Chapter Twenty One
The Syringe-Tree
The tree into whose top the swimmers had ascended was, as Richard had rightly stated, that from which the caoutchouc, or India-rubber, is obtained. It was the Siphonia elastica, of the order Euphorbiaceae, of the Amazonian valley. Not that the Siphonia is the only tree which produces the world-renowned substance, which has of late years effected almost a revolution in many arts, manufactures, and domestic economies of civilised life. There are numerous other trees, both in the Old and New World, most of them belonging to the famed family of the figs, which in some degree afford the caoutchouc of commerce. Of all, however, that yielded by the Siphonia elastica is the best, and commands the highest price among dealers. The young Paraense called it Seringa, and this is the name he had been accustomed to hear given to it. Seringa is simply the Portuguese for syringe, and the name has attached itself to the tree, because the use which the aborigines were first observed to make of the elastic tubes of the caoutchouc was that of squirts or syringes, the idea being suggested by their noticing the natural tubes formed by the sap around twigs, when flowing spontaneously from the tree. For syringes it is employed extensively to this day by Brazilians of all classes, who construct them by moulding the sap, while in its fluid state, into pear-shaped bottles, and inserting a piece of cane in the long neck.
The caoutchouc is collected in the simplest way, which affords a regular business to many Amazonians, chiefly native Indians, who dispose of it to the Portuguese or Brazilian traders. The time is in August, when the subsidence of the annual inundation permits approach to the trees; for the Seringa is one of those species that prefer the low flooded lands, though it is not altogether peculiar to the Gapo. It grows throughout the whole region of the Amazon, wherever the soil is alluvial and marshy. The India-rubber harvest, if we may use the term, continues throughout the dry months, during which time very large quantities of the sap are collected, and carried over to the export market of Pará. A number of trees growing within a prescribed circle are allotted to each individual, whose business it is – man, woman, or boy – to attend to the assigned set of trees; and this is the routine of their day’s duty.
In the evening the trees are tapped; that is, a gash or incision is made in the bark, – each evening in a fresh place, – and under each is carefully placed a little clay cup, or else the shell of an Ampullasia, to catch the milky sap that oozes from the wound. After sunrise in the morning, the “milkers” again revisit the scene of operations, and empty all the cups into a large vessel, which is carried to one common receptacle. By this time the sap, which is still of a white colour, is of the consistency of cream, and ready for moulding. The collectors have already provided themselves with moulds of many kinds, according to the shape they wish the caoutchouc to assume, such as shoes, round balls, bottles with long necks, and the like. These are dipped into the liquid, a thin stratum of which adheres to them, to be made thicker by repeated immersions, until the proper dimensions are obtained. After the last coat has been laid on, lines and ornamental tracings are made upon the surface, while still in a soft state; and a rich brown colour is obtained by passing the articles repeatedly through a thick black smoke, given out by a fire of palm-wood, – several species of these trees being specially employed for this purpose. As the moulds are usually solid substances, and the shoes, balls, and bottles are cast on, and not in them, it may be wondered how the latter can be taken off, or the former got out. King George would have been as badly puzzled about this, as he was in regard to the apples in the pudding. The idea of the Amazonian aboriginal, though far more ingenious, is equally easy of explanation. His bottle-moulds are no better than balls of dried mud, or clay; and so too, the lasts upon which he fashions the India-rubber shoes. Half an hour’s immersion in water is sufficient to restore them to their original condition of soft mud; when a little scraping and washing completes the manufacture, and leaves the commodity in readiness for the merchant and the market.
The Seringa is not a tree of very distinguished appearance, and but for its valuable sap might be passed in a forest of Amazonia, where so many magnificent trees meet the eye, without eliciting a remark. Both in the colour of its bark and the outline of its leaves it bears a considerable resemblance to the European ash, – only that it grows to a far greater size, and with a stem that is branchless, often to the height of thirty or forty feet above the ground. The trunk of that on which the Mundurucú and his companion had climbed was under water to that depth, else they could not so easily have ascended. It was growing in its favourite situation, – the Gapo, – its top festooned, as we have said, with scores of parasitical plants, of many different species, forming a complete labyrinth of limbs, leaves, fruits, and flowers.
Chapter Twenty Two
A Battle with Birds
Scarce had the Paraense succeeded in establishing himself on the tree, when an exclamation from his companion, higher up among the branches, caused him to look aloft. “Hoo-hoo!” was the cry that came from the lips of the Mundurucú, in a tone of gratification.
“What is it, Munday?”
“Something good to eat, master?”
“I’m glad to hear it. I feel hungry enough in all conscience; and these sapucaya nuts don’t quite satisfy me. I’d like a little fish or flesh meat along with them.”
“It’s neither,” rejoined the Indian. “Something as good, though. It’s fowl! I’ve found an arara’s nest.”
“O, a macaw! But where is the bird? You haven’t caught it yet?”
“Haven’t I?” responded the Mundurucú, plunging his arm elbow-deep into a cavity in the tree-trunk; and dragging forth a half-fledged bird, nearly as big as a chicken. “Ah, a nest! young ones! Fat as butter too!”
“All right. We must take them back with us. Our friends in the sapucaya are hungry as we, and will be right glad to see such an addition to the larder.”
But Richard’s reply was unheard; for, from the moment that the Mundurucú had pulled the young macaw out of its nest, the creature set up such a screaming and flopping of its half-fledged wings, as to fill all the woods around. The discordant ululation was taken up and repeated by a companion within the cavity; and then, to the astonishment of the twain, half a score of similar screaming voices were heard issuing from different places higher up in the tree, where it was evident there were several other cavities, each containing a nest full of young araras.
“A regular breeding-place, a macaw-cot,” cried Richard, laughing as he spoke. “We’ll get squabs enough to keep us all for a week!”
The words had scarce passed his lips, when a loud clangour reverberated upon the air. It was a confused mixture of noises, – a screaming and chattering, – that bore some resemblance to the human voice; as if half a score of Punches were quarrelling with as many Judys at the same time. The sounds, when first heard, were at some distance; but before twenty could have been counted, they were uttered close to the ears of the Mundurucú, who was highest up, while the sun became partially obscured by the outspread wings of a score of great birds, hovering in hurried flight around the top of the seringa. There was no mystery about the matter. The new-comers were the parents of the young macaws – the owners of the nests – returning from a search for provender for their pets, whose piercing cries had summoned them in all haste to their home. As yet, neither the Indian nor his young companion conceived any cause for alarm. Foolish indeed to be frightened by a flock of birds! They were not allowed to indulge long in this comfortable equanimity; for, almost on the moment of their arrival above the tree, the united parentage of araras plunged down among the branches, and, with wing, beak, and talons, began an instant and simultaneous attack upon the intruders. The Indian was the first to receive their onset. Made in such a united and irresistible manner, it had the effect of causing him to let go the chick, which fell with a plunge into the water below. In its descent it was accompanied by half a dozen of the other birds, – its own parents, perhaps, and their more immediate friends, – and these, for the first time espying a second enemy farther down, directed their attack upon him. The force