Some of the country surrounding Peque once doubtless bore a light forest growth, with heavier forest in the ravines; but by far the greater part is naturally barren or covered with brush thickets. I was told that at the time of the Spanish invasion forty thousand Indians inhabited the region, and as the several mountain streams supply an abundance of water, and the soil responds fairly well to cultivation, there seems to be no reason why it should not have supported an extensive population; at the present time only a few hundred people are left, the others having gone to swell the ranks of victims exacted by the lust of the conquerors.
The forested zone, beginning at eight thousand feet on the ridge we had just traversed, gradually extends its limits downward as one goes farther north, until at Peque it reached as low as five thousand feet in the deeper and well-watered ravines; and, as previously stated, at Puerto Valdivia it reaches the very edge of the Cauca.
One day an inhabitant of Tabacal rushed into our room and begged me to show him the wonderful diamond ring he said I wore while in his village; he had been away at the time, so had not seen it, but tales had reached his ears upon his return of the marvellous brilliancy of the stone which lighted up the whole street as we walked along. At first I wondered from what sort of an hallucination the man was suffering, for neither my companion nor myself carried any diamonds with us; finally I remembered that, in trying to find our way through the street at Tabacal, we had used a small electric flash-light to avoid falling over the pigs or into the mud-wallows; whereupon I demonstrated its mysterious powers to him, and he started back on his two days’ walk a better-informed but nevertheless a most-disappointed man.
A stream of clear, cold water flows around one side of the hill upon which Peque stands, and to this we went nightly for a swim. Don Julian could not quite believe us when we told him of the purpose of our nocturnal prowls; so one night he accompanied us to the stream and, wonder of wonders, we actually did go into the water. I invited him to join us, but he said: “No, such a thing is unheard of; and, besides, an Indian is just like a cat; when either one gets wet it dies!”
When the half-breed porters who were to carry the equipment finally had their charque and jarepas all ready, they shouldered their packs and started for the mountains. As there was no trail, an additional man was engaged to go in advance and clear an opening with his machete.
The porters en route to the Paramillo.
Cuña Indians at Dabeiba.
A three hours’ walk brought us to a point called El Madero, because a few trees had once been cut down there for their lumber, but the clearing was overgrown with blackberry-briars, brush, and guavas. Then we plunged into the unexplored forest.