Tamanduá ant-eater.
While at Todos Santos we learned of a mission among the Yuracaré Indians about twelve miles distant, and near the Rio Chimoré. We expressed a desire to visit it, but the intendente told us that such a move was impossible. He said that the priest in charge of the mission was absolute monarch of the territory under his control; that he would permit no one to come near his retreat, and that this mandate had never been disobeyed. Such statements made the place seem of especial interest to us, and we were eager to go there at almost any cost; we devised many plans which we hoped would lead to an interview with the priest, but all of them failed miserably; finally, however, the opportunity came to us in an unlooked-for manner. A misfortune to one person frequently comes in the guise of a blessing to another, and so it happened in this instance. As we were pursuing our work one afternoon in the open corridor in front of our room, a long canoe drew up at the river-bank, and the priest, followed by a dozen Indians, stepped ashore and marched across the clearing to the intendente’s quarters. We immediately recognized him as Padre Fulgencio, the missionary of whose despotic rule we had heard so much; but he did not even glance at us as he passed. While debating upon some diplomatic move which might serve as an excuse for an interview, for now or never was the time to obtain the coveted permission, he suddenly emerged from the house and came straight to us. A few curt remarks were exchanged, and then he began to relate his trouble. To make a long story short, he was suffering from a severe toothache; it had kept him awake many nights, and at last he was forced to come out of his retreat in search of a remedy. The intendente could do nothing for him; could we?
How I thanked my lucky star for a limited knowledge of medicine! After an examination, conducted with much formality, the trouble was pronounced curable. He submitted bravely to the injection of cocaine, and soon after was relieved of the aching member. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he expressed his gratitude, and then, taking note of the work upon which we were engaged, he suddenly asked: “Why don’t you come to the mission; I have four hundred Indians who spend several days each week in hunting, and they can take you anywhere, and also bring you all kinds of animals.”
We needed no urging, and within five minutes the day was set when porters in abundance should come to convey our equipment, and we should start on our journey to the mysterious stronghold of Padre Fulgencio, and the boundless jungles bordering the Rio Chimoré.
CHAPTER XIX
AMONG THE YURACARÉ INDIANS OF THE RIO CHIMORÉ
True to his promise, Padre Fulgencio sent the Indians to Todos Santos, and on the morning of August 2 we packed into canoes such of our equipment as was necessary for the trip and started across the brown water of the Chaparé.
On the other side of the river there was no clearing; the trees grew down to the water’s edge, and the moment the canoes were left behind we plunged into the perpetual gloom of the forest.
An indistinct trail led into the heart of the jungle. The Indians adjusted our belongings on their backs, securing them with broad strips of bark placed across the forehead; then they set out at a good pace, a number of women and children carrying boiled yuccas and plantains, trudging at the rear of the procession.
There was not much undergrowth, but the ground, from which there is little evaporation on account of the dense canopy overhead, was very muddy. Every few rods we came to a deep streamlet which had to be crossed on the trunks of fallen trees; some of these slimy bridges were sixty feet long and almost impassable to us, but the Indians strode across as unconcernedly as geckos. Half-way to the mission the Indians stopped for lunch and a short rest, and by noon we reached the edge of the clearing, having covered a distance of twelve miles.