In the Wilds of South America

by Leo E. Miller

Oven-birds built their dome-shaped mud nests on fence-posts or the larger branches of the few poplar-trees that had been planted about the huts for shade, and sang in unison from dawn to dusk as if their hearts were overflowing with happiness.

Parrakeets had excavated holes in the face of steep banks, and chattered and quarrelled noisily over their domestic affairs. I suspect that they also appropriated the cavities prepared by swallows, as there seemed to be frequent disputes between these neighbors.

Of humming-birds there were a number of species, including the giant hummer, which was truly monarch of all he surveyed, for when one appeared the smaller members of the group found it advantageous to depart to other regions. Doctor Frank M. Chapman, in Chile, saw an individual of this species pursue and catch in its claws a small humming-bird and fly away with it; for what purpose he did not know, unless from “sheer cussedness.” It is a well-known fact that hummers possess a pugnacious disposition, are almost constantly fighting among themselves, and frequently pursue and strike at large birds such as flycatchers and even hawks, apparently for no reason other than the pleasure it affords them to torment their victims.

One afternoon we had the first indication of the coming rainy season in the form of a severe rain and thunder-storm. Before long the river was a seething, muddy torrent that continued to rise rapidly until well into the night. The next morning the water had subsided to its low level, leaving numbers of fish of several kinds stranded in depressions in the playas. A flock of caracaras appeared with daylight and, wading daintily into the shallow pools, extracted and devoured the stranded and helpless fish at their leisure.

Not long after we were fortunate in meeting an American by the name of Kolle, who was in the employ of a wealthy Bolivian owning estates in various parts of the country. To one of these we were subsequently invited, but before accepting the invitation of the affluent señor we decided to spend a few days at Pulqué where some variation in the avifauna from the upland type had been noticed. We had also seen numbers of Quechuas apparently living in much the same manner as their predecessors during the height of the Inca’s glory.

As frequently occurs in semiarid country, and as I have stated before, birds were very abundant; but there was little else to indicate the close proximity of other forms of life unless one took into account the herds of goats clambering about on the steep ledges and seeming to delight in bombarding with showers of small stones every one who passed below; or the caravans of burros and llamas passing on the main highway. A visit to the nebulous peaks of the adjacent mountains, however, revealed a different story. Patches of green dotted the isolated little depressions to which the name “valleys” can hardly be given, and thin pillars of smoke ascended from them straight into a cloudless sky. After long and patient looking a small, stone hut set among rocks would invariably be discovered, and sometimes we could even distinguish minute, moving forms which we knew were Indians. There, tucked away among the towering peaks they love so well, they were living a life of peace and plenty, apparently safe from the gaze of vulgar interlopers, and knowing or caring little about the outer world. It was as if one tore a page from the history of bygone centuries, or found himself suddenly transferred into the midst of a contented, pastoral community as must have existed in places unnumbered throughout the vast Incan Empire before its despoliation by the gold-crazed invaders. In this connection it might be well to go back briefly into the history of the events that brought about the present state of affairs.

The boundaries of the Incan Empire had been gradually extended until within five hundred years after the arrival of Mamo Capac and Mama Occlo, supposed Children of the Sun, it covered nearly one-third of the South American continent. Near the middle of the sixteenth century, when Pizarro and his insatiable band invaded the sacred precincts of Atahualpa’s dominion, the star of the Inca seemed to have reached the apex of its ascendancy. Under the beneficent rule of their venerated sovereign the several tribes lived contentedly, if not always peaceably; agriculture thrived, arts and crafts were encouraged and, responsive to the efforts of many thousands of laborers, numerous mines poured a constant stream of precious metals into the kingdom, adding to its wealth and splendor.

We are all familiar with accounts of the advanced state of civilization, governmental organization, and fabulous riches of the ancient nation. Temples, palaces and forts—stately edifices of hewn stone—dotted the mountainsides and crowned the eminences; beautifully constructed highways connected many of the remote districts with the capital; countless herds of llamas fed on the slopes, and streams of water flowing through a system of aqueducts poured into the heretofore arid wastes and transferred them into fruitful fields capable of supporting a numerous population. The present-day republics of Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, as well as a part of Colombia and Chile, were included within the limits of the vast kingdom.

Suddenly a dark cloud appeared on the horizon, and omens of evil import presaged the downfall of all this greatness and splendor. The fatal apparition quickly assumed the form of bearded strangers, some of whom were mounted on terrible beasts which filled the ranks of Indian warriors with panic, and who seemed to have succeeded in harnessing the thunder and lightning for the furtherance of their wicked designs. Suffice it to say, that before the avarice of the Spaniards had been abated, eight million subjects of the Inca perished and the organization of the nation was destroyed. With the single exception of the Aztecs of Mexico, who were practically exterminated by the same people, there has never been another example of such rapid and complete devastation in the history of the world.

The Quechua of to-day is a cowed, almost pathetic, individual; he has been kicked about by the descendants of the conquistadores until he has learned to become reconciled to his lot; but while it seems as if this recognition might, in many instances at least, give way to despair, such is not the case.