Lost in the Forest: Wandering Will's Adventures in South America by Ballantyne (best free ebook reader txt) 📖

round and saw that he had been standing on the extreme verge of the precipice. Had he advanced one step after being arrested by the voice of his comrade, his mangled body would, in a few seconds, have been lying beside that of his poor mule!

There was no time to speak of these things, however, just then, for the storm, or rather the squall, burst forth again with increased violence, and the pass was still before them—so like the men of a forlorn hope who press up to the breach, they braced themselves to renew the conflict, and pushed on. The truth of the proverb, that “fortune favours the brave,” was verified on this occasion. The storm passed over almost as quickly as it had begun, the sky cleared up, and, before night set in, they had crossed the pass, and were rapidly descending the eastern side of the mountains towards the fertile plains and valleys of Columbia.

The transition from the wintry cold of the high regions of the Andes to the intense tropical heat of the plains and forests was rapidly made. In a few days the travellers were obliged to throw off their ponchos and warm garments, and at the end of a few weeks we find them stretched out lazily in the stern of a canoe, under the guidance of four Creoles, floating quietly down one of the numerous tributaries of the Orinoco. The change was not only sudden but also agreeable. In truth, our adventurers had been so long subjected by that time to excitement and exhausting toil—especially while crossing the mountains—that the most robust among them began to long for a little rest, both bodily and mental, and, now that they lay idly on their backs gazing at the passing scenery, listening to the ripple of the water and smoking cigarettes, it seemed as if the troubles of life had all passed away and nothing but peace lay around and before them.

“’Tis paradise intirely,” observed Larry, removing his cigarette for a moment, and winking facetiously at a small monkey which happened to peep at him just then through the foliage overhead.

“Him won’t be long like dat,” said Bunco.

“Come, now, ye ill-omened spalpeen, don’t be causin’ yer dirty clouds to come over this purty vision. Wot’s the use o’ cryin’ before ye’re hurt, or pretendin’ to know the futur’ whin ye knows nothin’ about it? Ye’re no better than a baboon, Bunco, as I’ve fraiquintly had occasion to tell ye before now.”

Bunco made no reply to this, but smiled slightly as he changed his position to one of greater comfort, and lit a fresh cigarette.

“Larry,” said Will Osten, “did you remember to put the fresh meat in the canoe this morning?”

“Och! morther,” cried the Irishman, starting up with a look of desperate annoyance on his expressive face; “sure I’ve wint an’ forgot it! It’s hangin’ at this minit on the branch where I putt it last night for fear o’ the tigers—bad luck to them!”

“Ho, ho!” ejaculated Bunco, “paradise am gone a’ready!”

Larry turned upon his friend with a look that betokened no good, and appeared to meditate an assault, when Will Osten said quietly,—“Never mind, Larry; I luckily observed your omission, and put it into the canoe myself.”

“Ah, then, doctor, it’s not right of ’e to trifle wid a poor man’s feelin’s in that way, especially in regard to his stummick, which, wid me, is a tinder point. Howsever, it’s all right, so I’ll light another o’ thim cigarettes. They’re not bad things after all, though small an’ waik at the best for a man as was used to twist an’ a black pipe since he was two foot high.”

The Irishman lay down and once more sought to recover his lost paradise, but was interrupted by an exclamation from one of the canoe-men, who pointed to a part of the river’s bank where no fewer than eight crocodiles were lying basking in the sun. They were of various sizes, from eight to twenty feet in length, and slept with their jaws wide open, and their formidable rows of teeth exposed to view.

“Well, wot’s to do?” asked Larry, half rising.

“Oh! hums only want you to look to de brutes—’tink you hab never seed him ’fore to-day,” said Bunco.

“Tell him he’s mistaken, then,” replied Larry testily; “we’ve often seed ’em before, an’ don’t want to be roused up by such trifles.”

Saying this, the Irishman once more sank into a recumbent state of felicity; but his peaceful tendency was doomed to frequent interruptions, not only on that day, but on many other occasions during the voyage down the Orinoco.

In the evening of that same day he had an adventure which induced him to suspect, more strongly even than Bunco, that terrestrial paradise was indeed still a long way off. The party landed at a small clearing, where they were hospitably received by a professional tiger-hunter, who, although nearly half-naked and almost black, was a very dignified personage, and called himself Don Emanuel. This Don invited them up to smoke and eat at his residence, which turned out to be a very large one—no less than the wild forest itself, for he disdained houses, and was wont to sling his hammock, nightly, between two trees. At his encampment they were introduced to his wife and two daughters, who were as wild and as lightly clad as himself, and the only evidence (if evidence it was) that the ladies belonged to the gentler sex was, that Donna Isabella—the elder sister—fondled a large cat, for which she appeared to entertain a strong affection. Having supped and smoked, the travellers slung their hammocks to the trees and went to sleep. In the middle of the night, several times, they were awakened by the cries of the denizens of the thickets. It was supposed that when any two of these took to fighting the others were stirred up to roar in sympathy! Be this as it may, the mingled cries, roars, and shrieks, of sapajous, alouates, jaguars, cougars, pacaris, sloths, curassows, parraquas, etcetera, broke forth from time to time with such fury, that sleep was almost unattainable; then a thunderstorm came on which wet them to the skin; after that a large vampire-bat bit Bunco on the nose, causing that worthy to add his noise to the general concert; and, finally, a soft hairy animal dropt from a branch into Larry O’Hale’s hammock. The Irishman received it with open arms and a yell of terror. He crushed it to his chest, which drew forth a responsive yell of agony from the animal, whose claws and teeth were instantly fixed in Larry’s chin and cheeks. He caught it by the tail—the teeth and claws were at once transferred to his hands; then he seized it by the throat, from which there issued a gasping shriek as he hurled it high into the air, whence it descended into the embers of the expiring fire, and, bolting violently from that too-warm spot, sent up a shower of sparks which revealed the fact that the unfortunate man had all but annihilated Donna Isabella’s favourite cat!

Thus they proceeded down the Orinoco, and, finally, reached the sea-coast, where they opportunely found a vessel ready to sail for Old England. It was not long, therefore, before they were once more out upon the wide sea, with the happy consciousness that they were actually “homeward bound.”

There are times in a man’s career when realities appear to memory like the dim shadows of a dream, just as there are periods when dreams rise up with all the bold and startling vividness of reality. Our adventurers felt something of this when they had been a few days at sea, and began to think of and talk about their recent career in South America. It seemed to them as though their romantic life in the woods, their encounters with wild beasts, their adventures and misadventures in Ecuador, their dangers and difficulties in crossing the Andes, and their tranquil descent of the Orinoco, were a confused yet vivid vision; and often, while pacing the deck together, or sitting on the bulwarks of the ship in the dreamy idleness of passenger-life at sea, did they comment upon the difficulty they had in regarding as indubitable facts the events of the last few months.

Nevertheless, as Larry expressed it, there could be no doubt whatever that it was all true, and after all, according to his carefully formed estimate, worse luck might have befallen them than being “cast away on the shores of Peroo an’ lost in the forest!”