Part 4 (1/2)
”We will remain here for to-night,” said Don Jose, ”but it may be more prudent to proceed further into the depths of the forest to-morrow. It is possible that our enemies may discover the road we have taken and come here to search for us, and, besides the risk we ourselves should run, we should bring trouble on our friends.”
Riding up to the hut, our mules were unloaded, and our hammocks and the packages were taken inside. It was a large shed, far better built than many of the tambos we had stopped at, with thick walls and roof to protect the bark from the effects of the weather. It was already about half full of bundles of this valuable commodity. Each bundle was tightly done up, and weighed as much as a man could carry up the steep mountain's side.
We as usual set to work to form a separate chamber for Ellen and her attendant: this we did with bundles of the bark, leaving a door and window for ventilation. Ellen thanked us for our trouble, saying that she had not had so comfortable a room since the commencement of our journey. John, Arthur, and I slung our hammocks in the building, while the rest of the party were accommodated in the huts of the bark-gatherers. A rough table was soon formed within the large shed, and benches were brought in, and a substantial repast made ready. The chief dishes were the usual potato-soup and some roast meat. We could not at first make out whether it was venison or mutton, but found on inquiry that it was the flesh of a vicuna, which had been shot by the sportsman of the party in the morning. It is an animal resembling the llama, the well-known beast of burden of the ancient Peruvians. Don Jose and his friend sat down to table with us, and Domingos waited.
”But of what use is this bark!” asked Ellen, looking up at the huge bundles piled up on either side. ”Is it for tanning?”
”Oh no,” answered John. ”This is the celebrated Peruvian bark, to which the name of chinchona has been given. It was bestowed on it in consequence of the wife of the Viceroy of Peru, the Countess of Chinchona, having been cured of a tertian ague in the year 1638. The count and his wife, on returning to Spain, took with them a quant.i.ty of the healing bark; and they were thus the first persons to introduce this valuable medicine into Europe, where it was for some time known as the countess's bark or powder, and was named by the celebrated naturalist Linnaeus chinchona, in memory of the great service the countess had rendered to the human race. The Jesuits were great promoters also of the introduction of the bark into Europe. Some Jesuit missionaries in 1670 sent parcels of the powder or bark to Rome, whence it was distributed throughout Europe by the Cardinal de Lugo, and used for the cure of agues with great success. Hence, also, it was often called Jesuit's bark, and cardinal's bark.”
”Yes, I have heard of that,” observed Don Jose, laughing; ”and I am told that for some time it was in consequence opposed by the Protestants, and especially favoured by the Roman Catholics.”
”Yes,” said John, ”I believe that for a very long time a very strong prejudice existed against it; and even physicians opposed its use, considering it at best a dangerous medicine. It is now, however, acknowledged to be a sovereign remedy for ague of all descriptions. I believe the French astronomer De la Condamine, who went to Quito in the year 1735 to measure an arc of a degree, and thus to determine the shape of the earth, was the first person who sent home a full account of the tree.”
”We call it quinquina,” (bark of barks), observed Don Jose. ”Some of its virtues, if not all, were known to the Peruvians long before they were discovered by Europeans.”
”Ah! that is the reason it is called quinine by the English,” observed John. ”I did not before know the derivation of the word.”
”Since its use became general in Europe, the export trade of the quinquina has been very considerable,” observed Don Jose. ”Forests containing groves of these trees are found in various regions throughout the northern parts of the Cordilleras. My friend here has been engaged since his boyhood in collecting the bark, as was his father before him.
When searching for new districts, it is the custom for the cascarilleros, or bark-collectors, to set forth in parties of a dozen or more men, with supplies of food and tools. They make their way into the unknown forest, where they suppose, from its elevation above the sea and its general appearance, that the chinchona trees will be found. They are always accompanied by an experienced searcher, called the _cateador_. He climbs the highest tree in the neighbourhood, and searches about till he discovers the _manchas_, or clumps, of the chinchona trees by their dark colour, and the peculiar reflection of the light from their leaves, which can be distinguished even in the midst of a wide expanse of forest. He then, descending, conducts the party through the tangled brushwood, often for hours together, marking his way with his wood-knife, till he reaches the clump. Here they build rough huts, such as you see around us, and commence their work. The first operation is to cut down a tree, when the bark is carefully stripped off, and kept as free as possible from dirt or moisture, as it easily becomes mouldy, and loses its colour. It is important to cut the tree as close down to the ground as possible, in order that fresh shoots may grow up. There are various species of the quinquina. One is known by the name of grey bark, another as the red bark, which is considered the most valuable. The bark which you see around you is of the latter species; and the men employed in collecting can each make from one to two dollars a day. In the more distant forests, however, they have to undergo great danger in the work. Sometimes they have been known to lose themselves in the forest and having exhausted their provisions, have died of hunger. They are compelled also to carry the load of bark on their own backs, and occasionally a man breaks down under the weight and can proceed no further, when, if he is separated from his companions, he has little hope of escaping with life. There are, besides the species I have mentioned, a vast number of chinchona, though the bark of some yields little or none of the valuable drug.”
As soon as supper was over we retired to our hammocks, that we might be prepared to set out at an early hour to a more secure spot in the forest. John and I lay awake for some time, talking over our prospects.
Of course we were very anxious about what might happen to our family; for though Domingos had evidently not wished to alarm us, we saw that he was uneasy about them. We also could not shut our eyes to the difficulties and dangers we should have to undergo; not that we cared much about them on our own account, but on Ellen's. Though she was a brave girl, we were afraid that she might suffer from the hards.h.i.+ps she might have to endure in travelling over that mountain region. What our father had done to draw upon himself the hostility of the Government party we could not tell. He had, however, always shown an interest in the natives, and by his just and kind treatment of them had won their regard. We concluded, therefore, that he was in some way supposed to be implicated in the outbreak which had lately taken place. At length we dropped off to sleep.
The rest of the night pa.s.sed quietly away. I awoke as the grey dawn was stealing into the hut, and at once turned out of my hammock. I stood contemplating the wild scene for some minutes, admiring the size and variety of the trees which rose up in the forest before me. Some had enormous b.u.t.tress trunks, which sent down rope-like tendrils from their branches in every direction. There was the gigantic balsam-tree, the india-rubber-tree, and many others. Among them were numerous palms--one towering above the rest with its roots shooting out in every direction from eight feet above the ground, and another slender and beautiful; but the most remarkable of all was the _sayal_--so Don Jose called it--the monarch of the palms of these forests. It had rather a short, thick stem, the inner fibres of its stalk being like black wool; but its remarkable feature was its enormous leaves, which grew erect from the stem for forty feet in length. They must be the largest leaves, John and I agreed, in the whole vegetable kingdom. There were many bright and scarlet flowers, and numberless beautiful orchids hanging from the branches of the trees. Beyond the forest rose rugged cliffs, dark black rocks with lofty ranges of mountains towering above them. I was soon joined by my companions, and in a little time Ellen and Maria came forth. As it was almost dark when we reached the spot, we had formed no idea of the wonderful scenery surrounding us Domingos did not appear, and John inquired of Don Jose what had become of him.
”He has gone to ascertain in what direction the troops have marched,” he answered. ”We shall have to take our road accordingly. Besides the high road, there is another by which I can lead you, but it is still more steep and difficult yet, as we shall thus avoid the risk of meeting with enemies, it may be the safest for us.”
A couple of hours pa.s.sed away, during which we breakfasted on some delicious chocolate prepared by our host. Still Domingos had not returned. The mules, however, were got ready, that we might start, should it be necessary, immediately he appeared.
”I trust the honest man has not been taken prisoner,” observed Don Jose; ”it might fare ill with him. But I am sure he would endure any cruelty rather than betray us; and if he does not soon appear we will proceed on our journey, and my friend here will send a man to show him the road we have taken.”
An hour pa.s.sed, and as Domingos did not return, we mounted our mules and proceeded through the forest. Had we been on foot we might have followed some paths which the bark-collectors had cut; but many of them would only allow of a person proceeding in a stooping posture under the numberless creepers which were interwoven amid the branches of the trees. We had therefore to make a considerable circuit. At length we came to a less frequented part of the forest, and here we were compelled to use our knives and hatchets to clear away the art-work of creepers which impeded our progress. We all dismounted, and led the mules through the path we had thus formed. In several places we found, after an hour's toil, that we had not progressed more than half a mile.
”We shall reach more open country by-and-by,” said Don Jose, ”so we need not despair.”
At length we came upon a small party of men engaged in stripping off the bark from a tree which they had lately cut down. Don Jose spoke to them. They saluted him with marks of respect, and one of them, throwing his arm over his shoulder, led us through the forest to a small hut concealed by the surrounding trees. Its interior was not very tempting, but it would afford us shelter from the night air should we be detained there. It was dest.i.tute of furniture, with the exception of several hammocks hung up at one end, and a few pots and other cooking apparatus in the corner. Our attendants, however, at once began to sweep it out, while Ellen and Maria sat down on a log outside.
”The night is likely to be fine, and our friends will gladly give you up their hut,” said Don Jose.
”We will wait here till Domingos appears. I have made arrangements that we should have ample notice should any enemies come in pursuit of us.
We are surrounded by friends, and I have no doubt we shall be able to escape.”
Don Jose had secured a fresh supply of food, so that in a short time an ample meal was spread on the ground, round which we collected in picnic fas.h.i.+on. We had just concluded it when we heard footsteps approaching.
As we looked out, Domingos appeared before us. His countenance exhibited anxiety, and taking Don Jose aside, he conversed with him for some minutes.
”We must proceed at early dawn by the road I have mentioned to you,”
said our friend, returning to us. ”Domingos has had a narrow escape of being made prisoner. He tells me that the soldiers are pursuing the patriots and natives in every direction, and treating them with the greatest cruelty, shooting and hanging them whenever they are found.
Although they would not venture probably to ill-treat you, you might be subjected to great inconvenience, and certainly detained and prevented from reaching your parents. However, I trust that we shall be able to avoid them, and to reach the eastern slopes of the Andes without interruption. Your father has ever proved my firmest friend, and I rejoice therefore to have the opportunity of showing my grat.i.tude by being of service to his children. We shall be able to remain here during the night, and will recommence our journey by dawn, so as to reach the most difficult pa.s.s by mid-day, and I trust before evening to have gained a place of safety.”
”You will do well, my dear masters, to trust our friend thoroughly,”
said Domingos to John and me, while Don Jose was at a little distance.