Chapter VII.

At the end of two weeks, I signified to my friends that I should be compelled, on the following day, to leave them, and pursue my voyage up the coast. I had supposed that there existed an interior connection between Great River and the lagoons which led to Cape Gracias, but found that they commenced with a stream some twenty miles to the northward, called “Snook Creek,” and that it would be necessary to trust our little boat again to the sea.

The announcement of my intended departure was received without the slightest manifestation of feeling, but, during the evening, the inhabitants vied with each other in loading the canoe with fruits and provisions. They were, in fact, so lavish of their presents, that I was unable to accept them all, and had to leave more than half of what theybrought me. I, nevertheless, made special room for thetasajoedmanitus, and took all thebisbirewhich was brought. As I have already explained, thebisbireis a paste made of ripe plantains, having about the consistency, and very much the taste, of dried figs. It is made into rolls, closely wrapped in the leaves of the tree on which it grows, which preserve it perfectly, and it thus becomes an article of prime value to the voyager.[3]

I left the village with as much ceremony as I had entered it. The Alcaldes bearing their wands, escorted me down to the water, where I was obliged to shake hands with all the people, each one exclaiming, “Disabia!” equivalent to “Good-bye!”They stood on the bank until we were entirely out of sight. I left them with admiration for their primitive habits, and genuine though formal hospitality. Although, in their taciturnity, they were not unlike our own Indians, yet, in all other respects, they afforded a very striking contrast to them. The North American savage disdains to work; his ambition lies in war and the chase; but the gentler dweller under the tropics is often industrious, and resorts to hunting only as an accessory to agriculture.

The ceremonies of my departure had occupied so much time that, when we reached the mouth of the river, it was too late to venture outside. So we took up our quarters, for the night, in our old encampment, on the island. The moon was out, and the evening was exceedingly beautiful—so beautiful, indeed, that I might have fallen into heroics, had it not been for a most infernal concert kept up by wild animals on the river’s banks. I at first supposed that all the ferocious beasts of the forest had congregated, preparatory to a general fight, and comforted myself that we were separated from them by the river. There were unearthly groans, and angry snarls, and shrieks, so like those of human beings in distress as to send a thrill through every nerve. At times the noises seemed blended, and became sullen and distant, and then so sharp and near that I could hardly persuade myself they were not produced on the island itself. I should have passed the night in alarm, had not Antonio beenthere to explain to me that most, if not all these sounds came from what the Spaniards call the “mono colorado,” or howling monkey. I afterward saw a specimen—a large, ugly beast, of a dirty, brick-red color, with a long beard, but otherwise like an African baboon. Different from most other monkeys, they remain in nearly the same places, and have favorite trees, in which an entire troop will take up its quarters at night, and open a horrible serenade, that never fails to fill the mind of the inexperienced traveler with the most dismal fancies. Notwithstanding Antonio’s explanations, they so disturbed my slumbers that I got up about midnight, and, going down to the edge of the water, fired both barrels of my gun in the direction of the greatest noise. But I advise no one to try a similar experiment. All the water-birds and wild fowl roosting in the trees gave a sudden flutter, and set up responsive croaks and screams, from which the monkeys seemed to derive great encouragement, and redoubled their howling. I was glad when the unwonted commotion ceased, and the denizens of the forest relapsed again into their chronic serenade.

A large proportion of tropical animals are emphatically “children of the night.” It is at night that the tiger and maneless Mexican lion leave their lairs, and range the dense forests in pursuit of their prey, rousing the peccary and tapir from their haunts, and sending them to seek refuge in the thickets, where crashing of bushes and splashingsin hidden pools testify to the blind fear of the pursued, and the fierce instincts of the pursuers. A sudden plunge of the alligator from the banks, will startle the wild birds on the overhanging trees, and in an instant the forest resounds to the wild cries of the tiger, the plaints of the frightened monkeys, and the shrieks and croaks of the numerous water-fowl; while the wakeful traveler starts up and hastily grasps his faithful gun, surprised to find the wilderness, which was so still and slumberous under the noonday heats, now terrible with savage and warring life.

Toward morning the commotion in the forest subsided, and I was enabled to snatch a few hours of slumber. I awoke to find the sun just streaking the horizon, and the boat all ready for departure. Antonio had cut two trunks of the buoyantmohoetree, which were lashed to the sides of our boat to act as floats, and prevent us from being overturned by any sudden flaw of the wind. We passed the bar without much trouble, and made a good offing, before laying our course for “Snook Creek.” The wind was fresh, and the water bright and playful under the blue and cloudless sky. I leaned over the side of our frail boat—scarce a speck in the broad breast of the ocean—and watched the numerous marine animals andmolluscathat floated past; thenautilus, “small commodore,” with its tiny sail and rosy prow, the pulsatingrhizostoma, and thebernice, with its silken hair—most fragile forms of life, and yet unharmed dwellers in the mighty sea,which mocks at the strength of iron, and undermines continents in its wrath!

MOLLUSCA OF THE CARIBBEAN SEA.

During the afternoon we came close in shore, keeping a sharp look-out for the mouth of “Snook Creek.” There are, however, no landmarks on the entire coast; throughout it wore the same flat, monotonous appearance—a narrow strip of sand in front of a low impenetrable forest, in which the fierce north-easters had left no large trees standing. Hence it is almost impossible for voyagers, not intimately acquainted with the shore, to determine their position. My Poyer boy had coasted here but once, and I found, toward evening, that he was of opinion that we had passed the mouth of the creek of which we were in search. So we resolved to stand along the shore for either Walpasixa or Prinza-pulka, where part of the hull of an American ship, wrecked sometime before, still remained as a guide to voyagers.

As the sun went down, the wind fell, and themoon came up, shedding its light upon the broad, smooth swells of the sea, silver-burnished upon one side, and on the other dark but clear, like the shadows on polished steel. We lowered our useless sail, and my companions took their paddles, keeping time to a kind of chant, led off by Antonio, the Poyer boy joining in the swelling chorus. The melody was very simple, and, like that of all purely Indian chants, sad and plaintive. I have often thought, in listening to them, that they were the wails of a people conscious of their decay, over a continent slipping from their grasp, and a power broken forever!

ON THE MOONLIT SEA!

I lay long, watching the shore as it glided past, and listening to the tinkle of the water under our prow, but finally fell into a deep and dreamless slumber, rocked by the ocean in its gentlest mood. When I awoke we had already passed the Prinza-pulka bar, and were fastened to the branches of a large tree, which had become entangled among themangroves, on the banks of the river. It was with no small degree of satisfaction that I found we had now an uninterrupted river and lagoon navigation to Cape Gracias, and that we should not again be obliged to venture, with our little boat, upon the open sea.

The Prinza-pulka seemed rather an estuary than a river, and was lined with an impenetrable forest of mangroves. These were covered with flocks of the white ibis, and, as we advanced up the stream, we came upon others of a rose color, looking likebouquetsof flowers among the green leaves of the trees.

At the distance of three miles, the river banks grew higher, although densely covered with wild plants and vines, which seemed to have subdued the forest. The few trees that were left were clustered all over with twining rope-plants, orlianes, sometimes hanging down and swinging in mid-air, and again stretched to the ground, like the cordage of a ship, supporting in turn, hundreds of creepers, with leaves of translucent green, and loaded with clusters of bright flowers. An occasional fan-palm thrust itself above the tangled verdure, as if struggling for light and air; while the broad leaves of the wild plantain emerged here and there in groups, and the slender stalks of the bamboo-cane, fringed with delicate leaves like those of the willow, bent gracefully over the water. At the foot of this emerald wall was a strip of slimy earth, and I observed occasional holes, or tunnel-likeapertures, through which the alligator trailed his hideous length, or the larger land-animals came down to the water to drink. As we glided by one of these openings, a tapir suddenly projected his head and ugly proboscis, but, startled by our canoe, as suddenly withdrew it, and disappeared in the dark recesses of the impenetrable jungle, in which it is beyond the power of man to penetrate, except he laboriously carves his way, foot by foot, in the matted mass.

About ten o’clock we reached the mouth of a narrow creek, or stream, diverging from the river under a complete canopy of verdure. Up this creek, my Poyer assured me, the Prinza-pulka village was situated. So we paddled in, and, after many windings, finally came where the vegetation was less rank, and the banks were higher and firmer. I began to breathe freer, for the air within these tropical fastnesses seemed to me loaded with miasmatic damps, like the atmosphere of a vault. As we proceeded, the country became more and more open, and the water clearer, revealing a gravelly bottom, until, at last, to my surprise, we came upon broad savannahs, fringed, along the water, by narrow belts of trees. Through these I caught glimpses of gentle swells and undulations of land, upon which, to my further amazement, I saw clumps of pine-trees! I had supposed the pine to be found only in high, temperate latitudes, and could scarcely believe that it grew here, side by side with the palm, almost on a level with the sea,until I was assured by my Poyer that it abounded in all the savannahs, and covered all theplateausand mountains of the interior.

A bend in the creek brought us suddenly in view of a group of canoes, drawn up on the shore, in front of a few scattered huts. One or two women, engaged in some occupation at the edge of the water, fled when they saw us, scrambling up the bank in evident alarm. As we approached nearer, I saw through the bushes a number of men hurrying back and forth, and calling to each other in excited voices. Before we had fairly reached the landing-place, they had collected among the canoes, whence they motioned us back with violent gestures. Some were armed with spears, others had bows and arrows, and two or three carried muskets, which they pointed at us in a very careless and unpleasant manner. I observed that they were Sambos, like those at Wasswatla, equally frizzled about the head, and spotted with thebulpis. Whenever we attempted to approach, they shouted “Bus! bus!” and raised their weapons. The Poyer boy responded by calling “Wita,”i. e., chief, or head man. Hereupon one of the number came forward a little, and inquired “Inglis? Inglis?” pointing to me. I held up my pass, and, remembering Wasswatla, pointed to it, exclaiming, “King paper! king paper!” This seemed to produce an impression, and we made a movement to land, but up came the guns again, their muzzles looking as large as church doors. Things certainly appeared squally,and I was a little puzzled what to do. Prudence suggested that we should retreat, but then that might be understood as an evidence of fear, which, with savages, as with wild beasts, is a sure way of inviting attack. I preferred, therefore, to await quietly the result of a conference which seemed to be going on, and in which I noticed I was frequently pointed out, with very suggestive gestures. While this was going on, Antonio carefully got out my gun and revolver, handing me the latter in such a manner as not to attract notice. He had evinced a high consideration for it, ever since it had played so large a part in my first interview with the patron at “El Roncador.”

After much debate, two of the Sambos, including the head man, pushed off to us in a canoe, under the cover of the weapons of those on shore. They, however, fell back in evident alarm when they caught sight of my revolver. I therefore laid it down, extended both open hands, and hailed them with the Mosquito salutation, which applies equally at all hours of the day and night, “Good morning!” They replied, with the universal drawl, “Mornin’, sir!” I put my “king paper” forward, very conspicuously, and read it through to them, no doubt to their edification. The head man said, “Good! good!” when I had finished, but nevertheless seemed suspicious of the contents of our boat, inquiring, in a broken way, for “Osnabergs,” and “pauda,” or powder. I explained to them, as well as I could, that we were not traders, which piece ofinformation did not seem to please them. But when they caught sight of my demijohn, they evinced more amiability, which I hastened to heighten by giving them a calabash of the contents.

They afterward signified their willingness to let me go ashore, if I would first give them my gun and revolver, which I sternly and peremptorily refused to do. They finally paddled to the shore, motioning for us to follow. Upon landing, I gave them each a dram, which was swallowed in a breath, with unequivocal signs of relish. The head men, after another ineffectual attempt to induce me to surrender my revolver, led the way up the bank, Antonio and the Poyer boy remaining with the canoe.

VILLAGE OF QUAMWATLA.

The village was very straggling and squalid, although the position was one of great beauty. It stood on the edge of an extensive savannah, covered thickly with coarse grass, and dotted overwith little clusters of bushes, and clumps of dark pines, more resembling a rich park, laid out with consummate skill, than a scene on a wild and unknown shore, under the tropics. As we advanced, I observed that the huts were all comparatively new, and that there were many burnt spots, marked by charred posts and half-burned thatch-poles. Among the rubbish, in one or two places, I noticed fragments of earthenware of European manufacture, and pieces of copper sheathing, evidently from some vessel.

I was conducted to the head man’s hut, where room was made for me to sit down on one of the crickeries. Some kind of fermented drink was brought for me, which I had great difficulty in declining. In fact, I did not like the general aspect of things. In the first place, there were no women visible, and then the ugly customers with the guns and spears, when not scrutinizing me or my revolver—which seemed to have a strange fascination in their eyes—were engaged in a very sinister kind of consultation.

The head man seemed particularly anxious to know my destination, and the purposes of my visit. My suspicions had been roused, and I represented myself as a little in advance of a large party from the Cape, bound down the coast, and inquired, in return, what land of accommodations could be provided for my companions when they arrived. This rather disconcerted him, and I thought the opportunity favorable to fall back to the boat, now fullyconvinced that some kind of treachery was meditated. A movement was made to intercept me at the door, but the presented muzzle of my revolver opened the way in an instant, and I walked slowly down to the landing, the armed men following, and calling out angrily, “Mer’ka man! Mer’ka man!” Antonio stood at the top of the bank, with my gun, his face wearing an anxious expression. He whispered to me hurriedly, in Spanish, that half a dozen armed men had gone down the creek in a boat, and that he had no doubt the intention was to attack us.

In fact the cowardly wretches were now brandishing their weapons, and uttering savage shouts. I at once saw that there was but one avenue of escape open, namely, to take to our boat, and get away as fast as possible. I waited until my companions had taken their places, and then walked down the bank deliberately, and entered the canoe. A few rapid strokes of the paddles carried us well clear of the shore, before the Sambos reached the top of the bank. I brought my gun to bear upon them, determined to fire the instant they should manifest any overt act of hostility. They seemed to comprehend this, and contented themselves with running after us, along the bank, shouting “Mer’ka man!” and pointing their weapons at us, through the openings in the bushes.

We were not long in getting beyond their reach, but they nevertheless kept up loud, taunting shouts, while we were within hearing. I counted this alucky escape from the village, but was not at my ease about the party which had gone down the creek. I felt sure that they were in ambush in some of the dark recesses of the banks, and that we might be attacked at any moment. Both Antonio and myself, therefore, sat down in the bottom of the canoe, closely watching the shores, while the Poyer boy paddled noiselessly in the stern. It was now near night, and the shadows gathered so darkly over the narrow stream that we could see nothing distinctly. On we went, stealthily and watchfully. We had reached the darkest covert on the creek, a short distance above its junction with the river, when a large canoe shot from the bank across our bows, with the evident purpose of intercepting us. At the same instant a flight of arrows whizzed past us, one or two striking in the canoe, while the others spattered the water close by. I at once commenced firing my revolver, while Antonio, seizing the long manitee-spear, sprang to the bow. At the same instant our canoe struck the opposing boat, as the saying is, “head on,” crushing in its rotten sides, and swamping it in a moment. Antonio gave a wild shout of triumph, driving his spear at the struggling wretches, some of whom endeavored to save themselves by climbing into our canoe. I heard the dulltchugof the lance as it struck the body of one of the victims, and, with a sickening sensation, cried to the Poyer, who had also seized a lance to join in the slaughter, to resume his paddle. He did so, and in a few seconds we were clear of thescene of our encounter, and gliding away in the darkness. I caught a glimpse of the struggling figures clinging to their shattered boat, and uttering the wildest cries of alarm and distress. The quick ear of Antonio caught responsive shouts, and it soon became evident that we had been followed by boats from the village.

THE FIGHT NEAR QUAMWATLA.

Convinced that we would be pursued, and that if overtaken we should be borne down by numbers, the question of our safety became one of superior craft, or superior speed. I was disposed to try the latter, but yielded to Antonio, who, watching an opportunity, ran our boat under an overhanging tree, where the tangled bank cast an impenetrable shadow on the water. Here we breathlessly awaited the course of events. It was not long before we heard a slight ripple, and through the uncertain light I saw three canoes dart rapidly and silently past. The pursuers evidently thought we had reached the river, where the mangroves and impenetrable jungles on the banks would effectually prevent concealment or escape. Relieved from the sense of immediate danger, it became a vital question what we should next do to secure our ultimate safety. The moon would soon be up, and our pursuers, not finding us on the river, would at once divine our trick, and, placing us between themselves and the town, render escape impossible. To abandon our boat was to court a miserable death in the woods. Antonio suggested the only feasible alternative. There were but three canoes, and when they reached theriver, he shrewdly reasoned, two would follow our most probable track down the stream, while the third would doubtless search for us above. Our policy, then, was to follow in the wake of the latter, until it should be as widely separated from aid as possible, and then, by a suddencoup-de-main, either disable or paralyze our opponents, and make the best of our way into the interior, where we could not fail to find creeks, and other places of refuge from pursuit.

My companions stripped themselves, so as not to be encumbered in the water, in case of accident, and I followed their example, retaining only my dark shirt, lest my white body should prove too conspicuous a mark. I carefully loaded my pistols, put a handful of buckshot in each barrel of my gun, and we started down the creek. A few moments brought us to the river, but we could neither see nor hear the canoes of our enemies. We turned up the stream, paddling rapidly, but silently, and keeping close to the shore. Every few minutes Antonio would stop to listen. Meantime, I hailed with joy some heavy clouds in the East, which promised to prolong the obscurity, by hiding the light of the rising moon.

The excitement of the night of the terrible storm, in which I was wrecked on “El Roncador,” was trifling to what I experienced that evening, paddling up the dark and sullen river. I exulted in every boat’s length which we gained, as tending to make the inevitable contest more equal, and welcomedevery ebon fold of cloud which gathered in the horizon. I felt that a thunder-storm was brooding; and the marshaling of the elements roused still more the savage desperation which gradually absorbed every other feeling and sentiment. At first, every nerve in my system vibrated, and I trembled in every limb; I felt like one in an ague fit; but this soon passed away—every muscle became tense, and I felt the strong pulsations in my temples, as if molten iron was coursing through the veins. I no longer sought to avoid a contest, but longed for the hour to come when I could shed blood. Every moment seemed an age, and I know not how I subdued my impatience.

Meantime the threatened storm gathered, with a rapidity peculiar to the tropics on the eve of a fervid day, and the darkness became so dense that we several times ran our boat against the bank, from sheer inability to see. Suddenly the dark vail of heaven was rift, and the lurid lightning fell with a blinding flash, which seemed to sear our eyeballs. An instant after rolled in the deep-voiced thunder, booming awfully among the primeval forests. A few rain-drops followed, which struck with steel-like sharpness on the naked skin, and hot puffs of air came soughing along the river. A moment after the heavens again glowed with the lightnings, glaring on the dark breast of the river, and revealing, but a few yards in advance of us, the hostile canoe, returning from what its occupants no doubt regarded as a hopeless pursuit. Their loud shout of savagedefiance and joy was cut short by the heavy roll of the thunder, and, an instant after, the bows of our boats came together. They glanced apart, and I was nearly thrown from my balance into the water, for I had risen, the more surely to pour the contents of my gun into the midst of our assailants. Another shout followed the shock, and I heard the arrows, shot at random in the darkness, hiss past our heads. I reserved my fire until the lightning should fall to guide my aim. I had not long to wait; a third flash revealed the opposing boat; I saw that it was filled with men, and that in their midst stood the treacherous head man of the village. The flash of my gun, and that of the lightning, so far as human senses could discern, were simultaneous; yet instantaneous as the whole transaction must have been, I saw my victim fall, and heard his body plunge in the water, before the report had been caught up by the echo, or drowned by the thunder. I shall never forget the shriek of terror and of rage that rung out from that boat to swell the angry discord of the elements. Even now, it often startles me from my sleep. But then it inspired me with the wildest joy; I shouted back triumphantly, and tossed my arms exultingly in the face of the unblenching darkness. A few more arrows, a couple of musket-shots, fired at random toward us, and the combat was over. We heard wails and groans, but they grew fainter and more distant, showing that our enemies were dropping down the river. Another flash oflightning disclosed them drifting along the bank, and beyond the reach of our weapons.

Our purpose was now accomplished; our foes were behind us, and before us an unknown mesh of lagoons and rivers. We had no alternative but to advance, perhaps upon other and more formidable dangers. However that might be, we did not stop to consider, but all through the stormy night plied our paddles with incessant energy. About midnight we came to a small lagoon, on the banks of which we observed some fires, but the sky was still overcast, and we escaped notice. Toward morning the moon came out, and we directed our boat close in shore, so as to take refuge in some obscure creek during the day. An opening finally presented itself, and we paddled in. As we advanced it became narrow, and was obstructed by drooping branches and fallen trunks. Under some of them we forced our boat with difficulty, and others we cut away with ourmachetes. After infinite trouble and labor we passed the mangrove-swamp, and came to high grounds, on which were manycoyolpalm-trees, and a few dark pines. Here, exhausted with our extraordinary efforts, and no longer sustained by excitement, we made a hasty encampment. To guard against surprise Antonio undertook the first watch, and, wrapping myself in my blanket, I fell into a profound slumber.

And now, to remove any mystery which might attach to the hostile conduct of the Sambos atQuamwatla(for that was the name of the inhospitablevillage), I may explain that, in September, 1849, the bark “Simeon Draper,” from New York, bound for Chagres, with passengers for California, was wrecked on the coast, near the mouth of the Prinza-pulka River. The remains of her hull I have alluded to, as now constituting one of the principal landmarks on that monotonous shore. Her passengers all escaped to the land, and succeeded in recovering most of their effects. They were soon discovered by the Sambos of Quamwatla, who, affecting friendship, nevertheless committed extensive depredations on the property of the passengers. Strong representations were made to the head man, but without effect; in fact, it soon became evident that he was the principal instigator of the robberies. The news of the wreck spread along the coast, and a large number of Sambos gathered at the village. As their numbers increased, they grew bold and hostile, until the position of the passengers became one of danger. They finally received intimations that a concerted attack would soon be made upon them, which they anticipated by an assault upon the Sambo village. The inhabitants, taken by surprise, fled after a few discharges of the rifles and revolvers, and the village was set on fire and burned to the ground. The wrecked Americans were not afterward disturbed, and their condition becoming known in San Juan, a vessel was dispatched to their relief, and they were taken off in safety.

It was not until I arrived at Cape Gracias that Ibecame acquainted with these facts, which accounted for the appearance of things in Quamwatla, and explained the hostility of the natives. Every Englishman on the coast is a trader, and as I disowned that character, and, moreover, carried a revolver, they were not long in making up their minds that I was an American.

Under all the circumstances of the case, our escape was almost miraculous. I subsequently ascertained that three of our assailants had been killed outright in the two encounters, and that the treacherous head man had died of his wounds.

It is with no feeling of exultation that I mention this fact; for, so long as I live, I shall not cease to lament the necessity, which circumstances imposed upon me, of taking the life of a human being, however debased or criminal. I know of no sacrifice which I would not now make to restore those miserable wretches to their deserted huts, and to the rude affection of which even savages are capable. The events of that terrible night have left a shadow over my heart, which time rather serves to deepen than to efface.

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