Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Rover of the Andes: A Tale of Adventure on South America by R. M. Ballantyne (best books to read for students .TXT) 📖
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «The Rover of the Andes: A Tale of Adventure on South America by R. M. Ballantyne (best books to read for students .TXT) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
“Ho! hi! come along, you stuppid idjit!”
The “stuppid idjit” was enlightened at last. With a dignified smile, which would probably have been a frown if he had understood Quashy’s words, he went up to his hut, and selected a lance and a bow, with which, and a quiver of arrows, he returned to the little hunting canoe.
Seeing that they were now understood, Lawrence took his shot-gun and pistols; the negro also armed himself, and in a few minutes more they found themselves paddling gently down the sluggish current of the river.
The scenery through which those curiously assorted hunters passed that day in their light canoe was singularly beautiful; and when, turning up one of the narrow streams that fed the main river, they came into a region of sweet, mellow twilight, caused by the over-arching trees, where the very aspect of nature suggested, though it could not create, coolness, Lawrence felt as if he had been at last transported into those famous regions of fairyland which, if they really existed, and we were in very deed to get into them, would, perchance, not equal, and certainly could not excel, our own actual world!
Gigantic trees towered upwards till their heads were lost in the umbrageous canopy, while their stems were clasped by powerful snake-like creepers, or adorned with flowering parasites. The bushes grew so thick and tangled that it seemed as if neither man nor beast could penetrate them—which indeed was the case, as regards man, in many places; yet here and there unexpected openings permitted the charmed eyes to rest upon romantic vistas where creepers, convolvuli, and other flowers, of every shape, hue, and size, hung in festoons and clusters, or carpeted the ground. Fruit, too, was there in abundance. Everything seemed to bear fruit. The refreshing and not too luscious prickly pear; the oukli, an enormous cactus, not unlike the prickly pear but with larger fruit, whose delightful pulp was of a blood-red colour; the ancoche, with sweet-tasted pearl-like drops, and many others.
There was plenty of animal life, also, in and around this stream, to interest the hunters, who were now obliged to exert themselves a little to make head against the sluggish current. Water-hens were innumerable, and other wild-fowl flew or paddled about, enjoying, apparently, a most luxuriant existence, while brown ant-hills were suggestive of exceedingly busy life below as well as above ground. There are many kinds of ants out there, some of them very large, others not quite so large, which, however, make up in vicious wickedness what they lack in size.
At one bend in the stream they came suddenly on a boa-constrictor which was swimming across; at another turn they discovered a sight which caused Lawrence to exclaim—
“There’s a breakfast for you, Quashy. What would you say to that?”
“I’d like to hab ’im cooked, massa.”
The reference was to an alligator which was crossing the stream a few yards ahead of them, with a live boa in his jaws. The huge serpent was about twelve feet long, and wriggled horribly to escape, but the monster had it fast by the middle. Evidently its doom was fixed.
Several tapirs and a band of grunting peccaries were also seen, but all these were passed without molestation, for the ambitions of our hunters that day soared to nothing less than the tiger of the American jungles—the sneaking, lithe, strong, and much-dreaded jaguar.
Spotted Tiger seemed to have at last become fully aware of the spirit of his companions, for he took no apparent note of the various animals seen as they passed along, and evidently was on the outlook for the monarch of the jungle. Having been told by Pedro that he was a celebrated hunter, Lawrence felt sure that he would lead them to success.
“Why you no shoot de deer an’ pepper de alligators, massa?” asked Quashy at last, after several of the creatures mentioned had been seen and passed.
“Because I don’t want them,” returned Lawrence, “and I have no pleasure in useless destruction of life. Besides, I am anxious to shoot a jaguar, having a strong wish to take home the claws and skull of one—the first for my friends, the last for a museum. When we want food I will shoot deer, or anything else that’s eatable.”
Quashy remained silent. He seemed to be revolving his master’s reply in a philosophical way, when something between a snarl and a growl turned his thoughts sharply into another channel.
Tiger quietly prepared his bow and arrows and laid his spears so that they should be handy. Lawrence and the negro also got ready their weapons, and then they advanced with caution, dipping their paddles lightly, and gazing earnestly into the jungle on the right bank of the stream.
“Dar, massa, dar he is,” exclaimed Quashy, in a hoarse whisper, pointing into the bushes.
“Nonsense, man,” replied Lawrence, in a low voice, “it’s only an ant-hill.”
Even in that moment of excitement, Lawrence could scarce refrain from laughter at the face of his humble follower, for Quashy’s business in life had not accustomed him to much sport at any time; and the prospect of actually assisting at the slaughter of a jaguar or a puma had stirred every nerve and fibre of his black being into intense excitation, so that his eyes and nostrils were dilated to the utmost, and he panted vehemently—with hope, of course, not fear!
Tiger, on the contrary, was cool and calm, though watchful. He paid no attention whatever to his companions, being too well acquainted with his work to stand in need of either advice or assistance from them.
As guide, the savage occupied the bow of the canoe; Lawrence sat in the middle, and Quashy in the stern, for he understood how to steer. Having been admonished to hold his tongue, he crouched so as, if possible, to diminish his size. He also pursed his lips,—and what a tight rounding and projecting of superfluous flesh that pursing was no tongue can adequately tell. He also glared, and this “talking with the eyes” was a mute sermon in itself.
Yet no jaguar could be seen. Silently, with dip of paddle that made no sound, and glide of craft through the water that produced only an oily ripple, they slowly ascended the stream.
At first Lawrence had seized his fowling-piece, which was charged with ball for the occasion; but as time passed, and the Indian showed no intention of landing, he laid the gun down, and again took up his paddle.
After a time, through some inadvertence of Quashy, the canoe was sent rather close in among the reeds and giant leaves of the bank.
“That was stupid of you, Quash,” said Lawrence, as he stood up to assist Tiger in backing out.
“Das true, massa,” said the negro, in profoundest humility of self-condemnation, “I’s a black idjit.”
As the fore part of the canoe had touched on a mudbank, Lawrence seized one of the Indian’s lances, and used the butt end as a pole with which to push off. Under this impulse the canoe was gradually sliding into deep water, when a rustling of the leaves was heard, and next instant a full-sized jaguar sprang upon the Indian with cat-like agility. Whether the brute had slipped on the muddy bank we cannot say, but it missed its aim, and, instead of alighting on the shoulders of the man, it merely struck him on the head with one of its paws in passing, and went with a tremendous splash into the water.
Tiger fell forward insensible from the severe scalp-wound inflicted. Next instant the jaguar rose, grasped the edge of the canoe, and almost overturned it as it strove to climb in; and there is no doubt that in another moment it would have succeeded, for the attack was so sudden that Quashy sat paralysed, while Lawrence forgot his pistols, and his gun lay in the bottom of the canoe! Happily, however, he recovered enough of presence of mind to use the lance in his hands. Turning the point of the weapon to the jaguar’s mouth, he thrust it in with such tremendous force that it passed right down its throat and into its very vitals. With a gasping snarl the monster fell back into the stream, and was quickly drowned as well as impaled.
“Help me to haul him on board,” cried Lawrence.
Thus awakened, the negro, relieving his feelings by giving vent to a roar which partook somewhat of a cheer, seized the jaguar’s tail. His master grasped its ears, and in another moment it lay in the bottom of the canoe.
“Now, help to lay the poor fellow beside it,” said Lawrence.
“O massa!—he not dead, eh?” groaned the negro, as he assisted in the work.
“No; nor likely to die yet a while,” replied Lawrence, with much satisfaction, as he examined and bound up the scalp-wound. “It is not deep; he’ll soon come round; but we must get him home without delay. Out with your paddle, Quashy, and use it well. I’ll take the bow.”
The canoe, which, during these proceedings, had been floating slowly down stream, was now turned in the right direction, and in a short time was out upon the larger river.
Here, however, they had to labour with energy against the stream, and it was far on in the afternoon before they came in sight of the Indian’s hut. By that time Spotted Tiger had partially recovered, as Lawrence observed during a pause made for rest. On reaching an eddy, which carried the canoe in the right direction, they rested again. The cessation of paddling appeared to rouse the wounded man, for he sat up, and, with a half-dazed look, stared at the head of the dead jaguar, on the haunch of which his elbow leaned. Then he cast an inquiring look at Lawrence, who replied to him with a nod and a smile, and went on to indicate, by means of pantomime, what had occurred.
He pointed to the animal’s claws, and to Tiger’s head; then to the bloody spear which lay at his side, and to the jaguar’s blood-stained throat, after which he pointed to his own breast and nodded again.
The Indian evidently understood him, for an expression of gratitude overspread his countenance as he extended his right hand—English fashion—for a shake. Our hero was not slow to grasp it, and the two exchanged a squeeze which told of lasting friendship and good-will.
A few minutes later, and the canoe was run upon the bank in front of the hut, where all the children were assembled to receive them.
It did not seem as if any of the family were deeply affected by the shaky appearance of the father as he stepped on shore, but the younger members evinced feelings of intense delight when the jaguar was lifted out; and two of them, seizing the tail as a tow-rope, passed it over their shoulders, and dragged the carcass up to the hut to show it to their mother.
O mothers! loving repositories of childhood’s joys and woes, ye are unquestionably the same in substance and in spirit all the world over!
Tiger’s wife was more affected than Lawrence expected she would have been by her husband’s accident, and tended him with anxious care. By taking hold of him, and laying him gently down in a corner opposite to that of his sick child, Lawrence gave him to understand that it was his duty to take rest. To say truth, he did not require much persuasion, but at once laid his head on his pillow, and quietly went to sleep.
“The hospital is filling rather quickly, Manuela,” said Lawrence, when he had finished tending his new patient, “and your duties are increasing, I fear.”
“No fear. Me likes to nuss,” replied the girl, with a look that puzzled the young doctor.
It was Manuela’s fascinating smile that came hardest on our poor hero. When she looked grave or sad, he could regard
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