While the Indians towed the canoe by the path, "Padre" turned to inquire whether we wanted to go farther down the country; if so, the captain and crew still desired to serve us. But, señor, said he, "should you engage us to take you, please pay us and not the authorities, who keep the silver themselves and make us take cotton cloth." Here, for the first time, I discovered the crew were dissatisfied with the way the governor of Yuracares had treated them. Under the circumstances, I considered it a duty to pay them extra, in silver coin, for valuable and faithfully-performed services.
There are two characteristics in the Indian we particularly notice—his honesty and his truthfulness. We have never lost the least thing from our baggage or persons by dishonest Indians; whenever they offer information it must be asked for, and what they say may be relied upon as correct. We have never found this to be otherwise among any of them—of the high or low countrymen—these traits are observed among all the tribes.
The schoolmaster told me he never knew a boat's crew volunteer to take passengers; that they preferred to go alone, and no doubt they offered to take us because we did not interfere with them. He said it was customary for the prefect of the Beni to "whip the Indians" when they delayed on the voyage up the river. This reminded me that on the way down the disappointed governor told me, if the men did not work fast enough, by threatening to have them whipped at Trinidad they would pull more rapidly.
We arrived at a wooden bridge thrown over the narrow stream, where a number of canoes and Indians were collected. The bridge is on a road leading from a plantation to the town of Trinidad. It was arched ten or twelve feet above the prairies, to prevent its being washed away. In the rainy season the lands overflow every year two feet deep. The road travelled by horses and on foot may then be navigated in canoes nearly up to the town. It is now a dusty road; then it is a narrow channel through the herd-grass, which grows eight feet high. The floods come loaded with earth from the mountains, and overflow these lands. The mud settles on the surface of the soil as it filters through the herd-grass. The clean water gradually drains off, leaving a coat of earth behind. The old crop of coarse grass has fallen; the seeds are planted in the old deposite, and up it grows again. Here we have an annual deposite of earth and one of grass-stalks.
The bridge stands so high we can see afar off in all directions. There are a few clusters of trees here and there where the river upheaves the land.
Thousands of birds that fly in the air or walk on the plain are water-fowl. Away on the eastern horizon we see a long black line. As it approaches we hide in the grass, for the motion of the wings are those of the wild duck. As the gun goes off, wild geese rise up with cranes, as they do from the edge of a great lake. Snipe and signs of snakes are visible.
Mamoré enjoys being let out of the canoe. He dashes through the grass after the cattle; while he chases the calf, the cow rushes after. Suddenly he comes to a stand in front of an angry-looking bull. Some of these cattle are in good order, while others look small and thin. The land is all new formation; not a stone is to be seen in the soil nor a grain of sand. We now understand why the Indians gather up flint from rocks about Vinchuta. Here is a great market for salt and flints.
We find the sun warm as we walk along the stream. In the distance we see the red-tiled roofs of the town of Trinidad.
Flocks of large blue pigeons are flying by us, and feeding upon the seed of a weed that grows in marshy places. These pigeons are wild, yet they are the same in appearance as the common tamed pigeon. There are a number of large birds we never saw before. One of them I supposed to be an ostrich; but it flew up in the air, spreading a larger wing than the condor, and of a spotted gray color. Among the grass-tops are some of the most beautiful little scarlet and blue birds, all feeding upon the seed.
A deer bounded through the grass; the country seems to be alive with animals.