In a very singular situation he had seen it—so thought he at the time—since it was over his head in the cotton-tree!
On the previous evening, while upon the crown of the cabbage-palm, he had glanced slantingly across, among the branches of the ceiba. This, as with all great trees in the tropical forests, was loaded with parasites—vriesias, long ragged-looking cacti, bromelias, epiphytical orchids, and the like. Tillandsias too, of the kind known as “wild pines,” grew in the forks, or on the upper surface of the great limbs, flourishing as luxuriantly as if their roots rested in the richest soil. Among them was conspicuous the most magnificent of the genus, the noble Tillandsia lingulata, with its spike of gorgeous crimson flowers projecting from the midst of its broad sheathing leaves. It was in the concavities of these huge leaves that Herbert had observed something which did not belong to the plant—something he believed to be water.
It would cost but a few seconds’ time to confirm or refute this belief—a climb among the branches of the ceiba. Another huge parasite, from the same root as the former, trended tortuously up to the limbs of the silk-cotton-tree—here and there touching and twisting around them. Its diagonal direction rendered it easy of ascent; and Herbert, impelled by his desire to drink, commenced climbing it.
Ere long, he had succeeded in reaching a main fork of the ceiba, where nestled one of the largest of the wild pines.
He had not been deceived. In a hollow formed by one of its huge ventricose leaves was the natural reservoir he had noticed—the gathering of dew and rain, which the rays of the sun could never reach.
At his approach, the green hyla sprang out from this aerial pool; and leaping, frog-like, from leaf to leaf—guarded against falling by the clammy sponge-disks of its feet—soon disappeared amid the foliage. It was this singular creature whose voice Herbert had been hearing throughout the livelong night; and which, in constant chorus with others of its kind, had recalled to his memory the groaning and working of the Sea Nymph in a storm.
The presence of the tree-toad in this its natural haunt, did not deter the young man from drinking. Raging thirst has no scruples; and, bending over one of the leaves of the tillandsia, he placed his lips to the cool water, and freely quaffed it.
The labour of scrambling up the lliana had taken away his breath, and to some extent fatigued him. Instead, therefore, of descending at once—which he knew would cost him an effort equal to that of the ascent—he determined to rest for a few minutes upon the large limb of the ceiba on which he had seated himself.
“Well!” muttered he, in satisfied soliloquy, “if the people of this island have proved inhospitable, I can’t say the same of its trees. Here are two of them—almost the first I have encountered. They have yielded me the three necessaries of life—meat, drink, and lodging—lodging, too, with an excellent bed, a thing not so common in many a human hostelry. What more is wanted? Under such a sky as this, who need care to have walls around, or a roof over him? Verily, to sleep here, sub Jove, is rather a luxury than an inconvenience! And, verily,” continued he, “were it not that I should feel rather lonely, and that man is designed to be a social animal, I might pass my whole life in these glorious woods, without work or care of any kind. No doubt there is game; and I was told at home there are no game laws—so I might poach at pleasure. Ha! game? What do I see? A deer? No! a hog! Yes, hog it is; but such a singular fellow—prick ears, red bristles, long legs, and tusks. A boar! and why not a wild boar?”
There was no reason why it should not be, since it was one—a wild boar of the Jamaica forest—a true descendant of the Canarian hog, transported thither by the Spaniards.