The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1892-07-13
Selected Storp.
BY Hassar Post.

temerity or desire to penetrate it. The
stream wound away, now in deep chan
nels, now gliding over treacherous quick
sands or leaping sunken rocks: hemmed
in by the forest and luxuriant vegeta-
ton that fell over the edges and hung
pendant in the stream, licking up the
drift until veritable floating islands were
formed, affording rest for turtles and
other small animals. At rare intervals
there was beach where the sand had
been thrown up in an eddy, presenting
q sparkling and brilliant contrast to the
green.
On such beach lived Manuel Saliva
dea, famous as hunter and fisherman.
1t was he who killed jaguar single
handed with his knife. 1t was Salvadea
who swung across the roaring Matos
upon vine and saved seven or eight Of
his people from the food and it was he
who, when held up as a hero, scorned
the term and asked, SIS it not mans
duty to do right" SO it will be seen
that this Indian was unique in his way,
and his comrades or the people Of his
tribe looked upon him with something
akin to reverence.
To secure Salvadea's services was
guarantee or game or fish; yet for a fish
erman he entertained some peculiar
ideas. He objected to taking fish for
pleasure, and had been known to lift a
comrade and hurl him into the water for
killing a fish known as the hassar. He
seemed to be the self constituted cham
pion of the finny tribe, Why! Let him
tell his own story:
81 protect the fishes, senior, because
they cared for me when was helpless.
If an animal does you a service, you can
but return it. did not always think
30; it was this way: Two years ago |
lived on the upper branch Of the Querto,
the little stream which we believe rises
far away in the up country where tbs
white peaks reach toward the heavens.
In the season the river was low, and
then we caught turtle, iguana, and the
game upon which we live. 1 knew of
certain place where game was plenty,
and one day, without saying word,
left the camp and padded down the
river, and leaving the canoe tied to
lane cut my way across country to the
spot. You know, senior, that the water
Is always washing away the banks and
undermining the trees. Well, so it was
on the little river Y hen / reached it l
found it lower than ever; so low that
the sand was bare in places, and pools
were left everywhere alive with fish.
Gas l unloaded my basket and net I
heard loud crash, and turning to see
the cause, saw large mona tree falling
upon me. 1t was too late to escape, so l
threw myself upon the sands. The next
hours were a deep sleep. knew moth
ing, and when l awoke it was dark. l
was lying partly in the water and over
my leg was branch of the tree. l was
powerless and could not move, and l
knew a rain would produce a freshet
that would cover me ten feet deep in as
many minutes. All this, senior, came
over me-a sudden dream. 1t was use
less to shout, as was miles away and
had taken good care to tell no one where
l had gone. Morning came, and then
saw my condition fully. l was held by
my legs and right arm; my left arm was
free, but l could not reach the sand at
fast as they say our kinsmen in the north
country bound their victims for sacri-
fee. AT the end of the day was very
weak and ate the leaves.
"The next day l ate the mud and
water and some worms which / found.
The stream was growing lower, the
water about me evaporating in the hot
sun. and the insects babe fair to destroy
me. At night the jaguar's cry fell upon
my ear, and every rustic of the leaves,
the signing of the wind, aroused me.
Did you ever hear the leaves talk, senior?
They do, though it is only at certain
times that we can interpret them; our
nerves must be tArned to a higher ten
sion, as Father Moreno says; then we can
respond to them. | seemed to hear
sounds / never heard before. The leaves
made music, the wind sighed among the
lanes, and soft notes rose everywhere,
and imagined they were talking to me.
give days had passed, the water was
gone and l was so weak that l waited
for death. AS the sun rose, and / was
thinking how hard it was to give up life,
l felt something touch my hand. At
first l thought 1t imagination, then by
an effort l turned my head-Santa
Maria!-to see miracle. On my out
stretched hand was fish we call the
hassar. 1t had crawled into it, and
lay painting, opening and shutting its
gills and looking at me with its dark
eyes. | thought / must be dreaming,
but l clinched the fish, which slipped
away, but caught it again and ate it.
1t came to me a sacrifice, gave itself to
save me, and when l looked around
again to listen to new rustling sound,
and saw that the ground was covered
with fishes, all moving slowly down the
dry bed Of the stream, standing erect
upon their fins i'll search of water. They
came by hundreds, climbed over me,
falling upon my face, and l caught
them, ate them and piled them up about
me.
"Hope was raised again; yet could
not move, and my only chance was that
some one would find me. Days passed,
and fingered on. l had dug hole
with my free hand, and enough water
NO1a1 fbrot1ryb 70 81, II.