large an animal into a small boat appears at first a difficulty, but
the Indians managed it in a minute. They brought the cow alongside the
boat, which was heeled towards her; then placing two oars under her
belly, with their ends resting on the gunwale, by the aid of these
levers they fairly tumbled the poor beast heels over head into the
bottom of the boat, and then lashed her down with ropes. At Cucao we
found an uninhabited hovel (which is the residence of the padre when he
pays this Capella a visit), where, lighting a fire, we cooked our
supper, and were very comfortable.
The district of Cucao is the only inhabited part on the whole west
coast of Chiloe. It contains about thirty or forty Indian families,
who are scattered along four or five miles of the shore. They are very
much secluded from the rest of Chiloe, and have scarcely any sort of
commerce, except sometimes in a little oil, which they get from
seal-blubber. They are tolerably dressed in clothes of their own
manufacture, and they have plenty to eat. They seemed, however,
discontented, yet humble to a degree which it was quite painful to
witness. These feelings are, I think, chiefly to be attributed to the
harsh and authoritative manner in which they are treated by their
rulers. Our companions, although so very civil to us, behaved to the
poor Indians as if they had been slaves, rather than free men. They
ordered provisions and the use of their horses, without ever
condescending to say how much, or indeed whether the owners should be
paid at all. In the morning, being left alone with these poor people,
we soon ingratiated ourselves by presents of cigars and mate. A lump
of white sugar was divided between all present, and tasted with the
greatest curiosity. The Indians ended all their complaints by saying,
"And it is only because we are poor Indians, and know nothing; but it
was not so when we had a King."
The next day after breakfast, we rode a few miles northward to Punta
Huantamo. The road lay along a very broad beach, on which, even after
so many fine days, a terrible surf was breaking. I was assured that
after a heavy gale, the roar can be heard at night even at Castro, a
distance of no less than twenty-one sea-miles across a hilly and wooded
country. We had some difficulty in reaching the point, owing to the
intolerably bad paths; for everywhere in the shade the ground soon
becomes a perfect quagmire. The point itself is a bold rocky hill. It
is covered by a plant allied, I believe, to Bromelia, and called by the
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