from the float which supported it, and one end fastened to Marian’s floats; Kallolo taking the other end, towed her forward, while Arthur and I swam by her side. We were thus able to proceed much faster than before.At last we all got so tired, that even Arthur and I could not help crying out that we should like to rest; and as we had for some time lost sight of the Indians, there appeared to be no danger in our doing so. Reaching a widespreading bough, therefore, interlaced by a number of sepos not more than a foot from the water, those who were leading climbed on it, and assisted up Marian, Arthur and I following. Here we were all able to rest, sheltered from the rays of the sun, by this time striking down with great force, and concealed from anyone at a distance by the thick foliage which surrounded us.
We kept a vigilant watch during the night, with the oars ready to shove off, should by chance any of the Indians approach us. Kallolo took post on the roots of the tree I have before described, whence we had at first seen the light which had given us an intimation of the neighbourhood of the savages, that he might give us timely warning should any of them quit their encampment and come towards us. Still there was but little probability of being disturbed during the hours of darkness.
Scarcely had the sun sunk behind the trees when a deep gloom pervaded the surrounding atmosphere; and from a distance came the most fearful howlings, echoing through the forest.
“Oh, surely the savages are upon us,” I could not help exclaiming.
“No, Massa Guy, no fear of that,” answered Kallolo. “Dey only howling monkeys, which are shouting to each oder from de top branches of de trees, asking each oder how dem are dis fine ebening.”
After this assurance, the other noises which came out of the forest did not create so much feeling of alarm. I knew they were only the cries of animals or birds or insects, all of which were adding their voices to the wild, and certainly not harmonious, concert. Flocks of parrots and blue macaws flew overhead, the different kinds of cawing and screaming of the various species making a terrible discord. Then arose the strangely sounding call of the cicada, or cricket, one of the largest kind, perched high on the trees, setting up a most piercing chirp. It began with the usual harsh jarring tone of its tribe, rapidly becoming shriller, until it ended in a long and loud whistling note. Comparatively small as are these wonderful performers, their voices made a considerable item in the evening concert. Before they had ceased, the tree-frogs chimed in with their “Quack, quack! drum, drum! hoo, hoo!” accompanied by melancholy nightjars, which for long kept up their monotonous cries.
While we were seated, the whole air above our heads suddenly became bright and glaring with lights of various hues; now darting here, now there; now for a moment obscured only to burst forth again with greater brilliancy. These beautiful lights were caused by fireflies and fire-beetles. The lights of the former were red, and bright as those of the brightest candle; and being alternately emitted and concealed, each of the tiny flames performing its own part in the mazy dance, they produced a singularly beautiful spectacle. The fireflies, however, disappeared shortly afterwards, when a number of large beetles, called elaters, took their place, displaying both red and green lights. The red glare, like that of a lamp, alternately flashed and vanished, as the insect turned its body in flight; and now and then a green light was displayed. The mingling of the two colours, red and green, in the evolutions of flight totally surpasses my power of description. We caught several, and had we possessed an uncoloured glass bottle we might have made a lantern which would have afforded us sufficient light to work by. Even through the thick glass of a schiedam bottle a strong light was emitted, but scarcely sufficient for our purpose, though it enabled us to see our way about the log.
After some time all was silent, then suddenly came a loud yell, or scream, uttered probably by some defenceless fruit-eating animal which had been pounced upon by a tiger-cat or the stealthy boa-constrictor. It required the exercise of a considerable amount of nerve to keep up our spirits during those dark hours of the night. Now and then there came also a crash, resounding far through the wilderness, as some huge bough, or perhaps an entire tree, its roots loosened by the flood, fell into the water, striking the neighbouring trees with its branches in its descent. Most of these sounds, however, we could account for. At length, as we all lay awake, a noise reached our ears which made several of our party start up. I can describe it only as like the clang of an iron bar struck against a hard hollow tree, followed by a piercing cry. As it was not repeated, the dead silence which followed tended to heighten the unpleasant impression it had produced.
“What can it be?” I asked Kallolo, who had just returned on board and was sitting by me.
“Dat, Massa Guy? Dat de voice of de curupira. He bery bad man, with long shaggy hair, and live in de trees. He neber let anyone see him, but walk about all night, doing all the harm he can. Often he comes down to de plantations to steal de mandioca, and carry off young children when he can. Him got bright red face, and feet like de stag.”
“But if no one has seen him, how can you tell that he has got red face, cloven feet, and shaggy hair?” I asked.
“Ah, Massa Guy, that is more than I know; but my fader tell me so, his fader tell him,—so I suppose some one saw him long, long ago.”
“I only hope, then, that he will not come and pay us a visit,” I remarked.
“I hope not, massa,” said Kallolo, shuddering and looking round into the darkness as if he just then thought that such a thing was by no means improbable.
Notwithstanding the dangerous position in which we were placed, I at length dropped off to sleep. When I awoke, the day was beginning to dawn; the birds were again astir; the cicadae had commenced their music; flocks of parrots and macaws, and other winged inhabitants of the forest, were passing overhead in countless numbers, seeking their morning repast; beautiful long-tailed and gilded moths, like butterflies, were flying over the tree-tops; the sky had assumed the loveliest azure colour, across which were drawn streaks of thin white clouds with Nature’s most delicate touch. The varied forms of the trees, imperceptible during the gloom of night, now appeared, the smaller foliage contrasting with the large, glossy leaves of the taller trees, and the feathery, fan-shaped fronds of the palms.
The air, for a short time, felt cool and refreshing; but almost before the sun had gilded the topmost boughs of the trees, the heat began to increase and give indication of a sultry day. All hands were speedily on foot. The skipper led the way on to the roots of the trees, (for I must not say, on to the shore), followed by Peter and the rest of his crew, and began to hew away at the smaller palms and other trees which they thought would serve to form the proposed raft. Tree after tree was cut down; but the felling of each occupied some time. Arthur, Tim, and I assisted in towing them out to the log, where we arranged them alongside each other, ready to receive the crosspieces by which the whole were to be bound together. Trees somewhat lighter, cut into lengths, were selected for the latter purpose. We looked out for the Indian encampment, but from no point we could reach was it visible; and we concluded, therefore, that we were not likely to be seen by any of the natives. Although a description of the operations we were employed in can be given in a few words, they occupied the whole day. After the logs had been cut we had to collect a quantity of the more flexible vines with which to bind them together; and this also took us a good deal of time. Thus, though we got over our meals as quickly as possible, it was again night before the raft was completed. Some long poles for propelling it had also been cut and shaped.
The skipper contemplated the work with evident satisfaction. “There, my friends,” he said, “this will carry more than half of our party; and if half of you will consent to embark, I will stop and assist in making another like it, so that we may all proceed together. I don’t like the thought of leaving you behind.”
Uncle Paul and my father, however, firmly declined the skipper’s offer. “I would much rather that you should go forward, Captain van Dunk, and explore the way; and should you be successful in finding an eligible spot for camping on and building a vessel, you could send back for us, and we would then construct one or more rafts for the voyage. The dangers of the expedition are too great for Marian and her father to encounter, unless with a definite object in view.”
“Well, well,” answered the captain, “I trust that we shall meet again ere long. Now, my friends, we must go on board, and shove off.”
When this was said we were seated at supper. As soon as it was over, the various articles which the skipper intended to take with him were placed on board the raft. Shaking us all by the hand, he and his crew stepped on to it, each armed with a long pole, which assisted to steady them and at the same time to push on the raft. We did not cheer, as we might have done under other circumstances, for fear that our voices should reach the Indians, at no great distance, so in perfect silence our friends shoved off into the middle of the stream. Darkness having come on, they were speedily lost to sight.
I had from the first contemplated the possibility of making an excursion through the forest, in order to ascertain, if possible, the exact position of the Indian encampment. There could be little doubt that it was constructed as ours had been at the grove on the Orinoco,—high up on the branches of some enormous tree, or on a platform supported by the stems of several trees; which is the way, Kallolo told me, the Indians inhabiting the region nearer the mouth of the river form their habitations. Arthur and I had been talking the matter over, and we proposed it to Kallolo. He said that he was quite ready to go alone, but that if we wished to accompany him he should have no objection. Could we have secured a band of elaters to go before us, we might, without difficulty, have found our way; but as neither they nor the fireflies could be depended on, we should have to make the expedition in darkness. There was, however, a bright moon in the sky, which, provided we kept along the edge of the river, would give us sufficient light. The only creatures we had to fear were the anacondas; but Kallolo averred that they were not often found in narrow streams, and that the alligators always forsook the flooded region and went further up the country, where they could find sunny banks to bask on during the day, and a more ample supply of food. We mentioned our wishes to Uncle Paul and my father. They at first objected, but on Kallolo’s assuring them that there was no great danger, and that he would take good care of us, they consented to let us go, provided we did not extend our explorations to any great distance. Tim would have liked to go also, but Uncle Paul desired him to remain to assist him should his services be required. Accordingly, each of us taking a long pole as a weapon of defence, as well as to assist in making our way along the fallen logs and roots of the trees, we set out. Kallolo led, I went next, and Arthur followed. We carried also a long piece of rope, one end of which Kallolo held in his hand, and the other was fastened round Arthur’s waist, while I secured myself by a separate piece to the middle. Should either of us slip into the water, we could thus easily be hauled-out again.
I knew very well that our expedition would be a hazardous one, but I was scarcely prepared, I confess, for the difficulties we encountered and the fatigue we had to go through. Without Kallolo’s guidance we should certainly not have been able to accomplish it. Sometimes we had to leap from root to root; at others, to walk along a fallen log, raised several feet above the surface; and often we had to wade in the water up to our knees, with the risk every moment of being soused overhead in it. Now and then we had to climb a tree. We were keeping all the while on the east side of the stream, as it was that on which we expected to find the encampment. Kallolo advanced cautiously, giving us time to obtain a firm footing before he again moved forward. Sometimes we were all three walking together along a fallen trunk, then we had to cling to the huge buttressed roots of a tree.
We had gone on in this way for a considerable time, when we saw before us a wide space of water, which it would be necessary to cross ere we could again reach another mass of trees, over whose boughs we hoped to make our onward way. Kallolo sounded it with his pole. “We may, I think, wade across it,” he said; “though it may be better to swim, lest we strike our feet against any stems remaining in the ground.” We agreed to follow him, though I confess I had no great fancy for swimming through that ink-like water, and could not help fearing lest some monster lying at the bottom might rise up and seize us. However, it had to be done, unless we should make up our minds to return.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked.
“Yes, yes,” answered Arthur.
Kallolo entered the water and struck out. We followed, keeping close behind him and trailing our poles by our sides. I did my best to keep the end of mine down, so that any creature at the bottom might seize hold of it instead of my legs. Arthur said that he was doing the same; but Kallolo appeared to have no apprehensions on the subject. We soon reached a branch almost touching the water. We scrambled on to it, and then without difficulty made good progress, holding on to the hanging sepos amid which we passed. We had gone some way when my foot struck on a slimy substance, and I heard a loud hiss as I felt it glide from beneath me and splash into the water below. I knew that I had trodden on a snake, and was thankful that it had not sprung up and bitten me. I told Arthur.
“I hope we shall not meet with another,” he answered calmly. “It was one of the things we had to expect.”
The only object we had to guide us was the light from the Indian encampment, of which we occasionally caught glimpses. It seemed to be much further off than we had supposed. Indeed, sometimes I fancied that it was no nearer than when first we started! Occasionally I felt almost sorry that I had attempted the expedition. Then I remembered the importance of ascertaining the exact position of the encampment, and its distance from the river.
Sometimes, as we went along, we disturbed huge frogs, which were seated on the low boughs and the floating logs, and which went off with loud splashes into the water. The croakings of others were heard on every side. Frequently a huge bat or bird of night flitted by. The wings of the former fanned our faces, while the latter uttered a harsh croak or shriek as it flew through the gloom. Generally all around us was silent and dark, an oppressive gloom pervading the atmosphere, except when we passed through a swarm of fireflies or elaters, as we now and then did.
At length as we advanced we saw a light directly before us, and considerably above the level over which we were passing. We were anxious to get as near to it as we could without being seen, so as to ascertain its distance from the river. We went on some way further, when, to our surprise, we came upon a stream, which we found running between us and the Indian camp, (for so I may call it, for want of a better name). On we crept in silence, till, crawling along a bough which hung just above the water, we came full in sight of it. We now discovered, what I had before conjectured, that it was a platform erected upon the branches of an enormous tree. In the centre burned a fire, around which some thirty or forty natives were seated, while we could distinguish others scattered about,—some on the branches, and others on a mass of logs which formed a natural bridge at no great distance from us. The light of the fire above showed us two men standing on it. We dared scarcely move lest they should see us. What they were about we could not ascertain, but it seemed to us that they were watching for some one. Could they by any means have discovered our approach, I thought it would not take them many minutes to cross the stream and make their way to us. We could see no canoes. With a canoe they might have speedily overtaken us without our having the slightest chance of escape. Had Captain van Dunk and his companions come this way, they must to a certainty have fallen into the hands of the savages. We gazed up at the platform, and everywhere around—the figures of natives alone met our sight. I had been standing a little way behind my companions, who now drew back. I asked them what they thought about the matter.
“This is not the main stream,” answered Kallolo. “We must use great caution in proceeding, as it cannot be far off; but I hope, notwithstanding, that the captain managed to pass by without being seen. We must remember, when we attempt to make the passage, to keep to the right, which will carry us away from this spot.”
Arthur was of Kallolo’s opinion; he acknowledged that he should feel very anxious till we had got a good distance from the encampment. It could scarcely be supposed that the savages were without canoes; and should they by any means discover that strangers were near them, they would probably follow us.
Having now gained all the information we required, we agreed that it was time to return, and accordingly set out, Kallolo leading, as before. How he managed to guide us was more than I could discover, for I felt very sure that I should immediately have lost my way, unless I had turned constantly to observe the position of the camp. He went on steadily, without once, as far as I saw, looking round. He took a different course to that by which we had come; and though longer, it seemed to me that we had fewer difficulties to encounter than before. Perhaps we were more accustomed to them. We had, however, twice to swim across portions of the flooded land. Had it not been for the fear of being caught by an anaconda or alligator, this would have been the less fatiguing mode of proceeding; but as we made our way through the dark waters, I could not avoid having very uncomfortable feelings on the subject. In some places the water was sufficiently shallow to enable us to wade without difficulty, showing that the land must here be much higher, and giving us hopes that we should, before long, reach dry ground. The most difficult work was walking along the submerged logs, for we had carefully to balance ourselves, to prevent falling off. At the end we had generally to climb up the roots or branches, and make our way along the low boughs, sometimes having to swing ourselves off from one to the other by means of the sepos. Several times the boughs threatened to give way beneath our feet; and once Arthur and I were plunged into a mass of rotten brushwood and water, where we should certainly have lost our lives had not Kallolo quickly hauled us out again with the rope. At length, thoroughly fatigued, we saw, just as the dawn was breaking, the log and our friends on it, who were anxiously looking out for us, as we had been absent much longer than they had expected us to be.
We were thankful to take off our wet trousers and shirts, and cover ourselves up in Uncle Paul’s and my father’s cloaks while our own clothes were hung up to dry. This did not take long in the hot air. We were too tired to eat, and therefore lay down to sleep till breakfast-time; while Kallolo, who was well accustomed to that sort of work, gave an account of our expedition to my father and Uncle Paul.
When I awoke, I found breakfast prepared; and putting on my clothes, I sat down to eat it. We had ventured to light a small fire, as Kallolo assured us that the Indians would not observe the smoke at the distance they were from us. A decoction from some leaves, which served us as tea, had been boiled in the iron pot. I could have drunk any quantity of it, but found myself utterly unable to eat anything. Arthur was much in the same state; indeed, he felt even worse than I did. Our friends became very anxious, for, without shelter or any remedies against disease, should we become really ill the matter would be very serious. Kallolo, seeing the condition we were in, immediately set to work and cut a quantity of palm branches, with which, aided by Tim, he formed a sort of arbour to shelter us from the sun. He then started off, and returned shortly with the fruit of a certain palm—a decoction from which, he said, would afford a cooling drink—which he immediately put on the fire. After allowing the liquid to cool, he gave each of us a large cupful, and poured the remainder into one of the bottles formed from the cuja fruit, his countenance meanwhile expressing deep concern.
All day we lay, our heads racked with pain. Had we been called upon to make any exertion, we should have found it impossible. Uncle Paul proposed to bleed us, but Kallolo entreated him not to do so, saying that if we persevered in following his plan of cure we should soon be well. We drank cupful after cupful of the decoction he had prepared; and towards evening the pain left my head, and though I felt a peculiar lassitude such as I had never before experienced, I had no other disagreeable sensation. By the next morning both Arthur and I were perfectly well, and able to do justice to the portions of fish and flesh cooked for us, and the ample supply of fruit Kallolo had collected in the forest. This was the only time during the period of our expedition that I had the slightest attack of illness.
“I am so thankful that you are both well again!” exclaimed Marian, as she sat near us. “I was so miserable all yesterday; and thought how dreadful it would be should you die, and our father and uncle be left with me alone. I am not exactly tired of this sort of life, but I do heartily wish that we were safe again among friends.”
“It is better than being shut up in the Inquisition, at all events,” said Arthur; “though for your sake I wish we were safe on shore. However, perhaps before long we may reach dry land; and then, if the brave skipper is able to carry out his intentions, we may soon get away. If we can reach a Dutch settlement, we shall be safe; for when the Hollanders hear that we have been flying from the Inquisition, they will, I am very sure, give us a friendly reception. You know how bravely they fought to overthrow it in their own country, under the brave William of Orange, when Philip of Spain and his cruel general the Duke of Alva tried to impose it on them. They have never forgotten those days; and their country is as purely a Protestant one as Old England and her colonies.” I heard my poor father sigh; he was, I have no doubt, regretting having ventured under a government supporting that horrible system, so calculated to destroy all true religious principles, and to make the people become fanatics or hypocrites. Arthur heard him, and changed the subject, as he knew it must be one which could not fail to be painful.
We were anxiously awaiting the return of Maco, whom we hoped would bring us tidings of Captain van Dunk.
The heat, as may be supposed, was very great, for the sun having gained its greatest altitude, its rays fell down on the narrow stream undisturbed by the slightest breath of air. To shield us somewhat from it, Kallolo and Tim had collected a number of branches, and formed a complete arbour over our heads, in addition to the bed-places they had before made. We could thus lie in the shade, shielded from the burning sun. It served also to hide us from the view of any natives who might approach the neighbourhood. The lower part was left open, so as to allow the air to circulate freely; and we could thus see the forest on either side.
We were all seated together; but most of us feeling drowsy, were disinclined for conversation. I was lying down near Marian, when she touched me, whispering, “Look, look, Guy, at those curious creatures!” I turned my eyes in the direction she pointed, and saw, peering at us from among the boughs of a neighbouring tree, a whole tribe of almost tailless monkeys. They were curious-looking creatures, with faces of a vivid scarlet hue; their bodies, about eighteen inches long, were clothed with long, straight, shining, whitish hair; their heads were nearly bald, and sprinkled over with a short crop of thin grey hair; whilst around their ruddy countenances were bushy whiskers of a sandy colour, leading under the chin. Though almost destitute of tails, they seemed to be active little creatures, as we saw them running up and down the larger branches; not leaping, however, from one to the other, as do most of the monkey tribes which we had seen. Several of them, evidently mothers, were carrying young ones on their backs; but they moved about quite as rapidly as the rest. We remained perfectly quiet, watching them at their gambols. Now and then several of them would come and have a look at us, and then run off—as if to give an account to their companions of the strange creatures they had seen. Soon others would come and gaze at us with their reddish-yellow eyes, evidently somewhat doubtful as to what we were, and as to our power to harm them; again to run off to a distance, jabbering and shrieking in the greatest excitement. Prompted by curiosity, others would quickly appear,—especially mammas; accompanied by delicate-looking monkeys whom we took to be unmarried young ladies. Indeed, they showed that curiosity affects the breasts of female monkeys as powerfully as it is said to do that of human beings of the fair sex. They afforded us great amusement; till at last, after an hour or so, Uncle Paul, who had been sleeping, suddenly started up and gave a loud sneeze, when they all scampered up a tree; and as we looked up, we could see them making their way along the topmost branches, till they disappeared in the distance.
Kallolo told us that this species of monkey is known as the white uakari. Marian said that she should like to have one. He replied that they were very difficult to catch, and that unless taken very young, being of a sensitive disposition, they speedily pine and die. He told us that the native, when he wishes to catch one alive, goes forth with his blowpipe and arrows tipped with diluted woorali poison. This poison, though it produces a deadly effect on all animals, as well as on the natives, who exist without salt, has very little effect on salt-consuming Europeans. Salt, indeed, is the only antidote to the poison. The hunter, therefore, when in search of the white uakari, supplies himself with a small quantity of salt. As soon as he has shot the monkey, he follows it through the forest, till, the poison beginning to take effect, it falls from the tree. He takes care to be close under the bough to catch it in his arms, and immediately puts a pinch of salt into its mouth. In a short time the little creature revives; and in most instances not appearing to be much the worse for the poison, it is led away captive. A young one thus entrapped speedily becomes tame, and is much prized, as an interesting pet, by the white inhabitants. Kallolo promised, as soon as he could manufacture a blowpipe, to try and catch a young uakari for Marian; and he said that he was sure, under the instruction of Quacko, it would soon become civilised.
Hitherto Quacko and the ara parrot had been our chief sources of amusement. The two creatures had become great friends, though Quacko now and then showed an inclination to pick the feathers out of his companion’s back; but when he made the attempt, she resented it by a severe peck on his head—and one day caught the tip of his tail, and gave it a bite which was calculated to teach him not to behave in the same manner again. Whenever we asked Kallolo to try and catch us some more pets, he invariably replied, “Wait till I can make my blowpipe and some poison, and then I will bring you as many creatures as you may wish for. Ah, the blowpipe is a wonderful instrument; it will serve to kill anything, from a big tapir or a fierce jaguar or puma, down to the smallest manakin or humming-bird.”
Frequently, during the day, Kallolo crept from our shelter and took a look round in the direction of the Indian camp, to make sure that none of the savages were approaching. He was certain, he said, that they had no canoes, or they would have found us out before this. Just at sunset he came back with the alarming intelligence that he had seen an Indian in the distance, who was evidently making his way towards us. He advised us to remain perfectly quiet, so that, unless he should really come close to the log, we might escape being seen. “As I saw but one man, he cannot be coming with any hostile intention; though he might possibly, should he discover us, go back and return with his companions,” he added. We all accordingly withdrew within our leafy arbour, where, as the night was already casting its gloomy mantle over us, there was little probability of our being seen.
We remained without speaking, for fear the stranger might hear our voices. The sounds I have before described began to issue from the forest, preventing us from hearing the noise he might make in approaching. We had begun to hope that he had turned back, when suddenly a voice close to us exclaimed, “Halloa! what has become of them all?” and to our great satisfaction we recognised it as that of Maco. Uncle Paul immediately called to him; and he soon scrambled on board, exhibiting infinite satisfaction at finding us. He had, he told us, many adventures to narrate, in addition to a message of importance which he brought from the captain. We replied that we were eager to hear what he had to say.
“I must be a very short time about it,” he answered, “as the captain begs that you will come forward at once and join him. You must know that we found the voyage on the raft, far more difficult than we had expected, on account of the number of large roots projecting into the stream, and the boughs which hung over it, almost close to the surface of the water. We frequently had to jump off our raft, and, where the water was shallow enough, drag it along. At other times we had to swim by its side, or push it before us; and even thus we had often difficulty in getting along. We believe that we were not discovered by the natives; at all events, they did not follow us. Twice we caught sight of them when we were in the water, and we could not account for their not having seen us. We found the channel extended for several miles, seldom being wider than it is here, and often much narrower. At its termination it widens into a succession of lakes; but for a long way we could not find firm ground. At length, after pushing up a stream, we reached a bank where the forest was much less dense than we had hitherto found it; and going on still further, we arrived at an open space of small size, exactly such as the captain was in search of. We here landed our stores; and he and Peter having begun to put up a hut, and to mark such trees as he considered would serve for a vessel, he sent Sambo and me back on the raft to the end of the narrow passage. I there left Sambo, to take care of the raft, and to catch fish and kill some birds for food, while I swam on here with the aid of my floats. Considering the difficulties we met with in getting through the passage on the raft, the captain advises that you should all make your way along it by swimming. We saw no alligators, which are the only creatures to be dreaded, and the captain is certain that they have all gone further into the interior; at all events, that none inhabit the passage. I am now well acquainted with the way; and if we pass the Indian encampment during the hours of darkness, we shall run no risk of being discovered. Should you decline coming on in the way I mention, the captain advises that you should go back on the log, and try to find the entrance of a much wider and deeper channel, which he is sure exists some way to the northward; and it is by this channel that the captain hopes to carry his vessel, when built, into the waters of the Orinoco.”
We all listened eagerly to Maco’s account; of which I merely give a brief translation, for, of course, the language he used would be quite unintelligible to my readers.
Uncle Paul was very doubtful about the plan proposed, and my father was very unwilling to expose Marian to so much risk. She herself, however, declared that she was quite willing to undertake the expedition. Both Kallolo and Maco very strongly urged that we should do as the captain advised. Were we to return down the stream on the log, a long time might be spent; and we should very likely fall in with other savages, who might be even less peacefully disposed than those in the camp near us. Their habits we had as yet had no opportunity of ascertaining. They might possibly be friendly, though, with the uncertainty, it was prudent to try and avoid them altogether. One thing was certain, they were not addicted to roaming about, or they could not have failed to find us; and we might certainly hope to pass by them unobserved. These arguments at length prevailed with my father and Uncle Paul, and they agreed to set out. The few things we had with us were done tightly up and placed on floats, which Kallolo and Maco agreed to push before them. Marian’s gown and our jackets were done up in the same way, so that she only retained a tight-fitting under-dress, which would not impede her progress, while we wore our trousers. These arrangements being made, we fitted on our floats, of which each of us had four; and they were sufficient to keep our shoulders and arms well out of the water, while at the same time they did not impede our progress.
We took our last meal on board the log which had carried us so well; then waiting for some time, till we believed that the natives would have retired to rest, we stood ready to set out on our dangerous and novel expedition. In no other climate could we have undertaken it. The water was here so warm, even at night, that there was no risk of our limbs becoming cramped by being long immersed in it; nor were we likely to suffer in any other way. Really, for the sake of protection from the cold, garments were altogether unnecessary; and it is not surprising that the dark-skinned natives should consider them an encumbrance, and generally dispense with them altogether.
“Are you all ready?” asked Uncle Paul.
“Yes!” was the general answer; “all ready.”
It was settled that he should take the command, though Maco acted as our guide. The Indian, slipping off into the water, struck out up the centre of the channel; our uncle and father followed; Kallolo went next, carrying Quacko on his head, with Tim, who had charge of Ara on his; Marian and I, with Arthur to support her in case of need, brought up the rear. The floats bore us up admirably; and we found swimming a far more easy mode of progression than we should have found walking over the logs through the mighty forest to be.
We went on, keeping close together, without speaking, lest by any chance our voices might be heard by the Indians, whom we were anxious to avoid. Our progress was slow, of course, as the best swimmers had to wait for the rest. The time appeared to me to be very long; and I fancied that we had been swimming for more than an hour, when in reality we had not been half that time in the water. We could not, however, avoid every now and then looking up to the huge fire of the Indians, which could be discerned burning brightly in the distance; but instead of getting nearer to it, as I expected that we should, it became less and less distinct, and at last was to be seen almost behind us. I knew that we were turning off in an opposite direction; still we were too near the danger not to wish to get further from it. On our left I observed the mouth of a channel which we had reached on a former night, and which led, I have no doubt, close under the Indian encampment. Had we not possessed Maco as a guide, we should very naturally have gone up it, and thus found ourselves close to our supposed enemies.
I was already beginning to feel somewhat fatigued, and I was afraid that Marian must be tired. I asked her how she felt.
“I should much like to get a short rest, if it is possible,” she answered; “but I can go on longer, though my arms and legs are beginning to ache.”
Just then Maco, who had been some way ahead, returned; and having spoken a few words to Uncle Paul, he led us to the side of the stream, where we found the buttress roots, as I have before described, of a large tree projecting into the water. We all climbed on it; and Arthur and I assisted Marian to a spot where she could rest with comparative comfort. We sat down by her side, but prudence prevented us from speaking above a whisper. We waited for some time, then Uncle Paul asked her if she was ready to go on.
“Yes, yes!” she answered. “I already begin to feel more like a fish; and I think, after a little experience I shall be as much at home in the water as on dry ground.”
This answer showed that she was in good spirits; and once more the whole party slipped into the channel. We proceeded up it much in the same way as before. Quacko and Ara would have objected to this sort of progress, had they not been perched on the heads of those whom they knew to be their friends. There they sat with perfect composure, supposing that all must be right, and, I dare say, thinking themselves beings of no little importance.
We had gone on for some time, when I perceived that the gloom of night was gradually disappearing, the light of dawn taking its place. I describe the change from night to day just as it appeared to me at the time. Looking up, I saw that the tops of the trees were already tinged with the glow of the rising sun. Rapidly it descended; and at length the trees, the tall stems and winding sepos, the rich foliage, and the calm water, were bathed in the warm light of day. No scene could have been more beautiful. Our spirits rose, and, strange as it may seem, I could scarcely help shouting out with delight. On one side of us floated a number of magnificent water-lilies with leaves of prodigious size, which I will afterwards describe. They were such as we had never seen before.
Maco, who had gone ahead, was seated on a bough almost concealed by the foliage, beckoning us to come on. At that moment Uncle Paul pointed upwards towards the left; and looking over my shoulder, I saw through an opening in the forest a platform raised between several palm-trees, with a number of natives on it, while others, with spears in their hands, were standing on the lower boughs engaged in spearing either fish or turtles. They were apparently so occupied, that we hoped they had not seen us.
Although we had already been swimming for some time, we could not venture to rest as we had intended doing; we therefore pushed on as rapidly as we could. In a short time Marian confessed that she could go no further. We had, fortunately, a small piece of rope, which the skipper had left us. It was uncoiled from the float which supported it, and one end fastened to Marian’s floats; Kallolo taking the other end, towed her forward, while Arthur and I swam by her side. We were thus able to proceed much faster than before.
At last we all got so tired, that even Arthur and I could not help crying out that we should like to rest; and as we had for some time lost sight of the Indians, there appeared to be no danger in our doing so. Reaching a widespreading bough, therefore, interlaced by a number of sepos not more than a foot from the water, those who were leading climbed on it, and assisted up Marian, Arthur and I following. Here we were all able to rest, sheltered from the rays of the sun, by this time striking down with great force, and concealed from anyone at a distance by the thick foliage which surrounded us.
Chapter Ten.Make a Raft for Marian—Sambo’s Return—Savages—Capture of Maco—He escapes, and introduces his Brother—Kallolo’s Account of his Nation and People—A Night Alarm.Whenever my thoughts carry me back to that wonderful swim, it appears to me like a dream, and I begin to doubt its reality; yet all the incidents are vividly impressed on my mind, and I recollect perfectly the scenery, the actors, and what was said. So I come to the conclusion that it must have been performed.While we sat on the bough, we got out our provisions from one of the miniature rafts, and took our breakfast. The food restored our strength; but we required no liquid, for the moisture we had imbibed through our pores in swimming for so long prevented us feeling any sensation of thirst.Judging from myself, I could not help fearing that Marian must be very tired. I asked her if she did not feel so.“Yes, indeed; though I should like to go on, I am afraid I shall not be able to swim much further, and shall be the cause of stopping you all. My arms already ache; but still I will do my best, if it is necessary to swim on. Even should I lose my strength altogether, I can then lie on my back, and Kallolo can tow me.”“We must not let you run the risk of becoming ill,” exclaimed Arthur. “We must build a raft large enough to carry you, and we can tow you while you lie upon it. It will be far better than allowing you to swim on.”Marian thanked him, and confessed that she should infinitely prefer that mode of progression, though she enjoyed swimming for a short time. Arthur at once told Uncle Paul and our father, and they agreed that we should build a raft large enough for the purpose proposed. We wished to have it of sufficient size to carry our father also; but he would not hear of it, declaring that he enjoyed the swimming, and had no fear of his strength failing him.We at once set to work; and as we had no axe, we were compelled to break off by main strength, having first deeply notched them with our knives, as many small palms of equal girth as we could collect. We then had to cut up a number into short lengths, to serve as crosspieces. Having collected our materials, we set to work to bind them together with thin sepos. The raft, though rather rough, was of sufficient strength for our purpose; and even had it come to pieces, Marian had lifebuoys with which to swim. We placed on it all our small bundles, which we had hitherto either towed or pushed before us; and again we asked our father if he would not allow us to build a smaller raft for himself.“No,” he replied. “But I will accompany Marian, and it will afford me rest should I grow tired.”While we had been employed in forming the raft, Kallolo and Maco had made an excursion into the forest to try and ascertain the whereabouts of the natives we had passed, and whether, from their appearance, they were likely to prove friendly or otherwise. This they could tell, they said, from their style of dress and their hair, from the marks on their bodies, and, above all, from their weapons. If they proved to be a friendly tribe, our friends intended to borrow a canoe, in which we might perform the remainder of our voyage in comparative comfort and safety. If the Indians were likely to be badly-disposed, they would steal away without communicating with them; and they assured us, from the precautions they would take, that there was no fear of our being discovered.They had been gone for some time, and the raft was nearly ready, when, as we were looking up the stream, we caught sight of a person swimming down the centre, towards us. We watched him, wondering who he could be. As he drew near, we recognised the woolly head and black face of Sambo. He had not seen us, nor did he when he was close under the bough. The raft, however, which was floating beneath, seemed to astonish him. He swam up to examine it. A hearty laugh, in which Arthur and I indulged, at the look of astonishment in his countenance, was the first intimation he had of our being close to him.“Oh, Massa Guy! where have you been all this time?” he exclaimed, as I lent him a hand to get up on the bough.“Hid away among the branches of this tree,” I answered. “And pray, where have you come from?”“Well, Massa Guy, I wait some time; at last I think that the young lady and you and your father get tired with the long swim, so I thought I might as well bring the raft down the channel as far as I could tow it; but it stuck in the roots of a big tree which stretched nearly across the water, and so, as I could not by myself get it past them, I jumped overboard, and swam along to tell you. If you all come along, some can rest on it, and others can swim alongside, and we then go much faster than we can by swimming.”My father and Uncle Paul thanked Sambo for coming; and had the two Indians returned, would at once have set out with him. He, however, required some rest and food, and was not disposed, he confessed, to start immediately. Uncle Paul, on this, proposed that Marian should commence the voyage without delay, with our father and Arthur as her attendants. I should have liked to go; but Arthur was a better swimmer, and was stronger than I was, and would thus be more able to take care of her. Marian, who was ever willing to do what was thought best, now, with Uncle Paul’s assistance, took her seat on the raft; while my father and Arthur, descending from the bough into the water, placed themselves on either side of it, resting one hand on it, while with the other they struck out. Before they had gone far, they found the water far shallower than we had expected, and they were thus able to wade on, and make good progress.I could not help wishing that I had gone with them, to share the difficulties and dangers they might meet.In a short time they were hidden by the overhanging boughs and mass of creepers, which descended to the surface of the water. I expressed my fears to Sambo.“Don’t trouble yourself about the matter, Massa Guy,” he answered. “They will get on very well, and there are plenty of places to rest on; besides, we shall soon overtake them, and before long get safe on board the raft.”Still I felt anxious, and asked Sambo if he would consent to accompany me, when he had rested sufficiently, should Uncle Paul not object to our starting.“With all my heart,” he answered; “but I hope before long that Kallolo and Maco will come back, and then we may all set off together.”We waited and waited, however, and still neither of the Indians appeared. Uncle Paul was himself beginning to grow anxious about them, still he felt very unwilling to start until they returned. At length I asked him if he would allow me to go on with Sambo, telling him my anxiety about Marian, my father, and Arthur.“It is very natural,” he observed. “At the same time, I believe that they are as safe as they would be if we were all with them. However, if you still wish to go, I will not object to your doing so; and Tim and I will follow with the two Indians as soon as they return.”Thanking him for the permission he had given me, I got my floats ready, and asked Sambo if he was prepared to start.“Yes,” he said, “all ready, Massa Guy;” and raising himself from his nest among the sepos, he lowered his floats into the water, and slipped down after them. Wishing my uncle and Tim goodbye, though, as I observed, it would only be for an hour or two, I followed Sambo’s example.Just then Uncle Paul cried out to me,—“Stop! stop! I hear the Indians coming, and we will all go together.”“We will go slowly ahead, then,” I answered, “and wait for you.”Directly afterwards I heard Kallolo’s voice crying out,—“Go on!—go on! No time to wait! The savages are coming!” and looking back, I caught sight of him through the gloom, springing along over the fallen logs and roots by the side of the channel. The same instant, Uncle Paul and Tim slipped into the water, and placed themselves on their floats, ready to strike out.“Where is Maco?” asked Uncle Paul.“He coming, close behind,” answered Kallolo, who had thrown himself into the water. As he did so, Quacko, who had been forgotten, leaped off the branch and sprang on to his shoulder; while Ara, though her wings were clipped, managed to reach Tim’s head.Shouting to Maco, who was, we believed, close behind, to follow, we struck out; but we had not gone many fathoms when we saw him, having passed the branch on which we had been seated, trying to make his way along a mass of logs and roots by the side of the channel, though greatly impeded in his progress. He would, we saw, have to take to the water without his floats, though, being a good swimmer, if the distance he had to go was not great that would be of little consequence to him. He was just about to spring into the channel, when a dozen dark-skinned savages, armed with clubs and spears, appeared, some bursting through the brushwood, others dropping down from the boughs above, through which they had apparently made their way. Several of them seized poor Maco before he could spring into the water; and I saw one of them lift a heavy club as if about to dash out his brains. It would have been hopeless to have attempted his rescue. Urged on by Kallolo, we rushed forward up the bed of the stream, where, fortunately, the water being shallow, we were able to wade at a pretty good rate. The Indians, catching sight of us, sprang into the stream, uttering loud shrieks and yells—in order, we supposed, to intimidate us.On we went, now wading, now swimming where the water was too deep to allow us to wade, and continuing to make good progress. Looking back, we could still see the dark forms of the savages moving about. It was a question now whether they were about to follow us, as they had approached among the boughs along the channel; and if so, whether they could make more rapid progress than we could by keeping in the stream, and swimming, or wading whenever the depth of water would allow us to do so. Although we had lost sight of them, we were not free from anxiety, as they might possibly at any time again burst out upon us. All we could do, therefore, was to continue going ahead as fast as possible. How thankful we felt that Marian had been sent on before us; for had we been compelled to tow or push the raft, our progress must of necessity have been much slower. We, of course, kept anxiously looking out for her and our father and Arthur, expecting every moment to come upon them; but we had not calculated sufficiently the time we had remained on the branch after they had left it, and consequently the distance they had probably got ahead.On and on we swam, or waded. The denseness of the vegetation on either side would have prevented us making our way along the bank, even had there been dry ground. We could only hope that this would effectually put a stop to the progress of our pursuers.At last, so great and continuous had been our exertions, we all began to feel tired. I should have been more so, had not Tim and Kallolo helped me along. Thankful we felt, I repeat, that Marian and our father had not been compelled to make the violent efforts we were doing. Marian could not possibly have kept up, and we must all have been delayed on her account. We now stopped to listen; and hearing no sounds, agreed that we might venture to rest on the projecting trunk of a tree till our strength had been somewhat restored. Going on a little way further, we found one which would accommodate us all, and from which we could obtain a view both up and down the channel. We climbed on it; and for the first time I felt my limbs trembling all over,—the result of the efforts I had made. Uncle Paul observed me, and taking my hand, said, “I am afraid, Guy, that these exertions will be too much for you.”“Oh no, Uncle Paul; I shall soon be better,” I answered. “I am more anxious about Marian and my father than about myself. If I knew that they were in safety, I could go through the same again without complaining.”“As for them, I have no fear,” he observed. “They had so long a start, that by this time they must be close to the raft, if they are not safe on it; and, depend upon it, we shall reach them soon after daylight.” We sat for some time, when Uncle Paul suggested that we should take some refreshment before again starting; for, notwithstanding our hurry, we had kept our provision-raft and clothes attached to our floats; indeed, they were of too much value to admit of our abandoning them, unless in the last extremity. We got out some dried fish and fruit, of which we each of us partook, more from necessity than from feeling any inclination to eat.We had just again done up the packages, and were preparing to start, when Kallolo exclaimed, “I hear some one coming!” We listened; and in a few seconds we could distinguish the sound of a rustling of boughs, as if a person were making his way through them.“Stay a moment,” said Kallolo. “There are but two people; and if they were foes, they would not approach in that manner.—Who is there?” he asked, in his native tongue.“Friends,” answered a voice.“It is Maco!” he exclaimed, shouting a welcome to him; and in another minute Maco himself, working his way through some brushwood which had concealed him, climbed round the trunk of the tree, and joined us. He was closely followed by another native, whom he introduced to us. “He is more than a friend,” he said; “he is my own brother, who had been taken prisoner by our foes, the Guaranis. They had compelled him to accompany them on their expedition; but he managed to escape when they retired to hold a war-council after their attack on you. On returning to the spot, he found me unconscious from loss of blood; but after he had bathed and bound up my wounds, my senses returned, and with his assistance I set out to overtake you. Fortunately, he had discovered a much shorter cut through the forest than that made by the channel of the river, and we were thus able to come up with you, though we scarcely expected it.”We were thankful that Maco had escaped, and glad to get the assistance of his brother Polo. Such, he told us, was his name. He was, for an Indian, a remarkably strong-built, powerful man, and would prove a useful addition to our party.We had now to wait and afford Maco time to recover his strength. It seemed wonderful that, after the severe treatment he had received, he should have been able to move at all. Fortunately none of his bones had been broken, and the Indians care but little for bruises.The Guaranis, to which the tribe who attacked us belonged, are the most widely scattered of any of the Indian nations in South America. They are to be found, Uncle Paul told me, as far south as the Rio de la Plata, and on the banks of most of the rivers between it and the Orinoco, where the white man is not yet settled. They exist, however, in greater numbers on the swampy country bordering the banks of the latter river. Their lands being completely inundated by the overflowing of the rivers for some months in each year, they construct their dwellings above the water, among the mauritia palms, whose crowns of fanlike leaves wave above their heads, and shield them from the rays of the burning sun. Not only does this palm afford them shelter, and material for constructing their habitations, but it gives them an abundance of food for the support of life. To the upright trunks of the trees, which they use as posts, they fix horizontally a number of palms, several feet above the highest level of the water. On this framework they lay the split trunks of several smaller palms for flooring. Above it a roof is formed, thatched with the leaves of the same tree. From the upper beams the hammocks are suspended; while, on the flooring, a hearth of clay is formed, on which fires are lighted for cooking their food. They are celebrated for their canoes, which enable them to procure food from the water, and give them the means of moving from place to place. The tribe with which we had fallen in had, however, left their canoes in some other stream, or we could not possibly have escaped them. They were also, it was evident, of a more warlike and quarrelsome disposition than most of their people, who are noted for their peaceable behaviour. They are, however, in other respects utterly savage in their habits and customs. So little do they care for clothing, that even the females wear only a small piece of the bark of a tree, or the net-like covering of the young leaf of the cocoanut or cabbage palm; while their appearance is squalid in the extreme. However, they cultivate cassava and other vegetables on the drier lands bordering the river. From cassava they make an intoxicating liquor, the cause of many savage murders among them. They depend greatly on the pith of the mauritia, as it serves them for bread. No tree, indeed, is more useful to them. Before unfolding its leaves, its blossoms contain a sago-like meal, which is made into a paste and dried in thin slices. The sap is converted into palm-wine. The narrow scaled fruit, which resembles reddish pine-cones, yields different articles of food, according to the period at which it is gathered whether the saccharine particles are fully matured, or whether it is still in a farinaceous condition.Such was the account Uncle Paul gave me. Why these Guaranis had attacked us, it was hard to say, except that they had observed, when watching our movements, some persons of an enemy’s tribe in our company. Kallolo and Maco belonged, they told us, to the Acawoios, a tribe living towards the head waters of the Essequibo. They are superior in domestic virtues to any other tribe, though warlike, and ready to defend their country as bravely as any people. Their women are virtuous, good housewives, and attentive to their husbands and male relatives, both in sickness and old age; while the men, in return, pay them more respect than do any other savage people. The young mother is never allowed to work, or to prepare food for her husband, in order that she may attend to her child. They are cleanly, hospitable, and generous, and passionately fond of their children. They seldom talk above a whisper among themselves, or get drunk or quarrel; nay, more, an angry look is never discernible among them. They use tobacco, but do not chew or smoke it; simply keeping it between the lips, for appeasing hunger and keeping their teeth clean. Altogether, a more orderly and peaceably-disposed people can scarcely be found anywhere.Such was the account which Kallolo gave of his nation. Allowances must, of course, be made; but still, from the specimens we saw, I am inclined to think that it was in the main correct.Uncle Paul was unwilling to delay any longer, and asked Maco if he was ready to proceed. As Kallolo and Polo agreed to assist him, he replied that he would do his best to get along, though he still felt very weak. “We will wait a little longer, then,” said Uncle Paul; and we resumed our resting-place on the roots of the tree. Of such enormous size were they, that we could all find accommodation without any danger of slipping off. I got into a hollow of the roots, where I could rest with perfect ease with my legs stretched out; and Uncle Paul found a place of similar character close by me. He would, I believe, have given the final order to proceed much sooner, but, overcome with fatigue, he fell, as I did, fast asleep.I was awakened by hearing Kallolo’s voice crying out, “They are coming!—they are coming! We must go on!” Opening my eyes, I saw that it was already daylight. Uncle Paul immediately started up. I was struck by his perfect presence of mind, though an instant before he had been fast asleep. He, as it were, in a moment gathered his wits about him, and inquired from what direction the savages were coming, and how far off they were.Kallolo pointed to the east. “They cannot be here for three or four minutes, at least,” he answered.“Then, my friends, we will continue our course. We shall soon be at a distance from them. They have shown that they have no inclination to follow us in the water.”As Uncle Paul spoke, I looked around, and found that Tim and Sambo were not with us. They had gone to a little distance in the wood, to gather some fruit which they had seen hanging temptingly within their reach.“I have called them, and they are coming back,” said Kallolo. “It will not be wise to wait for them.”Uncle Paul agreed with him, and ordered him to lead the way. We lost no time in slipping into the water. Kallolo did as he was directed, and led the way; Uncle Paul followed; I went close astern of him; and the Indians came next. We had not gone far when, looking round, to my satisfaction I saw Tim leaping off the root into the water, with Sambo close to him. They both struck out with all their might, and were soon up to us. Several times I turned my head, fully expecting to see the savages. On we swam, however; and still they did not appear. It then occurred to me that they might be making their way, as they had before done, either among the branches of the trees, or low down, amid the underwood and over the fallen logs; and I could not help feeling that every instant they would appear close to us, and attempt to stop our progress. Had we possessed firearms, and the means of preserving them fit for service, we might easily have kept the savages at bay, or have driven them back; but now, notwithstanding all our boasted civilisation, we were completely on a level with them, and were utterly unable to defend ourselves should they choose to attack us. Uncle Paul possibly thought just as I did; but not wishing to increase our fear by showing any himself, he continued to cheer us up.I felt greatly strengthened by our long rest, and much better able to proceed than I was at first; as, I believe, were the rest of the party. I heard Tim joking with Sambo. “Arrah now, sure, I am altogether turned into a big fish with this long swim, and it will be a hard matter to take to walking again on the dry earth!” he exclaimed. “How do you feel, Sambo?”“I verry like a fish too, Massa Tim,” answered the black. “But still I hope to turn into man again.”I felt much as Sambo said he did, and certainly should have been well content to find myself safe on shore, and in a comfortable abode—a luxury we were not likely to enjoy for many a day to come.As on the previous day, with the bright sun shining down upon us, I felt my spirits rise, and the dangers I had so dreaded in the dark appeared of a less terrific character. After all, should the savages come up with us, as Maco and his brother had escaped from them, so might we. Perhaps, too, they might not be quite so savage as we had supposed, and might have been prompted by curiosity, rather than from any hostile feelings, to pursue us. Still, of course, it would be prudent to keep out of their way. Uncle Paul thought so too, and told me to pass the word to those astern, that we must be prepared to swim on till we could come up with Marian and my father and Arthur. On, therefore, we went. It was swim, swim, swim, hour after hour. Of course, had we not had the gourds to support us, it would have been impossible to continue on so long as we did. Resting on them, there was no great difficulty, as we could drive ourselves on with our feet, while we merely guided our course with our arms. Still, even though thus supported, and without any actual danger of sinking, we at length again grew weary; and, in addition, we began to feel the pangs of hunger.Tim was the first to cry out. “Arrah, Master Guy! couldn’t you just speak to Mr Paul, and tell him we are starving? If it’s all the same to him, we will just put ashore on one of the big trunks and stow away a little food in our insides; for though it’s something like the life of fishes we are leading, we cannot eat, as they do, in the water.”I told Uncle Paul what Tim said; and we accordingly once more climbed on to a convenient resting-place, where food was served out to all hands.
Whenever my thoughts carry me back to that wonderful swim, it appears to me like a dream, and I begin to doubt its reality; yet all the incidents are vividly impressed on my mind, and I recollect perfectly the scenery, the actors, and what was said. So I come to the conclusion that it must have been performed.
While we sat on the bough, we got out our provisions from one of the miniature rafts, and took our breakfast. The food restored our strength; but we required no liquid, for the moisture we had imbibed through our pores in swimming for so long prevented us feeling any sensation of thirst.
Judging from myself, I could not help fearing that Marian must be very tired. I asked her if she did not feel so.
“Yes, indeed; though I should like to go on, I am afraid I shall not be able to swim much further, and shall be the cause of stopping you all. My arms already ache; but still I will do my best, if it is necessary to swim on. Even should I lose my strength altogether, I can then lie on my back, and Kallolo can tow me.”
“We must not let you run the risk of becoming ill,” exclaimed Arthur. “We must build a raft large enough to carry you, and we can tow you while you lie upon it. It will be far better than allowing you to swim on.”
Marian thanked him, and confessed that she should infinitely prefer that mode of progression, though she enjoyed swimming for a short time. Arthur at once told Uncle Paul and our father, and they agreed that we should build a raft large enough for the purpose proposed. We wished to have it of sufficient size to carry our father also; but he would not hear of it, declaring that he enjoyed the swimming, and had no fear of his strength failing him.
We at once set to work; and as we had no axe, we were compelled to break off by main strength, having first deeply notched them with our knives, as many small palms of equal girth as we could collect. We then had to cut up a number into short lengths, to serve as crosspieces. Having collected our materials, we set to work to bind them together with thin sepos. The raft, though rather rough, was of sufficient strength for our purpose; and even had it come to pieces, Marian had lifebuoys with which to swim. We placed on it all our small bundles, which we had hitherto either towed or pushed before us; and again we asked our father if he would not allow us to build a smaller raft for himself.
“No,” he replied. “But I will accompany Marian, and it will afford me rest should I grow tired.”
While we had been employed in forming the raft, Kallolo and Maco had made an excursion into the forest to try and ascertain the whereabouts of the natives we had passed, and whether, from their appearance, they were likely to prove friendly or otherwise. This they could tell, they said, from their style of dress and their hair, from the marks on their bodies, and, above all, from their weapons. If they proved to be a friendly tribe, our friends intended to borrow a canoe, in which we might perform the remainder of our voyage in comparative comfort and safety. If the Indians were likely to be badly-disposed, they would steal away without communicating with them; and they assured us, from the precautions they would take, that there was no fear of our being discovered.
They had been gone for some time, and the raft was nearly ready, when, as we were looking up the stream, we caught sight of a person swimming down the centre, towards us. We watched him, wondering who he could be. As he drew near, we recognised the woolly head and black face of Sambo. He had not seen us, nor did he when he was close under the bough. The raft, however, which was floating beneath, seemed to astonish him. He swam up to examine it. A hearty laugh, in which Arthur and I indulged, at the look of astonishment in his countenance, was the first intimation he had of our being close to him.
“Oh, Massa Guy! where have you been all this time?” he exclaimed, as I lent him a hand to get up on the bough.
“Hid away among the branches of this tree,” I answered. “And pray, where have you come from?”
“Well, Massa Guy, I wait some time; at last I think that the young lady and you and your father get tired with the long swim, so I thought I might as well bring the raft down the channel as far as I could tow it; but it stuck in the roots of a big tree which stretched nearly across the water, and so, as I could not by myself get it past them, I jumped overboard, and swam along to tell you. If you all come along, some can rest on it, and others can swim alongside, and we then go much faster than we can by swimming.”
My father and Uncle Paul thanked Sambo for coming; and had the two Indians returned, would at once have set out with him. He, however, required some rest and food, and was not disposed, he confessed, to start immediately. Uncle Paul, on this, proposed that Marian should commence the voyage without delay, with our father and Arthur as her attendants. I should have liked to go; but Arthur was a better swimmer, and was stronger than I was, and would thus be more able to take care of her. Marian, who was ever willing to do what was thought best, now, with Uncle Paul’s assistance, took her seat on the raft; while my father and Arthur, descending from the bough into the water, placed themselves on either side of it, resting one hand on it, while with the other they struck out. Before they had gone far, they found the water far shallower than we had expected, and they were thus able to wade on, and make good progress.
I could not help wishing that I had gone with them, to share the difficulties and dangers they might meet.
In a short time they were hidden by the overhanging boughs and mass of creepers, which descended to the surface of the water. I expressed my fears to Sambo.
“Don’t trouble yourself about the matter, Massa Guy,” he answered. “They will get on very well, and there are plenty of places to rest on; besides, we shall soon overtake them, and before long get safe on board the raft.”
Still I felt anxious, and asked Sambo if he would consent to accompany me, when he had rested sufficiently, should Uncle Paul not object to our starting.
“With all my heart,” he answered; “but I hope before long that Kallolo and Maco will come back, and then we may all set off together.”
We waited and waited, however, and still neither of the Indians appeared. Uncle Paul was himself beginning to grow anxious about them, still he felt very unwilling to start until they returned. At length I asked him if he would allow me to go on with Sambo, telling him my anxiety about Marian, my father, and Arthur.
“It is very natural,” he observed. “At the same time, I believe that they are as safe as they would be if we were all with them. However, if you still wish to go, I will not object to your doing so; and Tim and I will follow with the two Indians as soon as they return.”
Thanking him for the permission he had given me, I got my floats ready, and asked Sambo if he was prepared to start.
“Yes,” he said, “all ready, Massa Guy;” and raising himself from his nest among the sepos, he lowered his floats into the water, and slipped down after them. Wishing my uncle and Tim goodbye, though, as I observed, it would only be for an hour or two, I followed Sambo’s example.
Just then Uncle Paul cried out to me,—“Stop! stop! I hear the Indians coming, and we will all go together.”
“We will go slowly ahead, then,” I answered, “and wait for you.”
Directly afterwards I heard Kallolo’s voice crying out,—“Go on!—go on! No time to wait! The savages are coming!” and looking back, I caught sight of him through the gloom, springing along over the fallen logs and roots by the side of the channel. The same instant, Uncle Paul and Tim slipped into the water, and placed themselves on their floats, ready to strike out.
“Where is Maco?” asked Uncle Paul.
“He coming, close behind,” answered Kallolo, who had thrown himself into the water. As he did so, Quacko, who had been forgotten, leaped off the branch and sprang on to his shoulder; while Ara, though her wings were clipped, managed to reach Tim’s head.
Shouting to Maco, who was, we believed, close behind, to follow, we struck out; but we had not gone many fathoms when we saw him, having passed the branch on which we had been seated, trying to make his way along a mass of logs and roots by the side of the channel, though greatly impeded in his progress. He would, we saw, have to take to the water without his floats, though, being a good swimmer, if the distance he had to go was not great that would be of little consequence to him. He was just about to spring into the channel, when a dozen dark-skinned savages, armed with clubs and spears, appeared, some bursting through the brushwood, others dropping down from the boughs above, through which they had apparently made their way. Several of them seized poor Maco before he could spring into the water; and I saw one of them lift a heavy club as if about to dash out his brains. It would have been hopeless to have attempted his rescue. Urged on by Kallolo, we rushed forward up the bed of the stream, where, fortunately, the water being shallow, we were able to wade at a pretty good rate. The Indians, catching sight of us, sprang into the stream, uttering loud shrieks and yells—in order, we supposed, to intimidate us.
On we went, now wading, now swimming where the water was too deep to allow us to wade, and continuing to make good progress. Looking back, we could still see the dark forms of the savages moving about. It was a question now whether they were about to follow us, as they had approached among the boughs along the channel; and if so, whether they could make more rapid progress than we could by keeping in the stream, and swimming, or wading whenever the depth of water would allow us to do so. Although we had lost sight of them, we were not free from anxiety, as they might possibly at any time again burst out upon us. All we could do, therefore, was to continue going ahead as fast as possible. How thankful we felt that Marian had been sent on before us; for had we been compelled to tow or push the raft, our progress must of necessity have been much slower. We, of course, kept anxiously looking out for her and our father and Arthur, expecting every moment to come upon them; but we had not calculated sufficiently the time we had remained on the branch after they had left it, and consequently the distance they had probably got ahead.
On and on we swam, or waded. The denseness of the vegetation on either side would have prevented us making our way along the bank, even had there been dry ground. We could only hope that this would effectually put a stop to the progress of our pursuers.
At last, so great and continuous had been our exertions, we all began to feel tired. I should have been more so, had not Tim and Kallolo helped me along. Thankful we felt, I repeat, that Marian and our father had not been compelled to make the violent efforts we were doing. Marian could not possibly have kept up, and we must all have been delayed on her account. We now stopped to listen; and hearing no sounds, agreed that we might venture to rest on the projecting trunk of a tree till our strength had been somewhat restored. Going on a little way further, we found one which would accommodate us all, and from which we could obtain a view both up and down the channel. We climbed on it; and for the first time I felt my limbs trembling all over,—the result of the efforts I had made. Uncle Paul observed me, and taking my hand, said, “I am afraid, Guy, that these exertions will be too much for you.”
“Oh no, Uncle Paul; I shall soon be better,” I answered. “I am more anxious about Marian and my father than about myself. If I knew that they were in safety, I could go through the same again without complaining.”
“As for them, I have no fear,” he observed. “They had so long a start, that by this time they must be close to the raft, if they are not safe on it; and, depend upon it, we shall reach them soon after daylight.” We sat for some time, when Uncle Paul suggested that we should take some refreshment before again starting; for, notwithstanding our hurry, we had kept our provision-raft and clothes attached to our floats; indeed, they were of too much value to admit of our abandoning them, unless in the last extremity. We got out some dried fish and fruit, of which we each of us partook, more from necessity than from feeling any inclination to eat.
We had just again done up the packages, and were preparing to start, when Kallolo exclaimed, “I hear some one coming!” We listened; and in a few seconds we could distinguish the sound of a rustling of boughs, as if a person were making his way through them.
“Stay a moment,” said Kallolo. “There are but two people; and if they were foes, they would not approach in that manner.—Who is there?” he asked, in his native tongue.
“Friends,” answered a voice.
“It is Maco!” he exclaimed, shouting a welcome to him; and in another minute Maco himself, working his way through some brushwood which had concealed him, climbed round the trunk of the tree, and joined us. He was closely followed by another native, whom he introduced to us. “He is more than a friend,” he said; “he is my own brother, who had been taken prisoner by our foes, the Guaranis. They had compelled him to accompany them on their expedition; but he managed to escape when they retired to hold a war-council after their attack on you. On returning to the spot, he found me unconscious from loss of blood; but after he had bathed and bound up my wounds, my senses returned, and with his assistance I set out to overtake you. Fortunately, he had discovered a much shorter cut through the forest than that made by the channel of the river, and we were thus able to come up with you, though we scarcely expected it.”
We were thankful that Maco had escaped, and glad to get the assistance of his brother Polo. Such, he told us, was his name. He was, for an Indian, a remarkably strong-built, powerful man, and would prove a useful addition to our party.
We had now to wait and afford Maco time to recover his strength. It seemed wonderful that, after the severe treatment he had received, he should have been able to move at all. Fortunately none of his bones had been broken, and the Indians care but little for bruises.
The Guaranis, to which the tribe who attacked us belonged, are the most widely scattered of any of the Indian nations in South America. They are to be found, Uncle Paul told me, as far south as the Rio de la Plata, and on the banks of most of the rivers between it and the Orinoco, where the white man is not yet settled. They exist, however, in greater numbers on the swampy country bordering the banks of the latter river. Their lands being completely inundated by the overflowing of the rivers for some months in each year, they construct their dwellings above the water, among the mauritia palms, whose crowns of fanlike leaves wave above their heads, and shield them from the rays of the burning sun. Not only does this palm afford them shelter, and material for constructing their habitations, but it gives them an abundance of food for the support of life. To the upright trunks of the trees, which they use as posts, they fix horizontally a number of palms, several feet above the highest level of the water. On this framework they lay the split trunks of several smaller palms for flooring. Above it a roof is formed, thatched with the leaves of the same tree. From the upper beams the hammocks are suspended; while, on the flooring, a hearth of clay is formed, on which fires are lighted for cooking their food. They are celebrated for their canoes, which enable them to procure food from the water, and give them the means of moving from place to place. The tribe with which we had fallen in had, however, left their canoes in some other stream, or we could not possibly have escaped them. They were also, it was evident, of a more warlike and quarrelsome disposition than most of their people, who are noted for their peaceable behaviour. They are, however, in other respects utterly savage in their habits and customs. So little do they care for clothing, that even the females wear only a small piece of the bark of a tree, or the net-like covering of the young leaf of the cocoanut or cabbage palm; while their appearance is squalid in the extreme. However, they cultivate cassava and other vegetables on the drier lands bordering the river. From cassava they make an intoxicating liquor, the cause of many savage murders among them. They depend greatly on the pith of the mauritia, as it serves them for bread. No tree, indeed, is more useful to them. Before unfolding its leaves, its blossoms contain a sago-like meal, which is made into a paste and dried in thin slices. The sap is converted into palm-wine. The narrow scaled fruit, which resembles reddish pine-cones, yields different articles of food, according to the period at which it is gathered whether the saccharine particles are fully matured, or whether it is still in a farinaceous condition.
Such was the account Uncle Paul gave me. Why these Guaranis had attacked us, it was hard to say, except that they had observed, when watching our movements, some persons of an enemy’s tribe in our company. Kallolo and Maco belonged, they told us, to the Acawoios, a tribe living towards the head waters of the Essequibo. They are superior in domestic virtues to any other tribe, though warlike, and ready to defend their country as bravely as any people. Their women are virtuous, good housewives, and attentive to their husbands and male relatives, both in sickness and old age; while the men, in return, pay them more respect than do any other savage people. The young mother is never allowed to work, or to prepare food for her husband, in order that she may attend to her child. They are cleanly, hospitable, and generous, and passionately fond of their children. They seldom talk above a whisper among themselves, or get drunk or quarrel; nay, more, an angry look is never discernible among them. They use tobacco, but do not chew or smoke it; simply keeping it between the lips, for appeasing hunger and keeping their teeth clean. Altogether, a more orderly and peaceably-disposed people can scarcely be found anywhere.
Such was the account which Kallolo gave of his nation. Allowances must, of course, be made; but still, from the specimens we saw, I am inclined to think that it was in the main correct.
Uncle Paul was unwilling to delay any longer, and asked Maco if he was ready to proceed. As Kallolo and Polo agreed to assist him, he replied that he would do his best to get along, though he still felt very weak. “We will wait a little longer, then,” said Uncle Paul; and we resumed our resting-place on the roots of the tree. Of such enormous size were they, that we could all find accommodation without any danger of slipping off. I got into a hollow of the roots, where I could rest with perfect ease with my legs stretched out; and Uncle Paul found a place of similar character close by me. He would, I believe, have given the final order to proceed much sooner, but, overcome with fatigue, he fell, as I did, fast asleep.
I was awakened by hearing Kallolo’s voice crying out, “They are coming!—they are coming! We must go on!” Opening my eyes, I saw that it was already daylight. Uncle Paul immediately started up. I was struck by his perfect presence of mind, though an instant before he had been fast asleep. He, as it were, in a moment gathered his wits about him, and inquired from what direction the savages were coming, and how far off they were.
Kallolo pointed to the east. “They cannot be here for three or four minutes, at least,” he answered.
“Then, my friends, we will continue our course. We shall soon be at a distance from them. They have shown that they have no inclination to follow us in the water.”
As Uncle Paul spoke, I looked around, and found that Tim and Sambo were not with us. They had gone to a little distance in the wood, to gather some fruit which they had seen hanging temptingly within their reach.
“I have called them, and they are coming back,” said Kallolo. “It will not be wise to wait for them.”
Uncle Paul agreed with him, and ordered him to lead the way. We lost no time in slipping into the water. Kallolo did as he was directed, and led the way; Uncle Paul followed; I went close astern of him; and the Indians came next. We had not gone far when, looking round, to my satisfaction I saw Tim leaping off the root into the water, with Sambo close to him. They both struck out with all their might, and were soon up to us. Several times I turned my head, fully expecting to see the savages. On we swam, however; and still they did not appear. It then occurred to me that they might be making their way, as they had before done, either among the branches of the trees, or low down, amid the underwood and over the fallen logs; and I could not help feeling that every instant they would appear close to us, and attempt to stop our progress. Had we possessed firearms, and the means of preserving them fit for service, we might easily have kept the savages at bay, or have driven them back; but now, notwithstanding all our boasted civilisation, we were completely on a level with them, and were utterly unable to defend ourselves should they choose to attack us. Uncle Paul possibly thought just as I did; but not wishing to increase our fear by showing any himself, he continued to cheer us up.
I felt greatly strengthened by our long rest, and much better able to proceed than I was at first; as, I believe, were the rest of the party. I heard Tim joking with Sambo. “Arrah now, sure, I am altogether turned into a big fish with this long swim, and it will be a hard matter to take to walking again on the dry earth!” he exclaimed. “How do you feel, Sambo?”
“I verry like a fish too, Massa Tim,” answered the black. “But still I hope to turn into man again.”
I felt much as Sambo said he did, and certainly should have been well content to find myself safe on shore, and in a comfortable abode—a luxury we were not likely to enjoy for many a day to come.
As on the previous day, with the bright sun shining down upon us, I felt my spirits rise, and the dangers I had so dreaded in the dark appeared of a less terrific character. After all, should the savages come up with us, as Maco and his brother had escaped from them, so might we. Perhaps, too, they might not be quite so savage as we had supposed, and might have been prompted by curiosity, rather than from any hostile feelings, to pursue us. Still, of course, it would be prudent to keep out of their way. Uncle Paul thought so too, and told me to pass the word to those astern, that we must be prepared to swim on till we could come up with Marian and my father and Arthur. On, therefore, we went. It was swim, swim, swim, hour after hour. Of course, had we not had the gourds to support us, it would have been impossible to continue on so long as we did. Resting on them, there was no great difficulty, as we could drive ourselves on with our feet, while we merely guided our course with our arms. Still, even though thus supported, and without any actual danger of sinking, we at length again grew weary; and, in addition, we began to feel the pangs of hunger.
Tim was the first to cry out. “Arrah, Master Guy! couldn’t you just speak to Mr Paul, and tell him we are starving? If it’s all the same to him, we will just put ashore on one of the big trunks and stow away a little food in our insides; for though it’s something like the life of fishes we are leading, we cannot eat, as they do, in the water.”
I told Uncle Paul what Tim said; and we accordingly once more climbed on to a convenient resting-place, where food was served out to all hands.