Up the Forked River; Or, Adventures in South America

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

The fire ant of the tropics does not merely bite into the animal or person who disturbs it, but bites out, as may be said. It abstracts a fragment of one’s anatomy, so that, had General Bambos been placed on a delicate pair of scales immediately before and after his nipping, there would have been an appreciable difference in his weight. Since Major Starland himself had suffered from the fierce little pest, he understood what had befallen the other. He tried to express his sympathy, but instead, threw back his head and gave way to merriment.

The victim was suffering too much from his hurt to pay heed to the laughter which must have struck him as untimely, but no doubt he would have turned on the American, had not the hoarse whistle of the tugboat sounded, and brought him hurrying from the cabin. They were nearing the bend of the river around which the Major had seen the catboat containing General Yozarro and his friends disappear. That Captain Ortega was right in what he said was proved by the emergence of the smaller craft from under the heavy foliage along shore. In answer to the signal of the tug, it glided out from shelter, propelled by two of the men with poles. The sail was not hoisted, for the wind had fallen to a calm. The Captain turned to meet the catboat, for he knew the depth of the water permitted him to run close to the bank, but he halted when a few rods away and waited for the other to come up.

General Yozarro could not be expected fully to understand the changed conditions, with the American yacht steaming forward a short way behind his own boat. Captain Ortega called out a brief explanation, and the men continued poling until the smaller craft lay alongside the larger one. General Bambos, holding to a stanchion with one hand, reached down with the other and helped his illustrious compatriot to climb upon his own property, the others following more nimbly, until all had transferred themselves, and the catboat was made fast by one of the crew.

The President of Zalapata, saluting and bowing low, conducted the other dignitary to the cabin, with the officers trailing after them. For the moment, Major Starland found his situation a trifle embarrassing. General Yozarro scowled savagely at him, but the others paid scant attention. There was some crowding, for it will be remembered that the apartment was of slight size. The American waited till a lull came in the conversation and then, with an elaborate military salute, said:

“General Yozarro, I have the honor of returning to you the boat which necessity compelled me to borrow last night.”

The General had seated himself on the lounge, at the risk of suffering the same mishap which had befallen his neighbor and still kept him slyly rubbing the injured part. He was too overflowing with rage to make any pretence to the courtesy which marked their previous chats. His prodigious mustache bristled, his thick lips trembled and his black eyes gleamed threateningly. He glared at the American, standing among his own officers, who made what room they could for him in the restricted space, and when he could command his tumultuous feelings, he spoke:

“You come to surrender the boat! You surrender yourself also, el Americano!”

“Well, hardly; I stayed aboard at the suggestion of my friend, General Bambos, that this thing might be done in due and ancient form. American citizens are not in the habit of surrendering at the demand or whim of any South American nobody.”