The prayers of the evening being over, the captain, a tall, well-built, noble-looking old Indian, stood up and made a speech to the others who lay upon the hairy side of raw hides on the ground. It was an obituary address of some length for the lost member of their canoe. This fine featured Indian had naturally the powers of an orator; he was fluent and spoke fast. When he reached the winding up of his harangue, he was overcome by his feelings, and speaking of the unhappy news they were called upon to convey to the mother and widow, he shed tears. His manly arm was reached out to point towards the paddle of the lost man, as the last and only token left by the father to the son.
When the captain finished, they all uttered "buenos noches" to each other, and we slept by the side of the river.
At daybreak in the morning, the monkeys began the usual chattering. We were struck at the ease with which an ugly, cheerful Indian, who looks out for snags in the bow, and is generally laying on his belly keeping watch ahead, repeated English words after Richards. The English language, the schoolmaster decided, came much more easy to these people than Spanish. "Nig," as Richards called him, was the droll one of the crew. He pronounced clearly each word as it was spoken to him; and yet this man was one of those who could not speak Spanish, generally considered the most easy to learn. The language of these Indians sounds like German. The Yuracares speak fast and constantly, like the French. The Aymara has the sound of English more than any. The Quichua, both in tone and notes of the words corresponds to the Welsh or Irish, which I have heard spoken.
The Indians beached the canoe, and for the first time had a general bath. As we passed a cross standing on the bank, the crew took off their hats; this was out of respect for a friend who had been buried there. We passed several of these wooden crosses; near some of them plantain trees were growing.
The wind is very light, and generally from the north; the current of air seems to follow the bed of the river up-stream. The river widens to two hundred and fifty yards. We find the current by holding on to the end of a snag in mid-channel while we heave the current log. We have no anchor and chain.