“‘Now for the detection of the thief! Open! Que es eso? (what is all this?) Major-domo! what is the reason of this?’ said I, for to my astonishment every hand was empty.
“‘I really don’t know, sir; they must have drawn the grains and swallowed them, for not a single one remains in my hat!’ said the major-domo, turning his hat-mouth downwards to prove that nothing was there.
“Amazement was at its height; it was evidently a case of bruxeria, (witchcraft.) Inaquinte Sambrano observed that it was the miraculous interference of Saint Dimas,[1] to prove that there was no thief among them. But, notwithstanding my surprise and confusion, I determined that the saint should not keep my pickaxe without paying for it.
“I desired the major-domo to give me his hat; upon examining it the witchcraft was explained. In obeying my orders ‘to shake the hat well,’ every grain of maize had absconded through a rent in the crown, and the floor being covered with thick straw matting, they fell upon it unheard.
“We therefore proceeded with more caution to a second drawing, when the black bean appeared, on the show of hands, in that of Basil Calamayo, from whose wages I directed the major-domo to purchase the best pickaxe that could be had in Potosi. From that hour I never heard of any pilfering.”
I do not record this procedure of Mr. Edmund Temple as a pattern of justice. Mr. Temple, in taking the worth of the pickaxe in the manner he did, from Basil Calamayo, without doubt punished an innocent person, and excited the superstitious fears of the ignorant Indians; both, very wrong actions. Still he pities the poor natives, and when his own interest does not interfere, speaks very kindly of their character. And well he might when he had such instances as the following to record.
“When I have arrived weary and faint at a Peruvian hut, with what pure feelings of gratitude have I made my acknowledgments to the family, who, from sheer benevolence, have ceded to me the only little store they possessed. Often have I alighted from my horse at an unseasonable hour and asked for milk, offering dollars.
“The answer invariably was, ‘No hai! no hai, Señor!’ They would not take the trouble of getting it for money.
“But when I said, ‘I am very unwell, my brother; do me the favor and God will repay you,’ my feeble voice, pale cheek, and sunken eye, bearing testimony to what I said, the sire of the family, or the matron, twisting her ball of thread from the silken wool of the vicuña, would mutter something in Quichua, (the language of the country,) when instantly an earthen ware pipkin would be seized by one of the younger members, who would glide away in pursuit of the flock, and returning quite breathless from the haste he used, would present me with the milk, without a question as to the payment.
“And this is savage hospitality! could I expect more among the most polished people of the earth? Should I always have obtained as much?”