CHAPTER IV
ROGERS’ WORK
Manaos is a surprisingly large city for one that is situated in such an out of the way place, but there is nothing bewildering or startling about it. In some respects it is very much like the larger but more backward towns of our own country but in most it is very different.
The first thing to thrust itself upon the visitor’s notice is the intense heat; all the sun’s rays seem to converge in the depression in which Manaos nestles. An inspection of the place, however, reveals compensating virtues in the form of green, shady parks, cooling fountains, and comfortable hotels for the traveller.
David was not particularly interested in the city although he took note of some of the more unusual features; he had seen Pará which had impressed him as being more attractive. He felt that enough time had been spent already in travel and in sight-seeing and he was eager to start work. So he lost no time in going to the hotel where someone from the ranch was to meet him, in accordance with the arrangements that he supposed had been made by cable before he left home.
No doubt Mr. Rice had come to welcome him personally, he thought; and he was more than disappointed to learn that such was not the case.
“Senhor Rice has not been here in weeks,” the proprietor of the hotel told him in answer to his questioning.
“But he was either to be here or to send someone,” David protested. “I am going to his ranch and they were to come for me.”
“Here is the list of patrons. You may read it. Do you recognize any of the names?”
David scanned the page of the register and admitted that the names were all unfamiliar to him.
“I would recognize only Mr. Rice’s name,” he added, “and that is not there.”
“No, the Senhor is not here.”
“Didn’t someone else say he expected me? There must be somebody here who is hunting for me right this minute.”
The Brazilian shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh, I understand now,” David explained, with a smile. “Whoever is coming hasn’t arrived. He might have been delayed accidentally or perhaps he thought the steamer was not due today. I’ll wait and everything will be all right. When I am asked for, remember that I am here. And, if a message or letter comes, give it to me without delay.”
The whole explanation seemed so simple to David. It must be exactly as he had said. It was not in the least remarkable that one should miss connections in a land lacking the elaborate facilities for travel his own country boasted. He wondered how the matter could have caused him concern and why he had not thought of the solution before.
Half an hour later he left his room and in passing through the corridor could not resist the impulse to step into the office to make another inquiry. But the answer was the same. There was nothing new, no message; nor had anyone arrived from the ranch.
“Tomorrow, probably,” he thought, “and if not then, the day after that without fail. I must learn to be patient although they should apologize for keeping me waiting.”
In the meantime, he would see what there was of interest in the city, and by asking questions learn as much as possible about the country of the hinterland.
He had not gone two blocks before he met Rogers. The latter was stopping aboard the ship; he felt sure that he could wind up his affairs during the week the vessel lay in port and had engaged passage for the return journey.
“Hello!” he greeted David cheerfully. “You still here? I thought you might be on your way to the ranch by this time.”
“No, we missed connections some way. I can’t understand why, but they have not come for me yet. But I expect them any minute.”
“Still got the fever, eh? Still want to go as badly as ever?”
“I certainly have got the fever, and the temperature is going up.”
“Say, you know what I said to you before—I think you are one foolish person.”
“Look here, Rogers,” David retorted hotly. “Why are you so concerned over my affairs? I didn’t insist on knowing what brought you here but you keep harping about my business all of the time. Now forget it.”
“If that is the way you feel, I shall not mention it again,” Rogers stammered, looking offended. “But—but just because I do not mention it will not make me feel differently about it. I am sorry you are so set on doing something you will surely regret.”
“Good-bye.” David wanted to fight but he dared not, remembering past experiences and their consequences, so he quickly continued on his way.
Three days passed and still David remained unsought by anyone from the ranch. The fact began to worry him.
He had spent the time alternately waiting in the hotel and tramping the streets. The very sight of the Teatro Nacional, at first so imposing on its built-up pedestal that covers an entire city block; the plazas with their tropical trees, shrubs and dazzling flowers; the hot, winding streets; and the parrots shrieking and squawking from their perches in the doorways of the squat, thick-walled buildings; all began to pall on him. He had not come all that distance to see cities; if that had been his desire he might have remained at home. What he longed for was the great outdoors and the myriad, varied possibilities it brought with it.
Why did not they come or at least communicate with him? he asked himself again and again. He could bear the suspense no longer. He would communicate with them.
The telephone occurred to him first of all as the most rapid means but, of course, there was no service to Las Palmas. Nor was it possible to send a telegram. A letter was the only thing he could think of; but when they called for the letter they would also come for him. So there was in reality no way of communicating with them after all.
In desperation, he went to the owner of the hotel and told him what was on his mind.
“If they knew you were coming and wanted you at Las Palmas, they would have been here,” the latter said. “What do you expect to do there, anyway? My advice would be to go back home, if you asked me. You will be better off there.”
“Good Heavens! This is beginning to look like a conspiracy of some kind,” David started, but checked himself. Again the visions of past experiences loomed up before him. He would endure almost anything rather than take a single chance of spoiling this new and greatest of all ventures. So he turned and walked away.
“I know what I’ll do,” he decided. “I’ll see the American Consul. He will fix me up.”
Just as he turned to enter the doorway beneath the shield that served as the guiding sign to the consul’s office he almost collided with Rogers coming out.
They exchanged greetings and each went his way.
After waiting a few minutes in the anteroom he was admitted to the official’s presence and briefly explained his mission. The consul listened impatiently for a minute and then interrupted the recital.
“You will never get on there,” he said. “It is no place for an American without practical experience. Las Palmas is a particularly bad place and Rice is a terrible person—they call him the viper.”
David was boiling within, but said nothing, so the official continued:
“The ranch is a new one, just being opened up. No one but the natives and Indians can do the clean-up work that is in progress now. You would die in a little while if you tried it. I will fix up your passport and you start back on the next boat.”
“I see,” said David simply, without betraying his feeling. “Thank you for your offer but I cannot accept it just now for I am certainly not going back home. I came to stay.”
“Stay and you will be sorry.”
“That’s up to me. And if Mr. Rogers comes to see you again, give him a passport. I intend to see to it that he leaves the country on the next boat.”
The air in the street lacked the cooling quality necessary to restore David’s ruffled temper. Heat-waves rose from the flag-stones and smote him in the face and the slight eddies that whirled around the corners could have come out of the mouth of a furnace—they were so stifling.
The truth of the whole matter dawned upon David at last. Rogers was the cause of all the discouragements he had met. The business upon which he had come was to try to persuade him to return home. He had been sent for that purpose. He chuckled grimly as he thought how Rogers would have to report failure of his mission. They would see that he was not a quitter. He did not blame his father for guarding his welfare but he would prove to the world that he could look after his own interest in any place and under any circumstances. The newly acquired knowledge made him more determined than ever. So, as he returned to his lodgings a plan formed itself in his mind; he would put it into effect without delay. There was but one other matter that had to be attended to first. He must see that Rogers actually sailed on the departing steamer; with him out of the way, the rest would be easy.
A full hour before the ship was due to leave, David went aboard. And about the first person he met on deck was Rogers.
“I came to see you off,” he said in a friendly manner.
Rogers looked at him with a puzzled expression on his face.
“You are going, aren’t you?”
“Why, yes, I guess so.”
“Seems to me you ought to know for sure. If you don’t, I will tell you. You are. I am on to your game. The best thing for you to do is not to waste any more time. Tell them back home I am all right; and that you did your best to discourage me but—you know the result. I am sending letters on this same boat. Now, good-bye, and have a nice trip. I am going to wait at the dock until you are out of sight.”
For a moment Rogers did not know what to say. Then he extended his hand.
“Good-bye,” he said simply.
“No hard feelings so far as I am concerned. You went to a lot of trouble for nothing.”
“I am sorry, that is all.” Rogers appeared dejected. “And I can only hope that you will reconsider the matter before it is too late. Remember how they feel about it back home.”
David went ashore and waited. It was with a feeling of relief that he saw the ship move out into the river at last, with Rogers at the rail waving a last farewell. When the vessel finally disappeared from view he turned his steps toward that section of the riverbank where a number of launches were tied up, with their crews either aboard or on the bank.
“Where can I hire a boat?” he asked one of the men. “I want to go a short distance up the river.”
“There is the capitain,” the sailor replied, pointing to a man dressed exactly like the others but wearing an officer’s cap on his head.
David repeated the question to the person indicated.
“Where to?” he asked.
“The ranch Las Palmas.”
“Why don’t you go on one of the Las Palmas launches?” the captain asked abruptly.
“I would if I knew where to find one. But I have been waiting a number of days and none of their boats has put in here,” David explained.
“I will show you one. See that gray launch right over there, the Aguila? That belongs to the ranch.”
David could have shouted for joy. They had come for him at last. He hurried to the Aguila. Perhaps Mr. Rice had come in person to greet him. This was luck indeed! Probably he had hurried to the hotel with apologies for the delay; but no need for that inasmuch as he had finally come and the long wait was over. There was the possibility, however, that he was still aboard the launch.
By the time David reached the boat it was almost impossible to suppress his eagerness and excitement.
“The Aguila comes from Las Palmas,” he began, “so they tell me. Is Mr. Rice on board now?”
A sailor who was washing several articles of clothing by beating them on the rocks near the water’s edge looked up.
“No,” he said. “Senhor Rice is not here. He never travels on the Aguila—it is not good enough for him.”
“Doesn’t he ever visit Manaos?”
“Yes, when there is some good reason for it but he always uses the Indio which is larger and much finer; you should see it. The Aguila is for the peons and the cook when they come to buy provisions.”
“Where is the Indio now?” David was becoming somewhat uneasy.
“At Las Palmas.”
“Didn’t Senhor Rice say anything about coming to Manaos in the near future?”
“He never talks to the peons, so I don’t know.”
“You see,” David explained, “I am on my way to the ranch and they were to send for me.”
“Si, Senhor.” The man now stopped washing and listened respectfully.
“Did you hear anything about that?”
“No, Senhor.”
“When do you start back?”
“This afternoon.”
“Today?” in surprise. “When did you arrive?”
“Two days ago.”
“There must be a misunderstanding somewhere. I have been waiting a good many days and this is the first I heard of your coming, and that was by accident. Who is in charge of the boat?”
“The captain. He went with the others to get some rice and other things. He will be back soon.”
“I’ll wait, then.”
“Yes, Senhor,” and the man resumed his washing.
Here was a new predicament he had not counted on. For a while he racked his brain in an effort to disentangle the puzzle, but it was of no avail. He was compelled to give it up. There was certainly a mix-up somewhere and that was all there was to it. By and by it would be all cleared up and he would then laugh at his present anxiety and vexation.
The captain arrived before very long, followed by three men carrying heavy bags on their shoulders. He was a thick-set, burly fellow and one could tell at a glance that he was accustomed to giving orders which others dared not hesitate long in obeying. A stubby beard covered the greater part of his face effectually, concealing his features—all but the eyes—small, black and penetrating. A flat cap with a long peak was perched on the top of his head, the black hair, touched with gray, appearing under the rim in a dense, unkempt ring.
That head-dress, David was to learn later, was typical of the masters of the smaller river craft and was their only badge of position and authority for, otherwise, they were dressed exactly like their ragged crews.
David did not like the looks of the swarthy newcomer. But that did not matter. He wanted to get to Las Palmas and the man possessed the means of getting him there.
“My name is David Jones and I am from New York,” he said by way of greeting. “I have been waiting a long time for you.”
“Me? Why have you been waiting for me? What do you want?” the captain asked in surprise.
“I want to get to the ranch. Didn’t Mr. Rice instruct you to bring me out?”
“I don’t know anything about it. Nobody said a word to me.”
“Well,” David tried to conceal his impatience with a laugh, “I am expected at the ranch and I want to get there so soon as possible. I can have my baggage here in fifteen minutes.”
The captain was looking at him sharply, even suspiciously.
“Do you think this is a passenger boat?” he asked. “We don’t carry strangers without a written order from the boss.”
“But this is different,” David protested. “I am not a stranger. They are looking for me. Mr. Rice must have misunderstood the date or he would have been here personally.”
“That is not my fault,” said the captain gruffly.
“But I can go with you, can’t I?”
“No! If you knew the boss you would not ask me to take you. He is awful when anyone does a thing he don’t like. He killed a man for that very thing last week.”
“I am not afraid he’ll kill me.”
“Neither am I. I don’t care what happens to you but I do care what happens to me.”
“How soon is the Aguila coming back to Manaos?” said David in despair.
“Not for six months. Next week she starts on a long trip to carry supplies to the rubber camps upriver.”
“And the Indio?”
“The Indio has a broken propeller. They sent for a new one but it generally takes a year to get anything from abroad.”
“Say,” David was wiping his face in desperation, “I have to get to Las Palmas and that is all there is to it.”
“I have nothing against it. Get there any way you like—but not on the Aguila.”
A sudden idea came to him. Perhaps the fellow wanted money.
“I’ll pay you well. How much do you want?” he asked.
The Brazilian straightened up; his eyes blazed.
“Are you trying to bribe me?” he bellowed, “and right in front of my men? If you are, you’re insulting me. I am paid for my work and I want none of your money. A fine person, you are, to try to buy me to disobey my chief’s orders.”
“I did nothing of the kind,” David returned hotly. “I offered you money to pay my passage because I could hardly ask a stranger to carry me for nothing.”
“Well, I accept your explanation, but you will not go, just the same. That is settled—understand? I am very busy.” This was said in such a manner that David could not fail to grasp its significance.
He was in a quandary. It was just one discouraging thing after another. Would matters ever become straightened out? He must go on that launch, for had not the burly captain told him there would not be another in months? He made one more desperate effort.
“I am going on the Aguila whether you like it or not. And when I get to Las Palmas—” he began, but the captain stopped him.
“Talk all you want to, but if I catch you aboard my boat I’ll throw you into the river,” he threatened.
David looked at the man and knew he would keep his word. His mind worked fast; he thought of one other thing.
“How soon do you start?” he asked.
“In two hours.”
“Will you take a letter for me?”
“Yes, I will take a letter or as many as you want to send, but I will not take you, so don’t ask it again. Las Palmas is no place for a foreigner. It is terrible there—snakes, insects and fevers. And the boss treats us like dogs.”
David ignored these remarks.
“I’ll go to the hotel to write the letter and will bring it to you in less than an hour.”
He hastened back to his room to prepare the missive, and ignoring a first impulse to write all that had occurred during the last hour, he only stated that he had arrived and was eager to reach the ranch, but had no way of doing so.
“When Mr. Rice gets this he’ll ask the captain questions and then he’ll be furious at the way I have been treated,” he thought. “And he’ll make him turn right around and come back for me. Then it will be my turn to show off, just as he did, and it will serve him right. He will soon find out who I am.”
He hastened back to the river to deliver the letter, and as he thought the matter over he was glad he had omitted all reference to the captain, for the latter would doubtless read it and if he found anything too personal he would destroy it.
Bad as it was, his position could have been a great deal worse. It was now a question of only a few days more of waiting. That was a certainty.
But when David reached the river, breathless and perspiring, a new calamity awaited him. The Aguila was gone.
He looked up and down the river; there was no sign of the boat. As he stood on the sand, too stunned to move, a sailor came up to him and spoke sympathetically.
“Are you looking for the Aguila?” he asked.
David subconsciously murmered assent.
“She left over half an hour ago—right after you went away.”
“Thanks.”
David turned and slowly walked away. Try as he would to banish the feeling, there was no denying the fact that his experiences were beginning to dim the glamor of the life he had longed for; and that, too, in the face of the fact that so far he had accomplished absolutely nothing.
He went to the post office and mailed the letter, hoping that somehow or other it would reach its destination.
CHAPTER V
A CHANGE OF FORTUNE
David felt sure that he was the most luckless of all persons. So far, about everything had gone wrong. But there must be a turning-point somewhere. It was strange how a single misunderstanding could cause so much confusion.
To make matters worse, regardless of what happened he had to accept the situation in apparent good humor, for he dared not assert himself too strongly. If there had been trouble, he would have been blamed, fairly or unfairly; that had been, almost invariably, his experience. Rather than take a single chance at spoiling this opportunity of a lifetime he would suffer in silence. But when the day came, as it surely would, when he had won his spurs, he would demonstrate that he could direct affairs as well as obey the orders of others.
He had wanted to thrash Rogers; and the American Consul should at least have been told that his duties did not include meddling in other people’s business. As for the gruff captain of the Aguila—he should receive his dues when the time came; Mr. Rice would of course make him regret his rude conduct toward his guest.
When David reached his hotel his indignation was still at the boiling point. He must relieve his mind to someone and that person, unfortunately, was the owner of the hotel, for he happened to be the first one he chanced to meet.
He told him the whole episode from beginning to end omitting none of the details. The man listened attentively until the recital was finished. Then he grunted, with an amused expression on his face.
“Hum! I think he did right in not taking you. His orders were clear.”
“Yes, but how about the letter? He said he was leaving in two hours and then went in half an hour.”
“There may have been a reason for the change. If you knew his boss you would not blame him for being careful. Las Palmas is a notorious place. Everyone who can, avoids it. Those who are there are slaves—they are afraid to leave. Rice has the reputation of being the worst character in the country.”
“That’s very interesting,” David retorted. “I am very glad to hear it because I had the idea that all ranch life had become tame and commonplace. It will be great to see a real place—I can hardly wait to get there.”
“And how are you going to get there?” the Brazilian asked with a smile.
“That is the question just now; but, once there, I guess I can look out for myself.”
“You can’t walk. It is many, many kilometers away. And the ranch boats, you say, will not be back in a long time.”
“Right! Still, I will find a way.”
“Let me assure you that you will not. Now listen. You do not know how lucky you are to have escaped that outfit at Las Palmas——”
“And next,” David interrupted, “you will be saying that there is a boat out of here for New York soon and I had better take it.”
The hotel man looked sheepish.
“I thought so,” David continued. “Save yourself any further trouble on my account. You take care of your business and I’ll tend mine. Please remember that.”
Leaving the astonished Brazilian he went to his room and spent the greater part of an hour looking out of the window at the little plaza across the street and—thinking.
“I can’t stay here any longer,” he finally concluded. “If I do I’ll get into a fight and I don’t want to fight. I’ll have to watch my step.”
He packed his belongings, slowly and without paying a great deal of attention to just what he was doing. When he entered the office and asked for his statement the owner of the hotel appeared grieved.
“Why are you leaving now?” he asked. “The boat does not leave until tomorrow.”
David gritted his teeth but smiled.
“I know it. But I am sailing out of here right now. How much is it? I am in a hurry.”
A moment later he stepped out into the street and turned in the opposite direction to which he intended going, knowing that inquisitive eyes were following him. A few blocks away he entered a side street and then came back toward the center of the city. He found one of the smaller inns and secured a room without arousing comment. Now he felt more free to pursue the plan he had formed for, unknown and among disinterested persons, he was more apt to get the help and information he needed. Or at least there would be no interference.
He made no inquiries until late the following morning. Haste or a show of too great eagerness might arouse suspicion. And then, after artfully swinging the conversation he had started with the clerk to hunting and to big game, he casually inquired if it would be possible to hire a launch or boat of any kind for a trip up the river.
Much to his delight he was told that such a thing could be arranged without trouble. There were numerous craft leaving the port daily that would drop him at any of the little colonies or camps situated along the river bank. The clerk even gave him the names of several persons with whom arrangements could be made for such an outing.
To David the future seemed decidedly brighter and not long after he sought the first man on his list. After locating the man—the keeper of a small shop on the Rua Amazonas, and making a trivial purchase, he remarked that he might find it necessary to make a short journey on the river and was looking for a launch he could hire by the hour or day.
The Brazilian was quick to grasp the opportunity.
“My boat is at the disposal of the Senhor,” he said. “It is a good boat, very seaworthy, and does not pitch or roll badly; that is important, for the river is so enormous and storms come up suddenly. Where do you want to go?”
“How much, by the day?” David countered.
“Sixty milreis. I will go with you and run the launch myself.”
David hesitated for a moment, as if pondering the proposition. Sixty milreis equalled twelve dollars.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “your price is pretty high but if the boat is extra good I guess I will take it. I want to start tomorrow.”
“How far do you want to go? I must know on account of the provisions.”
“How far can you go in one day?”
“Eighty or a hundred kilometers.”
“We can make it in a day then.”
“I shall be ready tomorrow, at any time you say,” the Brazilian said with finality.
David could have shouted for joy. At last he had found the way.
“I think an early start is best, don’t you?” he said as calmly as he could. “Six o’clock will be all right. So get everything ready today and then there will be no delays in the morning.”
“Very good. Now, exactly where do you want to go?”
Dark clouds again appeared on David’s horizon.
“To one of the ranches along the river,” he replied quickly.
“Yes, but just where? There are several and how will I know which one is the right one?”
“It makes no difference, as I am paying by the day. If it takes a little over one day I will pay you for two whole days.”
“That part of it is all right. But I am compelled to make out papers for the port officials when I carry passengers.”
“Make them when you get back. Then you will know just what to say.” The situation was desperate for David.
“I could do that,” he said thoughtfully, and again David felt elated. But after a moment the Brazilian continued, “There is only one place on the whole river to which I can take no one.”
“What place is that?” with bated breath.
“Las Palmas. That is the one ranch where a landing is forbidden.”
“Why? That is the very spot I am bound for.”
“I am sorry, but as I said, I cannot take you there. The owner is a foreigner. He is very terrible,” the Brazilian explained. “Nobody dares stop there without a written permit. It is all very mysterious and you should hear the tales that are told about the happenings at Las Palmas.”
David tried to laugh; he felt more like crying.
“It is different in my case,” he stammered. “I am expected there. Arrangements were made by cable for them to meet me here but there was some misunderstanding about the date. You will be taking no chances.”
“You do not know that outfit or you would not talk like that. I will not go.”
“I will give you twice your regular price.”
“Not for a million milreis! What good would they do me after I was full of bullets or poisoned arrows?” The shop-keeper was firm.
“Are they really so bad as all that?” David asked incredulously.
“Worse. Much worse. Once the government threatened to send soldiers there to investigate things and they sent back word to come on with the whole army but to bid it good-bye first for they would never see any part of it again. So you see what kind of people you are dealing with.”
“All right,” David assumed an indifferent air. “If you don’t want my money there are others who do.”
“Yes, Senhor. They are welcome to it.”
Seeing that argument was useless, David took his departure and went to the second man on his list.
The negotiations proceeded smoothly as before until it became necessary to disclose his destination. Then the Brazilian absolutely refused to go any further with the matter. Nor could he be swayed from his determination. He would go anywhere, even to Santa Isabel or the Cassiquiare that connects the Rio Negro with the Orinoco—trips of many weeks’ duration. But to Las Palmas? “Never!” most emphatically.
David was more crestfallen than ever as he went in search of the third man. “There is something very mysterious about all this,” he thought. “If it is really such an awful place I had better keep away from it. But I have to see it first. I can leave if I don’t like it—that is, if I ever get there.”
The interview with launch owner number three was shorter than the other two. This man was gruff, even discourteous, and wanted to know first of all where he wanted to go. And when David told him, he simply shrugged his shoulders, said “No,” and walked away.
There were still others to be seen, but David decided that he had had enough for one day. He walked to the river and looked across the broad expanse of water, ruffled by the breeze, muddy, and gliding along majestically and silently as if fully aware of its awe-inspiring grandeur and power. Where did all that water come from? Where was it going? What secrets were locked up in the pitiless flood? What strange and unknown denizens lurked in its dark depths? And, what treasures were strewn upon the bottom of the bed over which this torrent rushed, heedlessly, relentlessly and everlastingly? Day and night, rain or shine—it was always the same, oblivious to all things save only the fulfilment of some mission on which it was always hurrying, hurrying, yet seemed never to accomplish. Men might come and go—all men might come and go—but what of it? Countless numbers had done that very thing along its unreckoned shores and not a few of them had been engulfed in the heartless waters. Thousands of years old, it was nevertheless young. When other ages had passed there would be still no traces of age or decay. Always the same—always the same.
Such were the thoughts that surged through David’s mind as he gazed at the wide river, with the tiny waves laving his feet. They gave him an uncomfortable feeling such as he had not experienced before. He admired the stream for its enormity and respected its untold might; but he was not so sure that he liked it.
Numbers of dugouts, batalaos and other craft were tied up along the bank. The idea came to him suddenly. If he could not hire a launch, why not take one of these? The trip would require more time and be less comfortable, but these things would be minor considerations.
He approached a group of men near one of the batalaos and asked guarded questions as to the uses to which it was put. And then he swung the conversation to navigation in general on the river; to the country bordering the stream and to kindred topics, and so secured a good deal of information that was of value to him.
He learned, for instance, that the craft was sea-worthy and was used on the longest journeys, frequently of months’ duration. That travelling in a batalao was a slow process unless the wind held out when sails were used to advantage; during the intervals of calm, oars or poles were used and even long-handled hooks to catch in the overhanging vegetation. Last of all, in answer to his question as to whether he could rent or buy such a craft, he was told that it was probably impossible to do either. All of them were owned by the proprietors of rubber concessions or similar ventures, and were employed in their service exclusively, excepting only a few in the possession of professional rivermen; these latter were usually under contract to some patron and were engaged in some private pursuit such as fishing or freighting, which they could not desert.
That was the last straw. As David walked away he began to believe that he should never reach Las Palmas.
“Luck is certainly against me,” he murmured. “I’ll flip a coin to see what I’ll do. If it’s heads I will stay and keep on trying and if it’s tails I’ll—I’ll stay anyway. There must be a way of getting to that place; but I haven’t thought of it. The way will come to me—if I wait long enough.”
And come it did, sooner than he expected. The very next day the opportunity presented itself in the guise of a very large batalao that swept down the river, manned by twenty swarthy oarsmen, and joined the collection of other boats at the landing.
Somehow, that outfit was different from the others. The men did not look like the sailors along the waterfront. They spoke a different language and the Brazilians on shore did not greet them with the usual cries and banterings.
David was interested in the new arrivals at once. “The way to find out things is to ask questions,” he thought. “I will find out about them.”
He did not go to the man in charge of the batalao, but to one of the Brazilians to whom he had spoken on several other occasions.
The boat had come from Venezuela, he learned, by way of the Cassiquiare that connects the Orinoco with the Rio Negro of the Amazon side. The men were Venezuelans and were traders who plied their calling along the great rivers, visiting all the settlements and even the solitary huts, buying native produce and selling provisions, dry goods, hardware and ammunition. They travelled in a leisurely manner and knew more about the rivers and their navigation than any other persons. With them, time was no object and only when their stock of goods was on the verge of exhaustion, or when they had accumulated a cargo of native products to sell, did they make for the nearest market and base of supply. That was why they had come to Manaos now—to dispose of vanilla beans, copaiba oil, gold nuggets and a number of other things and to replenish their supply of trading articles; for now they were going to the rubber camps of the Upper Amazon, this being the season of harvest of that product. To accomplish the double object of their visit would require at least a week, probably two.
Much to his delight, David found that the pilot of the new boat had a fair knowledge of the Portuguese language—better than his own, in fact—and he struck up an acquaintance with him at once; but he did not hurry matters. There was plenty of time to cultivate friendship, and haste might cause him to be suspected of some ulterior motive.
David called at the wharf daily and finally the captain accepted his invitation and returned the visits, even remaining to dinner at the inn. They attended a performance at the Teatro Nacional later and then were firm friends.
When the craft was about ready to depart, ten days later, David suddenly announced to Don Marco, for that was the captain’s name, that he would accompany him on the trip up the river. The latter was at first surprised and then amused; it seemed a joke; but when David insisted that he was in earnest he was pleased. Only one thing puzzled him; he was not equipped to carry passengers. The crew ate almost anything, slept anywhere and shifted for itself.
David assured Don Marco that he should be contented with the same conditions. He expected no special consideration. He would even help with the work if desirable and would go as one of the party.
“If you will do that,” the captain said at last, “I shall certainly be glad to have you. But how will you get back? We may not touch at Manaos again for a year, perhaps longer.”
“That will be all right,” David replied. “You will stop at all the settlements and ranches——”
“Yes. We miss none of them.”
“Then I can stop off at one of them when I have seen enough of the river. It may be in a few days or it may be longer, according to how fast we travel.”
“Splendid. Get your things together and I will send a mozo for them this afternoon. You will need a hammock, a mosquito net, and a blanket. Take anything else you want to.”
David hurried away and purchased the necessary articles. In addition, he also bought chocolate and a few other things he thought would be necessary.
For him the tide had turned. For once he was without misgivings. At last he was about to embark on the great river; it was the beginning of a long voyage, but he was eager to entrust himself to the whims of the mighty stream to be wafted wherever fate decreed—as a chip drifts and eddies in obedience to the unseen forces that control its destiny.
CHAPTER VI
HARPOONING A RIVER MONSTER
The man came, as promised, and carried the baggage from the inn to the boat. David had never lost sight of the fact that his belongings must be kept at the minimum; but he had added to them constantly—the hammock and net, for instance, and while all the articles were necessary ones, they increased the sum total until they now filled a large suit case and a bag.
He followed the sailor as soon as he could settle his account and mail a few letters he had written the night before.
It was still early in the morning. The batalao, which bore the name Elisa Ana in black letters on both sides, was scheduled to start before noon. But there were innumerable things to be attended to at the last minute. Don Marco made several trips into the city for things he had forgotten. Then the sailors went for personal supplies of matches and tobacco, which they might have purchased long before. And when, at three in the afternoon, everything was apparently in readiness, it was discovered that one of the men was missing. Two of the others were sent to find him but the trio did not show up until six o’clock. The captain was furious and berated them soundly, for now it was too late to start that day, but they would get under way very early the following morning.
They were all required to remain aboard that night. David swung his hammock in a corner indicated by Don Marco and rigged his net over it. The heat was stifling and, worse still, the hammock was most uncomfortable; it sagged low in the middle while the ends were up high, so that David had to lie on his back with his body bent like a bow. He tossed about for a while and finally decided that if he was to secure any sleep that night it would have to be elsewhere than in the hammock, so he clambered out and stretched himself on the bare boards of the little forward deck.
Don Marco had observed this action and asked the reason for it.
“I can’t sleep all doubled up in the hammock,” David explained. “The ends must be too close together, because my head and feet are way up in the air.”
“You don’t know how to use it,” the captain said with a laugh. “I will show you. Look! You have to lie crosswise, not in a straight line with the hammock.”
David tried it, lying diagonally with his head in the upper right-hand corner and his feet in the lower left-hand corner. The effect was magical. The hammock straightened out flat and he was very comfortable.
The crew was active early the next morning—long before daylight broke over the river. The cook had kindled a fire on a box of sand in the bow while the others squatted around him watching, and conversing in loud voices. When the water was bubbling he produced a container that looked like a very large pipe and filled it with leaves out of a bag.
David, looking on, thought it was some kind of a pipe and tobacco, and was therefore surprised to see the man pour the steaming water into it. Then a short stem was inserted in the top opening and the cook handed it to the captain, who proceeded to draw up the liquor through the tube. When he had drunk all of it the cook refilled the bowl with water and brought it over to David.
“What is it?” the latter asked. “Coffee?”
“No! Yerba maté, or Brazilian tea. It is very good. Try it.”
David did not like the idea of drinking through the tube that had already been used, but did not want to appear churlish, so took a sip. The concoction tasted bitter and astringent. He handed back the bombilla, for that was the name of the outfit. Don Marco and the men laughed.
“He does not like our drink,” they said, “but he will get used to it. It is very delicious and a good medicine, too, but one has to learn to drink it.”
The cook prepared coffee for David while the rest of the party continued to fill the bombilla with hot water and to pass it around from one to the other until each had had it at least half a dozen times. Occasionally it was recharged with fresh leaves, but all drank through the same tube.
Later in the day Don Marco told David a good deal about yerba maté, which seemed to be a kind of national beverage in Brazil and some of the neighboring countries, liked by rich and poor and almost universally taken from a common container such as he had seen that morning.
The plant from which the leaves are taken is a species of South American holly growing abundantly in parts of Brazil, the Argentine and Paraguay, and remaining green the year round. They are gathered while small, when they are of a light green color, by cutting the branches from the plant and heaping them in piles to dry, after which they are shaken over a cloth to catch them as they fall from the withered stems.
This tea had been the principal beverage of the Guaraní Indians when the country was first settled, and the invaders found it so excellent that they followed the custom of the aborigines in drinking it.
David became so interested in yerba maté after learning these facts that he bought an outfit of the trader for his personal use and soon learned to drink the native tea in preference to coffee.
The morning cup being over, the sailors brought in the rope hawser and took up the long-handled oars. Soon they had rowed the craft far out into the river, where the current was strongest, for they were now heading down the Rio Negro to its junction with the upper Amazon. A sail was hoisted and as there was a brisk wind they travelled at a rapid rate and reached the Amazon in less than two hours’ time.
David now had ample time to examine the boat on which he had been accepted as a fellow voyager. It was large, very large, in fact, for such a craft, being fifty feet long and twelve feet wide, but of very shallow draft. The bottom and sides were made of thick boards spiked to heavy, hand-hewn timbers. There was a small deck forward and another aft, the spaces below being used for storage, and over each was a small, rounded shelter of palm leaves.
Along each side was a runway of boards like a narrow outrigger on which the men walked when poling the boat through shallow water.
In the center was a board structure which made the batalao look like a long houseboat. This was the store and was filled with provisions and merchandise placed on shelves and in heaps on the floor. Almost everything of value to the dwellers in the interior was carried, including tinned foods, rice, beans, dried fish, oil, cloth, fish-hooks, knives and matches. Also tobacco, maté, and quantities of the staple food along the Amazon—farinha.
The men next attracted David’s attention. Although he had seen most of them during the previous days he had not had the opportunity to study them closely. There were twenty; strong, sun-burnt, good-natured and ragged, but not very energetic. However, when Don Marco shouted an order it was quickly carried out. They either respected or feared him—it was impossible to tell which.
As the boat, aided by the current, sped along, the sailors busied themselves tidying up things in general, and looking to the paraphernalia they would need during the journey up-stream, which would begin shortly.
The river was but slightly ruffled, the dark-colored water speeding along in a broad belt between high, rolling banks covered with dense forest.
There were many other craft on the river, including a tramp freighter from some foreign port, launches, and a number of huge dugout canoes laden with bananas, nuts and other produce on its way to the city markets.
The crews always called to one another if the outfits passed within hailing distance, each asking as many questions as possible as to destination, business and other things, before conversation was checked by the growing distance between them.
As they neared the junction of the two streams the course of the boat was altered, for after entering the larger river they would journey up-stream; they would be compelled to hug closely the forested bank where the current was slack, if there were no wind.
The vista of the two rivers, joining their waters to form a mightier stream visible below and appearing like a ruffled sea, was majestic. Also, it was terrific in its very grandeur. The dark water of the Rio Negro did not at once mingle with or become absorbed by the muddy flood of the Solimoes, but the two ran side by side a distance of many miles, the sharp distinguishing line clearly visible, before merging their identities.
The scene was a wild and dismal one and David was impressed with his own littleness and that of those about him. The contrast had not seemed so great from the high deck of the steamer when he came up the river; but in the comparatively frail shell of the batalao it was different. The craft seemed so small, so helpless on the broad, billowy expanse of hurrying water. A rowboat in mid-ocean would not seem more out of place.
The sailors, apparently, were well versed in the ways of navigating the great rivers. They handled the sails and the rudder in a skilful manner and were soon tacking up-stream with a cross wind. Progress was now more slow, and when, an hour later, the wind failed so that the sails hung limply in the rigging, they were furled and made fast.
The water near the bank was shallow—not over four feet deep and generally a good deal less. Long poles were brought out; they had cross-pieces padded with cloth on one end and looked like tall crutches. Each man took one and then the crew was divided into two sections, one of which went to each outrigger board along the sides. The sharp ends of the poles were thrust to the sandy bottom while the men braced their shoulders against the padded ends and then pushed, running back along the boards in an even line. This propelled the boat along fairly rapidly, but it was hard work.
The sailors pushed the heavy craft forward with the poles throughout the remainder of the day, stopping only at noon for their ration of farinha and an hour’s rest.
Towards late afternoon they reached a section of the river flanked by wide marshes. Great masses of vegetation floated on the surface of the stream, such as wild lettuce, water hyacinths with inflated stems and blue flowers in spikes, lilies, and a host of other plants. The giant Victoria Regia margined the sheets of varied green in immense clumps and ribbons. Each leaf of this queen of water lilies was from six to eight feet in diameter, with upturned edges so that they resembled a cake-tin—but for their enormous size. Heavy veins and midribs supported the leaves with their sturdy framework; they were covered with long spines and thus served not only to support but also to protect the tender green webbing of the leaves that stretched between them, as if to discourage any familiarity with a member of a royal family. The flowers bobbing here and there among the massive foliage were not larger than a dinner plate and of a bluish color. Although both leaves and blossoms rested lightly on the surface of the water, they were securely anchored in place with thick, cable-like stems, and roots that penetrated the murky bottom a distance of many feet.
Before long they reached a small creek that served as an outlet for some lagoon hidden beyond the forest walls. As they entered the heretofore quiet water it was churned into a frenzy by long, dark forms that darted out of the narrow opening and made for the river. They passed on each side of the batalao, cutting the surface with broad backs and leaving a perceptible swell in their wake.
“What are they, sharks?” David asked in surprise.
“No!” Don Marco said. “They are called pirarucú and are the great cod of the Amazon.”
“But what monsters! I had no idea there were such large fish in any river. They looked longer than a man and must weigh a hundred pounds.”
“Ha! They were twice as big as a man and would weigh five or six hundred pounds each. You shall see for yourself, if you stay long enough,” the captain said with a chuckle. “The river is full of them. Perhaps we may get one now, for this is a good place to fish. We will anchor the boat and try, anyway. The fish—many kinds—go up into the lagoon to feed, so they have to pass through this little channel both going and coming back. The pirarucú were just about to enter, but we frightened them, so they rushed back into the open water.”
“Do you think they will come back?” David asked eagerly.
“Yes, if we keep still.”
“I wish I could catch one; but nobody would believe me if I did—and told about it when I got back home.” Then brightening, “There is a camera in my suitcase. I could take a picture of it; that would fix them.”
“You would have to catch it first,” Don Marco reminded him.
“Let me have a hook and line. I will try it anyway.”
“Very good! I will give you a hook and line, so you can fish for pacú with the rest of us. The pirarucú is so large you must use a harpoon to get it. I will keep one handy; perhaps we shall have good luck. But in the meantime we will catch pacú, because they are a sure thing.”
They had anchored where the channel was narrowest. The men unwound the lines and baited the hooks with plump grains of maize that had been soaked until soft. Scarcely had the ripples made by the plunges of the heavy sinkers died down when the fish began to bite.
They struck with a powerful rush and dragged the line through the water with a burst of speed that was surprising. The men swung the poles upward to hook the fish securely and then hauled in the lines with their hands. Soon the silvery fish, nearly two feet long and very broad, were pulled aboard in numbers and thrown on the decks.
David was so absorbed in watching the others that he almost forgot his own line. He felt a sudden tug and recovered just in time to prevent the loss of his pole. He followed the example of the others and soon landed the glistening pacú. Catching fish in this manner was not much of a sporting proposition, but it was not without its thrill of excitement.
The sharp eyes of Don Marco caught a slight ripple in the water ten yards to their rear. At his word of warning the men stopped talking and quietly pulled in their lines.
The pirarucú were returning to their feeding-grounds. Slowly they came, and cautiously, swimming just beneath the surface and looking like shadows. The school was a large one, for the water seemed alive with the giant fish. The captain had noiselessly come to David’s side and placed a short iron harpoon in his hand.
“Throw it just as you would a stick and aim about a foot ahead of the fish,” he said.
A few yards from the boat the foremost of the school stopped. David could clearly distinguish the trim outlines of the broad, dark backs, the large eyes, the gaping mouths and the gently waving fins. What monsters they were! And how he longed to possess one of them!
Without warning the fish disappeared. They had become suspicious of the boat floating in their path and had simply melted into the depths below.
Don Marco motioned for continued silence. He knew the ways of the creatures; before many minutes had passed they reappeared as suddenly as they had gone. But now they were on all sides of the batalao. Their fears had vanished and they moved as a unit into the passageway.
David held the harpoon firmly in his right hand; at his feet lay the coil of thick cord that was fastened to it. A small keg was perched on the outrigger board; it would serve as a buoy to locate the fish when it had become exhausted.
When one of the passing host was almost below him David let go the harpoon with all his strength. There was a splash, followed immediately by other splashing all around them as the entire school sounded.
The line rushed overboard and cut the water with a hissing sound; a moment later the keg followed with a splash and began a wild rush into the river. It was a