The Forest Exiles: The Perils of a Peruvian Family in the Wilds of the Amazon

It was quite an amusing scene to witness, and the behaviour of the monkeys would have caused any one to laugh. Even Guapo could not restrain his mirth at seeing those who formed the bridge biting the others that passed over them, both on the legs and tails, until the latter screamed again!

The old chief stood at the near end and directed the crossing. Like a brave officer, he was the last to pass over. When all the others had preceded him, he crossed after, carrying himself in a stately and dignified manner. None dared to bite at his legs. They knew better than play off their tricks on him, and he crossed quietly and without any molestation.

Now the string still remained suspended between the trees. How were the monkeys that formed it to get themselves free again? Of course the one that had clutched the branch with his arms might easily let go, but that would bring them back to the same side from which they had started, and would separate them from the rest of the band. Those constituting the bridge would, therefore, be as far from crossing as ever!

There seemed to be a difficulty here – that is, to some of our travellers. To the monkeys themselves there was none. They knew well enough what they were about, and they would have got over the apparent difficulty in the following manner: – The one at the tail end of the bridge would simply have let go his hold, and the whole string would then have swung over and hung from the tree on the opposite bank, into which they could have climbed at their leisure. I say they would have done so had nothing interfered to prevent them from completing the manoeuvre. But an obstacle intervened which brought the affair to a very different termination.

Guapo had been seated along with the rest, gravatána in hand. He showed great forbearance in not having used the gravatána long before, for he was all the while quite within reach of the araguatoes; but this forbearance on his part was not of his own free-will. Don Pablo had, in fact, hindered him, in order that he and the others should have an opportunity of witnessing the singular manoeuvres of the monkeys. Before the scene was quite over, however, the Indian begged Don Pablo to let him shoot, reminding him how much they stood in need of a little “monkey-meat.” This had the effect Guapo desired; the consent was given, and the gravatána was pointed diagonally upwards. Once more Guapo’s cheeks were distended – once more came the strong, quick puff – and away went the arrow. The next moment it was seen sticking in the neck of one of the monkeys.

Now, the one which Guapo had aimed at and hit was that which had grasped the tree on the opposite side with its arms. Why did he choose this more than any other? Was it because it was nearer, or more exposed to view? Neither of these was the reason. It was, that had he shot any of the others in the string – they being supported by their tails – it would not have fallen; the tail, as we have already seen, still retaining its prehensile power even to death. But that one which held on to the tree by its fore-arms would in a second or two be compelled from weakness to let go, and the whole chain would drop back on the near side of the igaripé. This was just what Guapo desired, and he waited for the result. It was necessary only to wait half-a-dozen seconds. The monkey was evidently growing weak under the influence of the curare, and was struggling to retain its hold. In a moment it must let go.

The araguato at the “tail-end” of the bridge, not knowing what had happened, and thinking all was right for swinging himself across, slipped his tail from the branch just at the very same instant that the wounded one let go, and the whole chain fell “souse” into the water! Then the screaming and howling from those on shore, the plunging and splashing of the monkeys in the stream, mingled with the shouts of Leon, Guapo, and the others, created a scene of noise and confusion that lasted for several minutes. In the midst of it, Guapo threw himself into the canoe, and with a single stroke of his paddle shot right down among the drowning monkeys. One or two escaped to the bank, and made off; several went to the bottom; but three, including the wounded one, fell into the clutches of the hunter.

Of course roast-monkey was added to the supper; but none of the travellers slept very well after it, as the araguatoes, lamenting their lost companions, kept up a most dismal wailing throughout the whole of the night.

Chapter Forty Nine.

The Manati

The araguatoes, with dried plantains and cassava, were the food of our travellers for several days after. On the evening of the third day they had a change. Guapo succeeded in capturing a very large turtle, which served for relish at several meals. His mode of taking the turtle was somewhat curious, and deserves to be described.

The balza had been brought to the bank, and they were just mooring it, when something out on the water attracted the attention of Leon and Leona. It was a small, darkish object, and would not have been observed but for the ripple that it made on the smooth surface of the river, and by this they could tell that it was in motion.

“A water-snake!” said Leon.

“Oh!” ejaculated the little Leona, “I hope not, brother Leon.”

“On second thoughts,” replied Leon, “I don’t think it is a snake.”

Of course the object was a good distance off, else Leon and Leona would not have talked so coolly about it. But their words had reached the ear of Doña Isidora, and drawn her attention to what they were talking about.

“No; it is not a snake,” said she. “I fancy it is a turtle.”

Guapo up to this had been busy with Don Pablo in getting the balza made fast. The word “turtle,” however, caught his ear at once, and he looked up, and then out on the river in the direction where Leon and Leona were pointing. As soon as his eye rested upon the moving object he replied to the remark of Doña Isidora.

“Yes, my mistress,” said he, “it is a turtle, and a big one too. Please all keep quiet – I think I can get him.”

How Guapo was to get the turtle was a mystery to all. The latter was about thirty paces distant, but it would be difficult, if not impossible, to hit his small snout – the only part above water – with the arrow of the blow-gun. Moreover, they thought that the arrow would not penetrate the hard, bony-substance, so as to stick there and infuse its poison into the wound.

These conjectures were true enough, but his gravatána was not the weapon which Guapo was about to use. He had other weapons as well – a fish-spear or harpoon, and a regular bow and arrows, which he had made during his leisure hours in the valley.

The latter was the weapon with which the tortoise was to be killed.

Taking the bow, and adjusting an arrow to the string, Guapo stepped forward to the water’s edge. All watched him, uttering their hopes of his success. It was still not clear with them how the turtle was to be killed by an arrow shot from a bow any more than by one sent from a blow-gun. Would it not glance from the shell even should he succeed in hitting it under water? Surely it would!

As they stood whispering their conjectures to one another, they observed Guapo, to their great astonishment, pointing his arrow upward, and making as if he was going to discharge it in the air! This he, in fact, did do a moment after; and they would have been puzzled by his apparently strange conduct, had they not observed, in the next instant, that the arrow, after flying high up, came down again head-foremost and stuck upright in the back of the turtle.

The turtle dived at once, and all of them expected to see the upright arrow carried under water. What was their surprise as well as chagrin to see that it had fallen out, and was floating on the surface! Of course the wound had only been a slight one, and the turtle would escape, and be none the worse for it.

But Guapo shared neither their surprise nor chagrin. Guapo felt sure that the turtle was his, and said nothing; but, jumping into the canoe, began to paddle himself out to where the creature had been last seen. What could he be after? thought they.

As they watched him, they saw that he made for the floating arrow. “Oh!” said they, “he is gone to recover it.”

That seemed probable enough, but, to their astonishment, as he approached the weapon it took a start, and ran away from him! Something below dragged it along the water. That was clear, and they began to comprehend the mystery. The head of the arrow was still sticking in the shell of the turtle. It was only the shaft that floated, and that was attached to the head by a string! The latter had been but loosely put on, so that the pressure of the water, as the turtle dived, should separate it from the shaft, leaving the shaft with its cord to act as a buoy, and discover the situation of the turtle.

Guapo, in his swift canoe, soon laid hold of the shaft, and after a little careful manoeuvring, succeeded in landing his turtle high and dry upon the bank. A splendid prize it proved. It was a “jurara” tortoise – the “tataruga,” or great turtle of the Portuguese, and its shell was full three feet in diameter.

Guapo’s mode of capturing the “jurara” is the same as that generally practised by the Indians of the Amazon, although strong nets and the hook are also used. The arrow is always discharged upwards, and the range calculated with such skill, that it falls vertically on the shell of the turtle, and penetrates deep enough to stick, and detach itself from the shaft. This mode of shooting is necessary, else the jurara could not be killed by an arrow, because it never shows more than the tip of its snout above water, and any arrow hitting it in a direct course would glance harmlessly from its shell. A good bowman among the Indians will rarely miss shooting in this way, – long practice and native skill enabling him to guess within an inch of where his weapon will fall.

In the towns of the Lower Amazon, where turtles are brought to market, a small square hole may be observed in the shells of these creatures. That is the mark of the arrow-head.

Guapo lost no time in turning his turtle inside out, and converting part of it into a savoury supper, while the remainder was fried into sausage-meat, and put away for the following day.

But on that following day a much larger stock of sausage-meat was procured from a very different animal, and that was a “cow.”

“How?” you exclaim, – “a cow in the wild forests of the Amazon! Why, you have said that no cattle – either cows or horses – can exist there without man to protect them, else they would be devoured by pumas, jaguars, and bats. Perhaps they had arrived at some settlement where cows were kept?”

Not a bit of it; your conjecture, my young friend, is quite astray. There was not a civilised settlement for many hundreds of miles from where Guapo got his cow – nor a cow neither, of the sort you are thinking of. But there are more kinds of cows than one; and, perhaps, you may have heard of a creature called the “fish-cow?” Well, that is the sort of cow I am speaking of. Some term it the “sea-cow,” but this is an improper name for it, since it also inhabits fresh-water rivers throughout all tropical America. It is known as the Manati, and the Portuguese call it “peixe hoi,” which is only “fish-cow” done into Portuguese.

It is a curious creature the fish-cow, and I shall offer you a short description of it. It is usually about seven feet in length, and five round the thickest part of the body, which latter is quite smooth, and tapers off into a horizontal flat tail, semicircular in shape. There are no hind-limbs upon the animal, but just behind the head are two powerful fins of an oval shape. There is no neck to be perceived; and the head, which is not very large, terminates in a large mouth and fleshy lips, which are not unlike those of a cow: hence its name of “cow-fish.” There are stiff bristles on the upper lip, and a few thinly scattered hairs over the rest of the body. Behind the oval fins are two mamma, or breasts, from which, when pressed, flows a stream of beautiful white milk. Both eyes and ears are very small in proportion to the size of the animal, but, nevertheless, it has full use of these organs, and is not easily approached by its enemy.

The colour of the skin is a dusky lead, with some flesh-coloured marks on the belly, and the skin itself is an inch thick at its thickest part, on the back. Beneath the skin is a layer of fat, of great thickness, which makes excellent oil when boiled. As we have said, the manati has no appearance of hind-limbs. Its fore-limbs, however, are highly developed for a water animal. The bones in them correspond to those in the human arm, having five fingers with the joints distinct, yet so enclosed in an inflexible sheath that not a joint can be moved.

The cow-fish feeds on grass, coming in to the borders of the lakes and rivers to procure it. It can swim very rapidly by means of its flat tail and strong fins, and is not so easily captured as might be supposed. All the art of the hunter is required to effect its destruction. The harpoon is the weapon usually employed, though sometimes they are caught in strong nets stretched across the mouths of rivers or the narrow arms of lakes. The flesh of the manati is much esteemed, and tastes somewhat between beef and pork, altogether different from “fish.” Fried in its own oil, and poured into pots or jars, it can be preserved for many months.

As already stated, on the day after Guapo shot the turtle – in fact, the next morning – just as they were going to shove off, some of the party, in gazing from the edge of the balza, noticed a queer-looking animal in the clear water below. It was no other than a “fish-cow;” and, as they continued to examine it more attentively, they were astonished to observe that, with its short paddle-like limbs, it hugged two miniature models of itself close to its two breasts. These were the “calves” in the act of suckling, for such is the mode in which the manati nourishes her young.

All the others would have watched this spectacle for a while, interested in the maternal and filial traits thus exhibited by a subaqueous creature, but while they stood looking into the water, something glanced before their eyes, and glided with a plunge to the bottom. It was the harpoon of Guapo.

Blood rose to the surface immediately, and there was a considerable plashing as the strong manati made its attempt to escape; but the head of the harpoon was deeply buried in its flesh, and, with the attached cord, Guapo soon hauled the animal ashore. It was as much as he and Don Pablo could do to drag it on dry land; but the knife soon took it to pieces; and then several hours were spent in making it fit for preservation. Its fat and flesh yielded enough to fill every spare vessel our travellers had got; and, when all were filled, the balza was pushed off, and they continued their voyage without any fear of short rations for some time to come.

Chapter Fifty.

The Closing Chapter

After many days of difficult navigation the balza floated upon the broad and mighty Amazon, whose yellowish-olive flood flowed yet fifteen hundred miles farther to the Atlantic Ocean.

The current was in most places over four miles an hour, and the navigation smooth and easy – so that our travellers rarely made less than fifty miles a-day. There was considerable monotony in the landscape, on account of the absence of mountains, as the Amazon, through most of its course, runs through a level plain. The numerous bends and sudden windings of the stream, however, continually opening out into new and charming vistas, and the ever-changing variety of vegetation, formed sources of delight to the travellers.

Almost every day they passed the mouth of some tributary river – many of these appearing as large as the Amazon itself. Our travellers were struck with a peculiarity in relation to these rivers – that is, their variety of colour. Some were whitish, with a tinge of olive, like the Amazon itself; others were blue and transparent; while a third kind had waters as black as ink. Of the latter class is the great river of the Rio Negro – which by means of a tributary (the Cassiquiare) joins the Amazon with the Orinoco.

Indeed, the rivers of the Amazon valley have been classed into white, blue, and black. Red rivers, such as are common in the northern division of the American continent, do not exist in the valley of the Amazon.

There appears to be no other explanation for this difference in the colour of rivers, except by supposing that they take their hue from the nature of the soil through which these channels run.

But the white rivers, as the Amazon itself, do not appear to be of this hue merely because they are “muddy.” On the contrary, they derive their colour, or most of it, from some impalpable substance held in a state of irreducible solution. This is proved from the fact, that even when these waters enter a reservoir, and the earthy matter is allowed to settle, they still retain the same tinge of yellowish olive. There are some white rivers, as the Rio Branco, whose waters are almost as white as milk itself!

The blue rivers of the Amazon valley are those with clear transparent waters, and the courses of these lie through rocky countries where there is little or no alluvium to render them turbid.