Martin Rattler by R. M. Ballantyne (read full novel .txt) 📕

“How I wish,” said Martin with a sigh, as he rode along beside his friend Barney, “that I knew something of botany.”

Barney opened his eyes in surprise. “Arrah! it’s too much of a philosopher ye are already, lad. What good would it do ye to know all the hard names that men have given to the flowers? Sure I wance wint after the doctor o’ a ship, to carry his box for him when he wint on what he called botanical excursions; and the poor cratur used to be pokin’ his nose for iver down at the ground, an’ peerin’ through his green spectacles at miserable bits o’ plants, an’ niver seemin’ to enjoy anything; when all the time I was lookin’ far fornint me, an all around me, an’ up at the sky, seein’ ivery beautiful thing, and snifterin’ up the sweet smells, an’ in fact enjoyin’ the whole univarse—an my pipe to boot—like an intelligent cratur.” Barney looked round as he spoke, with a bland, self-satisfied expression of countenance, as if he felt that he had given a lucid definition of the very highest style of philosophy, and proved that he, Barney O’Flannagan, was possessed of the same in no common degree.

“Well, Barney,” rejoined Martin, “since you give me credit for being a philosopher, I must continue to talk philosophically. Your botanical friend took a microscopic view of nature, while you took a telescopic view of it. Each view is good, but both views are better; and I can’t help wishing that I were more of a philosopher than I am, especially in reference to botany.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Barney, who seemed not quite to understand his young friend, “yer observations are remarkably thrue, and do ye great credit, for yer years. Ah! Mr Hermit, good luck to ye! I’m glad to see that ye’ve got some consideration for man and baste. I’m quite ready for my victuals, and so’s my mule; aren’t you, avic?”

Barney’s latter remark was addressed to his patient charger, from whose back he sprang as he spoke, and slackened its girths.

It was now approaching mid-day, and the hermit had pitched upon a large tree as a fitting spot for rest and refreshment. Water had been brought up the mountain in a huge calabash; but they did not require to use it, as they found a quantity in the hollow stump of a tree. There were several frogs swimming about in this miniature lake; but it was found to be fresh and clear and good, notwithstanding.

Towards evening they passed a string of mules going towards the town which they had just left. They were driven by Negroes, most of whom were slaves, and nearly quite naked. A Brazilian merchant, wearing a picturesque broad-brimmed, high-crowned straw-hat, a poncho, and brown leather boots armed at the heels with large sharp spurs, rode at the head, and gave the strangers a surly nod of his head as they passed. Soon after, they descended into the plain, and came to a halt at a sort of roadside public-house, where there was no sleeping accommodation, but where they found an open shed in which travellers placed their goods, and slung their hammocks, and attended to themselves. At the venda, close beside it, they purchased a large bag of farina, being short of that necessary article of food, and then set to work to prepare supper in the open air; while the merry Negroes, who seemed to enjoy life most thoroughly, laughed and sang as they removed the bales from the mules’ backs and cooked their simple fare.

Barney’s cooking propensities now came into full play; and, with the variety of fruits and vegetables which the country afforded, he exercised his ingenuity, and produced several dishes of so savoury a nature that the hermit was compelled to open his eyes in amazement, and smack his lips with satisfaction, being quite unable to express his sentiments in words. While thus busily and agreeably employed, they were told by the owner of the venda that a festa was being celebrated at a village about a league distant from where they stood.

“I should like to see it above all things,” said Martin eagerly; “could we not go?”

The hermit frowned. “Yes, we can go, but it will be to behold folly. Perhaps it will be a good lesson, from which much may be learned. We will go.”

“It’s not a step that I’ll budge till I’ve finished me pipe,” said Barney, pulling away at that bosom friend with unexampled energy. “To smoke,” he continued, winking gently with one eye, “is the first law of nature; jist give me ten minutes more, an’ I’m your man for anything.”

Being a fine evening, they proceeded on foot. In about an hour after setting out, they approached the village, which lay in a beautiful valley below them. Sounds of mirth and music rose like a distant murmur on the air, and mingled with the songs of birds and insects. Then the sun went down, and in a few minutes it grew dark, while the brilliant fire-flies began their nocturnal gambols. Suddenly a bright flame burst over the village, and a flight of magnificent rockets shot up into the sky, and burst in a hundred bright and variously-coloured stars, which paled for a few seconds the lights of nature. But they vanished in a moment, and the clear stars shed abroad their undying lustre,—seeming, in their quiet unfading beauty, a gentle satire on the short-lived and garish productions of man.

“Mighty purty, no doubt,” exclaimed Barney. “Is this the Imperor’s birth-day?”

“No,” replied the hermit shaking his head; “that is the way in which the false priests amuse the people. The poor Indian and the Negro, and, indeed, the ignorant Brazilian, thinks it very grand; and the priests let them think it is pleasing to the God of heaven. Ah! here comes an old Negro; we will ask him.”

Several country people, in varied and picturesque costumes, hurried past the travellers towards the village; and as they came to a foot-path that joined the road, an old Negro approached them. Saluting him in the Portuguese language, the hermit said, “Friend, why do they let off rockets to-night?”

“Por Dios,” (for God), answered the old man, looking and pointing upwards with grave solemnity. Without vouchsafing another word, he hurried away.

“So they think,” said the hermit, “and so they are taught by the priests. Music, noise, and fire-works please these ignorant people; and so the priests, who are mostly as ignorant as the people, tell them it is a good part of religious ceremony.”

Presently a band of young girls came laughing and singing along the road. They were dressed in pure white, their rich black tresses being uncovered and ornamented with flowers, and what appeared to be bright jewels.

“Hallo!” exclaimed Martin, gazing after them; “what splendid jewels! surely these must be the daughters of very rich people.”

“Och, but they’ve been at the di’mond mines for certain! Did iver ye sae the like?”

The girls did indeed seem to blaze with jewels, which not only sparkled in their hair, but fringed their white robes, and were worked round the edges of their slippers; so that a positive light shone around their persons, and fell upon the path like a halo, giving them more the appearance of lovely supernatural beings than the daughters of earth.

“These jewels,” said the hermit, “were never polished by the hands of men. They are fire-flies.”

“Fire-flies!” exclaimed Martin and Barney simultaneously.

“Yes, they are living fire-flies. The girls very often catch them and tie them up in little bits of gauze, and put them, as you see, on their dresses and in their hair. To my mind they seem more beautiful far than diamonds. Sometimes the Indians, when they travel at night, fix fire-flies to their feet and so have good lamps to their path.”

While Barney was expressing his surprise at this information, in very racy language, they entered the village; and, mingling with the throng of holiday-keepers, followed the stream towards the grand square.

The church, which seemed to be a centre of attraction, and was brilliantly illuminated, was a neat wooden building with two towers. The streets of the village were broad and straggling; and so luxuriant was the vegetation, and so lazy the nature of the inhabitants, that it seemed as if the whole place were overgrown with gigantic weeds. Shrubs and creeping-plants grew in the neglected gardens, climbed over the palings, and straggled about the streets. Plants grew on the tops of the houses, ferns peeped out under the eaves; and, in short, on looking at it, one had the feeling that ere long the whole place, people and all, must be smothered in superabundant vegetation!

The houses were all painted white or yellow, with the doors and windows bright green,—just like grown-up toys; and sounds of revelry, with now and then the noise of disputation, issued from many of them.

It is impossible to describe minutely the appearance of the motley crowd, through which our adventurers elbowed their way, gazing curiously on the strange scene, which seemed to them more like a dream than reality, after their long sojourn in the solitudes of the forest. Processions headed by long-robed priests with flambeaux and crucifixes; young girls in light costumes and long white cotton shawls, selling sweet cakes of mandioca flour, and bonbons; swarthy Brazilians, some in white jackets, loose cotton drawers, and straw-hats, others in brown leather boots and ponchos; Negroes in short white drawers and shifts, besides many without any clothing above their waists; Indians from the interior, copper-coloured, and some of them, fine-looking men, having only a strip of cloth about their loins;—such were the strange crew whose loud voices added to the whiz of rockets, squibs, crackers, guns, and musical instruments, created a deafening noise.

In the midst of the village there was a tree of such enormous size that it quite took our travellers by surprise. It was a wild fig-tree, capable of sheltering a thousand persons under its shadow! Here a spirited fandango was going on, and they stood for some time watching the movements of the performers. Growing tired of this, they wandered about until they came to a less crowded part of the village, and entered a pleasant grove of trees, skirting the road by which they had arrived. While sauntering here, enjoying the cool night breeze and delicious perfume of flowers, a woman uttered a piercing shriek near to them. It was instantly followed by loud voices in altercation. Ever ready to fly to the help of womankind, and, generally, to assist in a “row,” Barney darted through the bushes, and came upon the scene of action just in time to see the white skirt of a female’s dress disappear down an avenue, and to behold two Brazilians savagely writhing in mortal strife. At the moment he came up, one of the combatants had overcome the other, and a fierce smile of triumph crossed his swarthy countenance as he raised his gleaming knife.

“Och, ye murtherer! would ye attimpt that same?” cried Barney, catching the man by the wrist and hurling him on his back. The other sprang up on being thus unexpectedly freed, and darted away, while the thwarted man uttered a yell of disappointment and sprang like a tiger at Barney’s throat. A blow, however, from the Irishman’s fist, quietly delivered, and straight between the eyes, stretched the Brazilian on the ground. At the same moment a party of men, attracted by the cries, burst through the bushes and surrounded the successful champion. Seeing their countryman apparently dead upon the ground, they rushed upon Barney in a body; but the first who came within reach was floored in an instant, and the others were checked in their career by the sudden appearance of the hermit and Martin Rattler. The noise of many voices, as of people hastening towards them, was heard at the same time.

“We have no time to