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

The spectacle of the bird ant-eaters engaged in their work of destruction is one that may be seen almost every day in the Amazonian region. The presence of an army of ants passing from place to place through the forest – themselves often bent upon a marauding and murderous expedition – may often be discovered long belong the insects themselves are in sight, by the twittering cries and excited actions of the ant-thrushes, that in large flocks are seen hovering above them. The traveller takes warning by the spectacle. Experience has long ago taught him that to stray into the midst of a party of foraging ants is no slight matter. It would be like dancing an Irish jig over a nest of hornets. He is sure of being attacked, bitten, and stung by the venomous insects; and on hearing the call of the ant-thrush, he beats an instant retreat. The quadruped licking up his insect prey is a sight of less frequent occurrence.

Of these four-footed ant-eaters there are many distinct kinds, differing very considerably in their habits of life. Four species are known to naturalists; but it is probable that there are many more yet to be discovered and described. The Indians who are best acquainted with the remote haunts of the great mountain wilderness of interior South America assert that there are others; and their testimony is generally derived from acute observation. Of the four known species there is the great ant-eater (Myrmecophaga jubata) called Tamanoir, large as a mastiff dog, and a match for most dogs in strength, often even killing one by squeezing the breath out of his body between its thick, muscular fore-limbs. This is the Tamandua bandeira, or “banner tamandua” of the natives, so called from the peculiar marking of its skin, – each side of the body being marked by a broad blackish band running obliquely from the shoulders, and suggesting the resemblance of an heraldic banner. It lives in the drier forests, making its haunt wherever the white ants (termites), those that construct the great hills, abound. Of the habits of this species a more complete account has been given elsewhere. (See “The Forest Exiles,” by the author of this story.)

The second species of tamandua – that is, in size – is quite a different creature. It scarcely ever descends to the earth, but passes from branch to branch and tree to tree by means of its strong, curving claws, and more especially by the aid of a very long and highly prehensile tail. Its food consists exclusively of ants, that construct huge earthy nests high up among the branches or against the trunks of the trees, where they present the appearance of grotesque excrescences. This tamandua often moves about during the day, in its slow progress much resembling the sloths, though its food is so very different from the animal of the Cecropia-tree (bicho de embaüba). This species dwells chiefly in the thick forests, and goes into the Gapo at all seasons of the year, and it was one of this sort which the party had seen.

But there are still two other kinds that make their home upon the trees, – both exceedingly curious little animals, and much more rarely seen than the large tamanduas. They are distinguished by the name of tamandua-i, which in the Indian language means “little tamandua.” One of them, the rarest of the family, is about the size of a half-grown kitten. Instead of hair, it wears a fine wool of a greyish-yellow colour, soft and silky to the touch. The other is of the same size, but dingy brown in colour, and with hair of a coarser kind. These little ant-eaters both sleep through the day, curled up in the cavity of a tree, or in some fork of the branches, and only display their activity by night.

Thus it is that the ants have no chance of escaping from their numerous enemies. On the earth they are attacked and destroyed by the great ant-eater, in the trees by his brother with the four curving claws. By day one species preys upon them, – by night, another. Go where they will, there is a foe to fall upon them. Even when they seek security under the earth, there too are they pursued by enemies of their own tribe, the savage ecitons, which enter their subterranean dwellings, and kill them upon their own hearths, to be dragged forth piecemeal and devoured in the light of the sun!

Chapter Sixty Five

The Chase of the Tamandua

If the tamandua had been surprised by the disappearance of the tocandeiras, it was not less so to see approaching a creature more than ten times its own size. This creature was of a dark bronze colour, having a long, upright body, a pair of legs still longer, arms almost as long as the legs, and a roundish head with long black hair growing out of its crown, and hanging down over its shoulders. If the ant-eater had never before seen a human being, – which was probable enough, – it saw one now; for this creature was no other than old Munday, who had taken a fancy to capture that tamandua. Perhaps the little quadruped may have mistaken him for an ape, but it must have also thought him the grandest it had ever set eyes upon. Swinging itself from branch to branch, using both claws and tail to effect its flight, it forsook the tree where it had slept, and took to another farther into the forest. But Munday had anticipated this movement, and passed among the branches and over the matted llianas with the agility of an ape, – now climbing up from limb to limb, now letting himself down by some hanging sipo.

He was soon joined in the pursuit by Richard Trevannion, who was an expert climber, and, if unable to overtake the ant-eater in a direct chase, could be of service in helping to drive it back to the tree it had just left, and which stood at the end of a projecting tongue of the forest. It is possible that Munday might have been overmatched, with all his alertness; for the tamandua had reached the narrowest part of the peninsula before he could get there. Once across the isthmus, which consisted of a single tree, it would have had the wide forest before it, and would soon have hidden itself amid the matted tangle of leaves and twigs. Richard, however, was too cunning to let the ant-eater escape him. Dropping into the water, he swam towards the isthmus with all his strength, and reached the tree before the tamandua.

By this time Munday had arrived from the opposite quarter, and was already climbing into the same tree. Seeing itself intercepted on both sides, the tamandua began crawling up towards the topmost branches. But Munday was too quick for it, and springing after, with the agility of a cat, he caught hold of it by one of the hind-legs. Being an animal insignificant in size, and apparently in strength, the spectator supposed he would speedily have dragged it down. In this however they were mistaken, not taking account of the power in its fore-limbs and tail.

Notwithstanding the tapuyo exerted all his strength, he could not detach it from the tree; and even when assisted by his companion, was only able to get the fore-legs free. The tail, lapped several times around a limb, resisted all their efforts. But Munday cut the clinging tail with his knife, leaving two or three of its rings around the branch. Then, twisting the stump around his wrist, he swung the animal back against the trunk with a force that deprived it at once of strength and life.

Chapter Sixty Six

Roast Ant-Eater

Instead of returning to the tree, the Indian and Richard swam directly to the dead-wood, where they were quickly joined by the rest of the party. Although the dead-wood was as hard as any other wood, and to sleep upon it would be like sleeping on a plank, still it would give them the feeling of security; so, as if by general consent, though nothing was said, they stretched themselves along the trunk, and were soon fast asleep.

The old Indian, tough as the sipos of his native forests, seemed as if he could live out the remainder of his life without another wink of sleep; and when the rest of his companions were buried in profound repose, he was engaged in an operation that required both energy and the most stoical patience. In a place where the bark was dry, he had picked out a small circular cavity, beside which he had placed some withered leaves and dead twigs collected from the tree that spread its branches above. Kneeling over this cavity, he thrust down into it a straight stick, that had been cut from some species of hard wood, and trimmed clear of knots or other inequalities, twirling it between the palms of his hands so as to produce a rapid motion, now one way, now the other. In about ten minutes a smoke appeared, and soon after sparks were seen among the loose dust that had collected from the friction. Presently the sparks, becoming thicker, united into a flame; and then, dropping the straight stick, he hastily covered the hole with the dry leaves and chips, and, blowing gently under them, was soon cheered by a blaze, over which a cook with even little skill might have prepared a tolerable dinner. This had been Munday’s object; and as soon as he saw his fire fairly under way, without dressing or trussing the game, – not even taking the hide off, – he laid the tamandua across the fire, and left it to cook in its skin.

It was not the first time by scores that Munday had make that repast, known among Spanish-Americans as carne con cuero. He now proceeded to prevent the spreading of the flames. The dead-wood around was dry as tinder. Stripping off the cotton shirt that, through every vicissitude, still clung to his shoulders, he leant over the side of the floating log, and dipped it for several minutes under the water. When well soaked, he drew it up again, and taking it to the spot where the fire was crackling, he wrung the water out in a circle around the edge of his hearth. When the tamandua was done brown, he then awakened his companions, who were astonished to see the fire, with the bronzed body of the Indian, nude to the waist, squatting in front of it, – to hear the crackling of sticks, the loud sputtering of the roast, and the hissing of the water circle that surrounded the hearth. But the savour that filled the air was very agreeable. They accepted his invitation to partake of the repast, which was found greatly to resemble roast goose in taste; and in an inconceivably short time only the bones of the ant-eater, and these clean picked, could be seen upon the ceiba.

Chapter Sixty Seven

The Juarouá

Postponing till the next day the task of making a canoe out of their log, the party soon betook themselves to rest again; but they had been slumbering only about an hour when a low whimpering noise made by the monkey awoke Tipperary Tom, close to whose ear the animal had squatted down. Its master raised himself up, and, leaning upon his elbow, looked out over the Gapo. There was nothing but open water, whose smooth surface was shining like burnished gold under the beams of the setting sun. He turned toward the trees. He saw nothing there, – not so much as a bird moving among the branches. Raising his head a little higher, and peeping over the edge of the dead-wood, “It’s thare is it, the somethin’ that’s scyarin’ ye?” he said to his pet. “An’ shure enough there is a somethin’ yandher. There’s a ‘purl’ upon the wather, as if some crayther was below makin’ a disturbance among the weeds. I wondther what it is!”

At length the creature whose motion he had observed, whatever it was, came near enough for him to obtain a full view of it; and though it was neither a snake nor a crocodile, still it was of sufficiently formidable and novel appearance to cause him a feeling of fear. In shape it resembled a seal; but in dimensions it was altogether different, being much larger than seals usually are. It was full ten feet from snout to tail, and of a proportionate thickness of body. It had the head of a bull or cow, with a broad muzzle, and thick, overhanging lip, but with very small eyes; and instead of ears, there were two round cavities upon the crown of its head. It had a large, flat tail, not standing up like the tail of a fish, but spread in a horizontal direction, like that of a bird. Its skin was smooth, and naked of hairs, with the exception of some straggling ones set thinly over it, and some tufts resembling bristles radiating around its mouth and nostrils. The skin itself was of a dull leaden hue, with some cream-coloured spots under the throat and along the belly. It had also a pair of flippers, more than a foot in length, standing out from the shoulders, with a teat in front of each, and looking like little paddles, with which the huge creature was propelling itself through the water, just as a fish uses its fins or a man his arms.

The Irishman did not stay to note half of these characteristics, but hastily woke Munday, crying, “What is it? O what is it?”

The Indian, rousing himself, looked round for a moment dreamily, and then, as he caught sight of the strange object, replied, “Good fortune! it is the juarouá.”

Chapter Sixty Eight

A Fish-Cow at Pasture

The Irishman was no wiser for Munday’s answer, “The juarouá.”

“But what is it?” he again asked, curious to learn something of the creature. “Is it a fish or a quadruped?”

“A peixe-boi, – a peixe-boi!” hurriedly answered the tapuyo. “That’s how the whites call it. Now you know.”

“But I don’t, though, not a bit betther than before. A pikes-boy! Troth, it don’t look much like a pike at all, at all. If it’s a fish av any kind, I should say it was a sale. O, luk there, Munday! Arrah, see now! If it’s the owld pike’s boy, yandher’s the young wan too. See, it has tuk howlt av the tit, an’ ’s sucking away like a calf! An’ luk! the old wan has got howlt av it with her flipper, an’ ’s kapin’ it up to the breast! Save us! did hever I see such a thing!”

The sight was indeed one to astonish the Irishman, since it has from all time astonished the Amazonian Indians themselves, in spite of its frequency. They cannot understand so unusual a habit as that of a fish suckling its young; for they naturally think that the peixe-boi is a fish, instead of a cetacean, and they therefore continue to regard it with curious feelings, as a creature not to be classified in the ordinary way.

“Hush!” whispered the Indian, with a sign to Tom to keep quiet. “Sit still! make no noise. There’s a chance of our capturing the juarouá, – a good chance, now that I see the juarouá-i (little one) along with it. Don’t wake the others yet. The juarouá can see like a vulture, and hear like an eagle, though it has such little eyes and ears. Hush!”

The peixe-boi had by this time got abreast of the dead-wood, and was swimming slowly past it. A little beyond there was a sort of bay, opening in among the trees, towards which it appeared to be directing its course, suckling the calf as it swam.

“Good,” said Munday, softly. “I guess what it’s going after up there. Don’t you see something lying along the water?”

“Yes; but it’s some sort av wather-grass.”

“That’s just it.”

“An’ what would it want wid the grass? Yez don’t mane to till me it ates grass?”

“Eats nothing else, and this is just the sort it feeds on. Very like that’s its pasturing place. So much the better if it is, because it will stay there till morning, and give me a chance to kill it.”

“But why can’t yez kill it now?” said Tom.

“For want of a proper weapon. My knife is of no use. The juarouá is too cunning to let one come so near. If it come back in the morning, I will take care to be ready for it. From it we can get meat enough for a long voyage. See, it has begun to browse!”

Sure enough it had, just as the Indian said, commenced pasturing upon the long blades of grass that spread horizontally over the surface; and just as a cow gathers the meadow sward into her huge mouth, at intervals protruding her tongue to secure it, so did the great water cow of the Amazon spread her broad lips and extend her rough tongue to take in the floating herbage of the Gapo.

Chapter Sixty Nine

The Pashuba Spear

Munday was now prepared to set out on a little exploring excursion, as he said; so, enjoining upon Tom, who was determined to awake the sleepers that they might share the sight of the feeding fish-cow, to keep them all strictly quiet until his return, he slipped softly into the water and swam noiselessly away.

The enforced silence was tedious enough to the party, who were all eager to talk about the strange spectacle they saw, and it would surely have been soon broken, had not the Indian returned with a new object for their curiosity. He had stolen off, taking with him only his knife. At his reappearance he had the knife still with him, and another weapon as well, which the knife had enabled him to procure. It was a staff of about twelve feet in length, straight as a rush, slightly tapering, and pointed at the end like a spear. In fact, it was a spear, which he had been manufacturing during his hour of absence out of a split stem of the pashuba palm. Not far off he had found one of these trees, a water-loving species, – the Martea exorhuza, – whose stems are supported upon slanting roots, that stand many feet above the surface of the soil. With the skill known only to an Amazonian Indian in the use of a knife-blade, he had split the pashuba, (hard as iron on the outside, but soft at the heart,) and out of one of the split pieces had he hastily fashioned his spear. Its point only needed to be submitted to fire, and then steel itself would not serve better for a spear-head. Fortunately the hearth was not yet cold. A few red cinders smouldered by the wet circle, and, thrusting his spear point among them, the Indian waited for it to become hardened. When done to his satisfaction, he drew it out of the ashes, scraped it to a keen point with the blade of his knife, and then announced himself ready to attack the juarouá.

The amphibious animal was yet there, its head visible above the bed of grass upon which it was still grazing. Munday, while rejoiced at the circumstance, expressed himself also surprised at it. He had not been sanguine of finding it on his return with the spear, and, while fabricating the weapon, he had only been encouraged by the expectation that the peixe-boi, if gone away for the night, would return to its grazing ground in the morning. As it was now, it could not have afforded him a better opportunity for striking it. It was reclining near the surface, its head several inches above it, and directly under a large tree, whose lower limbs, extending horizontally, almost dropped into the water. If he could but get unperceived upon one of those limbs, it would be an easy matter to drive the spear into its body as far as his strength would enable him.

If any man could swim noiselessly through the water, climb silently into the tree, and steal without making sound along its limbs, that man was the Mundurucú. In less time than you could count a thousand, he had successfully accomplished this, and was crouching upon a limb right over the cow. In an instant his spear was seen to descend as the spectators were expecting it to do; but to their astonishment, instead of striking the body of the peixe-boi, it pierced into the water several feet from the snout of the animal! What could it mean? Surely the skilled harpooner of fish-cattle could not have made such a stray stroke. Certainly he had not touched the cow! Had he speared anything?

“He’s killed the calf!” cried Tipperary Tom. “Luk yandher! Don’t yez see its carcass floatin’ in the wather?”

Still the spectators could not understand it. Why should the calf have been killed, which would scarce give them a supper, and the cow spared, that would have provisioned the whole crew for a month? Why had the chance been thrown away? Was it thrown away? They only thought so, while expecting the peixe-boi to escape. But they were quickly undeceived. They had not reckoned upon the strong maternal instincts of that amphibious mother, – instincts that annihilate all sense of danger, and prompt a reckless rushing upon death in the companionship or for the protection of the beloved offspring. It was too late to protect the tiny creature, but the mother recked not of this. Danger deterred her not from approaching it again and again, each time receiving a fresh stab from that terrible stick, until, with a long-drawn sigh, she expired among the sedge.

These animals are extremely tenacious of life, and a single, thrust from such a weapon as he wielded would only have put the peixe-boi to flight, never to be encountered again. The harpoon alone, with its barbed head and floats, can secure them for a second strike; and not being provided with this weapon, nor the means of making it, the old tapuyo knew that his only chance was to act as he had done. Experience had made him a believer in the affection of the animal, and the result proved that he had not mistaken its strength.

Chapter Seventy

Curing the Fish-Cow