The other creatures of the animated kingdom that found lodgment upon the craft were of various shapes, sizes, and species. There were quadrupeds, quadrumana, and birds, – beasts of the field, monkeys of the forest, and birds of the air, – clustering upon the cabin top, squatted in the hold, perched upon the gangway, the toldo, the yard, and the mast, – forming an epitomised menagerie, such as may be seen on every kind of craft that navigates the mighty Amazon.
It is not our design to give any description of the galatea’s crew. There were nine of them, – all Indians, – four on each side acting as rowers, or more properly “paddlers,” the ninth being the pilot or steersman, standing abaft the toldo.
Our reason for not describing them is that they were a changing crew, only attached to the craft for a particular stage of the long river voyage, and had succeeded several other similar sets since the embarkation of our voyagers on the waters of the upper Amazon. They had joined the galatea at the port of Ega, and would take leave of her at Coary, where a fresh crew of civilised Indians – “tapuyos” – would be required.
And they were required, but not obtained. On the galatea putting into the port of Coary, it was found that nearly every man in the place was off upon a hunting excursion, – turtle and cow-fish being the game that had called them out. Not a canoe-man could be had for love or money.
The owner of the galatea endeavoured to tempt the Ega crew to continue another stage. It was contrary to their habit, and they refused to go. Persuasion and threats were tried in vain. Coaxing and scolding proved equally unavailable; all except one remained firm in their refusal, the exception being an old Indian who did not belong to the Ega tribe, and who could not resist the large bribe offered by Trevannion.
The voyagers must either suspend their journey till the Coary turtle-hunters should return, or proceed without paddlers. The hunters were not expected for a month. To stay a month at Coary was out of the question. The galatea must go on manned by her own people, and the old Indian who was to act as pilot. Such was the determination of Ralph Trevannion. But for that resolve, – rash as it was, and ending unfortunately for him who made it, – we should have no story to tell.
Chapter Four
Drifting with the Current
The craft that carried the ex-miner, his family and following, once more floated on the broad bosom of the Solimoës. Not so swift as before, since, instead of eight paddlers, it was now impelled by only half the number, – these, too, with less than half the experience of the crew who had preceded them.
The owner himself acted as steersman, while the paddles were plied by “Tipperary Tom,” Mozey, the old Indian, – who, being of the Mundurucú tribe, passed by the name of “Munday,” – and Richard Trevannion.
The last, though by far the youngest, was perhaps the best paddler in the party. Brought up in his native place of Gran Pará, he had been accustomed to spend half his time either in or upon the water; and an oar or paddle was to him no novelty.
Young Ralph, on the contrary, a true mountaineer, knew nothing of either, and therefore counted for nothing among the crew of the galatea. To him and the little Rosa was assigned the keeping of the pets, with such other light duties as they were capable of performing.
For the first day the voyage was uninterrupted by any incident, – at least any that might be called unpleasant. Their slow progress, it is true, was a cause of dissatisfaction; but so long as they were going at all, and going in the right direction, this might be borne with equanimity. Three miles an hour was about their average rate of speed; for half of which they were indebted to the current of the river, and for the other half to the impulsion of their paddles.
Considering that they had still a thousand miles to go before reaching Gran Pará, the prospect of a protracted voyage was very plainly outlined before them.
Could they have calculated on making three miles an hour for every hour of the twenty-four, things would not have been bad. This rate of speed would have carried them to their destination in a dozen days, – a mere bagatelle. But they knew enough of river-navigation to disregard such data. They knew the current of the Solimoës to be extremely slow; they had heard of the strange phenomenon, that, run which way the river might, north, south, east, or west, – and it does keep bending and curving in all these directions, – the wind is almost always met with blowing up stream!
For this reason they could put no dependence in their sail, and would have to trust altogether to the paddles. These could not be always in the water. Human strength could not stand a perpetual spell, even at paddles; and less so in the hands of a crew of men so little used to them.
Nor could they continue the voyage at night. By doing so, they would be in danger of losing their course, their craft, and themselves!
You may smile at the idea. You will ask – a little scornfully, perhaps – how a canoe, or any other craft, drifting down a deep river to its destination, could possibly go astray. Does not the current point out the path, – the broad waterway not to be mistaken?
So it might appear to one seated in a skiff, and floating down the tranquil Thames, with its well-defined banks. But far different is the aspect of the stupendous Solimoës to the voyager gliding through its Capo.
I have made use of a word of strange sound, and still stranger signification. Perhaps it is new to your eye, as your oar. You will become better acquainted with it before the end of our voyage; for into the “Gapo” it is my intention to take you, where ill-luck carried the galatea and her crew.
On leaving Coary, it was not the design of her owner to attempt taking his craft, so indifferently manned, all the way to Pará. He knew there were several civilised settlements between, – as Barra at the mouth of the Rio Negro, Obidos below it, Santarem, and others. At one or other of these places he expected to obtain a supply of tapuyos, to replace the crew who had so provokingly forsaken him.
The voyage to the nearest of them, however, would take several days, at the rate of speed the galatea was now making; and the thought of being delayed on their route became each hour more irksome. The ex-miner, who had not seen his beloved brother during half a score of years, was impatient once more to embrace him. He had been, already, several months travelling towards him by land and water; and just as he was beginning to believe that the most difficult half of the journey had been accomplished, he found himself delayed by an obstruction vexatious as unexpected.
The first night after his departure from Coary, he consented that the galatea should lie to, – moored to some bushes that grew upon the banks of the river.
On the second night, however, he acted with less prudence. His impatience to make way prompted him to the resolution to keep on. The night was clear, – a full moon shining conspicuously above, which is not always the case in the skies of the Solimoës.
There was to be no sail set, no use made of the paddles. The crew were fatigued, and wanted rest and repose. The current alone was to favour their progress; and as it appeared to be running nearly two miles an hour, it should advance them between twenty and thirty miles before the morning.
The Mundurucú made an attempt to dissuade his “patron” from the course he designed pursuing; but his advice was disregarded, – perhaps because ill-understood, – and the galatea glided on.
Who could mistake that broad expanse of water – upon which the moon shone so clearly – for aught else than the true channel of the Solimoës? Not Tipperary Tom, who, in the second watch of the night, – the owner himself having kept the first, – acted as steersman of the galatea.
The others had gone to sleep. Trevannion and the three young people under the toldo; Mozey and the Mundurucú along the staging known as the “hold.” The birds and monkeys were at rest on their respective perches, and in their respective cages, – all was silent in the galatea, and around, – all save the rippling of the water, as it parted to the cleaving of her keel.
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