It was more than two months after my arrival at Maroontown, before I was in a condition to depart. Finding that I should not be able to return to Paramaribo in season to go back to Connecticut with my vessel, I sent word to the captain, requesting him to see my mother and sister, and tell them what detained me.
When I had sufficiently recovered to travel, I set out from Maroontown, having taken leave of my kind friends there. The negro who had rescued me, together with his family, had done everything in their power to make me comfortable and happy. The neighbors too had shown the greatest interest in my behalf; they were constantly sending me every sort of delicacy, such as small game and the choicest fruits. Never have I met with a people so little selfish, and to whom hospitality seemed to be so natural. Some of them really shed tears as I departed, and even offered to accompany me on my journey. I accepted the latter proposition in part, and accordingly a young man set out to be my guide for the first day.
I had heard at Maroontown something about the Englishman whom I was going to visit. I learned that he was a coffee planter with a large estate; but I had discovered that his residence, instead of being a hundred miles from Paramaribo, was nearly double that distance. This taught me a good lesson, which I recommend to the attention of my readers; it is this—before setting out upon a journey, be sure to ascertain how far you have to go.
It was now December—a time when the winter had already commenced in New England, but it was very different in Guiana. I found the weather very warm, and my strength was so impaired by my sickness, that the first day I did not proceed more than eight miles. I slept at a small plantation, and the next morning, having taken leave of my guide, I proceeded alone upon my journey. For three days, nothing particular occurred. The country was slightly undulating, and portions of it were exceedingly fertile. Here and there was a plantation, but a large part of the land was covered with forests. On the fourth day after my departure, I met with a curious adventure. There is in this region a species of wild hog called peccary. In some parts, they are numerous, and I had frequently seen them crossing my path in the course of my travels. They seemed not to be very shy, yet, as I approached them, they would usually start off with a kind of grunt, or bark, and hide themselves in the bushes.
On the occasion just referred to, I chanced to see a peccary, with a litter of young ones, lying by the side of my path. When I came near, they sprang up and ran away. I however gave chase, and soon caught one of the little pigs. The fellow instantly set up the most vociferous squealing—upon this, the mother turned back and came upon me with savage ferocity. Her mouth was open, and she uttered a sort of bellowing that was quite frightful. I was not disposed to yield my prize at once, but holding on to the hind legs of the pig with the left hand, and flourishing my club in the right, I faced the infuriated dam. She hesitated a little, but kept up her cry. In a few minutes, I saw issuing from the adjacent thickets several other peccaries, apparently coming to the rescue. They immediately advanced, and I was soon surrounded with more than forty of these raging beasts.
Affairs were now getting serious, and I thought it best to release the little prisoner, hoping that this would pacify the tumult. But the tempest was not so easily appeased. The bristly mob still encircled me, grunting, squealing, barking, and bellowing, while, at the same time, their tusks were displayed, ready to rend me in pieces. I was obliged to keep wheeling round, brandishing my club, occasionally giving an obtrusive snout a pretty hearty thump by way of caution. The storm, however, seemed to thicken, and it was obvious that the whole troop would soon rush upon me. In this extremity, discretion seemed the better part of valor, and concluding that I had better risk my honor than my life, I took advantage of an open space, sprang through the circle, and leaped into the branches of a tree that was near by.
The disappointed assailants pursued me, and encircling the tree, vented their rage in grunts and groans. Never did I see such a hubbub. Sitting upon the limbs of the tree in perfect safety, I looked down and laughed very heartily at the scene. There was one boar who seemed particularly anxious to signalize himself. He had enormous long tusks, and in his fury, he frothed at the mouth, and kept up a great outcry. He was probably the captain of the troop, for he generally led the way, and a party of a dozen supporters were always at his heels.
I could not forbear the pleasure of stirring up this Hector of the field with an occasional poke across the back with my shillaleh. It was amusing to see his indignation, blent with his courage. He rose upon his hind legs, and looked defiance with all his might. There was something about him which seemed to say—“Come down here, you coward; come down, and we’ll give you a peeling.” I did not, however, accept the challenge, though I would have been willing to have tried my hand with him in single combat. Forty to one was rather too many, and so I remained in my castle.
Rage, like everything else, must have its end; so, in the course of half an hour, the chivalry of these pigs began to abate. Two or three of them slipped off into the bushes, and their example was soon followed by others. In the course of half an hour, they were all dispersed except the commander-in-chief, and even he, at last, took his departure, having expressed his contempt and defiance in a few significant grunts. I waited till the whole troop had vanished. I then cautiously descended, and proceeded with a light step upon my way. I looked back several times, and scrutinized the thickets that lay along my path. I travelled pretty rapidly for three or four miles, and I may as well confess that I breathed much more freely when I found I had distanced the enemy. It may seem ridiculous that one should be seriously frightened at such an attack, yet the scene dwelt for some time in my memory, and for several nights, my dreams were embellished with images drawn from the swinish mob that had assailed me in the woods.
I now continued my journey, and at the end of eight days, I reached the place of my destination. I found the person whom I sought to be a fat, burly Englishman, named Hartley, possessing about a hundred negroes, all of whom were engaged in the cultivation of coffee. When I told him my errand, he looked at me with surprise, and seemed at first to be in doubt whether he should answer my inquiries. At last, having satisfied himself that I had no sinister object in view, he told me the story which shall be related in the next chapter.