As the fish were thrown out one after the other, in quick succession, the excitement became very great; they chatted and laughed all the while, and appeared to be joking one another. Their faces brightened pleasantly as they drew out the fish, and whenever one of them missed, they all shouted in loud laughter. Each man shot five fine fish, and one of them one more. They then repaired their fishing scaffold and left the lake. After we had returned some distance they stopped, cut fresh green leaves from a sort of cabbage plant, and rolled them one by one therein, after their entrails had been taken out. One of them made a little willow hand basket in a moment, and the game was secured from the heat of the sun, which by this time was shining down brightly. A part of their morning's labor was presented to me. I returned fish-hooks, which pleased them more than anything that could be given to them. A little aboriginal came for the fish, and while he took them home to the women, the Indians went with us to the ferry.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.
YURACARES INDIANS SHOOTING FISH.
These Indians are much more cheerful than those on the mountains. They have a great fancy for bright colors, and live after their own fashion. Their manners and customs are their own, and have never been changed by the influence of the white man. Like the country they live in, they are as the God of nature made them. Their natural disposition is a peaceful one, with a decided character, which shows that the Spaniards may come among them and live with them if they please. But the happy life of the hunter is not to be given up for the more laborious work of cultivating coca patches.
These Indians occupy about the same district of country here that the savage and unfriendly Chunchos do in Peru, on the tributaries of the Madre-de-Dios; but have a different expression of face, now that we know them better. They are more manly in deportment than the Chunchos, who are described to crawl through the woods with wilful determination of assassins.
They loaded the canoe with our baggage, and in a smooth place in the San Mateo, below a very rapid fall, paddled across. By several trips, they safely carried all our boxes over, and then swam the mules. One of them led the old white mare into the stream; the mules followed; the Indians dashed in after them, and the train swam to the opposite shore. The canoe came back for us, and we embarked at the foot of the Andes on a voyage across a stream, which was not navigable, even for a canoe, except where we passed. The color of the water was milky.
We met another train of mules, loaded with cacao, on their way to Cochabamba. The Indians transported them over the same way they did us.