MOLLUSCA OF THE CARIBBEAN SEA.
During the afternoon we came close in shore, keeping a sharp look-out for the mouth of “Snook Creek.” There are, however, no landmarks on the entire coast; throughout it wore the same flat, monotonous appearance—a narrow strip of sand in front of a low impenetrable forest, in which the fierce north-easters had left no large trees standing. Hence it is almost impossible for voyagers, not intimately acquainted with the shore, to determine their position. My Poyer boy had coasted here but once, and I found, toward evening, that he was of opinion that we had passed the mouth of the creek of which we were in search. So we resolved to stand along the shore for either Walpasixa or Prinza-pulka, where part of the hull of an American ship, wrecked sometime before, still remained as a guide to voyagers.
As the sun went down, the wind fell, and the moon came up, shedding its light upon the broad, smooth swells of the sea, silver-burnished upon one side, and on the other dark but clear, like the shadows on polished steel. We lowered our useless sail, and my companions took their paddles, keeping time to a kind of chant, led off by Antonio, the Poyer boy joining in the swelling chorus. The melody was very simple, and, like that of all purely Indian chants, sad and plaintive. I have often thought, in listening to them, that they were the wails of a people conscious of their decay, over a continent slipping from their grasp, and a power broken forever!
ON THE MOONLIT SEA!
I lay long, watching the shore as it glided past, and listening to the tinkle of the water under our prow, but finally fell into a deep and dreamless slumber, rocked by the ocean in its gentlest mood. When I awoke we had already passed the Prinza-pulka bar, and were fastened to the branches of a large tree, which had become entangled among the mangroves, on the banks of the river. It was with no small degree of satisfaction that I found we had now an uninterrupted river and lagoon navigation to Cape Gracias, and that we should not again be obliged to venture, with our little boat, upon the open sea.
The Prinza-pulka seemed rather an estuary than a river, and was lined with an impenetrable forest of mangroves. These were covered with flocks of the white ibis, and, as we advanced up the stream, we came upon others of a rose color, looking like bouquets of flowers among the green leaves of the trees.
At the distance of three miles, the river banks grew higher, although densely covered with wild plants and vines, which seemed to have subdued the forest. The few trees that were left were clustered all over with twining rope-plants, or lianes, sometimes hanging down and swinging in mid-air, and again stretched to the ground, like the cordage of a ship, supporting in turn, hundreds of creepers, with leaves of translucent green, and loaded with clusters of bright flowers. An occasional fan-palm thrust itself above the tangled verdure, as if struggling for light and air; while the broad leaves of the wild plantain emerged here and there in groups, and the slender stalks of the bamboo-cane, fringed with delicate leaves like those of the willow, bent gracefully over the water. At the foot of this emerald wall was a strip of slimy earth, and I observed occasional holes, or tunnel-like apertures, through which the alligator trailed his hideous length, or the larger land-animals came down to the water to drink. As we glided by one of these openings, a tapir suddenly projected his head and ugly proboscis, but, startled by our canoe, as suddenly withdrew it, and disappeared in the dark recesses of the impenetrable jungle, in which it is beyond the power of man to penetrate, except he laboriously carves his way, foot by foot, in the matted mass.
About ten o’clock we reached the mouth of a narrow creek, or stream, diverging from the river under a complete canopy of verdure. Up this creek, my Poyer assured me, the Prinza-pulka village was situated. So we paddled in, and, after many windings, finally came where the vegetation was less rank, and the banks were higher and firmer. I began to breathe freer, for the air within these tropical fastnesses seemed to me loaded with miasmatic damps, like the atmosphere of a vault. As we proceeded, the country became more and more open, and the water clearer, revealing a gravelly bottom, until, at last, to my surprise, we came upon broad savannahs, fringed, along the water, by narrow belts of trees. Through these I caught glimpses of gentle swells and undulations of land, upon which, to my further amazement, I saw clumps of pine-trees! I had supposed the pine to be found only in high, temperate latitudes, and could scarcely believe that it grew here, side by side with the palm, almost on a level with the sea, until I was assured by my Poyer that it abounded in all the savannahs, and covered all the plateaus and mountains of the interior.
A bend in the creek brought us suddenly in view of a group of canoes, drawn up on the shore, in front of a few scattered huts. One or two women, engaged in some occupation at the edge of the water, fled when they saw us, scrambling up the bank in evident alarm. As we approached nearer, I saw through the bushes a number of men hurrying back and forth, and calling to each other in excited voices. Before we had fairly reached the landing-place, they had collected among the canoes, whence they motioned us back with violent gestures. Some were armed with spears, others had bows and arrows, and two or three carried muskets, which they pointed at us in a very careless and unpleasant manner. I observed that they were Sambos, like those at Wasswatla, equally frizzled about the head, and spotted with the bulpis. Whenever we attempted to approach, they shouted “Bus! bus!” and raised their weapons. The Poyer boy responded by calling “Wita,” i. e., chief, or head man. Hereupon one of the number came forward a little, and inquired “Inglis? Inglis?” pointing to me. I held up my pass, and, remembering Wasswatla, pointed to it, exclaiming, “King paper! king paper!” This seemed to produce an impression, and we made a movement to land, but up came the guns again, their muzzles looking as large as church doors. Things certainly appeared squally, and I was a little puzzled what to do. Prudence suggested that we should retreat, but then that might be understood as an evidence of fear, which, with savages, as with wild beasts, is a sure way of inviting attack. I preferred, therefore, to await quietly the result of a conference which seemed to be going on, and in which I noticed I was frequently pointed out, with very suggestive gestures. While this was going on, Antonio carefully got out my gun and revolver, handing me the latter in such a manner as not to attract notice. He had evinced a high consideration for it, ever since it had played so large a part in my first interview with the patron at “El Roncador.”