INCALAND A Story of Adventure in the Interior of Peru AND THE CLOSING CHAPTERS OF THE WAR…

Preface.

Since the years of the Chile-Peruvian War—1879-1883—a great change has come over the land where the Incas once held power. Military rulers have yielded place to men chosen from the civil walks of life; the large standing army has been disbanded, and the pick, hoe, and shovel replace sword, bayonet, and rifle.

Peru’s decline, from the days of Pizarro until near the close of the nineteenth century, was due to the ease with which natural wealth could be acquired. The stages of the nation’s fall are marked by gold, guano, and nitrate of soda. Spaniards lived in opulence while Indian slaves unearthed the yellow metal. Later, Peruvians lived in idleness while coolies and peons shovelled the most productive of all fertilizers from the surface of the Chincha and Lobos Islands. Then in the south was found an equally rich and equally accessible source of revenue in the nitrate of soda.

All gold that lay in sight was exhausted by the Spaniard; all guano was stripped from the treasure islands; and finally, Chile wrested from Peru the nitrate provinces.

It is this period of time—when Peru’s last visible 6means of wealth was passing from her—that is covered in “Fighting under the Southern Cross” and “Incaland.”

Peru emerged from beneath the war cloud staggering under the burden of a foreign debt. To her relief came representatives of an Anglo-American syndicate. “Give us your railroads for sixty-nine years,” they said. “We will extend them into the fertile interior, and as compensation we will assume your obligations.” Peru acquiesced. The Grace-Donoughmore contract was signed. Bondholders were satisfied.

The shackles of debt cast one side, the men of Peru turned to work, guided by the rulers chosen from civil life who had been placed in power. They no longer depended upon the labor of a few to maintain the majority in indolence.

They tunnelled and dug in the Sierra region and brought to light a wealth of copper; they sank wells in the north and were rewarded with flowing oil; they constructed irrigation canals in Piura Province, and developed a cotton which, because of its lustre and resemblance to wool, is creating a furore in the New York and Liverpool markets.

Gold, guano, nitrate, are the tombstones of old Peru; agriculture and mining are the watchwords of the new.

The dawn of a brighter day for Incaland is glinting over the Andean chain.

Illustrations.

CHAPTER I. IN THE ANDES.

Harvey held some of the white substance in both hands, examined it curiously, then let it filter through his benumbed fingers.

“This is snow, isn’t it?” he exclaimed.

Hope-Jones and Ferguson laughed.

“What! Have you never seen snow before?” asked the former.

“Of course not. Didn’t I tell you that I visited the States only once, when I was little more than a baby, and remained but a month or two? I’ve never been in these regions any more than have you. I can remember rainfall, but snow! this is the first I have seen,” and he stooped over again, scooping up a fresh handful of the white, fluffy flakes that had covered the ground to the depth of an inch.

“Look out!” screamed Hope-Jones.

Ferguson and Harvey jumped to one side, warned by the cry, not a second too soon, for a huge 12boulder, roaring with the sound of an express train, bounded down the mountain side, crashed over the place where they had stood, and disappeared below the ledge, reverberating as it fell into the chasm.

“Narrow escape that!”

“I should say so,” said Harvey, who had dropped his snow and stood looking at the two young men, his cheeks quite pale.

The three who thus had barely escaped death were explorers from Callao, Peru, in the year 1879, and this day they were eight hours’ walk beyond Chicla, the highest point to which the Oroya railroad had been built, and to which terminal they had journeyed by train from the main seacoast city of Peru.

Harvey Dartmoor was seventeen years of age, the birthday which marked his passage from sixteen having been celebrated a week before his departure from home. His father had been a wealthy iron merchant in Peru, but the reverses which that country had sustained in the few months of the war with Chile, and which are described in detail in “Fighting Under the Southern Cross,” had forced Mr. Dartmoor, as well as many others in Lima and Callao, to the brink of the financial precipice beneath which yawned the chasm, ruin.

Harvey had been more in the confidence of his father than Louis, who was a year older. This was perhaps due to the younger lad’s resemblance to his 13father, in face and in personal bearing; or, perhaps, to the fact that he was more studiously inclined and therefore passed more time at home than did Louis, who was fond of outdoor sports, and preferred a spin in Callao Bay, or a dash over the pampas on his pony, with his chum Carl Saunders as a companion, to poring over books in the library.

It was in this manner—by being frequently at home and in the office—that Harvey had learned of his father’s distress of mind, caused by financial difficulties, long before other members of the family had realized the true state of affairs; and this observance by the lad and his inquiries had as a sequel his appearance in the great Andes chain, or the Cordilleras of Peru.

His companions were an Englishman and an American, who had resigned clerkships in offices to undertake this journey. Horace Hope-Jones, the senior, had been five years on the Peruvian coast, coming to Callao from Liverpool, and John Ferguson had lived in Ohio until 1875, when he was offered a very good salary to enter the employ of a large American house which had branch establishments in several cities on the southwest coast. One was twenty-three, the other twenty-two.

They were well known in the cities, and were popular in amateur athletic circles, both having been members of a famous four of the Callao Rowing 14Club, that had wrested victory from fours sent from Valparaiso, Panama, and other cities. Harvey Dartmoor was a junior member of this club, and it was while serving as coxswain that he became acquainted with Hope-Jones and Ferguson.

It came about curiously that the three were in the Andes, at an altitude of 16,500 feet, this twenty-third day of August, 1879. Two days before they had stood on the beach at Callao, breakers of the Pacific Ocean dashing at their feet; now they were in a wilderness of granite, snow-capped peaks rising on every side, and behind, towering above these, were still others, stretching in a seemingly endless chain.

Their quest in this vastness was gold, and an Indian’s narrative caused their search for yellow metal in the interior, where the great Incas once ruled.

Hope-Jones and Ferguson had lived in bachelor apartments in Lima, which is eight miles from Callao, and for a year their wants had been attended to by an old native, named Huayno, who cooked their meals, made their beds and kept their rooms tidy.

He was singularly uncommunicative during the first eight months of his service, but later, falling ill and being treated kindly by the young men, he told them that he was of direct descent from the Incas; 15indeed, that there flowed through his veins blood of the royal Atahuallpa, and that he might have been a king had not the race been first betrayed by the white men from Spain and then gradually exterminated, until only a few were left; and these wandered in bands through the interior, turned from a once proud people to Philistines, because of the injustice done them.

Thus old Huayno would talk evenings for hour after hour, speaking in Spanish with a strange mixture of the Indian tongue, and they would listen intently, because he told wonderful things of life in that portion of the interior to the north of Cerro de Pasco, where the foot of white man had never trod.

The Indian became worse instead of better, and finally was bedridden. Hope-Jones and Ferguson had grown much attached to him. They recognized a person above the station in which circumstances had placed him, and, moreover, they felt sorry for one who was far away from his people and so lonely. Therefore, instead of sending him to a hospital, they called a doctor and engaged a nurse to be near his side during the day, while they were absent at their offices. The physician shook his head, after examining the old man, and said:—

“He cannot linger long; perhaps a week, possibly two, but no longer.”

16Ten days later the end came, and a few hours before Huayno breathed his last, he beckoned Hope-Jones and Ferguson to his side.

“My masters, I know that I am about to die,” said he. “The sun of my life is setting in the hills and soon it will have disappeared. Before darkness comes I have much to tell you. In these weeks you have done much for me, as much as you would have done a brother; and so I, in turn, shall do for you. Give me, I pray you, from that bottle, so the strength may come to my voice.”

One of them handed him a glass, into which he had poured some cordial, and the Indian drank slowly, then raised himself partly in bed, leaning on pillows which had been placed behind his back.

He was a tall, well-formed man, his skin of light copper color, and he wore a beard that reached halfway to his waist. His cheeks were much sunken and shrivelled, and resembled stained pieces of chamois skin that had been wet, then dried without stretching. His luminous black eyes glistened from deep cavities under shiny brows.

“I am of the tribe of Ayulis,” he continued, his voice much firmer. “They now inhabit the country round about the river Marañon, where they cultivate yacas, plantains, maize, and cotton, and from the latter the women weave gay cloths, so that their attire is of more splendid color than that of any tribe. 17Eighty-five years ago it was not thus; then we were not compelled to cultivate the fields, for having gold in abundance we employed others to work. That gold proved our curse, for the white men came from Spain and levied tribute upon us, more and more each year, until we knew that soon all would be taken away. They levied tribute which we were compelled to pay, but they never learned from where we secured the metal, although they searched in parties large and small and put many of our leading men to the torture, in effort to force the secret from them. An Ayulis has no fear of pain, and they laughed when burned with hot irons and when boiling oil was poured upon them.

“When at last the Spaniards drove them too far, they choked the approaches to the mine with the trunks of huge trees, and all voiced a pledge that the place should never be opened again, nor would the location be made known to these unwelcome visitors from Spain. I am one hundred years old now; I was twenty then, and I remember well the great meeting of our tribe. Later we were revenged. Six months from that day we joined forces with the Jivaros, and at night we entered the town of Logroño, where a terrible butchery befell. Every white man was beheaded and every woman was carried away. Then other white men came and we were hunted through the forests for years, until at 18last we settled on the banks of the Marañon and there turned our attention to farming.

“We thought no more of gold, my masters, for that had been our curse; but well I remember the days when the yellow metal was in plenty, and with these eyes I have seen a nugget of gold taken from the mine of which I speak, that was as large as a horse’s head and weighed four arrobas.[1] Silver was so plentiful and iron so scarce that horses were shod with the white metal.

1. One hundred pounds.

“Now I come to a time later by twenty years, when, by accident, I killed a man of our tribe. They would not believe me that I had meant him no harm, and that the arrow was not sped by design, but they declared that I should die. Had I been guilty I would have awaited the punishment; but I was innocent, and so I fled, and for a time I joined the savages on the Ucalayli, but in a few years I pushed on, over the mountains, to this coast where I have since been.”

Hope-Jones and Ferguson had listened breathlessly, bending forward, for the old Indian’s voice had grown weaker and weaker. Soon he added:—

“I will tell you where the gold mine lies, for you have been kind to me. Take paper and pencil, that you may write down what I may say and not forget.”

They did so, and he went on:—

19“Cross the mountains to Oroya, go north even to Huari, all that way it is easy. From Huari go further north, three days on foot, to the great forest of cinchona trees, which commence at the sources of the upper Marañon. Enter this forest at Mirgoso, a village of few huts in my day, probably larger now. It is here that the Marañon properly commences. Follow the river, keeping in sight the right bank all the way. Travel six days by foot and you will suddenly see a great white rock. Beyond this once was a path, leading further north a half mile. Along it trees have been felled; they are rotted now. Push on and you will find the mine. Another—another—”

They bent closer, for his breath was coming in spasms.

“Another white rock marks—”

They sprang to his side; a strange rattle sounded in his throat.

“Lift me that I may see the setting sun.”

They did so and he looked out the window, toward Callao, where the ball of red was sinking. Then he fell back, dead.

For several days the young men said little concerning the Indian’s story. They gave his body fitting burial in the little cemetery at Bella Vista, and returned to their work at office desks. It all seemed a dream to them; either they had dreamed 20or they had listened to the ravings of Huayno. But after a week they commenced to discuss the narrative, first curiously, as one might talk of a fairy tale, then earnestly, as if their minds were becoming convinced that it had foundation in fact.

Why was it impossible? Were not legends heard from every tongue of the fabulous wealth of the Incas? Was it not said that they had secret mines, from which gold and silver had been taken, and which mines were closed and their bearings lost after the advent of the white man? Had there not been wonderful wealth in Cuzco?—a temple covered with sheets of gold and heaps of treasure? At Cajamaráca, did not Atahuallpa offer Pizarro, as a ransom, sufficient gold to fill the apartment in which he was confined and twice that amount of silver?

There could be no reason for the Indian to deceive them; there was every reason why he should have told them the truth. Would it not be wise to go into the interior and investigate?

Nothing stood in the way. They had youth and strength, the journey would be of advantage physically; each had a small sum of money in bank and a portion of this would furnish everything they might need on the trip, leaving sufficient for emergencies upon their return, should they prove unsuccessful.

These arguments, advanced by one, then by the 21other, determined them, and one evening Ferguson jumped up from his seat at table and exclaimed:—

“Let’s go!”

“Say we do,” answered Hope-Jones.

“Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Shake on it.”

They clasped hands, and it was settled.

The very next afternoon they were discussing their plans in the dressing room of the Callao Rowing Club, when they were overheard by Harvey Dartmoor. He was not eavesdropping. Such was not his nature. They had not noticed his presence, and finally, when he attracted their attention, they were rather glad than otherwise that he had heard, and soon asked if he would like to join in the search.

Harvey was known in Callao as a student, and the young men believed that he would be of assistance when knowledge of geology and chemistry should be needed. Besides, he was a pleasant companion, and although their junior, he was in many things far advanced for one of his years. So it was decided that Harvey should accompany them, provided his father should give consent, and in the evening Hope-Jones visited John Dartmoor at his home in Chucuito and unfolded to him the strange sayings of the Indian, Huayno.

Mr. Dartmoor was at first reluctant to permit Harvey’s 22departure. There was considerable danger in the trip—from avalanches, wild animals, and perhaps from savages, occasional bands of which were known at times to approach the Marañon River.

But in Hope-Jones and Ferguson he recognized young men of courage and determination; he knew Harvey to have a similar nature, and beyond all that he looked at the possibility of finding this treasure.

John Dartmoor had seen nothing but darkness on all sides, and here was a glimmer of light. The depreciation of paper money and the stagnation of trade, because of war, had checked all business. He was confronted with obligations which he could not meet, and each night he dreaded the dawning of another day, lest it bring failure before darkness could come again. So at last he gave his consent, and Harvey, delighted, made his preparations for the journey.

The three decided to make no secret of the fact that they were going inland to seek gold, but to no one except John Dartmoor did they say aught concerning the Indian’s revelations.

Having once interested himself in the venture, Mr. Dartmoor proved of valuable assistance to the travellers. Hope-Jones and Ferguson having shared their information with his son, he in turn furnished outfits complete for all three, and as his hardware store was the largest on the coast, he was able to find 23nearly everything in stock. But the travellers, after frequent discussions, left behind far more than they first had planned to carry, for they appreciated the fact that before them lay mile after mile of mountain climbing.

When equipped for the journey, each was clad in a suit of heavy tweed, the trousers to the knee, gray woollen stockings, and walking shoes. Each carried a knapsack, surmounted by two thin blankets, shaped in a roll, and in each knapsack were the following articles: One light rubber coat, one pair of shoes, two pairs of stockings, one suit of underclothing, three pocket-handkerchiefs, one tin plate, one tin cup, knife and fork of steel, one pound of salt, one large box of matches, one tooth brush, one comb, needles, pins, and thread, one iron hammer, and one box containing two dozen quinine pills.

Ferguson and Hope-Jones each carried a pick, slung by cords over their shoulders, but Harvey was deemed too young to bear a similar burden; besides, two picks were plenty. Hope-Jones carried a shot-gun, Ferguson a rifle, and Harvey a weapon similar to that borne by the Englishman, but of less weight. They all wore two ammunition belts, one around the waist, the other over the shoulder. In pockets were jack-knives, pieces of twine and lead pencils and paper, for they hoped to send letters from the interior to the coast by making use of native runners, although 24once away from the railroad they could receive none.

Thus equipped, the departure was made from Lima on the morning of August 20, and the three adventurers were accompanied as far as Chosica by Harvey’s brother Louis and by Carl Saunders, their chum, who stood on the railway platform in the little mountain town and waved a God-speed until the train pulled out of sight.