WE PART COMPANY WITH OUR RIGHT GOOD FRIEND PENNYFARDEN, TO OUR COMMON SORROW.
In the morning I told Matthew that I had resolved to abandon my design of staying amongst the Ingas, which he assured me he was heartily glad to hear.
"For," says he, "the more you have praised the scheme and enlarged upon it, the more difficulties and dangers I have perceived, till, to tell you the truth, I have more than once wished myself at Gilkicker before I ever put such a notion into your head. For look you, master, a man may be thrown from his horse in a twinkling, but it takes him a plaguy long time to catch the steed and get up in the saddle again. Whereby, if these Ingas have been a matter of a century or two sinking into their present condition, we may safely argue that we should be pretty old before we restored them to their former estate. In the mean while, as it seems to be the fashion all the world over to cut your king's head off as soon as he grows tiresome, we should have stood in a fair way to go to the block whenever we ventured to improve the condition of our people. You will say that this is a trifling matter to a man under the sacred call of duty (though for my own part I'd as soon have my head cut off with a knife as die abed of a colic), yet it won't do to be carried away by our own views of pleasure: we must consider, as doubtless you have, that we have a female on our hands, and ought to avoid placing her in an awkward position."
I believe the fellow would have run on in this fashion half an hour; but, cutting him short, I bade him tell the Ingas at once of our decision, and this he presently did.
They heard him out patiently, but whether they were cast down or not by our refusal to join in their enterprise we could not judge, for they suffer themselves to betray no sentiment which may detract from their manhood, and count all expressions of joy and sorrow as a weakness only fit for women and children. And it seems they do in all things shape their conduct (as far as they may) in keeping with the carriage of their god, the Sun; for when Matthew told them we hoped our refusal would not hinder them from putting us on our way to reach the Baraquan, the chief replied that they had given their promise to do so, and would not go from their word.
"For," says he, lifting his hand, "does the Sun cease to complete his course because of a chilling cloud? He gets to his height, and the clouds part; he goes his way and looks back kindly on the golden streak which was an inky cloud. Should we be worthy children to disregard our father's teaching?"
"This is well for us," says Matthew, when he had translated this speech; "for if these fellows, instead of following their deity, were guided by their devil—as are nine-tenths of the rest of humanity—we should be in a pretty pickle."
We reached the Ingas' village about midday, which was naught but a barren piece of ground fenced about with stakes at a little distance from the river, and screened from observation by a thick growth of trees and bushes. Their nets hung between trees, and half a dozen canoes lay ready to be carried to the water. These, with a beggarly account of pots and vessels made of gourds, constituted all their belongings.
The men met each other with forced composure, the victors showing no sign of triumph, and those of the village none of envy, and yet it was clear to see as they handled the arquebuses, examined the stores carried by the mules, and regarded the captured slaves and ourselves, that they regarded this foray as no small matter. Until the men had done talking together, the women stood apart in silence, not daring to approach their lords before they were bidden; but it was touching to see how they stood there, taking no heed of us or of each other, but watching their men with eager, loving eyes, ready to dart forward at the first permitting signal.
"How do they justify this treatment of their women, Matthew?" says I. "The Sun shines on men and women alike; but here the poor souls are left in the shade."
"Their turn will come," says he; "and 'tis clear by the faces of the women that they are loved. As for justification, I have no doubt they will tell you that the Sun touches first the mountain-tops, and descends afterwards to the little hills; and for that matter—with all respect to your ladyship" (giving a scrape to Lady Biddy)—"I doubt if the females have any reason to complain; for I have observed that those who dwell in high places, though they get more observation and admiration than others do, have but a chilly time of it, while they who hold a moderate height enjoy an agreeable warmth. Hows'mever," says he, "let us leave 'em to themselves awhile, for I see they are going to hold a meeting, and we shall do well to lay our heads together likewise."
I had not left my Lady Biddy's side in descending the mountain, but Matthew had walked three parts of the way conversing with the Ingas, and for the fourth part had fallen behind us and walked in silence, whence I gathered there was something weighty on his mind. And so it presently appeared, for as soon as we were seated together on that part of the enclosure where the canoes lay, he began as follows:
"I have been questioning the Ingas, your ladyship, about getting down the Oronoque," says he, "and it seems to me a more hopeful business than when we first looked at it, thanks be to God. If I have not been quite so chatty as I used to be, and look a little bit chop-fallen at this present, I do beg you to believe it is not by reason of anything the Ingas have told me, but on another account. When you reach the River Meta they will obtain a canoe from a friendly tribe that dwells there, and furnish you with store of things necessary to your journey; and also, by means of cut sticks, which pass among them for letters, they will give you the means of securing help from other tribes that you may meet with. And with their help I doubt not but you will come safe to the mouth of the Oronoque."
"But, Matthew," says I, "you speak as if you were not coming with us. Have you the heart to leave us after sharing our fortunes thus far?"
"Lord love you, master, no. I haven't the heart to leave you, and that's the fact," says he, with a wry face and a scratch of his head. "There's nothing in the world would please me better than to go this journey with you, for I do love you with all my soul. But the best things in this world are put here for us to look at and not to have, and we must put up with what we can get, and be grateful to Providence it's no worse. 'Tis in this way, your ladyship. At the mouth of the Oronoque you would be as badly off as you are here, if there was no one there to meet you; nay, worse, for here you have friends, and there you would stand a chance of finding naught but enemies, wherefore I design to go down this river to Cartagena, or elsewhere, as may be expedient, and thence go in quest of your uncle, that he may come up the Oronoque to meet you. 'Tis but a chance that I find him, to be sure; yet help of some kind I will bring to you by hook or by crook, I warrant, and certain am I that I may serve you better in this manner than in any other, or I could not screw up my courage to part."
"Nay," says Lady Biddy, "why should we part? Can not we all descend to Cartagena?"
"No, your ladyship," says he, with a rueful shake of his head. "Your face marks you out for observation; your speech would betray us, and we should be undone."
"But how can we consent to let you run a risk that we dare not encounter?" says she.
"Alone my risk is small," says he, "for, as Master Benet knows, I have a famous preservative against the touch of Portugals in certain berries that produce a distemper of my skin, which will serve my turn to a marvel at this season when pestilence is rife. I pray you, do not think of me, but only of yourself; or if your generous disposition will not suffer that, then think of your poor uncle and friends, to whom your absence must be torture, and so let me go my way with further discussion."
However, we could not thus suddenly agree to this project, and racked our invention to devise some better expedient; but there was none, and so were we forced at length to yield to his going, but with bitter regret, for we stood in need of a friend, and sure no man was ever a more cheerful, sensible, and devoted comrade than our poor Matthew.
When the time came for him to depart, the Ingas made him a handsome present of a canoe, stored with dried flesh (which they call buccan), cassavy bread, etc., besides one of the Portugal's swords and a good knife; and Lady Biddy gave him a little chain she wore about her neck as a token; but I had nothing to give him, save a paltry brass tobacco-box, which I had managed to keep through all my accidents; but I do think he was as well pleased to have this as if it had been a purse of a thousand crowns.
When he pushed off from the shore into the midst of the current he waved his hat and cried to us "Farewell" very cheerily, yet I knew by my own feeling that his heart was sore. And we cried to him "Farewell" as happily as we could, but I could not see him presently for the tears that came into my eyes. "As like as not," says I to myself, "we shall never meet again."
Then Lady Biddy, seeing my dejection, slips her hand through my arm in silence, to remind me that I had yet a friend; whereupon my heart leapt from despondency to joy, and I thought, "What matters it if all the world be lost so that this dear soul is left to me?" Yet I felt the more that night for poor Matthew, because he had no such comfort in the cheerless, lonely wilds.