For the other circumstances that had occurred there was an explanation still more natural. The jararáca, peculiarly an inhabitant of the Gapo lands, had simply been sunning itself upon the sapucaya. It may have been prowling about in the water when overtaken by the tornado; and, not wishing to be carried away from its haunt, had sought a temporary shelter in the tree, to which an unlucky chance had guided the galatea. Its descent was due to the behaviour of the birds, which, after having for a time tantalised it, – provoking its spite, and in all likelihood its hungry appetite, – had temporarily suspended their attack, returning down the tree with Ralph and the negro. It was in pursuit of them, therefore, it had forsaken its original perch. The commotion caused by its descent, but more especially the ducking it had received, and the presence of the two human forms in the water below, had induced it to halt in the forking of the tree, where shortly after its natural prey again presented itself, – ending in an episode that was to it an ordinary occurrence. The choking it had received in the hands of the negro, and its unexpected immersion, had caused the involuntary rejection of the half-swallowed morsel. In the opaque water it had lost sight of the bird, and was returning to the sapucaya either in search of its food, or to reoccupy its resting-place.
It is well-known that the jararáca has no fear of man, but will attack him whenever he intrudes upon its domain. The Indians assert that it will even go out of its way for this purpose, unlike the rattlesnake and other venomous reptiles, which rarely exert their dangerous power except in self-defence. So this jararáca reascended the sapucaya undismayed by the human enemies it saw there, one or more of whom might have become its victims but for the timely removal of the lliana ladder.
On this review of facts and fancies, the equanimity of our adventurers was nearly restored. At all events, they were relieved from the horrible thoughts of the supernatural, that for a time held ascendancy over them. Their hunger and thirst again manifested themselves, though little Rosa and her preserver no longer suffered from the last. In their short excursion both had been repeatedly under water, and had swallowed enough to last them for that day at least. Yet they were in want of food, and Ralph once more climbed the tree to obtain it. He soon possessed himself of half a dozen of the huge nut capsules, which were tossed into the hands of those below, and, water being drawn up in one of the emptied shells, a meal was made, which if not hearty, was satisfactory. The group could do no more than await the return of their absent companions; and with eyes fixed intently and anxiously upon the dark water, and beneath the close-growing trees, they watched for the first ripple that might betoken their coming.
Chapter Twenty
The Water Arcade
We must leave for a time the castaways in the tree-top, and follow the fortunes of the two swimmers on their exploring expedition.
On reaching the edge of the submerged forest, their first thought was to clutch the nearest branch, and rest themselves by clinging to it. They were no longer in doubt as to the character of the scene that surrounded them, for their experience enabled them to comprehend it.
“The Gapo!” muttered Munday, as they glided in under the shadows. “No dry land here, young master,” he added, clutching hold of a lliana. “We may as well look out for a roost, and rest ourselves. It’s full ten fathoms deep. The Mundurucú can tell that by the sort of trees rising over it.”
“I didn’t expect anything else,” rejoined young Trevannion, imitating his companion by taking hold of a branch and climbing up. “My only hope is that we may find some float timber to ferry the others across. Not that there’s much in it if we do. How we’re to find our way out of this mess is more than either you or I can tell.”
“The Mundurucú never despairs, – not even in the middle of the Gapo,” was the Indian’s proud reply.
“You have hope, then? You think we shall find timber enough for a raft to carry us clear of the inundation.”
“No!” answered the Indian. “We have got too far from the channel of the big river. We shall see no floating trees here, – nothing to make a raft that would carry us.”
“Why then did we come here, if not for the purpose of finding dead timber for that object?”
“Dead timber? No! If that was our errand, we might go back as we’ve come, – empty-handed. We shall float all the people over here without that. Follow me, young master. We must go farther into the Gapo. Let old Munday show you how to construct a raft without trees, only making use of their fruit.”
“Lead on!” cried the Paraense. “I’m ready to assist you; though I haven’t the slightest conception of what you mean to do.”
“You shall see presently, young master,” rejoined Munday, once more spreading himself to swim. “Come on! follow me! If I’m not mistaken, we’ll soon find the materials for a raft, – or something that will answer as well for the present. Come along, there! Come!” – and he launched himself into the water.
Trevannion followed his example, and, once more consigning himself to the flood, he swam on in the Indian’s wake. Through aisles dimmed with a twilight like that of approaching night, along arcades covered with foliage so luxuriant as to be scarce penetrable by the rays of a tropic sun, the two swimmers, the Indian ever in advance, held their way.
To Richard Trevannion the Mundurucú was comparatively a stranger, known only as a tapuyo employed by his uncle in the management of the galatea. He knew the tribe by rumours even more than sinister. They were reputed in Pará to be the most bloodthirsty of savages, who took delight not only in the destruction of their enemies, but in keeping up a ghastly souvenir of hostility by preserving their heads. In the company of a Mundurucú, especially in such a place, – swimming under the sombre shadows of a submerged forest, – it can scarce be wondered at that the youth felt suspicion, if not actual fear. But Richard Trevannion was a boy of bold heart, and bravely awaited the dénouement of the dismal journey.
Their swim terminated at length, and the Indian, pointing to a tree, cried out: “Yonder – yonder is the very thing of which I was in search. Hoo-hoo! Covered with sipos too, – another thing we stand in need of, – cord and pitch both growing together. The Great Spirit is kind to us, young master.”
“What is it?” demanded Richard. “I see a great tree, loaded with climbers as you say. But what of that? It is green, and growing. The wood is full of sap, and would scarce float itself; you can’t construct a raft out of that. The sipos might serve well enough for rope; but the timber won’t do, even if we had an axe to cut it down.”
“The Mundurucú needs no axe, nor yet timber to construct his raft. All he wants here is the sap of that tree, and some of the sipos clinging to its branches. The timber we shall find on the sapucaya, after we go back. Look at the tree, young master! Do you not know it?”
The Paraense, thus appealed to, turned his eyes toward the tree, and scanned it more carefully. Festooned by many kinds of climbing plants, it was not so easy to distinguish its foliage from that of the parasites it upheld; enough of the leaves, however, appeared conspicuous to enable him to recognise the tree as one of the best known and most valuable to the inhabitants, not only of his native Pará, but of all the Amazonian region, “Certainly,” he replied, “I see what sort of tree it is. It’s the Seringa, – the tree from which they obtain caoutchouc. But what do you want with that? You can’t make a raft out of India-rubber, can you?”
“You