173 



eyes fixed on the ground. We endeavoured to 

 learn from them whether we were yet far from 

 the Mission of Santa Cruz, where we intended 

 passing the night. We were overcome with 

 fatigue, and tormented with thirst. The heat 

 increased as the storm drew near, and we had 

 not met with a single spring on the way. The 

 words si Patre, no Patre, which the Indians 

 continually repeated, made us think they un- 

 derstood a little Spanish. In the eyes of a na- 

 tive every white man is a monk, a Padre * ; for 

 in the Missions the colour of the skin charac- 

 terises the monk, more than the colour of the 

 garment. We in vain pestered them with our 

 questions on the length of the way : they an- 

 swered, as if by chance, si and no, without our 

 being able to attach any precise serise to their 

 replies. This made us the more impatient, as 

 their smiles and gestures discovered their inten- 

 tion of satisfying us; and the forest seemed at 

 every step to become thicker. We separated 

 at last; the Indian guides, who understood 

 the Chayma tongue, being able to follow us only 

 at a distance, because the beasts of burden fell 

 at every step in the ravines. 



After several hours march, continually de- 

 scending on blocks of scattered rock, we found 



* In Modern Greece, the monks are commonly called 

 good old men, kahgheroi* 



