Manco, the Peruvian Chief / Or, An Englishman's Adventures in the Country of the Incas

by William Henry Giles Kingston

We pulled up when we reached the rock which had at first guided our course, and consulted whether we should take up our position there for the night, and prepare to defend it against the savages; but it was finally agreed that we would travel on till we reached the river. The journey would knock up our horses, but as we should have no further need of them, that could not be taken into consideration. Nita bore up very well; indeed she seemed to suffer from fatigue as little us any of us. Sometimes her husband carried her child, and sometimes Ned took charge of it. About midnight a halt was called, on an elevated spot, whence we could command a tolerably clear view on all sides. We required to rest and feed our horses as well as ourselves, though we could not venture to light a fire, which would have betrayed our position to our pursuers. While we rested and ate, we kept a vigilant watch; for though it was not probable that the Indians would have followed close to our heels, it was just possible that they might have done so, as in consequence of the numerous impediments in our way, a quick-footed man might have gone almost as fast as we did.

While I was gnawing away at the leg of the monkey, and looking out at the same time into the darkness below, I saw something move across an open glade. It came nearer, and stopped at a spot where the moonbeams streamed full upon it, when I saw that it was a large jaguar. He sat upon his hind-legs and looked at us very wistfully, as if he should like to secure one of us for supper. Presently he moved again and came a little nearer, when he sat down to look at us as before. I was going to have a shot at him, but Manco restrained me, observed that it might be heard by the Cashibos, and lead them to us. Still the jaguar crept nearer, and once more stopped to watch us. If he was hungry, we must have been very tempting to him. Our Indians at last thought it was no joke, for in another moment the jaguar might have picked one of us off; so they set up so loud a scream that they made him turn about in a fright, and scamper off into the forest. As this would to a certainty have led the Cashibos to us, if they were in the neighbourhood, we once more mounted and continued our journey. Sometimes I thought I heard the savages behind us; but the sound proved to be the cry of some bird or beast of prey.

No other adventure occurred, and, as day dawned, the calm waters of the river appeared shining brightly through the trees. A little further on rose close to the stream a high rock, the river face of which was almost a perpendicular precipice, while that inland was steep and rugged in the extreme. The top was of sufficient extent, it appeared, to enable us to pitch our huts on it, and to keep our horses there, it necessary. Having surveyed it, we discovered a path by which we could hope to lead up our horses, every other side being too difficult for men, even unencumbered with burdens, to climb up. After some trouble, we reached the top, whence we found a fine view up and down the river, and over a wide extent of forest on either side.

“The sooner we turn this place into a castle, the better for us, mate,” observed Ned. “What say you? We must get some trees down first, though.”

I told Manco what the sailor said, and he instantly agreeing, we set to work forthwith to cut down all the trees which grew around, and which might serve as a covert to the enemy, and would form palisades for us.

We set to work with a will with hatchets and knives, and in an hour had cut stakes enough to fence in the whole rock. Where the soil was of sufficient depth we drove them into it; and at the other places we piled up stones, which we brought up from the margin of the river. We gave ourselves not a moment’s rest; even while we were eating we were sharpening the stakes. Ned set the example, and we all imitated him. In more important points, as a leader. Manco showed himself fit to be a chief; but the British seaman, where manual work was concerned, was his superior. By noon we had a very respectable stockade run up, such as might withstand an attack for a short time from any ordinary enemy not possessed of firearms. All the trees and shrubs on the sides of the rock had been cut away, and stones had been piled up near all the more accessible points, to serve as a rampart, or to be used as weapons of defence.

“Now, mates,” exclaimed Ned, after he had walked with an air of satisfaction round our fortifications, “the work is done, so let’s pipe to dinner.”

To dinner, accordingly, we went; and one of our dishes was the sloth I had shot, and we had some more monkeys, and several birds, which we had brought hung on to our saddles. We were obliged to light a fire, and we did not fear to do so, as we knew that in daylight the Indians would just as easily track us without its guidance as with it. After dinner we began to construct our huts in a more substantial way than usual, as we should be compelled, we knew, to live here some time to build our canoe. Everything depended on the rapidity with which we could work, so as to be in perfect readiness to receive an attack from the cannibals, should they have ventured to follow us. It was night before all our arrangements were concluded; and as during the whole time we had not given ourselves a moment’s rest, we were well nigh worn out. It was necessary, however, to keep a watchful guard during the night, for which purpose we divided ourselves into three watches. We slept with our weapons by our sides, ready for instant use. When it came to my turn to watch, I walked round the ramparts to keep myself awake, for I was well aware of the cunning of the Cashibos, and that they always make their attacks at night. As I stopped for a moment, a long, shrill plaintive cry came through the night air, followed by three others of the same length, gradually deepening in tone, and which had a peculiarly melancholy expression. At first I thought the cry must have arisen from some human being in distress. I remarked it to the Indian who was watching with me.

“Ah, that sound comes from a little bird,” he answered. “We call it the alma perdida. It is bewailing the dead, and good cause has it now to sound its notes—Aye de me!”

The night passed on, and though on several occasions I fancied that I could distinguish the forms of the savage Cashibos skulking round us, none appeared, and daylight once more returned.