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."