The Rover of the Andes: A Tale of Adventure on South America, R. M. Ballantyne [world of reading .txt] 📗

her as a mere statue, an unusually classical-looking bronze savage; but when she smiled, there was something so bewitchingly sweet in the lines of her little face that he felt constrained to shut his eyes, turn away, and groan in spirit, to think that she was brown, and a savage!

“Was there ever a case,” he thought, “so mysteriously miserable, so singularly sad, as mine! If she were only white, I would marry her at once, (if she would have me), for the sake of her gentle spirit alone,—ay, even though she were the child of a costermonger; but I cannot, I do not, love a savage, the daughter of a savage chief, with a skin the colour of shoe leather! No, it is impossible! and yet, I am in love with her spirit. I know it. I feel it. I never heard of such a strange thing before,—a man in love with a portion of a woman, and that the immaterial portion!”

The last word changed the current of his thoughts, for it suggested the idea of another “portion” belonging to some girls with which men are too apt to fall in love!

“Massa, de grub’s ready,” said Quashy, entering the hut at that moment.

“Go to work then, Quash. Don’t wait. I’ll be with you directly.”

But Quashy did wait. He was much too unselfish a son of ebony to think of beginning before his master.

When they had seated themselves on the grass outside the hut, along with Manuela, who left her post of duty in order to dine, and had made a considerable impression on the alligator-ragout and tiger-steaks and other delicacies, Quashy heaved a deep sigh of partial satisfaction, and asked if Tiger would be well enough to go out hunting next day.

“I think not,” said Lawrence; “no doubt he may feel able for it, but if he shows any disposition to do so, I shall forbid him.”

“How you forbid him, when you not can speak hims tongue?” asked Manuela, in a mild little voice, but with an arch look to which her arched black eyebrows gave intense expression.

“Well,” replied Lawrence, laughing, “I must try signs, I suppose, as usual.”

“No use, massa,” said Quashy; “nebber make him understan’. I gib you a plan. See here. You tie him up hand an’ foot; den we go off huntin’ by our lone, an’ let him lie till we comes back.”

Lawrence shook his head. “I fear he would kill us on our return. No, we must just go off early in the morning before he wakes, and get Manuela to try her hand at sign-language. She can prevail on him, no doubt, to remain at home.”

“I vill try,” said Manuela, with a laugh.

In pursuance of this plan, Lawrence and Quashy rose before broad daylight the following morning, launched the little canoe they had used the day before, put gun, spears, etcetera, on board, and were about to push off, when one of the boys of the family ran down, and seemed to wish to accompany them.

“We’d better take him,” said Lawrence; “he’s not very big or old, but he seems intelligent enough, and no doubt knows something of his father’s haunts and sporting customs.”

“You’s right, massa,” assented the negro.

Lawrence made a sign to the lad to embark, and Quashy backed the invitation with—

“Jump aboord, Leetle Cub.”

Instead of obeying, Leetle Cub ran up into the bush, but presently returned with a long stick like a headless lance, a bow and arrows, and an instrument resembling a large grappling anchor, made of wood. Placing these softly in the canoe, the little fellow, who seemed to be about ten years of age, stepped in, and they all pushed off into the river—getting out of sight of the hut without having roused any one. Turning into the same stream which they had visited the day before, they pushed past the place where the jaguar had been killed, and entered on an exploration, as Lawrence called it.

“I’m very fond of an exploration, Quashy,” he said, dipping his paddle softly, and working gently, for there was so little current that it seemed more like the narrows of a lake than a stream.

“Yes, I’s bery fond ob ’sploration too, massa,” replied the negro, with a self-satisfied nod. “It am so nice not to know whar you’s gwine to, or whar you’s comin’ to, or who’s dar, or who’s not dar, or what fish’ll turn up, or what beast’ll turn down, or what nixt—oh! it am so jolly! what you sniggerin’ at, you dirty leetle cub?”

The question was put to the Indian boy, who seemed much amused by something he saw up among the trees.

Looking up they saw at least a dozen red monkeys grinning at them, and one of these—a small one—was hanging on by its father’s tail.

“Oh! shoot! shoot!” cried Quashy to Lawrence, opening his great eyes eagerly. “Dey’s so good to eat!”

“No, Quash, I won’t shoot. We have shot enough of fat ducks to feed us all for one or two days at least. Besides, I can’t bear to kill monkeys. It feels so like committing murder.”

While he was yet speaking, Leetle Cub had taken up the long lance-like stick before mentioned and pointed it at the monkeys. It was a blow-pipe. Before Lawrence could interfere, the short arrow with which it was charged had sped on its mission with deadly aim, and the smallest monkey, relaxing its hold of the paternal tail, fell without even a cry into the water—shot through the heart.

Lawrence said nothing, but, resolving that if the boy should attempt such another shot, he would disturb his aim, he dipped his paddle vigorously, and pushed up the river.

Coming at last to an open space where the stream widened into something like a little pond, they observed an erection of timber on the bank which aroused their curiosity. It also seemed to arouse the Cub’s interest, for he made somewhat excited signs that he wished to land there. Willing to humour him, they ran the canoe on the beach. Leetle Cub jumped out at once, and, taking up the anchor-like piece of wood before mentioned, went with it towards the timber erection.

“I do believe it is an alligator-hook,” said Lawrence.

“Das a fact,” said Quashy, “we’ll washum,” (by which he meant, “we’ll watch him!”)

It was indeed interesting to watch that little fellow—who was evidently in all respects a thorough chip of the old block—as he went about his work, quietly, yet with an undercurrent of excitement which he was not entirely able to conceal. He took his bow and arrows, as well as the blow-pipe, on shore, and laid them at his side, so as to be ready at hand in case of emergency, while he baited the alligator-hook with the dead monkey.

The hook was simple. It consisted of four pieces of tough hard wood, about a foot long, and the thickness of a man’s thumb. These were tied to the end of a stout rope made of raw hide, and so arranged that their points were directed backwards, and curved somewhat outwards—thus forming as it were four huge barbs. The dead monkey was placed on and around this horrible hook—if we may so term it. The delicate morsel was then attached to the end of a pole which stretched over the stream, so that the bait, when fixed, remained suspended just above the water. The slack of the rope was then made fast to a tree. Thus the arrangement was such as to compel the alligator to raise himself well out of the water to obtain his mouthful.

While Leetle Cub was engaged in erecting this cumbrous machine, a young alligator, about a foot long, crawled out from under some leaves on the bank close to him. The urchin saw it instantly, seized his bow, and in a moment transfixed it with an arrow. The fury of the little creature, infant though it was, seemed tremendous. It turned round, snapping viciously at the arrow, and would probably have escaped with it into the water if another shot from the same unerring hand had not terminated its career.

After setting his line, the Cub carried the little alligator to the canoe, and put it carefully therein.

“Das what dey make de soup ob,” said Quashy.

“The ragout, you mean.”

“Dun’ know what’s a ragoo, massa. We calls it soup. Anyhow, it’s bery good.”

“Yes, Quash, it’s not bad. But look there, our daring and expert young hunter evidently wants us to land, for he is pointing to the bush. Shall we go?”

“P’r’aps it’s as well, massa. Ob course no alligator’s sitch a fool as swaller dat little mout’ful when we’s a-lookin’ at it. I s’pose Leetle Cub wants us to go away, an’ gib ’em a chance.”

Having made up their minds to gratify the little fellow, they landed and accompanied him into the woods. He seemed quite to expect that they would do so and follow his lead. He set off at a smart pace in advance of them, carrying his bow on his shoulder. Lawrence was well repaid by this walk, because it led him into and through scenery of a more striking and beautiful character than he had yet seen of its kind. In many places the trees formed long aisles and vaulted colonnades and arches so regular that it seemed as though they had been planted by the hand of man. Elsewhere the chaos of tree and shrub, flower and fern and twining root was so indescribable, that it seemed as if chance and haphazard had originated it all; but the mind of our hero was cast, if we may say so, in too logical a mould to accept such an absurd origin for anything.

“My Father made it all,” he said, mentally, with a glow of enthusiasm; “and although, like a little child gazing at an intricate machine, I see not the order or arrangement, certain am I that both must be there.”

Between the tree-stems they saw ant-hills fully five or six feet high. From the trees hung thousands of orchids of various colours, and so attractive was the aspect of things overhead, that Lawrence was more than once tripped up by the long tangled grasses through which, in some parts, they had to push their way. Of course, there were plenty of parrots and monkeys and other creatures to make the forest lively. Indeed, in some parts there seemed a prospect of its becoming still more lively, for their little guide pointed out in soft places the footprints of tapirs and jaguars, which seemed to be quite fresh. Lizards innumerable crossed their path at every point; snakes were seen gliding out of their way—a fortunate tendency on the part of most snakes!—and the woods resounded with the singing of the yapu, a bird something like a blackbird, with yellow tips to its wings, and somewhat like the mocking-bird in that it imitated every other bird in the forest. Whether there is jealousy between the yapu and the parrot we have not been able to ascertain, but if birds are like men in their sentiments, we fear it is more than probable. Unlike man, however, the yapu prefers to sing upside-down, swinging the while from the branch of a tree, and ruffling its plumage.

“Hallo! massa. Look dar!” said Quashy, pointing with intense surprise at a neighbouring tree-stem. “Did you ebber see a crab climbin’ up a tree?”

“I certainly never did,” replied Lawrence, as he looked in the direction indicated, where he saw, not a crab indeed, but a monstrous hairy spider as large as a goodly-sized crab. Stepping forward to examine the creature, he was surprised to have his hat twitched off his head, and found that it was the web of the said spider which had done it! Afterwards he learned that the spider in question subsists by catching little birds, and that its bite is not so venomous as that of a smaller kind which abounds in the woods there. Not being desirous of testing the creature’s power