Kitobni o'qish: «Lost in the Forest: Wandering Will's Adventures in South America», sahifa 6

Chapter Eleven.
Wandering Will travels, finds his Profession Profitable, and sees a Good Deal of Life in New Forms

The first part of the journey was performed in a canoe on the Tacames river, up which they ascended with considerable speed. The scenery was delightfully varied. In some places the stream was wide, in others very narrow, fringed along the banks with the most luxuriant timber and brushwood, in which the concert kept up by birds and beasts was constant but not disagreeable to the ears of such enthusiastic sportsmen as Will Osten, Larry O’Hale, and Bunco. The only disagreeable objects in the landscape were the alligators, which hideously ugly creatures were seen, covered with mud, crawling along the banks and over slimy places, with a sluggish motion of their bodies and an antediluvian sort of glare in their eyes that was peculiarly disgusting. They were found to be comparatively harmless, however. If they had chanced to catch a man asleep they would have seized him no doubt, and dragged him into the water, but being arrant cowards, they had not the pluck to face even a little boy when he was in motion.

Towards the afternoon of the first day, the hunters came to a long bend in the river. Here Will Osten resolved to leave Bunco to proceed alone with the canoe, while he and Larry crossed the country in search of game. Their friend Gordon had given them an elaborate chart of the route up to the mountains, so that they knew there was a narrow neck of jungle over which they might pass and meet the canoe after it had traversed the bend in the river.

“Have you got the tinder-box, Larry?” inquired Will, as they were about to start.

“Ay, an’ the powder an’ shot too, not to mintion the bowie-knife. Bad luck to the wild baists as comes to close quarters wid me, anyhow.”

He displayed an enormous and glittering knife as he spoke, with which he made two or three savage cuts and thrusts at imaginary tigers before returning it to its sheath.

Cautioning Bunco to keep a good look-out for them on the other side of the neck of land, the hunters entered the forest. For several hours they trudged through bush and brake, over hill and dale, in jungle and morass, meadow and ravine, without seeing anything worth powder and shot, although they heard the cries of many wild creatures.

“Och! there’s wan at long last,” whispered Larry, on coming to the edge of a precipice that overlooked a gorge or hollow, at the bottom of which a tiger was seen tearing to pieces the carcase of a poor goat that it had captured. It was a long shot, but Larry was impatient. He raised his gun, fired, and missed. Will Osten fired immediately and wounded the brute, which limped away, howling, and escaped. The carcass of the goat, however, remained, so the hunters cut off the best parts of the flesh for supper, and then hastened to rejoin the canoe, for the shades of night were beginning to fall. For an hour longer they walked, and then suddenly they both stopped and looked at each other.

“I do belaive we’ve gone an’ lost ourselves again,” said Larry.

“I am afraid you are right,” replied Will, with a half smile; “come, try to climb to the top of yonder tree on the eminence; perhaps you may be able to see from it how the land lies.”

Larry went off at once, but on coming down said it was so dark that he could see nothing but dense forest everywhere. There was nothing for it now but to encamp in the woods. Selecting, therefore, a large spreading tree, Larry kindled a fire under it, and his companion in trouble discharged several shots in succession to let Bunco know their position if he should be within hearing.

Neither Will nor Larry took troubles of this kind much to heart. As soon as a roaring fire was blazing, with the sparks flying in clouds into the trees overhead, and the savoury smell of roasting goat’s flesh perfuming the air, they threw care to the dogs and gave themselves up to the enjoyment of the hour, feeling assured that Bunco would never desert them, and that all should be well on the morrow. After supper they ascended the tree, for the howling of wild beasts increased as the night advanced, warning them that it would be dangerous to sleep on the ground. Here they made a sort of stage or platform among the branches, which was converted into a comfortable couch by being strewn six inches deep with leaves. Only one at a time dared venture to sleep, however, for creatures that could climb had to be guarded against. At first this was a light duty, but as time passed by it became extremely irksome, and when Larry was awakened by Will to take his second spell of watching, he vented his regrets in innumerable grunts, growls, coughs, and gasps, while he endeavoured to rub his eyes open with his knuckles.

“Have a care, lad,” said Will, with a sleepy laugh as he lay down; “the tigers will mistake your noise for an invitation to—”

A snore terminated the speech.

“Bad luck to them,” yawned Larry, endeavouring to gaze round him. In less than a minute his chin fell forward on his breast, and he began to tumble backwards. Awaking with a start under the impression that he was falling off the tree, he threw out both his arms violently and recovered himself.

“Come, Larry,” he muttered to himself, with a facetious smile of the most idiotical description, “don’t give way like that, boy. Ain’t ye standin’ sintry? an’ it’s death by law to slaip at yer post. Och! but the eyes o’ me won’t kape open. Lean yer back agin that branch to kape ye from fallin’. There—now howld up like a man—like a—man—ould—b–o–oy.” His words came slower and slower, until, at the last, his head dropped forward on his chest, and he fell into a profound sleep, to the immense delight of a very small monkey which had been watching his motions for some time, and which now ventured to approach and touch the various articles that lay beside the sleepers, with intense alarm, yet with fiendish glee, depicted on its small visage.

Thus some hours of the night were passed, but before morning the rest of the sleepers was rudely broken by one of the most appalling roars they had yet heard. They were up and wide awake instantly, with their guns ready and fingers on the triggers!

“It’s draimin’ we must have—”

A rustling in the branches overhead checked him, and next moment the roar was repeated. Larry, with an irresistible feeling of alarm, echoed it and fired right above his head—doing nothing more serious, however, than accelerating the flight of the already horrified monkey. The shot was followed by another roar, which ended in something like a hideous laugh.

“Sure ’tis a hieena!” exclaimed Larry, reloading in violent haste.

“A hyena!” exclaimed Will—“ay, and a black one, too! Come down, Bunco, you scoundrel, else I’ll put a bullet in your thick skull.”

At this invocation the rustling overhead increased, and Bunco dropped upon the platform, grinning from ear to ear at the success of his practical joke.

“Och, ye blackymoor!” cried Larry, seizing the native by the throat and shaking him; “what d’ye mean be such doin’s, eh?”

“Me mean noting,” said Bunco, still chuckling prodigiously; “but it am most glorus fun for fright de bowld Irishesman.”

“Sit down, ye kangaroo, an’ tell us how ye found us out,” cried Larry.

“You heard our shots, I suppose?” said Will. To this Bunco replied that he had not only heard their shots, but had seen them light their fire, and eat their supper, and prepare their couch, and go to sleep, all of which he enjoyed so intensely, in prospect of the joke he meant to perpetrate, that he was obliged to retire several times during the evening to a convenient distance and roar in imitation of a tiger, merely to relieve his feelings without betraying his presence. He added, that the canoe was about five minutes’ walk from where they sat, and somewhat mollified the indignation of his comrades by saying that he would watch during the remainder of the night while they slept.

Next morning at daybreak the party re-embarked in the canoe and continued their journey. Soon the character of the country changed. After a few days the thick forests had disappeared, and richly cultivated small farms took their place. Everywhere they were most hospitably entertained by the inhabitants, who styled Will “Physico,” because Bunco made a point of introducing him as a doctor. One evening they arrived at a little town with a small and rapid stream of water passing through it. There was a square in the centre of the town, surrounded by orange, lemon, and other trees, which formed an agreeable shade and filled the air with fragrance. Not only was there no doctor here, but one was seldom or never seen. Immediately, therefore, our Physico was besieged for advice, and his lancet, in particular, was in great request, for the community appeared to imagine that bloodletting was a cure for all the ills that flesh is heir to! Will of course did his best for them, and was surprised as well as pleased by the number of doubloons with which the grateful people fed him. After passing some days very pleasantly here, Will made preparations to continue his journey, when an express arrived bringing intelligence from several of the surrounding towns to the effect that a sort of revolution had broken out. It was fomented by a certain colonel in the employment of the State, who, finding that his services and those of his followers were not paid with sufficient regularity, took the simple method of recruiting his finances by a levy on the various towns in his neighbourhood. He was, in fact, a bandit. Some towns submitted, others remonstrated, and a few resisted. When it was ascertained that the colonel and his men were on their way to the town in which our travellers sojourned, preparations were at once made for defence, and of course Will Osten and his comrades could do no less than volunteer their services.

Chapter Twelve.
In which Terrible Things are treated of—The Andes are crossed, the Orinoco descended and the Book ended

At the time of which we write it was not an uncommon thing, in the provinces on the western coast of South America, for dissatisfied military officers, with a number of malcontents, to get up miniature revolutions, which were generally put down after much plundering and bloodshed. These bands of armed men went about like regular banditti, disturbing the peace of the whole country. They were not much heard of in Europe, because intercommunication and telegraphy did not exist then as they do now, and insignificant affairs of the kind were not taken much notice of.

One effect of the threatened attack on the town about which we write was, that the people became desperately excited and tremendously vigorous in their preparations. Arms were sought out and distributed; chests were opened, and gold and silver—in quantities that amazed Will and his friends—taken out and buried in the woods. Pistols, guns, and swords were produced in abundance, with plenty of ammunition, and the manner in which the men handled these proved that they meant to make a determined stand. Trees were felled, and the roads leading to the town barricaded. As the express came along he spread the news around, and farmers came in from all quarters driving their cattle before them. All the arrangements for defence were made under the direction of Don Pedro, a retired officer, who proved to be quite equal to the occasion, posted his men judiciously, and sent out scouts on horseback. Will Osten, Larry, and Bunco were left to do as they pleased, so they armed themselves, procured horses, kept close together, and rode about the town observing the arrangements. The night passed without alarm, but early in the morning a horseman arrived with the news that the rebels were advancing. A few hours afterwards they appeared in full view. Some were mounted, but the majority were on foot, and a more villainous set of rascals could not well be imagined. They advanced irregularly, evidently not expecting opposition from so insignificant a town, but those who first approached the barricades were received with such a galling fire that several were killed, many wounded, and the rest driven back.

Their leader, a tall dark man on a powerful charger, rode to the front in a towering passion, and endeavoured to rally the men. At that moment a bold idea flashed upon Will Osten. He suddenly put spurs to his horse, galloped round to the lowest part of the barricade, leaped over it, and, drawing his sword, charged the leader of the rebels like a thunderbolt. The man faced him, and raised his sword, to defend himself, but Will’s first cut was so powerful that it broke down his guard, cleft his helmet, and tumbled him out of the saddle.

The contending parties had scarce time to realise what was being done when the deed was completed, and a wild cheer burst from the townspeople, high above which there sounded a terrific “hooroo!” and next instant, Larry O’Hale, followed by Bunco, shot from the barricades, and charged the foe! The consternation caused by the suddenness and the unexpected nature of this onset made the banditti waver, and, when they beheld the townsmen pouring out from their defences and rushing at them with an evident determination to conquer or die, they turned and fled! The rout was complete, and for some time the people of the town continued to chase and slay the enemy, until the pursuit was suddenly stopped by an event as terrible as it was unexpected.

For some weeks previous to the day when the town was assaulted, the neighbourhood, and, indeed, the whole of the surrounding provinces, had been visited by a series of slight earthquakes. So common are these tremblings and heavings of the earth in South America, that unless very severe, not much notice is taken of them. At the time of which we write, the slight shocks had been so frequent that the people were comparatively indifferent to them. On the very day of the assault there had been several smarter shocks than usual, and some of the more thoughtful among the inhabitants remembered that it was on an unusually dry summer, similar to the one that was then passing, that a terrible earthquake had visited the province of Venezuela and entirely demolished the city of Caraccas. But the sudden attack of the rebels had for the time banished all thought of earthquakes.

It was while the people of the town were pursuing their enemies that another shock of the earthquake occurred, and it was so violent that many of the pursuers paused, while others turned at once and ran back to the town. Here they found the women and children in a state of consternation, for they had more thoroughly realised the force of the shock; and the dreadful scenes that had taken place in Caraccas, when upwards of ten thousand of the inhabitants perished, were still fresh in their memory. Another shock occurred just as Don Pedro, Will Osten, and his friends galloped into the principal square of the town. Here there were hundreds of cattle which had been driven there for safety, and crowds of people hurrying to and fro. The horsemen rode towards the principal church of the town, which had been made a place of temporary retreat for the women and children. They had got within a few hundred yards of it when there came a shock so terrible that it seemed as if the binding forces of nature were being dissolved. Hollow thunderings were heard deep in the bowels of the earth, which heaved and undulated almost as if it had been in a semi-liquid state, while great rents and fissures occurred here and there. Will Osten’s horse stumbled into one of these and threw him, but he leaped up unhurt. Don Pedro and the others pulled up and dismounted hastily. Before they could make up their minds which way to turn or what to do, another shock occurred; the houses on either side of them began to sway to and fro, and one not far distant fell. Just then a terrible crash was heard, and Will Osten turned round in time to see the large church in the act of falling. Women and children were rushing out of it frantically, but those within were doomed. One wild and awful shriek mingled with the roar of the tumbling edifice, and five hundred souls were instantaneously buried in a common grave.

Terrible though this event was, much of the impression it was fitted to make on those who witnessed it was lost because of the danger that surrounded themselves. The shock or series of shocks continued for several minutes, during which time the houses were falling into ruins in all directions, and there was so much danger in remaining in any of the streets that most of the inhabitants who had escaped flocked, as with one consent, into the great square—many of them, however, being killed by falling masonry on their way thither. Others nearer the outskirts of the town fled into the woods.

When this shock ceased, the earthquake appeared to have terminated for that time, but even if it had continued, further damage could scarcely have been done, for the little town was reduced to a heap of ruins. The desolation was complete. Scarcely a house was left uninjured, and the greater part of the buildings were completely demolished. But the sights that met the eye were not more terrible than the sounds which filled the ear. Death and destruction reigned on every side. Groans of agony and frantic cries for deliverance were heard issuing from beneath the ruins, while men, women, and children were seen rushing about with dishevelled hair and bloodshot eyes, wildly searching for, and shouting the names of, their lost relatives and friends, or crying to God for mercy. It was a sickening and terrible sight—a sight in regard to which those who dwell in the more favoured parts of our sin-smitten world can form but a very faint conception.

At first all was disorder, but by degrees the spirits of the survivors began to calm down a little, and then systematic efforts were made to rescue those who had not been killed outright. It need scarcely be said that in this work our hero and his companions were conspicuously energetic. Will and Don Pedro organised the men into gangs and wherever cries or groans were heard, they tore up and removed the ruins so vigorously that the poor sufferers were speedily released; but in performing this work they uncovered the torn, crushed, and mangled bodies of hundreds of the dead.

“Come here, Larry,” said Will, in a low, sad tone, as he stood on a pile of rubbish digging towards a spot where he had heard a faint cry as if from a female. The Irishman leaped to his side and saw a small hand sticking out of the rubbish. It quivered convulsively, showing that life still remained. With desperate eagerness, yet tender care, the two men disentombed the poor creature, who proved to be a women with a child clasped tightly in her broken and lacerated right arm. The woman was alive, but the poor child was dead, the skull having been completely smashed and its brains scattered on its mother’s bosom. As they carried them away, the woman also expired.

In the course of a few hours great numbers of wounded persons, young and old, were laid under the lemon-trees by the banks of the little stream that traversed the town. Some were slightly hurt, but by far the greater number were terribly crushed and lacerated—many of them past all hope of recovery. To these sufferers Will Osten now gave his undivided attention, washing and bandaging wounds, amputating limbs, and endeavouring by every means to relieve them and save their lives, while to the dying he tried, in the little Spanish he knew, to convey words of spiritual comfort, sometimes finding it impossible to do more than whisper the name of Jesus in a dying ear, while hurriedly passing from one to another. If earnest heart-expressive glances from eyes that were slowly fading conveyed any evidence of good having been done, Will’s labour of love was not spent in vain.

Reader, a volume would not suffice to detail a tithe of the sights and scenes of thrilling and dreadful interest that occurred in that small South American town on the occasion of the earthquake. Yet, awful though these were, they were as nothing compared with the more stupendous calamities that have been caused by earthquakes in that land of instability, not only in times long past, but in times so very recent that the moss cannot yet have begun to cover, nor the weather to stain, the tombstones and monuments of those who perished.

For many weeks Will Osten remained there tending the sick and dying. Then he bade his kind unfortunate friends farewell, and, once more turning his face towards the Cordillera of the Andes, resumed his homeward journey with his faithful attendants.

There are times in the career of a man—especially of one who leads a wandering and adventurous life—when it seems as though the events of a lifetime were compressed into the period of a few months, or weeks, or even days. Such, at least, was the experience of our hero while he travelled in the equatorial regions of South America. Events succeeded each other with such rapidity, and accumulated on each other to such an extent, that when he looked back it appeared utterly incredible that he and his companions had landed on the coast of Peru only a few months before. It was natural, indeed, that in such a region, where the phenomena and the forces of nature are so wild and vast, one incident or adventure should follow quickly on the heels of another, but it did not seem to be altogether natural that each incident should be more singular or tremendous than its predecessor. In short, there seemed to be neither rhyme nor reason, as Larry said, in the fact that they should be continually getting out of the frying-pan into the fire. Yet so it was, and, now that they had left the low country and plunged into the magnificent recesses of the great Andes, the metaphor was still applicable, though not, perhaps, equally appropriate, for, whereas the valleys they had quitted were sweltering in tropical heat, the mountains they had now ascended were clothed in wintry snow.

Far down in the valleys Will Osten and his friends had left their canoe, and hired mules with an arriero or mule-driver to guide them over the difficult and somewhat dangerous passes of the Andes. They had reached the higher altitudes of the mountains when we again introduce them to the reader, and were urging their mules forward, in order to reach a somewhat noted pass, before the breaking out of a storm which the arriero knew, from certain indications in the sky, was rapidly approaching. The party consisted of four—Will, Larry, Bunco, and the arriero—with three baggage-mules.

On reaching an elevated position at a turn in the road whence they could see far in advance, they halted.

“Why, I had supposed this was the pass,” said Will Osten, turning to Bunco; “ask the arriero how far off it is now.”

“Troth, it’s my belaif that there’s no pass at all,” said Larry, somewhat doggedly, as he shifted about uneasily in the saddle; “haven’t we bin comin’ up to places all day that we thought was the pass,—but they wasn’t; I don’t think Mister Arryhairo knows it hisself, and this baist of a mule has blistered my hands an’ a’most broke my arms with baitin’ of it—not to mintion other parts o’ me body. Och, but it’s a grand place, afther all—very nigh as purty as the Lakes of Killarney, only a bit bigger.”

The country was indeed a little bigger! From the dizzy ledge on which they stood a scene of the wildest sublimity met their gaze, and, for a few minutes, the travellers regarded it in profound silence. Mountains, crags, gorges, snowy peaks, dark ravines, surrounded them, spread out below them, rose up above them everywhere in the utmost confusion. It was the perfection of desolation—the realisation of chaos. At their feet, far down in the gorge below, lay a lake so dark that it might have been ink; but it was clear and so very still that every rock in the cliffs around it was faithfully portrayed. High overhead rose one of the more elevated peaks of the Andes, which, being clothed in pure snow, looked airy—almost unreal—against the blue sky. The highest peak of the Andes (Chimborazo) is more than 21,000 feet above the sea. The one before them was probably a few hundred feet lower. Of living creatures, besides themselves, only one species was to be seen—the gigantic “condor”—the royal eagle of the Andes, which soars higher, it is said, than any other bird of its kind. Hundreds of condors were seen hovering above them, watching for their prey,—the worn-out and forsaken mules or cattle, which, while being driven over the pass, perished from exhaustion.

“The ugly brutes! Is it a goat they’ve got howld of there?” said Larry, pointing to a place where several of these monstrous eagles were apparently disputing about some prize.

On reaching the place, the object in question was found to be the skeleton of a mule, from which every morsel of flesh had been carefully picked.

“Hold my mule, Larry,” whispered Will, throwing the reins to his comrade, and grasping a rifle with which one of his grateful patients who survived the earthquake had presented him. A condor had seated himself, in fancied security, on a cliff about two hundred yards off, but a well-aimed bullet brought him tumbling down. He was only winged, and when Will came up and saw his tremendous talons and beak, he paused to consider how he should lay hold of him.

“Och, what claws!” exclaimed Larry.

“Ah!” said Bunco, smiling, “more teribuble for scratch than yoos grandmoder, eh?”

Before they could decide how to proceed, the arriero came up, threw the noose of his lasso over the head of the magnificent bird, and secured it easily. He measured eight feet seven inches from tip to tip of the expanded wings.

Will Osten was anxious to skin this bird, and carry it away with him as a trophy, but the guide protested. He said that the pass was now really within a short distance of them, but that the thunder-storm would soon come on, and if it caught them in the pass they ran a chance of all being lost. Will, therefore, contented himself with cutting off the head and talons of the condor, and then resumed his toilsome upward journey.