Kitabı oku: «Our Little Brazilian Cousin», sayfa 2

CHAPTER III
A TROPICAL STORM

"What fortunes could be made in these forests," said the Senhor Dias to his brother, "if people with capital only knew of the riches stored here. Mahogany, satinwood, rosewood and many other kinds of trees grow here in the greatest abundance, and were there railroads and ships to transport them, Brazil would be one of the richest countries in the world."

"We should try to develop our own land," said his brother, and the two men entered into a long conversation as to the wonderful forests of the country, to which Affonzo listened with interest.

"Oh, father!" he exclaimed, at last. "When you go up the river to see the forests may I go with you?"

"Perhaps, but I could not make a promise without first asking your mother's consent. The trip will be an interesting one, but very hard, though it might do you good."

"I should love to go," said Affonzo, and his uncle added, "He will grow up a milksop if you keep him in the nursery much longer; let him go."

"It is about time we were starting now," said the Senhor. "Joachim, make ready the bag. Your uncle and I will walk on a little ahead, Affonzo, and you can follow with Joachim. But do not stray away from him, or you will miss the path, and all manner of dangers lurk in these forests."

Affonzo sat lazily waiting and watching as the black put up the dinner things. "Take care of my snake skin," he said, and Joachim smiled, and replied, "That will make a fine belt for the little master when it is dried."

"I should like that very much," said Affonzo. "You must make it for me."

"Yes, sir," said Joachim as he swung over his strong shoulders the wicker-work hamper and game bag. "Is the young master ready to go?"

"I am," Affonzo replied, and the two started down the narrow path along which the Senhor had disappeared.

"What kind of a tree is that?" asked Affonzo pointing to a tall tree a hundred feet high.

"That is the castanhao," said Joachim. "Some people call it the Brazil nut, and I have often gathered nuts from it for you to eat. The nuts grow at the very top of the tree in shells like cocoanuts, and each shell has fifteen or twenty nuts in it. Often I have thought my head was broken when a shell fell upon it."

"I wonder why we don't catch up with my father?" said Affonzo. "Joachim, what makes it so dark?"

"Storm coming. We must hurry," was the brief answer.

Heavy clouds had gathered quickly; not a glimmer of sunlight came through the trees, and great drops of rain began to fall.

"Father!" cried Affonzo, but there was no answer. "Father!" he called again and Joachim shouted, "Senhor! Senhor!"

Nothing was heard but the screaming of the wind, and the rain fell faster and faster. Vivid flashes of lightning illuminated the forest, and the thunder muttered and grumbled in the distance.

"Come with me quickly," said Joachim, as he seized the boy by the hand. "We mustn't stay here."

"But my father," cried Affonzo and tried to get away from Joachim, but the negro held tight to him.

"The Senhor can take care of himself; I must take care of you," he said, as he pulled the boy into a side path which led through the woods. They made their way with difficulty through the dense tangle of underbrush and vines. Often a swinging branch would strike Affonzo on the face, or he would tangle his feet in a swaying vine and fall full length in a bed of fern. The rain poured down in torrents, but the leaves and interlaced branches served as a shield from the great drops which pelted down like bullets. Soon they came to a small hut with a thatched roof and no door to bar the entrance. Into it Joachim pulled the boy with scant ceremony. As they entered the hut a man rose hurriedly from his grass couch, and Affonzo recognized an Indian who had often been to the Fazenda to see his father.

"Ah, Vicente," said Joachim. "Give us shelter."

"Welcome," said the syringuero.² "The storm is bad. You reached shelter just in time. See!"

He pointed through the door-way and Affonzo saw that the streams of water were well-nigh rivers, and the thunder and lightning were almost incessant.

"Where do you suppose my father is?" he asked, and Joachim answered,

"The Senhor has found shelter, do not fear; and he will know you are safe with me."

"There is nothing to do but sit still, I suppose," said Affonzo, rather mournfully, for that was the hardest thing in all the world for him to do.

Vicente gave him a slow smile. He was an old Indian of wiry frame, with keen black eyes. His hair was straight and black, his chin firm and strong, his features clean-cut, his face proud and intelligent. He was in great contrast to curly-haired, black Joachim with his good-humoured, stolid face.

Vicente was one of the Indians whose fathers had owned the land before the Portuguese discovered it and named it Brazil from the red colour of its dye woods. He gathered rubber from the great trees which grew in the forest, and lived alone in his little hut. He sat smoking and watching the boy who looked out into the rain feeling very miserable.

"Vicente," he said at last, "have you lived long in the forest?"

"Many years have I been here," said the old man. "And my fathers were here before me. They hunted and fished and were chiefs in the land until the white men came. Many died, many went to the great hills, but I stayed here, for the home of my fathers is my home."

"Tell me a story, Vicente," begged the little boy.

"In the days of my fathers," said Vicente, "and of my father's fathers and their fathers, things were not as to-day they are in the country of the great river. There were no white Senhores. The Indians dwelt alone. They roamed the forests hunting with the bow and arrow; they fished in the great stream; they dwelt in their lodges and were happy.

"Often there were fights with other Indians and these were of great glory. But my people were peaceful and loved not war, never fighting if they could first have peace. To secure peace for our village, each year they made a sacrifice and this was the manner of it.

"A chief smeared his body with gum and then powdered himself with gold dust. He powdered it all over, for in our mountains was much gold and precious gems. He placed himself on a raft and was rowed to the middle of the great river. There he raised his hands to heaven, praying the Great Spirit to save his village, and jumping into the water he washed off the precious dust. This he sacrificed for his village.

"This was done each year and should have been done still, when, perhaps, the Indian villages would not have been destroyed and deserted, but it ceased for the sin of one man. A chief loved gold. That is an evil and a foolishness, for gold is but for use and not for love. He loved its glitter, and it seemed to him stupid to waste it in a sacrifice.

"It was his turn to make the river sacrifice and become the Gilded Man.³ But he was angry within himself, and said, 'why shall I do this thing? If the village wishes gold, why must it take mine? It is a foolish thing!'

"Yet he could not refuse the sacrifice, for to be the Gilded Man was thought an honour, and did he refuse, many would suspect him of faithlessness to his tribe. So he gilded himself as was the custom, and his brother chiefs rowed him to the river and he raised his hands to heaven.

"'Spirits of Rain and Wind, of Fire and Water, of Good and Evil, keep our village and our people,' he cried. 'We offer all to thee!' Then he plunged into the stream and washed the gold from his arms and legs. All the time his heart was hot within him and he thought to himself, 'How my soul grieves to see this waste of the beautiful, shining dust!' Then an evil spirit tempted him and he did not wash off all the gold. He left beneath his arms where others could not see it, some of the glittering dust, and returned to his village, an insult to the Spirits of Heaven.

"That night came fierce rain and wind and with it a horde of enemies who descended like a hurricane and destroyed the village, – men, women and children. So the chief with all his gold was destroyed utterly and he was the last Gilded Man. Thus were the Spirits of Heaven avenged!"

"Thank you, Vicente," cried Affonzo. "That is a good story. But see, the rain is over. Now we must hurry to find my father," pointing as he spoke to the doorway. The sky was clear and bright, already rose-tinted with the rays of the setting sun, low in the heavens.

"You must not go yet," said Vicente. "Ground too wet, trees wet, bad for white people. You must wait."

"But I must find my father," persisted Affonzo, who, though he was a brave boy, began to be somewhat frightened. But Vicente knew the danger of the steaming forest with its snakes, mosquitoes and insects swarming after the storm. "Not safe to go now," he said, and Joachim, who was quite comfortable where he was, said, "Little master must sleep here and go home in the morning."

"You shall have a good supper," said Vicente, who began at once to prepare the meal, and Affonzo was forced to submit. So he watched with interest the preparations for supper, for like most boys, he was generally hungry. Vicente built a fire in the stone fireplace in front of his hut, and from a stone jar in the corner he brought pork, some coarse bread, wild honey found in the woods, and bananas.

"Take a bird from our bag," said Affonzo, wishing to give his share of the feast, and Joachim brought out a parrot which was soon stewing in the pot with the pork, and a handful of peppers and herbs. When the savoury stew was done, the meal was spread upon a rough bench at the door, and the three odd companions sat down together.

"Quite a festive party," said a laughing voice, and jumping up, Affonzo saw his father and uncle approaching through the trees.

"Oh, papa, how glad I am to see you! I feared you would be wet through, but you must have found shelter as we did, for you are scarcely wet at all."

"I worried about you, more than you did about me, I fancy," said his father, "though I hoped Joachim would bring you here. Your uncle and I missed the path some way, and could not find you or the old house again, so we took refuge in a deserted hut."

"The Senhors will sup with me," said Vicente, "and remain here for the night since the forest is unsafe for the boy."

"A thousand thanks; we will stay if you can arrange for so many," was the reply, and as Vicente assured them that they would all be most welcome, they ate their supper with much enjoyment.

The two Senhors slept in Indian hammocks swung between giant rubber trees, while Affonzo curled up in a blanket and slept, as did Vicente and Joachim, on a fragrant couch of dried grass.

CHAPTER IV
ALONG THE AMAZON

"Come, son," said the Senhor early next morning. "We have a long day before us and you must eat plenty of breakfast. That is if you want to go with your uncle and me. If not, you may go back home with Joachim."

"Where are you going?" asked Affonzo as he smoothed down his linen suit, and combed his hair with a pocket comb from his dapper little uncle's case. He had washed his face in the stream which gurgled near the hut, and that was all the toilet he could make, which seemed odd to him, for he was something of a dandy.

"We are going the rounds with Vicente to see the rubber plantation, and then go home by the river."

"Do let me go with you, I am sure my mother would not object," cried Affonzo.

"I shall send Joachim home with word of your safety to ease her mind, and as you wish it so much, you may come with us; so eat and we will start."

Senhor Dias was a rubber exporter. From his plantation near Para went out huge balls of the rubber, solid, tough and brown. It is very interesting to watch the process of obtaining this from the milk-white sap of the rubber trees.

"Well, Vicente, shall we start now," said the Senhor when they had breakfasted.

"When the Senhor is ready," said Vicente.

The Indian lived by himself all the year around in his little hut. All along the Amazon these cabins may be found, hidden in the woods, and in each one dwells only a single Indian. It is a lonely and dangerous life, the climate is unhealthful, the swampy lands of the river valley where the rubber trees grow are low and malarious, and the syringuero has often to wade knee deep in mud, and work all day in wet clothing.

The Indians are trustworthy workers and many of them earn a good living. Old Vicente had worked there so long that he would not have known how to act anywhere else, but he was glad to have company on his lonely rounds. So he smiled at Affonzo as the boy skipped along, gathering one gorgeous flower after another, as merry as the sunshine after the rain.

"You'd better walk a little more slowly, and save your strength for the day's tramp," said his father. "You'll be tired by night."

Vicente guided them down a well-worn path through the marsh land. On each side were splendid trees, the rubber tree growing as high as seventy feet. The trunk, smooth and round, was covered with light-coloured bark, the leaves, oval and about a foot long, hanging in clusters of three. The fruit grows in clusters also, and consists of a small black nut which the natives like very much. Affonzo picked one up and tasted it, but made a very wry face as it was quite bitter.

Selecting a fine tree, Vicente made a deep cut in the bark with his hatchet. Below it, by means of some damp clay, he fastened an earthen cup, into which the cream-coloured sap flowed slowly.

"By to-morrow the cup will be full," he said. "And I will come again. Now we will find another."

The next tree was half a mile away and it had frequently been tapped before, for a row of incisions girdled it. Vicente emptied the cups attached to these into a large pail which he carried, and made a new gash higher up.

"Do let me tap just one tree," said Affonzo, and Vicente allowed him to do so and helped him fasten on one of the cups to catch the sap. Affonzo was delighted, and tramped along gaily, although his short legs found it difficult to keep up with the long strides of his father and uncle.

At last Vicente finished his rounds, and said, as he showed the Senhor his brimming pail, "This is all to-day. Does the Senhor wish to see it cooked?"

"Yes, I want Affonzo to see it all, as I know he will be interested," said Senhor Dias, and they all followed the Indian to a little hut, such as the one in which they had slept the night before.

"Let us eat first," said the Senhor. "Our walk has given us all appetites."

So Vicente built a fire and roasted a lagarto⁴ which he had killed on the way through the forest. The delicate white flesh tasted delicious to Affonzo, and so did the bananas and oranges and black coffee, which Vicente made thick and strong as it is liked in Brazil.

Vicente then made another fire of nuts and the wood of the motacu⁵ under a jug-shaped calabash, the smoke coming out through the neck. This smoke hastens the drying of the liquid rubber, and makes a better quality than can be obtained in any other way.

"I don't see how that stuff that looks like cream can ever be made like rubber," said Affonzo.

"Watch Vicente," said his father, "and you will see." As he spoke, Vicente dipped a long paddle into the liquid, and then held it over the smoke. It quickly dried and he dipped the paddle into the juice again, repeating the process of drying. This he kept up until the paddle had a thick coating of rubber, like a large, flattened ball. Then he split the ball open along one side, and pulled the paddle out.

"There now!" said the Senhor. "The rubber is all ready to go to market. Perhaps some day you will bounce a ball or wear a pair of goloshes made of this very rubber."

"Won't that be fine!" said Affonzo. "What are you going to do now," he asked, as his father rose as if to go.

"As soon as Vicente has finished cooking, we will go to the river, and go home by water," said the Senhor. "Then you will see some of the wood your uncle and I mean to export."

"That will be much better than tramping," said Affonzo, whose short legs began to be stiff and sore with all the walking he had done.

Vicente soon finished cooking his rubber, and put up the utensils before following Affonzo and the two men down the path to the river.

"Vicente is a good Indian, isn't he?" said Affonzo.

"One of the best I have ever known," said his father. "He has worked for us for years and has always been honest and reliable. It is strange that he should be so hospitable and friendly, for his ancestors and ours were always at war. When your grandfather was a young man there was always fear of the natives, and at one time there was an Indian uprising in which many Portuguese were killed. The Indians captured the city of Para, burned many of the houses, and destroyed everything they couldn't carry away with them. They held the city over a year before the Portuguese could recapture it."

"It must have been exciting to live then," cried Affonzo, who loved to read of wars and battles and thought they must be interesting things.

But his uncle said, "More peaceful times are less exciting, but far pleasanter and you would better be thankful that you live now. There is the river! How beautiful it looks!"

Affonzo had often seen the Amazon, the greatest river in the world, and had been on it in the steamers which ply between Para and Mañaos, but he had never seen it at this point, and he exclaimed in wonder at its beauty. The river was two miles wide, and in the centre was a broad deep channel down which the water flowed slowly. On each side of this were stretches of shallow water, while on either bank grew thick forests of superb trees.

Vicente drew a canoe from a thicket about a sheltered cove and the little party embarked, Vicente paddling carefully.

"Isn't this splendid?" cried Affonzo. "I feel as if I were Orellaño discovering the river."

"Why, what do you know about him?" asked his uncle.

"Oh, he was fine," said Affonzo. "He was one of Gonzalo Pizzarro's lieutenants and he crossed the Andes to find cinnamon trees. He had only fifty men and they built a boat and started down the river and had a terrible time for days. At last they reached the mouth of the river, and were picked up by some Spanish ships. It told all about it in my geography."

"Did it tell how he named the river?" asked Uncle Prudente. "Orellaña fell in with an Indian tribe where the women fought side by side with the men; you know women soldiers are called Amazons, so he called the river 'Rio de las Amazones.'"

"See those magnificent satin-wood trees," said Senhor Dias to his brother. "Nowhere in all the world is there such wood from which to make fine furniture as here."

Then the two gentlemen fell into a talk about business plans, and Affonzo curled up in the canoe and watched the interesting things they passed. It was a scene of contrast. A native boat, one end thatched over for a house, a hammock, in which a man lolled lazily, swung across its deck, was passing by a large steamer gay with flags and striped awnings. He also saw boats laden with rubber, and many rafts made of great logs held together by long wooden pins driven through them, for their long voyage to Para.