When young Escombe regained his senses it was night, or so he supposed,
for all was darkness about him, save for such imperfect illumination as
came from a small wood fire which flickered and crackled cheerfully in
one corner of the apartment in which he found himself. The apartment!
Nay, it was far too large, much too spacious in every dimension, to be a
room in an ordinary house, and those walls--or as much as could be seen
of them in the faint, ruddy glow of the firelight--were altogether too
rough and rugged to have been fashioned by human hands, while the roof
was so high that the flickering light of the flames was not strong
enough to reach it. It was a cavern, without doubt, and Harry began to
wonder vaguely by what means he had come there. For, upon awakening,
his mind had been in a state of the most utter confusion, and it was not
until he had lain patiently waiting for his ideas to arrange themselves,
and had thereby come to the consciousness that he was aching in every
bone and fibre of his body, while the latter was almost entirely swathed
in bandages, that the recollection of his adventure returned to him.
Even then the memory of it was but a dreamy one, and indeed he did not
feel at all certain that the entire incident was not a dream from
beginning to end, and that he should not presently awake to find himself
on the cot in his tent, with the cold, clear dawn peering in past the
unfolded flap, and another day's arduous work before him. But he
finally concluded that the fire upon which his eyes rested was too real,
and, more especially, that his pain was too acute and insistent for him
to be dreaming. Then he fell to wondering afresh how in the name of
fortune he had found his unconscious way into that cave and upon the
pallet which supported him.
The fire was the only thing in the cavern that was distinctly visible;
certain objects there were here and there, a vague suggestion of which
came and went with the rise and fall of the flame, but what they were
Harry could not determine. There was, among other matters, an object on
the far side of the fire, that looked not unlike a bundle of rags; but
when Escombe, in attempting to turn himself over into a more comfortable
position, uttered an involuntary groan as a sharp twinge of pain shot
through his anatomy, the bundle stirred, and instantly resolved itself
into the quaintest figure of a little, old, bowed Indian woman that it
is possible to picture. But, notwithstanding her extreme age and
apparent decrepitude, the extraordinary old creature displayed
marvellous activity. In an instant she was on her feet and beside the
pallet, peering eagerly and anxiously into Harry's wide-open eyes. The
result of her inspection appeared to be satisfactory, for presently she
turned away and, muttering to herself in a tongue which was quite
incomprehensible to her patient, disappeared in the all-enveloping
darkness, only to reappear a moment later with a small cup in her hand
containing a draught of very dark brown, almost black, liquid of an
exceedingly pungent but rather agreeable bitter taste, which she placed
to his lips, and which the lad at once swallowed without demur. The
effect of the draught was instantaneous, as it was marvellously
stimulating and exhilarating; and it must also have possessed very
remarkable tonic properties, for scarcely had Escombe swallowed it when
a sensation of absolutely ravenous hunger assailed him.
"Ah!" he sighed, "that was good; I feel ever so much better now.
Mother," he continued in Spanish, "I feel hungry: can you find me
something to eat?"
"Aha! you feel hungry, do you?" responded the old woman in the same
language. "Good! I am prepared for that. Wait but a moment, _caro
mio_, until I can heat the broth, and your hunger shall soon be
satisfied." And with the birdlike briskness which characterised all her
actions she moved away into the shadows, presently returning with three
iron rods in her hand, which she dexterously arranged in the form of a
tripod over the fire, and from which she suspended a small iron pot.
Then, taking a few dry sticks from a bundle heaped up near the fire, she
broke them into short lengths, which she carefully introduced, one by
one, here and there, into the flame, coaxing it into a brisk blaze which
soon caused a most savoury and appetising steam to rise from the pot.
Next, from some hidden receptacle she produced a bowl and spoon, emptied
the smoking contents of the pot into the former, and then, carefully
propping her patient into a sitting position, proceeded to feed him.
The stew was delicious, to such an extent, indeed, that Harry felt
constrained to compliment his hostess upon its composition and to ask of
what it was made. He was much astonished--and also, it must be
confessed, a little disgusted--when the old lady simply answered,
_Lagarto_ (lizard). There was no doubt, however, that he had greatly
enjoyed his meal, and felt distinctly the better for it; he therefore
put his squeamishness on one side, and asked his companion to enlighten
him as to the manner in which he came to be where he was.
"It is very simple," answered the old woman. "While my son Yupanqui was
fishing in the river, two days ago, he caught sight of something unusual
lying at the edge of a sandbank, and upon paddling his _balsa_ to the
spot, he found your insensible body lying stranded there, bruised and
bleeding; so, like a sensible boy, he took you up and brought you hither
as quickly as possible, in order that I might exercise my skill in the
attempt to restore you to life. We managed to do so at last, between
us; but you were _caduco_ (crazy), and could tell us nothing of
yourself, for you spoke persistently in a language that we did not
understand; so, as soon as it was seen that you would live, I busied
myself in dressing your wounds and bruises, after which I prepared for
you a certain medicine which, as I expected, threw you into a deep
sleep, from which you have at length awakened in your right mind. And
now you have but to lie still and allow your wounds to heal. Which
reminds me that now is a very favourable time to dress them afresh."
"Two days ago--stranded on a sandbank!" repeated Escombe in
bewilderment. "I do not understand you, Mother. Surely I have not been
lying insensible for two whole days! And how could I possibly have
become stranded on a sandbank? I fell into the river in the _quebrada_,
and I am prepared to avouch that there were no sandbanks there!"
"In the _quebrada_! Is it possible?" echoed the old woman. "Why, the
end of the _quebrada_ is more than a mile away from where Yupanqui found
you! But I think I begin to understand a little. You are not a
Spaniard--I can tell that by your accent--therefore you must be an
Ingles, one of the _ingenieros_ who are making the new railway among the
mountains. Is it not so?"
"You have guessed it, Mother," answered Escombe. "Yes, I was taking
some measurements in the _quebrada_ when the rope by which I was hanging
broke, and I fell into a tree, and thence on to the rocks beneath, after
which I lost consciousness."
"Ah!" exclaimed the old woman, as she proceeded to remove deftly the
bandages and re-dress Harry's hurts; "yes, it is wonderful--very
wonderful; for if you had not chanced to fall into the tree before
striking the rocks, you must certainly have been killed. That I can
quite understand. But I cannot understand how, after having fallen into
the river, you escaped being dashed to pieces upon the many rocks among
which it flows, nor how, having escaped that death, you afterwards
escaped drowning in the deep water, for you must have been swept along
quite a mile after issuing from the _quebrada_. It is true that when
Yupanqui found you, you were lying upon your back; so that, I suppose,
is the reason why the river did not suffocate you. Your hurts are doing
famously, _Senor Ingles_, thanks to my knowledge of simples. There is
only one--this in your head--which is likely to give trouble; but we
will soon mend that, if you can prevail upon yourself to lie still and
not disturb the bandage."
"Oh!" answered Harry; "I will do that all right, now that my senses have
come back to me, don't you fear; for I must get well quickly, and return
to my work as soon as possible. Meanwhile, Mother, where is your son?
I should like to send him with a message to the engineer's camp, if he
will go, to let them know that I am alive."
"Assuredly, assuredly," assented the queer old creature, as she
assiduously bathed the wound in Harry's head with a hot fomentation
which she had specially prepared. "He is out hunting, now, but the
evening is drawing in and I expect him back ere long. When he returns
we will hear what he has to say about it. Doubtless he will willingly
go; but if your camp is near the spot where I think you must have
fallen, it will take him quite half a day to reach it."
"Half a day!" echoed Harry, aghast. "How is that? I should have
thought that half an hour would have been nearer the mark."
"Nay, my son," answered the old woman, "he will have to travel fast to
do it in half a day. You do not know how difficult it is to travel from
place to place among these mountains, even when one knows the way. He
will have to go a long way round to reach the spot of which I am
thinking, for there are many impassable precipices in his course, to say
nothing of bogs in which, if one be not very careful, one can disappear,
leaving no trace behind."
Harry could understand this, now that it had been explained to him, for
he had already had experience of the impassable precipices and
bottomless morasses spoken of by his companion. But it was
disconcerting, to say the least of it, that it would occupy so long to
send a message to camp; for, taking into consideration the fact that he
had already been two days absent, and that it would require another
half-day to send a message, the chances were that, when Yupanqui reached
the spot, he would find the survey party gone, and would be obliged to
follow them up until he should overtake them. Also he began to wonder
how long it would be before his injuries would be sufficiently healed to
allow him to travel over a road of so difficult a character as that
hinted at in his companion's remarks. He had only to attempt to move on
his pallet, and to feel the intolerable aching in every limb that
resulted from the effort, to understand that some days--probably at
least a week--must elapse ere he would be fit to attempt the journey;
and meanwhile where would the survey party be, and how would they be
faring without him? What would Butler do? Would he take Harry's death
for granted, and proceed singlehanded with the survey; or would he send
out a search party to seek for traces of his lost assistant? He must of
necessity do one or the other, and the comforting reflection came to
Harry that, even if the first course were adopted, the party could not
get very far away without being overtaken.
"How long do you think it will be, Mother, before I shall be able to
rise and move about again?" he enquired.
"Nay, my son, who can tell save the good God who holds our lives in His
hands?" answered the old woman. "It may be two weeks, or it may be two
months, according to whether or not the fever returns. Much must depend
upon yourself. If you keep quite quiet, and do not become impatient,
you may be able to rise and go into the open for a short time in two
weeks, possibly even in less. But you must do in all things exactly as
I say, if you wish to get well quickly; and you may trust in me, for I
have seen many years and have always been skilled in the art of
healing."
"I will trust you, of course," answered Harry, reaching out at the cost
of some pain and squeezing the old creature's clawlike hand. "Get me
well as quickly as you can, Mother, and you will not find me ungrateful.
I have the means of rewarding you liberally for all your trouble as
soon as I can return to camp."
"Reward!" ejaculated the old woman, angrily snatching away her hand;
"who spoke of reward? I require no reward, if by that you mean money
payment. I have no need of money. This cave has provided me with dry
and comfortable housing for many years, while the garden outside and my
son's hunting and fishing furnish us with ample food. What need have we
of money?"
"Pardon, Mother," exclaimed Harry penitently, "I did not mean to offend
you. But if you do not need money, there are perhaps other things that
you or your son may be glad to have, and you must let me show my
gratitude to you in some way, for I cannot forget that to you and your
son I owe my life."
"Ay, ay; ay, ay; that's as may be," muttered the old creature, as though
speaking to herself. "There," she added, as, having completed the
dressing of Escombe's injuries, she secured the last bandage, "that is
done. Now, more medicine, and then more sleep." And therewith she
bustled away into the shadows, returning, a few minutes later, with a
generous draught that foamed and sparkled in the goblet like champagne,
but left a taste of sickly sweetness upon the palate. As the invalid
swallowed the dose a sensation of great ease and comfort permeated his
entire system, and the next moment he was asleep.
When Harry next awoke, feeling very much better, he saw that his
hostess, and a fine, stalwart, copper-coloured young Indian whom he took
to be her son, were seated at a roughly framed table, at some little
distance from his cot, taking a meal by the light of an earthenware
lamp, and conversing together in low tones in a language with which he
was unfamiliar. From the manner in which the pair glanced in his
direction from time to time he rather suspected that he was the subject
of their conversation, which was being conducted with much earnestness,
especially by the old woman. That she was maintaining a very keen watch
upon her patient was perfectly evident, for at Harry's first movement
she sprang to her feet and, snatching up the lamp, rapidly approached
his bedside, peering down into his eyes with the same intense eagerness
that she had before exhibited, muttering and mumbling to herself
excitedly the while.
"Ah, ah!" she exclaimed, in tones of much satisfaction, "so you are
awake again at last! You have slept well and long, my friend--slept all
through the night without a movement. And your skin is cool, too," she
continued, laying her skinny hand on Harry's forehead; "cool and moist;
no fever. But what of the pain? Is it still severe as ever?"
"The pain!" exclaimed Hal, moving himself slightly. "Why, no, it seems
almost gone. What magic is this?"
"No magic at all," chuckled the quaint old creature, "but merely a poor
old Indian woman's skill in simples. You are doing excellently well,
_Senor Ingles_--better, even, than I dared hope. And now you are
hungry, is it not so? Good! your breakfast is ready and shall be
brought to you instantly; and when you have finished, there is my son
Yupanqui, who is ready to take any message that you may desire to send
to your camp."
An excellently roasted bird--which the patient subsequently learned was
a parrot,--bread made of Indian corn flour, and a cup of delicious
chocolate were speedily dispatched. Then Harry having asked for his
notebook, which had been found in his pocket and carefully dried, he
pencilled a note to Butler, briefly informing that individual of his
escape, and of his hope that he would be sufficiently recovered from his
injuries to rejoin the camp in about a fortnight's time, and dispatched
Yupanqui with it, describing to the Indian the probable situation of the
camp, as nearly as he could, and instructing the man to give it only
into the hands of the Englishman, and to ask for a reply, which he was
to bring back with him.
The next few days passed uneventfully, save that the invalid's progress
toward recovery was so rapid and satisfactory that about midday of the
third day Harry--who began to find bed becoming very wearisome--was
allowed by his nurse to rise and, clad in trousers and the remains of
his shirt, go as far as the entrance of the cave and sit there for an
hour or two, enjoying the magnificent prospect which greeted his
astonished eyes.
He found that the cave which had afforded him such perfect shelter
during his helplessness formed a chamber, or rather a series of
chambers, in an enormous mass of rock that rose sheer out of a little
circular, basin-like valley through which flowed the stream from the
_quebrada_, the water here spreading out in the form of a lake measuring
about a mile across and evidently rather shallow, for here and there he
could see small sandbanks showing clear of the water. It was upon one
of these that he had been found stranded by Yupanqui. The _quebrada_
died out in the valley about a mile from the mouth of the cave, as could
be seen when the spot was indicated by the old Indian woman, and Escombe
wondered more than ever by what chance his senseless body had been
carried so far by the rushing water without destroying such life as
remained in it. The ground sloped rather steeply from the cave down to
the water's edge, and some eight or ten acres of it had been dug up at
intervals and planted with maize, vegetables of various kinds, and fruit
trees, among which Harry recognised the peach, the orange, the mulberry,
and the cacao. It was no wonder, he told himself, that his queer but
kind-hearted old hostess indignantly disclaimed any need of money. For,
with the produce of the garden, and what Yupanqui could bring in from
the forest and the river, it seemed to him that their every want, except
perhaps in the matter of clothes, must be abundantly supplied. And, so
far as clothes were concerned, doubtless the cultivated ground yielded a
superabundance ample enough to afford them the means of bartering it for
such simple clothing as they needed. The valley was of basin-like form,
the sides of it growing ever steeper as they receded from the middle,
until they eventually merged into the mountain slopes which hemmed in
the valley on every side and went rolling away, ridge beyond ridge, in
interminable perspective, until, in the extreme distance, they
terminated in the snow-clad peaks of the Andes.
Harry's hostess--who now mentioned that she bore the name of Cachama--
appeared to be in a singularly communicative mood that day, for she
beguiled the time by not only pointing out and naming the principal
peaks in sight, but she also related several very interesting legends
connected with certain of them and with the country generally, going
back to the time before the conquest, and painting in dazzling colours
the glories of the Inca dynasty, and the incredible wealth of the
ancient rulers of Peru. She appeared to be pretty intimately acquainted
with the history of the conquest of the country by Pizarro, and had many
bitter things to say of the strange pusillanimity of the Inca,
Atahuallpa, on that fatal 16th of November, 1532, when he went, open-
eyed, into the trap prepared for him at Caxamalca, and suffered himself
to be seized, in the presence of his entire army, by a mere handful of
Spaniards. She gave a most emphatic denial to the suggestion that the
country had benefited by the civilised conditions that had followed the
conquest.
"No, no," said she, "we are infinitely worse off in every way, to-day,
than we were under the rule of the Incas. Poverty, misery, oppression,
and suffering of every kind are to be met with on all hands and wherever
one goes, while four hundred years ago we had a far higher state of
civilisation than now exists, in which poverty and oppression, with
their countless attendant evils, were unknown. But it will not last for
ever, I tell you; brighter and happier days are in store for us of the
ancient race, and perhaps even I, old as I am, may live to see it. Yes,
I, poor though I am, and compelled to lodge my worn-out body in a cave,
have royal blood in my veins, as had my husband, Yupanqui; we are both
descended from Huayna Capac, and, but for Atahuallpa's incredible folly,
I might have been enjoying comfort and affluence to-day; ay, and
possibly my husband might also have been living."
Escombe had read Prescott's _Conquest of Peru_ during his schooldays,
and the romantic story had implanted within his mind a keen interest in
everything pertaining to the history of the country, which had never
waned, and which had received a fresh stimulus when he learned that he
was not only to visit and spend some time in Peru but also to explore
certain parts of it. And now, to find himself actually conversing with
someone who claimed descent from those proud Incas, who appeared to have
lived in a regal splendour only to be equalled by that of the potentates
of the _Arabian Nights_, seemed to him to be a rare slice of good luck;
he was therefore careful to say nothing calculated to divert the
conversation from the channel in which it was so satisfactorily flowing,
but, on the contrary, did everything he could to keep it there. He was,
however, very much surprised to find his hostess looking forward so
confidently to brighter and happier times for the despised Indian race;
for if any one thing seemed absolutely certain, it was that the time was
not very far distant when the few scattered survivors must perish, and
the race vanish from the face of the earth. It was therefore in
somewhat incredulous tones that he turned to Cachama and said:
"What grounds have you for the hope--or should I call it the certainty--
that better days are in store for your race? To me it seems that there
are very few of you left."
"Ay," she answered, "it may so seem to you, for you have as yet seen but
little of the country save the _terra caliente_, and very few of us are
now to be found near the coast. But when you get farther up among the
mountains, and especially when you get into the neighbourhood of Lake
Titicaca, you will find that we have not all perished. Furthermore, it
is said--with what truth I know not--that when Atahuallpa fell into the
hands of the _Conquistadors_, and was strangled by torchlight in the
great _plaza_ of Caxamalca, many of the nobles who had been with him
fled with their families into the heart of the mountains, and,
establishing themselves in a certain secret place, set to work, at the
bidding of one Titucocha, a priest of the Sun, to build a new City of
the Sun--beside the glories of which those of Cuzco were to be as
nothing--against the time when our Lord the Sun should again send Manco
Capac, the founder of the Inca dynasty, back to earth to restore the
dynasty in all its ancient splendour."
"And do you really believe that such a restoration is possible?" asked
Escombe with a smile at the old woman's credulity.
"Ay," answered Cachama with conviction, "I more than believe, I know!
For I have the gift of foreknowledge, to a certain extent, and from my
earliest childhood I have felt convinced that the prophecy is true--I
cannot explain how, or why; I only know that it is so. And with the
passage of the years I have ever felt that the time for its fulfilment
was drawing nearer, until now I know that it is so close at hand that
even I, old though I am, may live to see it. I would that I could feel
as sure of the continuance of the dynasty as I am of its restoration;
but I cannot; I can only see--dimly--up to a certain point, beyond which
everything is misty and uncertain, with a vague suggestion of disaster
which fills, me with foreboding."