The Inca Emerald, Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  A NEW WORLD

  A week later found the whole party aboard of one of the great SouthAmerican liners bound for Belem. The voyage across was uneventful exceptfor the constant bickerings between Jud and Professor Ditson, in whichWill and Joe acted sometimes as peace-makers and sometimes aspace-makers. Then, one morning, Will woke up to find that the ocean hadchanged overnight from a warm sap-green to a muddy clay-color. Althoughthey were not within sight of land, the vast river had swept enoughearth from the southern continent into the ocean to change the color ofthe water for a hundred miles out at sea. Just at sunrise the next daythe steamer glided up the Amazon on its way to the old city of Belem,seventy miles inland.

  "The air smells like a hot, mouldy cellar!" grumbled Jud; and soon theCornwall pilgrims began to glimpse things strange and new to all threeof them. Groups of slim assai-palms showed their feathery foliage;slender lianas hung like green snakes from the trees; and everywherewere pineapple plants, bread-fruit trees, mangos, blossoming oranges andlemons, rows of enormous silk-cotton trees, and superb banana plants,with glossy, velvety green leaves twelve feet in length curving over theroof of nearly every house. Beyond the city the boys had a sight of thejungle, which almost without a break covers the greater part of theAmazon basin, the largest river-basin on earth. They landed just beforesunset, and, under Professor Ditson's direction, a retinue of porterscarried their luggage to the professor's house, far down the beach, thestarting-point for many of his South American expeditions.

  As the sun set, the sudden dark of the tropics dropped down upon them,with none of the twilight of higher latitudes. Jud grumbled at thenovelty.

  "This ain't no way to do," he complained to Professor Ditson. "The sunno more than goes down, when bang! it's as black as your hat."

  "We'll have that seen to at once," responded the professor,sarcastically. "In the meantime, be as patient as you can."

  With the coming of the dark, a deafening din began. Frogs and toadscroaked, drummed, brayed, and roared. Locusts whirred, and a vastvariety of crickets and grasshoppers added their shrill note to theuproar, so strange to visitors and so unnoticed by natives in thetropics.

  "Hey, Professor!" shouted Jud, above the tumult, "what in time is allthis noise, anyway?"

  "What noise?" inquired Professor Ditson, abstractedly.

  The old trapper waved both hands in a circle around his head and turnedto the boys for sympathy. "Sounds like the Cornwall Drum and Fife Corpsat its worst!" he shrieked.

  "What do you mean, Jud?" said Will, winking at Joe.

  "Poor Jud!" chimed in the latter, shaking his head sadly, "this trip toomuch for him. He hearing noises inside his head."

  For a moment, Jud looked so horrified that, in spite of their efforts tokeep up the joke, the boys broke down and laughed uproariously.

  "You'll get so used to this," said Professor Ditson, at lastunderstanding what they were talking about, "that after a few nights youwon't notice it at all."

  At the professor's bungalow they met two other members of theexpedition. One of these was Hen Pine, a negro over six feet tall, butwith shoulders of such width that he seemed much shorter. He had anenormous head that seemed to be set directly between his shoulders, soshort and thick was his neck. Hen had been with Professor Ditson formany years, and, in spite of his size and strength, was of a happy,good-natured disposition, constantly showing his white teeth inirresistible smiles. Pinto, Professor Ditson's other retainer, was shortand dark, an Indian of the Mundurucu tribe, that warlike people whichearly made an alliance of peace with the Portuguese pioneers of Brazilwhich they had always scrupulously kept. Pinto had an oval aquilineface, and his bare breast and arms had the cross-marks of dark-bluetattooing which showed him to have won high rank as a warrior on thelonely River of the Tapirs, where his tribe held their own against thefierce Mayas, those outlawed cannibals who are the terror of the SouthAmerican forest.

  That evening, after dinner, Professor Ditson took Jud and the boys outfor a walk along the beach which stretched away in front of them in along white curve under the light of the full moon. The night was full ofstrange sounds, and in the sky overhead burned new stars and unknownconstellations, undimmed even by the moonlight, which showed like snowagainst the shadows of the jungle. Professor Ditson pointed out to theboys Agena and Bungula, a noble pair of first-magnitude stars never seenin the North, which flamed in the violet-black sky. As they looked, Willremembered the night up near Wizard Pond before the bear came, when Joehad told him Indian stories of the stars. To-night, almost overhead,shone the most famous of all tropical constellations, the SouthernCross.

  Professor Ditson told them that it had been visible on the horizon ofJerusalem about the date of the Crucifixion. From that day, theprecession of the equinoxes had carried it slowly southward, and itbecame unknown to Europeans until Amerigo Vespucci on his first voyagesaw and exultantly wrote that he had seen the "Four Stars," of which thetradition had lingered. The professor told them that it was thesky-clock of the tropics and that sailors, shepherds, and othernight-wanderers could tell the time within fifteen minutes of watch-timeby the position of the two upper stars of this constellation.

  "It looks more like a kite than a cross," interjected Jud. "What's thatdark patch in the Milky Way?" he inquired, pointing to a strange black,blank space showing in the milky glimmer of the galaxy.

  "That must be the Coal-sack," broke in Will, before Professor Ditsoncould reply.

  "I remember reading about it at school," he went on.

  "When Magellan sailed around Cape Horn, his sailors saw it and wereafraid that they would sail so far south that the sky wouldn't have anystars. What cheered them up," went on Will, "was the sight of old Orion,which stays in the sky in both hemispheres," and he pointed out thestarry belt to Jud and Joe, with the sky-king Sirius shining above itinstead of below as in the northern hemisphere.

  As Jud and the boys stared up at the familiar line of the three stars,with rose-red Betelgeuse on one side and fire-white Rigel on the other,they too felt something of the same comfort that the old-time navigatorshad known at the sight of this constellation, steadfast even when theGreat Bear and the Pole Star itself had faded from the sky. As theycontinued to gaze upward they caught sight of another star, which shonewith a wild, blue gleam which rivaled the green glare of the dog-star,Sirius. Professor Ditson told them that it was Canopus, Mohammed's star,which he thought led him to victory, even as Napoleon believed that theplanet Venus, seen by daylight, was his guiding star. Then the professortraced for them that glittering river of stars, Eridanus, and showedthem, guarding the southern horizon, gleaming Achernar, the End of theRiver, a star as bright as is Arcturus or Vega in the northern sky. Thenhe showed them Fomalhaut, of the Southern Fish, which in the North theyhad seen in the fall just skipping the horizon, one of the faintest ofthe first-magnitude stars. Down in the southern hemisphere it had comeinto its own and gleamed as brightly near this northern horizon as didAchernar by the southern. It was Will who discovered the MagellanicClouds, like fragments of the Milky Way which had broken up and floateddown toward the South Pole. These had been also seen and reported byMagellan on that first voyage ever taken around the world four hundredyears ago.

  Farther up the beach, Jud and the boys came to a full stop. Before themtowered so high that the stars seemed tangled in its leaves a royalpalm, one of the most magnificent trees on earth. Its straight, taperedshaft shot up over a hundred and twenty-five feet and was crowned with amass of glossy leaves, like deep-green plumes. As it touched the violetsky with the full moon rising back of its proud head, it had an air ofunearthly majesty.

  Beneath their feet the beach was covered with "angel-wings," pure whiteshells eight inches long, shaped like the wings of angels in oldpictures. With them were beautifully tinted tellinas, crimson oliviaswith their wonderful zigzag, tentlike color patterns, large dosiniasround as dollars, and many other varieties, gold, crimson, and purple.

  Some distance down
the beach the professor kept a large canoe, inwhich the whole party paddled out into the bay. As they flashed over thesmooth surface, the clamor of the night-life dwindled. Suddenly, fromthe bushes on a little point, sounded a bird-song which held them allspellbound, a stream of joyous melody, full of rapid, ringing notes, yetwith a purity of tone which made the song indescribably beautiful. Itseemed to include the ethereal quality of the hermit-thrush, the liltand richness of the thrasher, and the magic of the veery's song, and yetto be more beautiful than any or all of them together. On and on themagic melody flowed and rippled, throbbed and ebbed in the moonlight.Suddenly it stopped. Then from the same thicket burst out a medley ofdifferent songs. Some of them were slow and mellow. Others had silvery,bell-like trills. There were flutelike calls, gay hurried twitterings,and leisurely delicious strains--all of them songs of birds which theCornwall visitors had never even heard. Then Will, the ornithologist ofhis party, began to hear songs which were familiar to him. There was themusical chuckle of the purple martin, the plaintive call of the uplandplover, the curious "kow-kow" of the yellow-billed cuckoo, and the slow,labored music of the scarlet tanager. Suddenly all of them ceased andonce again the original song burst out.

  "That thicket must be chuck-full of birds," whispered Jud.

  Professor Ditson shook his head.

  "It's only one bird," he said, "but the greatest singer of all theworld--the white banded mocking bird."

  Even as he spoke, the songster itself fluttered up into the air, a brownbird with a white throat, and tail and wings broadly banded with thesame color. Up and up it soared, and its notes chimed like a golden bellas its incomparable song drifted down through the moonlight to thoselistening below. Then on glistening wings the spent singer wavered downlike some huge moth and disappeared in the dark of the thicket. In thesilence that followed, Will drew a deep breath.

  "I'd have traveled around the world to hear that song," he halfwhispered.

  Professor Ditson nodded his head understandingly.

  "Many and many an ornithologist," he said, "has come to South Americato listen to that bird and gone away without hearing what we have heardto-night. Between his own two songs," went on the professor, "I countedthe notes of seventeen other birds of both North and South America thathe mimicked."

  They paddled gently toward the shore, hoping to hear the bird again, butit sang no more that night. As they neared the beach, the moonlit airwas heavy with the scent of jessamine, fragrant only after darkness, andthe overpowering perfume of night-blooming cereuses, whose satin-whiteblossoms were three feet in circumference. Suddenly, just before them,the moon-flowers bloomed. Great snowy blossoms five inches across beganto open slowly. There was a puff of wind, and hundreds of them burstinto bloom at once, glorious white salvers of beauty and fragrance.

  "Everything here," said Will, "seems beautiful and peaceful and safe."

  Professor Ditson smiled sardonically. "South America is beautiful," hesaid precisely, "but it is never safe. Death and danger lurk everywhereand in the most unexpected forms. It is only in South America," he wenton, "that you can be eaten alive by fish the size of small trout, or bekilled by ants or little brown bats."

  Jud listened with much scorn. "Professor," he broke out at last, "Idon't take much stock in that kind of talk. Your nerves are in a badway. My advice to you is--"

  What Mr. Judson Adams's advice was, will never be known, for at thatmoment a dreadful thing happened. Into the beauty of the moonlight, fromthe glassy water of the bay soared a shape of horror, a black, monstrouscreature like a gigantic bat. It had two wings which measured a goodtwenty feet from tip to tip, and was flat, like an enormous skate.Behind it streamed a spiked, flexible tail, while long feelers, likeslim horns, projected several feet beyond a vast hooked mouth. Like somevampire shape from the Pit, it skimmed through the air across the bow ofthe canoe not ten feet from where Jud was sitting. The old trapper wasno coward, but this sudden horror was too much even for his seasonednerves. With a yell, he fell backward off his thwart, and as his legskicked convulsively in the air, the monster came down with a crash thatcould have been heard a mile, raising a wave which nearly swamped thecanoe. A moment later, the monstrous shape broke water again fartherseaward, blotting out for an instant with its black bulk the risingmoon.

  "What kind of a sea-devil is that, anyhow?" queried Jud, shakily, as herighted himself, with the second crash of the falling body still in hisears.

  "That," responded Professor Ditson, precisely, "is a well-nourishedspecimen of the manta-ray, a fish allied to the skate family--but youstarted to speak about nerves."

  Jud, however, said nothing and kept on saying the same all the way backto the house. Arriving there in safety, he went down to the spring forsome water with Pinto, but a moment later came bolting back.

  "What's the matter now, Jud?" inquired Will, solicitously. "Did you findanother water-devil in the spring?"

  "That's just what I did!" bellowed Jud. "When I started to dip out apail of water, up pops about six feet of snake. Now you know, boys," hewent on, panting, "I hate snakes, an' I jumped clear across the springat the sight of this one; but what do you suppose that Injun did?" hecontinued excitedly. "Pats the snake's head an' tells me it's tame an'there to keep the spring free from frogs. Now what do you think ofthat?"

  "He was quite right," observed Professor Ditson, soothingly. "It is aperfectly harmless, well-behaved serpent, known as the mussarama. Thisone is a fine specimen which it will be worth your while to examine morecarefully."

  "I've examined it just as carefully as I'm goin' to," shouted Jud,stamping into the house as Pinto came grunting up the path carrying abrimming bucket of water.

  As they sat down for supper, a long streak of black and white flashedacross the ceiling just over Jud, who sat staring at it with a spoonfulof soup half-way to his mouth.

  "Professor Ditson," he inquired softly, "is that thing on the ceilinganother one of your tame snakes?"

  "No, sir," responded the professor, impatiently; "that is only aharmless house-lizard."

  "I just wanted to know," remarked Jud, rising and taking his plate to abench outside of the door, where he finished his supper, in spite of allattempts on the part of the boys to bring him back.

  In front of Will stood a pitcher of rich yellow cream. "You have a goodcow, Professor Ditson," he remarked politely as he poured some into acup of the delicious coffee which is served with every meal in Brazil.

  "Yes," agreed the scientist, "I have a grove of them." Then he explainedto the bewildered Will that the cream was the sap of the cow tree.

  Will was not so fortunate with his next investigation. Taking a secondhelping of a good-tasting stew which Pinto had brought in from thekitchen, he asked the Indian what it was made of.

  "Tinnala," replied the Mundurucu.

  "What is it in North American?" persisted Will.

  The Indian shook his head. "I not know any other name," he said. "Wait,I show you," he went on, disappearing into the kitchen to return amoment later with a long, hairy arm ending in a clenched fist. Willstarted up and clasped his stomach frantically, remembering all that hehad read about cannibalism among the South American Indians. Even whenProfessor Ditson explained that the stew was made from a variety ofmonkey which was considered a great delicacy, he was not entirelyreassured and finished his meal on oranges.

  Jud was much amused. "You always were a fussy eater, Bill," he remarkedfrom the porch. "I remember you wouldn't eat mountain-lion meat up inthe North when we were after the pearl. You ought to pattern after Joe.He don't find fault with his food."

  "All I want about food," grunted Joe, "is enough."

  That night the whole party slept side by side in hammocks swung in ascreened veranda in the second story.

  During the night, Jud, who was always a light sleeper, was awakened by acurious, rustling, crackling sound which seemed to come from thestoreroom, which opened into the sleeping-porch. After listening awhilehe reached over and aroused Professor Di
tson, who was sleeping soundlynext to him.

  "Some one's stealin' your grub," he whispered.

  The professor stepped lightly out of his hammock, followed by Jud andthe boys, who had been waked up by the whispering. Opening the doornoiselessly, the scientist peered in. After a long look, ProfessorDitson turned around to find Jud gripping his revolver and ready for theworst.

  "You can put up your gun," the scientist growled. "Bullets don't meananything to thieves like these, and he flashed a light on a strangesight. On a long table stood native baskets full of cassava, thatcurious grainlike substance obtained from the root of the poisonousmanihot and which takes the place of wheat in South America. The floorwas covered with moving columns of ants, large and small, which hadstreamed up the legs of the table and into the baskets. Some of themwere over an inch long, while others were smaller than the grains theywere carrying. The noise which had aroused Jud had been made by theircutting off the dry leaves with which the baskets were lined, to use inlining their underground nest. Professor Ditson told them that nothingcould stop an ant-army. Once on the march, they would not turn back forfire or water and would furiously attack anything that tried to checkthem. "A remarkably efficient insect," concluded the professor, "for itbites with one end and stings with the other."

  "This is what I call a nice quiet night!" murmured Jud, as he went backto his hammock. "Sea-devils, snakes, lizards--and now it's ants. Iwonder what next?"

  "Next," however, was daylight, blazing with the startling suddenness ofthe tropics, where there is no dawn-light. With the light, the tumult ofthe night ceased, and in place of the insect din came a medley ofbird-notes. When Jud opened his eyes Professor Ditson's hammock wasempty, for the scientist usually got up long before daylight, andthrough the open door strutted a long-legged, wide-winged bird, nearlythree feet tall, with a shimmering blue breast and throat. Withouthesitating, she walked over to Jud's hammock and, spread her wings witha deep murmuring note, made a low bow.

  "Good morning to you," responded Jud, much pleased with his visitor.

  The bird bowed and murmured again and allowed him to pat her beautifulhead as she bent forward. Then she went to the next hammock and the nextand the next, until she had awakened all of the sleepers, whereupon,with deep bows and courtesies and murmurings, she sidled out of theroom.

  "Now, that," said Jud, as he rolled out of the hammock and began to lookfor his shoes, "is an alarm-clock worth having!"

  Pinto, the Mundurucu, who appeared at this moment with a pail of springwater, told them that the bird was a tame female trumpeter which he hadpicked up as a queer, frightened little creature, all legs and neck, butwhich had become one of the best-loved of all of his many pets. Eachmorning the tame, beautiful bird would wander through the house, wakingup every sleeper at sunrise. When Pinto took trips through the forestthe bird always went with him, traveling on his back in a large-meshedfiber bag; and when he made camp it would parade around for a while,bowing and talking, and then fly up into the nearest tree, where itwould spend the night. Tente, as it was named, was always gentle exceptwhen it met a dog. No matter how large or fierce the latter might be,Tente would fly at it, making a loud, rumbling noise, which always madethe dog turn tail and run for its life.

  As Pinto started to fill the pitchers, Will, the bird expert of theparty, began to ask him about some of the songs which were sounding allaround the house. One bird which squalled and mewed interested him.

  "That bird chestnut cuckoo," said Pinto. "It have the soul of a cat."

  And as Will listened he could well believe it. A little farther off,another bird called constantly, "Crispen, Crispen, Crispen."

  "One time," narrated the Indian, "a girl and her little brother Crispengo walking in the woods. He very little boy and he wander away and getlost, and all day and all night and all next day she go through thewoods calling, 'Crispen! Crispen! Crispen!' until at last she changedinto a little bird. And still she flies through the woods and calls'Crispen!'"

  At this point, Jud finally found his missing shoes and started to putone on, but stopped at a shout from the Mundurucu.

  "Shake it out!" warned Pinto. "No one ever puts on shoes in this countrywithout shaking out."

  Jud did as he was told. With the first shoe he drew a blank. Out of thesecond one, however, rattled down on the floor a centipede fully sixinches long, which Pinto skillfully crushed with the heavywater-pitcher. Jud gasped and sank back into his hammock.

  "Boys," he said solemnly, "I doubt if I last out this trip!"