The Rebellion of the Hanged

by B. TRAVEN

  The trip was difficult by day; at night the difficulties doubled. The old hands knew the stream so well that by merely touching the bottom with their paddles they could tell on which side they were. And even when completely intoxicated they maneuvered to perfection. Nevertheless, drunkenness not being a normal state, it was difficult to say beforehand how a drunken man would react to an unforeseen occurrence.

  In his alcoholic cloud Felipe felt daring in the extreme. Moreover, he was a mestizo and felt an unbounded contempt for the Indians. He was as dark as Cándido. His hair was as black, thick, and straight as Celso’s. But he regarded himself as the equal of the white men. They never beat him, and his skill as an experienced canoeman, his merits as a builder and owner of two canoes, made him an independent workman who had the right to get drunk as often as he wished or when he had the money for liquor. The whinings of the cowardly Cándido, who had dared to ask Don Felix to delay the trip so they wouldn’t have to cross by night, made him even more reckless. He was going to demonstrate to that lousy Chamula what a real canoeman was capable of, and how he could guide his craft at full speed in the middle of the night even on a river broken loose.

  So he continued to keep the canoe in the heart of the current. They shot forward as though they were in a motorboat. About fifteen minutes were required for the crossing, but Felipe wanted to show that he could make it in ten. Unfortunately the canoe moved so fast that he could not keep it in the full current with a few paddle strokes. That crazy speed lasted only two or three minutes, at the end of which the prow struck the stones at the edge of a rapid so violently that it became lodged among them. With a marvelously skillful stroke of the paddle Felipe swung the stern about. But his second stroke went wrong. The craft veered too far to the left and was out of control.

  Felipe took in the situation instantly, knew what was inevitably going to happen. Nevertheless, he made a tremendous effort with his paddle, but stuck it into the bed of the stream a fraction of a second too late. The current struck the canoe broadside, swamping it. Felipe, unsteady on his legs, stumbled and fell over the right side into the water. The craft was dashed against a gigantic tree trunk. It sank.

  “Make for the bank!” was all that Felipe shouted.

  Cándido, Celso, Modesta, the children, the assistant, and the pigs—all were struggling in the water. The profound darkness prevented them from seeing the banks, but luckily, foreseeing the inevitable, Cándido and Celso, thanks to the lanterns, had been able, just as the accident was about to happen, to see that they were nearer the right bank than the left. They had also noticed that near the right bank the paddle had hit bottom at half its length, which made them think that they were near a sandbank and stones used as a ford.

  Cándido stuck his head out of the water to call the children. The younger one, floundering near by, answered him. Cándido quickly grabbed him by the shirt.

  Celso was calling Modesta and Cándido. He groped for Modesta, caught hold of her clothes, and began to pull her along.

  Cándido shouted: “Make for the right bank!”

  The region of which Cándido and Celso were natives offered few opportunities for learning to swim, there being neither lakes nor rivers near by. But when Indians fall into water they get out like dogs, by instinct. Moreover, they wear no shoes, and their cotton clothes are loose and light enough not to hinder them.

  They managed to reach a foothold. They were separated from one another, and they called out in order to get together. Felipe and his assistant also joined in. Freed suddenly of his drunkenness, Felipe did not understand exactly what had happened.

  “By the most holy Virgin!” he exclaimed, “such a thing has never happened to me. I’ve capsized once or twice, but in some rapids. It’s never happened to me here. It’s impossible! Somebody must have played a dirty trick on me. Perhaps it was one of you, you damned Chamulas!”

  They were all together. Even the little pigs, tied to the lasso, were there. The dog that had followed Cándido from his village was barking contentedly and shaking himself to get dry.

  The packs and bundles had all been lost. Modesta, wringing out her underskirt, turned suddenly and asked: “Celso! Is Angel with you?”

  “No! He isn’t here. He must be with Cándido.”

  In anguish Cándido replied: “No. Not here. I thought he was with you, Modesta, or with Celso.”

  They all began to shout: “Angelito, Angelito, where are you?”

  But the only reply they got was the furious shout of the water as it roared on.

  When he noticed that Felipe was late in returning, Don Felix realized that something out of the ordinary had happened. Very early the next morning he sent Pablo with his canoe. Pablo discovered the shipwrecked group squatting on the shore. He took them into the canoe and to the new camp, where the other men had begun to erect their huts.

  Celso returned to the main camp with Pablo. Don Félix received him abusively: “What have you been doing over there? You arrive now after losing half a day’s work! Perhaps I sent you to the new camp?”

  “I wanted to help Cándido move his things, little chief. He has his family with him.”

  “And meanwhile your work stays undone! Cándido is old enough now to travel alone.”

  “He lost one of his children,” Celso answered.

  “Through carelessness, I’m sure. He should have watched him more closely. Besides, nobody told him to take the kids. They’re not good for anything here. Now then, get along to your work and hack out your four tons as usual. If you want to have a good time again, don’t have it at my expense. I pay you for your work, and your work is to cut four tons.”

  “Very well, little chief.”

  Don Felix went on with his breakfast, saying to the two foremen who were with him: “You see? I was right again when I picked Pablo to transport the tools and axes. Had I ordered that drunken Felipe to take them, we’d have lost them all. That would have been at least one hundred and fifty pesos thrown in the water. Just what we needed! For two weeks there’s been no mail and not even a bunch of Turks has turned up here! But where’s that swine Felipe now?”

  “He went with Pablo,” replied one of the foremen. “He wants to try to find his canoe.”

  “Yes? That’ll take three weeks or more!”

  Cándido went on working, eating, sleeping, getting up, going back to work, returning to eat, sleeping again, rising again, felling his trees, coming back to his hut, squatting in a corner, and looking fixedly before him. Scarcely speaking at all, he was living like an automaton. Every morning and every evening he went down to the riverbank and watched the rushing of the convulsive waters that had snatched away his Angelito. And every time he returned from work he walked around the hut and looked at Modesta in silence.

  When he returned, weary and crushed, Modesta well knew what he had hoped to find.

  Four identical days passed. One evening he said to his sister in a suppressed voice: “Modesta, Pablo’s canoe is tied to the riverbank. When it gets completely dark we’ll set out.”

  “Where will we go, little brother?” she asked in surprise. She seemed to doubt that he was in his right mind.

  “I can’t stay here. They killed my Angelito, murdered Marcelina’s firstborn son. We’re going to go back to our village, because I can’t stand it here. Modesta, I must go back there to my land, to cultivate my corn, to see how the house is that I built with my own hands. I can’t stay here. I must go back.”

  “Will we take the pigs, little brother?”

  “Sure we’ll take them. How could you think we’d leave them here? They can’t stand it either—nor the dog, nor you… .”

  “And Celso?” she asked.

  “Celso knows where we’re from and he’ll come to look for you. He told me so, only he asked me not to tell you. He said that if, as he thinks, the girl he loved has married someone else, he will ask you to be his wife. He’ll follow us, little sister, you can be sure about that.”

  Modesta finished
stacking the pots in a corner and said: “They’ll catch us.”

  “Maybe so. What about it? I can’t stay here. I must leave, and if they catch me, I’ll leave again and keep on leaving. I can’t stay here. They killed my Angelito.”

  “No, little brother, by terrible fortune he fell into the water.”

  “Yes, but not by the will of our most holy Mother—by the will of that evil man, of the boss. Why didn’t he want to let us cross in the daytime? Why didn’t he let us go in Pablo’s canoe? Simply because he hated the children and wanted to kill them. I know it well. A hundred times he told me that they must work, because otherwise they had no right to be with me. He wanted to make them work, the children of my poor Marcelina, my poor woman, who was murdered too, by that doctor, murdered because I couldn’t pay in time.”

  “We’ll do what you want, brother.”

  “We’ll wait until the other men have fallen asleep. But you can start taking Pedrito and the little pigs down to the bank now. The others will think that you’re taking them to bathe.”

  That same night Cándido, Modesta, little Pedro, the pigs, and the dog embarked in Pablo’s canoe. For two days there had been less rain. The level of the river had gone down somewhat, and the current had lost its violence.

  Late that night the waning moon shone out. There were only a few clouds running, and things could be seen rather clearly.

  Pablo had taken away the pole-paddle with which he maneuvered the canoe. But Cándido knew perfectly well that he himself would never have been able to handle it, because to do that required a long apprenticeship. To use in its stead he had cut three boards, one of which was long and flat, and which he intended to use as a paddle.

  He did not risk the middle of the current, but kept near the banks so that he could always touch the bottom with his paddle, which was only eight feet long. Thus he could steer the canoe as he had planned.

  No bundles or packs increased the weight of the load. In a piece of his only shirt they had wrapped tortillas, bean paste, and a small piece of dried meat. One of the men had lent him a flint and some tinder for making fire. Unfortunately he had lost the knife that he had always carried in his belt in a leather sheath, but he intended to make some spears to catch fish that he could roast. He would also be able to bring down a few birds with his sling. All things considered, the prospects were not entirely bad.

  The canoe glided along smoothly. For some time the moon lighted up the watery road. Later the underbrush on the banks of the river began to form two impenetrable barriers. From the land the murmuring of the forest reached them, filling the night with life. From time to time the croaking of frogs or the song of some bird blanketed the jungle’s murmuring. Constantly overhead the bats and nocturnal birds crossed, beating their black wings. Pedrito had fallen asleep on Modesta’s lap with one of the little pigs resting against him and warming his body.

  “Brother,” asked Modesta softly, “how long will our journey last?”

  “I don’t know. Far, very far ahead we’ll come to the great rapids. Then we’ll have to take the canoe ashore. We’ll go on down the river and reach new falls, but then we won’t be able to carry the canoe overland because of the rocks. We’ll have to walk toward the sunset until we reach our village. One of the men told me that, one who knows the river well, because last year he was in the gang that kept watch over the floating of the logs.”

  “There’s something I don’t understand, little brother. If it’s so easy to escape in a canoe, why do all those peons stay in the camps instead of running away?”

  “Because they don’t all find canoes handy, or because they’re afraid of the water, or because they’re afraid that they couldn’t steer a boat.”

  “Maybe you’re right, brother,” said Modesta. In her heart she did not believe it, but she kept silent.

  On the following morning Don Felix called El Chapopote and El Guapo.

  “Drink up your coffee quickly. Then take your horses and go to Las Champas, the new camp. Ride over it and count the trunks and mark them. Felipe will take you down.”

  The overseers took what they needed and went aboard the canoe. El Guapo carried his gun with him, because, he said, he was sure they would surely find much better hunting over there, especially as it was still virgin forest. The cutters had not begun to chop or to frighten away the animals by their shouting. Thus they would be able to collect some fine prizes that it would have been a pity to let escape, especially as, since the floods had started, the meals had begun to be extremely sparse.

  They were about fifty yards from the landing place of the new camp when, from a distance, they caught sight of Pablo, with his arms held skyward, who was swearing. “They’ve stolen my canoe. God damn them! Just let me get my hands on that son of a bitch!”

  Felipe brought his craft in to the sandy shore and said: “You just forgot to tie the canoe up securely. You left it slack, and the water carried it away. It’s your fault.”

  “My fault! Don’t talk rubbish! What do you know? I moored it there last night, see? The river is quite low, and you won’t tell me that the canoe started off by itself?” Addressing the foremen, he shouted: “And by all the devils, I know who took it! That swine of a Chamula, the one who goes about with his whole family and a drove of pigs.”

  “Now you’re the one who’s talking rubbish! How could that stupid animal of a Chamula manage to steer your canoe?”

  “All right! Since you know so much, look for the Chamula. Locate the bastard and his family. They’re not here. They’re not at the camp. They’ve even taken the pigs with them! Hurry after him—and when you get your hands on him, I’ll get my canoe back.”

  The two foremen climbed the embankment, pulling their horses after them. They ran into El Faldón, who was waiting for them.

  “It’s true,” he said. “The Chamula took the canoe. Believe it or not, but he’s cleared out, and you fell like rain from heaven to go and look for him.”

  “That’s the only thing left for us to do,” El Chapopote said, nudging his companion. “What do you say, Guapo? We’ll count the trees later. But first, let’s go and toss something into our bellies. What with nothing but a swallow of coffee this morning, I’m dying of hunger. Don Felix is worse every day. How does he expect us to count tons of wood in a place where there are no trees? I don’t know the trick of making them grow. If I did, I’d make myself a millionaire, and it’d be a long time before I’d be taking care of those Chamula bastards as if I were their wet nurse.”

  “Let’s begin by having a shot to lubricate our throats!”

  El Faldón produced a bottle and they all had good swigs to renew their energy.

  “You follow us with your other canoe, Felipe,” said El Chapopote. “El Guapo and I will go along the bank on horseback.”

  “No, not like that, no,” replied Felipe. “None of that. We’ll never catch them with the canoe. Just think, they’ve got a night’s head start, and even if we caught up with them, they’d jump into the water as soon as they saw us and the canoe’d be carried away by the current, and we’d never be able to get it back. On horseback you’ll go a hundred times faster than I could go in the canoe. The river twists and turns constantly. I ought to know! You can take some short cuts without having to follow the river and you can get way ahead of the Chamula, who doesn’t know the river. You can be easy in your minds. Before five minutes are up he’ll have smashed into some rocks or run up on some sandbar. And besides, there’s no reason for me to go so far away. I must get back because Don Felix wants me to go upriver and help to get the logs into the water.”

  It was true. Don Felix had ordered him to return immediately to go with him on an inspection tour of the dumps. But in a case like this, a matter of pursuing a fugitive, Felipe could have disregarded Don Felix’s orders. The real reason for his refusal was his fear of finding himself alone with Cándido before the foremen had appeared to help him. He knew that Cándido, like others who had taken flight, would not hesita
te before killing him to avoid being captured.

  Cándido seemed to have the gods on his side: in three days not a single drop of rain had fallen. The river was low and quiet. On turbulent water Cándido would not have been able to get far. But if the weather was favorable for him, it would also be so for his pursuers. For if the rain had been as steady and violent as during the preceding week, the jungle tracks would have been impassable, the horses would have sunk to their knees in the mud, and the foremen would often have been obliged to lead their mounts by the bridle. They would have had to make long detours to avoid the flooded places and the swamps near the banks.

  Instead, the surface of the ground was dry enough to permit fairly rapid progress on horseback. The waters had gone down and for many miles it was possible to gallop along the sand or even on the uncovered stony bed of the river. In some places, as is usual with rivers running through tropical forests, this one widened out for a mile or more, becoming shallow except for short stretches that were usually possible to jump. The more twists and turns in the river, the more his pursuers gained on the Chamula, especially as the peaceful current bore him forward slowly, and for mile after mile the horsemen progressed three times as fast as the fleeing man.