Kitabı oku: «Gaspar the Gaucho: A Story of the Gran Chaco», sayfa 12

Chapter Thirty Three.
A Fish Dinner at Second-Hand

As they make towards the tree, which has erst served others than themselves as a guide to the crossing-place, the nature of the ground hinders their going at great speed. Being soft and somewhat boggy, they are compelled to creep slowly and cautiously over it.

But at length they get upon a sort of ridge slightly elevated above the general level, though still unsafe for fast travelling. Along this, however, they can ride abreast, and without fear of breaking through.

As they proceed onward, Gaspar gives them some further information about the ford they are making for.

“We can easily wade it,” he says, “if this awkward and ill-timed dust-storm hasn’t changed it, as everything else. When poor dear master and I went across – that would be about six months ago – the water wasn’t quite up to our stirrups; but, like as not, last night’s downpour has raised it too, and we’ll have a swim for it. Well, that won’t matter much. There, at all events, we can get the horses out; as the bank slopes off gently. So there’ll be no fear of our being stuck or sent floundering in the stream. A regular Indian road, crosses the riacho there, and has worn a rut running down to the channel on both sides.”

His hearers are pleased at this intelligence; Cypriano signifying so by the laconic rejoinder —

“Esta bueno.”

Then follows an interval of silence; after which Gaspar, as if some new thought had occurred to him, suddenly exclaims —

“Santos Dios! I’d forgotten that.”

“Forgotten what?” both inquire, with a surprised, but not apprehensive look; for the gaucho’s words were not in this tone.

“Something,” he answers, “which we ought to find at this very crossing-place. A bit of good luck it’s being here.”

“And what do you expect from it?” questions Cypriano.

“I expect to learn whether we’re still on the right track, or have strayed away from it. We’ve been going by guesswork long enough; but, if I don’t greatly mistake we’ll there see something to tell us whether our guesses have been good or bad. If the redskins have come up the river at all, it’s pretty sure they also have crossed the riacho at this very ford, and we should there see some traces of them. Sure to find them on the sloping banks, as we did by the arroyo. That will count a score in our favour.”

By the time he has ceased speaking, they have reached the quebracha; and, soon as under its shadow, Gaspar again reins up, telling the others to do the same. It is not that he has any business with the beacon tree, as with that which served them for a barometer; but simply, because they are once more within sight of the stream – out of view since they left its bank below. The ford is also before their eyes, visible over the tops of some low bordering bushes.

But what has now brought the gaucho to a stop is neither the stream, nor its crossing-place; but a flock of large birds wading about in the water, at the point where he knows the ford to be. Long-legged creatures they are, standing as on stilts, and full five feet high, snow-white in colour, all but their huge beaks, which are jet black, with a band of naked skin around their necks, and a sort of pouch like a pelican’s, this being of a bright scarlet. For they are garzones soldados, or “soldier-cranes,” so-called from their red throats bearing a fancied resemblance to the facings on the collar of a soldier’s coat, in the uniform of the Argentine States.

“Bueno!” is the pleased exclamation which proceeds from the gaucho’s lips, as he sits contemplating the cranes. “We sha’n’t have any swimming to do here; the rain don’t seem to have deepened the ford so much as a single inch. You see those long-legged gentry; it barely wets their feet. So much the better, since it ensures us against getting our own wetted, with our baggage to the boot. Stay!” he adds, speaking as if from some sudden resolve, “let’s watch the birds a bit. I’ve a reason.”

Thus cautioned, the others hold their horses at rest, all with their eyes fixed upon the soldier-cranes; which still unconscious of intruders in such close proximity, continue the occupation in which they were engaged when first seen – that of fishing.

Every now and then one darts its long bayonet-like beak into the water, invariably drawing it out with a fish between the mandibles; this, after a short convulsive struggle, and a flutter or two of its tail fins, disappearing down the crane’s capacious throat.

“Having their breakfast,” observes the gaucho, “or, I should rather call it dinner,” he adds, with a glance upward to the sky. “And the height of that sun reminds me of its being high time for us to do something in the same line, if I hadn’t been already reminded of it by a hollow I feel here.” He places his spread palm over the pit of his stomach, and then continues, “So we may as well dine now; though, sad to say, we haven’t a morsel to make a meal upon but that juiceless charqui. Santissima! what am I thinking about? I verily believe my brains have got bemuddled, like everything else. Nothing but charqui, indeed! Ha! we’ll dine more daintily, if I know what’s what. Here, señoritos! back your horses behind those bushes. Quick, gently.”

While speaking, he turns his own out of the path, and rides crouchingly to the rear of the bushes indicated, thus putting a screen between himself and the soldier-cranes.

Following his example, the others do likewise, but without the slightest idea of what he is going to be after next.

Cypriano inquiring, receives the very unsatisfactory answer —

“You’ll see.”

And they do see; first himself dismounting and tying his bridle to a branch; then detaching his lazo from its ring in the saddle-tree, and carefully adjusting its coils over his left arm. This done, he separates from them, as he walks away, speaking back in a whisper: —

“Keep your ground, young masters, till I return to you, and if you can help it, don’t let the horses make any noise, or budge an inch. For yourselves, silencio!”

As they promise all this, he parts from them, and is soon out of sight; their last glance showing him to be making for the ford, going with bent body and crouched gait, as cat or cougar stealing upon its prey.

For some ten minutes or so, they neither see nor hear more of him; and can only conjecture that the design he has so suddenly conceived, has something to do with the garzones. So believing, curiosity prompts them to have another peep at these piscatory birds; which by standing up in their stirrups – for they are still seated in the saddle – they can. Looking over the tops of the bushes, they see that the cranes continue fishing undisturbed, and seemingly unaware of an enemy being near, or that danger threatens them.

But not much longer are they left to enjoy this feeling of security. While the two youths are still regarding them, first one, then another, is observed to elevate its head to the full height of its long slender neck; while here and there throughout the flock are heard cries of warning or alarm; the frightened ones letting fall the fish already in their beaks, while those not quite so much scared, suddenly swallow them. But in another instant, all, as if by one impulse, give out a simultaneous scream; then, rising together, spread their broad, sail-like wings, and go flapping away.

No, not all. One stays in the riacho; no longer to look after fish, but with both wings outspread over the surface of the stream, beating the water into froth – as it does so, all the while drawing nearer and nearer to the nether bank! But its movements are convulsive and involuntary, as can be told by something seen around its neck resembling a rope. And a rope it is; the youths knowing it to be the lazo they late saw coiled over Caspar’s arm, knowing also that he is at the other end of it. He is hauling it in, hand over hand, till the captured bird, passing under the high bank, disappears from their view.

Soon, however, to re-appear; but now carried under the gaucho’s arm.

He cries out as he approaches them: —

“Viva! muchachitos! Give me congratulation, as I intend giving you a good dinner. If we can call charqui flesh, as I suppose we must, then we shall have fish, flesh, and fowl, all the three courses. So we’ll dine sumptuously, after all.”

Saying which, he draws out his knife, and cuts open the crane’s crop, exposing to view several goodly-sized fish, fresh as if just cleared from a draw-net! They are of various sorts; the riverine waters of South America being noted for their wonderful multiplicity of both genera and species. The Amazon and its tributaries, are supposed to contain at least three thousand distinct species; a fact upon which the American naturalist, Agassiz – somewhat of an empiric, by the way – has founded a portion of his spurious fame, on the pretence of being its discoverer. It was pointed out by a real naturalist, Alfred Wallace, ten years before Agassiz ever set eyes on the Amazon; and its record will be found in the appendix to Wallace’s most interesting work relating to this, the grandest of rivers.

In the La Plata, and its confluent streams, are also many genera and species; a question that gives Gaspar not the slightest concern, while contemplating those he has just made the garzon disgorge. Instead, he but thinks of putting them to the broil. So, in ten minutes after they are frizzling over a fire; in twenty more, to be stowed away in other stomachs than that of the soldier-crane.

Chapter Thirty Four.
Attacked by Gymnoti

Gaspar’s promise to give them a dinner of the three orthodox courses – fish, flesh, and fowl – was only meant in a jocular sense. For the flesh, their stock of charqui is not drawn upon; and as to fowl, the soldier-crane would be a still more unpalatable morsel. So it results in their dining simply upon fish; this not only without sauce, but swallowed at second-hand!

While they are occupied in the eating it, the gaucho, seeming more cheerful than usual, says: —

“I’ve a bit of good news for you, hijos mios.”

“Indeed! what?” is their eager inquiry.

“That we are still upon the right road. The redskins have gone past here, as I supposed they would.”

“You’ve discovered fresh traces of them, then?”

“I have ever so many scratches of their horses’ feet, where they slipped in stepping down to the stream. Quite plain they are; I could distinguish them some way off, and with half an eye, as I was hauling in the soldado. Good news, I call it; since we won’t have to take the back-track anyhow. What’s before us remains to be seen. Possibly, on the other side we may light on something else, to tell the direction they’ve taken. So, we’d better lose no time, but cross over.”

Hurriedly finishing their primitive repast, they spring back upon their recados, and ride down to the ford.

Once in the water, they find it not quite so shallow, as they had supposed from seeing the garzones wading about with but the slightest portion of their shanks below the surface. For at the bottom is a substratum of mud; a soft slimy ooze, firm enough to support the light birds, but through which the heavier quadrupeds, further weighted with themselves and their baggage, sink to their bellies.

Gaspar is surprised at finding the ford in this condition. It was not so when he passed over it before, and he can only account for the change by the dust from the tormenta having been blown in large quantities into the stream, then carried down by the current, and settling over the shallow crossing-place.

Whatever the cause, they find it awkward work to wade through the sticky slime. Still, they might have accomplished the crossing without accident, and doubtless would have done so, but for an impediment of another kind – one not only altogether unexpected, but far more to be dreaded than any danger of their going head and ears over into the ooze. For just as they have reached mid-stream, and are splashing and floundering on, Gaspar, who is riding ahead, and shouting back directions to the others, all at once finds his attention fully occupied in looking to himself, or rather to his horse. For the animal has come to a stop, suddenly and without any restraint of the rein, and stands uttering strange snorts, while quivering throughout every fibre of its frame!

Glancing over his shoulder, the gaucho sees that the other horses have also halted, and are behaving in a precisely similar manner, their riders giving utterance to excited exclamations. Ludwig looks a picture of astonishment; while, strange to say, on Cypriano’s countenance the expression is more one of alarm! And the same on the face of the gaucho himself; for he, as the young Paraguayan comprehends the situation, and well knows what has brought their horses so abruptly to a halt.

“What is it, Gaspar?” questions Ludwig, now also alarmed at seeing the others so.

“Eels!” ejaculates the gaucho.

“Eels! Surely you’re jesting?” queries the incredulous youth.

“No, indeed,” is the hurried rejoinder. “I only wish it were a jest. It’s not, but a dire, dangerous earnest. Santissima!” he cries out, in addition, as a shock like that of a galvanic battery causes him to shake in his saddle, “that’s a lightning eel, for sure! They’re all round us, in scores, hundreds, thousands! Spur your horses! Force them forward, anyway! On out of the water! A moment wasted, and we’re lost!”

While speaking, he digs the spurs into his own animal, with his voice also urging it onward; they doing the same.

But spur and shout as they may, the terrified quadrupeds can scarce be got to stir from the spot where first attacked by the electric eels. For it is by these they are assailed, though Gaspar has given them a slightly different name.

And just as he has said, the slippery creatures seem to be all around them, coiling about the horses’ legs, brushing against their bellies, at intervals using the powerful, though invisible, weapon with which Nature has provided them; while the scared quadrupeds, instead of dashing onward to get clear of the danger, only pitch and plunge about, at intervals standing at rest, as if benumbed, or shaking as though struck by palsy – all three of them, breathing hard and loud, the smoke issuing from their nostrils, with froth which falls in flakes, whitening the water below.

Their riders are not much less alarmed: they too sensibly feeling themselves affected by the magnetic influence. For the subtle current passing through the bodies of their horses, in like manner, and almost simultaneously enters their own. All now aware that they are in real danger, are using their utmost efforts to get out of it by spurring, shouting to their animals, and beating them with whatever they can lay their hands on.

It is a desperate strife, a contest between them and the quadrupeds, as they strive to force the latter forward, and from out of the perilous place. Fortunately, it does not last long, or the end would be fatal. After a short time, two of the three succeeded in reaching the bank: these Gaspar and Cypriano; the gaucho, as he feels himself on firm ground, crying out: —

“Thank the Lord for our deliverance!”

But scarce has the thanksgiving passed his lips, when, turning face towards the stream, he sees what brings the pallor back into his cheeks, and a trembling throughout his frame, as if he were still under the battery of the electric eels. Ludwig, lagging behind, from being less able to manage his mount, is yet several yards from the shore, and what is worse, not drawing any nearer to it. Instead, his horse seems stuck fast in the mud, and is making no effort to advance; but totters on his limbs as though about to lose them! And the youth appears to have lost all control not only of the animal but himself; all energy to act, sitting lollingly in his saddle, as if torpid, or half-asleep!

At a glance Gaspar perceives his danger, knowing it of no common kind. Both horse and rider are as powerless to leave that spot, as if held upon it in the loop of a lazo, with its other end clutched in the hands of a giant.

But a lazo may also release them; and at this thought occurring to him opportunely, the gaucho plucks his own from the horn of his recado, and with a wind or two around his head, casts its running noose over that of the imperilled youth. It drops down over his shoulders, settling around both his arms, and tightening upon them, as Gaspar, with a half wheel of his horse, starts off up the sloping acclivity. In another instant, Ludwig is jerked clean out of his saddle, and falls with a splash upon the water. Not to sink below its surface, however; but be drawn lightly along it, till he is hoisted high, though not dry, upon the bank.

But the gaucho’s work is still unfinished; the horse has yet to be rescued from his dangerous situation; a task, even more difficult than releasing his rider. For all, it is not beyond the skill of Gaspar, nor the strength of his own animal. Hastily unloosing his long, plaited rope from the body of the boy, and readjusting the loop, he again flings it forth; this time aiming to take in, not the head of Ludwig horse, but the pommel and cantle of his high-back saddle. And just as aimed, so the noose is seen to fall, embracing both. For Gaspar knows how to cast a lasso, and his horse how to act when it is cast; the well-trained animal, soon as he sees the uplifted arm go down again, sheering round without any guidance of rein, and galloping off in the opposite direction.

In the present case, his strength proves sufficient for the demand made upon it, though this is great; and the debilitated animal in the water, which can do nought to help itself, is dragged to the dry land nearly as much dead as alive.

But all are saved, horses as well as riders. The unseen, but dangerous, monsters are deprived of the prey they had come so near making capture of; and Gaspar again, even more fervently than before, cries out in gratitude —

“Thank the Lord for our deliverance!”

Chapter Thirty Five.
Under the Carob Trees

An attack by electric eels, however ludicrous the thing may seem, is not so looked upon by those whose ill luck it has been to experience it. That these slippery creatures possess a most dangerous power, and know how to exert it, there is ample evidence in the accounts given of them by many a truthful traveller.

More than enough of it have had our heroes; for while escaping with their lives, they have not got off altogether scatheless – neither themselves, nor their horses. For, though now beyond reach of their mysterious assailants, the latter stand cowering and quivering, evidently disabled for that day, at least. To continue the journey upon them, while they are in this condition, is plainly impossible. But their riders do not think of it; they, too, feeling enfeebled – Ludwig actually ill. For the electricity still affects them all, and it may be some time before their veins will be freed from its influence.

Nolens volens, for a time they must stay where they are, however they may chafe at this fresh halt – as before, a forced one. But the gaucho, with spirits ever buoyant, puts the best face upon it, saying, “After all, we won’t lose so much time. By this, our horses would have been pretty well done up, anyhow, after such a hard day’s work, floundering through so much mud and crossing so many streams. Even without this little bit of a bother, we’d have had to stop soon somewhere to rest them. And what better place than here? Besides, as you see, the sun’s wearing well down, and it’s only a question of three or four hours at most. We can make that up by an earlier start, and a big day’s journey, to-morrow; when it’s to be hoped we’ll meet with no such obstructions as have beset us to-day.”

Gaspar is not using arguments; for no one wishes to dispute with him. Only speaking words of comfort; more especially addressing them to Cypriano, who is, as ever, the impatient one. But he, as the gaucho himself, sees the impossibility of proceeding further, till they and their animals have had a spell of rest.

For the purpose of obtaining this, they go in search of a suitable camping-place; which they soon find within a grove of algarobias, at some three or four hundred yards’ distance from the ford. The trees cover the sides of a little mound, or hillock; none growing upon its summit, which is a grassy glade. And as the dust has either not settled on it, or been washed off by the rain, the herbage is clean and green, so too the foliage of the trees overshadowing it.

“The very place for a comfortable camp,” says Gaspar, after inspecting it – the others agreeing with him to the echo.

Having returned to the ford for their horses, and led them up to the chosen ground, they are proceeding to strip the animals of their respective caparisons, when, lo! the alparejas, and other things, which were attached to the croup of Ludwig’s saddle, and should still be on it, are not there! All are gone – shaken off, no doubt, while the animal was plunging about in the stream – and with as little uncertainty now lying amidst the mud at its bottom.

As in these very saddle-bags was carried their commissariat —yerba, charqui, maize-bread, onions, and everything, and as over the cantle-peak hung their kettle, skillet, matés and bombillas, the loss is a lamentable one; in short, leaving them without a morsel to eat, or a vessel to cook with, had they comestibles ever so abundant!

At first they talk of going back to the ford, and making search for the lost chattels. But it ends only in talk; they have had enough of that crossing-place, so dangerously beset by those demonios, as Gaspar in his anger dubs the electric eels. For though his courage is as that of a lion, he does not desire to make further acquaintance with the mysterious monsters. Besides, there is no knowing in what particular spot the things were dropped; this also deterring them from any attempt to enter upon a search. The stream at its crossing-place is quite a hundred yards in width, and by this time the articles of metal, as the heavily-weighted saddle-bags, will have settled down below the surface, perhaps trampled into its slimy bed by the horse himself in his convulsive struggles. To seek them now would be like looking for a needle in a stack of straw. So the idea is abandoned; and for this night they must resign themselves to going supperless.

Fortunately, none of the three feels a-hungered; their dinner being as yet undigested. Besides, Gaspar is not without hope that something may turn up to reprovision them, ere the sun goes down. Just possible, the soldier-cranes may come back to the ford, and their fishing, so that another, with full crop, may fall within the loop of his lazo.

Having kindled a fire – not for cooking purposes, but to dry their ponchos, and other apparel saturated in the crossing of the stream – they first spread everything out; hanging them on improvised clothes-horses, constructed of caña brava– a brake of which skirts the adjacent stream. Then, overcome with fatigue, and still suffering from the effects of the animal electricity, they stretch themselves alongside the fire, trusting to time for their recovery.

Nor trust they in vain. For, sooner than expected, the volatile fluid – or whatever it may be – passes out of their veins, and their nervous strength returns; even Ludwig saying he is himself again, though he is not quite so yet.

And their animals also undergo a like rapid recovery, from browsing on the leaves and bean-pods of the algarobias; a provender relished by all pampas horses, as horned cattle, and nourishing to both. More than this, the fruit of this valuable tree when ripe, is fit food for man himself, and so used in several of the Argentine States.

This fact suggesting itself to Gaspar – as he lies watching the horses plucking off the long siliques, and greedily devouring them – he says: —

“We can make a meal on the algarobia beans, if nothing better’s to be had. And for me, it wouldn’t be the first time by scores. In some parts where I’ve travelled, they grind them like maize, and bake a very fair sort of bread out of their meal.”

“Why, Gaspar!” exclaims Ludwig, recalling some facts of which he had heard his father speak, “you talk as if you had travelled in the Holy Land, and in New Testament times! These very trees, or others of a similar genus, are the ones whose fruit was eaten by Saint John the Baptist. You remember that passage, where it is said: ‘his meat was locusts and wild honey.’ Some think the locusts he ate were the insects of that name; and it may be so, since they are also eaten by Arabs, and certain other tribes of Asiatic and African people. But, for my part, I believe the beans of the ‘locust tree’ are meant; which, like this, is a species of acacia that the Arabs call carob; evidently the root from which we take our word algarobia.”

Gaspar listens, both patiently and pleased, to this learned dissertation. For he is rejoiced to perceive, that the thoughts of his young companion are beginning to find some abstraction and forgetfulness, of that upon which they have been so long sadly dwelling. Cypriano, too, appears to take an interest in the subject of discourse; and to encourage it the gaucho rejoins, in gleeful tones:

“Well, Señor Ludwig; I don’t know much about those far-away countries you speak of, for I’ve not had any great deal of schooling. But I do know, that algarobia beans are not such bad eating; that is if properly prepared for it. In the States of Santiago and Tucuman, which are the places I spoke of having travelled through, the people almost live on them; rich and poor, man as well as beast. And we may be glad to make breakfast on them, if not supper; though I still trust something more dainty may drop upon us. I’m not so hopeful as to expect manna, like that which rained down upon Moses; but there’s many an eatable thing to be had in this Chaco wilderness, too – for those who know how to look for it. Ay Dios!” he adds, after a pause, with his eyes turned towards the ford, “those long-legged gentry don’t seem to care about coming back there. No doubt, the screams of that fellow I throttled have frightened them off for good. So I suppose we must give the birds up, for this night anyhow. Just possible, in the morning they’ll be as hungry as ourselves, and pay their fishing-ground a very early visit.”

Saying this, the gaucho relapses into silence, the others also ceasing to converse. They all feel a certain lethargy, which calls for repose; and for a while all three lie without speaking a word, their heads resting on their recados– the only sound heard being the “crump-crump” of their horses’ teeth grinding the algarobia pods into pulp.