One day, in a burst of pride, he told me that the gourd contained the ashes of his ancestors, who were the ancient kings. Though the Spaniards sought to carefully rout out and destroy all direct descendants of the royal family of the Incas, their historians tell us that some remote connections escaped. The Indians of Peru have legends to the effect that at the time of the Spanish invasion an Inca chieftain led an emigration of his people down the mountains. Humboldt, writing in the 18th century, said: "It is interesting to inquire whether any other princes of the family of Manco Capac have remained in the forests; and if there still exist any of the Incas of Peru in other places." Had I discovered some descendants of this vanished race? The Montreal _Journal_, commenting on my discovery, said: "The question is of extreme interest to the scientific enquirer, even if they are not what Mr. Ray thinks them."

The royal family consisted of the parents, a son and his wife, a daughter and her husband, and two younger girls. I was invited to sleep in the inner room, which the parents occupied, and the two married couples remained in the common room. All slept in fibre hammocks, made greasy and black by the smoke from the fire burning on the floor in the centre of the room. No chimney, window, door, or article of furniture graced the house.

"The court of the Incas rivalled that of Rome, Jerusalem, or any of the old Oriental countries, in riches and show, the palaces being decorated with a great profusion of gold, silver, fine cloth and precious stones." [Footnote: Rev. Thomas Wood, LL.D., Lima, Peru, In "Protestant Missions in South America."]

An ancient Spanish writer who measured some of the stones of the Incan palace at Cuzco tells us there were stones so nicely adjusted that it was impossible to introduce even the blade of a knife between them, and that some of those stones were thirty-eight feet long, by eighteen feet broad, and six feet thick. What a descent for the "Children of the Sun"! "How are the mighty fallen!" Thoughts of the past and the mean present pa.s.sed through my mind as I lay down in the dust of the earthen floor that first night of my stay with the king.

Owing to the thousands of fleas in the dust of the room it was hard for me to rest much, and that night a storm brewing made sleep almost impossible. As the thunder pealed forth all the Indians of the houses hastily got out of their hammocks and grasped gourd rattles and beautifully woven cotton banners. The rattles were shaken and the banners waved, while a droning chant was struck up by the high priest, and the louder the thunder rolled the louder their voices rose and the more l.u.s.tily they shook the seeds in their calabashes.

They were trying to appease the dread deity of Thunder, as did their Inca ancestors. The voice of the old priest led the worship, and for _four hours_ there was no cessation of the monotonous song, except when he performed some mystic ceremony which I understood not.

Just as the old priest had awakened me the first morning to ask for his present, so the king came tapping me gently the second. In his hand he had a large sweet potato, and in my half-dreamy state I heard him saying, "Give me your coat. Eat a potato?" The change I thought was greatly to his advantage, but I was anxious to please him. I possessed two coats, while he was, as he said, a poor old man, and had no coat.

The barter was concluded; I ate the potato, and he, with strange grimaces, donned a coat for the first time in his life. Think of this for an alleged descendant of the great Atahuallpa, whose robes and jewels were priceless!

I offered to give the queen a feminine garment of white cotton if she would wear it, but this I could not prevail upon her to do; it was "ugly." As a loin-cloth, she would use it, but put it on--no! In the latter savage style the shaped garment was thereafter worn. Women have _fashions_ all over the globe.

The few inches of clothing worn by the Caingwa women are never washed, and the only attempt at cleansing the body I saw when among them was that of a woman who filled her mouth with water and squirted it back on her hands, which she then wiped on her loin-cloth!

Prescott, writing of the Incas, says: "They loved to indulge in the luxury of their baths, replenished by streams of crystal water which were conducted through subterraneous silver channels into basins of gold."

The shapely little mouth of the queen was spoilt by the habit she had of smoking a _heavy_ pipe made of red clay. I was struck with the weight and shape of this, for it exactly resembled those made by the old cliff-dwellers, unknown centuries ago. One will weigh at least a quarter of a pound. For a mouth-piece they use a bird's quill. The tobacco they grow themselves.

Near the royal abode were the kitchen gardens. A tract of forest had been fired, and this clearing planted with bananas, mandioca, sweet potatoes, etc. The blackened trunks of the trees rose up like so many evil spirits above the green foliage. The garden implements used were of the most primitive description; a crooked stick served for hoe, and long, heavy, sharpened iron-wood clubs were used instead of the steel plough of civilization.

As I have already remarked, I found the people were sun-worshippers.

Each morning, just as the rising sun lit up the eastern sky, young and old came out of their houses, the older ones carrying empty gourds with the dry seeds inside. At a signal from the high priest, a solemn droning chant was struck up, to the monotonous time kept by the numerous gourd rattles. As the sun rose higher and higher, the chanting grew louder and louder, and the echoes of _"He! he! he! ha! ha! ha!

laima! laima!"_ were repeated by the distant hills. When the altar of incense (described later) was illuminated by the sun-G.o.d, the chanting ceased.

After this solemn worship of the Orb of Day, the women, with quiet demeanor and in single file, went off to their work in the gardens. On returning, each carried a basket made of light canes, slung on the back and held up by plaited fibres forming a band which came across their foreheads. The baskets contained the day's vegetables. Meat was seldom eaten by them, but this was probably because of its scarcity, for when we killed an ostrich they clamored for a share. Reptiles of all kinds, and even caterpillars, are devoured by them when hungry.

The Caingwas are under the average height, but use the longest bows and arrows I have ever seen. Some I brought away measure nearly seven feet in length. The points are made of sharpened iron-wood, notched like the back of a fish-hook, and they are poisoned with serpent venom. Besides these weapons, it was certainly strange to find them living in the _stone age_, for in the hands of the older members of the tribe were to be seen stone axes. The handles of these primitive weapons are sc.r.a.ped into shape by flints, as probably our savage forefathers in Britain did theirs two thousand years ago.

Entering the low, narrow doorway of one of the bamboo frame houses, I saw that it was divided into ten-foot squares by corn-stalk part.i.tions a yard high. These places, like so many stalls for horses, run down each side of the _hoga_. One family occupies a division, sleeping in net hammocks made of long, coa.r.s.e gra.s.s. A "family man" usually has bands of human hair twisted around his legs below the knees, and also around the wrists. This hair is torn from his wife's head. Down the centre are numerous fires for cooking purposes, but the house was dest.i.tute of chimney. Wood is burned, and the place was at times so full of smoke that I could not distinguish one Indian from another.

Fortunately, the walls of the house, as was also the roof, were in bad repair, and some of the smoke escaped through the c.h.i.n.ks. Sixty people lived in the largest hoga, and I judged the number of the whole tribe to be about three hundred.

The doorways of all the houses faced towards the east, as did those of the Inca. In the princ.i.p.al one, where the high priest lived, a square altar of red clay was erected. I quickly noticed that on this elevation, which was about a yard high, there burned a very carefully tended fire of holy wood. Enquiring the meaning of this, I was informed that, very many moons ago, Nande-yara had come in person to visit the tribe, and when with them had lit the fire, which, he said, they must not under any circ.u.mstances suffer to die out. Ever since then the smoke of the incense had ascended to their "Owner" in his far-off dwelling.

How forcibly was I reminded of the scripture referring to the Jewish altar of long ago, "There the fire shall ever be burning upon the altar; it shall never go out." If I had not discovered Eden, I had at least found the altar and fire of Edenic origin.

Behind the altar, occupying the stall directly opposite the doorway, stood the tribal G.o.d. As the Caingwas are sun-worshippers, I was surprised to see this, but Rocanandivia, with grave demeanor, told me that when Nandeyara departed from them he left behind him his representative. In the chapter on Mariolatry, I have traced the natural tendency of man to sink from spiritual to image worship, and I found that the Caingwas, like all pagans, had reverted to a something they could see and feel. Remembering that they had never heard the second commandment, written by G.o.d because of this failing in man, we can excuse them, but what shall be said of the enlightened Romanists?

Being exceedingly anxious to procure their "Copy of G.o.d," I tried to bargain with the priest. I offered him one thing and another, but to all my proposals he turned a deaf ear, and finally, glaring at me, said that _nothing_ would ever induce him to part with it. The people would never allow the image to be taken away, as the life of the tribe was bound up with it Seeing that he was not to be moved, I desisted, though a covetous look in his eye when I offered a beautiful colored rug in exchange gave me hope, Rocanandiva was, like most idolatrous priests, very fanatical. When he learned that I professed and taught a different religion, his jealousy was most marked, and he often told me to go from them, I was not wanted. Living with the king, however, saved me from ejection.

One day the priest, ever on the beg, was anxious to obtain some article from me, and I determined to give it only on one condition. Being anxious to tell the people the story of Jesus, I had repeatedly asked permission of him, but had been as often repulsed. They did not want _me_, or any new "words," he would reply. Turning to him now, I said, "Rocanandiva, if you will allow me to tell 'words' to the people you shall have the present." The priest turned on his heel and left me.

Knowing his cupidity, I was not surprised when, later, he came to me and said that I could tell them _words_, and held out his hand for the gift.

After sun-worship next morning the king announced that I had something new to tell them. When all were seated on the ground in wondering silence, I began in simple language to tell "the old, old story." My address was somewhat similar to the following: "Many moons ago, Nandeyara, looking down from his abode, saw that all the men and women and children in the world were bad; that is, they had done wrong things, such as . . . Now G.o.d has a Son, and to Him He said, Look down and see. All are doing wicked things! He looked and saw. The Father said that for their sin they should have to die, but that Jesus, His Son, could come down and die in their place. The Son came, and lived on earth many moons; but was hated, and at last caught, and large pieces of iron (like the priest's knife) were put into His hands and feet, and He was fastened to a tree. After this a man came, and, with a very long knife, brought the blood out of the side of Jesus, and He died."

Purposing to further explain my story, I was not pleased when the priest stopped me, and, stepping forth, told the people that my account was not true. He then in eloquent tones related to them what he called the _real story_, to which I listened in amazed wonder.

"Many moons ago," he began, "we were dying of hunger! One day the Sun, our G.o.d, changed into a man, and he walked down _that_ road." (Here he pointed to the east.) "The chief met him. 'All your people are dying of hunger,' said G.o.d. 'Yes, they are,' the chief replied. 'Will you die instead of all the people?' Nandeyara said. 'Yes, I will,' the chief answered. He immediately dropped down dead, and G.o.d came to the village where we all are now. 'Your chief is lying dead up the road,' he said, 'go and bury him, and after three days are pa.s.sed visit the grave, when you will find a plant growing out of his mouth; that will be corn, and it will save you!'" Then, turning to me, the priest said: "This we did, and behold us alive! That is the story!" A strange legend, surely, and yet the reader will be struck with the grains of truth intermingled--life, resulting from the sacrificial death of another; the subst.i.tution of the one for the many; the life-giving seed germinating after _three days' burial_, reminding one of John 12:24: "Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone; but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit."

Strange that so many aboriginal people have legends so near the truth.

Some days later the chiefs son and I were alone, and I saw that something troubled him. He tried to tell me, but I was somewhat ignorant of his language, so, after looking in all directions to see that we were really alone, he led the way into a dark corner of the hoga, where we were. There, from under a pile of garden baskets, calabashes, etc., he brought out a peculiarly-shaped gourd, full of some red, powdery substance. This, with trembling haste, he put into my hand, and seemed greatly relieved when I had it securely. Going then to the corner where I kept my goods, he took up a box of matches and made signs for me to exchange, which I did. When Timoteo returned I learned that the young man was custodian of the devil--the only and original one--and that he had palmed him off on me for a box of matches! How the superst.i.tion of the visible presence of the devil originated I have no idea, but there might be some meaning in the man's earnest desire to exchange it for matches, or lights, the emblem of their fire or sun-worship. Was this simple deal fallen man's feeble effort to rid himself of the _Usurper_ and get back the _Father_, for it is very significant that the Caingwa word, _ta-ta_ (light), signifies also father. Do they need light, or are they sufficiently illumined for time and eternity? Will the reader reverently stand with me, in imagination, beside an Indian grave? A girl has died through snake poisoning. A shallow grave has been dug for her remains. Into this hole her body has been dropped, uncoffined, in a sitting position. Beside the body is placed some food and a few paltry trinkets, and the people stand around with that disconsolate look which is only seen upon the faces of those who know not the Father. As they thus linger, the witch-doctor asks, "Is the dog killed?" Someone replies, "Yes, the dog is killed." "Is the head cut off?" is then asked. "Yes, the head is off," is the reply.

"Put it in the grave, then," says the medicine man; and then the dog's head is dropped at the girl's feet.

Why do they do this? you ask. Question their _wise man_, and he will say: "A dog is a very clever animal. He can always find his way. A girl gets lost when alone. For that reason we place a dog's head with her, that it may guide her in the spirit life." I ask again, "Do they need missionaries?"

My stay with the sun-worshippers, though interesting, was painful.

Excepting when we cooked our own food, I almost starved. Their habits are extremely filthy, indeed more loathsome and disgusting than I dare relate.

My horses were by now refreshed with their rest, and appeared able for the return journey, so I determined to start back to civilization. The priest heard of my decision with unfeigned joy, but the king and queen were sorrowful. These pressed me to return again some time, but said I must bring with me a _boca_ (gun) like my own for the king, with some more strings of white beads for the queen's wrists.

While saddling our horses in the grey dawn, the wily priest came to me with a bundle, and, quietly drawing me aside, said that Nandeyara was inside, and in exchange for the bright rug I could take him away. The exchange was made, and I tied their G.o.d, along with bows and arrows, etc., on the back of a horse, and we said farewell. I had strict orders to cover up the idol from the eyes of the people until we got away.

Even when miles distant, I kept looking back, fearing that the duped Indians were following in enraged numbers. Of course, the priest would give out that I had _stolen_ the image.

Ah, Rocanandiva, you are not the first who has been willing to sell his G.o.d for worldly gain! The hand of Judas burned with "thirty pieces of silver," the earthly value of the Divine One. Pilate, for personal profit, said: "Let Him be crucified." And millions to-day sell Him for "a mess of pottage."

The same horse bore away the _devil_ and _G.o.d_, so perhaps without the one there would be no need of the other.

So prolific is the vegetation that during our few weeks' stay with the Indians the creeping thorns and briars had almost covered up the path we had cut through the forest, and it was again necessary to use our machetes. The larger growth, however, being down, this was not difficult, and we entered its sombre stillness once more. What strange creatures people its tangled recesses we knew not.

"For beasts and birds have seen and heard That which man knoweth not."

I hurried through with little wish to penetrate its secret. Mere existence was hard enough in its steaming semi-darkness. Our clothes were now almost torn to shreds (I had sought to mend mine with horse-hair thread, with poor results), and we duly emerged into daylight on the other side, ragged, torn and dirty.

Our journey back to civilization was similar to the outward way. We selected a slightly different route, but left the old chief safe and well with his people.

One night our horses were startled by a bounding jaguar, and were so terrified that they broke away and scattered in all directions.

Searching for them detained us a whole day, but fortunately we were able to round them all up again. Two were found in a wood of strangely-shaped bushes, whose large, tough leaves rustled like parchment.

One afternoon a heavy rain came on, and we stopped to construct a shelter of green branches, into which we crept. The downpour became so heavy that it dripped through our hastily-constructed arbor, and we were soon soaking wet. Owing to the dampness of the fuel, it was only after much patient work that we were able to light a fire and dry our clothes. There we remained for three days, Timoteo sighing for Pegwaomi, and the wind sighing still louder, to our discomfort.

Everything we had was saturated. Sleeping on the soaking ground, the poisonous tarantula spiders crept over us. These loathsome creatures, second only to the serpent, are frequently so large as to spread their thick, hairy legs over a six-inch diameter.

The storm pa.s.sed, and we started off towards the river Ipane, which was now considerably swollen. Three times on the expedition we had halted to build rough bridges over chasms or mountain streams with perpendicular banks, but this was broad and had to be crossed through the water. As I rode the largest and strongest horse, it was my place to venture first into the rushing stream. The animal bravely stemmed the current, as did the rest, but Old Stabbed Arm, riding a weaker horse, nearly lost his life. The animal was washed down by the strong current, and but for the man's previous long experience in swimming rivers he would never have reached the bank. The pony also somehow struggled through to the side, landing half-drowned, and Old Stabbed Arm received a few hearty pats on the back. The load on the mare was further soaked, but most of our possessions had been ruined long ago.

My cartridges I had slung around my neck, and I held the photographic plates in my teeth, while the left hand carried my gun, so these were preserved. To my care on that occasion the reader is indebted for some of the ill.u.s.trations in this volume. Nandeyara got another wash, but he had been wet before, and never complained!

On the farther side of the river was a deserted house, and we could distinctly trace the heavy footprints of a tapir leading up the path and through the open doorway. We entered with caution. Was the beast in then? No. He had gone out by a back way, probably made by himself, through the wattled wall. We could see the place was frequented very often by wild pigs, which had left hundreds of footprints in the three-inch depth of dust on the floor. There we lit a fire to again dry our clothes, and prepared to pa.s.s the night, expecting a visit from the hogs. Had they appeared when we were ready for them, the visit would not have been unwelcome. Food was hard to procure, and animals did not come very often to be shot. Had they found us asleep, however, the waking would have been terrible indeed, for they will eat human flesh just as ravenously as roots. After spreading our saddle-cloths on the dust and filth, Old Stabbed Arm and I were chatting about the Caingwas and their dirty habits, when Timoteo, heaving a sigh of relief, said: "Thank G.o.d, we are clean at last!" He was satisfied with the pigpen as he recalled the _hoga_ of the Sun-Worshippers.

At last the village of Pegwaomi was reached, and, oh, we were not sorry, for the havoc of the jiggers in our feet was getting terrible!

The keen-eyed inhabitants caught sight of us while we were still distant, and when we reined up, Timoteo's aged mother tremblingly said, "_Yoape_" ("Come here") to him, and she wept as she embraced her boy.

Truly, there was no sight so sweet to "mother" as that of her ragged, travel-stained son; and Timoteo, the strong man, wept. The fatted calf was then killed a few yards from the doorstep, by having its throat cut. Offal littered up the doorway, and the children in their glee danced in the red blood. The dogs' tails and the women's tongues wagged merrily, making us feel that we were joined on to the world again. I was surprised to find that we were days out of reckoning; I had been keeping Sunday on Thursday!

During this stay at Pegwaomi I nearly lost Old Stabbed Arm. The day after we returned our hostess very seriously asked me if he might marry her daughter. Thinking he had sent her to ask, I consented. It was a surprise to learn afterwards that he knew nothing at all of the matter.

Although Pegwaomi gained no new inhabitant, I secured what proved to be one of the truest and most faithful friends of my life--a little monkey. His name was Mr. Pancho. With him it was love at first sight, and from that time onward, I believe, he had only two things in his mind--his food and his master. He would cry when I left him, and hug and kiss me on my return. Pancho rode the pack-mare into the village of Concepcion, and busied himself on the way catching b.u.t.terflies and trying to grasp the multi-colored humming-birds hovering over the equally beautiful pa.s.sion-flowers growing in the bushes on each side of the path.

Surely a stranger sight was never seen on the streets of Concepcion than that of a tired, dusty pack-horse bearing a live monkey, a dead G.o.d, and an equally dead devil on his back! Mrs. Sorrows was overjoyed to see me return, and earnestly told me that my first duty was to hurry down to the store and buy two colored candles to burn before her saint, who had brought me back, even though I was a heretic, which fact she greatly lamented. We had been given up as lost months before, for word came down that I had been killed by Indians. Here I was, however, safe and fairly well, saving that the ends of two of my toes had rotted off with jiggers, and fever burned in my veins! Mrs. Dolores doctored my feet with tobacco ashes as I reclined in a hammock under the lime trees surrounding her hut. I did not buy the candles, but she did; and while I silently thanked a Higher Power, and the _ta-tas_ burned to _her_ deity, she informed me that my countryman, the prodigal, had been carried to the "potters' field." Not all prodigals reach home again; some are buried by the swine-troughs.

For some time I was unable to put my feet to the ground; but Pancho, ever active, tied in a fig tree, helped himself to ripe fruit, and took life merrily. Pancho and I were eventually able to bid good-bye to Mrs.

Sorrows, and, thousands of miles down life's pathway, this little friend and I journeyed together, he ever loving and true. I took him across the ocean, away from his tropical home, and--he died. I am not sentimental--nay, I have been accused of hardness--but I make this reference to Pancho in loving memory. Unlike some friends of my life, _he_ was constant and true. [Footnote: From letters awaiting me at the post-office, I learned, with intense sorrow and regret, that my strange patron had gone "the way of all flesh" The land I had been to explore, along-with a bequest of $250,000, pa.s.sed into the hands of the Baptist Missionary Society, to the Secretary of which Society all my reports were given.]