THE CANNIBALS OF PERU.
“The Majeronas!” echoed Ferguson, but in the whisper which he had been
cautioned to use. “Are they not a savage tribe?”
“They are.”
“I didn’t know they came this far, not within three or four hundred
miles of here. So I was told in Lima.”
“It is only recently that they have visited this region. Within the last
year several reports have come to Huari of their depredations.”
“They are said to be cannibals, are they not?”
“Yes.”
Harvey shivered and drew his gun closer.
“What are we going to do?” Hope-Jones asked. He was thinking, and so
were the others, how lucky it was that they had induced the experienced
miner and woodsman to accompany them.
“For a time we will wait here,” was the reply. “They may go away. Again,
I am not certain they are the Majeronas. I didn’t spend any great amount
of time examining them, I can assure you. They may be friendly Ayulis,
but just at present we do not care to meet even friendly Ayulis.”
“What is the difference between the tribes, señor?” Harvey asked,
gaining control of himself and preventing his teeth chattering.
“The Majeronas are much lighter and their beards are thinner. The
Indians yonder certainly answer the description, but the light may have
deceived me.”
“I think the light of a setting sun would darken a face, don’t you?”
suggested Ferguson. “It certainly gave a red tinge to that white rock.”
“Perhaps you are right.”
They were lying very close together, and words spoken in a whisper were
heard by all. Each had drawn his weapon to his side, and those with
modern guns threw open the breech-locks and made certain that loaded
shells were in the chambers, while the Peruvian examined the cap on his
rifle and swung loose his powder-horn and shot pouch. They remained in
this position for nearly an hour, and not hearing a sound from the
direction where the Indians had been seen, hope came that the redmen had
gone.
But this was dispelled toward five o’clock by Señor Cisneros, who
pointed to above the rock behind which they were hiding, and called
attention to a thin line of blue smoke in the distance.
“They are making a fire,” he said, “and have undoubtedly chosen that
place for a camp.”
Neither Hope-Jones, Ferguson, nor Harvey said a word. The Peruvian
waited a minute, then whispered:—
“Do you want to retreat? We can crawl for a short distance and then take
to our feet.”
“And the white rock in view! No, I don’t want to retreat,” said the
Englishman.
“Nor I,” said Ferguson.
“What do you say, Harvey?”
“I’d rather die first,” and he clenched his fists in a manner that
showed he meant all that he said.
“That’s right,” whispered the señor. “You have courage; that’s the main
thing. It would indeed be a pity to leave the spot now, for I am
convinced that old Huayno told the truth in everything. If they are
Majeronas, it is only a wandering band. The main tribe is far away, and
we shall have only these to settle with, should the worst come to pass.
But the probabilities are that they will go away in the morning. Should
they stay in this neighborhood for a time, we might be able to remain in
hiding. I think we have three or four days’ supply of dried meat, and it
will be easy to crawl down to the river for water. If it comes to a
fight, we have these,” and he tapped his rifle.
“What are they armed with?” asked Ferguson.
“Arrows and bludgeons, I have been told.”
They remained in the prostrate position for some time, in fact until
night fell, then following the direction of Señor Cisneros they moved
nearer the river, arriving at last at a shallow basin, surrounded on
three sides by boulders, between each of which was a space of about a
half foot, giving a view of the surrounding country, and which would
make excellent openings for their guns, should it prove necessary to use
them.
“How’s this for a natural fort?” said the Peruvian. “We’re near the
water supply, and I think we can hold the position for a time.”
“What about supper?” asked Harvey, who, after the first minute’s fright,
had shown as much unconcern as any of them and was now feeling quite
hungry.
“Dried meat and water,” promptly said the señor. “No fire must be
lighted to-night. I will get the water.”
He took a skin bag, which he had brought from Huari, and slowly crawled
in the direction of the river. He moved so cautiously that they did not
hear a sound, and when he returned to the camp, in a quarter of an hour,
his appearance was so sudden and without warning that all three were
startled.
They ate sparingly of the dried meat, for Señor Cisneros, who had taken
command at the urgent solicitation of the others, had divided the food
supply into rations sufficient to last three days.
“We must call you captain now,” said Harvey, as he munched his share,
“for these are war times.”
After supper they made preparation for the night, moving cautiously, so
that metal might not ring out, nor anything fall. They had no poles for
the shelter-tent; it was deemed unwise to try to secure any, so they
disposed the canvas as a bed and spread a blanket. This done, the señor
said he would go out and reconnoitre.
“I must ascertain whether they are Majeronas or Ayulis,” he explained,
“and I must also learn their number.”
He took everything out of his pockets and divested himself of such
clothing as would impede his progress—removed his poncho, his shoes and
stockings, and soon was ready, barefooted and clad only in a woollen
shirt and trousers. Sounds now came distinctly from down the river.
These noises, first heard faintly while they were eating their frugal
supper, grew in volume and became long wails, rising and falling.
“They are singing,” whispered the señor. “That is a chant.”
He placed a hunting-knife in his belt, laying aside his rifle, and
announced himself ready to leave.
“What if they should see you and should attack? How are we to know it?”
asked Ferguson.
The captain shrugged his shoulders. “I think you would not know until I
failed to return.”
“That will never do, sir,” protested the American. “Take your revolver,”
and he picked up the small weapon, which had been discarded with the
rifle. “If you are attacked, fire a shot, and we will hurry to the
rescue. We all stand together in this. Don’t we, fellows?”
“Of course we do,” said Hope-Jones and Harvey.
He looked at them gratefully and started to leave, but stopped a minute
to say: “While I am gone keep a close watch. Don’t worry, even should I
be absent two hours, for it will be slow work. I will fire the pistol
should anything happen. Good-by.”
“Good-by,” they said, and each grasped him by the hand.
It was quite lonely when he had gone, and they then appreciated how much
they depended upon him. From down the river the sound of the chant came
louder, evidence that more voices were joining in the evening song. It
was a night with no clouds in the sky, and the full moon shone direct
upon their camp and the surrounding country, silvering the broad leaves
of trees, throwing the trunks into blackness more deep by the contrast,
and causing strange shadows to appear on all sides. As a gentle wind
stirred the branches, the shadows moved from side to side. Once or twice
Harvey, who was stationed at the opening near the wooded country, was
certain that he saw the figure of an Indian, and whispered a warning,
but each time it proved to be only the obscuration of the moonlight by a
branch or a rock.
From the river bank came the croaking of frogs, tree-toads sounded among
the growth of vegetation; in the blackness where stood the trees,
flitted fireflies, and occasionally a glow-worm crawled along the
ground. They were startled now and then by a faint splash in the river
and made ready for an attack, but as nothing followed, they concluded
that a fish had risen and in diving again had flipped the water with its
tail—a sound they would not have ordinarily noticed, but which seemed
loud to their sense of hearing, more acute than usual because of the
nerve strain under which they rested.
After a time that seemed to him interminable Harvey whispered to
Hope-Jones, “I wonder if anything has happened to the captain. Has he
not been gone longer than he expected?”
The Englishman looked at his watch. The moonlight was so bright that he
could distinctly see the dial and the hands.
“No, he has been absent only an hour,” was the reply.
From the woods came the hoot of an owl. A few minutes later a low growl
was heard in the distance.
“That’s a puma,” said Ferguson. “If it should come this way we would
have to fire, and then those redskins would be attracted.”
But it did not come near them, nor did the growl sound again. The owl
continued to hoot dismally, and the call of a night bird was also heard.
Of a sudden Hope-Jones exclaimed “Sh!” and pushed his rifle through the
opening at the side of the river.
A dry branch had crackled. His warning was followed by a voice outside
the camp, saying in low tones, “It’s I, boys,” and the next second the
captain had rejoined them. He was considerably out of breath, and they
noticed that his clothing was more torn than when he had left the camp.
“It’s pretty tough work crawling nearly a mile on the hands and knees,”
he finally found voice to say. “But I saw them and had a good view,
lying on a rock that overlooked their camp. I was so close that I could
have picked off a half dozen with my revolver.”
“Are they Ayulis?” asked Ferguson.
“No, Majeronas.”
“The savages?”
He nodded his head.
None of them asked any more questions for a full minute, then Harvey
said rather hoarsely, “How many of them are there?”
“It’s a large band, my boy. More by far than I would wish for. I counted
forty.”
Forty—and they were four! No wonder their cheeks blanched.
“They have eaten a deer and other animals that I could make out,” the
captain continued, “and are lying around on the ground, resting after
their feast. It would be an easy matter for us to creep up to them and
pick off a score and probably put to flight the remainder, but I don’t
like to have the blood of even a Majerona on my hands, unless to save
our lives. What do you say?”
They agreed with him, then inquired what would be best to do.
“There’s nothing to do, but to wait developments. We are in no danger
to-night, so long as we keep still. The probabilities are that they will
move in the morning, and I think they are going down stream. However,
should they come this way, we shall have to face the music.”
“Could we not confer with the chief and promise him presents if they
will let us alone?”
“Confer with a Majerona! Never, my boy. They are the Philistines of Peru
and are cannibals. Why, that fire over there was not to cook their food.
They pulled the deer apart and ate strips of meat raw. I don’t wish to
frighten you, only to make it plain that we are near an enemy that
doesn’t even know what it is to spare a man of a different tribe or
race. To change the subject, I will suggest that as we have to prepare
for a siege, our best plan is to get some sleep. It will be necessary to
keep a close watch all night. I am very tired and I will ask Mr.
Hope-Jones to stand the first, Mr. Ferguson the second, and I will take
the third.”
“What about me?” asked Harvey. “I should do my share.”
“Very well. I thought you might be lonely on guard. You may take that
last watch, the one near daybreak. That will make four watches of two
hours each. Come, those who can get rest had better improve the
opportunity.”
Saying which the Peruvian rolled himself under a blanket and lay down in
the shadow of one of the boulders. Ferguson followed his example, and
Harvey, drawing his cover close, took a position in the centre of the
camp.
“Tell the lad to come out of the moonlight,” said the captain to
Ferguson, who was between them. The American did so, and Harvey crept
closer to Señor Cisneros. “Why was that?” he asked.
“Because moonlight falling on one’s face in this latitude sometimes
causes insanity.”
“I have heard that,” the boy said, “but I thought science had exploded
the theory.”
“Science or no science, no Indian will ever lie down in the open without
covering his head. And now good night. Try to sleep.”
But as for sleep, nothing was farther from Harvey’s mind. He lay quite
still, however, so as not to disturb the others, and watched Hope-Jones,
who stood at the opening near the river, his rifle resting on the little
ledge of rock, gazing steadily in the direction of the Indian camp. The
owl continued to hoot, the night bird to call, the tree-toads chirped
merrily, and the frogs kept up their doleful croaking. But the mournful
chant had ceased, and it was evident that slumber had stolen over the
camp of the Indians. The boy, in earnest endeavor to sleep, resorted to
all those expedients which are recommended, and finally counted up to
one thousand. After that he yawned and wondered if it was possible, if
he was really losing consciousness under such circumstances; if——Some
one tapped him on the shoulder, and he sprang to an upright position.
“It’s your watch, Harvey,” the captain said. “But never mind, I will
stand it for you.”
“No, sir,” said the boy, stoutly, as he rubbed his eyes and picked up
Ferguson’s rifle. The captain rolled himself in his blanket without
further words and was soon breathing heavily.
Could it be possible, thought the lad, that it was really his turn? Why,
it seemed that only the minute before he had watched Hope-Jones standing
at the opening, and now the Englishman was lying down. Why, not only the
captain but Ferguson had stood watch in the meanwhile! And there was no
moonlight! Of course not; it was four o’clock in the morning. He yawned;
then shook himself and muttered, “This will never do!” and, all at once,
he was wide awake and fit for his duty as sentry.
It was chill and damp. From the river a light mist was creeping. He
could not see it, but he felt the wet on his cheeks. The bird had ceased
crying, and so had the tree-toads and the frogs. It was indescribably
lonely; but his great comfort came from the fact that three trusted
companions were so near that he could almost touch them with his foot,
and he knew they would awaken at his slightest call.
While standing there, his rifle resting on the ledge, he thought of the
dear ones at home and wondered what they would say, could they know the
plight he was in. “My, but Louis and Carl would give their boots to be
here, I know!” was a sentence that passed through his mind. And the
other members of the Callao Rowing Club—what adventures he could relate
to them upon his return! He thought of the regattas, when as coxswain he
had steered to victory the eight-oared shells in which Hope-Jones had
pulled stroke and Ferguson bow; and now here they were, far in the
interior of Peru, near a camp of cannibals.
At the thought of cannibals, Harvey’s heart gave a quick jump. But it
was soon steady again, and he commenced thinking of the dreary night he
had passed in Callao Bay, while afloat on a torpedo, which strange
adventure of the younger Dartmoor brother is related in detail in
“Fighting Under the Southern Cross.” He had come out of that safely, and
why not out of this? Then the lad remembered that for several nights he
had neglected to say those words which he had learned when a little
child at his mother’s knee, so he fervently repeated the prayers she had
taught him. After this he felt more courage than ever, and when a fish
rose in the river, it did not cause him to start as had the sounds
earlier in the night. Thus communing with himself and with his God, time
passed quickly for the boy, and soon he began to make out the shadowy
forms of the mist that rose from the water.
In this latitude, near the equator, there are only a few minutes of
twilight, so it was soon bright enough for him to look at the watch that
had been left on the stone ledge. Ten minutes to six! He could soon call
the others. The generous impulse came to let them sleep for another
hour, but it was followed by the thought that the Indians were
undoubtedly awakening, and as they might at once march up the river, it
would be well for all to be on the alert. So when the long hand pointed
at twelve and the short hand at the dot which on clocks and watches is
the sign for six, he touched the captain lightly on the arm. Señor
Cisneros sprang up. It was broad day. He awakened Hope-Jones and
Ferguson.