{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_7499/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_7499","id":"gutenberg_7499","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/7499","summary":null,"tags":["Category: History - Other","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Category: Travel Writing","Ray, George Whitfield, 1868- -- Travel -- South America","South America","South America -- Description and travel"],"text":"Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: THE AUTHOR AND HIS GUIDES THREE FAITHFUL MEN]\n\n\n\n\nTHROUGH FIVE REPUBLICS ON HORSEBACK\n\nBEING AN ACCOUNT OF MANY WANDERINGS IN SOUTH AMERICA\n\n\nBY\n\n\nG. WHITFIELD RAY, F. R. G. S. Pioneer Missionary and Government Explorer\n\n\nWith an Introduction by the Rev. J. G. Brown, D. D. Secretary for the\nForeign Missions of the Canadian Baptist Church\n\n\nTWELFTH EDITION--REVISED\n\nEVANGELICAL PUBLISHING HOUSE C. HAUSER, Agent CLEVELAND, OHIO, U. S. A.\n1915\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: SOUTH AMERICA]\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nThe _Missionary Review of the World_ has described South America as THE\nDARKEST LAND. That I have been able to penetrate into part of its\nunexplored interior, and visit tribes of people hitherto untouched and\nunknown, was urged as sufficient reason for the publishing of this\nwork. In perils oft, through hunger and thirst and fever, consequent on\nthe many wanderings in unhealthy climes herein recorded, the writer\nwishes publicly to record his deep thankfulness to Almighty God for His\nunfailing help. If the accounts are used to stimulate missionary\nenterprise, and if they give the reader a clearer conception of and\nfuller sympathy with the conditions and needs of those South American\ncountries, those years of travel will not have been in vain.\n\n\"Of the making of books there is no end,\" so when one is acceptably\nreceived, and commands a ready sale, the author is satisfied that his\nlabor is well repaid. The 4th edition was scarcely dry when the\nConsul-General of the Argentine Republic at Ottawa ordered a large\nnumber of copies to send to the members of his Government. Much of it\nhas been translated into German, and I know not what other languages.\nEven the _Catholic Register_ of Toronto has boosted its sale by\nprinting much in abuse of it, at the same time telling its readers that\nthe book \"sold like hot cakes.\" A wiser editor would have been discreet\nenough not to refer to \"Through Five Republics on Horseback.\" His\nreaders bought it, and--had their eyes opened, for the statements made\nin this work, and the authorities quoted, are unanswerable.\n\nSeeing that there is such an alarming ignorance regarding Latin\nAmerica, I have, for this edition, written an Introductory Chapter on\nSouth America, and also a short Foreword especially relating to each of\nthe Five Republics here treated. As my portrayal of Romanism there has\ncaused some discussion, I have, in those pages, sought to incorporate\nthe words of other authorities on South American life and religion.\n\nThat the following narratives, now again revised, and sent forth in new\ngarb, may be increasingly helpful in promoting knowledge, is the\nearnest wish of the author.\n\nG. W. R.\n\nToronto, Ont.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\"Through Five Republics on Horseback\" has all the elements of a great\nmissionary book. It is written by an author who is an eye-witness of\npractically all that he records, and one who by his explorations and\ntravels has won for himself the title of the \"Livingstone of South\nAmerica.\" The scenes depicted by the writer and the glimpses into the\nsocial, political and religious conditions prevailing in the Republics\nin the great Southern continent are of thrilling interest to all lovers\nof mankind. We doubt if there is another book in print that within the\ncompass of three hundred pages begins to give as much valuable\ninformation as is contained in Mr. Ray's volume. The writer wields a\nfacile pen, and every page glows with the passion of a man on fire with\nzeal for the evangelization of the great \"Neglected Continent.\" We are\nsure that no one can read this book and be indifferent to the claims of\nSouth America upon the Christian Church of this generation.\n\nTo those who desire to learn just what the fruits of Romanism as a\nsystem are, when left to itself and uninfluenced by Protestantism, this\nbook will prove a real eye-opener. We doubt if any Christian man, after\nreading \"Through Five Republics on Horseback,\" will any longer conclude\nthat Romanism is good enough for Romanists and that Missions to Roman\nCatholic countries are an impertinence. We trust the book will awaken a\ngreat interest in the evangelization of the Latin Republics of South\nAmerica.\n\nOf course, this volume will have interest for others besides missionary\nenthusiasts. Apart from the religious and missionary purpose of the\nbook, it contains very much in the way of geographical, historical and\nscientific information, and that, too, in regard to a field of which as\nyet comparatively little is known. The writer has kept an open mind in\nhis extensive travels, and his record abounds in facts of great\nscientific value.\n\nWe have known Mr. Ray for several years and delight to bear testimony\nto his ability and faithfulness as a preacher and pastor. As a lecturer\non his experiences in South America he is unexcelled. We commend\n\"Through Five Republics on Horseback\" especially to parents who are\nanxious to put into the hands of their children inspiring and\ncharacter-forming reading. A copy of the book ought to be in every\nSunday School Library.\n\nJ. G. Brown.\n\n626 Confederation Life Building, Toronto.\n\n\n\n\nA PRELIMINARY WORD ON SOUTH AMERICA\n\nThe Continent of South America was discovered by Spanish navigators\ntowards the end of the fifteenth century. When the tidings of a new\nworld beyond the seas reached Europe, Spanish and Portuguese\nexpeditions vied with each other in exploring its coasts and sailing up\nits mighty rivers.\n\nIn 1494 the Pope decided that these new lands, which were nearly twice\nthe size of Europe, should become the possession of the monarchs of\nSpain and Portugal. Thus by right of conquest and gift South America\nwith its seven and a half million miles of territory and its millions\nof Indian inhabitants was divided between Spain and Portugal. The\neastern northern half, now called Brazil, became the possession of the\nPortuguese crown and the rest of the continent went to the crown of\nSpain. South America is 4,600 miles from north to south, and its\ngreatest breadth from east to west is 3,500 miles. It is a country of\nplains and mountains and rivers. The Andean range of mountains is 4,400\nmiles long. Twelve peaks tower three miles or more above ocean level,\nand some reach into the sky for more than four miles. Many of these are\nburning mountains; the volcano of Cotopaxi is three miles higher than\nVesuvius. Its rivers are among the longest in the world. The Amazon,\nOrinoco and La Plata systems drain an area of 3,686,400 square miles.\nIts plains are almost boundless and its forests limitless. There are\ndeserts where no rain ever falls, and there are stretches of coast line\nwhere no day ever passes without rain. It is a country where all\nclimates can be found. As the northern part of the continent is\nequatorial the greatest degree of heat is there experienced, while the\nsouth stretches its length toward the Pole Quito, the capital of\nEcuador, is on the equator, and Punta Arenas, in Chile, is the\nsouthernmost town in the world.\n\nFor hundreds of years Spain and Portugal exploited and ruled with an\niron hand their new and vast possessions. Their coffers were enriched\nby fabulous sums of gold and treasure, for the wildest dream of riches\nindulged in by its discoverers fell infinitely short of the actual\nreality. Large numbers of colonists left the Iberian peninsula for the\nnewer and richer lands. Priests, monks and nuns went in every vessel,\nand the Roman Catholicism of the Dark Ages was soon firmly established\nas the only religion. The aborigines were compelled to bow before the\ncrucifix and worship Mary until, in a peculiar sense, South America\nbecame the Pope's favorite parish. For the benefit of any, native or\ncolonist, who thought that a purer religion should be, at any rate,\npermitted, the Inquisition was established at Lima, and later on at\nCartagena, where, Colombian history informs us, 400,000 were condemned\nto death. Free thought was soon stamped out when death became the\npenalty.\n\nSuch was the wild state of the country and the power vested in the\npriests that abuses were tolerated which, even in Rome, had not been\ndreamed of. The priests, as anxious for spiritual conquest as the rest\nwere for physical, joined hands with the heathenism of the Indians,\naccepted their gods of wood and stone as saints, set up the crucifix\nside by side with the images of the sun and moon, formerly worshipped;\nand while in Europe the sun of the Reformation arose and dispelled the\nterrible night of religious error and superstition, South America sank\nfrom bad to worse. Thus the anomaly presented itself of the old, effete\nlands throwing off the yoke of religious domination while the younger\nones were for centuries to be content with sinking lower and lower.\n[Footnote: History is repeating itself, for here in Canada we see\nQuebec more Catholic and intolerant than Italy. The Mayor of Rome dared\nto criticize the Pope in 1910, but in the same year at the Eucharistic\nCongress at Montreal his emissaries receive reverent \"homage\" from\nthose in authority. No wonder, therefore, that, while the Romans are\nbeing more enlightened every year, a Quebec young man, who is now a\ntheological student in McMaster University, Toronto, declared, while\nstaying in the writer's home, that, as a child he was always taught\nthat Protestants grew horns on their heads, and that he attained the\nage of 15 before ever he discovered that such was not the case. Even\nbackward Portugal has had its eyes opened to see that Rome and progress\ncannot walk together, but the President of Brazil is so \"faithful\" that\nthe Pope, in 1910, made him a \"Knight of the Golden Spur.\"]\n\nIf the religious emancipation of the old world did not find its echo in\nSouth America, ideas of freedom from kingly oppression began to take\nroot in the hearts of the people, and before the year 1825 the Spanish\ncolonies had risen against the mother country and had formed themselves\ninto several independent republics, while three years before that the\nindependence of Brazil from Portugal had been declared. At the present\nday no part of the vast continent is ruled by either Spain or Portugal,\nbut ten independent republics have their different flags and\ngovernments.\n\nSince its early discovery South America has been pre-eminently a\ncountry of bloodshed. Revolution has succeeded revolution and hundreds\nof thousands of the bravest have been slain, but, phoenix-like, the\ncountry rises from its ashes.\n\nFifty millions of people now dwell beneath the Southern Cross and speak\nthe Portuguese and Spanish languages, and it is estimated that, with\nthe present rate of increase, 180 millions of people will speak these\nlanguages by 1920.\n\nSouth America is, pre-eminently, the coming continent. It is more\nthinly settled than any other part of the world. At least six million\nmiles of its territory are suitable for immigrants--double the\navailable territory of the United States. \"No other tract of good land\nexists that is so large and so unoccupied as South America.\" [Footnote:\nDr. Wood, Lima, Peru, in \"Protestant Missions in South America.\"] \"One\nof the most marvellous of activities in the development of virgin lands\nis in progress. It is greater than that of Siberia, of Australia, or\nthe Canadian North-West.\" [Footnote: The Outlook, March, 1908.]\nEmigrants are pouring into the continent from crowded Europe, the old\norder of things is quickly passing away, and docks and railroads are\nbeing built. Bolivia is spending more than fifty million dollars in new\nwork. Argentina and Chile are pushing lines in all directions. Brazil\nis preparing to penetrate her vast jungles, and all this means enormous\nexpense, for the highest points and most difficult construction that\nhave ever been encountered are found in Peru, and between Chile and\nArgentina there has been constructed the longest tunnel in the world.\n[Footnote: One railway ascends to the height of 12,800 feet.]\n\nMost important of all, the old medieval Romanism of the Dark Ages is\nlosing its grip upon the masses, and slowly, but surely, the leaven is\nworking which will, before another decade, bring South America to the\nforefront of the nations.\n\nThe economic possibilities of South America cannot be overestimated. It\nis a continent of vast and varied possibilities. There are still\ndistricts as large as the German Empire entirely unexplored, and tribes\nof Indians who do not yet know that America has been \"discovered.\"\n\nThis is a continent of spiritual need. The Roman Catholic Church has\nbeen a miserable failure. \"Nearly 7,000,000 of people in South America\nstill adhere, more or less openly, to the fetishisms of their\nancestors, while perhaps double that number live altogether beyond the\nreach of Christian influence, even if we take the word Christian in its\nwidest meaning.\" [Footnote: Report of Senor F. de Castello] The Rev. W.\nB. Grubb, a missionary in Paraguay, says: \"The greatest unexplored\nregion at present known on earth is there. It contains, as far as we\nknow, 300 distinct Indian nations, speaking 300 distinct languages, and\nnumbering some millions, all in the darkest heathenism.\" H. W. Brown,\nin \"Latin America,\" says, \"There is a pagan population of four to five\nmillions.\" Then, with respect to the Roman Catholic population, Rev. T.\nB. Wood, LL.D., in \"Protestant Missions in South America,\" says, \"South\nAmerica is a pagan field, properly speaking. Its image-worship is\nidolatry. Abominations are grosser and more universal than among Roman\nCatholics in Europe and the United States, where Protestantism has\ngreatly modified Catholicism. But it is _worse_ off than any other\ngreat _pagan_ field in that it is dominated by a single mighty\nhierarchy--the mightiest known in history. For centuries priestcraft\nhas had everything its own way all over the continent, and is now at\nlast yielding to outside pressure, but with desperate resistance.\"\n\n\"South America has been for nearly four hundred years part of the\nparish of the Pope. In contrast with it the north of the New\nWorld--Puritan, prosperous, powerful, progressive--presents probably\nthe most remarkable evidence earth affords of the blessings of\nProtestantism, while the results of Roman Catholicism _left to itself_\nare writ large in letters of gloom across the priest-ridden, lax and\nsuperstitious South. Her cities, among the gayest and grossest in the\nworld, her ecclesiastics enormously wealthy and strenuously opposed to\nprogress and liberty, South America groans under the tyranny of a\npriesthood which, in its highest forms, is unillumined by, and\nincompetent to preach, the gospel of God's free gift; and in its lowest\nis proverbially and habitually drunken, extortionate and ignorant. The\nfires of her unspeakable Inquisition still burn in the hearts of her\nruling clerics, and although the spirit of the age has in our\nnineteenth century transformed all her monarchies into free Republics,\nreligious intolerance all but universally prevails.\" [Footnote:\nGuiness's \"Romanism and Reformation.\"]\n\nPrelates and priests, monks and nuns exert an influence that is\nall-pervading. William E. Curtis, United States Commissioner to South\nAmerica, wrote: \"One-fourth of all the property belongs to the bishop.\nThere is a Catholic church for every 150 inhabitants. Ten per cent. of\nthe population are priests, monks or nuns, and 272 out of the 365 days\nof the year are observed as fast or feast days. The priests control the\ngovernment and rule the country as absolutely as if the Pope were its\nking. As a result, 75 per cent. of the children born are illegitimate,\nand the social and political condition presents a picture of the dark\nages.\" It is said that, in one town, every fourth person you meet is a\npriest or a nun, or an ecclesiastic of some sort.\n\nYet, with all this to battle against, the Christian missionary is\nmaking his influence felt.\n\n_La Razon_, an important newspaper of Trujillo, in a recent issue says:\n\"In homage to truth, we make known with pleasure that the ministers of\nProtestantism have benefited this town more in one year than all the\npriests and friars of the Papal sect have done in three centuries.\"\n\n\"Last year,\" writes Mr. Milne, of the American Bible Society, \"one of\nour colporteurs in Ayacucho had to make his escape by the roof of a\nhouse where he was staying, from a mob of half-castes, led on by a\nfriar. Finding their prey had escaped, they took his clothes and\nseveral boxes of Bibles to the plaza of the city and burnt them.\"\n\nIt was not such a going-back as the outside world thought, but, oh, it\nwas a deeply significant one, when recently the leading men of the\nRepublic of Guatemala met together and solemnly threw over the religion\nof their fathers, which, during 400 years of practice, had failed to\nuplift, and re-established the old paganism of cultured Rome. So\nserious was this step that the _Palace of Minerva_, the goddess of\ntrade, is engraved on the latest issue of Guatemalan postage stamps.\nBelieving that the few Protestants in the Republic are responsible for\nthe reaction, the Archbishop of Guatemala has promised to grant one\nhundred days' indulgence to those who will pray for the overthrow of\nProtestantism in that country.\n\n\"Romanism is not Christianity,\" so the few Christian workers are\nfighting against tremendous odds. What shall the harvest be?\n\n\n\n\nPART I.\n\nTHE ARGENTINE REPUBLIC\n\nThe country to which the author first went as a self-supporting\nmissionary in the year 1889.\n\n     And Nature, the old nurse, took\n     The child upon her knee,\n     Saying, \"Here is a story book\n     Thy Father hath written for thee.\"\n\n     \"Come, wander with me,\" she said,\n     \"Into regions yet untrod,\n     And read what is still unread\n     In the manuscripts of God.\"\n\n     And he wandered away and away\n     With Nature, the dear old nurse,\n     Who sung to him night and day\n     The rhymes of the universe.\n\n          --_Longfellow._\n\n\nTHE ARGENTINE REPUBLIC\n\nThe Argentine Republic has an area of one and a quarter million square\nmiles. It is 2,600 miles from north to south, and 500 miles at its\nwidest part. It is twelve times the size of Great Britain. Although the\npopulation of the country is about seven millions, only one per cent,\nof its cultivable area is now occupied, yet Argentina has an\nincomparable climate.\n\nIt is essentially a cattle country. She is said to surpass any other\nnation in her numbers of live stock. The Bovril Co. alone kills 100,000\na year. On its broad plains there are _estandas_, or cattle ranches, of\nfifty and one hundred thousand acres in extent, and on these cattle,\nhorses and sheep are herded in millions. Argentina has over twenty-nine\nmillion cattle, seventy-seven million sheep, seven and a half million\nhorses, five and a half million mules, a quarter-million of donkeys,\nand nearly three million swine and three million goats. Four billion\ndollars of British capital are invested in the country.\n\nArgentina has sixteen thousand miles of railway. This has been\ncomparatively cheap to build. On the flat prairie lands the rails are\nlaid, and there is a length of one hundred and seventy-five miles\nwithout a single curve.\n\nThree hundred and fifty thousand square miles of this prairie is\nspecially adapted to the growing of grain. In 1908-9 the yield of wheat\nwas 4,920,000 tons. Argentina has exported over three million tons of\nwheat, over three million tons of corn, and one million tons of\nlinseed, in one year, while \"her flour mills can turn out 700,000 tons\nof flour a year.\" [Footnote: Hirst's Argentina, 1910.]\n\n\"It is a delight often met with there to look on a field of twenty\nsquare miles, with the golden ears standing even and close together,\nand not a weed nor a stump of a tree nor a stone as big as a man's fist\nto be seen or found in the whole area.\"\n\n\"To plant and harvest this immense yield the tillers of the ground\nbought nine million dollars of farm implements in 1908. Argentina's\nrecord in material progress rivals Japan's. Argentina astonished the\nworld by conducting, in 1906, a trade valued at five hundred and sixty\nmillion dollars, buying and selling more in the markets of foreign\nnations than Japan, with a population of forty millions, and China,\nwith three hundred millions.\" [Footnote: John Barrett, in Munsey's\nMagazine]\n\nTo this Land of Promise there is a large immigration. Nearly three\nhundred thousand have entered in one single year. About two hundred\nthousand have been going to Buenos Ayres, the capital, alone, but in\n1908 nearly five hundred thousand landed there. [Footnote: \"Despite the\nGovernment's efforts, emigration from Spain to South America takes\nalarming proportions. In some districts the men of the working classes\nhave departed in a body. In certain villages in the neighborhood of\nCadiz there arc whole streets of deserted houses.\"-Spanish Press.] In\nBelgium 220 people are crowded into the territory occupied by one\nperson in Argentina, so yet there is room. Albert Hale says: \"It is\nundeniable that Argentina can give lodgment to 100,000,000 people, and\ncan furnish nourishment, at a remarkably cheap rate, for as many more,\nwhen her whole area is utilized.\"\n\nArgentina's schools and universities are the best in the\nSpanish-speaking world. In Buenos Ayres you will find some of the\nfinest school buildings in the world, while 4,000 students attend one\nuniversity.\n\nBuenos Ayres, founded in 1580, is to-day the largest city in the world\nsouth of the equator, and is \"one of the richest and most beautiful\nplaces of the world.\" The broad prairies around the city have made the\npeople \"the richest on earth.\"\n\nKev. John F. Thompson, for forty-five years a resident of that country,\nsummarizes its characteristics in the following paragraph: \"Argentina\nis a _land of plenty_; plenty of room and plenty of food. If the actual\npopulation were divided into families of ten persons, each would have a\nfarm of eight square miles, with ten horses, fifty-four cows, and one\nhundred and eighty-six sheep, and after they had eaten their fill of\nbread they would have half a ton of wheat and corn to sell or send to\nthe hungry nations.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nBUENOS AYRES IN 1889.\n\n\nIn the year 1889, after five weeks of ocean tossing, the steamer on\nwhich I was a passenger anchored in the River Plate, off Buenos Ayres.\nNothing but water and sky was to be seen, for the coast was yet twenty\nmiles away, but the river was too shallow for the steamer to get\nnearer. Large tugboats came out to us, and passengers and baggage were\ntranshipped into them, and we steamed ten miles nearer the still\ninvisible city. There smaller tugs awaited us and we were again\ntranshipped. Sailing once more toward the land, we soon caught sight of\nthe Argentine capital, but before we could sail nearer the tugs\ngrounded. There we were crowded into flat-bottomed, lug-sailed boats\nfor a third stage of our landward journey. These boats conveyed us to\nwithin a mile of the city, when carts, drawn by five horses, met us in\nthe surf and drew us on to the wet, shingly beach. There about twenty\nmen stood, ready to carry the females on their backs on to the dry,\nsandy shore, where was the customs house. The population of the city we\nthen entered was about six hundred thousand souls.\n\nAfter changing the little gold I carried for the greasy paper currency\nof the country, I started out in search of something to eat. Eventually\nI found myself before a substantial meal. At a table in front of me sat\na Scotsman from the same vessel. He had arrived before me (Scotsmen say\nthey are always before the Englishmen) and was devouring part of a leg\nof mutton. This, he told me, he had procured, to the great amusement of\nBoniface, by going down on all fours and _baa-ing_ like the sheep of\nhis native hills. Had he waited until I arrived he might have feasted\non lamb, for my voice was not so gruff as his. He had unconsciously\nasked for an old sheep. I think the Highlander in that instance\nregretted that he had preceded the Englishman.\n\nHow shall I describe the metropolis of the Argentine, with its\none-storied, flat-roofed houses, each with grated windows and centre\n_patio_? Some of the poorer inhabitants raise fowls on the roof, which\ngives the house a barnyard appearance, while the iron-barred windows\nbelow strongly suggest a prison. Strange yet attractive dwellings they\nare, lime-washed in various colors, the favorite shades seeming to be\npink and bottle green. Fires are not used except for cooking purposes,\nand the little smoke they give out is quickly dispersed by the breezes\nfrom the sixty-mile-wide river on which the city stands.\n\nThe Buenos Ayres of 1889 was a strange place, with its long, narrow\nstreets, its peculiar stores and many-tongued inhabitants. There is the\ndark-skinned policeman at the corner of each block sitting silently on\nhis horse, or galloping down the cobbled street at the sound of some\nrevolver, which generally tells of a life gone out. Arriving on the\nscene he often finds the culprit flown. If he succeeds in riding him\ndown (an action he scruples not to do), he, with great show, and at the\nsword's point, conducts him to the nearest police station.\nUnfortunately he often chooses the quiet side streets, where his\nprisoner may have a chance to buy his freedom. If he pays a few\ndollars, the poor _vigilante_ is perfectly willing to lose him, after\nmaking sometimes the pretence of a struggle to blind the lookers-on, if\nthere be any curious enough to interest themselves. This man in khaki\nis often \"the terror of the innocent, the laughing-stock of the\nguilty.\" The poor man or the foreign sailor, if he stagger ever so\nlittle, is sure to be \"run in.\" The Argentine law-keeper (?) is\nprovided with both sword and revolver, but receives small remuneration,\nand as his salary is often tardily paid him, he augments it in this way\nwhen he cannot see a good opportunity of turning burglar or something\nworse on his own account. When he is low in funds he will accost the\nstranger, begging a\n cigarette, or inviting himself at your expense to the nearest\n_cafe_, as \"the day is so unusually hot.\" After all, we must not blame\nhim too much--his superiors are far from guiltless, and he knows it.\nWhen Minister Toso took charge of the Provincial portfolio of Finance,\nhe exclaimed, \"_C-o! Todos van robando menos yo!_\" (\"Everybody is\nrobbing here except I.\") It is public news that President Celman\ncarried away to his private residence in the country a most beautiful\nand expensive bronze fountain presented by the inhabitants of the city\nto adorn the principal _plaza_. [Footnote: Public square.] The\npresident is elected by the people for a term of three years, and\ninvariably retires a rich man, however poor he may have been when\nentering on his office. The laws of the country may be described as\nmodel and Christian, but the carrying out of them is a very different\nmatter.\n\nSome of the laws are excellent and worthy of our imitation, such as,\nfor example, the one which decrees that _bachelors shall be taxed_.\nCivil elections are held on Sundays, the voting places being Roman\nCatholic churches.\n\nBoth postmen and telegraph boys deliver on horseback, but such is the\nlax custom that everything will do to-morrow. That fatal word is the\nfirst the stranger learns--_ma\u00f1ana_.\n\nComparatively few people walk the streets. \"No city in the world of\nequal size and population can compare with Buenos Ayres for the number\nand extent of its tramways.\" [Footnote: Turner's \"Argentina.\"] A writer\nin the _Financial News_ says: \"The proportion of the population who\ndaily use street-cars is _sixty-six times greater in Buenos Ayres than\nin the United Kingdom_.\"\n\nThis _Modern Athens_, as the Argentines love to term their city, has a\nbeautiful climate. For perhaps three hundred days out of every year\nthere is a sky above as blue as was ever seen in Naples.\n\nThe natives eat only twice a day--at 10.30 a.m., and at 7 p.m.--the\ncommon edibles costing but little. I could write much of Buenos Ayres,\nwith its _carnicerias_, where a leg of mutton may be bought for 20\ncts., or a brace of turkeys for 40 cts.; its _almacenes_, where one may\nbuy a pound of sugar or a yard of cotton, a measure of charcoal (coal\nis there unknown) or a large _sombrero_, a package of tobacco (leaves\nover two feet long) or a pair of white hemp-soled shoes for your\nfeet--all at the same counter. The customer may further obtain a bottle\nof wine or a bottle of beer (the latter costing four times the price of\nthe former) from the same assistant, who sells at different prices to\ndifferent customers.\n\nThere the value of money is constantly changing, and almost every day\nprices vary. What to-day costs $20 to-morrow may be $15, or, more\nlikely, $30. Although one hundred and seventy tons of sugar are\nannually grown in the country, that luxury is decidedly expensive. I\nhave paid from 12 cts. to 30 cts. a pound. Oatmeal, the Scotsman's\ndish, has cost me up to 50 cts. a pound.\n\nComing again on to the street you hear the deafening noises of the cow\nhorns blown by the streetcar drivers, or the _pescador_ shrilly\ninviting housekeepers to buy the repulsive-looking red fish, carried\nover his shoulder, slung on a thick bamboo. Perhaps you meet a beggar\non horseback (for there wishes _are_ horses, and beggars _do_ ride),\nwho piteously whines for help. This steed-riding fraternity all use\ninvariably the same words: _\"Por el amor de Dios dame un centavo!\"_\n(\"For the love of God give me a cent.\") If you bestow it, he will call\non his patron saint to bless you. If you fail to assist him, the curses\nof all the saints in heaven will fall on your impious head. This often\ncauses such a shudder in the recipient that I have known him to turn\nback to appease the wrath of the mendicant, and receive instead--a\nblessing.\n\nIt is not an uncommon sight to see a black-robed priest with his hand\non a boy's head giving him a benediction that he may be enabled to sell\nhis newspapers or lottery tickets with more celerity.\n\nThe National Lottery is a great institution, and hundreds keep\nthemselves poor buying tickets. In one year the lottery has realized\nthe sum of $3,409,143.57. The Government takes forty per cent. of this,\nand divides the rest between a number of charitable and religious\norganizations, all, needless to say, being Roman Catholic. Amongst the\nnames appear the following: Poor Sisters of St. Joseph, Workshop of Our\nLady, Sisters of St. Anthony, etc.\n\nLittle booths for the sale of lottery tickets are erected in the\nvestibules of some of the churches, and the Government, in this way,\nrepays the church.\n\nThe gambling passion is one of Argentina's greatest curses. Tickets are\nbought by all, from the Senator down to the newsboy who ventures his\nonly dollar.\n\nYou meet the water-seller passing down the street with his barrel cart,\ndrawn by three or four horses with tinkling bells, dispensing water to\ncustomers at five cents a pail. The poorer classes have no other means\nof procuring this precious liquid. The water is kept in a corner of the\nhouse in large sun-baked jars. A peculiarity of these pots is that they\nare not made to stand alone, but have to be held up by something.\n\nAt early morning and evening the milkman goes his rounds on horseback.\nThe milk he carries in six long, narrow cans, like inverted\nsugar-loaves, three on each side of his raw-hide saddle, he himself\nbeing perched between them on a sheepskin. In some cans he carries pure\ncream, which the jolting of his horse soon converts into butter. This\nhe lifts out with his hands to any who care to buy. After the addition\nof a little salt, and the subtraction of a little buttermilk, this\n_manteca_ is excellent. After serving you he will again mount his\nhorse, but not until his hands have been well wiped on its tail, which\nalmost touches the ground. The other cans of the _lechero_ contain a\nmixture known to him alone. I never analyzed it, but have remarked a\nchalky substance in the bottom of my glass. He does not profess to sell\npure milk; that you can buy, but, of course, at a higher price, from\nthe pure milk seller. In the cool of the afternoon he will bring round\nhis cows, with bells on their necks and calves dragging behind. The\ncalves are tied to the mothers' tails, and wear a muzzle. At a _sh-h_\nfrom the sidewalk he stops them, and, stooping down, fills your pitcher\naccording to your money. The cows, through being born and bred to a\nlife in the streets, are generally miserable-looking beasts. Strange to\nadd, the one milkman shoes his cows and the other leaves his horse\nunshod. It is not customary in this country for man's noble friend to\nwear more than his own natural hoof. A visit to the blacksmith is\nentertaining. The smith, by means of a short lasso, deftly trips up the\nanimal, and, with its legs securely lashed, the cow must lie on its\nback while he shoes its upturned hoofs.\n\nMany and varied are the scenes. One is struck by the number of horses,\nseven and eight often being yoked to one cart, which even then they\nsometimes find difficult to draw. Some of the streets are very bad,\nworse than our country lanes, and filled with deep ruts and drains,\ninto which the horses often fall. There the driver will sometimes\ncruelly leave them, when, after his arm aches in using the whip, he\nfinds the animal cannot rise. For the veriest trifle I have known men\nto smash the poor dumb brute's eyes out with the stock of the whip, and\nI have been very near the Police Station more than once when my\nrighteous blood compelled me to interfere. Where, oh, where is the\nSociety for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals? Surely no suffering\ncreatures under the sun cry out louder for mercy than those in\nArgentina?\n\nAs I have said, horses are left to die in the public streets. It has\nbeen my painful duty to pass moaning creatures lying helplessly in the\nroad, with broken limbs, under a burning sun, suffering hunger and\nthirst, for three consecutive days, before kind death, the sufferer's\nfriend, released them. Looking on such sights, seeing every street\nurchin with coarse laugh and brutal jest jump on such an animal's\nquivering body, stuff its parched mouth with mud, or poke sticks into\nits staring eyes, I have cried aloud at the injustice. The policeman\nand the passers-by have only laughed at me for my pains.\n\nIn my experiences in South America I found cruelty to be a marked\nfeature of the people. If the father thrusts his dagger into his enemy,\nand the mother, in her fits of rage, sticks her hairpin into her maid's\nbody, can it be wondered at if the children inherit cruel natures? How\noften have I seen a poor horse fall between the shafts of some loaded\ncart of bricks or sand! Never once have I seen his harness undone and\nwilling hands help him up, as in other civilized lands. No, the lashing\nof the cruel whip or the knife's point is his only help. If, as some\nreligious writers have said, the horse will be a sharer of Paradise\nalong with man, his master, then those from Buenos Ayres will feed in\nstalls of silver and have their wounds healed by the clover of eternal\nkindness. \"God is Love.\"\n\nI have said the streets are full of holes. In justice to the\nauthorities I must mention the fact that sometimes, especially at the\ncrossings, these are filled up. To carry truthfulness still further,\nhowever, I must state that more than once I have known them bridged\nover with the putrefying remains of a horse in the last stages of\ndecomposition. I have seen delicate ladies, attired in Parisian\nfurbelows, lift their dainty skirts, attempt the crossing--and sink in\na mass of corruption, full of maggots.\n\nIn my description of Buenos Ayres I must not omit to mention the large\nsquare, black, open hearses so often seen rapidly drawn through the\nstreets, the driver seeming to travel as quickly as he can. In the\ncentre of the coach is the coffin, made of white wood and covered with\nblack material, fastened on with brass nails. Around this gruesome\nobject sit the relatives and friends of the departed one on their\njourney to the _chacarita_, or cemetery, some six miles out from the\ncentre of the city. Cemeteries in Spanish America are divided into\nthree enclosures. There is the \"cemetery of heaven,\" \"the cemetery of\npurgatory,\" and \"the cemetery of hell.\" The location of the soul in the\nfuture is thus seen to be dependent on its location by the priests\nhere. The dead are buried on the day of their death, when possible, or,\nif not, then early on the following morning; but never, I believe, on\nfeast days. Those periods are set apart for pleasure, and on important\nsaint days banners and flags of all nations are hung across the\nstreets, or adorn the roofs of the flat-topped houses, where the\nwashing is at other times dried.\n\nAfter attending mass in the early morning on these days, the people\ngive themselves up to revelry and sin at home, or crowd the street-cars\nrunning to the parks and suburbs. Many with departed relatives (and who\nhas none?) go to the _chacarita_, and for a few _pesos_ bargain with\nthe black-robed priest waiting there, to deliver their precious dead\nout of Purgatory. If he sings the prayer the cost is double, but\nsupposed to be also doubly efficacious. Mothers do not always inspire\nfilial respect in their offspring, for one young man declared that he\n\"wanted to get his mother out of Purgatory before he went in.\"\n\nA Buenos Ayres missionary writes \"There are two large cemeteries here.\nFrom early morn until late at night the people crowd into them, and I\nam told there were 100,000 at one time in one of them. November 1 is a\nspecial day for releasing thousands of souls out of Purgatory. We\nprinted thousands of tracts and the workers started out to distribute\nthem. By ten o'clock six of them were in jail, having been given into\ncustody by a 'holy father.' They were detained until six in the evening\nwithout food, and then were released through the efforts of a Methodist\nminister.\"\n\nThe catechisn reads: \"Attend mass all Sundays and Feast days. Confess\nat least once a year, or oftener, if there is any fear of death. Take\nSacrament at Easter time. Pay a tenth of first-fruits to God's Church.\"\nThe fourth commandment is condensed into the words: \"Sanctify the Feast\ndays.\" From this it will be seen that there is great need for mission\nwork. Of course Romanism in this and other cities is losing its old\ngrip upon the people, and because of this the priest is putting forth\nsuperhuman effort to retain what he has. _La Voz de la Iglesia_ (\"The\nVoice of the Church\"), the organ of the Bishop of Buenos Ayres, has\nlately published some of the strongest articles we have ever read. A\nlate article concludes: \"One thing only, one thing: OBEY; OBEY BLINDLY.\nComply with her (the Church's) commands with faithful loyalty. If we do\nthis, it is impossible for Protestantism to invade the flowery camp of\nthe Church, Holy, Catholic, Apostolic and Roman.\"\n\nArticles such as this, however, and the circulation of a tract by one\nof the leading church presses, are not calculated to help forward a\nlosing cause. The tract referred to is entitled, \"Letter of Jesus about\nthe Drops of Blood which He shed whilst He went to Calvary.\" \"You know\nthat the soldiers numbered 150, twenty-five of whom conducted me bound.\nI received fifty blows on the head and 108 on the breast. I was pulled\nby the hair 23 times, and 30 persons spat in my face. Those who struck\nme on the upper part of the body were 6,666, and 100 Jews struck me on\nthe head. I sighed 125 times. The wounds on the head numbered 20; from\nthe crown of thorns, 72; points of thorns on the forehead, 100. The\nwounds on the body were 100. There came out of my body 28,430 drops of\nblood.\" This letter, the tract states, was found in the Holy Sepulchre\nand is preserved by his holiness the Pope. Intelligent, thinking men\ncan only smile at such an utter absurdity.\n\nAn \"Echoes from Argentina\" extract reads: \"Not many months ago,\nArgentina was blessed by the Pope. Note what has happened since:--The\nArchbishop, who was the bearer of the blessing and brought it from\nRome, has since died very suddenly; we have had a terrible visitation\nof heat suffocation, hundreds being attacked and very many dying; we\nhave had the bubonic pest in our midst; a bloody provincial revolution\nin Entre Rios; and now at the time of writing there is an outbreak of a\nserious cattle disease, and England has closed her ports against\nArgentine live stock. Of course, we do not say that these calamities\nare the _result_ of the Pope's blessing, but we would that Catholics\nwould open their eyes and see that it is a fact that whereas Protestant\ncountries, _anathematized_ by the Pope, prosper, Catholic countries\nwhich have been blessed by him are in a lamentable condition.\"\n\nBUENOS AYRES AT THE PRESENT TIME.\n\nPerhaps no city of the world has grown and progressed more during this\nlast decade than the city of Buenos Ayres. To-day passengers land in\nthe centre of the city and step on \"the most expensive system of\nartificial docks in all America, representing an expenditure of seventy\nmillion dollars.\"\n\nTo this city there is a large emigration. It has grown at the rate of\n4,000 adults a week, with a birthrate of 1,000 a week added. The\npopulation is now fast climbing up to 1 1-2 millions of inhabitants.\nThere are 300,000 Italians, 100,000 Spaniards, a colony of 20,000\nBritishers, and, of course, Jews and other foreigners in proportion.\n\"Buenos Ayres is one of the most cosmopolitan cities of the world.\nThere are 189 newspapers, printed in almost every language of the\nglobe. Probably the only Syrian newspaper in America, _The Assudk_, is\nissued in this city.\" To keep pace with the rush of newcomers has\nnecessitated the building of 30,000 houses every year. There is here\n\"the finest and costliest structure ever built, used exclusively by one\nnewspaper, the home of _La Prensa_; the most magnificent opera house of\nthe western hemisphere, erected by the government at the cost of ten\nmillion dollars; one of the largest banks in the world, and the\nhandsomest and largest clubhouse in the world.\" [Footnote: John\nBarrett, In Munsey's Magazine.] The entrance fee to this club is\n$1,500. The Y.M.C.A. is now erecting a commodious building, for which\n$200,000 has already been raised, and there is a Y.W.C.A., with a\nmembership of five hundred. Dr. Clark, in \"The Continent of\nOpportunity,\" says, \"More millionaires live in Buenos Ayres than in any\nother city of the world of its size. The proportion of well-clothed,\nwell-fed people is greater than in American cities, the slums are\nsmaller, and the submerged classes less in proportion. The constant\nmovement of carriages and automobiles here quite surpasses that of\nFifth Avenue.\" The street cars are of the latest and most improved\nelectric types, equal to any seen in New York or London, and seat one\nhundred people, inside and out. Besides these there is an excellent\nservice of motor cabs, and _tubes_ are being commenced. Level crossings\nfor the steam roads are not permitted in the city limits, so all trains\nrun over or under the streets.\n\n\"The Post Office handles 40,000,000 pieces of mail and 125,000 parcel\npost packages a month. The city has 1,209 automobiles, 27 theatres and\n50 moving picture shows. Five thousand vessels enter the port of Buenos\nAyres every year, and the export of meat in 1910 was valued at\n$31,000,000. No other section of the world shows such growth.\"\n[Footnote: C. H. Furlong, in The World's Work.]\n\nThe city, once so unhealthy, is now, through proper drainage, \"the\nsecond healthiest large city of the world.\" The streets, as I first saw\nthem, were roughly cobbled, now they are asphalt paved, and made into\nbeautiful avenues, such as would grace any capital of the world.\nAvenida de Mayo, cut right through the old city, is famed as being one\nof the most costly and beautiful avenues of the world.\n\nOn those streets the equestrian milkman is no longer seen. Beautiful\nsanitary white-tiled _tambos_, where pure milk and butter are sold,\nhave taken his place. The old has been transformed and PROGRESS is\nwritten everywhere.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n_REVOLUTION._\n\n\nSouth America, of all lands, has been most torn asunder by war.\nRevolutions may be numbered by hundreds, and the slaughter has been\nincredible. Even since the opening of the year 1900, thirty thousand\nColombians have been slain and there have been dozens of revolutions.\nDarwin relates the fact that in 1832 Argentina underwent fifteen\nchanges of government in nine months, owing to internal strife, and\nsince then Argentina has had its full share.\n\nDuring my residence in Buenos Ayres there occurred one of those\ndisastrous revolutions which have from time to time shaken the whole\nRepublic. The President, Don Juarez Celman, had long been unpopular,\nand, the mass of the people being against him, as well as nearly half\nof the standing army, and all the fleet then anchored in the river, the\ntime was considered ripe to strike a blow.\n\nOn the morning of July 26, 1890, the sun rose upon thousands of\nstern-looking men bivouacking in the streets and public squares of the\ncity. The revolution had commenced, and was led by one of the most\ndistinguished Argentine citizens, General Joseph Mary Campos. The\nbattle-cry of these men was \"_Sangre! Sangre!_\" [Footnote: \"Blood!\nBlood!\"] The war fiend stalked forth. Trenches were dug in the streets.\nGuns were placed at every point of vantage. Men mounted their steeds\nwith a careless laugh, while the rising sun shone on their burnished\narms, so soon to be stained with blood. Battalions of men marched up\nand down the streets to the sound of martial music, and the low,\nflat-roofed housetops were quickly filled with sharpshooters.\n\nThe Government House and residence of the President was guarded in all\ndirections by the 2nd Battalion of the Line, the firemen and a\ndetachment of police, but on the river side were four gunboats of the\nrevolutionary party.\n\nThe average South American is a man of quick impulses and little\nthought. The first shot fired by the Government troops was the signal\nfor a fusilade that literally shook the city. Rifle shots cracked, big\nguns roared, and shells screaming overhead descended in all directions,\ncarrying death and destruction. Street-cars, wagons and cabs were\noverturned to form barricades. In the narrow, straight streets the\ncarnage was fearful, and blood soon trickled down the watercourses and\ndyed the pavements. That morning the sun had risen for the last time\nupon six hundred strong men; it set upon their mangled remains. Six\nhundred souls! The Argentine soldier knows little of the science of\n\"hide and seek\" warfare. When he goes forth to battle, it is to\nfight--or die. Of the future life he unfortunately thinks little, and\nof Christ, the world's Redeemer, he seldom or never hears. The Roman\nCatholic chaplain mumbles a few Latin prayers to them at times, but as\nthe knowledge of these _resos_ does not seem to improve the priest's\nlife, the men prefer to remain in ignorance.\n\nThe average Argentine soldier is a man of little intelligence. The\nregiments are composed of Patagonian Indians or semi-civilized\nGuaranis, mixed with all classes of criminals from the state prisons.\nNature has imprinted upon them the unmistakable marks of the\nsavage--sullen, stupid ferocity, indifference to pain, bestial\ninstincts. As for his fighting qualities, they more resemble those of\nthe tiger than of the cool, brave and trained soldier. When his blood\nis roused, fighting is with him a matter of blind and indiscriminate\ncarnage of friend or foe. A more villainous-looking horde it would be\ndifficult to find in any army. The splendid accoutrements of the\ngenerals and superior officers, and the glittering equipments of their\nchargers, offer a vivid contrast to the mean and dirty uniforms of the\ntroops.\n\nDuring the day the whole territory of the Republic was declared to be\nin a state of siege. Business was at a complete standstill. The stores\nwere all closed, and many of them fortified with the first means that\ncame to hand. Mattresses, doors, furniture, everything was\nrequisitioned, and the greatest excitement prevailed in commercial\ncircles generally. All the gun-makers' shops had soon been cleared of\ntheir contents, which were in the hands of the adherents of the\nrevolution.\n\nThat evening the news of the insurrection was flashed by \"Reuter's\" to\nall parts of the civilized world. The following appeared in one of the\nlargest British dailies:\n\n\"BUENOS AYRES, July 27, 5.40 p.m.\n\n\"The fighting in the streets between the Government troops and the\ninsurgents has been of the most desperate character.\n\n\"The forces of the Government have been defeated.\n\n\"The losses in killed and wounded are estimated at 1,000.\n\n\"The fleet is in favor of the Revolutionists.\n\n\"Government house and the barracks occupied by the Government troops\nhave been bombarded by the insurgent artillery.\"\n\nThat night as I went in and out of the squads of men on the\nrevolutionary side, seeking to do some acts of mercy, I saw many\nstrange and awful sights. There were wounded men who refused to leave\nthe field, although the rain poured. Others were employed in cooking or\nravenously eating the dead horses which strewed the streets. Some were\nlying down to drink the water flowing in the gutters, which water was\noften tinged with human blood, for the rain was by this time washing\naway many of the dark spots in the streets. Others lay coiled up in\nheaps under their soaking _ponchos_, trying to sleep a little, their\narms stacked close at hand. There were men to all appearances fast\nasleep, standing with their arms in the reins of the horses which had\nborne them safely through the leaden hail of that day of terror.\nNumerous were the jokes and loud was the coarse laughter of many who\nnext day would be lying stiff in death, but little thought seemed to be\nexpended on that possibility.\n\nMen looted the stores and feasted, or wantonly destroyed valuables they\nhad no use for. None stopped this havoc, for the officers were\nquartered in the adjacent houses, themselves holding high revelry.\nLawless hordes visited the police offices, threw their furniture into\nthe streets, tore to shreds all the books, papers and records found,\nand created general havoc. They gorged and cursed, using swords for\nknives, and lay down in the soaking streets or leaned against the guns\nto smoke the inevitable _cigarillo_. A few looked up at the gilded keys\nof St. Peter adorning the front of the cathedral, perhaps wondering if\nthey would be used to admit them to a better world.\n\nNext day, as I sallied forth to the dismal duty of caring for the dead\nand dying, the guns of the Argentine fleet [Footnote: British-built\nvessels of the latest and most approved types.] in the river opposite\nthe city blazed forth upon the quarter held by the Government's loyal\ntroops. One hundred and fifty-four shots were fired, two of the largest\ngunboats firing three-hundred and six-hundred pounders. Soon every\nsquare was a shambles, and the mud oozed with blood. The Buenos Ayres\n_Standard_, describing that day of fierce warfare, stated:\n\n\"At dawn, the National troops, quartered in the Plaza Libertad, made\nanother desperate attack on the Revolutionary positions in the Plaza\nLavalle. The Krupp guns, mitrailleuses and gatlings went off at a\nterrible rate, and volleys succeeded each other, second for second,\nfrom five in the morning till half-past nine. The work of death was\nfearful, and hundreds of spectators were shot down as they watched from\ntheir balconies or housetops. Cannon balls riddled all the houses near\nthe Cinco Esquinas. In the attack on the Plaza Lavalle, three hundred\nmen must have fallen.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"At ten a.m. the white flag of truce was hoisted on both sides, and the\ndismal work of collecting the dead and wounded began. The ambulances of\nthe Asistencia Publica, the cars of the tram companies and the wagons\nof the Red Cross were busily engaged all day in carrying away the dead.\nIt is estimated that in the Plaza Lavalle above 600 men were wounded\nand 300 killed. Considering that the Revolutionists defended an\nentrenched position, whilst the National troops attacked, we may\nimagine that the losses of the latter were enormous.\"\n\n\"General Lavalle, commander-in-chief of the National forces, gave\norders for a large number of coffins, which were not delivered, as the\nundertaker wished to be paid cash. It is to be supposed that these\ncoffins were for the dead officers.\"\n\n\"When the white flags were run up, Dr. Del Valle, Senator of the\nNation, sent, in the name of the Revolutionary Committee, an ultimatum\nto the National Government, demanding the immediate dismissal of the\nPresident of the Republic and dissolution of Congress. Later on it was\nknown that both parties had agreed on an armistice, to last till\nmid-day on Monday.\"\n\nOf the third day's sanguinary fighting, the _Standard_ wrote:\n\n\"The Plaza Libertad was taken by General Lavalle at the head of the\nNational troops under the most terrible fire, but the regiments held\nwell together and carried the position in a most gallant manner,\nconfirming the reputation of indomitable valor that the Argentine\ntroops won at the trenches of Curupayti. Our readers may imagine the\nfire they suffered in the straight streets swept by Krupp guns,\ngatlings and mitrailleuses, while every housetop was a fortress whence\na deadly fire was poured on the heads of the soldiers. Let anybody take\nthe trouble to visit the Calles [Footnote: Streets] Cerrito, Libertad\nand Talcahuano, the vicinity of the Plazas Parque and Lavalle, and he\nwill be staggered to see how all the houses have been riddled by\nmitrailleuses and rifle bullets. The passage of cannon balls is marked\non the iron frames of windows, smashed frames and demolished balconies\nof the houses.\n\n\"The Miro Palace, in the Plaza Parque, is a sorry picture of wreckage:\nthe 'mirador' is knocked to pieces by balls and shells; the walls are\nriddled on every side, and nearly all the beautiful Italian balconies\nand buttresses have been demolished. The firing around the palace must\nhave been fearful, to judge by the utter ruin about, and all the\ntelephone wires dangling over the street in meshes from every house.\nRuin and wreckage everywhere.\n\n\"By this time the hospitals of the city, the churches and public\nbuildings were filled with the wounded and dying, borne there on\nstretchers made often of splintered and shattered doors. Nearly a\nhundred men were taken into the San Francisco convent alone.\" Yet with\nall this the lust for blood was not quenched. It could still be written\nof the fourth day:\n\n\"At about half-past two, a sharp attack was made by the Government\ntroops on the Plaza Parque, and a fearful fire was kept up. Hundreds\nand hundreds fell on both sides, but the Government troops were finally\nrepulsed. People standing at the corners of the streets cheering for\nthe Revolutionists were fired on and many were killed. Bodies of\nGovernment troops were stationed at the corners of the streets leading\nto the Plaza, Large bales of hay had been heaped up to protect them\nfrom the deadly fire of the Revolutionists.\n\n\"It was at times difficult to remember that heavy slaughter was going\non around. In many parts of the city people were chatting, joking and\nlaughing at their doors. The attitude of the foreign population was\nmore serious; they seemed to foresee the heavy responsibilities of the\nposition and to accurately forecast the result of the insurrection.\n\n\"The bulletins of the various newspapers during the revolution were\npurchased by the thousand and perused with the utmost avidity; fancy\nprices were often paid for them. The Sunday edition of _The Standard_\nwas sold by enterprising newsboys in the suburbs as high as $3.00 per\ncopy, whilst fifty cents was the regulation price for a momentary peep\nat our first column.\"\n\nTowards the close of that memorable 29th of July the hail of bullets\nceased, but the insurgent fleet still kept up its destructive\nbombardment of the Government houses for four hours.\n\nThe Revolutionists were defeated, or, as was seriously affirmed, had\nbeen sold for the sum of one million Argentine dollars.\n\n_\"Estamos vendidos!\" \"Estamos vendidos!\"_ (We are sold! We are sold!)\nwas heard on every hand. Because of this surrender officers broke their\nswords and men threw away their rifles as they wept with rage. A\nsergeant exclaimed: \"And for this they called us out--to surrender\nwithout a struggle! Cowards! Poltroons!\" And then with a stern glance\naround he placed his rifle to his breast and shot himself through the\nheart. After the cessation of hostilities both sides collected their\ndead, and the wounded were placed under the care of surgeons, civil as\nwell as military.\n\nNotwithstanding the fact that the insurgents were said to be defeated,\nthe President, Dr. Celman, fled from the city, and the amusing\nspectacle was seen of men and youths patrolling the streets wearing\ncards in their hats which read: _\"Ya se fue el burro\"_ (At last the\ndonkey has gone). A more serious sight, however, was when the effigy of\nthe fleeing President was crucified.\n\nThus ended the insurrection of 1890, a rising which sent three thousand\nbrave men into eternity.\n\nWhat changes had taken place in four short days! At the Plaza Libertad\nthe wreckage was most complete. The beautiful partierres were trodden\ndown by horses; the trees had been partially cut down for fuel; pools\nof blood, remnants of slaughtered animals, offal, refuse everywhere.\n\nSince the glorious days of the British invasion--glorious from an\nArgentine point of view--Buenos Ayres had never seen its streets turned\ninto barricades and its housetops into fortresses. In times of\nelectoral excitement we had seen electors attack each other in bands\nmany years, but never was organized warfare carried on as during this\nrevolution. The Plaza Parque was occupied by four or five thousand\nRevolutionary troops; all access to the Plaza was defended by armed\ngroups on the house-tops and barricades in the streets, Krupp guns and\nthat most infernal of modern inventions, the mitrailleuse, swept all\nthe streets, north, south, east and west. The deadly grape swept the\nstreets down to the very river, and not twenty thousand men could have\ntaken the Revolutionary position by storm, except by gutting the houses\nand piercing the blocks, as Colonel Garmendia proposed, to avoid the\nawful loss of life suffered in the taking of the Plaza Libertad on\nSaturday morning.\n\nAt the close of the revolution the great city found itself suffering\nfrom a quasi-famine. High prices were asked for everything. In some\ndistricts provisions could not be obtained even at famine prices. The\nwriter for the first time in his life had to go here and there to beg a\nloaf of bread for his family's needs.\n\nA reporter of the _Argentine News_, July 31st of that same year, wrote:\n\n\"There is a revolution going on in Rosario. It began on Saturday, when\nthe Revolutionists surprised the Government party, and by one on Sunday\nmost of the Government buildings were in their hands. It is now eight\nin the morning and the firing is terrible. Volunteers are coming into\nthe town from all parts, so the rebels are bound to win the stronghold\nshortly. News has just come that the Government troops have\nsurrendered. Four p.m.--I have been out to see the dead and wounded\ngathered up by the ambulance wagons. I should think the dead are less\nthan a hundred, and the wounded about four times that number. The\nsurprise was so sudden that the victory has been easy and with little\nloss of life. The Revolutionists are behaving well and not destroying\nproperty as they might have done. The whole town is rejoicing; flags of\nall nations are flying everywhere. The saddest thing about the affair\nis that some fifty murderers have escaped from the prison. I saw many\nof them running away when I got upon the spot. The order has been given\nto recapture them. I trust they may be caught, for we have too many of\nthat class at liberty already. * * * * It is estimated that over\n100,000 rounds of ammunition were fired in the two days. * * * The\ninsurgents fed on horse-meat and beef, the former being obtained by\nkilling the horses belonging to the police, the latter from the various\ndairies, from which the cows were seized.\"\n\nIn 1911 the two largest Dreadnoughts of the world, the _Rivadavia_ and\nthe _Moreno_, were launched for the Argentine Government. These two\nbattleships are _half as powerful again_ as the largest British\nDreadnought.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n_THE CRIOLLO VILLAGE_.\n\n\nThe different centres of trade and commerce in the Argentine can easily\nbe reached by train or river steamer. Rosario, with its 140,000\ninhabitants, in the north; Bahia Blanca, where there is the largest\nwheat elevator in the world, in the south, and Mendoza, at the foot of\nthe Andes, several times destroyed by earthquake, five hundred miles\nwest--all these are more or less like the capital.\n\nTo arrive at an isolated village of the interior the traveller must be\ncontent to ride, as I did, on horseback, or be willing to jolt along\nfor weeks in a wagon without springs. These carts are drawn by eight,\nten, or more bullocks, as the weight warrants, and are provided with\ntwo very strong wheels, without tires, and often standing eight and ten\nfeet high. The patient animals, by means of a yoke fastened to their\nhorns with raw-hide, draw these carts through long prairie grass or\nsinking morass, through swollen rivers or oozing mud, over which\nmalaria hangs in visible forms.\n\nThe _voyager_ must be prepared to suffer a little hunger and thirst on\nthe way. He must sleep amongst the baggage in the cart, or on the\nbroader bed of the ground, where snakes and tarantulas creep and the\nheavy dew saturates one through and through.\n\nAs is well known, the bullock is a slow animal, and these never travel\nmore than two or three miles an hour.\n\nTime with the native is no object. The words, \"With patience we win\nheaven,\" are ever on his lips.\n\nThe Argentine countryman is decidedly lazy.\n\nDarwin relates that he asked two men the question: \"Why don't you\nwork?\" One said: \"The days are too long!\" Another answered: \"I am too\npoor.\"\n\nWith these people nothing can succeed unless it is begun when the moon\nis on the increase. The result is that little is accomplished.\n\nYou cannot make the driver understand your haste, and the bullocks\nunderstand and care still less.\n\nThe mosquitoes do their best to eat you up alive, unless your body has\nalready had all the blood sucked out of it, a humiliating, painful and\ndisfiguring process. You must carry with you sufficient food for the\njourney, or it may happen that, like me, you are only able to shoot a\nsmall ring dove, and with its entrails fish out of the muddy stream a\nmonster turtle for the evening meal.\n\nIf, on the other hand, you pass a solitary house, they will with\npleasure give you a sheep. If you killed one without permission your\npunishment would perhaps be greater than if you had killed a man.\n\nIf a bullock becomes ill on the road, the driver will, with his knife,\ncut all around the sod where the animal has left its footprint. Lifting\nthis out, he will cut a cross on it and replace it the other side\nuppermost. This cure is most implicitly believed in and practised.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe making of the cross is supposed to do great wonders, which your\nguide is never tired of recounting while he drinks his _m\u00e1te_ in the\nunbroken stillness of the evening. Alas! the many bleaching bones on\nthe road testify that this, and a hundred other such remedies, are not\nalways effectual, but the mind of the native is so full of\nsuperstitious faith that the testimony of his own eyes will not\nconvince him of the absurdity of his belief. As he stoops over the fire\nyou will notice on his breast some trinket or relic--anything will do\nif blessed by the priest--and that, he assures you, will save him from\nevery unknown and unseen danger in his land voyage. The priest has said\nit, and he rests satisfied that no lightning stroke will fell him, no\nlurking panther pounce upon him, nor will he die of thirst or any other\nevil. I have remarked men of the most cruel, cutthroat description\nwearing these treasures with zealous care, especially one, of whom it\nwas said that he had killed two wives.\n\nWhen your driver is young and amorously inclined you will notice that\nhe never starts for the regions beyond without first providing himself\nwith an owl's skin. This tied on his breast, he tells you, will ensure\nhim favor in the eyes of the females he may meet on the road, and on\narrival at his destination.\n\nI once witnessed what at first sight appeared to be a heavy fall of\nsnow coming up with the wind from the south. Strange to relate, this\nphenomenon turned out to be millions of white butterflies of large\nsize. Some of these, when measured, I found to be four and five inches\nacross the wings. Darwin relates his having, in 1832, seen the same\nsight, when his men exclaimed that it was \"snowing butterflies.\"\n\nThe inhabitants of these trackless wilds are very, very few, but in all\ndirections I saw numbers of ostriches, which run at the least sign of\nman, their enemy. The fastest horse could not outstrip this bird as\nwith wings outstretched he speeds before the hunter. As Job, perhaps\nthe oldest historian of the world, truly says: \"What time she lifteth\nherself up on high, she scorneth the horse and his rider.\" The male\nbird joins his spouse in hatching the eggs, sitting on them perhaps\nlonger turns than the female, but the weather is so hot that little\nbrooding is required. I have had them on the shelf of my cupboard for a\nweek, when the little ones have forced their way out Forty days is the\ntime of incubation, so, naturally, those must have been already sat on\nfor thirty-three days. With open wings these giant birds often manage\nto cover from twenty-five to forty-five eggs, although, I think, they\nseldom bring out more than twenty. The rest they roll out of the nest,\nwhere, soon rotting, they breed innumerable insects, and provide tender\nfood for the coming young. The latter, on arrival, are always reared by\nthe male ostrich, who, not being a model husband, ignominiously drives\naway the partner of his joys. It might seem that he has some reason for\ndoing this, for the old historian before referred to says: \"She is\nhardened against her young ones as though they were not hers.\"\n\nAs the longest road leads somewhere, the glare of the whitewashed\nchurch at last meets your longing gaze on the far horizon. The village\nchurches are always whitewashed, and an old man is frequently employed\nto strike the hours on the tower bell by guess.\n\nI was much struck by the sameness of the many different interior towns\nand villages I visited. Each wore the same aspect of indolent repose,\nand each was built in exact imitation of the other. Each town possesses\nits plaza, where palms and other semi-tropical plants wave their leaves\nand send out their perfume.\n\nFrom the principal city to the meanest village, the streets all bear\nthe same names. In every town you may find a _Holy Faith street_, a\n_St. John street_ and a _Holy Ghost street_, and these streets are\nshaded by orange, lemon, pomegranate, fig and other trees, the fruit of\nwhich is free to all who choose to gather. All streets are in all parts\nin a most disgraceful condition, and at night beneath the heavy foliage\nof the trees Egyptian darkness reigns. Except in daylight, it is\ndifficult to walk those wretched roads, where a goat often finds\nprogress a difficulty. Rotten fruit, branches of trees, ashes, etc.,\nall go on the streets. A hole is often bridged over by a putrefying\nanimal, over which run half-naked urchins, pelting each other with\noranges or lemons--common as stones. When the highways are left in such\na state, is it to be wondered at that, while standing on my own\ndoor-step, I have been able to count eleven houses where smallpox was\ndoing its deadly work, all within a radius of one hundred yards?\n\nEven in the city of La Plata, the second of importance in Argentina, I\nonce had the misfortune to fall into an open drain while passing down\none of the principal streets. The night was intensely dark, and yet\nthere was no light left there to warn either pedestrian or\nvehicle-driver, and _this sewer was seven feet deep_.\n\nSimple rusticity and ignorance are the chief characteristics of the\ncountry people. They used to follow and stare at me as though I were a\nvisitor from Mars or some other planet. When I spoke to them in their\nlanguage they were delighted, and respectfully hung on my words with\nbared heads. When, however, I told them of electric cars and\nunderground railways, they turned away in incredulity, thinking that\nsuch marvels as these could not possibly be.\n\nOld World towns they seem to be. The houses are built of sun-baked mud\nbricks, kneaded by mares that splash and trample through the oozy\nsubstance for hours to mix it well. The poorer people build ranches of\nlong, slender canes or Indian cornstalks tied together by grass and\ncoated with mud. These are all erected around and about the most\nimposing edifice in the place--the whitewashed adobe church.\n\nAll houses are hollow squares. The _patio_, with its well, is inside\nthis enclosure. Each house is lime-washed in various colors, and all\nare flat-roofed and provided with grated windows, giving them a\nprison-like appearance. The window-panes are sometimes made of mica.\nOver the front doors of some of the better houses are pictures of the\nVirgin. The nurse's house is designated by having over the doorway a\nsignboard, on which is painted a full-blooming rose, out of the petals\nof which is peeping a little babe.\n\nIf you wish to enter a house, you do not knock at the door (an act that\nwould be considered great rudeness), but clap your hands, and you are\nmost courteously invited to enter. The good woman at once sets to work\nto serve you with _m\u00e1t\u00e9_, and quickly rolls a cigar, which she hands to\nyou from her mouth, where she has already lighted it by a live ember of\ncharcoal taken from the fire with a spoon. Matches can be bought, but\nthey cost about ten cents a hundred. If you tell the housewife you do\nnot smoke she will stare at you in gaping wonder. Their children use\nthe weed, and I have seen a mother urge her three-year-old boy to whiff\nat a cigarette.\n\nBound each dwelling is a _ramada_, where grapes in their season hang in\nluxuriant clusters; and each has its own garden, where palms, peaches,\nfigs, oranges, limes, sweet potatoes, tobacco, nuts, garlic, etc., grow\nluxuriantly. The garden is surrounded by a hedge of cacti or other\nkindred plants. The prickly pear tree of that family is one of the\nstrangest I have seen. On the leaves, which are an inch or more in\nthickness, grows the fruit, and I have counted as many as thirteen\npears growing on a single leaf. When ripe they are a deep red color,\nand very sweet to the taste. The skin is thick, and covered with\ninnumerable minute prickles. It is, I believe, a most refreshing and\nhealthful food.\n\nMeat is very cheap. A fine leg of mutton may be bought for the\nequivalent of twelve cents, and good beef at four cents a pound. Their\nfavorite wine, _Lagrimas de San Juan_ (Tears of Holy John), can be\nbought for ten cents a quart.\n\nAll cooking is done on braziers--a species of three-legged iron bucket\nin which the charcoal fire is kindled. On this the little kettle,\nfilled from the well in the _patio_, is boiled for the inevitable\n_m\u00e1t\u00e9_. About this herb I picked up, from various sources, some\ninteresting information. The _m\u00e1t\u00e9_ plant grows chiefly In Paraguay,\nand is sent down the river in bags made of hides. From the village of\nTacurti Pucu in that country comes a strange account of the origin of\nthe _yerba m\u00e1t\u00e9_ plant, which runs thus: \"God, accompanied by St. John\nand St. Peter, came down to the earth and commenced to journey. One\nday, after most difficult travel, they arrived at the house of an old\nman, father to a virgin young and beautiful. The old man cared so much\nfor this girl, and was so anxious to keep her ever pure and innocent,\nthat they had gone to live in the depths of a forest. The man was very,\nvery poor, but willingly gave his heavenly visitors the best he could,\nkilling in their honor the only hen he possessed, which served for\nsupper. Noting this action, God asked St. Peter and St. John, when they\nwere alone, what they would do if they were Him. They both answered Him\nthat they would largely reward such an unselfish host. Bringing him to\ntheir presence, God addressed him in these words: 'Thou who art poor\nhast been generous, and I will reward thee for it. Thou hast a daughter\nwho is pure and innocent, and whom thou greatly lovest. I will make her\nimmortal, and she shall never disappear from earth.' Then God\ntransformed her into the plant of the yerba m\u00e1t\u00e9. Since then the herb\nexists, and although it is cut down it springs up again.\" Other stories\nrun that the maiden still lives; for God, instead of turning her into\nthe m\u00e1t\u00e9 plant, made her mistress of it, and she lives to help all\nthose who make a compact with her, Many men during \"Holy week,\" if near\na town, visit the churches of Paraguay and formally promise to dedicate\nthemselves to her worship, to live in the woods and have no other\nwoman. After this vow they go to the forest, taking a paper on which\nthe priest has written their name. This they pin with a thorn on the\nm\u00e1t\u00e9 plant, and leave it for her to read. Thus she secures her devotees.\n\nRoman Catholicism is not \"_Semper Idem_,\" but adapts itself to its\nsurroundings.\n\nM\u00e1t\u00e9 is drunk by all, from the babe to the centenarian; by the rich\ncattle-owner, who drinks it from a chased silver cup through a golden\n_bombilla_, to his servant, who is content with a small gourd, which\neverywhere grows wild, and a tin tube. Tea, as we know it, is only to\nbe bought at the chemist's as a remedy for _nerves_. In other countries\nit is said to be bad for nerves.\n\nEach house possesses its private altar, where the saints are kept. That\nsacred spot is veiled off when possible--if only by hanging in front of\nit a cow's hide--from the rest of the dwelling. It consists, according\nto the wealth or piety of the housewife, in expensive crosses, beads,\nand pictures of saints decked out with costly care; or, it may be, but\none soiled lithograph surrounded by paper flowers or cheap baubles of\nthe poorer classes; but all are alike sacred. Everything of value or\nbeauty is collected and put as an offering to these deities--pieces of\ncolored paper, birds' eggs, a rosy tomato or pomegranate, or any\ncolored picture or bright tin. Descending from the ridiculous to the\ngruesome, I have known a mother scrape and clean the bones of her dead\ndaughter in order that _they_ might be given a place on the altar.\nRound this venerated spot the goodwife, with her palm-leaf broom,\nsweeps with assiduous care, and afterwards carefully dusts her crucifix\nand other devotional objects with her brush of ostrich feathers. Here\nshe kneels in prayer to the different saints. God Himself is never\ninvoked. Saint Anthony interests himself in finding her lost ring, and\nSaint Roque is a wonderful physician in case of sickness. If she be a\nmaiden Saint Carmen will find her a suitable husband; if a widow, Saint\nJohn will be a husband to her; and if an orphan, the sacred heart of\nthe Virgin of Carmen gives balsam to the forlorn one. Saint Joseph\nprotects the artisan, and if a candle is burnt in front of Saint Ramon,\nhe will most obligingly turn away the tempest or the lightning stroke.\nIn all cases one candle at least must be promised these mysterious\nbenefactors, and rash indeed would be the man or woman who failed to\nburn the candle; some most terrible vengeance would surely overtake him\nor his family.\n\nGod, as I have said, is never invoked. Perhaps He is supposed to sit in\nsolitary grandeur while the saints administer His affairs? These latter\nare innumerable, and whatever may be their position in the minds of\nRomanists in other lands, in South America they are distinct and\nseparate gods, and their graven image, picture or carving is worshipped\nas such.\n\nWhen religious questions have not arisen, life in those remote villages\nhas passed very pleasantly. The people live in great simplicity,\nknowing scarcely anything of the outside world and its progress.\n\nAt the Feast of St. John the women take sheep and lambs, gaily\ndecorated with colored ribbons, to church with them. That is an act of\nworship, for the priest puts his hand on each lamb and blesses it. A\n_velorio_ for the dead, or a dance at a child's death, are generally\nthe only meetings beside the church; but, as the poet says:\n\n    \"'Tis known, at least it should be, that throughout\n     All countries of the Catholic persuasion,\n    Some weeks before Shrove Tuiesiday comes about,\n     The people take their fill of recreation,\n    And buy repentance ere they grow devout,\n     However high their rank or low their station,\n    With fiddlling, feasting, dancing, drinking, masking,\n    And other things which may be had for asking.\"\n\nCarnival is a joyous time, and if for only once in the year the quiet\ntown then resounds with mirth. Pails of water are carried up to the\nflat roofs of the houses, and each unwary pedestrian is in turn\ndeluged. At other times flour is substituted, and on the last day of\nthe feast ashes are thrown on all sides. At other seasons of the year\nthe streets are quiet, and after the rural pursuits of the day are\nover, the guitar is brought out, and the evening breeze wafts waves of\nmusic to each listening ear. The guitar is in all South America what\nthe bag-pipes are to Scotland-the national musical instrument of the\npeople. The Criollo plays mostly plaintive, broken airs--now so low as\nto be almost inaudible, then high and shrill. Here and there he\naccompanies the music with snatches of song, telling of an exploit or\ndescribing the dark eyes of some lovely maiden. The airs strike one as\nbeing very strange, and decidedly unlike the rolling songs of British\nmusic.\n\nIn those interior towns a very quiet life may be passed, far away from\nthe whistle of the railway engine. Everything is simplicity itself, and\nit might almost be said of some that _time itself seems at a\nstandstill_. During the heat of the day the streets are entirely\ndeserted; shops are closed, and all the world is asleep, for that is\nthe _siesta_ time. \"They eat their dinners and go to sleep--and could\nthey do better?\"\n\nAfter this the barber draws his chair out to the causeway and shaves or\ncuts his customer's hair. Women and children sit at their doors\ndrinking m\u00e1t\u00e9 and watching the slowly drawn bullock-carts go up and\ndown the uneven, unmade roads, bordered, not by the familiar maple, but\nwith huge dust-covered cactus plants, The bullocks all draw with their\nhorns, and the indolent driver sits on the yoke, urging forward his\nsleepy animals with a poke of his cane, on the end of which he has\nfastened a sharp nail. The _buey_ is very thick-skinned and would not\nheed a whip. The wheels of the cart are often cut from a solid piece of\nwood, and are fastened on with great hardwood pins in a most primitive\nstyle. Soon after sunset all retire to their trestle beds.\n\nIn early morning the women hurry to mass. The Criollo does not break\nhis fast until nearly mid-day, so they have no early meal to prepare.\nEven before it is quite light it is difficult to pass along the streets\nowing to the custom they have of carrying their praying-chairs with\nthem to mass. The rich lady will be followed by her dark-skinned maid\nbearing a sumptuously upholstered chair on her head. The middle classes\ncarry their own, and the very poor take with them a palm-leaf mat of\ntheir own manufacture. When mass is over religion is over for the day.\nAfter service they make their way down to the river or pond, carrying\non their heads the soiled linen. Standing waist-high in the water, they\nwash out the stains with black soap of their own manufacture, beating\neach article with hardwood boards made somewhat like a cricketer's bat.\nThe cloths are then laid on the sand or stones of the shore. The women\ngossip and smoke until these are dry and ready to carry home again ere\nthe heat becomes too intense.\n\nIn a description of Argentine village life, I could not possibly omit\nthe priest, the \"all in all\" to the native, the temporal and spiritual\nking, who bears in his hands the destinies of the living and the dead.\nThese men are the potentates of the people, who refer everything to\nthem, from the most trivial matter to the weightier one of the saving\nof their souls after death. Bigotry and superstition are extreme.\n\nRenous, the naturalist, tells us that he visited one of these towns and\nleft some caterpillars with a girl. These she was to feed until his\nreturn, that they might change to butterflies. When this was rumored\nthrough the village, priest and governor consulted together and agreed\nthat it must be black heresy. When poor Renous returned some time\nafterwards he was arrested.\n\nThe Argentine village priest is a dangerous enemy to the Protestant.\nMany is the time he has insulted me to my face, or, more cowardly,\ncharged the school-boys to pelt and annoy me. In the larger towns the\npriest has defamed me through the press, and when I have answered him\nalso by that means, he has heaped insult upon injury, excluded me from\nsociety, and made me a pariah and a byword to the superstitious people.\nI have been stoned and spat upon, hurled to the ground, had half-wild\ndogs set on me, and my horse frightened that he might throw me. I have\nbeen refused police help, or been called to the office to give an\naccount of myself, all because I was a Protestant, or infidel, as they\nprefer to term it. At those times great patience was needed, for at the\nleast sign of resistance on my part I should have been attacked by the\nwhole village in one mass. The policeman on the street has looked\nexpectantly on, eager to see me do this, and on one occasion he\nescorted me to the station for snatching a bottle from the hand of a\nboy who was in the act of throwing it at my head. Arriving there I was\nmost severely reprimanded, although, fortunately, not imprisoned.\n\nWomen have crossed themselves and run from me in terror to seek the\nholy water bottle blessed by the father. Doors have been shut in my\nface, and angry voices bade me begone, at the instigation of this\nblack-robed believer in the Virgin. Congregations of worshippers in the\ndark-aisled church have listened to a fabulous description of my\nmission and character, until the barber would not cut my hair or the\nbutcher sell me his meat! Many a mother has hurriedly called her\nchildren in and precipitately shut the door, that my shadow in passing\nmight not enter and pollute her home. Perhaps a senorita, more\nventuresome, with her black hair hanging in two long plaits behind each\nshoulder, has run to her iron-barred window to smile at me, and then\npenitently fallen before her patron saint imploring forgiveness, or\nhurried to confess her sin to the wily _padre_. If the confession was\naccompanied by a gift, she has been absolved by him; if she were poor,\nher tear-stained face, perhaps resembling that of the suffering Madonna\nover the confessional, has moved his heart to tenderness, for well he\nknows that\n\n     \"Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,\n     And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.\"\n\nThe punishment imposed has only been that she repeat fifty or a hundred\n_Ave Marias_ or _Paternosters_. Poor deluded creature! Her sin only\nconsisted in permitting her black eyes to gaze on me as I passed down\nthe street.\n\n\"These poor creatures often go to confession, not to be forgiven the\nwretched past, but to get a new license to commit sin. One woman, to\nwhom we offered a tract, refused it, and, showing us an indulgence of\nthree hundred days, said: 'These are the papers I like.'\"\n\nA young university man in the capital confessed that he had never read\nthe New Testament and never would read it, because he knew it was\nagainst the Church of Rome. The mass of the people have not the\nslightest notion of goodness, as we count piety, and lying is not\nconsidered wrong. A native will often entreat the help of his favorite\nsaint to commit a theft.\n\n\"To the Protestant the idea of religion without morals is\ninconceivable; but in South America Romanism divorces morals and\nreligion. It is quite possible to break every command of the Decalogue\nand yet be a devoted, faithful Romanist.\" [Footnote: Rev. J. H. La\nFetra, in \"Protestant Missions in South America\"]\n\nI can only describe Roman Catholicism on the South American continent\nas a species of heathenism. The Church, to gain proselytes, accepted\nthe old gods of the Indians as saints, and we find idolatrous\nsuperstition and Catholic display blended together. The most ignorant\nare invariably the most pious. The more civilized the Criollo becomes,\nthe less he believes in the Church, and the priest in return condemns\nhim to eternal perdition.\n\n\"It is not necessary to detail the multitude of pagan superstitions\nwith which the religion of South America is encumbered. It is enough to\npoint out that it does not preach Christ crucified and risen again. It\npreaches Mary, whom it proclaims from the lips of thousands of\nlecherous priests to be of perpetual virginity. And it is by its\ndeliberate falsehood and deceit, as well as by its misrepresentation,\nthat the Roman Catholic Church in South America has not only not taught\nChristianity, but has directly fostered deception and untruth of\ncharacter.\" [Footnote: Missions in South America. Robert E. Speer.]\n\nWhen I desired respectfully to enter a church with bared head and\ndeferential mien, they have followed me to see that I did not steal the\ntrinkets from the saints or desecrate the altar. If I have touched the\nfont of holy water, instead of it purifying me, I have defiled it for\ntheir use; and when I have looked at the images of the saints the\npeople have seen them frown at me. After my exit the priest would\nsprinkle holy water on the spots where I had stood, to drive away \"the\nevil influence.\"\n\nIn those churches one may see an image, with inscription beneath,\nstating that those who kiss it receive an indulgence for sin and a\npromise of heaven. When preaching in Parana I inadvertently dropped a\nword in disparagement of the worship of the Virgin, when, quick as\nthought, a man dashed towards me with gleaming steel. The Criollo's\nknife never errs, and one sharp lunge too well completes his task; but\nan old Paraguayan friend then with me sprang upon him and dashed the\nknife to the ground, thus leaving my heart's blood warm within me, and\nnot on the pavement. I admired my antagonist for the strength of his\nconvictions--true loyalty he displayed for his goddess, who, however,\ndoes not, I am sure, teach her devotees to assassinate those who prefer\nto put their faith rather in her Divine Son. Had I been killed the\npriest would on no account have buried me, and would most willingly\nhave absolved the assassin and kept him from the \"arm of justice.\" That\narm in those places is very short indeed, for I have myself met dozens\nof murderers rejoicing in their freedom. Hell is only for Protestants.\n\nOn the door of my lodging I found one morning a written paper, well\npasted on, which read:\n\nMUERA! VIVA LA VIRGEN CON TODOS LOS SANTOS!\n\n\"_Die! Live the Virgin and all the Saints!_\" That paper I took from the\ndoor and keep as a souvenir of fanaticism.\n\nThe Bible is an utterly unknown book, except to the priests, who forbid\nits entrance to the houses. It, however, could do little good or harm,\nfor the masses of the people are utterly unlettered. All Protestant\nliterature stolen into the town is invariably gathered and burned by\nthe priest, who would not hesitate also to burn the bringer if he could\nwithout fear of some after-enquiry into the matter.\n\n\n[Illustration: THE WORLD'S LARGFST ROCKING STONE, TANDIL, ARGENTINA.\nThis immense stone is so evenly poised that the wind or the slightest\ntouch of the hand sets it in motion but the storms of the centuries\nhave failed to dislodge it.]\n\n\nRome is to-day just what she always was. Her own claim and motto is:\n_Semper idem_ (Always the same). But for this age of enlightenment her\ninquisitorial fires would still burn. \"Rome's contention is, not that\nshe does not persecute, but only that she does not persecute _saints_.\nShe punishes heretics--a very different thing. In the Rhemish New\nTestament there is a note on the words, 'drunken with the blood of\nsaints,' which runs as follows: 'Protestants foolishly expound this of\nRome _because heretics are there put to death_. But _their_ blood is\nnot called _the blood of saints_, any more than the blood of thieves or\nman-killers, or other malefactors; and for the shedding of it no\ncommonwealth shall give account.'\"\n\nDuring my residence in Argentina a Jesuit priest in Cordoba publicly\nstated that if he had his way he would burn to death every Protestant\nin the country.\n\nThe following statements are from authorized documents, laws and\ndecrees of the Papacy:\n\n\"The papacy teaches all her adherents that it is a sacred duty to\nexterminate heresy.\n\n\"Urban II. issued a decree that the murder of heretics was excusable.\n'We do not count them murderers who, burning with the zeal of their\nCatholic mother against the excommunicate, may happen to have slain\nsome of them.'\" [Footnote: \"Romanism and Reformation.\"]\n\nIn Argentine life the almanac plays an important part; in that each day\nis dedicated to the commemoration of some saint, and the child born\nmust of necessity be named after the saint on whose day he or she\narrives into the world. The first question is, \"What name does it\nbring?\" The baby may have chosen to come at a time when the calendar\nshows an undesirable name, still the parents grumble not, for a saint\nis a saint, and whatever names they bear must be good. The child is,\ntherefore, christened \"Caraciollo,\" or \"John Baptist,\" when, instead of\ngrowing up to be a forerunner of Christ, he or she may, with more\nlikelihood, be a forerunner of the devil. Whatever name a child brings,\nhowever, has Mary tacked on to it.\n\nAll names serve equally well for male or female children, as a\nconcluding \"o\" or \"a\" serves to distinguish the sex. Many men bear the\nname of Joseph Mary. Numbers, also, both male and female, have been\nbaptized by the name of \"Jesus,\" \"Saviour,\" or \"Redeemer.\" If I were\nasked the old question, \"What's in a name?\" I should answer, \"Very\nlittle,\" for in South America the most insolent thief will often boast\nin the appellation of _Don Justice_, and the lowest girl in the village\nmay be _Se\u00f1orita Celestial_. _Don Jesus_ may be found incarcerated for\nriotous conduct, and I have known _Don Saviour_ throw his unfortunate\nwife and children down a well; _Don Destroyer_ would have been a more\nappropriate name for him. _Mrs. Angel_ her husband sometimes finds not\nsuch an angel after all, when she puts poison into his m\u00e1t\u00e9 cup, a not\ninfrequent occurrence. Let none be deceived in thinking that the\nappellation is any index to a man's character.\n\nDark, needy people--Rome's true children!\n\nThe school-books read: Which is the greatest country? _Ans._, Spain.\nWho is the greatest man? _Ans._, The Pope. Why? Because he is\ninfallible.\n\nIt is his wish, and the priest's duty, to keep them in this darkness.\nYet,--One came from God, \"a light to lighten the Gentiles,\" and He\nsaid, \"I am the Light of the world.\" Some day they may hear of Him and\nthemselves see the Light.\n\nAlready the day is breaking, and superstition must prepare to hide\nitself. The uneducated native no longer pursues the railway train at\nthundering pace to lasso it because the priest raved against its being\nbuilt. He even in some cases doubts if it is \"an invention of hell,\" as\nhe was taught.\n\nThe educated native, Alberdi, a publicist and an advocate of freedom,\nin the discussion over religious rights of foreigners in the Argentine,\nwrote: \"Spanish America reduced to Catholicism, with the exclusion of\nany other cult, represents a solitary and silent convent of monks. The\ndilemma is fatal,--either Catholics and unpopulated, or populated and\nprosperous and tolerant in the matter of religion.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTEE PRAIRIE AND ITS INHABITANTS.\n\n\nThe Pampas, or prairie lands of the Argentine, stretch to the south and\nwest of Buenos Ayres, and cover some 800,000 square miles. On this vast\nlevel plain, watered by sluggish streams or shallow lakes, boundless as\nthe ocean, seemingly limitless in extent, there is an exhilarating air\nand a rich herbage on which browse countless herds of cattle, horses,\nand flocks of sheep. The grass grows tall, and miles upon miles of rich\nscarlet, white, or yellow flowers mingle with or overtop it. Beds of\nthistles, in which the cattle completely hide themselves, stretch away\nfor leagues and leagues, and present an almost unbroken sheet of purple\nflowers. So vast are these thistle-beds that a day's ride through them\nonly leaves the traveller with the same purple forest stretching away\nto the horizon. The florist would be enchanted to see whole tracts of\nland covered by the _Verbena Melindres_, which appears, even long\nbefore you reach it, to be of a bright scarlet. There are also acres\nand acres of the many-flowered camomile and numberless other plants;\nwhile large tracts of low-lying land are covered with coarse pampa\ngrass, affording shelter for numberless deer, and many varieties of\nducks, cranes, flamingoes, swans and turkeys. Wood there is none, with\nthe exception of a solitary tree here and there at great distances,\ngenerally marking the site of some cattle establishment OP _estancia_.\nAn _omb\u00fa_, or cluster of blue gums, is certain to be planted there.\n\nOn this prairie, man, notwithstanding the fact that he is the \"lord of\ncreation,\" is decidedly in the minority. Millions of four-footed\nanimals roam the plains, but he may be counted by hundreds. Let us turn\nto him, however, in his isolated home, for the _Gaucho_ has been\ndescribed as one of the most interesting races on the face of the\nearth. A descendant of the old conquerors, who, leaving their fair ones\nin the Spanish peninsula, took unto them as wives the unclothed women\nof the new world, he inherits the color and habits of the one with the\nvices and dignity of the other. Living the wild, free life of the\nIndian, and retaining the language of Spain; the finest horseman of the\nworld, and perhaps the worst assassin; the most open-handed and\nhospitable, yet the accomplished purloiner of his neighbor's cattle;\nimitating the Spaniard in the beautifully-chased silver trappings of\nhis horse, and the untutored Indian in his miserable adobe hovel;\nspending his whole wealth in heavy gold or silver bell-shaped stirrups,\nbridle, or spurs (the rowel of the latter sometimes having a diameter\nof six inches), and leaving his home destitute of the veriest\nnecessities of life--such is the Gaucho. A horn or shell from the\nriver's bed makes his spoon, gourds provide him with his plates and\ndishes; but his knife, with gold or silver handle and sheath, is almost\na little fortune in itself. Content in his dwelling to sit on a\nbullock's skull, on horseback his saddle must be mounted in silver. His\nown beard and hair he seldom trims, but his horse's mane and tail must\nbe assiduously tended. The baked-mud floor of his abode is littered\nwith filth and dirt, while he raves at a speck of mud on his\nembroidered silk saddle-cloth.\n\nThe Gaucho is a strange contradiction. He has blushed at my good but\nplain-looking saddle, yet courteously asked me to take a skull seat. He\nmay possess five hundred horses, but you search his kitchen in vain for\na plate. If you please him he will present you with his best horse,\nwaving away your thanks. If you displease him, his long knife will just\nas readily find its way to your heart, for he kills his enemies with as\nlittle compunction as he kills the ostrich. \"The Gaucho, with his proud\nand dissolute air, is the most unique of all South American characters.\nHe is courageous and cruel, active and tireless. Never more at ease\nthan when on the wildest horse; on the ground, out of his element. His\npoliteness is excessive, his nature fierce.\" The children do not, like\nours, play with toys, but delight the parents' hearts by teasing a cat\nor dog. These they will stick with a thorn or pointed bone to hear them\nyell, or, later on, lasso and half choke them. \"They will put out their\neyes, and such like childish games, innocent little darlings that they\nare.\" Cold-blooded torture is their delight, and they will cheer at the\nsight of blood.\n\nTo describe the dress of this descendant of Adam I feel myself\nincapable. A shirt and a big slouch hat seem to be the only articles of\nattire like ours. Coat, trousers or shoes he does not wear. Instead of\nthe first mentioned, he uses the _poncho_, a long, broad blanket, with\na slit in the centre to admit his head. For trousers he wears very wide\nwhite drawers, richly embroidered with broad needlework and stiffly\nstarched. Over these he puts a black _chirip\u00e1_, which really I cannot\ndescribe other than as similar to the napkins the mother provides for\nher child. Below this black and white leg covering come the long boots,\nmade from one piece of seamless hide. These boots are nothing more than\nthe skin from the hind legs of an animal--generally a full-grown horse.\nThe bend of the horse's leg makes the boot's heel. Naturally the toes\nprotrude, and this is not sewn up, for the Gaucho never puts more than\nhis big toe in the stirrup, which, like the bit in his horse's mouth,\nmust be of solid silver. A dandy will beautifully scallop these rawhide\nboots around the tops and toes, and keep them soft with an occasional\napplication of grease. No heel is ever attached. Around the man's\nwaist, holding up his drawers and chiripa, is wound a long colored\nbelt, with tasseled ends left hanging over his boot, down the right\nside; and over that he invariably wears a broad skin belt, clasped at\nthe front with silver and adorned all around with gold or silver coins.\nIn this the long knife is carried.\n\nWhat shall I say of the domestic life of these people? Unfortunately,\nmarriage is practically unknown among them. The father gives his son a\nfew cattle, and the young man, after building himself a house, conducts\nthither his chosen one. Unhappily, constancy in either man or woman is\na rare virtue.\n\nOf the superstitious side of the Gancho race I might speak much. In the\nsaints the female especially implicitly believes. These, her deities,\nare all-powerful, and to them she appeals for the satisfaction of her\nevery desire. Saint Clementina's help is sought by the girl when her\nlover betrays her. Another saint will aid her in poisoning him. If the\nwife thinks her husband long in bringing the evening meal, she has\ninformed me, a word with Saint Anthony is sufficient, and she hears the\nsound of his horse's hoofs. Saint Anthony seems to be useful on many\noccasions of distress. One evening I called at a _rancho_ made of dry\nthistle-stalks bound together with hide and thatched with reeds,\nFinding the inmates very hospitable, I stayed there two or three hours\nto rest. Coming out of the house again, I found to my dismay that\nduring our animated gossip my horse had broken loose and left me. Now\nthe loss of a horse is too trivial a matter to interest Anthony the\nsaint, but a horse having saddle and bridle attached to him makes it\nquite a different matter, for these often cost ten times the price of\nthe horse. One of the saint's especial duties is to find a lost saddled\nhorse, if the owner or interested one only promises to burn a candle in\nhis honor. The night was very dark, and no sign of the animal was to be\nseen. Mine host laid his ear to the ground and listened, then, leaping\non his horse, he galloped into the darkness, from whence he brought my\nlost animal. I did not learn until afterwards that Mrs. Jesus, for such\nwas the woman's name, had sought the help of Saint Anthony on my\nbehalf. I am sure she lost her previous good opinion of me when I\nthanked her husband but did not offer a special colored candle to her\nsaint.\n\nAmong these strange people I commenced a school, and had the joy of\nteaching numbers of them to read the Spanish Bible. Boys and girls came\nlong distances on horseback, and, although some of them had perhaps\nnever seen a book before, I found them exceedingly quick to learn. In\nfour or five months the older ones were able to read any ordinary\nchapter. In arithmetic they were inconceivably dull, and after three\nmonths' tuition some of them could not count ten.\n\nI have said the saints are greatly honored among these people. My\nChristmas cards generally found their way to adorn their altars. Every\nhouse has its favorite, and some of these are regarded as especially\nclever in curing sickness. It being a very unhealthful, low-lying\ndistrict where my school was, I contracted malarial fever, and went to\nbed very sick. Every day some of the children would come to enquire\nafter me, but Celestino, one of the larger boys, came one morning with\na very special message from his mother. This communication was to the\neffect that they did not wish the school-teacher to die, he being\n\"rather a nice kind of a man and well liked.\" Because of this she would\nbe pleased to let me have her favorite saint. This image I could stand\nat the head of my bed, and its very presence would cure me. When I\nrefused this offer and smiled at its absurdity, the boy thought me very\nstrange. To be so wise in some respects, and yet so ignorant as to\nrefuse such a chance, was to him incomprehensible. The saints, I found,\nare there often lent out to friends that they may exercise their\nhealing powers, or rented out to strangers at so much a day, When they\nare not thus on duty, but in a quiet corner of the hut, they get\nlonely. The woman will then go for a visit, taking her saint with her,\neither in her arms or tied to the saddle. This image she will place\nwith the saint her host owns, and _they will talk together and teach\none another_. A saint is supposed to know only its own particular work,\nalthough one named Santa Rita is said to be a worker of\nimpossibilities. Some of them are only very rudely carved images,\ndressed in tawdry finery. I have sometimes thought that a Parisian doll\nof modern make, able to open and close its eyes, etc., would in their\nesteem be even competent to raise the dead! [Footnote: Writing of\nSpanish American Romanism, Everybody's Magazine says: \"To the student\nof human nature, which means the study of evil as well as good, this\nreligious body is of absorbing interest. One would look to find these\nenthusiasts righteous and virtuous in their daily life; but, apart from\nthe annual week of penance, their religion influences them not at all,\nand on the whole the members of the Brotherhood constitute a desperate\nclass, dangerous to society.\"]\n\nIn cases of sickness very simple remedies are used, and not a few\nutterly nonsensical. To cure pains in the stomach they tie around them\nthe skin of the _comadreka_, a small, vile-smelling animal. This they\ntold me was a sovereign remedy. If the sufferer be a babe, a cross made\non its stomach is sufficient to perfectly cure it. I have seen seven\npieces of the root of the white lily, which there grows wild, tied\naround the neck of an infant in order that its teeth might come with\ngreater promptitude and less pain. A string of dog's teeth serves the\nsame purpose. To cure a bad wound, the priest will be called in that he\nmay write around the sore some Latin prayer backwards. Headache is\neasily cured by tying around the head the cast-off skin of a snake. Two\npuppies are killed and bound one on each side of a broken limb. If a\ncharm is worn around the neck no poison can be harmful. For a sore\nthroat it is sufficient to expectorate in the fire three times, making\na cross. Lockjaw is effectually stopped by tying around the sufferer's\njaws the strings from a virgin's skirt; and they say also that powdered\nexcrement of a dog, taken in a glass of water, cures the smallpox\npatient,\n\nAs Mrs. Jesus sent her boy to my school, so Mrs. Flower sent her girl.\nThe latter was perhaps the most deluded woman I have met. Her every act\nwas bad in itself or characterized by superstitious devotion. She was\none of the Church's favorite worshippers, and while I was in the\nneighborhood she sold her cows and horses and presented the priest at\nthe nearest town with a large and expensive silver cross--the emblem of\nsuffering purity. Near her lived a person for whom she had an especial\naversion, but that enemy she got rid of in surely the strangest of\nways, which she described to me. Catching a snake, and holding it so\nthat its poison might not reach her, she passed a threaded needle\nthrough both its eyes. When this was done she let it go again, alive,\nand, carefully guarding the needle, approached the person from behind\nand made a cross with the thread. The undesired one disappeared, having\nprobably heard of the enchantment, and being equally superstitious,\nor--the charm worked!\n\nMrs. Flower was a most repulsive-looking creature. Her skin was exactly\nthe color of an old copper coin. She did not resemble any _flower_ I\nhave seen in either hemisphere. Far was she from being a rose, but she\ncertainly possessed the thorn. Her love for the saints was most marked,\nand I have known her promise St. Roque that she would walk six miles\ncarrying his image if he would only grant her a certain prayer. This\npetition he granted, and off she trudged with her divine (?) load.\nThose acquainted with dwellers on the prairie know that this was indeed\na great task, horses being so cheap and riding so universal. Mrs.\nFlower was unaccustomed to walk even the shortest distance. I myself\ncan bear witness to the fact that even strong men find it hard to walk\na mile after spending years in equestrian travel. The native tells you\nthat God formed your legs so that you might be able to sit on a horse\nrather than to walk with them. A favorite expression with them is, \"I\nwas born on horseback.\"\n\nStone not being found on the pampas, these people generally build their\nhouses of square sods, with a roof of plaited grasses--sometimes I have\nobserved these beautifully woven together. Two or more holes, according\nto the size of the house, are left to serve for door and window. Wood\ncannot be obtained, glass has not been introduced, so the holes are\nleft as open spaces, across which, when the pampa wind blows, a hide is\nstretched. No hole is left in the roof for the smoke of the fire to\nescape, for this to the native is no inconvenience whatever. When I\nhave been compelled to fly with racking cough and splitting head, he\nhas calmly asked the reason. Never could I bear the blinding smoke that\nissues from his fire of sheep or cow dung burning on the earthen floor,\nthough he heeds it not as, sitting on a bullock's skull, he ravenously\neats his evening meal.\n\nIf entertaining a stranger, he will press uncut joint after joint of\nhis _asado_ upon him. This asado is meat roasted over the fire on a\nspit; if beef, with the skin and hair still attached. Meat cooked in\nthis way is a real delicacy. A favorite dish with them (I held a\ndifferent opinion) is a half-formed calf, taken before its proper time\nof birth. The meat is often dipped in the ashes in lieu of salt. I have\nsaid the Gaucho has no chair. I might add that neither has he a table,\nfor with his fingers and knife he eats the meat off the fire. Forks he\nis without, and a horn or shell spoon conveys the soup to his mouth\ndirect from the copper pan. So universal is the use of the shell for\nthis service that the native does not speak of it as _caracol_, the\nreal word for shell, but calls it _cuchara del agua_, or water spoon.\nOf knives he possesses more than enough, and heavy, long, sharp-pointed\nones they are. When his hunger is appeased the knife goes, not to the\nkitchen, but to his belt, where, when not in his hand, you may always\nsee it. With that weapon he kills a sheep, cuts off the head of a\nserpent--seemingly, however, not doing it much harm, for it still\nwriggles--sticks his horse when in anger, and, alas, as I have said,\nsometimes stabs his fellow-man. Being so far isolated from the coast,\nhe is necessarily entirely uneducated. The forward march of the outer\nworld concerns him not; indeed he imagines that his native prairie\nstretches away to the end of the world. He will gaze with wonder on\nyour watch, for his only mode of ascertaining the time is by the shadow\nthe sun casts. As that luminary rises and sets, so he sleeps and wakes.\nHis only bed is the sheepskin, which when riding he fastens over his\nsaddle, and the latter article forms his pillow. His coverlet is the\nfirmament of heaven, the Southern Cross and other constellations,\nunseen by dwellers in the Northern Hemisphere, seeming to keep watch\nover him; or in the colder season his poncho, which I have already\ndescribed. Around his couch flit the fireflies, resembling so many\nstars of earth with their strangely radiant lights. The brightness of\none, when held near the face of my watch, made light enough to enable\nme to ascertain the hour, even on the darkest night.\n\nThe Gaucho with his horse is at home anywhere. When on a journey he\nwill stop for the evening meal beside the dry bones of some dead\nanimal. With these and grass he will make a fire and cook the meat he\ncarries hanging behind him on the saddle. I have known an animal killed\nand the meat cooked with its own bones, but this is not usual. Dry\nbones burn better, and thistle-stalks better still. He will then lie\ndown on mother earth with the horse-cloth under him and the saddle for\na pillow. When travelling with these men I have known them, without any\ncomment, stretch themselves on the ground, even though the rain was\nfalling, and soon be in dreamland. After having passed a wretched night\nmyself, I have asked them, \"How did you sleep?\" _\"Muy Bien, Senor\"_\n(Very good, sir), has been the invariable answer. They would often\ngrowl much, however, over the wet saddle-cloths, for these soon cause a\nhorse's back to become sore.\n\nHere and there, but sometimes at long distances apart, there is a\n_pulperia_ on the road. This is always designated by having a white\nflag flying on the end of a long bamboo. At these places cheap spirits\nof wine and very bad rum can be bought, along with tobacco, hard\nship-biscuits (very often full of maggots, as I know only too well),\nand a few other more necessary things. I have observed in some of these\nwayside inns counters made of turf, built in blocks as bricks would be.\nHere the natives stop to drink long and deep, and stew their meagre\nbrains in bad spirits. These draughts result in quarrels and sometimes\nin murder.\n\nThe Gaucho, like the Indian, cannot drink liquor without becoming\nmaddened by it. He will then do things which in his sober moments he\nwould not dream of. I was acquainted with a man who owned a horse of\nwhich he was very fond This animal bore him one evening to a pulperia\nsome miles distant, and was left tied outside while he imbibed his fill\ninside. Coming out at length beastly intoxicated, he mounted his horse\nand proceeded homeward. Arriving at a fork in the path, the faithful\nhorse took the one leading home, but the rider, thinking in his stupor\nthat the other way was the right one, turned the horse's head. As the\npoor creature wanted to get home and have the saddle taken off, it\nturned again. This affront was too much for the Gaucho, who is a man of\nvolcanic passions, so drawing his knife, he stabbed it in the neck, and\nthey dropped to the ground together. When he realized that he had\nkilled his favorite horse he cried like a child. I passed this dead\nanimal several times afterwards and saw the vultures clean its bones.\nIt served me as a witness to the results of ungoverned passion.\n\nThe Gaucho does not, and would not under any consideration, ride a\nmare; consequently, for work she is practically valueless. Strain, who\nrode across the pampas, says: \"In a single year ten million hides were\nexported.\" For one or two dollars each the buyer may purchase any\nnumber; indeed, of such little worth are the mares that they are very\noften killed for their hide, or to serve as food for swine. At one\nestancia I visited I was informed that one was killed each day for pig\nfeed. The mare can be driven long distances, even a hundred miles a\nday, for several successive days, The Argentine army must surely be the\nmost mobile of any in the world, for its soldiers, when on the march,\nget nothing but mare's flesh and the custom gives them great facility\nof movement. The horse has, more or less, its standard value, and costs\nfour or five times the price of the mare.\n\n\n[Illustration: THE AUTHOR IN GAUCHO DRESS.]\n\n\nSometimes it happens that the native finds a colt which is positively\nuntamable. On the cheek of such an animal the Gaucho will burn a cross\nand then allow it to go free, like the scape-goat mentioned in the book\nof Leviticus.\n\nThe native horse is rather small, but very wiry and wild. I was once\ncompelled, through sickness, to make a journey of ninety-seven miles,\nbeing in the saddle for seventeen consecutive hours, and yet my poor\nhorse was unable to get one mouthful of food on the journey, and the\nsaddle was not taken off his back for a moment. He was very wild, yet\none evening between five and eight o'clock, he bore me safely a\ndistance of thirty-six miles, and returned the same distance with me on\nthe following morning. He had not eaten or drunk anything during the\nnight, for the locusts had devoured all pasturage and no rain had\nfallen for a space of five months.\n\nThe horse is not indigenous to America, although Darwin tells us that\nSouth America had a native horse, which lived and disappeared ages ago.\nSpanish history informs us that they were first landed in Buenos Ayres\nin 1537. We are further told that the Indians flew away in terror at\nthe sight of a man on horseback, which they took to be one animal of a\nstrange, two-headed shape. When the colony was for a time deserted\nthese horses were suffered to run wild. Those animals so multiplied and\nspread over such a vast area that they were found, forty-three years\nlater, even down to the Straits of Magellan, a distance of eleven\nhundred miles. With good pasture and a limitless expanse to roam over,\nthey soon turned from the dozens to thousands, and may now be counted\nby millions. The Patagonian \"foot\" Indians quickly turned into \"horse\"\nIndians, for on those wide prairie lands a man without a horse is\nalmost comparable to a man without legs. In former years, thousands of\nwild horses roamed over these extensive plains, but the struggle of\nmankind in the battle of life turned men's attention to them, and they\nwere captured and branded by whomsoever had the power and cared to take\nthe trouble. In the more isolated districts, there may still be found\nnumbers which are born and die without ever feeling the touch of saddle\nor bridle. Far away from the crowded busses and perpetually moving\nhansoms of the city, they feel not the driver's whip nor the strain of\nthe wagon, as, with tail trailing on the ground and head erect, they\ngallop in freedom of life. Happy they!\n\nIn all directions on the prairie ostriches are found. The natives catch\nthem with _boliadoras_, an old Indian weapon, which is simply three\nround stones, incased in bags of hide, tied together by twisted ropes,\nalso of hide. When the hunters have, by galloping from different\ndirections, baffled the bird in his flight, they thunder down upon him,\nand, throwing the _boliadoras_ round his legs, where they entangle,\neffectually stop his flight. I have seen this weapon thrown a distance\nof about eighty yards.\n\nThe ostrich is a bird with wonderful digestive powers, which I often\nhave envied him; he eats grass or pebbles, insects or bones, as suits\nhis varying fancy. If you drop your knife or any other article, he will\nstop to examine it, being most inquisitive, and, if possible, he will\nswallow it. The flesh of the ostrich is dry and tough, and its feathers\nare not to be compared in beauty with those of the African specimen.\nGenerally a very harmless bird, he is truly formidable during breeding\ntime. If one of the eggs is so much as touched he will break the whole\nnumber to shivers. Woe to the man whom he savagely attacks at such\ntimes; one kick of his great foot, with its sharp claws, is sufficient\nto open the body of man or horse. The Gaucho uses the skin from the\nneck of this bird as a tobacco pouch, and the eggs are considered a\ngreat delicacy. One is equal to about sixteen hen's eggs.\n\nAs all creation has its enemy, the ostrich finds his in the _iguana_,\nor lizard--an unsightly, scaly, long-tailed species of land crocodile.\nThis animal, when full-grown, attains the length of five feet, and is\nof a dark green color. He, when he can procure them, feeds on the\nostrich eggs, which I believe must be a very strengthening diet. The\nlizard, after fattening himself upon them during the six hotter months\nof the year, is enabled to retire to the recesses of his cave, where he\ntranquilly sleeps through the remaining six. The shell of the ostrich's\negg is about the thickness of an antique china cup, but the iguana\nfinds no difficulty in breaking it open with a slash of his tail This\nwily animal is more astute than the bird, which lays its eggs in the\nopen spaces, for the lizard, with her claws, digs a hole in the ground,\nin which hers are dropped to the number of dozens. The lizard does not\nprovide shells for her eggs, but only covers them with a thick, soft\nskin, and they, buried in the soil, eventually hatch themselves.\n\nWhen the Gaucho cannot obtain a better meal, the tail of the lizard is\nnot considered such a despicable dish by him, for he is no epicure.\nWhen he has nothing he is also contented. His philosophy is: _\"Nunca\ntenga hambre cuando no hay que comer\"_ (Never be hungry when no food is\nto be had).\n\nThe estancia, or catile ranch, is a feature of the Argentine prairie.\nSome of these establishments are very large, even up to one hundred\nsquare miles in extent. On them hundreds of thousands of cattle, sheep\nand horses are herded. \"It is not improbable that there are more cattle\nin the pampas and llanos of South America than in all the rest of the\nworld.\" [Footnote: Dr. Hartwig in \"Argentina,\" 1910] An estancia is\nalmost invariably called by the name of some saint, as are the\ndifferent fields belonging to it. \"Holy Mary field\" and \"Saint Joseph\nfield\" are common names. Notwithstanding the fact that there may be\nthousands of cows on a ranch, the visitor may be unable to get a drop\nof milk to drink. \"Cows are not made to milk, but to eat,\" they say.\nLife on these establishments is rough and the fare generally very\ncoarse. Even among the wealthy people I have visited you may sit down\nto dinner with nothing but meat put before you, without a bite of bread\nor any vegetables. All drink water out of an earthenware pitcher of\npeculiar shape, which is the centrepiece of the table.\n\nAround the ranches of the people are many mice, which must be of a\nferocious nature, for if one is caught in a trap it will be found next\nmorning half, if not almost wholly, eaten by its own comrades. Well is\nit called \"the cannibal mouse.\"\n\nIn times of drought the heat of the sun dries up all vegetation. The\nleast spark of fire then suffices to create a mighty blaze, especially\nif accompanied by the _pampero_ wind, which blows with irresistible\nforce in its sweep over hundreds of miles of level ground. The fire,\ngathering strength as it goes, drives all before it, or wraps\neverything in its devouring flames. Casting a lurid light in the\nheavens, towards which rise volumes of smoke, it attracts the attention\nof the native, who lifts his starting eyes towards heaven in a\nspeechless prayer to the Holy Virgin. Madly leaping on his fleetest\nhorse, without saddle, and often without bridle, he wildly gallops down\nthe wind, as the roaring, crackling fire gains upon him. In this mad\nrace for life, men, horses, ostriches, deer, bullocks, etc., join,\nstriving to excel each other in speed. Strange to say, the horse the\nnative rides, cheered on by the touch of his master, is often the first\nto gain the lake or river, where, beneath its waters at least, refuge\nmay be found. In their wild stampede, vast herds of cattle trample and\nfall on one another and are drowned. A more complete destruction could\nnot overtake the unfortunate traveller than to be caught by this\nremorseless foe, for not even his ashes could be found by mourning\nfriends. The ground thus burnt retains its heat for days. I have had\noccasion to cross blackened wastes a week after this most destructive\nforce in nature had done its work, and my horse has frequently reared\nin the air at the touch of the hot soil on his hoofs.\n\nThe Gaucho has a strange method of fighting these fires. Several mares\nare killed and opened, and they, by means of lassos, are dragged over\nthe burning grass.\n\nThe immensity of the pampas is so great that one may travel many miles\nwithout sighting a single tree or human habitation. The weary traveller\nfinds his only shade from the sun's pitiless rays under the broad brim\nof his sombrero. At times, with ears forward and extended nostrils, the\nhorse gazes intently at the rippling blue waters of the _mirage_, that\nmost tantalizingly deceptive phenomenon of nature. May it never be the\nlot of my reader to be misled by the illusive mirage as I have been.\nHow could I mistake vapor for clear, gurgling water? Yet, how many\ntimes was I here deceived! Visions of great lakes and broad rivers rose\nup before me, lapping emerald green shores, where I could cool my\nparched tongue and lave in their crystal depths; yet to-day those\nwaters are as far off as ever, and exist only in my hopes of Paradise.\nNot until I stand by the \"River of Life\" shall I behold the reality.\n\nThe inhabitant of these treeless, trackless solitudes, which, with\ntheir waving grass, remind one of the bosom of the ocean, develops a\nkeen sight Where the stranger, after intently gazing, descries nothing,\nhe will not only inform him that animals are in sight, but will,\nmoreover, tell him what they are. I am blest with a very clear vision,\nbut even when, after standing on my horse's back, I have made out\nnothing, the Gaucho could tell me that over there was a drove of\ncattle, a herd of deer, a troop of horses, or a house.\n\nIt is estimated that there are two hundred and forty millions of acres\nof wheat land in the Argentine, and of late years the prairie has\ndeveloped into one of the largest wheat-producing countries in the\nworld, and yet only one per cent, of its cultivable area is so far\noccupied.\n\nThe Gaucho is no farmer, and all his land is given up to cattle\ngrazing, so _chacras_ are worked generally by foreign settlers. The\nprovince of Entre Rios has been settled largely by Swiss and Italian\nfarmers from the Piedmont Hills. Baron Hirsch has also planted a colony\nof Russian Jews there, and provided them with farm implements. Wheat,\ncorn, and linseed are the principal crops, but sweet potatoes, tobacco,\nand fruit trees do well in this virgin ground, fertilized by the dead\nanimals of centuries. The soil is rich, and two or three crops can\noften be harvested in a year.\n\nNo other part of the world has in recent years suffered from such a\nplague of locusts as the agricultural districts of Argentina. They come\nfrom the north in clouds that sometimes darken the sun. Some of the\nswarms have been estimated to be sixty miles long and from twelve to\nfifteen miles wide. Fields which in the morning stand high with waving\ncorn, are by evening only comparable to ploughed or burnt lands. Even\nthe roots are eaten up.\n\nIn 1907 the Argentine Government organized a bureau for the destruction\nof locusts, and in 1908 $4,500,000 was placed by Congress at the\ndisposal of this commission. An organized service, embracing thousands\nof men, is in readiness at any moment to send a force to any place\nwhere danger is reported. Railway trains have been repeatedly stopped,\nand literally many tons of them have had to be taken off the track. A\nfine of $100 is imposed upon any settler failing to report the presence\nof locust swarms or hopper eggs on his land. Various means are adopted\nby the land-owner to save what he can from the voracious insects. Men,\nwomen and children mount their horses and drive flocks of sheep to and\nfro over the ground to kill them. A squatter with whom I stayed got his\nlaborers to gallop a troop of mares furiously around his garden to keep\nthem from settling there. All, however, seemed useless. About midsummer\nthe locust lays its eggs under an inch or two of soil. Each female will\ndrop from thirty to fifty eggs, all at the same time, in a mass\nresembling a head of wheat. As many as 50,000 eggs have been counted in\na space less than three and a half feet square.\n\nDuring my sojourn in Entre Rios, the province where this insect seems\nto come in greatest numbers, a law was passed that every man over the\nage of fourteen years, whether native or foreigner, rich or poor, was\ncompelled to dig out and carry to Government depots, four pounds weight\nof locusts' eggs. It was supposed that this energetic measure would\nlessen their numbers. Many tons were collected and burnt, but, I assure\nthe reader, no appreciable difference whatever was made in their\nlegions. The young _jumpers_ came, eating all before them, and their\nnumbers seemed infinite. Men dug trenches, kindled fires, and burned\nmillions of them. Ditches two yards wide and deep and two hundred feet\nlong were completely filled up by these living waves. But all efforts\nwere unavailing--the earth remained covered. A Waldensian acquaintance\nsuffered for several years from this fearful plague. Some seasons he\nwas not even able to get back so much as the seed he planted. If the\nlocusts passed him, it so happened that the _pampero_ wind blew with\nsuch terrific force that we have looked in vain even for the straw. The\nlatter was actually torn up by the roots and whirled away, none knew\nwhither. At other times large hailstones, for which the country is\nnoted, have destroyed everything, or tens of thousands of green\nparoquets have done their destructive work. When a five-months' drought\nwas parching everything, I have heard him reverently pray that God\nwould spare him wheat sufficient to feed his family. This food God gave\nhim, and he thankfully invited me to share it. I rejoice in being able\nto say that he afterwards became rich, and had his favorite saying,\n_\"Dios no me olvida\u00e9\"_ (God will not forget me), abundantly verified.\n\nNotwithstanding natural drawbacks, which every country has, Argentina\ncan claim to have gone forward as no other country has during the last\nten years. There are many estates worth more than a million dollars.\nDr. W. A. Hirot, in \"Argentina,\" says: \"Argentina has more live stock\nthan any other country of the world. Ten million hides have been\nexported in one year, and it is not improbable that there are more\ncattle in South America than there are in all the rest of the world\ncombined.\" Belgium has 220 people occupying the space one person has in\nArgentina, so who can prophesy as to its future?\n\n\n\n\nPART II.\n\nBOLIVIA\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n   Have you gazed on naked grandeur where there's nothing\n    else to gaze on,\n   Set pieces and drop curtain scenes galore,\n   Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets\n    blazon,\n   Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar?\n\n          --_Robert W. Service._\n\n\n\n\nBOLIVIA\n\nBolivia, having no sea-coast, has been termed the Hermit Republic of\nSouth America. Its territory is over 600,000 square miles in extent,\nand within its bounds Nature displays almost every possible panorama,\nand all climates. There are burning plains, the home of the emu,\narmadillos, and ants; sandy deserts, where the wind drifts the sand\nlike snow, piling it up in ever-shifting hills about thirty feet in\nheight. Bolivia, shut in geographically and politically, is a world in\nitself--a world of variety, in scenery, climate, products and people.\nIts capital city, La Paz, has a population of 70,000, but the vast\ninterior is almost uninhabited. In the number of inhabitants to the\nsquare mile, Bolivia ranks the lowest of all the nations of the earth.\n\nPerhaps no country of the world has been, and is, so rich in precious\nmetals as Bolivia. \"The mines of Potosi alone have furnished the world\nover $1,500,000,000 worth of silver since the Spaniards first took\npossession of them.\" [Footnote: \"Protestant Missions in South America.\"]\n\nBolivia can lay claim to the most wonderful body of water in the\nworld--Lake Titicaca. This lake, nearly two and a half miles high in\nthe air, is literally in the clouds. \"Its lonely waters have no outlet\nto the sea, but are guarded on their southern shores by gigantic ruins\nof a prehistoric empire--palaces, temples, and fortresses--silent,\nmysterious monuments of a long-lost golden age.\" Some of the largest\nand most remarkable ruins of the world are found on the shores of Lake\nTiticaca, and as this was the centre of the great Incan Dynasty, that\nremarkable people have also left wonderful remains, to build which\nstones thirty-eight feet long, eighteen feet wide, and six feet thick,\nwere quarried, carried and elevated. The Temple of the Sun. the most\nsacred edifice of the Incas, was one of the richest buildings the sun\nhas ever shone upon, and it was itself a mine of wealth. From this one\ntemple, Pizarro, the Spanish conqueror, took 24,000 pounds of gold and\n82,000 pounds of silver. \"Ninety million dollars' worth of precious\nmetals was torn from Inca temples alone.\" The old monarch of the\ncountry, Atahuallpa, gave Pizarro twenty-two million dollars in gold to\nbuy back his country and his liberty from the Spaniards, but their\nfirst act on receiving the vast ransom was to march him after a\ncrucifix at the head of a procession, and, because he refused to become\na Roman Catholic, put him to death. Perhaps never in the world's\nhistory was there a baser act of perfidy, but this was urged by the\nsoldier-priest of the conquerors, Father Valverde, who himself signed\nthe King's death-warrant. This priest was afterwards made Bishop of\nAtahuallpa's capital.\n\nSurely no country of the world has had a darker or a sadder history\nthan this land of the Incas. The Spaniards arrived when the \"Children\nof the Sun\" were at the height of their prosperity. \"The affair of\nreducing the country was committed to the hands of irresponsible\nindividuals, soldiers of fortune, desperate adventurers who entered on\nconquest as a game which they had to play in the most unscrupulous\nmanner, with little care but to win it. The lands, and the persons as\nwell, of the conquered races were parcelled out and appropriated by the\nvictors as the legitimate spoils of victory. Every day outrages were\nperpetrated, at the contemplation of which humanity shudders. They\nsuffered the provident arrangements of the Incas to fall into decay.\nThe poor Indian, without food, now wandered half-starved and naked over\nthe plateau. Even those who aided the Spaniards fared no better, and\nmany an Inca noble roamed a mendicant over the fields where he once\nheld rule; and if driven, perchance, by his necessities to purloin\nsomething from the superfluity of his conquerors, he expiated it by a\nmiserable death.\"  [Footnote: Prescott's \"Conquest of Peru.\"]\n\nCharles Kingsley says there were \"cruelties and miseries unexampled in\nthe history of Christendom, or perhaps on earth, save in the conquests\nof Sennacherib and Zinghis-Khan.\" Millions perished at the forced labor\nof the mines, The Incan Empire had, it is calculated, a population of\ntwenty millions at the arrival of the Spaniards, In two centuries the\npopulation fell to four millions.\n\nWhen the groans of these beasts of burden reached the ears of the good\n(?) Queen Isabel of Spain, she enacted a law that throughout her new\ndominions no Indian, man or woman, should be compelled to carry more\nthan three hundred pounds' weight at one load! Is it cause for wonder\nthat the poor, down-trodden natives, seeing the flaunting flag of\nSpain, with its stripe of yellow between stripes of red, should regard\nit as representing a river of gold between two rivers of blood?\n\n\"Not infrequently,\" said a reliable witness, \"I have seen the\nSpaniards, long after the Conquest, amuse themselves by hunting down\nthe natives with blood hounds, for mere sport, or in order to train\ntheir dogs to the game. The most unbounded scope was given to\nlicentiousness. The young maiden was torn remorselessly from the arms\nof her family to gratify the passion of her brutal conqueror. The\nsacred houses of the Virgins of the Sun were broken open and violated,\nand the cavalier swelled his harem with a troop of Indian girls, making\nit seem that the crescent would have been a more fitting emblem for his\nbanner than the immaculate cross.\"\n\nWith the inexorable conqueror came the more inexorable priest.\n\"Attendance at Roman Catholic worship was made compulsory. Men and\nwomen with small children were compelled to journey as much as\nthirty-six miles to attend mass. Absentees were punished, therefore the\nIndian feared to disobey.\" [Footnote: Neely, \"Spanish America.\"]\n\nAs is well known, the ancient inhabitants worshipped the sun and the\nmoon. The Spanish priest, in order to gain proselytes with greater\nfacility, did not forbid this worship, but placed the crucifix between\nthe two. Where the Inca suns and moons were of solid gold and silver,\nthey were soon replaced by painted wooden ones. The crucifix, with sun\nand moon images on each side, is common all over Bolivia to-day.\n\nNow, four hundred years later, see the Indian under priestly rule. The\nfollowing is taken from an official report of the Governor of\nChimborazo: \"The religious festivals that the Indians celebrate--not of\ntheir own will, but by the inexorable will of the priest--are, through\nthe manner in which they are kept, worse than those described to us of\nthe times of Paganism, and of monstrous consequences to morality and\nthe national welfare ... they may be reckoned as a barbarous mixture of\nidolatry and superstition, sustained by infamous avarice. The Indian\nwho is chosen to make a feast either has to use up in it his little\nsavings, leaving his family submerged in misery, or he has to rob in\norder to invest the products of his crime in paying the fees to the\npriest and for church ceremonies. These are simply brutal orgies that\nlast many days, with a numerous attendance, and in which all manner of\ncrimes and vices have free license.\"\n\n\"For the idols of the aborigines were substituted the images of the\nVirgin Mary and the Roman saints. The Indians gave up their old idols,\nbut they went on with their image-worship. Image-worship is idolatry,\nwhether in India, Africa, or anywhere else, and the worship of Roman\nimages is essentially idolatry as much as the worship of any other kind\nof images. Romanism substituted for one set of idols another set. So\nthe Indians who were idolaters continued to be idolaters, only the new\nidols had other names and, possibly, were a little better-looking.\"\n[Footnote: Neely, \"South America.\"]\n\nWhat has Romanism done for the Indians of Bolivia in its four hundred\nyears of rule? Compare the people of that peaceful, law-keeping dynasty\nwhich the Spaniards found with the Bolivian Indian of to-day! Now the\ntraveller can report: \"The Indians are killing the whites wherever they\nfind them, and practising great cruelties, having bored holes in the\nheads of their victims and sucked the brains out while they were yet\nalive. Sixteen whites are said to have been killed in this way! These\nsame Indians are those who have been Christianized by the Roman priests\nfor the past three centuries, but such cruelties as they have been\npractising show that as yet not a ray of Christ's love has entered\ntheir darkened minds.\" How can the priest teach what he is himself\nignorant of?\n\nWhere the Indian has been civilized, as well as Romanized, Mr. Milne,\nof the American Bible Society, could write:\n\n\"Since the Spanish conquest the progress of the Indians has been in the\nline of deterioration and moral degradation. They are oppressed by the\nRomish clergy, who can never drain contributions enough out of them,\nand who make the children render service to pay for masses for deceased\nparents and relatives. Tears came to our eyes as Mr. Penzotti and I\nwatched them practising their heathen rites in the streets of La Paz,\nthe chief city of Bolivia. They differ from the other Indians in that\nthey are domesticated, but _they know no more of the Gospel than they\ndid under the rule of the Incas.\"_\n\nWhat is to be the future of these natives? Shall they disappear from\nthe stage of the world's history like so many other aborigines, victims\nof civilization, or will a hand yet be stretched out to help them?\nCivilization, after all, is not entirely made up of greed and lust, but\nin it there is righteousness and truth. May the day soon dawn when some\nof the latter may be extended to them ere they take the long, dark\ntrail after their fathers, and have hurled the last malediction at\ntheir cursed white oppressors!\n\n  \"We suffer yet a little space\n   Until we pass away,\n  The relics of an ancient race\n   That ne'er has had its day.\"\n\nFor four hundred years Bolivia has thus been held in chains by Romish\npriestcraft. Since its Incan rulers were massacred, its civilization\nhas been of the lowest. Buildings, irrigation dams, etc., were suffered\nto fall into disrepair, and the country went back to pre-Incan days.\n\nThe first Christian missionaries to enter the country were imprisoned\nand murdered. Now \"the morning light is breaking.\" A law has been\npassed granting liberty of worship.\n\nBolivia, with its vast natural riches, must come to the forefront, and\nalready strides are being taken forward. She can export over five\nmillion dollars' worth of rubber in one year, and is now spending more\nthan fifty million dollars on railways. So Bolivia is a country of the\npast and the future.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nJOURNEY TO \"THE UNEXPLORED LAKE.\"\n\n\nSince the days when Pizarro's adventurers discovered the hitherto\nundreamed-of splendor of the Inca Dynasty, Bolivia has been a land of\nsurprises and romantic discovery. Strange to say, even yet much of the\neastern portion of this great republic remains practically unexplored.\nThe following account of exploration in those regions, left for men of\nthe twentieth century, may not, I am persuaded, be without interest to\nthe general reader. Bolivia has for many years been seriously\nhandicapped through having no adequate water outlet to the sea, and the\nimmense resources of wealth she undoubtedly possesses have, for this\nreason, been suffered to go, in a measure, unworked. Now, however, in\nthe onward progress of nations, Bolivia has stepped forward. In the\nyear 1900, the Government of that country despatched an expedition to\nlocate and explore Lake Gaiba, a large sheet of water said to exist in\nthe far interior of Bolivia and Brazil, on the line dividing the two\nrepublics. The expedition staff consisted of Captain Bolland, an\nEnglishman; M. Barbiere, a Frenchman; Dr. Perez, Bolivian; M. Gerard\nD'Avezsac, French artist and hunter, and the writer of these pages. The\ncrew of ten men was made up of Paraguayans and Argentines, white men\nand colored, one Bolivian, one Italian, and one Brazilian. Strange to\nrelate, there was no Scotchman, even the ship's engineer being French.\nPerhaps the missing Scotch engineer was on his way to the Pole, in\norder to be found sitting there on its discovery by----(?)\n\nThe object of this costly journey was to ascend the rivers La Plata,\nParaguay and Alto Paraguay, and see if it were possible to establish a\nport and town in Bolivian territory on the shores of the lake. After\nsome months of untiring energy and perseverance, there was discovered\nfor Bolivia a fine port, with depth of water for any ordinary river\nsteamer, which will now be known to the world as _Puerto Quijarro_. A\ndirect fluvial route, therefore, exists between the Atlantic and this\nfar inland point.\n\nThe expedition left Buenos Ayres, the capital of the Argentine\nRepublic. Sailing up the western bank of the River of Silver, we\nentered the Parana River, and after an uneventful voyage of six days,\npassed the mouth of the River of Gold, and turned into the Paraguay.\n\nThree hundred miles up the Higher Parana, a mighty stream flowing from\nthe northeast, which we here left to our right, are the Falls of\nYguas\u00fa. These falls have been seen by few white men. The land on each\nside of the river is infested by the Bugres Indians, a tribe of\ncannibals, of excessively ferocious nature. The Falls of Big Water must\nbe the largest in the world--and the writer is well acquainted with\nNiagara.\n\nThe river, over two and a half miles wide, containing almost as much\nwater as all the rivers of Europe together, rushes between\nperpendicular cliffs. With a current of forty miles an hour, and a\nvolume of water that cannot be less than a million tons a minute, the\nmighty torrent rushes with indescribable fury against a rocky island,\nwhich separates it into two branches, so that the total width is about\ntwo miles and a half. The Brazilian arm of the river forms a tremendous\nhorseshoe here, and plunges with a deafening roar into the abyss two\nhundred and thirteen feet below. The Argentine branch spreads out in a\nsort of amphitheatre form, and finishes with one grand leap into the\njagged rocks, more than two hundred and twenty-nine feet below, making\nthe very earth vibrate, while spray, rising in columns, is visible\nseveral miles distant.\n\n\"Below the island the two arms unite and flow on into the Parana River.\nFrom the Brazilian bank the spectator, at a height of two hundred and\neighty feet, gazes out over two and a half miles of some of the wildest\nand most fantastic water scenery he can ever hope to see. Waters\nstream, seethe, leap, bound, froth and foam, 'throwing the sweat of\ntheir agony high in the air, and, writhing, twisting, screaming and\nmoaning, bear off to the Parana.' Under the blue vault of the sky, this\nsea of foam, of pearls, of iridescent dust, bathes the great background\nin a shower of beauty that all the more adds to the riot of tropical\nhues already there. When a high wind is blowing, the roar of the\ncataract can be heard nearly twenty miles away. A rough estimate of the\nhorse-power represented by the falls is fourteen million.\"\n\nProceeding up the Paraguay River, we arrived at Asuncion, the capital\nof Paraguay, and anchored in a beautiful bay of the river, opposite the\ncity. As many necessary preparations had still to be made, the\nexpedition was detained in Asuncion for fifteen days, after which we\nboarded the S.S. _Leda_, for the second stage of our journey.\n\nSteaming up the Alto Paraguay, we passed the orange groves of that\nsunny land on the right bank of the river, and on the left saw the\nencampments of the Tobas Indians, The dwellings of these people are\nonly a few branches of trees stuck in the ground. Further on, we saw\nthe Chamococos Indians, a fine muscular race of men and women, who\ncover their bronze-colored bodies with the oil of the alligator, and\nthink a covering half the size of a pocket-handkerchief quite\nsufficient to hide their nakedness. As we stayed to take in wood, I\ntried to photograph some of these, our brothers and sisters, but the\ncamera was nothing but an object of dread to them. One old woman, with\nher long, black, oily hair streaming in the breeze, almost withered me\nwith her flashing eyes and barbarous language, until I blushed as does\na schoolboy when caught in the act of stealing apples. Nevertheless, I\ngot her photo.\n\nThe Pilcomayo, which empties its waters into the Paraguay, is one of\nthe most mysterious of rivers. Rising in Bolivia, its course can be\ntraced down for some considerable distance, when it loses itself in the\narid wastes, or, as some maintain, flows underground. Its source and\nmouth are known, but for many miles of its passage it is invisible.\nNumerous attempts to solve its secrets have been made. They have almost\ninvariably ended disastrously. The Spanish traveller, Ibarete, set out\nwith high hopes to travel along its banks, but he and seventeen men\nperished in the attempt. Two half-famished, prematurely-old, broken men\nwere all that returned from the unknown wilds. The Pilcomayo, which has\nproved itself the river of death to so many brave men, remains to this\nday unexplored. The Indians inhabiting these regions are savage in the\nextreme, and the French explorer, Creveaux, found them inhuman enough\nto leave him and most of his party to die of hunger. The Tobas and the\nAngaitaes tribes are personally known to me, and I speak from\nexperience when I say that more cruel men I have never met. The\nArgentine Government, after twenty years of warfare with them, was\ncompelled, in 1900, to withdraw the troops from their outposts and\nleave the savages in undisputed possession. If the following was the\ntype of civilization offered them, then they are better left to\nthemselves: \"Two hundred Indians who have been made prisoners are\n_compelled to be baptized_. The ceremony takes place in the presence of\nthe Governor and officials of the district, and a great crowd of\nspectators. The Indians kneel between two rows of soldiers, an officer\nwith drawn sword compels each in turn to open his mouth, into which a\nsecond officer throws a handful of salt, amid general laughter at the\nwry faces of the Indians. Then a Franciscan padre comes with a pail of\nwater and besprinkles the prisoners. They are then commanded to rise,\nand each receives a piece of paper inscribed with his new name, a\nscapulary, and--_a glass of rum_\" [Footnote: Report of British and\nForeign Bible Society, 1900.] What countries these for missionary\nenterprise!\n\nAfter sailing for eighteen days up the river, we transhipped into a\nsmaller steamer going to Bolivia. Sailing up the bay, you pass, on the\nsouth shore, a small Brazilian customs house, which consists of a\nsquare roof of zinc, without walls, supported on four posts, standing\nabout two meters from the ground. A Brazilian, clothed only in his\nblack skin, came down the house ladder and stared at us as we passed.\nThe compliment was returned, although we had become somewhat accustomed\nto that style of dress--or undress. A little farther up the bay, a\nwhite stone shone out in the sunlight, marking the Bolivian boundary,\nand giving the name of Piedra Blanca to the village. This landmark is\nshaded by a giant tamarind tree, and numerous barrel trees, or _palo\nboracho_, grow in the vicinity. In my many wanderings in tropical\nAmerica, I have seen numerous strange trees, but these are\nextraordinarily so. The trunk comes out of the ground with a small\ncircumference, then gradually widens out to the proportions of an\nenormous barrel, and at the top closes up to the two-foot circumference\nagain. Two branches, like giant arms spread themselves out in a most\nweird-looking manner on the top of all. About five leaves grow on each\nbough, and, instinctively, you consider them the fingers of the arms.\n\nIt was only three leagues to the Bolivian town of Piedra Blanca, but\nthe \"Bahia do Marengo\" took three hours to steam the short distance,\nfor five times we had to stop on the way, owing to the bearings\nbecoming heated. These the Brazilian engineer cooled with pails of\nwater.\n\nIn the beautiful Bay of Caceres, much of which was grown over with\nlotus and Victoria Regia, we finally anchored. This Bolivian village is\nabout eighteen days' sail up the river from Montevideo on the seacoast.\n\nChartering the \"General Pando,\" a steamer of 25 h.p. and 70 ft. long,\nwe there completed our preparations, and finally steamed away up the\nAlto Paraguay, proudly flying the Bolivian flag of red, yellow, and\ngreen. As a correct plan of the river had to be drawn, the steamer only\ntravelled by day, when we were able to admire the grandeur of the\nscenery, which daily grew wilder as the mountains vied with each other\nin lifting their rugged peaks toward heaven. From time to time we\npassed one of the numerous islands the Paraguay is noted for. These are\nclothed with such luxuriant vegetation that nothing less than an army\nof men with axes could penetrate them. The land is one great, wild,\nuntidy, luxuriant hot-house, \"built by nature for herself.\" The puma,\njaguar and wildcat are here at home, besides the anaconda and boa\nconstrictor, which grow to enormous lengths. The Yaci Ret\u00e1, or Island\nof the Moon, is the ideal haunt of the jaguar, and as we passed it a\npair of those royal beasts were playing on the shore like two enormous\ncats. As they caught sight of us, one leapt into the mangrove swamp,\nout of sight, and the other took a plunge into the river, only to rise\na few yards distant and receive an explosive bullet in his head. The\nmangrove tree, with its twisting limbs and bright green foliage, grows\nin the warm water and f\u009ctid mud of tropical countries. It is a type of\ndeath, for pestilence hangs round it like a cloud. At early morning\nthis cloud is a very visible one. The peculiarity of the tree is that\nits hanging branches themselves take root, and, nourished by such\nputrid exhalations, it quickly spreads.\n\nThere were also many floating islands of fantastic shape, on which\nbirds rested in graceful pose. We saw the _garza blanca_, the aigrets\nof which are esteemed by royalty and commoner alike, along with other\nbirds new and strange. To several on board who had looked for years on\nnothing but the flat Argentine pampas, this change of scenery was most\nexhilarating, and when one morning the sun rose behind the \"Golden\nMountains,\" and illuminated peak after peak, the effect was glorious.\nSo startlingly grand were some of the colors that our artist more than\nonce said he dare not paint them, as the world would think that his\ncoloring was not true to nature.\n\nMany were the strange sights we saw on the shore. Once we were amused\nat the ludicrous spectacle of a large bird of the stork family, which\nhad built its nest in a tree almost overhanging the river. The nest was\na collection of reeds and feathers, having two holes in the bottom,\nthrough which the legs of the bird were hanging. The feet, suspended\nquite a yard below the nest, made one wonder how the bird could rise\nfrom its sitting position.\n\nEvery sight the traveller sees, however, is not so amusing. As darkness\ncreeps over earth and sky, and the pale moonbeams shed a fitful light,\nit is most pathetic to see on the shore the dead trunk and limbs of a\ntree, in the branches of which has been constructed a rude platform, on\nwhich some dark-minded Indian has reverently lifted the dead body of\nhis comrade. The night wind, stirring the dry bones and whistling\nthrough the empty skull, makes weird music!\n\nThe banks of the stream had gradually come nearer and nearer to us, and\nthe great river, stretching one hundred and fifty miles in width where\nit pours its volume of millions of tons of water into the sea at\nMontevideo, was here a silver ribbon, not half a mile across.\n\nFar be it from me to convey the idea that life in those latitudes is\nEden. The mosquitos and other insects almost drive one mad. The country\nmay truly be called a naturalists' paradise, for butterflies, beetles,\nand creeping things are multitudinous, but the climate, with its damp,\nsickly heat, is wholly unsuited to the Anglo-Saxon. Day after day the\nsun in all his remorseless strength blazes upon the earth, is if\ndesirous of setting the whole world on fire. The thermometer in the\nshade registered 110, 112 and 114 degrees Fahrenheit, and on one or two\nmemorable days 118 degrees. The heat in our little saloon at times rose\nas high as 130 degrees, and the perspiration poured down in streams on\nour almost naked bodies. We seemed to be running right into the brazen\nsun itself.\n\nOne morning the man on the look-out descried deer on the starboard bow,\nand arms were quickly brought out, ready for use. Our French hunter was\njust taking aim when it struck me that the deer moved in a strange way.\nI immediately asked him to desist. Those dark forms in the long grass\nseemed, to my somewhat trained eyes, naked Indians, and as we drew\nnearer to them so it proved, and the man was thankful he had withheld\nhis fire.\n\nAfter steaming for some distance up the river several dug-outs, filled\nwith Guatos Indians, paddled alongside us. An early traveller in those\nhead-waters wrotes of these: \"Some of the smaller tribes were but a\nlittle removed from the wild brutes of their own jungles. The lowest in\nthe scale, perhaps, were the Guatos, who dwell to the north of the Rio\nApa. This tribe consisted of less than one hundred persons, and they\nwere as unapproachable as wild beasts. No other person, Indian or\nforeigner, could ever come near but they would fly and hide in\nimpenetrable jungles. They had no written language of their own, and\nlived like unreasoning animals, without laws or religion.\"\n\nThe Guato Indian seems now to be a tame and inoffensive creature, but\nwell able to strike a bargain in the sale of his dug-out canoes,\nhome-made guitars and other curios. In the wrobbling canoe they are\nvery dexterous, as also in the use of their long bows and arrows; the\nlatter have points of sharpened bone. When hungry, they hunt or fish.\nWhen thirsty, they drink from the river; and if they wish clothing,\nwild cotton grows in abundance.\n\nThese Indians, living, as they do, along the banks of the river and\nstreams, have recently been frequently visited by the white man on his\npassage along those natural highways. It is, therefore superfluous for\nme to add that they are now correspondingly demoralized. It is a most\nhumiliating fact that just in proportion as the paleface advances into\nlands hitherto given up to the Indian so those races sink. This\ndegeneration showed itself strikingly among the Guatos in their\ninordinate desire for _cachaca_, or \"firewater.\" Although extremely\ncautious and wary in their exchanges to us, refusing to barter a bow\nand arrows for a shirt, yet, for a bottle of cachaca, they would gladly\nhave given even one of their canoes. These _ketchiveyos_, twenty or\ntwenty-five feet long by about twenty inches wide, they hollow from the\ntrunk of the cedar, or _lapacho_ tree. This is done with great labor\nand skill; yet, as I have said, they were boisterously eager to\nexchange this week's work for that which they knew would lead them to\nfight and kill one another.\n\nAs a mark of special favor, the chief invited me to their little\nvillage, a few miles distant. Stepping into one of their canoes--a\nlarge, very narrow boat, made of one tree-trunk hollowed out by fire--I\nwas quickly paddled by three naked Indians up a narrow creek, which was\nalmost covered with lotus. The savages, standing in the canoe, worked\nthe paddles with a grace and elegance which the civilized man would\nfail to acquire, and the narrow craft shot through the water at great\nspeed. The chief sat in silence at the stern. I occupied a palm-fibre\nmat spread for me amidships. The very few words of Portuguese my\ncompanions spoke or understood rendered conversation difficult, so the\nstillness was broken only by the gentle splash of the paddles. On each\nside the dense forest seemed absolutely impenetrable, but we at last\narrived at an opening. As we drew ashore I noticed that an Indian path\nled directly inland.\n\nLeaving our dug-out moored with a fibre rope to a large mangrove tree,\nwe started to thread our way through the forest, and finally reached a\nclearing. Here we came upon a crowd of almost naked and extremely\ndejected-looking women. Many of these, catching sight of me, sped into\nthe jungle like frightened deer. The chief's wife, however, at a word\nfrom him, received me kindly, and after accepting a brass necklace with\nevident pleasure, showed herself very affable. Poor lost Guatos! Their\ndejected countenances, miserable grass huts, alive with vermin, and\ntheir extreme poverty, were most touching. Inhabiting, as they do, one\nof the hottest and dampest places on the earth's surface, where\nmosquitos are numberless, the wonder is that they exist at all. Truly,\nman is a strange being, who can adapt himself to equatorial heat or\npolar frigidity. The Guatos' chief business in life seemed to consist\nin sitting on fibre mats spread on the ground, and driving away the\nbloodthirsty mosquitos from their bare backs. For this they use a fan\nof their own manufacture, made from wild cotton, which there seems to\nabound. Writing of mosquitos, let me say these Indian specimens were a\nterror to us all. What numbers we killed! I could write this account in\ntheir blood. It was _my_ blood, though--before they got it! Men who\nhunt the tiger in cool bravery boiled with indignation before these\nawful pests, which stabbed and stung with marvellous persistency, and\ndisturbed\n the solitude of nature with their incessant humming. I write the\nword _incessant_ advisedly, for I learned that there are several kinds\nof mosquitos. Some work by day and others by night. Naturalists tell us\nthat only the female mosquito bites. Did they take a particular liking\nto us because we were all males?\n\nSome of the Indians paint their naked bodies in squares, generally with\nred and black pigment. Their huts were in some cases large, but very\npoorly constructed. When any members of the tribe are taken sick they\nare supposed to be \"possessed\" by a stronger evil power, and the\nsickness is \"starved out.\" When the malady flies away the life\ngenerally accompanies it. The dead are buried under the earth inside\nthe huts, and in some of the dwellings graves are quite numerous. This\ncustom of interior burial has probably been adopted because the wild\nanimals of the forest would otherwise eat the corpse. Horrible to\nrelate, their own half-wild dogs sometimes devour the dead, though an\nolder member of the tribe is generally left home to mount guard.\n\nSeeing by the numerous gourds scattered around that they were drinking\n_chicha_, I solicited some, being anxious to taste the beverage which\nhad been used so many centuries before by the old Incas. The wife of\nthe chief immediately tore off a branch of the feather palm growing\nbeside her, and, certainly within a minute, made a basket, into which\nshe placed a small gourd. Going to the other side of the clearing, she\ncommenced, with the agility of a monkey, to ascend a long sapling which\nhad been laid in a slanting position against a tall palm tree. The\nlong, graceful leaves of this cabbage palm had been torn open, and the\nheart thus left to ferment. From the hollow cabbage the woman filled\nthe gourd, and lowered it to me by a fibre rope. The liquid I found to\nbe thick and milky, and the taste not unlike cider.\n\nPrescott tells us that Atahuallpa, the Peruvian monarch, came to see\nthe conqueror, Pizarro, \"quaffing chicha from golden goblets borne by\nhis attendants.\" [Footnote: Este Embajador traia servicio de Senor, i\ncinco o seis Vasos de Oro fino, con que bebia, i con ellos daba a beber\na los Espanoles de la chicha que traia.\"--Xerez.] Golden goblets did\nnot mean much to King Atahuallpa, however, for his palace of five\nhundred different apartments is said to have been tiled with beaten\ngold.\n\nIn these Guato Indians I observed a marked difference to any others I\nhad visited, in that they permitted the hair to grow on their faces.\nThe chief was of quite patriarchal aspect, with full beard and mild,\nintelligent-looking eyes. The savages inhabiting the Chaco consider\nthis custom extremely \"dirty.\"\n\nBefore leaving these people I procured some of their bows and arrows,\nand also several cleverly woven palm mats and cotton fans.\n\nSome liquor our cook gave away had been taken out by the braves to\ntheir women in another encampment. These spirits had so inflamed the\notherwise retiring, modest females that they, with the men, returned to\nthe steamer, clamoring for more. All the stores, along with some\nliquors we carried, were under my care, and I kept them securely locked\nup, but in my absence at the Indian camp the store-room had been broken\nopen, and our men and the Indians--men and women--had drunk long and\ndeep. A scene like Bedlam, or Dante's \"Inferno,\" was taking place when\nI returned. Willing as they were to listen to my counsel and admit that\nI was certainly a great white teacher, with superior wisdom, on this\nlove for liquor and its debasing consequences they would hear no words.\nThe women and girls, like the men, would clamor for the raw alcohol,\nand gulp it down in long draughts. When ardent spirits are more sought\nafter by women and girls than are beads and looking-glasses it surely\nshows a terribly depraved taste. Even the chattering monkeys in the\ntrees overhead would spurn the poison and eagerly clutch the bright\ntrinket. Perhaps the looking-glasses I gave the poor females would,\nafter the orgies were over, serve to show them that their beauty was\nnot increased by this beastly carousal, and thus be a means of\nblessing. It may be asked, Can the savage be possessed of pride and of\nself-esteem? I unhesitatingly answer yes, as I have had abundant\nopportunity of seeing. They will strut with peacock pride when wearing\na specially gaudy-colored headdress, although that may be their only\narticle of attire.\n\nHaving on board far more salt than we ourselves needed, I was enabled\nto generously distribute much of that invaluable commodity among them.\nThat also, working in a different way, might be a means of restoring\nthem to a normal soundness of mind after we left.\n\nPoor lost creatures! For this draught of the white man's poison, far\nmore terrible to them than the deadly nightshade of their forests, more\ndangerous than the venom of the loathsome serpent gliding across their\npath, they are willing to sell body or soul. Soul, did I say? They have\nnever heard of that. To them, so far as I could ascertain, a future\nlife is unknown. The explorer has penetrated some little way into their\ndark forests in search of rubber, or anything else which it would pay\nto exploit, but the missionary of the Cross has never sought to\nillumine their darker minds. They live their little day and go out into\nthe unknown unconscious of the fact that One called Jesus, who was the\nIncarnate God, died to redeem them. As a traveller, I have often\nwondered why men should be willing to pay me hundreds of dollars to\nexplore those regions for ultimate worldly gain, and none should ever\noffer to employ me in proclaiming the greatest wonder of all the\nages--the story of Calvary--for eternal gain. After all, are the\nIndians more blind to the future than we are? Yet, strange to say, we\nprofess to believe in the teachings of that One who inculcated the\npractice of laying up treasure in heaven, while they have not even\nheard His name. For love of gain men have been willing to accompany me\nthrough the most deadly fever-breeding morass, or to brave the poisoned\narrows of the lynx-eyed Indian, but few have ever offered to go and\ntell of Him whom they profess to serve.\n\nThe suffocating atmosphere quite precluded the idea of writing, for a\npen, dipped in ink, would dry before reaching the paper, and the latter\nbe saturated with perspiration in a few seconds; so these observations\nwere penned later. So far as I could ascertain, the Romish Church has\nnever touched the Guatos, and, notwithstanding all I have said about\nthem, I unhesitatingly affirm that it is better so. Geo. R. Witte,\nmissionary to Brazil, says: \"With one exception, all the priests with\nwhom I came in contact (when on a journey through Northern Brazil) were\nimmoral, drunken, and ignorant. The tribes who have come under priestly\ncare are decidedly inferior in morals, industry, and order to the\ntribes who refuse to have anything to do with the whites. The Charentes\nand Apinages have been, for years, under the care of Catholic\nfriars--this is the way I found them: both men and women walk about\nnaked.\"\n\n\"We heard not one contradiction of the general testimony that the\npeople who were not under the influence of the Roman Catholic Church as\nit is in S. America were better morally than those who were.\"\n[Footnote: Robert E. Speer, \"Missions in South America.\"]\n\nIn Christendom organs peal out the anthems of Divine love, and\nwell-dressed worshippers chant in harmonious unison, \"Lord, incline our\nhearts to keep Thy law.\" That law says: \"Thou shalt love thy neighbor\nas thyself.\" To the question: \"Who is my neighbor?\" the Divine voice\nanswers: \"A certain man.\" May he not be one of these neglected Indians?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nARRIVAL AT THE LAKE.\n\n  \"It sleeps among a hundred hills\n   Where no man ever trod,\n  And only Nature's music fills\n   The silences of God.\"\n\n\nAfter going about two thousand three hundred miles up this serpentine\nriver, we discovered the entrance to the lake. Many had been the\nconjectures and counsels of would-be advisers when we started. Some\nsaid that there was no entrance to the lake from the river; others,\nthat there was not sufficient depth of water for the steamer to pass\nthrough. On our port bow rose frowning rocks of forbidding aspect.\nDrawing nearer, we noticed, with mingled feelings of curiosity and\nwonder, that the face of these rocks was rudely carved by unmistakably\nIndian art. There were portrayed a rising sun, tigers' feet, birds'\nfeet, etc. Why were they thus carved? Are those rocks the everlasting\nrecorders of some old history--some deed of Indian daring in days of\nold? What these hieroglyphics signify we may never know; the workman is\ngone, and his stone hammer is buried with him. To twentieth century\ncivilization his carving tells nothing. No Indians inhabit the shores\nof the lake now, perhaps because of this \"writing on the wall.\"\n\nWith the leadsman in his place we slowly and cautiously entered the\nunexplored lake, and thus for the first time in the world's history its\nwaters were ploughed by a steamer's keel.\n\nSoon after our arrival the different guards were told off for the\nsilent watches. Night shut in upon the lake, and all nature slept. The\nonly lights on shore were those of the fire-flies as they danced\nthrough the myrtle boughs. The stars in the heavens twinkled above us.\nNow and again an alligator thrust his huge, ugly nose out of the water\nand yawned, thus disturbing for the moment its placid surface, which\nthe pale moon illuminated with an ethereal light; otherwise stillness\nreigned, or, rather, a calm mysterious peace which was deep and\nprofound. Somehow, the feeling crept upon us that we had become\ndetached from the world, though yet we lived. Afterwards, when the\ntigers [Footnote: Jaguars are invariably called tigers in South\nAmerica.] on shore had scented our presence, sleep was often broken by\nangry roars coming from the beach, near which we lay at anchor; but\nbefore dawn our noisy visitors always departed, leaving only their\nfootprints. Early next morning, while the green moon was still shining\n(the color of this heavenly orb perplexed us, it was a pure bottle\ngreen), each one arose to his work. This was no pleasure excursion, and\nduties, many and arduous, lay before the explorers. The hunter sallied\nforth with his gun, and returned laden with pheasant and mountain hen,\nand over his shoulder a fine duck, which, unfortunately, however, had\nalready begun to smell--the heat was so intense. In his wanderings he\nhad come upon a huge tapir, half eaten by a tiger, and saw footprints\nof that lord of the forest in all directions.\n\nLet me here say, that to our hunter we were indebted for many a good\ndish, and when not after game he lured from the depths of the lake many\na fine perch or turbot. Fishing is an art in which I am not very\nskilled, but one evening I borrowed his line. After a few moments'\nwaiting I had a \"bite,\" and commenced to haul in my catch, which\nstruggled, kicked, and pulled until I shouted for help. My fish was one\nof our Paraguayan sailors, who for sport had slipped down into the\nwater on the other side of the steamer, and, diving to my cord, had\ngrasped it with both hands. Not every fisher catches a man!\n\nLake Gaiba is a stretch of water ten miles long, with a narrow mouth\nopening into the River Paraguay. The lake is surrounded by mountains,\nclad in luxuriant verdure on the Bolivian side, and standing out in\nbare, rugged lines on the Brazilian side. The boundary of the two\ncountries cuts the water into two unequal halves. The most prominent of\nthe mountains are now marked upon the exhaustive chart drawn out. Their\nchristening has been a tardy one, for who can tell what ages have\npassed since they first came into being? Looking at Mount Ray, the\nhighest of these peaks, at sunset, the eye is startled by the strange\nhues and rich tints there reflected. Frequently we asked ourselves: \"Is\nthat the sun's radiance, or are those rocks the fabled 'Cliffs of Opal'\nmen have searched for in vain?\" We often sat in a wonder of delight\ngazing at the scene, until the sun sank out of sight, taking the \"opal\ncliffs\" with it, and leaving us only with the dream.\n\nOn the shores of the lake the beach is covered with golden sand and\nstudded with innumerable little stones, clear as crystal, which\nscintillate with all the colors of the rainbow. Among these pebbles I\nfound several arrowheads of jasper. In other parts the primeval forest\ncreeps down to the very margin, and the tree-roots bathe in the warm\nwaters. Looking across the quivering heat-haze, the eye rests upon\npalms of many varieties, and giant trees covered with orchids and\nparasites, the sight of which would completely intoxicate the\nhorticulturist. Butterflies, gorgeous in all the colors of the rainbow,\nflit from flower to flower; and monkeys, with curiously human faces,\nstare at the stranger from the tree-tops. White cotton trees,\ntamarinds, and strangely shaped fruits grow everywhere, and round about\nall are entwined festoons of trailing creepers, or the loveliest of\n_scarlet_ mistletoe, in which humming-birds build their nests. Blue\nmacaws, parrots, and a thousand other birds fly to and fro, and the\nblack fire-bird darts across the sky, making lightning with every\nflutter of his wings, which, underneath, are painted a bright, vivid\nred. Serpents of all colors and sizes creep silently in the\nundergrowth, or hang from the branches of the trees, their emerald eyes\never on the alert; and the broad-winged eagle soars above all,\nconscious of his majesty.\n\nHere and there the coast is broken by silent streams flowing into the\nlake from the unexplored regions beyond. These _riachos_ are covered\nwith lotus leaves and flowers, and also the Victoria Regia in all its\ngorgeous beauty. Papyrusa, reeds and aquatic plants of all descriptions\ngrow on the banks of the streams, making a home for the white stork or\nwhiter _garza_. Looking into the clear warm waters you see little\ngolden and red fishes, and on the bed of the stream shells of pearl.\n\nOn the south side of the Gaiba, at the foot of the mountains, the beach\nslopes gently down, and is covered with golden sand, in which crystals\nsparkle as though set in fine gold by some cunning workman. A Workman,\nyes--but not of earth, for nature is here untouched, unspoilt as yet by\nman, and the traveller can look right away from it to its Creator.\n\nDuring our stay in these regions the courses of several of the larger\nstreams were traced for some distance. On the Brazilian side there was\na river up which we steamed. Not being acquainted with the channel, we\nhad the misfortune to stick for two days on a tosca reef, which\nextended a distance of sixty-five feet. [Footnote: The finding of tosca\nat this point confirms the extent inland of the ancient Pampean\nsea.--Colonel Church, in \"Proceedings of the Royal Geographical\nSociety,\" January, 1902.] During this time, a curious phenomenon\npresented itself to our notice. In one day we clearly saw the river\nflow for six hours to the north-west, and for another six hours to the\nsouth-east. This, of course, proved to us that the river's course\ndepends on the wind.\n\nOn the bank, right in front of where we lay, was a gnarled old tree,\nwhich seemed to be the home, or parliament house, of all the paroquets\nin the neighborhood. Scores of them kept up an incessant chatter the\nwhole time. In the tree were two or three hanging nests, looking like\nlarge sacks suspended from the boughs. Ten or twenty birds lay in the\nsame nest, and you might find in them, at the one time, eggs just laid,\nbirds recently hatched, and others ready to fly. Sitting and rearing go\non concurrently. I procured a tame pair of this lovely breed of\nparoquets from the Guatos. Their prevailing color was emerald green,\nwhile the wings and tail were made up of tints of orange, scarlet, and\nblue, and around the back of the bird was a golden sheen rarely found\neven in equatorial specimens. Whether the bird is known to\nornithologists or not I cannot tell. One night our camp was pitched\nnear an anthill, inhabited by innumerable millions of those insects.\nNone of us slept well, for, although our hammocks were slung, as we\nthought, away from them, they troubled us much. What was my horror next\nmorning when the sun, instead of lighting up the rainbow tints of my\nbirds, showed only a black moving mass of ants! My parrots had\nliterally been eaten alive by them!\n\nBut I am wandering on and the ship is still aground on the reef! After\nmuch hauling and pulling and breaking of cables, she at last was got\noff into deep water. We had not proceeded far, however, when another\nshock made the vessel quiver. Were we aground again? No, the steamer\nhad simply pushed a lazy alligator out of its way, and he resented the\ninsult by a diabolical scowl at us.\n\nContinuing on our way, we entered another body of hitherto unexplored\nwater, a fairy spot, covered with floating islands of lotus, anchored\nwith aquatic cables and surrounded by palm groves. On the shallow,\npebbly shore might be seen, here and there, scarlet flamingoes. These\nbeautiful birds stood on one leg, knee deep, dreaming of their\nenchanted home. Truly it is a perfect paradise, but it is almost as\ninaccessible as the Paradise which we all seek. What long-lost\ncivilizations have ruled these now deserted solitudes? Penetrate into\nthe dark, dank forest, as I have done, and ask the question. The only\nanswer is the howling of the monkeys and the screaming of the\ncockatoos. You may start when you distinctly hear a bell tolling, but\nit is no call to worship in some stately old Inca temple with its\ngolden sun and silver moon as deities. It is the wonderful bell-bird,\nwhich can make itself heard three miles away, but it is found only\nwhere man is not. Ruins of the old Incan and older pre-Incan\ncivilizations are come across, covered now with dense jungle, but their\nbuilders have disappeared. To have left behind them until this day\nruins which rank with the pyramids for extent, and Karnak for grandeur,\nproves their intelligence.\n\nThe peculiar rasping noise you now hear in the undergrowth has nothing\nto do with busy civilization--'tis only the rattlesnake drawing his\nslimy length among the dead leaves or tangled reeds. No, all that is\npast, and this is an old new world indeed, and romance must not rob you\nof self possession, for the rattle means that in the encounter either\nhe dies--or you.\n\nMeanwhile the work on shore progressed. Paths were cut in different\ndirections and the wonders of nature laid bare. The ring of the axe and\nthe sound of falling trees marked the commencement of civilization in\nthose far-off regions. Ever and anon a loud report rang out from the\nwoods, for it might almost be said that the men worked with the axe in\none hand and a rifle in the other. Once they started a giant tapir\ntaking his afternoon snooze. The beast lazily got up and made off, but\nnot before he had turned his piercing eyes on the intruders, as though\nwondering what new animals they were. Surely this was his first sight\nof the \"lords of creation,\" and probably his last, for a bullet quickly\nwhizzed after him. Another day the men shot a puma searching for its\nprey, and numerous were the birds, beasts and reptiles that fell before\nour arms. The very venomous _jaracuc\u00fa_, a snake eight to twelve feet\nlong, having a double row of teeth in each jaw, is quite common here.\n\nThe forests are full of birds and beasts in infinite variety, as also\nof those creatures which seem neither bird nor beast. There are large\nblack howling monkeys, and little black-faced ones with prehensile\ntails, by means of which they swing in mid-air or jump from tree to\ntree in sheer lightness of heart. There is also the sloth, which, as\nits name implies, is painfully deliberate in its motions. Were I a\nScotchman I should say that \"I dinna think that in a' nature there is a\nmair curiouser cratur.\" Sidney Smith's summary of this strange animal\nis that it moves suspended, rests suspended, sleeps suspended, and\npasses its whole life in suspense. This latter state may also aptly\ndescribe the condition of the traveller in those regions; for man,\nbrave though he may be, does not relish a _vis-\u00e1-vis_ with the enormous\nanaconda, also to be seen there at most inconvenient times. I was able\nto procure the skins of two of these giant serpents.\n\nThe leader of the \"forest gang,\" a Paraguayan, wore round his neck a\ncotton scapular bought from the priest before he started on the\nexpedition. This was supposed to save him from all dangers, seen and\nunseen. Poor man, he was a good Roman Catholic, and often counted his\nbeads, but he was an inveterate liar and thief.\n\nTaking into consideration the wild country, and the adventurous mission\nwhich had brought us together, our men were not at all a bad class. One\nof them, however, a black Brazilian, used to boast at times that _he\nhad killed his father while he slept._ In the quiet of the evening hour\nhe would relate the story with unnatural gusto.\n\nWe generally slept on the deck of the steamer, each under a thin\nnetting, while the millions of mosquitos buzzed outside--and inside\nwhen they could steal a march. Mosquitos? Why _\"mosquitos \u00e1 la Paris\"_\nwas one of the items on our menu one day. The course was not altogether\nan imaginary one either. Having the good fortune to possess candles, I\nused sometimes to read under my gauzy canopy. This would soon become so\nblack with insects of all descriptions as to shut out from my sight the\noutside world.\n\nAfter carefully surveying the Bolivian shore, we fixed upon a site for\nthe future port and town. [Footnote: The latitude of Port Quijarro is\n17\u00b0 47' 35\", and the longitude, west of Greenwich, 57\u00b0 44' 38\". Height\nabove the sea, 558 feet.] Planting a hugh palm in the ground, with a\nlong bamboo nailed to the crown, we then solemnly unfurled the Bolivian\nflag. This had been made expressly for the expedition by the hands of\nSe\u00f1ora Quijarro, wife of the Bolivian minister residing in Buenos\nAyres. As the sun for the first time shone upon the brilliant colors of\nthe flag, nature's stillness was broken by a good old English hurrah,\nwhile the hunter and several others discharged their arms in the air,\nuntil the parrots and monkeys in the neighborhood must have wondered\n(or is wondering only reserved for civilized man?) what new thing had\ncome to pass. There we, a small company of men in nature's solitudes,\neach signed his name to the _Act of Foundation_ of a town, which in all\nprobability will mean a new era for Bolivia. We fully demonstrated the\nfact that Puerto Quijarro will be an ideal port, through which the\nwhole commerce of south-eastern Bolivia can to advantage pass.\n\nNext day the Secretary drew out four copies of this _Act_. One was for\nHis Excellency General Pando, President of the Bolivian Republic;\nanother for the Mayor of Holy Cross, the nearest Bolivian town, 350\nmiles distant; a third for Se\u00f1or Quijarro; while the fourth was\nenclosed in a stone bottle and buried at the foot of the flagstaff,\nthere to await the erection of the first building. Thus a commencement\nhas been made; the lake and shores are now explored. The work has been\nthoroughly done, and the sweat of the brow was not stinted, for the\nbirds of the air hovered around the theodolite, even on the top of the\nhighest adjacent mountain. [Footnote: The opening of the country must,\nfrom its geographical situation, be productive of political\nconsequences of the first magnitude to South America.--Report of the\nRoyal Geographical Society, January, 1902.]\n\nAt last, this work over and an exhaustive chart of the lake drawn up,\ntools and tents collected, specimens of soil, stones, iron, etc.,\npacked and labelled, we prepared for departure.\n\nThe weather had been exceptionally warm and we had all suffered much\nfrom the sun's vertical rays, but towards the end of our stay the heat\nwas sweltering--killing! The sun was not confined to one spot in the\nheavens, as in more temperate climes; here he filled all the sky, and\nhe scorched us pitilessly! Only at early morning, when the eastern sky\nblushed with warm gold and rose tints, or at even, when the great\nliquid ball of fire dropped behind the distant violet-colored hills,\ncould you locate him. Does the Indian worship this awful majesty out of\nfear, as the Chinaman worships the devil?\n\nNext morning dawned still and portentous. Not a zephyr breeze stirred\nthe leaves of the trees. The sweltering heat turned to a suffocating\none. As the morning dragged on we found it more and more difficult to\nbreathe; there seemed to be nothing to inflate our lungs. By afternoon\nwe stared helplessly at each other and gasped as we lay simmering on\nthe deck. Were we to be asphyxiated there after all? I had known as\nmany as two hundred a day to die in one South American city from this\ncause. Surely mortal men never went through such awful, airless heat as\nthis and lived. We had been permitted to discover the lake, and if the\nworld heard of our death, would that flippant remark be used again, as\nwith previous explorers, \"To make omelettes eggs must be broken\"?\n\nHowever, we were not to _melt_. Towards evening the barometer, which\nhad been falling all day, went lower and lower. All creation was still.\nNot a sound broke the awful quiet; only in our ears there seemed to be\nan unnatural singing which was painful, and we closed our eyes in\nweariness, for the sun seemed to have blistered the very eyeballs. When\nwe mustered up sufficient energy to turn our aching eyes to the\nheavens, we saw black storm-clouds piling themselves one above another,\nand hope, which \"springs eternal in the human breast,\" saw in them our\nhope, our salvation.\n\nThe fall of the barometer, and the howling of the monkeys on shore\nalso, warned us of the approaching tempest, so we prepared for\nemergencies by securing the vessel fore and aft under the lee of a\nrugged _sierra_ before the storm broke--and break it did in all its\nmight.\n\nSuddenly the wind swept down upon us with irresistible fury, and we\nbreathed--we lived again. So terrific was the sweep that giant trees,\nwhich had braved a century's storms, fell to the earth with a crash.\nThe hurricane was truly fearful. Soon the waters of the lake were\nlashed into foam. Great drops of rain fell in blinding torrents, and\nevery fresh roll of thunder seemed to make the mountains tremble, while\nthe lightning cleft asunder giant trees at one mighty stroke.\n\n\n[Illustration: VICTORIA REGIA, THE WORLD'S LARGEST FLOWER]\n\n\nIn the old legends of the Inca, read on the \"Quipus,\" we find that\nPachacamac and Viracocha, the highest gods, placed in the heavens\n\"Nusta,\" a royal princess, armed with a pitcher of water, which she was\nto pour over the earth whenever it was needed. When the rain was\naccompanied by thunder, lightning, and wind, the Indians believed that\nthe maiden's royal brother was teasing her, and trying to wrest the\npitcher from her hand. Nusta must indeed have been fearfully teased\nthat night, for the lightning of her eyes shot athwart the heavens and\nthe sky was rent in flame.\n\nOften in those latitudes no rain falls for long months, but when once\nthe clouds open the earth is deluged! Weeks pass, and the zephyr\nbreezes scarcely move the leaves of the trees, but in those days of\ncalm the wind stores up his forces for a mighty storm. On this dark,\nfearful night he blew his fiercest blasts. The wild beast was\naffrighted from his lair and rushed down with a moan, or the mountain\neagle screamed out a wail, indistinctly heard through the moaning\nsounds. During the whole night, which was black as wickedness, the wind\nhowled in mournful cadence, or went sobbing along the sand. As the\nhours wore on we seemed to hear, in every shriek of the blast, the\nstrange tongue of some long-departed Indian brave, wailing for his\nhappy hunting-grounds, now invaded by the paleface. Coats and rugs,\nthat had not for many months been unpacked, were brought out, only in\nsome cases to be blown from us, for the wind seemed to try his hardest\nto impede our departure. The rain soaked us through and through. Mists\nrose from the earth, and mists came down from above. Next morning the\nwhole face of nature was changed.\n\nAfter the violence of the tempest abated we cast off the ropes and\nturned the prow of our little vessel civilizationward. When we entered\nthe lake the great golden sun gave us a warm welcome, now, at our\nfarewell, he refused to shine. The rainy season had commenced, but,\nfortunately for us, after the work of exploration was done. This\nweather continued--day after day clouds and rain. Down the rugged,\ntime-worn face of the mountains foaming streams rushed and poured, and\nthis was our last view--a good-bye of copious tears! Thus we saw the\nlake in sunshine and storm, in light and darkness. It had been our aim\nand ambition to reach it, and we rejoiced in its discovery. Remembering\nthat \"we were the first who ever burst into that silent sea,\" we seemed\nto form part of it, and its varying moods only endeared it to us the\nmore. In mining parlance, we had staked out our claims there, for--\n\n  \"O'er no sweeter lake shall morning break,\n   Or noon cloud sail;\n  No fairer face than this shall take\n   The sunset's golden veil.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n_PIEDRA BLANCA_.\n\n\nIn due time we again reached Piedra Blanca, and, notwithstanding our\nragged, thorn-torn garments, felt we were once more joined on to the\nworld.\n\nThe bubonic plague had broken out farther down the country, steamboats\nwere at a standstill, so we had to wait a passage down the river.\nPiedra Blanca is an interesting little spot. One evening a tired mule\nbrought in the postman from the next town, Holy Joseph. He had been\neight days on the journey. Another evening a string of dusty mules\narrived, bringing loads of rubber and cocoa. They had been five months\non the way.\n\nWhen the Chiquitana women go down to the bay for water, with their\npitchers poised on their heads, the sight is very picturesque.\nSometimes a little boy will step into one of the giant, traylike leaves\nof the Victoria Regia, which, thus transformed into a fairy boat, he\nwill paddle about the quiet bay.\n\nThe village is built on the edge of the virgin forest, where the red\nman, with his stone hatchet, wanders in wild freedom. It contains,\nperhaps, a hundred inhabitants, chiefly civilized Chiquitanos Indians.\nThere is here a customs house, and a regular trade in rubber, which is\nbrought in from the interior on mule-back, a journey which often takes\nfrom three to four months.\n\nOne evening during our stay two men were forcibly brought into the\nvillage, having been caught in the act of killing a cow which they had\nstolen. These men were immediately thrown into the prison, a small,\ndark, palm-built hut. Next morning, ere the sun arose, their feet were\nthrust into the stocks, and a man armed with a long hide whip thrashed\nthem until the blood flowed in streamlets down their bare backs! What\nstruck us as being delicately thoughtful was that while the whipping\nproceeded another official tried his best to drown their piercing\nshrieks by blowing an old trumpet at its highest pitch!\n\nThe women, although boasting only one loose white garment, walk with\nthe air and grace of queens, or as though pure Inca blood ran in their\nveins. Their only adornment is a necklace of red corals and a few\ninches of red or blue ribbon entwined in their long raven-black hair,\nwhich hangs down to the waist in two plaits. Their houses are\npalm-walled, with a roof of palm-leaves, through which the rain pours\nand the sun shines. Their chairs are logs of wood, and their beds are\nstring hammocks. Their wants are few, as there are no electric-lighted\nstore windows to tempt them. Let us leave them in their primitive\nsimplicity. Their little, delicately-shaped feet are prettier without\nshoes and stockings, and their plaited hair without Parisian hats and\nEuropean tinsel. They neither read nor write, and therefore cannot\ndiscuss politics. Women's rights they have never heard of. Their\nbright-eyed, naked little children play in the mud or dust round the\nhouse, and the sun turns their already bronze-colored bodies into a\ndarker tint; but the Chiquitana woman has never seen a white baby, and\nknows nothing of its beauty, so is more than satisfied with her own.\nThe Indian child does not suffer from teething, for all have a small\nwooden image tied round the neck, and the little one, because of this,\nis supposed to be saved from all baby ailments! Their husbands and sons\nleave them for months while they go into the interior for rubber or\ncocoa, and when one comes back, riding on his bullock or mule, he is\naffectionately but silently received. The Chiquitano seldom speaks, and\nin this respect he is utterly unlike the Brazilian. The women differ\nfrom our mothers and sisters and wives, for they (the Chiquitanas) have\nnothing to say. After all, ours are best, and a headache is often\npreferable to companioning with the dumb. I unhesitatingly say, give me\nthe music, even if I have to suffer the consequences.\n\nThe waiting-time was employed by our hunter in his favorite sport. One\nday he shot a huge alligator which was disporting itself in the water\nsome five hundred yards from the shore. Taking a strong rope, we went\nout in an Indian dug-out to tow it to land. As my friend was the more\ndexterous in the use of the paddle, he managed the canoe, and I, with\nmuch difficulty, fixed the rope by a noose to the monster's tail. When\nthe towing, however, commenced, the beast seemed to regain his life. He\ndived and struggled for freedom until the water was lashed into foam.\nHe thrust his mighty head out of the water and opened his jaws as\nthough warning us he could crush the frail dug-out with one snap. Being\nanxious to obtain his hide, and momentarily expecting his death, for he\nwas mortally wounded, I held on to the rope with grim persistency. He\ndived under the boat and lifted it high, but as his ugly nose came out\non the other side the canoe regained its position in the water. He then\ncommenced to tow us, but, refusing to obey the helm, took us to all\npoints of the compass. After an exciting cruise the alligator gave a\ndeep dive and the rope broke, giving him his liberty again. On leaving\nus he gave what Waterton describes as \"a long-suppressed, shuddering\nsigh, so loud and so peculiar that it can be heard a mile.\" The bullet\nhad entered the alligator's head, but next morning we saw he was still\nalive and able to \"paddle his own canoe.\" The reader may be surprised\nto learn that these repulsive reptiles lay an egg with a pure white\nshell, fair to look upon, and that the egg is no larger than a hen's.\n\nOne day I was called to see a dead man for whom a kind of wake was\nbeing held. He was lying in state in a grass-built hovel, and raised up\nfrom the mud floor on two packing-cases of suspiciously British origin.\nHis hard Indian face was softened in death, but the observant eye could\ntrace a stoical resignation in the features. Several men and women were\nsitting around the corpse counting their beads and drinking native\nspirits, with a dim, hazy belief that that was the right thing to do.\nThey had given up their own heathen customs, and, being civilized,\nmust, of course, be Roman Catholics. They were \"reduced,\" as Holy\nMother Church calls it, long ago, and, of course, believe that\ncivilization and Roman Catholicism are synonymous terms. Poor souls!\nHow they stared and wondered when they that morning heard for the first\ntime the story of Jesus, who tasted death for us that we might live. To\nthose in the home lands this is an old story, but do they who preach it\nor listen to it realize that to millions it is still the newest thing\nunder the sun?\n\nNext day the man was quietly carried away to the little forest clearing\nreserved for the departed, where a few wooden crosses lift their heads\namong the tangled growth. Some of these crosses have four rudely carved\nletters on them, which you decipher as I. N. R. I. The Indian cannot\ntell you their meaning, but he knows they have something to do with his\nnew religion.\n\nAs far as I could ascertain, the departed had no relatives. One after\nanother had been taken from him, and now he had gone, for \"when he is\nforsaken, withered and shaken, what can an old man do but die?\"--it is\nthe end of all flesh. Poor man! Had he been able to retain even a spark\nof life until Holy Week, he might then have been saved from purgatory.\nRome teaches that on two days in the year--Holy Thursday and Corpus\nChristi--the gates of heaven are unguarded, because, they say, _God is\ndead_. All people who die on those days go straight to heaven, however\nbad they may have been! At no other time is that gate open, and every\nsoul must pass through the torments of purgatory.\n\nA missionary in Oruru wrote: \"The Thursday and Friday of so-called Holy\nWeek, when Christ's image lay in a coffin and was carried through the\nstreets, _God being dead_, was the time for robberies, and some one\ncame to steal from us, but only got about fifty dollars' worth of\nbuilding material. Holy Week terminates with the 'Saturday of Glory,'\nwhen spirits are drunk till there is not a dram left in the\ndrink-shops, which frequently bear such names as 'The Saviour of the\nWorld,' 'The Grace of God,' 'The Fountain of Our Lady,' etc. The poor\ndeluded Romanists have a holiday on that day over the tragic end of\nJudas. A life-size representation of the betrayer is suspended high in\nthe air in front of the caf\u00e9s. At ten a.m. the church bells begin to\nring, and this is the signal for lighting the fuse. Then, with a flash\nand a bang, every vestige of the effigy has disappeared! At night, if\nthe town is large enough to afford a theatre, the crowds wend their way\nthither. This place of very questionable amusement will often bear the\nhigh-sounding name, _Theatre of the Holy Ghost!_\"\n\nThere is no church or priest in the village of Piedra Blanca. Down on\nthe beach there is a church bell, which the visitor concludes is a\nstart in that direction, but he is told that it is destined for the\ntown of Santa Cruz de la Sierra, three hundred miles inland. The bell\nwas a present to the church by some pious devotee, but the money\ndonated did not provide for its removal inland. This cost the priests\nrefuse to pay, and the Chiquitanos equally refuse to transport it free.\nThere is no resident priest to make them, so there it stays. In the\nmeantime the bell is slung up on three poles. It was solemnly beaten\nwith a stick on Christmas Eve to commemorate the time when the \"Mother\nof Heaven\" gave birth to her child Jesus. In one of the principal\nhouses of the village the scene was most vividly reproduced. A small\narbor was screened off by palm leaves, in which were hung little\ncolored candles. Angels of paper were suspended from the roof, that\nthey might appear to be bending over the Virgin, which was a\nhighly-colored fashion-plate cut from a Parisian journal that somehow\nhad found its way there. The child Jesus appeared to be a Mellin's\nFood-fed infant. Round this fairy scene the youth and beauty of the\nplace danced and drank liberal potations of chicha, the Bolivian\nspirits, until far on into morning, when all retired to their hammocks\nto dream of their goddess and her lovely babe.\n\nAfter this paper Virgin the next most prominent object of worship I saw\nin Piedra Blanca was a saint with a dress of vegetable fibre, long hair\nthat had once adorned a horse's tail, and eyes of pieces of clamshell.\n\nPoor, dark Bolivia! It would be almost an impossible thing to\nexaggerate the low state of religion there. A communication from Sucre\nreads: \"The owners of images of Jesus as a child have been getting\nmasses said for their figures. A band of music is employed, and from\nthe church to the house a procession is formed. A scene of intoxication\nfollows, which only ends when a good number lie drunk before the\nimage--the greater the number the greater the honor to the image?\" The\npeddler of chicha carries around a large stone jar, about a yard in\ndepth. The payment for every drink sold is dropped into the jar of\nliquor, so the last customers get the most \"tasty\" decoction.\n\nNaturally the masses like a religion of license, and are as eager as\nthe priests to uphold it. Read a tale of the persecution of a\nnineteenth century missionary there. Mr. Payne in graphic language\ntells the story:\n\n\"Excommunication was issued. To attend a meeting was special sin, and\nonly pardoned by going on the knees to the bishop. Sermons against us\nwere preached in all the churches. I was accused before the Criminal\nCourt. It was said I carried with me the 'special presence' of the\ndevil, and had blasphemed the Blessed Virgin, and everyone passing\nshould say: 'Maria, Joseph.' One day a crowd collected, and sacristans\nmixed with the multitude, urging them on to 'vengeance on the\nProtestants.' About two p.m. we heard the roar of furious thousands,\nand like a river let loose they rushed down on our house. Paving-stones\nwere quickly torn up, and before the police arrived windows and doors\nwere smashed, and about a thousand voices were crying for blood. We\ncried to the Lord, not expecting to live much longer. The Chief of\nPolice and his men were swept away before the mob, and now the door\nburst in before the huge stones and force used. There were two parties,\none for murder and one for robbery. I was beaten and dragged about,\nwhile the cry went up, 'Death to the Protestant!' The fire was blazing\noutside, as they had lots of kerosene, and with all the forms, chairs,\ntexts, clothes and books the street was a veritable bonfire. Everything\nthey could lay hands on was taken. At this moment the cry arose that\nthe soldiers were coming, and a cavalry regiment charged down the\nstreet, carrying fear into the hearts of the people. A second charge\ncleared the street, and several soldiers rode into the _patio_ slashing\nwith their swords.\"\n\nIn this riot the missionary had goods to the value of one thousand\ndollars burnt, and was himself hauled before the magistrates and, after\na lengthy trial, condemned to _die_ for heresy!\n\nBaronius, a Roman Catholic writer, says: \"The ministry of Peter is\ntwofold--to feed and to kill; for the Lord said, 'Feed My sheep,' and\nhe also heard a voice from heaven saying, 'Kill and eat.'\" Bellarmine\nargues for the necessity of _burning_ heretics. He says: \"Experience\nteaches that there is no other remedy, for the Church has proceeded by\nslow steps, and tried all remedies. First, she only excommunicated.\nThen she added a fine of money, and afterwards exile. Lastly she was\ncompelled to come to the punishment of death. If you threaten a fine of\nmoney, they neither fear God nor regard men, knowing that fools will\nnot be wanting to believe in them, and by whom they may be sustained.\nIf you shut them in prison, or send them into exile, they corrupt those\nnear to them with their words, and those at a distance with their\nbooks. Therefore, the only remedy is to send them betimes into their\nown place.\"\n\nAs this mediaeval sentence against Mr. Payne could hardly be carried\nout in the nineteenth century, he was liberated, but had to leave the\ncountry. He settled in another part of the Republic. In a letter from\nhim now before me as I write he says: \"The priests are circulating all\nmanner of lies, telling the people that we keep images of the Virgin in\norder to scourge them every night. At Colquechaca we were threatened\nwith burning, as it was rumored that our object was to do away with the\nRoman Catholic religion, which would mean a falling off in the\nopportunities for drunkenness.\" So we see he is still persecuted.\n\nThe Rev. A. G. Baker, of the Canadian Baptist Mission, wrote: \"The\nBishop of La Paz has sent a letter to the Minister of Public Worship of\nwhich the following is the substance: 'It is necessary for me to call\nattention to the Protestant meetings being held in this city, which\ncause scandal and alarm throughout the whole district, and which are\ncontrary to the law of Bolivia. Moreover, it is indispensable that we\nprevent the sad results which must follow such teachings, so contrary\nto the true religion. On the other hand, if this is not stopped, _we\nshall see a repetition of the scenes that recently took place in\nCochabamba_.'\" [Footnote: Referring to the sacking and burning of Mr.\nPayne's possessions previously referred to.]\n\nBolivia was one of the last of the Republics to hold out against\n\"liberty of worship,\" but in 1907 this was at last declared. Great\nefforts were made that this law should not be passed.\n\nIn my lectures on this continent I have invariably stated that in South\nAmerica the priest is the real ruler of the country. I append a recent\ndespatch from Washington, which is an account of a massacre of\nrevolutionary soldiers, under most revolting circumstances, committed\nat the instigation of the ecclesiastical authorities: \"The Department\nof State has been informed by the United States Minister at La Paz,\nBolivia, that Col. Pando sent 120 men to Ayopaya. On arriving at the\ntown of Mohoza, the commander demanded a loan of two hundred dollars\nfrom the priest of the town, and one hundred dollars from the mayor.\nThese demands being refused, the priest and the mayor were imprisoned.\nMeanwhile, however, the priest had despatched couriers to the Indian\nvillage, asking that the natives attack Pando's men. A large crowd of\nIndians came, and, in spite of all measures taken to pacify them, the\narms of the soldiers were taken away, the men subjected to revolting\ntreatment, and finally locked inside the church for the night. In the\nmorning the priest, after celebrating the so-called 'mass of agony,'\nallowed the Indians to take out the unfortunate victims, two by two,\nand 103 were deliberately murdered, each pair by different tortures.\nSeventeen escaped death by having departed the day previous on another\nmission.\"\n\nAfter Gen. Pando was elected President of the Republic of Bolivia,\npriestly rule remained as strong as ever. To enter on and retain his\noffice he must perforce submit to Church authority. When in his employ,\nhowever, I openly declared myself a Protestant missionary; and, because\nof exploration work, was made a Bolivian citizen.\n\nIn 1897 it was my great joy to preach the gospel in Ensenada. Many and\nattentive were the listeners as for the first time in their lives they\nwere told of the Man of Calvary who died that they might live. With\nexclamations of wonder they sometimes said: \"What fortunate people we\nare to have heard such words!\" Four men and five women were born again.\nEnsenada, built on a malarial swamp, was reeking with miasma, and the\nhouses were raised on posts about a yard above the slime. I was in\nconsequence stricken with malarial fever. One day a man who had\nattended the meetings came into my room, and, kneeling down, asked the\nLord not to let me suffer, but to take me quickly. After long weeks of\nillness, God, however, raised me up again, and the meetings were\nresumed, when the reason of the priest's non-interference was made\nknown to me. He had been away on a long vacation, and, on his return,\nhearing of my services, he ordered the church bells rung furiously. On\nmy making enquiries why the bells clanged so, I was informed that a\nspecial service was called in the church. At that service a special\ntext was certainly taken, for I was the text. During the course of the\nsermon, the preacher in his fervid eloquence even forbade the people to\nlook at me. After that my residence in the town was most difficult. The\nbarber would not cut my hair, nor would the butcher sell me his meat,\nand I have gone into stores with the money ostentatiously showing in my\nhand only to hear the word, \"_Afuera_!\" (Get out!) When I appeared on\nthe street I was pelted with stones by the men, while the women ran\naway from me with covered faces! It was now a sin to look at me!\n\nI reopened the little hall, however, for public services. It had been\nbadly used and was splashed with mud and filth. The first night men\ncame to the meetings in crowds just to disturb, and one of these shot\nat me, but the bullet only pierced the wall behind. A policeman marched\nin and bade me accompany him to the police station, and on the way\nthither I was severely hurt by missiles which were thrown at me. An\nofficial there severely reprimanded me for thus disturbing the quiet\ntown, and I was ushered in before the judge. That dignified gentleman\nquestioned me as to the object of my meetings. Respectfully answering,\nI said: \"To tell the people how they can be saved from sin.\" Then, as\nbriefly as possible, I unfolded my mission. The man's countenance\nchanged. Surely my words were to him an idle tale--he knew them not.\nAfter cautioning me not to repeat the offence, he gave me my liberty,\nbut requested me to leave the town. Rev. F. Penzotti, of the B. & F. B.\nSociety, was imprisoned in a dungeon for eight long months, so I was\ngrateful for deliverance.\n\nAn acquaintance who was eye-witness to the scene, though himself not a\nChristian, tells the following sad story:\n\n\"Away near the foot of the great Andes, nestling quietly in a fertile\nvalley, shut away, one would think, from all the world beyond, lay the\nvillage of E---. The inhabitants were a quiet, home-loving people, who\ntook life as they found it, and as long as they had food for their\nmouths and clothes for their backs, cared little for anything else. One\nmatter, however, had for some little time been troubling them, viz.,\nthe confession of their sins to a priest. After due consideration, it\nwas decided to ask Father A., living some seventeen leagues distant, to\nstate the lowest sum for which he would come to receive their\nconfessions. 'One hundred dollars,' he replied, 'is the lowest I can\naccept, and as soon as you send it I will come.'\n\n\"After a great effort, for they were very poor, forty dollars was\nraised amongst them, and word was sent to Father A. that they could not\npossibly collect any more. Would he take pity on them and accept that\nsum? 'What! only forty dollars in the whole of E---,' was his reply,\n'and you dare to offer me that! No! I will not come, and, furthermore,\nfrom this day I pronounce a curse on your village, and every living\nperson and thing there. Your children will all sicken and die, your\ncattle all become covered with disease, and you will know no comfort\nnor happiness henceforth. I, Father A., have said it, and it will come\nto pass.'\n\n\"Where was the quiet, peaceful scene of a few weeks before? Gone, and\nin its place all terror and confusion. These ignorant people, believing\nthe words of the priest, gathered together their belongings and fled.\nAs I saw those poor, simple people leaving the homes which had\nsheltered them for years, as well as their ancestors before them, and\nwith feverish haste hurrying down the valley--every few minutes looking\nback, with intense sorrow and regret stamped on their faces--I thought\nsurely these people need some one to tell them of Jesus, for, little as\nI know about Him, I am convinced that He does not wish them to be\ntreated thus.\"\n\nThe priest is satisfied with nothing less than the most complete\nsubmission of the mind and body of his flock. A woman must often give\nher last money for masses, and a man toil for months on the\nwell-stocked land of the divine father to save his soul. If he fail to\ndo this, or any other sentence the priest may impose, he is condemned\nto eternal perdition.\n\nMr. Patrick, of the R. B. M. U., has described to me how, soon after he\nlanded in Trujilla, he attended service at a Jesuit church. He had\nintroduced some gospels into the city, and a special sermon was\npreached against the Bible. During the service the priest produced one\nof the gospels, and, holding it by the covers, solemnly put the leaves\ninto the burning candle by his side, and then stamped on the ashes on\nthe pulpit floor. The same priest, however, Ricardo Gonzales by name,\nthought it no wrong to have seventeen children to various mothers, and\nhis daughters were leaders in society. \"Men love darkness rather than\nlight because their deeds are evil.\" In Trujilla, right opposite my\nfriend's house, there lived, at the same time, a highly respected\npriest, who had, with his own hands, lit the fire that burnt alive a\nyoung woman who had embraced Christianity through missionary preaching.\nBear in mind, reader, I am not writing of the dark ages, but of what\noccurred just outside Trujilla during my residence in the country. Even\nin 1910, Missionary Chapman writes of a convert having his feet put in\nthe stocks for daring to distribute God's Word. [Footnote: I never saw\ngreater darkness excepting in Central Africa. I visited 70 of the\nlargest cathedrals, and, after diligent enquiry, found only one Bible,\nand that a Protestant Bible about to be burned--Dr. Robert E. Speer, in\n\"Missionary Review of the World,\" August, 1911.]\n\nUp to four years ago, the statute was in force that \"Every one who\ndirectly or through any act conspires to establish in Bolivia any other\nreligion than that which the republic professes, namely, that of the\nRoman Catholic Apostolic Church, is a traitor, and shall suffer the\npenalty of death.\"\n\nAfter a week's stay in Piedra Blanca, during which I had ample time for\nsuch comparisons as these I have penned, quarantine lifted, and the\nexpedition staff separated. I departed on horseback to inspect a tract\nof land on another frontier of Bolivia 1,300 miles distant.\n\n\n\n\nPART III.\n\nPARAGUAY\n\n[Illustration: AN INDIAN AND HIS GOD NANDEYARA]\n\n\n  \"I need not follow the beaten path;\n  I do not hunt for any path;\n  I will go where there is no path,\n  And leave a trail.\"\n\n\n\n\nPARAGUAY\n\nParaguay, though one of the most isolated republics of South America,\nis one of the oldest. A hundred years before the \"Mayflower\" sailed\nfrom old Plymouth there was a permanent settlement of Spaniards near\nthe present capital. The country has 98,000 square miles of territory,\nbut a population of only 800,000. Paraguay may almost be called an\nIndian republic, for the traveller hears nothing but the soft Guarani\nlanguage spoken all over the country. It is in this republic that the\nyerba m\u00e1t\u00e9 grows. That is the chief article of commerce, for at least\nfifteen millions of South Americans drink this tea, already frequently\nreferred to. Thousands of tons of the best oranges are grown, and its\norange groves are world-famed.\n\nThe old capital, founded in 1537, was built without regularity of plan,\nbut the present city, owing to the despotic sway of Francia, is most\nsymmetrical. That South American Nero issued orders for all houses that\nwere out of his lines to be demolished by their owners. \"One poor man\napplied to know what remuneration he was to have, and the dictator's\nanswer was: 'A lodgment gratis in the public prison.' Another asked\nwhere he was to go, and the answer was, 'To a state dungeon.' Both\nculprits were forthwith lodged in their respective new residences, and\ntheir houses were levelled to the ground.\"\n\n\"Such was the terror inspired by the man that the news that he was out\nwould clear the streets. A white Paraguayan dared not utter his name.\nDuring his lifetime he was 'El Supremo,' and after he was dead for\ngenerations he was referred to simply as 'El Difunto.'\" [Footnote:\nRobertson's \"Reign of Terror.\"]\n\nParaguay, of all countries, has been most under the teaching of the\nJesuit priest, and the people in consequence are found to be the most\nsuperstitious. Being an inland republic, its nearest point a thousand\nmiles from the sea-coast, it has been held in undisputed possession.\n\nHere was waged between 1862 and 1870 what history describes as the most\nannihilating war since Carthage fell. The little republic, standing out\nfor five and a half years against five other republics, fought with\ntrue Indian bravery and recklessness, until for every man in the\ncountry there could be numbered nine women (some authorities say\neleven); and this notwithstanding the fact that the women in thousands\ncarried arms and fought side by side with the men. The dictator Lopez,\nwho had with such determination of purpose held out so long, was\nfinally killed, and his last words, \"_Muero con la patria_\" (I die with\nthe country) were truly prophetic, for the country has never risen\nsince.\n\nTravellers agree in affirming that of all South Americans the\nParaguayans are the most mild-mannered and lethargic; yet when these\npeople are once aroused they fight with tigerish pertinacity. The pages\nof history may be searched in vain for examples of warfare waged at\nsuch odds; but the result is invariably the same, the weaker nation,\nwhether right or wrong, goes under. Although the national mottoes vary\nwith the different flags, yet the Chilian is the most universally\nfollowed in South America, as elsewhere: \"_Por la razon \u00f3 la fuerza_\"\n(By right or by might). The Paraguayans contended heroically for what\nthey considered their rights, and such bloody battles were fought that\nat Curupait\u00e1 alone 5,000 dead and dying were left on the field! Added\nto the carnage of battle was disease on every hand. The worst epidemic\nof smallpox ever known in the annals of history was when the Brazilians\nlost 43,000 men, while this war was being waged against Paraguay. One\nhundred thousand bodies were left unburied, and on them the wild\nanimals and vultures gorged themselves. The saying now is a household\nword, that the jaguar of those lands is the most to be dreaded, through\nhaving tasted so much human blood.\n\n\"Lopez, the cause of all this sacrifice and misery, has gone to his\nfinal account, his soul stained with the blood of seven hundred\nthousand of his people, the victims of his ambition and cruelty.\"\n\nTowns which flourished before the outbreak of hostilities were sacked\nby the emboldened Indians from the Chaco and wiped off the map, San\nSalvador (Holy Saviour) being a striking example. I visited the ruins\nof this town, where formerly dwelt about 8,000 souls. Now the streets\nare grass-grown, and the forest is creeping around church and barracks,\nthreatening to bury them. I rode my horse through the high portal of\nthe cannon-battered church, while the stillness of the scene reminded\nme of a city of the dead. City of the dead, truly--men and women and\nchildren who have passed on! My horse nibbled the grass growing among\nthe broken tiles of the floor, while I, in imagination, listened to the\n\"passing bell\" in the tower above me, and under whose shade I sought\nrepose. A traveller, describing this site, says: \"It is a place of\nwhich the atmosphere is one great mass of malaria, and the heat\nsuffocating--where the surrounding country is an uninterrupted\nmarsh--where venomous insects and reptiles abound.\" San Salvador as a\nbusy mart has ceased to exist, and the nearest approach to \"the human\nform divine,\" found occasionally within its walls, is the howling\nmonkey. Such are the consequences of war! During the last ten years\nParaguay has been slowly recovering from the terrible effects of this\nwar, but a republic composed mostly of women is severely handicapped.\n[Footnote: Would the suffragettes disagree with the writer here?]\n\nParaguay is a poor land; the value of its paper currency, like that of\nmost South American countries, fluctuates almost daily. In 1899 the\ndollar was worth only twelve cents, and for five gold dollars I have\nreceived in exchange as many as forty-six of theirs. Yet there is a\ngreat future for Paraguay. It has been called the Paradise of South\nAmerica, and although the writer has visited sixteen different\ncountries of the world, he thinks of Paraguay with tender longing. It\nis perhaps the richest land on earth naturally, and produces so much\nm\u00e1te that one year's production would make a cup of tea for every man,\nwoman and child on the globe. Oranges and bananas can be bought at six\ncents a hundred, two millions of cattle fatten on its rich pasture\nlands; but, of all the countries the writer has travelled in, Mexico\ncomes first as a land of beggars, and poor Paraguay comes second.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nASUNCION.\n\n\nBeing in England in 1900 for change and rest, I was introduced to an\neccentric old gentleman of miserly tendencies, but possessed of\n$5,000,000. Hearing of my wanderings in South America, he told me that\nhe owned a tract of land thirteen miles square in Paraguay, and would\nlike to know something of its value. The outcome of this visit was that\nI was commissioned by him to go to that country and explore his\npossession, so I proceeded once more to my old field of labor. Arriving\nat the mouth of the River Plate, after five weeks of sea-tossing, I\nwas, with the rest, looking forward to our arrival in Buenos Ayres,\nwhen a steam tug came puffing alongside, and we were informed that as\nthe ship had touched at the infected port of Bahia, all passengers must\nbe fumigated, and that we must submit to three weeks' quarantine on\nFlores Island. The Port doctor has sent a whole ship-load to the island\nfor so trifling a cause as that a sailor had a broken collar-bone, so\nwe knew that for us there was nothing but submission. Disembarking from\nthe ocean steamer on to lighters, we gave a last look at the coveted\nland, \"so near and yet so far,\" and were towed away to three small\nislands in the centre of the river, about fifty miles distant. One\nisland is set apart as a burial ground, one is for infected patients,\nand the other, at which we were landed, is for suspects. On that desert\nisland, with no other land in sight than the sister isles, we were\ngiven time to chew the cud of bitter reflection. They gave us little\nelse to chew! The food served up to us consisted of strings of dried\nbeef, called _charqui_, which was brought from the mainland in dirty\ncanvas bags. This was often supplemented by boiled seaweed. Being\naccustomed to self-preservation, I was able to augment this diet with\nfish caught while sitting on the barren rocks of our sea-girt prison.\nPrison it certainly was, for sentries, armed with Remingtons, herded us\nlike sheep.\n\nThe three weeks' detention came to an end, as everything earthly does,\nand then an open barge, towed by a steam-launch, conveyed us to\nMontevideo. Quite a fresh breeze was blowing, and during our eleven\nhours' journey we were repeatedly drenched with spray. Delicate ladies\nlay down in the bottom of the boat in the throes of seasickness, and\nwere literally washed to and fro, and saturated, as they said, to the\nheart. We landed, however, and I took passage up to Asuncion in the\n\"Olympo.\"\n\nThe \"Olympo\" is a palatial steamer, fitted up like the best Atlantic\nliners with every luxury and convenience. On the ship there were\nperhaps one hundred cabin passengers, and in the steerage were six\nhundred Russian emigrants bound for Corrientes, three days' sail north.\nTwo of these women were very sick, so the chief steward, to whom I was\nknown, hurried me to them, and I was thankful to be able to help the\npoor females.\n\nThe majestic river is broad, and in some parts so thickly studded with\nislands that it appears more like a chain of lakes than a flowing\nstream. As we proceeded up the river the weather grew warmer, and the\nnative clothing of sheepskins the Russians had used was cast aside. The\nmen, rough and bearded, soon had only their under garments on, and the\nwomen wore simply that three-quarter length loose garment well known to\nall females, yet they sweltered in the unaccustomed heat.\n\nAt midnight of the third day we landed them at Corrientes, and the\nwomen, in their white (?) garments, with their babies and ikons, and\nbundles--and husbands--trod on terra firma for the first time in seven\nweeks.\n\nAfter about twelve days' sail we came to Bella Vista, at which point\nthe river is eighteen miles wide. Sixteen days after leaving the mouth\nof the river, we sighted the red-tiled roofs of the houses at Asuncion,\nthe capital of Paraguay, built on the bank of the river, which is there\nonly a mile wide, but thirty feet deep. The river boats land their\npassengers at a rickety wooden wharf, and Indians carry the baggage on\ntheir heads into the dingy customs house. After this has been inspected\nby the cigarette-smoking officials, the dark-skinned porters are\nclamorously eager to again bend themselves under the burden and take\nyour trunks to an hotel, where you follow, walking over the exceedingly\nrough cobbled streets. There is not a cab for hire in the whole city.\nThe two or three hotels are fifth-rate, but charge only about thirty\ncents a day.\n\nAsuncion is a city of some 30,000 inhabitants Owing to its isolated\nposition, a thousand miles from the sea-coast, it is perhaps the most\nbackward of all the South American capitals. Although under Spanish\nrule for three hundred years, the natives still retain the old Indian\nlanguage and the Guarani idiom is spoken by all.\n\nThe city is lit up at night with small lamps burning oil, and these\nlights shed fitful gleams here and there. The oil burned bears the\nhigh-sounding trade-mark, \"Light of the World,\" and that is the only\n\"light of the world\" the native knows of. The lamps are of so little\nuse that females never dream of going out at night without carrying\nwith them a little tin farol, with a tallow dip burning inside.\n\nI have said the street lamps give little light. I must make exception\nof one week of the year, when there is great improvement. That week\nthey are carefully cleaned and trimmed, for it is given up as a feast\nto the Virgin, and the lights are to shed radiance on gaudy little\nimages of that august lady which are inside of each lamp. The Pal, or\nfather priest, sees that these images are properly honored by the\npeople. He is here as elsewhere, the moving spirit.\n\nSan Bias is the patron saint of the country, It is said he won for the\nParaguayans a great victory in an early war. St. Cristobel receives\nmuch homage also because he helped the Virgin Mary to carry the infant\nJesus across a river on the way to Egypt.\n\nAsuncion was for many years the recluse headquarters of the Jesuits, so\nof all enslaved Spanish-Americans probably the Guaranis are the worst.\nDuring Lent they will inflict stripes on their bodies, or almost starve\nthemselves to death; and their abject humility to the Pa\u00ee is sad to\nwitness. On special church celebrations large processions will walk the\nstreets, headed by the priests, chanting in Latin. The people sometimes\nfall over one another in their eager endeavors to kiss the priest's\ngarments, They prostrate themselves, count their beads, confess their\nsins, and seek the coveted blessing of this demi-god, \"who shuts the\nkingdom of heaven, and keeps the key in his own pocket.\"\n\nA noticeable feature of the place is that all the inhabitants go\nbarefooted. Ladies (?) will pass you with their stiffly-starched white\ndresses, and raven-black hair neatly done up with colored ribbons, but\nwith feet innocent of shoes. Soldiers and policemen tramp the streets,\nbut neither are provided with footwear, and their clothes are often in\ntatters. The Jesuits taught the Indians to _make_ shoes, but they alone\n_wore_ them, exporting the surplus. Shoes are not for common people,\nand when one of them dares to cover his feet he is considered\npresumptuous. Hats they never wear, but they have the beautiful custom\nof weaving flowers in their hair. When flowers are not worn the head is\ncovered by a white sheet called the _tupo\u00ee_, and in some cases this\ngarment is richly embroidered. These females are devoted Romanists, as\nwill be seen from the following description of a feast held to St. John:\n\n\"Do\u00f1a Juana's first care was to decorate with uncommon splendor a large\nimage of St. John, which, in a costly crystal box, she preserved as the\nchief ornament of her principal drawing-room. He was painted anew and\nre-gilded. He had a black velvet robe purchased for him, and trimmed\nwith deep gold lace. Hovering over him was a cherub. Every friend of\nDo\u00f1a Juana had lent some part of her jewellery for the decoration of\nthe holy man. Rings sparkled on his fingers; collars hung around his\nneck; a tiara graced his venerable brow. The lacings of his sandals\nwere studded with pearls; a precious girdle bound his slender waist,\nand six large wax candles were lighted up at the shrine. There,\nembosomed in fragrant evergreens--the orange, the lime, the\nacacia--stood the favorite saint, destined to receive the first homage\nof every guest that should arrive. These all solemnly took off their\nhats to the image.\"\n\nSuch religious mummery as this is painful to witness, and to see the\nsaint borne round in procession, with men carrying candles, and\nwhite-clad girls with large birds' wings fastened to their shoulders,\ndispels the idea of its being Christianity at all.\n\nThe people are gentle and mild-spoken. White-robed women lead strings\nof donkeys along the streets, bearing huge panniers full of vegetables,\namong which frequently play the women's babies. The panniers are about\na yard deep, and may often be seen full to the brim with live fowls\npinioned by the legs. Other women go around with large wicker trays on\ntheir heads, selling _chip\u00e1_, the native bread, made from Indian corn,\nor _mandioca_ root, the staple food of the country. Wheat is not grown\nin Paraguay, and any flour used is imported. These daughters of Eve\noften wear nothing more than a robe-de-chambre, and invariably smoke\ncigars six or eight inches long. Their figure is erect and stately, and\nthe laughing eyes full of mischief and merriment; but they fade into\nold age at forty. Until then they seem proud as children of their brass\njewellery and red coral beads. The Paraguayans are the happiest race of\npeople I have met; care seems undreamed of by them.\n\nIn the post-office of the capital I have sometimes been unable to\nprocure stamps, and \"_Dypore_\" (We have none) has been the civil answer\nof the clerk. When they _had_ stamps they were not provided with\nmucilage, but a brush and pot of paste were handed the buyer. If you\nask for a one cent stamp the clerk will cut a two cent stamp and give\nyou a half. They have, however, stamps the tenth part of a cent in\nvalue, and a bank note in circulation whose face value is less than a\ncent. There are only four numerals in the Guarani language: 1, _petei_;\n2,_moncoi_; 3,_bohapy_; 4,_irund\u00fa_. It is not possible to express five\nor six. No wonder, therefore, that when I bought five 40-cent stamps, I\nfound the clerk was unable to count the sum, and I had to come to the\nrescue and tell him it was $2.00. At least eighty per cent. of the\npeople are unable to read. When they do, it is of course in Spanish, A\nyoung man to whom I gave the Gospel of John carefully looked at it, and\nthen, turning to me, said: \"Is this a history of that wonderful lawyer\nwe have been hearing about?\" To those interested in the dissemination\nof Scriptures, let me state that no single Gospel has as yet been\ntranslated into Guarani.\n\nA tentative edition of the \"Sermon on the Mount\" has recently been\nissued by the British and Foreign Bible Society, a copy of which I had\nthe honor to be the first to present to the head executive.\n\nGentle simplicity is the chief characteristic of the people. If the\ntraveller relates the most ordinary events that pass in the outside\nworld, they will join in the exclamation of surprise-\"_B\u00e1-eh-pic\u00f3!\nB\u00e1-eh-pic\u00f3!_\"\n\nInformation that tends to their lowering is not always accepted thus,\nhowever, for a colonel in the army, when told that Asuncion could be\nput into a large city graveyard, hastily got up from the dinner table\nand went away in wounded pride and incredulity. The one who is supposed\nto \"know a little\" likes to keep his position, and the Spanish proverb\nis exemplified: _\"En tierra de los ciegos, el tuerto es rey\"_ (In the\nblind country the one-eyed are kings). The native is most guileless and\nignorant, as can well be understood when his language is an unwritten\none.\n\nParaguay is essentially a land of fruit, 200 oranges may be bought for\nthe equivalent of six cents. Small mountains of oranges may always be\nseen piled up on the banks ready to be shipped down the river. Women\nare employed to load the vessels with this fruit, which they carry in\nbaskets on their heads. Everything is carried on their heads, even to a\nglass bottle. My laundress, Cu\u00f1acarai [Footnote: The Guarani idiom can\nboast of but few words, and Mr., Mrs. and Miss are simply rendered\n\"carai\" (man), \"cuna-carai\" (woman) and \"cunatai\" (young woman); \"mita\ncuna\" is girl, \"mita cuimbai\" is boy, and \"mita mishi\"--baby.] Jesus,\nalthough an old woman, could bear almost incredible weights on her hard\nskull.\n\nAs the climate is hot, a favorite occupation for men and women is to\nsit half-submerged in the river, smoking vigorously \"The Paraguayans\nare an amphibious race, neither wholly seamen nor wholly landsmen, but\npartaking of both.\" All sleep in cotton hammocks,--beds are almost\nunknown. The hammocks are slung on the verandah of the house in the\nhotter season and all sleep outside, taking off their garments with\nreal _sang froid_. In the cooler season the visitor is invited to hang\nhis hammock along with the rest inside the house, and in the early\nmorning naked little children bring m\u00e1t\u00e9 to each one. If the family is\nwealthy this will be served in a heavy silver cup and _bombilla_, or\nsucking tube, of the same metal. After this drink and a bite of\n_chip\u00e1_, a strangely shaped, thin-necked bottle, made of sun-baked\nclay, is brought, and from it water is poured on the hands. The towels\nare spotlessly white and of the finest texture. They are hand-made, and\nare so delicately woven and embroidered that I found it difficult to\naccustom myself to use them. The beautifully fine lace called _nandut\u00ee_\n(literally spider's web) is also here made by the Indian women, who\nhave long been civilized. Some of the handkerchiefs they make are worth\n$50 each in the fashionable cities of America and Europe. A month's\nwork may easily be expended on such a dainty fabric.\n\nThe women seem exceptionally fond of pets. Monkeys and birds are common\nin a house, and the housewife will show you her parrot and say, \"In\nthis bird dwells the spirit of my departed mother.\" An enemy, somehow,\nhas always turned into an alligator--a reptile much loathed by them.\n\nIn even the poorest houses there is a shrine and a \"Saint.\" These\ndeities can answer all prayers if they choose to. Sometimes, however,\nthey are not \"in the humor,\" and at one house the saint had refused, so\nhe was laid flat on the floor, face downwards. The woman swore that\nuntil he answered her petition she would not lift him up again. He laid\nthus all night; whether longer or not I do not know.\n\nHaving heard much concerning the _moralit\u00e9_ of the people, I asked the\nmaid at a respectable private house where I was staying: \"Have you a\nfather?\" \"No, sir,\" she answered, \"we Paraguayans are not accustomed to\nhave a father.\" Children of five or six, when asked about that parent,\nwill often answer, \"Father died in the war.\" The war ended thirty-nine\nyears ago, but they have been taught to say this by the mother.\n\nAs in Argentina the first word the stranger learns is _ma\u00f1ana_\n(to-morrow), so here the first is _dy-qui_ (I don't know). Whatever\nquestion you ask the Guarani, he will almost invariably answer,\n\"_Dy-qui_.\" Ask him his age, he answers \"_Dy-qui_\" To your question:\n\"Are you twenty or one hundred and twenty?\" he will reply \"_Dy-qui_.\"\nThrough the long rule of the Jesuits the natives stopped thinking; they\nhad it all done for them. \"At the same time that they enslaved them,\nthey tortured them into the profession of the religion they had\nimported; and as they had seen that in the old land the love of this\nworld and the deceitfulness of riches were ever in the way of\nconversion to the true faith, they piously relieved the Indians of\nthese snares of the soul, even going so far in the discharge of this\npainful duty as to relieve them of life at the same time, if necessary\nto get their possessions into their own hands,\" [Footnote: Robertson's\n\"Letters on Paraguay.\"]\n\n\"The stories of their hardness, and perfidy, and immorality beggar\ndescription. The children of the priests have become so numerous that\nthe shame is no longer considered.\" [Footnote: Service.]\n\nAs the Mahometans have their Mecca, so the Paraguayans have Caacup\u00e9;\nand the image of the Virgin in that village is the great wonder-worker.\nPrayers are directed to her that she will raise the sick, etc., and\npromises are made her if she will do this. One morning I had business\nwith a storekeeper, and went to his office. \"Is the cara\u00ee in?\" I asked.\n\"No,\" I was answered, \"he has gone to Caacup\u00e9 to pay a promise.\" That\npromise was to burn so many candles before the Virgin, and further\nadorn her bejewelled robes. She had, as he believed, healed him of a\nsickness.\n\nThe village of Caacup\u00e9 is about forty miles from Asuncion. \"The Bishop\nof Paraguay formally inaugurated the worship of the Virgin of Caacup\u00e9,\nsending forth an episcopal letter accrediting the practice, and\npromising indulgences to the pilgrims who should visit the shrine. Thus\nthe worship became legal and orthodox. Multitudes of people visit her,\ncarrying offerings of valuable jewels. There are several\n_well-authenticated_ cases of persons, whose offerings were of inferior\nquality, being overtaken with some terrible calamity.\" [Footnote:\nWashburn's \"History of Paraguay.\"]\n\nFunds must be secured somehow, for the present Bishop's sons, to whom I\nwas introduced as among the aristocrats of the capital, certainly need\na large income from the lavish manner I noticed them \"treat\" all and\nsundry in the hotel. \"It is admitted by all, that in South America the\nchurch is decadent and corrupt. The immorality of the priests is taken\nfor granted. Priests' sons and daughters, of course not born in\nwedlock, abound everywhere, and no stigma attaches to them or to their\nfathers and mothers.\" [Footnote: \"The Continent of Opportunity.\" Dr.\nClark.] Hon. S. H. Blake, in the _Neglected Continent_, writes: \"I was\nespecially struck by the statement of a Roman Catholic--a Consular\nagent with a large amount of information as to the land and its\ninhabitants. He stopped me in speaking of the priests by saying, 'I\nknow all that. You cannot exaggerate their immorality. Everybody knows\nit--but the Latin race is a degenerate race. Nothing can be done with\nit. The Roman Church has had four centuries of trial and has made a\nfailure of it.'\"\n\nWhen a person is dying, the Pa\u00ee is hurriedly sent for. To this call he\nwill readily respond. A procession will be formed, and, preceded by a\nboy ringing a bell, the _Host_, or, to use an everyday expression,\n_God_, will be carried from the church down the street to the sick one.\nAll passers-by must kneel as this goes along, and the police will\narrest you if you do not at least take off your hat. \"Liberty of\nconscience is a most diabolical thing, to be stamped out at any cost,\"\nis the maxim of Rome, and the Guarani has learned his lesson well. \"In\nInquisition Square men were burned for daring to think, therefore men\nstopped thinking when death was the penalty.\"\n\nWakes for the dead are always held, and in the case of a child the\nlittle one lies in state adorned with gilded wings and tinselled\nfinery. All in the neighborhood are invited to the dance which takes\nplace that evening around the corpse. At a funeral the Pa\u00ee walks first,\nfollowed by a crowd of men, women and children bearing candles, some of\nwhich are four and five feet long. The dead are carried through the\nstreets in a very shallow coffin, and the head is much elevated. An old\nwoman generally walks by the side, bearing the coffin lid on her head.\nThe dead are always buried respectfully, for an old law reads: \"No\nperson shall ride in the dead cart except the corpse that is carried,\nand, therefore, nobody shall get up and ride behind. It is against\nChristian piety to bury people with irreverent actions, or drag them in\nhides, or throw them into the grave without consideration, or in a\nposition contrary to the practice of the Church.\"\n\nAll Saints Day is a special time for releasing departed ones out of\npurgatory. Hundreds of people visit the cemeteries then, and pay the\nwaiting priests so much a prayer, If that \"liberator of souls\" sings\nthe prayer the price is doubled, but it is considered doubly\nefficacious.\n\nA good feature of Romanism in Paraguay is that the people have been\ntaught something of Christ, but there seems to be an utter want of\nreverence toward His person, for one may see a red flag on the public\nstreets announcing that there are the \"Auction Rooms of the child God.\"\nIn his \"Letters on Paraguay,\" Robertson relates the following graphic\naccount of the celebration of His death: \"I found great preparations\nmaking at the cathedral for the sermon of 'the agony on the cross.' A\nwooden figure of our Saviour crucified was affixed against the wall,\nopposite the pulpit; a large bier was placed in the centre of the\ncathedral, and the great altar at the eastern extremity was hung with\nblack; while around were disposed lighted candles and other insignia of\na great funeral. When the sermon commenced, the cathedral was crowded\nto suffocation, a great proportion of the audience being females. The\ndiscourse was interrupted alternately by the low moans and sobbings of\nthe congregation. These became more audible as the preacher warmed with\nhis discourse, which was partly addressed to his auditory and partly to\nthe figure before him; and when at length he exclaimed, 'Behold!\nBehold! He gives up the ghost!' the head of the figure was slowly\ndepressed by a spring towards the breast, and one simultaneous\nshriek--loud, piercing, almost appalling--was uttered by the whole\ncongregation. The women now all struggled for a superiority in giving\nunbounded vent to apparently the most distracting grief. Some raved\nlike maniacs, others beat their breasts and tore their hair.\nExclamations, cries, sobs and shrieks mingled, and united in forming\none mighty tide of clamor, uproar, noise and confusion. In the midst of\nthe raging tempest could be heard, ever and anon, the stentorian voice\nof the preacher, reproaching in terms of indignation and wrath the\napathy of his hearers! 'Can you, oh, insensate crowd!' he would cry,\n'Can you sit in silence?'--but here his voice was drowned in an\noverwhelming cry of loudest woe, from every part of the church; and for\nfive minutes all further effort to make himself heard was unavailing.\nThis singular scene continued for nearly half an hour; then, by\ndegrees, the vehement grief of the congregation abated, and when I left\nthe cathedral it had subsided once more into low sobs and silent tears.\n\n\"I now took my way, with many others, to the Church of San Francisco,\nwhere, in an open space in front of the church, I found that the duty\nof the day had advanced to the funeral service, which was about being\ncelebrated. There a scaffolding was erected, and the crucifixion\nexactly represented by wooden figures, not only of our Lord, but of the\ntwo thieves. A pulpit was erected in front of the scaffold; and the\nwhole square was covered by the devout inhabitants of the city. The\nsame kind of scene was being enacted here as at the cathedral, with the\ndifference, however, of the circumstantial funeral in place of the\ndeath. The orator's discourse when I arrived was only here and there\ninterrupted by a suppressed moan, or a struggling sigh, to be heard in\nthe crowd. But when he commenced giving directions for the taking down\nof the body from the cross, the impatience of grief began to manifest\nitself on all sides, 'Mount up,' he cried, 'ye holy ministers, mount\nup, and prepare for the sad duty which ye have to perform!' Here six or\neight persons, covered from head to foot with ample black cloaks,\nascended the scaffold. Now the groans of the people became more\naudible; and when at length directions were given to strike out the\nfirst nail, the cathedral scene of confusion, which I have just\ndescribed, began, and all the rest of the preacher's oratory was dumb\nshow. The body was at length deposited in the coffin, and the groaning\nand shrieking of the assembled multitude ceased. A solemn funeral\nceremony took place: every respectable person received a great wax\ntaper to carry in the procession: the coffin after being carried all\nround was deposited in the church: the people dispersed; and the great\nday of Passion Week was brought to a close.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nEXPEDITION TO THE SUN-WORSHIPPERS. [Footnote: An account of this\nexpedition was requested by and sent to the Royal Geographical Society\nof London, Eng.]\n\n\nI took passage on the \"Urano,\" a steamer of 1,500 tons, for Concepcion,\n200 miles north of Asuncion.\n\nOn the second day of our journey the people on board celebrated a\nchurch feast, and the pilot, in his anxiety to do it well, got\nhelplessly drunk. The result was that during that night I was thrown\nout of the top berth I occupied by a terrific thud. The steamer had run\non the sandbank of an uninhabited island, and there she stuck\nfast--immovable. We were landed on the shore, and there had further\ntime for reflection on the mutability of things. In the white sand\nthere were distinct footprints of a large jaguar and cub, probably come\nto prey on the lazy alligators that were lying on the beach; and I\ncaught sight of a large spotted serpent, which glided into the low\njungle where the tiger also doubtless was in hiding.\n\nAfter three days' detention here, a Brazilian packet took us off. On\nstepping aboard, I saw what I thought to be two black pigs lying on the\ndeck. I assure the reader that it was some seconds before I discovered\nthat one was not a pig, but a man!\n\nAt sunset it is the custom on these river boats for all to have a bath.\nThe females go to one side of the ship, and the males to the other;\nbuckets are lowered, and in turn they throw water over each other.\nAfter supper, in the stillness of the evening, dancing is the order,\nand bare feet keep time to the twang of the guitar.\n\nWe occasionally caught sight of savages on the west bank of the river,\nand the captain informed me that he had once brought up a bag of beans\nto give them. The beans had been _poisoned_, in order that the\nmiserable creatures might be _swept off the earth!_\n\nWe landed at Concepcion, and I walked ashore. I found the only British\nsubject living there was a university graduate, but--a prodigal son\nOwing to his habit of constant drinking, the authorities of the town\ncompelled him to work. As I passed up the street I saw him mending a\nroad of the \"far country\" There I procured five horses, a stock of\nbeads, knives, etc, for barter, and made ready for my land journey into\nthe far interior. The storekeeper, hearing of my plans, strongly urged\nme not to attempt the journey, and soon all the village talked. Vague\nrumors of the unknown savages of the interior had been heard, and it\nwas said the expedition could only end in disaster, especially as I was\nnot even going to get the blessing of the Pa\u00ee before starting. I was\nfortunate, however, in securing the companionship of an excellent man\nwho bore the suggestive name of \"Old Stabbed Arm\"; and Do\u00f1a Dolores\n(Mrs. Sorrows), true to her name, whom I engaged to make me about\ntwenty pounds of chip\u00e1, said she would intercede with her saint for me.\nLoading the pack-horse with chip\u00e1, beads, looking-glasses, knives,\netc., Old Stabbed Arm and I mounted our horses, and, each taking a\nspare one by the halter, drove the pack-saddle mare in front, leaving\nthe tenderhearted Mrs. Sorrows weeping behind. The roads are simply\npaths through deep red sand, into which the horses sank up to their\nknees; and they are so uneven that one side is frequently two feet\nhigher than the other, so we could travel only very slowly. From time\nto time we had to push our way into the dense forest on either side, in\norder to give space for a string of bullock carts to go past. These\nvehicles are eighteen or twenty feet long, but have only two wheels.\nThey are drawn by ten or twelve oxen, which are urged on by goads\nfastened to a bamboo, twenty feet long, suspended from the roof of the\ncart, which is thatched with reeds. The goads are artistically trimmed\nwith feathers of parrots and macaws, or with bright ribbons. These are\nof all colors, but those around the sharp nail at the end are further\npainted with red blood every time the goad is used.\n\nThe carts, rolling and straining like ships in foul weather, can be\nheard a mile off, owing to the humming screech of the wheels, which are\nnever greased, but on the contrary have powdered charcoal put in them\nto _increase_ the noise. Without this music (?) the bullocks do not\nwork so well. How the poor animals could manage to draw the load was\noften a mystery to me, Sections of the road were partly destroyed by\nlandslides and heavy rains, but down the slippery banks of rivers,\nthrough the beds of torrents or up the steep inclines they somehow\nmanaged to haul the unwieldy vehicle. Strings of loaded donkeys or\nmules, with jingling bells, also crawled past, and I noticed with a\nsmile that even the animals in this idolatrous land cannot get on\nwithout the Virgin, for they have tiny statuettes of her standing\nbetween their ears to keep them from danger. Near the town the rivers\nand streams are bridged over with tree trunks placed longitudinally,\nand the crevices are filled in with boughs and sods. Some of them are\nso unsafe and have such gaping holes that I frequently dismounted and\nled my horse over.\n\nThe tropical scenery was superb. Thousands of orange trees growing by\nthe roadside, filled with luscious fruit on the lower branches, and on\nthe top with the incomparable orange blossoms, afforded delight to the\neye, and notwithstanding the heat, kept us cool, for as we rode we\ncould pluck and eat. Tree ferns twenty and thirty feet high waved their\nfeathery fronds in the gentle breeze, and wild pineapples growing at\nour feet loaded the air with fragrance.\n\nThere was the graceful pepper tree, luxuriant hanging lichens, or\nbamboos forty feet high, which riveted the attention and made one think\nwhat a beautiful world God has made. Many of the shrubs and plants\nafford dyes of the richest hues, Azara found four hundred new species\nof the feathered tribe in the gorgeous woods and coppices of Paraguay,\nand all, with the melancholy _caw_, _caw_ of the toucans overhead,\nspoke of a tropical land. Parrots chattered in the trees, and sometimes\na serpent glided across the red sand road. Unfortunately, flies were so\nnumerous and so tormenting that, even with the help of a green branch,\nwe could not keep off the swarms, and around the horses' eyes were\ndozens of them. Several menacing hornets also troubled us. They are\nthere so fierce that they can easily sting a man or a horse to death!\n\nAs night fell we came to an open glade, and there beside a clear,\ngurgling brook staked out our horses and camped for the night. Building\na large fire of brushwood, we ate our supper, and then lay down on our\nsaddlecloths, the firmament of God with its galaxy of stars as our\ncovering overhead.\n\nBy next evening we reached the village of Pegwaomi. On the way we had\npassed a house here and there, and had seen children ten or twelve\nyears of age sucking sticks of sugar-cane, but content with no other\nclothing than their rosary, or an image of the Virgin round their\nnecks, like those the mules wear. Pegwaomi, I saw, was quite a village,\nits pretty houses nestling among orange and lime trees, with luscious\nbananas in the background. There was no Pa\u00ee in Pegwaomi, so I was able\nto hold a service in an open shed, with a roof but no walls. The chief\nman of the village gave me permission to use this novel building, and\ntwenty-three people came to hear the stranger speak. After the service\na poor woman was very desirous of confessing her sins to me, and she\nthought I was a strange preacher when I told her of One in heaven to\nwhom she should confess.\n\n\"Paraguay, from its first settlement, never departed from 'the age of\nfaith' Neither doubt nor free-thinking in regard to spiritual affairs\never perplexed the people, but in all religious matters they accepted\nthe words of the fathers as the unquestionable truth. Unfortunately,\nthe priests were, with scarcely an exception, lazy and profligate; yet\nthe people were so superstitious and credulous that they feared to\ndisobey them, or reserve anything which they might be required to\nconfess.\" [Footnote: Washburn's \"History of Paraguay.\"]\n\nIn the front gardens of many of the rustic houses I noticed a wooden\ncross draped with broad white lace. The dead are always interred in the\nfamily garden, and these marked the site of the graves. When the people\ncan afford it, a priest is brought to perform the sad rite of burial,\nbut the Paraguayan Pa\u00ee is proverbially drunken and lazy. Once after a\nchurch feast, which was largely given up to drinking, the priest fell\nover on the floor in a state of intoxication. \"While he thus lay drunk,\na boy crawled through the door to ask his blessing, whereupon the\npriest swore horribly and waved him off, 'Not to-day, not to-day those\nfarces! I am drunk, very drunk!'\" Such an one has been described by\nPollock: \"He was a man who stole the livery of the court of heaven to\nserve the devil in; in holy guise transacted villainies that ordinary\nmortals durst not meddle with.\"\n\nLest it might be thought that I am strongly prejudiced, I give this\nextract from a responsible historian of that unhappy land: \"The\nsimple-minded and superstitious Paraguayans reverenced a Pa\u00ee, or\nfather, as the immediate representative of God. They blindly and\nimplicitly followed the instructions given to them, and did whatever\nwas required at his hands. Many of the licentious brotherhood took\nadvantage of this superstitious confidence placed in them by the people\nto an extent which, in a moral country, would not only shock every\nfeeling of our nature to relate, but would, in the individual\ninstances, appear to be incredible, and, in the aggregate, be counted\nas slanderous on humanity.\"\n\nDuring my stay in Pagwaomi, a dance was held on the sward outside one\nof the houses, and the national whirl, the _sarandiy_, gave pleasure to\nall. The females wove flowers in their hair, and made garlands of them\nto adorn their waists. Others had caught fire-flies, which nestled in\nthe wavy tresses and lit up the semi-darkness with a soft light, like\nso many green stars. Love whisperings, in the musical Guarani, were\nheard by willing ears, and eyelight was thus added to starlight. As the\ndancers flitted here and there in their white garments, or came out\nfrom the shade of the orange trees, they looked ethereal, like the\ninhabitants of another world one sees at times in romantic dreams, for\nthis village is surely a hundred years behind the moon.\n\nFrom this scene of innocent happiness I was taken to more than one\nsick-bed, for it soon became known that I carried medicines.\n\nWill the reader accompany me? Enter then--a windowless mud hut See,\nlying on sheepskins and burning with fever, a young woman-almost a\ngirl-wailing \"_Ch\u00e9 raciy!>_\" (I am sick!) Notice the intense eagerness\nof her eyes as she gazes into mine when I commence to minister to her.\nWatch her submit to my necessarily painful treatment with child-like\nfaith. Then, before we quietly steal out again, listen to her\nlow-breathed \"_Acuerame_\" (Already I feel better).\n\nIn a larger house, a hundred yards away, an earthenware lamp, with\ncotton wick dipping in raw castor oil, sheds fitful gleams on a dying\nwoman. The trail of sin is only too evident, even in thoughtless\nPegwaomi. The tinselled saints are on the altar at the foot of the bed,\nand on the woman's breast, tightly clutched, is a crucifix, but Mrs.\nEncarnacion has never heard of the Incarnate One whom she is soon to\nmeet. Perhaps, if Christians are awake by that time, her grandchildren\nmay hear the \"story.\"\n\nIn that rustic cottage, half covered with jasmine, and shaded by a\nroyal palm, a child lies very sick. Listen to its low, weak moaning as\nwe cross the threshold. The mother has procured a piece of tape, the\nlength of which, she says, is the exact measure of the head of Saint\nBlas. This she has repeatedly put around her babe's head as an\nunfailing cure. Somehow the charm does not work and the woman is sorely\nperplexed. While we helplessly look on the infant dies! Outside, the\nmoon soared high, throwing a silver veil over the grim pathos of it\nall; but in the breast of the writer was a surging dissatisfaction\nand--anger, at his fellow--Christians in the homeland, who in their\nthoughtless selfishness will not reach out a helping hand to the\nperishing of other lands.\n\nWould the ever-present Spirit, who wrote \"Be ye angry\" not understand?\nWould the Master of patience and forbearance, who Himself showed\nrighteous anger, enter into it? Is the Great God, who sees these sheep\nleft without a shepherd, Himself angry? Surely it is well to ask?\n\n\"Oh, heavy lies the weight of ill on many hearts, And comforters are\nneeded sore of Christlike touch.\"\n\nIn this village I made inquiries for another servant and guide, and was\ndirected to \"Timoteo, the very man.\" Liking his looks, and being able\nto come to satisfactory terms, I engaged him as my second helper.\nTimoteo had a sister called Salvadora (Saviour). She pounded corn in a\nmortar with a hardwood pestle, and made me another baking of chip\u00e1,\nwith which we further burdened the pack-horse, and away we started\nagain, with affectionate farewells and tears, towards the unknown.\n\nNext day we were joined by a traveller who was escaping to the\ninterior. He plainly declared himself as a murderer, and told us he had\nshot one of the doctors in Asuncion. Through being well connected, he\nhad, after three weeks' detention in prison, been liberated, as he\nboasted to us, _con todo buen nombre y fama (with good name and\nreport). The relatives of the murdered man, however, did not agree with\nthis verdict, and sought his life. During the day we shot an iguana,\nand after a meal from its fat tail our new acquaintance, finding the\npace too slow for his hasty flight, left us, and I was not sorry. We\nmet a string of bullock carts, each drawn by six animals and having a\nspare one behind. The lumbering wagons were on their way from the\nParaguayan m\u00e1t\u00e9 fields, and had a load of over two thousand pounds\neach. Jolting over huge tree-trunks, or anon sinking in a swamp,\nfollowed by swarms of gad-flies, the patient animals wended their way.\n\nHere and there one may see by the roadside a large wooden cross, with a\nrudely carved wooden rooster on the top, while below it are the nails,\nscourge, hammer, pincers and spear of gruesome crucifixion memory. At\nother places there are smaller shrines with a statuette of the Virgin\ninside, and candles invariably burning, provided by the generous\nwayfarers. It is interesting to note that the old Indians had, at the\nadvent of the Spaniards, cairns of stones along their paths, and the\npious Indian would contribute a stone when he passed as an offering to\nPachacamac, who would keep away the evil spirits. That custom is still\nkept up by the Christian (?) Paraguayan, with the difference that _now_\nit is given to the Virgin. My guide would get down from his horse when\nwe arrived at these altars, and contribute a stone to the ever-growing\nheap. If a specially bright one is offered, he told me it was more\ngratifying to the goddess. Feeling that we were very likely to meet\nwith many _evil spirits_, Timoteo carefully sought for bright stones.\nThe people are _very_ religious, yet with it all are terribly depraved!\nThe truth is seldom spoken, and my guide was, unfortunately, no\nexception to the rule. As we left the haunts of men, and difficulties\nthickened, he would often entreat the help of Holy Mary, but in the\nsame breath would lie and curse!\n\nSighting a miserable hut, we called to inquire for meat. The master of\nthe house, I discovered, was a leper, and I further learned, on asking\nif I might water my horses, that the nearest water was three miles\naway. The man and wife and their large family certainly looked as\nthough water was a luxury too costly to use on the skin. The leper was\nmost hospitable, however; he killed a sheep for us, and we sat down to\na feast of mutton. After this we pushed on to water the horses. By\nsunset we arrived at a cattle ranch near the river Ipan\u00e9, and there we\nstayed for the night. At supper all dipped in the same stew-pan, and\nafterwards rinsed out the mouth with large draughts of water, which\nthey squirted back on the brick floor of the dining-room. The men then\nsmoked cigarettes of tobacco rolled in corn leaves, and the women\nsmoked their six-inch-long cigars. Finding that two of the men\nunderstood Spanish, I read some simple parts of scripture to them by\nthe light of a dripping grease lamp. They listened in silence, and\nwondered at the strange new story. The mosquitoes were so troublesome\nthat a large platform, twenty feet high, had been erected, and after\nreading all the inmates of the house, with us, ascended the ladder\nleading to the top. There the mosquitoes did not disturb us, so we\nslept peacefully on our aerial roost between the fire-flies of the\nearth and the stars of heaven.\n\nNext day we came to a solitary house, where I noticed strings of meat\nhung in the sun to dry. This is left, like so many stockings and\nhandkerchiefs, hanging there until it is hard as wood; it will then\nkeep for an indefinite time. There we got a good dinner of fresh beef,\nand about ten pounds of the dried meat (_charqui_) to take away with\nus. At this place I bought two more horses, and we each got a large\nbullock's horn in which to carry water, swinging from the saddle-tree.\nI was not sorry to leave this house, for, tearing up the offal around\nthe building, I counted as many as sixty black vultures. Their king, a\ndirty white bird with crimson neck covered with gore and filth, had\nalready gorged himself with all the blood he could get. \"All his sooty\nsubjects stand apart at a respectful distance, whetting their appetites\nand regaling their nostrils, but never dreaming of an approach to the\ncarcass till their master has sunk into a state of repletion. When the\nkingly bird, by falling on his side, closing his eyes, and stretching\non the ground his unclenched talons, gives notice to his surrounding\nand expectant subjects that their lord and master has gone to rest, up\nthey hop to the carcass, which in a few minutes is stripped of\neverything eatable.\" Here we left the high-road, which is cut through\nto Punta Pona on the Brazilian frontier, and struck off to the west.\nOver the grassy plains we made good progress, and by evening were\nthirty miles farther on our journey. But when we had to cut the path\nbefore us through the forest, ten or twelve miles was a good day's\nwork. When the growth was very dense, the morning and evening camps\nwere perhaps only separated by a league. Anon we struggled through a\nswamp, or the horses stuck fast in a bog, and the _carapatas_ feasted\non our blood. \"What are carapatas?\" you ask. They are leeches, bugs,\nmosquitos, gad-flies, etc., all compounded into one venomous insect!\nThese voracious green ticks, the size of a bug, are indeed a terrible\nscourge. They fasten on the body in scores, and when pulled away,\neither the piece of flesh comes with them or the head of the carapata\nis torn off. _It was easy to pick a hundred of these bugs off the body\nat night_, but it was _not_ easy to sleep after the ordeal! The poor\nhorses, brushing through the branches on which the ticks wait for their\nprey, were sometimes _half covered with them!_\n\nAs we continued our journey, a house was a rare sight, and soon we came\nto \"the end of Christianity,\" as Timoteo said, and all civilization was\nleft behind. The sandy road became a track, and then we could no longer\nfollow the path, for there was none to follow. Timoteo had traversed\nthose regions before in search of the mate plant, however, and with my\ncompass I kept the general direction.\n\nAfter about ten days' travel, during which time we had many reminders\nthat the flesh-pots had been left behind, _\"Che cane o\"_ (I am tired)\nwas frequently heard. Game was exceedingly scarce, and it was possible\nto travel for days without sighting any animal or ostrich. We passed no\nhouses, and saw no human beings. For two days we subsisted on hard\nIndian corn. Water was scarce, and for a week we were unable to wash.\nJiggers got into our feet when sleeping on the ground, and these caused\ngreat pain and annoyance. Someone has described a jigger as \"a cross\nbetween Satan and a woodtick.\" The little insects lay their eggs\nbetween the skin and flesh. When the young hatch out, they begin\nfeeding on the blood, and quickly grow half an inch long and cause an\nintense itching. My feet were swollen so much that I could not get on\nmy riding-boots, and, consequently, my lower limbs were more exposed\nthan ever. If not soon cut out, the flesh around them begins to rot,\nand mortification sometimes ensues.\n\nOn some of the savannas we were able to kill deer and ostrich, but they\ngenerally were very scarce. Our fare was varied; sometimes we feaisted\non parrot pie or vultures eggs; again we lay down on the hard, stony\nground supperless. At such times I would be compelled to rise from time\nto time and tighten up my belt, until I must have resembled one of the\nladies of fashion, so far as the waist was concerned. Again we came to\nmarshy ground, filled with royal duck, teal, water-hens, snipe, etc,\nand forgot the pangs of past hunger. At such places we would fill our\nhorns and drink the putrid water, or take off our shirts and wash them\nand our bodies. Mud had to serve for soap. Our washing, spread out on\nthe reeds, would soon dry, and off we would start for another stage.\n\nThe unpeopled state of the country was a constant wonder to me;\ngenerations have disappeared without leaving a trace of their\nexistence. Sometimes I stopped to admire the pure white water-lilies\ngrowing on stagnant black water, or the lovely Victoria Regia, the leaf\nof which is at times so large as to weigh ten pounds. The flowers have\nwhite petals, tinted with rose, and the centre is a deep violet. Their\nweight is between two and three pounds.\n\nWherever we camped we lit immense fires of brushwood, and generally\nslept peacefully, but with loaded rifle at arm's length.\n\nA portion of land which I rode over while in that district must have\nbeen just a thin crust covering a mighty cave. The horses' footfalls\nmade hollow sounds, and when the thin roof shook I half expected to be\nprecipitated into unknown depths.\n\nAfter many weeks of varied experiences we arrived at or near the land I\nwas seeking. There, on the banks of a river, we struck camp, and from\nthere I made short excursions in all directions in order to ascertain\nthe approximate value of the old gentleman's estate. On the land we\ncame upon an encampment of poor, half or wholly naked Caingwa Indians.\nBy them we were kindly received, and found that, notwithstanding their\nextremely sunken condition and abject poverty, they seemed to have\nmandioca and bananas in abundance. In return for a few knives and\nbeads, I was able to purchase quite a stock. Seeing that all the\ndishes, plates, and bottles they have grow in the form of gourds, they\nimagine all such things we use also grow. It was amusing to hear them\nask for _seeds of the glass medicine bottles_ I carried with me.\n\nA drum, ingeniously made by stretching a serpent's skin over a large\ncalabash, was monotonously beaten as our good-night lullaby when we\nstretched ourselves out on the grass.\n\nThe Caingwa men all had their lower lip pierced, and hanging down over\nthe breast was a thin stick about ten inches long. Their faces were\nalso painted in strange patterns.\n\nLearning from their chief that the royal tribe to which they originally\nbelonged lived away in the depths of the forest to the east, some moons\ndistant, I became curious. After repeated enquiries I was told that a\nking ruled the people there, and that they daily worshipped the sun.\nHearing of these sun-worshippers, I determined, if possible, to push on\nthither. The old chief himself offered to direct us if, in return, I\nwould give him a shirt, a knife, and a number of white beads. The\nbargain was struck, and arrangements were made to start off at sunrise\nnext day, My commission was not only to see the old gentleman's land,\nbut to visit the surrounding Indians, with a view to missionary work\nbeing commenced among them.\n\nThe morning dawned clear and propitious, but the chief had decided not\nto go. On enquiring the reason for the change of mind, I discovered\nthat his people had been telling him that I only wanted to get him into\nthe forest in order to kill him, and that I would not give him the\npromised shirt and beads. I thought that it was much more likely for\nhim to kill me than I him, and I set his mind at rest about the reward,\nfor on the spot I gave him the coveted articles. On receipt of those\nluxuries his doubts of me fled, and I soon assured him that I had no\nintention whatever of taking his life. Towards noon we started off,\nand, winding our way through the Indian paths in single file, we again\nsoon left behind us all signs of man, and saw nothing to mark that any\nhad passed that way before.\n\nThat night, as we sat under a large silk-cotton tree silently eating\nsupper off plates of palm leaves, the old chief suddenly threw down his\nmeat, and, with a startled expression, said, \"I hear spirits!\" Never\nhaving heard such ethereal visitors myself, I smiled incredulously,\nwhereupon the old savage glared at me, and, leaving his food upon the\nground went away out of the firelight into the darkness. Afraid that he\nmight take one of the horses and return to his people, I followed to\nsoothe him, but his offended mood did not pass until, as he said, the\n_spirits_ had gone.\n\nOn the third day scarcity of water began to be felt. We had been slowly\nascending the rugged steeps of a mountain, and as the day wore on the\nthirst grew painful. That night both we and the horses had to be\ncontent with the dew-drops we sucked from the grass, and our dumb\ncompanions showed signs of great exhaustion. The Indian assured me that\nif we could push on we would, by next evening, come to a beautiful lake\nin the mountains: so, ere the sun rose next morning, we were in the\nsaddle on our journey to the coveted water.\n\nAll that day we plodded along painfully, silently. Our lips were dried\ntogether, and our tongues swollen. Thirst hurts! The horses hung their\nheads and ears, and we were compelled to dismount and go afoot. The\npoor creatures were getting so thin that our weight seemed to crush\nthem to the earth. The sun again set, darkness fell, and the lake was,\nfor all I could see, a dream of the chief, our guide. At night, after\nrepeating the sucking of the dew, we ate a little, drank the blood of\nan animal, and tried to sleep. The patient horses stood beside us with\nclosed eyes and bowed heads, until the sight was more than I could\nbear. Fortunately, a very heavy dew fell, which greatly helped us, and\ntwo hours before sunrise next morning the loads were equally\ndistributed on the backs of the seven horses and we started off once\nagain through the mist for water! water! When the sun illuminated the\nheavens and lit up the rugged peaks of the strangely shaped mountains\nahead of us, hope was revived. We sucked the fruit of the date palm,\nand in imagination bathed and wallowed in the water--beautiful\nwater--we so soon expected to behold. The poor horses, however, not\nbuoyed up with sweet hopes as we were, gave out, one after the other,\nand we were compelled to cruelly urge them on up the steep. With it\nall, I had to leave two of the weaker ones behind, purposing, if God\nshould in kindness permit us to reach water, to return and save them.\n\nThat afternoon the Indian chief, who, though an old man, had shown\nwonderful fortitude and endurance, and still led the way, shouted:\n\"_Eyoape! Eyoape!_\" (Come! Come!) We were near the lake. With new-born\nstrength I left all and ran, broke through the brushwood of the shore,\njumped into the lake, and found--nothing but hard earth! The lake was\ndried up! I dug my heel into the ground to see if below the surface\nthere might be soft mud, but failing to find even that, I dropped over\nwith the world dancing in distorted visions before my eyes. More I\ncannot relate.\n\nHow long I lay there I never knew. The Indian, I learned later,\nexploring a deep gully at the other side, found a putrid pool of slime,\nfull of poisonous frogs and alive with insects. Some of this liquid he\nbrought to me in his hands, and, after putting it in my mouth, had the\nsatisfaction of seeing me revive. I dimly remember that my next act was\nto crawl towards the water-hole he guided me to. In this I lay and\ndrank. I suppose it soaked into my system as rain in the earth after a\ndrought. That stagnant pool was our salvation. The horses were brought\nup, and we drank, and drank again. Not until our thirst was slaked did\nwe fully realize how the water stank! When the men were sufficiently\nrefreshed they returned for the abandoned horses, which were found\nstill alive. Had they scented water somewhere and drank? At the foot of\nthe mountains, on the other side, we later discovered much better\nwater, and there we camped, our horses revelling in the abundant\npasturage.\n\nAfter this rest we continued our journey, and next day came to the edge\nof a virgin forest. Through that, the chief said, we must cut our way,\nfor the royal tribe never came out, and were never visited. Close to\nthe edge of the forest was a deep precipice, at the bottom of which we\ncould discern a silvery streak of clear water. From there we must\nprocure the precious fluid for ourselves and horses. Taking our kettle\nand horns, we sought the best point to descend, and after considerable\ndifficulty, clinging to the branches of the overhanging trees and the\ndense undergrowth, we reached the bottom. After slaking our thirst we\nascended with filled horns and kettle to water the horses. As may be\nsupposed, this was a tedious task, and the descent had to be made many\ntimes before the horses were satisfied. My hat served for watering pail.\n\nNext morning the same process was repeated, and then the men, each with\nlong _machetes_ I had provided, set to work to cut a path through the\nforest, and Old Stabbed Arm went off in search of game. After a two\nhours' hunt, a fat ostrich fell before his rifle, and he returned to\ncamp. We still had a little chip\u00e1, which had by this time become as\nhard as stone, but which I jealously guarded to use only in case of the\ngreatest emergency. At times we had been very hungry, but my order was\nthat it should not be touched.\n\nOnly the reader who has seen the virgin forest, with its interlacing\n_lianas_, thick as a man's leg--the thorns six inches long and sharp as\nneedles--can form an idea of the task before us. As we penetrated\nfarther and farther in the _selva_, the darkness became deeper and\ndeeper. Giant trees reared their heads one hundred and fifty feet into\nthe heavens, and beautiful palms, with slender trunks and delicate,\nfeathery leaves, waved over us. The medicinal plants were represented\nby sarsaparilla and many others equally valuable. There was the cocoa\npalm, the date palm, and the cabbage palm, the latter of which\nfurnished us good food, while the wine tree afforded an excellent and\ncooling drink. In parts all was covered with beautiful pendant\nair-flowers, gorgeous with all the colors of the rainbow. Monkeys\nchattered and parrots screamed, but otherwise there was a sombre\nstillness. The exhalations from the depth of rotting leaves and the\ndecaying fallen wood rendered the steamy atmosphere most poisonous.\nTruly, the flora was magnificent, and the fauna, represented by the\nspotted jaguar, whose roar at times broke the awful quiet of the night,\nwas equally grand.\n\nAs the chief, ignorant of hours and miles, could not tell me the extent\nof the forest, I determined to let him and Timoteo make their way\nthrough as best they could, crawling through the branches, to the\nSun-Worshippers, and secure their help in cutting a way for the horses.\nAfter dividing the food I had, we separated. Timoteo and the Indian\ncrept into the forest and were soon lost sight of, while Old Stabbed\nArm and I, with the horses, retraced our steps, and reached the open\nland again. After an earnest conversation my companion shouldered his\nrifle and went off to hunt, and I was left with only the companionship\nof the grazing horses. I remained behind to water the animals, and\nprotect our goods from any prowling savage who might chance to be in\nthe neighborhood. My saddle-bed was spread under a large _burning\nbush_, or incense tree, and my self-imposed duty was to keep a fire\nburning in the open, that its smoke might be seen by day and its light\nby night.\n\nGoing exploring a little, I discovered a much better descent down the\nprecipice, and water was more easily brought up. Indeed, I decided\nthat, if a certain deep chasm were bridged over, it might be possible\nto get the horses themselves to descend by a winding way. With this\nobject in view I felled saplings near the place, and in a few hours\nconstructed a rough bridge, strong enough to bear a horse's weight.\nWhether the animals could smell the water flowing at the bottom, or\nwere more agile than I had thought, I cannot tell, but they descended\nthe almost perpendicular path most wonderfully, and soon were taking\ndraughts of the precious liquid with great gusto. Leaving the horses to\nenjoy their drink, I ascended the stream for some distance, in order to\ndiscover, if possible, where the flow came from. Judge of my surprise\nwhen I found that the water ran out of a grotto, or cavern, in the face\nof the cliff-out of the unknown darkness into the sunlight! Walking up\nthe bed of the stream, I entered the cave, and, striking a few matches,\nfound it to be inhabited by hundreds of vampire bats, which were\nhanging from the sides and stalactites of the roof, like so many damp,\nblack rags. On my entrance the unearthly creatures were disturbed, and\nmany came flying in my face, so I made a quick exit. Several which I\nkilled came floating down the stream with me; one that I measured\nproved to be twenty-two inches across the wings. My exploration had\ndiscovered the secret of the clots of blood we had been finding on the\nhorses' necks every morning. The vampire-bats, in their nightly\nflights, had been sucking the life-blood of our poor, already starving\nanimals! It is said these loathsome creatures--half beast, half\nbird--fan their victim to sleep while they drain out the red blood.\nProvided with palm torches, I again entered the cavern, but could not\npenetrate its depths; it seemed to go right into the bowels of the\nmountain. Exploring down stream was more successful, for large\nflamingoes and wild ducks and geese were found in plenty.\n\nThat night I carefully staked out the horses all around the camp-fire\nand lay down to think and sleep and dream. Old Stabbed Arm had not\nreturned, and I was alone with nature. Several times I rose to see if\nthe horses were securely tied, and to kill any bats I might find\ndisturbing them. Rising in the grey dawn, I watered the horses, cooked\na piece of ostrich meat, and started off on foot for a short distance\nto explore the country to the north, where I saw many indications that\ntapirs were numerous. My first sight of this peculiar animal of\nParaguay I shall never forget. It resembles no other beast I have ever\nseen, but seems half elephant, with its muzzle like a short trunk. In\nsize it is about six feet long and three and a half feet high. There\nwere also ant-bears, peculiar animals, without teeth, but provided with\na rough tongue to lick up the ants. The length of this animal is about\nfour feet, but the thick tail is longer than the body. Whereas the\ntapir has a hog-like skin, the ant-bear has long, bristly hairs.\n\nReturning to camp, judge of my surprise when I found it in possession\nof two savages of strange appearance. My first thought was that I had\nlost all, but, drawing nearer, I discovered that Timoteo and the chief\nwere also there, squatting on the ground, devouring the remains of my\nbreakfast. They had returned from the royal tribe, who had offered to\ncut a way from their side, and these two strangers were to assist us.\n\nWith this additional help we again penetrated the forest. The men cut\nwith a will, and I drove the horses after them. Black, howling monkeys,\nwith long beards and grave countenances, leapt among the trees. Red and\nblue macaws screeched overhead, and many a large serpent received its\ndeath-blow from our machetes. Sometimes we were fortunate enough to\nsecure a bees' nest full of honey, or find luscious fruit. At times I\nstopped to admire a giant tree, eight or ten feet in diameter, or\norchids of the most delicate hues, but the passage was hard and trying,\nand the stagnant air most difficult to breathe. The fallen tree-trunks,\nover which we had to step, or go around or under, were very numerous,\nand sometimes we landed in a bed, not of roses, but of thorns. Sloths\nand strange birds' nests hung from the trees, while the mosquitos and\ninsects made life almost unendurable. We were covered with carapatas,\nbruised and torn, and almost eaten up alive with insects.\n\n\n[Illustration: PARAGUAYAN FOREST INDIAN. These dwarf men use a very\nlong bow, while the Patagonian uses a short one]\n\n\nUnder the spreading branches of one of the largest trees we came upon\nan abandoned Indian camp. This, I was told, had belonged to the \"little\nmen of the woods,\" hairy dwarfs, a few of whom inhabit the depths of\nthe forest, and kill their game with blow-pipes. Of course we saw none\nof the poor creatures. Their scent is as keen as an animal's; they are\nagile as monkeys, and make off to hide in the hollow trunks of trees,\nor bury themselves in the decaying vegetation until danger is past.\nPoor pigmy! What place will he occupy in the life that is to be?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nWE REACH THE SUN-WORSHIPPERS.\n\n\nAfter some days' journey we heard shouts, and knew that, like entombed\nminers, we were being dug out on the other side! The Caingwas soon met\nus, and I looked into their faces and gravely saluted. They stared at\nme in speechless astonishment, and I as curiously regarded them. Each\nman had his lower lip pierced and wore the _barbote_ I have described,\nwith the difference that these were made of gum.\n\nWith a clear path before us we now made better progress, and before\nlong emerged from the living tomb, but the memory of it will ever\nremain a nightmare.\n\nWe found a crowd of excited Indians, young and old, awaiting us. Many\nof the females ran like frightened deer on catching sight of me, but an\nold man, whom I afterwards learned was the _High Priest_ of the tribe,\ncame and asked my business. Assuring him, through Timoteo, that my\nmission was peaceable, and that I had presents for them, he gave me\npermission to enter into the glade, where I was told _Nandeyara_\n[Footnote: \"Our Owner,\" the most beautiful word for God I have ever\nheard.] had placed them at the beginning of the world. Had I discovered\nthe _Garden of Eden_, the place from which man had been wandering for\n6,000 years? I was conducted by Rocanandiv\u00e1 (the high priest) down a\nsteep path to the valley, where we came in view of several large\npeculiarly shaped houses, built of bamboo. Near these dwellings were\nperhaps a hundred men, women and children, remnants of a vanishing\nnation. Some had a mat around their loins, but many were naked. All the\nmales had the _barbote_ in the lip, and had exceptionally thick hair,\nmatted with grease and mud. Most of them had a repellant look on their\npigment-painted faces, and I could very distinctly see that I was not a\nwelcome visitor. No, I had not reached Eden! Only \"beyond the clouds\nand beyond the tomb\" would the bowers of Eden be discovered to me.\nHearing domestic hens cackling around the houses, I bade Timoteo tell\nthe priest that we were very hungry, and that if he killed two chickens\nfor us I would give him a beautiful gift later on. The priest\ndistinctly informed me, however, that I must give first, or no fowl\nwould be killed. From that decision I tried to move him, urging that I\nwas tired, the pack was hard to undo, and to-morrow, when I was rested,\nI would well repay them the kindness. My words were thrown away; not a\nbite should we eat until the promised knife was given. I was faint with\nhunger, but from the load on the packhorse I procured the knife, which\nI handed to my unwilling host with the promise of other gifts later. On\nreceipt of this treasure he gave orders to the boys standing off at a\ndistance to catch two chickens. The birds were knocked over by the\nstones thrown at them. Two women now came forward with clay pots on\ntheir heads and fire-sticks in their hands, and they superintended the\ncooking. Without cutting off either heads or legs, or pulling out the\nbirds' feathers, the chickens were placed in the pots with water. Lying\ndown near the fire, I, manlike, impatiently waited for supper. Perhaps\na minute had dragged its weary length along when I picked up a stick\nfrom the ground and poked one of the fowls out of the water, which was\nnot yet warm. Holding the bird in one hand, and pulling feathers out of\nmy mouth with the other, I ate as my forefathers did ages ago. Years\nbefore this I had learned that a hungry man can eat what an epicure\ndespises. After this feast I lay down on the ground behind one of the\ntepees, and, with my head resting on my most valued possessions, went\nto sleep.\n\nHaving promised to give the priest and his wife another present, I was\nawakened very early next morning. They had come for their gifts. Rising\nfrom my hard bed, I stretched myself and awoke my servant, under whose\nhead were the looking-glasses. I presented one of these to the woman,\nwho looked in it with satisfaction and evident pleasure. Whether she\nwas pleased with her reflection or with the glass I cannot tell, but I\nfeel sure it must have been the latter! A necklace to the daughter and\na further gift to the old man gained their friendship, and food was\nbrought to us. After partaking of this I was informed that the king\ndesired to see me, and that I must proceed at once to his hut.\n\nHis majesty (?) lived on the other side of the river, close at hand.\nThis water was of course unbridged, so, in order to cross, I was\ncompelled to divest myself of my clothing and walk through it in\nnature's garb. The water came up to my breast, and once I thought the\nclothes I carried on my head would get wet. Dressing on the other side,\nI presented myself at the king's abode. There I was kindly received,\nbeing invited to take up my quarters with him and his royal family. The\nking was a tall man of somewhat commanding appearance, but, save for\nthe loin cloth, he was naked, like the rest. The queen, a little woman,\nwas as scantily dressed as her husband. She was very shy, and I noticed\nthe rest of the inmates of the hut peeping through the crevices of the\ncorn-stalk partition of an inner room. After placing around the shapely\nneck of the queen a specially fine necklace I had brought, and giving\nthe king a large hunting-knife, I was regaled with roasted yams, and\nlater on with a whole watermelon.\n\nTimoteo, my servant, whose native language was Guarani, could\nunderstand most of the idiom of the Sun Worshippers, which we found to\nbe similar to that spoken by the civilized inhabitants of the country.\nThere must therefore have been some connection between the two peoples\nat one time. The questions, \"Where have you come from?\" \"Why have you\ncome?\" were asked and answered, and I, in return, learned much of this\nstrange tribe. M\u00e1t\u00e9 was served, but whereas in the outside world a\nrusty tin tube to suck it through is in possession of even the poorest,\nhere they used only a reed. I was astonished to find the m\u00e1t\u00e9\nsweetened. Knowing that they could not possibly have any of the\nluxuries of civilization, I made enquiries regarding this, and was told\nthat they used a herb which grew in the valley, to which they gave the\nname of _c\u00e1-ha h\u00e9-h\u00e9_ (sweet herb). This plant, which is not unlike\nclover, is sweet as sugar, whether eaten green or in a dried state.\n\nThere was not a seat of any description in the hut, but the king said,\n\"_Eguap\u00fa_\" (\"Sit down\"), so I squatted on the earthen floor. A broom is\nnot to be found in the kingdom, and the house had never been swept!\n\nA curiosity I noticed was the calabash which the king carried attached\nto his belt. This relic was regarded with great reverence, and at first\nHis Majesty declined to reveal its character; but after I had won his\nconfidence by gifts of beads and mirrors, he became more communicative.\nOne day, in a burst of pride, he told me that the gourd contained the\nashes of his ancestors, who were the ancient kings. Though the\nSpaniards sought to carefully rout out and destroy all direct\ndescendants of the royal family of the Incas, their historians tell us\nthat some remote connections escaped. The Indians of Peru have legends\nto the effect that at the time of the Spanish invasion an Inca\nchieftain led an emigration of his people down the mountains. Humboldt,\nwriting in the 18th century, said: \"It is interesting to inquire\nwhether any other princes of the family of Manco Capac have remained in\nthe forests; and if there still exist any of the Incas of Peru in other\nplaces.\" Had I discovered some descendants of this vanished race? The\nMontreal _Journal_, commenting on my discovery, said: \"The question is\nof extreme interest to the scientific enquirer, even if they are not\nwhat Mr. Ray thinks them.\"\n\nThe royal family consisted of the parents, a son and his wife, a\ndaughter and her husband, and two younger girls. I was invited to sleep\nin the inner room, which the parents occupied, and the two married\ncouples remained in the common room. All slept in fibre hammocks, made\ngreasy and black by the smoke from the fire burning on the floor in the\ncentre of the room. No chimney, window, door, or article of furniture\ngraced the house.\n\n\"The court of the Incas rivalled that of Rome, Jerusalem, or any of the\nold Oriental countries, in riches and show, the palaces being decorated\nwith a great profusion of gold, silver, fine cloth and precious\nstones.\" [Footnote: Rev. Thomas Wood, LL.D., Lima, Peru, In \"Protestant\nMissions in South America.\"]\n\nAn ancient Spanish writer who measured some of the stones of the Incan\npalace at Cuzco tells us there were stones so nicely adjusted that it\nwas impossible to introduce even the blade of a knife between them, and\nthat some of those stones were thirty-eight feet long, by eighteen feet\nbroad, and six feet thick. What a descent for the \"Children of the\nSun\"! \"How are the mighty fallen!\" Thoughts of the past and the mean\npresent passed through my mind as I lay down in the dust of the earthen\nfloor that first night of my stay with the king.\n\nOwing to the thousands of fleas in the dust of the room it was hard for\nme to rest much, and that night a storm brewing made sleep almost\nimpossible. As the thunder pealed forth all the Indians of the houses\nhastily got out of their hammocks and grasped gourd rattles and\nbeautifully woven cotton banners. The rattles were shaken\n and the banners waved, while a droning chant was struck up by the\nhigh priest, and the louder the thunder rolled the louder their voices\nrose and the more lustily they shook the seeds in their calabashes.\nThey were trying to appease the dread deity of Thunder, as did their\nInca ancestors. The voice of the old priest led the worship, and for\n_four hours_ there was no cessation of the monotonous song, except when\nhe performed some mystic ceremony which I understood not.\n\nJust as the old priest had awakened me the first morning to ask for his\npresent, so the king came tapping me gently the second. In his hand he\nhad a large sweet potato, and in my half-dreamy state I heard him\nsaying, \"Give me your coat. Eat a potato?\" The change I thought was\ngreatly to his advantage, but I was anxious to please him. I possessed\ntwo coats, while he was, as he said, a poor old man, and had no coat.\nThe barter was concluded; I ate the potato, and he, with strange\ngrimaces, donned a coat for the first time in his life. Think of this\nfor an alleged descendant of the great Atahuallpa, whose robes and\njewels were priceless!\n\nI offered to give the queen a feminine garment of white cotton if she\nwould wear it, but this I could not prevail upon her to do; it was\n\"ugly.\" As a loin-cloth, she would use it, but put it on--no! In the\nlatter savage style the shaped garment was thereafter worn. Women have\n_fashions_ all over the globe.\n\nThe few inches of clothing worn by the Caingwa women are never washed,\nand the only attempt at cleansing the body I saw when among them was\nthat of a woman who filled her mouth with water and squirted it back on\nher hands, which she then wiped on her loin-cloth!\n\nPrescott, writing of the Incas, says: \"They loved to indulge in the\nluxury of their baths, replenished by streams of crystal water which\nwere conducted through subterraneous silver channels into basins of\ngold.\"\n\nThe shapely little mouth of the queen was spoilt by the habit she had\nof smoking a _heavy_ pipe made of red clay. I was struck with the\nweight and shape of this, for it exactly resembled those made by the\nold cliff-dwellers, unknown centuries ago. One will weigh at least a\nquarter of a pound. For a mouth-piece they use a bird's quill. The\ntobacco they grow themselves.\n\nNear the royal abode were the kitchen gardens. A tract of forest had\nbeen fired, and this clearing planted with bananas, mandioca, sweet\npotatoes, etc. The blackened trunks of the trees rose up like so many\nevil spirits above the green foliage. The garden implements used were\nof the most primitive description; a crooked stick served for hoe, and\nlong, heavy, sharpened iron-wood clubs were used instead of the steel\nplough of civilization.\n\nAs I have already remarked, I found the people were sun-worshippers.\nEach morning, just as the rising sun lit up the eastern sky, young and\nold came out of their houses, the older ones carrying empty gourds with\nthe dry seeds inside. At a signal from the high priest, a solemn\ndroning chant was struck up, to the monotonous time kept by the\nnumerous gourd rattles. As the sun rose higher and higher, the chanting\ngrew louder and louder, and the echoes of _\"He! he! he! ha! ha! ha!\nlaima! laima!\"_ were repeated by the distant hills. When the altar of\nincense (described later) was illuminated by the sun-god, the chanting\nceased.\n\nAfter this solemn worship of the Orb of Day, the women, with quiet\ndemeanor and in single file, went off to their work in the gardens. On\nreturning, each carried a basket made of light canes, slung on the back\nand held up by plaited fibres forming a band which came across their\nforeheads. The baskets contained the day's vegetables. Meat was seldom\neaten by them, but this was probably because of its scarcity, for when\nwe killed an ostrich they clamored for a share. Reptiles of all kinds,\nand even caterpillars, are devoured by them when hungry.\n\nThe Caingwas are under the average height, but use the longest bows and\narrows I have ever seen. Some I brought away measure nearly seven feet\nin length. The points are made of sharpened iron-wood, notched like the\nback of a fish-hook, and they are poisoned with serpent venom. Besides\nthese weapons, it was certainly strange to find them living in the\n_stone age_, for in the hands of the older members of the tribe were to\nbe seen stone axes. The handles of these primitive weapons are scraped\ninto shape by flints, as probably our savage forefathers in Britain did\ntheirs two thousand years ago.\n\nEntering the low, narrow doorway of one of the bamboo frame houses, I\nsaw that it was divided into ten-foot squares by corn-stalk partitions\na yard high. These places, like so many stalls for horses, run down\neach side of the _hog\u00e1_. One family occupies a division, sleeping in\nnet hammocks made of long, coarse grass. A \"family man\" usually has\nbands of human hair twisted around his legs below the knees, and also\naround the wrists. This hair is torn from his wife's head. Down the\ncentre are numerous fires for cooking purposes, but the house was\ndestitute of chimney. Wood is burned, and the place was at times so\nfull of smoke that I could not distinguish one Indian from another.\nFortunately, the walls of the house, as was also the roof, were in bad\nrepair, and some of the smoke escaped through the chinks. Sixty people\nlived in the largest hog\u00e1, and I judged the number of the whole tribe\nto be about three hundred.\n\nThe doorways of all the houses faced towards the east, as did those of\nthe Inca. In the principal one, where the high priest lived, a square\naltar of red clay was erected. I quickly noticed that on this\nelevation, which was about a yard high, there burned a very carefully\ntended fire of holy wood. Enquiring the meaning of this, I was informed\nthat, very many moons ago, Nande-yara had come in person to visit the\ntribe, and when with them had lit the fire, which, he said, they must\nnot under any circumstances suffer to die out. Ever since then the\nsmoke of the incense had ascended to their \"Owner\" in his far-off\ndwelling.\n\nHow forcibly was I reminded of the scripture referring to the Jewish\naltar of long ago, \"There the fire shall ever be burning upon the\naltar; it shall never go out.\" If I had not discovered Eden, I had at\nleast found the altar and fire of Edenic origin.\n\nBehind the altar, occupying the stall directly opposite the doorway,\nstood the tribal god. As the Caingwas are sun-worshippers, I was\nsurprised to see this, but Rocanandivia, with grave demeanor, told me\nthat when Nandeyara departed from them he left behind him his\nrepresentative. In the chapter on Mariolatry, I have traced the natural\ntendency of man to sink from spiritual to image worship, and I found\nthat the Caingwas, like all pagans, had reverted to a something they\ncould see and feel. Remembering that they had never heard the second\ncommandment, written by God because of this failing in man, we can\nexcuse them, but what shall be said of the enlightened Romanists?\n\nBeing exceedingly anxious to procure their \"Copy of God,\" I tried to\nbargain with the priest. I offered him one thing and another, but to\nall my proposals he turned a deaf ear, and finally, glaring at me, said\nthat _nothing_ would ever induce him to part with it. The people would\nnever allow the image to be taken away, as the life of the tribe was\nbound up with it Seeing that he was not to be moved, I desisted, though\na covetous look in his eye when I offered a beautiful colored rug in\nexchange gave me hope, Rocanandiva was, like most idolatrous priests,\nvery fanatical. When he learned that I professed and taught a different\nreligion, his jealousy was most marked, and he often told me to go from\nthem, I was not wanted. Living with the king, however, saved me from\nejection.\n\nOne day the priest, ever on the beg, was anxious to obtain some article\nfrom me, and I determined to give it only on one condition. Being\nanxious to tell the people the story of Jesus, I had repeatedly asked\npermission of him, but had been as often repulsed. They did not want\n_me_, or any new \"words,\" he would reply. Turning to him now, I said,\n\"Rocanandiva, if you will allow me to tell 'words' to the people you\nshall have the present.\" The priest turned on his heel and left me.\nKnowing his cupidity, I was not surprised when, later, he came to me\nand said that I could tell them _words_, and held out his hand for the\ngift.\n\nAfter sun-worship next morning the king announced that I had something\nnew to tell them. When all were seated on the ground in wondering\nsilence, I began in simple language to tell \"the old, old story.\" My\naddress was somewhat similar to the following: \"Many moons ago,\nNandeyara, looking down from his abode, saw that all the men and women\nand children in the world were bad; that is, they had done wrong\nthings, such as . . . Now God has a Son, and to Him He said, Look down\nand see. All are doing wicked things! He looked and saw. The Father\nsaid that for their sin they should have to die, but that Jesus, His\nSon, could come down and die in their place. The Son came, and lived on\nearth many moons; but was hated, and at last caught, and large pieces\nof iron (like the priest's knife) were put into His hands and feet, and\nHe was fastened to a tree. After this a man came, and, with a very long\nknife, brought the blood out of the side of Jesus, and He died.\"\nPurposing to further explain my story, I was not pleased when the\npriest stopped me, and, stepping forth, told the people that my account\nwas not true. He then in eloquent tones related to them what he called\nthe _real story_, to which I listened in amazed wonder.\n\n\"Many moons ago,\" he began, \"we were dying of hunger! One day the Sun,\nour god, changed into a man, and he walked down _that_ road.\" (Here he\npointed to the east.) \"The chief met him. 'All your people are dying of\nhunger,' said god. 'Yes, they are,' the chief replied. 'Will you die\ninstead of all the people?' Nandeyara said. 'Yes, I will,' the chief\nanswered. He immediately dropped down dead, and god came to the village\nwhere we all are now. 'Your chief is lying dead up the road,' he said,\n'go and bury him, and after three days are passed visit the grave, when\nyou will find a plant growing out of\n his mouth; that will be corn, and it will save you!'\" Then, turning\nto me, the priest said: \"This we did, and behold us alive! That is the\nstory!\" A strange legend, surely, and yet the reader will be struck\nwith the grains of truth intermingled--life, resulting from the\nsacrificial death of another; the substitution of the one for the many;\nthe life-giving seed germinating after _three days' burial_, reminding\none of John 12:24: \"Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and\ndie, it abideth alone; but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.\"\nStrange that so many aboriginal people have legends so near the truth.\n\nSome days later the chiefs son and I were alone, and I saw that\nsomething troubled him. He tried to tell me, but I was somewhat\nignorant of his language, so, after looking in all directions to see\nthat we were really alone, he led the way into a dark corner of the\nhog\u00e1, where we were. There, from under a pile of garden baskets,\ncalabashes, etc., he brought out a peculiarly-shaped gourd, full of\nsome red, powdery substance. This, with trembling haste, he put into my\nhand, and seemed greatly relieved when I had it securely. Going then to\nthe corner where I kept my goods, he took up a box of matches and made\nsigns for me to exchange, which I did. When Timoteo returned I learned\nthat the young man was custodian of the devil--the only and original\none--and that he had palmed him off on me for a box of matches! How the\nsuperstition of the visible presence of the devil originated I have no\nidea, but there might be some meaning in the man's earnest desire to\nexchange it for matches, or lights, the emblem of their fire or\nsun-worship. Was this simple deal fallen man's feeble effort to rid\nhimself of the _Usurper_ and get back the _Father_, for it is very\nsignificant that the Caingwa word, _ta-ta_ (light), signifies also\nfather. Do they need light, or are they sufficiently illumined for time\nand eternity? Will the reader reverently stand with me, in imagination,\nbeside an Indian grave? A girl has died through snake poisoning. A\nshallow grave has been dug for her remains. Into this hole her body has\nbeen dropped, uncoffined, in a sitting position. Beside the body is\nplaced some food and a few paltry trinkets, and the people stand around\nwith that disconsolate look which is only seen upon the faces of those\nwho know not the Father. As they thus linger, the witch-doctor asks,\n\"Is the dog killed?\" Someone replies, \"Yes, the dog is killed.\" \"Is the\nhead cut off?\" is then asked. \"Yes, the head is off,\" is the reply.\n\"Put it in the grave, then,\" says the medicine man; and then the dog's\nhead is dropped at the girl's feet.\n\nWhy do they do this? you ask. Question their _wise man_, and he will\nsay: \"A dog is a very clever animal. He can always find his way. A girl\ngets lost when alone. For that reason we place a dog's head with her,\nthat it may guide her in the spirit life.\" I ask again, \"Do they need\nmissionaries?\"\n\nMy stay with the sun-worshippers, though interesting, was painful.\nExcepting when we cooked our own food, I almost starved. Their habits\nare extremely filthy, indeed more loathsome and disgusting than I dare\nrelate.\n\nMy horses were by now refreshed with their rest, and appeared able for\nthe return journey, so I determined to start back to civilization. The\npriest heard of my decision with unfeigned joy, but the king and queen\nwere sorrowful. These pressed me to return again some time, but said I\nmust bring with me a _boca_ (gun) like my own for the king, with some\nmore strings of white beads for the queen's wrists.\n\nWhile saddling our horses in the grey dawn, the wily priest came to me\nwith a bundle, and, quietly drawing me aside, said that Nandeyara was\ninside, and in exchange for the bright rug I could take him away. The\nexchange was made, and I tied their god, along with bows and arrows,\netc., on the back of a horse, and we said farewell. I had strict orders\nto cover up the idol from the eyes of the people until we got away.\nEven when miles distant, I kept looking back, fearing that the duped\nIndians were following in enraged numbers. Of course, the priest would\ngive out that I had _stolen_ the image.\n\nAh, Rocanandiva, you are not the first who has been willing to sell his\ngod for worldly gain! The hand of Judas burned with \"thirty pieces of\nsilver,\" the earthly value of the Divine One. Pilate, for personal\nprofit, said: \"Let Him be crucified.\" And millions to-day sell Him for\n\"a mess of pottage.\"\n\nThe same horse bore away the _devil_ and _god_, so perhaps without the\none there would be no need of the other.\n\nSo prolific is the vegetation that during our few weeks' stay with the\nIndians the creeping thorns and briars had almost covered up the path\nwe had cut through the forest, and it was again necessary to use our\nmachetes. The larger growth, however, being down, this was not\ndifficult, and we entered its sombre stillness once more. What strange\ncreatures people its tangled recesses we knew not.\n\n     \"For beasts and birds have seen and heard\n     That which man knoweth not.\"\n\nI hurried through with little wish to penetrate its secret. Mere\nexistence was hard enough in its steaming semi-darkness. Our clothes\nwere now almost torn to shreds (I had sought to mend mine with\nhorse-hair thread, with poor results), and we duly emerged into\ndaylight on the other side, ragged, torn and dirty.\n\nOur journey back to civilization was similar to the outward way. We\nselected a slightly different route, but left the old chief safe and\nwell with his people.\n\nOne night our horses were startled by a bounding jaguar, and were so\nterrified that they broke away and scattered in all directions.\nSearching for them detained us a whole day, but fortunately we were\nable to round them all up again. Two were found in a wood of\nstrangely-shaped bushes, whose large, tough leaves rustled like\nparchment.\n\nOne afternoon a heavy rain came on, and we stopped to construct a\nshelter of green branches, into which we crept. The downpour became so\nheavy that it dripped through our hastily-constructed arbor, and we\nwere soon soaking wet. Owing to the dampness of the fuel, it was only\nafter much patient work that we were able to light a fire and dry our\nclothes. There we remained for three days, Timoteo sighing for\nPegwaomi, and the wind sighing still louder, to our discomfort.\nEverything we had was saturated. Sleeping on the soaking ground, the\npoisonous tarantula spiders crept over us. These loathsome creatures,\nsecond only to the serpent, are frequently so large as to spread their\nthick, hairy legs over a six-inch diameter.\n\nThe storm passed, and we started off towards the river Ipane, which was\nnow considerably swollen. Three times on the expedition we had halted\nto build rough bridges over chasms or mountain streams with\nperpendicular banks, but this was broad and had to be crossed through\nthe water. As I rode the largest and strongest horse, it was my place\nto venture first into the rushing stream. The animal bravely stemmed\nthe current, as did the rest, but Old Stabbed Arm, riding a weaker\nhorse, nearly lost his life. The animal was washed down by the strong\ncurrent, and but for the man's previous long experience in swimming\nrivers he would never have reached the bank. The pony also somehow\nstruggled through to the side, landing half-drowned, and Old Stabbed\nArm received a few hearty pats on the back. The load on the mare was\nfurther soaked, but most of our possessions had been ruined long ago.\nMy cartridges I had slung around my neck, and I held the photographic\nplates in my teeth, while the left hand carried my gun, so these were\npreserved. To my care on that occasion the reader is indebted for some\nof the illustrations in this volume. Nandeyara got another wash, but he\nhad been wet before, and never complained!\n\nOn the farther side of the river was a deserted house, and we could\ndistinctly trace the heavy footprints of a tapir leading up the path\nand through the open doorway. We entered with caution. Was the beast in\nthen? No. He had gone out by a back way, probably made by himself,\nthrough the wattled wall. We could see the place was frequented very\noften by wild pigs, which had left hundreds of footprints in the\nthree-inch depth of dust on the floor. There we lit a fire to again dry\nour clothes, and prepared to pass the night, expecting a visit from the\nhogs. Had they appeared when we were ready for them, the visit would\nnot have been unwelcome. Food was hard to procure, and animals did not\ncome very often to be shot. Had they found us asleep, however, the\nwaking would have been terrible indeed, for they will eat human flesh\njust as ravenously as roots. After spreading our saddle-cloths on the\ndust and filth, Old Stabbed Arm and I were chatting about the Caingwas\nand their dirty habits, when Timoteo, heaving a sigh of relief, said:\n\"Thank God, we are clean at last!\" He was satisfied with the pigpen as\nhe recalled the _hog\u00e1_ of the Sun-Worshippers.\n\n At last the village of Pegwaomi was reached, and, oh, we were not\nsorry, for the havoc of the jiggers in our feet was getting terrible!\nThe keen-eyed inhabitants caught sight of us while we were still\ndistant, and when we reined up, Timoteo's aged mother tremblingly said,\n\"_Yoape_\" (\"Come here\") to him, and she wept as she embraced her boy.\nTruly, there was no sight so sweet to \"mother\" as that of her ragged,\ntravel-stained son; and Timoteo, the strong man, wept. The fatted calf\nwas then killed a few yards from the doorstep, by having its throat\ncut. Offal littered up the doorway, and the children in their glee\ndanced in the red blood. The dogs' tails and the women's tongues wagged\nmerrily, making us feel that we were joined on to the world again. I\nwas surprised to find that we were days out of reckoning; I had been\nkeeping Sunday on Thursday!\n\nDuring this stay at Pegwaomi I nearly lost Old Stabbed Arm. The day\nafter we returned our hostess very seriously asked me if he might marry\nher daughter. Thinking he had sent her to ask, I consented. It was a\nsurprise to learn afterwards that he knew nothing at all of the matter.\n\nAlthough Pegwaomi gained no new inhabitant, I secured what proved to be\none of the truest and most faithful friends of my life--a little\nmonkey. His name was Mr. Pancho. With him it was love at first sight,\nand from that time onward, I believe, he had only two things in his\nmind--his food and his master. He would cry when I left him, and hug\nand kiss me on my return. Pancho rode the pack-mare into the village of\nConcepcion, and busied himself on the way catching butterflies and\ntrying to grasp the multi-colored humming-birds hovering over the\nequally beautiful passion-flowers growing in the bushes on each side of\nthe path.\n\nSurely a stranger sight was never seen on the streets of Concepcion\nthan that of a tired, dusty pack-horse bearing a live monkey, a dead\ngod, and an equally dead devil on his back! Mrs. Sorrows was overjoyed\nto see me return, and earnestly told me that my first duty was to hurry\ndown to the store and buy two colored candles to burn before her saint,\nwho had brought me back, even though I was a heretic, which fact she\ngreatly lamented. We had been given up as lost months before, for word\ncame down that I had been killed by Indians. Here I was, however, safe\nand fairly well, saving that the ends of two of my toes had rotted off\nwith jiggers, and fever burned in my veins! Mrs. Dolores doctored my\nfeet with tobacco ashes as I reclined in a hammock under the lime trees\nsurrounding her hut. I did not buy the candles, but she did; and while\nI silently thanked a Higher Power, and the _ta-tas_ burned to _her_\ndeity, she informed me that my countryman, the prodigal, had been\ncarried to the \"potters' field.\" Not all prodigals reach home again;\nsome are buried by the swine-troughs.\n\nFor some time I was unable to put my feet to the ground; but Pancho,\never active, tied in a fig tree, helped himself to ripe fruit, and took\nlife merrily. Pancho and I were eventually able to bid good-bye to Mrs.\nSorrows, and, thousands of miles down life's pathway, this little\nfriend and I journeyed together, he ever loving and true. I took him\nacross the ocean, away from his tropical home, and--he died. I am not\nsentimental--nay, I have been accused of hardness--but I make this\nreference to Pancho in loving memory. Unlike some friends of my life,\n_he_ was constant and true. [Footnote: From letters awaiting me at the\npost-office, I learned, with intense sorrow and regret, that my strange\npatron had gone \"the way of all flesh\" The land I had been to explore,\nalong-with a bequest of $250,000, passed into the hands of the Baptist\nMissionary Society, to the Secretary of which Society all my reports\nwere given.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nCHACO SAVAGES.\n\n\nThe Gran Chaco, an immense region in the interior of the continent,\nsaid to be 2,500,000 square miles in extent, is, without doubt, the\ndarkest part of \"The Darkest Land.\" From time immemorial this has been\ngiven up to the Indians; or, rather, they have proved so warlike that\nthe white man has not dared to enter the vast plain. The Chaco contains\na population of perhaps 3,000,000 of aborigines. These are divided into\nmany tribes, and speak numerous languages. From the military outposts\nof Argentina at the south, to the Fort of Olimpo, 450 miles north, the\ncountry is left entirely to the savage. The former are built to keep\nback the Tobas from venturing south, and the latter is a Paraguayan\nfort on the Brazilian frontier. Here about one hundred soldiers are\nquartered and some fifty women banished, for the Paraguayan Government\nsends its female convicts there. [Footnote: The women are not provided\nwith even the barest necessities of life. Here they are landed and,\nperforce, fasten themselves like leeches on the licentious soldiery. I\nspeak from personal knowledge, for I have visited the \"hell\" of\nParaguay.] Between these forts and Bolivia, on the west, I have been\nprivileged to visit eight different tribes of Indians, all of them\nalike degraded and sunken in the extreme; savage and wild as man,\nthough originally made in the image of God, can be.\n\nThe Chaco is a great unknown land. The north, described by Mr. Minchin,\nBolivian Government Explorer, as \"a barren zone--an almost\nuninterrupted extent of low, thorny scrub, with great scarcity of\nwater,\" and the centre and south, as I have seen in exploring journeys,\ngreat plains covered with millions of palm trees, through which the\nastonished traveller can ride for weeks without seeing any limit. In\nthe dry season the land is baked by the intense heat of the tropical\nsun, and cracked into deep fissures. In the rainy season it is an\nendless marsh--a veritable dead man's land. During a 200-mile ride, 180\nlay through water with the sun almost vertical. All this country in\npast ages must have been the bed of a great salt sea.\n\nAs I have said, the Chaco is peculiarly Indian territory, into which\nthe white man steps at his peril. I accepted a commission, however, to\nexamine and report on certain parts of it, so I left the civilized\nhaunts of men and set foot on the forbidden ground.\n\nMy first introduction to the savages in Chaco territory was at their\nvillage of Teepmuckthlawhykethy (The Place Where the Cows Arrived).\nThey were busy devouring a dead cow and a newly-born calf, and I saw\ntheir naked bodies through such dense clouds of mosquitos that in one\nclap of the hands I could kill twenty or thirty. This Indian _toldo_\nconsists of three large wigwams, in which live about eighty of the most\ndegraded aborigines to be found on earth. When they learned I was not\none of the _Christians_ from across the river, and that I came well\nintroduced, they asked: Did I come across the _big water_ in a dug-out?\nWas it a day's journey? Would I give them some of \"the stuff that\nresembles the eggs of the ant?\" (their name for rice).\n\nI was permitted to occupy a palm hut without a roof, but I slept under\na tiger's skin, and that kept off dew and rain. They reserved the right\nto come and go in it as they pleased. The women, with naked babies\nastride their hips, the usual way of carrying them, were particularly\nannoying. A little girl, however, perhaps ten years old, named Supupnik\n(Sawdust), made friends with me, and that friendship lasted during all\nmy stay with them. Her face was always grotesquely painted, but she was\na sweet child.\n\nThese Indians are of normal stature, and are always erect and stately,\nperhaps because all burdens are borne by straps on the forehead. The\nexpression of the savage is peculiar, for he pulls out all the hair on\nhis face, even the eyelashes and eyebrows, and seems to think the\nomission of that act would be a terrible breach of cleanliness. These\nsame individuals will, however, frequently be seen with their whole\nbody so coated with dirt that it could easily be scraped off with a\nknife in cakes, as the housewife would scrape a burnt loaf! The first\nuse to which the women put the little round tin looking-glasses, which\nI used for barter, was to admire their pretty (?) faces; but the men,\nwith a sober look, would search for the detested hair on lip or chin.\nThat I was so lost to decency as to suffer a moustache to cover my lip\nwas to them a constant puzzle and wonder, for in every other respect\nthe universal opinion was that I was a civilized kind of \"thing.\" I\nwrite _thing_ advisedly, for the white man is to them an inferior\ncreation--not a _person_.\n\nIn place of a beard or moustache, the inhabitant of the Chaco prefers\nto paint his face, and sometimes he makes quite an artistic design.\n\nThese wild inhabitants of Central South America generally wear a skin\naround the loins, or a string of ostrich feathers. Some tribes, as, for\nexample, the Chamacocos, dispense with either. The height of fashion is\nto wear strings of tigers' teeth, deer's hoofs, birds' bills, etc.,\naround the neck. Strings of feathers or wool are twisted around ankles\nand wrists, while the thickly matted hair is adorned with plumes,\nstanding upright.\n\nThe men insert round pieces of wood in the lobe of the ear. Boys of\ntender age have a sharp thorn pushed through the ear, where more\ncivilized nations wear earrings. This hole is gradually enlarged until\nmanhood, when a round piece, two inches in diameter and one and a half\ninches thick, can be worn, not depending from the ear, but in the\ngristle of it. The cartilage is thus so distended that only a narrow\nrim remains around the ornament, and this may often be seen broken out.\nSometimes three or four rattles from the tail of the rattlesnake also\nhang from the ear on to the shoulder.\n\nThese tribes of the Chaco were all vassals of the Inca at the advent of\nthe Spaniards. They had been by them reclaimed from savagery, and\ntaught many useful arts, one or two of which, such as the making of\nblankets and string, they still retain. The Inca used the ear ornaments\nof solid gold, but made in the form of a wheel. The nearest approach to\nthis old custom is when the wooden ear-plug is painted thus, as are\nsome in the author's possession.\n\nI was fortunate in gaining the favor of the tribe living near the\nriver, and because of certain favors conferred upon them, was adopted\ninto the family. My face was painted, my head adorned with ostrich\nplumes, and I was given the name of Wanampangapthling ithma (Big Cactus\nRed Mouth). Because of this formal initiation, I was privileged to\ntravel where I chose, but to the native Paraguayan or Argentine the\nChaco is a forbidden land. The Indian describes himself as a _man_;\nmonkeys are _little men_; I was a _thing_; but the Paraguayans are\n_Christians_, and that is the lowest degree of all. The priests they\nsee on the other side of the river are _Yankilwana_ (neither man nor\nwoman); and a _Yankilwana_, in his distinctive garb, could never tread\nthis Indian soil. So abhorrent to them is the name of Christian, that\nthe missionaries have been compelled to use another word to describe\ntheir converts, and they are called \"Followers of Jesus.\" All the\nmembers of some large expeditions have been massacred just because they\nwere _Christians_. Surely this is convincing corroboration of my\nremarks regarding the state of Roman Catholicism in those dark lands.\n\nA few miserable-looking, diminutive sheep are kept by some tribes, and\nthe blankets referred to are made from the wool, which is torn off the\nsheep with a sharp shell, or, if near the coast, with a knife. The\nblankets are woven by hand across two straight branches of tree, and\nthey are sometimes colored in various shades. A bulbous root they know\nof dyes brown, the cochineal insect red, and the bark of a tree yellow.\nString is made from the fibre of the _caraguata\u00ee_ plant, and snail\nshells are used to extract the fibre. This work is, of course, done by\nthe women, as is also the making of the clay pots they use for cooking.\nThe men only hunt.\n\nAll sleep on the ground, men, women, children and dogs, promiscuously.\nThe wigwams are nothing more than a few branches stuck in the ground\nand tied at the top. The sides are left open. Very often even this most\nprimitive of dwellings is dispensed with, and the degraded beings crawl\nunder the shelter of the bushes. Furniture of any kind they are, of\ncourse, wit-out, and their destitution is only equalled by the African\npigmy or the Australian black.\n\nThe Chaco is essentially a barren land, and the Indians' time seems\nalmost fully taken up in procuring food. The men, with bows and arrows,\nhunt the deer, ostrich, fox, or wolf, while the women forage for roots\nand wild fruit.\n\nOne tribe in the north of the Chaco are cannibals, and they\noccasionally make war on their neighbors just to obtain food.\n\nA good vegetable diet is the cabbage, which grows in the heart of\ncertain palms, and weighs three or four pounds. To secure this the tree\nhas perforce to be cut down. To the Indian without an axe this is no\nlight task. The palm, as is well known, differs from other trees by its\nhaving the seat of life in the head, and not in the roots; so when the\ncabbage is taken out the tree dies.\n\nAnything, everything, is eaten for food, and a roasted serpent or\nboiled fox is equally relished. During my stay among them I ceased to\nask of what the mess was composed; each dish was worse than the former.\nAmong the first dishes I had were mandioca root, a black carrion bird,\ngoat's meat, and fox's head. The puma, otter, ant-bear, deer,\narmadillo, and ostrich are alike eaten, as is also the jaguar, a\nferocious beast of immense size. I brought away from those regions some\nbeautiful skins of this animal, the largest of which measures nearly\nnine feet from nose to tail.\n\nIn the sluggish, almost salt, streams, fish are numerous, and these are\nshot by the Indian with arrows, to which is attached a string of gut.\nLakes and rivers are also filled with hideous-looking alligators of all\nsizes. These grow to the length of twelve or fifteen feet in these warm\nwaters, and the tail is considered quite a delicacy. Besides these\nvaried dishes, there is the electric eel; and, sunk in a yard depth of\nmud, is the _lollock_, of such interest to naturalists The lollock is a\nfish peculiar to the Chaco. Though growing to the length of three and\nfour feet, it has only rudimentary eyes, and is, in consequence, quite\nblind; it is also unable to swim. The savage prods in the mud with a\nlong notched lance, sometimes for hours, until he sticks the appetizing\nfish.\n\nThe steamy waters are so covered with aquatic plants that in some\nplaces I have been able to walk across a living bridge. Once, when out\nhunting, I came upon a beautiful forest glade, covered with a carpet of\ngreen. Thinking it a likely place for deer, I entered, when lo, I sank\nin a f\u009ctid lake of slime. Throwing my gun on to the bank, I had quite a\ndifficulty to regain dry land.\n\nIn my journeyings here and there I employed one or another of the\nbraves to accompany me. All they could eat and some little present was\nthe pay. No sooner was the gift in their hand, however, after supper,\nthan they would put it back in mine and say, \"Give me some more food?\"\nI was at first accompanied by Yantiwau (The Wolf Rider). Armed with a\nbow and arrows, he was a good hunter for me, and a faithful servant,\nbut his custom of spitting on my knife and spoon to clean them I did\nnot like. When my supplies were getting low, and I went to the river\nfor a wash, he would say: \"There's no _kiltanithliacack_ (soap)--only\n_clupup_ (sand).\" Yantiwau was interested in pictures; he would gaze\nwith wondering eyes at photos, or views of other lands, but he looked\nat them _the wrong side up_, as they all invariably do. While possessed\nof a profound respect for me in some ways, he thought me very lacking\nin common knowledge. While I was unable to procure game, through not\nseeing any, he could call the bird to him in a \"ducky, ducky, come and\nbe killed\" kind of way; and my tongue was parched when he would scent\nwater. This was sometimes very easy to smell, however, for it was\nalmost impossible to drink out of a waterhole without holding the nose\nand straining the liquid through my closed teeth. Chaco water at best\nis very brackish, and on drying off the ground a white coat of salt is\nleft.\n\nMy Indian's first and last thought was of his stomach. While capable of\npassing two or three days without eating, and feeling no pangs of\nhunger, yet, when food was to hand, he gorged himself, and could put\naway an incredible amount. Truly, his make-up was a constant wonder to\nme. Riding through the \"hungry belt\" I would be famishing, but to my\nquestion: \"Are you hungry?\" he would answer, \"No.\" After a toilsome\njourney, and no supper at the end: \"Would you like to eat?\" \"No.\" But\nlet an ostrich or a deer come in sight, and he could not live another\nminute without food! Another proof to Yantiwau of my incapacity was the\nfact that when my matches were all used I could not light the fire. He,\nby rubbing a blunt-pointed hard stick in a groove of soft wood, could\ncause such a friction that the dust would speedily ignite, and set fire\nto the dry twigs which he was so clever in collecting. Although such a\nsimple process to the Indian, I never met a white man who could use the\nfiresticks with effect.\n\nSitting by the camp-fire in the stillness of evening, my guide would\ndraw attention to a shooting star. \"Look! That is a bad witch doctor,\"\nhe would say. \"Did you notice he went to the west? Well, the Toothlis\nlive there. He has gone for vengeance!\"\n\nThe wide palm plains are almost uninhabited; I have journeyed eighty\nmiles without sighting human being or wigwam. In the rainy season the\ntrees stand out of a sea-like expanse of steaming water, and one may\nwade through this for twenty miles without finding a dry place for\nbivouac. Ant hills, ten and fifteen feet high, with dome-shaped roofs,\ndot the wild waste like pigmy houses, and sometimes they are the only\ndry land found to rest on. The horses flounder through the mire, or\nsink up to the belly in slime, while clouds of flies make the life of\nman and beast a living death. Keys rust in the pocket, and boots mildew\nin a day. At other seasons, as I know by painful experience, the\nhard-baked ground is cracked up into fissures, and not a drop of water\nis to be found in a three days' journey. The miserable savages either\nsit in utter dejection on logs of wood or tree roots, viewing the\nwatery expanse, or roam the country in search of _yingmin_ (water).\n\nWhereas the Caingwas may be described as inoffensive Indians, the\ninhabitants of the Chaco are _savages_, hostile to the white man, who\nonly here and there, with their permission, has settled on the river\nbank. Generally a people of fine physique and iron constitution, free\nfrom disease of any kind, they are swept into eternity in an incredibly\nshort space of time if _civilized_ diseases are introduced. Even the\nmilder ones, such as measles, decimate a whole tribe; and I have known\ncommunities swept away as autumn leaves in a strong breeze with the\n_grippe_. I was informed that the hospital authorities at Asuncion gave\nthem the cast-off fever clothing of their patients during an epidemic\nto sweep them off the face of the earth!\n\nThe Indians have been ill-treated from the beginning. Darwin relates\nthat, in their eagerness to exterminate the red men, the Argentine\ntroops have pursued them for three days without food. On the frontier\nthey are killed in hundreds; by submitting to the white man they die in\nthousands. Latin civilization is more terrible to them than war. Sad to\nstate, their only hope is to fight, and this the savage affirms he will\ndo for ever and ever.\n\nFrancia, the Dictator of Paraguay, ordered every Indian found--man,\nwoman or child--to be put to death! Lopez, a later ruler, took sport in\nhunting Indians like deer. We are told that on one occasion he was so\nsuccessful as to kill forty-eight! The children he captured and sold\ninto slavery at fifteen and twenty dollars each. The white settler\nconsiders himself very brave if he kills the savage with a rifle\nsighted at five hundred yards, while well out of range of the Indians'\narrows, and I have known them shot just \"for fun\"! The Indians\nretaliate by _cutting off the heels_ of their white captives, or\nleaving them, _in statu naturae_, bound with thongs on an anthill; and\na more terrible death could not be devised by even the inquisitor,\nTorquemada, of everlasting execration. The Indian is hard and cruel,\nindifferent to pain in himself or others. A serpent may sting a\ncomrade, and he takes no notice; but let one find food and there is a\ngeneral scamper to the spot. The Chaco savage is barbarous in the\nextreme. The slain enemies are often eaten, and the bones burnt and\nscattered over their food. The children of enemies are traded off to\nother tribes for more food.\n\nThe Chaco Indian is a born warrior. Sad to say, his only hope is to\nfight against the Latin paleface.\n\nMost of us have at times been able to detect a peculiar aroma in the\nnegro. The keen-scented savage detects that something in us, and we\n\"smell\" to them. Even I, _Big Cactus Red Mouth_, was not declared free\nfrom a subtle odor, although I washed so often that they wondered my\nskin did not come off. _They never wash_, and in damp weather the dirt\npeels from them in cakes. Of course they _don't_ smell!\n\nWhen a man or woman is, through age, no longer capable of looking after\nthe needs of the body, a shallow grave is dug, the aged one doubled up\nuntil the knees are pressed into the hollow cheeks, and the back is\nbroken. This terrible work done, the undesired one is dragged by one\nleg to the open tomb. Sometimes the face and whole body is so mangled,\nby being pulled through thorns and over uneven ground, that it is not\nrecognizable, and the nose has at times been actually torn off. While\nsometimes still alive, the body is covered up with mother earth.\nFrequently the grave is so shallow that the matted hair may be seen\ncoming out at the top. The burial is generally made near a wood, and,\nif passible, under the _holy wood tree_, which, in their judgment, has\ngreat influence with evil spirits. Wild beasts, attracted by the odor\nof the corpse, soon dig up the remains, and before next day it is\nfrequently devoured.\n\nAn _ordinary_ burial service may be thus described: A deep cut is first\nmade in the stomach of the departed one. Into this incision a stone,\nsome bone ash, and a bird's claw are introduced. The body is then\nplaced over the grave on two sticks, a muttering incantation is said by\nthe witch doctor, and the sticks are roughly knocked from under the\nbody, so as to permit it to fall in a sitting posture. A bow and\narrows, and some food and cooking utensils, are dropped into the grave.\nAll shooting stars, according to the Indian belief, are flying stones;\nhence the custom of placing a stone in the stomach of the dead. It is\nsupposed to be able to mount heavenward, and, assuming its true\ncharacter, become the avenging adversary, and destroy the one who\ncaused the death--always a bad witch doctor. The bird's claw scratches\nout the enemy's heart, and the ashes annihilate the spirit. One of the\nmissionaries in the Lengua tribe stated that he assisted at the burial\nof a woman where the corpse fell head foremost into the grave, the feet\nremaining up. Four times the attempt to drop her in right was made,\nwith similar results, and finally the husband deliberately broke his\ndead wife's neck, and bent the head on to the back; then he broke her\nlimbs across his knee, and so the ghastly burial was at last completed!\nTruly, \"the dark places of the earth are full of the habitations of\ncruelty.\" Let the one whose idea is to \"leave the pagan in his\ninnocency\" visit these savages, and, if he lives to tell it, his ideas\nwill have undergone a great change. They are _lost!_ and millions have\nnot yet heard of the \"Son of Man,\" who \"came to seek and to save that\nwhich was lost.\"\n\nAt the death of any member, the _toldo_ in which he lived is burnt, all\nhis possessions are destroyed, and the people go into mourning. The\nhair of both sexes is cut short or pulled out, and each one has the\nface blackened with a vegetable dye, which, from experience, I know\nhardly ever wears off again. As I have said, everything the man owned\nin life is burnt and the village is deserted; all move right away to\nget out of the presence of the death-giving spirit. To me the _toldo_\nwould not only seem abandoned, but the people gone without leaving a\ntrace of their path; but not so to Wolf Rider, my guide. By the\nposition of the half-burnt wood of the fire, he could tell the\ndirection they had taken, and the number gone--although each steps in\nthe other's footprints--whether they were stopping to hunt on the way,\nand much more he would never tell me. Some of the missionaries have\nspent ten years in the Chaco, but cannot get the savage to teach them\nthis lesson of signs.\n\nIn some tribes the aged ones are just _\"left to die\"_ sitting under a\npalm-leaf mat. All the members of the tribe move away and leave them\nthus. Many are the terrible things my eyes have witnessed, but surely\nthe most pathetic was the sight of an old woman sitting under the mat.\nI was one day riding alone, but had with me two horses, when I caught\nsight of the palm-leaf erection and the solitary figure sitting under\nit. Getting down from my horse, I approached the woman and offered to\ntake her to a place of safety, promising to feed her and permit her to\nlive as long as she chose. Would she come with me? I begged and\nentreated, but the poor woman would not so much as lift her eyes to\nmine. The law of her tribe had said she must die, and the laws are to\nthem unalterable. Most reluctantly, I left her to be eaten later on by\nthe wild beasts.\n\nTerrible as this custom is, other tribes kill and eat their aged\nparents \"as a mark of respect.\" Another tribe will not permit one\nmember to go into the spirit world alone, so they hang another one, in\norder that there may be two to enter together.\n\nWhereas the Caingwas are a religious people, even attributing their\ncustom of piercing the lip to divine commandment, the Chaco aborigines\nhave no god and no religion. Missionaries in the solitary station I\nhave referred to, after ten years' probing, have been unable to find\nany approach to worship in their darkened minda. \"The miserable\nwretches who inhabit that vast wilderness are so low in the scale of\nreasoning beings that one might doubt whether or not they have human\nsouls.\" [Footnote: Washburn's \"History of Paraguay.\"] These \"lost\nsheep\" have no word to express God, and have no idols. \"The poverty of\nthe Indian dialects of the Chaco is scarcely surpassed by that of the\ndumb brutes.\"\n\nThese wretched tribes have perfect community of goods; what is secured\nby one belongs equally to all. A piece of cloth is either torn up and\ndistributed, or worn in turns by each one. The shirt which I gave my\nguide, Yantiwau, for much arduous toil, was worn by one and another\nalternately. Much as the savage at first desires to possess some\ngarment, it does not take long for him to tire of it. All agree with\nMark Twain, that \"the human skin is the most comfortable of all\ncostumes,\" and, clothed in the sunlight, the human form divine is not\nunlovely.\n\nSometimes the Indians of the interior take skins, etc., to the\nParaguayan towns across the river. Not knowing the use of money, their\nlittle trading is done by barter. Their knowledge of value is so crude\nthat on one occasion they refused a two-dollar axe for an article, but\ngladly accepted a ten-cent knife. The Chaco Indian, however, is seldom\nseen in civilization. His home is in the interior of an unknown\ncountry, which he wanders over in wild freedom. While the Caingwas are\nhomekeeping, these savages are nomadic, and could not settle down. The\nland is either burnt up or inundated, so they do not plant, but live\nonly by the chase. So bold and daring are they that a man, armed only\nwith a lance, will attack a savage jaguar; or, diving under an\nalligator, he will stab it with a sharpened bone. The same man will run\nin abject terror if he thinks he hears _spirits_.\n\nThough not religious, the savages are exceedingly superstitious, afraid\nof ghosts and evil spirits, and the fear of these spectral visitants\npursues them through life. During a storm they vigorously shake their\nblankets and mutter incantations to keep away supernatural visitors.\n\nAll diseases are caused by evil spirits, or the moon; and a comet\nbrings the measles. The help of the witch doctor has to be sought on\nall occasions, for his special work is to drive away the evil spirit\nthat has taken possession of a sick one. This he does by rattling a\nhollow calabash containing stones. That important person will perform\nhis mystic _hocus pocus_ over the sick or dying, and charm away the\nspirits from a neighborhood. I have known an Indian, when in great pain\nthrough having eaten too much, send for the old fakir, who, after\nexamination of the patient and great show of learning, declared that\nthe suffering one _had two tigers in his stomach_. A very common remedy\nis the somewhat scientific operation of bleeding a patient, but the\nmanner is certainly uncommon--the witch doctor sucks out the blood. One\nI was acquainted with, among the Lengua tribe, professed to suck three\ncats out of a man's stomach. His professional name was thereafter\n\"Father of Kittens.\" The doctor's position is not one to be envied,\nhowever, for if three consecutive patients die, he must follow them\n_down the dark trail!_\n\nThese medicine-men are experts in poisons, and their enemies have a way\nof dying suddenly. It cannot be denied that the Indians have a very\nreal knowledge of the healing virtues of many plants. The writer has\nmarvelled at the cures he has seen, and was not slow to add some of\ntheir methods to his medical knowledge. Not a few who have been healed,\nsince the writer's return to civilization, owe their new life to the\nknowledge there learned.\n\nInfanticide is practised in every tribe, and in my extensive wanderings\namong eight _toldos_, I never met a family with more than two children.\nThe rest are killed! A child is born, and the mother immediately knocks\nit on the head with a club! After covering the baby with a layer of\nearth, the woman goes about as if nothing had occurred. One chief of\nthe Lengua tribe, that I met, had himself killed nineteen children. An\nironwood club is kept in each _toldo_ for this gruesome work.\nFrequently a live child is buried with a dead parent; but I had better\nleave much of their doings in the inkpot.\n\nWhen a girl enters the matrimonial market, at about the age of twelve\nor thirteen, her face is specially colored with a yellow paint, made\nfrom the flower of the date palm, and the aspirant to her hand brings a\nbundle of firewood, neatly tied up, which he places beside her earthen\nbed at early morning. As the rising sun gilds the eastern sky, the girl\nawakes out of her sleep, rubs her eyes,--and sees the sticks. Well does\nshe know the meaning of it, and a glad light flashes in her dark eyes\nas she cries out, \"Who brought the sticks?\" All men, women and\nchildren, take up the cry, and soon the whole encampment resounds with,\n\"Who brought the sticks?\" The medicine-man, who sleeps apart from the\n\"common herd\" under an incense-tree, hears the din, and, quickly\ndonning his head-dress, hurries down to the scene. With an\nauthoritative voice, which even the chief himself does not use, he\ndemands, \"Who brought the sticks?\" until a young brave steps forward in\nfront of him and replies, \"Father of Kittens, I brought the sticks.\"\nThis young man is then commanded to stand apart, the girl is hunted\nout, and together they wait while the witch-doctor X-rays them through\nand through. After this close scrutiny, they are asked: \"Do you want\nthis man?\" \"Do you want this girl?\" To which they reply, \"Yes, Father\nof Kittens, I do.\" Then, with great show of power, the medicine-man\nsays, \"Go!\" and off the newly-married pair start, to live together\nuntil death (in the form of burial) does them part.\n\nIt may be a great surprise to the reader to learn that these savages\nare exceedingly moral. Infidelity between man and wife is punished with\ndeath, but in all my travels I only heard of one such case. A man\nmarries only one wife, and although any expression of love between them\nis never seen, they yet seem to think of one another in a tender way,\nand it is especially noticeable that the parents are kind to their\nchildren.\n\nOne evening I rode into an encampment of savages who were celebrating a\nfeast. About fifty specially-decked-out Indians were standing in a\ncircle, and one of the number had a large and very noisy rattle, with\nwhich he kept time to the chant of H\u00e1 h\u00e1 h\u00e1 h\u00e1 h\u00e1! \u00fa \u00fa \u00fa \u00fa \u00fa! \u00f3 \u00f3 \u00f3 \u00f3\u00f3!\na\u00fa a\u00fa a\u00fa a\u00fa a\u00fa! The lurid lights of the fires burning all around lit up\nthis truly savage scene. The witch-doctor, the old fakir named \"Father\nof Kittens,\" came to me and looked me through and through with his\npiercing eyes. I was given the rattle, and, although very tired, had to\nkeep up a constant din, while my wild companions bent their bodies in\nstrange contortions. In the centre of the ring was a woman with a\nlighted pipe in her hand. She passed this from one to another and\npushed it into the mouth of each one, who had \"a draw.\" My turn came,\nand lo! the pipe was thrust between my teeth, and the din went on: H\u00e1\nh\u00e1! \u00fa \u00fa! \u00f3 \u00f3! a\u00fa a\u00fa! This feast lasted three nights and two days, but\nthe music was not varied, and neither man nor woman seemed to sleep or\nrest. Food was cooking at the different fires, attended by the women,\nbut my share was only a _roasted fox's head!_ The animal was laid on\nthe wood, with skin, head and legs still attached, and the whole was\nburnt black. I was very hungry, and ate my portion thankfully.\nChristopher North said: \"There's a deal of fine confused feeding about\na sheep's head,\" and so I found with the fox's. Truly, as the Indian\nsays, \"hunger is a very big man.\"\n\nAt these feasts a drum, made by stretching a serpent's skin over one of\ntheir clay pots, is loudly beaten, and the thigh-bone of an ostrich,\nwith key-holes burned in, is a common musical instrument. From the\n_algarroba_ bean an intoxicating drink is made, called _ang-min_, and\nthen yells, hellish sounds and murderous blows inspire terror in the\npaleface guest. \"It is impossible to conceive anything more wild and\nsavage than the scene of their bivouac. Some drink till they are\nintoxicated, others swallow the steaming blood of slaughtered animals\nfor their supper, and then, sick from drunkenness, they cast it up\nagain, and are besmeared with gore and filth.\"\n\nAfter the feast was over I held a service, and told how sin was\n_injected_ into us by the evil spirit, but that all are invited to the\nheavenly feast. My address was listened to in perfect silence, and the\nnodding heads showed that some, at least, understood it. When I\nfinished speaking, a poor woman, thinking she must offer something,\ngave me her baby--a naked little creature that had never been washed in\nits life. I took it up and kissed it, and the poor woman smiled. Yes, a\nsavage woman can smile.\n\nAs already stated, many different tribes of Indians dwell in the Chaco,\nand each have their different customs. In the Suhin tribe the rite of\nburial may be thus described. \"The digger of the grave and the\nperformer of the ceremony was the chief, who is also a witch-doctor,\nand I was told that he was about to destroy the witch-doctor who had\ncaused the man's death. A fire was lit, and whilst the digging was in\nprogress a stone and two pieces of iron were being heated. Two bones of\na horse, a large bird's nest built of sticks, and various twigs were\ncollected. The skin of a jaguar's head, a tooth, and the pads of the\nsame animal were laid out. A piece of wax and a stone were also heated;\nand in a heap lay a hide, some skins for bedding, and a quantity of\nsheep's wool. The grave being finished, the ceremony began by a wooden\narrow being notched in the middle and waxed, then plunged into the\nright breast of the corpse, when it was snapped in two at the notch,\nand the remaining half was flung into the air, accompanied with a\nvengeful cry, in the direction of the Toothli tribe, one of whose\ndoctors, it was supposed, had caused the man's death. Short pointed\nsticks, apparently to represent arrows, were also daubed with wax, two\nbeing plunged into the throat and one into the left breast, the cry\nagain accompanying each insertion. One of the jaguar's pads was next\ntaken, and the head of the corpse torn by the claws, the growl of the\nanimal being imitated during the process. An incision was next made in\nthe cheek, and the tooth inserted; then the head and face were daubed\nwith the heated wax. The use of the wax is evidently to signify the\ndesire that both arrows and animal may stick to the man if he be\nattacked by either. The arrows were plunged, one into the right breast\ndownwards, and another below the ribs, on the same side, but in an\nupward direction, a third being driven into the right thigh. They also\nspoke about breaking one of the arms, but did not do so. An incision\nbeing made in the abdomen, the heated stone was then placed within the\nbody. They place most reliance upon the work of the stone. The ceremony\nis known by the name of 'M\u00e1taim\u00e1ng' stone, and all the other things are\nsaid to assist it. Meteorites, when seen to pass along the sky, are\nregarded with awe; they are believed to be these stones in passage. The\nbody was placed in the grave with the head to the west, the jaguar's\nhead and pads being first placed under it. A bunch of grass, tied\ntogether, was placed upon the body; then the bird's nest was burned\nupon it. The bones were next thrown in, and over all the various\narticles before mentioned were placed. These were to accompany the soul\nin its passage to the west. In this act the idea of a future state is\nmore distinctly seen than ever it has been seen amongst the Lenguas,\nwho burn all a man's possessions at his death. The ceremony finished,\nthe grave was covered in, logs and twigs being carelessly thrown on the\ntop, apparently simply to indicate the existence of a grave. The thing\nwhich struck me most was the intense spirit of vengeance shown.\"\n\nNotwithstanding such terrible savagery, however, the Indian has ideas\nof right and wrong that put Christian civilization to shame. The people\nare perfectly _honest_ and _truthful_. I believe they _cannot lie_, and\nstealing is entirely unknown among them.\n\nMany are the experiences I have had in the Chaco. Some of them haunt me\nstill like ghostly shadows. The evening camp-fire, the glare of\n which lit up and made more hideous still my savage followers,\ngorging themselves until covered with filth and gore. The times when,\nfrom sheer hunger, I have, like them, torn up bird or beast and eaten\nit raw. The draughts of water from the Indian hole containing the\nputrefying remains of some dead animal; my shirt dropping off in rags\nand no wash for three weeks. The journeys through miles of malarial\nswamps and pathless wilderness. The revolting food, and the want of\nfood. Ah! the memory is a bad dream from which I must awake.\n\nThe other side, you say? Yes, there is another. A cloudless blue sky\noverhead. The gorgeous air-flowers, delicate and fragrant. Trees\ncovered with a drapery of orchidaceae. The loveliest of flowers and\nshrubs. Birds of rainbow beauty, painted by the hand of God, as only He\ncan. Flamingoes, parrots, humming-birds, butterflies of every size and\nhue. Arborescent ferns; cacti, thirty feet high, like huge candelabra.\nCreeping plants growing a hundred feet, and then passing from the top\nof one ever-vernal tree to another, forming a canopy for one from the\nsun's rays. Chattering monkeys. Deer, with more beautiful eyes than\never woman had since Eve fell. The balmy air wafting incense from the\nburning bush; and last, but oh, not least, the joy in seeing the\ndegraded aborigine learning to love the \"Light of the World\"! Yes,\nthere are delights; but \"life is real, life is earnest,\" and a meal of\n_algarroba_ beans (the husks of the prodigal son of Luke XV.) is not\nany more tempting if eaten under the shade of a waving palm of\nsurpassing beauty.\n\nThe mission station previously referred to lies one hundred miles in\nfrom the river bank, three hundred miles north of Asuncion, among the\nLengua Indians. As far as I am aware, no Paraguayan has ever visited\nthere. The missionaries wish their influence to be the only one in\ntraining the Indian mind. The village bears the strange name of\nWaikthlatemialwa (The Place Where the Toads Arrived). At the invitation\nof the missionaries, I was privileged to go there and see their work. A\ntrail leads in from the river bank, but it is so bad that bullock carts\ntaking in provisions occupy ten and twelve days on the journey. Tamaswa\n(The Locust Eater), my guide, led me all during the first day out\nthrough a palm forest, and at night we slept on the hard ground. The\nIndian was a convert of the mission, and although painted, feathered\nand almost naked, seemed really an exemplary Christian. The\nmissionaries labored for eleven years without gaining a single convert,\nbut Tamaswa is not the only \"follower of Jesus\" now. During the day we\nshot a deer, and that evening, being very hungry, I ate perhaps two\npounds of meat. Tamaswa finished the rest! True, it was only a small\ndeer, but as I wish to retain my character for veracity, I dare not say\nhow much it weighed. This meal concluded, we knelt on the ground. I\nread out of the old Book: \"I go to prepare a place for you,\" and Locust\nEater offered a simple prayer for protection, help and safety to the\nGod who understands all languages.\n\nMy blanket was wet through and through with the green slime through\nwhich we had waded and splashed for hours, but we curled ourselves up\nunder a beer barrel tree and tried to sleep. The howling jaguars and\nother beasts of prey in the jungle made this almost impossible. Several\ntimes I was awakened by my guide rising, and, by the light of a palm\ntorch, searching for wood to replenish the dying fire, in the smoke of\nwhich we slept, as a help against the millions of mosquitos buzzing\naround. Towards morning a large beast of some kind leaped right over\nme, and I rose to rekindle the fire, which my guide had suffered to die\nout, and then I watched until day dawned. As all the deer was consumed,\nwe started off without breakfast, but were fortunate later on in being\nable to shoot two wild turkeys.\n\nThat day we rode on through the endless forest of palms, and waded\nthrough a quagmire at least eight miles in extent, where the green\nslime reached up to the saddle-flaps. On that day we came to a sluggish\nstream, bearing the name of \"Aptikpangmakthlaingwainkyapaimpangkya\"\n(The Place Where the Pots Were Struck When They Were About to Feast).\nThere a punt was moored, into which we placed our saddles, etc., and\npaddled across, while the horses swam the almost stagnant water.\nSaddling up on the other side, we had a journey of thirty miles to make\nbefore arriving at a waterhole, where we camped for the second night. I\ndon't know what real nectar is, but that water was nectar to me,\nalthough the horses sniffed and at first refused to drink it.\n\nAt sunset on the third day we emerged from the palm forest and endless\nmarshes, and by the evening of the fourth day the church, built of palm\nlogs, loomed up on the horizon. Many of the Indians came out to meet\nus, and my arrival was the talk of the village. The people seemed\nhappy, and the missionaries made me at home in their roughly-built log\nshanties. Next morning I found a gift had been brought me by the\nIndians. It was a beautiful feather headdress, but it had just been\nleft on the step, the usual way they have of making presents. The\nIndian expects no thanks, and he gives none. The women received any\npresent I handed them courteously but silently. The men would accept a\nlooking-glass from me and immediately commence to search their face for\nany trace of \"dirty hairs,\" probably brought to their mind by the sight\nof mine, but not even a grunt of satisfaction would be given. No Chaco\nlanguage has a word for \"thanks.\"\n\n\n[Illustration: TAMASWA (THE LOCUST EATER) PROCURING FOOD. This young\nman could put the point of his arrow into a deer's eye a hundred yards\ndistant]\n\n[Illustration: FASHIONS OF THE CHACO.]\n\n\nThere is, among the Lenguas, an old tradition to the effect that for\ngenerations they have been expecting the arrival of some strangers who\nwould live among them and teach them about the spirit-world. These\nlong-looked-for teachers were called _The Imlah_. The tradition says\nthat when the Imlah arrive, all the Indians must obey their teaching,\nand take care that the said Imlah do not again leave their country, for\nif so they, the Indians, would disappear from the land. When Mr. Grubb\nand his helpers first landed, they were immediately asked, \"Are you the\nImlah?\" and to this question they, of course, answered yes. Was it not\nbecause of this tradition that the Indian who later shot Mr. Grubb with\na poisoned arrow was himself put to death by the tribe?\n\nAbout twenty boys attend the school established at Waikthlatemialwa,\nand strange names some of them bear; let Haikuk (Little Dead One) serve\nas an example. It is truly a cheering sight to see this sign of a\nbrighter day. When these boys return to their distant _toldos_ to tell\n\"the news\" to their dark-minded parents, the most wonderful of all to\nrelate is \"Liklamo ithnik \u00f1ata abwathwuk enthlit God; hingyahamok\nhik\u00f1ata apkyapasa apkyitka abwanthlabanko. Aptakmilkischik sat ankuk\nappaiwa ingyitsipe sata netin thlamokthloho abyiam.\" [Footnote: John\n3:16]\n\nWell might the wondering mother of \"Dark Cloud\" call her next-born\n\"Samai\" (The Dawn of Day).\n\nThe Indian counts by his hands and feet. Five would be one hand, two\nhands ten, two hands and a foot fifteen, and a specially clever savage\ncould even count \"my two hands and my two feet.\" Now Mr. Hunt is\nchanging that: five is _thalmemik_, ten _sohok-emek_, fifteen\n_sohokthlama-eminik_, and twenty _sohok-emankuk_.\n\nWhen a boy in school desires to say eighteen, he must first of all take\na good deep breath, for _sohok-emek-wakthla-mok-eminick-antanthlama_ is\nno short word. This literally means: \"finished my hands--pass to my\nother foot three.\"\n\nAt the school I saw the skin of a water-snake twenty-six feet nine\ninches long, but a book of pictures I had interested the boys far more.\n\nThe mission workers have each a name given to them by the Indians, and\nsome of them are more than strange. Apkilwankakme (The Man Who Forgot\nHis Face) used to be called Nason when he moved in high English\ncircles; now he is ragged and torn-looking; but the old Book my mother\nused to read says: \"He that loseth his life for My sake shall find it.\"\nSome of us have yet to learn that if we would remember _His face_ it is\nnecessary for us to forget our own. If the unbeliever in mission work\nwere to go to Waik-thlatemialwa, he would come away a converted man.\nThe former witch-doctor, who for long made \"havoc,\" but has since been\nborn again, would tell him that during a recent famine he talked to the\nUnseen Spirit, and said: \"Give us food, God!\" and that, when only away\na very short while, his arrows killed three ostriches and a deer. He\nwould see Mrs. Mopilinkilana walking about, clothed and in her right\nmind. Who is she? The murderess of her four children--the woman who\ncould see the skull of her own boy kicking about the _toldo_ for days,\nand watch it finally cracked up and eaten by the dogs. Can such as she\nbe changed? The Scripture says: \"Every one that believeth.\"\n\nThe Lengua language contains no word for God, worship, praise,\nsacrifice, sin, holiness, reward, punishment or duty, but their\nmeanings are now being made clear.\n\nThe church at Waikthlatemialwa has no colored glass windows--old canvas\nbags take their place. The reverent worshippers assemble morning and\nevening, in all the pride of their paint and feathers, but there is no\nhideous idol inside; nay! they worship the invisible One, whom they can\nsee even with closely shut eyes. To watch the men and women, with erect\nbearing, and each walking in the other's footsteps, enter the church,\nis a sight well worth the seeing. They bow themselves, not before some\nfetish, as one might suppose, but to the One whom, having not seen,\nsome of them are learning to love.\n\nOne of the missionaries translated my simple address to the dusky\ncongregation, who listened with wondering awe to the ever-new story of\nJesus. As the Lengua language contains no word for God, the Indians\nhave adopted our English word, and both that name and Jesus came out in\nstriking distinctness during the service, and in the fervent prayer of\nthe old ex-witch-doctor which followed. With the familiar hymn, \"There\nis a green hill far away,\" the meeting concluded. The women with\nnervous air silently retired, but the men saluted me, and some even\nwent so far as to shake hands--with the left hand. Would that similar\nstations were established all over this neglected land! While churches\nand mission buildings crowd each other in the home lands, the Chaco,\nwith an estimated population of three millions, must be content with\nthis one ray of light in the dense night.\n\nOn that far-off \"green hill\" we shall meet some even from the Lengua\ntribe. Christ said: \"I am the door; by Me if _any_ man enter in, he\nshall be saved.\" But oh, \"Painted Face,\" you spoke truth; the white\n\"thing\" _is_ selfish, and keeps this wondrous knowledge to himself.\n\n\n\n\nPART IV.\n\nBRAZIL\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\"There can be no more fascinating field of labor than Brazil,\nnotwithstanding the difficulty of the soil and the immense tracts of\ncountry which have to be traversed. It covers half a continent, and is\n_three times the size of British India_. Far away in the interior there\nexist numerous Indian tribes with, as yet, no written language, and\nconsequently no Bible. Thrust back by the white man from their original\nhomes, these children of the forest and the river are, perhaps, the\nmost needy of the tribes of the earth. For all that these millions\nknow, the Gospel is non-existent and Jesus Christ has never visited and\nredeemed the world.\" [Footnote: The Neglected Continent]\n\n\nBRAZIL\n\nThe Republic of Brazil has an area of 3,350,000 square miles. From\nnorth to south the country measures 2,600 miles, and from east to west\n2,500 miles. While the Republic of Bolivia has no sea coast, Brazil has\n3,700 miles washed by ocean waves. The population of this great empire\nis twenty-two millions. Out of this perhaps twenty millions speak the\nPortuguese language.\n\n\"If Brazil was populated in the same proportion as Belgium is per\nsquare mile, Brazil would have a population of 1,939,571,699. That is\nto say, Brazil, a single country in South America, could hold and\nsupport the entire population of the world, and hundreds of millions\nmore, the estimate of the earth's population at the beginning of the\ntwentieth century being 1,600,000,000.\" [Footnote: Bishop Neely's\n\"South America.\"]\n\nBesides the millions of mules, horses and other animals, there are, in\nthe republic, twenty-five millions of cattle.\n\nBrazil is rich in having 50,000 miles of navigable waterways. Three of\nthe largest rivers of the world flow through its territory. The Orinoco\nattains a width of four miles, and is navigable for 1,400 miles. The\nAmazon alone drains a basin of 2,500,000 square miles.\n\nOut of this mighty stream there flows every day three times the volume\nof water that flows from the Mississippi. Many a sea-captain has\nthought himself in the ocean while riding its stormy bosom. That most\nmajestic of all rivers, with its estuary 180 miles wide, is the great\nhighway of Brazil. Steamboats frequently leave the sea and sail up its\nwinding channels into the far interior of Ecuador--a distance of nearly\n4,000 miles. All the world knows that both British and American\nmen-of-war have visited the city of Iquitos in Peru, 2,400 miles up the\nAmazon River. The sailor on taking soundings has found a depth of 170\nfeet of water at 2,000 miles from the mouth. Stretches of water and\nimpenetrable forest as far as the eye can reach are all the traveller\nsees.\n\nProf. Orton says: \"The valley of the Amazon is probably the most\nsparsely populated region on the globe,\" and yet Agassiz predicted that\n\"the future centre of civilization of the world will be in the Amazon\nValley.\" I doubt if there are now 500 acres of tilled land in the\nmillions of square miles the mighty river drains. Where cultivated,\ncoffee, tobacco, rubber, sugar, cocoa, rice, beans, etc., freely grow,\nand the farmer gets from 500 to 800-fold for every bushel of corn he\nplants. Humboldt estimated that 4,000 pounds of bananas can be produced\nin the same area as 33 pounds of wheat or 99 pounds of potatoes.\n\nThe natural wealth of the country is almost fabulous. Its mountain\nchains contain coal, gold, silver, tin, zinc, mercury and whole\nmountains of the very best iron ore, while in forty years five million\ncarats of diamonds have been sent to Europe. In 1907 Brazil exported\nten million dollars' worth of cocoa, seventy million dollars' worth of\nrubber; and from the splendid stone docks of Santos, which put to shame\nanything seen on this northern continent, either in New York or Boston,\nthere was shipped one hundred and forty-two million dollars' worth of\ncoffee. Around Rio Janeiro alone there are a hundred million coffee\ntrees, and the grower gets two crops a year.\n\nYet this great republic has only had its borders touched. It is\nestimated that there are over a million Indians in the interior, who\nhold undisputed possession of four-fifths of the country. Three and a\nquarter million square miles of the republic thus remains to a great\nextent an unknown, unexplored wilderness. In this area there are over a\nmillion square miles of virgin forest, \"the largest and densest on\nearth.\" The forest region of the Amazon is twelve hundred miles east to\nwest, and eight hundred miles north to south, and this sombre, primeval\nwoodland has not yet been crossed. [Footnote: Just as this goes to\npress the newspapers announce that the Brazilian Government has\nappropriated $10,000 towards the expenses of an expedition into the\ninterior, under the leadership of Henry Savage Landor, the English\nexplorer.]\n\nBrazil's federal capital, Rio de Janeiro, stands on the finest harbor\nof the world, in which float ships from all nations. Proudest among\nthese crafts are the large Brazilian gunboats. \"It is a curious\nanomaly,\" says the _Scientific American_, \"that the most powerful\nDreadnought afloat should belong to a South American republic, but it\ncannot be denied that the _Minas Geraes_ is entitled to that\ndistinction.\" This is one of the vessels that mutinied in 1910.\n\nBrazil is a strange republic. Fanatical, where the Bible is burned in\nthe public plaza whenever introduced, yet, where the most obscene\nprints are publicly offered for sale in the stores. Where it is a\n\"mortal sin\" to listen to the Protestant missionary, and _not_ a sin to\nbreak the whole Decalogue. Backward--where the villagers are tied to a\npost and whipped by the priest when they do not please him.\nProgressive--in the cities where religion has been relegated to women\nand children and priests.\n\nDid I write the word religion? Senhor Ruy Barbosa, the most conspicuous\nrepresentative of South America at the last Hague Conference, and a\ncandidate for the Presidency of Brazil, wrote of it: \"_Romanism is not\na religion, but a political organization, the most vicious, the most\nunscrupulous, and the most destructive of all political systems. The\nmonks are the propagators of fanaticism, the debasers of Christian\nmorals. The history of papal influence has been nothing more nor less\nthan the story of the dissemination of a new paganism, as full of\nsuperstition and of all unrighteousness as the mythology of the\nancients--a new paganism organized at the expense of evangelical\ntraditions, shamelessly falsified and travestied by the Romanists. The\nRomish Church in all ages has been a power, religious scarcely in name,\nbut always inherently, essentially and untiringly a political power_.\"\nAs Bishop Neely of the M. E. Church was leaving Rio, Dr. Alexander, one\nof Brazil's most influential gentlemen, said to him: \"_It is sad to see\nmy people so miserable when they might be so happy. Their ills,\nphysical and moral, spring from lack of religion. They call themselves\nCatholics, but the heathen are scarcely less Christian_!\" Is it\nsurprising that the Italian paper _L'Asino_ (The Ass), which exists\nonly to ridicule Romanism, has recently been publishing much in praise\nof what it calls authentic Christianity?\n\n\"Rio Janeiro, the beautiful,\" is an imperial city of imposing grandeur.\nIt is the largest Portuguese city of the world--greater than Lisbon and\nOporto together. It has been called \"the finest city on the continents\nof America,--perhaps in the world, with unqualifiedly the most\nbeautiful street in all the world, the Avenida Central.\" [Footnote:\nClark. \"Continent of Opportunity.\"] That magnificent avenue, over a\nmile long and one hundred and ten feet wide, asphalt paved and superbly\nilluminated, is lined with costly modern buildings, some of them truly\nimposing. Ten people can walk abreast on its beautiful black and white\nmosaic sidewalks. The buildings which had to be demolished in order to\nbuild this superb avenue cost the government seven and a half millions\nof dollars, and they were bought at their _taxed_ value, which, it was\nestimated, was only a third of the actual. [Footnote: \"But as a\nwonderful city, the crowning glory of Brazil--yes of the world, I\nbelieve--is Rio de Janeiro.\"--C. W. Furlong, in \"The World's Work.\"]\n\nSome years ago I knew a thousand people a day to die in Rio Janeiro of\nyellow fever. It is now one of the healthiest of cities, with a\ndeath-rate far less than that of New York.\n\nRio Janeiro, as I first knew it, was far behind. Oil lamps shed fitful\ngleams here and there on half-naked people. Electric lights now dispel\nthe darkness of the streets, and electric streetcars thread in and out\nof the \"Ruas.\" There is progress everywhere and in everything.\n\nTo-day the native of Rio truthfully boasts that his city has \"the\nfinest street-car system of any city of the world.\"\n\nA man is not permitted to ride in these cars unless he wears a tie,\nwhich seems to be the badge of respectability. To a visitor these\nexactions are amusing. A friend of mine visited the city, and we rode\ntogether on the cars until it was discovered that he wore no tie. The\nday was hot, and my friend (a gentleman of private means) had thought\nthat a white silk shirt with turn-down collar was enough. We felt\nsomewhat humiliated when he was ignominiously turned off the car, while\nthe black ex-slaves on board smiled aristocratically. If you visit Rio\nJaneiro, by all means wear a tie. If you forget your shirt, or coat, or\nboots, it will matter little, but the absence of a tie will give the\nnegro cause to insult you.\n\nSome large, box-like cars have the words \"_Descalcos \u00e9 Bagagem_\"\n(literally, \"For the Shoeless and Baggage\") printed across them. In\nthese the poorer classes and the tieless can ride for half-price. And\nto make room for the constantly inflowing people from Europe, two great\nhills are being removed and \"cast into the sea.\"\n\n\nRio Janeiro may be earth's coming city. It somewhat disturbs our\nself-complacency to learn that they have spent more for public\nimprovements than has any city of the United States, with the exception\nof New York. Municipal works, involving an expenditure of $40,000,000,\nhave contributed to this.\n\nRio Janeiro, however, is not the only large and growing city Brazil can\nboast of. Sao Paulo, with its population of 300,000 and its\ntwo-million-dollar opera house, which fills the space of three New York\nblocks, is worthy of mention. Bahia, founded in 1549, has 270,000\ninhabitants, and is the centre of the diamond market of Brazil. Par\u00e1,\nwith its population of 200,000, who export one hundred million dollars'\nworth of rubber yearly and keep up a theatre better than anything of\nthe kind in New York, is no mean city. Pernambuco, also, has 200,000\ninhabitants, large buildings, and as much as eight million dollars have\nrecently been devoted to harbor improvements there.\n\nOutside of these cities there are estates, quite a few of which are\nworth more than a million dollars; one coffee plantation has five\nmillion trees and employs five thousand people.\n\nWith its Amazon River, six hundred miles longer than the journey from\nNew York to Liverpool, England, with its eight branches, each of which\nis navigable for more than a thousand miles, Brazil's future must be\nvery great.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n_A JOURNEY FROM RIO JANEIRO TO THE INLAND TOWN OF CORUMBA_.\n\n\nBrazil has over 10,000 miles of railway, but as it is a country larger\nthan the whole of Europe, the reader can easily understand that many\nparts must be still remote from the iron road and almost inaccessible.\nThe town of Cuyab\u00e1, as the crow flies, is not one thousand miles from\nRio, but, in the absence of any kind of roads, the traveller from Rio\nmust sail down the one thousand miles of sea-coast, and, entering the\nRiver Plate, proceed up the Paran\u00e1, Paraguay, and San Lorenzo rivers to\nreach it, making it a journey of 3,600 miles.\n\n\"In the time demanded for a Brazilian to reach points in the interior,\nsetting out from the national capital and going either by way of the\nAmazon or Rio de la Plata systems of waterways, he might journey to\nEurope and back two or three times over.\" [Footnote: Sylvester Baxter,\nin The Outlook, March, 1908.]\n\nThe writer on one occasion was in Rio when a certain mission called him\nto the town of Corumb\u00e1, distant perhaps 1,300 miles from the capital.\nDoes the reader wish to journey to that inland town with him?\n\nBoarding an ocean steamer at Rio, we sail down the stormy sea-coast for\none thousand miles to Montevideo. There we tranship into the Buenos\nAyres boat, and proceed one hundred and fifty miles up the river to\nthat city. Almost every day steamers leave that great centre for far\ninterior points. The \"Rapido\" was ready to sail for Asuncion, so we\nbreasted the stream one thousand miles more, when that city was\nreached. There another steamer waited to carry us to Corumb\u00e1, another\nthousand miles further north.\n\nThe climate and scenery of the upper reaches of the Paraguay are\nsuperb, but our spirits were damped one morning when we discovered that\na man of our party had mysteriously disappeared during the night. We\nhad all sat down to dinner the previous evening in health and spirits,\nand now one was missing. The All-seeing One only knows his fate. To us\nhe disappeared forever.\n\nHigher up the country--or lower, I cannot tell which, for the river\nwinds in all directions, and the compass, from pointing our course as\ndue north, glides over to northwest, west, southwest, and on one or two\noccasions, I believe, pointed due south--we came to the first Brazilian\ntown, Puerto Martinho, where we were obliged to stay a short time. A\nboat put off from the shore, in which were some well-dressed natives.\nBefore she reached us and made fast, a loud report of a Winchester rang\nout from the midst of those assembled on the deck of our steamer, and a\nman in the boat threw up his arms and dropped; the spark of life had\ngone out. So quickly did this happen that before we had time to look\naround the unfortunate man was weltering in his own blood in the bottom\nof the boat! The assassin, an elderly Brazilian, who had eaten at our\ntable and scarcely spoken to anyone, stepped forward quietly,\nconfessing that he had shot one of his old enemies. He was then taken\nashore in the ship's boat, there to await Brazilian justice, and later\non, to appear before a higher tribunal, where the accounts of all men\nwill be balanced.\n\nSuch rottenness obtains in Brazilian law that not long since a judge\nsued in court a man who had bribed him and sought to evade paying the\nbribe. Knowing this laxity, we did not anticipate that our murderous\nfellow-traveller would have to suffer much for his crime. The _News_,\nof Rio Janeiro, recently said: \"The punishment of a criminal who has\nany influence whatever is becoming one of the forgotten things.\"\n\nAfter leaving Puerto Martinho, the uniform flatness of the river banks\nchanges to wild, mountainous country. On either hand rise high\nmountains, whose blue tops at times almost frowned over our heads, and\nthe luxuriant tropical vegetation, with creeping lianas, threatened to\nbar our progress. Huge alligators sunned themselves on the banks, and\nbirds of brilliant plumage flew from branch to branch. _Carpinchos_,\nwith heavy, pig-like tread, walked among the rushes of the shore, and\nmade more than one good dish for our table. This water-hog, the largest\ngnawing animal in the world, is here very common. Their length, from\nend of snout to tail, is between three and four feet, while they\nfrequently weigh up to one hundred pounds. The girth of their body will\noften exceed the length by a foot. For food, they eat the many aquatic\nplants of the river banks, and the puma, in turn, finds them as\ndelicious a morsel as we did. The head of this amphibious hog presents\nquite a ludicrous aspect, owing to the great depth of the jaw, and to\nsee them sitting on their haunches, like huge rabbits, is an amusing\nsight. The young cling on to the mother's back when she swims.\n\nFarther on we stopped to take in wood at a large Brazilian cattle\nestablishment, and a man there assured us that \"there were no venomous\ninsects except tigers,\" but these killed at least fifteen per cent. of\nhis animals. Not long previously a tiger had, in one night, killed five\nmen and a dog. The heat every day grew more oppressive. On the eighth\nday we passed the Brazilian fort and arsenal of Cuimbre, with its brass\ncannon shining in a sun of brass, and its sleepy inhabitants lolling in\nthe shade.\n\nFive weeks after leaving Rio Janeiro we finally anchored in Corumb\u00e1, an\nintensely sultry spot. Corumb\u00e1 is a town of 5,000 inhabitants, and\noften said to be one of the hottest in the world. It is an unhealthy\nplace, as are most towns without drainage and water supply. In the\nhotter season of the year the ratio on a six months' average may be two\ndeaths to one birth. It is a place where dogs at times seem more\nnumerous than people, a town where justice is administered in ways new\nand strange. Does the reader wish an instance? An assassin of the\ndeepest dye was given over by the judge to the tender mercies of the\ncrowd. The man was thereupon attacked by the whole population in one\nmass. He was shot and stabbed, stoned and beaten until he became almost\na shapeless heap, and was then hurried away in a mule cart, and,\nwithout coffin, priest or mourners, was buried like a dog.\n\nPerhaps the populace felt they had to take the law into their own\nhands, for I was told that the Governor had taken upon himself the\nresponsibility of leaving the prison gates open to thirty-two men, who\nhad quietly walked out. These men had been incarcerated for various\nreasons, murder, etc., for even in this state of Matto Grosso an\nassassin who cannot pay or escape suffers a little imprisonment. The\nexcuse was, \"We cannot afford to keep so many idle men--we are poor.\"\nWhat a confession for a Brazilian! I do not vouch for the story, for I\nwas not an eye-witness to the act, but it is quite in the range of\nBrazilian possibilities. The only discrepancy may be the strange way of\nPortuguese counting. A man buys three horses, but his account is that\nhe has bought twelve feet of horses. He embarks a hundred cows, but the\nmanifest describes the transaction as four hundred feet. The Brazilian\nis in this respect almost a Yankee--little sums do not content him. Why\nshould they, when he can truthfully boast that his territory is larger\nthan that of the United States? His mile is longer than that of any\nother nation, and the _bocadinho_, or extra \"mouthful,\" which generally\naccompanies it, is endless. Instead of having one hundred cents to the\ndollar, he has two thousand, and each cent is called a \"king.\" The\nsound is big, but alas, the value of his money is insignificantly small!\n\nThe child is not content with being called John Smith. \"Jos\u00e9 Maria\nJesus Jo\u00e1o dois Sanctos Sylva da Costa da Cunha\" is his name; and he\nrecites it, as I, in my boyhood's days, used to \"say a piece\" while\nstanding on a chair. There is no school in the town. In Brazil, 84 per\ncent. of the entire population are illiterate.\n\nCorumb\u00e1 contains a few stores of all descriptions, but it would seem\nthat the stock in trade of the chemist is very low, for I overheard a\nconversation between two women one day, who said they could not get\nthis or that--in fact, \"he only keeps cures for stabs and such like\nthings.\" In the _armazems_ liquors are sold, and rice, salt and beans\ndespatched to the customer by the pint. Why wine and milk are not sold\nby the pound I did not enquire.\n\nOne is not to ask too much in Brazil, or offence is given. When seated\nat table one day with a comrade, who had the misfortune to swallow a\nbone, I quietly \"swallowed\" the remedy a Brazilian told us of. He said\ntheir custom was for all to turn away their heads, while the\nunfortunate one revolved his plate around three times to the left, and\npresto! the bone disappeared. My friend did not believe in the cure;\nconsequently, he suffered for several days.\n\nI have said that dogs are numerous. These animals roam the streets by\nday and night in packs and fight and tear at anyone or anything. Some\ndays before we arrived there were even more, but a few pounds of poison\nhad been scattered about the streets--which, by the way, are the worst\nof any town I have ever entered--and the dog population of the world\ndecreased nine hundred. This is the Corumb\u00e1 version. Perhaps the truth\nis, nine hundred feet, or, as we count, two hundred and twenty-five\ndogs. In the interests of humanity, I hope the number was nine hundred\nheads. Five carts then patrolled the streets and carried away to the\noutskirts those dead dogs, which were there burnt. I, the writer, find\nthe latter part of the story hardest to believe. Why should a freeborn\nBrazilian lift dogs out of the street? In what better place could they\nbe? They would fill up the holes and ruts, and, in such intense heat,\nwhy do needless work?\n\nCorumb\u00e1 is a typical Brazilian town. Little carts, drawn by a string of\ngoats or rams, thread their way through the streets. Any animal but the\nhuman must do the work. As the majority of the people go barefooted,\nthe patriarchal custom prevails of having water offered on entering a\nhouse to wash the feet. At all hours of the day men, women and children\nseek to cool themselves in the river, which is here a mile wide, and\nwith a depth of 20 feet in the channel. While on the subject of\nbathing, I might mention that a wooden image of the patron saint of the\ntown is, with great pomp, brought down at the head of a long\nprocession, once every year, to receive his annual \"duck\" in the water.\nThis is supposed to benefit him much. After his immersion, all the\ninhabitants, men, women and children, make a rush to be the first to\ndip in the \"blessed water,\" for, by doing this, all their sins are\nforgiven them for a year to come. The sick are careful to see that they\nare not left in the position of the unfortunate one mentioned in the\nGospel by John, who \"had no one to put him into the pool.\"\n\nI have also known the Virgin solemnly carried down to the water's edge,\nthat she might command it to rise or fall, as suited the convenience of\nthe people. While she exercised her power the natives knelt around her\non the shingly beach in rapturous devotion. At such times the \"Mother\nof Heaven\" is clothed in her best, and the jewels in her costume\nsparkle in the tropical sun.\n\nWhat the Nile is to Egypt, the Paraguay River is to these interior\nlands, and what Isis was to the Egyptians, so is the Virgin to these\npeople. Once, when the waters were low, it is related the Virgin came\ndown from heaven and stood upon some rocks in the river bed. To this\nday the pilot tells you how her footprints are to be clearly seen,\nimpressed in the stone, when the water is shallow. Strange that Mahomet\ndoes not rise from his tomb and protest, for that miracle we must\nconcede to him, because his footprints have been on the sacred rocks at\nMecca for a thousand years. Does he pass it over, believing, with many,\nthat imitation is the sincerest form of flattery?\n\nWhatever Roman Catholicism is in other parts of the world, in South\nAmerica it is pure Mariolatry. The creed, as we have seen, reads: \"Mary\nmust be our first object of worship, Saint Joseph the second.\" Along\nwith these, saints, living and dead, are numberless.\n\nA traveller in South Brazil thus writes of a famous monk: \"There, in a\nshed at the back of a small farm, half sitting, half reclining on a mat\nand a skin of some wild animal, was a man of about seventy years of\nage, in a state of nudity. A small piece of red blanket was thrown over\nhis shoulders, barely covering them. His whole body was encrusted with\nfilth, and his nails had grown like claws. His vacant look showed him\nto be a poor, helpless idiot. Beside him a large wood fire was kept\nburning. The ashes of this fire, strewn around him for the sake of\ncleanliness, are carried away for medicinal purposes by the thousands\nof pilgrims who visit him. Men and women come from long distances to\nsee him, in the full persuasion that he is a holy man and has\nmiraculous powers.\" [Footnote: \"The Neglected Continent\"] Romanism is\nthus seen to be in a double sense \"a moral pestilence.\"\n\nThe church is, of course, very much in evidence in Corumb\u00e1, for it is a\nvery religious place. A _missa cantata_ is often held there, when a\nnoisy brass band will render dance music, often at the moat solemn\nparts. The drums frequently beat until the worshippers are almost\ndeafened.\n\nIn the town of Bom Fim, a little further north, the priest runs a\n\"show\" opposite his church, and over it are printed the words, \"Theatre\nof the Holy Ghost.\"\n\nThink, O intelligent reader, how dense must be the darkness of Papal\nAmerica when a church notice, which anyone may see affixed to the door,\nreads:\n\nRAFFLE FOB SOULS.\n\nA raffle for souls will be held at this Church on January 1st, at which\nfour bleeding and tortured souls will be released from purgatory to\nheaven, according to the four highest tickets in this most holy\nlottery. Tickets, $1.00. To be had of the father in charge. Will you,\nfor the poor sum of one dollar, leave your loved ones to burn in\npurgatory for ages?\n\nAt the last raffle for souls, the following numbers obtained the prize,\nand the lucky holders may be assured that their loved ones are forever\nreleased from the flames of purgatory: Ticket 4l.--The soul of Madame\nColdern is made happy for ever. Ticket 762.--The soul of the aged\nwidow, Francesca de Parson, is forever released from the flames of\npurgatory. Ticket 84l.--The soul of Lawyer Vasquez is released from\npurgatory and ushered into heavenly joys. [Footnote: \"Gospel Message.\"]\n\nBut, my reader asks, \"Do the people implicitly believe all the priest\nsays?\" No, sometimes they say, \"Show us a sign.\" This was especially\ntrue of the people living on the Chili-Bolivian border. The wily, yet\nprogressive, priest there made a number of little balloons, which on a\ncertain day of the year were sent up into the sky, bearing away the\nsins of the people. Of course, when the villagers saw their sins float\naway before their own eyes, enclosed in little crystal spheres, such as\n_could not be earthly_, they believed and rejoiced. Yes, reader, the\nSouth American priest is alive to his position after all, and even\n\"patents\" are requisitioned. In some of the larger churches there is\nthe \"slot\" machine, which, when a coin is inserted, gives out _\"The\nPope's blessing.\"_ This is simply a picture representing his Holiness\nwith uplifted hands.\n\nThe following is a literal translation, from the Portuguese, of a\n\"notice\" in a Rio Janeiro newspaper:\n\nFESTIVAL IN HONOR OF THE LADY OF NAZARETH.\n\n\"The day will be ushered in with majestic and deafening fireworks, and\nthe 'Hail Mary' rendered by the beautiful band of the----Infantry\nregiment. There will be an intentional mass, grand vocal and\ninstrumental music, solemn vespers, the Gospel preached, and ribbons,\nwhich have been placed round the neck of the image of St. Broz,\ndistributed.\n\n\"The square, tastefully decorated and pompously illuminated, will\nafford the devotees, after their supplications to the Lord of the\nUniverse, the following means of amusement,-----the Chinese Pavilion,\netc.,-----. Evening service concluded, there will be danced in the\nFlora Pavilion the _fandango \u00e0 pandereta_. In the same pavilion a comic\ncompany will act several pieces. On Sunday, upon the conclusion of the\nTe Deum, the comic company will perform,\" etc.\n\nThe spiritual darkness is appalling. If the following can be written of\nPernambuco, a large city of 180,000 inhabitants, on the sea coast, the\nreader can, in a measure, understand the priestly thraldom of these\nisolated towns. A Pernambuco newspaper, in its issue of March 1st,\n1903, contains an article headed, \"Burning of Bibles,\" which says:\n\n\"As has been announced, there was realized in the square of the Church\nof Penha, on the 22nd ult., at nine o'clock in the morning, in the\npresence of more than two thousand people, the burning of two hundred\nand fourteen volumes of the Protestant Bible, amidst enthusiastic\ncheers for the Catholic religion, the immaculate Virgin Mary, and the\nHigh Priest Leo XIII.--cheers raised spontaneously by the Catholic\npeople.\" [Footnote: Literal translation from the Portuguese.]\n\nA colporteur, known to me, when engaged selling Bibles in a Brazilian\ntown, reports that the fanatical populace got his books and carried\nthem, fastened and burning, at the end of blazing torches, while they\ntramped the streets, yelling: \"Away with all false books!\" \"Away with\nthe religion of the devils!\" A recent Papal bull reads: \"Bible burnings\nare most Catholic demonstrations.\"\n\nIs it cause for wonder that the Spanish-American Republics have been so\nbackward?\n\nI have seen a notice headed \"SAVIOUR OF SOULS,\" making known the fact\nthat at a certain address a _Most Holy Reverend Father_ would be in\nattendance during certain hours, willing to save the soul of any and\nevery applicant on payment of so much. That revelation which tells of a\nSaviour without money or price is denied them.\n\nCorumb\u00e1 is a strange, lawless place, where the ragged, barefooted night\npoliceman inspires more terror in the law-abiding than the professional\nprowler. The former has a sharp sword, which glitters as he threatens,\nand the latter has often a kind heart, and only asks \"mil reis\" (about\nthirty cents).\n\nHow can a town be governed properly when its capital is three thousand\nmiles distant, and the only open route thither is, by river and sea, a\nmonth's journey? Perhaps the day is not far distant when Cuyab\u00e1, the\nmost central city of South America, and larger than Corumb\u00e1, lying\nhundreds of miles further up the river, will set up a head of its own\nto rule, or misrule, the province. Brazil is too big, much too big, or\nthe Government is too little, much too little.\n\nThe large states are subdivided into districts, or parishes, each under\nan ecclesiastical head, as may be inferred from the peculiar names many\nof them bear. There are the parishes of:\n\n\"Our Lady, Mother of God of Porridge.\"\n\n\"The Three Hearts of Jesus.\"\n\n\"Our Lady of the Rosary of the Pepper Tree.\"\n\n\"The Souls of the Sand Bank of the River of Old Women.\"\n\n\"The Holy Ghost of the Cocoanut Tree.\"\n\n\"Our Lady Mother of the Men of Mud.\"\n\n\"The Sand Bank of the Holy Ghost.\"\n\n\"The Holy Spirit of the Pitchfork.\"\n\nThe Brazilian army, very materially aided by the saints, is able to\nkeep this great country, with its many districts, in tolerable\nquietness. Saint Anthony, who, when young, was _privileged to carry the\ntoys of the child Jesus_, is, in this respect, of great service to the\nBrazilians. The military standing of Saint Anthony in the Brazilian\narmy is one of considerable importance and diversified service.\nAccording to a statement of Deputy Spinola, made on the 13th of June,\nthe eminent saint's feast day, his career in the military service of\nBrazil has been the following: By a royal letter of the 7th of April,\n1707, the commission of captain was conferred upon the image of Saint\nAnthony, of Bahia. This image was promoted to be a major of infantry by\na decree of September 13th, 1819. In July, 1859, his pay was placed\nupon the regular pay-roll of the Department of War.\n\nThe image of St. Anthony in Rio de Janeiro, however, outranks his\ncounterpart of Bahia, and seems to have had a more brilliant military\nrecord. His commission as captain dates from a royal letter of March\n21st, 1711. He was promoted to be major of infantry in July, 1810, and\nto be lieutenant-colonel in 1814. He was decorated with the Grand Cross\nof the Order of Christ also, in 1814, and his pay as lieutenant-colonel\nwas made a permanent charge on the military list in 1833.\n\nThe image of St. Anthony of Ouro Preto attained the rank and pay of\ncaptain in 1799. His career has been an uneventful one, and has been\nconfined principally to the not unpleasant task of drawing $480 a month\nfrom the public treasury. The salaries of all these soldiery images are\ndrawn by duly constituted attorneys. [Footnote: Rio News]\n\nOwing to bubonic plague, my stay in Corumb\u00e1 was prolonged. I have been\nin the city of Bahia when an average of 200 died every day from this\nterrible disease, so Brazil is beginning to be more careful.\n\nThough steamers were not running, perspiration was. Oh, the heat! In my\nexcursions in and around the town I found that even the mule I had\nhired, acclimatized as it was to heat and thirst and hunger, began to\nshow signs of fatigue. Can man or beast be expected to work when the\ntemperature stands at 130 degrees Fahrenheit in the shade?\n\nAs the natives find bullocks bear the heat better than mules, I\nprocured one of these saddle animals, but it could only travel at a\nsnail's pace. I was indeed thankful to quit the oven of a town when at\nlast quarantine was raised and a Brazilian steamboat called.\n\nRats were so exceedingly numerous on this packet that they would\nscamper over our bodies at night. So bold were they that we were\ncompelled to take a cudgel into our berths! A Brazilian passenger\ndeclared one morning that he had counted three hundred rats on the\ncabin floor at one time! I have already referred to Brazilian\nnumbering; perhaps he meant three hundred feet, or seventy-five rats.\n\nWith the heat and the rats, supplemented by millions of mosquitos, my\nCorumb\u00e1 journey was not exactly a picnic.\n\nIn due time we arrived again at Puerto Martinio, only to hear that our\nformer fellow-passenger, the assassin, had regained his freedom and\ncould be seen walking about the town. But then--well, he was rich, and\nmoney does all in Brazil--yea, the priest will even tell you it\npurchases an entrance into heaven! In worldly matters the people _see_\nits power, and in spiritual matters they _believe_ it. If the priest\nhas heard of Peter's answer to Simon--\"Thy money perish with thee,\nbecause thou hast thought that the gift of God may be purchased with\nmoney\"--he keeps it to himself. How can he live if he deceives not?\nStrange indeed is the thought that, three hundred years before the\ncaravels of Portuguese conquerors ever sailed these waters, the law of\nthe Indian ruler of that very part of the country read: \"Judges who\nreceive bribes from their clients are to be considered as thieves\nmeriting death.\" And a clause in the Sacred Book read: \"He who kills\nanother condemns his own self.\" Has the interior of South America gone\nforward or backward since then? Was the adoration of the Sun more\ncivilizing than the worship of the Virgin?\n\nWhen we got down into Argentine waters I began to feel cold, and donned\nan overcoat. Thinking it strange that I should feel thus in the\nlatitude which had in former times been so agreeable, I investigated,\nand found the thermometer 85 degrees Fah. in the shade. After Corumb\u00e1\nthat was _cold_.\n\n\n\n\nPART V.\n\nURUGUAY\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nTHE LONE TRAIL.\n\n\n  And sometimes it leads to the desert and the tongue swells\n    out of the mouth,\n  And you stagger blind to the mirage, to die in the mocking\n    drouth.\n  And sometimes it leads to the mountain, to the light of the\n    lone camp-fire,\n  And you gnaw your belt in the anguish of the hunger-goaded\n    desire.\n\n          --_Robert W. Service._\n\n\n\nThe Republic of Uruguay has 72,210 square miles of territory, and is\nthe smallest of the ten countries of South America. Its population is\nonly 1,103,000, but the Liebig Company, \"which manufactures beef tea\nfor the world, owns nearly a million acres of land in Uruguay. On its\nenormous ranches over 6,000,000 head of cattle have passed through its\nhands in the fifty years of its existence.\" [Footnote: Clark.\n\"Continent of Opportunity.\"]\n\nThe republic seems well governed, but, as in all Spanish-American\ncountries, the ideas of right and wrong are strange. While taking part\nin a religious procession, President Borda was assassinated in 1897. A\nman was seen to deliberately walk up and shoot him. The Chief Executive\nfell mortally wounded. This cool murderer was condemned to two years'\nimprisonment for _insulting_ the President.\n\nIn 1900, President Arredondo was assassinated, but the murderer was\nacquitted on the ground that \"he was interpreting the feelings of the\npeople.\"\n\nUruguay is a progressive republic, with more than a thousand miles of\nrailway. On these lines the coaches are very palatial. The larger part\nof the coach, made to seat fifty-two passengers, is for smokers, the\nsmaller compartment, accommodating sixteen, is for non-smokers, thus\nreversing our own practice. Outside the harbor of the capital a great\nsea-wall is being erected, at tremendous cost, to facilitate shipping,\nand Uruguay is certainly a country with a great future.\n\nThe capital city occupies a commanding position at the mouth of the\ngreat estuary of the Rio de la Plata; its docks are large and modern,\nand palatial steamers of the very finest types bring it in daily\ncommunication with Buenos Ayres. The Legislative Palace is one of the\nfinest government buildings in the world. The great Solis Theatre,\nwhere Patti and Bernhardt have both appeared, covers nearly two acres\nof ground, seats three thousand people and cost three million dollars\nto build. The sanitary conditions and water supply are so perfect that\nfewer people die in this city, in proportion to its size, than in any\nother large city of the world.\n\nThe Parliament of Uruguay has recently voted that all privileges\nhitherto granted to particular religious bodies shall be abrogated,\nthat the army shall not take part in religious ceremonies, that army\nchaplains shall be dismissed, that the national flag shall not be\nlowered before any priest or religious symbol. So another state cuts\nloose from Rome!\n\nThe climate of the country is such that grapes, apricots, peaches, and\nmany other fruits grow to perfection. Its currency is on a more stable\nbasis than that of any other Spanish republic, and its dollar is\nactually worth 102 cents. The immigrants pouring into Uruguay have run\nup to over 20,000 a year; the population has increased more than 100\nper cent in 12 years; so we shall hear from Uruguay in coming years\nmore than we have done in the past.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nSKETCHES OF A HORSEBACK RIDE THROUGH THE REPUBLIC.\n\n\nI CROSS THE SILVER RIVER.\n\nI left Buenos Ayres for Uruguay in an Italian _polacca_. We weighed\nanchor one Sunday afternoon, and as the breeze was favorable, the white\nsails, held up by strong ropes of rawhide, soon wafted us away from the\nland. We sailed through a fleet of ships from all parts of the world,\nanchored in the stream, discharging and loading cargoes. There, just\narrived, was an Italian emigrant ship with a thousand people on board,\nwho had come to start life afresh. There was the large British steamer,\nwith her clattering windlass, hoisting on board live bullocks from\nbarges moored alongside. The animals are raised up by means of a strong\nrope tied around their horns, and as the ship rocks on the swell they\ndangle in mid-air. When a favorable moment arrives they are quickly\ndropped on to the deck, completely stupefied by their aerial flight.\n\nAs darkness fell, the wind dropped, and we lay rocking on the bosom of\nthe river, with only the twinkling lights of the Argentine coast to\nremind us of the solid world. The shoreless river was, however,\npopulous with craft of all rigs, for this is the highway to the great\ninterior, and some of them were bound to Cuyab\u00e1, 2,600 miles in the\nheart of the continent. During the night a ship on fire in the offing\nlit up with great vividness the silent waste of waters, and as the\nflames leaped up the rigging, the sight was very grand. Owing to calms\nand light winds, our passage was a slow one, and I was not sorry when\nat last I could say good-bye to the Italians and their oily food. Three\nnights and two days is a long time to spend in crossing a river.\n\nMONTEVIDEO.\n\nMontevideo, the capital of Uruguay, is \"one of the handsomest cities in\nall America, north or south.\" Its population is over 350,000. It is one\nof the cleanest and best laid-out cities on the continent; it has\nbroad, airy streets and a general look of prosperity. What impresses\nthe newcomer most is the military display everywhere seen. Sentry\nboxes, in front of which dark-skinned soldiers strut, seem to be at\nalmost every corner. Although Uruguay has a standing army of under\n3,500 men, yet gold-braided officers are to be met with on every\nstreet. There are twenty-one generals on active service, and many more\nliving on pension. More important personages than these men assume to\nbe could not be met with in any part of the world.\n\nThe armies of most of these republics are divided into sections bearing\nsuch blasphemous titles as \"Division of the Son of God,\" \"Division of\nthe Good Shepherd,\" \"Division of the Holy Lancers of Death\" and\n\"Soldiers of the Blessed Heart of Mary.\" These are often placed under\nthe sceptre of the Sacred Heart of Jesus as the national emblem.\n\nBoys of seven and old men of seventy stand on the sidewalks selling\nlottery tickets; and the priest, with black beaver hat, the brim of\nwhich has a diameter of two feet, is always to be seen. One of these\npriests met a late devotee, but now a follower of Christ through\nmissionary effort, and said: \"Good morning, _Daughter of the Evil\nOne_!\" \"Good morning, _Father_,\" she replied.\n\nThe cemetery is one of the finest on the continent, and is well worth a\nvisit. Very few of Montevideo's dead are _buried_. The coffins of the\nrich are zinc-lined, and provided with a glass in the lid. All caskets\nare placed in niches in the high wall which surrounds the cemetery.\nThese mural niches are six or eight feet deep in the wall, and each one\nhas a marble tablet for the name of the deposited one. By means of a\nlarge portable ladder and elevator combined, the coffins are raised\nfrom the ground. At anniversaries of the death the tomb is filled with\nflowers, and candles are lit inside, while a wreath is hung on the\ndoor. A favorite custom is to attend mass on Sunday morning, then visit\nthe cemetery, and spend the afternoon at the bull-fights.\n\nNATIVE HOUSES AND HABITS.\n\nUruguay is essentially a pastoral country, and the finest animals of\nSouth America are there raised. It is said that \"Uruguay's pasture\nlands could feed all the cattle of the world, and sheep grow fat at 50\nto the acre.\" In 1889, when I first went there, there were thirty-two\nmillions of horned cattle grazing on a thousand hills. Liebig's famous\nestablishments at Fray Bentos, two hundred miles north of Montevideo,\nemploys six hundred men, and kills one thousand bullocks a day.\n\nUruguay has some good roads, and the land is wire-fenced in all\ndirections. The rivers are crossed on large flat-bottomed boats called\n_balsas_. These are warped across by a chain, and carry as many as ten\nmen and horses in one trip. The roads are in many places thickly strewn\nwith bones of dead animals, dropped by the way, and these are picked\nclean by the vultures. No sooner does an animal lie down to die than,\nstreaming out of the infinite space, which a moment before has been a\nlifeless world of blue ether, there come lines of vultures, and soon\nwhite bones are all that are left.\n\nOn the fence-posts one sees many nests of the _casera_ (housebuilder)\nbird, made of mud. These have a dome-shaped roof, and are divided by a\npartition inside into chamber and ante-chamber. By the roadside are\nhovels of the natives not a twentieth part so well-built or rain-tight.\nFleas are so numerous in these huts that sometimes, after spending a\nnight in one, it would have been impossible to place a five-cent piece\non any part of my body that had not been bitten by them. Scorpions come\nout of the wood they burn on the earthen floor, and monster cockroaches\nnibble your toes at night. The thick, hot grass roofs of the ranches\nharbor centipedes, which drop on your face as you sleep, and bite\nalarmingly. These many-legged creatures grow to the length of eight or\nnine inches, and run to and fro with great speed. Well might the little\ngirl, on seeing a centipede for the first time, ask: \"What is that\nqueer-looking thing, with about a million legs?\" Johnny wisely replied:\n\"That's a millennium. It's something like a centennial, only its has\nmore legs.\"\n\nAfter vain attempts to sleep, you rise, and may see the good wife\ncleaning her only plate for you by rubbing it on her greasy hair and\nwiping it with the bottom of her chemise. Ugh! Proceeding on the\njourney, it is a common sight to see three or four little birds sitting\non the backs of the horned cattle getting their breakfast, which I hope\nthey relish better than I often did.\n\nA WAKE, AND HOW TO GET TO HEAVEN.\n\nDuring my journey I was asked: Would I like to go to the wake held that\nnight at the next house, three miles away? After supper, horses were\nsaddled up and away we galloped. Quite a number had already gathered\nthere. We found the dead man lying on a couple of sheepskins, in the\ncentre of a mud-walled and mud-floored room. \"No useless coffin\nenclosed his breast,\" nor was he wound in either sheet or shroud. There\nhe lay, fully attired, even to his shoes. Four tallow candles lighted\nup the gloom, and these were placed at his head and feet. His clammy\nhands were reverently folded over his breast, whilst entwined in his\nfingers was a bronze cross and rosary, that St. Peter, seeing his\ndevotion, might, without questioning, admit him to a better world. The\nscene was weird beyond description. Outside, the wind moaned a sad\ndirge; great bats and black moths, the size of birds, flitted about in\nthe midnight darkness. These, ever and anon, made their way inside and\nextinguished the candles, which flickered and dripped as they fitfully\nshone on the shrunken features of the corpse. He had been a reprobate\nand an assassin, but, luckily for him, a pious woman, not wishing to\nsee him die \"in his sins,\" had sprinkled _Holy Water_ on him. The said\n\"Elixir of Life\" had been brought eighty miles, and was kept in her\nhouse to use only in extreme cases. The poor woman had paid the price\nof a cow for the bottle of water, but the priest had declared that it\nwas an effectual soul-saver, and they never doubted its efficacy.\nAround the corpse was a throng of women, and they all chattered as\nwomen are apt to do. The men, standing around the door, talked of their\nhorse-races, fights or anything else. For some hours I heard no\nallusion to the dead, but as the night wore on the prophetess of the\npeople came forth.\n\nIf my advent among them had caused a stir, the entrance of this old\nwoman caused a bustle; even the dead man seemed to salute her, or was\nit only my imagination--for I was in a strangely sensitive mood--that\npictured it? As she slowly approached, leaning heavily on a rough,\nthick staff, all the females present bent their knees. Now prayers were\ngoing to be offered up for the dead, and the visible woman was to act\nas interceder with the invisible one in heaven. After being assisted to\nher knees, the old woman, in a cracked, yet loud, voice, began. \"_Santa\nMaria, ruega por nosotros, ahora, y en la hora de nuestra muerte!_\"\n(Holy Mary pray for us now, and in the hour of our death!) This was\nresponded to with many gesticulations and making of crosses by the\nnumerous females around her. The prayers were many and long, and must\nhave lasted perhaps an hour; then all arose, and m\u00e1t\u00e9 and cigars were\nserved. Men and women, even boys and girls, smoked the whole night\nthrough, until around the Departed was nothing but bluish clouds.\n\nThe natives are so fond of wakes that when deaths do not occur with\ngreat frequency, the bones of \"grandma\" are dug up, and she is prayed\nand smoked over once more. The digging up of the dead is often a simple\nmatter, for the corpse is frequently just carried into the bush, and\nthere covered with prickly branches.\n\nTHE SNAKE'S HISTORY.\n\nI met with a snake, of a whitish color, that appeared to have two\nheads. Never being able to closely examine this strange reptile, I\ncannot positively affirm that it possesses the two heads, but the\nnatives repeatedly affirmed to me that it does, and certainly both ends\nare, or seem to be, exactly alike. In the Book of Genesis the serpent\nis described as \"a beast,\" but for its temptation of Eve it was\ncondemned to crawl on its belly and become a reptile. A strange belief\nobtains among the people that all serpents must not only be killed, but\n_put into a fire_. If there is none lit, they will kindle one on\npurpose, for it must be burned. As the outer skin comes off, it is\ndeclared, the four legs, now under it, can be distinctly seen.\n\nA GIRL'S NEW BIRTH AND TRANSLATION.\n\nAt Rincon I held a series of meetings in a mud hut. Men and women, with\nnumerous children, used to gather on horseback an hour before the time\nfor opening. A little girl always brought her three-legged stool and\nsquatted in front of me. The rest appropriated tree-trunks and\nbullocks' skulls. The girl referred to listened to the Gospel story as\nthough her life depended upon it, as indeed it did! When at Rincon only\na short time, the child desired me to teach her how to pray, and she\nclasped her hands reverently. \"Would Jesus save _me_?\" she asked. \"Did\nHe die for me--_me_? Will He save me now?\" The girl _believed_, and\nentered at once into the family of God.\n\nOne day a man on horseback, tears streaming down his cheeks, galloped\nup to my hut. It was her father. His girl was dead. She had gone into\nthe forest, and, feeling hungry, had eaten some berries; they were\npoisonous, and she had come home to die. Would I bury her? Shortly\nafterwards I rode over to the hovel where she had lived. Awaiting me\nwere the broken-hearted parents. A grocery box had been secured, and\nthis rude coffin was covered with pink cotton. Four horses were yoked\nin a two-wheeled cart, the parents sat on the casket, and I followed on\nhorseback to the nearest cemetery, sixteen miles away. There, in a\nlittle enclosure, we lowered the girl into her last earthly\nresting-place, in the sure and certain hope of a glorious resurrection.\nShe had lived in a house where a cow's hide served for a door, but she\nhad now entered the \"pearly gates.\" The floor of her late home was\nmother earth; what a change to be walking the \"streets of gold!\" Some\nday, \"after life's fitful fever,\" I shall meet her again, not a poor,\nragged half-breed girl, but glorified, and clothed in His righteousness.\n\nHOW I DID NOT LOSE MY EYES.\n\nOne day I was crossing a river, kneeling on my horse's back, when he\ngave a lurch and threw me into the water. Gaining the bank, and being\nquite alone, I stripped off my wet clothes and waited for the sun to\ndry them. The day was hot and sultry, and, feeling tired, I covered\nmyself up with the long grass and went to sleep. How long I lay I\ncannot tell, but suddenly waking up, I found to my alarm that several\nlarge vultures, having thought me dead, were contemplating me as their\nnext meal! Had my sleep continued a few moments longer, the rapacious\nbirds would have picked my eyes out, as they invariably do before\ntearing up their victim. All over the country these birds abound, and I\nhave counted thirty and forty tearing up a living, quivering animal.\nSometimes, for mercy's sake, I have alighted and put the suffering\nbeast out of further pain. Before I got away they have been fighting\nover it again in their haste to suck the heart's blood.\n\nA BACHELOR RABBIT.\n\nThe pest of Australia is the rabbit, but, strange to say, I never found\none in South America. In their place is the equally destructive\n_viscacha_ or prairie dog--a much larger animal, probably three or four\ntimes the size, having very low, broad head, little ears, and thick,\nbristling whiskers. His coat is gray and white, with a mixture of\nblack. To all appearance this is a ferocious beast, with his two front\ntusk-like teeth, about four inches long, but he is perfectly harmless.\nThe viscacha makes his home, like the rabbit, by burrowing in the\nground, where he remains during daylight. The faculty of acquisition in\nthese animals must be large, for in their nightly trips they gather and\nbring to the mouth of their burrow anything and everything they can\npossibly move. Bones, manure, stones and feathers are here collected,\nand if the traveller accidentally dropped his watch, knife or\nhandkerchief, it would be found and carried to adorn the viscacha's\ndoorway, if those animals were anywhere near.\n\nThe lady reader will be shocked to learn that the head of the viscacha\nfamily, probably copying a bad example from the ostrich, his neighbor,\nis also very unamiable with his \"better half,\" and inhabits bachelor's\nquarters, which he keeps all to himself, away from his family. The food\nof this strange dog-rabbit is roots, and his powerful teeth are well\nfitted to root them up. At the mouth of their burrows may often be seen\nlittle owls, which have ejected the original owners and themselves\ntaken possession. They have a strikingly saucy look, and possess the\nadvantage of being able to turn their heads right around while the body\nremains immovable. Being of an inquisitive nature, they stare at every\npasser-by, and if the traveller quietly walks around them he will smile\nat the grotesque power they have of turning their head. When a young\nhorse is especially slow in learning the use of the reins, I have known\nthe cowboy smear the bridle with the brains of this clever bird, that\nthe owl's facility in turning might thus be imparted to it.\n\nAnother peculiar animal is the _comadreka_, which resembles the\nkangaroo in that it is provided with a bag or pouch in which to carry\nits young ones. I have surprised these little animals (for they are\nonly of rabbit size) with their young playing around them, and have\nseen the mother gather them into her pouch and scamper away.\n\nDRINKING WATER, SAINTS AND THE VIRGIN.\n\nIn Uruguay it is the custom for all, on approaching a house, to call\nout, \"Holy Mary the Pure!\" and until the inmate answers: \"Conceived\nwithout sin!\" not a step farther must be made by the visitor. At a hut\nwhere I called there was a baby hanging from the wattle roof in a cow's\nhide, and flies covered the little one's eyes. On going to the well for\na drink I saw that there was a cat and a rat in the water, but the\npeople were drinking it! When smallpox breaks out because of such\nunsanitary conditions, I have known them to carry around the image of\nSt. Sebastian, that its divine presence might chase away the sickness.\nThe dress of the Virgin is often borrowed from the church, and worn by\nthe women, that they may profit by its healing virtues. A crucifix hung\nin the house keeps away evil spirits.\n\nThe people were very _religious_, and no rain having fallen for five\nmonths, had concluded to carry around a large image of the Virgin they\nhad, and show her the dry crops. I rode on, but did not get wet!\n\nNO NEED OF THE DOCTOR OR VET.\n\n\"A poor girl got very severely burnt, and the remedy applied was a\npoultice of mashed ears of _viscacha_. The burn did not heal, and so a\npoultice of pig's dung was put on. When we went to visit the girl, the\npeople said it was because they had come to our meetings that the girl\ndid not get better. A liberal cleansing, followed by the use of boracic\nacid, has healed the wound. Another case came under our notice of a\nwoman who suffered from a gathering in the ear, and the remedy applied\nwas a negro's curl fried in fat.\"\n\nTo cure animals of disease there are many ways. Mrs. Nieve boasted\nthat, by just saying a few cabalistic words over a sick cow, she could\nheal it. A charm put on the top of the enclosure where the animals are\nherded will keep away sickness. To cure a bucking horse all that is\nnecessary is to pull out its eyebrows and spit in its face. Let a lame\nhorse step on a sheepskin, cut out the piece, and carry it in your\npocket; if this can't be done, make a cross with tufts of grass, and\nthe leg will heal. For ordinary sickness tie a dog's head around the\nhorse's neck. If a horse has pains in the stomach, let him smell your\nshirt.\n\nA RACE FOR INFORMATION.\n\nUruguay is said to have averaged a revolution every two years for\nnearly a century, so in times of revolutionary disturbance the younger\nchildren are often set to watch the roads and give timely warning, that\nthe father or elder brother may effect an escape. The said persons may\nthen mount their fleetest horse and be out of sight ere the recruiting\nsergeant arrives. Being one day perplexed, and in doubt whether I was\non my right road, I made towards a boy I had descried some distance\naway, to ask him. No sooner did the youth catch sight of me than he set\noff at a long gallop away from me; why, I could not tell, as they are\ngenerally so interested at the sight of a stranger. Determined not to\nbe outdone, and feeling sure that without directions I could not safely\ncontinue the journey, I put spurs to my horse and tried to overtake\nhim. As I quickened my pace he looked back, and, seeing me gain upon\nhim, urged his horse to its utmost speed. Down hill and up hill,\nthrough grass and mud and water, the race continued. A sheepskin fell\nfrom his saddle, but he heeded it not as he went plunging forward.\nHuman beings in those latitudes were very few, and if I did not catch\nhim I might be totally lost for days; so I went clattering on over his\nsheepskin, and then over his wooden saddle, the fall of which only made\nhis horse give a fresh plunge forward as he lay on its neck. Thus we\nraced for at least three miles, until, tired out and breathless, I gave\nup in despair.\n\nConcluding that my fleet-footed but unamiable young friend had\nundoubtedly some place in view, I continued in the same direction, but\nat a more respectable pace. Shortly afterwards I arrived at a very\nsmall hut, built of woven grass and reeds, which I presumed was his\nhome. Making for the open door, I clapped my hands, but received no\nanswer. The hut was certainly inhabited--of that I saw abundant\nsigns--but where were the people? I dare not get down from my horse;\nthat is an insult no native would forgive; so I slowly walked around\nthe house, clapping my hands and shouting at the top of my voice. Just\nas I was making the circuit for the third time, I descried another and\na larger house, hidden in the trees some distance away, and thither I\nforthwith bent my steps. There I learned that I had been taken for a\nrecruiting sergeant, and the inhabitants had hidden themselves when the\nboy galloped up with the message of my approach.\n\nI FIND DIAMONDS.\n\n  \"For one shall grasp and one resign.\n  One drink life's rue, and one its wine;\n  And God shall make the balance good.\"\n\nEncamped on the banks of the Black River, idly turning up the soil with\nthe stock of my riding-whip, I was startled to find what I believed to\nbe real diamonds! Beautifully white, transparent stones they were, and,\nrising to examine them closely in the sunlight, I was more than ever\nconvinced of the richness of my find. Was it possible that I had\nunwittingly discovered a diamond field? Could it be true that, after\nyears of hardship, I had found a fortune? I was a rich man--oh, the\nenchanting thought! No need now to toil through scorching suns. I could\nlive at ease. As I sat with the stones glistening in the light before\nmy eyes, my brain grew fevered. Leaving my hat and coat on the ground,\nI ran towards my horse, and, vaulting on his bare back, wildly galloped\nto and fro, that the breezes might cool my fevered head. Rich? Oh, how\nI had worked and striven! Life had hitherto been a hard fight. When I\nhad gathered together a few dollars, I had been prostrated with\nmalarial or some other fever, and they had flown. After two or three\nmonths of enforced idleness I had had to start the battle of life\nafresh with diminished funds. Now the past was dead; I could rest from\nstrife. Rest! How sweet it sounded as I repeated aloud the precious\nword, and the distant echoes brought back the word, Rest!\n\nI was awakened from my day dreams by being thrown from my horse! Hope\nfor the future had so taken possession of me that the present was\nforgotten. I had not seen the caves of the prairie dog, but my horse\nhad given a sudden start aside to avoid them, and I found myself\nlicking the dust. Bather a humiliating position for a man to be in who\nhad just found unlimited wealth; Somewhat subdued, I made my way back\nto my solitary encampment.\n\nWell, how shall I conclude this short but pregnant chapter of my life?\nSuffice it to say that my idol was shattered! The stones were found to\nbe of little worth.\n\n  \"The flower that smiles to-day,\n   To-morrow dies;\n  All that we wish to stay\n   Tempts, and then flies.\"\n\nA MAN WITH TWO NOSES AND TWO MOUTHS.\n\nI was lost one day, and had been sitting in the grass for an hour or\nmore wondering what I should do, when the sound of galloping hoofs\nbroke the silence. On looking around, to my horror, I saw a _something_\nseated on a fiery horse tearing towards me! What could it be? Was it\nhuman? Could the strange-looking being who suddenly reined up his horse\nbefore me be a man? A man surely, but possessing two noses, two mouths,\nand two hare-lips. A hideous sight! I shuddered as I looked at him. His\nleft eye was in the temple, and he turned it full upon me, while with\nthe other he seemed to glance toward the knife in his belt. When he\nrode up I had saluted him, but he did not return the recognition.\nFeeling sure that the country must be well known to him, I offered to\nreward him if he would act as my guide. The man kept his gleaming eye\nfixed upon me, but answered not a word. Beginning to look at the matter\nin rather a serious light, I mounted my horse, when he grunted at me in\nan unintelligible way, which showed me plainly that he was without the\npower of speech. He turned in the direction I had asked him to take,\nand we started off at a breakneck speed, which his fiery horse kept up.\nI cannot say he followed his nose, or the reader might ask me which\nnose, but he led me in a straight line to an eminence, from whence he\npointed out the estancia I was seeking. The house was still distant,\nyet I was not sorry to part with my strange guide, who seemed\ndisinclined to conduct me further. I gave him his fee, and he grunted\nhis thanks and left me to pursue my journey more leisurely. A hut I\ncame to had been struck by lightning, and a woman and her child had\nbeen buried in the debris. Inquiring the particulars, I was informed\nthat the woman was herself to blame for the disaster. The saints, they\ntold me, have a particular aversion to the _ombu_ tree, and this daring\nEve had built her house near one. The saints had taken _spite_ at this\nact of bravado, and destroyed both mother and daughter. Moral: Heed the\nsaints.\n\nA FLEET-FOOTED DEER.\n\nOne day an old man seriously informed me that in those parts there was\na deer which neither he nor any other one had been able to catch. Like\nthe Siamese twins, it was two live specimens in one. When I asked why\nit was impossible to catch the animal, he informed me that it had eight\nlegs with which to run. Four of the legs came out of the back, and,\nwhen tired with using the four lower ones, it just turned over and ran\nwith the upper set. I did not see this freak, so add the salt to your\ntaste, O reader.\n\nI SLEEP WITH THE RATS.\n\nHospitality is a marked and beautiful feature of the Uruguayan people.\nAt whatever time I arrived at a house, although a stranger and a\nforeigner, I was most heartily received by the inmates. On only one\noccasion, which I will here relate, was I grudgingly accommodated, and\nthat was by a Brazilian living on the frontier. The hot sun had\nruthlessly shone on me all day as I waded through the long arrow grass\nthat reached up to my saddle. The scorching rays, pitiless in their\nintensity, seemed to take the energy from everything living. All\nanimate creation was paralyzed. The relentless ball of fire in the\nheavens, pouring down like molten brass, appeared to be trying to set\nthe world on fire; and I lay utterly exhausted on my horse's neck, half\nexpecting to see all kindled in one mighty blaze! I had drunk the hot,\nputrid water of the hollows, which did not seem to quench my thirst\nany, but perhaps did help to keep me from drying up and blowing away.\nMy tongue was parched and my lips dried together. Fortunately, I had a\nvery quiet horse, and when I could no longer bear the sun's burning\nrays I got down for a few moments and crept under him.\n\nShelter there was none. The copious draughts of evil-smelling water I\nhad drunk in my raging thirst brought on nausea, and it was only by\nforce of will that I kept myself from falling, when on an eminence I\njoyfully sighted the Brazilian estancia. Hope then revived in me. My\nknowing horse had seen the house before me, and without any guidance\nmade straight towards it at a quicker pace. Well he knew that houses in\nthose desolate wastes were too far apart to be passed unheeded by, and\nI thoroughly concurred in his wisdom. As I drew up before the lonely\nplace my tongue refused to shout \"Ave Maria,\" but I clapped my\nperspiring hands, and soon had the satisfaction of hearing footsteps\nwithin. Visions of shade and of meat and drink and rest floated before\nmy eyes when I saw the door opened. A coal-black face peeped out,\nwhich, in a cracked, broken voice, I addressed, asking the privilege to\ndismount. Horror of horrors, I had not even been answered ere the door\nwas shut again in my face! Get down without permission I dare not. The\nhouse was a large edifice, built of rough, undressed stones, and had a\nthick, high wall of the same material all around.\n\nWere the inmates fiends that they let me sit there, knowing well that\nthere was no other habitation within miles? As the minutes slowly\nlengthened out, and the door remained closed, my spirits sank lower and\nlower. After a silence of thirty-five minutes, the man again made his\nappearance, and, coming right out this time, stared me through and\nthrough. After this close scrutiny, which seemed to satisfy him, but\nelicited no response to a further appeal from me, he went to an\noutlying building, and, bringing a strong hide lasso, tied it around my\nhorse's neck. Not until that was securely fastened did he invite me to\ndismount. Presuming the lasso was lent me to tie out my horse, I led\nhim to the back of the house. When I returned, my strange, unwilling\nhost was again gone, so I lay down on a pile of hides in the shade of\nthe wall, and, utterly tired out, with visions of banquets floating\nbefore my eyes, I dropped off to sleep.\n\nPerhaps an hour afterwards, I awoke to find a woman, black as night,\nbending over me. Not seeing a visitor once in three months, her\nfeminine curiosity had impelled her to come and examine me. Seemingly\nmore amiable than her husband, she spoke to me, but in a strange,\nunmusical language, which I could not understand; and then she, too,\nleft me. As evening approached, another inmate of the house made his\nappearance. He was, I could see, of a different race, and, to my joy, I\nfound that he spoke fluently in Spanish. Conducting me to the\naforementioned outhouse, a place built of canes and mud, he told me\nthat later on a piece of meat would be given me, and that I could sleep\non the sheepskins. I got the meat, and I slept on the skins. Fatigued\nas I was, I passed a wretched night, for dozens of huge rats ran over\nmy body, bit my hands, and scratched my face, the whole night long.\nMorning at last dawned, and, with the first streaks of coming day, I\nsaddled my horse, and, shaking the dust of the Brazilian estancia off\nmy feet, resumed my journey.\n\nTHE BURSTING OF A MAN.\n\nA friend of mine came upon an ostrich's nest. The bird was not near,\nso, dismounting, he picked up an egg and placed it in an inside pocket\nof his coat. Continuing the journey, the egg was forgotten, and the\nhorse, galloping along, suddenly tripped and fell. The rider was thrown\nto the ground, where he lay stunned. Three hours afterwards\nconsciousness returned. As his weary eyes wandered, he noticed, with\nhorror, that his chest and side were thickly besmeared. With a cry of\ndespair, he lay back, groaning, \"I have burst!\" The presence of the egg\nhe had put in his pocket had quite passed from his mind!\n\nI FIND A LONE SCOTSMAN.\n\nOne evening after a long day's journey, I reached a house, away near\nthe Brazilian frontier, and was surprised indeed to see that the owner\nwas a real live Scotsman. Great was my astonishment and pleasure at\nreceiving such a warm Scotch welcome. He was eighty miles away from any\nvillage--alone in the mountains--and at the sight of me he wept like a\nchild. Never can I forget his anguish as he told me that his beloved\nwife had died just a few days before, and that he had buried\nher--\"there in the glen.\" At the sight of a British face he had\ncompletely broken down; but, pulling himself together, he conducted me\nthrough into the courtyard, and the difficulty of my journey was\nforgotten as we sat down to the evening meal.\n Being anxious to hear the story of her who had presided at his\nboard, I bade him recount to me the sad circumstances.\n\nShe was a \"bonnie lassie,\" and he had \"lo'ed her muckle.\" There they\nhad lived for twelve years, shut out from the rest of the world, yet\ncontent. Hand in hand they had toiled in joy and sorrow, when no rain\nfell for eight long months, and their cattle died; or when increase was\ngood, and flocks and herds fat. Side by side they had stood alone in\nthe wild tangle of the wilderness. And now, when riches had been\ngathered and comfort could be had, his \"lassie\" had left him, and \"Oh!\nhe grudged her sair to the land o' the leal!\" Being so far removed from\nhis fellows, he had been compelled to perform the sacred offices of\nburial himself. Surrounded by kind hearts and loving sympathizers, it\nis sad indeed to lose our loved ones. But how inexpressibly more sad it\nis when, away in loneliness, a man digs the cold clay tomb for all that\nis left of his only joy! When our dear ones sleep in \"God's acre\"\nsurrounded by others it is sad. But how much more heartbreaking is it\nto bury the darling wife in the depths of the mountains alone, where a\nstrong stone wall must be built around the grave to keey the wild\nbeasts from tearing out the remains! Only those who have been so\nsituated can picture the solemnity of such a scene.\n\nAt his urgent request, I promised I would accompany him to the\nspot--sanctified by his sorrow and watered by his tears--where he had\nlaid his dear one. Early the following morning a native servant saddled\ntwo horses, and we rode in silence towards the hallowed ground. In\nabout thirty minutes we came in view of the quiet tomb. Encircling the\ngrave he had built a high stone wall. When he silently opened the gate,\nI saw that, although all the pasture outside was dry and withered, that\non the mound was beautifully green and fresh. Had he brought water from\nhis house, for there was none nearer, or was it watered by his tears?\nHis greatest longing was, as he had explained to me the previous night,\nthat she should have a Christian burial, and if I would read some\nchapter over her grave he would feel more content, he said. As with\nbared heads we reverently knelt on the mound, I now complied with his\nrequest. Then, for the first time in the world's history, the trees\nthat surrounded us listened to the Christian doctrine of a resurrection\nfrom the dead. \"It is sown in corruption, it is raised in\nincorruption.\" And the leaves whispered to the mountains beyond, which\ngave back the words: \"It is sown a natural body, it is raised a\nspiritual body.\"\n\nNever have I seen a man so broken with grief as was that lone Scotsman.\nThere were no paid mourners or idle sightseers. There was no show of\nsorrow while the heart remained indifferent and untouched. It was the\nspectacle of a lone man who had buried his all and was left--\n\n  \"To linger when the sun of life,\n   The beam that gilds its path, is gone--\n  To feel the aching bosom's strife,\n   When Hope is dead and Love lives on.\"\n\nAs we knelt there, I spoke to the man about salvation from sin, and\nunfolded God's plan of inheritance and reunions in the future life. The\nLord gave His blessing, and I left him next day rejoicing in the Christ\nwho said: \"I am the resurrection and the life; he that believeth in Me,\nthough he were dead, yet shall he live.\"\n\nAs the world moves forward, and man pushes his way into the waste\nplaces of the earth, that lonely grave will be forgotten. Populous\ncities will be built; but the doctrine the mountains then heard shall\nlive when the gloomy youth of Uruguay is forgotten.\n\nTHE WORD OF GOD CONTRASTED WITH THAT OF THE R. C. CHURCH.\n\n\"Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and Him only shalt thou\nserve.\"--The Christ.\n\n\"Mary must be the first object of our worship, St. Joseph the\nsecond.\"--Roman Catholic Catechism.\n\n\"Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image or any likeness of\nanything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or\nthat is in the water under the earth. Thou shalt not bow down thyself\nto them, nor serve them, for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God.\"\n\n\"I most firmly assert that the images of Christ and of the mother of\nGod, ever virgin, and also of the other saints, are to be had and\nretained, and that due honor and veneration are to be given to\nthem.\"--Creed of Pope Pius IV.\n\n\"My glory will I not give to another, neither my praise to graven\nimages.\"--Jehovah.\n\n\"The saints reigning together with Christ are to be honored and\ninvocated; ... they offer prayers to God for us... their relics are to\nbe venerated.\"--Creed of Pope Pius IV.\n\n\"For there is one God, and one mediator between God and men--the man\nChrist Jesus.\"--Paul.\n\n\"Mary is everything in heaven and earth, and we should adore her.\"--The\nSouth American Priest.\n\n\"Who changed the truth of God into a lie and worshipped and served the\ncreature more than the Creator, who is blessed for ever.\"--Paul\n\n\"All power was given to her.\"--Peter Damian, Cardinal of Rome.\n\n\"Search the Scriptures.\"--The Christ.\n\n\"All who read the Bible should be stoned to death.\"--Pope Innocent III.\n\n\n\n\nPART VI.\n\nMARIOLATRY AND IMAGE WORSHIP.\n\n\n[Illustration: OUR LADY OF GUADALOUPE. Many legacies are left to this\nimage.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nMARIOLATRY AND IMAGE WORSHIP.\n\n\nBefore the light of Christianity dawned on ancient Rome, the Pantheon\ncontained goddesses many and gods many. Chief of these deities to\nreceive the worship of the people seems to have been Diana of the\nEphesians, a goddess whose image fell down from Jupiter; the celestial\nVenus of Corinth, and Isis, sister to Osiris, the god of Egypt. These\npopular images, so universally worshipped, were naturally the aversion\nof the early followers of Christ. \"The primitive Christians were\npossessed with an unconquerable repugnance to the use and abuse of\nimages. The Jewish disciples were especially bitter against any but the\ntriune God receiving homage, but, by a slow, though inevitable,\nprogression, the honors of the original were transferred to the copy,\nthe devout Christian prayed before the image of a saint, and the pagan\nrites of genuflexion, luminaries, and incense stole into the Christian\nChurch.\" [Footnote: Gibbons' \"Rome.\"]\n\nHaving Paul's masterly epistle to the Romans, in the first chapter of\nwhich he so distinctly portrays man's tendency to change \"the glory of\nthe uncorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible man,\" and\nworship and serve the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed\nforever, they were careful to remember that \"God is a spirit,\" and to\nbe worshipped only in spirit. Peter, in his epistle to them, also wrote\nof the One \"whom having not seen ye love.\" As time wore on, however,\nthe original inclination of man to worship a god he could see and feel\n(a trait seen all down the pages of history) asserted itself, and Mary,\nthe mother of Christ, took the place in the eye and the heart\npreviously occupied by her predecessors. [Footnote: Just as this work\ngoes to press, the dally papers of the world announce that the oldest\nidol ever discovered has just been unearthed. The idol is a goddess,\nwho is holding an infant in her arms.] Being in possession of the Acts\nof the Apostles, which plainly declares that Mary herself met with the\nrest of the disciples \"for prayer and supplication,\" and, knowing from\nthe four Gospels that no worship had been at first given to her, the\ninnovation was slow to find favor; but, in the year 431, the Council of\nEphesus decided that Mary was equal with God.\n\n\"After the ruin of paganism they were no longer restrained by the\napprehension of an odious parallel\" in the idol worship. Symptoms of\ndegeneracy may be observed even in the first generations which adopted\nand cherished this pernicious innovation. \"The worship of images had\nstolen into the Church by insensible degrees, and each petty step was\npleasing to the superstitious mind, as productive of comfort and\ninnocent of sin. But, in the beginning of the eighth century, in the\nfull magnitude of the abuse, the more timorous Greeks were awakened by\nan apprehension that, under the mask of Christianity, they had restored\nthe religion of their fathers. They heard with grief and impatience the\nname of 'idolaters,' the incessant charge of the Jews and Mahometans,\nwho derived from the Law and the Koran an immortal hatred to graven\nimages and all the relative worship.\" [Footnote: Gibbons' \"Rome.\"]\n\nIt should be a most humiliating fact to the Romanists to have it\nrecorded as authentic history that \"the great miracle-working Madonna\nof Rome, worshipped in the Church of St. Augustina, is only a pagan\nstatue of the wicked Agrippina with her infant Nero in her arms.\nCovered with jewels and votive offerings, her foot encased in gold,\nbecause the constant kissing has worn away the stone, this haughty and\nevil-minded Roman matron bears no possible resemblance to the pure\nVirgin Mary; yet crowds are always at her feet, worshipping her. The\ncelebrated bronze statue of St. Peter, which is adored in the great\nChurch, and whose feet are entirely kissed away by the lips of\ndevotees, is but an antique statue of Jupiter, an idol of paganism. All\nthat was necessary to make the pagan god a Christian saint was to turn\nthe thunderbolt in his uplifted right hand to two keys, and put a\ngilded halo around his head. Yet, on any Church holiday, you will see\nthousands passing solemnly before this image (arrayed in gorgeous\nrobes, with the Pope's mitre on its head), and after bowing before it,\nrise on their toes and repeatedly kiss its feet.\" [Footnote: Vickers'\n\"Rome\"]\n\nThis method of receiving heathen deities as saints has been common all\nover South America, and many Indian idols may be seen in the churches,\nnow adored as Roman Catholic saints, while the worship of Mary has\ngrown to an alarming extent. In Lima's largest church, printed right\nover the chancel, is the motto, \"Glory to Mary.\"\n\nIn Cordoba, the Argentine seat of learning--a city so old that\nuniversity degrees were being given there when the Pilgrim Fathers\nlanded on the shores of New England--charms, amulets and miniature\nimages of the Virgin are manufactured in large numbers. These are worn\naround the neck, and are supposed to work great wonders. As may be\nunderstood, the workers in these crafts stand up for Romanism, and are\nwilling to cry themselves hoarse for Mary, just as the people of old\ncried for Diana of the Ephesians.\n\nIt is often told of the Protestant worker that he keeps behind his door\nan image of the Blessed Virgin, and, when entering or leaving the\nhouse, he spits in her face. No pains are spared to stamp out any\ndissenting work, and the missionary is made a by-word of opprobrium. I\nhave repeatedly had the doors and windows of my preaching places broken\nand wrecked. The priests have incited the vulgar crowd to hoot and yell\nat me, and on these occasions I have been both shot at and stoned.\n\nIn Cordoba, there is a very costly image of Mary. Once every year it is\nbrought out into the public square, while all the criminals from the\nstate prison stand in line. By a move of her head she is supposed to\npoint out the one whom she thinks should be given his liberty.\n\nFrom Goldsmith's \"Rome\" we learn that the _vestal virgins_ possessed\nthe power to pardon any criminal whom they met on the road to\nexecution. Thus does Romanism follow paganism. With the Virgin is often\nthe image of St. Peter. The followers of this saint affirm that they\nare always warned, three days before they die, to prepare for death.\nSt. Peter comes in person and knocks on the wall beside their bed.\n\nAs the virgin, Diana, was the guardian of Ephesus, so the Virgin Mary\nprotects Argentina.\n\nThe Bishop of Tucuman, in a recent speech, said: \"Argentina is now safe\nagainst possible invasion. The newly-crowned _Lady of the Miracles_\ndefends the north, and the _Lady of Lujan_ guards the south.\"\n\nA writer in _The Times of Argentina_ naively asks: \"If these can safely\ndefy and defeat all comers, is there any further necessity for public\nexpenditure in military matters?\"\n\nSouth America groans under the weight of a mediaeval religion which has\nlittle to do with spiritual life. In Spain and Portugal, perhaps the\ntwo most deluded of European lands, I have seen great darkness, but\neven there the priest is often good, and at least puts on a veneer of\npiety. In South America this is not generally considered necessary.\nFrequently he is found to be the worst man in the village. If you speak\nto him of his dissolute life, he may tell you that he, being a priest,\nmay do things you, a layman, must not. In Spain, Portugal and Italy,\nnext door to highly enlightened countries, the priest cannot, for very\nshame, act as he is free to do in South America. That great continent\nhas been ruled and governed only by Roman Catholics, without outside\ninterference, and Romanists in other lands do not, and would not,\nbelieve the practices there sanctioned.\n\n_\"You ask about this nation and the Roman Catholic Church,\" said the\nAmerican Minister in one South American capital. \"Well, the nation is\nrotten, thanks to the Church and to Spain. The Church has taught lies\nand uncleanness, and been the bulwark of injustice and wrong for 300\nyears. How could you expect anything else?\" \"Lies,\" said a priest to a\nfriend, who told the remark to us, \"what do lies have to do with\nreligion.\" [Footnote: \"Missions In South America,\" Robt. E. Speer.]\n\nA missionary writes: \"Recently the Roman bishop and several other\npriests visited the various towns. It was a business trip, for they\ncharged a good price for baptisms, confirmations, etc., and carried\naway thousands of dollars. In Santa Cruz a disgraceful scene was\npublicly enacted in the church by the resident priest and one of the\nvisitors. Both saw a woman drop a twenty-five cent piece into the pan;\neach grabbed for it, and then they fought before the people! The\nvillage priest wanted me to take his photo, but he was so drunk I had\nto help him put on his official robes. He was taken standing in the\ndoorway of the church beside an image of the Virgin.\"\n\n\"There wan a feast in honor of the image of the Holy Spirit in the\nchurch. This is a figure of a man with a beard; beside it sits a figure\nof Christ, and between them a dove. Great crowds of people attend these\nfeasts to buy, sell and drink. On a common in the town a large altar\nwas erected, and another image of the Holy Spirit placed, and before it\ndanced Indians fantastically dressed to represent monkeys, tigers,\nlions and deer. Saturday, Sunday and Monday were days of debauchery.\nMen, women and children were intoxicated; the jails were full, and\nextravagances of all kinds were practised by masked Indians. The\nvessels in the church are of gold and silver, and the images each have\na man to care for them. The patron saint is a large image of the\nVirgin, dressed in clothing that cost $2,500.\"\n\nSince returning to more civilized lands, I have been asked: But do they\nreally worship the Virgin, or God, through her? I answer that in\nenlightened countries where Roman Catholicism prevails, the latter may\nbe true, but that in South America, discovered and governed by\nRomanists from the earliest times, millions of people worship the\nVirgin without any reference to God. She is the great goddess of the\npeople, and while one may see her image in every church, it is seldom\nindeed that God is honored with a place--then He may be seen as an old\nman with a long white beard. What kind of God they think He is may be\nseen from the words of Missionary F. Glass: \"I found a 'festa' in full\nswing, called the 'Feast of the Divine Eternal Father,' and a drunken\ncrowd were marching round, with trumpets, drums and a sacred banner,\ncollecting alms professedly on His behalf.\" [Footnote: \"Through the\nHeart of Brazil\"]\n\nMary is the one to whom the vast majority of people pray. They have\nbeen taught to address supplications to her, and, being a woman, her\nheart is considered more tender than a man's could be. During a drought\ntheir earnest prayer for rain was answered in an unexpected way, for\nnot only did she send it, but with such accompanying violence that it\nwashed away the church!\n\nIn some churches the mail-box stands in a corner, and _\"Letters to the\nVirgin\"_ is printed over it. There are always many young women to be\nseen before the image of St. Anthony, for he is the patron of\nmarriages, and many a timid confession of love is dropped into the\nletter-box, and it often happens that a marriage is arranged as a\nresult. The superstitious maiden believes that her letter goes directly\nto the Virgin or to the saint in his heavenly mansion, and she has no\nsuspicion that it is read by the parish priest.\n\nSaints are innumerable and their powers extraordinary. When travelling\nin Entre Rios, I learned that St. Ramon was an adept in guiding the\npath of the thunderbolt. A terrific storm swept across the country, and\na woman, afraid for her house, placed his image leaning against the\noutside wall, that he might be able to see and direct the elements. The\ntempest raged, and as though to show the saint's utter helplessness,\nthe end of the house was struck by lightning and set on fire. Little\ndamage was done, but I smiled when the indignant woman, after the storm\nceased, soundly thrashed the image for not attending to its duty.\n\nWhile preaching in the town of Quilmes, a poor deluded worshipper of\nRome \"turned from idols to serve the living and true God.\" He had been\na sincere believer in St. Nicolas, and implicitly believed the absurd\naccount of that saint having raised to life three children who had been\nbrutally murdered by their father and secreted in a barrel. He brought\nme a picture of this wonder-worker tapping the barrel, and the little\nones in the act of coming out alive and well.\n\nOne familiar with Romanism in South America has said: \"It is amazing to\nhear men who have access to the Word of God and the facts of history\nand of the actual state of the Romish world attempt to apologize for or\neven defend Romanism. Romanism is not Christianity.\"\n\n_The Church deliberately lies about the Ten Commandments, entirely\nomitting the second and dividing the tenth in order to make the\nrequisite number. Can a Church which deceives the people teach them\ntrue religion? Is the preaching of Mary the preaching of Christ?_\n[Footnote: \"Mission In South America,\" Robert B. Speer.]\n\n_\"There is not an essential truth which is not distorted, covered up,\nneutralized, poisoned,_ and completely nullified by the doctrines of\nthe Romish system.\" [Footnote: Bishop Neely's \"South America.\"]\n\nA missionary in Cartago writes: \"I must tell you about the annual\nprocession of the wonderful miracle-working image called 'Our Lady\nQueen of the Angels,' through the principal streets of the town.\nPicture to yourselves, if you can, hundreds of people praying,\nworshipping, and doing homage to this little stone idol, for which a\nspecial church has been built. To this image many people come with\ntheir diseases, for she is supposed to have power to cure all. On a\nspecial day of the procession, people receive pardon for particular\nsins if they only carry out the bidding of 'Our Lady,' She seems to\norder some extraordinary things, such as crawling in the streets with\nbig rocks on the head after the procession, or painting one's self all\nthe colors of the rainbow. One man was painted black, while others wore\nwigs and beards of a long parasitic grass which grows from the trees.\nSome were dressed in sackcloth, and all were doing penance for some sin\nor crime. This little image was carried by priests, incense was burned\nbefore her, and at intervals in the journey she was put on lovely\naltars, on which sat little girls dressed in blue and green, with wings\nof white, representing angels. Some weeks ago 'Our Lady' was carried\nthrough the streets to collect money for the bull-fights got up in her\nhonor. She is said to be very fond of these fights, which are immoral\nand full of bloody cruelty. This year the bulls were to kill the men,\nor the men the bulls, and the awful drunkenness I cannot describe.\nAfter this collection the bishop came over here, and is said to have\ntaken away some of the money. Soon after he died, and the people here\nsay that 'Our Lady' was angry with him.\"\n\nFrom a recent list of prayers used in the Church of Rome I select the\nfollowing expressions:\n\n \"Queen of heaven and earth, Mother of God,\n  my Sovereign Mistress, I present myself before\n  you as a poor mendicant before a mighty Queen.\n\n \"All is subject to Mary's empire, even God\n  Himself. Jesus has rendered Mary omnipotent:\n  the one is omnipotent by nature, the other\n  omnipotent by grace.\n\n \"You, O Holy Virgin, have over God the authority\n  of a mother.\n\n \"It is impossible that a true servant of Mary\n  should be damned.\n\n \"My soul is in the hands of Mary, so that if\n  the Judge wishes to condemn me the sentence\n  must pass through this clement Queen, and she\n  knows how to prevent its execution.\n\n \"We, Holy Virgin, hope for grace and salvation\n  from you.\n\n \"Dispensatrix of Divine Grace.\"\n\nHow history repeats itself! How hard paganism is to kill! The ancient\nEgyptians worshipped the \"Queen of Heaven.\" Jeremiah, as far back as\n587 B.C., prophesied desolation to Judah for having \"burned incense to\nthe Queen of Heaven,\" and poured out \"drink offerings\" unto her, and\n\"made cakes to worship her.\"--Jer. xliv. 17-19.\n\nOf the _wise_ men (Matthew ii.) we read: \"And when they were come into\nthe house, they saw the young child with Mary, His mother, and fell\ndown and worshipped _Him_.\"\n\nThe South American version of Matthew 11:28, as may be seen carved on a\nstone of the Jesuit Church in Cuzco, is: \"Come to MARY, all you who are\nladen with works, and weary beneath the weight of your sins, and _she_\nwill alleviate you,\" A literal translation of one of the prayers\noffered to her reads: \"Yes, beloved Mother! of thee I supplicate all\nthat is necessary for the salvation of my soul. Of whom should I ask\nthis grace but of Thee? To whom should a loving son go but to his\nbeloved Mother? To whom the weak sheep cry but to its divine\nshepherdess? Whom seek the sick, but the celestial doctor? Whom invoke\nthose in affliction but the mother of consolation? Hear me then, Holy\nQueen!\"\n\nThe statues of the \"Queen of Heaven\" are often of great magnificence,\nthe dress of one which I know having cost $2,000. In the poor Indian\nchurches a bag of maize leaves, tied near the top to make a neck, and\nabove that an Indian physiognomy, painted with some vegetable dye,\nserves the same purpose. The Bishop of La Serena, in Chili, has\nreceived as much as $40,000 a year for keeping up the revered image in\nthat church, and these images _are worshipped_. Bequests are often left\nto them, and a popular one will receive many legacies annually.\n\nTo be just, I must mention that in the arms of this \"Mother of God\"\nthere is, almost invariably, the child Jesus, but I must also state\nthat to tens of thousands this baby never grew to manhood, but went up\nto heaven in His mother's arms. What a caricature of Christianity! Paul\nsaid: \"If Christ be not risen, then is our preaching vain, and your\nfaith is also vain.\" \"Make Jesus a perpetual child, and Mariolatry\nbecomes lower than Chinese ancestral worship.\" If He, as a child, was\ntranslated to heaven, then He never died and rose again. Mary is, to\nthem, the Saviour. The child Jesus happened to be her son, and, as she\nwas the great divine one, He, through her, partook of divinity. _La\nCruz_, a weekly paper, published in Tucuman, Argentina, in its issue of\nSeptember 3rd, 1899, had the following article:\n\nTHE BIRTH OF MARY.\n\n\"Chroniclers say that such was the fury that possessed the devils in\nhell, at the moment of the birth of the Most Blessed Virgin, that they\nnearly broke loose.\n\n\"There was sounded in heaven the first cannon shot in salutation of\nsuch a happy event. Lucifer gave such a jump that he got his horns\ncaught in the moon, and there, it is said, he remained hanging all the\nday, like the insignificant fellow he is, to the great amusement of the\nblessed ones above, who laughed to see such an uncommon sight.\n\n\"The other devils, who could not jump so high, remained below screaming\nand kicking!, and tearing their apology for beards, when not otherwise\noccupied in scratching and biting and burning the unfortunate condemned\nones.\n\n\"And all this because... it had been foretold that... a woman, yes, a\nwoman, should one day bruise their heads... and, according to all\nappearances, this was the woman... and that she was that bright and\nmorning star that announces the appearance of the Sun.\n\n\"Why should we not therefore rejoice, as the angels in heaven rejoiced,\nover that moat happy event--the birth of Mary.\"\n\nFrom this it is clear that in Tucuman, at any rate--and this, by the\nway, is an important city, of at least 75,000 inhabitants--they believe\nthat Mary, not Christ, came to bruise the serpent's head. The Roman\nCatholic translation of Gen. 3:15 is: \"_She_ shall bruise the serpent's\nhead.\" Thus, the reader sees, at the very commencement of God's Word,\nand in the very first promise of a Saviour for fallen men, the eyes of\nseeking souls are turned by Romanists from the Creator to the creature.\n\nHow these words are understood by Romanists is plainly seen by the\npictures of Mary trampling on the serpent, which are found everywhere\nin Romish lands.\n\nUnder pictures of the Virgin, circulated everywhere, are the words: \"We\nhave seen the star and are come to adore her.\" The prayers of adoration\nrun, \"To the holiest birth of Mary, that in death it may bring about\nour birth to eternal glory. Ave Maria!\" \"To the anguish of Mary, that\nwe may be made predestined children of her sorrows. Ave Maria!\"\n\nThe veneration with which the Virgin Mary is regarded, and the power\nwith which she is invested, are thus told by many a priest: \"Once God\nwas so angry with the world that He determined to destroy it, and was\nabout to execute His design when Mary said to Him: 'Give me back first\nthe milk with which I fed you, and then you can do so!' In this way she\naverted the impending destruction.\"\n\n\"Millions in Brazil look upon the Virgin Mary as their Saviour. A book\nwidely circulated throughout northern Brazil says that Mary, when still\na mere child, went bodily to heaven and begged God to send Christ,\nthrough her, into the world. Further on it says that Mary went again to\nheaven to plead for sinners; and at the close Mary's will is given,\ndisposing of the whole world, and God the Father, Son, and Holy\nSpirit--the Trinity--act as the three witnesses to the will. How many\ngood Christians at home think Brazil is a Christian country?\"\n[Footnote: W. C. Porter.]\n\nIf the Bible were in circulation throughout South America, the populace\nwould be enabled to see that Christ is not the remorseless Judge but\nthe loving Saviour, and that it was He who purchased redemption for us.\nMary, according to Luke 1:47, was herself in need of a Saviour, and her\nonly recorded command was to do as He, the Christ, enjoined (See John\n2:5). Not only Protestants, but not even Roman Catholics born in\nProtestant countries, can understand what Romanism is in South America.\n\nChrist said: \"Search the Scriptures.\" Rome has done her best to destroy\nthe sacred volume. Papal bulls, said to have been _dictated by the Holy\nGhost_, have been issued by several Popes. Rome sometimes burned the\nmartyrs with a Bible hanging around their necks. Romanists showed their\nhatred against Wycliffe, the first translator of the New Testament into\nEnglish, by unearthing his crumbling remains and burning them to ashes.\nI have often seen the same spirit shown in South America.\n\nA colporteur, writing of Scripture circulation in the Argentine, says:\n\"Many of the people are trying to get us ejected from the city. One, to\nwhom a Bible was offered, became so infuriated that he said: 'If it\nwere not such a public place? I would drown you in the river.'\" A\nmissionary writes: \"A young fellow called out after me, 'I renounce\nyou, Satan,' but as that is not my name, I did not turn back. During\nthe meeting on Sunday evening, the priest came riding up to the window,\nand shouted that he would soon put a stop to us. Today he has had a\nnumber of bills printed, warning his parishioners to have nothing to do\nwith us. To-night one of the bills was pasted on the door. Br. Arena\ntook it off, and no sooner had he the door shut than two shots were\nfired, but they did no more harm than to pierce the door--thank God! I\nhave been informed that a number of young men will either beat or shoot\nme, and that as I am the only one left they are going to make me leave,\ntoo, by foul or by fair means. The following is a translation of the\npriest's warning:\n\n  \"To the faithful of Candelaria. Beware.\n  This parish has been invaded by one of the\n  wicked sects of Protestantism, and, having the\n  sacred duty of warning my parishioners, I give\n  them to understand that should any one of\n  them attend, even from mere curiosity, to hear\n  the false and pernicious propaganda, or accept\n  tracts or books that come from the propagators\n  of Protestantism, he will be excommunicated\n  from the true and only Church of Jesus Christ,\n  Catholic, Apostolic, and Roman, wherein resides\n  the infallible authority. Beware, then, oh, ye\n  faithful, and listen to your parish priest, who\n  advises you of the danger of your souls.\"\n\nYet with all this darkness and error, the majority are well contented,\nand quite willing to obey \"warnings\" like this and the following,\npublished in _Los Principios_, of Cordoba:\n\n  \"It has come to our knowledge that there are\n  amongst us various Protestant ministers, that\n  distribute with profusion leaflets containing their\n  erroneous doctrines and calumnies against the\n  Catholic Church. Some of these leaflets and booklets\n  have fallen into our hands, and in them we\n  have found confirmation of what we say above.\n  In one of these leaflets, for example, they treat\n  as idolatry the worship that we Catholics tribute\n  to the Mother of God. They treat as superstition\n  the veneration they have in Rome for the holy\n  staircase by which our Lord Jesus Christ went\n  up to the judgment hall of Pilate. They combat\n  the worship of images, relics, and things of that\n  description.\n\n  \"Catholics ought to know that it is not lawful\n  for them to read these leaflets, nor the Sacred\n  Bible distributed by the Protestants, because it\n  has been falsified by them, accommodating its\n  texts to their errors. The Church has prohibited\n  its children many times these pernicious readings.\n  Let us reject, according to the counsel\n  of St. Paul, these ravenous wolves that come in\n  sheep's clothing, for they come to kill and to\n  destroy souls, thrusting them into the ways of\n  error, being separated from the true Church of\n  Jesus Christ, from which Luther, Calvin,\n  Zuinglio, Henry VIII, and others separated\n  themselves, of whom Cobbell, the Protestant\n  historian, himself has said: 'Never has the\n  world seem gathered into one century so many\n  perverse men as Luther, Zuiniglio, Calvin,' etc.\"\n\n\nOne acquainted with Spanish-American Romanism will smile at the\nreference in the above article to the Bible having been falsified by\nus. If the text of any version extant is compared with those which are\npainted on the walls of the church in Celaya, there surely will be\nfound a great discrepancy. The following are translations:\n\n\"MARY, my mother, in thee I hope; save me from those that persecute\nme.\"--Psalm vii. 1.\n\n\"Be thou exalted, O MARY, above the heavens, and thy glory above all\nthe earth.\"--Psalm lvii. 5.\n\n'I will sing to MARY while I live.\"--Psalm civ. 33.\n\n\"Serve MARY with love, and rejoice in her with trembling.\"--Psalm ii.\n11.\n\n\"Offer sacrifices of righteousness and trust in MARY.\"--Psalm iv. 5.\n\n\"Let everything that hath breath praise OUR LADY,\" etc., etc.\n\nProtestant Christians pay almost all the entire cost of circulating\nRoman Catholic translations of the Scriptures over the world. In the\nversions of De Saci (French), Martini (Italian), Scio (Spanish),\nPereira (Portuguese), and Wuyka (Polish), we find in Matthew 3: 2, and\nthirty-four other places, instead of \"repent ye\" the words, \"do\npenance,\" while in Matthew 3: 8, and some twenty other places, the word\nthat should be translated \"repentance,\" is rendered _penance._ In the\nfollowing light way \"penance\" can be done, while \"repentance\" is not\nthought of.\n\nFor sins against the Church the priest will often condemn the culprit\nto wear a hideous garment for hours, or days, according to the gravity\nof the offence, but this punishment can be worn by proxy. There are\nalways those who, for a consideration, will don the badge of disgrace.\n\nWhat is called \"Holy Week\" gives proofs of the shallowness of Rome's\npiety. Priests and people alike can weep, fast and faint, because their\nGod is suffering and dying; all traffic can stop because, they say,\n\"God has died\"; but as soon as the death of Judas is announced, at noon\non Saturday, the noise of guns, pistols, squibs, etc., takes the place\nof the death-like quiet that had reigned. After an hour or two silence\nagain prevails till Sunday morning, when all restraint is removed, and\npeople seem to make up for lost time. Drinking and kindred evils run\nriot, and it is no uncommon thing on the Sunday night to see the people\ndrinking and dancing by the light of the candles they were burning to\ntheir favorite virgin or saint.\n\nIn the large city of Lima, for centuries a very stronghold of image\nworship, the interest in the Church has of late years been waning.\nPerhaps one reason for this is the changing nature of the native\npopulation of the city, for the deaths there exceed the births. Seeing\nthis falling away from the Church, the priests announced that they had\ndecided to send for the _Sacred Heart of the Virgin_, and trusted that\nthe presence of this holy relic would promote the more faithful\nattendance of the flock. The _heart_ arrived and was with great\nsolemnity hung from the roof of the cathedral as the incentive to\npiety. Thousands flocked into the sacred building with reverent awe.\nThe women gazed upon the heart with tearful eyes, and as they thought\nof Mary's sufferings and goodness they were emulated to deeper acts of\nlove and piety. One day the wind blew very strongly through the open\ndoorway, and the _Sacred Heart_ began to sway to and fro. Getting more\nand more momentum with every oscillation, the heart finally struck\nagainst a sharp cornice, when lo--_all the sawdust fell out_ of the\ncanvas bag they had worshipped as the heart of flesh of their goddess.\nHow they reconciled the existence of the heart of the Virgin with their\nbelief that she ascended to heaven in a bodily form I do not pretend to\nimagine. It may be remarked that this is surely Romanism corrupted.\nNay, it is rather Romanism developed.\n\n\"Andacilli is a hamlet, at which there is an image of the Virgin. Every\nyear pilgrims resort thither, and a great feast to the Virgin is\ncelebrated, the most important day being December 26th. During the last\nfew years there has been a falling off in the number of pilgrims,\nespecially those of the better class, but this last year the clerical\nauthorities have left no stone unturned in order to get together more\npeople than ever. Six bishops were advertised to come, and they were to\ncrown the Virgin with a crown which cost thousands of dollars. These\nproceedings rouse an incredible enthusiasm in the people.\" [Footnote:\n\"Regions Beyond.\"]\n\nSometimes Mary's image is baptized in the river, while men and women\nline the bank, ready to leap into the _holy water_ when she is lifted\nout. Afterwards the water in which she was immersed is sold as a cure\nfor bodily ills. Sometimes the earth from under the building where she\nis kept is also sold for the same purpose.\n\nImagine a church like that in Tucuru! \"It consists of a palm-leaf hut,\nwith a bare floor and no furniture whatever. Round the sides stand\ntwelve life-size figures, made of canvas and stuffed with husks of\ncorn, which some one of the Indian worshippers has painted with the\nfeatures and dress of his own race. When I went in two women lay\nprostrate on the floor, and one of them screamed in agonizing tones,\n'My Lords, send the rod of your power to heal him!'--evidently praying\nto these apostles on behalf of some sick relative. Here, once a year, a\npriest celebrates mass, and when he last came he stuck a paper over the\nentrance, which read: _Hoec est Domus Del et Porta Coeli_ (' This is\nthe House of God and the Gate of Heaven.') In San Jos\u00e9 we have the four\nwalls of a new church, consecrated to the 'Virgin,' where, recently, a\nraffle was held on behalf of the projected edifice. As we enter, the\nfirst thing seen is an inscription, professing to be a message to each\nvisitor from the Virgin, which says, 'My son, behold me without a\ntemple. Come, help in building it, and I shall reward thee with Eternal\nLife.\" [Footnote: Report of the British and Foreign Bible Society.]\n\nChrist said: \"I give unto My sheep eternal life\"; but the record of\nthat saying is jealously kept from them.\n\nWhen the early colonists left Spain for the New World, they took with\nthem the Creed of Pius IV. That creed expressly states that the Bible\nis not for the people. \"Whoever will be saved must _renounce_ it. It is\na forbidden book.\"\n\n\"In 1850, when the Christian world was first being roused to the\ndarkness of South America, and philanthropic men were desirous of\nsending Bibles there, Pope Pius IX. wrote an Encyclical letter in which\nhe spoke of Bible study as 'poisonous reading,' and urged all his\nvenerable brethren with vigilance and solicitude to put a stop to it.\nThus has South America been denied the revelation of God. The priest\nhas, because of this ignorance, been able to 'lord it over God's\nheritage.'\" [Footnote: Guiness's \"Romanism and the Reformation.\"]\n\nWith an open Bible, Spanish America would have progressed as North\nAmerica has done. Without the enlightening influences of that Word,\nbehold the darkness! Could anything be more eloquent than the\nprosperity of the land of the Pilgrim Fathers in proclaiming the value\nof the open Bible?\n\nMr. Hudson Taylor, of the China Inland Mission, speaking on a recent\noccasion, said: \"I always pray for South America. It is a most needy\npart of the world, and wants your prayers as well as mine. The workers\nthere have great difficulties to contend with, and of the same sort as\nwe have in China, from Roman Catholicism--the most God-dishonoring\nsystem in the world. The heathen need your prayers, but the Roman\nCatholic needs them ten times more. He is ten times as much in the dark\nas the heathen themselves are.\"\n\nThe _Missionary Review of the World_ describes South America as\n\"Earth's darkest land.\" Do you not think, O reader, the words are most\ntruly applied?\n\n\"There are in South America eight hundred missionaries, men and women,\nfrom Great Britain, the Continent of Europe, Canada and the United\nStates. In Canada and the United States there is on an average one\nProtestant minister for every 514 persons. In South America each\nmissionary has a constituency of about fifty thousand, indicating a\nneed in proportion of population one hundred times as great as in the\nProtestant countries of North America.\" [Footnote: Bishop Neely's\n\"South America.\"]\n\nYet, One called Jesus, whom we say we love, said: \"Go ye into all the\nworld and preach the Gospel to every creature.\"","title":"Through Five Republics on Horseback, Being an Account of Many Wanderings in South America","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":82381}