To Richard Trevannion the Mundurucú was comparatively a stranger, known only as a tapuyo employed by his uncle in the management of the galatea. He knew the tribe by rumours even more than sinister. They were reputed in Pará to be the most bloodthirsty of savages, who took delight not only in the destruction of their enemies, but in keeping up a ghastly souvenir of hostility by preserving their heads. In the company of a Mundurucú, especially in such a place,—swimming under the sombre shadows of a submerged forest,—it can scarce be wondered at that the youth felt suspicion, if not actual fear. But Richard Trevannion was a boy of bold heart, and bravely awaited the dénouement of the dismal journey.
Their swim terminated at length, and the Indian, pointing to a tree, cried out: “Yonder—yonder is the very thing of which I was in search. Hoo-hoo! Covered with sipos too,—another thing we stand in need of,—cord and pitch both growing together. The Great Spirit is kind to us, young master.”
“What is it?” demanded Richard. “I see a great tree, loaded with climbers as you say. But what of that? It is green, and growing. The wood is full of sap, and would scarce float itself; you can’t construct a raft out of that. The sipos might serve well enough for rope; but the timber won’t do, even if we had an axe to cut it down.”
“The Mundurucú needs no axe, nor yet timber to construct his raft. All he wants here is the sap of that tree, and some of the sipos clinging to its branches. The timber we shall find on the sapucaya, after we go back. Look at the tree, young master! Do you not know it?”
The Paraense, thus appealed to, turned his eyes toward the tree, and scanned it more carefully. Festooned by many kinds of climbing plants, it was not so easy to distinguish its foliage from that of the parasites it upheld; enough of the leaves, however, appeared conspicuous to enable him to recognise the tree as one of the best known and most valuable to the inhabitants, not only of his native Pará, but of all the Amazonian region, “Certainly,” he replied, “I see what sort of tree it is. It’s the Seringa,—the tree from which they obtain caoutchouc. But what do you want with that? You can’t make a raft out of India-rubber, can you?”
“You shall see, young master; you shall see!”
During this conversation the Mundurucú had mounted among the branches of the seringa, calling upon his companion to come after him, who hastily responded to the call.