AN INDIAN GUIDE.
“Of course we must go through Lima,” Stephen said as they started.
“Assuredly, señor, the roads over the passes all start from there, and it
would take us a long circuit to avoid the town.”
“Oh, there is no occasion to avoid it,” Stephen said. “It is about five
miles, is it not?”
“That is the distance; but, as the road ascends a good deal, we generally
count it as six. It is a fine city Lima, and I hope that it will not be
very long before we shall be able to enjoy it without the presence of the
Spaniards; we think they cannot remain here much longer. If the Chilian
army would but move from the sea-coast the whole country would be up in
arms. We would rather have done without the Chilians if we could, for
there has never been any great friendship between them and the Peruvians.
I do not say between them and us, for I am almost as much Chilian as
Peruvian, seeing that I was born within half a mile of the frontier and
high up in the hills. But there is more money to be made here. In the
first place, the Peruvians have more towns beyond the passes, and there is
more traffic; and in the next place, in Chili most men are ready to work
if there is money to be made, whereas most of the Peruvians are too lazy
to pick up gold if it lay at their feet. Most men in our business come
from the hills.”
“And why don’t the Peruvians and Chilians like each other?”
“Who can tell. The Chilians have a colder climate, and the people for the
most part came from the north of Spain; they are hardier and more active;
then, too, they are not so strict in church matters, and here they call
them heretics, and a Peruvian hates a heretic a great deal worse than he
does the father of all evil. We muleteers pray to the saints for
protection on our journeys, and before we start on a long expedition burn
a few candles at the shrine of our patron saint, and we never pass a
shrine or a wayside cross without making a prayer; but we don’t concern
ourselves with other people’s religion; that is their business, not ours.
But that is not so with the Spaniards, and the Peruvians are just as bad.
You may kill a man in a knife fight and no one cares much about it. But if
you were to pass a village shrine without raising your sombrero they would
be ready to tear you in pieces as a heretic.”
“What is the country like when you once get over the mountains?”
“It is a tree country and generally flat. Here you see the hillsides are
mostly bare; but on the other side of the ranges of mountains—for there
are two chains—the forest grows almost to the top, and, as I have heard,
they extend thousands of miles over the country beyond. In these great
forests there are swamps and rivers, great rivers. Very few white men know
where they rise or how they go, but they all run into the largest of them
all, which, when it gets near the sea, is called the Amazon, but which has
many names at different points of its course. They say that some of these
rivers have many rapids and falls, and on almost all of them there are
Indians who are more dangerous still; some of them they say eat men who
fall into their hands.
“It is a terrible journey that you are undertaking, señor. One thing is
certain, you must take with you some man of courage and resolution, one
who at least knows something of the country. No man knows much, but there
are men, Indians, who make it their business either to trade or to guide
traders. Of course they never go very far, but they have gone far enough
to know much of the nature of the dangers and difficulties.”
“Do you think that you would be able to find me such a man?”
“There are many,” the muleteer said; “but it is not everyone that can be
trusted. I know of one man who, if he happened to be at home and
disengaged, would suit you well if he would undertake such a journey. He
would go if anyone would, for no dangers terrify him, and he has made,
before now, perilous expeditions with officers and others who have sought
to discover the sources of the rivers. He lives in a village but a few
miles from the summit of the pass, and if you have not as yet decided on
your route, he will at any rate, if he cannot go himself, give you better
advice than you can obtain from anyone else I know of.”
They passed through the city of Lima unnoticed. There were still numbers
of people in the streets, and the sound of musical instruments came from
the open windows. Parties of ladies stood on the balconies and were
enjoying the coolness of the night air, and it was evident that Lima had
no thoughts of going to bed for a long time yet.
“You would hardly see a soul in the streets while the sun is high,” the
muleteer said upon Stephen remarking on the number of people still about.
“The whole town goes to sleep from eleven to four or five, the shops are
all closed, and save on a business of life or death no one would think of
going out. About six the day really begins, and goes on until one in the
morning; then people sleep till five or six, and for a time the streets
are busy; the marketing is done then, the ladies all go to early mass, the
troops do their exercises; by nine the streets begin to thin, and by ten
they are deserted.”
Stephen was much struck with the appearance of the town, which had been
laid out with great care, the streets running at right angles to each
other, and being all precisely the same width, dividing the town into
regular blocks. It contained at that time some 70,000 inhabitants. He was
surprised at the want of height in the houses, comparatively few of which
had more than one story. On remarking on this to the muleteer, the latter
said:
“It is because of the earthquakes; nowhere are there such bad earthquakes
as here. If it were not for that Lima would be perfect. The country round
is very fertile, there is an abundance of pure water, the climate is
healthy, and it lies 600 feet above the sea. But the earthquakes are
terrible, there has not been a bad one lately, but it might come at any
time. Every twenty or thirty years there is a very bad one. The worst were
those of 1687 and 1746; the first destroyed every house in Lima, and the
second was almost as bad, but was much worse at Callao. There they not
only had the earthquake but a tumult of waves such as never was before
seen. The sea went right over the town, and almost every soul there, and
at other towns along the coast, perished. There were twenty-three ships in
the harbour at Callao, nineteen of these were sunk and the other four
carried half a mile inland. Since then there has been nothing like that,
but the Indians say that we may expect another before long. I don’t know
what they go by, but people say that they predicted the others long before
they came. Have you ever felt an earthquake, señor?”
“No, there was a very slight shock when I was at Valparaiso, but it was
not much more than the rumble a heavy wagon makes in the street, and did
no damage whatever.”
“I have never felt a great earthquake,” the muleteer said, “but I have
felt little ones. The animals always know when they are coming, and when I
see the mules uneasy and apprehensive, I always choose some level spot
where there is no fear of rocks coming rolling down on us, and halt there.
The first shock may be so slight that one hardly feels it, but the mules
know all about it. They straddle their legs and brace themselves up or
else lie down on the ground. When I see them do that I know that the next
shock is going to be a smart one, and I lie down too. It is nothing when
you are out in the country, but in the towns it is terrible. People rush
out into the streets screaming with fear, If they are near a church they
make for that; if not, they kneel down in the streets, where they are
pretty safe, the houses being so low and mostly thatched. I have never
seen one severe enough to bring the houses down, but I have seen them
crack, and parapets tumble down, and great pieces peel off the walls. What
with the dust, and the screams of the women and children, and the ringing
of all the church bells, it is enough to shake a man’s courage I can tell
you.”
After proceeding some ten miles farther, by a road always ascending and
often steep, a halt was made. The muleteer removed the valises and packs,
gave a double handful of corn to each animal, and then, hobbling them,
allowed them to wander about to pick up what they could. He and Stephen
partook of some of the food they had brought with them, and then wrapping
themselves in their cloaks lay down for a few hours’ sleep. At daylight
the journey was renewed. So they travelled on, halting for five or six
hours in the heat of the day, and riding in the morning early, and late on
into the evening. The climate, however, scarcely necessitated the mid-day
halt, and at night they were glad to wrap themselves in a blanket in
addition to the cloak. At last the summit of the pass was reached. In
front of them rose another chain of mountains almost as lofty as that
which they had climbed. Between these great ranges lay a plain varying in
width. Several towns and small villages were visible.
“That is Jauja to the right,” the muleteer said, “and that is Pasco to the
left; they are both large towns. They do not look so very far apart from
here. But the air of the mountains is so clear it is difficult to judge
distances. You would not take them to be much more than twenty miles from
us; they are nearly three times as far, and are fully eighty miles apart.”
“Where does the guide of whom you spoke live?”
“It is some twenty miles down; it is where the roads from the two towns
fall into this pass. It is convenient for him, because he is in the track
of merchants going either north or south.”
No stay was made on the top of the pass, for the wind was strong and
piercing. There were snow-covered peaks on either hand, and so they
hurried onwards, although they had already done a long morning’s march.
Five miles farther they halted in a wood, and although they had already
made a descent of some thousand feet they were glad to light a fire. On
the following day they halted early at a solitary hut standing at the
junction of two roads.
“Bravo!” the muleteer said as the door opened and a man came out at the
sound of the mules’ feet, “here is Pita himself. I thought we should find
him, for, since the war began, trade has gone off greatly, and he was
likely to be out of employment. Well met, Pita; I was in hopes that I
should find you here, for the señor has need of the services of a bold
fellow like yourself.”
“Enter, señor,” the Indian said gravely, lifting his sombrero, for he was
dressed in Peruvian fashion. “It is long since I have seen you, Gomez.”
“Yes, a full year,” the muleteer replied; “it was at Cuzco, and you were
just starting with a party of traders.”
The hut contained little furniture, but there was a pile of skins, the
proceeds of the Indian’s hunting since his return from his last
expedition. He took off three or four of them, threw them on the ground,
and motioned Stephen to take a seat while he busied himself in preparing a
meal. Nothing was said of business until this was served. When it was
finished the Indian rolled three cigars, and when these were lighted, and
three cups of excellent coffee made, Pita said:
“Now, señor, in what way can I serve you?”
“I want to go down the Amazon to the coast.”
“It is a long journey, long and difficult; I have never been so far. The
farthest point that I have reached has been Barra, where the Madeira falls
into the Solimoes.”
“That is the Amazon,” Gomez explained. “It is called the Marañon here in
Peru, but from the frontier it is known as the Solimoes.”
“As far as the frontier,” Pita went on, “there are no great difficulties,
and there are many towns on the banks; beyond that to Barra there are but
one or two villages. The Mozon begins at Llata, some two hundred miles
north of this. The road is a good one, for we pass through Pasco and
Huanuco; there you can take boat, which will carry you as far as the
frontier, and beyond that you will have to take another, for no Peruvians
will venture so far from here.”
“The señor wishes to escape towns,” Gomez said. “He has no papers, and
wishes to escape questioning. You know what Spanish authorities are, and
how suspiciously they view the passage of a stranger. Could you not take
him down the Madeira?”
“It is a terrible journey,” the Indian said. “Very few white men have ever
descended the river. There are bad falls and bad Indians. I myself have
never gone down it more than a few hundred miles. It would need much
courage, señor, and even then things might turn out badly. I would not
undertake such a journey single-handed, though with a good comrade I might
adventure it. You could not get a boat unless you bought one, and, as a
rule, men travel on light rafts, as these are safer on the rapids than
boats. That way has the advantage of being a good deal shorter than going
round by the Marañon, but the difficulties and dangers are very much
greater.”
“Do you love the Spaniards?” Stephen asked.
The Indian’s face darkened.
“They have been the destroyers of our race,” he said; “the oppressors of
our country. I hate them with all my heart.”
“Then I may tell you at once,” Stephen said, “that I am an Englishman. I
am one of the officers of the English admiral who commands the fleet that
has destroyed their war-ships and is blockading their towns. I was wrecked
on the Peruvian coast and thrown into prison. They were about to hand me
over to the Inquisition as a heretic when I escaped, so you can understand
the danger that I should run in passing through any of their towns. I
speak, as you hear, the Chilian dialect, therefore I would be detected as
a stranger at once, and as I could give no satisfactory reply to
questions, and have no papers, I should at once be seized and sent back
again to Callao.”
The Indian nodded gravely. He had heard of the misfortunes that had
befallen the Spaniards, and knew that the fleet that had inflicted such
damage upon them was commanded by an Englishman.
“The señor is provided with money,” Gomez said. “I did not myself know
that he was an Englishman, though I suspected from the manner in which I
was hired that he had trouble with the Spaniards.”
“I would have told you so, Gomez,” Stephen said, “but I thought it better
that you should not know, so that if I were seized by the Spaniards you
could declare that you were wholly ignorant of my being an Englishman, and
believed that I was only a trader travelling on business.”
“They would not have believed me,” Gomez laughed. “You had no goods with
you, and your speech showed that you were not a Peruvian. I have often
wondered on the way to what nation you belonged, and how it was that one
so young could be ready to undertake so desperate an enterprise as you
proposed; but now that I know you are an officer under the terrible
English admiral I can well understand it.”
“I would do much,” Pita said, “for any enemy of the Spaniards; and more
for this reason than for the sake of money. I am ready to undertake to do
my best to take you in safety to Barra; beyond that I would not go. The
river below that is, as I hear, quite open, and you could journey down
without difficulty save such as you would meet with from the Portuguese
authorities; but the distance would be too great for me to return. Even
from Barra it would be a journey fully two thousand miles home again.”
“What would be your terms for taking me to Barra?”
“I do not say that I would take you there, señor, I only say that I would
try and do so. As I tell you, I have never journeyed far down the Madeira
myself, and know not what the difficulties may be. For that reason I shall
want half the money paid to me when we reach Cuzco, near which live my
wife and family, and I must leave this with them in case I never return. I
will think over what pay I shall require for myself and my comrade. It is
not a matter upon which one can decide at a word.”
“I can quite understand that, Pita. I must of course keep sufficient in
hand to pay my expenses down to Para, where I can doubtless obtain a
passage by an English ship. But I am ready to pay any sum you may ask that
is within my means. Now, Gomez, we had better go out and look to the
mules, and leave Pita to himself to think the matter over.”
“The Indian will not overcharge you,” Gomez said when they were outside
the hut; “the pay of these men is small. They value their lives lightly,
and when, like Pita, they once take to the life of a guide, either to
those who are searching for mines or to traders, they never settle down.
They are proud of the confidence placed in them, and of their own skill as
guides, and so long as they can earn enough to keep their families during
their absence—and a very little suffices for that—they are contented.”
“I suppose there are mines to be discovered yet, Gomez?”
“Assuredly there are,” the muleteer said confidently. “The Spaniards have
worked rich mines ever since they came here, but great as is the treasure
that they have taken away, it is still insignificant compared with the
store of gold among the Incas when they came here. Every Peruvian on this
side of the Andes dreams of gold, and there are thousands of men who, as
soon as they earn enough money to buy tools and provisions, set off to
search for gold-mines or buried treasure. It is certain that the Incas
buried a vast quantity of their treasure rather than see it fall into the
hands of the Spaniards, and it has never been discovered. It is generally
believed that the secret of the hiding-place is known to Indians, who have
handed down the secret from father to son. This may be true or it may not.
So many thousands of Indians have either been killed by the Spaniards or
have died in their mines, that it may well be that all who knew the secret
died centuries ago. But I do not say that it may not be known to some of
them now; if so, it is more likely that these may be among the tribes
beyond the boundaries of Peru. There are vast tracts there where neither
Spaniards nor Portuguese have penetrated. The whole country is one great
forest, or, in some places, one great desert.
“The Indians of Peru have become, for the most part, an idle, shiftless
race. Centuries of slavery have broken their spirit altogether, and had
the secret been known to many of them, it would have been wrung from them
long since, especially as all are now Catholics and go to confession, and
would never be able to keep such a secret from leaking out. It is true
that there are little Indian villages among the mountains where the people
are still almost independent, and here the secret may still be handed
down; but I doubt if it will ever be known. Doubtless it is guarded by
such terrible oaths that those who know it will never dare to reveal it.
Pita has gone, in his time, with a score of expeditions in search of the
treasure; most of these thought that they had obtained some clue to it,
but nothing was ever discovered, and I doubt whether Pita himself was ever
earnest in the search.
“In some respects he is like ourselves, in others he is still an Indian,
and has a full share of Indian superstitions, so that his Christianity is
no deeper than his skin. He would do his best to guide those who employed
him to the neighbourhood where they thought that the treasure was hidden,
but I doubt whether he would do anything to assist in their search, or
would really try to gather from the Indians any clue as to its
whereabouts.”
“But, at any rate, the natives could not very well have carried away their
gold-mines.”
“Not carried them away, señor,—no; and that the Spaniards had such rich
mines at first shows that they did learn from the natives—by torture, I
daresay—where most of these were situated; but they got more silver than
gold, and even now there is gold to be found in the sands of most of the
rivers in South America, so that I think it was from washings more than
mines that the Spaniards got their gold. Still, we all think that there
must have been rich gold-mines in the times before the Spaniards, and that
when the natives saw how villainously their monarch and all his chief men
were treated, and how the Spaniards thought of nothing but gold and
silver, they may have blocked up the entrances to all their richest mines,
and in a few years all signs of the sites would be covered by thick
vegetation. You see, señor, these things are talked over whenever a few of
us get together, and though there are not many other things that we do
know, you will scarcely meet a Peruvian who could not talk with you for
hours about the lost treasure and the lost gold-mines of the Incas.
“There are many places that I know of where the sand is rich enough to pay
well for washing, but they are all far away from habitations. A man would
have to carry his stores and provisions and tools with him; and then, it
is hard work, and a Peruvian does not care for hard work. As to the
natives, there would be no keeping them at it, they would desert and run
away at once; for not only do they hate work, but, above all things, they
hate to work for gold. They look upon gold as an accursed thing, which
brought about the conquest of the country by the Spaniards, and the
centuries of oppression that have befallen their race; and even should a
native alight upon a rich spot he would go away and never say a word about
it, fearing that if he did, all sorts of trouble would fall upon him.”
“Pita is a fine-looking Indian, Gomez.”
“Yes, señor; he is a mixture, that is, he is of pure Indian blood, but he
belongs to two tribes. His father was a native of one of the villages
highest up among the hills. He too was a hunter and guide. In one of his
journeys down in the plain country he married the daughter of one of the
chiefs of the wild Indians, and Pita was their son. I don’t know which
tribe it was that his mother belonged to, but I know that they lived in
the forests on one of the greater rivers. Pita is not one who talks much
of himself, or who talks much at all, but I know that he has the
reputation of being one of the most daring hunters and guides in the
country, and that he has gone through many adventures while travelling
with traders. He has always been trustworthy and faithful to his
employers. As he says, he cannot promise to take you safely down the
Madeira, but if any man can do it, he will.”
Half an hour later they returned to the hut, where the Indian was sitting
in precisely the same attitude in which they had left him.
“Well, Pita, have you arrived at a conclusion?” Gomez asked.
“I have thought it over,” he said, “and I calculate that it may be a year
before I return, and the risk is great. Can the señor afford to pay three
hundred and sixty-five dollars? That is for the services of myself and my
comrade. He has no wife or family, and will therefore need less pay than
I, who will have to leave money behind for mine. The señor will be at no
other expense until he arrives at Barra, except for such things as tea and
sugar, and any liquor he may wish to put on board at starting. If the
señor cannot afford that, I will guide him down along by the foot of the
mountains until we can cross over into Chili. It will be an arduous
journey, but without perils, and we shall pass through few villages.”
“How long will that take, Pita?”
“It would be a long journey, señor. As a bird flies it would be seven or
eight hundred miles; but winding round the foot of the hills it would be
two thousand.”
“I would rather try the other, Pita,” Stephen replied; for the thought of
the passage by water through unknown forests, and then down the Amazon,
exercised a strong fascination over him, and the idea of a toilsome
journey of two thousand miles was the reverse of attractive. The war was,
he was sure, nearly over. He might arrive in Chili only to find that the
admiral had gone away; and even when he reached the frontier he had
another journey to make before he reached Valparaiso, whereas when he
arrived at Para he could sail direct for England.
“I could afford to pay you the terms you ask,” he went on, “and shall
still have enough left to take me from Barra home.”
“Then, so be it,” the Indian said; “to-morrow we will start for
Paucartambo, which lies but a few miles from the Mayutata. We shall pass
through Cuzco on our way. You have arms, I see, señor?”
“Yes, and some ammunition, but I shall want a larger supply before we
start.”
At daybreak next morning they set out, the Indian walking ahead. Once or
twice Stephen pushed his mule forward to endeavour to enter into
conversation, but he could get but few words from him, and had to drop
back to Gomez, who was willing enough to talk.
“It is no use trying to get anything out of Pita, señor. If you can get
him in the mood by a camp fire, he may tell you some of his adventures;
but the natives are not given to talking overmuch, and Pita, when he is
once on his way as guide, will go on without saying a word for hours. I
have made several journeys with him, and it is always the same. Of course
there is nothing for him to look after here, but it is a sort of habit. I
have no doubt that he could tell you how many birds have crossed the road
to-day. He has noticed every lizard, could tell you where a mule belonging
to the last party has made a false step, how many there were travelling
together, and all about them. He takes it all in; and though here it might
just as well be left alone, this watchfulness might save your life
afterwards.”
Day after day they journeyed on. Stephen did not enter Cuzco. As the
capital of the Incas he felt an interest in it, but cared little for it as
a great Spanish town whose glory had almost departed; and it was not worth
running any risk when nothing was to be gained by visiting it. He
therefore remained at Pita’s Indian hut a few miles away, while Gomez went
into the town with the guide to get the stores they required. Pita’s
comrade returned with them. Stephen was greatly surprised at the man’s
appearance. Pita himself was, for an Indian, tall; he was spare in frame,
but very sinewy; his muscles stood up beneath the brown skin like cords.
Hurka was so short that he was almost a dwarf, and, save for his face, he
might have been taken for a boy of fourteen. He possessed none of Pita’s
gravity, but was soon laughing and chatting with the Indian’s wife and
children, and was evidently a special favourite with them. His face was
bright and intelligent.
“You would not think, señor,” Gomez said as, after telling him what they
had purchased in the city, he stood watching Hurka, who was running
backwards and forwards between the hut and the mules, carrying in
packages, “that that little chap is one of the best guides on this side of
the Andes. He and Pita are, I should say, the two best; and whenever they
can, they work together. He is a wonderful shot—better than Pita. He can
swim like a fish; and he does not seem to know what fatigue is. He and
Pita are like brothers, although they are so different in their ways; and
it is wonderful to see how they get on together. I would not mind where I
went with them, for they can find their way through the thickest forest,
and are up to every device that can be useful to travellers. I have never
heard of their losing anyone under their charge, except, of course, from
disease and heat, and perhaps a few shot by Indians. That is a thing that
may always happen, there is no guarding against it—especially when you
have got men with you who will go their own way, and make light of any
idea of taking precautions. Sometimes they have had to fall back
altogether when they have been with gold or treasure seekers, but never
when they were with trading parties.
“In the forest country the natives are generally ready enough to trade,
but there are parts where they never allow a white party to penetrate.
Whether it is that there is really a treasure, or an extraordinary rich
gold-mine, or whether it is only that in some sections the tribes are more
hostile than in others, no one knows for certain, but there is no doubt
that when any party approaches certain localities troubles begin directly.
As they go through the forest, arrows come flying thick through the tangle
of creepers, and poisoned darts from blow-pipes. The foes are invisible,
but they make themselves felt, and it soon breaks down the courage of the
bravest to be shot at when you never get a chance of shooting back in
return. Both Pita and Hurka have been with parties that have been attacked
and forced to fall back; but it has not been their fault, for they always
warn those who employ them that the dangers are too great to be overcome.
Still, men who think that they have got a clue to hidden wealth always
seem to consider that their guides are interested in preventing their
getting it, and will listen to no advice till they find out for themselves
that the danger has not been exaggerated, and that it is certain death to
push on further.”
“I wonder that neither of them has been killed,” Stephen said.
“It is a wonder, señor, and some have even declared that they must be in
league with the Indians; but it is due to their understanding the native
way of fighting. While white men stand up and fire away into the bush,
they quickly throw themselves down behind the trunk of a tree, and then
crawl into the forest and fight in the same way as the Indians do; and
they say that more than once those two alone have made the natives fall
back, and so enabled the whites to retreat. You will see that they will
both take bows and arrows with them; and though they would use their
rifles if openly attacked, in these battles in the forests, or when
hunting in dangerous neighbourhoods, they use their bows in preference to
the rifles.”
The next day the journey was continued, and in ten days they reached a
stream which, as the Indians told Stephen, ran into the Beni, one of the
principal feeders of the Madeira. Here was a village occupied wholly by
Indians and half-castes. A large canoe was purchased, and the loads of the
two mules stowed in it, a store of bread and fruit was obtained from the
natives, together with ten skins sewn up as bags, and intended to be
inflated and used for the construction of a raft. Two days were spent in
making their preparations, and then Stephen took leave of Gomez, to whom
he gave a handsome present, in addition to the sum that had been agreed
upon. By this time Stephen had come to appreciate the good qualities of
Hurka, whose unfailingly good temper and gaiety had lightened the journey,
and whose humorous stories of his adventures, and of the obstinacy and
folly of his employers, raised a smile even on the impassive face of Pita.
Stephen was delighted when the canoe pushed out into the stream, and they
began their journey down the thousands of miles of river that had to be
traversed before they reached the eastern sea-coast. Pita sat in the stern
of the canoe, Hurka in the bow, while Stephen had a comfortable seat in
the middle, separated from them by two piles of stores and provisions.
Over him was a roof of green boughs, supported by four poles, connected by
others, to which a thin curtain of cotton-stuff was attached. It was all
made in one piece, and was rolled up in the daytime to allow the passage
of air, but at night could be dropped all round so as to form a protection
against insects and the vapours from the water. The tent was large enough
for the three men to sleep in comfortably; and in the centre was a small
stove, in which fire was kept burning for cooking purposes in the daytime,
and to counteract the dampness of the air at night. As soon as it was
dark, and the insects became troublesome, the Indians threw on the fire
branches that they cut fresh every day from shrubs growing on the banks.
This caused a pungent odour which effectually prevented insects from
making their way in through the leafy roof.
During the daytime the canoe was generally kept close to one shore or the
other, so as to be under the shade of the overhanging forest trees; at
night they sometimes tied up to a tree, but more often one or other of the
Indians sat in the stern of the boat giving an occasional stroke with his
paddle to keep her drifting down in the centre of the current. While it
was light they always had their guns close at hand, and sometimes brought
down a bird from the trees overhead. Baited hooks on a long line were
towed astern. They seldom caught anything during the day, but at night
they frequently captured a few fish. This, however, was more often done by
spearing them, the Indians having bought spears for the purpose at the
village. On these occasions Stephen took his place in the bow with two
lighted torches of resinous wood; the light attracted the fish, which were
speared by the Indians, who seldom missed striking them, however far
beneath the surface, though Stephen failed even to catch sight of them.
The fish formed the main staple of their food, helped out by the birds,
which were, for the most part, of the pigeon tribe, though larger and
differing much in plumage from the English species. They had brought from
Cuzco a hundred pounds of flour, which was sewed up in two skins, so that
in case of a misfortune to the canoe it would be uninjured by water. From
this the Indians made flat cakes, which were an excellent substitute for
bread.
For the first ten days Hurka while paddling generally sung Spanish songs
that he had picked up, but gradually he ceased doing so, and became as
taciturn as Pita himself.
“The Indians on this part of the river,” he told Stephen, “are generally
of a peaceful nature, and are quite willing to trade, but, as we have no
merchandise, they would look upon us with some suspicion; and, moreover,
the tribes are often at war with each other, and in that case it is always
better that travellers should avoid them. Consequently it is better to
travel silently.”
For the same reason they generally timed themselves so as to pass the
Indian villages at night, the fire on such occasions being kept very low,
and ashes being drawn up over the embers so as to completely extinguish
the light until the village was well behind them. Shooting was, for the
time, entirely given up.