The little group of Chinchereños, whose public spirit had established the club, tendered us a banquet that evening. They had determined to outdo the celebrations which they had heard of as taking place in Abancay and Andahuaylas, but they insisted that the outside celebration was quite spontaneous, and that the Indians had taken it into their own heads to improve on that which the club had planned. After the banquet that evening, there was a display of fireworks consisting of a set piece fixed to a pole which was held by a poor Indian who did not seem to mind in the least the shower of sparks that fell on every side. To prolong his danger, the rain kept putting out the fuse so that it had to be lighted six or seven times. If he felt any pain, however, he failed to show it, and seemed only too delighted to be the centre of attraction.
The celebration had a strange witness. In the crowd that welcomed us near the bridge there was a haggard man with German features who called out in English, “Hurrah for the United States!” He soon came to call on us and told quite a tragic story.
He said his name was Emilio Smith (or Schmidt) and that his home was in Düsseldorf on the Rhine. With three companions, he had made a wager in New York that they could walk from Buenos Aires across both continents to New York City without funds and without begging. He said that the New York “Herald” and the Buenos Aires “La Prensa” had offered a prize of five thousand dollars, if they would accomplish the feat. They had had no particular difficulty in crossing Argentina, but one of them succumbed at Tupiza soon after they reached Bolivia. Nothing daunted, the other three pressed on over much the same road that we had followed from Tupiza to Potosí and thence direct to the Antofagasta railway. At each place they had secured the signature of official witnesses to the effect that they were not riding and were not begging but were conducting their overland tramp fairly. They raised money by giving lectures and
entertainments in the towns through which they passed, and had frequently been given food and lodging by kindly disposed Indians, although often they had been very rudely received. They had walked around Lake Titicaca, and had reached Cuzco, followed the old trail to Lima, walked up the coast, and penetrated the equatorial rain-belt in Ecuador before disaster overtook them. Weakened by months of exposure, they were in no condition to encounter tropical fevers, and all were soon flat on their backs. Two of them never recovered and were buried in Ecuador. Smith, now alone, cabled to the New York “Herald” for instructions, stating that he was too weak to continue the journey alone, and had no funds. The answer came back: “Return to Buenos Aires.” Although he had been dismayed by the difficulties that lay ahead of him in Ecuador and Colombia, he knew enough of the road over which he had come to believe that he could safely get back to Buenos Aires and that then the “Herald” and the “Prensa” would probably reward him for his foolhardy excursion. Accordingly, he was retracing his steps, and had reached Chincheros that noon. He had intended to go along further in the afternoon, but hearing of the expected arrival of two Americans, and being invited to the banquet, he had stayed over.
It was a dismal story that he told, but he took great pride in it, and his eyes flashed as he recounted his exploits. The only bitter in the sweet was that he had lost his friends, and that we had not heard of him.
“What, you don’t know about me? Why, I am the foot-walker. I go from Buenos Aires to New York. I don’t get there. I go back to Buenos Aires. You haven’t heard of me? You haven’t heard of me, Emilio Smith, the foot-walker? That is very strange. And the Prefect of Abancay? He is a good fellow. Didn’t he tell you about me? Didn’t he show you my picture? My picture of me and my two friends?”
I think he felt that we really hadn’t been to Abancay after all. Poor fellow, living for months on the narration of his exploits, it was a hard pill for him to swallow that the only Americans he had seen who had come over the road where he had passed several months before, had never heard any mention made of his overland journey. The reason was not far to seek. He travelled on foot. No one but an Indian travels on foot. It is perfectly inconceivable to the Spanish mind that any one should do any feat of pedestrianism unless compelled to, either by poverty or the instincts of a vagabond. Poor people and vagabonds are too common to attract much attention. We never heard of him again. He left early the next morning.