Although this forest life was not without its pleasures and excitements, yet it began to grow very irksome both to Don Pablo and Dona Isidora.
Life in the wilderness, with its rude cares and rude enjoyments, may be very pleasant for a while to those who seek it as amateurs, or to that cla.s.s who as colonists intend to make it a permanent thing. But neither Don Pablo nor his wife had ever thought of colonisation. With them their present industry was the result of accident and necessity. Their tastes and longings were very different. They longed to return to civilised life; and though the very misfortune which had driven them forth into the wilderness had also guided them to an opportunity of making a fortune, it is probable they would have pa.s.sed it by, had they not known that, penniless as they were, they would have fared still worse in any city to which they might have gone.
But before the first year was out, they yearned very much to return to civilisation, and this desire was very natural. But there were other reasons that influenced them besides the mere _ennui_ of the wilderness.
The lives of themselves and their children were constantly in danger from jaguars, pumas, and poisonous reptiles. Even man himself might at any moment appear as their destroyer. As yet no Indian--not even a trace of one--had been seen. But this was not strange.
In the tangled and impenetrable forests of the Great Montana two tribes of Indians may reside for years within less than a league"s distance of each other, without either being aware of the other"s existence!
Scarcely any intercourse is carried on, or excursions made, except by the rivers--for they are the only roads--and where two of these run parallel, although they may be only at a short distance from each other, people residing on one may never think of crossing to the other.
Notwithstanding that no Indians had yet appeared to disturb them, there was no certainty that these might not arrive any day, and treat them as enemies. On this account, Don Pablo and Dona Isidora were never without a feeling of uneasiness.
After mutual deliberation, therefore, they resolved not to prolong their stay beyond the early part of spring, when they would carry out their original design of building a _balza_ raft, and commit themselves to the great river, which, according to all appearance, and to Guapo"s confident belief, flowed directly to the Amazon. Guapo had never either descended or ascended it himself, and on their first arrival was not so sure about its course; but after having gone down to its banks, and examined its waters, his recollections revived, and he remembered many accounts which he had heard of it from Indians of his own tribe. He had no doubt but it was the same which, under the name of the "Purus,"
falls into the Amazon between the mouths of the Madeira and the Coary.
Upon this stream, therefore, in a few months they would embark. But these intervening months were not spent in idleness. Although the season for bark-gathering was past, another source of industry presented itself. The bottom lands of the great river were found to be covered with a network of underwood, and among this underwood the princ.i.p.al plant was a well-known briar, _Smilax officinalis_. This is the creeping plant that yields the celebrated "sarsaparilla;" and Don Pablo, having made an a.n.a.lysis of some roots, discovered it to be the most valuable species--for it is to be remembered, that, like the cinchona, a whole genus, or rather several genera, furnish the article of commerce.
The briar which produces the sarsaparilla is a tall creeping plant, which throws out a large number of long wrinkled roots of a uniform thickness, and about the size of a goose-quill. Nothing is required further than digging and dragging these roots out of the ground, drying them a while, and then binding them in bundles with a small "sipo," or tough forest creeper. These bundles are made up, so as to render the roots convenient for packing and transport.
During several months this branch of industry occupied Don Pablo, Guapo, and Leon; so that when the time drew nigh for their departure, what with the cinchona-bark, the sarsaparilla, and the vanilla-beans, there was not an empty inch in the large storehouse.
Guapo had not been all the time with them. For several days Gruapo was not to be seen at the house, nor anywhere around it. Where had Guapo been all this time? I will tell you; Guapo _had been to the mountains_!
Yes, Don Pablo had sent him on an important mission, which he had performed with secrecy and despatch. Don Pablo, before braving the dangers of the vast journey he had projected, had still a lingering hope that something might have happened--some change in the government of Peru--perhaps a new Viceroy--that might enable him to return with safety to his native land. To ascertain if such had taken place, Guapo had made his journey to the mountains.
He went no farther than the Puna--no farther than the hut of his friend the vaquero--who, by a previous understanding with Guapo, had kept himself informed about political matters.
There was no hope; the same Council, the same Viceroy, the same price upon the head of Don Pablo--who, however, was believed to have escaped in an American ship, and to have taken refuge in the great Republic of the North.
With this news Guapo returned, and now the preparations for the river voyage were set about in earnest. A balza raft was built out of large trunks of the _Bombax ceiba_, which, being light wood, was the best for the purpose. Of course these trunks had been cut long ago with a view to using them in this way. A commodious cabin, or "toldo," was constructed on the raft, built of palm and bamboos, and thatched with the broad leaves of the bussu. A light canoe was also hollowed out, as a sort of tender to the raft, and a couple of very large canoes for the purpose of giving buoyancy to it, were lashed one upon each side. The "merchandise"
was carefully "stowed" and covered with "tarpaulins" of palm-leaves, and the stores laid in with every providential care and calculation.
You will be wondering what was done with the horse and mule,--those creatures who had served the exiles so faithfully and so well? Were they left behind to become a prey to the jaguars and the large blood-sucking bats, that kill so many animals in these parts? No--they were not to be left to such a fate. One of them--the mule--had been already disposed of. It was a valuable beast, and partly on that account, and partly from grat.i.tude felt towards it for the well-timed kick it had given the ocelot, it was to be spared. Guapo had taken both the mule and the horse on his mountain journey, and presented the former to his friend the vaquero.
But the horse was still on hand. What was to be done with him? Leave him behind? That would be certain death, for no horse, that was not cared for, could exist in the Montana ten days without being eaten up by the fierce creatures that inhabit it. The bats would surely have destroyed him. Well, what was done? He could not be carried on the raft. But he was, though,--_in a way._
Guapo was resolved that the bats should not have him, nor the jaguars neither. He was in fine condition--fat as a pig. The fruit of the murumuru had agreed with him. He was just in the condition in which an Indian thinks a horse "good for killing," and _Guapo killed him_! Yes, Guapo killed him! It is true it was a sort of a Virginius tragedy, and Guapo had great difficulty in nerving himself for the task. But the blow-gun was at length levelled, and the _curare_ did its work. Then Guapo skinned him, and cut him into strips, and dried him into "charqui," and carried him on board the raft. That was the closing scene.
All left the house together, carrying with them the remains of their hastily-created _penates_. On reaching the end of the valley, they turned and threw back a last glance at a home that had to them been a happy one; and then, continuing their journey, they were soon upon the balza. The only living creature that accompanied them from their valley home was the pretty samiri, carried on the shoulder of the little Leona.
The cable of pia.s.saba-palm was carefully taken in and coiled, the raft was pushed out, and the next moment floated lightly upon the broad bosom of the river.
CHAPTER x.x.xIII.
THE GUARDIAN BROTHER.
The current of the river flowed at the rate of about four miles an hour, and at this speed they travelled. They had nothing to do but guide the raft in the middle part of the stream. This was effected by means of a large stern-oar fixed upon a pivot, and which served the purpose of a rudder. One was required to look after this oar, and Don Pablo and Guapo took turns at it. It was not a very troublesome task, except where some bend had to be got round, or some eddy was to be cleared, when both had to work at it together. At other times the balza floated straight on, without requiring the least effort on the part of the crew; and then they would all sit down and chat pleasantly, and view the changing scenery of the forest-covered sh.o.r.es.
Sometimes tall palms lined the banks, and sometimes great forest trees netted together by thick parasites that crept from one to the other, and twined around the trunks like monster serpents. Sometimes the sh.o.r.es were one unbroken thicket of underwood, where it would have been almost impossible to make a landing had they wished it. At other places there were sand-bars, and even little islets with scarce any vegetation upon them; and they also pa.s.sed many other islets and large islands thickly wooded. The country generally appeared to be flat, though at one or two places they saw hills that ran in to the banks of the river.
Of course the change of scenery, and the many fresh vistas continually opening before them, rendered their voyage both cheerful and interesting. The many beautiful birds too, and new kinds of trees and animals which they saw, were a constant source of varied enjoyment, and furnished them with themes of conversation.
During the first day they made a journey of full forty miles. Having brought their balza close to the sh.o.r.e, and secured it to a tree, they encamped for the night. There was no opening of any extent, but for some distance the ground was clear of underwood, and the trunks of great old trees rose like columns losing themselves amidst the thick foliage overhead. A dark forest only could be seen, and, as night drew on, the horrid cries of the alouattes, or howling monkeys, mingling with the voices of other nocturnal animals, filled the woods. They had no fear of monkeys, but now and then they thought they could distinguish the cry of the jaguar, and of him they had fear enough. Indeed the jaguar possesses the power of imitating the cry of the other animals of the forest, and often uses it to draw them within reach of him.
In addition to the fire upon which they had cooked their supper, as soon as night had fairly set in, they kindled others, forming a sort of semicircle, the chord of which was the bank of the river itself. Within this semicircle the hammocks were stretched from tree to tree; and, as all were fatigued with the day"s exertions, they climbed into them at an early hour, and were soon asleep. One alone sat up to keep watch. As they thought they had heard the jaguar, this was deemed best; for they knew that fire will not always frighten off that fierce animal. As the neighbourhood looked suspicious, and also as it was their first encampment, they, like all travellers at setting out, of course were more timid and cautious.
To Leon was a.s.signed the first watch; for Leon was a courageous boy, and it was not the first time he had taken his turn in this way. He was to sit up for about two hours, and then wake Guapo, who would keep the midnight watch; after which Don Pablo"s turn would come, and that would terminate in the morning at daybreak. Leon was instructed to rouse the others in case any danger might threaten the camp.
Leon from choice had seated himself by the head of the hammock in which slept the little Leona; in order, no doubt, to be nearer her, as she was the most helpless of the party, and therefore required more immediate protection. He had both the pistols by him--ready to his hand and loaded--and in case of danger he knew very well how to use them.
He had been seated for about half-an-hour, now casting his eyes up to the red and wrinkled trunks of the trees, and then gazing into the dark vistas of the surrounding forest, or at other times looking out upon the glistening surface of the river. Many a strange sound fell upon his ear. Sometimes the whole forest appeared to be alive with voices--the voices of beasts and birds, reptiles, and insects--for the tree-frogs and ciendas were as noisy as the larger creatures. At other times a perfect stillness reigned, so that he could distinctly hear the tiny hum of the mosquito; and then, all at once, would fall upon his ear the melancholy wailing of the night-hawk--the "_alma perdida_," or "lost soul"--for such is the poetical and fanciful name given by the Spanish Americans to this nocturnal bird.
While thus engaged Leon began to feel very drowsy. The heavy day"s work, in which he had borne part, had fatigued him as well as the others; and, in spite of the odd voices that from time to time fell upon his ear, he could have lain down upon the bare ground and slept without a feeling of fear. Snakes or scorpions, or biting lizards or spiders, would not have kept him from going to sleep at that moment. It is astonishing how the desire of sleep makes one indifferent to all these things, which at other times we so much dread. Leon did not fear them a bit, but kept himself awake from a feeling of pride and honour. He reflected that it would never do to be unfaithful to the important trust confided to him.
No; that would never do. He rubbed his eyes, and rose up, and approached the bank, and dipped his hands in the water, and came back to his former place, and sat down again. Spite of all his efforts, however, he felt very heavy. Oh! when would the two hours pa.s.s that he might rouse Guapo?
"Car-r-ambo! I nev-er was so s-s-sleepy. _Vamos_! Leon! you mustn"t give in!"
And striking himself a lively slap on the chest, he straightened his back, and sat upright for a while.
He was just beginning to get bowed about the shoulders again, and to nod a little, when he was startled by a short sharp exclamation uttered by the little Leona. He looked up to her hammock. He could perceive it had moved slightly, but it was at rest again, and its occupant was evidently asleep.
"Poor little sis! she is dreaming," he muttered half aloud. "Perhaps some horrid dream of jaguars or serpents. I have half a mind to awake her. But, no, she sleeps too soundly; I might disturb them all;" and with these reflections Leon remained upon his seat.
Once more his head was beginning to bob, when the voice of Leona again startled him, and he looked up as before. The hammock moved slightly, but there was no appearance of anything wrong. From where he sat he could not see well into it, but the outlines of the child"s body were easily discernible through the elastic netting; and at the farther end he could just perceive one of her little feet, where it had escaped from the covering, and rested partly over the edge.
As he continued to gaze upon the delicate member, thinking whether he had not better cover it against the mosquitoes, all at once his eye was attracted by something red--a crooked red line that traversed from the toe downward along the side of the foot. It was red and glittering--it was _a stream of blood_!
His first feeling was one of horror. His next was a resolve to spring to his feet and rouse the camp, but this impulse was checked by one of greater prudence. Whatever enemy had done it, thought he, must still be about the hammock; to make a noise would, perhaps, only irritate it, and cause it to inflict some still more terrible wound. He would remain quiet, until he had got his eyes upon the creature, when he could spring upon it, or fire his pistol before it could do further harm.
With these ideas, quickly conceived, he rose silently to his feet, and standing, or rather crouching forward, bent his eyes over the hammock.
CHAPTER x.x.xIV.
THE VAMPIRE.
Leon"s head was close to that of the sleeper, whose sweet breath he felt, and whose little bosom rose and fell in gentle undulation. He scanned the inside of the hammock from head to foot. He gazed anxiously into every fold of the cover. Not an object could he see that should not have been there--no terrible creature--no serpent--for it was this last that was in his mind. But something must have been there. What could have caused the stream of blood, that now being closer he could more plainly see trickling over the soft blue veins? Some creature must have done it!
"Oh! if it be the small viper," thought he, "or the coral snake, or the deadly macaurel! If these----".
His thoughts at this moment were interrupted. A light flapping of wings sounded in his ear--so light, that it appeared to be made by the soft pinions of the owl, or some nocturnal bird. It was not by the wings of a bird that that sound was produced, but by the wings of a hideous creature. Leon was conscious, from the continued flapping, that something was playing through the air, and that it occasionally approached close to his head. He gazed upward and around him, and at length he could distinguish a dark form pa.s.sing between him and the light; but it glided into the darkness again, and he could see it no more.
Was it a bird? It looked like one--it might have been an owl--it was full as large as one; but yet, from the glance he had had of it, it appeared to be black or very dark, and he had never heard of owls of that colour. Moreover, it had not the look nor flight of an owl. Was it a bird at all? or whatever it was, was it the cause of the blood? This did not appear likely to Leon, who still had his thoughts bent upon the snakes.