Let no traveler go to South America and cross the Andes with the idea of unearthing a Nineveh or a Babylon on the site of San Gavan.  The emissaries of Don Santo Domingo were quickly standing, among the grinning and amused Indians, on the locality of the Golden Depot of San Gavan.  But Nature had thoroughly reclaimed her own, and the place, indicated again and again by the savages with absolute unanimity, showed nothing but mounds of fern and moss under canopies of forest trees.

A day’s rest and a sketch or two were consecrated by Marcoy to this historic spot, the grave of a civilization.  It had been well if he had restrained his feelings of romance, and betaken himself with his companions to the homeward track.

As the explorers were breakfasting in the morning on a squirrel and a couple of birds shot among the vanished streets of San Gavan, a disagreeable incident supervened.  The wild Indians had disappeared over-night.  But now, seemingly born instantaneously from the trees, a throng of Siriniris burst upon the scene, rushing up to the travelers, straining them repeatedly in a rude embrace, then leaving them, then assaulting them again, and accompanying every contact with the eternal cry, Siruta inta menea—­“Give me a knife.”  Each member of the troop had now six savages at his heels, and they were not those of the day before, but a new and rougher band.  The chiefs of the party rushed together and brandished their muskets.  This forced the savages to retire, but gave to the rencounter that hostile air which, in consideration of the disparity of numbers, ought at all hazards to have been avoided.  The wild men quickly formed a circle around the artillery.  The latter, fearing for their porters and the precious baggage, leaped through this circle and joined their servants, making believe to cock their fire-arms.  Upon this the Indians, half afraid of the guns, vanished into the woods, first picking up whatever clothing and utensils they could lay their hands on.  In an instant they were showing these trophies to their rightful owners from a safe distance, laughing as if they would split their sides.  One of the naked rascals had seized a flannel undershirt of the colonel’s, which was drying on a branch.  His efforts to introduce his great feet into the sleeves were excruciating.  Another savage had found a pair of linen pantaloons, which he was endeavoring to put on like a coat, appearing much embarrassed with the posterior portion, which completely masked his face.  Aragon had seen a young reprobate of his own age make off with a pair of socks of his property.  Detecting the rogue half hidden by a tree, the mozo made a sortie, seized the Indian, and by a violent shake brought the property out of his mouth, where it had been concealed as in a natural pocket.

The travelers immediately threw themselves into marching order and took up their line of route.  The savages followed.  At the first obstacle, a mass of matted trees, they easily rejoined the party of whites.