The bird diverged from its course, and after pa.s.sing the snake, turned and swooped again from the opposite direction. But the reptile had shifted its body so as to meet the attack, and its threatening head once more was reared high above its coiled body. The guaco was foiled a second time.
This second failure seemed to enrage the bird, as it turned at shorter intervals, and apparently losing all fear, fluttered over the reptile, striking both with beak and claws. The latter still kept in its coil, but its head moved hastily from side to side, so as always to "show front" to its active antagonist.
After this play had continued for some time, the snake was seen to draw in its head farther than usual, and the hawk, evidently somewhat off his guard, deeming this a fair opportunity, pounced forward to seize it. But he was met half way. The head of the serpent shot forward like a rapier, and reached his breast. The hawk felt that he was wounded; and uttering a wild scream, he flew suddenly away.
All eyes watched him as he flew off, expecting that he would fall--for the bite of the coral snake will kill even a man in a few minutes, and a bird or small animal in much less time. It is not correct to say that all of them expected to see him fall. Guapo, from experience, knew better, and even Don Pablo, as a naturalist, had heard a strange account of this singular bird, and was curious to witness the result. The hawk, therefore, was narrowly watched.
It flew directly for a tree, up against the trunk of which, and clinging to its branches, grew a parasite or creeping plant. The latter was of the thickness of a willow rod, with long slender leaves, of a dark green colour. The bird did not alight upon the top of the tree, but on a branch where it could reach the leaves of the creeper, which it began immediately to pluck and devour. In a short while it had eaten as many as a dozen of these long leaves, when it again took to wing, and flew back in the direction of the snake.
All had, for the moment, forgotten the snake, in their eagerness to watch the movements of the bird. To their astonishment the reptile was still in the same place, and coiled up as when last seen. This was easily explained, however, as snakes who defend themselves in that att.i.tude usually remain coiled, until they are certain that their enemy has gone away and will not return to the attack.
The contest was now renewed with redoubled fury. The bird fought with fresh courage, knowing that he had taken precautions against a fatal result, while the snake defended itself with the energy of despair. This time the battle was a short one. The guaco, using its wings, succeeded in striking its antagonist upon the upraised head, and quickly following up the blow, planted his talons so as to encircle the throat of his victim. The effect of his gripe was instantly apparent. The reptile unfolded itself, and the slender coral body was seen writhing and twisting along the ground. But it did not remain long upon the ground, for in a few moments the guaco rose into the air, and carried the struggling victim into the woods to devour it at his leisure.
Now Guapo was exceedingly pleased at what had occurred. Why? It was not because such a scene was at all new to him. No; he had often witnessed such, and was no longer curious upon that head. It was something more than mere curiosity that moved Guapo. When the affair was over, he rose from his seat, and stalking off to the place where the bird had been seen to eat the leaves, he gathered a quant.i.ty of them, and then returned to the fire. Don Pablo recognised them as the leaves of a plant of the genus _Mikania_, and known popularly as the "vejuco de guaco."
Guapo knew nothing of the scientific designation of the plant, but he had long ago been taught the valuable properties of its leaves as an antidote against the bite of the most poisonous snakes. He had known them to cure the bite of the cascabel (_rattle-snake_), and even of the small spotted viper, the most poisonous of all the American snakes.
What, then, did Guapo with the leaves of the vejuco? First, he chopped them up as fine as he could, and then, tying them tightly in a piece of cotton cloth, he expressed from them a quant.i.ty of juice--enough for his purpose. That done, with the point of a knife he made small incisions between his toes, and also upon his breast and fingers. Into each of these incisions, even while the blood was flowing from them, he dropped the juice of the Mikania, and rubbed it in with fresh leaves of the plant itself; and then, with some tufts of the soft floss of the silk-cotton tree he covered the incisions, so as to stop the bleeding.
He wound up this strange performance, by chewing some of the leaves, and swallowing about a spoonful of the juice. This made the "inoculation"
complete, and Guapo, as he himself declared, was now invulnerable to the bite of the most venomous serpent!
He offered to "inoculate" the others in the same way. They at first refused--Don Pablo among the rest--but after a day or two, when each of the party had met with several narrow escapes from vipers, coral snakes, and the much-dreaded "jararaca," Don Pablo thought it prudent that all should submit to the operation, and accordingly Guapo "doctored" the party without more ado.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE PALM-WOODS.
It happened, that upon the opposite side of the stream there was a broad track covered with palm-trees, while not one was to be seen on that side where they intended building their house. As these are the most convenient trees for constructing a house to suit the hot climate of the Montana, it appeared necessary that they should use them. But how were they to get at them? The stream flowed between them and the camp; and although not a large river, yet at that place it was very wide and deep, for in the flat table valley it expanded to the dimensions of a little lake.
Below, where it issued out of the valley, it ran for some distance in a deep cleft between rocky banks almost or quite perpendicular, and above the valley it came dashing through an impa.s.sable ravine. If they could only get over to cut the palms, they knew they could roll them to the bank, and float them across the stretch of still water. But how to get over required some consideration. Guapo could swim like a water-dog, but Don Pablo could not; and Leon, having been brought up as a town boy, had had but little practice, and consequently was but a poor swimmer. What, then, was to be done, as Guapo could not well manage the palms without help?
After examining the stream, both above and below, no crossing place could be found, but just at the point where it ran out of the valley, the s.p.a.ce between the high banks was very narrow. A good long plank would have reached across it--had they only had one--but that they had not. Now, upon the opposite bank there grew a tall tree. It was one of the beautiful silk-cotton trees already mentioned. It stood upon the very edge of the chasm. Both Don Pablo and Guapo saw at a glance that this tree could be felled, and made to fall across the stream, so as to form the very bridge they wanted.
Not much time was lost about it. Guapo, tying his axe upon his shoulders, ran up the near side, until he was opposite the still running water; and then plunging in, swam across in a few seconds. He soon after appeared on the opposite bank, at the root of the bombax, which he attacked in such a manner that one who did not know what he was about might have fancied he was angry at it. In a few minutes a great notch appeared in the side of the tree, and Guapo continuing his st.u.r.dy blows, made the yellow chips fly out in showers. Of course the notch was cut on the side next the stream, so that the tree would fall in that direction.
The beaver understands that much, and Guapo had considerably more intelligence than any beaver.
In about half-an-hour the bombax began to creak and lean a little. Then Don Pablo threw over a la.s.so, which had been brought along. Guapo noosed one end over a high limb, and tying a stone to the other, pitched it back to Don Pablo, who hauled it taut. Then a few cuts of the axe broke the skin of the tree on the other side, Don Pablo pulled by the rope, and with a loud tear and a crash, and a vast deal of crackling among the branches, the great bombax settled into a horizontal position across the chasm. The bridge was built.
After all, it was no slight adventure to cross it. The rounded trunk was anything but sure footing, and even had it been a flat plank, the depth of the chasm--nearly an hundred feet clear--and the white roaring torrent below, were enough to shake the stoutest nerves. All, however, got over in safety, and proceeded up to the palm-woods. I say all--but I mean only the male population of the new settlement. Dona Isidora and the little Leona remained by the camp, both of them busy sc.r.a.ping _yucca_ roots, to be manufactured into ca.s.sava, and then into bread.
On arriving among the palm-trees, Don Pablo was struck with a singular fact. He observed (indeed, he had already noticed as much from the opposite side of the river) that instead of one species of palm, there were not less than a dozen kinds growing in this wood. This was a very unusual circ.u.mstance, as although two or three species are often found together, such a varied collection as were there could only have been made by human hands. Here, again, was recognised the work of the missionary monk, who had no doubt planted most of the species, having received them very likely from many distant stations of his fellow-labourers in other parts of the Amazon valley.
Whether Franciscan, Jesuit, or Dominican (for all three have had their missions in this part of the world), the holy father who resided here, thought Don Pablo, must have been an ardent horticulturist. Whether or not he converted many Indians to his faith, he seemed to have exerted himself to provide for their temporal necessities, for there was hardly a useful plant or tree suitable to the climate that was not to be found growing near the spot. Such were the reflections of Don Pablo.
"What a variety of beautiful palms!" said he, looking around upon these by far the fairest forms of the vegetable creation.
Now, my boy reader, I have not the slightest doubt but that you, too, think the palms the fairest forms of the vegetable creation. I have not the shadow of a doubt that your heart beats joyfully at the very word "palm;" that you love to gaze at one of the stately trees, and that you would give all your pocket-money for an afternoon"s ramble through a real palm-wood. Would you not? Yes. I am sure of it. Now I could tell you a great deal about palms if I _would_; and I would, too, if my s.p.a.ce and time allowed me, but neither will, alas! Why, if I were only to give you even the shortest and dryest botanic description of all the different palms that are known to us, that mere dry catalogue would fill a book as big as this one!
How many species do you think there are? Up to this time you have thought, perhaps, there was only one, and that was _the palm-tree itself_. Maybe you have heard of more, such as the sago-palm, the cocoa-nut palm, the date-palm, or the cabbage-palm; and you fancied there might be others--perhaps as many as a dozen! Now you will hardly credit me when I tell you that we know of no less than _six hundred species of palms_, all differing from each other! I may add, further, that it is my belief that there exist on the earth as many more--that is, the enormous number of twelve hundred.
The reason why I entertain this belief is, that in all cases where similar guesses have been hazarded--whether with regard to plants, or birds, or _mammalia_--they have eventually proved far below the mark; and as the palm countries are the very regions of the earth least known and least explored by botanists, it is but reasonable to conclude that great numbers of species have never yet been described, nor even seen.
Another fact which strengthens this probability is, that peculiar species of palms are sometimes found only in a limited district, and nowhere else in the same country. A small river even sometimes forms the boundary-line of a species; and although whole groves may be seen on the one side, not a tree of the same sort grows on the other. Some botanists even prognosticate that more than two thousand species of palms will yet become known.
Of the six hundred species known, about half belong to the Old World, and half to America. In America they are chiefly found growing on the Continent--although several species are natives of the West India Islands--while on the Eastern hemisphere the greatest number of species belong to the islands.
I might tell you a great deal of the importance of these n.o.ble trees to the human race, for they are as useful as they are beautiful. Almost every sort has its particular use in the economy of human life. Not only do they serve certain purposes in Africa, Asia, America, and Oceanica, but in all these divisions of the earth there are whole nations who _live almost exclusively_ upon one or another species of palm.
A discovery has lately been made in regard to an African species, which it is to be hoped will have an important influence in doing away with the infamous slave traffic so long existing in that unhappy country. You have heard of _palm-oil_. Well, it is extracted from the nuts of a species of palm. The oil is no new discovery, but it is only lately that it has been found to be as quite as good for the manufacture of candles as either spermaceti or wax.
The consequence has been a great increase in the traffic of this article on the western coast of Africa; and the native princes, finding that it is more profitable than slave-selling, have in many parts given up the last-named atrocious commerce, and have taken to gathering palm-oil. If a palm-tree can effect what has baffled the skill of the combined philanthropists and powers of Europe, then, indeed, we shall say, "All honour to the n.o.ble palms."
But I might go on talking of palms until our little volume came to an end. I must, therefore, no longer speak generally of these beautiful trees, but confine myself to such species as came under the observation, and ministered to the wants, of the new settlers.
CHAPTER XVII.
A HOUSE OF PALMS.
The first species of palms that attracted the observation of Don Pablo and his party, was that known as the "patawa" palm. It belongs to the genus _Oenocarpus_. There are several species of this genus in South America, but none more beautiful than the "patawa." It is a palm with a straight smooth stem, and pinnate leaves--the stem being sixty feet in height, and about a foot in diameter. The stem becomes smooth only in old trees. In the young ones, and even in those that stand in a thick shady forest, it presents a very s.h.a.ggy appearance, and is completely hidden by the bases of the old leaves that have decayed and fallen off.
From the margins of these bases grow spinous processes of nearly three feet in length, which point upward. These are used by the Indians to make the arrows of their "blow-guns," of which more hereafter.
From the fruits of this palm a most delicious drink is manufactured with very little trouble. The fruit itself is about the size of a plum, but of an oval shape and deep violet colour. It grows in large cl.u.s.ters just under the leaves. To make the drink, the fruits are thrown into a vessel of hot water, where they remain for a few minutes until the pulp becomes soft. The hot water is next poured off, and cold water is subst.i.tuted.
In this the fruits are crushed and rubbed with the hands until all the pulp is washed from the stones. The liquid is then strained so as to separate the stones and other substances, when it is ready for use, and a most luxurious beverage it is,--in its taste bearing some resemblance to filberts and cream.
A palm called the "a.s.sai" has a small sloe-like fruit which produces a similar beverage--thick and creamy, and of a fine plum colour. In all the Portuguese settlements the "a.s.sai" is a favourite drink, and is taken along with ca.s.sava bread, as we use milk or coffee.
It was not on account of its fruit, however, that Don Pablo rejoiced at beholding the "patawa" palms. Perhaps Leon thought more about the rich cl.u.s.ters of oval plums, but his father looked only to the straight smooth stems which were designed for corner-posts, beams, and the heavier woodwork of the house.
In a few minutes Guapo was busy with his axe, and one after another fell the princely trunks of the "patawa" until enough were cut down for their purpose.
Don Pablo next looked out for some palm of a more slender trunk for the rafters and joists.
This was soon found in the "catinga," which is a species of the "a.s.sai palm, the one of which we have just spoken as producing the a.s.sai wine."
The catinga was the very thing for the rafters. It is tall, nearly forty feet high, but quite slender. It is one of the smooth palms, with pinnate leaves, not unlike those of the "patawa." There is a peculiarity about its top,--that is, there is a column or sheath of several feet in length, out of which the leaves spring, and, at the lower end of this column, and not immediately at the root of the leaves, the fruit cl.u.s.ters grow. This sheathing column is of a red colour, which gives the tree a strange look.
Another peculiarity of the catinga is that its roots grow out of the ground, and form a little cone from the top of which rises the stem. The fruits of this sort are smaller than the true a.s.sai, but a drink is also made from them which some people consider more delicious than that either of the a.s.sai or patawa. The rafters then were got from the catinga.
Now for the thatch, that was the next consideration.
"Master!" cried Guapo, pointing off into the woods. "Yonder"s "bussu,"--very thing for thatch!"