The Rover of the Andes: A Tale of Adventure on South America

“Well, I’s not kite sure needer. I t’ink sometimes dat monkey is best, but I can’t easy git ober de face.”

“How so, Quashy?”

“’Cause it am so like eatin’ a bit o’ my great-gran’moder.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes. You’s no notion how like dey all is to dat ole lady. You see, she was uncommon old. She come ob a long-lib race. Das whar’ it is. My moder was eighty-two, an’ my gran’moder was ninety-siven, an’ my great-gran’moder was a hun’r’d an’ sixteen, an’ dey was all alive togidder, an’ at fuss you couldn’ tell which was de oldest. Dey run neck an’ neck for a long time, but arter de great-gran’ one pass de hunr’ milestone—oh! she hoed ahead like a rattlesnake. De wrinkles an’ de crows’ foots, an’ de—de colour—jes’ like bu’nt leather! She lef’ de oders far behind, an’ looked like nuffin so much as dat poor little blear-eyed monkey you shot de oder day, what Senhorina Manuela say was so nice to eat. What! you un’erstan’ Ingliss?” added the negro, looking at the Indian girl, who had given vent to a half-suppressed giggle.

“Yes—leetil,” replied Manuela, without attempting further to restrain her mirth.

Quite pleased that his remarks should afford amusement, Quashy was about to launch out extensively on the “great-gran’moder” theme, when an exclamation from the guide checked him.

“Look, Senhor Armstrong,” he said, arresting the progress of the canoe by a slight turn of his paddle. “Yonder is a mode of fishing which no doubt is new to you.”

Pedro pointed as he spoke to a canoe which a sharp bend of the stream had just revealed to them. Its occupants were Indians. They were almost naked, and so intent on their occupation that the arrival of our travellers had not been observed. One of the Indians, a splendid specimen of muscular strength, stood up in the canoe with a bow and arrow in his hands and one foot on the gunwale, quite motionless. Suddenly he drew the bow, the arrow pierced the water without causing a ripple, and next moment a transfixed fish was struggling on the surface.

The fish was barely secured when the presence of strangers was discovered. An exclamation followed. Instantly the dark savage bent his bow, with the arrow pointed this time full at the breast of Pedro.

That worthy did not, however, seem much alarmed. He at once pushed out into the stream, and gave a shout which induced the savage not only to lower his bow, but to fling it into his canoe and throw up his arms with exclamations of surprise and joy.

“He knows you?” said Lawrence, looking back at Pedro, who sat in the stern of their canoe.

“Yes, he knows me. I am pretty well-known to most people in these regions. This is the tiger-hunter of whom I have spoken. His dwelling is not far-off.”

The meeting of the two friends was remarkably cordial, and it was evident to both Lawrence and Quashy that the white man and the brown were not only old friends, but more than usually fond of each other.

After the first salutations, both canoes were run to the bank of the stream, and when they had all landed, Pedro presented his friend to Lawrence, who shook hands with him in the English fashion.

“You have not mentioned your friend’s name,” said Lawrence.

“His name!” replied Pedro, with a laugh, “well, it is almost unpronounceable. Perhaps you had better call him by the name he goes by among his friends—Spotted Tiger, or, more briefly—Tiger.”

“Tell Spotted Tiger, then,” said Lawrence, “that I am happy to make his acquaintance.”

When the guide had translated this, and the Indian had returned a complimentary rejoinder, they continued to converse in the Indian tongue with much animation, and, on the part of Spotted Tiger, with some excitement. Of course Lawrence understood nothing, but he continued to watch the expressive features of the savage with interest, and observed, when their glances showed they were talking of Manuela, that Tiger first raised his eyebrows in surprise, and then smiled peculiarly.

“Strange,” thought Lawrence, “what can he mean by that? Perhaps he knows the chief, her father, but why look surprised and smile on that account? I wish Pedro was not so secretive. However, it’s his business, not mine!”

Consoling himself with this philosophic thought, Lawrence re-embarked with his friends, and, accompanied by Tiger, proceeded down stream till they came to a beautiful spot where the banks widened out into a small lake or pond. On its shores, under the cool shade of many trees, stood the hut of the savage.

The scenery here was more than usually beautiful, being diversified not only in form, but in its wealth and variety of trees, and twining parasites and graceful ferns, with, in one place, groves of tall trees covered with balls of wild cotton, as large as an orange, and, elsewhere, inextricable entanglements of gorgeously flowering creepers, such as the most vivid imagination would fail to invent or conceive. Behind one part of the scene the setting sun shone with intense light, turning all into dark forms, while in other parts the slanting rays fell upon masses of rich foliage, and intensified its colour.

In front of the hut a handsome Indian woman stood awaiting the arrival of her husband. She held in her arms a naked little ball of whitey-brown fat, which represented the youngest Tiger-cub of the family. Other cubs, less whitey, and more brown, romped around, while up in the trees several remembrancers of Quashy’s great-great-grandmother sat grinning with delight, if not indignation, at the human beings below.

After being hospitably entertained by the Indian with fish, alligator soup, roast parrot, and young monkey, the party assembled round a fire, kindled outside the hut more for the purpose of scaring away wild beasts than cooking, though the little Tiger-cubs used it for the latter purpose.

Then Pedro said to Lawrence—

“Now, Senhor Armstrong, I am going to ask you to exercise a little patience at this point in our journey. The business I have in hand requires that I should leave you for two or three days. I fully expect to be back by the end of that time, and meanwhile I leave you and Quashy and Manuela in good company, for my friend Spotted Tiger is true as steel, though he is an Indian, and will perhaps show you a little sport to prevent your wearying.”

“Very good, Pedro. I am quite willing to wait,” said Lawrence. “You know I am not pressed for time at present. I shall be very glad to remain and see what is to be seen here, and learn Spanish from Manuela.”

“Or teach her Angleesh,” suggested the girl, bashfully.

“Certainly. Whichever pleases you best, Manuela,” returned Lawrence.

“But s’pose,” said Quashy, with a look of awful solemnity at Pedro—“s’pose you nebber comes back at all! S’pose you gits drownded, or killed by a tiger, or shot by a Injin. What den?”

“Suppose,” retorted the guide, “that an earthquake should swallow up South America, or that the world should catch fire—what then?”

“Why den, we no care a buttin for not’ing arter dat,” replied the negro, promptly, “but if you don’ return, we nebber reach Buenos Ayres.”

“Never fear, Quashy. If I don’t return, Spotted Tiger will guide you safely there.”

That night Pedro and his friend left the hut in a canoe, lighted by a brilliant moon. Before morning the latter returned alone.

Meanwhile Lawrence had slung Manuela’s hammock between two trees, with a fire on either side, yet screened from the chief camp-fire by a thick bush, so that though close at hand, and under his protection, she occupied, as it were, a separate chamber of her own. His own hammock and that of Quashy—for they all used hammocks—were hung side by side a little nearer to the large fire.

Mr and Mrs Tiger, with all the little Tigers, finding their hut rather warm, came outside, and also made their beds beside their visitors.

Chapter Thirteen.

Deals with Spotted Tiger’s Home, and a Hunting Expedition

In spite of howling jaguars, and snarling pumas, and buzzing mosquitoes, and the whole host of nocturnal abominations peculiar to those regions, our weary travellers lay peacefully in their hammocks, and slept like humming-tops. In regard to Quashy, we might more appropriately say like a buzzing-top.

Once or twice during the night Quashy rose to replenish the fires, for the jaguars kept up a concert that rendered attention to this protection advisable; but he did it with half-closed eyes, and a sort of semi-wakefulness which changed into profound repose the instant he tumbled back into his hammock. Lawrence, not being so well accustomed to the situation, lay awake a short time at first, having his loaded pistols under his pillow; but, as we have said, he soon slumbered, and it is probable that all the jaguars, pumas, peccaries, tapirs, alligators, and wild cats in that district might have walked in procession under his hammock without disturbing him in the least, had they been so minded. As for Manuela, with that quiet indifference to mere prospective danger that usually characterises her race, she laid her head on her tiger-skin pillow, and slept the sleep of innocence—having absolute faith, no doubt, in the vigilance and care of her protectors.

It might have been observed, however, that before lying down the Indian maiden knelt beside her hammock and hid her face in her hands. Indeed from the first it had been seen by her fellow-travellers that Manuela thus communed with her God, and on one occasion Lawrence, remarking on the fact, had asked Pedro if she were a Christian.

“She is a Christian,” was Pedro’s reply, but as he manifested an evident intention not to be communicative on the subject, Lawrence forbore to put further questions, although he felt his interest in the girl as well as his curiosity increasing, and he longed to know how and when she had been turned from heathen worship to the knowledge of Christ.

When daylight began to glimmer in the east, the bird, beast, and insect worlds began to stir. And a wonderful stir do these worlds make at that hour in the grand regions of Central South America; for although nocturnal birds and beasts retire and, at least partially, hide their diminished heads at daylight, the myriad denizens of the forests bound forth with renewed life and vigour to sing a morning hymn of praise to their Maker—involuntarily or voluntarily, who can tell which, and what right has man to say dogmatically that it cannot be the latter? Thousands of cooing doves, legions of chattering parrots, made the air vocal; millions of little birds of every size and hue twittered an accompaniment, and myriads of mosquitoes and other insects filled up the orchestra with a high pitched drone, while alligators and other aquatic monsters beat time with flipper, fin, and tail.

Breakfast, consisting of excellent fish, eggs, maize, jaguar-steak, roast duck, alligator-ragout, and chocolate, was prepared outside the Indian hut. The hut itself was unusually clean, Tiger being a peculiar and eccentric savage, who seemed to have been born, as the saying is, in advance of his generation. He was a noted man among his brethren, not only for strength and prowess, but for strange ideas and practices, especially for his total disregard of public opinion.

In respect of cleanliness, his hut differed from the huts of all other men of his tribe. It was built of sun-dried mud. The furniture consisted of two beds, or heaps of leaves and skins, and several rude vessels of clay. The walls were decorated with bows, arrows, blow-pipes, lances, game-bags, fishing-lines, and other articles of the chase, as well as with miniature weapons and appliances of a similar kind, varying its size according to the ages of the little Tigers. Besides these, there hung from the rafters—if we may so name the sticks that stretched overhead—several network hammocks and unfinished garments, the handiwork of Mrs Tiger.

That lady herself was a fat and by no means uncomely young woman, simply clothed in a white tunic, fastened at the waist with a belt—the arms and neck being bare. Her black hair was cut straight across the forehead, an extremely ugly but simple mode of freeing the face from interference, which we might say is peculiar to all savage nations had not the highly civilised English of the present day adopted it, thus proving the truth of the proverb that “extremes meet”! The rest of her hair was gathered into one long heavy plait, which hung down behind. Altogether, Madame Tiger was clean and pleasant looking—for a savage. This is more than could be said of her progeny, which swarmed about the place in undisguised contempt of cleanliness or propriety.

Stepping into the hut after kindling the fire outside, Quashy proceeded to make himself at home by sitting down on a bundle.

The bundle spurted out a yell, wriggled violently, and proved itself to be a boy!

Jumping up in haste, Quashy discommoded a tame parrot on the rafters, which, with a horrible shriek in the Indian tongue, descended on his head and grasped his hair, while a tame monkey made faces at him and a tame turtle waddled out of his way.

Having thus as it were established his footing in the family, the negro removed the parrot to his perch, receiving a powerful bite of gratitude in the act, and invited the wife of Spotted Tiger to join the breakfast-party. This he did by the express order of Lawrence, for he would not himself have originated such a piece of condescension. Not knowing the dialect of that region, however, he failed to convey his meaning by words and resorted to pantomime. Rubbing his stomach gently with one hand, he opened his mouth wide, pointed down his throat with the forefinger of the other hand, and made a jerky reference with his thumb to the scene of preparations outside.

Madame Tiger declined, however, and pointed to a dark corner, where a sick child claimed her attention.

“O poor t’ing! what’s de matter wid it?” asked Quashy, going forward and taking one of the child’s thin hands in his enormous paw.

The little girl must have been rather pretty when in health, but there was not much of good looks left at that time, save the splendid black eyes, the lustre of which seemed rather to have improved with sickness. The poor thing appeared to know that she had found in the negro a sympathetic soul, for she not only suffered her hand to remain in his, but gave vent to a little squeak of contentment.

“Stop! You hold on a bit, Poppity,” said Quashy, whose inventive capacity in the way of endearing terms was great, “I’ll fetch de doctor.”

He ran out and presently returned with Lawrence, who shook his head the moment he set eyes on the child.

“No hope?” inquired Quashy, with solemnity unspeakable on his countenance.

“Well, I won’t say that. While there is life there is hope, but it would have been more hopeful if I had seen the child a week or two sooner.”

After a careful examination, during which the father, who had come in, and the mother looked on with quiet patience, and Manuela with some anxiety, he found that there was still room for hope, but, he said, turning to Quashy, “she will require the most careful and constant nursing, and as neither Tiger nor his wife understands what we say, and Pedro may not be back for some days, it will be difficult to explain to them what should be done. Can you not speak their dialect even a little?” he added in Spanish to Manuela.

She shook her head, but said quietly—

“Me will nurse.”

“That’s very kind of you, and it will really be a charity, for the child is seriously ill. She is a strangely attractive little thing,” he continued, bending over her couch and stroking her hair gently. “I feel quite as if I had known her a long time. Now, I will give you instructions as well as I can as to what you have to do. Shall I give them in Spanish or English?”

Quite gravely the Indian girl replied, “Angleesh.”

“Very well,” said he, and proceeded to tell Manuela how to act as sick-nurse. When he had finished, the girl at once stepped up to Tiger’s wife with a winning smile, patted her shoulder, kissed her forehead, and then, pointing to the little invalid with a look of profound intelligence, went out of the hut. Presently she returned with some of the gravy of the alligator-ragout, sat down beside the little one, and began to administer it in small quantities. Evidently the child was pleased both with the food and the angel of mercy who had found her, for she nestled in a comfortable way close to Manuela’s side. Lawrence observed, when the latter looked round for something she wanted, that her eyes were full of tears.

“I knew I was right,” he muttered to himself as he returned to the fire, where Quashy had already spread out the breakfast, “she certainly must be a princess of the Incas. They were notoriously celebrated for their gentle and amiable qualities, even at the time of Pizarro’s conquest.”

What more passed in his mind we cannot tell, for he ceased to mutter, and never revealed his subsequent thoughts to any one.

“Now, Quashy,” said Lawrence, when breakfast was over, “we are left here in what we may style difficulties. The Indians don’t understand Spanish or English, so until Pedro returns we shall have to get along as best we can by signs.”

“Bery well, massa, I hope you knows how to talk by signs, for its more dan dis nigger do.”

As he spoke he threw an ear of maize at a monkey which sat on a branch overhead gazing at the party with an expression of the most woebegone resignation. He missed his aim, but none the less did that monkey change its look into a glare of intense indignation, after which it fled shrieking, with hurt feelings, into the woods.

“I’m not much up in the language of signs,” said Lawrence, “but we must try our best.”

Saying which he arose, and, touching Tiger on the shoulder, beckoned him to follow.

With the lithe, easy motions of the animal after which he was named, the Indian rose. Lawrence led him a few paces from the fire, and then, putting himself in the attitude of a man discharging an arrow from a bow, suddenly let the imaginary arrow fly, looked at the savage, touched his own breast, and smiled.

So did Quashy, with compound interest. Spotted Tiger looked puzzled, shook his head, and also smiled.

“He t’ink you wants him to shoot you,” said Quashy.

“No, no, that’s not it,” said Lawrence, with a somewhat abashed look at the Indian. “I want you to take us out shooting—hunting, you know—hunting.”

As Tiger did not know the word “hunting” he continued to shake his head with a puzzled air.

Every one who has tried it knows what a silly, almost imbecile, feeling comes over one when one attempts the communication of ideas in dumb show. Feelings of this sort affected our hero very keenly. He therefore, while continuing the pantomime, kept up a running or interjectional accompaniment in the English language.

“Look here, Tiger,” he said, impressively, taking up two sticks which he made to represent a bow and arrow, and placing them in position, “I want to go hunting with you—hunting—shooting the jaguar.”

“Yes, de jaguar—tiger, you know,” said Quashy, who, in his anxiety to get the savage to understand, imitated his master’s actions, and could not refrain from occasionally supplementing his speech.

As a tiger-skin chanced to be hanging on a bush near to the fire, Lawrence completed his pantomime by throwing his mimic arrow against that.

A gleam of intelligence suffused the face of the savage. Stalking into his hut, he returned with a bow considerably longer than himself, and an arrow, also of great length. Retiring to a distance from the jaguar-skin above referred to, he bent his bow quickly, and sent an arrow straight through the middle of it, thereafter raising himself with a look of pride.

“Why, the fellow thinks I want him to show off his powers of shooting,” said Lawrence.

“So he do—de idjit!” said Quashy.

With much anxiety of expression, great demonstration of vigorous action, and many painful efforts of inventive genius, the two men tried to convey their wishes to that son of the soil, but all in vain. At last in desperation Quashy suddenly seized the jaguar-skin, threw it over his own shoulders, placed a long pole in Lawrence’s hands, and said—

“Now, massa, you look out, I’s agwine to spring at you, and you stick me.”

He uttered a mighty roar as he spoke, and bounded towards his master, who, entering at once into the spirit of the play, received him on the point of his spear, whereupon the human jaguar instantly fell and revelled for a few seconds in the agonies of death. Then he calmly rose.

“Now,” said he, with a look of contempt, “if he no understan’ dat, it’s ’cause he hain’t got no brains.”

At first the Indian had gazed at this little scene with a look of intense astonishment. When it was finished he burst into a fit of hearty laughter. Evidently it was the best piece of acting he had seen since he was born, and if he had been other than a savage, he must certainly have shouted “bravo!” perhaps “encore!” and clapped his hands.

“Boh! he’s a born idjit!” cried Quashy, turning away in disgust, but a new idea seemed to flash into his fertile brain.

“Stop a bit!” he suddenly exclaimed, seizing a piece of flat bark that lay at his feet. On this, with the point of a charred stick, he drew a triangular form, with three dots in it for two eyes and a nose. An oval attached to this represented a body; at the other end a long waving line served for a tail; four short lines below indicated legs. This creature he covered all over with spots.

“There,” he cried, sticking it into a bush, and glaring at the Indian, “jaguar!—jaguar!”

Catching up the pole which Lawrence had thrown down, he rushed at this jaguar, and pierced it through the heart. Thereafter, in hot haste, he picked up Tiger’s bow and arrows, ran down to the river, put them into a small canoe, and thrust it into the water. Holding on with one hand, he waved with the other.

“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.