Two Gallant Sons of Devon: A Tale of the Days of Queen Bess

by Harry Collingwood

And, sinking back among the branches of the bush which supported him, Vilcamapata, the one-time priest of the Sun, closed his eyes as a torrent of blood gushed from his mouth, and quietly passed away.

“Internal haemorrhage!” exclaimed Stukely, as he lightly laid his fingers upon the pulseless wrist. “I feared it. Yes”—as he passed his hand over the body—“three of his ribs are broken, and the jagged ends have doubtless lacerated some internal organ—the lung, perhaps. Well, he is dead, beyond all question; and now, all that remains for us to do, Dick, is to dispose of his body in accordance with his instructions. But I do not altogether like the idea of building his pyre just here. We must see if we cannot find a suitable spot about a quarter of a mile away.”

“I know a perfectly suitable spot about that distance from here,” answered Dick; “I passed through it on my way back to camp, about an hour ago. Come, I will show it to you; there is plenty of dry wood there, and there is a path by which we can easily carry the body to it. Better make a litter, perhaps, and take it with us now.”

Stukely eagerly concurred in this view, and they at once proceeded to construct a litter of boughs bound together with lianas, upon which, when it was finished, they laid the attenuated form of the old man, and, with measured steps and slow, bore him to the spot where his mortal frame was to undergo its typical purging by fire. The place was one of those perfectly open clearings which are so frequently met with in the South American forest; it was about ten acres in extent, roughly circular in shape, and was carpeted with thick grass which the deer and other grazing animals kept close cropped; consequently it was well adapted for the purpose to which it was about to be put, since by erecting the pyre in the centre of the clearing there would be no risk of setting the adjoining forest ablaze.

Laying the litter and its burden down in a convenient position just within the clearing, the two Englishmen plunged back into the forest, and, using their hangers as axes, vigorously proceeded to hew down all the dry, dead branches and underwood they could find; for the afternoon was waning apace and it was essential that the flames should be kindled in time to allow of their returning to their camping place by daylight. Fortunately there was no lack of suitable material close at hand; and an hour’s arduous work sufficed to provide a sufficiency for their purpose. Then they proceeded to build the pyre, laying the smallest branches at the bottom, intermingled with plenty of dry brushwood, and putting the thickest branches on the top. Then, on the top of all, they placed the body; and Phil next proceeded to make fire in the usual way by rubbing two sticks together. This was soon done, the fire was inserted into the heart of the pyre by means of an aperture left for the purpose, and then, when the whole was fairly alight, Phil and Dick bared their heads, fell upon their knees, and with the simple faith which so strongly characterised the religious feeling of the time, humbly commended the soul of Vilcamapata to the mercy of God who gave it. By the time that they had finished their petitions the pile was a mass of flame which roared and crackled fiercely as it shot straight upward in the still evening air; and, with a last parting glance at the body, which could be seen shrivelling in the midst of the flames, they turned and silently wended their way back to their camping place. And thus passed Vilcamapata, the last of the ancient Peruvian priests of the Sun, with two men only, and they of alien blood and alien religion, to perform the last sacred rites for him.

On the following morning, having breakfasted and completed their preparations for immediate departure, the two young Englishmen, feeling strangely lonely, walked over to the spot where the funeral pyre had been built, and inspected what remained of it. They found that it had been completely consumed, to the very last twig; and upon searching among the white ashes they found a calcined skull and a few fragments of the larger bones. These they gathered carefully together and reverently buried; after which, having now done all that was possible to preserve the remains of their late friend from desecration, they returned to the camp, embarked in their canoe, and resumed their voyage down the river.

The following fortnight proved quite uneventful for our two adventurers; they journeyed on down the river at an average rate of about twenty miles a day, and from time to time encountered rapids or cataracts, or both together, shooting most of the former, and, of course, being compelled to carry the canoe down past the latter; but they had by this time become so thoroughly accustomed to the negotiation of rapids and waterfalls that they had long since ceased to regard the passage of one or the other as an adventure. True, they saw a few Indians occasionally; but these generally beat a hasty retreat when the white men appeared, and remained concealed until the canoe and its two occupants, now garbed like savages in the skins of beasts, had disappeared round the next bend in the river.

As foretold by Vilcamapata, they reached the “much mightier river”—the Maranon—on the afternoon of the twelfth day, and there their pleasant journeying with the current ceased; henceforward the current would again be their enemy, instead of their friend as it had been of late, and every inch of progress would have to be won either with the assistance of the sail or by arduous toil with the paddle. Luckily for them, they had had the prescience to bring the sail along with them when they found themselves obliged to abandon the boat, and now they reaped the full reward of their labours, and were glad that they had resisted the often-repeated temptation to leave it behind when they encountered some exceptionally difficult bit of road.

Thanks to the help afforded by a strong breeze from the north-east, the end of their second day’s journeying on the Maranon found them some seventy miles above the spot where they had struck the river, and in the territory—had they but known it—of the fierce and warlike Mayubuna Indians. They had seen several parties of these during the latter part of the day, and, contrary to the usual custom of the Indians which they had thus far met with, instead of running away at the first sight of the canoe, the Mayubunas had stood on the river bank and watched their progress, manifesting no fear of the whites, but, on the other hand, displaying no outward signs of hostility, unless, indeed, the fact that about an hour before sunset a large canoe had been manned at the last village which the white men had passed, and had proceeded rapidly up the river ahead of them, might be so construed. Unfortunately for them, they did not so construe it, but regarded it rather as a sporting attempt on the part of a number of Indians, bound up the river, to display the superiority of the paddle over the sail, and were amused accordingly.

But when, upon rounding the next bend of the river, the two Englishmen sighted two large canoes, full of Indians, ahead of them, one canoe paddling along close in with the left bank, while the other as closely hugged the right, they began for the first time to suspect that all was not quite as it should be, and Phil—who was sitting idly amidships, while Dick sailed the canoe—rose to his feet and hailed them in the Indian dialect, which he had picked up from Vilcamapata. No notice, however, was taken of the hail, but it was observed that the sailing canoe was now gaining distinctly upon the others.