On the Banks of the Amazon

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Domingos has probably gone out shooting,” observed Arthur. “We shall see your sister and Maria running down directly.”

We looked eagerly towards the camp, but neither Ellen nor Maria appeared. We at length clambered out of the canoe up the bank, leaving Duppo to help out his sister, and on we ran, breathless with anxiety, to ascertain what had happened. The huts stood as we had left them, but the occupants were not there. We looked about. The goods had been carried off. Had the Indians been there—or had Ellen and her attendants fled? These were the fearful questions we asked ourselves. If the Indians had come, where had they carried our sister, and what had they done with her? We searched around in every direction. No signs of violence were to be discovered. Yet, unless the Indians had come, why should they have fled. The savage Majeronas would certainly have burned down the huts. True was running about as surprised as we were to find no one there. Now he ran into Ellen’s hut, then searched about in the surrounding wood, and came back to us, as if he could not make up his mind what had happened. Duppo and Oria now arrived, having waited at the bank to secure the canoe. We tried to make Duppo understand that we wanted to know his opinion. Though very intelligent for an Indian, we could seldom judge his thoughts by the expression of his countenance. At last he comprehended us, but made no reply. After waiting an instant, he went into Ellen’s hut, and then, as True had done, examined the surrounding thickets. At last he came back and had a talk with Oria. They seemed to have arrived at some conclusion. We watched them anxiously. Then we asked Duppo if the Majeronas had been there. He shook his head, and then, taking my hand, led me back to the water, narrowly examining the ground as he went. On reaching the igarape he pointed down towards the great river. I understood him.

“John! Arthur!” I shouted out, “they have gone that way on the raft. I am sure of it from Duppo’s signs. Perhaps they have not got to any great distance, and we may overtake them.”

“Stay,” said John; “perhaps they are hiding somewhere near. We will shout out, and they may hear us.”

“There is no use in doing that,” I remarked. “Had the raft still been here I might have thought so, but it is evident that they have gone away on it. It would easily carry them and all our goods, and for some reason or other Domingos has persuaded them to escape on it, hoping that we should follow.”

“Would not Ellen have left a note for us, or some sign, to show us where they have gone to,” observed John in a desponding tone. “That she has not done so puzzles me more than anything else.”

To satisfy John, we all shouted at the top of our voices again and again; but no reply came. We were going to get into the canoe, when Duppo showed us that we might prepare it with a little contrivance for encountering the rougher water of the river. Some sipos were near. These he cut down, and with Oria’s assistance bound into two long bundles, which he neatly secured to the gunwale of the canoe, completely round her. By this means the sides were raised four or five inches, and would thus, I saw, greatly assist to keep out the water, and at the same time would enable her to float, even should she be partly filled. Duppo now beckoned to us to get into her. We took our seats as before, and once more we paddled down the igarape. Duppo’s contrivance completely kept out the water, which would otherwise have broken on board; and we had no longer any fear of driving the canoe as fast as we could through it. We soon reached the open river.

“Which way shall we turn—up or down the stream?” I asked.

“Down, certainly,” said John; “the raft could not have gone up it.”

We accordingly made signs to Duppo to turn the canoe’s head towards the east. Before us appeared the island on which we so narrowly escaped being wrecked during the hurricane. We steered down near the mainland, examining narrowly the shores on either side. No raft could we see, nor any one on the land. The water was smooth in the channel through which we were passing, but when we got to the end of it, we found the surface rippled over with waves, which, although small, threatened to be dangerous to our deeply-laden little craft. I proposed that we should, notwithstanding, endeavour to paddle up along the other side of the island, in case Ellen and her companions might have landed on it. We made signs to Duppo to steer in that direction; but he, instead of doing so, pointed to a spot some way down the river, signifying to as that he wished to land there. We concluded that it was the place where his father had appointed to meet him. “Perhaps he sees the raft; it may have drifted there,” exclaimed Arthur. “At all events, I am sure it will be better to do as he proposes.”