The Emigrant's Lost Son; or, Life Alone in the Forest

by Anonymous

CHAPTER III.

I BUILD MYSELF A HUT—THE SCENERY THROUGHOUT A DAY
IN THE FOREST DESCRIBED.

"O may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I see;
Content me with a humble shade—
My passions tamed, my wishes laid;
For while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the soul."

Projects of building

As the first Sabbath-day in the woods closed upon me, I felt more resigned to my fate, and more composed, than I had been at any previous period since the separation from my parents. I now looked on myself as a denizen of the forest; and as I slowly repaired to the hollow tree, the thought possessed me that I could construct some kind of dwelling-place. During the night I formed and rejected fifty plans for carrying this scheme out. At length, just as morning dawned, a simple method suggested itself to me of effecting my purpose; and, with my usual ardour, I commenced the work forthwith. Before the evening set in I had collected, and trimmed with my pocket-knife, a considerable number of stakes, about four feet long, at which work I continued for four days, when it occurred to me that I had not yet given the eligibility of site a thought, and had been much too hasty in my proceedings. Ashamed of my own impetuosity and want of consideration, I crept to rest, very weary and ill at ease with myself; and as I took a retrospective view of the results of my impulsive mode of acting on the thought, together with the ills I had brought on my own head, I did not spare self-reproach. Considering my numerous wants, it was clearly, where I had collected the stakes, a very inconvenient spot to choose for a permanent place of residence. Weighing in my judgment the kind of locality suited to the purpose, I decided on an open space or glade in the forest, where I might have a clear view all around, and be out of the way of uprooted or falling timber. But for this last consideration I should at once have selected the spot where I awoke after my first night's sleep in the forest. The recollection of that beautiful scene reminded me of another thing I had not hitherto thought of, namely, that my house must be built near to a supply of water, and also of fruit. The next day, therefore, was spent in searching for a site on which I might commence my building speculation. There was no lack of space, or of glades; but in the resolution I had now made to become thoughtful, and act with caution, I fear I became too nice and fastidious.

The forest stream

One open plot of ground I traversed many times with the eye of a government surveyor: it was the very thing itself; but there was no water to be seen. Presently, I caught the sound of trickling water; and my new friend, caution, forsook me. I was so heedless in running to satisfy myself that there actually was a stream fit to drink, that I was precipitated headlong into the gill, or chasm, which formed the channel for its course. It was so covered with wood that the eye could not see it. Fortunately I met with this rent in the earth near to the commencement of the fissure, where it was comparatively narrow and shallow. At any other part, its steepness and depth might have endangered life. It was the birthplace of a native stream. I subsequently learned to track it by the soothing harmony of this invisible torrent, the notes from which sounded like innumerable broken falls, and were softened by ascending through branches which hung over it. These sounds were extremely harmonious.

At the spot where I had fallen the water might with some difficulty be obtained, and near to this, at length I determined to build my villa—a sylvan mansion. This site, on one side, was flanked by a morass, or bog, which even then, in the driest season, was only passable with care on tufts of grass, which here and there sprung from the moisture of the soil. Proceeding to lay out my ground-plan, which was a circle, and to prepare for the morrow, I stayed at work till it was too late to find my way back to my lodging; leaving me no alternative but either to stretch myself on the ground, exposed to numberless dangers, or remain awake, and protect myself as I might. In this extremity I thought of the chasm, and groping my way to it, found its extreme end, where it was a mere slit, into which I rolled, and laid till the return of day.

The hut commenced

The morning opened with its usual bustle of animals, birds, and insects summoning me to my labour, and, having commenced, I was surprised to hear a cry of, "Who are you? Who—who are you?" I had scarcely recovered from the astonishment which these words occasioned, when they were followed by, "Work away!—work away!—work away!" and a mournful cry of "Willy come!—go, Willy! Willy—Willy—come! Go Willy!" Looking up, and being now in an open space, I could plainly see the birds fly over my head that uttered these notes. Not aware that these calls are common to certain birds, and my Christian name being William, the reader may imagine the effect and surprise with which they were heard. I instantly discontinued my labour, conceiving that the birds had been influenced by supernatural agency, and that they portended omens which had a peculiar reference to myself. This impression filled me with fears and fantasies of all kinds; it seemed as if some spell was on me, and I sat down in melancholy moodiness for the rest of the day. Irresolute, the following morning I rather dragged myself than walked to the same spot; but as I went, another bird over my head distinctly cried out, "Whip-poor-Will! Whip-poor-Will! Whip-poor-Will!" Yes! I exclaimed (as my spirits threw off the burden which had oppressed them) I am indeed ashamed of my folly in attending to the omens of birds. They are winging their way to the business of the day, and why should I neglect mine? I then returned, and took a bundle of the prepared stakes on my back to my new settlement. Need I apologise to the reader for mentioning the trifling incidents which depressed me at times, and the manner in which the paroxysms were dispelled. My motive in naming them is to illustrate the alternations my feelings underwent during my early days of probation in the wilderness. I know not whether I had taken a cold, but for some days past I had now suffered from a pain in my limbs, which I at the time attributed to the cramped position in which I rested at night. I therefore became extremely anxious to possess a place in which I might stretch myself at length. It, however, took seven days to construct the internal shell of the hut; for, being determined to sleep in security, I ultimately doubled the frame of the building. Having driven stakes into the earth, about a foot apart, forming a circle of about eight feet in diameter, I interlaced these with the limber branches of trees, fastening them to the stakes with tough fibres, stripped from the bark of lianes. These shrubs, of which there are a great variety, all comprised under that term, sometimes grow to the size of a man's leg round trees, making the trunks look like a mast of a ship furnished with rigging. They support the trees against the hurricanes, in the same manner as spurs are placed in the ground to prop posts; cords are made of their bark stronger than those manufactured of hemp. In woods where timber is felled, it is sometimes the practice to cut several hundred trees near their roots, where they remain till the lianes, which hold them, are also cut. When this is done, one whole part of the wood seems to fall at once, making an astounding crash. By the means of the lianes and stakes, I formed a circular strong hurdle-kind of fence; on this I fastened a number of other sticks, like wands, tapering at the top, which, when bound together, met over the centre part of the floor of the hut, and formed a conical roof. These I also interlaced in the same manner as the upright stakes; covering the whole with leaves of the parrasalla tree, which the wet does not injure; binding these also down with my most excellent substitute for cordage—fibres of the bark of the lianes. In the roof I left a hole for ingress and egress; so that, with two steps up, and then a jump, I was in the centre of my habitation, where, with dried grass, I made a most comfortable bed. This, after all, was a frail affair. My next object was to erect another frame over it, at about two feet distance from the interior shell, filling up the space between the upright stakes with stones and dry earth. The aperture was secured at night, leaving only a space for air, with a piece of bark hung on with the before-named fibres. With the same material (bark) I also formed a kind of stage before the opening into the hut, where I could sit, and survey the surrounding scenery. Some time subsequently I wove myself a grass hammock, which I found more cleanly than the dried grass, and less liable to be infested with insects. Finding myself lonely in this structure, I took the resolution of increasing my family; and, with this view, I devoted a portion of the interior for birds, that I might not be wholly companionless. These I took young, and reared them up in an aviary which I constructed immediately under my hammock, letting them out to hop about me when the aperture of the hut was closed. Many of my associates repaid me for my care with strong proofs of docility and affection. I also caught two land tortoises, to occupy the floor of the dwelling, and make me conscious of other living things besides myself breathing the same air.

The dwellers in the hut

In the foolishness of my heart I thought that when I possessed a hut, in which I might repose in security, I should be happy. But alas! in the city or in the forest, worldly acquisitions are not always attended with contentment. Man everywhere sighs for something more than he possesses.

I had now a hut, one, too, that was impregnable against the attacks of the jaguar, or any of the animals of the forest; and, as I thought, in every way compactly built to be impervious to noxious insects; but happiness or contentment did not abide in it.

I now wanted a gun, that I ought, man-like, slay, and play the tyrant over the living things around me. I grew tired of my vegetable diet, and daily lamented the want of a fire to cook the eggs, which now began to form a considerable portion of my food. These wants gradually, as the mind dwelt upon them, became sources of anxiety, and disturbed my rest. The animal propensities of my nature began to stir within me. I longed to kill at my pleasure, and live on prey, as did the other animals of the forest. At length I determined on making the best substitute I could for a gun—namely, a bow and arrow; and, like Robin Hood, practise till I could hit the shaft of an arrow placed upright in the ground.

It was many weeks subsequently to this resolution before I succeeded in even procuring the materials I deemed suited for my purpose. My knife having become blunted with frequent use, it took a length of time to fashion the bow, and no less than four snapped in two as soon as I attempted to use them; proving that, choice as I had been in the selection of my wood, my judgment was defective in this particular. When I had succeeded in forming one of these primitive warlike weapons, I fastened large butterflies against the hut, and commenced the practice of archery.

I have informed the reader that the entrance of the new dwelling was through the roof, where, as I have said, I erected a seat, or standing-place; a sort of balcony, or rather, more like a dormer window. On this, every morning, during the dry season, at daybreak, I took my stand to discharge my arrows at any unwary bird that might come within my reach.

Early morning in the forest

This early rising at length grew into a habit, and to watch the opening of the day gave me unspeakable pleasure; and up to the last day of my pilgrimage it was the most interesting hour to me. It was an hour when the littleness of life did not present itself; the mind being refreshed with rest, was prepared to be filled with enlarged ideas.

The labourers of the night—for nature has her two sets of working animals—were then all on their way to seek retirement and rest during the day, from the fatigues of the night; while those that had rested during that period were all preparing to hail the morn with innumerable cries.

As twilight glimmers in the east, the tiger-cats are stealing into their holes. The owl and the goat-sucker cease their mournful lament, and as streaks of light appear the "Ha! ha! ha! ha!" of the latter, each note lower than the last, sounding like the voice of a murdered victim, entirely ceases. The crickets, also, at this hour begin to slacken the violence of their chirping, though sometimes in cloudy weather they will continue their notes for four-and-twenty hours together.

The partridge is the first of the birds to give signal of the rising of the sun, even before he appears on the horizon; while the mist of the morning, that precedes the day, is dispelling, numerous tribes of insects are creeping to their hiding-places, as others are issuing forth to enjoy the day. Lizards of sparkling lustre, from two inches to two feet and a-half long, cross the paths of the forest; and the chameleon has begun to chase the insects round the trunks of trees. Gaudy serpents steal from out of holes or decayed trees.

"Each rapid movement gives a different dye;
Like scales of burnished gold they dazzling show,
Now sink to shade, now like a furnace glow."

The houton, a bird so called from the sound he gives out, distinctly articulates "houton, houton," in a plaintive note, as he erects his crown, and cuts and trims his tail, with his beak, in the most, artistical manner, then flies off with a short jerk.

At the same period the maam whistles; and when the sun is seen above the horizon, the hanaquoi, pataca, maroucli, and all the parrots and paroquets are prepared to announce his arrival. Every hour from this moment, excepting noon, calls into action new races of animals; and he who spends a day in the scene that environed my existence, when seated at my door, would not know which most to admire,—the forms, hues, or voices of the animals presented to his observation; as at intervals, wonder, admiration, and awe of the power that created them, are forced on the mind.

Forest animals

With the morning's dawn, the monkeys send forth their howl, the grasshoppers and locusts chirp, the frogs and toads give out their notes. The hanging pendant wasps' nests, most curious in form, send forth their inhabitants; myriads of ants issue from their clay-built tenements, in some places colonized so densely as to cover the foliage all around. These, like the species of ants called the termites, that cast up the earth in mounds, commence their day's journey on roads constructed by themselves, some of which are covered, and others open.

Myriads of the most beautiful beetles buzz in the air, and sparkle like jewels on the fresh and green leaves, or on odorous flowers. Other tribes, such as serpents and agile lizards, creep from the hollow of trees, or from holes beneath the herbage; many of them exceeding in splendour the hue of the flowers. The major part of these are on their way to creep up the stems of trees or bushes, there to bask in the sun, and lie in wait for birds and insects.

The most brilliantly coloured butterflies, rivalling in hues the rainbow, begin to flutter from flower to flower, or collect in parties on the most sunny banks of cooling streams. There was the blue-white idia, the large eurilochus with its ocellated wings, the hesperite, the Laertes, the blue shining Nestor, and the Adonis; these, like birds, in most places hovered between the bushes. The feronia, with rustling wings, flew rapidly from tree to tree; while the owl, the largest of the moth species, sat immovable, with out-spread wings, waiting the approach of evening.

As the day progresses, the life of the scene increases. Troops of gregarious monkeys issue from the depths of the forest, their inquisitive countenances turned towards the verge of their wooded domain, making their way for the plantations; all leaping, whistling, and chattering as they progress from tree to tree.

Parrots, some blue, red, or green, others, parti-coloured, assemble in large groups on the tops of the forest-trees; and then, flying off to the plantations, fill the air with their screams. The toucan, perched on an extreme branch, rattles his large, hollow bill; and in loud, plaintive notes, calls for rain. The fly-catcher sits aloof, intent on watching insects as they dart from branch to branch, seizing them as they heedlessly buzz by him in their giddy and unsteady career. Other birds, of singular form, variety, and superb plumage, flutter by, in large or small parties, or in pairs, and some singly, peopling everywhere the fragrant bushes. On the ground are gallinaceans, jacuses, hocuses, and pigeons, that have left the perch to wander under the trees, in the moisture, for food.

In the tones of the nightingale the manikins are heard in all places, amusing themselves by their sudden change of position, and in misleading the sportsman; while the woodpecker makes the distant forest resound as he strikes the trees. Super-noisy, above all, is the uraponga, who, perched on the highest tree he can find, gives out sounds resembling the strokes of a sledge-hammer on the anvil, deluding the wanderer, as it once did me, into a belief that a blacksmith's shop is near at hand.

The mocking-bird

Every living thing, by its action and voice, is seen greeting the splendour of the day; while the delicate humming-bird, rivalling, in beauty and lustre, diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires, hovers with invisible wings over the brightest flowers. The bird colibri repairs to the tree called bois immortel, when the wild guava ripens its fruit; and there, also, will be found the Pompadour, both the purple-breasted and the purple-throated. At the same hour (day-break), the crowing of the hanaquoi sounds like a village-clock, for all to set to work in the great shop of nature. Then the cassique, or mocking-bird, gives out his own short but sweet song, preparatory to visiting the plantations, being fond of the haunts of man, where he remains till evening, making all kinds of noises, from the crowing of a cock, and the barking of dogs, to the grunting and squeaking of pigs. These birds weave their nests near together, in a pendulous manner. Their bodies are black, having the rump and half-tail yellow; other species have the rump a bright scarlet. In form they are a model of symmetry.

As the feathered tribes, one after the other, adjust their plumage, and tune their throats, squirrels, in rapid spiral speed, as quick as thought, are seen descending trees, then darting upon others in opposite directions, flinging themselves from tree to tree, with amazing exactness; pursuing their mates or their rivals among the mazy branches of the trees, with a velocity that eludes the sight.

Everywhere is nature's secretary, with his pen dipped in intellect, busy in writing down the invisible agency of Infinite Wisdom and Almighty Power.

"How dazzling is thy beauty! how divine!
How dim the lustre of the world to thine!"

The sublimity of the scene, when first beheld, produced unlimited astonishment; viewed again and again, all was softened down into harmonious shades of beauty, imparting a pleasure that cannot be understood by mere dwellers amidst the works of man.

Noon in the forest

In the forest, every hour of the night and day is the Creator present to the eye. Surrounded by the works of man, we sometimes lose sight of our Maker, and do not always properly appreciate his attributes. I have said that the morning gives life and activity to myriads of his creatures, who declare his power; but not less expressive is the hour of tranquillity—the hour of noon. At that hour, all is suddenly hushed into solemn silence. Stillness, as if by general consent, concert, or word of command, influences all the sylvan communities—a stillness illumined and made more manifest by the dazzling and burning beams of a meridian sun.

Creation at that hour appears wearied, fatigued, and overcome with the splendour of the day; it is as the face of God himself, before whose glory all things are struck with awe, and pause to acknowledge His majesty. Nothing moves—it is the hour of nature's siesta—yet the stillness speaks.

"Thy shades, thy silence, now be mine,
Thy charms my only theme;
My haunt the hollow cliff whose pine
Waves o'er the gloomy stream."

The quietness is that of a pause in the running stream of time; the air is motionless, the leaves hang pendant, as waiting in the presence of a deity for permission to resume the business of growth. The silence that reigns at the hour of noon is peculiarly of a religious character; there is nothing to which it can be compared but itself. From the nobles of the forest to the minutest insect, all appear to be at their devotions—the propensity to kill, for the time being, is forgotten or suspended,—

"The passions to divine repose alone
Persuaded yield; and love and joy are waking."

It is as if the naiads and fairies had deserted the sunbeams and fallen asleep. Oh! there is a harmony in nature wonderfully attuned to the intelligence of man, if he would but listen to it. The hour of noon, in the woods, is an hour of intellectual transcendentalism; it lifts the thoughts beyond the world, and peoples the grove with spirits of another world. Yet is there nothing in motion but the beams of the sun penetrating the foliage to the base of the trees—

"The chequered earth seems restless as a flood
Brushed by the winds, so sportive is the light
Shot through the boughs; it dances as they dance,
Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick,
And dark'ning and enlight'ning (as the beams
Play wanton) every part."

Everything speaks of the Deity, and the fall of a leaf passes as a phantom of the dead.

——"not a tree,
A plant, a leaf, a blossom, but contains
A folio volume."

The fitful meanings of the wind, in the more boisterous moments of Æolus, through the branches, speak not louder of God than the whisper of his breath that plays with the foliage. The low and broken murmurs of the water in the gill are as audibly eloquent as the lashing of the waves of the ocean in a storm, or the wild roar of the cataract. The voice of nature, come in what form it may, brings unutterable thoughts of the majesty of the creation. Whether it is in the deep, delicious tones of the happiness of the wood-dove, the melting, graceful notes of the nightingale, the thrilling melody of other sylvan songsters, or the twitterings of the swallow, all compel us to exclaim, "Oh! there is harmony in nature."

"Sounds inharmonious in themselves, and harsh,
Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns,
... Please highly for their sake.
... Kites that swim sublime
In still-repeated circles, screaming loud,
... Have charms for me."

Evening

But the hour of stillness, like all other hours, passes away. The insects again give out their sounds; wasps and bees buzz in every direction; the talk of birds is clamorously resumed; the king-vulture and the kite soar high in the hair, like fugle-birds, as signals for the resumption of the business of the day. The chattering manikins again rustle among the fig-leaves; the armadillo, and other burrowing animals, are seen cautiously peeping from their holes; the horned screamer opens wide his throat, and one by one, the whole of the sylvan feathered community join in concert.

The porcupine moves in the trees; the long grass is observed to give way as creeping things pursue their prey, or escape from foes; all indications that the earth and air again are full of animated life.

An hour or two elapses, and a gentle breeze rises to cool the air and give motion to the trees, as troop after troop of birds and monkeys wend their way back into the interior of the forest, indicating the gradual decline of the day. General preparations are being made for rest; only the slender deer, the peccari, the timid agouti, and the tapir, will still graze. The opossum, and some sly animals of the feline race skulk through the obscurity of the wood, stealthily prowling for prey. Finally, the last troop of howling monkeys are heard, as if performing the duty of drovers to those that have preceded them; the sloth cries as if in much distress with pain; the croaking of frogs, and monotonous chirps of large grasshoppers, bring on the close of day.

The tops of the forest now appear to be on fire, in the midst of which, the toucan, on a blasted mora tree, is uttering his evening cry, as darker shades are gradually cast into the forest, and the sun's disc sinks into the horizon.

The sky, which a moment since was bright as burnished gold, has already changed to a dusky grey, with here and there streaks of purple hue. A solitary bird, truant to its mate, or perhaps a mourner for its loss during the day's excursion, is seen like a wayfarer, with tired flight, wearily labouring to reach the wood ere nightfall.

Twilight is still lingering in the west, bringing on the night with a soft and sweet touch of delicacy, but still approaching, till surrounding objects become more and more obscure and confused, though undiminished in their beauty and effect. The cries of the macue, the capaiera, the goat-sucker, and the bass tones of the bullfrog, are now heard. Myriads of luminous beetles fly in the air, resembling the ignes fatui, and announce the departure of the day; when the night-moths and numerous other insects start on the wing, the bats flit between the branches of trees, the owls and vampires, like phantoms, silently pursue their course in search of prey, reserving their hollow cries for the ominous hour of midnight.

The stars, one after another, are lighted up as the moon rises on the horizon, with a modest countenance, to intimate to man that there is still a ruling power over the world. She tinges with silver streaks of light the tops and edges of the forest, till

"Lo! midnight, from her starry reign,
Looks awful down on earth and main,
The tuneful birds lie hush'd in sleep,
With all that crop the verdant food,
With all that skim the crystal flood,
Or haunt the caverns of the rocky steep."

At this hour the spectral owl quits the hollow tree, and with his shriek makes the boldest birds shrink away in fear, though in the sunshine hour they would hunt him.

"So when the night falls, and dogs do howl,
Sing Ho! for the reign of the horned owl!
We know not alway
Who are kings by day;
But the king of the night is the bold brown owl!"

"Mourn not for the owl, nor his gloomy plight!
The owl hath his share of good;
If a prisoner he be in the broad daylight,
He is lord in the dark greenwood.
Nor lonely the bird, nor his ghastly mate,
They are each unto each a pride;
Thrice fonder, perhaps, since a strange dark fate,
Hath rent them from all beside."

The bow and arrows

I made but little progress in archery, which was a great source of mortification to me, although I spent every leisure hour I could spare after obtaining food, in practice. I was on the verge of despair of ever being able to make anything like a shot, when an incident occurred that enabled me to kill, in a few weeks, almost any bird on the wing, if within the range of my bow. Returning home from a long and fatiguing ramble (for I had extended my surveys of the forest as I acquired confidence of finding my way home at night), I one day was astonished to see a bow and a quiver of arrows suspended from the branch of a tree.

This was a sight which occasioned feelings that are indescribable. I was both rejoiced and alarmed. At first I thought my deliverance was certain; the next moment I crouched behind a bush to hide myself, as from a most deadly foe. When I reflected on the loneliness of my existence, I longed to join society; yet, whenever society appeared to be available, I instinctively shrunk back, as if about to lose my independence or be carried into slavery. Operated on by mingled impulses, the dread of man seemed for a long time to prevail. Might they not be savages, and take my life? Or might they not lead me into captivity, and make a slave of me? They would at least have the Christian's practice to urge as a plea, in extenuation of such a measure.

Confident that human beings were in the neighbourhood, I at length resolved to secrete myself in a bush and wait their return. I fixed my eyes on the bow and quiver, expecting their owner would return for them; but the tones of the toucan were heard, by which I was as well informed of the approach of evening, as the partridge's call announces the coming day. Still unwilling to quit the spot, I remained throughout the night; but no owner came to claim the weapons. All this time I feared to touch them as if they were a trap laid to ensnare me. About noon the next day, I thought of possessing myself of them, and then made a circuit to reassure myself that no one was at hand. With fear and trembling I then, like a thief, took the bow and quiver from the tree, and hastened back to my hut to examine them. The whole secret of my inability to shoot birds was now at once explained. I had not feathered my arrows, nor was my bow long enough.

Still anxious to know their owner, the following morning I repaired again to the spot, and hung my own rudely formed weapons on the same tree from which I had taken the others. My motives were, first, to ascertain whether any person would yet come to remove them, and also to inform those who might come for that purpose, that another human being was in the neighbourhood.

The bow and arrows hung there a month, when I gave up all hopes of seeing any person in the woods; still the event caused me much uneasiness, and ever afterwards occasioned me to tread the paths around with extreme caution.

Flint and steel

Being now furnished with well-made arms, I soon brought down my birds, and might have fared sumptuously, could I have procured a fire. All my waking hours were, therefore, spent in bewailing this want, when one morning, as I was digging with my stick to come at a land tortoise that had crept into a hole, I raked out a piece of flint, and the tinder-box occurring to my mind, I struck it on the back of my knife, and instantly produced sparks, which actually made me leap for joy. My delight, however, was but of short duration. How were the sparks to be collected? I had no tinder—no matches. I then thought of my shirt, which I had long cast off; but then I had no matches, and must have fire before I could make tinder.

My joy was soon turned into despondency. I threw down the flint, and in the bitterness of my disappointment, apostrophised it, as the cock in the fable did, when scratching on a dunghill he found a jewel instead of a grain of corn. "Are all my days to be spent," I ejaculated, "in hopes that delight me only to make me more miserable?" Suddenly it occurred to my memory, that when at school, our small pieces of artillery were fired with lighted decayed wood, what the boys called touch-wood. Repossessing myself of the flint, I flew to my old sleeping-place, and in my impatience, struck a light on my former bed—the soft wood in the interior—it ignited, and smouldered. I was in an ecstacy of delight, and clapped my hands with exultation. Still I had no flame. I then collected some dried leaves, and holding them loosely over the spot that was alight, I blew with my mouth; a severely burnt hand soon informed me that I had succeeded.

My first fire was indeed a bonfire: heaping more leaves and dried sticks on to it, the tree was entirely consumed, and a number of others so damaged as very soon to become touch-wood.

The thunder-storm

A terrible thunder-storm succeeded this exploit. So wholly absorbed had I been with the fire, that when it expended itself, I found myself in total darkness, the moon having been suddenly obscured. All the inhabitants of the wood were restless and uneasy in their beds. I could hear the stag startle, and again lay himself down. Flashes of lightning showed the birds, lifting their heads at intervals, then returning them hastily again under their wings. The storm had for some time been gathering on the tops of the forest, and had now spread its black mantle over the moon, while I, like a school-boy on the fifth of November, had been exulting over a blaze.

On the storm advanced, in the majesty of darkness, moving on the wings of the blast, which my imagination pictured as uprooting the trees around me. The thunder rolled over the crown of the forest in the rear of the lightning. Rifted clouds continued to pass over my head. An owl left its dirge unfinished, and fitted its ruffled feathers into a cleft of a blasted tree over my head. The wild animals that prowl by night, with famished stomachs, sought shelter in their dens.

I alone stood bared to the fury of the storm, incapable of reaching my hut in the darkness of that awful night. The thunder rolled as with ten thousand voices, and the lightning at intervals set the whole forest in a blaze of light. One of the flashes brought down a mora tree near to where I stood, crushing the limbs of other trees as it fell. The crash was terrific. Examining it the next morning by daylight, there was a wild fig-tree growing out of its top, and on the fig grew a wild species of vine. The fig-tree was as large as a common apple-tree, yet owed its growth to an undigested seed, dropped by birds that resort to the mora to feed on its ripe fruit. Such seeds the sap of the mora raises into full bearing, when they, in their turn, are called on to support and give out their sap to different species of seeds, also dropped by birds. In this case the usurpation of the fig on the mora, and the vine on the fig, brought all to an early end. A dead sloth was lying near to the prostrate timber, probably brought down, by the force of its fall, from the branch of another tree.

It was a night of devastation in the wilds of nature. The storms of destruction blew piercingly on every quarter. The destroying blast clapped his wings over many a tree, and laid prostrate numerous creatures that had life as the sun went down the previous evening. To the things that can be shaken, belong all that is earthly. However durable they may appear, however they may glitter, or stable they may appear, age, or the storm, will bring them to oblivion. Mutability is written on all the works of nature. It is an inscription that meets every eye, whether turned on the foundations of a city, a nation, or the works of the creation. Awe-struck with the dilapidations the morning made visible, I hastened to my hut, anxious to see if all was safe there, and prepare to cook myself a dinner.

The sloth

Man is essentially a cooking animal, and though omnivorous in his appetite, is nine parts out of ten carnivorous. I had abundance of vegetable food around me, of which I ate freely, and was in good health; yet my desire to taste animal food was so strong that I would at the time have made almost any sacrifice to obtain it. I had reached more than half the distance towards my residence, thinking all the way only on the means that I possessed of making a fire, before it occurred to me that I had no flesh to cook. I then turned back, and with my knife cut off the hind-quarter of the sloth, being resolved to try the quality of the flesh.

Having collected a small heap of the dried rotten wood, to use as tinder, I succeeded in making a fire outside my hut, where I broiled some pieces of the sloth's flesh, and from it made a tolerable meal, though it was not so good as beef or mutton.

Whenever I subsequently met with the sloth, he always excited my pity, and I forbore from doing such a helpless creature any injury. The natives say that by his piteous moans he will make the heart of a tiger relent, and turn away from him. The sloth is a solitary animal; he has no companion to cheer him, but lies on the branches of trees almost stationary, having no means of defence or escape, if you intend him any harm; his looks, his gestures, and his cries declare it; therefore do not kill him. He subsists wholly on the leaves of trees, and does not quit one branch till there is nothing left for him to eat, and he then moves evidently with much pain to himself. He preys on no living animal, and is deficient and deformed, when compared with other animals, though in some other respects he is compensated in the composition of his frame. His feet are without soles, nor can he move his toes separately; he therefore cannot walk, but hooks himself along by means of the claws which are at the extremity of the fore-feet. He has no cutting teeth; he has four stomachs, and yet wants the long intestinal canals of ruminating animals. His hair lies flat on his body, like long grass withered by the frost. He has six more ribs than the elephant, namely, forty-six, the latter having only forty; his legs strike the eye as being too short, and as if joined to the body with the loss of a joint. On the whole, as a quadruped, the sloth is of the lowest degree. He never quits a tree until all the leaves are eaten.

The day after I had made a meal from the sloth, I shot my arrow through the head of a horned screamer, which brought him within my grasp; this was a great feat for me to accomplish, the screamer being a majestic bird, as large as a turkey-cock, having on the head a long slender horn, each wing being armed with a sharp, strong spur, of an inch long. I had seated myself behind a tree, where I had been, for several hours, watching the movements of the ants that build their nests on those trees, when the bird came within a few yards of me. This incident practically exemplified to me that, like other animals that seek for prey, I must use patience, and be wary in my movements. It taught me to reflect and to know that it was not rambling over much space that would ensure success, and that every spot in the world was available, either for the study of the things of creation or for procuring food.

It is a great error some fall into when they imagine that travelling over much ground will give knowledge; those who observe and reflect may gain more information when examining a puddle of water, than the careless will in traversing the globe.

The ants

Of the insect tribe, the ants early attracted my attention, and I spent much time in watching their movements; indeed, from the first hour I turned my thoughts to the study of insects, I never afterwards spent a dull one. The tree ants' nests are about five times as large as those made by rooks, from which they have covered ways to the ground; these ways I frequently broke down, but as often as I did so, they were quickly under repair, a body of labouring ants being immediately summoned for that purpose. Ants have the means of communicating with each other in a very rapid manner. I am of opinion that the antennæ are the medium through which they receive and convey orders to each other.

I have seen a troop of ants a mile long, each one carrying in its mouth a round leaf about the size of a sixpence, which appeared to have been trimmed round to the shape. Wasps do the same; and after twisting them up in the shape of a horn, deposit their eggs in them. When on their march, or engaged at work, nothing deters them from progressing; they seem to have no fear either of injury or death. I have broken their line at different points, and killed thousands of them; the others go over the same ground, as if perfectly unconscious of danger, while a body of them are instantly detached to remove the dead, and clear the way. It matters not how often the experiment is repeated, or what number are slain, others come on as if their forces were unlimited. It would seem that they live under an absolute monarchy, and dare not disobey orders. When accompanying them on a march, I have seen a messenger arrive from the opposite direction to that they were going, and the whole line, as I have said, of sometimes a mile long, simultaneously brought to a halt. One of the ants belonging to the body went forward, and applied its antennæ to those of the messenger, after which, the latter returned the way he came, and the main body immediately altered its course of march.

At one time, I fell in with an unusually large body of these persevering labourers, and being resolved, if possible, to stop them, I formed a ditch in their way, and filled it with water; while the ditch was being made, they continued their course up and down the ridges of the loose earth, as if nothing had happened, although hundreds were every instant buried. When, however, the water was turned into the channel, there was a momentary halt; but as the ant must never be idle, it was but for an instant, to receive orders to take the margin of the earth, and travel round the head of the channel. How the nature of the disaster they had met with was made known, so as to stop the whole body simultaneously, may be difficult to ascertain; but at the moment of making these experiments I have distinctly seen the antennæ of one ant strike the tail of the one immediately before it, and the same movement repeated by all the others in rapid succession as far as my observation extended.

Wasps

All insects that live in communities are, I should imagine, in possession of language. One day I saw a wasp fly into my hut, and recollecting that I had a small collection of honey wrapped in some plantain leaves, I went to close the shutter as it again flew out; but observing the wasp immediately fly towards another of his species, and then to a second and a third, and those instantly fly off in opposite directions, I said to myself, the discovery of my depot of honey is being advertised throughout the community of wasps. Thinking I would disappoint the depredators, before I left home I was very careful in fastening the entrance, and stuffing every crevice up with long grass. About a hundred yards from my hut I met a swarm of wasps, which induced me to return and ascertain whether my conjectures were confirmed; and there I found an immense number seeking an entrance, evidently with a view of plundering me of my honey. It was not long ere they found admission through some of the apertures in the roof. Knowing that my honey must go,—for a swarm of wasps is not to be molested with impunity,—I turned away to pursue my walk with the reflection that they only took what they could get, and suited their appetites, the business of my own every-day life.

Both in society and in the forest it is wise at all times to avoid being an aggressor. The stings of mankind, and of insects, are most frequently the result of our own imprudence. In the forest I have daily been surrounded with myriads of wasps and large stinging bees, and never received an injury but when I was committing depredations on their store.

But of all plunderers in nature, the ant exceeds the whole. I had become acquainted with five species of bees in my immediate neighbourhood, not one of which could secure their combs from the voracious appetites of the ant. They came in such numbers, as sometimes, in my view, to threaten the undermining of the forest; and were to be seen of all sizes and colour. One sort is so large, that the natives make a considerable article of food of them when fried.

The termites, or white ants, are very destructive; neither fruit, flowers of plants, or food of any kind, escapes them. When they appear in the dwellings of man, they will undermine a house in a few hours, if the wood of which it is built suits their taste.

Voracity of the ants

The whole of the ant tribes are, however, essentially carnivorous, and are useful in repressing a too rapid increase amongst reptiles much larger than themselves; and I have often thought, when watching their movements, and observing that there is nothing, from the smallest winged insect to the carcase of a bullock, that comes to the ground, but they instantly assemble in millions to devour it, that they were intended by nature to prevent the corruption of the air from the decay and putrefaction of animal matter. If an enormous spider accidentally falls to the ground, they give it no time to recover itself; thousands are instantly on it; and although the spider, in its struggles to escape, will kill and crush numbers, still others continue to crawl up his legs and thighs, and there hang on in quietness, till their victim is exhausted by fatigue, when a few seconds serve to remove all traces of its heretofore existence. As I grew older, and acquired more experience in hunting for my food, I frequently killed large animals, of whose flesh I could only eat as much as served me for a meal, before the remainder would be spoiled by the heat of the weather: this the ants generally cleared away.

At length I learned to go out by moonlight, to kill deer and the peccari,—a time that they like to browse, and may be approached with more ease. I generally dragged the remains of a carcase I did not want in the way of the ants, and watched them at their feast. A few hours served to leave the bones of the largest animal perfectly clean, and as a skeleton for study, fit for an exhibition.

When the termites, or white ant, is seen in the neighbourhood of man, the antipathies of the species are rendered available. As soon as they are observed, sugar is strewed in such a direction as to lead the brown or black ants to the spot, who, it is known, will immediately attack and put the white party to the rout, much to the amusement of the negroes, who cheer on the blacks to kill the whites. I have often awoke with my body covered with ants, when I generally ran to the nearest water, and plunging into it, freed myself from them; though I never could discover for what purpose they spread themselves over my frame, unless it were in expectation of my becoming a corpse. When, however, I did rouse myself, they seldom exhibited much alacrity in acknowledging their error by making a speedy retreat.