Chapter Thirty Six
Charming the Crotalus
I was destined to witness still further proofs of the wonderful capabilities of my new acquaintance.
I felt the natural joy of one whose life has been, saved from destruction – singularly, almost miraculously saved. Like one who has escaped from drowning, from the field of slaughter, from the very jaws of death. The reaction was delightful. I felt gratitude, too, for him who had saved me. I could have embraced my sable companion, black and fierce as he was, like a brother.
We sat side by side upon the log, and chatted gaily; – gaily as men may whose future is dark and unsettled. Alas! it was so with both of us. Mine had been dark for days past; and his – what was his, poor helot?
But even in the gloom of sadness the mind has its moments of joy. Nature has not allowed that grief may be continuous, and at intervals the spirit must soar above its sorrows. Such an interval was upon me then. Joy and gratitude were in my heart. I had grown fond of this slave, – this runaway slave, – and was for the moment happy in his companionship.
It was natural our conversation should be of snakes and snake-roots, and many a strange fact he imparted to me relating to reptile life. A herpetologist might have envied me the hour I spent upon that log in the company of Gabriel the Bambarra.
In the midst of our conversation my companion abruptly asked the question, whether I had killed the snake that had bitten me.
“No,” I replied. “It escaped.”
“’Scaped, mass’! whar did um go?”
“It took shelter in a hollow log, – the very one on which we are seated.”
The eyes of the negro sparkled with delight.
“Dam!” exclaimed he, starting to his feet; “mass’ say snake in dis yeer log? Dam!” he repeated, “if do varmint yeer in dis log, Gabr’l soon fetch ’im out.”
“What! you have no axe?”
“Dis nigga axe no want for dat.”
“How, then, can you get at the snake? Do you intend to set fire to the log?”
“Ho! fire no good. Dat log burn whole month. Fire no good: smoke white men see, – b’lieve ’im runaway, – den come de blood-dogs. Dis nigga daren’t make no fire.”
“How, then?”
“Wait a bit, mass’ Edwad, you see. Dis nigga fetch de rattlesnake right out ob ’im boots. Please, young mass’, keep still; don’t speak ’bove de breff: ole varmint, he hear ebbery word.”
The black now talked in whispers, as he glided stealthily around the log. I followed his directions, and remained perfectly “still,” watching every movement of my singular companion.
Some young reeds of the American bamboo (Arundo gigantea) were growing near. A number of these he cut down with his knife; and then, sharpening their lower ends, stuck them into the ground, near the end of the log. He arranged the reeds in such a manner that they stood side by side, like the strings of a harp, only closer together. He next chose a small sapling from the thicket, and trimmed it so that nothing remained but a straight wand with a forked end. With this in one hand, and a piece of split cane in the other, he placed himself flat along the log, in such a position that his face was directly over the entrance to the cavity. He was also close to the row of canes, so that with his outstretched hand he could conveniently reach them. His arrangements were now completed, and the “charm” commenced.
Laying aside the forked sapling ready to his hand, he took the piece of split reed, and drew it backward and forward across the row of upright canes. This produced a sound which was an exact imitation of the “skerr” of the rattlesnake; go like, that a person hearing it, without knowing what caused it, would undoubtedly have mistaken it for the latter; so like, that the black knew the reptile itself would be deceived by it! He did not, however, trust to this alone to allure his victim. Aided by an instrument which he had hastily constructed out of the lanceolate leaves of the cane, he at the same time imitated the scream and chatter of the red cardinal (Loxia cardinalis), just as when that bird is engaged in battle, either with a serpent, an opossum, or some other of its habitual enemies.
The sounds produced were exactly similar to those often heard in the depths of the American forest, when the dread crotalus plunders the nest of the Virginian nightingale.
The stratagem proved successful. In a few moments the lozenge-shaped head of the reptile appeared outside the cavity. Its forking tongue was protruded at short intervals, and its small dark eyes glittered with rage. Its rattle could be heard, announcing its determination to take part in the fray – which it supposed was going on outside.
It had glided out nearly the full length of its body, and seemed to have discovered the deception, for it was turning round to retreat. But the crotalus is one of the most sluggish of snakes; and, before it could get back within the log, the forked sapling descended upon its neck, and pinned it fast to the ground!
Its body now writhed over the grass in helpless contortions – a formidable creature to behold. It was a snake of the largest size for its species, being nearly eight feet in length, and as thick as the wrist of the Bambarra himself. Even he was astonished at its proportions; and assured me it was the largest of its kind he had ever encountered.
I expected to see the black put an end to its struggles at once by killing it; and I essayed to help him with my gun.
“No, mass’,” cried he, in a tone of entreaty, “for luv ob de Ormighty! don’t fire de gun. Mass’ forget dat dis poor nigga am runaway.”
I understood his meaning, and lowered the piece.
“B’side,” continued he, “I’se got somethin’ show mass’ yet – he like see curious thing – he like see de big snake trick?”
I replied in the affirmative.
“Well, den, please, mass’, hold dis stick. I for something go. Jes now berry curious plant I see – berry curious – berry scace dat plant. I seed it in de cane-brake. Catch ’old, mass’, while I go get um.”
I took hold of the sapling, and held it as desired, though not without some apprehension of the hideous reptile that curled and writhed at my feet. I had no need to fear, however. The fork was exactly across the small of the creature’s neck, and it could not raise its head to strike me. Large as it was, there was no danger from anything but its fangs; for the crotalus, unlike serpents of the genus constrictor, possesses but a very feeble power of compression.
Gabriel had gone off among the bushes, and in a few minutes I saw him returning. He carried in his hand a plant which, as before, he had pulled up by the roots. Like the former, it was a herbaceous plant, but of a very different appearance. The leaves of this one were heart-shaped and acuminate, its stem sinuous, and its flowers of a dark purple colour.
As the black approached, I saw that he was chewing some parts both of the leaves and root. What did he mean to do?
I was not left long in suspense. As soon as he had arrived upon the ground, he stooped down, and spat a quantity of the juice over the head of the snake. Then, taking the sapling out of my hand, he plucked it up and flung it away.
To my dismay, the snake was now set free; and I lost no time in springing backward, and mounting upon the log.
Not so my companion, who once more stooped down, caught hold of the hideous reptile, fearlessly raised it from the ground, and flung it around his neck as coolly as if it had been a piece of rope!
The snake made no effort to bite him. Neither did it seem desirous of escaping from his grasp. It appeared rather to be stupefied, and without the power of doing injury!
After playing with it for some moments, the Bambarra threw it back to the ground. Even there it made no effort to escape!
The charmer now turned to me, and said, in a tone of triumph, “Now, mass’ Edward, you shall hab rebenge. Look at dis!”
As he spoke he pressed his thumb against the fauces of the serpent, until its mouth stood wide open. I could plainly see its terrible fangs and poison glands. Then, holding its head close up to his lips, he injected the dark saliva into its throat, and once more flung it to the ground. Up to this time he had used no violence – nothing that would have killed a creature so retentive of life as a snake; and I still expected to see the reptile make its escape. Not so, however. It made no effort to move from the spot, but lay stretched out in loose irregular folds, without any perceptible motion beyond a slight quivering of the body. In less than two minutes after, this motion ceased and the snake had all the appearance of being dead!
“It am dead, mass’,” replied the black to my inquiring glance, “dead as Julium Caesar.”
“And what is this plant, Gabriel?”
“Ah, dat is a great yerb, mass’; dat is a scace plant – a berry scace plant. Eat some ob dat – no snake bite you, as you jes seed. Dat is de plant ob de snake-charmer.”
The botanical knowledge of my sable companion went no farther. In after years, however, I was enabled to classify his “charm,” which was no other than the Aristolochia serpentaria– a species closely allied to the “bejuco de guaco,” that alexipharmic rendered so celebrated by the pens of Mutis and Humboldt.
My companion now desired me to chew some of the roots; for though he had every confidence in the other remedy, he deemed it no harm to make assurance doubly sure. He extolled the virtues of the new-found plant, and told me he should have administered it instead of the seneca root, but he had despaired of finding it – as it was of much more rare occurrence in that part of the country.
I eagerly complied with his request, and swallowed some of the juice. Like the seneca root, it tasted hot and pungent, with something of the flavour of spirits of camphor. But the polygala is quite inodorous, while the guaco gives forth a strong aromatic smell, resembling valerian.
I had already experienced relief – this would have given it to me almost instantaneously. In a very short time time the swelling completely subsided; and had it not been for the binding around my wrist, I should have forgotten that I had been wounded.
Chapter Thirty Seven
Killing a Trail
An hour or more we had spent since entering the glade – now no longer terrible. Once more its flowers looked bright, and their perfume had recovered its sweetness. Once more the singing of the birds and the hum of the insect-world fell soothingly upon my ears; and there, as before, sat the pretty doves, still repeating their soft “co-co-a” – the endearing expression of their loves.
I could have lingered long in the midst of this fair scene – long have enjoyed its sylvan beauty; but the intellectual must over yield to the physical. I felt sensations of hunger, and soon the appetite began to distress me. Where was I to obtain relief from this pain – where obtain food? I could not ask my companion to guide me to the plantations, now that I knew the risk he would run in so doing. I knew that it really was as he had stated —the loss of an arm, perhaps of life, should he be caught. There was but little hope of mercy for him – the less so as he had no master with power to protect him, and who might be interested in his not being thus crippled!
By approaching the open country on the edge of the clearings, he would not only run the hazard of being seen, but, what he feared still more, being tracked by hounds! This mode of searching for “runaways” was not uncommon, and there were even white men base enough to follow it as a calling! So learnt I from my companion. His information was afterwards confirmed by my own experience!
I was hungry – what was to be done? I could not find my way alone. I might again get lost, and have to spend the night in the swamp. What had I best do?
I appealed to my companion. He had been silent for some time – busy with his thoughts. They were running on the same subject as my own. The brave fellow had not forgotten me.
“Jes what dis nigga am thinkin’ ’bout,” replied he. “Well, mass’,” he continued, “when sun go down, den I guide you safe – no fear den. Gabr’l take you close to de Lebee road. Mass’ must wait till sun go down.”
“But – ”
“Mass’ hungry?” inquired he, interrupting me.
I assented.
“Jes thot so. Dar’s nuffin’ yeer to eat ’cept dis ole snake. Mass’ no care to eat snake: dis nigga eat ’im. Cook ’im at night, when smoke ob de fire not seen ober de woods. Got place to cook ’im, mass’ see. Gabr’l truss mass’ Edwad. He take him to caboose ob de runaway.”
He had already cut off the head of the reptile while he was talking; and having pinned neck and tail together with a sharp stick, he lifted the glittering body, and flinging it over his shoulders, stood ready to depart.
“Come, now, mass’,” continued he, “come ’long wi’ Ole Gabe; he find you somethin’ to eat.”
So saying, he turned round and walked off into the bushes.
I took up my gun and followed. I could not do better. To have attempted to find my own way back to the clearings might again have resulted in failure, since I had twice failed. I had nothing to hurry me back. It would be quite as well if I returned to the village after night – the more prudent course, in fact – as then my mud-bedaubed and blood-stained habiliments would be less likely to attract attention; and this I desired to avoid. I was contented, therefore, to follow the runaway to his “lair,” and share it with him till after sunset.
For some hundred yards he led on in silence. His eyes wandered around the forest, as though he was seeking for something. They were not directed upon the ground, but upward to the trees; and, therefore, I know it was not the path he was in search of.
A slight exclamation escaped him, and, suddenly turning in his tracks, he struck off in a direction different to that we had been following. I walked after; and now saw that he had halted by a tall tree, and was looking up among its branches.
The tree was the frankincense, or loblolly pine (Pinus toeda). That much of botany I knew. I could tell the species by the large spinous cones and light-green needles. Why had he stopped there?
“Mass’ Edwad soon see,” he said, in answer to my interrogatory. “Please, mass’,” he continued, “hold de snake a bit – don’t let um touch de groun’ – dam dogs dey smell um!”
I relieved him of his burden; and, holding it as he desired, stood watching him in silence.
The loblolly pine grows with a straight, naked shaft and pyramidal head, often without branches, to the height of fifty feet. In this case, however, several fronds stood out from the trunk, at less than twenty feet from the ground. These were loaded with large green cones, full five inches in length; and it appeared to be these that my companion desired to obtain – though for what purpose I had not the remotest idea.
After a while he procured a long pole; and with the end of this knocked down several of the cones, along with pieces of the branchlets to which they adhered.
As soon as he believed he had a sufficient quantity for his purpose, he desisted, and flung the pole away.
What next? I watched with increasing interest.
He now gathered up both the cones and the adhering spray; but to my surprise he flung the former away. It was not the cones, then, he wanted, but the young shoots that grew on the very tops of the branches. These were of a brownish-red colour, and thickly coated with resin – for the Pinus taeda is more resinous than any tree of its kind – emitting a strong aromatic odour, which has given to it one of its trivial names.
Having collected the shoots until he had both hands full, my guide now bent down, and rubbed the resin over both the soles and upper surface of his coarse brogans. He then advanced to where I stood, stooped down again, and treated my boots to a similar polishing!
“Now, mass’, all right – de dam, blood-dogs no scent Ole Gabe now – dat hill de trail. Come, mass’ Edwad, come ’long.”
Saying this, he again shouldered the snake and started off, leaving me to follow in his tracks.
Chapter Thirty Eight
The Pirogue
We soon after entered the cyprière. There the surface was mostly without underwood. The black taxodiums, standing thickly, usurped the ground, their umbellated crowns covered with hoary epiphytes, whose pendulous drapery shut out the sun, that would otherwise have nourished on that rich soil a luxuriant herbaceous vegetation. But we were now within the limits of the annual inundation; and but few plants can thrive there.
After a while I could see we were approaching a stagnant water. There was no perceptible descent, but the dank damp odour of the swamp, the noise of the piping frogs, the occasional scream of some wading bird, or the bellowing of the alligator, admonished me that some constant water – some lake or pond – was near.
We were soon upon its margin. It was a large pond, though only a small portion of it came under the eye; for, as far as I could see, the cypress-trees grew up out of the water, their huge buttresses spreading out so as almost to touch each other! Here and there the black “knees” protruded above the surface, their fantastic shapes suggesting the idea of horrid water-demons, and lending a supernatural character to the scene. Thus canopied over, the water looked black as ink, and the atmosphere felt heavy and oppressive. The picture was one from which Dante might have drawn ideas for his “Inferno.”
On arriving near this gloomy pond, my guide came to a stop. A huge tree that had once stood near the edge had fallen, and in such a position that its top extended far out into the water. Its branches were yet undecayed, and the parasites still clung to them in thick tufts, giving the whole the appearance of a mass of hay loosely thrown together. Part of this was under water, but a still larger portion remained above the surface, high and dry. It was at the root of this fallen tree that my guide had halted.
He remained but a moment, waiting only till I came up.
As soon as I had reached the spot, he mounted upon the trunk; and, beckoning me to follow him, walked along the log in the direction of its top. I climbed up, and balancing myself as well as I could, followed him out into the water.
On reaching the head of the tree, we entered among the thick limbs; and, winding around these, kept still farther towards the top branches. I expected that there we should reach our resting-place.
At length my companion came to a stop, and I now saw, to my astonishment, a small “pirogue” resting upon the water, and hidden under the moss! So completely was it concealed, that it was not possible to have seen it from any point except that where we now stood.
“This, then,” thought I, “is the object for which we have crawled out upon the tree.”
The sight of the pirogue led me to conjecture that we had farther to go. The black now loosed the canoe from its moorings, and beckoned me to get in.
I stepped into the frail craft and sat down. My companion followed, and, laying hold of the branches, impelled the vessel outward till it was clear of the tops of the tree. Then, seizing the paddle, under its repeated strokes we passed silently over the gloomy surface of the water.
For the first two or three hundred yards our progress was but slow. The cypress knees, and huge “buttocks” of the trees, stood thickly in the way, and it was necessary to observe some caution in working the pirogue through among them. But I saw that my companion well understood the manège of his craft, and wielded a “paddle” with the skill of a Chippewa. He had the reputation of being a great “’coon-hunter” and “bayou fisherman;” and in these pursuits no doubt he had picked up his canoe-craft.
It was the most singular voyage I had ever made. The pirogue floated in an element that more resembled ink than water. Not a ray of sun glanced across our path. The darkness of twilight was above and around us.
We glided along shadowy aisles, and amidst huge black trunks that rose like columns supporting a canopy of close-woven fronds. From this vegetable root hung the mournful bromelia, sometimes drooping down to the very surface of the water, so as to sweep our faces and shoulders as we passed under it.
We were not the only living things. Even this hideous place had its denizens. It was the haunt and secure abode of the great saurian, whose horrid form could be distinguished in the gloom, now crawling along some prostrate trunk, now half mounted upon the protruding knees of the cypresses, or swimming with slow and stealthy stroke through the black liquid. Huge water-snakes could be seen, causing a tiny ripple as they passed from tree to tree, or lying coiled upon the projecting buttocks. The swamp-owl hovered on silent wing, and large brown bats pursued their insect prey. Sometimes these came near, fluttering in our very faces, so that we could perceive the mephitic odour of their bodies, while their horny jaws gave forth a noise like the clinking of castanets.
The novelty of the scene interested me; but I could not help being impressed with a slight feeling of awe. Classic memories, too, stirred within me. The fancies of the Roman poet were here realised. I was upon the Styx, and in my rower I recognised the redoubtable Charon.
Suddenly a light broke through the gloom. A few more strokes of the paddle, and the pirogue shot out into the bright sunlight. What a relief!
I now beheld a space of open water, – a sort of circular lake. It was in reality the lake, for what we had been passing over was but the inundation; and at certain seasons this portion covered with forest became almost dry. The open water, on the contrary, was constant, and too deep even for the swamp-loving cypress to grow in it.
The space thus clear of timber was not of very large extent, – a surface of half-a-mile or so. On all sides it was enclosed by the moss-draped forest that rose around it, like a grey wall; and in the very centre grew a clump of the same character, that in the distance appeared to be an island.
This solitary tarn was far from being silent. On the contrary, it was a scene of stirring life. It seemed the rendezvous for the many species of wild winged creatures that people the great marais of Louisiana. There were the egrets, the ibises – both white and scarlet – the various species of Ardeidae, the cranes, and the red flamingoes. There, too, was the singular and rare darter, swimming with body immersed, and snake-like head just appearing above the water; and there were the white unwieldy forms of the tyrant pelicans standing on the watch for their finny prey. Swimming birds speckled the surface; various species of Anatidae– swans, geese, and ducks, – while the air was filled with flights of gulls and curlews, or was cut by the strong whistling wings of the mallards.
Other than waterfowl had chosen this secluded spot for their favourite dwelling-place. The osprey could be seen wheeling about in the air, now shooting down like a star upon the unfortunate fish that had approached too near the surface, and anon yielding up his prey to the tyrant Haliaetus. Such were the varied forms of feathered creatures that presented themselves to my eye on entering this lonely lake of the woods.
I looked with interest upon the scene. It was a true scene of nature, and made a vivid impression upon me at the moment. Not so with my companion, to whom it was neither novel nor interesting. It was an old picture to his eyes, and he saw it from a different point of view. He did not stay to look at it, but, lightly dipping his paddle, pressed the pirogue on in the direction of the island.
A few strokes carried us across the open water, and the canoe once more entered under the shadow of trees. But to my surprise, there was no island! What I had taken for an island was but a single cypress-tree, that grew upon a spot where the lake was shallow. Its branches extending on every side were loaded with the hoary parasites that drooped down to the very surface of the water, and shadowed a space of half an acre in extent. Its trunk rested upon a base of enormous dimensions. Huge buttresses flanked it on every side, slanting out into the water and rising along its stem to a height of many yards, the whole mass appearing as large as an ordinary cabin. Its sides were indented with deep bays; and, as we approached under the screen, I could perceive a dark cavity which showed that this singular “buttock” was hollow within.
The bow of the pirogue was directed into one of the bays, and soon struck against the tree. I saw several steps cut into the wood, and leading to the cavity above. My companion pointed to these steps. The screaming of the startled birds prevented me from hearing what he said, but I saw that it was a sign for me to mount upward. I hastened to obey his direction; and, climbing out of the canoe, sprawled up the sloping ridge.
At the top was the entrance, just large enough to admit the body of a man; and, pressing through this, I stood inside the hollow tree.
We had reached our destination – I was in the lair of the runaway!