Presently we saw a hat rising above the bank; it was that of our captain. Another and another appeared. The fellows had been fast asleep, and had not discovered now quickly the time had gone by. When they heard of our encounter, they congratulated us, assuring us
that they had known of numbers of people being killed by herds of peccaries; and they asserted that the creatures will attack and destroy a jaguar, though many of the herd may first lose their lives in the battle. Our men, on hearing of the peccaries we had killed, were eager to obtain some of the flesh, and coolly asked us to go with them, that we might defend them. This we declined doing, for even a dozen men would have been no match for the remainder of the herd, should we encounter them. Our fellows looked very sulky at our refusal, though they were afraid to go alone; so we ordered them to shove off, and proceeded on our voyage, leaving the slain peccaries to become the food of jaguars and pumas, or armadilloes and vultures,—which, before the nest day’s sun arose, would devour the whole of them.
Some days after this we reached a long, low sand-bank, which the falling waters had left dry. We were about to pass close to it, when a voice from the shore hailed us to “keep off in the middle of the stream;” and on looking in the direction from whence it came, we perceived a large encampment of Indians, and in the midst of them recognised a Franciscan monk.
To recompense our crew for the loss of the peccaries, we agreed to land, in the hope of obtaining some fresh provisions. Padre Pacheco told us not to mention who he was; and certainly no one could have discovered him by his dress.
On landing we were welcomed by the friar, who introduced himself as Padre Bobo. He had come with his people, from some place in the interior, to the harvest of eggs. The turtles, he said, had already begun laying them; and his people proposed digging them up the following morning, when they would supply us with as many as we required. We accordingly agreed to remain till then.
The padre seemed a jovial old gentleman, though he complained of his solitary life. He had got his Indians under tolerable subjection, but he appeared to me to have advanced them very slightly in the scale of civilisation; while their religion consisted chiefly in crossing themselves, and bowing to the crucifix which he held up when he performed mass. However, as Padre Pacheco observed, they had given up some of their worst customs, and that was something.
Padre Bobo gave us much information about the habits of these turtles. They invariably lay their eggs during the night. In the evening they may be seen with their heads above water, eager for the moment of the sun’s setting; then, directly it is dark, they land and commence operations. The animal first digs a hole, three feet in diameter and four in depth, with its hind feet, which are very long, and furnished with crooked claws. So anxious is it to lay its eggs that it often descends into a hole that has been dug by another, still uncovered with sand, where it deposits
a new layer of eggs on that which has been recently laid. Numbers of eggs are thus broken. All night long they continue working on the beach, and daylight often surprises many of them before the laying of their eggs is terminated. They now labour with double eagerness, having not only to deposit their eggs, but to close the holes they have dug, that they may not be perceived by the jaguars which are sure to be waiting in the neighbourhood; and many on these occasions are captured.