In Far Bolivia: A Story of a Strange Wild Land
by unknown · English · Gutenberg #39728 · 385,231 chars · public domain (US)
The Project Gutenberg eBook of In Far Bolivia: A Story of a Strange Wild Land
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: In Far Bolivia: A Story of a Strange Wild Land
Creator: Gordon Stables
Illustrator: Joseph Finnemore
Release date: May 18, 2012 [eBook #39728]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39728
Credits: Produced by Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN FAR BOLIVIA: A STORY OF A STRANGE WILD LAND ***
Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: "BRAWN ... DASHED ON TO THE RESCUE"]
In Far Bolivia
A Story of a Strange Wild Land
BY
DR. GORDON STABLES, R.N.
Author of "'Twixt School and College" "The Hermit Hunter of the Wilds"
"The Naval Cadet" "Kidnapped by Cannibals" &c.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. FINNEMORE, R.I._
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW DUBLIN BOMBAY
1901
TO
MARIE CONNOR LEIGHTON
(NOVELIST AND CRITIC)
THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED
EVERY KINDLY WISH
BY
THE AUTHOR
PREFACE
Every book should tell its own story without the aid of "preface" or
"introduction". But as in this tale I have broken fresh ground, it is
but right and just to my reader, as well as to myself, to mention
prefatorially that, as far as descriptions go, both of the natives and
the scenery of Bolivia and the mighty Amazon, my story is strictly
accurate.
I trust that Chapter XXIII, giving facts about social life in La Paz and
Bolivia, with an account of that most marvellous of all sheets of fresh
water in the known world, Lake Titicaca, will be found of general
interest.
But vast stretches of this strange wild land of Bolivia are a closed
book to the world, for they have never yet been explored; nor do we know
aught of the tribes of savages who dwell therein, as far removed from
civilization and from the benign influence of Christianity as if they
were inhabitants of another planet. I have ventured to send my heroes
to this land of the great unknown, and have at the same time endeavoured
to avoid everything that might border on sensationalism.
In conclusion, my boys, if spared I hope to take you out with me again
to Bolivia in another book, and together we may have stranger adventures
than any I have yet told.
THE AUTHOR.
----
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I--ON THE BANKS OF THE GREAT AMAZON
CHAPTER II--STRANGE ADVENTURES IN THE FOREST--LOST!
CHAPTER III--BURNLEY HALL, OLD AND NEW
CHAPTER IV--AWAY DOWN THE RIVER
CHAPTER V--A DAY IN THE FOREST WILDS
CHAPTER VI--"NOT ONE SINGLE DROP OF BLOOD SHED"
CHAPTER VII--"A COLD HAND SEEMED TO CLUTCH HER HEART"
CHAPTER VIII--FIERCELY AND WILDLY BOTH SIDES FOUGHT
CHAPTER IX--THAT TREE IN THE FOREST GLADE
CHAPTER X--BENEE MAKES A STRANGE DISCOVERY
CHAPTER XI--ALL ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS
CHAPTER XII--BENEE ENTRENCHED--SAVAGE REVELS IN THE FOREST
CHAPTER XIII--THE MARCH TO THE LOVELESS LAND
CHAPTER XIV--THE HOME OF THE CANNIBAL--BENEE'S ROMANCE
CHAPTER XV--SHOOKS-GEE'S STORY--A CANNIBAL QUEEN
CHAPTER XVI--ON THE BANKS OF A BEAUTIFUL RIVER
CHAPTER XVII--BILL AND HIS BOATS
CHAPTER XVIII--AS IF STRUCK BY A DUM-DUM BULLET
CHAPTER XIX--STRUGGLING ONWARDS UP-STREAM
CHAPTER XX--THE PAGAN PAYNEES WERE THIRSTING FOR BLOOD
CHAPTER XXI--THE FOREST IS SHEETED IN FLAMES
CHAPTER XXII--EVENINGS BY THE CAMP FIRE
CHAPTER XXIII--A MARVELLOUS LAKE IN A MARVELLOUS LAND--LA PAZ
CHAPTER XXIV--BENEE'S STORY--THE YOUNG CANNIBAL QUEEN
CHAPTER XXV--BENEE'S MOTHER TO THE FRONT
CHAPTER XXVI--THE PALE-FACE QUEEN HAS FLED
CHAPTER XXVII--THE FIGHT AT THE FORT
CHAPTER XXVIII--THE DREAM AND THE TERROR!
CHAPTER XXIX--EASTWARD HO! FOR MERRIE ENGLAND
----
ILLUSTRATIONS
"Brawn ... dashed on to the rescue" . . . . . . _Frontispiece_
"Brawn sprang at once upon his man"
"She ... held her at arm's-length"
"Fire low, lads ... don't waste a shot!"
IN FAR BOLIVIA
CHAPTER I--ON THE BANKS OF THE GREAT AMAZON
Miles upon miles from the banks of the mighty river, had you wandered
far away in the shade of the dark forest that clothed the valleys and
struggled high over the mountain-tops themselves, you would have heard
the roar and the boom of that great buzz-saw.
As early as six of a morning it would start, or soon after the sun, like
a huge red-hot shot, had leapt up from his bed in the glowing east
behind the greenery of the hills and woods primeval.
To a stranger coming from the south towards the Amazon--great queen of
all the rivers on earth--and not knowing he was on the borders of
civilization, the sound that the huge saw made would have been decidedly
alarming.
He would have stopped and listened, and listening, wondered. No
menagerie of wild beasts could have sent forth a noise so loud, so
strange, so persistent! Harsh and low at times, as its great teeth tore
through the planks of timber, it would change presently into a dull but
dreadful _basso profundo_, such as might have been emitted by
antediluvian monsters in the agonies of death or torture, rising anon
into a shrill howl or shriek, then subsiding once again into a steady
grating roar, that seemed to shake the very earth.
Wild beasts in this black forest heard the sounds, and crept stealthily
away to hide themselves in their caves and dens; caymans or alligators
heard them too, as they basked in the morning sunshine by lakelet or
stream--heard them and crawled away into caves, or took to the water
with a sullen plunge that caused the finny inhabitants to dart away in
terror to every point of the compass.
"Up with the tree, lads. Feed him home," cried Jake Solomons loudly but
cheerily. "Our pet is hungry this morning. I say, Bill, doesn't she
look a beauty. Ever see such teeth, and how they shine, too, in the red
sunlight. Guess you never did, Bill. I say, what chance would the
biggest 'gator that ever crawled have with Betsy here. Why, if Betsy
got one tooth in his hide she'd have fifty before you could say
'Jerusalem', and that 'gator'd be cut in two. Tear away, Betsy! Grind
and groan and growl, my lass! Have your breakfast, my little pet; why,
your voice is sweetest music to my ear. I say, Bill, don't the saw-dust
fly a few? I should smile!
"But see," he continued, "yonder come the darkies with our matutinal.
Girls and boys with baskets, and I can see the steam curling up under
Chloe's arm from the great flagon she is carrying! Look how her white
eyes roll, and her white teeth shine as she smiles her six-inch smile!
Good girl is Chloe. She knows we're hungry, and that we'll welcome her.
Wo, now, Betsy! Let the water off, Bill. Betsy has had her snack, and
so we'll have ours."
There was quietness now o'er hill and dell and forest-land.
And this tall Yankee, Jake Solomons, who was fully arrayed in cotton
shirt and trousers, his brown arms bare to the shoulder, stretched his
splendidly knit but spare form with a sort of a yawn.
"Heigho, Bill!" he said. "I'm pining for breakfast. Aren't you?"
"That I am," replied Burly Bill with his broadest grin.
Jake ran to the open side of the great saw-mill. Three or four strides
took him there.
"Ah! Good-morning, Chloe, darling! Morning, Keemo! Morning, Kimo!"
"Mawning, sah!" This was a chorus.
"All along dey blessed good-foh-nuffin boys I no come so queeck," said
Chloe.
"Stay, stay, Chloe," cried Jake, "never let your angry passions rise.
'Sides, Chloe, I calculate such language ain't half-proper. But how
glittering your cheeks are, Chloe, how white your teeth! There! you
smile again. And that vermilion blouse sets off your dark complexion to
a nicety, and seems just made for it. Chloe, I would kiss you, but the
fear of making Bill jealous holds me back."
Burly Bill shook with laughter. Bill was well named the Burly. Though
not so tall as Jake, his frame was immense, though perhaps there was a
little more adipose tissue about it than was necessary in a climate like
this. But Bill's strength was wonderful. See him, axe in hand, at the
foot of a tree! How the chips fly! How set and determined the man's
face, while the great beads of sweat stand like pearls on his brow!
Burly Bill was a white man turned black. You couldn't easily have
guessed his age. Perhaps he was forty, but at twenty, when still in
England, Bill was supple and lithe, and had a skin as white as a
schoolboy's. But he had got stouter as the years rolled on, and his face
tanned and tanned till it tired of tanning, and first grew purple, and
latterly almost black. The same with those hirsute bare arms of his.
There was none of the wild "Ha! ha!" about Bill's laughter. It was a
sort of suppressed chuckle, that agitated all his anatomy, the while his
merry good-natured eyes sought shelter behind his cheeks' rotundity.
Under a great spreading tree the two men laid themselves down, and Chloe
spread their breakfast on a white cloth between them, Jake keeping up
his fire of chaff and sweet nothings while she did so. Keemo and Kimo,
and the other "good-foh-nuffin boys" had brought their morning meal to
the men who fed the great buzz-saw.
"Ah, Chloe!" said Jake, "the odour of that coffee would bring the dead
to life, and the fish and the beef and the butter, Chloe! Did you do
all this yourself?"
"All, sah, I do all. De boys jes' kick about de kitchen and do nuffin."
"Dear tender-eyed Chloe! How clever you are! Guess you won't be so kind
to me when you and I get spliced, eh?"
"Ah sah! you no care to marry a poor black gal like Chloe! Dere is a
sweet little white missie waiting somew'eres foh Massa Jake. I be your
maid, and shine yo' boots till all de samee's Massa Bill's cheek foh
true."
As soon as Chloe with her "good-foh-nuffin boys" had cleared away the
breakfast things, and retired with a smile and saucy toss of her curly
poll, the men lay back and lit their pipes.
"She's a bright intelligent girl that," said Jake. "I don't want a wife
or--but I say, Bill, why don't you marry her? I guess she'd make ye a
tip-topper."
"Me! Is it marry?"
Burly Bill held back his head and chuckled till he well-nigh choked.
Honest Bill's ordinary English showed that he came from the old country,
and more particularly from the Midlands. But Bill could talk properly
enough when he pleased, as will soon be seen.
He smoked quietly enough for a time, but every now and then he felt
constrained to take his meerschaum from his mouth and give another
chuckle or two.
"Tchoo-hoo-hoo!" he laughed. "Me marry! And marry Chloe!
Tchoo-hoo-hoo!"
"To change the subject, William," said Jake, "seein' as how you've
pretty nearly chuckled yourself silly, or darned near it, how long have
you left England?"
"W'y, I coom over with Mr. St. Clair hisse'f, and Roland w'y he weren't
more'n seven. Look at 'e now, and dear little Peggy, 'is sister by
adoption as ever was, weren't a month over four. Now Rolly 'e bees nigh
onto fifteen, and Peggy--the jewel o' the plantation--she's goin' on for
twelve, and main tall for that. W'y time do fly! Don't she, Jake?"
"Well, I guess I've been here five years, and durn me if I want to
leave. Could we have a better home? I'd like to see it. I'd smile a
few odd ones. But listen, why here comes the young 'uns!"
There was the clatter of ponies' feet, and next minute as handsome a boy
as ever sat in saddle, and as pretty and bright a lassie as you could
wish to meet, galloped into the clearing, and reined up their spirited
little steeds close to the spot where the men were lounging.
Burly Bill stuck his thumb into the bowl of his meerschaum to put it
out, and Jake threw his pipe on the bank.
Roland was tall for his age, like Peggy. But while a mass of fair and
irrepressible hair curled around the boy's sun-burned brow, Peggy's hair
was straight and black. When she rode fast it streamed out behind her
like pennons in the breeze. What a bright and sunny face was hers too!
There was ever a happy smile about her red lips and dark eyes.
"You've got to begin to smoke again immediately," said the boy.
"No, no, Master Roland, not in the presence of your sister."
"But," cried Peggy, with a pretty show of pomposity, "I command you!"
"Ah, then, indeed!" said Jake; and soon both men were blowing clouds
that made the very mosquitoes change their quarters.
"Father'll be up soon, riding on Glancer. This nag threw Father, coming
home last night. Mind, Glancer is seventeen hands and over."
"He threw him?"
"That he did, in the moonlight. Scared at a 'gator. Father says he
heard the 'gator's great teeth snapping and thought he was booked. But
lo! Jake, at that very moment Glancer struck out with both
hind-legs--you know how he is shod. He smashed the 'gator's skull, and
the beast turned up his yellow belly to the moon."
"Bravo!"
"Then Father mounted mighty Glancer and rode quietly home.
"Peggy and I," he continued, "have ridden along the bank to the
battlefield to hold a coroner's inquest on the 'gator, but he's been
hauled away by his relations. I suppose they'll make potato soup of
him."
Burly Bill chuckled.
"Well, Peggy and I are off. See you in the evening, Jake. By-by!"
And away they rode, like a couple of wild Indians, followed by a huge
Irish wolf-hound, as faithful a dog to his mistress--for he was Peggy's
own pet--as ever dog could be.
They were going to have a day in the forest, and each carried a short
six-chambered rifle at the saddle.
A country like the wild one in which they dwelt soon makes anyone brave
and fearless. They meant to ride quite a long way to-day and not return
till the sun began to decline in the far and wooded west. So, being
already quite an old campaigner, Roland had not forgotten to bring
luncheon with him, and some for bold Brawn also.
Into the forest they dashed, leaving the mighty river, which was there
about fifteen miles broad probably, in their rear.
They knew every pathway of that primeval woodland, and it mattered but
little to them that most of these had been worn by the feet of wild
beasts. Such tracks wind out and in, and in and out, and meet others in
the most puzzling and labyrinthine manner.
Roland carried a compass, and knew how to use it, but the day was
unusually fine and sunny, so there was little chance of their getting
lost.
The country in which they lived might well have been called the land of
perpetual summer.
But at some spots the forest was so pitchy dark, owing to the
overhanging trees and wild flowering creepers, that they had to rein up
and allow Coz and Boz, as their ponies were named, to cautiously feel
the way for themselves.
How far away they might have ridden they could not themselves tell, had
they not suddenly entered a kind of fairy glade. At one side it was
bounded by a crescentic formation of rock, from the very centre of which
spouted a tiny clear crystal waterfall. Beneath was a deep pool, the
bottom of which was sand and yellow shingle, with here and there a patch
of snow-white quartz. And away from this a little stream went
meandering slowly through the glade, keeping it green.
On the other side were the lordly forest trees, bedraped with flowering
orchids and ferns.
Flowers and ferns grew here and there in the rockface itself. No wonder
the young folks gazed around them in delighted wonder.
Brawn was more practical. He cared nothing for the flowers, but enjoyed
to the fullest extent the clear cool water of the crystal pool.
"Oh, isn't it lovely?" said Roland.
"And oh, I am so hungry, Rolly!"
Rolly took the hint.
The ponies were let loose to graze, Brawn being told to head them off if
they attempted to take to the woods.
"I understand," said Brawn, with an intelligent glance of his brown eyes
and wag of his tail.
Then down the boy and girl squatted with the noble wolf-hound beside
them, and Roland speedily spread the banquet on the moss.
I dare say that hunger and romance seldom tread the same platform--at
the same time, that is. It is usually one down, the other up; and
notwithstanding the extraordinary beauty of their surroundings, for some
time both boy and girl applied themselves assiduously to the discussion
of the good things before them; that meat-pie disappearing as if by
magic. Then the hard-boiled eggs, the well-buttered and flouriest of
floury scones, received their attention, and the whole was washed down
with _vinum bovis_, as Roland called it, cow's wine, or good milk.
Needless to say, Brawn, whose eyes sparkled like diamonds, and whose
ears were conveniently erect, came in for a good share.
Well, but the ponies, Boz and Coz, had not the remotest idea of running
away. In fact they soon drew near to the banqueting-table. Coz laid
his nose affectionately on his little mistress's shoulder and heaved an
equine sigh, and Boz began to nibble at Roland's ears in a very winning
way.
And the nibbling and the sigh brought them cakes galore.
Roland offered Boz a bit of pie.
The pony drew back, as if to say, "Vegetarians, weren't you aware?"
But Brawn cocked his bonnie head to one side, knowingly.
"Pitch it this way, master," he said. "I've got a crop for any kind of
corn, and a bag for peas."
A strange little rodent creature, much bigger than any rat, however,
with beautiful sad-looking eyes, came from the bush, and stood on its
hind-legs begging, not a yard away. Its breast was as white as snow.
Probably it had no experience of the genus _homo_, and all the cruelties
he is guilty of, under the title of sport.
Roland pitched several pieces of pie towards the innocent. It just
tasted a morsel, then back it ran towards the wood with wondrous speed.
If they thought they had seen the last of it, they were much mistaken,
for the innocent returned in two minutes time, accompanied not only by
another of his own size, but by half a dozen of the funniest little
fairies ever seen inside a forest.
"My wife and children," said innocent No. 1.
"My services to you," bobbed innocent No. 2.
But the young ones squawked and squealed, and tumbled and leapt over
each other as they fed in a manner so droll that boy and girl had to
laugh till the woods rang.
Innocent No. 1 looked on most lovingly, but took not a morsel to
himself.
Then all disappeared as suddenly as they had come.
Truly the student of Nature who betakes himself to lonely woods sees
many wonders!
It was time now to lie back in the moss and enjoy the _dolce far
niente_.
The sky was as blue as blue could be, all between the rifts of
slowly-moving clouds. The whisper of the wind among the forest trees,
and the murmur of the falling water, came like softest music to Roland's
ears. Small wonder, therefore, that his eyes closed, and he was soon in
the land of sweet forgetfulness.
But Peggy had a tiny book, from which she read passages to Brawn, who
seemed all attention, but kept one eye on the ponies at the same time.
It was a copy of the "Song of Hiawatha", a poem which Peggy thought
ineffably lovely. Hark to her sweet girl voice as she reads:
"These songs so wild and wayward,
These legends and traditions".
They appealed to her simple soul, for dearly did she love the haunts of
Nature.
"Loved the sunshine of the meadow,
Loved the shadow of the forest,
Loved the wind among the branches,
The rushing of great rivers
Through their palisades of pine-trees."
She believed, too:
"That even in savage bosoms
There are longings, yearnings, strivings
For the good they comprehend not;
That feeble hands and helpless,
Groping blindly in the darkness,
Touch God's right hand...
And are lifted up and strengthened".
----
Roland slumbered quietly, and the day went on apace.
He slept so peacefully that she hardly liked to arouse him.
The little red book dropped from her hand and fell on the moss, and her
thoughts now went far, far away adown the mighty river that flows so
sadly, so solemnly onwards to the great Atlantic Ocean, fed on its way
by a hundred rapid streams that melt in its dark bosom and are seen
nevermore.
But it was not the river itself the little maiden's thoughts were
dwelling on; not the strange wild birds that sailed along its surface on
snow-white wings; not the birds of prey--the eagle and the hawk--that
hovered high in air, or with eldritch screams darted on their prey like
bolts from the blue, and bore their bleeding quarries away to the silent
forest; not even the wealth of wild flowers that nodded over the banks
of the mighty stream.
Her thoughts were on board a tall and darksome raft that was slowly
making its way seaward to distant Para, or in the boats that towed it.
For there was someone on the raft or in those boats who even then might
be fondly thinking of the dark-haired maiden he had left behind.
But Peggy's awakening from her dream of romance, and Roland's from his
slumber, was indeed a terrible one.
CHAPTER II--STRANGE ADVENTURES IN THE FOREST--LOST!
Fierce eyes had been watching the little camp for an hour and more,
glaring out on the sunny glade from the dark depths of a forest tree not
far off; out from under a cloudland of waving foliage that rustled in
the balmy wind. Watching, and watching unwaveringly, Peggy, while she
read; watching the sleeping Roland; the great wolf-hound, Brawn; and
watching the ponies too.
Ever and anon these last would come closer to the tree, as they nibbled
grass or moss, then those fierce eyes burned more fiercely, and the
cat-like tail of a monster jaguar moved uneasily as if the wild beast
meditated a spring.
But the ponies, sniffing danger in the air, perhaps--who can
tell?--would toss their manes and retreat to the shadow of the rocks.
Had the dog not been there the beast would have dared all, and sprung at
once on one of those nimble steeds.
But he waited and watched, watched and waited, and at long last his time
came. With a coughing roar he now launched himself into the air, the
elasticity of the branch giving greater force to his spring.
Straight on the shoulders or back of poor Boz he alighted. His talons
were well driven home, his white teeth were preparing to tear the flesh
from the pony's neck.
Both little steeds yelled wildly, and in nightmarish terror.
Up sprang Brawn, the wolf-hound, and dashed on to the rescue.
Peggy seized her loaded rifle and hurried after him.
Thoroughly awake now, and fully cognizant of the terrible danger, Roland
too was quickly on the scene of action.
To fire at a distance were madness. He might have missed the struggling
lion and shot poor Boz, or even faithful Brawn.
This enormous dog had seized the beast by one hock, and with his paws
against the pony was endeavouring to tear the monster off.
The noise, the movement, the terror, caused poor Roland's head to whirl.
He felt dazed, and almost stupid.
Ah! but Peggy was clear-headed, and a brave and fearless child was she.
Her feet seemed hardly to touch the moss, so lightly did she spring
along.
Her little rifle was cocked and ready, and, taking advantage of a few
seconds' lull in the fearful scrimmage, she fired at five yards'
distance.
The bullet found billet behind the monster's ear, his grip relaxed, and
now Brawn tore him easily from his perch and finished him off on the
ground, with awful din and habbering.
Then, with blood-dripping jaws he came with his ears lower, half
apologetically, to receive the praise and caresses of his master and
mistress.
But though the adventure ended thus happily, frightened beyond measure,
the ponies, Coz and Boz, had taken to the bush and disappeared.
Knowing well the danger of the situation, Roland and Peggy, with Brawn,
tried to follow them. But Irish wolf-hounds have but little scent, and
so they searched and searched in vain, and returned at last to the
sun-kissed glade.
It was now well on towards three o'clock, and as they had a long forest
stretch of at least ten miles before them ere they could touch the banks
of the great queen of waters, Roland determined, with the aid of his
compass, to strike at once into the beast-trodden pathway by which they
had come, and make all haste homewards before the sun should set and
darkness envelop the gloomy forest.
"Keep up your heart, Peggy; if your courage and your feet hold out we
shall reach the river before dusk."
"I'm not so frightened now," said Peggy; but her lips were very
tremulous, and tears stood in her eyes.
"Come, come," she cried, "let us hurry on! Come, Brawn, good dog!"
Brawn leapt up to lick her ear, and taking no thought for the skin of
the jaguar, which in more favourable circumstances would have been borne
away as a trophy, and proof of Peggy's valour, they now took to the bush
in earnest.
Roland looked at his watch.
"Three hours of light and more. Ah! we can do it, if we do not lose our
way."
So off they set.
Roland took the lead, rifle in hand, Peggy came next, and brave Brawn
brought up the rear.
They were compelled to walk in single file, for the pathways were so
narrow in places that two could not have gone abreast.
Roland made constant reference to his little compass, always assuring
his companion that they were still heading directly for the river.
They had hurried on for nearly an hour, when Roland suddenly paused.
A huge dark monster had leapt clear and clean across the pathway some
distance ahead, and taken refuge in a tree.
It was, no doubt, another jaguar, and to advance unannounced might mean
certain death to one of the three.
"Are you all loaded, Peggy?" said Roland.
"Every chamber!" replied the girl.
There was no tremor about her now; and no backwoods Indian could have
acted more coolly and courageously.
"Blaze away at that tree then, Peg."
Peggy opened fire, throwing in three or four shots in rapid succession.
The beast, with a terrible cry, darted out of the tree and came rushing
along to meet and fight the little party.
"Down, Brawn, down! To heel, sir!"
Next moment Roland fired, and with a terrible shriek the jaguar took to
the bush, wounded and bleeding, and was seen no more.
But his yells had awakened the echoes of the forest, and for more than
five minutes the din of roaring, growling, and shrieking was fearful.
Wild birds, no doubt, helped to swell the pandemonium.
After a time, however, all was still once more, and the journey was
continued in silence.
Even Peggy, usually the first to commence a conversation, felt in no
mood for talking now.
She was very tired. Her feet ached, her brow was hot, and her eyes felt
as if boiling in their sockets.
Roland had filled his large flask at the little waterfall before leaving
the glade, and he now made her drink.
The draught seemed to renew her strength, and she struggled on as
bravely as ever.
----
Just two and a half hours after they had left the forest clearing, and
when Roland was holding out hopes that they should soon reach the road
by the banks of the river, much to their astonishment they found
themselves in a strange clearing which they had never seen before.
The very pathway ended here, and though the boy went round and round the
circle, he could find no exit.
To retrace his steps and try to find out the right path was the first
thought that occurred to Roland.
This plan was tried, but tried in vain, and so--weary and hopeless now
beyond measure--they returned to the centre of the glade and threw
themselves down on the soft green moss.
Lost! Lost!
The words kept repeating themselves in poor Roland's brain, but Peggy's
fatigue was so complete that she preferred rest even in the midst of
danger to going farther.
Brawn, heaving a great sigh, laid himself down beside them.
The warm day wore rapidly to a close, and at last the sun shimmered red
through the forest trees.
Then it sank.
The briefest of twilight, and the stars shone out.
Two hours of starlight, then solemnly uprose the round moon and flooded
all the glade, draping the whispering trees in a blue glare, beautifully
etherealizing them.
Sorrow bringeth sleep.
"Good-night, Rolly! Say your prayers," murmured Peggy.
There were stars in the sky. There were stars too that flitted from
bush to bush, while the winds made murmuring music among the lofty
branches.
Peggy was repeating to herself lines that she had read that very day:
..."the firefly Wah-wah-tay-see,
Flitting through the dusk of evening,
With the twinkle of its candle,
Lighting up the brakes and bushes.
* * * * *
Wah-wah-tay-see, little firefly,
Little, flitting, white-fire insect,
Little dancing, white-fire creature,
Light me with your little candle.
Ere upon my bed I lay me,
Ere in sleep I close my eyelids."
----
The forest was unusually silent to-night, but ever and anon might be
heard some distant growl showing that the woods sheltered the wildest
beasts. Or an owl with mournful cry would flap its silent wings as it
flew across the clearing.
But nothing waked those tired and weary sleepers.
So the night wore on and on. The moon had reached the zenith, and was
shining now with a lustre that almost rivalled daylight itself.
It must have been well on towards two o'clock in the morning when Brawn
emitted a low and threatening growl.
This aroused both Roland and Peggy, and the former at once seized his
rifle.
Standing there in the pale moonlight, not twenty yards away, was a tall,
dark-skinned, and powerful-looking Indian. In his right hand he held a
spear or something resembling one; in his left a huge catapult or sling.
He was dressed for comfort--certainly not for ornament. Leggings or
galligaskins covered his lower extremities, while his body was wrapped
in a blanket. He had no head-covering, save a matted mass of hair, in
which were stuck a few feathers.
Roland took all this in at a glance as he seized his rifle and prepared
for eventualities. According to the traditional painter of Indian life
and customs the proper thing for this savage to have said is "Ugh!" He
said nothing of the sort. Nor did he give vent to a whoop and yell that
would have awakened the wild birds and beasts of the forest and every
echo far and near.
"Who goes there?" cried Roland, raising his gun.
"No shootee. No shootee poor Indian man. I friendee you. Plenty
friendee."
Probably there was a little romance about Roland, for, instead of
saying: "Come this way then, old chap, squat down and give us the news,"
he said sternly:
"Advance, friend!"
But the Indian stood like a statue.
"No undahstandee foh true."
And Roland had to climb down and say simply:
"Come here, friend, and speak."
Brawn rushed forward now, but he looked a terror, for his hair was all
on end like a hyena's, and he growled low but fiercely.
"Down, Brawn! It's a good man, Brawn."
Brawn smelt the Indian's hand, and, seeming satisfied, went back to the
spot where Peggy sat wondering and frightened.
She gathered the great dog to her breast and hugged and kissed him.
"What foh you poh chillun sleepee all in de wood so? S'pose wild beas'
come eatee you, w'at den you do?"
"But, friend," replied Roland, "we are far from Burnley Hall, our home,
and we have lost everything. We have lost our ponies, lost our way, and
lost ourselves."
"Poh chillun!" said this strange being. "But now go sleepee foh true.
De Indian he lie on blanket. He watchee till de big sun rise."
"Can we trust him, Peggy?"
"Oh yes, yes!" returned Peggy. "He is a dear, good man; I know by his
voice."
In ten minutes more the boy and girl were fast asleep.
The Indian watched.
And Brawn watched the Indian.
----
When the sun went down on the previous evening, and there were no signs
of the young folks returning, both Mr. St. Clair and his wife became
very uneasy indeed.
Then two long hours of darkness ensued before the moon sailed up, first
reddening, then silvering, the wavelets and ripples on the great river.
"Surely some evil must have befallen them," moaned Mrs. St. Clair. "Oh,
my Roland! my son! I may never see you more. Is there nothing can be
done? Tell me! Tell me!"
"We must trust in Providence, Mary; and it is wrong to mourn. I doubt
not the children are safe, although perhaps they have lost their way in
the woods."
Hours of anxious waiting went by, and it was nearly midnight. The house
was very quiet and still, for the servants were asleep.
Burly Bill and Jake had mounted strong horses at moonrise, and gone off
to try to find a clue. But they knew it was in vain, nay, 'twould have
been sheer madness to enter the forest now. They coo-eed over and over
again, but their only answer was the echoing shriek of the wild birds.
They were just about to return after giving their last shrill coo-ee-ee,
when out from the moonlit forest, with a fond whinny, sprang Coz and
Boz.
Jake sprang out of his saddle, throwing his bridle to Bill.
In the bright moonlight, Jake could see at once that there was something
wrong. He placed his hand on Boz's shoulder. He staggered back as he
withdrew it.
"Oh, Bill," he cried, "here is blood, and the pony is torn and bleeding!
Only a jaguar could have done this. This is terrible."
"Let us return at once," said Bill, who had a right soft heart of his
own behind his burly chest.
"But oh!" he added, "how can we break the news to Roland's parents?"
"We'll give them hope. Mrs. St. Clair must know nothing yet, but at
early dawn all the ranch must be aroused, and we shall search the forest
for miles and miles."
----
Jake, after seeing the ponies safe in their stable, left Bill to look to
Boz's wounds, while with St. Clair's leave he himself set off at a round
gallop to get assistance from a neighbouring ranch.
Day had not yet broken ere forty good men and true were on the
bridle-path and tearing along the river's banks. St. Clair himself was
at their head.
I must leave the reader to imagine the joy of all the party when soon
after sunrise there emerged from the forest, guided by the strange
Indian, Roland, Peggy, and noble Brawn, all looking as fresh as the dew
on the tender-eyed hibiscus bloom or the wild flowers that nodded by the
river's brim.
"Wirr--rr--r--wouff, wouff, wouff!" barked Brawn, as he bounded forward
with joy in every feature of his noble face, and I declare to you there
seemed to be a lump in his throat, and the sound of his barking was
half-hysterical.
St. Clair could not utter a word as he fondly embraced the children. He
pretended to scold a little, but this was all bluff, and simply a ruse
to keep back the tears.
But soft-hearted Burly Bill was less successful. He just managed to drop
a little to the rear, and it was not once only that he was fain to draw
the sleeve of his rough jacket across his eyes.
----
But now they are mounted, and the horses' heads are turned homewards.
Peggy is seated in front of Burly Bill, of whom she is very fond, and
Roland is saddled with Jake. The Indian and Brawn ran.
Poor Mrs. St. Clair, at the big lawn gate, gazing westward, sees the
cavalcade far away on the horizon.
Presently, borne along on the morning breeze come voices raised in a
brave and joyous song:
"Down with them, down with the lords of the forest".
And she knows her boy and Peggy are safe.
"Thank God for all his mercies!" she says fervently, then, woman-like,
bursts into tears.
CHAPTER III--BURNLEY HALL, OLD AND NEW
I have noticed more than once that although the life-story of some good
old families in England may run long stagnant, still, when one important
event does take place, strange thing after strange thing may happen, and
the story rushes on with heedless speed, like rippling brooklets to the
sea.
The St. Clairs may have been originally a Scottish family, or branch of
some Highland clan, but they had been settled on a beautiful estate, far
away in the wilds of Cornwall, for over one hundred and fifty years.
Stay, though, we are not going back so far as that. Old history, like
old parchment, has a musty odour. Let us come down to more modern times.
When, then, young Roland's grandfather died, and died intestate, the
whole of the large estate devolved upon his eldest son, with its fat
rentals of fully four thousand a-year. Peggy St. Clair, our little
heroine, was his only child, and said to be, even in her infancy, the
very image of her dead-and-gone mother.
No wonder her father loved her.
But soon the first great event happened in the life-story of the St.
Clairs. For, one sad day Peggy's father was borne home from the
hunting-field grievously wounded.
All hope of recovery was abandoned by the doctor shortly after he had
examined his patient.
Were Herbert to die intestate, as his father had done, his second
brother John, according to the old law, could have stepped into his
shoes and become lord of Burnley Hall and all its broad acres.
But, alive to the peril of his situation, which the surgeon with tears
in his eyes pointed out to him, the dying man sent at once for his
solicitor, and a will was drawn up and placed in this lawyer's hands,
and moreover he was appointed one of the executors. This will was to be
kept in a safe until Peggy should be seventeen years of age, when it was
to be opened and read.
I must tell you that between the brothers Herbert and John there had
long existed a sort of blood-feud, and it was as well they never met.
Thomas, however, was quickly at his wounded brother's bedside, and never
left it until--
"Clay-cold Death had closed his eye".
The surgeon had never given any hopes, yet during the week that
intervened between the terrible accident and Herbert's death there were
many hours in which the doomed man appeared as well as ever, though
scarce able to move hand or foot. His mind was clear at such times, and
he talked much with Thomas about the dear old times when all were young.
Up till now this youngest son and brother, Thomas, had led rather an
uneasy and eventful life. Nothing prospered with him, though he had
tried most things.
He was married, and had the one child, Roland, to whom the reader has
already been introduced.
"Now, dear Tom," said Herbert, one evening after he had lain still with
closed eyes for quite a long time, and he placed a white cold hand in
that of his brother as he spoke, "I am going to leave you. We have
always been good friends and loved each other well. All I need tell you
now, and I tell you in confidence, is that Peggy, at the age of
seventeen, will be my heir, with you, dear Tom, as her guardian."
Tom could not reply for the gathering tears. He just pressed Herbert's
hand in silence.
"Well," continued the latter, "things have not gone over well with you,
I know, but I have often heard you say you could do capitally if you
emigrated to an almost new land--a land you said figuratively 'flowing
with milk and honey'. I confess I made no attempt to assist you to go
to the great valley of the Amazon. It was for a selfish reason I
detained you. My brother John being nobody to me, my desire was to have
you near."
He paused, almost exhausted, and Tom held a little cup of wine to his
lips.
Presently he spoke again.
"My little Peggy!" he moaned. "Oh, it is hard, hard to leave my
darling!
"Tom, listen. You are to take Peggy to your home. You are to care for
her as the apple of your eye. You must be her father, your wife her
mother."
"I will! I will! Oh, brother, can you doubt me!"
"No, no, Tom. And now you may emigrate. I leave you thirty thousand
pounds, all my deposit account at Messrs. Bullion & Co.'s bank. This is
for Peggy and you. My real will is a secret at present, and that which
will be read after--I go, is a mere epitome. But in future it will be
found that I have not forgotten even John."
Poor Peggy had run in just then, and perched upon the bed, wondering
much that her father should lie there so pale and still, and make no
attempt to romp with her. At this time her hair was as yellow as the
first approach of dawn in the eastern sky.
----
That very week poor Squire St. Clair breathed his last.
John came to the funeral with a long face and a crape-covered hat,
looking more like a mute than anything else.
He sipped his wine while the epitomized will was read; but a wicked
light flashed from his eyes, and he ground out an oath at its
conclusion.
All the information anyone received was that though sums varying from
five hundred pounds to a thousand were left as little legacies to
distant relations and to John, as well as _douceurs_ to the servants,
the whole of the estates were willed in a way that could not be divulged
for many a long year.
John seized his hat, tore from it the crape, and dashed it on the floor.
The crape on his arm followed suit. He trampled on both and strode away
slamming the door behind him.
Years had flown away.
Tom and his wife had emigrated to the banks of the Amazon. They settled
but a short time at or near one of its mouths, and then Tom, who had no
lack of enterprise, determined to journey far, far into the interior,
where the land was not so level, where mountains nodded to the moon, and
giant forests stretched illimitably to the southward and west.
At first Tom and his men, with faithful Bill as overseer, were mere
squatters, but squatters by the banks of the queen of waters, and in a
far more lovely place than dreams of elfinland. Labour was very cheap
here, and the Indians soon learned from the white men how to work.
Tom St. Clair had imported carpenters and artificers of many sorts from
the old country, to say nothing of steam plant and machinery, and that
great resounding steel buzz-saw.
Now, although not really extravagant, he had an eye for the beautiful,
and determined to build himself a house and home that, although not
costing a deal, would be in reality a miniature Burnley Hall. And what
a truly joyous time Peggy and her cousin, or adopted brother, had of it
while the house was gradually being built by the busy hands of the
trained Indians and their white brethren!
Not they alone, but also a boy called Dick Temple, whose uncle was Tom
St. Clair's nearest neighbour, That is, he lived a trifle over seven
miles higher up the river. Dick was about the same age and build as
Roland.
There was a good road between Temple's ranch and Tom St. Clair's place,
and when, after a time, Tom and Peggy had a tutor imported for their own
especial benefit, the two families became very friendly indeed.
Dick Temple was a well-set-up and really brave and good-looking lad.
Little Peggy averred that there never had been, or never could be,
another boy half so nice as Dick.
But I may as well state here at once and be done with it--Dick was
simply a reckless, wild dare-devil. Nothing else would suffice to
describe young Dick's character even at this early age. And he soon
taught Roland to be as reckless as himself.
----
Time rolled on, and the new Burnley Hall was a _fait accompli_.
The site chosen by Tom for his home by the river was a rounded and
wooded hill about a quarter of a mile back from the immediate bank of
the stream. But all the land between the hill and the Amazon was
cultivated, and not only this, but up and down the river as well for
over a mile, for St. Clair wanted to avoid too close contact with
unfriendly alligators, and these scaly reptiles avoid land on which
crops are growing.
The tall trees were first and foremost cleared off the hill; not all
though. Many of the most beautiful were left for effect, not to say
shade, and it was pleasant indeed to hear the wind whispering through
their foliage, and the bees murmuring in their branches, in this flowery
land of eternal summer.
Nor was the undergrowth of splendid shrubs and bushes and fruit-trees
cleared away. They were thinned, however, and beautiful broad winding
walks led up through them towards the mansion.
The house was one of many gables; altogether English, built of quartz
for the most part, and having a tower to it of great height.
From this tower one could catch glimpses of the most charming scenery,
up and down the river, and far away on the other shore, where forests
swam in the liquid air and giant hills raised their blue tops far into
the sky.
So well had Tom St. Clair flourished since taking up his quarters here
that his capital was returning him at least one hundred per cent, after
allowing for wear and tear of plant.
I could not say for certain how many white men he had with him. The
number must have been close on fifty, to say nothing of the scores and
scores of Indians.
Jake Solomons and Burly Bill were his overseers, but they delighted in
hard work themselves, as we have already seen. So, too, did Roland's
father himself, and as visitors to the district were few, you may be
certain he never wore a London hat nor evening dress.
Like those of Jake and Bill, his sleeves were always rolled up, and his
muscular arms and brave square face showed that he was fit for anything.
No, a London hat would have been sadly out of place; but the
broad-brimmed Buffalo Bill he wore became him admirably.
That big buzz-saw was a triumph. The clearing of the forest commenced
from close under the hill where stood the mansion, and strong horses and
bullocks were used to drag the gigantic trees towards the mill.
Splendid timber it was!
No one could have guessed the age of these trees until they were cut
down and sawn into lengths, when their concentric rings might be
counted.
The saw-mill itself was a long way from the mansion-house, with the
villages for the whites and Indians between, but quite separate from
each other.
The habitations of the whites were raised on piles well above the
somewhat damp ground, and steps led up to them. Two-roomed most of them
were, but that of Jake was of a more pretentious character. So, too,
was Burly Bill's hut.
It would have been difficult to say what the Indians lived on. Cakes,
fruit, fish, and meat of any kind might form the best answer to the
question. They ate roasted snakes with great relish, and many of these
were of the deadly-poisonous class. The heads were cut off and buried
first, however, and thus all danger was prevented. Young alligators
were frequently caught, too, and made into a stew.
The huts these faithful creatures lived in were chiefly composed of
bamboo, timber, and leaves. Sometimes they caught fire. That did not
trouble the savages much, and certainly did not keep them awake at
night. For, had the whole village been burned down, they could have
built another in a surprisingly short time.
When our hero and heroine got lost in the great primeval forest, Burnley
Hall was in the most perfect and beautiful order, and its walks, its
flower-garden, and shrubberies were a most pleasing sight. All was
under the superintendence of a Scotch gardener, whom St. Clair had
imported for the purpose.
By this time, too, a very large portion of the adjoining forest had been
cut down, and the land on which those lofty trees had grown was under
cultivation.
If the country which St. Clair had made his home was not in reality a
land flowing with milk and honey, it yielded many commodities equally
valuable. Every now and then--especially when the river was more or less
in flood--immense rafts were sent down stream to distant Para, where the
valuable timber found ready market.
Several white men in boats always went in charge of these, and the boats
served to assist in steering, and towing as well.
These rafts used often to be built close to the river before an expected
rising of the stream, which, when it did come, floated them off and
away.
But timber was not the only commodity that St. Clair sent down from his
great estate. There were splendid quinine-trees. There was coca and
cocoa, too.
There was a sugar plantation which yielded the best results, to say
nothing of coffee and tobacco, Brazil-nuts and many other kinds of nuts,
and last, but not least, there was gold.
This latter was invariably sent in charge of a reliable white man, and
St. Clair lived in hope that he would yet manage to position a really
paying gold-mine.
More than once St. Clair had permitted Roland and Peggy to journey down
to Para on a great raft. But only at the season when no storms blew.
They had an old Indian servant to cook and "do" for them, and the centre
of the raft was hollowed out into a kind of cabin roofed over with
bamboo and leaves. Steps led up from this on to a railed platform,
which was called the deck.
Burly Bill would be in charge of boats and all, and in the evenings he
would enter the children's cabin to sing them songs and tell them
strange, weird tales of forest life.
He had a banjo, and right sweetly could he play. Old Beeboo the Indian,
would invariably light his meerschaum for him, smoking it herself for a
good five minutes first and foremost, under pretence of getting it well
alight.
Beeboo, indeed, was altogether a character. Both Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair
liked her very much, however, for she had been in the family, and nursed
both Peggy and Roland, from the day they had first come to the country.
As for her age, she might have been any age between five-and-twenty and
one hundred and ten. She was dark in skin--oh, no! not black, but more
of copper colour, and showed a few wrinkles at early morn. But when
Beeboo was figged out in her nicest white frock and her deep-blue or
crimson blouse, with her hair hanging down in two huge plaits, then,
with the smile that always hovered around her lips and went dancing away
up her face till it flickered about her eyes, she was very pleasant
indeed. The wrinkles had all flown up to the moon or somewhere, and
Beeboo was five-and-twenty once again.
I must tell you something, however, regarding her, and that is the
worst. Beeboo came from a race of cannibals who inhabit one of the
wildest and almost inaccessible regions of Bolivia, and her teeth had
been filed by flints into a triangular shape, the form best adapted for
tearing flesh. She had been brought thence, along with a couple of
wonderful monkeys and several parrots, when only sixteen, by an English
traveller who had intended to make her a present to his wife.
Beeboo never got as far as England, however. She had watched her
chance, and one day escaped to the woods, taking with her one of the
monkeys, who was an especial favourite with this strange, wild girl.
She was frequently seen for many years after this. It was supposed she
had lived on roots and rats--I'm not joking--and slept at night in
trees. She managed to clothe herself, too, with the inner rind of the
bark of certain shrubs. But how she had escaped death from the talons
of jaguars and other wild beasts no one could imagine.
Well, one day, shortly after the arrival of St. Clair, hunters found the
jaguar queen, as they called her, lying in the jungle at the foot of a
tree.
There was a jaguar not far off, and a huge piece of sodden flesh lay
near Beeboo's cheek, undoubtedly placed there by this strange, wild pet,
while close beside her stood a tapir.
Beeboo was carried to the nearest village, and the tapir followed as
gently as a lamb. My informant does not know what became of the tapir,
but Beeboo was tamed, turned a Christian too, and never evinced any
inclination to return to the woods.
Yet, strangely enough, no puma nor jaguar would ever even growl or snarl
at Beeboo.
These statements can all be verified.
CHAPTER IV--AWAY DOWN THE RIVER
Before we start on this adventurous cruise, let us take a peep at an
upland region to the south of the Amazon. It was entirely surrounded by
caoutchouc or india-rubber trees, and it was while wandering through
this dense forest with Jake, and making arrangements for the tapping of
those trees, the juice of which was bound to bring the St. Clairs much
money, that they came upon the rocky table-land where they found the
gold.
This was some months after the strange Indian had found the "babes in
the wood", as Jake sometimes called Roland and Peggy.
"I say, sir, do you see the quartz showing white everywhere through the
bloom of those beautiful flowers?"
"Ugh!" cried St. Clair, as a splendidly-coloured but hideous large snake
hissed and glided away from between his feet. "Ugh! had I tramped on
that fellow my prospecting would have been all ended."
"True, sir," said Jake; "but about the quartz?"
"Well, Jake."
"Well, Mr. St. Clair, there is gold here. I do not say that we've
struck an El Dorado, but I am certain there is something worth digging
for in this region."
"Shall we try? You've been in Australia. What say you to a shaft?"
"Good! But a horizontal shaft carried into the base of this hill or
hummock will, I think, do for the present. It is only for samples, you
know."
And these samples had turned out so well that St. Clair, after claiming
the whole hill, determined to send Jake on a special message to Para to
establish a company for working it.
He could take no more labour on his own head, for really he had more
than enough to do with his estate.
No white men were allowed to work at the shaft. Only Indians, and these
were housed on the spot. So that the secret was well kept.
And now the voyage down the river was to be undertaken, and a most
romantic cruise it turned out to be.
St. Clair had ordered a steamer to be built for him in England and sent
out in pieces. She was called _The Peggy_, after our heroine. Not very
large--but little over the dimensions of a large steam-launch, in
fact--but big enough for the purpose of towing along the immense raft
with the aid of the current.
Jake was to go with his samples of golden sand and his nuggets; Burly
Bill, also, who was captain of the _Peggy_; and Beeboo, to attend to the
youngsters in their raft saloon. Brawn was not to be denied; and last,
but not least, went wild Dick Temple.
The latter was to sleep on board the steamer, but he would spend most of
his time by day on the raft.
All was ready at last. The great raft was floated and towed out far
from the shore. All the plantation hands, both whites and Indians, were
gathered on the banks, and gave many a lusty cheer as the steamer and
raft got under way.
The last thing that those on shore heard was the sonorous barking of the
great wolf-hound, Brawn.
There was a ring of joy in it, however, that brought hope to the heart
of both Tom St. Clair and his winsome wife.
Well, to our two heroes and to Peggy, not to mention Brawn and Burly
Bill, the cruise promised to be all one joyous picnic, and they set
themselves to make the most of it.
But to Jake Solomons it presented a more serious side. He was St.
Clair's representative and trusted man, and his business was of the
highest importance, and would need both tact and skill.
However, there was a long time to think about all this, for the river
does not run more than three miles an hour, and although the little
steamer could hurry the raft along at probably thrice that speed, still
long weeks must elapse before they could reach their destination.
As far as the raft was concerned, this would not be Para. She would be
grounded near to a town far higher up stream, and the timber, nuts,
spices, and rubber taken seaward by train.
In less than two days everyone had settled down to the voyage.
The river was very wide and getting wider, and soon scarcely could they
see the opposite shore, except as a long low green cloud on the northern
horizon.
Life on board the raft was for a whole week a most uneventful dreamy
sort of existence. One day was remarkably like another. There was the
blue of the sky above, the blue on the river's great breast, broken,
however, by thousands of lines of rippling silver.
There were strangely beautiful birds flying tack and half-tack around
the steamer and raft, waving trees flower-bedraped--the flowers trailing
and creeping and climbing everywhere, and even dipping their sweet faces
in the water,--flowers of every hue of the rainbow.
Dreamy though the atmosphere was, I would not have you believe that our
young folks relapsed into a state of drowsy apathy. Far from it. They
were very happy indeed. Dick told Peggy that their life, or his, felt
just like some beautiful song-waltz, and that he was altogether so happy
and jolly that he had sometimes to turn out in the middle watch to
laugh.
Peggy had not to do that.
In her little state-room on one side of the cabin, and in a hammock, she
slept as soundly as the traditional top, and on a grass mat on the deck,
with a footstool for a pillow, slumbered Beeboo.
Roland slept on the other side, and Brawn guarded the doorway at the
foot of the steps.
Long before Peggy was awake, and every morning of their aquatic lives,
the dinghy boat took the boys a little way out into mid-stream, and they
stripped and dived, enjoyed a two-minutes' splash, and got quickly on
board again.
The men always stood by with rifles to shoot any alligator that might be
seen hovering nigh, and more than once reckless Dick had a narrow
escape.
"But," he said one day in his comical way, "one has only once to die,
you know, and you might as well die doing a good turn as any other way."
"Doing a good turn?" said Roland enquiringly.
"Certainly. Do you not impart infinite joy to a cayman if you permit
him to eat you?"
The boys were always delightfully hungry half an hour before breakfast
was served.
And it was a breakfast too!
Beeboo would be dressed betimes, and have the cloth laid in the saloon.
The great raft rose and fell with a gentle motion, but there was nothing
to hurt, so that the dishes stuck on the cloth without any guard.
Beeboo could bake the most delicious of scones and cakes, and these,
served up hot in a clean white towel, were most tempting; the butter was
of the best and sweetest. Ham there was, and eggs of the gull, with
fresh fried fish every morning, and fragrant coffee.
Was it not quite idyllic?
The forenoon would be spent on deck under the awning; there was plenty
to talk about, and books to read, and there was the ever-varying
panorama to gaze upon, as the raft went smoothly gliding on, and on, and
on.
Sometimes they were in very deep water close to the bank, for men were
always in the chains taking soundings from the steamer's bows.
Close enough to admire the flowers that draped the forest trees; close
enough to hear the wild lilt of birds or the chattering of monkeys and
parrots; close enough to see tapirs moving among the trees, watched,
often enough, by the fierce sly eyes of ghastly alligators, that
flattened themselves against rocks or bits of clay soil, looking like a
portion of the ground, but warily waiting until they should see a chance
to attack.
There cannot be too many tapirs, and there cannot be too few alligators.
So our young heroes thought it no crime to shoot these squalid horrors
wherever seen.
But one forenoon clouds banked rapidly up in the southern sky, and soon
the sun was hidden in sulphurous rolling banks of cumulus.
No one who has ever witnessed a thunderstorm in these regions can live
long enough to forget it.
For some time before it came on the wind had gone down completely. In
yonder great forest there could not have been breeze or breath enough to
stir the pollen on the trailing flowers. The sun, too, seemed shorn of
its beams, the sky was no longer blue, but of a pale saffron or sulphur
colour.
It was then that giant clouds, like evil beasts bent on havoc and
destruction, began to show head above the horizon. Rapidly they rose,
battalion on battalion, phalanx on phalanx.
There were low mutterings even now, and flashes of fire in the far
distance. But it was not until the sky was entirely overcast that the
storm came on in dread and fearful earnest. At this time it was so
dark, that down in the raft saloon an open book was barely visible.
Then peal after peal, and vivid flash after flash, of blue and crimson
fire lit up forest and stream, striking our heroes and heroine blind, or
causing their eyes for a time to overrun with purple light.
So terrific was the thunder that the raft seemed to rock and shiver in
the sound.
This lasted for fully half an hour, the whole world seeming to be in
flames.
Peggy stood by Dick on the little deck, and he held her arm in his; held
her hand too, for it was cold and trembling.
"Are you afraid?" he whispered, during a momentary lull.
"No, Dick, not afraid, only cold, so cold; take me below."
He did so.
He made her lie down on the little sofa, and covered her with a rug.
All just in time, for now down came the awful rain. It was as if a
water-spout had broken over the seemingly doomed raft, and was sinking
it below the dark waters of the river.
Luckily the boys managed to batten down in time, or the little saloon
would have been flooded.
They lit the lamp, too.
But with the rain the storm seemed to increase in violence, and a strong
wind had arisen and added greatly to the terror of the situation. Hail
came down as large as marbles, and the roaring and din was now deafening
and terrible.
Then, the wind ceased to blow almost instantaneously. It did not die
away. It simply dropped all of a sudden. Hail and rain ceased shortly
after.
Dick ventured to peep on deck.
It was still dark, but far away and low down on the horizon a streak of
the brightest blue sky that ever he had seen had made its appearance.
It broadened and broadened as the dark canopy of clouds, curtain-like,
was lifted.
"Come up, Peggy. Come up, Rol. The storm is going. The storm has
almost gone," cried Dick; and soon all three stood once more on the
deck.
Away, far away over the northern woods rolled the last bank of clouds,
still giving voice, however, still spitting fire.
But now the sun was out and shining brightly down with a heat that was
fierce, and the raft was all enveloped in mist.
So dense, indeed, was the fog that rose from the rain-soaked raft, that
all the scenery was entirely obscured. It was a hot vapour, too, and
far from pleasant, so no one was sorry when Burly Bill suddenly appeared
from the lower part of the raft.
"My dear boys," he said heartily, "why, you'll be parboiled if you stop
here. Come with me, Miss Peggy, and you, Brawn; I'll come back for you,
lads. Don't want to upset the dinghy all among the 'gators, see?"
Bill was back again in a quarter of an hour, and the boys were also
taken on board the boat.
"She's a right smart little boat as ever was," said Bill; "but if we was
agoin' to get 'er lip on to the water, blow me tight, boys, if the
'gators wouldn't board us. They'm mebbe very nice sociable kind o'
animals, but bust my buttons if I'd like to enter the next world down a
'gator's gullet."
Beeboo did not mind the steam a bit, and by two o'clock she had as nice
a dinner laid in the raft saloon as ever boy or girl sat down to.
But by this time the timbers were dry once more, and although white
clouds of fog still lay over the low woods, all was now bright and
cheerful. Yet not more so than the hearts of our brave youngsters.
Courage and sprightliness are all a matter of strength of heart, and you
cannot make yourself brave if your system is below par. The coward is
really more to be pitied than blamed.
Well, it was very delightful, indeed, to sit on deck and talk, build
castles in the air, and dream daydreams.
The air was cool and bracing now, and the sun felt warm, but by no means
too hot.
The awning was prettily lined with green cloth, the work of Mrs. St.
Clair's own hands, assisted by the indefatigable Beeboo, and there was
not anything worth doing that she could not put willing, artful hands
to.
The awning was scalloped, too, if that be the woman's word for the flaps
that hung down a whole foot all round. "Vandyked" is perhaps more
correct, but then, you see, the sharp corners of the vandyking were all
rounded off. So I think scalloped must stand, though the word reminds
me strangely of oysters.
But peeping out from under the scalloped awning, and gazing northwards
across the sea-like river, boats under steam could be noticed.
Passengers on board too, both ladies and gentlemen, the former all
rigged out in summer attire.
"Would you like to be on board yonder?" said Dick to Peggy, as the girl
handed him back the lorgnettes.
"No, indeed, I shouldn't," she replied, with a saucy toss of her pretty
head.
"Well," she added, "if you were there, little Dickie, I mightn't mind it
so much."
"Little Dick! Eh?" Dick laughed right heartily now.
"Yes, little Dickie. Mind, I am nearly twelve; and after I'm twelve I'm
in my teens, quite an old girl. A child no longer anyhow. And after I'm
in my teens I'll soon be sixteen, and then I suppose I shall marry."
"Who will marry you, Peggy?"
This was not very good grammar, but Dick was in downright earnest
anyhow, and his young voice had softened wonderfully.
"Me?" he added, as she remained silent, with her eyes seeming to follow
the rolling tide.
"You, Dick! Why, you're only a child!"
"Why, Peggy, I'm fifteen--nearly, and if I live I'm bound to get older
and bigger."
"No, no, Dick, you can marry Beeboo, and I shall get spliced, as the
sailors call it, to Burly Bill."
The afternoon wore away, and Beeboo came up to summon "the chillun" to
tea.
Up they started, forgetting all about budding love, flirtation, and
future marriages, and made a rush for the companion-ladder.
"Wowff--wowff!" barked Brawn, and the 'gators on shore and the tapirs in
the woods lifted heads to listen, while parrots shrieked and monkeys
chattered and scolded among the lordly forest trees.
"Wowff--wowff!" he barked. "Who says cakes and butter?"
The night fell, and Burly Bill came on board with his banjo, and his
great bass voice, which was as sweet as the tone of a 'cello.
Bill was funnier than usual to-night, and when Beeboo brought him a big
tumbler of rosy rum punch, made by herself and sweetened with honey, he
was merrier still.
Then to complete his happiness Beeboo lit his pipe.
She puffed away at it for some time as usual, by way of getting it in
working order.
"'Spose," she said, "Beeboo not warm de bowl ob de big pipe plenty
proper, den de dear chile Bill take a chill."
"You're a dear old soul, Beeb," said Bill.
Then the dear old soul carefully wiped the amber mouth-piece with her
apron, and handed Burly Bill his comforter.
The great raft swayed and swung gently to and fro, so Bill sang his pet
sea-song, "The Rose of Allandale". He was finishing that bonnie verse--
"My life had been a wilderness,
Unblest by fortune's gale,
Had fate not linked my lot to hers,
The Rose of Allandale",
when all at once an ominous grating was heard coming from beneath the
raft, and motion ceased as suddenly as did Bill's song.
"Save us from evil!" cried Bill. "The raft is aground!"
CHAPTER V--A DAY IN THE FOREST WILDS
Burly Bill laid down his banjo. Then he pushed his great extinguisher
of a thumb into the bowl of his big meerschaum, and arose.
"De good Lawd ha' mussy on our souls, chillun!" cried Beeboo, twisting
her apron into a calico rope. "We soon be all at de bottom ob de deep,
and de 'gators a-pickin' de bones ob us!"
"Keep quiet, Beeb, there's a dear soul! Never a 'gator'll get near you.
W'y, look 'ow calm Miss Peggy is. It be'ant much as'll frighten she."
Burly Bill could speak good English when he took time, but invariably
reverted to Berkshire when in the least degree excited.
He was soon on board the little steamer.
"What cheer, Jake?" he said.
"Not much o' that. A deuced unlucky business. May lose the whole voyage
if it comes on to blow!"
"W'y, Jake, lad, let's 'ope for the best. No use givin' up; be there?
I wouldn't let the men go to prayers yet awhile, Jake. Not to make a
bizness on't like, I means."
Well, the night wore away, but the raft never budged, unless it was to
get a firmer hold of the mud and sand.
A low wind had sprung up too, and if it increased to a gale she would
soon begin to break up.
It was a dreary night and a long one, and few on board the steamer slept
a wink.
But day broke at last, and the sun's crimson light changed the ripples
on the river from leaden gray to dazzling ruby.
Then the wind fell.
"There are plenty of river-boats, Bill," said Jake. "What say you to
intercept one and ask assistance?"
"Bust my buttons if I would cringe to ne'er a one on 'em! They'd charge
salvage, and sponge enormous. I knows the beggars as sails these puffin'
Jimmies well."
"Guess you're about right, Bill, and you know the river better'n I."
"Listen, Jake. The bloomin' river got low all at once, like, after the
storm, and so you got kind o' befoozled, and struck. I'd a-kept further
out. But Burly Bill ain't the man to bully his mate. On'y listen
again. The river'll rise in a day or two, and if the wind keeps in its
sack, w'y we'll float like a thousand o' bricks on an old Thames lumper!
Bust my buttons, Jake, if we don't!"
"Well, Bill, I don't know anything about the bursting of your buttons,
but you give me hope. So I'll go to breakfast. Tell the engineer to
keep the fires banked."
Two days went past, and never a move made the raft.
It was a wearisome time for all. The "chillun", as Beeboo called them,
tried to beguile it in the best way they could with reading, talking,
and deck games.
Dick and Roland were "dons" at leap-frog, and it mattered not which of
them was giving the back, but as soon as the other leapt over Brawn
followed suit, greatly to the delight of Peggy. He jumped in such a
business-like way that everybody was forced to laugh, especially when
the noble dog took a leap that would have cleared a five-barred gate.
But things were getting slow on the third morning, when up sprang Burly
Bill with his cartridge-belt on and his rifle under his arm.
"Cap'n Jake," he said, touching his cap in Royal Navy fashion, "presents
his compliments to the crew of this durned old stack o' timber, and begs
to say that Master Rolly and Master Dick can come on shore with me for a
run among the 'gators, but that Miss Peggy had better stop on board with
Beeboo. Her life is too precious to risk!"
"Precious or not precious," pouted the girl, "Miss Peggy's going, and
Brawn too; so you may tell Captain Jake that."
"Bravo, Miss Peggy! you're a real St. Clair. Well, Beeboo, hurry up,
and get the nicest bit of cold luncheon ready for us ever you made in
your life."
"Beeboo do dat foh true. Plenty quick, too; but oh, Massa Bill, 'spose
you let any ebil ting befall de poh chillun, I hopes de 'gators'll eat
you up!"
"More likely, Beeb, that we'll eat them; and really, come to think of
it, a slice off a young 'gator's tail aint 'arf bad tackle, Beeboo."
An hour after this the boat was dancing over the rippling river. It was
not the dinghy, but a gig. Burly Bill himself was stroke, and three
Indians handled the other bits of timber, while Roland took the tiller.
The redskins sang a curious but happy boat-lilt as they rowed, and Bill
joined in with his 'cello voice:
"Ober de watter and ober de sea--ee--ee,
De big black boat am rowing so free,
Eee--Eee--O--ay--O!
De big black boat, is it nuffin' to me--ee--ee,
We're rowing so free?
"Oh yes, de black boat am some-dings to me
As she rolls o'er de watter and swings o'er de sea,
Foh de light ob my life, she sits in de stern,
An' sweet am de glance o' Peggy's dark e'e,
Ee--ee--O--ay--O--O!"
"Well steered!" said Burly Bill, as Roland ran the gig on the sandy
beach of a sweet little backwater.
Very soon all were landed. Bill went first as guide, and the Indians
brought up the rear, carrying the basket and a spare gun or two.
Great caution and care were required in venturing far into this wild,
tropical forest, not so much on account of the beasts that infested it
as the fear of getting lost.
It was very still and quiet here, however, and Bill had taken the
precaution to leave a man in the boat, with orders to keep his weather
ear "lifting", and if he heard four shots fired in rapid succession late
in the afternoon to fire in reply at once.
It was now the heat of the day, however, and the hairy inhabitants of
this sylvan wilderness were all sound asleep, jaguars and pumas among
the trees, and the tapirs in small herds wherever the jungle was
densest.
There was no chance, therefore, of getting a shot at anything.
Nevertheless, the boys and Peggy were not idle. They had brought
butterfly-nets with them, and the specimens they caught when about five
miles inland, where the forest opened out into a shrub-clad moorland,
were large and glorious in the extreme.
Indeed, some of them would fetch gold galore in the London markets.
But though these butterflies had an immense spread of quaintly-shaped
and exquisitely-coloured wings, the smaller ones were even more
brilliant.
Strange it is that Nature paints these creatures in colours which no
sunshine can fade. All the tints that man ever invented grow pale in
the sun; these never do, and the same may be said concerning the
tropical birds that they saw so many of to-day.
But no one had the heart to shoot any of these. Why should they soil
such beautiful plumage with blood, and so bring grief and woe into this
love-lit wilderness?
This is not a book on natural history, else gladly would I describe the
beauties in shape and colour of the birds, and their strange manners,
the wary ways adopted in nest-building, and their songs and queer ways
of love-making.
Suffice it to say here that the boys were delighted with all the
tropical wonders and all the picturesque gorgeousness they saw
everywhere around them.
But their journey was not without a spice of real danger and at times of
discomfort. The discomfort we may dismiss at once. It was borne, as
Beeboo would say, with Christian "forty-tood", and was due partly to the
clouds of mosquitoes they encountered wherever the soil was damp and
marshy, and partly to the attacks of tiny, almost invisible, insects of
the jigger species that came from the grass and ferns and heaths to
attack their legs.
Burly Bill was an old forester, and carried with him an infallible
remedy for mosquito and jigger bites, which acted like a charm.
In the higher ground--where tropical heath and heather painted the
surface with hues of crimson, pink, and purple--snakes wriggled and
darted about everywhere.
One cannot help wondering why Nature has taken the pains to paint many
of the most deadly of these in colours that rival the hues of the
humming-birds that yonder flit from bush to bush, from flower to flower.
Perhaps it is that they may the more easily seek their prey, their gaudy
coats matching well with the shrubs and blossoms that they wriggle
amongst, while gliding on and up to seize helpless birds in their nests
or to devour the eggs.
Parrots here, and birds of that ilk, have an easy way of repelling such
invaders, for as soon as they see them they utter a scream that
paralyses the intruders, and causes them to fall helplessly to the
ground.
To all creatures Nature grants protection, and clothes them in a manner
that shall enable them to gain a subsistence; but, moreover, every
creature in the world has received from the same great power the means
of defending or protecting itself against the attacks of enemies.
On both sides, then, is Nature just, for though she does her best to
keep living species extant until evolved into higher forms of life, she
permits each species to prey on the overgrowth or overplus of others
that it may live.
Knocking over a heap of soft dry mould with the butt end of his rifle,
Dick started back in terror to see crawl out from the heap a score or
more of the most gigantic beetles anyone could imagine. These were
mostly black, or of a beautiful bronze, with streaks of metallic blue
and crimson.
They are called harlequins, and live on carrion. Nothing that dies comes
wrong to these monsters, and a few of them will seize and carry away a
dead snake five or six hundred times their own weight. My readers will
see by this that it is not so much muscle that is needed for feats of
strength as indomitable will and nerve force. But health must be at the
bottom of all. Were a man, comparatively speaking, as strong as one of
these beetles, he could lift on his back and walk off with a weight of
thirty tons!
Our heroes had to stop every now and then to marvel at the huge working
ants, and all the wondrous proofs of reason they evinced.
It was well to stand off, however, if, with snapping horizontal
mandibles and on business intent, any of these fellows approached. For
their bites are as poisonous as those of the green scorpions or
centipedes themselves.
What with one thing or another, all hands were attacked by healthy
hunger at last, and sought the shade of a great spreading tree to
satisfy Nature's demands.
When the big basket was opened it was found that Beeboo had quite
excelled herself. So glorious a luncheon made every eye sparkle to look
at it. And the odour thereof caused Brawn's mouth to water and his eyes
to sparkle with expectancy.
The Indians had disappeared for a time. They were only just round the
shoulder of a hill, however, where they, too, were enjoying a good feed.
But just as Burly Bill was having a taste from a clear bottle, which, as
far as the look of it went, would have passed for cold tea, two Indian
boys appeared, bringing with them the most delicious of fruits as well
as fresh ripe nuts.
The luncheon after that merged into a banquet.
Burly Bill took many sips of his cold tea. When I come to think over
it, however, I conclude there was more rum than cold tea in that brown
mixture, or Bill would hardly have smacked his lips and sighed with such
satisfaction after every taste.
The fruit done, and even Brawn satisfied, the whole crew gave themselves
up to rest and meditation. The boys talked low, because Peggy's
meditations had led to gentle slumber. An Indian very thoughtfully
brought a huge plantain leaf which quite covered her, and protected her
from the chequered rays of sunshine that found their way through the
tree. Brawn edged in below the leaf also, and enjoyed a good sleep
beside his little mistress.
Not a gun had been fired all day long, yet a more enjoyable picnic in a
tropical forest it would be difficult to imagine.
Perhaps the number of the Indians scared the jaguars away, for none
appeared.
Yet the day was not to end without an adventure.
Darkness in this country follows the short twilight so speedily, that
Burly Bill did well to get clear of the forest's gloom while the sun was
still well above the horizon.
He trusted to the compass and his own good sense as a forester to come
out close to the spot where he had left the boat. But he was deceived.
He struck the river a good mile and a half above the place where the
steamer lay at anchor and the raft aground on the shoals.
Lower and lower sank the sun. The ground was wet and marshy, and the
'gators very much in evidence indeed.
Now the tapirs--and droll pig-bodied creatures they look, though in
South America nearly as big as donkeys--are of a very retiring
disposition, but not really solitary animals as cheap books on natural
history would have us believe. They frequent low woods, where their
long snouts enable them to pull down the tender twigs and foliage on
which, with roots, which they can speedily unearth, they manage to
exist--yes, and to wax fat and happy.
But they are strict believers in the doctrine of cleanliness, and are
never found very far from water. They bathe every night.
Just when the returning picnic was within about half a mile of the boat,
Burly Bill carrying Peggy on his shoulder because the ground was damp, a
terrible scrimmage suddenly took place a few yards round a backwater.
There was grunting, squeaking, the splashing of water, and cries of
pain.
"Hurry on, boys; hurry on; two of you are enough! It's your show, lads."
The boys needed no second bidding, and no sooner had they opened out the
curve than a strange sight met their gaze.
CHAPTER VI--"NOT ONE SINGLE DROP OF BLOOD SHED"
A gigantic and horribly fierce alligator had seized upon a strong young
tapir, and was trying to drag it into the water.
The poor creature had both its feet set well in front, and was resisting
with all its might, while two other larger animals, probably the
parents, were clawing the cayman desperately with their fore-feet.
But ill, indeed, would it have fared with all three had not our heroes
appeared just in the nick of time.
For several more of these scaly and fearsome reptiles were hurrying to
the scene of action.
Dick's first shot was a splendid one. It struck the offending cayman in
the eye, and went crashing through his brain.
The brute gasped, the blood flowed freely, and as he fell on his side,
turning up his yellow belly, the young tapir got free, and was hurried
speedily away to the woods.
Volley after volley was poured in on the enraged 'gators, but the boys
had to retreat as they fought. Had they not done so, my story would have
stopped short just here.
It was not altogether the sun's parting rays that so encrimsoned the
water, but the blood of those old-world caymans.
Three in all were killed in addition to the one first shot. So that it
is no wonder the boys felt elated.
Beeboo had supper waiting and there was nothing talked about that
evening except their strange adventures in the beautiful forest.
----
Probably no one could sleep more soundly than did our heroes and heroine
that night.
Next day, and next, they went on shore again, and on the third a huge
jaguar, who fancied he would like to dine off Brawn's shoulder, fell a
victim to Dick Temple's unerring aim.
But the raft never stirred nor moved for a whole week.
Said Bill to Jake one morning, as he took his meerschaum from his mouth:
"I think, Jake, and w'at I thinks be's this like. There ain't ne'er a
morsel o' good smokin' and on'y just lookin' at that fine and valuable
pile o' timber. It strikes me conclusive like that something 'ad better
be done."
"And what would you propose, Bill?" said Jake.
"Well, Jake, you're captain like, and my proposition is subject to your
disposition as it were. But I'd lighten her, and lighten her till she
floats; then tow her off, and build up the odd timbers again."
"Good! You have a better head than I have, Bill; and it's you that
should have been skipper, not me."
Nothing was done that day, however, except making a few more attempts
with the steamer at full speed to tow her off. She did shift and slue
round a little, but that was all.
Next morning dawned as beautifully as any that had gone before it.
There were fleecy clouds, however, hurrying across the sky as if on
business bent, and the blue between them was bluer than ever our young
folks had seen it.
Dick Temple, with Roland and Peggy, had made up their minds to go on
shore for another day while the work of dismantling the raft went on.
But a fierce south wind began to blow, driving heavy black clouds before
it, and lashing the river into foam.
One of those terrible tropic storms was evidently on the cards, and come
it did right soon.
The darkest blackness was away to the west, and here, though no thunder
could be heard, the lightning was very vivid. It was evident that this
was the vortex of the hurricane, for only a few drops of rain fell
around the raft.
The picnic scheme was of course abandoned, and all waited anxiously
enough for something to come.
That something did come in less than an hour--the descent of the mighty
Amazon in flood. Its tributaries had no doubt been swollen by the awful
rain and water-spouts, and poured into the great queen of rivers double
their usual discharge.
A bore is a curling wave like a shore breaker that rushes down the
smaller rivers, and is terribly destructive to boating or to shipping.
The Amazon, however, did not rise like this. It came rushing almost
silently down in a broad tall wave that appeared to stretch right across
it, from the forest-clad bank where the raft lay to the far-off green
horizon in the north.
But Burly Bill was quite prepared for eventualities.
Steam had been got up, the vessel's bows were headed for up stream, and
the hawser betwixt raft and boat tautened.
On and on rushed the huge wave. It towered above the raft, even when
fifty yards away, in the most threatening manner, as if about to sweep
all things to destruction.
But on its nearer approach it glided in under the raft, and steamer as
well--like some huge submarine monster such as we read of in fairy books
of the long-long-ago--glided in under them, and seemed to lift them
sky-high.
"Go ahead at full speed!"
It was the sonorous voice of Burly Bill shouting to the engineer.
"Ay, ay, sir!" came the cheery reply.
The screw went round with a rush.
It churned up a wake of foaming water as the _Peggy_ began to forge
ahead, and next minute, driven along on the breeze, the monster raft
began to follow and was soon out and away beyond danger from rock or
shoal.
Then arose to heaven a prayer of thankfulness, and a cheer so loud and
long that even the parrots and monkeys in the forest depths heard it,
and yelled and chattered till they frightened both 'gators and jaguars.
Just two weeks after these adventures, the little _Peggy_ was at anchor,
and the great raft safely beached.
Burly Bill was left in charge with his white men and his Indians, with
Dick Temple to act as supercargo, and Jake Solomons with Roland and
Peggy, not to mention the dog, started off for Para.
In due course, but after many discomforts, they arrived there, and Jake,
after taking rooms in a hotel, hurried off to secure his despatches from
the post-office.
"No letters!" cried Jake, as his big brown fist came down with a bang on
the counter. "Why, I see the very documents I came for in the
pigeon-hole behind you!"
The clerk, somewhat alarmed at the attitude of this tall Yankee
backwoodsman, pulled them out and looked at them.
"They cannot be delivered," he said.
"And why?" thundered Jake, "Inasmuch as to wherefore, you greasy-faced
little whipper-snapper!"
"Not sufficient postage."
Jake thrust one hand into a front pocket, and one behind him. Then on
the counter he dashed down a bag of cash and a six-chambered revolver.
"I'm Jake Solomons," he said. "There before you lies peace or war.
Hand over the letters, and you'll have the rhino. Refuse, and I guess
and calculate I'll blow the whole top of your head off."
The clerk preferred peace, and Jake strode away triumphant.
When he returned to the hotel and told the boys the story, they laughed
heartily. In their eyes, Jake was more a hero than ever.
"Ah!" said the giant quietly, "there's nothing brings these long-shore
chaps sooner to their senses than letting 'em have a squint down the
barrel of a six-shooter."
The letters were all from Mr. St. Clair, and had been lying at the
post-office for over a week. They all related to business, to the sale
of the timber and the other commodities, the best markets, and so on and
so forth, with hints as to the gold-mine.
But the last one was much more bulky than the others, and so soon as he
had glanced at the first lines, Jake lit his meerschaum, then threw
himself back in his rocker to quietly discuss it.
It was a plain, outspoken letter, such as one man of the world writes to
another. Here is one extract:--
_Our business is increasing at a rapid rate, Jake Solomon. I have too
much to do and so have you; therefore, although I did not think it
necessary to inform you before, I have been in communication with my
brother John, and he is sending me out a shrewd, splendid man of
business. He will have arrived before your return._
_I can trust John thoroughly, and this Don Pedro Salvador, over and
above his excellent business capabilities, can talk Spanish, French, and
Portuguese._
_I do not quite like the name, Jake, so he must be content to be called
plain Mr. Peter._
----
About the very time that Jake Solomons was reading this letter, there
sat close to the sky-light of an outward-bound steamer at Liverpool, two
men holding low but earnest conversation. Their faces were partly
obscured, for it was night, and the only light a glimmer from the ship's
lamp.
Steam was up and roaring through the pipes.
A casual observer might have noted that one was a slim, swarthy, but
wiry, smart-looking man of about thirty. His companion was a man
considerably over forty.
"I shall go now," said the latter. "You have my instructions, and I
believe I can trust you."
"Have I not already given you reason to?" was the rejoinder. "At the
risk of penal servitude did I not steal my employer's keys, break into
his room at night, and copy that will for you? It was but a copy of a
copy, it is true, and I could not discover the original, else the
quickest and simplest plan would have been--fire:"
"True, you did so, but"--the older man laughed lightly--"you were well
paid for the duty you performed."
"Duty, eh?" sneered the other. "Well," he added, "thank God nothing has
been discovered. My employer has bidden me an almost affectionate
farewell, and given me excellent certificates."
The other started up as a loud voice hailed the deck:
"Any more for the shore!"
"I am going now," he said. "Good-bye, old man, and remember my last
words: not one single drop of blood shed!"
"I understand, and will obey to the letter. Obedience pays."
"True; and you shall find it so. Good-bye!"
"_A Dios!_" said the other.
The last bell was struck, and the gangway was hauled on shore.
The great ship _Benedict_ was that night rolling and tossing about on
the waves of the Irish Channel.
----
Jake Solomons acquainted Roland and Peggy with the contents of this last
letter, and greatly did the latter wonder what the new overseer would be
like, and if she should love him or not.
For Peggy had a soft little heart of her own, and was always prepared to
be friendly with anyone who, according to her idea, was nice.
Jake took his charges all round the city next day and showed them the
sights of what is now one of the most beautiful towns in South America.
The gardens, the fountains, the churches and palaces, the flowers and
fruit, and feathery palm-trees, all things indeed spoke of
delightfulness, and calm, and peace.
And far beyond and behind all this was the boundless forest primeval.
This was not their last drive through the city, and this good fellow
Jake, though his business took him from home most of the day, delighted
to take the children to every place of amusement he could think of. But
despite all this, these children of the forest wilds began to long for
home, and very much rejoiced were they when one evening, after dinner,
Jake told them they should start on the morrow for Bona Vista, near to
which town the little steamer lay, and so up the great river and home.
Jake had done all his business, and done it satisfactorily, and could
return to the old plantation and Burnley Hall with a light and cheerful
heart.
He had even sold the mine, although it was not to be worked for some
time to come.
CHAPTER VII--"A COLD HAND SEEMED TO CLUTCH HER HEART"
Many months passed away pleasantly and happily enough on the old
plantation. The children--Roland, by the way, would hardly have liked
to be called a child now--were, of course, under the able tuition of Mr.
Simons, but in addition Peggy had a governess, imported directly from
Para.
This was a dark-eyed Spanish girl, very piquant and pretty, who talked
French well, and played on both the guitar and piano.
Tom St. Clair had not only his boy's welfare, but his niece's, or
adopted daughter's, also at heart.
It would be some years yet before she arrived at the age of sweet
seventeen, but when she did, her uncle determined to sell off or realize
on his plantation, his goods and chattels, and sail across the seas once
more to dear old Cornwall and the real Burnley Hall.
He looked forward to that time as the weary worker in stuffy towns or
cities does to a summer holiday.
There is excitement enough in money-making, it is like an exhilarating
game of billiards or whist, but it is apt to become tiresome.
And Tom St. Clair was often overtired and weary. He was always glad when
he reached home at night to his rocking-chair and a good dinner, after
toiling all day in the recently-started india-rubber-forest works.
But Mr. Peter took a vast deal of labour off his hands.
Mr. Peter, or Don Pedro, ingratiated himself with nearly everyone from
the first, and seemed to take to the work as if to the manner born.
There were three individuals, however, who could not like him, strange
to say; these were Peggy herself, Benee the Indian who had guided them
through the forest when lost, and who had remained on the estate ever
since, while the third was Brawn, the Irish wolf-hound.
The dog showed his teeth if Peter tried even to caress him.
Both Roland and Dick--the latter was a very frequent visitor--got on
very well with Peter--trusted him thoroughly.
"How is it, Benee," said Roland one day to the Indian, "that you do not
love Don Pedro?"
Benee spat on the ground and stamped his foot.
"I watch he eye," the semi-savage replied. "He one very bad man. Some
day you know plenty moochee foh true."
"Well," said Tom one evening as he and his wife sat alone in the
verandah together, "I do long to get back to England. I am tired, dear
wife--my heart is weak why should we remain here over two years more?
We are wealthy enough, and I promise myself and you, dear, many long
years of health and happiness yet in the old country."
He paused and smoked a little; then, after watching for a few moments
the fireflies that flitted from bush to bush, he stretched his left arm
out and rested his hand on his wife's lap.
Some impulse seized her. She took it and pressed it to her lips. But a
tear trickled down her cheek as she did so.
Lovers still this couple were, though nearly twenty years had elapsed
since he led her, a bonnie, buxom, blushing lassie, to the altar.
But now in a sweet, low, but somewhat sad voice he sang a verse of that
dear old song--"We have lived and loved together":--
"We have lived and loved together
Through many changing years,
We have shared each other's gladness
And dried each other's tears.
I have never known a sorrow
That was long unsoothed by thee,
For thy smile can make a summer
Where darkness else would be.
Mrs. St. Clair would never forget that evening on the star-lit lawn, nor
the flitting, little fire-insects, nor her husband's voice.
----
Is it not just when we expect it least that sorrow sometimes falls
suddenly upon us, hiding or eclipsing all our promised happiness and
joy?
I have now to write a pitiful part of my too true story, but it must be
done.
Next evening St. Clair rode home an hour earlier.
He complained of feeling more tired than usual, and said he would lie
down on the drawing-room sofa until dinner was ready.
Peggy went singing along the hall to call him at the appointed time.
She went singing into the room.
"Pa, dear," she cried merrily; "Uncle-pa, dinner is all beautifully
ready!"
"Come, Unky-pa. How sound you sleep!"
Then a terror crept up from the earth, as it were, and a cold hand
seemed to clutch her heart.
She ran out of the room.
"Oh, Auntie-ma!" she cried, "come, come quickly, pa won't wake, nor
speak!"
Heigho! the summons had come, and dear "Uncle-pa" would never, never
wake again.
This is a short chapter, but it is too sad to continue.
So falls the curtain on the first act of this life-drama.
CHAPTER VIII--FIERCELY AND WILDLY BOTH SIDES FOUGHT
The gloomy event related in last chapter must not be allowed to cast a
damper over our story.
Of course death is always and everywhere hovering near, but why should
boys like you and me, reader, permit that truth to cloud our days or
stand between us and happiness?
Two years, then, have elapsed since poor, brave Tom St. Clair's death.
He is buried near the edge of the forest in a beautiful enclosure where
rare shrubs grow, and where flowers trail and climb far more beautiful
than any we ever see in England.
At first Mrs. St. Clair had determined to sell all off and go back to
the old country, but her overseer Jake Solomons and Mr. Peter persuaded
her not to, or it seemed that it was their advice which kept her from
carrying out her first intentions. But she had another reason, she
found she could not leave that lonesome grave yet awhile.
So the years passed on.
The estate continued to thrive.
Roland was now a handsome young fellow in his eighteenth year, and
Peggy, now beautiful beyond compare, was nearly fifteen.
Dick Temple, the bold and reckless huntsman and horseman, was quieter
now in his attentions towards her. She was no longer the child that he
could lift on to his broad young shoulders and carry, neighing and
galloping like a frightened colt, round and round the lawn.
And Roland felt himself a man. He was more sober and sedate, and had
taken over all his father's work and his father's responsibilities. But
for all that, lightly enough lay the burden on his heart.
For he had youth on his side, and
"In the lexicon of youth which fate reserves
For a bright manhood there is no such word
As fail".
----
I do not, however, wish to be misunderstood. It must not be supposed
that Roland had no difficulties to contend with, that all his business
life was as fair and serene as a bright summer's day. On the contrary,
he had many losses owing to the fluctuations of the markets and the
failures of great firms, owing to fearful storms, and more than once
owing to strikes or revolts among his Indians in the great india-rubber
forest.
But Roland was light-hearted and young, and difficulties in life, I have
often said, are just like nine-pins, they are put up to be bowled over.
Besides, be it remembered that if it were all plain sailing with us in
this world we should not be able to appreciate how really happy our
lives are. The sky is always bluest 'twixt the darkest clouds.
On the whole, Roland, who took stock, and, with honest Bill and Jake
Solomons, went over the books every quarter, had but little reason to
complain. This stock-taking consumed most of their spare time for the
greater part of a week, and when it was finished Roland invariably gave
a dinner-party, at which I need hardly say his dear friend Dick Temple
was present. And this was always the happiest of happy nights to Dick,
because the girl he loved more than all things on earth put together was
here, and looked so innocent and beautiful in her simple dresses of
white and blue.
There was no such thing as flirtation here, but Dick was fully and
completely in earnest when he told himself that if he lived till he was
three- or four-and-twenty he would ask Peggy to be his wife.
Ah! there is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip.
Dick, I might, could, would, or should have told you before, lived with
a bachelor uncle, who, being rather old and infirm, seldom came out. He
had good earnest men under him, however, as overseers, and his
plantations were thriving, especially that in which tobacco was
cultivated.
The old man was exceedingly fond of Dick, and Dick would be his heir.
Probably it was for his uncle's sake that Dick stayed in the
country--and of course for Peggy's and Roland's--for, despite its grand
field for sport and adventure, the lad had a strange longing to go to
England and play cricket or football.
He had been born in Britain just as Roland was, and had visited his
childhood's home more than once during his short life.
Now just about this time Don Pedro, or Mr. Peter as all called him, had
asked for and obtained a holiday. He was going to Para for a change, he
said, and to meet a friend from England.
That he did meet a friend from England there was little doubt, but their
interview was a very short one. Where he spent the rest of his time was
best known to himself.
In three months or a little less he turned up smiling again, and most
effusive.
About a fortnight after his arrival he came to Jake one morning pretty
early.
Jake was preparing to start on horseback for the great forest.
"I'm on the horns of a dilemma, Mr. Solomons," he said, laughing his
best laugh. "During the night about twenty Bolivian Indians have
encamped near to the forest. They ask for work on the india-rubber
trees. They are well armed, and all sturdy warriors. They look as if
fighting was more in their line than honest labour."
"Well, Mr. Peter, what is their excuse for being here anyhow?"
"They are bound for the sea-shore at the mouths of the river, and want
to earn a few dollars to help them on."
"Well, where is the other horn of the dilemma?"
"Oh! if I give them work they may corrupt our fellows."
"Then, Mr. Peter, I'd give the whole blessed lot the boot and the sack."
"Ah! now, Mr. Solomons, you've got to the other horn. These savages,
for they are little else, are revengeful."
"We're not afraid."
"No, we needn't be were they to make war openly, but they are sly, and
as dangerous as sly. They would in all probability burn us down some
dark night."
Jake mused for a minute. Then he said abruptly:
"Let the poor devils earn a few dollars, Mr. Peter, if they are
stony-broke, and then send them on their way rejoicing."
"That's what I say, too," said Burly Bill, who had just come up. "I've
been over yonder in the starlight. They look deuced uncouth and nasty.
So does a bull-dog, Jake, but is there a softer-hearted, more kindly dog
in all creation?"
So that very day the Indians set to work with the other squads.
The labour connected with the collecting of india-rubber is by no means
very hard, but it requires a little skill, and is irksome to those not
used to such toil.
But labour is scarce and Indians are often lazy, so on the whole Jake
was not sorry to have the new hands, or "serinqueiros" as they are
called.
The india-rubber trees are indigenous and grow in greatest profusion on
that great tributary of the Amazon called the Madeira. But when poor
Tom St. Clair came to the country he had an eye to business. He knew
that india-rubber would always command a good market, and so he visited
the distant forests, studied the growth and culture of the trees as
conducted by Nature, and ventured to believe that he could improve upon
her methods.
He was successful, and it was not a great many years before he had a
splendid plantation of young trees in his forest, to say nothing of the
older ones that had stood the brunt of many a wild tropical storm.
It will do no harm if I briefly describe the method of obtaining the
india-rubber. Tiny pots of tin, holding about half a pint, are hung
under an incision in the bark of the tree, and these are filled and
emptied every day, the contents being delivered by the Indian labourers
at the house or hut of an under-overseer.
The sap is all emptied into larger utensils, and a large smoking fire,
made of the nuts of a curious kind of palm called the Motokoo, being
built, the operators dip wooden shovels into the sap, twirling these
round quickly and holding them in the smoke. Coagulation takes place
very quickly. Again the shovel is dipped in the sap, and the same
process is repeated until the coagulated rubber is about two inches
thick, when it is cooled, cut, or sliced off, and is ready for the
distant market.
Now, from the very day of their arrival, there was no love lost between
the old and steady hands and this new band of independent and flighty
ones.
The latter were willing enough to slice the bark and to hang up their
pannikins, and they would even empty them when filled, and condescend to
carry their contents to the preparing-house. But they were lazy in the
extreme at gathering the nuts, and positively refused to smoke the sap
and coagulate it.
It made them weep, they explained, and it was much more comfortable to
lie and wait for the sap while they smoked and talked in their own
strange language.
After a few days the permanent hands refused to work at the same trees,
or even in the same part of the estrados or roads that led through the
plantation of rubber-trees.
A storm was brewing, that was evident. Nor was it very long before it
burst.
All unconscious that anything was wrong, Peggy, with Brawn, was romping
about one day enjoying the busy scene, Peggy often entering into
conversation with some of her old favourites, when one of the strange
Indians, returning from the tub with an empty tin, happened to tread on
Brawn's tail.
The dog snarled, but made no attempt to bite. Afraid, however, that he
would spring upon the fellow, Peggy threw herself on the ground,
encircling her arms around Brawn's shoulders, and it was she who
received the blow that was meant for the dog.
It cut her across the arm, and she fainted with pain.
Brawn sprang at once upon his man and brought him down.
[Illustration: "BRAWN SPRANG AT ONCE UPON HIS MAN"]
He shook the wretch as if he had been but a rat, and blood flowed
freely.
Burly Bill was not far off, and just as the great hound had all but
fixed the savage by the windpipe, which he would undoubtedly have torn
out, Bill pulled him off by the collar and pacified him.
The blood-stained Indian started to his legs to make good his retreat,
but as his back was turned in flight, Bill rushed after him and dealt
him a kick that laid him prone on his face.
This was the signal for a general melee, and a terrible one it was!
Bill got Peggy pulled to one side, and gave her in charge to Dick, who
had come thundering across on his huge horse towards the scene of
conflict.
Under the shelter of a spreading tree Dick lifted his precious charge.
But she speedily revived when he laid her flat on the ground. She
smiled feebly and held out her hand, which Dick took and kissed, the
tears positively trickling over his cheeks.
Perhaps it was a kind of boyish impulse that caused him to say what he
now said:
"Oh, Peggy, my darling, how I love you! Whereever you are, dear,
wherever I am--oh, always think of me a little!"
That was all.
A faint colour suffused Peggy's cheek for just a moment. Then she sat
up, and the noble hound anxiously licked her face.
But she had made no reply.
Meanwhile the melee went merrily on, as a Donnybrook Irishman might
remark.
Fiercely and wildly both sides fought, using as weapons whatsoever came
handiest.
But soon the savages were beaten and discomfited with, sad to tell, the
loss of one life--that of a savage.
Not only Jake himself, but Roland and Mr. Peter were now on the scene of
the recent conflict. Close to Peter's side, watching every movement of
his lips and eyes, stood Benee, the Indian who had saved the children.
Several times Peter looked as if he felt uneasy, and once he turned
towards Benee as if about to speak.
He said nothing, and the man continued his watchful scrutiny.
After consulting for a short time together, Jake and Roland, with Burly
Bill, determined to hold a court of inquiry on the spot.
But, strange to say, Peter kept aloof. He continued to walk to and fro,
and Benee still hung in his rear. But this ex-savage was soon called
upon to act as interpreter if his services should be needed, which they
presently were.
Every one of the civilized Indians had the same story to tell of the
laziness and insolence of the Bolivians, and now Jake ordered the chief
of the other party to come forward.
They sulked for a short time.
But Jake drew his pistols, and, one in each hand, stepped out and
ordered all to the front.
They made no verbal response to the questions put to them through Benee.
Their only reply was scowling.
"Well, Mr. St. Clair," said Jake, "my advice is to pay these rascals and
send them off."
"Good!" said Roland. "I have money."
The chief was ordered to draw nearer, and the dollars were counted into
his claw-like fist.
The fellow drew up his men in a line and gave to each his pay, reserving
his own.
Then at a signal, given by the chief, there was raised a terrible
war-whoop and howl.
The chief spat on his dollars and dashed them into a neighbouring pool.
Every man did the same.
Roland was looking curiously on. He was wondering what would happen
next.
He had not very long to wait, for with his foot the chief turned the
dead man on his back, and the blood from his death-stab poured out
afresh.
He dipped his palm in the red stream and held it up on high. His men
followed his example.
Then all turned to the sun, and in one voice uttered just one word,
which, being interpreted by Benee, was understood to mean--REVENGE!
They licked the blood from their hands, and, turning round, marched in
silence and in single file out and away from the forest and were seen no
more.
CHAPTER IX--THAT TREE IN THE FOREST GLADE
The things, the happenings, I have now to tell you of in this chapter
form the turning-point in our story.
Weeks passed by after the departure of that mysterious band of savages,
and things went on in the same old groove on the plantation.
Whence the savages had come, or whither they had gone, none could tell.
But all were relieved at their exit, dramatic and threatening though it
had been.
The hands were all very busy now everywhere, and one day, it being the
quarter's end, after taking stock Roland gave his usual dinner-party,
and a ball to his natives. These were all dressed out as gaily as gaily
could be. The ladies wore the most tawdry of finery, most of which they
had bought, or rather had had brought them by their brothers and lovers
from Para, and nothing but the most pronounced evening dress did any
"lady of colour" deign to wear.
Why should they not ape the quality, and "poh deah Miss Peggy".
Peggy was very happy that evening, and so I need hardly say was Dick
Temple. Though he never had dared to speak of love again, no one could
have looked at those dark daring eyes of his and said it was not there.
It must have been about eleven by the clock and a bright moonlight night
when Dick started to ride home. He knew the track well, he said, and
could not be prevailed upon to stay all night. Besides, his uncle
expected him.
The dinner and ball given to the plantation hands had commenced at
sunset, or six o'clock, and after singing hymns--a queer finish to a
most hilarious dance--all retired, and by twelve of the clock not a
sound was to be heard over all the plantation save now and then the
mournful cry of the shriek-owl or a plash in the river, showing that the
'gators preferred a moonshiny night to daylight itself.
The night wore on, one o'clock, two o'clock chimed from the turret on
Burnley Hall, and soon after this, had anyone been in the vicinity he
would have seen a tall figure, wrapped in cloak and hood, steal away
from the house adown the walks that led from the flowery lawns. The
face was quite hidden, but several times the figure paused, as if to
listen and glance around, then hurried on once more, and finally
disappeared in the direction of the forest.
Peggy's bedroom was probably the most tastefully-arranged and
daintily-draped in the house, and when she lay down to-night and fell
gently asleep, very sweet indeed were the dreams that visited her
pillow. The room was on a level with the river lawn, on to which it
opened by a French or casement window. Three o'clock!
The moon shone on the bed, and even on the girl's face, but did not
awaken her.
A few minutes after this, and the casement window was quietly opened,
and the same cloaked figure, which stole away from the mansion an hour
before, softly entered.
It stood for more than half a minute erect and listening, then, bending
low beside the bed, listened a moment there.
Did no spectral dream cross the sleeping girl's vision to warn her of
the dreadful fate in store for her?
Had she shrieked even now, assistance would have been speedily
forthcoming, and she might have been saved!
But she quietly slumbered on.
Then the dark figure retreated as it had come, and presently another and
more terrible took its place--a burly savage carrying a blanket or rug.
First the girl's clothing and shoes, her watch and all her trinkets,
were gathered up and handed to someone on the lawn.
Then the savage, approaching the bed with stealthy footsteps, at once
enveloped poor Peggy in the rug and bore her off.
For a moment she uttered a muffled moan or two, like a nightmare scream,
then all was still as the grave.
----
"Missie Peggy! Missie Peggy," cried Beeboo next morning at eight as she
entered the room. "What for you sleep so long? Ah!" she added
sympathizingly, still holding the door-knob in her hand. "Ah! but den
the poh chile very tired. Dance plenty mooch las' night, and--"
She stopped suddenly.
Something unusual in the appearance of the bed attire attracted her
attention and she speedily rushed towards it.
She gave vent at once to a loud yell, and Roland himself, who was
passing near, ran in immediately.
He stood like one in a state of catalepsy, with his eyes fixed on the
empty bed. But he recovered shortly.
"Oh, this is a fearful day!" he cried, and hastened out to acquaint Jake
and Bill, both of whom, as well as Mr. Peter, slept in the east wing of
the mansion.
He ran from door to door knocking very loud and shouting: "Awake, awake,
Peggy has gone! She has been kidnapped, and the accursed savages have
had their revenge!"
In their pyjamas only, Jake and Bill appeared, and after a while Mr.
Peter, fully dressed.
He looked sleepy.
"I had too much wine last night," he said, with a yawn, "and slept very
heavily all night. But what is the matter?"
He was quietly and quickly informed.
"This is indeed a fearful blow, but surely we can trace the scoundrels!"
"Boys, hurry through with your breakfast," said Roland. "Jake, I will
be back in a few minutes."
He whistled shrilly and Brawn came rushing to his side.
"Follow me, Brawn."
His object was to find out in which direction the savages had gone.
Had Brawn been a blood-hound he could soon have picked up the scent.
As it was, however, his keen eyes discovered the trail on the lawn, and
led him to the gate. He howled impatiently to have it opened, then
bounded out and away towards the forest in a westerly and southerly
direction, which, if pursued far enough, would lead towards Bolivia,
along the wild rocky banks of the Madeira River.
It was a whole hour before Brawn returned. He carried something in his
mouth. He soon found his master, and laid the something gently down at
his feet, stretching himself--grief-stricken--beside it.
It was one of Peggy's boots, with a white silk stocking in it, drenched
in blood.
The white men and Indians were now fully aroused, and, leaving Jake in
charge of the estate, Roland picked out thirty of the best men, armed
them with guns, and placed them under the command of Burly Bill. Then
they started off in silence, Roland and Burly mounted, the armed whites
and Indians on foot.
Brawn went galloping on in front in a very excited manner, often
returning and barking wildly at the horses as if to hurry them on.
Throughout that forenoon they journeyed by the trail, which was now
distinct enough, and led through the jungle and forest.
They came out on to a clearing about one o'clock. Here was water in
abundance, and as they were all thoroughly exhausted, they threw
themselves down by the spring to quench their thirst and rest.
Bill made haste now to deal out the provisions, and after an hour,
during which time most of them slept, they resumed their journey.
A mile or two farther on they came to a sight which almost froze their
blood.
In the middle of a clearing or glade stood a great tree. It was
hollowed out at one side, and against this was still a heap of
half-charred wood, evidently the remains of a fierce fire, though every
ember had died black out.
Here was poor Peggy's other shoe. That too was bloody.
And here was a pool of coagulated blood, with huge rhinoceros beetles
busy at their work of excavation. Portions or rags of dress also!
It was truly an awful sight!
Roland reined up his horse, and placed his right hand over his eyes.
"Bill," he managed to articulate, "can you have the branches removed,
and let us know the fearful worst?"
Burly Bill gave the order, and the Indians tossed the half-burned wood
aside.
Then they pulled out bone after bone of limbs, of arms, of ribs. But
all were charred almost into cinders!
Roland now seemed to rise to the occasion.
He held his right arm on high.
"Bill," he cried; "here, under the blazing sun and above the remains,
the dust of my dead sister, I register a vow to follow up these fiends
to their distant homes, if Providence shall but lead us aright, and to
slay and burn every wretch who has aided or abetted this terrible deed!"
"I too register that vow," said Bill solemnly.
"And I, and I!" shouted the white men, and even the Indians.
They went on again once more, after burying the charred bones and dust.
But the trail took them to a ford, and beyond the stream there was not
the imprint of even a single footstep.
The retiring savages must either have doubled back on their tracks or
waded for miles up or down the rocky stream before landing.
Nothing more could be done to-day, for the sun was already declining,
and they must find their way out of the gloom of the forest before
darkness. So the return journey was made, and just as the sun's red
beams were crimsoning the waters of the western river, they arrived once
more at the plantation and Burnley Hall.
The first to meet them was Peter himself. He seemed all anxiety.
"What have you found?" he gasped.
It was a moment or two before Roland could reply.
"Only the charred remains of my poor sister!" he said at last, then
compressed his mouth in an effort to keep back the tears.
The Indian who took so lively an interest in Mr. Peter was not far away,
and was watching his man as usual.
None noticed, save Benee himself, that Mr. Peter heaved something very
like a sigh of relief as Roland's words fell on his ears.
Burnley Hall was now indeed a castle of gloom; but although poor Mrs.
St. Clair was greatly cast down, the eager way in which Roland and Dick
were making their preparations to follow up the savage Indians, even to
the confines or interior, if necessary, of their own domains, gave her
hope.
Luckily they had already found a clue to their whereabouts, for one of
the civilized Bolivians knew that very chief, and indeed had come from
the same far-off country. He described the people as a race of
implacable savages and cannibals, into whose territory no white man had
ever ventured and returned alive.
Were they a large tribe? No, not large, not over three or four
thousand, counting women and children. Their arms? These were spears
and broad two-bladed knives, with great slings, from which they could
hurl large stones and pieces of flint with unerring accuracy, and bows
and arrows. And no number of white men could stand against these unless
they sheltered themselves in trenches or behind rocks and trees.
This ex-cannibal told them also that the land of this terrible tribe
abounded in mineral wealth, in silver ore and even in gold.
For this information Roland cared little; all he wished to do was to
avenge poor Peggy's death. If his men, after the fighting, chose to lay
out claims he would permit a certain number of them to do so, their
names to be drawn by ballot. The rest must accompany the expedition
back.
Dick's uncle needed but little persuasion to give forty white men, fully
armed and equipped, to swell Roland's little army of sixty whites.
Besides these, they would have with them carriers and
ammunition-bearers--Indians from the plantations.
Dick was all life and fire. If they were successful, he himself, he
said, would shoot the murderous chief, or stab him to the heart.
A brave show indeed did the little army make, when all mustered and
drilled, and every man there was most enthusiastic, for all had loved
poor lost Peggy.
"I shall remain at my post here, I suppose," said Mr. Peter.
"If I do not alter my mind I shall leave you and Jake, with Mr. Roberts,
the tutor, to manage the estate in my absence," said Roland.
He did alter his mind, and, as the following will show, he had good
occasion to do so.
One evening the strange Indian Benee, between whom and Peter there
existed so much hatred, sought Roland out when alone.
"Can I speakee you, all quiet foh true?"
"Certainly, my good fellow. Come into my study. Now, what is it you
would say?"
"Dat Don Pedro no true man! I tinkee much, and I tinkee dat."
"Well, I know you don't love each other, Benee; but can you give me any
proofs of his villainy?"
"You letee me go to-night all myse'f alone to de bush. I tinkee I bring
you someding strange. Some good news. Ha! it may be so!"
"I give you leave, and believe you to be a faithful fellow."
Benee seized his master's hand and bent down his head till his brow
touched it.
Next moment he was gone.
Next morning he was missed.
"Your pretty Indian," said Mr. Peter, with an ill-concealed sneer, "is a
traitor, then, after all, and a spy, and it was no doubt he who
instigated the abduction and the murder, for the sake of revenge, of
your poor little sister."
"That remains to be seen, Mr. Peter. If he, or anyone else on the
plantation, is a traitor, he shall hang as high as Haman."
Peter cowered visibly, but smiled his agitation off.
And that same night about twelve, while Roland sat smoking on the lawn
with Dick, all in the moonlight, everyone else having retired--smoking
and talking of the happy past--suddenly the gate hinges creaked, and
with a low growl Brawn sprang forward. But he returned almost
immediately, wagging his tail and being caressed by Benee himself.
Silently stood the Indian before them, silently as a statue, but in his
left hand he carried a small bundle bound up in grass. It was not his
place to speak first, and both young men were a little startled at his
sudden appearance.
"What, Benee! and back so soon from the forest?"
"Benee did run plenty quickee. Plenty jaguar want eat Benee, but no can
catchee."
"Well?"
"I would speekee you bof boys in de room."
The two started up together.
Here was some mystery that must be unravelled.
CHAPTER X--BENEE MAKES A STRANGE DISCOVERY
Benee followed them into Roland's quiet study, and placed his strange
grass-girt bundle on a cane chair.
Roland gave him a goblet of wine-and-water, which he drank eagerly, for
he was faint and tired.
"Now, let us hear quickly what you have to say, Benee."
The Indian came forward, and his words, though uttered with some
vehemence, and accompanied by much gesticulation, were delivered in
almost a whisper.
It would have been impossible for any eavesdropper in the hall to have
heard.
"Wat I tellee you 'bout dat Peter?" he began.
"My good friend," said Roland, "Peter accuses you of being a spy and
traitor."
"I killee he!"
"No, you will not; if Peter is guilty, I will see that justice overtakes
him."
"Well, 'fore I go, sah, I speakee you and say I bringee you de good
news."
"Tell us quickly!" said Dick in a state of great excitement.
"Dis, den, is de good news: Missie Peggy not dead! No, no!"
"Explain, Benee, and do not raise false hopes in our breasts."
"De cannibals make believe she murder; dat all is."
"But have we not found portions of her raiment, her blood-dripping
stockings, and also her charred remains?"
"Listen, sah. Dese cannibals not fools. Dey beat you plenty of trail,
so you can easily find de clearing where de fire was. Dey wis' you to
go to dat tree to see de blood, de shoe, and all. But when you seekee
de trail after, where is she? Tellee me dat. Missie Peggy no murder.
No, no. She am carried away, far away, as one prisint to de queen ob de
cannibals."
"What were the bones, my good Benee?"
Then Benee opened his strange bundle, and there fell on the floor the
half-burned skull and jaws of a gigantic baboon.
"I find dat hid beside de tree. Ha, ha!"
"It is all clear now," said Roland. "My dear, faithful Benee," he
continued, "can you guide us to the country of the cannibals? You will
meet your reward, both here and hereafter."
"I not care. I lub Missie Peggy. Ah, she come backee once moh, foh
true!"
And now Dick Temple, the impulsive, must step forward and seize Benee by
the hand. "God bless you!" he said; and indeed it was all he could say.
When the Indian had gone, Roland and Dick drew closer together.
"The mystery," said the former, "seems to me, Dick, to be as dark and
intricate as ever. I can understand the savages carrying poor Peggy
away, but why the tricky deceit, the dropped shoe that poor, noble Brawn
picked up, the pool of blood, the rent and torn garments, and the
half-charred bones?"
"Well, I think I can see through that, Roland. I believe it was done to
prevent your further pursuit; for, as Benee observes, the trail is left
plainly enough for even a white man to see as far as the 'fire-tree' and
on to the brook. But farther there is none."
"Well, granting all this; think you, Dick, that no one instigated them,
probably even suggested the crime and the infernal deceit they have
practised?"
"Now you are thinking of, if not actually accusing, Mr. Peter?"
"I am, Dick. I have had my suspicions of him ever since a month after
he came. It was strange how Benee hated him from the beginning, to say
nothing of Brawn, the dog, and our dear lost Peggy."
"Cheer up!" said Dick. "Give Peter a show, though things look dark
against him."
"Yes," said Roland sternly, "and with us and our expedition he must and
shall go. We can watch his every move, and if I find that he is a
villain, may God have mercy on his soul! His body shall feed the
eagles."
Dick Temple was a wild and reckless boy, it is true, and always first,
if possible, in any adventure which included a spice of danger, but he
had a good deal of common sense notwithstanding.
He mused a little, and rolled himself a fresh cigarette before he
replied.
"Your Mr. Peter," he said, "may or may not be guilty of duplicity,
though I do not see the _raison d'etre_ for any such conduct, and I
confess to you that I look upon lynching as a wild kind of justice. At
the same time I must again beg of you, Roland, to give the man a decent
show."
"Here is my hand on that, Dick. He shall have justice, even should that
just finish with his dangling at a rope's end."
The two shortly after this parted for the night, each going to his own
room, but I do not think that either of them slept till long past
midnight.
They were up in good time, however, for the bath, and felt invigorated
and hungry after the dip.
They were not over-merry certainly, but Mrs. St. Clair was quite
changed, and just a little hysterically hilarious. For as soon as he
had tubbed, Roland had gone to her bedroom and broken the news to her
which Benee had brought.
That same forenoon Dick and Roland rode out to the forest.
They could hear the boom and shriek and roar of the great buzz-saw long
before they came near the white-men's quarters.
They saw Jake,--and busy enough he was too,--and told him that they had
some reason to doubt the honesty or sincerity of Mr. Peter, and that
they would take him along with them.
"Thank God!" said Jake most fervently. "I myself cannot trust a man
whom a dog like Brawn and a savage like Benee have come to hate."
By themselves that day the young fellows completed their plans, and all
would now be ready to advance in a week's time.
That same day, however, on parade and in presence of Mr. Peter, Roland
made a little speech.
"We are going," he said, "my good fellows, on a very long and
adventurous journey. Poor Miss Peggy is, as we all know" (this was
surely a fib that would be forgiven) "dead and gone, but we mean to
follow these savages up to their own country, and deal them such a blow
as will paralyse them for years. Yellow Charlie yonder is himself one
of their number, but he has proved himself faithful, and has offered to
be our guide as soon as we enter unknown regions.
"I have," he added, "perfect faith in my white men, faith in Mr. Peter,
whom I am taking with me--"
Peter took a step forward as if to speak, but Roland waved him back.
"And I know my working Indians will prove themselves good men and true.
"After saying this, it is hardly necessary to add that if anyone is
found attempting to desert our column, even should it be Burly Bill
himself" (Burly Bill laughed outright), "he will be shot down as we
would shoot a puma or alligator."
There was a wild cheer after Roland stepped down from the balcony, and
in this Mr. Peter seemed to join so heartily that Roland's heart smote
him.
For perhaps, after all, he had been unkind in thought to this man.
Time alone would tell.
The boys determined to leave nothing to chance, but ammunition was of
even more importance than food. They hoped to find water everywhere,
and the biscuits carried, with the roots they should dig, would serve to
keep the expedition alive and healthy, with the aid of their good guns.
Medicine was not forgotten, nor medical comforts.
For three whole days Roland trained fast-running Indians to pick up a
trail. A man would be allowed to have three miles' start, and then,
when he was quite invisible, those human sleuth-hounds would be let
loose, and they never failed to bring back their prisoner after a time.
One man at least was much impressed by these trials of skill.
Just a week before the start, and late in the evening, Benee once more
presented himself before our young heroes.
"I would speakee you!"
"Well, Benee, say what you please, but all have not yet retired. Dick,
get out into the hall, and warn us if anyone approaches."
Dick jumped up, threw his cigarette away, and did as he was told.
"Thus I speakee you and say," said Benee. "You trustee I?"
"Assuredly!"
"Den you let me go?"
"How and where?"
"I go fast as de wind, fleeter dan de rain-squall, far ober de mountains
ob Madeira, far froo' de wild, dark forest. I heed noting, I fear
noting. No wil' beas' makee Benee 'fraid. I follow de cannibals. I
reach de country longee time 'foh you. I creepee like one snake to de
hut ob poh deah Peggy. She no can fly wid me, but I 'sure her dat you
come soon, in two moon p'laps, or free. I make de chile happy. Den I
creep and glide away again all samee one black snake, and come back to
find you. I go?"
Roland took the man's hand. Savage though he was, there was kindness
and there was undoubted sincerity in those dark, expressive eyes, and
our hero at once gave the permission asked.
"But," he said, "the way is long and dangerous, my good Benee, so here I
give you two long-range six-shooters, a repeating-rifle, and a box of
cartridges. May God speed your journey, and bring you safely back with
news that shall inspire our hearts! Go!"
Benee glided away as silently as he had come, and next morning his place
was found empty. But would their trust in this man reap its reward,
or--awful doubt--was Benee false?
Next night but one something very strange happened.
All was silent in and around Burnley Hall, and the silvery tones of the
great tower clock had chimed the hour of three, when the window of Mr.
Peter's room was silently opened, and out into the moonlight glided the
man himself.
He carried in his hand a heavy grip-sack, and commenced at once taking
the path that led downwards to the river.
Here lay the dinghy boat drawn up on the beach. She was secured with
padlock and chain, but all Roland's officers carried keys.
It was about a quarter of a mile to the river-side, and Peter was
proceeding at a fairly rapid rate, considering the weight of his
grip-sack.
He had a habit of talking to himself. He was doing so now.
"I have only to drop well down the river and intercept a steamer. It is
this very day they pass, and--"
Two figures suddenly glided from the bush and stood before him.
One sprang up behind, whom he could not see.
"Good-morning, Mr. Peter! Going for a walk early, aren't you? It's
going to turn out a delightful day, I think."
They were white men.
"Here!" cried Peter, "advance but one step, or dare to impede my
progress, and you are both dead men! I am a good shot, and happen, as
you see, to have the draw on you."
Next moment his right arm was seized from behind, the men in front
ducked, and the first shot went off in the air.
"Here, none o' that, guv'nor!" said a set, determined voice.
The revolver was wrenched from his grasp, and he found himself on his
back in the pathway.
"It is murder you'd be after! Eh?"
"Not so, my good fellow," said Peter. "I will explain."
"Explain, then."
"My duties are ended with Mr. Roland St. Clair. He owes me one month's
wages. I have forfeited that and given warning, and am going. That is
all."
"You are going, are you? Well, we shall see about that."
"Yes, you may, and now let me pass on my peaceful way."
"He! he! he! But tell us, Mr. Peter, why this speedy departure? Hast
aught upon thy conscience, or hast got a conscience?"
Peter had risen to his feet.
"Merely this. I claim the privilege of every working man, that of
giving leave. I am not strong, and I dread the long journey Mr. St.
Clair and his little band are to take."
"But," said the other, "you came in such a questionable shape, and we
were here to watch for stragglers, not of course thinking for a moment,
Mr. Peter, that your French window would be opened, and that you
yourself would attempt to take French leave.
"Now you really must get back to your bedroom, guv'nor, and see Mr. St.
Clair in the morning. My mates will do sentry-go at your window, and I
shall be by your door in case you need anything. It is a mere matter of
form, Mr. Peter, but of course we have to obey orders. Got ere a drop
of brandy in your flask?"
Peter quickly produced quite a large bottle. He drank heavily himself
first, and then passed it round.
But the men took but little, and Mr. Peter, half-intoxicated, allowed
himself to be conducted to bed.
When these sentries gave in their report next morning to Roland, Mr.
Peter did not rise a deal in the young fellow's estimation.
"It only proves one thing," he said to Dick. "If Peter is so anxious to
give us the slip, we must watch him well until we are far on the road
towards the cannibals' land."
"That's so," returned Dick Temple.
Not a word was said to Peter regarding his attempted flight when he sat
down to breakfast with the boys, and naturally enough he believed it had
not been reported. Indeed he had some hazy remembrance of having
offered the sentries a bribe to keep dark.
Mr. Peter ate very sparingly, and looked sadly fishy about the eyes.
But he made no more attempts to escape just then.
CHAPTER XI--ALL ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS
That Benee was a good man and true we have little reason to doubt, up to
the present time at all events.
Yet Dick Temple was, curiously enough, loth to believe that Mr. Peter
was other than a friend. And nothing yet had been proved against him.
"Is it not natural enough," said he to Roland, "that he should funk--to
put it in fine English--the terrible expedition you and I are about to
embark upon? And knowing that you have commanded him to accompany us
would, in my opinion, be sufficient to account for his attempt to escape
and drop down the river to Para, and so home to his own country.
Roland, I repeat, we must give the man a show."
"True," said Roland, "and poor Benee is having his show. Time alone can
prove who the traitor is. If it be Benee he will not return. On the
contrary, he will join the savage captors of poor Peggy, and do all in
his power to frustrate our schemes."
No more was said.
But the preparations were soon almost completed, and in a day or two
after this, farewells being said, the brave little army began by forced
marches to find its way across country and through dense forests and
damp marshes, and over rocks and plains, to the Madeira river, high
above its junction with the great Amazon.
----
Meanwhile let us follow the lonely Indian in his terrible journey to the
distant and unexplored lands of Bolivia.
Like all true savages, he despised the ordinary routes of traffic or
trade; his track must be a bee-line, guiding himself by the sun by day,
but more particularly by the stars by night.
Benee knew the difference betwixt stars and planets. The latter were
always shifting, but certain stars--most to him were like lighthouses to
mariners who are approaching land--shone over the country of the
cannibals, and he could tell from their very altitude how much progress
he was making night after night.
So lonesome, so long, was his thrice dreary journey, that had it been
undertaken by a white man, in all probability he would soon have been a
raving maniac.
But Benee had all the cunning, all the daring, and all the wisdom of a
true savage, and for weeks he felt a proud exhilaration, a glorious
sense of freedom and happiness, at being once more his own master, no
work to do, and hope ever pointing him onwards to his goal.
What was that goal? it may well be asked. Was Benee disinterested? Did
he really feel love for the white man and the white man's children? Can
aught save selfishness dwell in the breast of a savage? In brief, was
it he who had been the spy, he who was the guilty man; or was it Peter
who was the villain? Look at it in any light we please, one thing is
certain, this strange Indian was making his way back to his own country
and to his own friends, and Indians are surely not less fond of each
other than are the wild beasts who herd together in the forest, on the
mountain-side, or on the ice in the far-off land of the frozen north.
And well we know that these creatures will die for each other.
If there was a mystery about Peter, there was something approaching to
one about Benee also.
But then it must be remembered that since his residence on the St. Clair
plantation, Benee had been taught the truths of that glorious religion
of ours, the religion of love that smoothes the rugged paths of life for
us, that gives a silver lining to every cloud of grief and sorrow, and
gilds even the dark portals of death itself.
Benee believed even as little children do. And little Peggy in her
quiet moods used to tell him the story of life by redemption in her
almost infantile way.
For all that, it is hard and difficult to vanquish old superstitions,
and this man was only a savage at heart after all, though, nevertheless,
there seemed to be much good in his rough, rude nature, and you may
ofttimes see the sweetest and most lovely little flowers growing on the
blackest and ruggedest of rocks.
Well, this journey of Benee's was certainly no sinecure. Apart even
from all the dangers attached to it, from wild beasts and wilder men, it
was one that would have tried the hardest constitution, if only for the
simple reason that it was all a series of forced marches.
There was something in him that was hurrying him on and encouraging him
to greater and greater exertions every hour. His daily record depended
to a great extent on the kind of country he had to negotiate. He began
with forty miles, but after a time, when he grew harder, he increased
this to fifty and often to sixty. It was at times difficult for him to
force his way through deep, dark forest and jungle, along the winding
wild-beast tracks, past the beasts themselves, who hid in trees ready to
spring had he paused but a second; through marshes and bogs, with here
and there a reedy lake, on which aquatic birds of brightest colours
slept as they floated in the sunshine, but among the long reeds of which
lay the ever-watchful and awful cayman.
In such places as these, I think Benee owed his safety to his utter
fearlessness and sang-froid, and to the speed at which he travelled.
It was not a walk by any means, but a strange kind of swinging trot.
Such a gait may still be seen in far-off outlying districts of the
Scottish Highlands, where it is adopted by postal "runners", who
consider it not only faster but less tiresome than walking.
For the first hundred miles, or more, the lonely traveller found himself
in a comparatively civilized country. This was not very much to his
liking, and as a rule he endeavoured to give towns and villages, and
even rubber forests, where Indians worked under white men overseers, a
wide berth.
Yet sometimes, hidden in a tree, he would watch the work going on; watch
the men walking hither and thither with their pannikins, or deftly
whirling the shovels they had dipped in the sap-tub and holding them in
the dark smoke of the palm-tree nuts, or he would listen to their songs.
But it was with no feeling of envy; it was quite the reverse.
For Benee was free! Oh what a halo of happiness and glory surrounds
that one little word "Free"!
Then this lonely wanderer would hug himself, as it were, and, dropping
down from his perch, start off once more at his swinging trot.
Even as the crow flies, or the bee wings its flight, the length of
Benee's journey would be over six hundred miles. But it was impossible
for anyone to keep a bee-line, owing to the roughness of the country and
the difficulties of every kind to be overcome, so that it is indeed
impossible to estimate the magnitude of this lone Indian's exploit.
His way, roughly speaking, lay between the Madeira River and the Great
Snake River called Puras (_vide_ map); latterly it would lead him to the
lofty regions and plateaux of the head-waters of Maya-tata, called by
the Peruvians the Madre de Dios, or Holy Virgin River.
But hardly a day now passed that he had not a stream of some kind to
cross, and wandering by its banks seeking for a ford delayed him
considerably.
He was journeying thus one morning when the sound of human voices not
far off made him creep quickly into the jungle.
The men did not take long to put in an appearance.
A portion of some wandering, hunting, or looting tribe they were, and
cut-throat looking scoundrels everyone of them--five in all.
They were armed with bows and arrows and with spears. Their arrows,
Benee could see, were tipped with flint, and the flint was doubtless
poisoned. They carried also slings and broad knives in their belts of
skin. The slings are used in warfare, but they are also used by
shepherds--monsters who, like many in this country, know not the meaning
of the words "mercy to dumb animals"--on their poor sheep.
These fellows, who now lay down to rest and to eat, much to Benee's
disgust, not to say dismay, were probably a party of llama (pronounced
yahmah) herds or shepherds who had, after cutting their master's throat,
banded together and taken to this roving life.
So thought Benee, at all events, for he could see many articles of
European dress, such as dainty scarves of silk, lace handkerchiefs, &c.,
as well as brooches, huddled over their own clothing, and one
fierce-looking fellow pulled out a gold watch and pretended to look at
the time.
So angry was Benee that his savage nature got uppermost, and he handled
his huge revolvers in a nervous way that showed his anxiety to open fire
and spoil the cut-throats' dinner. But he restrained himself for the
time being.
In addition to the two revolvers, Benee carried the repeating rifle. It
was the fear of spoiling his ammunition that led to his being in this
dreadful fix. But for his cartridges he could have swum the river with
the speed of a gar-fish.
What a long, long time they stayed, and how very leisurely they munched
and fed!
A slight sound on his left flank caused Benee to gaze hastily round. To
his horror, he found himself face to face with a puma.
Here was indeed a dilemma!
If he fired he would make his presence known, and small mercy could he
expect from the cut-throats. At all hazards he determined to keep still.
The yellow eyes of this American lion flared and glanced in a streak of
sunshine shot downwards through the bush, and it was this probably which
dimmed his vision, for he made no attempt to spring forward.
Benee dared scarcely to breathe; he could hear the beating of his own
heart, and could not help wondering if the puma heard it too.
At last the brute backed slowly astern, with a wriggling motion.
But Benee gained courage now.
During the long hours that followed, several great snakes passed him so
closely that he could have touched their scaly backs. Some of these
were lithe and long, others very thick and slow in motion, but nearly
all were beautifully coloured in metallic tints of crimson, orange,
green, and bronze, and all were poisonous.
The true Bolivian, however, has but little fear of snakes, knowing that
unless trodden upon, or otherwise actively interfered with, they care
not to waste their venom by striking.
At long, long last the cut-throats got up to leave. They would before
midnight no doubt reach some lonely outpost and demand entertainment at
the point of the knife, and if strange travellers were there, sad indeed
would be their fate.
Benee now crawled, stiff and cramped, out from his damp and dangerous
hiding-place. He found a ford not far off, and after crossing, he set
off once more at his swinging trot, and was soon supple and happy
enough.
On and on he went all that day, to make up for lost time, and far into
the starry night.
The hills were getting higher now, the valleys deeper and damper
between, and stream after stream had to be forded.
It must have been long past eight o'clock when, just as Benee was
beginning to long for food and rest, his eyes fell on a glimmering light
at the foot of a high and dark precipice.
He warily ventured forward and found it proceeded from a shepherd's hut;
inside sat the man himself, quietly eating a kind of thick soup, the
basin flanked by a huge flagon of milk, with roasted yams. Great,
indeed, was the innocent fellow's surprise when Benee presented himself
in the doorway. A few words in Bolivian, kindly uttered by our
wayfarer, immediately put the man at ease, however, and before long
Benee was enjoying a hearty supper, followed by a brew of excellent
mate.
He was a very simple son of the desert, this shepherd, but a desultory
kind of conversation was maintained, nevertheless, until far into the
night.
For months and months, he told Benee, he had lived all alone with his
sheep in these grassy uplands, having only the companionship of his
half-wild, but faithful dog. But he was contented and happy, and had
plenty to eat and drink.
It was just sunrise when Benee awoke from a long refreshing sleep on his
bed of skins. There was the odour of smoke all about, and presently the
shepherd himself bustled in and bade him "Good-morning!", or "Heaven's
blessing!" which is much the same.
A breakfast of rough, black cake, with butter, fried fish, and mate,
made Benee as happy as a king and as fresh as a mountain trout, and soon
after he said farewell and started once more on his weary road. The only
regret he experienced rose from the fact that he had nothing wherewith
to reward this kindly shepherd for his hospitality.
Much against his will, our wanderer had now to make a long detour, for
not even a goat could have scaled the ramparts of rock in front of him.
In another week he found himself in one of the bleakest and barrenest
stretches of country that it is possible to imagine. It was a high
plateau, and covered for the most part with stunted bushes and with
crimson heath and heather.
Benee climbed a high hill that rose near him, and as he stood on the top
thereof, just as the sun in a glory of orange clouds and crimson rose
slowly and majestically over the far-off eastern forest, a scene
presented itself to him that, savage though he was, caused him for a
time to stand mute with admiration and wonder.
Then he remembered what little Peggy told him once in her sweet and
serious voice: "Always pray at sunrise".
"Always pray at sunrise,
For 'tis God who makes the day;
When shades of evening gather round
Kneel down again and pray.
And He, who loves His children dear,
Will send some angel bright
To guard you while you're sleeping sound
And watch you all the night."
And on this lonely hill-top Benee did kneel down to pray a simple
prayer, while golden clouds were changing to bronze and snowy white, and
far off on the forest lands hazy vapours were still stretched across
glens and valleys.
As he rose from his knees he could hear, away down beneath him, a wild
shout, and gazing in the direction from which it came, he saw seven
semi-nude savages hurrying towards the mountain with the evident
intention of making him prisoner.
It was terrible odds; but as there was no escape, Benee determined to
fight.
As usual, they were armed with bow and arrow and sling.
Indeed, they commenced throwing stones with great precision before they
reached the hill-foot, and one of these fell at Benee's feet.
Glad, indeed, was he next minute to find himself in a kind of natural
trench which could have been held by twenty men against a hundred.
On and up, crawling on hands and knees, came the savages.
But Benee stood firm, rifle in hand, and waiting his chance.
CHAPTER XII--BENEE ENTRENCHED--SAVAGE REVELS IN THE FOREST
The trench in which he found himself was far higher than was necessary,
and fronted by huge stones. It was evidently the work of human hands,
but by what class of people erected Benee could not imagine.
He could spare a few boulders anyhow, so, while the enemy was still far
below, he started first one, then another, and still another, on a
cruise down the mountain-side and on a mission of death.
These boulders broke into scores of large fragments long before they
reached the savages, two of whom were struck, one being killed outright.
And Benee knew his advantage right well, and, taking careful aim now
with his repeating-rifle--a sixteen-shooter it was,--he fired.
He saw the bullet raise the dust some yards ahead of the foe, who paused
to gaze upwards in great amazement.
But next shot went home, for Benee had got the range, and one of the
five threw up his hands with a shriek, and fell on his face, to rise no
more.
Rendered wild by the loss of their companions, the others drew their
knives and made a brave start for Benee's trench.
But what could poor savages do against the deadly fire of civilized
warfare. When another of their number paid the penalty of his rashness,
the other three took fright and went racing and tumbling down the hill
so quickly that no more of Benee's shots took effect.
Roland had given Benee a field-glass before he started, and through this
he watched the flying figures for many a mile, noting exactly the way
they took, and determining in his own mind to choose a somewhat
different route, even though he should have to make a wide detour.
He started downhill almost immediately, well-knowing that these
dark-skinned devils would return reinforced to seek revenge.
He knew, moreover, that they could follow up a trail, so he did all in
his power to pick out the hardest parts of this great moorland on which
to walk.
He came at last to a stream. It was very shallow, and he plunged in at
once.
This was indeed good luck, and Benee thought now that Peggy's God, who
paints the sky at sunrise, was really looking after him. He could baulk
his pursuers now, or, at least, delay them. For they would not be able
to tell in which direction he had gone.
So Benee walked in the water for three miles. This walk was really a
leaping run. He would have gone farther, but all at once the stream
became very rapid indeed, and on his ears fell the boom of a waterfall.
So he got on shore with all haste.
But for five miles on from the foot of the leaping, dashing, foaming
linn, the stream was flanked by acres of round, smooth boulders.
These could tell no tale. On these Benee would leave no trail. He
leapt from one to the other, and was rejoiced at last to find that they
led him to a forest.
This was indeed a grateful surprise, so he entered the shade at once.
Benee, after his exciting fight and his very long run, greatly needed
rest, so he gathered some splendid fruit and nuts, despite the
chattering and threatened attacks of a whole band of hideous baboons,
and then threw himself down under the shade of a tree in a small glade
and made a hearty meal.
He felt thirsty now. But as soon as there was silence once more in the
forest, and even the parrots had gone to sleep in the drowsy noontide
heat, he could hear the rush of water some distance ahead.
He got up immediately and marched in the direction from which the sound
came, and was soon on the pebbled shore of another burn.
He drank a long, sweet draught of the cool, delicious water, and felt
wondrously refreshed.
And now a happy thought occurred to him.
Sooner or later he felt certain the savages would find his trail. They
would track him to this stream and believe he had once again tried to
break the pursuit by wading either up or down stream.
His plan was, therefore, to go carefully back on his tracks and rest
hidden all day until, foiled in their attempt to make him prisoner, they
should return homeward.
This plan he carried into immediate execution, and in a thicket, quite
screened from all observation, he laid him down.
He was soon fast asleep.
But in probably a couple of hours' time he sat cautiously up, and,
gently lifting a branch, looked forth.
For voices had fallen on his ear, and next minute there went filing past
on his trail no fewer than fifteen well-armed warriors.
They stopped dancing and shouting at the tree where Benee had sat down
to feed, then, brandishing their broad knives, dashed forward to the
stream.
They had evidently gone up the river for miles, but finding no trail on
the other bank returned to search the down-stream.
In his hiding-place Benee could hear their wild shouts of
vengeance-deferred, and though he feared not death, right well he knew
that neither his rifle nor revolvers could long protect him against such
desperate odds as this.
There was now peace once more, and the shades of evening--the short
tropical gloaming--were falling when he heard the savages returning.
He knew their language well.
It was soon evident that they did not mean to go any farther that night,
for they were quite tired out.
They were not unprovided with food and drink such as it was, and
evidently meant to make themselves happy.
A fire was soon lit in the glade, and by its glare poor Benee, lying low
there and hardly daring to move a limb, could see the sort of savages he
would have to deal with if they found him.
They were fierce-looking beyond conception. Most of them had long
matted hair, and the ears of some carried the hideous pelele. The lobe
of each ear is pierced when the individual is but a boy, and is
gradually stretched until it is a mere strip of skin capable of
supporting a bone or wooden, grooved little wheel twice as large as a
dollar. The stretched lobe of the ear fits round this like the tyre
round a bicycle wheel.
The faces of these men, although wild-looking, were not positively
ill-favoured, though the mouths were large and sensual. But if ever
devil lurked in human eyes it lurked in theirs.
They wore blankets, and some had huge chains of gold and silver nuggets
round their necks.
Their arms were now piled, or, more correctly speaking, they were
trundled down in a heap by the tree.
While most of them lay with their feet to the now roaring fire, a space
was left for the cook, who cleverly arranged a kind of gipsy
double-trident over the clear embers and commenced to get ready the
meal.
The uprights carried cross pieces of wood, and on these both fish and
flesh were laid to broil, while large yams and sweet-potatoes were
placed in the ashes to roast.
By the time dinner was cooked the night was dark enough, but the glimmer
of the firelight lit up the savages' faces and cast Rembrandtesque
shadows far behind.
It was a weird and terrible scene, but it had little effect on Benee,
who had often witnessed tableaux far more terrifying than this.
Then the orgie commenced. They helped themselves with their fingers and
tore the fish and flesh off with their splendid teeth.
Huge chattees of chicaga, a most filthy but intoxicating beer, now made
their appearance. It was evident enough that these men were used to
being on the war-path and hunting-field.
The wine or beer is made in a very disgusting manner, but its
manufacture, strangely enough, is not confined to Bolivia. I have seen
much the same liquor in tropical Africa, made by the Somali Indians, and
in precisely the same way.
The old women or hags of the village are assembled at, say, a chief's
house, and large quantities of cocoanuts and various other fruits are
heaped together in the centre of a hut, as well as large, tub-like
vessels and chattees of water.
Down the old and almost toothless hags squat, and, helping themselves to
lumps of cocoa-nut, &c., they commence to mumble and chew these, now and
then moistening their mouths with a little water, the juice is spit out
into calabashes, and when these are full of the awful mess they are
emptied into the big bin.
It is a great gala-day with these hideous old hags, a meeting that they
take advantage of not only for making wine but for abusing their
neighbours.
How they cackle and grin, to be sure, as their mouths work to and fro!
How they talk and chatter, and how they chew! It is chatter and chew,
chew and chatter, all the time, and the din they make with teeth and
tongues would deafen a miller.
When all is finished, the bins are left to settle and ferment, and in
three days' time, the supernatant liquor is poured off and forms the
wine called chicaga.
Had anyone doubted the intoxicating power of this vilest of all vile
drinks, a glance at the scene which soon ensued around the fire would
speedily have convinced him.
Benee lay there watching these fiends as they gradually merged from one
phase of drunkenness to another, and fain would he have sent half a
dozen revolver bullets into the centre of the group, but his life
depended on his keeping still.
The savages first confined themselves to merry talking, with coarse
jokes and ribaldry, and frequent outbursts of laughter. But when they
had quaffed still more, they must seize their knives and get up to
dance. Round and round the blazing fire they whirled and staggered
through the smoke and through it again, with demoniacal shouts and awful
yells, that awakened echoes among the forest wild beasts far and near.
Then they pricked their bodies with their knives till the blood ran, and
with this they splashed each other in hideous wantonness till faces and
clothes were smeared in gore.
All this could but have one ending--a fight.
Benee saw one savage stabbed to the heart, and then the orgie became a
fierce battle.
Now was Benee's time to escape.
Yet well he knew how acute the power of hearing is among the Bolivian
savages. One strange noise, even the crackle of a bush, and the
fighting would end in a hunt, and he would undoubtedly lose his life.
But he wriggled and crawled like a snake in the grass until twenty yards
away, and now he moved cautiously, slowly off.
Soon the glare of the fire among the high trees was seen no more, and
the yelling and cries were far behind and getting more and more
indistinct every minute.
Benee refreshed himself at the stream, pulled some food from his pocket,
and ate it while he ran.
He knew, however, that after fighting would come drowsiness, and that
his late entertainers would soon be fast asleep, some of their heads
pillowed, perhaps, on the dead body of their murdered comrade.
If there be in all this world a more demonish wretch than man is in a
state of nature, or when--even among Christians--demoralized by drink, I
wish to get hold of a specimen for my private menagerie. But the
creature should be kept in a cage by itself. I would not insult my
monkeys with the companionship of such a wretch, should it be man or
beast.
CHAPTER XIII--THE MARCH TO THE LOVELESS LAND
On and on hurried Benee now, at his old swinging trot.
On and on beneath the splendid stars, his only companions, that looked
so calmly sweet and appeared so near. God's angels surely they,
speaking, as they gazed down, words from their home on high, peace and
good-will to men, and happiness to all that lived and breathed.
On and on over plains, through moor and marsh, by lake and stream, by
forest dark and jungle wild. It was evident that Benee meant to put
leagues between himself and the camp of his recent enemies before each
star grew beautiful and died; before the fiery sun leapt red above the
eastern hills, and turned the darkness into day.
Benee had come onwards with such a rush that even the slimy alligators,
by pond or brown lake, left their lairs among the tall nodding reeds and
dashed in terror into the water.
Prowling wild beasts, the jaguar and puma, also hurried off at his
approach, and many a scared bird flew screaming up into the darkling
air.
But Benee heeded nothing. His way lay yonder. That bright particular
star away down on the southwestern horizon shone over the great
unexplored region of Bolivia.
Morning after morning it would be higher and higher above him, and when
it shone at an angle of forty-five degrees he would be approaching the
land of the cannibals.
Yes, but it was still a far cry to that country. By the time the sun
did rise, and the mists gathered themselves off the valleys and glens
that lay low beneath him, Benee felt sadly in want of rest.
He found a tree that would make him a good sleeping place, for the
country he was now traversing abounded in hideous snakes and gigantic
lizards, and he courted not the companionship of either.
The tree was an Abies of some undefined species.
Up and up crawled Benee, somewhat encumbered by his arms.
He got through a kind of "lubbers' hole" at last, though with much
difficulty, and, safe enough here, he curled up with his face to the
stem, and was soon so fast asleep that cannons could not have awakened
him.
But satisfied Nature got uneasy at last, and far on towards evening he
opened his eyes and wondered where he was.
Still only half-awake, he staggered to his feet and made a step forward.
It was only to fall over the end of a huge matted branch, but this
branch lowered him gently on to the one immediately beneath it, and this
down to the next, and so on. A strange mode of progression certainly,
but Benee found himself sitting on the ground at last, as safe and sound
as if he had come down in a parachute.
Then his recollection came back to him. He sought out some fruit-trees
now and made a hearty meal, quenched his thirst at a spring, and once
more resumed his journey.
For three days he marched onwards, but always by night. The country was
not safe by day, and he preferred the companionship of wild beasts to
that of wilder men. In this Benee was wise.
But awaking somewhat earlier one afternoon, he saw far beneath him, a
town, and in Benee's eyes it was a very large one.
And now a happy idea struck him. He had money, and here was
civilization. By and by he would be in the wilds once more, and among
savages who knew nothing of cash. Why should he not descend, mix with
the giddy throng, and make purchases of red cloth, of curios, and of
beads. He determined to do so.
But it would not do to go armed. So he hid his rifle and pistols in the
bush, covering them carefully up with dried grass. Then he commenced
the descent. Yes, the little town, the greater part of which was built
of mud hovels, was full, and the streets crowded, many in the throng
being Spaniards, Peruvians, and Portuguese.
Benee sauntered carelessly on and presently came to the bazaar.
Many of the police eyed him curiously, and one or two followed him.
But he had no intention of being baulked in his purpose.
So he entered a likely shop, and quickly made his purchases.
Wrapping these carefully up, he slung the bundle over his shoulder and
left.
He stumbled over a lanky Portuguese policeman a few yards off.
The man would have fallen had not Benee seized him in his iron grasp and
brought him again to his equilibrium.
Then he spoke a few words in Bolivian, and made signs that he wished to
eat and drink.
"Aguardiente!" said the officer, his eyes sparkling with joy.
He had really harboured some intentions of throwing Benee into the
tumble-down old prison, but a drink would be a far better solution of
the difficulty, and he cheerfully led the way to a sort of hotel.
And in twenty minutes' time this truly intelligent member of the force
and Benee were lying on skin mats with apparently all the good things in
this life spread out before them.
The officer was curious, as all such men are, whether heathens or not,
to know all about Benee, and put to him a score of questions at least,
part of which Benee replied to with a delicate and forgivable fib.
So the policeman was but little wiser at the end of the conversation
than he was at the beginning.
About half an hour before sunset, Benee was once more far up on the
moorlands, and making straight for the place where he had hidden his
guns and ammunition.
But he stopped short and stared with astonishment when, before rounding
the corner of the wood, a pistol shot rang out in the quiet air,
followed by the most terrible shrieking and howling he had ever listened
to.
He hurried on quickly enough now, and as he did so, a whole herd of huge
monkeys, apparently scared out of their senses, rushed madly past him.
Close to the jungle he found one of his revolvers. One chamber had been
emptied, and not far off lay a baboon in the agonies of death. Benee,
who, savage though he was, evidently felt for the creature, mercifully
expended another shot on it, and placed it beyond the reach of woe.
He was glad to find his rifle and other revolver intact, but the
cartridges from his belt were scattered about in all directions, and
strenuous efforts had evidently been made to tear open his leathern
ammunition-box.
It took some time to make everything straight again.
Now down went the sun, and very soon, after a short twilight, out came
the stars once more.
Benee now resumed his journey as straight as he could across the
plateau.
He had not travelled many hours, however, before clouds began to bank up
and obscure the sky, and it became very dark.
A storm was brewing, and, ushered in by low muttering thunder in the far
distance, it soon came on in earnest.
As the big drops of rain began to fall, shining in the flashes of the
lightning like a shower of molten gold, Benee sought the shelter of a
rocky cave which was near to him.
He laid him down on the rough dry grass to wait until the storm should
clear away.
He felt drowsy, however. Perhaps the unusually good fare he had
partaken of in the village had something to do with this; but of late
his hardships had been very great indeed, so it is no wonder that now
exhausted Nature claimed repose.
The last thing he was conscious of was a long, low, mournful cry that
seemed to come from the far interior of the cave.
It was broad daylight when he again awoke, and such an awakening!
Great snowy-breasted owls sat blinking at the light, but all the rocks
around, or the shelves thereof, were alive with coiling, wriggling
snakes of huge size.
One had twined round his leg, and he knew that if he but moved a muscle,
it would send its terrible fangs deep into his flesh, and his journey
would be at an end.
Gradually, however, the awful creature unwound itself and wriggled away.
The sight of this snake-haunted cave was too much for even Benee's
nerves, and he sprang up and speedily dashed, all intact, into the open
air.
----
Notwithstanding his extraordinary adventure in the cave of serpents, the
wandering Indian felt in fine form that day.
The air was now much cooler after the storm, all the more so, no doubt,
that Benee was now travelling on a high table-land which stretched
southwards and west in one long, dreary expanse till bounded on the
horizon by ridges of lofty serrated mountains, in the hollow of which,
high in air, patches of snow rested, and probably had so rested for
millions of years.
The sky was very bright. The trees at this elevation, as well as the
fruit, the flowers, and stunted shrubs, were just such as one finds at
the Cape of Good Hope and other semi-tropical regions. The ground on
which he walked or trotted along was a mass of beauty and perfume, rich
pink or crimson heaths, heather and geraniums everywhere, with patches
of pine-wood having little or no undergrowth. Many rare and beautiful
birds lilted and sang their songs of love on every side, strange larks
were high in air, some lighting every now and then on the ground, the
music of their voices drawn out as they glided downwards into one long
and beautiful cadence.
There seemed to be a sadness in these last notes, as if the birds would
fain have warbled for ever and for aye at heaven's high gate, though
duty drew them back to this dull earth of ours.
But dangers to these feathered wildlings hovered even in the sunlit sky,
and sometimes turned the songs of those speckled-breasted laverocks into
wails of despair.
Behold yonder hawk silently darting from the pine-wood! High, high he
darts into the air; he has positioned his quarry, and downwards now he
swoops like Indian arrow from a bow, and the lark's bright and happy
song is hushed for ever. His beautiful mate sitting on her cosy nest
with its five brown eggs looks up astonished and frightened. Down fall
a few drops of red blood, as if the sky had wept them. Down flutter a
few feathers, and her dream of happiness is a thing of the past.
And that poor widowed lark will forsake her eggs now, and wander through
the heath and the scrub till she dies.
----
Benee had no adventures to-day, but, seeing far off a band of
travellers, he hid himself in the afternoon. For our Indian wanted no
company.
He watched them as they came rapidly on towards his hiding-place, but
they struck off to the east long before reaching it, and made for the
plains and village far below.
Then Benee had his dinner and slept soundly enough till moonrise, for
bracing and clear was heaven's ozonic breath in these almost Alpine
regions.
Only a scimitar of a moon. Not more than three days old was it, yet
somehow it gave hope and heart to the lonely traveller. He remembered
when a boy he had been taught to look upon the moon as a good angel, but
Christianity had banished superstition, and he was indeed a new man.
After once more refreshing himself, he started on his night march,
hoping to put forty miles behind him ere the sun rose.
Low lay the white haze over the woods a sheer seven thousand feet
beneath him.
It looked like snow-drifts on the darkling green.
Yet here and there, near to places where the river glistened in the
young moon's rays were bunches of lights, and Benee knew he was not far
from towns and civilization. Much too near to be agreeable.
He knew, however, that a few days more of his long weary march would
bring him far away from these to regions unknown to the pale-face, to a
land on which Christian feet had never trodden, a loveless land, a
country that reeked with murder, a country that seemed unblessed by
heaven, where all was moral darkness, as if indeed it were ruled by
demons and fiends, who rejoiced only in the spilling of blood.
But, nevertheless, it was Benee's own land, and he could smile while he
gazed upwards at the now descending moon.
Benee never felt stronger or happier than he did this evening, and he
sang a strange wild song to himself, as he journeyed onwards, a kind of
chant to which he kept step.
A huge snake, black as a winter's night, uncoiled itself, hissed, and
darted into the heath to hide. Benee heeded it not. A wild beast of
some sort sprang past him with furious growl. Benee never even raised
his rifle. And when he came to the banks of a reed-girt lake, and saw
his chance of shooting a huge cayman, he cared not to draw a bead
thereon. He just went on with his chant and on with his walk. Benee was
truly happy and hopeful for once in his life.
And amid such scenery, beneath such a galaxy of resplendent stars, who
could have been aught else?
"How beautiful is night!
A dewy freshness fills the silent air;
No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain,
Breaks the serene of heaven.
In glory yonder moon divine
Rolls through the dark-blue depths,
Beneath her steely ray
The desert circle spreads,
Like the round ocean girdled with the sky.
How beautiful the night!"
But almost before he could have believed it possible, so quickly do
health and happiness cause time to fly, a long line of crimson cloud,
high in the east, betokened the return of another day.
The night-owls and the great flitting vampire bats saw it and retreated
to darksome caves. There was heard no longer far over the plain the
melancholy howl of the tiger-cat or snarl of puma or jaguar.
Day was coming!
Day was come!
CHAPTER XIV--THE HOME OF THE CANNIBAL--BENEE'S ROMANCE
Like the bats and the night-birds Benee now crept into concealment.
He sought once more the shelter of a tall pine-tree of the spruce
species. Here he could be safe and here he could sleep.
But after a hearty meal he took the precaution to lash himself to the
stem, high, high up.
His descent from the last tree had been accomplished with safety
certainly, but it was of rather a peculiar nature, and Benee had no
desire to risk his neck again.
The wind softly sighed in the branches.
A bird of the thrush species alighted about a yard above him, and burst
into shrill sweet melody to welcome the rising sun.
With half-closed eyes Benee could see from under the branches a
deep-orange horizon, fading into pure sea-green zenithwards, then to
deepest purple and blue where rested the crimson clouds.
And now there was a glare of brighter and more silvery light, and the
red streaks were turned into wreaths of snow.
The sun was up, and Benee slept. But he carried that sweet bird's song
into dreamland.
----
About three days after this Benee was rejoiced to find himself in a new
land, but it was a land he knew well--too well.
Though very high above the sea-level it was in reality a
"Land of the mountain and the flood".
Hills on hills rose on all sides of him. There were straths or valleys
of such exceeding beauty that they gladdened the eye to behold. The
grass grew green here by the banks of many a brown roaring stream, and
here, too, cattle roamed wild and free, knee-deep in flowery verdure,
and many a beautiful guanaco and herds of llamas everywhere. The
streams that meandered through these highland straths were sometimes
very tortuous, but perhaps a mile distant they would seem to lose all
control of themselves and go madly rushing over their pebbly beds, till
they dashed over high cliffs at last, forming splendid cascades that
fell into deep, dark, agitated pools, the mist that rose above forming
rainbows which were never absent when the sun shone.
And the hillsides that bounded these valleys were clad in Alpine
verdure, with Alpine trees and flowers, strangely intermingled with
beautiful heaths, and in the open glades with gorgeous geraniums, and
many a lovely flower never seen even in greenhouses in our "tame
domestic England".
These were valleys, but there were glens and narrow gorges also, where
dark beetling rocks frowned over the brown waters of streams that rushed
fiercely onwards round rocks and boulders, against which they lashed
themselves into foam.
On these rocks strange fantastic trees clung, sometimes attached but by
the rootlets, sometimes with their heads hanging almost sheer downwards;
trees that the next storm of wind would hurl, with crash and roar, into
the water far beneath.
Yet such rivers or big burns were the home _par excellence_ of fish of
the salmon tribe, and gazing below you might see here and there some
huge otter, warily watching to spring on his finny prey.
Nor were the otters alone on the _qui vive_, for, strange as it may
seem, even pumas and tiger-cats often made a sullen dive into dark-brown
pools, and emerged bearing on high some lordly red-bellied fish. With
this they would "speel" the flowery, ferny rocks, and dart silently away
into the depths of the forest.
And this wild and beautiful country, at present inhabited by as wild a
race of Indians as ever twanged the bow, but bound at no very distant
date to come under the influence of Christianity and civilization, was
Benee's real home. 'Twas here he roamed when a boy, for he had been a
wanderer all his life, a nomad, and an inhabitant of the woods and
wilds.
Not a scene was unfamiliar to him. He could name every mountain and
hill he gazed upon in his own strangely musical Indian tongue. Every
bird, every creature that crept, or glided, or walked, all were his old
friends; yes, and every tree and every flower, from the splendid
parasitic plants that wound around the trees wherever the sun shone the
brightest, and draped them in such a wealth of beauty as would have made
all the richness and gaudiness of white kings and queens seem but a
caricature.
There was something of romance even in Benee. As he stood with folded
arms on the brink of a cliff, and gazed downward into a charming glen,
something very like tears stood in his eyes.
He loved his country. It was his own, his native land. But the savages
therein he had ceased to love. Because when but a boy--ah, how well he
remembered that day,--he was sent one day by his father and mother to
gather the berries of a deadly kind of thorn-bush, with the juice of
which the flints in the points of the arrows were poisoned. Coming back
to his parents' hut in the evening, as happy as boys only can be, he
found the place in flames, and saw his father, mother, and a sister whom
he loved, being hurried away by the savages, because the queen had need
of them. The lot of death had fallen on them. Their flesh was wanted to
make part of a great feast her majesty was about to give to a
neighbouring potentate. Benee, who had ever been used to hunt for his
food as a boy, or fish in the lakes and the brown roaring streams, that
he and his parents might live, had always abhorred human sacrifice and
human flesh. The latter he had seldom been prevailed upon even to
taste.
So from that terrible day he resolved to be a wanderer, and he
registered a vow--if I may speak so concerning the thoughts of a poor
boy-Indian--to take revenge when he became a man on this very tribe that
had brought such grief and woe on him and his.
Benee was still a young man, but little over two-and-twenty, and as he
stood there thoughts came into his mind about a little sweetheart he had
when a boy.
Wee Weenah was she called; only a child of six when he was good sixteen.
But in all his adventures, in forest or by the streams, Weenah used to
accompany him. They used to be away together all day long, and lived on
the nuts and the wild fruit that grew everywhere so plentifully about
them, on trees, on bushes, or on the flowery banks.
Where was Weenah now? Dead, perhaps, or taken away to the queen's
blood-stained court. As a child Weenah was very beautiful, for many of
these Indians are very far indeed from being repulsive.
And Benee used to delight to dress his tiny lady-love in feathers of the
wild birds, crimson and green and blue, and weave her rude garlands of
the gaudiest flowers, to hang around her neck, or entwine in her long
dark hair.
He had gone to see Weenah--though he was then in grief and tears--after
he had left his father's burnt shealing. He had told her that he was
going away far to the north, that he was to become a hunter of the
wilds, that he might even visit the homes of the white men, but that
some day he would return and Weenah should be his wife.
So they had parted thus, in childish grief and tears, and he had never
seen her since.
He might see her nevermore.
While musing thus to himself, he stretched his weary limbs and body on
the sweet-scented mossy cliff-top.
It was day certainly, but was he not now at home, in his own, his native
land?
He seemed to be afraid of nothing, therefore, and so--he fell asleep.
The bank on which he slept adjoined a darkling forest.
A forest of strange dark pines, with red-brown stems, which, owing to
the absence of all undergrowth save heather and moss and fern, looked
like the pillars of some vast cavern.
But there was bird music in this forest, and Benee had gone to sleep
with the flute-like and mellow notes of the soo-soo falling on his ear.
The soo-soo's song had accompanied him to the land of forgetfulness, and
was mingling even now with his dreams--happy dreams of long ago.
But list! Was that really the song of the bronze-necked soo-soo?
He was half-awake now, but apparently dreaming still.
He thought he was dreaming at all events, and would not have opened his
eyes and so dispelled the dream for all the world.
It was a sweet girlish voice that seemed to be singing--singing about
him, about Benee the wanderer in sylvan wilds; the man who for long
years had been alone because he loved being alone, whose hand--until he
reached the white man's home--had been against everyone, and against
every beast as well.
And the song was a kind of sweet little ballad, which I should try in
vain to translate.
But Benee opened his eyes at last, and his astonishment knew no bounds
as he saw, kneeling by his mossy couch, the self-same Weenah that he had
been thinking and dreaming about.
Though still a girl in years, being but thirteen, she seemed a woman in
all her sympathies.
Beautiful? Yes; scarcely changed as to face from the child of six he
used to roam in the woods with in the long, long ago. Her dark hair
hung to her waist and farther in two broad plaits. Her black eyes
brimmed over with joy, and there was a flush of excitement on her
sun-kissed cheeks.
"Weenah! Oh, Weenah! Can it be you?" he exclaimed in the Indian
tongue.
"It is your own little child-love, your Weenah; and ah! how I have
longed for you, and searched for you far and near. See, I am clad in
the skins of the puma and the otter; I have killed the jaguar, too, and
I have been far north and fought with terrible men. They fell before the
poison of my arrows. They tried to catch me; but fleet of foot is
Weenah, and they never can see me when I fly. In trees I have slept, on
the open heather, in caves of rocks, and in jungle. But never, never
could I find my Benee. Ah! life of mine, you will never go and leave us
again.
"Yes," she added, "Mother and Father live, and are well. Our home have
we enlarged. 'Tis big now, and there is room in it for Benee.
"Come; come--shall we go? But what strange, strange war-weapons you
carry. Ah! they are the fire-spears of the white man."
"Yes, Weenah mine! and deadly are they as the lightning's bolt that
flashes downward from the storm-sky and lays dead the llama and the ox.
"See yonder eagle, Weenah? Benee's aim is unerring; his hand is the
hand of the rock, his eye the eye of the kron-dah" (a kind of hawk),
"yet his touch on the trigger light as the moss-flax. Behold!"
He raised the rifle as he spoke, and without even appearing to take aim
he fired.
Next moment the bird of Jove turned a somersault. It was a death-spasm.
Down, down he fell earthwards, his breast-feathers following more
slowly, like a shower of snow sparkling in the sunshine.
Weenah was almost paralysed with terror, but Benee took her gently in
his arms, and, kissing her brow and bonnie raven hair, soothed her and
stilled her alarms.
Hand in hand now through the forest, as in the days of yore! Both
almost too happy to speak, Benee and his little Indian maiden! Hand in
hand over the plain, through the crimson heath and the heather, heeding
nothing, seeing nothing, knowing nothing save their own great happiness!
Hand in hand until they stood beside Weenah's mother's cottage; and her
parents soon ran out to welcome and to bless them!
Theirs was no ordinary hut, for the father had been far to the east and
had dwelt among white men on the banks of the rapid-rolling Madeira.
When he had returned, slaves had come with him--young men whom he had
bought, for the aborigines barter their children for cloth or schnapps.
And these slaves brought with them tools of the white men--axes, saws,
adzes, hammers, spades, and shovels.
Then Shooks-gee (swift of foot) had cut himself timber from the forest,
and, aided by his slaves, had set to work; and lo! in three moons this
cottage by the wood arose, and the queen of the cannibals herself had
none better.
But Benee was welcomed and food set before him, milk of the llama,
corn-cakes, and eggs of the heron and treel-ba (a kind of plover).
Then warm drinks of coca (not cocoa) were given him, and the child
Weenah's eyes were never turned away while he ate and drank.
He smoked then, the girl sitting close by him on the bench and watching
the strange, curling rings of reek rolling upwards towards the black and
glittering rafters.
"But," said Weenah's mother, "poor Benee has walked far and is much
tired. Would not Benee like to cover his feet?"
"Yes, our mother, Benee would sleep."
"And I will watch and sing," said Weenah.
"Sing the song of the forest," murmured Benee.
Then Weenah sang low beside him while Benee slept.
CHAPTER XV--SHOOKS-GEE'S STORY--A CANNIBAL QUEEN
What is called "natural curiosity" in our country, where almost every
man is a Paul Pry, is no trait of the Indian's character. Or if he ever
does feel such an impulse, it is instantly checked. Curiosity is but
the attribute of a squaw, a savage would tell you, but even squaws will
try to prevent such a weed from flourishing in their hearts.
That was the reason why neither the father nor the mother of Benee's
little lady-love thought of asking him a single question concerning his
adventures until he had eaten a hearty meal and had enjoyed a refreshing
sleep.
But when Benee sat up at last and quaffed the mate that Weenah had made
haste to get him, and just as the day was beginning to merge into the
twilight of summer, he began to tell his friends and his love some
portion of his wonderful adventures, even from the day when he had
bidden the child Weenah a tearful farewell and betaken himself to a
wandering life in the woods.
His young life's story was indeed a strange one,
"Wherein he spake of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field;
... of antres vast and deserts idle,
Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven.
----
The while Weenah
"... gave him for his pains a world of sighs.
'T was strange, 't was passing strange,
'T was pitiful, 't was wondrous pitiful:
She wished she had not heard it; yet she wished
That heaven had made her such a man."
Then when Benee came down to that portion of his long story when first
he found the children and their mighty wolf-hound lost in the forest,
Weenah and her parents listened with greater interest and intensity than
ever.
There was a fire on the rude, low hearth--a fire of wood, of peat, and
of moss; for at the great elevation at which this cannibal land is
situated the nights are chilly.
It was a fire that gave fitful light as well as heat. It fell on the
faces of Benee's listeners, and cast shadows grotesque behind them. It
beautified Weenah's face till Benee thought she looked like one of the
angels that poor Peggy used to tell him about.
Then he related to them all his suspicions of Peter, but did not
actually accuse him of bringing about the abduction of Peggy, to serve
some vile and unknown purpose of his own. Next he spoke, yet spoke but
lightly, of his long, long march, and the incidents and adventures
therewith connected.
There was much, therefore, that Benee had to tell, but there was also
much that he had to learn or to be told; and now that he had finished,
it was Shooks-gee's turn to take up the story.
I wish I could do justice to this man's language, which was grandly
figurative, or to his dramatic way of talking, accompanied as it was
with look and gesture that would have elicited applause on any European
stage. I cannot do so, therefore shall not try; but the following is
the pith of his story.
This Indian's house was on the very outside and most northerly end of
the great wild plateau which was the home of these savages and
cannibals.
The queen, a terrible monarch, and bloodthirsty in the extreme, used to
hold her court and lived on a strange mountain or hill, in the very
centre of the rough tree and bush clad plain.
For many, many a long year she had lived here, and to her court Indians
came from afar to do her homage, bringing with them cloth of crimson,
wine and oil, which they had stolen or captured in warfare from the
white men of Madeira valley.
When these presents came, the coca which her courtiers used to chew all
day long, and the mate they drank, were for a time--for weeks
indeed--discarded for the wine and fire-water of the pale-face.
Fearful were the revels then held on that lone mountain.
The queen was dainty, so too were her fierce courtiers.
When the revels first began she and they could eat the raw or
half-roasted flesh of calves and baby-llamas, but when their potations
waxed deeper, and appetite began to fail, then the orgies commenced in
earnest. Nothing would her majesty eat now--horrible to say--but
children, and her courtiers, armed to the teeth, would be sent to scour
the plains, to visit the mud huts of her people, and drag therefrom the
most beautiful and plump boys or girls procurable.
I will not tell of the fearful and awfully unnatural human
sacrifice--the murder of the innocents--that now took place.
Demons could not have been more revolting in their cruelties than were
those savage courtiers as they obeyed the queen's behests.
Let me drop the curtain over this portion of the tale. Well, this
particular cottage or hut, being on the confines of the country, had not
been visited by the queen's fearsome soldiers. But even had they come
they would have found that Weenah was far away in the woods, for her
father Shooks-gee loved her much. But one evening there came up out of
the dark pinewood forest, that lay to the north, a great band of
wandering natives.
They were all armed and under the command of one of her majesty's most
bloodthirsty and daring chiefs.
Hand to claw this man had fought pumas and jaguars, and slain them,
armed only with his two-edged knife.
This savage Rob Roy M'Gregor despised both bow-and-arrow and sling.
Only at close quarters would he fight with man or beast, and although he
bore the scars and slashes of many a fearful encounter, he had always
come off victorious.
Six feet four inches in height was this war-Indian if an inch, and his
dress was a picturesque costume of skins with the tails attached. A
huge mat of hair, his own, with emu's feathers drooping therefrom, was
his only head-gear, but round his neck he wore a chain of polished
pebbles, with heavy gold rings, in many of which rubies and diamonds
sparkled and shone.
But, ghastly to relate, between each pebble and between the rings of
gold and precious stones, was threaded a tanned human ear. More than
twenty of these were there.
They had been cut from the heads of white men whom this chief--Kaloomah
was his name--had slain, and the rings had been torn from their dead
fingers.
This was the band then that had arrived as the sun was going down at the
hut of Shooks-gee, and this was their chief.
The latter demanded food for his men, and Shooks-gee, with his trembling
wife--Weenah was hidden--made haste to obey, and a great fire was lit
out of doors, and flesh of the llama hung over it to roast.
But the strangest thing was this. Seated on a hardy little mule was a
sad but beautiful girl--white she was, and unmistakably English. Her
eyes were very large and wistful, and she looked at Kaloomah and his
band in evident fear and dread, starting and shrinking from the chief
whenever he came near her or spoke.
But the daintiest portion of the food was handed to her, and she ate in
silence, as one will who eats in fear.
The wild band slept in the bush, a special bed of dry grass being made
for the little white queen, as Kaloomah called her, and a savage set to
watch her while she slept.
Next morning, when the wild chief and his braves started onwards,
Shooks-gee was obliged to march along with them.
Kaloomah had need of him. That was all the explanation vouchsafed.
But this visit to the queen's home had given Weenah's father an insight
into court life and usages that he could not otherwise have possessed.
Kaloomah's band bore along with them huge bales of cloth and large boxes
of beads. How they had become possessed of these Shooks-gee never knew,
and could not guess.
The grim and haughty queen, surrounded by her body-guard of grotesque
and hideous warriors with their slashed and fearful faces, and the
peleles hanging in the lobes of their ears, was seated at the farther
end of a great wall, and on a throne covered with the skins of wild
beasts.
All in front the floor was carpeted with crimson, and her majesty
sparkled with gold ornaments. A tiara of jewels encircled her brow, and
a living snake of immense size, with gray eyes that never closed, formed
a girdle round her waist.
In her hand she held a poisoned spear, and at her feet crouched a huge
jaguar.
She was a tyrant queen, reigning over a people who, though savage, and
cannibals to boot, had never dared to gainsay a word or order she
uttered.
Passionate in the extreme, too, she was, and if a slave or subject dared
to disobey, a prick from the poisoned spear was the reward, and he or
she was dragged out into the bush to writhe and die in terrible agony.
Probably a more frightful woman never reigned as queen, even in cannibal
lands.
Kaloomah, on his arrival, bent himself down--nay, but threw himself on
his knees and face abjectly before her, as if he were scarcely worthy to
be her footstool.
But she greeted his arrival with a smile, and bade him arise.
"Many presents have we brought," he said in the figurative language of
the Indian. "Many presents to the beautiful mother of the sun. Cloth
of scarlet, of blue, and of green, cloth of rainbow colours, jewels and
beads, and the fire-water of the pale-faces."
"Produce me the fire-water of the pale-faces," she returned. "I would
drink."
Her voice was husky, hoarse, and horrible.
Kaloomah beckoned to a slave, and in a few minutes a cocoa-nut shell,
filled with rum, was held to her lips.
The queen drank, and seemed happier after this. Kaloomah thought he
might now venture to broach another subject.
"We have brought your majesty also a little daughter of the pale-faces!"
Then Peggy--for the reader will have guessed it was she--was led
trembling in before her, and made to kneel.
But the queen's brows had lowered when she beheld the child's great
beauty. She made her advance, and seizing her by the hand, held her at
arm's-length.
[Illustration: "SHE ... HELD HER AT ARM'S LENGTH"]
"Take her away!" she cried. "I can love her not. Put her in prison
below ground!"
And the beautiful girl was hurried away.
To be put in prison below the ground meant to be buried alive. But
Kaloomah had no intention of obeying the queen on this occasion, and the
girl pale-face was conducted to a well-lighted bamboo hut and placed in
charge of a woman slave.
This slave looked a heart-broken creature, but seemed kind and good, and
now made haste to spread the girl's bed of leaves on a bamboo bench, and
to place before her milk of the llama, with much luscious fruit and
nuts. She needed little pressing to eat, or drink, or sleep. The poor
child had almost ceased to wonder, or even to be afraid of anything.
But now comes the last act in Shooks-gee's strange story.
Two days after the arrival of the warlike band from the far north,
Kaloomah had once more presented himself before the queen. He came
unannounced this time, and with him were seven fierce-looking soldiers,
armed to the teeth with slings and stones, with bows and arrows, and
with spears.
The conversation that had ensued was somewhat as follows, being
interpreted into our plain and humdrum English:--
_The Queen_. "Why advances my general and slave except on his knees,
even as come the frogs?"
_Kaloomah_. "My queen will pardon me. I will not so offend again.
Your majesty has reigned long and happily."
_Q_. "True, slave."
She seized the poisoned spear as she spoke, and would have used it
freely; but at a word from Kaloomah it was wrenched from her grasp.
_K_. "Your majesty's reign has ended! The old queen must make room for
the beautiful daughter of the pale-faces. Yet will your beneficence
live in the person of the new queen, and in our hearts--the hearts of
those who have fought for you. For we each and all shall taste of your
roasted flesh!"
Then, turning quickly to the soldiers, "Seize her and drag her forth!"
he cried, "and do your duty speedily."
I must not be too graphic in my description of the scene that followed.
But the ex-queen was led to a darksome hut, and there she was speedily
despatched.
That night high revelry was held in the royal camp of the cannibals.
Many prisoners were killed and roasted, and the feast was a fearful and
awful one.
But not a chief was there in all that crowd who did not partake of the
flesh of his late queen, while ho
Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/39728