A kind of fur of white moss climbed them as far as the branches.
Their thick shade and their delicious fruit made them precious trees, and meanwhile, according to Harris, not a native would dare to propagate the species.
"Whoever plants a mango-tree dies!" Such is the superstitious maxim of the country.
During the second half of this first day of the journey, the little troop, after the midday halt, began to ascend land slightly inclined. They were not as yet the slopes of the chain of the first plane, but a sort of undulating plateau which connected the plain with the mountain.
There the trees, a little less compact, sometimes clustered in groups, would have rendered the march easier, if the soil had not been invaded by herbaceous plants.
One might believe himself in the jungles of Oriental India.
Vegetation appeared to be less luxuriant than in the lower valley of the little river, but it was still superior to that of the temperate regions of the Old or of the New World.
Indigo was growing there in profusion, and, according to Harris, this leguminous plant passed with reason for the most usurping plant of the country. If a field came to be abandoned, this parasite, as much despised as the thistle or the nettle, took possession of it immediately.
One tree seemed lacking in this forest, which ought to be very common in this part of the new continent; it was the caoutchouc-tree.
In fact, the "ficus primoides," the "castilloa elastica," the "cecropia peltats," the "collophora utilis," the "cameraria letifolia," and above all, the "syphonia elastica," which belong to different families, abound in the provinces of South America.
And meanwhile, a rather singular thing, there was not a single one to be seen.
Now, Dick Sand had particularly promised his friend Jack to show him some caoutchouc trees.
So a great deception for the little boy, who figured to himself that gourds, speaking babies, articulate punchinellos, and elastic balloons grew quite naturally on those trees.
He complained.
"Patience, my good little man," replied Harris.
"We shall find some of those caoutchoucs, and by hundreds, in the neighborhood of the farm."
"Handsome ones, very elastic?" asked little Jack.
"The most elastic there are.
Hold! while waiting, do you want a good fruit to take away your thirst?"
And, while speaking, Harris went to gather from a tree some fruits, which seemed to be as pleasant to the taste as those from the peach-tree.
"Are you very sure, Mr. Harris," asked Mrs. Weldon, "that this fruit can do no harm?"
"Mrs. Weldon, I am going to convince you," replied the American, who took a large mouthful of one of those fruits. "It is a mango."
And little Jack, without any more pressing, followed Harris's example, He declared that it was very good, "those pears," and the tree was at once put under contribution.
Those mangos belonged to a species whose fruit is ripe in March and April, others being so only in September, and, consequently, their mangos were just in time.
"Yes, it is good, good, good!" said little Jack, with his mouth full.
"But my friend Dick has promised me caoutchoucs, if I was very good, and I want caoutchoucs!"
"You will have them, Jack," replied Mrs. Weldon, "because Mr. Harris assures you of it."
"But that is not all," went on Jack.
"My friend Dick has promised me some other thing!"
"What then, has friend Dick promised?" asked Harris, smiling.
"Some humming-birds, sir."
"And you shall have some humming-birds, my good little man, but farther on—farther on," replied Harris.
The fact is that little Jack had a right to claim some of these charming creatures, for he was now in a country where they should abound.
The Indians, who know how to weave their feathers artistically, have lavished the most poetical names on those jewels of the flying race.
They call them either the "rays" or the "hairs of the sun."
Here, it is "the little king of the flowers;" there, "the celestial flower that comes in its flight to caress the terrestrial flower." It is again "the bouquet of jewels, which sparkles in the fire of the day."
It can be believed that their imagination would know how to furnish a new poetical appellation for each of the one hundred and fifty species which constitute this marvelous tribe of humming-birds.
Meanwhile, however numerous these humming-birds might be in the forests of Bolivia, little Jack was obliged to still content himself with Harris's promise. According to the American, they were still too close to the coast, and the humming-birds did not like these deserts so near the ocean.
The presence of man did not frighten them at the "hacienda;" they heard nothing all day but their cry of "teretere" and the murmur of their wings, similar to that of a spinning-wheel.
"Ah! how I should like to be there!" cried little Jack.
The surest method of getting there—to the "hacienda" of San Felice—was not to stop on the road.
Mrs. Weldon and her companions only took the time absolutely necessary for repose.
The aspect of the forest already changed.
Between the less crowded trees large clearings opened here and there.
The sun, piercing the green carpet, then showed its structure of red, syenite granite, similar to slabs of lapis-lazuli.
On some heights the sarsaparilla abounded, a plant with fleshy tubercles, which formed an inextricable tangle.
The forest, with the narrow paths, was better for them.
Before sunset the little troop were about eight miles from the point of departure.
This journey had been made without accident, and even without great fatigue.
It is true, it was the first journey on the march, and no doubt the following halting places would be rougher.