WE REACH THE SUN-WORSHIPPERS.
After some days' journey we heard shouts, and knew that, like entombed
miners, we were being dug out on the other side! The Caingwas soon met
us, and I looked into their faces and gravely saluted. They stared at
me in speechless astonishment, and I as curiously regarded them. Each
man had his lower lip pierced and wore the _barbote_ I have described,
with the difference that these were made of gum.
With a clear path before us we now made better progress, and before
long emerged from the living tomb, but the memory of it will ever
remain a nightmare.
We found a crowd of excited Indians, young and old, awaiting us. Many
of the females ran like frightened deer on catching sight of me, but an
old man, whom I afterwards learned was the _High Priest_ of the tribe,
came and asked my business. Assuring him, through Timoteo, that my
mission was peaceable, and that I had presents for them, he gave me
permission to enter into the glade, where I was told _Nandeyara_
[Footnote: "Our Owner," the most beautiful word for God I have ever
heard.] had placed them at the beginning of the world. Had I discovered
the _Garden of Eden_, the place from which man had been wandering for
6,000 years? I was conducted by Rocanandivá (the high priest) down a
steep path to the valley, where we came in view of several large
peculiarly shaped houses, built of bamboo. Near these dwellings were
perhaps a hundred men, women and children, remnants of a vanishing
nation. Some had a mat around their loins, but many were naked. All the
males had the _barbote_ in the lip, and had exceptionally thick hair,
matted with grease and mud. Most of them had a repellant look on their
pigment-painted faces, and I could very distinctly see that I was not a
welcome visitor. No, I had not reached Eden! Only "beyond the clouds
and beyond the tomb" would the bowers of Eden be discovered to me.
Hearing domestic hens cackling around the houses, I bade Timoteo tell
the priest that we were very hungry, and that if he killed two chickens
for us I would give him a beautiful gift later on. The priest
distinctly informed me, however, that I must give first, or no fowl
would be killed. From that decision I tried to move him, urging that I
was tired, the pack was hard to undo, and to-morrow, when I was rested,
I would well repay them the kindness. My words were thrown away; not a
bite should we eat until the promised knife was given. I was faint with
hunger, but from the load on the packhorse I procured the knife, which
I handed to my unwilling host with the promise of other gifts later. On
receipt of this treasure he gave orders to the boys standing off at a
distance to catch two chickens. The birds were knocked over by the
stones thrown at them. Two women now came forward with clay pots on
their heads and fire-sticks in their hands, and they superintended the
cooking. Without cutting off either heads or legs, or pulling out the
birds' feathers, the chickens were placed in the pots with water. Lying
down near the fire, I, manlike, impatiently waited for supper. Perhaps
a minute had dragged its weary length along when I picked up a stick
from the ground and poked one of the fowls out of the water, which was
not yet warm. Holding the bird in one hand, and pulling feathers out of
my mouth with the other, I ate as my forefathers did ages ago. Years
before this I had learned that a hungry man can eat what an epicure
despises. After this feast I lay down on the ground behind one of the
tepees, and, with my head resting on my most valued possessions, went
to sleep.
Having promised to give the priest and his wife another present, I was
awakened very early next morning. They had come for their gifts. Rising
from my hard bed, I stretched myself and awoke my servant, under whose
head were the looking-glasses. I presented one of these to the woman,
who looked in it with satisfaction and evident pleasure. Whether she
was pleased with her reflection or with the glass I cannot tell, but I
feel sure it must have been the latter! A necklace to the daughter and
a further gift to the old man gained their friendship, and food was
brought to us. After partaking of this I was informed that the king
desired to see me, and that I must proceed at once to his hut.
His majesty (?) lived on the other side of the river, close at hand.
This water was of course unbridged, so, in order to cross, I was
compelled to divest myself of my clothing and walk through it in
nature's garb. The water came up to my breast, and once I thought the
clothes I carried on my head would get wet. Dressing on the other side,
I presented myself at the king's abode. There I was kindly received,
being invited to take up my quarters with him and his royal family. The
king was a tall man of somewhat commanding appearance, but, save for
the loin cloth, he was naked, like the rest. The queen, a little woman,
was as scantily dressed as her husband. She was very shy, and I noticed
the rest of the inmates of the hut peeping through the crevices of the
corn-stalk partition of an inner room. After placing around the shapely
neck of the queen a specially fine necklace I had brought, and giving
the king a large hunting-knife, I was regaled with roasted yams, and
later on with a whole watermelon.
Timoteo, my servant, whose native language was Guarani, could
understand most of the idiom of the Sun Worshippers, which we found to
be similar to that spoken by the civilized inhabitants of the country.
There must therefore have been some connection between the two peoples
at one time. The questions, "Where have you come from?" "Why have you
come?" were asked and answered, and I, in return, learned much of this
strange tribe. Máté was served, but whereas in the outside world a
rusty tin tube to suck it through is in possession of even the poorest,
here they used only a reed. I was astonished to find the máté
sweetened. Knowing that they could not possibly have any of the
luxuries of civilization, I made enquiries regarding this, and was told
that they used a herb which grew in the valley, to which they gave the
name of _cá-ha hé-hé_ (sweet herb). This plant, which is not unlike
clover, is sweet as sugar, whether eaten green or in a dried state.
There was not a seat of any description in the hut, but the king said,
"_Eguapú_" ("Sit down"), so I squatted on the earthen floor. A broom is
not to be found in the kingdom, and the house had never been swept!
A curiosity I noticed was the calabash which the king carried attached
to his belt. This relic was regarded with great reverence, and at first
His Majesty declined to reveal its character; but after I had won his
confidence by gifts of beads and mirrors, he became more communicative.
One day, in a burst of pride, he told me that the gourd contained the
ashes of his ancestors, who were the ancient kings. Though the
Spaniards sought to carefully rout out and destroy all direct
descendants of the royal family of the Incas, their historians tell us
that some remote connections escaped. The Indians of Peru have legends
to the effect that at the time of the Spanish invasion an Inca
chieftain led an emigration of his people down the mountains. Humboldt,
writing in the 18th century, said: "It is interesting to inquire
whether any other princes of the family of Manco Capac have remained in
the forests; and if there still exist any of the Incas of Peru in other
places." Had I discovered some descendants of this vanished race? The
Montreal _Journal_, commenting on my discovery, said: "The question is
of extreme interest to the scientific enquirer, even if they are not
what Mr. Ray thinks them."
The royal family consisted of the parents, a son and his wife, a
daughter and her husband, and two younger girls. I was invited to sleep
in the inner room, which the parents occupied, and the two married
couples remained in the common room. All slept in fibre hammocks, made
greasy and black by the smoke from the fire burning on the floor in the
centre of the room. No chimney, window, door, or article of furniture
graced the house.
"The court of the Incas rivalled that of Rome, Jerusalem, or any of the
old Oriental countries, in riches and show, the palaces being decorated
with a great profusion of gold, silver, fine cloth and precious
stones." [Footnote: Rev. Thomas Wood, LL.D., Lima, Peru, In "Protestant
Missions in South America."]
An ancient Spanish writer who measured some of the stones of the Incan
palace at Cuzco tells us there were stones so nicely adjusted that it
was impossible to introduce even the blade of a knife between them, and
that some of those stones were thirty-eight feet long, by eighteen feet
broad, and six feet thick. What a descent for the "Children of the
Sun"! "How are the mighty fallen!" Thoughts of the past and the mean
present passed through my mind as I lay down in the dust of the earthen
floor that first night of my stay with the king.
Owing to the thousands of fleas in the dust of the room it was hard for
me to rest much, and that night a storm brewing made sleep almost
impossible. As the thunder pealed forth all the Indians of the houses
hastily got out of their hammocks and grasped gourd rattles and
beautifully woven cotton banners. The rattles were shaken
and the banners waved, while a droning chant was struck up by the
high priest, and the louder the thunder rolled the louder their voices
rose and the more lustily they shook the seeds in their calabashes.
They were trying to appease the dread deity of Thunder, as did their
Inca ancestors. The voice of the old priest led the worship, and for
_four hours_ there was no cessation of the monotonous song, except when
he performed some mystic ceremony which I understood not.
Just as the old priest had awakened me the first morning to ask for his
present, so the king came tapping me gently the second. In his hand he
had a large sweet potato, and in my half-dreamy state I heard him
saying, "Give me your coat. Eat a potato?" The change I thought was
greatly to his advantage, but I was anxious to please him. I possessed
two coats, while he was, as he said, a poor old man, and had no coat.
The barter was concluded; I ate the potato, and he, with strange
grimaces, donned a coat for the first time in his life. Think of this
for an alleged descendant of the great Atahuallpa, whose robes and
jewels were priceless!
I offered to give the queen a feminine garment of white cotton if she
would wear it, but this I could not prevail upon her to do; it was
"ugly." As a loin-cloth, she would use it, but put it on--no! In the
latter savage style the shaped garment was thereafter worn. Women have
_fashions_ all over the globe.
The few inches of clothing worn by the Caingwa women are never washed,
and the only attempt at cleansing the body I saw when among them was
that of a woman who filled her mouth with water and squirted it back on
her hands, which she then wiped on her loin-cloth!
Prescott, writing of the Incas, says: "They loved to indulge in the
luxury of their baths, replenished by streams of crystal water which
were conducted through subterraneous silver channels into basins of
gold."
The shapely little mouth of the queen was spoilt by the habit she had
of smoking a _heavy_ pipe made of red clay. I was struck with the
weight and shape of this, for it exactly resembled those made by the
old cliff-dwellers, unknown centuries ago. One will weigh at least a
quarter of a pound. For a mouth-piece they use a bird's quill. The
tobacco they grow themselves.
Near the royal abode were the kitchen gardens. A tract of forest had
been fired, and this clearing planted with bananas, mandioca, sweet
potatoes, etc. The blackened trunks of the trees rose up like so many
evil spirits above the green foliage. The garden implements used were
of the most primitive description; a crooked stick served for hoe, and
long, heavy, sharpened iron-wood clubs were used instead of the steel
plough of civilization.
As I have already remarked, I found the people were sun-worshippers.
Each morning, just as the rising sun lit up the eastern sky, young and
old came out of their houses, the older ones carrying empty gourds with
the dry seeds inside. At a signal from the high priest, a solemn
droning chant was struck up, to the monotonous time kept by the
numerous gourd rattles. As the sun rose higher and higher, the chanting
grew louder and louder, and the echoes of _"He! he! he! ha! ha! ha!
laima! laima!"_ were repeated by the distant hills. When the altar of
incense (described later) was illuminated by the sun-god, the chanting
ceased.
After this solemn worship of the Orb of Day, the women, with quiet
demeanor and in single file, went off to their work in the gardens. On
returning, each carried a basket made of light canes, slung on the back
and held up by plaited fibres forming a band which came across their
foreheads. The baskets contained the day's vegetables. Meat was seldom
eaten by them, but this was probably because of its scarcity, for when
we killed an ostrich they clamored for a share. Reptiles of all kinds,
and even caterpillars, are devoured by them when hungry.
The Caingwas are under the average height, but use the longest bows and
arrows I have ever seen. Some I brought away measure nearly seven feet
in length. The points are made of sharpened iron-wood, notched like the
back of a fish-hook, and they are poisoned with serpent venom. Besides
these weapons, it was certainly strange to find them living in the
_stone age_, for in the hands of the older members of the tribe were to
be seen stone axes. The handles of these primitive weapons are scraped
into shape by flints, as probably our savage forefathers in Britain did
theirs two thousand years ago.
Entering the low, narrow doorway of one of the bamboo frame houses, I
saw that it was divided into ten-foot squares by corn-stalk partitions
a yard high. These places, like so many stalls for horses, run down
each side of the _hogá_. One family occupies a division, sleeping in
net hammocks made of long, coarse grass. A "family man" usually has
bands of human hair twisted around his legs below the knees, and also
around the wrists. This hair is torn from his wife's head. Down the
centre are numerous fires for cooking purposes, but the house was
destitute of chimney. Wood is burned, and the place was at times so
full of smoke that I could not distinguish one Indian from another.
Fortunately, the walls of the house, as was also the roof, were in bad
repair, and some of the smoke escaped through the chinks. Sixty people
lived in the largest hogá, and I judged the number of the whole tribe
to be about three hundred.
The doorways of all the houses faced towards the east, as did those of
the Inca. In the principal one, where the high priest lived, a square
altar of red clay was erected. I quickly noticed that on this
elevation, which was about a yard high, there burned a very carefully
tended fire of holy wood. Enquiring the meaning of this, I was informed
that, very many moons ago, Nande-yara had come in person to visit the
tribe, and when with them had lit the fire, which, he said, they must
not under any circumstances suffer to die out. Ever since then the
smoke of the incense had ascended to their "Owner" in his far-off
dwelling.
How forcibly was I reminded of the scripture referring to the Jewish
altar of long ago, "There the fire shall ever be burning upon the
altar; it shall never go out." If I had not discovered Eden, I had at
least found the altar and fire of Edenic origin.
Behind the altar, occupying the stall directly opposite the doorway,
stood the tribal god. As the Caingwas are sun-worshippers, I was
surprised to see this, but Rocanandivia, with grave demeanor, told me
that when Nandeyara departed from them he left behind him his
representative. In the chapter on Mariolatry, I have traced the natural
tendency of man to sink from spiritual to image worship, and I found
that the Caingwas, like all pagans, had reverted to a something they
could see and feel. Remembering that they had never heard the second
commandment, written by God because of this failing in man, we can
excuse them, but what shall be said of the enlightened Romanists?
Being exceedingly anxious to procure their "Copy of God," I tried to
bargain with the priest. I offered him one thing and another, but to
all my proposals he turned a deaf ear, and finally, glaring at me, said
that _nothing_ would ever induce him to part with it. The people would
never allow the image to be taken away, as the life of the tribe was
bound up with it Seeing that he was not to be moved, I desisted, though
a covetous look in his eye when I offered a beautiful colored rug in
exchange gave me hope, Rocanandiva was, like most idolatrous priests,
very fanatical. When he learned that I professed and taught a different
religion, his jealousy was most marked, and he often told me to go from
them, I was not wanted. Living with the king, however, saved me from
ejection.
One day the priest, ever on the beg, was anxious to obtain some article
from me, and I determined to give it only on one condition. Being
anxious to tell the people the story of Jesus, I had repeatedly asked
permission of him, but had been as often repulsed. They did not want
_me_, or any new "words," he would reply. Turning to him now, I said,
"Rocanandiva, if you will allow me to tell 'words' to the people you
shall have the present." The priest turned on his heel and left me.
Knowing his cupidity, I was not surprised when, later, he came to me
and said that I could tell them _words_, and held out his hand for the
gift.
After sun-worship next morning the king announced that I had something
new to tell them. When all were seated on the ground in wondering
silence, I began in simple language to tell "the old, old story." My
address was somewhat similar to the following: "Many moons ago,
Nandeyara, looking down from his abode, saw that all the men and women
and children in the world were bad; that is, they had done wrong
things, such as . . . Now God has a Son, and to Him He said, Look down
and see. All are doing wicked things! He looked and saw. The Father
said that for their sin they should have to die, but that Jesus, His
Son, could come down and die in their place. The Son came, and lived on
earth many moons; but was hated, and at last caught, and large pieces
of iron (like the priest's knife) were put into His hands and feet, and
He was fastened to a tree. After this a man came, and, with a very long
knife, brought the blood out of the side of Jesus, and He died."
Purposing to further explain my story, I was not pleased when the
priest stopped me, and, stepping forth, told the people that my account
was not true. He then in eloquent tones related to them what he called
the _real story_, to which I listened in amazed wonder.
"Many moons ago," he began, "we were dying of hunger! One day the Sun,
our god, changed into a man, and he walked down _that_ road." (Here he
pointed to the east.) "The chief met him. 'All your people are dying of
hunger,' said god. 'Yes, they are,' the chief replied. 'Will you die
instead of all the people?' Nandeyara said. 'Yes, I will,' the chief
answered. He immediately dropped down dead, and god came to the village
where we all are now. 'Your chief is lying dead up the road,' he said,
'go and bury him, and after three days are passed visit the grave, when
you will find a plant growing out of
his mouth; that will be corn, and it will save you!'" Then, turning
to me, the priest said: "This we did, and behold us alive! That is the
story!" A strange legend, surely, and yet the reader will be struck
with the grains of truth intermingled--life, resulting from the
sacrificial death of another; the substitution of the one for the many;
the life-giving seed germinating after _three days' burial_, reminding
one of John 12:24: "Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and
die, it abideth alone; but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit."
Strange that so many aboriginal people have legends so near the truth.
Some days later the chiefs son and I were alone, and I saw that
something troubled him. He tried to tell me, but I was somewhat
ignorant of his language, so, after looking in all directions to see
that we were really alone, he led the way into a dark corner of the
hogá, where we were. There, from under a pile of garden baskets,
calabashes, etc., he brought out a peculiarly-shaped gourd, full of
some red, powdery substance. This, with trembling haste, he put into my
hand, and seemed greatly relieved when I had it securely. Going then to
the corner where I kept my goods, he took up a box of matches and made
signs for me to exchange, which I did. When Timoteo returned I learned
that the young man was custodian of the devil--the only and original
one--and that he had palmed him off on me for a box of matches! How the
superstition of the visible presence of the devil originated I have no
idea, but there might be some meaning in the man's earnest desire to
exchange it for matches, or lights, the emblem of their fire or
sun-worship. Was this simple deal fallen man's feeble effort to rid
himself of the _Usurper_ and get back the _Father_, for it is very
significant that the Caingwa word, _ta-ta_ (light), signifies also
father. Do they need light, or are they sufficiently illumined for time
and eternity? Will the reader reverently stand with me, in imagination,
beside an Indian grave? A girl has died through snake poisoning. A
shallow grave has been dug for her remains. Into this hole her body has
been dropped, uncoffined, in a sitting position. Beside the body is
placed some food and a few paltry trinkets, and the people stand around
with that disconsolate look which is only seen upon the faces of those
who know not the Father. As they thus linger, the witch-doctor asks,
"Is the dog killed?" Someone replies, "Yes, the dog is killed." "Is the
head cut off?" is then asked. "Yes, the head is off," is the reply.
"Put it in the grave, then," says the medicine man; and then the dog's
head is dropped at the girl's feet.
Why do they do this? you ask. Question their _wise man_, and he will
say: "A dog is a very clever animal. He can always find his way. A girl
gets lost when alone. For that reason we place a dog's head with her,
that it may guide her in the spirit life." I ask again, "Do they need
missionaries?"
My stay with the sun-worshippers, though interesting, was painful.
Excepting when we cooked our own food, I almost starved. Their habits
are extremely filthy, indeed more loathsome and disgusting than I dare
relate.
My horses were by now refreshed with their rest, and appeared able for
the return journey, so I determined to start back to civilization. The
priest heard of my decision with unfeigned joy, but the king and queen
were sorrowful. These pressed me to return again some time, but said I
must bring with me a _boca_ (gun) like my own for the king, with some
more strings of white beads for the queen's wrists.
While saddling our horses in the grey dawn, the wily priest came to me
with a bundle, and, quietly drawing me aside, said that Nandeyara was
inside, and in exchange for the bright rug I could take him away. The
exchange was made, and I tied their god, along with bows and arrows,
etc., on the back of a horse, and we said farewell. I had strict orders
to cover up the idol from the eyes of the people until we got away.
Even when miles distant, I kept looking back, fearing that the duped
Indians were following in enraged numbers. Of course, the priest would
give out that I had _stolen_ the image.
Ah, Rocanandiva, you are not the first who has been willing to sell his
god for worldly gain! The hand of Judas burned with "thirty pieces of
silver," the earthly value of the Divine One. Pilate, for personal
profit, said: "Let Him be crucified." And millions to-day sell Him for
"a mess of pottage."
The same horse bore away the _devil_ and _god_, so perhaps without the
one there would be no need of the other.
So prolific is the vegetation that during our few weeks' stay with the
Indians the creeping thorns and briars had almost covered up the path
we had cut through the forest, and it was again necessary to use our
machetes. The larger growth, however, being down, this was not
difficult, and we entered its sombre stillness once more. What strange
creatures people its tangled recesses we knew not.
"For beasts and birds have seen and heard
That which man knoweth not."
I hurried through with little wish to penetrate its secret. Mere
existence was hard enough in its steaming semi-darkness. Our clothes
were now almost torn to shreds (I had sought to mend mine with
horse-hair thread, with poor results), and we duly emerged into
daylight on the other side, ragged, torn and dirty.
Our journey back to civilization was similar to the outward way. We
selected a slightly different route, but left the old chief safe and
well with his people.
One night our horses were startled by a bounding jaguar, and were so
terrified that they broke away and scattered in all directions.
Searching for them detained us a whole day, but fortunately we were
able to round them all up again. Two were found in a wood of
strangely-shaped bushes, whose large, tough leaves rustled like
parchment.
One afternoon a heavy rain came on, and we stopped to construct a
shelter of green branches, into which we crept. The downpour became so
heavy that it dripped through our hastily-constructed arbor, and we
were soon soaking wet. Owing to the dampness of the fuel, it was only
after much patient work that we were able to light a fire and dry our
clothes. There we remained for three days, Timoteo sighing for
Pegwaomi, and the wind sighing still louder, to our discomfort.
Everything we had was saturated. Sleeping on the soaking ground, the
poisonous tarantula spiders crept over us. These loathsome creatures,
second only to the serpent, are frequently so large as to spread their
thick, hairy legs over a six-inch diameter.
The storm passed, and we started off towards the river Ipane, which was
now considerably swollen. Three times on the expedition we had halted
to build rough bridges over chasms or mountain streams with
perpendicular banks, but this was broad and had to be crossed through
the water. As I rode the largest and strongest horse, it was my place
to venture first into the rushing stream. The animal bravely stemmed
the current, as did the rest, but Old Stabbed Arm, riding a weaker
horse, nearly lost his life. The animal was washed down by the strong
current, and but for the man's previous long experience in swimming
rivers he would never have reached the bank. The pony also somehow
struggled through to the side, landing half-drowned, and Old Stabbed
Arm received a few hearty pats on the back. The load on the mare was
further soaked, but most of our possessions had been ruined long ago.
My cartridges I had slung around my neck, and I held the photographic
plates in my teeth, while the left hand carried my gun, so these were
preserved. To my care on that occasion the reader is indebted for some
of the illustrations in this volume. Nandeyara got another wash, but he
had been wet before, and never complained!
On the farther side of the river was a deserted house, and we could
distinctly trace the heavy footprints of a tapir leading up the path
and through the open doorway. We entered with caution. Was the beast in
then? No. He had gone out by a back way, probably made by himself,
through the wattled wall. We could see the place was frequented very
often by wild pigs, which had left hundreds of footprints in the
three-inch depth of dust on the floor. There we lit a fire to again dry
our clothes, and prepared to pass the night, expecting a visit from the
hogs. Had they appeared when we were ready for them, the visit would
not have been unwelcome. Food was hard to procure, and animals did not
come very often to be shot. Had they found us asleep, however, the
waking would have been terrible indeed, for they will eat human flesh
just as ravenously as roots. After spreading our saddle-cloths on the
dust and filth, Old Stabbed Arm and I were chatting about the Caingwas
and their dirty habits, when Timoteo, heaving a sigh of relief, said:
"Thank God, we are clean at last!" He was satisfied with the pigpen as
he recalled the _hogá_ of the Sun-Worshippers.
At last the village of Pegwaomi was reached, and, oh, we were not
sorry, for the havoc of the jiggers in our feet was getting terrible!
The keen-eyed inhabitants caught sight of us while we were still
distant, and when we reined up, Timoteo's aged mother tremblingly said,
"_Yoape_" ("Come here") to him, and she wept as she embraced her boy.
Truly, there was no sight so sweet to "mother" as that of her ragged,
travel-stained son; and Timoteo, the strong man, wept. The fatted calf
was then killed a few yards from the doorstep, by having its throat
cut. Offal littered up the doorway, and the children in their glee
danced in the red blood. The dogs' tails and the women's tongues wagged
merrily, making us feel that we were joined on to the world again. I
was surprised to find that we were days out of reckoning; I had been
keeping Sunday on Thursday!
During this stay at Pegwaomi I nearly lost Old Stabbed Arm. The day
after we returned our hostess very seriously asked me if he might marry
her daughter. Thinking he had sent her to ask, I consented. It was a
surprise to learn afterwards that he knew nothing at all of the matter.
Although Pegwaomi gained no new inhabitant, I secured what proved to be
one of the truest and most faithful friends of my life--a little
monkey. His name was Mr. Pancho. With him it was love at first sight,
and from that time onward, I believe, he had only two things in his
mind--his food and his master. He would cry when I left him, and hug
and kiss me on my return. Pancho rode the pack-mare into the village of
Concepcion, and busied himself on the way catching butterflies and
trying to grasp the multi-colored humming-birds hovering over the
equally beautiful passion-flowers growing in the bushes on each side of
the path.
Surely a stranger sight was never seen on the streets of Concepcion
than that of a tired, dusty pack-horse bearing a live monkey, a dead
god, and an equally dead devil on his back! Mrs. Sorrows was overjoyed
to see me return, and earnestly told me that my first duty was to hurry
down to the store and buy two colored candles to burn before her saint,
who had brought me back, even though I was a heretic, which fact she
greatly lamented. We had been given up as lost months before, for word
came down that I had been killed by Indians. Here I was, however, safe
and fairly well, saving that the ends of two of my toes had rotted off
with jiggers, and fever burned in my veins! Mrs. Dolores doctored my
feet with tobacco ashes as I reclined in a hammock under the lime trees
surrounding her hut. I did not buy the candles, but she did; and while
I silently thanked a Higher Power, and the _ta-tas_ burned to _her_
deity, she informed me that my countryman, the prodigal, had been
carried to the "potters' field." Not all prodigals reach home again;
some are buried by the swine-troughs.
For some time I was unable to put my feet to the ground; but Pancho,
ever active, tied in a fig tree, helped himself to ripe fruit, and took
life merrily. Pancho and I were eventually able to bid good-bye to Mrs.
Sorrows, and, thousands of miles down life's pathway, this little
friend and I journeyed together, he ever loving and true. I took him
across the ocean, away from his tropical home, and--he died. I am not
sentimental--nay, I have been accused of hardness--but I make this
reference to Pancho in loving memory. Unlike some friends of my life,
_he_ was constant and true. [Footnote: From letters awaiting me at the
post-office, I learned, with intense sorrow and regret, that my strange
patron had gone "the way of all flesh" The land I had been to explore,
along-with a bequest of $250,000, passed into the hands of the Baptist
Missionary Society, to the Secretary of which Society all my reports
were given.]