Loe raamatut: «Martin Rattler», lehekülg 8

“Not a very comfortable place, Barney,” said Martin, looking round, as he threw down one of the bales which he had just carried up from the canoe. “Hallo! there’s a hut, I declare. Come, that’s a comfort anyhow.”

As he spoke, Martin pointed to one of the solitary and rudely constructed huts or sheds, which the natives of the banks of the Amazon sometimes erect during the dry season, and forsake when the river overflows its banks. The hut was a very old one, and had evidently been inundated, for the floor was a mass of dry, solid mud, and the palm-leaf roof was much damaged. However, it was better than nothing, so they slung their hammocks under it, kindled a fire, and prepared supper. While they were busy discussing this meal, a few dark and ominous clouds gathered in the sky, and the old trader, glancing uneasily about him, gave them to understand that he feared the rainy season was going to begin.

“Well, then,” said Barney, lighting his pipe and stretching himself at full length in his hammock, with a leg swinging to and fro over one side and his head leaning over the other, as was his wont when he felt particularly comfortable in mind and body; “Well then, avic, let it begin. If we’re sure to have it anyhow, the sooner it begins the better, to my thinkin’.”

“I don’t know that,” said Martin, who was seated on a large stone beside the fire sipping a can of coffee, which he shared equally with Marmoset. The monkey sat on his shoulder gazing anxiously into his face, with an expression that seemed as if the creature were mentally exclaiming, “Now me, now you; now me, now you,” during the whole process. “It would be better, I think, if we were in a more sheltered position before it begins. Ha! there it comes though, in earnest.”

A smart shower began to fall as he spoke, and, percolating through the old root descended rather copiously on the mud floor. In a few minutes there was a heaving of the ground under their feet!

“Ochone!” cried Barney, taking his pipe out of his mouth and looking down with a disturbed expression, “there’s an arthquake, I do belave.”

For a few seconds there was a dead silence.

“Nonsense,” whispered Martin uneasily.

“It’s dramin’ I must have been,” sighed Barney, resuming his pipe.

Again the ground heaved and cracked, and Martin and the old trader had just time to spring to their feet when the mud floor of the hut burst upwards and a huge dried-up looking alligator crawled forth, as if from the bowels of the earth! It glanced up at Barney; opened its tremendous jaws, and made as if it would run at the terrified old trader; then, observing the doorway, it waddled out, and, trundling down the bank, plunged into the river and disappeared.

Barney could find no words to express his feelings, but continued to gaze, with an unbelieving expression, down into the hole, out of which the monster had come, and in which it had buried itself many weeks before, when the whole country was covered with soft mud. At that time it had probably regarded the shelter of the inundated hut as of some advantage, and had lain down to repose. The water retiring had left it there buried, and—as we have already mentioned in reference to alligators—when the first shower of the rainy season fell, it was led by instinct to burst its earthy prison, and seek its native element.

Before Barney or his companions could recover from their surprise, they had other and more urgent matters to think about. The dark clouds burst overhead, and the rain descended like a continued water-spout—not in drops but in heavy sheets and masses; the roof of the hut gave way in several places, driving them into a corner for shelter; the river began to rise rapidly, soon flooding the hut; and, when darkness overspread the land, they found themselves drenched to the skin and suspended in their hammocks over a running stream of water!

This event brought about an entire change in the aspect of nature, and was the cause of a sad and momentous era in the adventures of Martin Rattler and his companion.

Chapter Seventeen
The Gapo—Interruptions—Grampus and Marmoset—Canoeing in the Woods—A Night on a Floating Island

There is a peculiar and very striking feature in the character of the great Amazon, which affects the distinctive appearance of that river, and materially alters the manners and customs of those who dwell beside it. This peculiarity is the periodical overflow of its low banks; and the part thus overflowed is called the Gapo. It extends from a little above the town of Santarem up to the confines of Peru, a distance of about seventeen hundred miles; and varies in width from one to twenty miles: so that the country when inundated, assumes in many places the appearance of an extensive lake, with forest trees growing out of the water; and travellers may proceed many hundreds of miles in their canoes without once entering the main stream of the river. At this time the natives become almost aquatic animals. Several tribes of Indians inhabit the Gapo; such as the Purupurus, Muras, and others. They build small movable huts on the sandy shores during the dry season, and on rafts in the wet. They subsist on turtle, cow-fish, and the other fish with which the river abounds, and live almost entirely in their canoes; while at night they frequently sling their hammocks between the branches of trees, and sleep suspended over the deep water.

Some of the animals found in the Gapo are peculiar to it, being attracted by the fruit-trees which are found growing only there. The Indians assert that every tree that grows in the Gapo is distinct from all those that grow in other districts; and when we consider that these trees are submerged for six months every year, till they are tall enough to rise above the highest water-level, we may well believe their constitution is somewhat different from those that are reared on ordinary ground. The Indians are wonderfully expert in finding their way among the trackless mazes of the Gapo, being guided by the broken twigs and scraped bark that indicate the route followed by previous travellers.

Owing to this sudden commencement of the rainy season, the old trader resolved to return to a small village, and there spend several months. Martin and Barney were much annoyed at this; for the former was impatient to penetrate further into the interior, and the latter had firmly made up his mind to visit the diamond mines, about which he entertained the most extravagant notions. He did not, indeed, know in the least how to get to these mines, nor even in which direction they lay; but he had a strong impression that as long as he continued travelling he was approaching gradually nearer to them, and he had no doubt whatever that he would get to them at last. It was, therefore, with no small degree of impatience that they awaited the pleasure of their sable master, who explained to them that when the waters reached their height he would proceed.

Everything comes to an end, even a long story. After many weeks had passed slowly by, their sojourn in this village came to an end too. It was a dull place, very dull, and they had nothing to do; and the few poor people who lived there seemed to have very little or nothing to do. We will, therefore, pass it over, and resume our narrative at the point when the old trader announced to Barney that the flood was at its height and they would now continue their journey. They embarked once more in their old canoe with their goods and chattels, not forgetting Marmoset and Grampus, whose friendship during their inactive life had become more close than ever. This friendship was evidenced, chiefly, by the matter-of-course way in which Grampus permitted the monkey to mount his back, and ride about the village and through the woods, where dry places could be found, as long as she pleased. Marmoset was fonder of riding than walking, so that Grampus had enough to do; but he did not put himself much about. He trotted, walked, galloped, and lay down, when, and where, and as often as he chose, without any reference to the small monkey; and Marmoset held on through thick and thin, and nibbled nuts or whatever else it picked up, utterly regardless of where it was going to, or the pace at which it went. It was sharp, though, that small monkey, sharp as a needle, and had its little black eyes glancing on all sides; so that when Grampus dashed through under-wood, and the branches threatened to sweep it off, it ducked its head; or, lying flat down, shut its eyes and held on with all its teeth and four hands like a limpet to a rock. Marmoset was not careful as to her attitude on dog-back. She sat with her face to the front or rear, just as her fancy or convenience dictated.

After leaving the village they travelled for many days and nights through the Gapo. Although afloat on the waters of the Amazon, they never entered the main river after the first few days, but wound their way, in a creeping, serpentine sort of fashion, through small streams and lakes and swamps, from which the light was partially excluded by the thick foliage of the forest. It was a strange scene, that illimitable watery waste, and aroused new sensations in the breasts of our travellers. As Barney said, it made him “feel quite solemn-like and eerie to travel through the woods by wather.”

The canoe was forced under branches and among dense bushes, till they got into a part where the trees were loftier and a deep gloom prevailed. Here the lowest branches were on a level with the surface of the water, and many of them were putting forth beautiful flowers. On one occasion they came to a grove of small palms, which were so deep in the water that the leaves were only a few feet above the surface. Indeed they were so low that one of them caught Martin’s straw-hat and swept it overboard.

“Hallo! stop!” cried Martin, interrupting the silence so suddenly that Grampus sprang up with a growl, under the impression that game was in view; and Marmoset scampered off behind a packing-box with an angry shriek.

“What’s wrong, lad?” inquired Barney.

“Back water, quick! my hat’s overboard, and there’s an alligator going to snap it up. Look alive, man!”

In a few seconds the canoe was backed and the straw-hat rescued from its perilous position.

“It’s an ill wind that blows nae guid, as the Scotch say,” remarked Barney, rising in the canoe and reaching towards something among the overhanging branches. “Here’s wan o’ them trees that old black-face calls a maraja, with some splendid bunches o’ fruit on it. Hould yer hat Martin; there’s more nor enough for supper anyhow.”

As he spoke a rustling in the leaves told that monkeys were watching them, and Marmoset kept peeping up as if she half expected they might be relations. But the moment the travellers caught sight of them they bounded away screaming.

Having gathered as much fruit as they required, they continued their voyage, and presently emerged into the pleasant sunshine in a large grassy lake, which was filled with lilies and beautiful water-plants, little yellow bladder-worts, with several other plants of which they knew not the names; especially one with a thick swollen stalk, curious leaves, and bright blue flowers. This lake was soon passed, and they again entered into the gloomy forest and paddled among the lofty trunks of the trees, which rose like massive columns out of the deep water. There was enough of animal life there, however, to amuse and interest them. The constant plash of falling fruit showed that birds were feeding overhead. Sometimes a flock of parrots or bright blue chatterers swept from tree to tree, or a trogon swooped at a falling bunch of fruit and caught it ere it reached the water; while ungainly toucans plumped clumsily down upon the branches, and sat, in striking contrast, beside the lovely pompadours, with their claret-coloured plumage and delicate white wings.

Vieing with these birds in splendour were several large bright-yellow flowers of the creeping-plants, which twined round the trees. Some of these plants had white, spotted, and purple blossoms; and there was one splendid species, called by the natives the flor de Santa Anna—the flower of Saint Ann—which emitted a delightful odour and was four inches in diameter.

Having traversed this part of the wood, they once more emerged upon the main stream of the Amazon. It was covered with waterfowl. Large logs of trees and numerous floating islands of grass were sailing down; and on these sat hundreds of white gulls, demurely and comfortably voyaging to the ocean; for the sea would be their final resting-place if they sat on these logs and islands until they descended several hundreds of miles of the great river.

“I wish,” said Martin, after a long silence, during which the travellers had been gazing on the watery waste as they paddled up stream—“I wish that we could fall in with solid land, where we might have something cooked. I’m desperately hungry now; but I don’t see a spot of earth large enough for a mosquito to rest his foot on.”

“We’ll jist have to take to farhina and wather,” remarked Barney, laying down his paddle and proceeding leisurely to light his pipe. “It’s a blissin’ we’ve got baccy, any how. ’Tis mesilf that could niver git on without it.”

“I wish you joy of it, Barney. It may fill your mouth, but it can’t stop your hunger.”

“Och, boy, it’s little ye know! Sure it stops the cravin’s o’ hunger, and kapes yer stumick from callin’ out for iver, till ye fall in with somethin’ to ate.”

“It does not seem to stop the mouth then, Barney, for you call out for grub oftener than I do; and then you say that you couldn’t get on without it; so you’re a slave to it old boy. I wouldn’t be a slave to anything if I could help it.”

“Martin, lad, ye’re gittin’ deep. Take care now, or ye’ll be in mettlefeesics soon. I say, ould black-face,”—Barney was not on ceremony with the old trader,—“is there no land in thim parts at all?”

“No, not dis night.”

“Och, then, we’ll have to git up a tree and try to cook somethin’ there; for I’m not goin’ to work on flour and wather. Hallo! hould on! There’s an island, or the portrait o’ wan! Port your helm, Naygur! hard sport! D’ye hear?”

The old man heard, but, as usual, paid no attention to the Irishman’s remarks; and the canoe would have passed straight on, had not Barney used his bow-paddle so energetically that he managed to steer her, as he expressed it, by the nose, and ran her against a mass of floating logs which had caught firmly in a thicket and were so covered with grass and broken twigs as to have very much the appearance of a real island. Here they landed, so to speak, kindled a small fire, made some coffee, roasted a few fish, baked several cakes, and were soon as happy and comfortable as hungry and wearied men usually are when they obtain rest and food.

“This is what I call jolly,” remarked Barney.

“What’s jolly?” inquired Martin.

“Why this, to be sure,—grub to begin with, and a smoke and a convanient snooze in prospect.”

The hopes which Barney cherished, however, were destined to be blighted, at least in part. To the victuals he did ample justice; the pipe was delightful, and in good working order; but when they lay down to repose, they were attacked by swarms of stinging ants, which the heat of the fire had driven out of the old logs. These and mosquitoes effectually banished sleep from their eye-lids, and caused them to reflect very seriously, and to state to each other more than once very impressively, that with all their beauties and wonders, tropical lands had their disadvantages, and there was no place like the “ould country,” after all.

Chapter Eighteen
The Sad and Momentous Era referred to at the Close of the Chapter Preceding the Last

One sultry evening, many weeks after our travellers had passed the uncomfortable night on the floating island in the Gapo, they came to a place where the banks of the river rose boldly up in rugged rocks and hemmed in the waters of the Amazon, which were by this time somewhat abated. Here they put ashore, intending to kindle their fire and encamp for the night, having been up and hard at work since day-break.

The evening was calm and beautiful, and the troublesome insects not so numerous as usual,—probably owing to the nature of the ground. One or two monkeys showed themselves for a moment, as if to inquire who was there, and then ran away screaming; a porcupine also crossed their path, and several small bright snakes, of a harmless species, glided over the rocks, and sought refuge among the small bushes; but beyond these there were few of the sights and sounds that were wont to greet them in the forest.

“I think things look well to-night,” remarked Martin as he threw down a bundle of sticks which he had gathered for the fire; “we shall have a comfortable snooze for certain, if the mosquitoes don’t wake up.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” replied Barney, striking a light with flint and steel and stooping to puff the smouldering spark into a flame. “I’ve larned by exparience that ye niver can be—puff—sure o’ nothin’ in this—puff—remarkable country. Jist look at Darkey now,” continued the Irishman, sitting down on a stone before the fire, which now began to kindle up, and stuffing the tobacco into his pipe with his little finger. “There he is, a livin’ Naygur, a-liftin’ of the provision-bag out o’ the canoe. Well, if he was all of a suddent to turn into Marmoset, an’ swaller himself, an’ then jump down the throat of Grampus, and the whole consarn, canoe and all, to disappear, I don’t think that I would be much surprised.”

“Would you not, Barney? I suspect that I should be, a little, under the circumstances; perhaps the old Nigger would be more so.”

“Niver a taste,” continued Barney. “Ye see, if that was to happen, I would then know that it was all a drame. I’ve more than wance expected to wake up since I comed into furrin parts; the only thing that kapes me in doubt about it is the baccy.”

“How so, Barney?”

“Why, bekase it tastes so rael, good luck to it! that I can’t git myself to think it’s only a drame. Jist look, now,” he continued, in the same tone of voice; “if it wasn’t a drame, how could I see sich a thing as that standin’ on the rock over there?”

Martin glanced towards the spot pointed out by his friend, and immediately started up with surprise.—“Hallo! Barney, that’s no dream, I’ll vouch for it. He’s an Indian, and a very ugly one too, I declare. I say, old fellow, do you know what sort of savage that is?”

“Not know,” answered the trader, glancing uneasily at the stranger.

“He might have the dacency to put on more close, anyhow,” muttered Barney, as he gazed inquiringly at the savage.

The being who had thus appeared so suddenly before the travellers belonged to one of the numerous tribes of Indians inhabiting the country near the head-waters of some of the chief tributaries of the Amazon. He was almost entirely naked, having merely a scanty covering on his loins; and carried a small quiver full of arrows at his back, and what appeared to be a long spear in his hand. His figure was strongly but not well formed; and his face, which was of a dark copper hue, was disfigured in a most remarkable manner. A mass of coarse black hair formed the only covering to his head. His cheeks were painted with curious marks of jet black. But the most remarkable points about him were the huge pieces of wood which formed ornaments in his ears and under lip. They were round and flat like the wooden wheel of a toy-cart, about half an inch thick, and larger than an old-fashioned watch. These were fitted into enormous slits made in the ears and under lip, and the latter projected more than two inches from his mouth! Indeed, the cut that had been made to receive this ornament was so large that the lip had been almost cut off altogether, and merely hung by each corner of his mouth! The aspect of the man was very hideous, and it was by no means improved when, having recovered from his surprise at unexpectedly encountering strangers, he opened his mouth to the full extent and uttered a savage yell.

The cry was answered immediately. In a few minutes a troop of upwards of thirty savages sprang from the woods, and, ascending the rock on which their comrade stood, gazed down on the travellers in surprise, and, by their movements, seemed to be making hasty preparations for an attack.

By this time Barney had recovered his self-possession, and became thoroughly convinced of the reality of the apparition before him. Drawing his pistol hastily from his belt, he caught up a handful of gravel, wherewith he loaded it to the muzzle, ramming down the charge with a bit of mandioca-cake in lieu of a wad; then drawing his cutlass he handed it to Martin, exclaiming, “Come, lad, we’re in for it now. Take you the cutlass and I’ll try their skulls with the butt o’ my pistol: it has done good work before now in that way. If there’s no more o’ the blackguards in the background we’ll bate them aisy.”

Martin instinctively grasped the cutlass, and there is no doubt that, under the impulse of that remarkable quality, British valour, which utterly despises odds, they would have hurled themselves recklessly upon the savages, when the horrified old trader threw himself on Barney’s neck and implored him not to fight; for if he did they would all be killed, and if he only kept quiet the savages would perhaps do them no harm. At the same moment about fifty additional Indians arrived upon the scene of action. This, and the old man’s earnest entreaties, induced them to hesitate for an instant, and, before they could determine what to do, they were surprised by some of the savages, who rushed upon them from behind and took them prisoners. Barney struggled long and fiercely, but he was at length overpowered by numbers. The pistol, which missed fire, was wrenched from his grasp, and his hands were speedily bound behind his back. Martin was likewise disarmed and secured; not, however, before he made a desperate slash at one of the savages, which narrowly missed his skull, and cut away his lip ornament.

As for the old trader, he made no resistance at all, but submitted quietly to his fate. The savages did not seem to think it worth their while to bind him. Grampus bounced and barked round the party savagely, but did not attack; and Marmoset slept in the canoe in blissful ignorance of the whole transaction.

The hands of the two prisoners being firmly bound, they were allowed to do as they pleased; so they sat down on a rock in gloomy silence, and watched the naked savages as they rifled the canoe and danced joyfully round the treasures which their active knives and fingers soon exposed to view. The old trader took things philosophically. Knowing that it was absolutely impossible to escape, he sat quietly down on a stone, rested his chin on his hands, heaved one or two deep sighs, and thereafter seemed to be nothing more than an ebony statue.

The ransacking of the canoe and appropriating of its contents occupied the savages but a short time, after which they packed everything up in small bundles, which they strapped upon their backs. Then, making signs to their prisoners to rise, they all marched away into the forest. Just as they were departing, Marmoset observing that she was about to be left behind, uttered a frantic cry, which brought Grampus gambolling to her side. With an active bound the monkey mounted its charger, and away they went into the forest in the track of the band of savages.

During the first part of their march Martin and Barney were permitted to walk beside each other, and they conversed in low, anxious tones.

“Surely,” said Barney, as they marched along surrounded by Indians, “thim long poles the savages have got are not spears; I don’t see no point to them.”

“And what’s more remarkable,” added Martin, “is that they all carry quivers full of arrows, but none of them have bows.”

“There’s a raison for iverything,” said Barney, pointing to one of the Indians in advance; “that fellow explains the mystery.”

As he spoke, the savage referred to lowered the pole, which seemed to be about thirteen feet long, and pushing an arrow into a hole in the end of it, applied it to his mouth. In another moment the arrow flew through the air and grazed a bird that was sitting on a branch hard by.

“’Tis a blow-pipe, and no mistake!” cried Barney.

“And a poisoned arrow, I’m quite sure,” added Martin; “for it only ruffled the bird’s feathers, and see, it has fallen to the ground.”

“Och, then, but we’d have stood a bad chance in a fight if thim’s the wipons they use. Och, the dirty spalpeens! Martin, dear, we’re done for. There’s no chance for us at all.”

This impression seemed to take such deep hold of Barney’s mind, that his usually reckless and half jesting disposition was completely subdued, and he walked along in gloomy silence, while a feeling of deep dejection filled the heart of his young companion.

The blow-pipe which these Indians use is an ingeniously contrived weapon. It is made from a species of palm-tree. When an Indian wants one, he goes into the woods and selects a tree with a long slender stem of less than an inch in diameter; he extracts the pith out of this, and then cuts another stem, so much larger than the first that he can push the small tube into the bore of the large one,—thus the slight bend in one is counteracted by the other, and a perfectly straight pipe is formed. The mouth-piece is afterwards neatly finished off. The arrows used are very short, having a little ball of cotton at the end to fill the tube of the blow-pipe. The points are dipped in a peculiar poison, which has the effect of producing death when introduced into the blood by a mere scratch of the skin. The Indians can send these arrows an immense distance, and with unerring aim, as Martin and Barney had many an opportunity of witnessing during their long and weary journey on foot to the forest-home of the savages.