1835.] RIDE TO CUCAO. 295 
late. The country on each side of the Jake was one unbroken 
forest. In the same periagua with us,a cow was embarked. To 
get so large an animal into a small boat appears at first a diffi- 
culty, 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 com- 
panions, although so very civil to us, behaved to the poor Indians 
as if they had been slaves, rather than freemen. ‘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 maté. A 
lump of white sugar was divided between all present, and tasted 
with the greatest curiosity. The Indians ended all their com- 
plaints 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 Huantamé. 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 
