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

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“How are we to cross this?” I exclaimed. “We shall spoil all our provisions, and have our clothes wet for the night, if we are obliged to swim across.”

“Oh, I think we may be able to ford it,” said Ned Gale. “Here, mates, let’s catch hold of each other’s hands, that if one falls the rest can pick him up. I’ll lead across, and sound with my stick. To my mind, that’s the way people should help each other through the world.”

After hunting about for some time, we found a broad place, where, from the appearance of the bank on either side, we fancied there might be a ford. So we took off our lower garments, and fastening our loads high up on our shoulders, we commenced the passage. For some way the water was shallow, and rose but little above our knees; but we went on slowly, Ned carefully sounding with his stick in advance. It was fortunate that we did so, for on a sudden Ned sung out that he could find no bottom; and scarcely had he spoken, when he sunk up to his armpits, and had not we not hauled him back with all our might, the current would have carried him down the stream. We tried several other places, but everywhere found the water too deep to ford.

“It won’t do,” observed Ned. “We must stand back to the shore, and try to find another way of crossing. Here, mates, let’s set to work and collect as many dry rushes as we can pull. I’ve seen the Indians cross much broader and more rapid rivers than this on a few bundles of rushes.”

I told him, so had I; and I did not know how it was that I did not think of it before. Ned had a large clasp knife, with which he cut away the rushes at a great rate, while, as Pedro and I had had ours taken from us in the prison, we were obliged to tear them up by the roots, or to break off the dry ones. When we had made a large heap of them, Ned gave me his knife.

“There,” he said, “you go on cutting, while I begin to build our craft.”

There were some young trees growing near, one of which about ten feet long he had cut down. This he said was to serve as a keel, to make the craft somewhat ship-shape. He first fastened the rushes together in small bundles, and these he secured along the pole on either side, one outside the other. He placed smaller bundles at the ends, and fastened them together; thus forming in a few minutes a very respectable-looking canoe, which, though not water-tight, would have enabled us to perform a much longer voyage than we had to undertake. By placing some bundles at intervals across the canoe, we hoped to be able to keep ourselves dry, having our feet only in the water. Our next care was to cut some long poles, by which we proposed to pole ourselves across. Ned Gale said a couple would be sufficient, one for him and another for me. Having cut them, we launched our canoe into shallow water, so that we could step easily into it; and then, seizing our poles, we shoved out into the stream. Our canoe kept us well out of the water, though it had a tendency to turn over, which we were well able to counteract with our poles as long as we could reach the bottom. We had got more than half way across, when the water deepened so much that we were obliged to use them as oars, or rather paddles, to get across; and we had floated some way down the stream before we again could find the bottom. At last we landed, and drew up our canoe. I proposed leaving it, to make the natives wonder at the strange contrivance.

“No, no,” said Gale. “Never mind what the natives may think about it. I say, let us stop and pull it to pieces, or some of the Spaniards may chance to see it, and it will show them which way we are gone. It is a foolish notion people have of caring what those they may never see or hear of again, think of something they have made or done. Nothing good or useful, I mean, but some folly or other. It’s what makes people carve their names on the top of a rock, or some out-of-the-way place, that somebody else, about as wise as themselves, may know that they have been there.”

It was the work of two or three minutes only to pull the raft to pieces, and to send the bundles of reeds which composed it floating down the stream. Before leaving the river, we sat down and took the meal which we called our dinner; and having drunk as much water as we required, we filled up the skin Ned had provided, as we could not tell when we might again meet with water. Very fortunate it was that we did so. Having packed up our traps, we trudged onwards.

We had walked about a couple of miles over a country thinly sprinkled with trees, and naturally fertile, though now without a human habitation, when, on looking ahead, instead of the green colour of the grass, and the varied foliage of the trees, we observed, as far as the eye could reach, one unvaried mass of reddish brown.