Most travellers who have passed a night in a South American forest have been roused from their slumbers by a matinée musicale more fantastic than melodious, performed by monkeys, as their ordinary greeting of the dawn. The yelling, chattering, screeching, howling, all unite to form a chorus almost unearthly in its hideousness.

Amongst the various specimens of the numerous family of the quadrumana ought to be recognized the little marikina; the sagouin, with its parti-coloured face; the grey mora, the skin of which is used by the Indians for covering their gun-locks; the sapajou, with its singular tuft over the forehead, and, most remarkable of all, the guariba ( Simia Beelzebul ) with its prehensile tail and diabolical countenance.

At the first streak of daylight the senior member, as choragus, will start the key-note in a sonorous barytone, the younger monkeys join in tenor and alto, and the concert begins. But this morning there was no concert at all. There was nothing of the wonted serenade to break the silence of the forest. The shrill notes resulting from the rapid vibration of the hyoid bones of the throat were not to be heard. Indians would have been disappointed and perplexed; they are very fond of the flesh of the guariba when smoked and dried, and they would certainly have missed the chant of the monkey “paternosters;” but Dick Sands and his companions were unfamiliar with any of these things, and accordingly the singular quietude was to them a matter of no surprise.

They all awoke much refreshed by their night’s rest, which there had been nothing to disturb. Jack was by no means the latest in opening his eyes, and his first words were addressed to Hercules, asking him whether he had caught a wolf with his teeth. Hercules had to acknowledge that he had tasted nothing all night, and declared himself quite ready for breakfast. The whole party were unanimous in this respect, and after a brief morning prayer, breakfast was expeditiously served by old Nan. The meal was but a repetition of the last evening’s supper, but with their appetites sharpened by the fresh forest air, and anxious to fortify themselves for a good day’s march, they did not fail to do ample justice to their simple fare. Even Cousin Benedict, for once in his life at least, partook of his food as if it were not utterly a matter of indifference to him; but he grumbled very much at the restraint to which he considered himself subjected; he could not see the good of coming to such a country as this, if he were to be obliged to walk about with his hands in his pockets; and he protested that if Hercules did not leave him alone and permit him to catch fire-flies, there would be a bone to pick between them. Hercules did not look very much alarmed at the threat. Mrs. Weldon, however, took him aside, and telling him that she did not wish to deprive the enthusiast entirely of his favourite occupation, instructed him to allow her cousin as much liberty as possible, provided he did not lose sight of him.

The morning meal was over, and it was only seven o’clock when the travellers were once more on their way towards the east, preserving the same marching-order as on the day before.

The path was still through luxuriant forest. The vegetable kingdom reigned supreme. As the plateau was immediately adjacent to tropical latitudes, the sun’s rays during the summer months descended perpendicularly upon the virgin soil, and the vast amount of heat thus obtained combined with the abundant moisture retained in the subsoil, caused vegetation to assume a character which was truly magnificent.

Dick Sands could not overcome a certain sense of mystification. Here they were, as Harris told them, in the region of the pampas, a word which he knew in the Quichna dialect signifies “a plain;” but he had always read that these plains were characterized by a deficiency alike of water, of trees, and rocks; he had always understood that during the rainy season, thistles spring up in great abundance and grow until they form thickets that are well-nigh impenetrable; he had imagined that the few dwarf trees and prickly shrubs that exist during the summer only stamp the general scene with an aspect of yet more thorough bareness and desolation. But how different was everything to all this! The forest never ceased to stretch away interminably to the horizon. There were no tokens of the rough nakedness that he had expected. Dick seemed to be driven to the conclusion that Harris was right in describing this plateau of Atacama, which he had for his part most firmly believed to be a vast desert between the Andes and the Pacific, as a region that was quite exceptional in its natural features.

It was not in Dick’s character to keep his reflections to himself. In the course of the morning he expressed his extreme surprise at finding the pampas answer so little to his preconceived ideas.

“Have I not understood correctly,” he said, “that the pampas is similar to the North American savannahs, only less marshy?”

Harris replied that such was indeed a correct description of the pampas of Rio Colorado, and the Ilanos of Venezuela and the Orinoco.

“But,” he continued, “I own I am as much astonished as yourself at the character of this region; I have never crossed the plateau before, and I must confess it is altogether different to what you find beyond the Andes towards the Atlantic.”

“You don’t mean that we are going to cross the Andes?” said Dick, in sudden alarm.

Harris smiled.

“No, no, indeed. With our limited means of transport such an undertaking would have been rash in the extreme. We had better have kept to the coast for ever rather than incur such a risk. Our destination, San Felice, is on this side of the range, and in order to reach it, we shall not have to leave the plateau, of which the greatest elevation is but little over 1500 feet.”

“And you say,” Dick persisted, “that you have really no fear of losing your way in a forest such as this, a forest into which you have never set foot before?”

“No fear whatever,” Harris answered; “so accustomed am I to travelling of this kind, that I can steer my way by a thousand signs revealing themselves in the growth of the trees, and in the composition of the soil, which would never present themselves to your notice. I assure you that I anticipate no difficulties.”

This conversation was not heard by any of the rest of the party. Harris seemed to speak as frankly as he did fearlessly, and Dick felt that there might be, after all, no just grounds for any of his own misgivings.

Five days passed by, and the 12th of April arrived without any special incident. Nine miles had been the average distance accomplished in a day; regular periods of rest had been taken, and, except that Jack’s spirits had somewhat flagged, the fatigue did not seem to have interfered with the general good health of the travellers.

First disappointed of his India-rubber-tree, and then of his humming birds, Jack had inquired about the beautiful parrots which he had been led to expect he should see in this wonderful forest. Where were the bright green macaws? where were the gaudy aras with their bare white cheeks and pointed tails, which seem never to light upon the ground? and where, too, were all the brilliant parroquets, with their feathered faces, and indeed the whole variety of those forest chatterers of which the Indians affirm that they speak the language of nations long extinct?

It is true that there was no lack of the common grey parrots with crimson tails, but these were no novelty; Jack

[Illustration: “Don’t Fire!”]

had seen plenty of them before, for owing to their reputation of being the most clever in mimickry of the Psittacidæ, they have been domesticated everywhere in both the Old and New worlds.

But Jack’s dissatisfaction was nothing compared to Cousin Benedict’s. In spite of being allowed to wander away from the rank, he had failed to discover a single insect which was worth the pursuit; not even a fire-fly danced at night; nature seemed to be mocking him, and his ill-humour increased accordingly.

In this way the journey was continued for four days longer, and on the 16th it was estimated that they must have travelled between eighty and ninety miles north-eastwards from the coast. Harris positively asserted that they could not be much more than twenty miles from San Felice, and that by pushing forwards they might expect in eight-and-forty hours to find themselves lodged in comfortable quarters.

But although they had thus succeeded in traversing this vast table-land, they had not seen one human inhabitant. Dick was more than ever perplexed, and it was a subject of bitter regret to him that they had not stranded upon some more frequented part of the shore, near some village or plantation where Mrs. Weldon might long since have found a suitable refuge.

Deserted, however, as the country apparently was by man, it had latterly shown itself much more abundantly tenanted by animals. Many a time a long, plaintive cry was heard, which Harris attributed to the tardigrades or sloths often found in wooded districts, and known by the name of “ais;” and in the middle of the dinner-halt on this day, a loud hissing suddenly broke upon the air which made Mrs. Weldon start to her feet in alarm.

“A serpent!” cried Dick, catching up his loaded gun.

The negroes, following Dick’s example, were in a moment on the alert.

“Don’t fire!” cried Harris.

There was indeed nothing improbable in the supposition that a “sucuru,” a species of boa, sometimes measuring forty feet in length, had just moved itself in the long grass at their side, but Harris affirmed that the “sucuru” never hisses, and declared that the noise had really come from animals of an entirely inoffensive character.

“What animals?” asked Dick, always eager for information, which it must be granted Harris seemed always equally anxious to give.

“Antelopes,” replied Harris; “but, hush! not a sound, or you will frighten them away.”

“Antelopes!” cried Dick; “I must see them; I must get close to them.”

“More easily said than done,” answered Harris, shaking his head; but Dick was not to be diverted from his purpose, and, gun in hand, crept into the grass. He had not advanced many yards before a herd of about a dozen gazelles, graceful in body, with short, pointed horns, dashed past him like a glowing cloud, and disappeared in the underwood without giving him time to take a shot.

“I told you beforehand what you would have to expect,” said Harris, as Dick, with a considerable sense of disappointment, returned to the party.

Impossible, however, as it had been fairly to scrutinize the antelopes, such was hardly the case with another herd of animals, the identification of which led to a somewhat singular discussion between Harris and the rest.

About four o’clock on the afternoon of the same day, the travellers were halting for a few moments near an opening in the forest, when three or four large animals emerged from a thicket about a hundred paces ahead, and scampered off at full speed. In spite of what Harris had urged, Dick put his gun to his shoulder, and was on the very point of firing, when Harris knocked the rifle quickly aside.

“They were giraffes!” shouted Dick.

The announcement awakened the curiosity of Jack, who quickly scrambled to his feet upon the saddle on which he was lounging.

“My dear Dick,” said Mrs. Weldon, “there are no giraffes in America!”

[Illustration: A herd of gazelles dashed past him like a glowing cloud.]

“Certainly not,” cried Harris; “they were not giraffes, they were ostriches which you saw!”

“Ostriches with four legs! that will never do! what do you say. Mrs. Weldon?”

Mrs. Weldon replied that she had certainly taken the animals for quadrupeds, and all the negroes were under the same impression.

Laughing heartily, Harris said it was far from an uncommon thing for an inexperienced eye to mistake a large ostrich for a small giraffe; the shape of both was so similar, that it often quite escaped observation as to whether the long necks terminated in a beak or a muzzle; besides, what need of discussion could there be when the fact was established that giraffes are unknown in the New World? The reasoning was plausible enough, and Mrs Weldon and the negroes were soon convinced. But Dick was far from satisfied.

“I did not know that there was an American ostrich!” he again objected.

“Oh, yes,” replied Harris promptly, “there is a species called the nandu, which is very well known here; we shall probably see some more of them.”

The statement was correct; the nandu is common in the plains of South America, and is distinguished from the African ostrich by having three toes, all furnished with claws. It is a fine bird, sometimes exceeding six feet in height; it has a short beak, and its wings are furnished with blue-grey plumes. Harris appeared well acquainted with the bird, and proceeded to give a very precise account of its habits. In concluding his remarks, he again pressed upon Dick his most urgent request that he should abstain from firing upon any animal whatever. It was of the utmost consequence.

Dick made no reply. He was silent and thoughtful. Grave doubts had arisen in his mind, and he could neither explain nor dispel them.

When the march was resumed on the following day, Harris asserted his conviction that another four-and-twenty hours would bring them to the hacienda.

“And there, madam,” he said, addressing Mrs. Weldon, “we can offer you every essential comfort, though you may not find the luxuries of your own home in San Francisco.”

Mrs. Weldon repeated her expression of gratitude for the proffered hospitality, owning that she should now be exceedingly glad to reach the farm, as she was anxious about her little son, who appeared to be threatened with the symptoms of incipient fever.

Harris could not deny that although the climate was usually very healthy, it nevertheless did occasionally produce a kind of intermittent fever during March and April.

“But nature has provided the proper remedy,” said Dick; and perceiving that Harris did not comprehend his meaning, he continued, “Are we not in the region of the quinquinas, the bark of which is notoriously the medicine with which attacks of fever are usually treated? for my part, I am amazed that we have not seen numbers of them already.”

“Ah! yes, yes; I know what you mean,” answered Harris, after a moment’s hesitation; “they are trees, however, not always easy to find; they rarely grow in groups, and in spite of their large leaves and fragrant red blossom, the Indians themselves often have a difficulty in recognizing them; the feature that distinguishes them most is their evergreen foliage”

At Mrs. Weldon’s request, Harris promised to point out the tree if he should see one, but added that when she reached the hacienda, she would be able to obtain some sulphate of quinine, which was much more efficacious than the unprepared bark.

[Footnote: This bark was formerly, reduced to powder, known as “Pulvis Jesuiticus,” because in the year 1649 the Jesuits in Rome imported a large quantity of it from their missionaries in South America.]

The day passed without further incident. No rain had fallen at present, though the warm mist that rose from the soil betokened an approaching change of weather; the rainy season was certainly not far distant, but to travellers

[Illustration: A halt was made for the night beneath a grove of lofty trees. ]

who indulged the expectation of being in a few hours in a place of shelter, this was not a matter of great concern.

Evening came, and a halt was made for the night beneath a grove of lofty trees. If Harris had not miscalculated, they could hardly be more than about six miles from their destination; so confirmed, however, was Dick Sands in his strange suspicions, that nothing could induce him to relax any of the usual precautions, and he particularly insisted upon the negroes, turn by turn, keeping up the accustomed watch.

Worn out by fatigue, the little party were glad to lie down, but they had scarcely dropped off to sleep when they were aroused by a sharp cry.

“Who’s that? who’s there? what’s the matter?” exclaimed Dick, the first to rise to his feet.

“It is I,” answered Benedict’s voice; “I am bitten. Something has bitten me.”

“A snake!” exclaimed Mrs. Weldon in alarm.

“No, no, cousin, better than that! it was not a snake; I believe it was an orthoptera; I have it all right,” he shouted triumphantly.

“Then kill it quickly, sir; and let us go to sleep again in peace,” said Harris.

“Kill it! not for the world! I must have a light, and look at it!”

Dick Sands indulged him, for reasons of his own, in getting a light. The entomologist carefully opened his hand and displayed an insect somewhat smaller than a bee, of a dull colour, streaked with yellow on the under portion of the body. He looked radiant with delight.

“A diptera!” he exclaimed, half beside himself with joy, “a most famous diptera!”

“Is it venomous?” asked Mrs. Weldon.

“Not at all to men; it only hurts elephants and buffaloes.”

“But tell us its name! what is it?” cried Dick impetuously.

The naturalist began to speak in a slow, oracular tone.

“This insect is here a prodigy; it is an insect totally unknown in this country,—in America.”

“Tell us its name!” roared Dick.

“It is a tzetzy, sir, a true tzetzy.”

Dick’s heart sank like a stone. He was speechless. He did not, dared not, ask more. Only too well he knew where the tzetzy could alone be found. He did not close his eyes again that night. soPMdM52ow0kTcO30EnX0QwabxNsMMdrGK7D+AFeFDmF4yAukeY++IF2Q6QZcYV4