In Far Bolivia: A Story of a Strange Wild Land Read online

  CHAPTER III--BURNLEY HALL, OLD AND NEW

  I have noticed more than once that although the life-story of some goodold families in England may run long stagnant, still, when one importantevent does take place, strange thing after strange thing may happen, andthe story rushes on with heedless speed, like rippling brooklets to thesea.

  The St. Clairs may have been originally a Scottish family, or branch ofsome Highland clan, but they had been settled on a beautiful estate, faraway in the wilds of Cornwall, for over one hundred and fifty years.

  Stay, though, we are not going back so far as that. Old history, likeold parchment, has a musty odour. Let us come down to more modern times.

  When, then, young Roland's grandfather died, and died intestate, thewhole of the large estate devolved upon his eldest son, with its fatrentals of fully four thousand a-year. Peggy St. Clair, our littleheroine, was his only child, and said to be, even in her infancy, thevery image of her dead-and-gone mother.

  No wonder her father loved her.

  But soon the first great event happened in the life-story of the St.Clairs. For, one sad day Peggy's father was borne home from thehunting-field grievously wounded.

  All hope of recovery was abandoned by the doctor shortly after he hadexamined his patient.

  Were Herbert to die intestate, as his father had done, his secondbrother John, according to the old law, could have stepped into hisshoes and become lord of Burnley Hall and all its broad acres.

  But, alive to the peril of his situation, which the surgeon with tearsin his eyes pointed out to him, the dying man sent at once for hissolicitor, and a will was drawn up and placed in this lawyer's hands,and moreover he was appointed one of the executors. This will was to bekept in a safe until Peggy should be seventeen years of age, when it wasto be opened and read.

  I must tell you that between the brothers Herbert and John there hadlong existed a sort of blood-feud, and it was as well they never met.

  Thomas, however, was quickly at his wounded brother's bedside, and neverleft it until--

  "Clay-cold Death had closed his eye".

  The surgeon had never given any hopes, yet during the week thatintervened between the terrible accident and Herbert's death there weremany hours in which the doomed man appeared as well as ever, thoughscarce able to move hand or foot. His mind was clear at such times, andhe talked much with Thomas about the dear old times when all were young.

  Up till now this youngest son and brother, Thomas, had led rather anuneasy and eventful life. Nothing prospered with him, though he hadtried most things.

  He was married, and had the one child, Roland, to whom the reader hasalready been introduced.

  "Now, dear Tom," said Herbert, one evening after he had lain still withclosed eyes for quite a long time, and he placed a white cold hand inthat of his brother as he spoke, "I am going to leave you. We havealways been good friends and loved each other well. All I need tell younow, and I tell you in confidence, is that Peggy, at the age ofseventeen, will be my heir, with you, dear Tom, as her guardian."

  Tom could not reply for the gathering tears. He just pressed Herbert'shand in silence.

  "Well," continued the latter, "things have not gone over well with you,I know, but I have often heard you say you could do capitally if youemigrated to an almost new land--a land you said figuratively 'flowingwith milk and honey'. I confess I made no attempt to assist you to goto the great valley of the Amazon. It was for a selfish reason Idetained you. My brother John being nobody to me, my desire was to haveyou near."

  He paused, almost exhausted, and Tom held a little cup of wine to hislips.

  Presently he spoke again.

  "My little Peggy!" he moaned. "Oh, it is hard, hard to leave mydarling!

  "Tom, listen. You are to take Peggy to your home. You are to care forher as the apple of your eye. You must be her father, your wife hermother."

  "I will! I will! Oh, brother, can you doubt me!"

  "No, no, Tom. And now you may emigrate. I leave you thirty thousandpounds, all my deposit account at Messrs. Bullion & Co.'s bank. This isfor Peggy and you. My real will is a secret at present, and that whichwill be read after--I go, is a mere epitome. But in future it will befound that I have not forgotten even John."

  Poor Peggy had run in just then, and perched upon the bed, wonderingmuch that her father should lie there so pale and still, and make noattempt to romp with her. At this time her hair was as yellow as thefirst approach of dawn in the eastern sky.

  ----

  That very week poor Squire St. Clair breathed his last.

  John came to the funeral with a long face and a crape-covered hat,looking more like a mute than anything else.

  He sipped his wine while the epitomized will was read; but a wickedlight flashed from his eyes, and he ground out an oath at itsconclusion.

  All the information anyone received was that though sums varying fromfive hundred pounds to a thousand were left as little legacies todistant relations and to John, as well as _douceurs_ to the servants,the whole of the estates were willed in a way that could not be divulgedfor many a long year.

  John seized his hat, tore from it the crape, and dashed it on the floor.The crape on his arm followed suit. He trampled on both and strode awayslamming the door behind him.

  Years had flown away.

  Tom and his wife had emigrated to the banks of the Amazon. They settledbut a short time at or near one of its mouths, and then Tom, who had nolack of enterprise, determined to journey far, far into the interior,where the land was not so level, where mountains nodded to the moon, andgiant forests stretched illimitably to the southward and west.

  At first Tom and his men, with faithful Bill as overseer, were meresquatters, but squatters by the banks of the queen of waters, and in afar more lovely place than dreams of elfinland. Labour was very cheaphere, and the Indians soon learned from the white men how to work.

  Tom St. Clair had imported carpenters and artificers of many sorts fromthe old country, to say nothing of steam plant and machinery, and thatgreat resounding steel buzz-saw.

  Now, although not really extravagant, he had an eye for the beautiful,and determined to build himself a house and home that, although notcosting a deal, would be in reality a miniature Burnley Hall. And whata truly joyous time Peggy and her cousin, or adopted brother, had of itwhile the house was gradually being built by the busy hands of thetrained Indians and their white brethren!

  Not they alone, but also a boy called Dick Temple, whose uncle was TomSt. Clair's nearest neighbour, That is, he lived a trifle over sevenmiles higher up the river. Dick was about the same age and build asRoland.

  There was a good road between Temple's ranch and Tom St. Clair's place,and when, after a time, Tom and Peggy had a tutor imported for their ownespecial benefit, the two families became very friendly indeed.

  Dick Temple was a well-set-up and really brave and good-looking lad.Little Peggy averred that there never had been, or never could be,another boy half so nice as Dick.

  But I may as well state here at once and be done with it--Dick wassimply a reckless, wild dare-devil. Nothing else would suffice todescribe young Dick's character even at this early age. And he soontaught Roland to be as reckless as himself.

  ----

  Time rolled on, and the new Burnley Hall was a _fait accompli_.

  The site chosen by Tom for his home by the river was a rounded andwooded hill about a quarter of a mile back from the immediate bank ofthe stream. But all the land between the hill and the Amazon wascultivated, and not only this, but up and down the river as well forover a mile, for St. Clair wanted to avoid too close contact withunfriendly alligators, and these scaly reptiles avoid land on whichcrops are growing.

  The tall trees were first and foremost cleared off the hill; not allthough. Many of the most beautiful were left for effect, not to sayshade, and it was pleasant indeed to hear the wind
whispering throughtheir foliage, and the bees murmuring in their branches, in this floweryland of eternal summer.

  Nor was the undergrowth of splendid shrubs and bushes and fruit-treescleared away. They were thinned, however, and beautiful broad windingwalks led up through them towards the mansion.

  The house was one of many gables; altogether English, built of quartzfor the most part, and having a tower to it of great height.

  From this tower one could catch glimpses of the most charming scenery,up and down the river, and far away on the other shore, where forestsswam in the liquid air and giant hills raised their blue tops far intothe sky.

  So well had Tom St. Clair flourished since taking up his quarters herethat his capital was returning him at least one hundred per cent, afterallowing for wear and tear of plant.

  I could not say for certain how many white men he had with him. Thenumber must have been close on fifty, to say nothing of the scores andscores of Indians.

  Jake Solomons and Burly Bill were his overseers, but they delighted inhard work themselves, as we have already seen. So, too, did Roland'sfather himself, and as visitors to the district were few, you may becertain he never wore a London hat nor evening dress.

  Like those of Jake and Bill, his sleeves were always rolled up, and hismuscular arms and brave square face showed that he was fit for anything.No, a London hat would have been sadly out of place; but thebroad-brimmed Buffalo Bill he wore became him admirably.

  That big buzz-saw was a triumph. The clearing of the forest commencedfrom close under the hill where stood the mansion, and strong horses andbullocks were used to drag the gigantic trees towards the mill.

  Splendid timber it was!

  No one could have guessed the age of these trees until they were cutdown and sawn into lengths, when their concentric rings might becounted.

  The saw-mill itself was a long way from the mansion-house, with thevillages for the whites and Indians between, but quite separate fromeach other.

  The habitations of the whites were raised on piles well above thesomewhat damp ground, and steps led up to them. Two-roomed most of themwere, but that of Jake was of a more pretentious character. So, too,was Burly Bill's hut.

  It would have been difficult to say what the Indians lived on. Cakes,fruit, fish, and meat of any kind might form the best answer to thequestion. They ate roasted snakes with great relish, and many of thesewere of the deadly-poisonous class. The heads were cut off and buriedfirst, however, and thus all danger was prevented. Young alligatorswere frequently caught, too, and made into a stew.

  The huts these faithful creatures lived in were chiefly composed ofbamboo, timber, and leaves. Sometimes they caught fire. That did nottrouble the savages much, and certainly did not keep them awake atnight. For, had the whole village been burned down, they could havebuilt another in a surprisingly short time.

  When our hero and heroine got lost in the great primeval forest, BurnleyHall was in the most perfect and beautiful order, and its walks, itsflower-garden, and shrubberies were a most pleasing sight. All wasunder the superintendence of a Scotch gardener, whom St. Clair hadimported for the purpose.

  By this time, too, a very large portion of the adjoining forest had beencut down, and the land on which those lofty trees had grown was undercultivation.

  If the country which St. Clair had made his home was not in reality aland flowing with milk and honey, it yielded many commodities equallyvaluable. Every now and then--especially when the river was more or lessin flood--immense rafts were sent down stream to distant Para, where thevaluable timber found ready market.

  Several white men in boats always went in charge of these, and the boatsserved to assist in steering, and towing as well.

  These rafts used often to be built close to the river before an expectedrising of the stream, which, when it did come, floated them off andaway.

  But timber was not the only commodity that St. Clair sent down from hisgreat estate. There were splendid quinine-trees. There was coca andcocoa, too.

  There was a sugar plantation which yielded the best results, to saynothing of coffee and tobacco, Brazil-nuts and many other kinds of nuts,and last, but not least, there was gold.

  This latter was invariably sent in charge of a reliable white man, andSt. Clair lived in hope that he would yet manage to position a reallypaying gold-mine.

  More than once St. Clair had permitted Roland and Peggy to journey downto Para on a great raft. But only at the season when no storms blew.They had an old Indian servant to cook and "do" for them, and the centreof the raft was hollowed out into a kind of cabin roofed over withbamboo and leaves. Steps led up from this on to a railed platform,which was called the deck.

  Burly Bill would be in charge of boats and all, and in the evenings hewould enter the children's cabin to sing them songs and tell themstrange, weird tales of forest life.

  He had a banjo, and right sweetly could he play. Old Beeboo the Indian,would invariably light his meerschaum for him, smoking it herself for agood five minutes first and foremost, under pretence of getting it wellalight.

  Beeboo, indeed, was altogether a character. Both Mr. and Mrs. St. Clairliked her very much, however, for she had been in the family, and nursedboth Peggy and Roland, from the day they had first come to the country.As for her age, she might have been any age between five-and-twenty andone hundred and ten. She was dark in skin--oh, no! not black, but moreof copper colour, and showed a few wrinkles at early morn. But whenBeeboo was figged out in her nicest white frock and her deep-blue orcrimson blouse, with her hair hanging down in two huge plaits, then,with the smile that always hovered around her lips and went dancing awayup her face till it flickered about her eyes, she was very pleasantindeed. The wrinkles had all flown up to the moon or somewhere, andBeeboo was five-and-twenty once again.

  I must tell you something, however, regarding her, and that is theworst. Beeboo came from a race of cannibals who inhabit one of thewildest and almost inaccessible regions of Bolivia, and her teeth hadbeen filed by flints into a triangular shape, the form best adapted fortearing flesh. She had been brought thence, along with a couple ofwonderful monkeys and several parrots, when only sixteen, by an Englishtraveller who had intended to make her a present to his wife.

  Beeboo never got as far as England, however. She had watched herchance, and one day escaped to the woods, taking with her one of themonkeys, who was an especial favourite with this strange, wild girl.

  She was frequently seen for many years after this. It was supposed shehad lived on roots and rats--I'm not joking--and slept at night intrees. She managed to clothe herself, too, with the inner rind of thebark of certain shrubs. But how she had escaped death from the talonsof jaguars and other wild beasts no one could imagine.

  Well, one day, shortly after the arrival of St. Clair, hunters found thejaguar queen, as they called her, lying in the jungle at the foot of atree.

  There was a jaguar not far off, and a huge piece of sodden flesh laynear Beeboo's cheek, undoubtedly placed there by this strange, wild pet,while close beside her stood a tapir.

  Beeboo was carried to the nearest village, and the tapir followed asgently as a lamb. My informant does not know what became of the tapir,but Beeboo was tamed, turned a Christian too, and never evinced anyinclination to return to the woods.

  Yet, strangely enough, no puma nor jaguar would ever even growl or snarlat Beeboo.

  These statements can all be verified.