LET me see. This story begins at the time I climbed down the Andes on
the east side and came upon a house by a lake. There were two children
living there, one named Juan, the other, his sister, named Juanita, and
the boy was seven years old and the girl nine. They had never seen a
school, and the nearest house was more than fifty miles away. Still they
had books, knew how to read, and I do not think that they ever found the
day long. For one thing the lake was not at all deep, and a little bit
off from the shore of it was a small island. That was a kind of
playground for them, and often they paddled their boat to it in the
early morning and stayed there all day.
There were other things highly interesting. On the second day that I was
there, I saw their tame ostrich, a great gray bird that they had had for
two years, and now and then Juan would ride it, Delicia, which was the
name of the ostrich, spreading his wings like sails, and running out in
a wide zigzag circle on the pampa, caring no more for the light weight
on his back than a chicken would care for a fly. Somehow, the birds of
that place were no more afraid of the children than the cat is afraid of
you, and they knew places where they could see the flamingo with its
scarlet cloak, the cowbird all glossy violet, the lapwings making a
drumming music, gray and white scissortail with feathers a foot long,
and red oven-birds. But their great pet was the huanaco, tall and
proud-looking, all yellow and white, like a camel without a hump, about
the size of a donkey. They called him Campeón, and he had been on the
place as long as the children could remember. Their father, who owned
many sheep, had found him when he was no larger than a fox, brought him
to the house, and he had become as tame as a pet lamb. Both Juan and
Juanita would roll over on him as he lay in the sun, burying their faces
in his gold-coloured fur, hugging his long neck, wrestling with him
until he got up and walked away to find a quieter place. They would use
him as a horse, harnessing him to a little wagon, and all would go well
sometimes, but sometimes not so well, for Campeón taking it into his
head to run, the wagon would upset, the children roll out on the soft
grass, and in a moment Campeón would free himself from the harness,
going in great leaps to find a little hill where he would perch himself
on the crest and stand like a sentinel.
Now one day the man who was my travelling companion was out with his
rifle, and coming upon old Campeón standing on a high rock, took him for
a strange and wild animal, and, like many thoughtless men with a gun,
followed his impulse and shot. Campeón was badly wounded, and doubtless
astonished to receive such treatment from the hands of a man. Anyway he
limped on three legs to the house. Juan and Juanita grieved sadly, their
parents no less, and all was done for Campeón that could be done. As for
my friend, seeing what had happened, he was the most sorrowful of us
all. For a time it seemed as though Campeón would get better, but one
day he was plainly worse. All that day he rested on the sheltered side
of the house, refusing food and water, his finely shaped head proudly
upright, his eyes turned to the south, and the next morning there was no
sign of him. From the hill on which he had stood we could see for miles
and miles, and Juanita and I went there, taking a telescope, and we
searched the country far and wide. In the afternoon we saddled horses
and rode many, many miles until we came to a belt of sandy soil that ran
east and west, and there we saw the trail of our Campeón going straight
south. So we turned home sadly enough, for we knew that we would see the
gentle beast no more.
And this is why: If you have read the “Arabian Nights,” you will
remember, in the story of Sindbad the Sailor, that it is told that he
discovered a wonderful valley in which were the bones of hundreds and
thousands of elephants. Whether there is any truth or not in that, I do
not know, but I do know that in south Patagonia there is a vast valley
called the Valley of the Gallegos and there the huanacos go to lay down
their bones when they feel the coming of death. And beautiful Campeón,
though he had never seen that valley, somehow felt that he must find it,
being so wounded and sick, and while we slept that moonlight night, had
left us. Both Juan and Juanita knew well enough that they would never
see Campeón dead, for they had heard the story of the huanaco valley as
often as you have the story of Cinderella. So had I heard it, and that
night when we fell to talking about Campeón, a gaucho who looked after
the horses told us the story again, and this is what he said:
* * * * *
Long, long ago, when there were giants and before there were horses in
this land, there lived a gentle people who did not know sickness or pain
or anger. They moved about among the animals and the birds as we move
about among the flowers in the garden, and men were much kinder and the
maidens more graceful and beautiful than any on the earth to-day. The
colours of the birds were brighter and the scent of the flowers sweeter
than now; the sun was never too hot nor the wind too cold. What was more
wonderful, the Gentle People had a strange power by means of which they
could change flowers into living things which turned to bright-coloured
birds.
Now and then there would be great gatherings, when all the Gentle People
would come together before their prince who sat on a throne decked with
precious stones. And the people who loved him for his wisdom as well as
for his goodness brought to him at such times gold and silver and
diamonds and rubies and glittering precious stones, and these he would
give to the young people to play with, for in those days people loved
things for their beauty alone. The birds and animals too would join in
the gathering, and the air would be full of song and colour and the
scent of woods and flowers. On that day each person there would have his
or her wish granted, whatever it was. To be sure, where was so much that
was good, it seemed hard to wish for anything at all.
There was one thing only that was forbidden to the Gentle People, which
was to go north until they saw no more the stars of the Southern Cross
in the sky, for after many days’ journey, they were told, there was a
great dark forest on the other side of which were fierce men who did
evil. But one day one of the Gentle People saw a strange bird, more
beautiful than anything ever seen, a bird whose breast shone green and
blue and gold, with a tail of long feathers white as ivory. Capa it was
who saw the bird, and it seemed strange to him that seeing him the bird
flew away. Never before had he seen a bird that he could not touch and
hold, and the more the bird avoided him the more eager was he to take it
to the prince. So he followed it as it went from place to place, always
thinking that at last the strange bird would allow him to draw near.
That it feared him he never knew, for his people knew no fear, neither
did the animals nor birds that lived among them. At last the bird led
him to the edge of the forest, and when he looked into the sky that
night he saw new stars there, at which he wondered. Into the forest he
went, always following the bird, and so tall and thick were the trees
that the sun did not shine and the stars were blotted out at night.
Then one day he came to a place where he saw men with yellow skins and
teeth like a dog, who gathered about him. Never before had he seen such
people, who tore animals apart and ate of the flesh, who tore skins from
living creatures and wore them on their own bodies. To make matters
worse, these yellow-skinned ones seized Capa and took from him his
glorious robes of gold and silver thread, tore the feathers from his
hair and plucked away the ruby that he wore for its beauty. Then,
greatly to his surprise, they fell on one another, fighting for the
things that they had taken from Capa, so that the very robe they
struggled for was torn and trampled under foot. At that Capa turned and
fled back through the forest, never stopping day or night, until he came
to his own people.
Straight to the prince he went and told his tale, hearing which, the
prince was sad at heart.
“You have,” he said, “been where there are greed and selfishness and
avarice, and it is bad for us. For those of the yellow skin will not
rest until they have found us and brought sorrow into our midst.”
Then he called all his people together and they came, as they always
did, singing and dancing and bearing flowers, and after them came the
birds and animals, skipping and flying, calling. But a great silence
fell upon all when they saw their Golden Prince, for his eyes were
grave.
So he told the Gentle People all that Capa had seen, and Capa himself
stood by the side of his prince and sang a sad song, so that the people
knew of the evil on the other side of the dark forest, and the hearts of
the Gentle People were as heavy as was the heart of the Golden Prince.
And the prince told them that if they chose, he would arm them and lead
them so that they could go forth and fight against the yellow-faced men
when they came, “but,” he went on to say, “having learned to fight and
to do hurt and to bring death, then you yourselves will turn on each
other, will bring death to your own people. You will turn against the
animals and they will turn against you. You will walk the land alone,
and all things will avoid and hide from you. These things of the earth,
these bright and shining things which to-day you take or leave as you
wish, you will play with no more, but will hide in boxes and under
stones so that others may not see them.” When he said this last he
picked up a handful of diamonds and rubies, of emeralds and gold dust,
and poured them from one hand to another, so that it was as a cascade
that fell bright and dazzling in the sunlight.
Fearing that, the Gentle Folk looked at one another, and there was no
doubt in their minds. “Far better,” said they, “is it that we should
change in some manner and flee away than that we should do evil to the
birds and beasts that are our friends.”
Then the Golden Prince called on his people to follow him, and as the
yellow man broke through the forest as he had said they would, he led
all of them away swiftly, and the multitude of animals and birds
followed them. Having arrived at a great valley where was a river, he
told his people that he would change their form so that they would
become for a time other creatures, but creatures that would neither bite
nor scratch nor spit poison, nor do any kind of harm. So he changed them
into huanacos, animals of proud and graceful carriage, and their dress
was of red and white like the gold and silver they wore. Then when he
saw his people thus, friends of the birds and animals they loved, he
changed himself into one also, but greater and more beautiful than any.
But there was a memory of that time, and even to this day when a herd of
huanacos is seen, there also is one standing on a high rock as sentinel,
keeping watch for the yellow men. And when at last the prince huanaco
died, he died in the valley; seeing which, each of his people also laid
down their bones in that place, as you may read in many books. So must
it be until each and every huanaco has passed away. Yet remember this:
Where dies a huanaco, there springs up a flower blue as the sky, its
petals all gold-tipped. And when the day comes in which the last huanaco
dies, then the yellow men will be gone. On that day each flower will
bend to its neighbour and, at a word, there will stand a great host, for
the spirit of the huanaco is in the flower that is blue and gold-tipped.
Then, for ever and ever, the Gentle People will again have their land,
and kindness and gentleness and beauty and joy will be theirs once more.
[Illustration]