Popular Adventure Tales Part 36

In about two weeks from their arrival in the valley, the house, with a stable for the horse and mule, was completed, and all the necessary furniture as well. Had you entered the establishment about this time, you would have observed many odd articles and implements, most of them quite new. You would have seen boxes woven out of palm leaves, and bags made of the fibrous, cloth-like spathe of the "bussu," filled with the soft, silky cotton of the bombax, to be afterwards spun and woven for s.h.i.+rts and dresses.

You would have seen baskets of various shapes and sizes woven out of the rind of the leaf-stalks of a singular palm called "Iu," which has no stem, but only leaves of ten feet long, growing directly out of the ground. You would have seen chairs made of split palms and bamboo, and a good-sized table, upon which, at meal-time, might be noticed a table-cloth, not of diaper, but, what served equally well, the broad smooth silken leaves of the plantain. There were cups, too, and plates, and bowls, and dishes, and bottles, of the light gourd-sh.e.l.l (_Crescentia cujete_), some of the bottles holding useful liquids, and corked with the elastic pith of a palm. Other vessels of a boat-shape might be noticed.

There were large wooden vessels pointed at the ends like little canoes.

They were nothing more than the spathes or flower-sheaths of one of the largest of palms, the "_Inaga_." This n.o.ble tree rises to the height of one hundred feet, and carries feathery fronds of more than fifty feet in length. The spathes are so large that they are used by the Indian women for cradles and baskets; and their wood is so hard, that hunters often cook meat in them, hanging them over the fire when filled with water!

Many other singular implements might have been noticed in the new home.

One, a cylinder of what appeared to be wood, covered thickly with spinous points, hung against the wall. That was a grater, used for the manioc, or yucca roots; and it was a grater of nature's own making, for it was nothing more than a piece of one of the air roots of the "pas.h.i.+uba" palm, already described. Another curious object hung near this last. It was a sort of conical bag, woven out of palm-fibre, with a loop at the bottom, through which loop a strong pole was pa.s.sed, that acted as a lever when the article was in use. This wicker-work bag was the "tipiti." Its use was to compress the grated pulp of the manioc roots, so as to separate the juice from it, and thus make "ca.s.sava." The roots of the yucca, or manioc plant, grow in bunches like potatoes.

Some of them are oblong--the length of a man's arm--and more than twenty pounds in weight. When required for use, the bark is sc.r.a.ped off, and they are grated down. They are then put into the tipiti, already mentioned; and the bag is hung up to a strong pin, while the lever is pa.s.sed through the loop at the bottom. Its short end goes under a firm notch, and then some one usually sits upon the long end until the pulp is squeezed sufficiently dry. The bag is so formed that its extension, by the force of the lever, causes its sides to close upon the pulp, and thus press out the juice. The pulp is next dried in an oven, and becomes the famous "ca.s.sava" or "farinha," which, throughout the greater part of South America, is the only bread that is used. The juice, of course, runs through the wicker-work of the _tipiti_ into a vessel below, and there produces a sediment, which is the well-known "tapioca."

There are two kinds of the yucca or manioc-root,--the _yucca dulce_, and _yucca amarga_--the sweet and bitter. One may be eaten raw without danger. The other, which very closely resembles it, if eaten raw, would produce almost instant death, as its juice is one of the deadliest of vegetable poisons. Even while it is dripping from the tipiti into the vessel placed below, great care is always taken lest children or other animals should drink of it.

There were no beds--such things are hardly to be found in any part of tropical America--at least not in the low hot countries. To sleep in a bed in these climates is far from being pleasant. The sleeper would be at the mercy of a thousand crawling things,--insects and reptiles.

Hammocks, or "redes," as they are called, take the place of bedsteads; and five hammocks, of different dimensions, could be seen about the new house. Some were strung up within, others in the porch in front, for, in building his house, Don Pablo had fas.h.i.+oned it so that the roof protruded in front, and formed a shaded verandah--a pleasant place in which to enjoy the evenings. Guapo had made the hammocks, having woven the cords out of the epidermis of the leaf of a n.o.ble palm, called "tuc.u.m."

Their home being now sufficiently comfortable, Don Pablo began to turn his attention to the object for which he had settled on that spot. He had already examined the cinchona-trees, and saw that they were of the finest species. They were, in fact, the same which have since become celebrated as producing the "Cuzconin," and known as _Cascarilla de Cuzco_ (Cuzco bark).

Of the Peruvian-bark trees there are many species,--between twenty and thirty. Most of these are true cinchona-trees, but there are also many kinds of the genus _Exostemma_, whose bark is collected as a febrifuge, and pa.s.ses in commerce under the name of _Peruvian bark_. All these are of different qualities and value. Some are utterly worthless, and, like many other kinds of "goods," form a sad commentary on the honesty of commerce.

The species, which grew on the sides of the adjacent hills, Don Pablo recognised as one of the most valuable. It was a nearly-allied species to the tree of Loxa, which produces the best bark. It was a tall slender tree--when full grown, rising to the height of eighty feet; but there were some of every age and size. Its leaves were five inches long and about half that breadth, of a reddish colour, and with a glistening surface, which rendered them easily distinguished from the foliage of the other trees. Now it is a fortunate circ.u.mstance that the Peruvian-bark trees differ from all others in the colour of their leaves.

Were this not the case, "bark-hunting" would be a very troublesome operation. The labour of finding the trees would not be repaid with double the price obtained for the bark. You may be thinking, my young friend, that a "cascarillero," or bark-hunter, has nothing to do but find a wood of these trees; and then the trouble of searching is over, and nothing remains but to go to work and fell them. So it would be, did the cinchona-trees grow together in large numbers, but they do not. Only a few--sometimes only a single tree--will be found in one place; and I may here remark that the same is true of most of the trees of the Great Montana of South America. This is a curious fact, because it is a different arrangement from that made by nature in the forests of North America.

There a whole country will be covered with timber of a single, or at most two or three species; whereas, in South America, the forests are composed of an endless variety. Hence it has been found difficult to establish saw-mills in these forests, as no one timber can be conveniently furnished in sufficient quant.i.ty to make it worth while.

Some of the palms, as the great _morichi_, form an exception to this rule. These are found in vast _palmares_, or palm-woods, extending over large tracts of country, and monopolising the soil to themselves.

Don Pablo, having spent the whole of a day in examining the cinchonas, returned home quite satisfied with them, both as regarded their quant.i.ty and value. He saw, from a high tree which he had climbed, "_manchas_,"

or spots of the glistening reddish leaves, nearly an acre in breadth.

This was a fortune in itself. Could he only collect 100,000 lbs. of this bark, and convey it down stream to the mouth of the Amazon, it would there yield him the handsome sum of 40,000 or 50,000 dollars! How long before he could accomplish this task he had not yet calculated; but he resolved to set about it at once.

[Ill.u.s.tration: GUAPO AND THE 'NIMBLE PETERS.']

A large house had been already constructed for storing the bark, and in the dry hot climate of the high Montana, where they now were, Don Pablo knew it could be dried in the woods, where it was stripped from the trees.

CHAPTER XXIII.

A PAIR OF SLOW GOERS.

At length, all things being ready, Don Pablo and party set out for a day's work among the cinchonas. As it was the first day of bark-gathering all went along to enjoy the novelty of the thing. A "mancha" of the cinchona trees was not far off, so their journey would be a short one. For this reason, the horse and mule remained in the stable eating the fruits of the "murumuru" palm, of which all cattle are exceedingly fond. Even the hard undigested stones or nuts, after pa.s.sing through the bodies of horses and cattle, are eagerly devoured by wild or tame hogs, and the zamuros, or black vultures, when hungered, take to the pulpy fruit of this th.o.r.n.y palm-tree.

It was a very early hour when they set out, for Don Pablo and his people were no sluggards. Indeed, in that climate, the early morning hours are the pleasantest, and they had made it a rule to be always up at daybreak. They could thus afford to take a _siesta_ in their hammocks during the hot noontide,--a custom very common, and almost necessary, in tropical countries. Their road to the cinchonas led up the stream, on the same side with the house. After going a few hundred yards, they entered a grove of trees that had white trunks and leaves of a light silvery colour. The straight, slender stems of these trees, and the disposition of their branches,--leaning over at the tops,--gave them somewhat the appearance of palms. They were not palms, however, but "ambaba" trees. So said Don Pablo, as they pa.s.sed under their shade.

"I shouldn't wonder," added he, "if we should see that strange animal the a. The leaves of these trees are its favourite food, and it lives altogether among their branches."

"You mean the 'nimble Peter,' do you not, papa?"

This inquiry was put by Leon, who had read about the animal under this name, and had read many false stories of it, even in the works of the great Buffon.

"Yes," replied Don Pablo; "it goes by that name sometimes, on account of its sluggish habits and slow motions. For the same reason the English call it 'sloth,' and it is known among naturalists as _bradypus_. There are two or three species, but all with very similar habits, though, as usual, the French cla.s.sifiers have separated them into distinct genera."

"Why, Buffon says," rejoined Leon, "that it is the most miserable creature in the world; that it can scarcely get from tree to tree; that some remain in the same tree all their lives, or, that when one has eaten all the leaves off a tree, it drops to the ground, to save itself the trouble of getting down by the trunk, and, that when on the ground it cannot move a yard in an hour. Is all this true?"

"Totally untrue. It is true the a does not move rapidly over the ground, but the ground is not its proper place no more than it is that of the orang-otang, or other tree-monkeys. Its conformation shows that nature intended it for an inhabitant of the trees, where it can move about with sufficient ease to procure its food. On the branches it is quite at home, or, rather, I should say, _under_ the branches, for, unlike the squirrels and monkeys, it travels along the under sides of the horizontal limbs, with its back downward. This it can do with ease, by means of its great curving claws, which are large enough to span the thickest boughs. In this position, with a long neck of _nine vertebrae_,--the only animal which has that number,--it can reach the leaves on all sides of it; and, when not feeding, this is its natural position of repose.

"Its remaining during its whole life in one tree, or suffering itself to fall from the branches, are romances of the early Spanish voyagers, to which M. Buffon gave too much credit. The a does not descend to the ground at all when it can help it, but pa.s.ses from one tree to another by means of the outspreading branches. Sometimes, when these do not meet, it has cunning enough to wait for a windy day, and then, taking advantage of some branch blown nearer by the wind, it grasps it and pa.s.ses to the next tree. As it requires no drink, and can live without any other food than the leaves of the _cecropia_, of course it remains on a single tree so long as it has plenty of leaves. See!" exclaimed Don Pablo, pointing up; "here are several trees stripped of their leaves!

I'll warrant that was done by the a."

"_A-ee_!" echoed a voice in the most lugubrious tones.

"I thought so," cried Don Pablo, laughing at the surprise which the voice had created among the rest of the party. "That's the very fellow himself,--this way,--here he is!"

All of them ran under the tree to which Don Pablo pointed, and looked up. There, sure enough, was an animal about the size of a cat, of a dark hay colour, with a patch of dirty orange and black upon the back. This could be easily seen, for the creature was hanging along a horizontal branch with its back downward, and its huge curving claws, all in a bunch, were hooked over the branch. Its hair was thick and rough, and no tail was visible, but its small round head and flat face was almost as like the human face as is that of any monkey. Indeed, the others would have taken it for a monkey,--Guapo excepted,--had they not been already talking about it.

"Oh, yonder's another!" cried Leon, pointing higher up in the tree; and, sure enough, there was, for the a is usually found in company with its mate. The other was a copy of the one already observed, with some slight difference in size--no doubt it was the female one. Both had observed the approach of the party, and now uttered their melancholy "Ayee--a-ee!" that sounded anything but agreeable. In fact, so very disagreeable is the voice of this creature, that it has been considered its best weapon of defence. Beside the utterance of their cry, neither of them made any effort to escape or defend themselves.

Don Pablo and the rest were about to pa.s.s on and leave the as to their leaf diet, but Guapo had other notions on that subject. Ugly as these creatures were, Guapo intended to have one of them for his dinner. He, therefore, begged Don Pablo to stop a moment until he should get them down. How was this to be done? Would he climb up and drag them from the tree? That is not so easily accomplished, for the as, with their crescent claws, can hold on with terrible force. Besides, they were out upon the slender branches, where it would have been difficult to get at them.

But Guapo did not intend to climb. The tree was a slender one--he had his axe with him--and the next moment its keen blade was cras.h.i.+ng through the bark of the ambaba wood. A few minutes served to bring the tree down, and down it came, the as screaming as it fell. Guapo now approached to seize them, but about this he used some caution. Both finding themselves without hope of escape, prepared for defence. Buffon a.s.serts that they make none. That is not true, as was seen by all the party.

Throwing themselves on their backs, they struck out with their fore-arms in a sort of mechanical manner. These with the long h.o.r.n.y claws they kept playing in front of their bodies, striking alternately with them, and rapidly, as a dog will do when suddenly plunged into water. Guapo did not put his hands near them. He knew they would not bite, but he also knew that he might get a scratch with the sharp claws, and that he did not wish for. But Guapo had a way to take them, and that he now put in practice. Lopping a couple of branches from the tree, he held one out to each of the as, and touched them with it on the breast.

Each, as soon as it felt the branch, clutched it tightly between its powerful fore-arms and held on as if for life and death. It would have taken a stronger man than Guapo to have pulled either of the branches away again. The thing was now done. Giving his axe to Leon to carry for him, Guapo lifted an a, still clinging to the branch, in each hand, and carried them off as if they had been a pair of water-pots. He did not wish to kill them until he got them home, alleging that they were better for eating when freshly butchered.

The bark-hunters now continued their route, and shortly after entered a little glade or opening in the forest, about an acre in size. When they had reached the middle of this, Guapo threw his as upon the ground and marched on.

"Why do you leave them?" inquired the others.

"No fear for them," replied Guapo; "they'll be there when we come back.

If I carried them into the woods, they might steal off while we were at work, but it would take them six hours to get to the nearest tree." All laughed at this, and went on, leaving the as to themselves. Before pa.s.sing out from the glade, they stopped a moment to look at the great, conical nests of the termites, or white ants, several of which, like soldiers' tents, stood near the edge of the glade. It was yet early, the air was chilly, and the ants were not abroad; so that, after gazing for a while on these singular habitations, the bark-gatherers pursued their way, and were soon under the shadow of the cinchona trees.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE BARK-HUNTERS.

In a few minutes the work began--that work which was to occupy them, perhaps, for several years. The first blow of Guapo's axe was the signal to begin the making of a fortune. It was followed by many others, until one of the cinchonas lay along the sward. Then Guapo attacked another, as near the root as was convenient for chopping.

Don Pablo's part of the work now began. Armed with a sharp knife, he made circular incisions round the trunk, at the distance of several feet from each other, and a single longitudinal one intersecting all the others. The branches were also served in a similar way, and then the tree was left as it lay. In three or four days they would return to strip off the bark both from trunk and branches, and this would be spread out under the sun to dry. When light and dry it would be carried to the storehouse. So the work went merrily on. The trees were taken as they stood--the very young ones alone being left, as the bark of these is useless for commerce.