In Far Bolivia Part 41

"Well, La Paz stands at a great alt.i.tude above the ocean. It is well worthy of a visit. If you go there, however, there are two things you must not forget to take with you, namely, a bottle of smelling-salts and plenty of eau-de-Cologne."

"The place smells--slightly, then, I suppose," ventured d.i.c.k.

"Ha! ha! ha!" Rodrigo had a hearty laugh of his own. "Yes, it smells slightly. So do the people, I may add.

"The natives of La Paz, although some of them boast of a direct descent from the ancient Incas, are to all intents and purposes slaves.

"Well, boys, when I say 'slaves' I calculate I know pretty well what I am talking about. The old feudal system holds sway in what we call the civilized portions of Bolivia. Civilization, indeed! Only in the wilds is there true freedom and independence. The servants on ranches and farms are bought or sold with the land on which they live. So, Mr.

Bill, if you purchase a farm in Bolivia, it won't be only the cows and c.o.c.ks and hens you'll have to take, but the servants as well, ay, and the children of these.

"Bolivian Indians, who are troubled with families that they consider a trifle too large for their income, have a simple and easy method of meeting the difficulty. They just take what you might call the surplus children to some white-man farmer and sell them as they do their cows."

"Then these children are just brought up as slaves?"

"Yes, their masters treat them fairly well, but they generally make good use of the whip. 'Spare the rod and spoil the child' is a motto they play up to most emphatically, and certainly I have never known the rod to be spared, nor the child to be spoiled either.

"Oh! by the way, as long as my hand is in I may tell you about the servants that the gentry-folks of La Paz keep. I don't think any European would be plagued with such a dirty squad, for in a household of, say, ten, there must be ten slaves at the very least, to say nothing of the pongo man.

"This pongo man is in reality the charwoman of La Paz. It is he who does all the dirty work, and a disagreeable-looking and painfully dirty blackguard he is himself. It is not his custom to stay more than a week with any one family. He likes to be always on the move.

"He a.s.sists the cook; he collects dried llama manure for firewood, as Paddy might say; he fetches water from the fountain; he brings home the marketing, in the shape of meat and vegetables; he cleans and scrubs everywhere, receiving few pence for his trouble, but an indefinite number of kicks and cuffs, while his bed at night is on the cold stones behind the hall door. Yet with all his ill-usage, he seems just about as happy as a New Hollander, and you always find him trotting around trilling a song.

"Ah, there is nothing like contentment in this world, boys!"

"Yes, Mr. Bill, I have seen one or two really pretty girls among the Bolivians, but never lost my heart to any of them, for between you and me, they don't either brush or comb their hair, and when walking with them it is best to keep the weather-gauge. And that's a hint worth having, I can a.s.sure you."

On the very next evening after Don Rodrigo spoke his piece, as he phrased it, about the strange customs and habits of the Bolivians, all were a.s.sembled as usual in the biggest tent.

Burly Bill and his meerschaum were getting on remarkably well together, the Don was rolling a cigarette, when suddenly Brawn started up as if from a dream, and stood with his ears p.r.i.c.ked and his head a little to one side, gazing out into the darkness.

He uttered no warning growl, and made no sound of any sort, but his tail was gently agitated, as if something pleased him.

Then with one impatient "Yap!" he sprang away, and was seen no more for a few minutes.

"What can ail the dog?" said Roland.

"What, indeed?" said d.i.c.k.

And now footsteps soft and slow were heard approaching the tent, and next minute poor Benee himself staggered in and almost fell at Roland's feet.

The honest hound seemed almost beside himself with joy, but he had sense enough to know that his old favourite, Benee, was exhausted and ill, and, looking up into his young master's face, appeared to plead for his a.s.sistance.

Benee's cheeks were hollow, his feet were cut and bleeding, and yet as he lay there he smiled feebly.

"I am happy now," he murmured, and forthwith fell asleep.

Both Roland and d.i.c.k trembled. They thought that sleep might be the sleep of death, but Don Rodrigo, after feeling Benee's pulse, a.s.sured them that it was all right, and that the poor fellow only needed rest and food.

In about half an hour the faithful fellow--ah! who could doubt his fidelity now?--sat painfully up.

d.i.c.k went hurrying off and soon returned with soup and with wine, and having swallowed a little, Benee made signs that he would rest and sleep.

"To-morrow," he said, "to-morrow I speak plenty. To-night no can do."

And so they did all they could to make him comfortable, and great Brawn lay down by his side to watch him.

CHAPTER XXIV--BENEE'S STORY--THE YOUNG CANNIBAL QUEEN

I cannot help saying that in forbearing to talk to or to question poor Benee on the evening of his arrival, our young heroes exhibited a spirit of true manliness and courage which was greatly to their credit.

That they were burning to get news of the unfortunate Peggy goes without saying, and to hear at the same time Benee's own marvellous adventures.

Nor did they hurry the poor fellow even next day.

It is a good plan to fly from temptation, when you are not sure you may not fall. There is nothing dishonourable about such a course, be the temptation what it may.

Roland and d.i.c.k adopted the plan this morning at all events. Both were awake long before sunrise; long before the beautiful stars had ceased to glitter gem-like high over mountains and forest.

The camp was hardly yet astir, although Burly Bill was looming between the lads and the light as they stood with honest Brawn in the big tent doorway. Over his head rose a huge cloud of fragrant smoke, while ever and anon a gleam from the bowl of his meerschaum lit up his good-humoured face.

It had not taken the lads long to dress, and now they sauntered out.

The first faint light of the dawning day was already beginning to pale the stars. Soon the sun himself, red and rosy, would sail up from his bed behind the far green forest.

"Bill!"

"Hillo! Good-morning to you both! I've been up for hours."

"And we could not sleep for--thinking. But I say, Bill, I think Benee has good news. I'm burning to hear it, and so is d.i.c.k here, but it would be downright mean to wake the poor fellow till he is well rested.

So, for fear we should seem too inquisitive, or too squaw-like, we're off with bold Brawn here for a walk. Yes, we are both armed."

When the lads came back in about two hours' time, they found Benee up and dressed and seated on the gra.s.s at breakfast.

When I say he was dressed I allude to the fact that he very much needed dressing, for his garments were in rags, his blanket in tatters. But he had taken the clothes Bill provided for him, and gone straight to the river for a wash and a swim.

He looked quite the old Benee on his return.

"Ah!" said Bill, "you're smiling, Benee. I know you have good news."

"Plenty good, Ma.s.sa Bill, one leetle bitee bad!"

"Well, eat, old man; I'm hungry. Yes, the boys are beautiful, and they'll be here in a few minutes."