Ever since leaving the Madeira the boys had slept in hammocks swung from strong uprights on the forward deck. The deck was shut in by wire netting, which afforded them partial protection from the insects. But of course the impudent blood-seekers hung constantly about, and more than one found its way into this screened place when the one door, opening at the side, was in use.
Lizards of all sizes, shapes and dispositions managed to take passage on the Rambler, much to the disgust of the boys and the anger of Captain Joe, who attacked them relentlessly but could not keep the boat free of them. But if the lizards and snakes and ants were unwelcome guests on the boat and at the little camps, there were plenty of other visitors who more than compensated for them. These were the birds, whose shrill voices and brilliant coloring made the night as well as the day musical and gay. Taken all in all, the life the boys lived there on the mighty river, under the equator, was ideal from a boy’s viewpoint.
There were, besides many birds well known at the North, kingfishers, green and blue tree-creepers, purple-headed tanagers, and humming birds. Butterflies were everywhere, of every size and color. And there were the cicadas, at home in every tree, sending out their jarring, reedy notes. The forests were alive with sound, and the lads realized that even the roar of Chicago would sometimes be small beside the constant ring of wild life.
One of the native weapons in use on the upper Amazon quite fascinated Jule, and he never gave over bartering with the Indians until he secured one. This was a zarabatana, or blow-gun. It consists of a hollow tube through which an arrow is shot by the breath. The arrows are sharp as a needle and are winged with fluff from the seed-vessels of the cotton tree. The arrows are expelled with such force that the sound of their exit from the muzzle is something like that made by a popgun. They are frequently tipped with the fatal urari poison.
One night, under the brilliant light of the moon, the boys saw a black tiger or jaguar drinking at the edge of the little creek in which their boat lay. They were anxious to take the fellow’s hide as a souvenir of the trip, and so Clay and Alex cautiously left the boat and struck into the forest back of the spot where the tiger was quenching his thirst. He threw up his muzzle and dropped his ears, like a great cat, at the first motion on the shore.
Captain Joe, quivering with excitement, and entirely beyond control, leaped to the shore and headed for the tiger, which backed, snarling, into the jungle which the boys had thought to surround. The dog followed on until he reached the spot from which the beast had disappeared. In a moment Alex and Clay were at his side, the former trying to force his way into the thicket. Finally he pressed in a yard or two and called to the dog to follow.
But Captain Joe was evidently going out of the tiger-hunting game without loss of time, for he tilted his nose in the air, gave one growl of defiance, and walked away in a very dignified manner indeed.
“There,” Clay exclaimed, “Captain Joe knows more about tigers than we do, so we’ll go back to the Rambler.”
The waters of the upper Amazon are filled with alligators of all sizes. They occasionally swarmed about the boat, and Captain Joe appeared to enjoy watching their hungry little eyes as they gazed up at his plump shoulders. Sometimes, while sleeping in rude hammocks swung from trees and poles on sandy shores, the boys were disturbed by the reptiles.
After midnight, however, the alligators keep away from the sands of the shores, at least where there is a considerable stretch of it, for the radiation of heat during the night from the sand makes these resting spots cool, even chilly, in the morning.