On the Banks of the Amazon

by William Henry Giles Kingston

As she spoke, a person emerged from the wood, engaged apparently in reading. As his back was towards us, he did not observe the approach of the canoes. “Oh, it is papa!” exclaimed Ellen; “I am sure of it.” And in another instant we were on shore, and Ellen flying over the ground.

It was indeed a happiness to see her in our father’s arms. “And my boys too, safe after all your dangers!” he exclaimed, as he embraced us. “And your young friend too!”

Maria and Domingos came running up to kiss his hand, pleasure beaming in their dark countenances. We hurried forward to the house, and in a few minutes had the happiness of seeing our mother and Fanny. Even Aunt Martha, I thought, looked far more kindly than she used to do, and was as gentle and affectionate to Ellen as she could be. It was indeed a happy meeting.

We, of course, had to recount all our adventures; and thus most of the talking was on our side, as Antonio had already told us all that had happened to them. Our Brazilian friend, Senhor Pimento, was a fine burly old gentleman, habited in light nankeen jacket and trousers, with a broad-brimmed hat. He was of a somewhat dark hue, and his wife, who was a slight, active old lady, was considerably darker. Their family consisted of a son, who was away hunting at the time, and two daughters. I cannot call them fair, but they were attractive, lively girls, who had lived in that remote district all their lives, and knew nothing of the world beyond, believing Para, next to Rio, to be its largest city. Fanny and her Portuguese friends were much pleased with Oria and Duppo, and delighted when they found that they could speak a little English, a language the two latter were trying to learn. The house was of considerable size, built of palm-trees, thatched with palm-leaves; and even the doors and windows were composed of palm-leaves, not opening on hinges, but being hooked up or taken down like mats. There were open galleries round on either side, and several of the rooms were open also; and in these the hammocks of the men of the party were hung up. The floors were also of split palm-trees, and were raised about ten feet above the ground, so as to be at a sufficient elevation during the higher floods which occasionally inundate the larger portion of that region. None of the inmates of the house were idle. Senhor Pimento was constantly out, superintending his labourers; while Donna Joséfa, his wife, was engaged in household matters. The young ladies, it must be owned, were the least industrious of the family.

Arthur had said nothing of the packet he had received from the recluse, yet I was sure that he would not lose a moment in opening it after the time had arrived when he had permission to do so. Ellen came running to me the following morning, I having gone out before breakfast to look round the farm. I saw by her beaming countenance that she was full of some matter of importance.

“It is as I told you, Harry!” she exclaimed. “The recluse is Arthur’s father—I knew it—I was sure of it. Arthur read to me last night some of the letter he gave him. Poor fellow, he is in a great state of agitation, and blames himself for having come away and left him. The recluse—that is to say, Mr Mallet—speaks somewhat vaguely of a fearful event which compelled him to leave England; and he says that, though yearning to have his son by his side, he will not take him out of the path which Providence has placed him in, and from the protection of kind friends—that he himself, long an outcast from his fellow-men, cannot help him, and that by starting alone in life he will have a far better prospect of success than should it be known whose son he is. These remarks, though Arthur is thankful to have found his father, have made him very unhappy. He will talk to you by-and-by, when he has thought the matter over; and do you know, the recluse—I mean, Mr Mallet—says that papa is an old friend of his, and that Arthur may tell him so, as he is sure that though papa may not desire to meet him, he will not in consequence withdraw his protection from his son.”

“That I am sure papa will not,” I exclaimed. “Poor Arthur! I do not know whether to be sorry or glad at what you have told me. Had he spoken to me I might have been better able to advise him.”

Ellen looked into my face. Perhaps she thought that I felt a little jealous that Arthur had not first consulted me. We agreed not to say anything about the matter, but to let Arthur speak to our father himself, being assured that he would do what was kind and generous, and act as he judged for the best.

Arthur during the day was, I observed, more silent than usual. He was waiting, I suspected, to become more acquainted with our father before venturing to speak to him. I was not present when he did so.

The day after our arrival Duppo came to me with a countenance of alarm. “We get among witches!” he exclaimed, looking round cautiously. I asked him what he could mean; and he then told me that he had seen the two young ladies in a wood close to the house, amusing themselves by playing with venomous snakes, which he was sure they could not do if they were like other human beings. “Come, you see them,” he said, wishing to prove his assertion correct; and he led me round the house, through the grove of palms, where, sure enough, seated on a bench, from whence there was a lovely view of the lake, were the two daughters of our host. I confess I was almost startled on seeing them with a number of brilliant looking snakes. One was round each of their necks, while others they had twisted like bracelets, encircling their arms; and one of the girls was holding another in her hand, allowing its forked tongue to dart out towards her face. They were of a bright grass-green colour, with remarkably thin bodies; and it was curious to see the graceful way in which the lithe, active creatures crawled about, or lay coiled up perfectly at home in their laps. Unwilling to be an eavesdropper, I was retiring, when I met Fanny and Ellen, and told them what I had seen, and Duppo’s suspicions. Fanny laughed, saying they were perfectly harmless, and had been tamed by their friends, and returned with me to where the girls were seated. Duppo, however, beat a retreat, evidently unwilling to be in such a dangerous neighbourhood. They were highly amused at hearing of Duppo’s alarm, and showed me that the snakes were perfectly harmless. I took one in my hand, when the creature coiled itself round my arm, and I could admire at leisure its colour, and the beautiful topaz yellow of its eyes. The snakes were between two and three feet long. They were so thoroughly tamed, that though placed on the ground they did not attempt to escape, but came back immediately they were called by their young mistresses. So slender were their bodies, that when coiled completely up I could place one on the palm of my hand.