The roar of a torrent was audible at the bottom of the precipice.
On the other side of the gorge, above a crest of rugged rocks, the mighty summits of the Andean Cordilleras rose up vertiginously under the tropical sky. And there, between two mountains, the sunlight sprang forth, dazzling, forcing Jacques to turn his eyes away. The Indians, in accordance with their custom, had orientated the explorers’ tents toward the east.
Jacques began to feel anxious. What did this mean? Had the porters and the llama-tenders deserted the mission? That was a frequent occurrence, which explorers must, unfortunately, always expect when they penetrated into difficult regions, or those rendered redoubtable by superstition.
In the fortnight since they had left Cuzco, the capital of the Incas, to penetrate into the heart of the mountainous region, not only had the voyagers had to overcome the most awkward obstacles, but they had also entered a region in which the legends of the Quichas, descendants of former subjects of the Incas placed the ruins of a holy city unknown to white men, and to which even the indigenes had forgotten the route.
The Vauguyon-Estray-Lasserre French mission, charged with searching for as-yet-unknown vestiges of the Empire of the Sun, had encountered the legend and had decided to investigate it, in spite of the incredulity of the Peruvian authorities and recommendations of prudence. Had not some authors affirmed that the Incas possessed, not far from their capital, Cuzco, a mysterious city, an inaccessible refuge whose secret had been jealously guarded and which the conquistadors had never discovered?
Jacques raised his voice. “Hey! Pierre, Robert! Get up!”
From the other two tents his companions replied:
“What! What is it?”
“Is it time to go?”
“Get up. There are complications.”
Robert and Pierre appeared, very anxious. They had scarcely taken the time to put their boots on and throw ponchos over their shoulders.
“What’s happened, then?” asked Robert, the leader of the mission.
“Look,” said Jacques, indicating the deserted camp with a circular gesture.
Pierre uttered an oath. “Our men have run off!” he exclaimed.
“Yes, and I think we’d be wasting our time trying to catch up with them.”
“We’re in a fine mess now!” said Robert, consternated.
“Well,” said Jacques, “I’m not overly surprised by what’s happened. These Indians are stupidly superstitious. Haven’t you noticed their anxious expressions and sly gazes since we left Cuzco?”
“The scoundrels!” Robert cursed. “If they’d only left us our llamas! But they’ve taken everything.”
“Including our baggage,” Jacques completed.
“Giving us a great deal of trouble, and causing us to fail when we’re almost at the conclusion of our efforts!”
“If only,” Pierre said, “the wretches had skipped out on us at the gates of Cuzco, we could have recruited more reliable companions. At any rate, we wouldn’t have made this terrible journey for nothing.”
“There’s nothing else to do than go back, as quickly as possible,” declared the leader of the mission.
After that exchange of bitter reflections, the three explorers fell silent momentarily. They could no longer find words to express their discontentment.
In the end, Jacques growled: “It’s aggravating, all the same, to give up so close to the goal.”
“Certainly—but what can we do? We’ll already have to count ourselves lucky if, left to our own resources, all three of us succeed in getting back to Cuzco safe and sound.”
After a further silence, Jacques observed: “I think, in spite of everything, that we ought not to panic. Damn it, we wouldn’t be French if we couldn’t shift for ourselves. We’ll win through, provided that we give proof of energy and sang-froid. And we’ve no lack of those.”
“You’re right, Jacques. No point in recriminations. Let’s think about means of getting out of it—and let’s begin by taking stock of what the rascals have left us.”
“That won’t take long—they’ve taken everything.”
“We’ve often been told that the Indians are cunning thieves,” Pierre remarked.
“So all we have is what’s in our tents.”
“Meager luggage!”
“Let’s console ourselves: if we had more, we couldn’t carry it. The main thing is that we still have our weapons.
“Except that the crate of cartridges has gone.”
While conversing in this fashion the explorers extracted from their tents the precious objects and those of constant usage that they habitually kept to hand.
Further exclamations of surprise and invective addressed to their treacherous servants announced that they had just made a disagreeable discovery.
With an infernal skill the auxiliaries of the mission, before fleeing had stolen everything, even from the tents, that had excited their covetousness. Without making any sound, they had slit the canvas with their knives and, slipping their arms through the opening, taken possession of weapons, watches and even their masters’ toiletries. One carbine and two automatic pistols had escaped their cupidity and malevolence, but the cartridges with which the three weapons were loaded constituted all of the travelers’ ammunition; that amounted to seven bullets for each pistol and five for the carbine. The hunting-rifle and cartridges had disappeared.
As for food supplies, they consisted purely and simply of three tins of corned beef that Robert and his companions kept in reserve in their knapsacks, as a precaution. The knapsacks themselves had been respected because the three friends used them as head-rests, and it would have been difficult to touch them without waking their owners.
“Let’s sum up the situation,” said Robert. “Fifteen bullets to defend ourselves against desperados or shoot game. No change of boots or clothing. Our watches and maps stolen. Three days’ food if we ration ourselves, and it’s at least ten days’ march to reach the nearest village. Certainly, we’re men to fight to the end, but I wouldn’t give much for our chances.”
“I propose,” said Pierre, “that we set off immediately, abandoning our tents and our bunks and everything that isn’t absolutely indispensable, in order not to slow us down. We ought to try to get back to Cuzco without losing an hour. Perhaps we’ll be lucky enough to bring down a vicuna; then we won’t be at risk of dying of hunger.”
A vicuna, a kind of Peruvian wild llama, would indeed have procured the explorers an abundant supply of meat.
“We might also be able to find a few tunas,” said Robert.
The tuna is the edible fruit of a kind of cactus.26 It is perfumed and refreshing, but has little nutritional value.
Jacque, who had been immersed in silent meditation for a while, suddenly declared, with a tranquil gravity: “Well, personally, I don’t want to return to Cuzco. I propose, on the contrary, that we continue our voyage.”
His two companions looked at him with bewilderment.
“Are you mad?” said Pierre. “We’re already in a desperate situation…”
“Precisely. It won’t be any more so if we persevere boldly on the route to the holy city instead of beating a retreat. Whether we go in one direction or another, we’ll have neither more or less difficulty getting out of trouble.”
“You’re joking!” Robert exclaimed. “The longer we remain en route, the more risk we’re running.”
“And isn’t the discovery of the mysterious city of the Incas, in fact, worth our running those risks?”
“What prevents us once we’re in Cuzco, from forming another caravan and undertaking another expedition?”
“And what kind of welcome would we receive in Cuzco? All those who called our expedition folly and advised us against going into the most deserted and dangerous region of the mountains will laugh at our failure. We’ll be the butt of the sarcasm of the Peruvian authorities and journalists, and the Indians will regard us with ironic scorn because their brothers will have prevented u
s from reaching the sanctuary of the Incas.
“Do you even know whether the Corregidor will authorize us to recruit a troop? And even if he did authorize us to do it, you can bet that our misadventure would be repeated, perhaps with even graver consequences than the first time. We’ve only had to deal with thieves; the next time, we might fall in with murderers.
“Anyway, my friends, need I remind you that we don’t have much money left! We couldn’t mount a second expedition like the first, and in consequence we’d have less chance of success. In the end, we’d be forced to return to France without having completed our program, and we’d be discredited in the eyes of the scientific community.”
“But how, without weapons or means of any kind, can we continue our voyage into the wilderness?”
“We’re in the heart of the mountains, and if the Indians chose today to abandon us, it’s doubtless because they knew that we were on the point of reaching our goal. Believe me, we’ll never have another opportunity like the one presented to us now to reach the holy city. We’ll find the means to survive damn it! We’ll nourish ourselves on fruits and game, and if we lack weapons, we’ll make some. Are we less intelligent or less resolute than the half-savage Indians who live alone or in small groups on the high plateaux of the Andes?
“I say that we can’t go back to France without having seen our mission through to the end. Thus far we’ve had great difficulties, but we haven’t run any real dangers. Are we going to recoil at the first threat? No, let’s get the better of misfortune.”
Robert, who had listened to this reply with his head bowed, suddenly looked up and said: “Well, Jacques is right, we ought to risk everything to gain everything. We’ve talked too much to allow ourselves to go back with our tails between our legs. By recoiling before danger we’d be betraying those who had enough confidence in us go send us here. We’re not taking a pleasure stroll, we have a duty to fulfill.”
“A mission to carry out,” Jacques insisted.
“Precisely. And we don’t have the right to give up as long as we have the strength to fight.”
II
The explorers had overcome the excusable discouragement that they had experienced on discovering the desertion of their auxiliaries; now they were no longer thinking about anything but stiffening their determination and deploying all their energy to see their archeological mission through to the end.
While avoiding overloading themselves with a burden that would have paralyzed them, they had collected everything that might facilitate a long sojourn in the wilderness, for it was not so much a matter of traveling rapidly as one of endurance. They had been forced to abandon their tents and bunks since they no longer had llamas to transport them. They would have to sleep on the bare ground, having no covers but their ponchos: large cloaks, primitive but practical, made of a single piece of red fabric pierced with a hole to allow the passage of the head. But Jacques had kept the pegs and strings that had served to stretch and fasten the sides of the tent.
“They might be useful. The pegs, fitted with iron spikes, can be used as weapons if necessary.”
Pierre Estray was particularly sensible of the loss of his watch. “How can one travel comfortably without the time?” he grumbled.
But Jacques, who decidedly took all misadventures in his stride, observed that it was easy to do without a watch.
“It’s necessary to resign ourselves,” he said, “to living for two or three days like true savages, forgetting our civilized habits, which aren’t all excellent. To regulate our time we have a great clock that we’ll never lack, night or day: the splendid tropical sky.”
Circling the environs of the camp, Jacques discovered a few tunas on cactus bushes. He collected them carefully, avoiding wounding himself on the sharp spines with which the tegument of the fruits was bristling. He brought them back triumphantly and stripped off the spines by rubbing them on a stone, as he had seen the Indians do.
“That will permit us to eke out our reserves of food somewhat. Let’s content ourselves with a few tunas for our first meal.
It was with good humor that the voyagers consumed their frugal repast. To drink, they had to content themselves with the lukewarm water in their flasks, which the deserters had fortunately left them.
It was June, the autumn season in Peru, a country of the southern hemisphere. In that tropical region, however, the sun shines with a glare unveiled by the slightest mist, and its heat was only tempered by the high altitude that the explorers had reached.
They calculated that the Indians must have left the camp shortly after sunrise. The audacious thieves who had rifled everything they had been able to reach in the tents had certainly not been operating in total darkness.
On examining the tracks of the fugitives and their troop of llamas, Robert and his companions observed, with surprise, that they had continued up into the mountains along the path that the mission had been following until then, instead of going back down toad Cuzco, and would have seemed natural.
That was odd, to say the least, for there was apparently nothing to be found in that direction but ruins.
Was it prudent to take the same route, at the risk of falling into an ambush? The thieves might think that the Frenchmen were trying to catch up with them in order to punish them for their desertion—and perhaps, in that case, they would not hesitate to get rid of them by murder.
But the explorers had now decided that they would not recoil before any danger. They resumed their march toward the mysterious city.
They were wearing wide-brimmed hats of soft felt, of the kind known as monteras, which are the habitual headgear of Peruvian mountain-dwellers. When they had their red ponchos over their shoulders, outside their flannel costumes tailored in the sporting style, they could have been mistaken at a distance for simple Quichuas.
They followed the rocky crests alongside the profound ravine on the edge of which they had camped. Once, there had been one of the paved pathways there with which the Incas had furrowed their empire to the north, south, east and west, over trajectories of several thousands of kilometers. In the vicinity of Cuzco the paving stones had been ripped up by the conquistadors to serve for the construction of their edifices, and the causeway was entirely effaced, with the result that the voyagers had only discovered the vestiges of it after several days’ march, following vague indications.
The Indians accompanying them had proved to be poor guides and had led them astray several times. What the Frenchmen had initially taken for ignorance was, they were now convinced, nothing but perfidy. When they had understood that they could neither discourage them not put them on a false route, the Indians had evidently decided to abandon them, at the risk of getting into trouble with the Peruvian authorities.
It was scarcely possible henceforth to be mistaken; the ancient paved path was too well preserved. Undoubtedly it had collapsed in places, and in others it had disappeared under vegetation, but it was always easy to pick up the trace again.
“The Incas’ roads,” Robert Vauguyon observed, “lose nothing by comparison with the celebrated Roman roads that created the power of the Latin Empire; they’re still practicable after four centuries of neglect. Thanks to them, the Incas were able to transport themselves from one end of their empire to the other with a disconcerting rapidity and maintain surveillance on all its provinces.”
The three friends had been marching for several hours, and the sun, suspended at the zenith, was darting ardent rays at the ground, when the route, after a bend, came to an abrupt end on the edge of a ravine. The cliffs framing the abyss were only seven or eight meters apart at that point. The rock was overhanging, and down below, at a depth of a hundred meters, the white foam of a torrent was detectable in places beneath a luxuriant vegetation. Its monotonous roar filled the gorge.
The explorers stopped and considered the impassable gorge, perplexed.
Were they about to be stopped when they were so close to the goal?
They could certainly
have attempted to go around the obstacle, descending into the gorge and scaling the other slope, but God alone knew where such an enterprise might take them. They might need to cover several kilometers in almost impracticable terrain before finding a place enabling the decent, and once at the bottom, there was no guarantee of succeeding in the ascent of the opposite cliff.
“This time,” said Pierre, “with the best will in the world, we’re forced to admit that we’re beaten.”
“Not yet,” said Jacques. “If I’m not mistaken, there was a bridge of maguez here, like those the Incas constructed and the indigenes still know how to contrive today.”
Leaning over the edge, he pointed to a suspended mass resembling tangled creepers, which was attached at its extremities to large spikes encased in the rock to either side of the abruptly-interrupted route. They were the remained of a suspended bridge made with the solid fibers of a kind of Peruvian osier known as the maguez.27
It was easy, given that, to deduce what had happened. The suspended bridge had still been in place that morning, and the Indians who had deserted the mission had made use of it to cross the precipice, but once on the other side they had detached the extremities to prevent the archeologists from following them.
“The fellows have cut off their own retreat,” Robert observed. “The fact is that they risked being badly received if they returned to Cuzco without us.”
“That’s definitely the debris of a bridge,” said Pierre, “but I don’t see how it helps us get across.”
“Let’s try to figure out what the people who constructed the first bridge here did,” said Jacques.
“I imagine that some of them went down to the bottom of the gorge and climbed up the other side, and then the builders threw ropes from one side to the other.”
“I think I’ve found a simpler means, or at least quicker, and if you like, we can try it.”
“I’d be curious to know….”
“We have nearly thirty meters of cord, thin but solid enough to support a man of my weight. I count on using it to get to the other side.”
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