The Darwin Conspiracy (43 page)

When we resumed, we headed straight up a mountain. Jemmy scampered
ahead like a monkey, bounding over boulders and climbing up crevasses; we
were hard put to keep up with him, and whenever we fell far behind, he
would glare down at us as if willing us to move faster. After an hour or so,
when the rocks dried in the sun, the climb was easier. I began to notice that
the ledges contained paths, though whether they had been made by men or
animals I could not say. I had the feeling that we were entering upon an
inhabited area, and soon enough I was confirmed in my feeling. We came to a
small hut, conical in shape and built entirely of stones piled one upon the
other. Jemmy said it was for ‘food’. There was a wooden door no taller than
three feet, carved with figures of people. Philos opened it and, poking his
head inside, observed that it was filled with grain. ‘By the lord Harry,’ 
he said, ‘this tribe is more advanced than any we’ve seen. They engage
in agriculture and store the produce.’ Hearing him, Jemmy beamed and said 
‘like Inglan’ (his pronunciation of our country confused me at first). We
then resumed our trek upwards and soon passed by small terraces set round
with rocks and used for growing green shoots of some sort, which I took to be
vegetables.

At this point we began to see people. A small boy appeared out of
nowhere, looked at us boldly, then spun around and ran back up the mountain. Soon, he returned with a handful of older folk, who regarded us with
curiosity but not, insofar as I could tell, with fear. They were dressed better
than the Indians to the south, with cloaks around their shoulders, loin-cloths
and rudimentary sandals. Jemmy was unable to contain himself, leaping up
and down and speaking a language that sounded different from that used by
the savages we had encountered thus far. He greeted friends by grabbing both
their forearms in his hands and squeezing; they soon responded in kind. By
this time, seeming to know who he was, they became animated, looking at
him and touching his fancy clothes and talking excitedly among themselves.

They grabbed him and virtually dragged him up the mountain, leaving us to
follow while more children came to stand along our route, looking at us with
large round eyes.

After some minutes we came to the summit of the mountain. Here was the 
village. It was set inside an encircling wall of rock; we were admitted
through a narrow crevice and, once inside, I realised that the formation acted
as a natural fortress. The houses, of which there were dozens, were more
elaborate than the huts we had seen elsewhere; they were made of strong
material, a combination of grass packed with mud and wood, and even had
windows. Many were two storeys high, with ladders to reach the upper
levels, which used the roofs below as balconies. All in all, it was a remarkable place, splendidly designed for communal habitation and, as I said, for
defence.

By now the entire populace had turned out. We were led to the centre of
the village, which was set around a circle of ashes and scorched rocks. Nearby
were half a dozen even larger houses, which I took to be for the tribal elders,
and one that was the largest of all. Off to one side was an immense tree with
a trunk as wide as a steam-engine and branches that rose up high in the air.

The elders came out to meet us. I could tell they were set apart from the
rest, not only because they wore cloaks that were different, dyed a deep red,
but also because their bearing was distinguished; most had fine white hair
and, unlike the other savages in this part of the world, they did not eschew
beards.

Jemmy repeated a word several times that I did not understand. Mr
McCormick explained to me that he was calling for the head wise man of the
village, someone named Okanicutt, or something close to that. He apparently
was what they call a medicine man, meaning he dabbles in various kinds of
black arts and other foolishness. This man, the Chief, did not put in an
appearance straightaway. I noticed that Mr McCormick had a nervous look
upon his face. He said that he had had an unnerving experience: on our way
here, not twenty feet from this very spot, he had chanced to look into a hut
and saw the floor entirely covered with bones. ‘I shudder to think from
whence they came,’ he whispered.

In short order all kinds of food was brought out and wood was stacked up
for a fire. Philos reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of Promethians, meaning to start the fire (a feat he had been performing in other places
on our voyage), but much to his disappointment they were soaked and did not
ignite. A young girl produced some burning embers to get the blaze going.

Meanwhile Jemmy was mixing with his people, especially with an old
woman, whom I presumed to be his mother, and several younger men,
undoubtedly his brothers. They were having a rousing old time, given over to
a great deal of babbling, back-slapping and forearm-squeezing. Then the
moment arrived. As if on signal the savages fell silent and sat down around
the fire. The door to the largest house opened and out walked an old man
whom I took to be the great Chief himself, Okanicutt.

At that very instant—and I know this sounds uncanny—a rumbling of
thunder sounded, which added to the strangeness of the apparition. I don’t
mind admitting, Mother, that the Chief was an impressive sight. He was tall
and straight despite his age, decked all in red robes, and had a snowy beard
that came down to his chest. He gave what appeared to be a fond greeting to
Jemmy and then came up to meet each of us; he appeared to treat Philos with
what I might call, in our civilised world, deference, clasping his forearm for
quite a while and holding his head low. When it came my turn, I looked into
his eyes and saw such fiery intelligence burning there that I had to remind
myself that he was an Indian. But he was clearly not above the primitive
superstitions common to such people—in fact, he was the main purveyor of
them, as indicated by the staff that he carried, a long pole with various
markings and animal skins upon it.

You then can well imagine my shock when he addressed us in English. He
explained that as a young boy he had been taken up by pirates and sailed
with them for several years. He tried what sounded like bits of Spanish and
Portuguese, which none of us could understand. Resuming in our language,
he told us the story of his tribe, which had once lived far to the north but was
driven south through the wilds of Patagonia until it reached this inhospitable
country. I assumed he meant that hostile tribes had evicted them from their
native area, but Philos whispered that perhaps General Rosas’ brigands had
done it.

There followed a feast. For dishes we were provided with gourds cut into
bowls. We were served all manner of edibles, most of which I could not identify; some were surprisingly good, others I put aside untouched after smelling
them. The food was washed down with a brew liberally dispensed; the taste,
at first bitter, seemed to improve with consumption and I found that it carried
a slight inebriating effect.

The gathering was indeed unlike any other on this earth. Chief Okanicutt
sat there on a tall rock that looked something like a throne, his robes billowing down, and spread around him were Englishmen and aborigines, communicating as best they could through signs and gestures, all of it thrown
into ghostly relief by the reflection of the fire and the intermittent rumble of
thunder.

I was sitting far from the Chief and so could not hear him but I was close 
by Jemmy. At one point he leaned over and confided in me. Pointing to
Okanicutt, he said, ‘He my father.’ His own real name, he said, was Orundellico (though I’m only guessing at the spelling), and he recounted a long
tale that I could not grasp in all its particulars but that in general outline
was this: The tribe was in desperate straits, its numbers were falling and it
was faced with extinction. After Jemmy’s adventures in the white man’s land
he hoped that we Westerners could impart some wisdom that might help them
out of their predicament. ‘You mean you want us to rescue your tribe?’ I
asked. Jemmy smiled a big smile and nodded yes most vigorously.

After the meal, the women cleared away the gourds. The fire was built
into a roaring blaze for our benefit, since with nightfall we Englishmen had
begun to feel the chill in the air. We moved closer to the fire and the Indians,
perspiring, moved away. Chief Okanicutt produced some sort of primitive
cigars, which were passed around among the men, since the women had left
(this prompted Mr McCormick to remark that it was no different from an
English drawing-room). The smoke, however, seemed to exert a strange effect
upon us; we felt a numbness and became at first giddy and then seemingly
overly serious. The thunder sounded magnificent.

Finally, Okanicutt motioned Jemmy to sit at his feet. This appeared to be
a signal for the business at hand—namely, an exchange of views on important
issues. I am afraid I cannot recall the early part of the ensuing dialogue—the
strange food and smoke had gone to my head—but I am able to conjure up a
memory of the Chief opening his arms as if to encircle us and appealing for an
explanation of the principles that underlay our civilisation, although of course
he did not put it that way. Indeed, I wish I could recollect his exact words,
for they seemed impassioned and powerful.

The request, which touched us by its simple nature, prodded Philos to
action. He immediately launched into an explanation of Christianity. He
began with the Old Testament and spoke of how God created the earth and
the heavens in six days, resting on Sunday. He then talked eloquently about
the creation of Adam and how Eve was made from his rib (there was some
confusion over this part of the anatomy; finally Philos reached over to touch
the Chief ’s abdomen, which startled him). He then talked of the Garden of
Eden and how the evil serpent tempted Eve, who succumbed and turned her
wiles upon Adam, leading to God’s anger and His expulsion of them. Seeing
that the Chief was amazed, he backed up and explained that the serpent had
been enlisted by the Devil. This led to the recounting of the tale of Lucifer
 
and other angels being thrown out of Heaven. To lend it more power and
colour, Philos sowed the narrative with quotes from Milton’s great epic,
though how much of this got through I cannot say.

He then recounted other teachings from the Bible. He spoke of Cain who
slew his brother Abel, of Job and his many tribulations, and of Abraham
who was commanded by God to kill his beloved son Isaac. (At this point I
saw the Chief place an arm around Jemmy.) Philos was most eloquent in
speaking of Noah and the Flood and of Moses parting the waters to lead the
chosen people out of Egypt—an historical event I imagined the Chief would
take to heart, given his own tribe’s history.

It was hard to say how all this was affecting the Chief, whose eyes seemed
to grow larger as the night wore on. At various times he asked questions—
such as how did the animals survive on the Ark without killing each other—
that suggested a certain literal naïveté. Seeing this, Mr McCormick joined in
to continue the instruction, and he drew his teachings from the New Testament. He said that God had had a son named Jesus and that this son was
called the Lamb. He arrived on earth through a woman named Mary who
got pregnant without a man. This entailed more confusion and much discussion and I am not certain that we ever succeeded in getting the idea of the
virgin birth across. Eventually Mr McCormick resumed the story. He said
that Mary knew she was bearing God’s child because the Angel Gabriel had
flown down to tell her. He then had to explain all about angels and their
benign role in looking after men. The Chief was confused because he recalled
that earlier Philos had called Lucifer an angel.

Eventually Mr McCormick returned to the main thread of the narrative.

He told how a star appeared in the sky and three spice merchants followed it
and it led them to Bethlehem, where the baby was sleeping in a stable because
all the rooms were occupied. He recounted some of Christ’s spectacular
doings, like walking across a lake without sinking in, touching a glass of
water and turning it into enough wine for a whole crowd of people and making a dead man come alive. The story built up finally to the Last Supper and
the Crucifixion. A lot of it seemed to go over the Chief ’s head, but I have to
give him credit—he seemed genuinely horrified at the description of the Lamb
being nailed to the Cross.

When Mr McCormick said that Christ hadn’t really died—or that he had
died but that he rose again after spending several days locked in a tomb—you
should have seen the Chief ’s expression. He wanted to know what was meant 
by that—did Christ walk around and talk and so forth? So Mr McCormick,
exhibiting no small patience, explained that, no, He had gone up to Heaven
to sit at the right hand of God. He began to expound on the Book of Revelation and the Seven Seals and the coming battle between Christ and Satan
leading to one thousand years of peace, but the Chief looked so puzzled that
he abandoned this tack. Instead, he simply observed that Christ’s death was
in reality a good thing because it proved that God loved us all so much that
He was willing to sacrifice his only son to redeem us from the sin that had
been committed long ago. The Chief asked: what sin was that? Philos
jumped back in, saying the sin was from the apple that Adam had eaten.