Lost in the Wilds of Brazil

CHAPTER XVIII

A Nightmare Experience

IT did not take the explorers long to pass a group of islands not far upstream, one of the landmarks that Otari had told them about, and as the islands were a number of miles from the village, they felt that they were making a rapid start.

The country was gradually becoming wilder and more beautiful, but with this came an increase in the number of dangerous obstacles that had to be avoided. On the shore the jungle was denser than they had ever seen it before. In many places, to attempt to penetrate its depths would be difficult and perilous, and disaster would come upon anyone who would not blaze a trail.

The variety of fauna was still greater, and many new specimens did the naturalists add to their already large collection. Birds and beasts and reptiles all fell at the report of the explorers’ rifles.

Finally they came to a wide tributary, which forged off from the main stream, making the two rivers form a perfect V. This was the second of Otari’s landmarks, and the explorers felt that another important distance had been covered.

“The current’s rather rough,” said Bob, his eyes following the course of the tributary.

The explorers passed the stream by, not thinking it wise to chance an exploration of it.

The next day their adventurous spirits proved their own undoing. They had been paddling constantly after the morning meal when suddenly they came upon another tributary, this time branching out at right angles from the main stream. There was something about that river that made the explorers want to follow its rough course.

“Probably doesn’t continue far,” was the opinion given by Mr. Holton. “Let’s turn the boats up for a considerable distance. We may come across something totally different.”

The others agreed, for there was a possibility of finding almost anything in this out-of-the-way tributary.

“But we must not stray too far from the Tapauá,” warned Professor Bigelow, as the crew turned the boats in that direction.

For the first hour the country remained much the same. Then they reached a region where rocky crags protruded out from the shore, making it necessary for the crew to be doubly careful in guiding the boats. And with this danger came the possibility of another, for the current was growing stronger. A terrific rapids could be only a short distance downstream. At last, much to the surprise of all, they came to another river, running at right angles to the one they were on.

A thought struck Bob.

“Do you remember that tributary we passed yesterday that formed a V with the Tapauá?” he asked. “Well, I’ll bet this is it. It runs almost parallel with the Tapauá, and we’ve come upon it by taking this course that runs at right angles.”

“By George, you may be right,” agreed Mr. Lewis, suddenly grasping the meaning. “What say we turn down it and see if Bob isn’t right? If he is we’ll gradually fork over to the Tapauá and be where we were yesterday afternoon.”

The others did not object, for they were curious to know whether or not Bob was right.

The current gradually grew stronger, carrying the boats ahead at a much swifter pace. Although this afforded the crew a chance to rest, it worried the explorers, for it was plain that a rapids was somewhere ahead.

They paddled on, however, confident that they were not near enough to be in danger.

“We’ll continue for a while,” said Mr. Holton. “Then we may be able to find out what is ahead of us.”

The words had scarcely left his mouth when the boats rounded a corner, not two hundred feet above a seething, boiling rapids, its waters rushing madly past protruding rocks.

There was no time to lose. Something must be done at once!

“Stop the boats!” cried Mr. Lewis in Portuguese to the crew.

The Indians heard, and struggled with all their might against the rapidly increasing current, but their efforts were in vain. The boats had gained too much momentum.

The cruel water carried them on at terrific speed, which was increased several fold when they went into the rapids. Then they realized that there was little use trying to stop. The forces of man were puny indeed compared to that terrific onslaught of foam.

“Make for the middle of the stream!” commanded Mr. Holton. “Even then it will tax our efforts to the utmost.”

The whites grabbed poles and what other objects they could find and did their part in keeping the foremost boat at as near the middle of the river as they could. But even with the added help it was extremely difficult to guide straight.

The crew had the paddles, and they were doing their best to steer the boats away from the banks. They succeeded fairly well, for the river was still several score feet wide.

But grave misfortune awaited them.

Not far away was a small island, stretching several hundred feet along the course of the river. The distance between the river bank and the island shore was little more than twenty feet, hardly room enough for the boats to get through. And to make matters worse, there were several large boulders protruding near the bank. Disaster seemed almost certain!

In the face of this grave danger the explorers remained calm, determining to save themselves and the boats if it were at all possible. But how?

With sinking hearts they saw the boats head directly for the rocks, where they would immediately be dashed to pieces.

“We must – we’ve got to do something!” cried Professor Bigelow, rapidly losing his nerve.

Bob and Joe were nearest the bank, and anything that could be done was up to them.

Summoning all his power, Joe thrust a sturdy pole into the roots of a large tree that grew almost in the water. He little expected anything to come of the act, but it was a last resort.

Much to the surprise and relief of all, the sudden impact forced the boat back into midstream, although Joe was nearly thrown overboard by the clash.

Bob drew a sigh of relief. A narrow escape! Perhaps the closest they would ever be to death and yet evade it.

But what of the other boat? The whites were so intent upon guiding the one they were in that they completely forgot about the one that trailed.

They quickly glanced around, to see that it had escaped also, and was dashing along behind. How the good luck was brought about they never knew.

“That was a wonderful act on your part,” praised Mr. Holton, turning a moment to Joe.

The latter shook his head.

“Don’t know how I happened to think of it,” he said modestly. “I didn’t expect any good from it, though.”

The others also took part in the commendation, and Joe was glad to turn the conversation to their present predicament.

“Looks like we have a fair chance now,” he remarked, glancing far ahead.

Then suddenly they struck a seething whirlpool and were spun around broadside to the terrific current.

CHAPTER XIX

The Call for Help

“QUICK!” yelled Mr. Holton to anyone who might hear. “Turn the head around or we’ll be swamped at once.”

The Indian who was steering heard and was doing his best to swerve the craft about, but he was having little luck. The terrible rapids was reluctant to yield to the puny efforts of a mere human being.

Water was now dashing into the boat, and if this were to continue there could be but one outcome – tragedy!

This time it was Bob who came to the rescue.

Pushing the Indian aside, he jumped into the seat and caught hold of the paddle, at the same time giving the rudder a swift turn about.

There was a roar and a swish, and the next moment the boat had swerved around and was facing the current head first, leaving the treacherous whirlpool far behind.

“Great work, son!” panted Mr. Holton. “You saved the day that time.”

It was now evident that the worst was over, for the current was gradually losing its terrible force. Slowly but surely they were pulling away from the perilous rapids, and if their good fortune continued, they would soon be in calm waters.

“Unless,” said Joe soberly, “we strike another whirlpool.”

But no other whirlpool barred their way, and soon they were safely riding the calm ripples farther downstream.

For the first time they were given a chance to relax. Their faces were red from exertion; their bodies were dripping with perspiration. In short, they were greatly fatigued.

“The most thrilling adventure we’ve had since we started,” remarked Bob, rubbing his forehead.

“It was a terribly narrow escape,” affirmed Professor Bigelow, not bearing to think of the tragedy that was so closely averted.

“We owe our lives to you boys,” praised Mr. Lewis. “It was your thought and action that prevented the boat from being dashed to pieces. First Joe came across with a plan that kept us from striking the rocks. Then Bob swerved the boat around out of the whirlpool. If it hadn’t been for you – ”

“Forget it!” Bob dismissed the subject as best he could, and then asked his friends’ opinion of where they now were.

“Probably halfway to the junction with the mainstream,” replied Mr. Holton. “That rapids carried us along at a terrific speed.”

His opinion proved correct, for they reached the Tapauá early the next morning and turned the boats to retrace the distance covered the day before.

“Might as well consider that much time wasted,” said Joe. “For about a day the journey will be a repetition of what it was two days ago.”

They did not mind the delay, however. That is, all but Professor Bigelow, who was anxious to find the strange tribe that Otari had spoken about. Every mile that went behind them lagged, to him, till it seemed that he was almost in a nightmare. Even after they had made up for the lost time and were paddling several score miles farther upstream, he was irritated. It was clearly evident that his impatient scientific enthusiasm was getting the better of him.

As they traveled on, his anxiety increased rather than lessened, for they were getting nearer the region occupied by the savages.

“The old boy’s so excited he can hardly wait,” smiled Joe, aside to his chum.

“He’s anxious to test his wits against the cannibals,” returned Bob. “Wants to stay for dinner, maybe.”

They camped that night on a wide sand bank, at the base of a rocky knoll. After the evening meal, they sat in a group about the firelight, chatting merrily, despite the fact that they were near, or perhaps in, the cannibal country.

They turned in early, and the night passed without incident.

“Well,” smiled Mr. Holton the next morning as he went about preparing breakfast, “nothing happened to disturb our deep slumber.”

“Perhaps we are not quite near enough the dangerous territory,” replied Professor Bigelow. “But according to Otari, we shouldn’t have to travel much farther.”

That morning, for the first time, two of the crew began to show signs of uneasiness. It was Bob who first noticed them talking in muffled tones, and upon listening, he found that they did not like the idea of going into this unknown country that was the abode of wild savages. But as they appeared to come to no conclusion, Bob turned to help prepare the meal.

After breakfast they paddled on upstream in search of a suitable hunting area, for the naturalists wished to go ashore and add to their collection.

At every point of the compass the scenery was beautiful beyond description. There were steep, jagged cliffs, densely overgrown with the brilliant green of tropical vegetation; tall forest giants, towering a hundred feet into the sky; gorgeously colored flowers that sent their sweet fragrance far afield.

Mr. Holton broke the enchanted silence. “Here we are,” he said, singling out a stopping place.

The boats were turned into a little cove, behind which was a stretch of smooth country.

The naturalists and their sons picked out guns and prepared to leave on a hunting trip, but Professor Bigelow announced that he would remain at the boats to read.

“Don’t see how he can read on a morning like this,” murmured Joe. “This cool air gets under my skin and cries ‘action, action!’”

They decided to take all but two of the crew with them to help carry in specimens, and strangely enough the two Indians who remained behind were the ones Bob had heard talking about not liking the prospect of penetrating into this unknown country.

Bob wondered if it would be safe to leave things as they were. For a moment he thought of appealing to the others to change the situation, but thought better of it and followed on into the forest. After all, nothing would probably come of the happening.

“We want to get a jaguar today if it’s at all possible,” said Mr. Lewis, his keen eyes scanning the surrounding trees, as if he expected to find one of the big cats lurking there.

“A jaguar!” repeated Joe. “Fine. We’ll get one if there’s any around.”

They tramped on for about five minutes before seeing any game but monkeys and bright-colored birds. Then Mr. Lewis caught sight of a long, lithe body gliding over the tangled underbrush.

The others saw, too, and they raised their rifles and fired.

The snake was immediately made into pulp, and the hunters ran up to examine it.

“Coral snake,” said Mr. Holton, recognizing the striped body. “Whether it’s poisonous I don’t know. Here is one reptile that cannot easily be distinguished as to whether it is of the harmless or poisonous variety.”

The reptile was no good as a specimen, and they passed it by.

Suddenly Mr. Holton stopped still in his tracks and pointed to a low tree bough not far away. The others looked and then shrank back in awe.

There, resting peacefully in the shaded depths of a limb, was a huge, powerful jaguar, its spotted coat showing in strange contrast to the surrounding jungle.

“Back,” whispered Mr. Holton, slowly raising his rifle.

Carefully the naturalist took aim, while the others stood by with ready rifles.

Bang! The bullet sped true.

There was a terrific pawing and clutching at the bough, but to no avail. A second later the great cat fell to the ground, moved convulsively for a moment, and then lay still.

“Hurrah!” cried Bob. “Our first jaguar.”

“The biggest and most dangerous animal of South America,” chimed in Mr. Lewis.

At once the skin was ripped off and then placed in a bag carried by the crew.

A little later Bob was several score feet behind the others, examining a peculiar plant that had small blue flowers. As he started to pluck one he suddenly heard a faint cry that seemed to come from the direction of the river.

At first he thought it was some strange bird, but when he heard it again he was immediately on the alert. That a bird? Absurd. But what could it be?

Then a thought struck him, and he almost turned pale. It was Professor Bigelow!

He called to the others to follow and then turned and ran with all speed to the boats.

CHAPTER XX

Fighting Against Heavy Odds

BOB had often run in track races at high school, but never had he equaled the pace that was now taking him to the boats. It was as though wings had suddenly lifted him through space at an alarming rate of speed.

The youth had all he could do to prevent coming in contact with thorns and fringed plants, but he did his best. But what of thorns when Professor Bigelow needed help?

On and on he went, swinging his rifle over shrubs and bushes. At times it was necessary to hold his arms high above his head to prevent striking limbs and other projections.

At last, after what seemed a terribly long time, he parted the foliage and gazed ahead to see what was happening. Then a look of rage came on his face.

On the river bank a terrific struggle was taking place between Professor Bigelow and the two Indians who had been left behind. The men had the professor down, and the latter’s face was ghastly white as strong arms and hands tried to choke him into unconsciousness. Occasionally he would manage to call out a muffled cry for assistance.

For a moment Bob took in the situation carefully. Then he rushed at the men with rage and fury and landed on the back of the one nearest, bearing him to the ground with a thud. The Indians glanced up in surprise at this abrupt interruption, and they turned to deal with this new enemy.

One of the men gained his feet and launched himself with all force at Bob’s side, the impact hurling the youth from the back of the first man. But Bob shook the fellow off and threw an arm around his neck with the strength of one in desperation. There was a terrific struggle, and the two thrashed about, neither able to gain the upper hand. Bob gripped the Indian’s neck with all his strength, and the man’s face began to turn purple from the terrific strain. It was clearly evident that he would soon be put out of the fight.

But the other Indian was not motionless. In fact if it had not been for him, the youth would have had the better of the first fellow, for he was slowly giving out. But suddenly Bob felt a heavy body landing on his back and had to release his hold on the first man.

This again gave the Indians the advantage, and they were quick to sense their chance.

Bob soon saw that he could gain nothing as things were. He must resort to some other means.

Professor Bigelow was now beginning to show signs of life, but he was so badly battered that what little he did to help amounted to nothing, for he was soon sent sprawling to the ground.

Suddenly Bob gained his feet, intent upon resorting to boxing, a method that the Indians probably knew little about.

A quick glance around showed that his friends had arrived and were making for the boats as fast as they could. But it was only a glance, for the Indians were rushing at him with redoubled force.

Bob caught the first man squarely between the eyes and sent him sprawling to the ground in a dazed condition. The other Indian saw that it would be useless to continue the fight, for the other whites were returning fast.

He turned and made for the boat, Bob at his heels. The youth suspected that the man was going after a gun, and he was right. But he hardly had the revolver in his hand when Bob pounced upon him and wrenched the weapon from his grip. One hard blow put him out of the fight.

Then, for the first time, Bob drew a long breath. He was panting and gasping from exertion, but he hurried over to Professor Bigelow.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” the professor replied, getting to his feet. And then: “That was a wonderful fight you put up, Bob. If you had come much later, the Indians would have escaped with the boat and our provisions.”

“So that was their game!” said Mr. Lewis angrily, glancing at the still limp Indian on shore. “They wanted to put you out and then escape with the boats, leaving us here to starve!”

He drew his fist, and for a moment it looked as if another fight were going to take place.

“Just for that we should desert them,” gritted Joe.

“Can hardly do that,” said Mr. Holton. “It would amount to the same as murder for robbery, and such punishment is unjust. Now if they had killed one of our party it might be different. Even then I’d hesitate to do it.”

“But they’ve got to have some kind of punishment,” persisted Joe. “Who knows but that they’ll attempt the same thing later?”

“We’ll have to keep a close lookout,” returned the professor. “If we see any more treachery we won’t dare take any more chances.”

The other members of the crew could not understand the actions of the two would-be deserters, and at once cast them aside as traitors, calling them names which, had they been translated into English, would have been extremely shocking to civilized persons.

In a short time the two Indians emerged into consciousness, and they sat awaiting any fate that might be thrust upon them. The explorers were at a loss to know what to do with the men, but they finally decided to give them hard jobs in full view of all, so that they could neither escape again with the boats nor get the others of the crew to thinking their way.

“Probably won’t have any more trouble,” remarked Mr. Lewis, as they prepared to start up the river again. “We’ll keep a sharp lookout, and if we see any more dishonesty we’ll act accordingly.”

The specimens were prepared, and they resumed the journey up the river, hoping that few more days would pass before they found the unknown Indians. The whites were anxious and yet rather fearful to come in contact with them, fortified as the boats were. Professor Bigelow, however, took the matter lightly, and often when his friends thought of his numerous visits to strange tribes, many of them hostile, they were inclined to cast aside their worries and leave the future happenings to him. For surely, with his wide experience, he could see to any predicament.

“We want to make good time today,” said Mr. Holton. “Twenty-five miles, at least.”

“We will,” Joe’s father assured him. “Unless,” he added, “more rapids hold us back.”

“I don’t think – I hardly believe they will,” Professor Bigelow said, but this was a statement of hope rather than of conviction.

Bob and Joe constantly took motion pictures of the country they were passing through, and often they took the cameras with them on hunting trips, to photograph not only wild life but any adventures that they might have. The number of feet of exposed film had grown to nearly a thousand, and they intended to make it several more before they “closed” the picture. They were allowed four thousand feet and fully expected to use all of it.

The next day after the fracas with the traitorous Indians, they were paddling swiftly along when suddenly there was a jar and a crash, and the foremost boat was sent aside and heading in the opposite direction. At once the explorers were on their feet and had their rifles in ready grasp. They cautiously peered over the side into the river, half expecting to see a dozen or more savages leap out and make for the boat.

But no savages came. Instead there arose a large black body, nearly ten feet long, shaped like a seal, with the faintest suggestion of fins protruding from its side. For a moment it glanced about, then swam on up the river.

“A manatee,” said Mr. Holton. “Or sea-cow, if you prefer that name.”

“Sure is a whopper,” observed Joe. “Looks like it might be dangerous. Is it?”

“No,” his father replied. “One of the most harmless animals of South America.”

Mr. Lewis raised his rifle to bring the creature down as a specimen, but just as he prepared to pull the trigger it darted below the water and swam off at a rapid pace, leaving a thin streak of ripples behind. Then the naturalists saw that shooting would mean only a waste of bullets.