Lost in the Forest: Wandering Will's Adventures in South America Part 4

"Hooray!" shouted Larry, seizing one of the birds and beginning to pluck it; "good luck to your black mug, we'll ait it right off."

"That's your sort," cried Muggins, whose mouth watered at the thought of such a delightful addition to his poor supper. "Hand me one of 'em, Larry, and I'll pluck it."

Larry obeyed; Old Peter seized and operated on the last bird, and Bunco raked the embers of the fire together, while Will Osten looked on and laughed. In a very few minutes the three birds were plucked and cleaned, and Larry, in virtue of his office, was going to cook them, when Will suggested that he had better resign in favour of Bunco, who was doubtless better acquainted than himself with the best modes of forest cookery. To this Larry objected a little at first, but he was finally prevailed on to give in, and Bunco went to work in his own fas.h.i.+on. It was simple enough. First he cut three short sticks and pointed them at each end, then he split each bird open, and laying it flat, thrust a stick through it, and stuck it up before the glowing fire to roast. When one side was pretty well done he turned the other, and, while that was cooking, cut off a few sc.r.a.ps from the half-roasted side and tried them.

We need scarcely add that none of the party were particular. The birds were disposed of in an incredibly short time, and then the pipes were refilled for a second smoke.

"How comes it," inquired Will, when this process was going on, "that you managed to escape and to bring a gun away with you? We would not have left the s.h.i.+p without you, but our own escape was a sudden affair; we scarcely expected to accomplish it at the time we did. I suppose you had a sharp run for it?"

"Run! ductor, no, me no run--me walk away quite comfrabil an' tooked what me please; see here."

As he spoke, Bunco opened a small canvas bag which no one had taken notice of up to that moment, and took from it a large quant.i.ty of broken biscuit, a lump of salt beef, several cocoa-nuts, a horn of gunpowder, and a bag of shot and ball--all of which he spread out in front of the fire with much ostentation. The satisfaction caused by this was very great, and even Muggins, in the fulness of his heart, declared that after all there were worse things than being lost in a forest.

"Well, and how did you manage to get away?" said Will, returning to the original question.

"Git away? why, dis here wos de way. When me did see the rinc.u.mcos.h.i.+ndy goin' on ash.o.r.e, me say, `Now, Bunco, you time come; look alive;' so, w'en de raskil called de fuss mate orders out de boat in great hurry, me slip into it like one fish. Then dey all land an' go off like mad into de woods arter you--as you do knows. Ob coorse me stop to look arter de boat; you knows it would be very bad to go an' leave de boat all by its lone, so w'en deys gone into de woods, me take the mate's gun and poodair an' shot an' ebbery ting could carry off--all de grub, too, but der worn't too moche of dat--and walk away in anoder d'rection. Me is used to de woods, you sees, so kep' clear o' de stoopid seamans, who soon tires der legses, as me knows bery well; den come round in dis d'rection; find you tracks; foller im up; shoots tree birds; sees a tiger; puts a ball in him skin, an' sends him to bed wid a sore head-- too dark for kill him--arter which me find you out, an' here me is.

Dere. Dat's all about it."

"A most satisfactory account of yourself," said Will Osten.

"An' purtily towld," observed Larry; "where did ye larn English, boy, for ye have the brogue parfict, as me gran'mother used to say to the pig when she got in her dotage (me gran'mother, not the pig), `only,' says she, `the words isn't quite distinc'.' Couldn't ye give us a skitch o'

yer life, Bunco?"

Thus appealed to, the gratified native began without hesitation, and gave the following account of himself:--

"Me dun know when me was born--"

"Faix, it wasn't yesterday," said Larry, interrupting.

"No, nor de day before to-morrow nother," retorted Bunco; "but it was in Callyforny, anyhow. Me fadder him wos a Injin--"

"Oh! come!" interrupted Muggins in a remonstrative tone.

"Yis, him _wos_ a Injin," repeated Bunco stoutly.

"Wos he a _steam-ingine_?" inquired Muggins with a slight touch of sarcasm.

"He means an Indian, Muggins," explained Will.

"Then why don't he say wot he means? However, go ahead, Ebony."

"Hims wos a Injin," resumed Bunco, "ant me moder him wos a Spanish half-breed from dis yer country--Peru. Me live for years in de forests an' plains an' mountains ob Callyforny huntin' an fightin'. Oh, dem were de happy days! After dat me find a wife what I lub berry moche, den me leave her for short time an' go wid tradin' party to de coast.

Here meet wid a cap'n of s.h.i.+p, wot wos a big raskil. Him 'tice me aboord an' sail away. Short ob hands him wos, so him took me, an' me never see me wife no more!"

There was something quite touching in the tone in which the poor fellow said this, insomuch that Larry became sympathetic and abused the captain who had kidnapped him in no measured terms. Had Larry known that acts similar to this wicked and heartless one were perpetrated by traders in the South Seas very frequently, he would have made his terms of abuse more general!

"How long ago was that?" inquired Old Peter.

"Tree year," sighed Bunco. "Since dat day I hab bin in two tree s.h.i.+ps, but nebber run away, cause why? wot's de use ob run away on _island_?

Only now me got on Sout 'Meriky, which me know is not far from Nord 'Meriky, an' me bin here before wid me moder, so kin show you how to go--and speak Spanish too--me moder speak dat, you sees; but mesilf larn English aboord two tree s.h.i.+ps, an', so, speak him fust rate now."

"So ye do, boy," said Larry, whose sympathetic heart was drawn towards the unfortunate and ill-used native; "an', faix, we'll go on travellin'

through this forest till we comes to Callyforny an' finds your missus-- so cheer up, Bunco, and let us see how we're to go to roost, for it seems that we must slaip on a tree this night."

During the course of the conversation which we have just detailed, the wild denizens of the forest had been increasing their dismal cries, and the seamen, unused to such sounds, had been kept in a state of nervous anxiety which each did his utmost to conceal. They were all brave men; but it requires a very peculiar kind of bravery to enable a man to sit and listen with cool indifference to sounds which he does not understand, issuing from gloomy recesses at his back, where there are acknowledged, though unknown, dangers close at hand. Bunco, therefore, grinning good-humouredly as usual, rose and selected a gigantic tree as their dormitory.

The trunk of this tree spread out, a few feet above its base, into several branches, any one of which would have been deemed a large tree in England, and these branches were again subdivided into smaller stems with a network of foliage, which rendered it quite possible for a man to move about upon them with facility, and to find a convenient couch.

Here,--the fire at the foot of the tree having been replenished,--each man sought and found repose.

It was observed that Larry O'Hale made a large soft couch below the tree on the ground.

"You're not going to sleep there, Larry?" said Will Osten, on observing what he was about. "Why, the tigers will be picking your bones before morning if you do."

"Och! I'm not afraid of 'em," replied Larry; "howsever, I _do_ main to slaip up the tree _if I can_."

That night, some time after all the party had been buried in profound repose, they were awakened by a crash and a tremendous howl just below them. Each started up, and, pus.h.i.+ng aside the leaves, gazed anxiously down. A dark object was seen moving below, and Bunco was just going to point his gun at it, when a gruff voice was heard to say--

"Arrah! didn't I know it? It's famous I've bin, since I was a mere boy, for rowlin' about in me slaip, an', sure, the branch of a tree is only fit for a bird after all. But, good luck to yer wisdom an' foresight, Larry O'Hale, for ye've come down soft, anyhow, an' if there's anything'll cure ye o' this bad habit--slaipin' on trees'll do it in the coorse o' time, I make no doubt wotiver!"

CHAPTER SEVEN.

WHEREIN ARE RECOUNTED DANGERS, DIFFICULTIES, AND PERPLEXITIES FACED AND OVERCOME.

Next morning the travellers rose with the sun, and descended from the tree in which they had spent the night--much refreshed and "ready for anything."

It was well that they were thus prepared for whatever might befall them, for there were several incidents in store for them that day which tried them somewhat, and would have perplexed them sadly had they been without a guide. Perhaps we are scarcely ent.i.tled to bestow that t.i.tle on Bunco, for he was as thoroughly lost in the forest as were any of his companions, in the sense, at least, of being ignorant as to where he was, or how far from the nearest human habitation: but he was acquainted with forest-life, knew the signs and symptoms of the wilderness, and could track his way through pathless wastes in a manner that was utterly incomprehensible to his companions, and could not be explained by himself. Moreover, he was a shrewd fellow, as well as bold, and possessed a strong sense of humour, which he did not fail at times to gratify at the expense of his friends.

This tendency was exhibited by him in the first morning's march, during which he proved his superiority in woodcraft, and firmly established himself in the confidence of the party. The incident occurred thus:--

After a hearty and hasty breakfast--for, being lost, they were all anxious to get found as soon as possible--they set forth in single file; Bunco leading, Old Peter, Muggins, and Larry following, and Will Osten bringing up the rear. During the first hour they walked easily and pleasantly enough through level and rather open woodland, where they met few obstacles worth mentioning, so that Larry and Muggins, whose minds were filled with the idea of wild beasts, and who were much excited by the romance of their novel position, kept a sharp lookout on the bushes right and left, the one shouldering his gigantic cudgel, the other flouris.h.i.+ng his s.h.i.+llelah in a humorous free-and-easy way, and both feeling convinced that with such weapons they were more than a match for any tiger alive! When several hours had elapsed, however, without producing any sign or sound of game, they began to feel disappointment, and to regard their guide as an exaggerator if not worse; and when, in course of time, the underwood became more dense and their pa.s.sage through the forest more difficult, they began to make slighting remarks about their dark-skinned friend, and to question his fitness for the duties of guide. In particular, Muggins--who was becoming fatigued, owing partly to the weight of his club as well as to the weight of his body and the shortness of his legs--at last broke out on him and declared that he would follow no further.

"Why," said he gruffly, "it's as plain as the nose on yer nutmeg face, that ye're steerin' a wrong coorse. You'll never make the coast on this tack."

"Oh yis, wees will," replied Bunco, with a quiet smile.

"No, wees won't, ye lump o' mahogany," retorted Muggins. "Don't the coast run nor' and by west here away?"

"Troo," a.s.sented Bunco with a nod.

"Well, and ain't we goin' due north just now, so that the coast lies away on our left, an' for the last three hours you've bin bearin' away to the _right_, something like nor' and by east, if it's not nor' _east_ an' by east, the coast being all the while on yer port beam, you grampus--that's so, ain't it?"

"Yis, dat's so," replied Bunco with a grin.

"Then, s.h.i.+ver my timbers, why don't ye shove yer helm hard a starboard an' lay yer right coorse? Come, lads, _I'll_ go to the wheel now for a spell."

Will Osten was about to object to this, but Bunco gave him a peculiar glance which induced him to agree to the proposal; so Muggins went ahead and the rest followed.