22 



SAINT'S DAY OF SAN JAGO. 



Popoyan and Bogota, in New Granada, over which travellers are borne 

 in light bamboo chairs upon the backs of Indians, I discovered that he 

 had encountered two of my own near relations on that route, nearly 

 twenty years before. 



He had sent a branch of his circus to Cerro de Pasco, and ordered the 

 horses, on a raft at Huallaga river, to descend that stream, and the 

 main trunk of the Amazon, to Para. He had navigated the Mississippi 

 in a canoe, and assured me at first he would try to sell his horses and 

 go with me down the Purus. Every now and then his English ran off 

 into Spanish. Then he would beg my pardon for not speaking his 

 mother tongue as well as when a boy. 



•The Indians of the surrounding country were gathered at Marcas post, 

 to celebrate the saint's day of San Jago, an old church in the valley. 

 The obliging master of the post had just leturned from church, a little 

 intoxicated, like most other folks about him. The Indians were dressed 

 in queer costumes, marching in procession, with drums and fifes, through 

 crowds of women; some wore cows-horns and black masks, others 

 cocked hats and gold laced coats ; while the women were dressed in all 

 colors. Young Creoles dashed, about on horse-back ; girls were singing 

 and hanging most affectionately on the shoulders of their lovers. The 

 whole crowd was high on a chicha diet. The morning had been spent 

 in prayers, after which a grand procession, headed by the priest. We' 

 came in at the evening ceremony. The scenery was as beautiful as 

 strange ; the church below us, and the people lining the road from it to 

 the post house, while drums mingled with the shouts and singing of the 

 women. Down the sides of the mountain, Sage's circus company slowly 

 advance. A queer-looking Mexican is the clown. A little dark com- 

 plexioned Guayaquil girl, a neat rider, accompanies a fine looking Peru- 

 vian, whose fat wife, with sun-burnt face, follows. Jhen a pony and his 

 playmate, the dog, with a beautiful Peruvian girl, servants, and a long 

 train of baggage mules, all mixed in with the congregation. As the sun 

 sets over the western mountains, a storm rises in the southwest, with 

 thunder and lightning. 



A long steep descent brought us into the valley of Huanta, where 

 we entered the department of Ayacucho. The horse stands at ease ; 

 the swine repose coolly under the shade of a fig-tree ; humming birds 

 buzz among the flowers, and the fresh- water streams ripple through the 

 highly cultivated lucerne fields. The gay, laughing faces of the people 

 speak for the happiness of the valley, as do the beautiful flowers for its 

 richness. Potatoes, beans, apples, chirimoyas, and granadillas are for 

 sale by the road-side. Indian girls often invite us to take chicha. The 



