Afloat in the Forest: or, A Voyage among the Tree-Tops

Chapter Forty One

The Monkey Mother

Our adventurers sat in silent wonder watching the movements of the monkeys. It was certainly a spectacle of the most interesting character to see these creatures making the passage of the igarápe. Perhaps the most singular thing was the similarity of their leaps, – all planting their feet upon the same spot of the branch from which the leader sprang, springing exactly in the same way, and alighting on the opposite side in apparently the same spot and attitude, proving that each and all must have been actuated by the same thought or instinct at the precise moment of passing from one tree to the other. Another singular point was, that during its continuance the intervals between each two were almost as regular as the ticking of a clock. As soon as one launched itself out from the branch, another sprang into its place, and was ready to follow so quickly that the air was never for a moment without a monkey; and any one looking straight down the opening between the trees, without glancing to either side, might almost have fancied that it was a single guariba suspended in mid-air!

All the males of the tribe had succeeded in making the leap in safety; and all the females, too, – those carrying their “piccaninnies” along with the rest, – except one. This was a mother with a very young child on her back, – in fact a mere infant, – perhaps not nine days old. Notwithstanding its extreme youth, it appeared to comprehend the situation, as well as those of more mature age, clinging with its infantile fingers to the shaggy hide of its mother, while its tiny tail was twisted around the root of hers, in a loop that appeared tight as a sailor’s knot.

But the mother, enfeebled by some sickness, – for monkeys are subject to sickness as well as men, – appeared doubtful of her ability to accomplish the leap; and, after all the others had crossed, she stood upon the branch evidently only half determined about following them. At this crisis occurred a curious incident, – the first of a series. One of those that had crossed, a man-monkey, was seen to separate from the crowd, that had by this time ascended to the top of the tree. Returning along the limb to which they had just leaped, he placed himself opposite to the hesitating female and began to chatter, intending to encourage her, as his gestures showed. The mother of the infant made reply; but although the sounds were unintelligible to the human spectators, they might be translated as saying, “It’s not a bit of use, my trying; I shall only get a ducking for my pains, and the infant too. It may be drowned.”

Her reply was delivered in a tone of appeal; and, as if affected by it, the male monkey – evidently the father of the child – made no more remonstrance, but bounded back across the open water. It was but the work of six seconds for him to transfer the juvenile to his own shoulders; and in as many more both he and it were on the right side of the igarápe. Relieved of her charge and encouraged by the cries of those already across, the mother sprang out from the branch. The effort was too great for her strength. With her forefinger she caught the twigs on the opposite side and succeeded in clutching them; but before she could lap the branch with her tail, – a more trustworthy means of prehension, – she had sunk below its level, and, the twigs giving way, she plunged into the water.

A universal scream came from the top of the tree, and a score or more of guaribas leaped down upon the limb from which the unfortunate had fallen. There was a scene of confusion, – just as there would have been had the catastrophe happened among human beings, – as when a boat upsets or some one breaks through the ice, and spectators stand speechless, or hurry to and fro, no one knowing exactly what to do, – what order to give, or whom to obey.

Very like was the scene of surprise, terror, and lamentation among the monkeys, – except that it did not last quite so long. In this respect animal instinct, as it is called, has the advantage of bewildered reason; and, while a crowd upon the sea-beach or the river-bank would have spent ten minutes before taking action to rescue the drowning individual, scarcely so many seconds were allowed to elapse before the guaribas had picked up and safely deposited her trembling person on the fork of a tree.

The mode in which this had been accomplished was something to astonish the spectators, and yet it was performed in a very efficient manner. As soon as the screaming would permit, the voice of the guariba chieftain was heard, in a chattering so loud and serious in tone as to indicate command; and some half-score of the number, in obedience, glided out on the limb of the tree under which the female was in imminent danger of being drowned. A bucket could not have descended into a well, or a pulley-tackle come down from warehouse or mill, more promptly and speedily than did that string of monkeys, hooked neck and tail to one another, like the links of a long chain, – the lowest upon the swinging series being the husband of the half-drowned mother, who had hastily deposited his baby in one of the forkings of the tree. Neither could the water-bucket have been filled, nor the wheat-sack hooked on, with half the speed and agility with which she was picked up and restored.

Once more shouldering her “chickabiddy,” she took her place in the troop, which, without further delay, moved on amid the tree-tops, keeping in a direct line of march, as if bent upon a journey that was to terminate at some spot already known to them. For a long time their track could be traced by their continuous howling, which then was heard only at intervals, and at length receded to such a distance as to become inaudible.

Chapter Forty Two

The Mundurucú Discourses of Monkeys

The sun was just setting as the guaribas disappeared; and from this circumstance it was conjectured that they were on their return to some favourite resting-place. Trevannion supposed that they might be on their way to dry land; and, if so, the route they had taken might serve himself and party for a direction. He mentioned this to the Mundurucú, who shook his head, not doubtfully, but as a simple negative.

“You think it would be of no use our taking the direction in which they have gone?” said the miner interrogatively.

“No, patron; not a bit of good in that. They are as like to be going from terra firma as towards it. It’s all the same to them whether they sleep over land, or water, so long as they have the trees to cling to. They are now trooping to some roost they have a fancy for, – perhaps some very big tree, – which they use at all times for their night-rendezvous, and where others of the same tribe will be likely to meet them. These have been off to some favourite feeding-ground, where the fruit may be more plenty than in the neighbourhood of their regular dwelling-place; or they may have been upon some ramble for amusement.”

“What! do monkeys make such excursions?” inquired young Ralph.

“O yes,” replied the Mundurucú. “I’ve often met them trooping about among the trees, where nuts and fruits were in plenty; and have watched them, for hours at a time, without seeing them pluck a single one; – only chattering and screeching and laughing and playing tricks upon each other, as if they had nothing else to do. Neither have they when certain sorts of fruit are ripe, especially soft fruits, such as berries and the pulpy nuts of several kinds of palms, as the pupunha and assai. It is a little different at other seasons, when they have to live on the Brazil-nuts and sapucayas; then they have something to do to get at the kernels inside the thick shells, and at this they employ a good deal of their time.”

“Do they sleep perched on the trees, or have they nests among the branches in which they can lie down at their ease?”

“They have nests, but not for that. The females only use them when about to bring forth their young. As to sleeping at their ease, they can do that on the very slenderest of branches. It’s no hardship to them, as it is to us. Not a bit.”

“But do they not sometimes fall off in their sleep?”

“How could they do that, young master, when they have their tails to hold on by? Before going to sleep they take a turn or two of their long tail round a branch, not always the one their body is on, but more commonly a branch a little above it. For that matter they don’t need any branch to rest upon. They can go to sleep, and often do, hanging by the tail, – for that is the position in which they are most at ease; just as you would be reclining in a hammock. I’ve seen them scores of times asleep that way. To prove that they feel most at home when hanging by the tail, they take to it whenever any alarm comes suddenly upon them; and they want to be in readiness for retreat, in case of its proving to be an enemy.”

“What singular creatures!” said Ralph, half in soliloquy.

“You speak truth, young master. They have many an odd way, that would lead one to believe that they had as much sense as some kinds of men. You have seen how they picked up the old one that fell into the water; but I’ve seen them do a still stranger thing than that. It is but the commonest of their contrivances, put in practice every time they want to pluck a nut, or some fruit that grows near the end of a branch too slender to carry their weight. If there’s a stronger limb above, they go out upon it; and then, clinging together as you saw them do, they let themselves down till the last in the string can lay hold of the fruit. Sometimes there is no branch right over the spot; but that don’t hinder them from getting what they have coveted, if they can find a stout limb anyways near. Then they make their string all the same; and, by setting it in motion, they swing back and forward, until the lowest of the party is tossed out within reach of the fruit. I’ve seen them try this, and find that their string was just a few inches too short, when another monkey would glide down upon the others, and add his length to complete it. Then I’ve seen them make a bridge, young master.”

“Make a bridge! Are you in earnest? How could they?”

“Well, just in the same way as they get within reach of the nuts.”

“But for what purpose?”

“To get across some bit of water, as a fast-running stream, where they would be drowned if they fell in.”

“But how do they accomplish it? To make a bridge requires a skilled engineer among men; are there such among monkeys?”

“Well, young master, I won’t call it such skill; but it’s very like it. When on their grand journeyings they come to a stream, or even an igarápe like this, and find they can’t leap from the trees on one side to those growing on the other, it is then necessary for them to make the bridge. They go up or down the bank till they find two tall trees opposite each other. They climb to a high branch on the one, and then, linking together, as you’ve seen them, they set their string in motion, and swing backward and forward, till one at the end can clutch a branch of the tree, on the opposite side. This done the bridge is made, and all the troop, the old ones that are too stiff to take a great leap, and the young ones that are too weak, run across upon the bodies of their stouter comrades. When all have passed over, the monkey at the other end of the string lets go his hold upon the branch; and if he should be flung into water it don’t endanger him, as he instantly climbs up the bodies of those above him, the next doing the same, and the next also, until all have got safe into the trees.”

“Be japers,” exclaimed Tipperary Tom, “it’s wonderful how the craythers can do it! But, Misther Munday, have yez iver seen them fall from a tree-top?”

“No, never, but I’ve known one to leap from the top of a tree full a hundred feet in height.”

“Shure it was kilt dead then?”

“If it was it acted very oddly for a dead animal, as it had scarce touched the ground when it sprang back up another tree of equal height, and scampered to the top branches nearly as quick as it came down.”

“Ah!” sighed Trevannion, “if we had only the activity of these creatures, how soon we might escape from this unfortunate dilemma. Who knows what is before us? Let us pray before going to rest for the night. Let us hope that He, in whose hands we are, may listen to our supplications, and sooner or later relieve us from our misery.” And so saying, the ex-miner repeated a well-remembered prayer, in the response to which not only the young people, but the Indian, the African, and the Irishman fervently joined.

Chapter Forty Three

Two Slumberers Ducked

It was somewhere among the mid-hours of the night, and all appeared to be as sound asleep as if reclining upon couches of eider-down. Not a voice was heard among the branches of the Brazil-nut, – not a sound of any kind, if we except the snore that proceeded from the spread nostrils of the negro, and that of a somewhat sharper tone from the nasal organ of the Irishman. Sometimes they snored together, and for several successive trumpetings this simultaneity would be kept up. Gradually, however, one would get a little ahead, and then the two snorers would be heard separately, as if the two sleepers were responding to each other in a kind of dialogue carried on by their noses. All at once this nasal duet was interrupted by a rustling among the boughs upon which rested Tipperary Tom. The rustling was succeeded by a cry, quickly followed by a plunge.

The cry and the plunge woke everybody upon the tree; and while several inquired the cause of the disturbance, a second shout, and a second plunge, instead of affording a clue to the cause of alarm, only rendered the matter more mysterious. There was a second volley of interrogatories, but among the inquiring voices two were missing, – those of Mozey and the Irishman. Both, however, could now be heard below; not very articulate, but as if their owners were choking. At the same time there was a plashing and a plunging under the tree, as if the two were engaged in a struggle for life.

“What is it? Is it you, Tom? Is it you, Mozey?” were the questions that came thick and fast from those still upon the tree.

“Och! ach! – I’m chokin’! – I’m – ach – drown – ach – drownin’! – Help! help!” cried a voice, distinguishable as the Irishman’s, while Mozey’s was exerted in a similar declaration.

All knew that Tom could not swim a stroke. With the Mozambique it was different. He might sustain himself above water long enough to render his rescue certain. With Tom no time was to be lost, if he was to be saved from a watery grave; and, almost with his cry for help, Richard Trevannion and the Mundurucú plunged in after him.

For a time, Trevannion himself and his two children could hear, underneath them, only a confused medley of sounds, – the splashing of water mingled with human voices, some speaking, or rather shouting, in accents of terror, others in encouragement. The night was dark; but had it been ever so clear, even had the full moon been shining above, her beams could not have penetrated through the spreading branches of the Brazil-nut, melted and lined as they were with thorns and leafy llianas.

It would seem an easy task for two such swimmers as the Indian and Paraense to rescue Tipperary Tom from his peril. But it was not quite so easy. They had got hold of him, one on each side, as soon as the darkness allowed them to discern him. But this was not till they had groped for some time; and then he was found in such a state of exhaustion that it required all the strength of both to keep his chin above the surface.

Mozey was fast becoming as helpless as Tom, being more than half paralysed by the fright he had got from being precipitated into the water while still sound asleep. Such a singular awaking was sufficient to have confused a cranium of higher intellectual development than that of the Mozambique.

After having discovered their half-drowned companions, neither Richard nor the Mundurucú knew exactly what to do with them. Their first thought was to drag them towards the trunk of the tree, under which they had been immersed. This they succeeded in doing; but once alongside the stem, they found themselves in no better position for getting out of the water. There was not a branch within reach by which to raise themselves, and the bark was as smooth as glass, and slippery with slime.

When first ascending into the great tree, they had made use of some hanging parasite, which now in the darkness they were unable to find. Even the two swimmers began to despond. If not their own lives, those of their comrades might be lost in that gloomy aisle, whose pavement was the subtle, deceitful flood. At this crisis an idea occurred to the young Paraense that promised to rescue them from their perilous position, and he called out, “The swimming-belts! fling down the swimming-belts!” His uncle and cousin, by this time having a clearer comprehension of what had occurred, at once obeyed the command. Richard and the Indian were not slow to avail themselves of this timely assistance; and in a trice the two half-drowned men were buoyed up beyond further danger.

On getting back into the Bertholletia, there was a general explanation. Tipperary Tom was the cause of the awkward incident. Having gone to sleep without taking proper precautions, his limbs, relaxed by slumber, had lost their prehensile power, and, sliding through the llianas, he had fallen plump into the water below, a distance of more than a dozen feet. His cries, and the consequent plunge, had startled the negro so abruptly that he too had lost his equilibrium, and had soused down the instant after.

The Mundurucú was by no means satisfied with the occurrence. It had not only interrupted his repose, but given him a wet shirt in which to continue it. He was determined, however, that a similar incident should not, for that night, occur, – at least not with the same individuals, – and before returning to his roost he bound both of them to theirs with sipos strong enough to resist any start that might be caused by the most terrible of dreams.

Chapter Forty Four

Open Water