Haunts of the Condor in Peru. 283 



fearful moments for us both. I could observe Don Jorge's 

 exposed situation, and that, if the decayed branch of cactus 

 gave way, he would be hurled down and dashed to pieces. As 

 to myself he could see that a portion of my body was projecting 

 over a precipice. 



I stood on the defensive with the geological hammer in my 

 right hand, whilst my left was stuck in a hole in the loose 

 granitic stuff for support. If I had been compelled to have 

 struck an assailing condor with my hammer, the chances 

 were that such a movement would have dislodged me, and down 

 the rock I must have gone. I had previously, and have since 

 been, in personal " difficulties/'' but never so near being rolled 

 down a precipice, dashed to pieces, and made food for condors. 



Whilst this skirmishing was going oh, my companion cried 

 out, informing me that at the bottom of the not very deep break 

 that separated us, there was a collection of sand, and the only 

 way of extricating ourselves from our present perilous situation, 

 was to do our best and jump into the sand below. Once there, 

 we should be a better match for the condors, pelt them at our 

 ease, and then see who would have the best of the fight. 



Watching an opportunity when his assailant had veered off 

 a little, he left his somewhat uneasy position on the cactus, 

 which still retained a quantity of its spines, took a jump, and 

 landed without broken bones on the patch of sand beneath. 



I now left my cramped and awkward berth, putting myself 

 into a jumping attitude, whilst Don Jorge stationed himself 

 below so as to break my fall. I took the leap, or rather a 

 sort of flight, coming lengthways upon my face, sliding some 

 distance down in the sand. Thankful, indeed, were we, that 

 we had been thus protected from an untimely death. 



Once on the sandy spot we sat down, and could observe 

 without fear the bold and graceful whirling course of the 

 condors, and when any of them darted, out of their circle of 

 flight, to approach us, we could pelt at them ; although few if 

 any of our missiles reached them. We watched and pelted at 

 these kings of the feathered tribe, until they concluded that we 

 were not designed for their consumption, and slowly drew off 

 in the direction of the Morro de Tarapaca, where doubtless they 

 had their resting place during their visits to the coast, and 

 from whence they could, with their wonderfully far-seeing eye, 

 scan on the desert tracks below, carrion, in the shape of a dead 

 mule, or ass, or the body of a defunct whale on the sea-shore. 



It is hoped that the scenes I have attempted to delineate 

 will assist my readers in picturing the condor at home. The 

 wild creatures of the forest or the desert cannot be under- 

 stood and appreciated if severed from their natural surround- 

 ings : and now that I have endeavoured to show the character 



