These were after thoughts of mine. I was in no humour for reflections at the time. I only noticed, and with some satisfaction, that the fierce creature slept.
Not a word had as yet passed between myself and Joao—a sign only—and that was mutually, to enjoin silence. The captain saw that my gun was empty, and knew as well as I did the danger we had to dread. He knew well that should the jaguar awake, its first act might be to spring upon the igarite and attack us.
It was no groundless fear—such things had happened before—ay, even out into the mid-river, the jaguar had been known to swim, attack the passing canoe, and drag its occupant overboard! This, too, in the case of a jaguar of the ordinary size and sort—but a black jaguar, one of monstrous dimensions!
Joao knew the danger. He stood like a statue firmly grasping the handle of his oar.
A few seconds only elapsed until the igarite was opposite the raft, almost touching it. Now was the critical moment.
The tapinos still slept. Would they awake?
I cast a hurried glance at them. They lay like bronze images in the bottom of the boat in different attitudes; I could hear their breathing. Mine and Joao’s could not have been heard—we scarcely breathed.
A word—a motion and we are lost! There is neither.
We glide gently on; the dreaded sleeper hears us not. How close!—I could almost touch its glossy hide with the muzzle of my gun! Softly, softly. Ha!
“See!” whispered Joao, “see, master! the raft comes away—it follows us—Santissima!”