Chapter XI: “the Trees Went Down Before It Like Hay Before the Mower’s Scythe.”

The road next day led over a very lofty range of mountains. I say “road” for want of a better word; for, in the direction they took at the advice of Samaro, there was not even a path. The forest that they had to penetrate, half the distance towards the nearest ridge, was an almost impassible jungle. They had to fight almost every yard of the way against trees and creepers and rocks. There were pumas in this forest; they sighted and startled jaguars even, and snakes seemed to be everywhere, but they thought of nothing but how best to get onwards.

When they reached the mountain top at last, and lay down to rest--fully five thousand feet above the sea-level--every man in the company felt as tired as if a long day’s work had been done.

A cool breeze was blowing at this great altitude however, and having partaken of a moderate luncheon, everybody felt once more as active as Black Tom himself.

The view spread out before them here was wide, wonderful, and magnificent in the extreme. Probably in no country in the world is the scenery more grand and thrilling than in this land of Ecuador. Tom felt the influence of the situation in all its force, as he reclined on a moss-covered bank and gazed enraptured on the panorama that was spread out far below him--the wide and beautiful valley, the winding silvery river with its whirling rapids and waterfalls that sparkled in the sun, hills wooded to the top and forests everywhere, the distant sierras on the horizon, and the sky itself bluer in its rifts to-day than ever he had seen it, because there were ominous-looking rain clouds about.

“I think,” he said to himself, “I could be perfectly happy here if I had anyone to share my pleasure with me. Heigho!” he sighed. “Even the life of a hermit hunter has its drawbacks.”

Then his heart gave a big throb of joy-expectant, as he thought of the probability of soon having as a companion poor lost Bernard, ’Theena’s brother. ’Theena! Yes, dear little ’Theena. He wondered what she was doing just then. But she would not be so little now. ’Theena at thirteen would look and act differently from the ’Theena of nine years old, that had to be forced weeping from his arms when he left his native shore, long, long ago. Ay, indeed it seemed very long ago; for his young life had been so crowded with strange incidents and events, that the past appeared like an age.

And his uncle and dear mother, what would they be doing just then? Sitting by the fire perhaps, and talking of him; for though it was early forenoon here, it would be evening in Scotland. He began to reckon the time in his own mind. He was right, it would be about nine o’clock. His father would be in the corner with that studious face, and that everlasting long pipe of his; his mother and Alicia would be quietly knitting; uncle would be reading his paper with ’Theena by his side; and the great logs and the coal and peats would be merrily blazing on the hearth as they used to be in the dear old days when Jack and Dick used to tease and chaff him, and call him Cinderella. Then he remembered his dream.

“O,” he said, half aloud, “that dream will assuredly come true. I shall find and free poor Bernard if he be in the land of Ecuador.”

The very words suggested action, and he sprang to his feet. In five minutes more the expedition was once again on the move.

Were I to relate all Tom’s adventures during his memorable march into the land of the Ecuador Indians, what a very large book I could make! And what a very large price my readers would have to pay for it! It may not be; I must hurry on with my narrative, my main object being to give but the principle lines in the picture of the life a wanderer must lead in this wild country. One way or another Tom and his party spent nearly five months on the journey. It was a long time, but it passed away most pleasantly and quickly; and Tom could say what few travellers in Ecuador ever could--that he had the utmost faith in his servants, from Samaro, his major-domo, down to Rooph, the Indian boy, who did little else except shoot strange birds with his blow-gun, and whom no threats or punishment either could induce to carry a package of any sort. Tom’s servants all liked him too, and he felt confident they would fight for him if ever there should be any necessity. Well, the life these Indians now led under their white chief was a very enjoyable one, and as they were engaged to bring Tom back to Riobamba, they would each have a modest sum at their banker’s when they got there--if ever they did.

There were times when it really did not seem at all likely any one of the party should ever come up out of the wilderness again.

Once, for example, they were encamped by the banks of a beautiful river and close to the edge of the forest. It was a charming situation, and they had lain here for over a week. On this particular night Tom thought as he took his last look at the sky he had never noticed the stars shining more brightly nor looking more near. There were the usual sounds in the forest and all about, but otherwise the deep solitude was unbroken; for not a breath of wind was there to move the long grass that grew near the tent. It was unusually sultry and hot too. But for the creepies Tom would have laid himself down as the men were lying, on a bed of palm leaves, and slept sound till morning. He envied the poor fellows their sweet repose. The creepies did not appear to trouble them. Musquitoes might sing and buzz about their heads, drink their blood and go, but the men slept on. Centipeds--and in the forest the green-backed ones are quite as dangerous as snakes--might crawl over their hands, and cockroaches in scores pass over their faces, but they would not heed even if they felt them. Serpents even might take a short cut over their bodies without awaking them, while the mournful cries of the night-birds in the adjoining forest but lulled them to dreamless slumber. It was very different with Tom though; he dared no more sleep in the open than in a tiger’s den.

“Señor, señor, awake!” It was Samaro’s voice, and he was swinging Tom’s hammock to arouse him.

“What is it, Samaro?” cried Tom, raising himself on his elbow.

“We must strike camp at once, señor, or we will be swept away by the flood. Listen!”

There was little need to listen. That peal of thunder would have awakened Rip Van Winkle himself.

“Are the men astir?”

“Si, señor. Hurry, señor. Hurry, there is not a moment to lose!”

Tom was on his feet in an instant, and the men were soon busily engaged making up the tent. He was a good general, and never during all his long sojourn in the wilds did he retire for the night until he had seen everything ready for a start. There was never any telling what might occur. A sudden attack by hostile Indians, a flood, or a fire in the forest might necessitate instant movement, and if they were not ready for such a contingency, all would be loss and confusion.

“Now, Samaro, whither away? Shall we cross back into the plains, for we cannot get over the river?”

“We must get to yonder hill,” was the reply. “Come.”

The sky was black during the brief intervals in which the lightning did not play. But this was incessant, so that everything around was almost as bright as day, though the light was strangely confusing.

They had to go through the forest. This was the most dangerous part of the journey; for here the flashes played around every tree, while every now and then some branch or even tree-trunk would fall crashing across the track.

Luckily for our adventurers, it was along a path made by tapirs that the route lay, so it was broad and well beaten. These strange animals are about four feet high and fully six feet long, and are exceedingly numerous in the wilderness of the Andes, especially in the vicinity of a not too rapid river.

The rain now began to patter around them, the lightning became even more vivid, and the terrible thunder-cannonade was increased tenfold. The wind also began to rise; it came down with the storm from the north and west. It was this direction of the clouds that had caused the ever-watchful Samaro to expect a flood. Had the depression come up stream the danger would not have been so urgent.

They had still half a mile to go, as the crow flies; and as the pathway, like that of all wild beasts, was very winding, it would be at least half an hour before they could hope to reach a position of safety.

Samaro was here, there, and everywhere, hurrying and encouraging all hands, using a bamboo cane even to stimulate the flagging calves of a few of the men. Suddenly there was a wild and frightened yell from someone in front, a yell that was heard high over the hurtling of the thunder.

“Eemateena! Eemateena!” was the shout from the others. “The jaguar! the jaguar!” and for a few moments every man seemed panic-stricken. They even dropped their burdens, and hardly knowing what they were about would have hurried wildly back towards the river, had not Samaro and Tom, revolvers in hand, barred their progress. The terrible confusion that had ensued was fatal to the poor fellow, who had been attacked by the dreaded king of the wilderness. He might have been saved had Tom got to the front in time.

As it was, the beast dragged him at once into the depths of the forest. A few more piercing shrieks were heard, then it was evident that all was over. The jaguar, or tiger as he is generally called, must have been coming towards the river, and thus met the unhappy man in his path; for during a storm these animals will hardly ever go out of their way to attack either man or beast.

The storm ceased almost as suddenly as it had commenced, though the rain now came down in rushing torrents, and just an occasional flash of lightning shot athwart the inky gloom and served to reveal the pathway.

As soon as they reached the high ground or knoll they were safe. Here were a hundred pathways instead of one, and all led upwards. The top of the little hill was beaten hard with the feet of the tapirs, and probably peccaries, who for reasons best known to themselves must have assembled here at times. It was only a wonder none of these creatures were found here now; but their strange instincts had doubtless warned them to seek for higher grounds before the floods came down. It rained heavily for hours, then morning broke gray and uncertain over the hills, and about the same time down came the river “bore.”

Tom had never witnessed anything in life so appalling, and even Samaro himself confessed that such a quick and rapid “spate” was unusual. The roar of this immense wall of water could be heard for long minutes before it dashed round the bend of the stream, and came tumbling onwards carrying with it huge masses of rock and even soil that looked like islands in the midst of the murky flood. The bore must have been fully twenty feet in height, and the forest trees went down before it like hay before the mower’s scythe. The noise at first was deafening; but it gradually subsided, and before ten o’clock had entirely ceased. But at this time the whole valley looked like an immense inland sea or lake studded with little islands. One of these islands was the hill on which Tom and his men stood, and on which they were for a time as completely imprisoned and isolated as if the ground had been a rock in mid-ocean.

There were three days rain, and all this time the river, instead of going down, seemed gradually rising.

It rose, and rose, and rose, as slowly but as surely as fate itself, till the island was limited to little over the site of the tent.

Then the rain ceased for a time. But the clouds were very dark away towards the north, from which direction low muttering thunder was occasionally heard.

Was another storm brewing? If another bore came down the stream, though not even half as big as the last, the fate of the little expedition would be sealed, and its doom be swift indeed. All day long they watched the rising clouds. When the sun set at last, forked lightning darted here and there across the dark sky, with now and then streams of fire rushing downwards from zenith to nadir. These last were followed by tremendous peals of thunder, but still the rain kept off. No one thought of lying down to rest, and for hours and hours no one spoke.

All eyes were turned towards the north. They were like men waiting for death.

The clouds mounted higher and higher; they saw star after star and constellation after constellation blotted out, or swallowed up as it were in the gloom. Still they sat and silently watched.

The suspense was terrible; every flash was now like a message from an unseen world, every peal sounded like a knell of doom.

Tom was praying. He was trying hard, too, to yield himself to the will of heaven; but it seemed sad to die so young.

Probably he had fallen into a kind of uneasy doze at last, for suddenly he felt Samaro clutch at his arm.

“It is coming! It is coming!” he cried.

“The flood, Samaro? Is it coming at last?”

“No, no, señor. I would not wake you for that. Better you should die asleep. But look yonder! Look eastwards!”

Tom did as he was told, and saw in the sky a long line of glittering silver.

The moon was rising!

Up, up, up she sailed, the clouds changing from black to gauze and gold before her, and by and by she found a little rift of blue to shine in, and her radiance was reflected from the river beneath as if showers of diamonds were falling on it from the sky.

By next morning the flood had gone down considerably, but days must elapse before they could once more resume their journey.

What struck Tom now as remarkable was the deep impressive silence by night. Except in the river there was no life about--no beasts or birds of the forest, not even insect life itself. Never a whisper, never a hum, except the little sad lilt the river sang as it went rippling past the island shore.