“Gosh!” exclaimed Frank. “It’s like a zoological garden, only better. Oh, look, look there! What’s that?” As he spoke, a great, dark object had risen through the water and with a hissing noise slowly disappeared.
“Only a manatee,” laughed Rawlins. “Didn’t you recognize it? It was one of those fellows that led you astray in Santo Domingo, you know.”
“But I never expected to see one here, right in the town,” declared Frank.
“Lots of ’em in here,” said the diver, “and plenty of alligators too. But everywhere you go about Georgetown you’ll find wild animals and birds. See herons and egrets feeding beside the roads and scarlet ibis on the mud flats alongside the docks. The city’s just at the edge of the jungle, you might say, and you could go right through to the Amazon without ever seeing a sign of civilization.”
“Golly, I do hope Dad goes after those fellows!” cried Tom. “After seeing this place I’m just crazy to see the real jungle.”
“And Indians!” added Frank.
“Well, I’ve a hunch he’s going,” declared Rawlins. “I’ll bet a dollar to a sixpence we’re all in the jungle inside of three days.”
From the gardens they drove through a picturesque village, swarming with East Indians, to the seawall, then through the town to the market, out to a big sugar estate with miles of enormous royal palms bordering the road, and finally to the museum where they spent an hour or more looking at the collections of native birds, animals, insects and Indian curios.
When at last they boarded the destroyer in time for lunch, they found Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson in earnest conversation with a tall, lean-faced, quiet man dressed in spotless white and a short, roly-poly, red-faced officer who wore a gorgeous uniform and whose enormous, fiercely twisted mustaches belied the merry twinkle in his eyes.
“It’s all right, Tom, come in, and you too, Frank, and you, Rawlins,” cried Mr. Pauling, as Tom, who had burst impetuously into the room, saw that his father was engaged and hastened to withdraw. “This is Colonel Maidely,” he continued, introducing the officer, “and this is Mr. Thorne. We’ve been discussing Rawlins’ idea of going into the bush after those rascals. By the way, Rawlins, I told the Colonel your opinion of him for letting the Devon slip by and he’s prepared to take a good dressing down!”
The jovial officer laughed heartily. “’Pon my word I deserve it!” he declared. “Jolly stupid of me, eh? Fact was we were all so interested in the two chaps with the plane we were careless--yes, I’ll admit it. Wager you if it hadn’t been for that we’d have suspected her. Jolly clever idea that--pulling the wool over our eyes with the airship! And my word! What nerve, as you Yankees say--using a name as much like Devon as Devonshire! But we’ll get her yet, old dear--don’t worry.”
“And I’m beginning to think your idea is worth trying, Rawlins,” went on Mr. Pauling. “Mr. Thorne here is an explorer--just came in from a long trip through the interior, and the Colonel says he knows more about the bush than the Indians themselves. He says it will be easy to trace the plane--just as you did--and he seems to think that in all probability they landed somewhere and will await word from their confederates that we’ve abandoned the chase when they can safely come out of hiding.”
“Hurrah!” shouted Tom, quite forgetful of the strangers’ presence. “Then we are going into the bush!”
“Provided I can induce Mr. Thorne to accompany us,” said his father. “None of us knows anything about the interior and we’d be helplessly at sea.”
“Oh, you will go, won’t you?” begged Frank. “We’re crazy to see Indians and wild animals and everything.”
The explorer smiled at the boys’ enthusiasm. “I’m inclined to think I will,” he replied. “I had hoped to go to the States next week--my work is done--but I’m anxious to be of any service I can to Uncle Sam, as well as to my British Colonial friends, and I’m still young enough in spirit, if not in years, to love adventure and excitement, and this trip promises both. Yes, Mr. Pauling, you can count on me and the sooner we get off the better.”
“Hurrah! Hip hurrah!” yelled the two boys, fairly dancing with joy.
“Bully for you!” cried Rawlins grasping Mr. Thorne’s hand. “I’ll say you’re a good sport. Didn’t I tell you we’d be in the bush in three days, boys?”
“Well I hope the rest of your hunch comes true as quickly,” laughed Mr. Pauling. “I’ve been telling the Colonel and Mr. Thorne about your famous hunches and the way they’ve saved the day so many times.”
“Bet you didn’t tell them about the inspector over at Trinidad thinking they were a new Yankee drink!” chuckled the diver.
“My word, that is rich!” choked Colonel Maidely when the laughter had subsided, “Jolly good joke! Just like old May--wait ’til I tell that to His Excellency and to Philip! By Jove, yes!”
Mr. Thorne rose. “I’ll be starting things going,” he announced. “Can you gentlemen be ready to leave to-morrow morning? I think my Indian boys are still here--at least some of them are, and if we get off on to-morrow morning’s steamer so much the better.”
“We can be ready,” Mr. Pauling assured him. “I suppose we had better take a radio outfit along.”
“By all means,” replied the other. “Doubtless these men with the plane are in touch with events by radio and I count largely on trailing them by that means. I understand you boys have a radio compass outfit.”
“Better than that,” declared Tom. “We’ve got a resonance coil.”
“Well, take it,” directed the explorer. “Don’t bother about the rest of the outfit--except arms and ammunition and old clothes. I’ll see to supplies and camp kit.”
“Gosh, isn’t it great?” exclaimed Tom after Mr. Thorne had gone. “Just to think we’re really going into the jungle!”
“You bet!” agreed Frank.
“And when we get back we can go looking for that loot that they hid,” went on Tom, “unless these rascals confess and tell us where it is.”
“Jehoshaphat! I’d forgotten all about that,” exclaimed Frank.
“You might just as well forget it, once and for all,” declared Mr. Pauling, laughing at the boys’ enthusiasm. “I don’t think even Rawlins has any idea of being able to recover that.”
“I’ll say I have!” cried the diver. “But it will take some figuring with what we have to go on. But I’m more keen on getting the old High Muck-a-Muck and his mate than finding that loot just now.”
Throughout the rest of the day the boys busied themselves with preparations for their trip, going over their radio instruments and packing the few belongings they were to take with them. Finally, in the evening, when Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson left for the reception at Government House, they took another long drive about the town and outlying country with Rawlins. Early the next morning, Mr. Thorne arrived, accompanied by two short, stockily built, broad-faced, brown men, who shouldered the party’s baggage and carried it to a waiting cart.
“Everything’s arranged,” the explorer told Mr. Pauling. “Most of my boys have gone up the river, but I telegraphed for them to be ready and I found a couple of them still in town.”
“Why, were those men you brought Indians?” asked Tom in surprise. “I thought they were Chinese or something.”
“Akawoias,” replied Mr. Thorne. “All the Indians here have a Mongolian appearance.”
“Gosh, if I’d known that, I’d have been more interested,” declared Frank.
“You’ll see them and a lot more for day after day,” laughed the explorer, “and you’ll find them very decent boys. They’ve been with me for months.”
“Do they talk English?” asked Tom.
“Well, not exactly,” replied Mr. Thorne. “They have a queer jargon they call ‘talky-talky’--something like Pigeon English. You’ll learn to speak it easily enough. Now if you’re all ready, let’s be off. The boat leaves in half an hour.”
“By the way,” remarked the explorer, as the party left the destroyer and walked up the street towards the dock or “stelling” where the river steamer was moored, “I’ve a bit of news for you. The seaplane passed over Wismar and was headed almost due south. I think that rather does away with the idea that they were making for Venezuela or Dutch Guiana.”
“Hmm,” muttered Mr. Pauling. “Is there any place in that vicinity where they could hide?”
“It’s the least known district in the entire colony,” Mr. Thorne assured him. “Until I explored it, the upper reaches of the Demerara were absolutely unknown--even the source of the river had never been discovered--and between the Berbice and the Essequibo rivers above the Demerara is a vast area of absolutely unexplored territory. They could come down anywhere in that district without the slightest chance of being seen--except by Indians--and it’s near enough the coast to be in radio communication with a confederate here or a ship at sea. But my own opinion is that their friends are over in Dutch Guiana. Judging by your experiences, they have a particular fondness for the Dutch and Dutch colonies.”
“Could they communicate with people there at this distance?” asked Mr. Henderson.
“I don’t see why not,” replied the explorer. “In a direct line, Paramaribo, the capital and port, is a little over two hundred miles distant. Of course, I do not know the sending range of the plane’s outfit, but they could certainly receive and I suppose that’s just as important.”
“If they’ve got as good an outfit on the plane as they had on the sub and at St. John they could send twice that distance,” declared Tom. “Do you understand radio, Mr. Thorne?”
The explorer smiled, “As Colonel Maidley would say, ‘rawther’,” he replied. “I don’t suppose I’m up-to-date, but it is something of a hobby with me.”
“Gee, that’s bully!” cried Tom. “Did Dad tell you about our subsea radio?”
Once started on this subject the two boys and Mr. Thorne forgot all else and held an animated conversation which continued without cessation until they reached the little river steamer and the boys’ interests were aroused by new sights.
Never had the two boys seen such an odd, many colored cosmopolitan crowd as thronged the “stelling” and the boat. Swathed in cotton, bare-legged and with their heads covered with immense turbans of red, white, or green the East Indian men stalked about. There were Parsees with their odd embroidered hats; Brahmins with the painted marks of holy men upon their foreheads; fakirs in rags, with long matted hair and beards, carrying their highly polished brass begging bowls and their goatskins as their total possessions; fat, sleek “Baboos” in silk, protecting their turbaned heads under huge, green umbrellas; and East Indian women by the score, ablaze with color and laden down with heavy barbaric jewelry, their wrists, ankles and arms encircled by scores of heavy bands and rings of beaten silver and gold, their sleek, black hair bound with dangling silver and jeweled ornaments, huge golden hoops in their noses--clad, besides, in brilliant embroidered jackets, fluttering gauze veils and silken draperies. A chattering, dark-hued throng that transformed the spot to a bit of India. Back and forth among them, elbowed the big, burly negroes--“pork knockers,” as Mr. Thorne called them--each carrying his “battell” or gold pan strapped to his pack and all bound for the gold and diamond diggings. Chinese there were too, prosperous merchants in European garments; farmers with huge, saucerlike hats, loose trousers and blouses; Chinese women in flapping, pajamalike costumes, and toddling Chinese kiddies that might have stepped from an Oriental screen. To swell the crowd and add to the multiplicity of nationalities there were sallow Portuguese, mulattoes, quadroons, and octoroons; bronzed English planters; dark-eyed Venezuelans; broad-shouldered, mighty-muscled “Boviander” rivermen; and half a dozen short, deep-chested, stolid-faced native Indians or “bucks,” as the explorer told the boys they were called.
And such confusion! Such a chaos of live stock, baggage, squalling babies, and wildly clucking and clacking fowls! How they would ever get straightened out; how they would ever find their own belongings, or how the tiny side-wheel steamer could ever accommodate them all was a mystery to the boys. But gradually order came out of chaos; the big, heavily booted, blue-clad “bobbies” shooed and berated and shoved and ordered and helped and at last, with a toot of the whistle, the gang plank was drawn in, the mooring lines were cast off and loaded to the gunwales, the little steamer swung into the swirling muddy stream and poked her blunt bow up river to the deafening cheers, farewells, and parting shouts of the kaleidoscopic crowd upon the stelling.
“Well, we’re off!” exclaimed Rawlins, “We may not know where we’re going but we’re on our way!”
“Yes, and to think we’re way down in South America!” cried Tom. “I can’t really believe it yet.”
“It isn’t much like the popular idea of South America, I admit,” laughed the explorer who had joined them. “But you’ve only begun to see unexpected and surprising things.”
“You’ll have to tell us everything,” declared Frank. “We want to learn all we can and everything’s absolutely new to us, you know.”
“I’ll do my best,” replied Mr. Thorne, “but even I learn something new every time I go into the bush.”
“If we learn where that plane’s hanging out, I’ll be satisfied,” declared the diver.
Never will the two boys forget that first trip up the big, turbid South American river. From start to finish it was one never ending succession of surprises, interests, wonders and delight. The miles of mangrove swamps, with their aerial roots drooping from the branches into the water, lured the boys’ imaginations with their mysterious, dark depths. A great flock of scarlet ibis, that rose from their feeding ground upon a mud flat and, lighting on the trees, looked like gorgeous fiery blossoms, brought cries of delight from the boys. They watched the big greenheart rafts floating silently downstream with their Indian crews lolling in hammocks beneath the thatched shelters on the logs. Mr. Thorne pointed out dozing alligators which Tom and Frank had mistaken for logs; he showed them the giant, lily-like water plants which he said were “mucka mucka,” and he called their attention to countless bright-plumaged birds which flitted in the foliage of the riverside trees. At times the steamer swung in so close to shore that the boys caught glimpses of frightened, scurrying iguanas or great lizards; at other times, it slowed down and stopped before some tiny thatched hut at the edge of a clearing and unloaded merchandise or people into the huge dugout canoes that put off from shore pulled by bronze-skinned, half-naked men.
“Are they Indians?” asked Tom, as they watched the fellows handling the heavy barrels and boxes with ease.
“No, Bovianders,” replied Mr. Thorne, “a mixture of Dutch, negro and Indian blood. They’re the best boatmen in the colony. I always have a Boviander captain for my boat.”
“What does Boviander mean?” asked Frank. “Is it an Indian name?”
“It has a curious origin,” the explorer informed him. “It’s a corruption of ‘above yonder.’ In the old days, any one who lived up the river from the coast was said to live ‘above yonder’ and gradually the expression was transformed to ‘Boviander.’”
“Well, that is funny!” declared Tom. “I never would have guessed it.”
“You’ll find a lot of queer expressions here,” laughed the explorer. “You’ll hear the people speak of ‘taking a walk’ when they mean a trip in a canoe and you’ll hear them say ‘topside’ when they mean some place which is indefinite. They also speak of the turns of a stream as ‘streets’ and they all use the native Indian names for birds, animals, and trees. They never say ‘tapir’ but ‘maipuri,’ a boa or anaconda is a ‘camudi,’ a camp is always a ‘logi’ or ‘benab,’ a canoe is a ‘coorial’ and so on.”
“Gosh, I don’t believe I’ll ever understand them!” declared Tom, “but I’m going to try. Can’t you get one of your Indians to talk? I’d love to hear that ‘talky-talky’ lingo you spoke about.”
Mr. Thorne laughed. “All right,” he assented and, approaching the edge of the upper deck where the first-class passengers were quartered, he leaned over and beckoned to one of the Indian boys who was dozing in a cotton hammock he had swung in the shade.
“Hey, Joseph!” he called. “Makeum for come here, this side.”
The Akawoia grinned, stretched himself, and came padding on bare feet up the ladder.
“This fellow Buck name Joseph!” said Mr. Thorne, as the two boys looked at the pleasant-faced Indian whose head scarcely reached Tom’s shoulder. “He one plenty good boy. Makeum for tellum white boy how can speakum talky-talky, Joseph.”
Joseph half turned his head and, fixing his eyes on the deck, twiddled his toes in an embarrassed manner.
“No makeum for shame!” went on the explorer. “This fellows white boys makeum plenty long walk topside ’long we. Him wantum sabby plenty--wantum sabby Buck talk, wantum sabby bush, how can makeum for hunt, how catchum fish. Must for tellum, Joseph, must for makeum good fren’.”
The Indian grinned and looked up. “Me tellum, Chief,” he replied in a soft, low voice. “Me be plenty good fren’ lon’side him. How you call-urn?”
“This fellow makeum call Tom,” replied Mr. Thorne, introducing the boys, “Nex’ fren’ makeum call Frank.”
Joseph shook hands gravely with the boys and smiled in a friendly way.
“S’pose you want makeum one walk. S’pose no sabby bush me tellum like so,” he remarked, and then, evidently thinking there was nothing more to be said, he turned and walked silently away.
“Why, that’s easy!” cried Frank as the Indian left. “I’ll bet I can talk that now. You no sabby Tom, me tellum you all same Joseph. How you likeum talky-talky like so?”
“Splendid!” cried Mr. Thorne, and all three roared with laughter at Frank’s first attempt at talking the Indian jargon.
The banks of the stream had now changed from the low mangrove swamps to bluffs and hills of sand; the dense tangle of weeds, mucka-mucka and vines had given place to lofty trees. There were heavy forests stretching away into the distance; tiny clearings and cultivated land showed here and there and the boys caught glimpses of numerous, open-sided, thatched huts among the trees. From time to time flocks of parrots flew swiftly overhead, screeching loudly as they winged their way across the river; herons, blue, gray and white, flapped up at the steamer’s approach. In backwaters covered with gigantic lily leaves the boys saw tiny brown and yellow birds running about, apparently treading on the water, and these Mr. Thorne told them were jacanas, whose long toes enabled them to walk upon the leaves of water plants without sinking.
Then the current of the river became swifter, the steamer chugged and struggled and panted and Mr. Thorne explained that the tide had turned.
“You don’t mean to say that they have a tide clear up here!” exclaimed Tom in surprise.
“For nearly one hundred miles up the rivers,” the explorer assured him. “Of course, the salt water doesn’t come up here, but the tide backs up the rivers so there is a rise and fall of nearly six feet up to the first rapids or cataracts as they are called.”
“Jimminy, are there rapids?” asked Frank.
“Rapids!” ejaculated Mr. Thorne. “Why, my boy, there are nothing but rapids. It’s just one rapid and fall after another.”
“Hurrah, that will be great!” declared Frank. “I’ve always wanted to run rapids.”
“You’ll run enough to last you for life,” Mr. Thorne assured him. “And you’ll have enough of them and to spare. It’s all right running them when you’re coming downstream, but it’s slow, heartbreaking work going up. Why, it often takes days to haul up a rapid that we shoot in less than an hour coming down.”
“I see where I’d like to have that blamed old plane,” exclaimed Rawlins, who had arrived in time to hear the explorer’s remarks. “If they see us coming, there won’t be much chance of catching them. A plane’s the thing for this country.”
“Leave that to the Indians,” chuckled Mr. Thorne, “When we locate the plane the rest will be easy--that is, if we can overcome the Bucks’ superstitions enough to get them to touch the plane.”
“By glory, that’s a good idea!” declared the diver. “If they see Indians they won’t be suspicious and they’ll never know we’re near until we march in and say ‘hands up.’”
“They won’t see the Indians,” said Mr. Thorne decisively. “You don’t know the Guiana red man, Mr. Rawlins. A shadow is a noisy and tangible thing compared with him.”
“Oh, look, there’s a ship!” cried Tom, pointing ahead to where the masts of a large vessel showed above the trees.
“Yes, she’s off Wisniar--loading greenheart, I expect,” assented the explorer. “We’re almost at the end of our steamer trip.”
“But how did a big ship get up here?” inquired Frank.
“Ocean liners can come up here,” replied Mr. Thorne. “The river is deep and it’s not unusual to see several big tramps up here loading greenheart or even farther up at Akyma loading bauxite--aluminum ore, that is. An American company is developing a large mine there.”
“Oh, there’s the town!” cried Tom.
A few moments later, the steamer was being moored to a rickety wharf before the little settlement and the boys were surprised to see a diminutive locomotive and a train of toylike cars standing on a track near the landing.
“Why, they have a railway here!” exclaimed Prank. “Pshaw! this isn’t wild a bit.”
“It’s the jumping-off place of civilization,” said Mr. Thorne. “The railway merely runs across to Rockstone, a settlement on the Essequibo River.”
Rapidly the motley crowd of passengers disembarked, Mr. Thome’s two Indians, reënforced by five others who appeared to spring by magic from nowhere, shouldered the party’s baggage, and Mr. Thorne led the way to a large dug-out canoe which was moored near the dock.
“We’ll spend the night across the river,” he explained, as the Indians piled their loads in the “coorial” and the boys and their companions seated themselves. “There is a hotel here,” he continued, “but it’s a rotten hole and my Boviander captain has a nice place where we can be far more comfortable.”
Pushing off from shore, the Indians grasped their paddles and with swift, powerful strokes drove the craft diagonally across the river, swung it deftly into a small creek, and ran its bow on to a mud bank from which a notched log led up to the higher land.
Standing at the head of the improvised steps was a powerfully built, yellow man with grizzled curly hair, a heavy mustache and a pair of keen gray eyes.
“Howdy!” he greeted them with a pleasant smile, “I’se please to see you retarn, Chief.”
Mr. Thorne shook his hand warmly. “Glad you were here, Colcord,” he exclaimed. “These are the gentlemen and the boys that are going up river with me.” Then, turning to the others, “This is Captain Colcord, my boat captain,” he announced. “And there’s none better in the colony.”
The Boviander flushed under his dark skin and then, shaking hands with each member of the party in turn, led the way along a narrow path between the trees.
“You’ll have to tell Colcord something of our plans,” said Mr. Thorne, speaking to Mr. Pauling in subdued tones. “He’s perfectly dependable and can keep a secret, but we can’t accomplish much unless he knows what we want to do.”
“Very well,” assented the other. “I trust to your judgment, Thorne.”
Colcord’s house proved a revelation to the boys. It was merely a huge open shed, with a high, thatched roof, a floor of hewn boards raised several feet above the earth, and one small room partitioned off by wattled palm leaves. Its furnishings consisted of a rough table of native wood, a few cheap chairs, a number of big hammocks, a nickel-plated alarm clock, and an American lantern. On the rafters overhead were spread woven palm leaf mats on which were placed Indian baskets and trays; a huge red earthen jug of water stood on a tripod of hard wood sticks; a long, highly polished bow and several six-foot arrows were laid upon a timber; and a single-barreled gun stood in a corner. It seemed scarcely more than a camp and might well have been the home of an Indian, but they soon found that this rude and primitive dwelling was very comfortable and that, despite its simplicity and its meager furnishings, no necessity was lacking.
Colcord’s wife, who appeared to be of nearly pure Indian blood, was busy over a tiny fire in a small shed in the rear and no sooner had the Indian boatmen brought the baggage into the house than they joined her and seemed perfectly at home. Presently the Akawoia, Joseph, appeared, carrying a steaming earthenware pot, and Colcord rapidly produced dishes and cutlery and set the table. As he moved about and Joseph brought in more steaming dishes, the boys lolled in the hammocks in the deliciously cool breeze and idly watched the chickens, doves, and woefully thin dogs that swarmed about the house. They knew that less than a mile distant was a town, with railway trains, a sawmill, and shipping, and that only a few hours’ travel by steamer was the big busy port of Georgetown, and yet, they could not help feeling that they were in the heart of the jungle and far beyond the reach of civilization.
“Gosh, isn’t it great!” exclaimed Tom. “This is really camping out.”
“You bet!” replied Frank. “I wonder if there are any wild animals about.”
“Plenty deer,” declared Colcord, who overheard Frank. “I made fo’ to kill one this marnin’. I ’spect you folks plenty hungry, no?”
“Well, I have got a mighty good appetite,” admitted Tom.
“Me too,” added Frank. “Gee, that food smells good!”
“O. K., then,” declared the Boviander. “Jus’ draw up an’ he’p yourselves. I ’spect you’re not accustom’ to rough livin’ like this, an I have to ’pologize fo’ not havin’ more better.”
“Now don’t say a word!” Mr. Thorne admonished him, as the party drew chairs to the table. “I’ll bet they never tasted anything better than this venison and yams and pepper pot, and it’s like the Ritz compared to what we’ll be getting from now on.”
Every one declared that Mr. Thorne was right and that they had never tasted anything to equal the roast venison, the boiled yams, the fried plantains and the pepper pot.
The boys were particularly enthusiastic over the last and also over the crisp, toasted cassava bread and were greatly surprised to learn that both were made from the deadly poisonous bitter cassava root.
“The juice is the poisonous part,” explained Mr. Thorne. “After it’s squeezed out through a cylindrical sieve called a ‘metapee’--that’s one hanging over in the corner--any traces of the poison, which is prussic acid, are driven off by baking the meal into these cakes. The poisonous juice boiled down makes the pepper pot. It has the property of preserving meat and giving it this delicious flavor. It’s really the national dish of Guiana.”
“Well, it’s good enough to be the national dish of any country,” declared Rawlins. “Just fill my plate up again, Mr. Thorne.”
The meal over, the party made themselves comfortable in the hammocks and, as pipes were lighted, the explorer told Colcord that they were going in search of an aircraft which had last been sighted flying to the south over Wismar.
“It’s of the utmost importance that we find it,” he said. “The men in it are desperate criminals and Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson are officials sent out by the United States Government to get them. They want those men dead or alive--alive preferably--and we expect you to help us. We have no idea where the machine is, but we have an idea they are hiding somewhere not far away. Now do you suppose we can trail that plane and get the men, Colcord?”
“Yes, Sir--Chief,” replied the Boviander confidently. “But we’ll never fin’ it over this side, Chief. That airship’s went up the Essequibo topside. I was makin’ a walk up beyon’ Malali for locus’ gum an’ I never cotch a glimmer of it, but ol’ Charlie--the Macusi what lives over Mule Pen side, you know--he was huntin’ pacu on the Tukumi Creek an’ he mek to get mos’ frighted to death when she fly over. Yes, Chief, I sure we make our walk up the Essequibo top side we boun’ for to find she.”
“Hmm, very likely,” agreed the explorer. “Can we get a boat at Rockstone?”
“I can’ say rightly, Chief,” replied Colcord. “But I ’spect you can. Le’s see, they’s seven of you, an’ we’ll need a plenty good size boat an’ ’bout ten men an’ bowman asides me. You got Joseph, an’ Billy an’ Bagot an’ Carlos an’ Theophilus an’ Abr’ham. That’s six, an’ I reckon I can s’cure free more boys an’ Boters for bowman, but I can’ rightly say ’bout the nex’ man.”
“Ah can paddle,” put in Sam who had been very silent. “Ah don’ lay to do narthin’.”
The Bovinander glanced approvingly at the Bahaman’s powerful arms and shoulders. “Yes, son, I ’spect you can,” he agreed. “You surely is a strong-lookin’ boy.”
Everything was soon arranged, one of the Indians was sent off to notify the men Colcord had in view, and, in preparation for an early start the next morning, all turned in almost as soon as it was dark.
The boys had never before slept in hammocks and, although Mr. Thorne and Colcord showed them how to wrap themselves in their blankets and lie diagonally across the hammocks, it was some time before they could make themselves comfortable and go to sleep. It was a new sensation to be thus going to bed practically in the open air and for a long time the boys remained awake, listening to the multitude of strange and unusual sounds which issued from every side. There were chirps, whistles, squeaks, and strident songs of insects; thousands of frogs croaked and barked and grunted; night birds called plaintively; owls hooted and from the forest in the distance came a roaring, reverberating bellow which Tom was sure must be a jaguar. But Mr. Thorne laughed and assured him it was merely a troop of howling monkeys or baboons and, to put the boys more at ease, he patiently identified each of the unusual noises that disturbed them. Gradually, realizing that there was nothing more dangerous than frogs or monkeys to be feared, and assured by the explorer that even the vampire bats would keep away as long as the lantern was kept burning, the two boys quieted down and, watching the myriad giant fireflies, dropped off to sleep.
It seemed as if they had scarcely closed their eyes when Colcord’s cheery cry of “Fireside” aroused them and they sat up, yawning sleepily, to find the sky across the river pink and gold with the coming dawn.
It was cold and chilly and the steaming coffee which Colcord had ready was very welcome.
“Golly, I thought the tropics were hot!” exclaimed Frank, as he beat his arms about and tried to keep his teeth from chattering.
Mr. Thorne chuckled. “Not at night--in the bush,” he replied. “You’ll find colder nights than this after we get farther up river.”
“Whew! I’ll want an overcoat then,” declared Tom, “or a furnace fire!”
But the boys’ chill was only temporary and a little exercise, combined with piping hot food, soon made them forget all about the cold morning air and by the time they were ready to embark in the canoe and cross the river the air was balmy and springlike.
The boys found little of interest on their ride across from Wismar to Rockstone by the railway, for the train passed through land which had been stripped of its forests by the lumbermen and the few remaining trees stood gaunt and dead above a tangle of weeds and shrubs. But at Rockstone they were delighted, for, close to the station, flowed the great Essequibo River, dark and mysterious, with its shores covered by the impenetrable tropic jungle. To them this mile-wide, silently flowing stream gave an impression of the unknown and savored of adventures to come, for Mr. Thorne had told them that its source was near the borders of Brazil and that much of its rapid and cataract-filled course led through country never seen or penetrated by white men.
The boat was ready and waiting, for the Indian sent by Colcord had made his way across to Rockstone and had arranged everything, and already the additional members of the crew and the bowman were stowing the outfit in the craft.
Within half an hour of their arrival the boys and their friends were seated under the arched canvas awning or “tent” near the stem, the nine Indian paddlers, with Sam, were in their places, and the bowman, grasping a huge paddle, was perched precariously on the boat’s prow. Colcord stepped on to the stern and slipped an enormous paddle through a bight of rope. Then, to his shout of “Way-ee-oo!” the ten paddles dug into the water as one, the heavy, spoon-bottomed boat sprang forward, and Colcord straining at his great steering paddle, headed the speeding craft upstream. Five minutes later Rockstone with its houses, its railway station and its docks, slipped from sight behind a wooded point and only the sullen, mighty river and the endless jungle stretched ahead.
Rockstone, the last outpost of civilization, had been left far behind and many miles of river had been covered when at last Colcord turned the boat’s bow towards shore and ran the craft alongside a fallen tree that sloped from the high bank into the water.
Although the boys had seen much to interest them as they paddled upstream, yet they were cramped and tired, for, with the exception of a short stop for lunch at noon, they had been seated in the boat for nearly ten hours. Moreover, after the first few miles, the river and its banks were merely a constant repetition of what they had seen: walls of tangled jungle like a vast green velvet curtain rising from the river; vivid flowering trees; great azure blue butterflies; noisy carrion hawks; chattering parrots and ungainly yelping toucans along the shore--all reflected as in a mirror by the oily brown water.
They had expected to see Indians and to have the thrill of navigating rapids, but Mr. Thorne explained that these would not be reached until the following day and the boys were glad indeed to step on dry land and stretch their cramped legs when the boat at last was run ashore and preparations were made to camp.
Rapidly and with perfect system, the Indians commenced work, cutting poles and stakes and in an incredibly short time a big tarpaulin had been spread between the trees, hammocks were stretched and ready and the savory odors of coffee, bacon, and broiling meat were wafted from the campfire where Sam was presiding as cook.
Presently Joseph approached, naked save for a scarlet loin cloth, and looking the thoroughly primitive Indian with a long bow and arrows in his hand.
“Mebbe you likeum sabby how Buckman shootum fish,” he remarked.
“You bet we would!” cried Frank, jumping up. And then, remembering that he must talk the Indian’s jargon, he added, “Me likeum too much. Me come see.”
The Indian grinned and, without a word, turned and slipped silently into the forest with the two boys at his heels. For a short distance he led the way among the trees and then, turning towards the river, came out upon a jutting rocky point. Raising his hand as a signal for caution, he stopped, fitted a six-foot arrow to his bow, and stepped silently towards the water’s edge. Intently the two boys watched, utterly at a loss as to what Joseph intended to do. Then they saw him suddenly straighten up and quickly draw the huge bow. Like a streak of light the long arrow darted into the river. The next instant he threw aside his bow, rushed forward, and, seizing the floating arrow, dragged a big silvery fish upon the rocks.
“Gosh!” exclaimed Tom, as the two boys rushed forward to where the Indian was extracting a barbed iron arrow point from the fish. “I never saw anything like that! Why, he shot the fish with his arrow.”
“Say, that is a new way of fishing!” cried Frank, as he examined the weapon. “This arrow’s just like a harpoon with a head fastened to a line and not to the shaft. Gee, I wish Mr. Rawlins could have seen that.”
Joseph grinned, picked up his bow and arrow, and a moment later had shot a second fish. Absolutely fascinated, the boys watched him as fish after fish was secured in this novel manner and then, as darkness was rapidly coming on, the three made their way back to camp.
Mr. Thorne chuckled as the boys enthusiatically related what they had seen. “I forgot to tell you about that,” he said. “You should see them shoot fish in the rapids. That’s really exciting. And they call them too.”
“Oh, now you’re fooling!” exclaimed Frank. “How can they call fish?”
“I don’t know how they can, but I know they do,” replied the explorer. “They stand near the water and wiggle their fingers and whistle and the fish come up. I’ve seen it scores of times and I’ll wager you’ll see it done too.”
“Well, I suppose we’ll have to believe it, if you say it’s true,” said Tom, “but it does sound like a fish story.”
Sam’s cooking proved highly successful, and as they were busily eating, Colcord suddenly jumped up and stood listening attentively. The next moment the boys heard a slight splash and a grating noise and one of the Indians uttered a low cry in his native tongue. Immediately from the river came an answering call and a moment later, a canoe appeared in the reflection of the firelight on the river. About it the Indians gathered.
“By glory, we’ve got visitors!” exclaimed Rawlins. “Wonder who they are.”
“Indians,” replied Mr. Thorne. “Know who they are, Colcord?”
“No, Chief,” replied the Boviander. “I ’spect they’s Wapisianas or Macusis from topside.”
As he spoke two bronze-skinned figures approached the fire, clad only in their scarlet “laps” or loin cloths. Without uttering a word they passed around the fire, shaking hands with each member of the party, and then, squatting down, remained motionless and silent for a full minute. Evidently this was bush etiquette for Colcord and Mr. Thorne seemed to regard it as a matter of course. Then the explorer passed the new arrivals a tin of tobacco, Colcord filled a tin dish full of food and set it before them, and, as the Indians began to eat, the explorer spoke.
“You fellow makeum walk Rockstone?” he asked. “Come all time topside?”
“Makeum walk Bartica,” responded one of the red men. “Come Pakarima like so.”
“How you callum, Macusi mebbe?” inquired the explorer.
“Arekuna,” replied the other Indian.
“Eh, eh! Arekuna!” exclaimed Mr. Thorne. “You sabby white man makeum fly all same bird like so?” The explorer made a sound like the exhaust of an airplane’s motor.
The Indians glanced sharply at the explorer and muttered some words in their own tongue.
“Me sabby,” vouchsafed one of the two at last. “Me hearum. No sabby him white man. Me sabby him peai. No likeum plenty.”
“Ah, we’re getting on the trail!” exclaimed Mr. Thorne, turning towards Mr. Pauling. “They’ve seen or heard the plane, that’s certain.”
“But what do they mean by ‘peai’?” asked Tom.
“Magic, witchcraft,” replied Mr. Thorne. “Anything a Buck doesn’t understand, or fears, or thinks supernatural, is peai.”
Then, again addressing the Arekunas, he asked. “Where you seeum? You sabby what side him go?”
“No seeum,” replied the Indian. “Makeum noise like so. Him plenty peai. Him go Maipurisi side.”
“Good!” cried the explorer. “Trust the Bucks to know where they went even if they didn’t see the plane. I’ll bet they’re over in that lake on the Maipurisi. Just the place for them.”
“Didn’t I say they couldn’t sneak around here without being seen?” cried Rawlins.
“Hmm, it doesn’t look as if we’d have much trouble in tracing them at all events,” remarked Mr. Pauling. “How far is Maipurisi from here?”
The explorer turned to Colcord. “How far is it, Colcord?” he asked.
The Boviander considered a minute and then spoke rapidly to the Arekunas in their own native tongue. Then, when the Indians had answered, he replied, “Two days coming down, Chief.”
“That means about six days going up,” commented Mr. Thorne. “There are some pretty bad falls to haul over.”
Suddenly Tom was seized with an idea and, whispering to Frank, rose and began rummaging in a chest.
“What are you boys up to?” asked Mr. Pauling.
“Going to set up our radio receivers,” replied Tom. “Perhaps we may hear something. We ought to be listening whenever we can.”
“Good idea,” commented his father. “After this, we’d better keep one set ready in the boat all the time.”
As the two boys busied themselves connecting the instruments, the Indians and Colcord watched them closely, the red men seemingly fascinated by the mysterious-looking cabinets and their bright, nickel-plated binding posts and glowing bulbs. Little by little they edged nearer and nearer until a circle of naked bronze bodies and keen black eyes was formed about the boys and their instruments.
“I’ll say they think that’s ‘peai,’” chuckled Rawlins. “I wonder what they’d do if a signal did come in.”
“Be scared half to death,” declared Mr. Thorne. “Those are fine instruments you have, boys.”
“We made them all ourselves,” replied Tom. “That is, all except the resonance coil. We got that from the sub.”
As Tom spoke, he adjusted the receivers, while; Frank moved the coil slowly about. To the Indians this evidently savored of some mysterious religious ceremony or incantation, and the boys could not help grinning as they saw the eager eyes of their Buck friends following every motion of the coil.
For some time Frank tried it towards the south, but no sound came to Tom’s ears, and it was evident that if the plane were in that direction its occupants were not sending.
“Swing it around to the north,” directed Tom “We’ll see if we can pick up anything from Georgetown or any ship.”
Turning, Frank moved the resonance coil around, and the next instant the sharp “dee-dah” of a dot and dash signal buzzed clearly from the receiver. With one accord the Indians tumbled head over heels as they strove to get away from the spot and, with frightened exclamations and terrified faces, picked themselves up and cowered near the fire.
“Peai!” they exclaimed. “Plenty peai! Me tellum no likeum him fellow!” Every one burst out laughing and the Indian paddlers rather shamefacedly attempted to grin at their own fright. But the two Arekunas would have none of it and jabbered together earnestly in their own tongue.
“By glory!” exclaimed the diver. “If they’re that scared at the code signals, wouldn’t they get a jolt if they heard a voice coming in!”
“Thank Heaven they didn’t!” said Mr. Thorne. “If they had, I’m afraid they would all have deserted.”
Meanwhile the sharp “dees” and “dahs” were coming in on the instruments, and Tom, from force of habit, was mentally forming them into letters and words.
“It’s some cipher message,” he announced presently. “No sense to it at all.”
“Take it down,” exclaimed his father, suddenly interested. “It may be for those rascals with the plane.”
Once more the message was coming in and Tom rapidly jotted down the words and handed the paper to his father. “They’re sending the same thing over and over again,” he said. “That’s the third time it’s been repeated.”
Mr. Pauling eagerly scanned the message and slowly a smile and an expression of satifaction spread across his features.
“It’s for us!” he ejaculated. “Good news. The Devon’s taken! Jove! It seems little short of uncanny to be getting word from Maidley way up here in the jungle.”
“I’ll say ’tis!” cried Rawlins. “Bully for the Colonel! Where did they get her?”
“Hurrah!” cried the boys. “Now these fellows up the river are in a fix!”
“He doesn’t say where,” replied Mr. Pauling. “Didn’t want to use any name, I suppose--no cipher word for that--just says: ‘Ship taken. All on board held.’ He’s no fool, Maidley. He knew the plane would hear this and took no chances of saying anything to make them suspicious. I expect he thought we might be listening and broadcasted the message in hopes we’d get it.”
“Good old scout,” declared the explorer. “Just like him to do that.”
“Can you send a message back acknowledging this?” asked Mr. Pauling, turning to Tom.
“No,” replied Tom. “We didn’t bring our sending set. We thought if we received it would be all we needed.”
“Hmm, too bad,” commented his father. “Sorry Maidley won’t know we got it and will keep on sending. Those fellows may get suspicious if they hear the same message coming in night after night.”
“He’ll know we got it before to-morrow night,” declared Mr. Thorne. “I’ll send word to him.”
“How?” asked Mr. Pauling. “What magic do you use?”
“Easily enough,” replied the explorer. “These Arekunas are going to Bartica. They’ll be there before noon to-morrow and there’s a telegraph line from there to Georgetown. Write a message to Maidley and they’ll take it to Bartica and give it to the telegraph office there. It will be in Maidley’s hands by noon.”
“By Jove!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling. “I didn’t realize we were so closely in touch with civilization.”
The message was soon written and Mr. Thorne handed it to one of the still frightened Arekunas. “Must for takeum Bartica like so,” he instructed the Indian. “No looseum. When makeum Bartica side giveum Mr. Fowler. You sabby him fellow?”
The Arekuna slipped the folded paper into a jaguar skin pouch hanging from his neck, “Me sabby,” he said. “Takeum Mr. Fowler same way.”
“Can you depend on those fellows?” asked Mr. Henderson.
“Absolutely,” Mr. Thorne assured him. “I’ve never known an Indian to lose or forget a message and they’re strictly honest and trustworthy. I’ve known an Indian to travel over three hundred miles through the bush to return ten shillings he’d borrowed.”
“Not much like our redskins in the States,” commented Mr. Henderson.
“I don’t know about that,” declared the explorer. “I’ve always found primitive men honest--it’s civilization that ruins them. These Bucks are little more than vagabonds and scalawags once they become civilized and live near the settlements.”
Presently the Arekunas silently withdrew, the Indian boatmen sought their hammocks, and the white men and boys followed their example. Although the boys had become somewhat accustomed to the noises of a bush night while at Colcord’s house, yet here in their forest camp beside the mighty river, they felt strange and nervous. The boom and croak of frogs and the incessant sounds of myriads of insects were the same as they had already heard, but far louder and more numerous than at Colcord’s, and in addition there were a thousand and one other noises for which the boys could not account and which kept their sleepy tired eyes wide open. But the Indians were sleeping soundly; from Rawlins’ hammock, came lusty snores and the boys, despite their nervousness, finally lost consciousness and did not awaken until aroused by the sounds of the Indians starting the fire at dawn.
The Arekunas had already slipped away downstream, and, by the time breakfast was ready, camp had been broken, everything was neatly packed in the boat, and the Indian paddlers were waiting in their places.
For hour after hour they paddled upstream. Rocky islands appeared in the river--some bare and carved and worn by the water into odd grotesque forms,--others covered with trees. The current flowed more swiftly and just before noon a dull roaring sound reached the boys’ ears, and, peering ahead, they saw a line of flashing white stretching across the river from shore to shore.
“First rapids,” Mr. Thorne informed them. “We’ll have lunch before hauling through, Colcord.”
“Gosh, I call those falls and not rapids!” declared Tom as the boat was run ashore on the sandy beach of a tiny island. “I don’t see how you expect to get this big boat through that.”
“Wait and see,” chuckled the explorer.
As Colcord leaped ashore he stopped, bent down, and examined the sand.
“Water Haas!” he exclaimed, pointing to a number of small indentations in the beach.
“What are ‘water haas’?” asked Tom. “Some kind of animals?”
“Capybara--sort of giant Guinea pigs,” replied Mr. Thorne. “They’re likely to be in the brush here. Get your guns and you may be able to shoot one. They’re good meat.”
Eager for the chance to secure game, the boys and Rawlins got out the rifles they had brought and started up the beach, following the little trail left by the water haas. Presently they noticed that, instead of one, there were half a dozen tracks and at Rawlins’ suggestion they separated and cautiously approached a tangle of palms and small trees near the upper end of the island.
Gaining the edge of the thicket, Frank, who was nearest the river, peered through the screen of foliage. As he carefully parted the leaves and branches, there was a startled snort and three big, clumsy-looking brown creatures leaped from the damp ground and stood for an instant staring towards the boy and sniffing the air suspiciously. So surprised was Frank at the sudden appearance of the beasts that, for a moment, he forget to shoot, and the next second the three animals were scurrying out of sight. Hastily throwing up his rifle, Frank blazed away at the retreating forms.
“What was it? What did you shoot?” yelled Tom, as he and Rawlins came running at the report of Frank’s rifle.
“Don’t know if I shot anything or what they were,” replied Frank. “I was so surprised I didn’t fire till they were running away. They went over there.”
Hurrying to the other side of the thicket, Rawlins, who was in advance, gave a shout. “I’ll say you shot him!” he cried. “Guess it’s one of those water haas.”
The two boys hurried forward and found the diver bending over the dead animal, a curious-looking creature with short stiff hair, an enormous head and broad blunt snout.
“Why, he’s got webbed feet!” exclaimed Frank who was examining his prize.
“And he does look like a huge Guinea pig,” declared Tom.
Elated at their success, the boys picked up the animal and hurried back to the boat.
“Yes, it’s a water haas or capybara,” declared Mr. Thorne. “Now we’ll have a fine feast to-night.”
“But he’s got webbed feet,” said Frank. “Can they swim?”
“Can they!” exclaimed the explorer. “Like a fish. That’s why they’re called water haas--it’s Dutch for water horse. They’re as amphibious as seals almost.”
“Say, let’s take a swim!” suggested Tom. “I’m hot and the water looks fine.”
“Don’t you try it!” cried the explorer. “The place is full of perai and you’d surely be eaten alive.”
“Why, what do you mean?” demanded Tom, puzzled. “I thought perai was magic or witchcraft. How can that eat us?”
Mr. Thorne burst out laughing and Colcord, who stood near, shook with merriment.
“Peai is witchcraft,” explained the explorer. “Perai is a kind of fish--‘cannibal fish,’ they’re called sometimes. They’re the most deadly and savage creatures in the bush. They’ll tear anything that’s flesh to bits, in a moment. It’s lucky I stopped you in time.”
“Is that really true?” asked Mr. Pauling. “I’ve read travelers’ tales of them, but I always supposed they were real ‘fish stories.’”
“Not at all,” Mr. Thorne assured him. “Let me demonstrate it.”
Picking up a bit of meat, the explorer stepped close to the water and tossed it into the river. Instantly there was a splash, a flash of silver, and the meat was dragged under. The next moment the water fairly boiled with leaping, darting fish, and the onlookers gazed with amazement as the voracious, savage creatures tore and snapped and bit.
“Gee, I’m glad I’m not in there!” exclaimed Frank. “They’re like hungry wolves.”
“Worse,” declared Mr. Thorne. “They seem to go blind mad at the smell of flesh, and their jaws are so powerful and their teeth so sharp they can bite a piece out of a plank. A man would be torn to bits--eaten alive--if he went in there.”
“Jiminy, I’d hate to tumble overboard!” exclaimed Tom.
“That’s the odd thing about them,” remarked Mr. Thorne as they started back towards the boat. “They won’t touch a man if he has clothes on--apparently do not recognize flesh if covered by garments. In some parts of the rivers they are harmless--never touch people--and the natives bathe freely.”
“Well, I’m not taking any chances,” declared Tom. “I’ll go without a bath for a while.”
Embarking once more, the boat was paddled upstream and at the foot of the roaring, rushing falls, which the boys now saw were really a series of steep rapids, dashing and foaming over the jagged black rocks, the craft was run alongside a smooth ledge.
“All out!” cried Mr. Thorne, leaping ashore.
Filled with interest to discover how the Indians would get the heavy boat through that tumbling seething mass of water to the river level, twenty feet above, the boys scrambled up over the rocks and watched every move of Colcord and his men.
“This isn’t a bad spot,” commented the explorer. “They’ll get through without discharging. But, in many places, everything has to be taken from the boat and portaged for a mile or more around the rapids. Sometimes a score of such portages must be made in order to travel a dozen miles upstream, so you can understand how tedious and slow traveling in the interior is.”
“This looks bad enough to suit me,” declared Tom. “I should think the boats would get smashed all to bits.”
“They’re built for the purpose,” replied Mr. Thorne. “Tough native wood and with spoon-shaped bottoms, so they slide off a rock in any direction.” Some of the Indians had now uncoiled a long light rope and were moving upstream, jumping and scrambling from rock to rock, at times plunging into the swirling water up to their armpits or even swimming through the racing current, until at last they gained a precarious foothold upon a projecting ledge in midstream, well above the falls. In the meantime, others had attached a second line to the stern of the boat and stood waiting for orders close to the water’s edge, while the bowman and Colcord braced themselves in bow and stern, grasping their immense paddles.
For a moment the Boviander glanced about, studying the lashing white foam and the jagged, black rocks, casting his eyes over the waiting Indians to see that all were ready. Then, with a sharp “Hi-yi!”, he dug his great paddle into the water. Instantly the bowman shoved the craft from shore into the current; the men on the bow rope hauled and tugged with all their strength; the captain shouted orders and threw his weight on his six foot paddle; the bowman paddled furiously; the men at the stern line bent to their task; and slowly the boat forged ahead. With consummate skill the Boviander and the bowman swung the craft to right and left, clearing the rocks by inches; the stern line kept it headed into the torrent; and foot by foot the boat crept up the falls. How the captain and bowman ever kept their balance as the boat rocked and pitched and seemed about to stand on end was a mystery to the boys, but with bodies swaying to the jerking, tossing craft they strained at their paddles--sweating, grunting, shouting, while about the bow the angry waters foamed and seethed and the hungry waves leaped above the gunwhales. For a moment the craft stood motionless, shaking and trembling to the terrific strain, and then human muscles and human brains won. The craft shot forward, the Indians yelled and rapidly gathered in slack, and the next instant the boat was safe from the torrent in a calm backwater above the falls.
“Gosh, that was great!” cried Tom, as, leaping from rock to rock, the boys made their way towards the boat.
“I’ll say ’twas!” exclaimed Rawlins. “But, by golly, if a rope had parted we’d have been in a nice fix.”
By the time the passengers were seated the lines had been coiled away, the Indians were once more in their places, and a moment later the boat was speeding upstream over a stretch of tranquil water.
But now the character of the river had changed. Sand bars and wooded islands broke its surface; the trees along the banks towered upward for over one hundred feet; the stream twisted and turned and flowed swiftly in dark, wine-colored currents between the islands; and even the birds and foliage seemed different. Little fresh water flying fish skittered away from the boat, great flocks of twittering swallows flitted about, clouds of brilliant yellow butterflies floated back and forth across the stream, and once or twice the boys caught glimpses of otters swimming in the river ahead.
In places, too, gaudy flowers that had fallen from the great trees covered the surface of the river with a solid mass of color, and the boat seemed to be passing over some gorgeous carpet, while the reflections of foliage and trees were so perfect that the boys had the strange sensation of being suspended in mid-air between two forests.
Very soon, however, the tranquil water came to an end and another series of rapids barred the way. Once more the men labored and tugged and dragged the boat up the falls, and time after time, as the falls were reached, the process was repeated. Then Mr. Thorne announced that they were approaching a really dangerous spot and as the boat rounded a bend the occupants saw a plunging, rock-strewn cataract, half hidden in the mist rising from the roaring water at its base. Here all the baggage was taken out and carried over the rocks and with only the empty boat the Indians and the Bovianders prepared for a tug of war with the falls. Over and over again they strove to gain a foothold on the slippery rocks, and a dozen times they were swept struggling downstream. But they laughed and yelled and shouted and seemed to enjoy the excitement and at last won a stand, waist deep in the flood, and by almost superhuman efforts dragged their craft to the water above the cataract. But the most dangerous part was yet to come. A short distance above the falls was a huge whirlpool--a dark, sinister mass of water in a basin of steep walled rock; deep, threatening, with its current rotating silently, swiftly around and around while, at its center, at the very vortex, masses of foam, bubbles and driftwood had been drawn and were constantly being sucked suddenly out of sight or thrust bobbing above the surface.