Harriet Chalmers Adams Rides the Andes
Harriet Chalmers Adams Rides the Andes — a biography. 10 illustrated pages, narrated, on the kids shelf, free to read on Wonder People.
Page 1
The crane groaned as it swung the big wooden crate out over the ship's rail, the rope net creaking around the corners. Harriet gripped the deck rail and watched her glass photographic plates — every mountain and market she had captured so far — twist slowly in the air above the green harbour water. Then the net slipped. One corner dropped, the crate lurched, and it hung swaying on a single strand, far too high above the sea for comfort. 'Hold steady!' Franklin shouted, grabbing the crane chain with both hands as if he could still it from below. Down on the stones, Don Baltasar did not wait. He swung the coiled leather lead rein off his back, whirled it once, and hooked the crate's rope handle on his first throw. Three dockhands threw themselves on the line beside him, hauling together, boots slipping on wet stone, until the crate swung inward and thudded safely down onto the harbour pavement. Harriet scrambled down the gangplank two steps at a time and dropped to her knees beside it, checking the corners with both hands.
Page 2
The track up the pass had frozen hard overnight, and the lead mule's hooves skidded on a slick of ice at the bend. It reared sideways with a squeal, and the tripod lashed to its pack snapped free, bouncing end over end down the scree slope below the trail. Harriet dropped flat to her heels and began scrambling down after it, loose stones sliding under her boots. 'Hold them, Baltasar!' Franklin shouted, already looping his hemp rope round a boulder and paying it out hand over hand so Harriet had something to grip. Don Baltasar threw his whole weight back on the mules' lead, bracing his bow legs against the ice and hauling the frightened animal still, his bells jangling wildly. Harriet lunged, caught the tripod's leg just before it vanished over a drop, and clung there a moment, breath ragged, the great white wall of Aconcagua rearing silent and enormous above them all.
Page 3
The crust gave way with a crack like breaking ice, and the cart lurched sideways, its wheel punching through white hexagons into black brine below. Harriet grabbed the crate before it could slide, bracing it with both arms while Franklin hauled on the reins to keep the mules from bolting. Don Baltasar swung down and shoved his shoulder under the cart's rail, grunting with the effort, but the wheel only sank deeper. Then a small girl came running barefoot across the flats, a long wooden plank balanced on her shoulder, her plaits bouncing. She dropped the plank at the wheel's edge without a word. Franklin seized one end, Don Baltasar the other, and together with Harriet pushing from behind they wedged it under the sunken rim. "Now — all together!" Franklin shouted, and they heaved, boots slipping on salt, until the wheel popped free with a wet sucking sound and the cart rolled forward onto solid crust again. Harriet laughed and wiped brine from her hands, and the girl grinned up at her, already coiling the plank back onto her shoulder.
Page 4
The reed boat rode low under the crate's weight, and cold water began to well up through a split seam no wider than a finger. Franklin slammed his palm flat against it, but the lake only found another way through. 'She's taking water!' he shouted, snatching off his Panama hat and scooping furiously. Harriet grabbed a gourd from the deck boards and bailed alongside him, flinging water back over the low gunwale as fast as it came. Don Baltasar threw his whole weight against the crate, dragging it toward the center to keep the hull from tipping. Nina dropped to her knees at the seam itself, tearing loose fistfuls of dry totora reed from a bundle and jamming them hard into the crack, packing them tighter with her small fists until the trickle slowed to a weep. 'More reed, quickly!' she called, and Tomás's cousins on the shore were forgotten as everyone worked together, bailing and stuffing, until at last the water in the hull stopped climbing and the boat rode steady again under the shadow of the terraced island ahead.
Page 5
The cobbles of Hatunrumiyoc dropped away steep as stairs, and the pack mule's strap chose that moment to snap. The crate of glass plates, waist-high and heavy as a barrel of nails, slammed onto the stones and began to rumble downhill on its own. Franklin lunged and missed the rope end. Harriet shouted and scrambled after it, boots skidding on the smooth stone. But Nina was already running, bare feet slapping the cobbles, plaits flying, cutting ahead down the slope faster than any of them. She threw herself against the fountain basin just as the crate reached it, bracing her whole small body to catch the weight and wedge it fast against the stone rim. Don Baltasar came jingling down after, caught his breath, then laughed and began unknotting the braided-leather lead rein from his own back, lifting the little brass bells free one by one and hanging them over Harriet's saddle horn. He patted the nearest mule's neck, turned the string of animals around, and started back up toward the pass without them.
Page 6
The stone stairway climbed like a giant's staircase, each terrace wall as tall as a man, and the mules picked their way up with the crate swaying between them. A gust came roaring up the valley, snatching at hat brims, and before Franklin could slam the crate lid shut, a wrapped glass plate flew loose and skimmed out over the edge of the terrace. Harriet gasped and grabbed for it too late. Tomás, barefoot on the warm stone, didn't stop to think — he leapt down one terrace, then another, his macaw shrieking and flapping to keep its balance on his shoulder, and flung his arms wide. The plate struck his chest flat and he hugged it tight, skidding on the gravel below. Nina scrambled down after him, catching his elbow to steady him before he tipped backward off the edge. Franklin hauled the crate lid shut at last, and Harriet climbed down carefully to take the rescued plate from Tomás's trembling arms.
Page 7
The grass bridge swayed like a hammock slung over nothing, its woven cables thick as a man's thigh, the river roaring somewhere far below in a brown thread of fury. Franklin looped his rope over the deck rail and lowered the crate into a sling of braided hemp, bracing his long body against a post and paying the line out hand over hand. On the far cliff Nina and Tomás dug their bare heels into the dust and hauled together, the macaw flapping and shrieking on Tomás's shoulder with every heave. The crate swung and bumped along under the bridge deck, scraping the woven grass. Harriet edged across behind it, one boot then the other, gripping the handrail cables, steadying the sling whenever it swung wide and calling encouragement down the line. Tomás gritted his teeth and hauled harder, Nina planting her small feet and leaning her whole weight back on the rope until the crate at last bumped safely onto the far rock, and everyone let out a breath they had been holding.
Page 8
The dugout bucked sideways as the current slammed into the chute, and the rope-handled crate lurched against its lashing, tipped, and slid clean over the gunwale into the brown water. Harriet lunged after it, her hand closing on empty air. 'It's going!' she shouted over the roar. Tomás, braced with his bare feet hooked under the thwart, swung his zigzag paddle flat and jabbed the blade's notch under the crate's rope handle, dragging it back against the pull of the rapid. Franklin threw himself across the canoe to grab the handle the moment it came close, water sheeting off the wood. Nina seized the trailing rope and hauled with both hands, bracing her heels. Together they wrestled the streaming crate back over the side and into the bilge, all three gasping. The macaw screeched and flapped once, steadying as the canoe settled through the last standing wave. Downstream, where the gorge opened into calmer water, Nina's village landing came into view, and she stood at the bow waving both arms as they pulled in to let her off.
Page 9
The tin roof ticked with heat, and the red lantern threw its narrow glow across three trays of chemical water lined on a bench as high as Harriet's hip. She lifted the first soaked plate with both hands, dripping, and slid it gently into the bath. Franklin leaned close with his spectacles catching the red light, rocking the tray in slow circles. 'There — Aconcagua, look at that ridge come up,' he said, pointing with a wet finger. Tomás, barefoot on the warm floorboards, grabbed each finished plate the moment Harriet lifted it clear, hauling it dripping to the string strung corner to corner across the little room, pinning it with wooden clothes-pegs before the water could run into his eyes. His macaw shifted on his shoulder, feathers brushing the tin wall. One by one the pictures climbed out of the trays — the salt flat, the swaying grass bridge, the terrace stair — until the whole room hung thick with dripping mountains, and Tomás ducked under them grinning, wiping his wet hands down his shirt.
Page 10
Harriet knelt at one end of the long sea wall and unrolled the ribbon of photographs, Franklin walking backward ahead of her to keep it unspooling straight along the stone top, forty feet of mountains and salt and bridges stretching between them. He dropped to his knees and jammed a flat beach stone onto the near corner, then scrambled the whole length to slam another onto the far end before the bay breeze could snatch it into the water. Tomás darted up barefoot, his macaw flapping once to keep balance on his shoulder, and began walking the ribbon's full length, crouching low over each picture. A crowd of city children pressed in behind him, pointing, tugging each other's sleeves toward the white salt flats and the swaying grass bridge none of them had ever imagined. Harriet crouched beside Tomás, steadying a lifting corner with her palm while he traced the twelve-angled stone with one finger. Franklin straightened, wiping chalky dust from his hands, and grinned down the whole shining row.
"That one there — that is the mountain that ate my tripod," Harriet said, laughing.
"And this," Tomás said, tapping a photograph, "is the bridge! I pulled that rope myself!"
About this story
- Audience: kids (ages 6–12)
- Format: 10 illustrated pages, narrated, on the kids shelf, free to read on Wonder People
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