On the Banks of the Amazon

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“We must drift down till we can see some place where we can get on shore with a prospect of safety,” observed John.

I agreed with him that it was our only alternative; yet I knew that sometimes for miles together along the banks such a place might not be found. We turned the head of the canoe, however, down the stream, anxiously looking out for a fit spot to land. I dreaded, as I cast a look over my shoulder at the sky, that such a hurricane as we had before encountered was brewing; and if so, our prospect of being saved was small indeed. I saw that Domingos also was casting a glance back at the sky. We could see the tall trees on shore bending before the blast. Every moment our position became more and more perilous. If landing in the daylight was difficult, it would be still more so to get on shore in the dark.

Down the mighty river we floated. The last rays of the sun came horizontally over the waters, tinging the mimic waves with a bright orange hue. Then gradually they assumed a dull, leaden tint, and the topmost boughs of the more lofty trees alone caught the departing light. Still no harbour of refuge appeared. I proposed running in, as the last desperate resource, and scrambling on shore while we could still see sufficiently to find our way.

“We shall lose our goods, and the canoe, and the raft, if we make the attempt,” answered John, “and perhaps our lives. We must still try to find a safe place to land at.”

We were yet at some distance from the shore, though, driven by the fierce wind, we were rapidly approaching it. The storm increased. Dark clouds were gathering overhead. A bright flash of lightning darted from them, crackling and hissing as it went along the water: another, and another followed. Suddenly, as if a thick mantle had been thrown over us, it became dark, and we could scarcely have distinguished an opening in the forest had one been before us. John was more unwilling than ever to risk landing; and we therefore steered down the river, parallel with the shore, so as to prevent the raft as long as possible from being driven against it.

“Paddle on, Harry!” cried John, with his usual coolness; “we may yet find a harbour of refuge.”

We could judge pretty well, by the varying outline of the leafy wall close to us, that we were making rapid way. The wind, too, had shifted more to the west, and drove us therefore still before it. Arthur and our Indian friends would, I knew, be in despair at not seeing us land; while it was certain that they could not keep pace with the raft, as they had to make their way through the tangled forest. Now that darkness had come on, they would probably be compelled to stop altogether.

The wind blew harder. The raft was tossed fearfully about. Another rattling peal of thunder and more vivid flashes of lightning burst from the clouds. Maria shrieked out with terror; while the two monkeys clung to her, their teeth chattering—as alarmed as she was, Ellen afterwards told me. Then again all was silent.

“I am afraid, Harry, we must make the attempt,” said John at last. “But the risk is a fearful one. We must tell Ellen, Domingos, and Maria to be prepared.—Be ready, dear Ellen!” cried John. “Hold on tightly; and when I call to you, spring towards me. We must manage by some means to get on shore. Domingos will help Maria. Harry will try to secure the guns and ammunition; our existence may depend upon them. The animals must take care of themselves.—Domingos, are you ready?” he asked, in Spanish.

“Si, si, Señor John. But look there, master; what is that light on shore? It must come from some hut surely, where we may obtain shelter. Let us try to reach the place. Even if there are savages there, they will not refuse to help us.”