THE HAPPY VALLEY.
My gloomy forebodings were only too fully realized. Never was a more
miserably monotonous journey. After riding for weeks, through sodden,
sunless forests and trackless wastes we had to abandon our mules and take
to our feet, spend weeks on nameless rivers, poling and paddling our canoe
in the terrible heat, and tormented almost to madness by countless
insects. Then the rains came on, and we were weather-stayed for months in
a wretched Indian village. But for the help of friendly aborigines--and
fortunately the few we met, being spoken fair showed themselves
friendly--we must all have perished. They gave us food, lent us canoes,
served us as pilots and guides, and thought themselves well paid with a
piece of scarlet cloth or a handful of glass beads.
My men turned out quite as ill as I had been led to expect. Several
deserted at the outset, two or three died of fever, two were eaten by
alligators, and when we first caught sight of the Andes, Gahra was my sole
companion.
We were in a pitiful plight. I was weak from the effects of a fever, Gahra
lame from the effects of an accident. My money was nearly all gone, my
baggage had been lost by the upsetting of a canoe, and our worldly goods
consisted of two sorry mules, our arms, the ragged clothes on our backs,
and a few pieces of silver. How we were to cross the Andes, and what we
should do when we reached Peru was by no means clear. As yet, the fortune
which I had set out to seek seemed further off than ever. We had found
neither gold nor silver nor precious stones, and all the coin I had in my
waist-belt would not cover the cost of a three days' sojourn at the most
modest of _posaderos_.
But we have left behind us the sombre and rain-saturated forests of the
Amazon and the Orinoco, and the fine country around us and the magnificent
prospect before us made me, at least, forget for the moment both our past
privations and our present anxieties. We are on the _montaña_ of the
eastern Cordillera, a mountain land of amazing fertility, well wooded, yet
not so thickly as to render progress difficult; the wayside is bordered
with brilliant flowers, cascades tumble from rocky heights, and far away
to the west rise in the clear air the glorious Andes, alps on alps, a vast
range of stately snow-crowned peaks, endless and solemn, veiled yet not
hidden by fleecy clouds, and as cold and mysterious as winter stars
looking down on a sleeping world.
For a long time I gaze entranced at the wondrous scene, and should
probably have gone on gazing had not Gahra reminded me that the day was
well-nigh spent and that we were still, according to the last information
received, some distance from the mission of San Andrea de Huanaco,
otherwise Valle Hermoso, or Happy Valley.
One of our chief difficulties had been to find our way; maps we had none,
for the very sufficient reason that maps of the region we had traversed
did not at that time exist; our guides had not always proved either
competent or trustworthy, and I had only the vaguest idea as to where we
were. Of two things only was I certain, that we were south of the equator
and within sight of the Andes of Peru (which at that time included the
countries now known as Ecuador and Bolivia).
A few days previously I had fallen in with an old half-caste priest, from
whom I had heard of the Mission of San Andrea de Huanaco, and how to get
there, and who drew for my guidance a rough sketch of the route. The
priest in charge, a certain Fray Ignacio, a born Catalan, would, he felt
sure, be glad to find me quarters and give me every information in his
power.
And so it proved. Had I been his own familiar friend Fray Ignacio could
not have welcomed me more warmly or treated me more kindly. A European
with news but little above a year old was a perfect godsend to him. When
he heard that I had served in his native land and the Bourbons once more
ruled in France and Spain, he went into ecstasies of delight, took me into
his house, and gave me of his best.
San Andrea was well named Valle Hermoso. It was like an alpine village set
in a tropical garden. The mud houses were overgrown with greenery, the
rocks mantled with flowers, the nearer heights crested with noble trees,
whose great white trunks, as smooth and round as the marble pillars of an
eastern palace, were roofed with domes of purple leaves.
Through the valley and between verdant banks and blooming orchards
meandered a silvery brook, either an affluent or a source of one of the
mighty streams which find their homes in the great Atlantic.
The mission was a village of tame Indians, whose ancestors had been
"Christianized," by Fray Ignacio's Jesuit predecessor. But the Jesuits had
been expelled from South America nearly half a century before. My host
belonged to the order of St. Francis. The spiritual guide, as well as the
earthly providence of his flock, he managed their affairs in this world
and prepared them for the next. And they seemed nothing loath. A more
listless, easy-going community than the Indians of the Happy Valley it
were difficult to imagine. The men did little but smoke, sleep, and
gamble. All the real work was done by the women, and even they took care
not to over-exert themselves. All were short-lived. The women began to age
at twenty, the men were old at twenty-five and generally died about
thirty, of general decay, said the priest. In my opinion of pure laziness.
Exertion is a condition of healthy existence; and the most active are
generally the longest lived.
Nevertheless, Fray Ignacio was content with his people. They were docile
and obedient, went regularly to church, had a great capacity for listening
patiently to long sermons, and if they died young they got so much the
sooner to heaven.
All the same, Fray Ignacio was not so free from care as might be supposed.
He had two anxieties. The Happy Valley was so far untrue to its name as to
be subject to earthquakes; but as none of a very terrific character had
occurred for a quarter of a century he was beginning to hope that it would
be spared any further visitations for the remainder of his lifetime. A
much more serious trouble were the occasional visits of bands of wild
Indians--_Indios misterios_, he called them; what they called themselves
he had no idea. Neither had he any definite idea whence they came; from
the other side of the Cordilleras, some people thought. But they neither
pillaged nor murdered--except when they were resisted or in drink, for
which reason the father always kept his _aguardiente_ carefully hidden.
Their worst propensity was a passion for white girls. There were two or
three _mestizo_ families in the village, some of whom were whiter, or
rather, less coppery than the others, and from these the _misterios_ would
select and carry off the best-looking maidens; for what purpose Fray
Ignacio could not tell, but, as he feared, to sacrifice to their gods.
When I heard that these troublesome visitors generally numbered fewer than
a score, I asked why, seeing that the valley contained at least a hundred
and fifty men capable of bearing arms, the raiders were not resisted. On
this the father smiled and answered, that no earthly consideration would
induce his tame Indians to fight; it was so much easier to die. He could
not even persuade the _mestizoes_ to migrate to a safer locality. It was
easier to be robbed of their children occasionally than to move their
goods and chattels and find another home.
I asked Fray Ignacio whether he thought these robbers of white children
were likely to pay him a visit soon.
"I am afraid they are," he said. "It is nearly two years since their last
visit, and they only come in summer. Why?"
"I have a curiosity to see these; and I think I could save the children
and give these wild fellows such a lesson that they would trouble you no
more--at any rate for a long time to come."
"I should be inexpressibly grateful. But how, señor?"
Whereupon I disclosed my scheme. It was very simple; I proposed to turn
one of the most likely houses in the village into a small fortress which
might serve as a refuge for the children and which Gahra and I would
undertake to defend. We had two muskets and a pair of double-barrelled
pistols, and the priest possessed an old blunderbuss, which I thought I
could convert into a serviceable weapon. In this way we should be able to
shoot down four or five of the _misterios_ before any of them could get
near us, and as they had no firearms I felt sure that, after so warm a
reception, they would let us alone and go their way. The shooting would
demoralize them, and as we should not show ourselves they could not know
that the garrison consisted only of the negro and myself.
"Very well," said the priest, after a moment's thought. "I leave it to
you. But remember that if you fail they will kill you and everybody else
in the place. However, I dare say you will succeed, the firearms may
frighten them, and, on the whole, I think the risk is worth running!"
The next question was how to get timely warning of the enemy's approach. I
suggested posting scouts on the hills which commanded the roads into the
valley. I thought that, albeit the tame Indians were good for nothing
else, they could at least sit under a tree and keep their eyes open.
"They would fall asleep," said Fray Ignacio.
So we decided to keep a lookout among ourselves, and ask the girls who
tended the cattle to do the same. They were much more wide-awake than the
men, if the latter could be said to be awake at all.
The next thing was to fortify the priest's house, which seemed the most
suitable for our purpose. I strengthened the wall with stays, repaired the
old _trabuco_, which was almost as big as a small cannon, and made ready
for barricading the doors and windows on the first alarm.
This done, there was nothing for it but to wait with what patience I
might, and kill time as I best could. I walked about, fished in the river,
and talked with Fray Ignacio. I would have gone out shooting, for there
was plenty of game in the neighborhood, only that I had to reserve my
ammunition for more serious work.
For the present, at least, my idea of exploring the Andes appeared to be
quite out of the question. I should require both mules and guides, and I
had no money either to buy the one or to pay the other.
And so the days went monotonously on until it seemed as if I should have
to remain in this valley surnamed Happy for the term of my natural life,
and I grew so weary withal that I should have regarded a big earthquake as
a positive god-send. I was in this mood, and ready for any enterprise,
however desperate, when one morning a young woman who had been driving
cattle to an upland pasture, came running to Fray Ignacio to say that she
had seen a troop of horsemen coming down from the mountains.
"The _misterios_!" said the priest, turning pale. "Are you still resolved,
señor?"
"Certainly," I answered, trying to look grave, though really greatly
delighted. "Be good enough to send for the girls who are most in danger.
Gahra and I will take possession of the house, and do all that is
needful."
It was further arranged that Fray Ignacio should remain outside with his
tame Indians, and tell the _misterios_ that all the good-looking
_mestiza_, maidens were in his house, guarded by braves from over the
seas, who would strike dead with lightning anybody who attempted to lay
hands on them.
By the time our preparations were completed, and the frightened and
weeping girls shut up in an inner room, the wild Indians were at the upper
end of the big, straggling village, and presently entered a wide, open
space between the ramshackle old church and Ignacio's house. The party
consisted of fifteen or sixteen warriors mounted on small horses. All rode
bare-back, were naked to the waist, and armed with bows and arrows and the
longest spears I had yet seen.
The tame Indians looked stolidly on. Nothing short of an earthquake would
have disturbed their self-possession. Rather to my surprise, for he had
not so far shown a super-abundance of courage, Fray Ignacio seemed equal
to the occasion. He was tall, portly, and white-haired, and as he stood at
the church door, clad in his priestly robes, he looked venerable and
dignified.
One of the _misterios_, whom from his remarkable head-dress--a helmet made
of a condor's skull--I took to be a cacique, after greeting the priest,
entered into conversation with him, the purport of which I had no
difficulty in guessing, for the Indian, laughing loudly, turned to his
companions and said something that appeared greatly to amuse them. Neither
he nor they believed Fray Ignacio's story of the great pale-face chief and
his death-dealing powers.
The cacique, followed by a few of his men, then rode leisurely toward the
house. He was a fine-looking fellow, with cigar-colored skin and features
unmistakably more Spanish than Indian.
My original idea was to shoot the first two of them, and so strike terror
into the rest. But the cacique bore himself so bravely that I felt
reluctant to kill him in cold blood; and, thinking that killing his horse
might do as well, I waited until they were well within range, and, taking
careful aim, shot it through the head. As the horse went down, the cacique
sprang nimbly to his feet; he seemed neither surprised nor dismayed, took
a long look at the house, then waved his men back, and followed them
leisurely to the other side of the square.
"What think you, Gahra? Will they go away and leave us in peace, or shall
we have to shoot some of them?" I said as I reloaded my musket.
"I think we shall, señor. That tall man whose horse you shot did not seem
much frightened."
"Anything but that, and--what are they about now?"
The wild Indians, directed by their chief, were driving the tame Indians
together, pretty much as sheep-dogs drive sheep, and soon had them penned
into a compact mass in an angle formed by the church and another building.
Although the crowd numbered two or three hundred, of whom a third were
men, no resistance was offered. A few of exceptionally energetic character
made a languid attempt to bolt, but were speedily brought back by the
_misterios_, whose long spears they treated with profound respect.
So soon as this operation was completed the cacique beckoned peremptorily
to the _padre_, and the two, talking earnestly the while, came toward the
house. It seemed as if the Indian chief wanted a parley; but, not being
quite sure of this, I thought it advisable, when he was about fifty yards
off, to show him the muzzle of my piece. The hint was understood. He laid
his weapons on the ground, and, when he and the padre were within speaking
distance, the _padre_, who appeared very much disturbed, said the cacique
desired to have speech of me. Not to be outdone in magnanimity I opened
the door and stepped outside.
The cacique doffed his skull-helmet and made a low bow. I returned the
greeting, said I was delighted to make his acquaintance, and asked what I
could do to oblige him.
"Give up the maidens," he answered, in broken Spanish.
"I cannot; they are in my charge. I have sworn to protect them, and, as
you discovered just now, I have the means of making good my word."
"It is true. You have lightning; I have none, and I shall not sacrifice my
braves in a vain attempt to take the maidens by force. Nevertheless, you
will give them up."
"You are mistaken. I shall not give them up."
"The great pale-face chief is a friend of these poor tame people; he
wishes them well?"
"It is true, and for that reason I shall not let you carry off the seven
maidens."
"Seven?"
"Yes, seven."
"How many men and women and maidens are there yonder, trembling before the
spears of my braves like corn shaken by the wind--fifty times seven?"
"Probably."
"Then my brother--for I also am a great chief--my brother from over the
seas holds the liberty of seven to be of more account than the lives of
fifty times seven."
"My brother speaks in riddles," I said, acknowledging the cacique's
compliment and adopting his style.
"It is a riddle that a child might read. Unless the maidens are given
up--not to harm, but to be taken to our country up there--unless they are
given up the spears of my braves will drink the blood of their kinsfolk,
and my horses shall trample their bodies in the dust."
The cacique spoke so gravely and his air was so resolute that I felt sure
he would do as he said, and I did not see how I could prevent him. His men
were beyond the range of our pieces, and to go outside were to lose our
lives to no purpose. We might get a couple of shots at them, but, before
we could reload, they would either shoot us down with their bows or spit
us with their spears.
Fray Ignacio, seeing the dilemma, drew me aside.
"You will have to do it," he said. "I am very sorry. The girls will either
be sacrificed or brought up as heathens; but better so than that these
devils should be let loose on my poor people, for, albeit some might
escape, many would be slaughtered. Why did you shoot the horse and let the
savage and his companion go scathless?"
"You may well ask the question, father. I see what a grievous mistake I
made. When it came to the point, I did not like to kill brave men in cold
blood. I was too merciful."
"As you say, a grievous mistake. Never repeat it, señor. It is always a
mistake to show mercy to _Indios brutos_. But what will you do?"
"I suppose give up the girls; it is the smaller evil of the two. And
yet--I promised that no evil should befall them--no, I must make another
effort."
And with that I turned once more to the cacique.
"Do you know," I said, laying my hand on the pistol in my belt--"do you
know that your life is in my hands?"
He did not flinch; but a look passed over his face which showed that my
implied threat had produced an effect.
"It is true; but if a hair of my head be touched, all these people will
perish."
"Let them perish! What are the lives of a few tame Indians to me, compared
with my oath? Did I not tell you that I had sworn to protect the
maidens--that no harm should befall them? And unless you call your men off
and promise to go quietly away--" Here I drew my pistol.
It was now the cacique's turn to hesitate. After a moment's thought he
answered:
"Let the lightning kill me, then. It were better for me to die than to
return to my people empty-handed; and my death will not be unavenged. But
if the pale-face chief will go with us instead of the maidens, he will
make Gondocori his friend, and these tame Indians shall not die."
"Go with you! But whither?"
Gondocori pointed toward the Cordillera.
"To our home up yonder, in the heart of the Andes."
"And what will you do with me when you get me there?"
"Your fate will be decided by Mamcuna, our queen. If you find favor in her
sight, well."
"And if not--?"
"Then it would not be well--for you. But as she has often expressed a wish
to see a pale-face with a long beard, I think it will be well; and in any
case I answer for your life."
"What security have I for this? How do I know that when I am in your power
you will carry out the compact?"
"You have heard the word of Gondocori. See, I will swear it on the emblem
you most respect."
And the cacique pressed his lips to the cross which hung from Ignacio's
neck. It was a strange act on the part of a wild Indian, and confirmed the
suspicion I already entertained, that Condocori was the son of a Christian
mother.
"He is a heathen; his oath is worthless; don't trust him, let the girls
go," whispered the padre in my ear.
But I had already made up my mind. It was on my conscience to keep faith
with the girls; I wanted neither to kill the cacique nor see his men kill
the tame Indians, and whatever might befall me "up yonder" I should at any
rate get away from San Andrea de Huanaco.
"The die is cast; I will go with you," I said, turning to Gondocori.
"Now, I know, beyond a doubt, that my brother is the bravest of the brave.
He fears not the unknown."
I asked if Gahra might bear me company.
"At his own risk. But I cannot answer for his safety. Mamcuna loves not
black people."
This was not very encouraging, and after I had explained the matter to
Gahra I strongly advised him to stay where he was. But he said he was my
man, that he owed me his liberty, and would go with me to the end, even
though it should cost him his life.