On the Banks of the Amazon

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Still, we were well aware that we had many dangers to encounter. For many hundred leagues we could not hope to meet with Europeans, and although the natives among whom we had hitherto travelled had been friendly, we knew that numerous tribes existed along the banks of the Amazon or its tributaries, who might prove hostile to strangers. Our chief anxiety, however, was about our father and mother. When we might once more meet, we could not tell. Still we felt sure that they would not willingly proceed till we had overtaken them.

We had arrived at a part of the river at a distance from any native village. We had therefore to depend on ourselves for the means of making our intended voyage. We were prepared, however, to build canoes of sufficient size for the accommodation of our reduced party. Accordingly we set to work to erect huts of a more substantial character than those we had hitherto built, in which we might live in some degree of comfort till the work was accomplished. With the assistance of our bearers, in a few hours we had a good-sized hut of bamboos put up, and strongly thatched with palm-leaves. One portion was walled in with a division forming two apartments. The larger was devoted to the accommodation of Ellen and her sable attendant. In the other, our goods were stored; while the rest of us slung our hammocks in a large open verandah, which formed, indeed, the greater part of the building. It was completed before nightfall. In front, between us and the river, a large fire was made up, which, fed by a peculiar kind of wood growing near, kept alight for many hours without being replenished.

We were seated at our evening meal, when we heard footsteps rapidly approaching, and an Indian appeared and saluted Don José. He was a stranger, and had evidently been travelling rapidly. Presenting a packet, he sank down on the ground with fatigue. A cup of guayusa tea soon revived him. Don José meantime opened his packet, and hastily read the contents.

“My young friends,” he said, “I regret that I must immediately bid you farewell. I cannot longer be absent from my people. I know not what may occur; but if their leaders are away, they will have no hope of obtaining their freedom. Your father, however, was right to escape from the country. I am thankful to say that I can give you tidings of him. He has reached the mouth of the Napo in safety, and is there encamped, awaiting your arrival. Here, John, is a missive your father desires me to deliver to you.”

Our friend handed my brother a note written hurriedly in pencil. It ran thus: “The messenger is about to leave, so I must be brief. We are all well, and purpose waiting your arrival on this healthy spot, near the mouth of the Napo. You will without difficulty find it, though we shall be on the watch for all canoes coming down the stream. Pass two rivers on your left hand, then a high bluff of red clay interspersed with stripes of orange, yellow, grey, and white. Proceed another league, till you pass, on a low point, a grove of bamboos. Rounding it, you will find a clear spot on a low hill overlooking the stream. It is there I have fixed our temporary abode.”

“Oh, surely there will be no difficulty in finding them!” exclaimed Ellen. “I wish that the canoes were ready—or could we not set off by land?”

“I fear that you would have to encounter many difficulties,” observed Don José, “if you were to make the attempt. I must counsel patience, the most difficult of all virtues. I wish that I could accompany you—or, at all events, remain till the canoes are ready; but you will find Isoro a skilful builder, and I will direct him to procure the assistance of some of the natives of this region, who will afterwards act as your crew, and navigate your canoes as far as they can venture down the river. After that, Isoro will return with them, as I am afraid that I could not induce him to remain away longer from me, though I would gladly let him accompany you if he would. Still I hope that you will have no great difficulty in accomplishing the short remainder of your voyage till you find your father and the rest of your family.”

John and I thanked Don José again and again for the aid he had afforded us, and the sacrifices he had made on our account.

“Do not speak of them, my young friends,” he replied. “I owe much to your father; and we are united by ties of which he, perhaps, will some day tell you.”

We wished that our friend would explain himself more clearly, but he evidently did not intend to do so, and we therefore could not attempt to press the point. We sat up talking for some time before we turned into our hammocks.